#Whatever weird reverse-rain-bow this is

[fadedrainbowbookshelves]

Now what in the world is wrong with this umbrella?

[cinnaminsvga]

A Boy Like You | Yoongi

→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.

{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer in that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff → warnings: an overabundance of shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to squish his cheeks; kinda ooc but it is what it is → words: 11.5K → a/n: whaddup kids it’s ya girl... back from the dead after months of not writing shit, and what’s this owo... it’s a fluff fic?? miracles do happen... anyway i wrote this bc i just thot “man, wouldn’t it be super epic if i wrote a super self-indulgent fic where yoongi fulfills every single one of my deepest desires?” well... here is THIS!! pls feel free to scream into a pillow bc i certainly did!! enjoy!!

There is a boy you know who likes to show his kindness quietly. It would go something like this:

The air is thick with static; your hair stands up on end: a warning. The scent of raindrops hitting hot pavement graces your nostrils as a waterfall drops from the sky. You see the sea of heads begin to disappear under a canopy of multi-colored umbrellas. You, the lone ranger, rush back into the building from whence you came, dragging puddles and annoyance with you.

You should have anticipated it, should have thought to check the weather app before scrolling through dull social media posts when you left your house that morning. Instead, your fingers are left cold and umbrella-less.

You tilt your head upwards, watching as gallon upon gallon fell from the sky in an endless cycle. The watch on your wrist reads 5 PM, but the sky says it is 9 PM. The dark, swirling mass of clouds above you will continue on its thunderous parade, pausing for no one, especially not for you.

Your work bag is practically weightless, devoid of anything that might protect you from the onslaught of rain. The only thing inside is a small wallet that holds nothing more than dust and a loose promise of a paycheck. There is no way you can call a taxi like this, and the nearest bus stop is at least two blocks away. You are starting to think that your childhood dreams of becoming a mermaid hadn’t been so ridiculous after all.

Then comes the hand of God. It touches your shoulder gently, hesitantly. You turn around to face a stranger, a boy with shaggy black hair and pale moonlight skin. It is not God, but he comes close.

In his other hand is your salvation wrapped in Kumamon print nylon. It is proffered to you with a silent nod, his gaze fixed somewhere behind you as he waits for you to take it. The tips of his ears begin to redden the longer it takes for you to respond. Eventually, your brain connects with your muscles as you robotically pluck the umbrella from his grasp, a stuttered “thanks” leaving your lips.

He nods stiffly once more, removing his palm from your shoulder as though he had been burned. He shuffles for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the words to say. You wait, patience never waning for the strange boy that you have come to know as your salvation.

He doesn’t find the words after all. You aren’t too offended by his silence, but he appears to be mortified. And so, he leaves just as quickly as he had appeared, like a whirlwind dressed in an oversized blazer flapping behind him like wings. He runs through the rain without another thought, an arm raised above his head in a futile attempt to avoid getting wet.

You try calling out to him, wanting to thank him once more and maybe to ask how you can return his umbrella, but he is long gone. A speck of black dashing through the gray.

You clutch the umbrella closer to you, a feeling of something new growing inside of you. It is too small to call anything, but it is warm.

x x x x x

Umbrella boy has a name, and he happens to work on the same floor as you. You know this because he is standing right in front of you in all his bespectacled glory.

He ducks out of view the moment your eyes meet his. There is a stack of folders in his arms, and he bows his head until his nose touches manila. It’s too late––he knows you caught him staring. He scurries behind walls of filing cabinets and desk cubicles, desperate to get back to his desk where he hopes you’ll never find him.

The office floor is large, but it is not large enough to hide in. It takes only a few minutes until you find him hunched over his desk, every inch of space taken by enough towers of paper to cover a forest. It is no wonder that you never encountered your mysterious umbrella boy; he does a wonderful job of blending in.

Your eyes trail his form, not out of any perverse intent, but just out of curiosity. You never would have guessed from his unassuming and meek nature, but the boy is devastatingly beautiful. The devil is in the details: you admire the soft slope of his nose to the adorable pout of his lips. His eyelids are charmingly mismatched and his cheeks are begging to be pinched. It takes a year’s worth of self-restraint to keep your hands at your sides, if only so you don’t scare him away before you can even introduce yourself.

(You can already imagine your HR department contacting you about nonconsensual manhandling… You admit that you tend to get overzealous with your affection, especially when confronted with cute things. This boy would definitely need to watch out for you if he knows what’s best for him.)

((Also note to self: Stop having these psychopathic conversations with yourself. Being stuck inside the cage which is your brain is torture enough, so let’s not encourage it to get worse.))

There is a lanyard laced around his neck, the gaudy orange color of your company’s logo emblazoned across the thin material. And just out of your line of sight, you catch a glimpse of his ID. His name is––

“Y-Y/N?” He stutters out–no–he squeaks. Ah, so he’s noticed you. The folder in his hand slips out of his grasp, an avalanche of white tumbling all over his lap. He curses loudly, frantically sweeping away the mess under his desk, as if he could somehow magically make them disappear if he just kicked them hard enough. Unfortunately, the papers stay stubbornly tangible, and he is left with a halo of accounting reports around his workspace as a result.

“Are you… umm…” You hesitate with your words, fearing that any sudden movement on your part might cause umbrella boy to combust on the spot. “Do you need help… picking those up?”

“I–Well, no–Yes, but–” His sentences are stilted, his brain struggling to catch up with his tongue. He clamps his mouth shut, then shakes his head like he’s trying to reboot himself. Finally, after a few more deep breaths, he goes, “No. I’m fine. Thank you for offering.” He says that, but he appears awfully content with staring holes into the keyboard of his laptop when he is speaking to you though.

“Still… I’m terribly sorry for startling you,” you say, lips tugging downwards into a frown. You should have guessed he was skittish from how he had acted yesterday, but it’s quite a surprise to see one man so… disastrous, for lack of a better term. It’s awfully cute. “I just wanted to properly introduce myself and thank you for lending me your umbrella yesterday, but it seems like you already knew who I was.”

His face does a weird thing then and there. It almost appears like he was caught in a time loop, like someone was manually reversing and replaying his facial expressions like a video. It takes a few minutes for his little stroke to settle down, but even then, his cheeks remain a rosy pink. “I–I just… remembered your name during the company retreat the other month. I’m not weird or anything, I swear!”

“Well luckily, I was never going to accuse you of being weird anyway!” You laugh, trying to ease the perpetual look of anxiety on his face. However, it only seems to worsen his nerves with how quickly his skin starts to redden. “In fact, I should be apologizing for not remembering your name, Mister..?”

“Min Yoongi,” he replies, pausing for a second too long. He must have realized his delay because he coughs awkwardly into his forearm, averting his gaze away from you in a futile attempt to become nothing more than an abstract thought.

He must be equipped with some sort of superpower, because you’re starting to feel his secondhand embarrassment flood through you like a tsunami. Are you that difficult to converse with? Does he want to be left alone so badly that he’s trying to subtlely tell you to fuck off?

You’re about to start apologizing and scurry off back to your desk in barely concealed mortification when Yoongi clears his throat, his gaze fixed somewhere to your right. Whatever caught his attention must have been revolutionary with how large his eyes are, although last you remember is that the wall behind you is the same dull jailcell gray that you have come to know and hate.

“I just… I’m sorry if I’m acting odd right now. I just wasn’t expecting you to come to my cubicle and I would’ve… I don’t know, tidied up? If I knew you were coming,” he mutters, propping his glasses back up when they start sliding down his nose. They make their slow descent back down immediately after, forever on an endless cycle of up and down his face.

“You don’t have to clean up just for me! I’m not your manager or anything,” you say, surveying the absolute disaster zone that is his workspace. For his benefit, you sure hope that he has a map of his desk and filing cabinets, as it would have been a miracle otherwise if he memorized where anything was located in his personal office sty. “Though, it would be nice if you could see the bottom of your desk every once in a while.”

To your immense surprise, Yoongi lets out a resounding laugh at your quip. Though Yoongi isn’t a mute by any means, it isn’t like he spoke with much volume either. You hadn’t even thought your joke was funny enough to deserve a strained Caucasian™️ smile, so you appreciate that he had considered that you were even slightly funny. You love the pleasant tinkling of his laughter, so genuinely joyous that you can’t help but want to make a fool of yourself just so you can hear it again and again.

When Yoongi stops, the familiar reddish hue that has made a home on his cheeks resurfaces, though it’s less from embarrassment now. His shoulders are more relaxed, and he doesn’t look like he wants to crawl out of his skin as much. He still has eyes averted away from you, however. “Sorry. I don’t know why I laughed too hard at that. I’m normally not this weird… I think it’s just the nerves.”

You cock your head to the side. “Nerves? From what?”

Yoongi freezes, mouth gaping open slightly. “I, umm…” He coughs into his white button-up sleeve, pupils shaking as he formulates a response. “Just from… work. Yeah, I just have a lot of paperwork to do this week and I’ve been, er, having difficulty relaxing.”

Yoongi visibly breathes a sigh of relief when you accept his flimsy excuse, not really lingering on the validity of his statement. “Oh, sure! Don’t overwork yourself too much, okay?” you say, smiling sweetly back at him. He stares, wide-eyed, not really sure how to go on with his life after he’d been blasted by the full force of your grin.

God, you hope you remembered to use a toothpick during lunch. Was there spinach in your teeth? Oh fuck.

“Gah,” he intones, his brain not fully cooperating with his mouth just yet. If you were any more socially inept, you’d probably be doing the same. Eventually, he clears his throat and tries again. “Uh. Yes. I’ll try to do better next time.”

Feeling like you’ve overstayed your visit, you decide that it might be best for you to leave him be before either of you do or say anything more awkward and stupid. Before you turn to leave however, you decide to extend your hand forward, hoping to erase all the previous awkwardness between the both of you and hopefully start afresh. Even though you’ve only just met, you can’t help but feel drawn to him, wanting to see him again and somehow gain his friendship. “Hey, no sweat. It was really nice meeting you, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Just Yoongi is fine,” he says, almost like an afterthought. He’s so busy staring at your proffered hand that you are afraid that you might have offended him unknowingly or something. Does he think you don’t wash your hands? Given by the fact that your office’s manager refuses to restock the soap dispensers at the washrooms, that isn’t that much of a stretch. Or maybe he was weirded out by your random handshake? Have handshakes become antiquated these days? Are the kids no longer doing it? Are you supposed to do those awful brohugs like the fresh-out-of-college interns do in the breakroom? Oh God, does Yoongi think you’re old?!

While you were in the midst of your mental breakdown, you soon begin to realize why Yoongi had contemplated returning your handshake for so long. Instead of taking your hand immediately, Yoongi rubs his own two palms together first, much like how one would when warming their hands in front of a fire. He takes care to blow on them slightly before grasping your hand firmly in his, finally bestowing you with your much awaited handshake.

“Umm..?” You stare at your intertwined hands, a little confused about the previous series of events that just happened five seconds ago. Yoongi, in all his adorable and flustered glory, releases your hand much too quickly like he’s been shocked, most likely realizing (belatedly) that what he had done might not be as clear to an observer as it is to himself.

“Oh, I – I’m so sorry about that, again.” Yoongi stutters, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s just – my hands are really cold so I was trying to warm them up before I held your hands. I’m – I only just realized how odd that must have looked. Sorry.”

A rush of endearment and warmth surges through you as you behold this high strung boy, your heart flooded with a mix of emotions that make you feel gooey and blissful in one perfect package. No, this boy is the perfect package, all soft edges and blushy cheeks. It’s going to take a mountain and a room of vengeful deities to stop you from walking past his desk to catch a glimpse of him at this rate.

Oh God, you’re whipped already and it’s only been a few minutes since you said hello. He warmed his hand for you for heaven’s sake! Surely your enthusiasm can be excused in this one instance.

“That’s, uhh…” Now it seems that it is your turn to be at a loss of words, your throat clogged with a clump of newly discovered feelings that you don’t have enough time to sort through at the moment. The hamster running circles inside your brain has long since ground to a halt, and if Yoongi is going to keep staring at you with those charming cat eyes for any longer, you aren’t sure you’ll be able to convince the little vermin inside your skull to puppet your body again. “That’s… really sweet. Thank you.”

Thank you? Really, Y/N?

“It’s, uh, no problem. Really.” And with that, Yoongi presents to you his most deadly smile to date: blinding whites coupled his prominent pink gums, with his cheeks stretched like proofed dough that make his dark eyes disappear. Is there a pencil wedged inside your chest cavity, or were you just spontaneously having a heart attack? It’s hard to say; all you know is that your organs have turned to slush, and you make a mental note to send the imminent hospital bill to a certain Min Yoongi.

Cause of hemorrhage: being too fucking cute.

With your daily dose of embarrassment fulfilled, you turn to leave with short stilted steps, as if you have to force yourself away from him like those stubborn souvenir shop magnets that never come off the fridge. “I guess I’ll see you around?” you say more like a question, unsure if he’ll even want to ever see you after that disaster of an interaction. Kim Namjoon from Accounting would be entirely too delighted if he ever found out that he wasn’t the most awkward human being in the office.

“Sure? I’ll just be here. As always,” Yoongi replies kindly, same gummy grin on his face, albeit a little more hesitant. “It was nice speaking to you, Y/N.”

When he returns his attention to his workspace, it serves as a signal to you that you really should be going. Before you leave, you take note of the subtle red tint of his ears that reaches the back of his neck, the gentle tremor of his hands as he reorganizes the files that he had previously dropped. It makes you feel odd for relishing in the fact that you hadn’t been the only one feeling the tension between the two of you, though that doesn’t help lessen the confusion that soon follows anyway.

Why are you so drawn to him? You have never felt so strongly for someone this quickly, and frankly it sort of frightened you. You’re too afraid to confront that blossoming curiosity inside of you. No, it’s much too soon for that. For now, however…

“Oh shit. I totally forgot to give him back his umbrella,” you curse yourself once you return to your desk. The smiling face of Kumamon looks at you knowingly, as if this had been planned all along.

Well. Now you have an excuse to see him again tomorrow, at least.

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his tenderness quietly. It would go something like this:

Company dinners shouldn’t feel like as much as a punishment as it does, but that’s just how social gatherings with semi-professional coworkers are like. No one here really wants to be there, but the carefully worded e-mail sent to the entire company clearly suggests that this was more of a “go to the party or risk getting fired” type of deal than anything remotely enjoyable. As much as free food and booze are often harbingers of a good time, it hardly makes any difference when your inebriated boss spends the entire time chatting you up in front of the presence of a dozen or so indifferent associates.

“Oh, Y/N! Good job securing that deal with Mister Park the other day. It’s all thanks to my valuable tutelage, is it not?” your manager guffaws, slapping your back with misplaced camaraderie. He leaves his warm, sweaty palm there, feeling it slide an inch lower than you were comfortable with anyone being. The smell of cheap wine on his breath is making you feel nauseous, and the tacky black and white tiled flooring isn’t doing anything to lessen the incoming migraine.

“Right,” you say with a tight-lipped smile, unable to say anything else lest you lose your job over something silly like establishing boundaries. It’s no wonder that the number of female employees on your floor has significantly dropped over the years, especially with rumors attaching themselves like maggots all over your stupid manager’s name. You wouldn’t be surprised if his stomach exploded ala Alien (1979) style with how much bullshit resides in his body and soul.

You’ve long since given up on anyone saving you, not when everyone was either too busy taking advantage of the free food or too scared to confront your shitty boss. You resign to your fate, ready to scrub yourself clean with a brick once you get home in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the feeling of his hands on you.

That is, until someone clears their throat from behind you.

Salvation comes to you wrapped in a crisp white button-up, thick-rimmed glasses, and cat-like eyes. You almost want to start breaking into Gregorian chant just then to fully express your gratitude to the deities of above for sending an angel in your time of tribulation.

“Excuse me,” the (welcome) intruder says, voice quiet but clear even amidst the cacophonous music and chatter. Min Yoongi steps forward until he is to your right, and you don’t miss the way his shoulder “accidentally” bumps your manager hard enough for him to drop his hand from your back. When Yoongi smiles at your manager, it is all teeth and no mirth, his eyes carefully blank.

Thankfully, your manager isn’t quite as fortunate in his brains department as he is in his stomach. “Oh, Yoongi! It is so nice to finally see you attend one of our social functions. You are enjoying yourself, I hope?” your manager asks, guffawing loudly despite no joke being said. You never did quite understand how some men think they are the most hilarious thing to ever exist since clowns, though you suppose your manager was only missing the red nose to complete the look.

“Thrilled, Mister Lee. Absolutely thrilled,” Yoongi says in a dead monotone voice. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, and Yoongi points a wicked grin back at you before returning to his neutral and passive “work” face.

The sarcasm flies over your managers head like you expected, though you can hardly blame the alcohol for his lack of cognizance. You wouldn’t be half surprised if you knocked lightly on his head, only to hear a resounding echo following thereafter.

“I have never seen you at any of our parties before, Yoongi. What’s with the sudden change of heart?” your manager asks.

“Sir, I’ve attended every single social gathering since I was hired,” Yoongi says plainly, his composure never faltering. He must have better control than you, because you’re sure you would’ve barely held yourself back from smacking your manager had it been you. Though in fairness, you aren’t sure if you’ve ever noticed Yoongi at any of the other parties before this one either.

“Oh really? Well then, you mustn’t have said hello before then!” your manager laughs, patting Yoongi on the shoulder. “Always so enigmatic, our dear Yoongi! Well, keep up the good work.” When your manager turns his attention to speak to another one of your poor coworkers, Yoongi visibly gags from behind your manager’s back, grimacing as he pats away all traces of that foul man’s hand germs away from his dress shirt.

“Gross. Now my sleeve is damp,” he mutters, just audible enough so that only you could hear. You laugh out loud at that, nodding in understanding.

“Same here. There’s probably a gross sweaty handprint on my back now,” you say, wincing when you do feel a noticeable damp spot near the small of your back. “Ugh, what a pig.”

“Tell me about it,” Yoongi shakes his head, making a move to get away from your awful manager. He gestures for you to follow him, and you are more than happy to oblige.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way,” you add, keeping in step with him. He leads you out of the disorienting ballroom, though he doesn’t head towards the exit like you had expected. He appears to know the building much more than you do, given by how assuredly he walks. Either that, or he could be leading you to a deadend, but confidently.

“No problem. You honestly looked like you were about to punt him across the room, though I doubt anyone would be opposed to that magnificent spectacle,” Yoongi jokes, same mischievous grin from before decorating his face. He is so different from the taciturn man you had met two weeks ago, back when he had half-hidden behind his desk like an animal being cornered. Though, that might not be the best analogy to think of, as it only painted you as some sort of predator who came after meek and soft-looking men. Which you aren’t. Hopefully.

“Oh, I would’ve done more than just that, so really he should be thanking you for saving him,” you snort, and Yoongi chuckles lightly in response. Like before, his laughter is just as pleasant as you remember. Your greedy heart yearns to elicit the same sound from him once more, for as many times as you can muster before the night ends.

You had been so immersed in trying to keep up with his quick strides that you don’t notice where exactly he has taken you. The two of you haven’t gone too far away from the ballroom before he stops right in front of a metal double door, the neon green exit sign about it glowing conspicuously in the otherwise dimly lit corridor. He pushes it open, allowing the cool evening air to blow across you and your hand-me-down dress.

“Are we… at the balcony?” you ask, though the view that greets you is answer enough. How Yoongi could have known where the balcony is, you can’t say for certain. But any sort of question dies on your lips when you see how beautiful the skyline is: the stars and city lights twinkling indiscriminately, the sound of nightlife and traffic sounding loud despite the streets being so far away, the smell of ozone signalling an oncoming storm.

This, of course, is what you imagine the view to be like. You know, if the ever reliable Seoul smog wasn’t there to obstruct any sort of magical, romantic view that you should have been privy to.

“Oh damn. I forgot the smog forecast today was especially bad,” Yoongi groans from beside you, quickly shuffling through his pant pockets for a face mask. He procurs two black masks, still in their plastic packaging, and hands one of them to you. “Jesus. Sorry about this. Didn’t expect the smog to be so bad… We can just go back inside, if you want?”

Then, you are reminded of your manager, who is basically pollution incarnate with how terrible his breath is. So, you accept Yoongi’s proffered mask and promptly put it on. “Yeah, no thanks,” you say, voice muffled slightly by the fabric. The implication of your acceptance makes Yoongi grin cheekily back at you (or so you think, guessing by how his eyes crinkle cutely above his mask.)

Now properly equipped to not inhale disgusting air matter into your lungs, you step out farther across the balcony, enjoying the way the cool night breeze feels against your alcohol flushed face. (Though, if you were being honest, the heat on your cheeks has less to do with the meager flute of champagne you had earlier and more to do with the company you currently find yourself with.)

“I fucking hate these company dinners,” you whine a little bit too petulantly, complete with the jutted lip of a child who has been forced to wait as her mother engages in an eternity long conversation with an acquaintance. You lean against the railings near the edge of the building, watching idly as Yoongi does the same. “Don’t you think that if they wanted us to get ‘closer’ with one another, they’d first want to address the fact that some of our coworkers happen to be pigs dressed in white collared shirts?”

Yoongi snorts at that, his right hand immediately coming up to his mouth to silence the unflattering sound. Not that it wasn’t completely charming to you, but you do enjoy the slight abashment that blooms across his face shortly thereafter. “Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh like that. But, I do agree with you… I can’t say that anyone in our department is especially fond of that Habsburg motherfucker.”

Maybe it was the little bit of alcohol in your system, or perhaps it was the sudden rush of realizing that Yoongi is strangely attractive when he swears, but the laugh that exits your mouth sounds a touch too crazed for your liking. Either that, or perhaps you’re finally dying from the pollution.

Luckily for the both of you, it seems that Yoongi likes your weird laugh just as much as you like his. He tries to hide a smile before continuing, “Like, come on! I’m sorry for saying that because attacks on physical appearance is always a low blow, but why the fuck does that dude look like he’s been compressed and flattened on Photoshop? He’s got perpetual flat-face syndrome. You could -  you could land a damn plane on his face or some shit.”

The cork inside of your bursts, and you let out the most ungodly guffaw in your life. You don’t even have the time to be embarrassed by how loud your howls are, not when every word he says hits the mark a little bit too close to home. There’s nothing quite as pleasing than sharing mutual dislike for the same person, and it fills you with the utmost glee that Yoongi is no exception to that rule.

“Oh god… You’re right. You are absolutely right. I seriously can’t believe anyone can put up with him. I mean, the damned bastard couldn’t even remember my name until two weeks ago,” you say, shaking your head in disgust. The first few times he had forgotten, you had been gracious enough to laugh away his mistakes as little more than that: mistakes. But when five years pass and peanuts-for-a-brain still hasn’t deemed that remembering your name to be as important as when the “next big Game™” is, then it’s easy to understand the depth of your resentment towards your manager.

“Are you for real?” Yoongi asks, brows raised in shock. “How could anyone ever forget you – I mean, shit, uh,” Yoongi coughs suddenly, red-faced. You tilt your head in confusion, waiting for him to finish. He’s still kind of spluttering when he continues, “What I meant to say is… H-how could anyone forget their employees name after working here for so long?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I have no idea. Honestly, I think he’s trying to purposefully forget everything I tell him. One time, he had asked me what plans I had for Christmas, and I mentioned to him how I was going to be visiting my parents back home, and he has the gall to ask what country I’m from. Like???” Your face contorts as if you had eaten an entire lemon, so wracked with disbelief that Yoongi can see the hypothetical question marks floating above your head. “Bitch, do I look foreign to that bastard? I’ve lived here all my life!”

Yoongi hums, thoughtful. “Your parents live just an hour away from here, right?”

“I… Yeah, they do,” you reply. You eye Yoongi curiously, watching his all-too familiar flush resurfacing on his neck once more. “Wait… How do you know that?”

“You… You were talking about them, once. To Seulgi? Yea, you were, um…” Yoongi coughs unassuredly, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his, you suppose. “It was a year ago? Something about visiting them during the weekend… Not that I was eavesdropping on purpose! I would never, er, do that…”

You don’t even register his embarrassment as you are mostly shell shocked that he had even remembered that little tidbit from over a year ago. Hell, you didn’t even remember going to your parent’s house until he mentioned it. “No it’s fine, I get it. I’m just surprised that you even bothered to remember that.”

Now it’s his turn to look at you strangely. “Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”

You stare at him in disbelief. Fluttering of wings begin to erupt in your stomach, but you hardly have the peace of mind to fully grasp why you were even feeling so flustered in the first place. It was just that he had said it so… matter-of-fact, like there was no possible way he could’ve forgotten even if he tried. It was kind of disconcerting, but flattering all the same. But more importantly--

“Wait, you’ve been working at the company since last year? How have I never seen you before this month?!”

“Oh,” Yoongi coughs out a laugh, scratching the end of his nose. He turns his gaze away, looking anywhere but you. “I was just, umm… Really quiet? I don’t really talk to anyone unless I need to. I’m more of a listener.”

“Oh my God, now I feel even more terrible for not knowing your name! I must look like an egotistic bitch to you,” you despair lowly, cupping your face into your hands in shame. You feel another pair of cold hands clasp your wrists, and you watch in shock as he pulls your palms away with a determined expression.

“What? Of course not. You are definitely not an egotistic bitch, Y/N. In fact, you’re the complete opposite,” Yoongi whispers, so quiet that you might have imagined it. He grasps your hands tightly, like he’s desperate for you to believe him.

You stammer in embarrassment, staring wide-eyed at Yoongi as you try to regrasp your comprehension skills. It’s especially hard to concentrate with how close Yoongi is to you, the latter unaware of his own proximity. He had stepped closer towards you to hold your hand, and normally you hated it when people touched you without permission, but somehow… This was alright.

(Unbeknownst to you, this will not be the first time that Yoongi becomes your secret little exception. It’s only the first of many.)

“I-I don’t really know what to say?” Your gaze is locked on his firm grip on your hands, the only thing flitting through your mind: damn, this dude’s hands really are fucking freezing!

It takes another few seconds for Yoongi to calm down, and you know when it happens because the realization of what he had said makes itself apparent on his expression. He turns beet red in a second, stepping away from you with his arms flying off of you like those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, taking two steps away from you. You almost take two steps forward to keep the distance closer, but you have a feeling that he would keep walking away from you until you both inevitably fall off the balcony, so you smartly choose to stay away (even if it pains you to do so). You wait for his breathing to settle, all the while still reeling from his blatant confession just moments ago.

Could you even consider it a confession? Were you being delulu, or is there some sort of connection that you and Yoongi were both feeling?

“Yoongi, it’s fine! Really,” you smile wryly, raising your hands towards him open-faced, much like how you would do when approaching an agitated animal. Like a nervous kitty, you think privately to yourself. “I’m really flattered that you feel so… strongly?”

“I’m… I’m really not like this normally. Honest,” Yoongi says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… I never… do that. Whatever that was. Umm.”

Because you’re a freak of nature and enjoy exacerbating awkward social interactions, you decide to respond to him like this: “No worries, I’m flattered, honest! But hey, maybe next time you try to give me a compliment, you could look me in the eye?” You know, like an asshole. Who points out people’s social anxieties like that? You bitch!

On cue, Yoongi’s cheeks bloom into cherry blossoms once more. “I––I, I didn’t mean to––uh!” he stammers.

“No, no, I’m sorry for even saying that!” You apologize profusely, bowing so low that he could probably see the top of your spine. “I didn’t mean to tease you like that! I’m sorry! That was seriously out of line!”

What a pair the two of you were… Like two trains crashing into each other at mach speed, continuously and eternally. A constant and ongoing catastrophe!

(The little gremlin living inside your brain is knocking at your empty skull, whispering deviously, “But doesn’t that make the two of you the perfect pair?”)

When he doesn’t respond back immediately, you have to wrack up enough courage to look back at him. You gasp audibly when you do, and you have to forcibly grip the insides of your bicep to keep yourself from squealing in pure anguish.

Because there, right before your very eyes, is a blushing Min Yoongi looking you straight in the eye with his face squished between his hands, as if he’s forcibly keeping his head locked in place. His pupils are noticeably shaking and his brows are furrowed in concentration, but he’s looking at you. Like you asked.

He’s… He’s too…

“Okay, let me try this again.” Yoongi takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what may be the most embarrassing thing he has ever done in his life. “Y… You’re a great person, Y/N. I hope you know that,” he whispers, voice trailing off by the end of his sentence.

He’s dry heaving like he’s just finished a marathon, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. You’re worried if he even remembers how to blink with how intensely he’s staring you down, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him when your heart is quite literally beating out of your chest like a cartoon character from the 80’s.

“I…” You’re at a loss of words. If Min Yoongi can capture you like this with just a look, then think of how much more powerful he would be if he just learned how to use it. You’re slipping into real dangerous waters, and you don’t know if you’re just a frog in boiling water or if this is where you were meant to be all along.

“Yoongi, I didn’t mean for you to… force yourself like that, really…”

The moment breaks, finally, when Yoongi begins to cry.

“Shit!” you both exclaim, but for two different reasons. “Are you okay? Oh my god!” you reach out for him, not even thinking when you cup his cheeks in your hands. He gently pushes you away with one hand, while the other goes to scrub at his tears.

“Yes, I’m fine! A piece of dust got caught in my eye and I was too slow to blink it away,” he explains, still wiping at his cheeks. He pulls his mask down to his chin, pouting cutely at you. “Sorry. I’m not used to looking people in the eye yet. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Oh my god. At this point, you’d be surprised if your heart was located anywhere near your body. You were running purely on autopilot, so enamored by the boy in front of you that you could almost faint. He was entirely too unreal, unbelievably so. Perhaps, if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to find your heart again, and you know the first place where you’d look.

“Give it back,” you mumble, and Yoongi tilts his head at you in confusion.

“Sorry? Did you say something?”

“Nothing,” you reply, reaching over him and snapping his mask back on his face. You laugh as he splutters in surprise, floundering about overdramatically as if the elastic on the mask had done any damage to him at all. “Oh, stop it. You’re just being silly now.”

“Hey, I have delicate skin! You never know,” he jokes, but stops when you give him an unimpressed look.

“Sorry,” he laughs again. “And well, since I keep saying sorry today, and you look like you could use a little warming up, do you wanna leave this place and get some coffee? My treat.”

And really, who were you to say no to that?

And really, who were you to say no to Min Yoongi?

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his thoughtfulness quietly. It would go something like this:

A steaming hot coffee cup from the nearby cafe manifests itself on your desk one Monday morning. In your sleep-deprived haze, you had originally failed to realize that there was a hand connected to that cup and that it hadn’t actually just materialized from thin air like you had thought. After much blinking and staring, you crane your head up to see Jesus standing in front of you, his glasses still fogged from the outside chill.

“I got you a drink. I hope I remembered your order right,” Yoongi says in lieu of a greeting, a small smile gracing his lips as he watches you lethargically reach over for the cup to lift the lid open. His grin widens when he sees your eyes light up at the sight of little marshmallows bobbing up and down in your hot chocolate, bits of whipped cream already melting away from the heat. When you take a sip, you breathe a content sigh, your eyelids fluttering shut.

“Yoongi, I’m going to kiss your feet right now and you can’t stop me,” you say, upper lip lined with cream and sugar. Yoongi’s hand twitches by his side, but he doesn’t move.

“Even if I have toe fungus?”

“Especially if you have toe fungus,” you say, downing as much hot chocolate down your throat without choking and barfing all over him.

From the rim of your cup, you can see that Yoongi still has his parka on, his signature black mask pulled down his chin indicating that he’s only just arrived at the office. It makes your heart jump a little, knowing that he went straight to you first before anyone else that day.

“I still don’t understand how you hate coffee. Like, I don’t think I’d be able to be conversing with you right now if I didn’t have caffeine running through my veins,” he says, staring at you(r lips) as you chew a marshmallow thoughtfully.

You want to tell him that Yoongi doesn’t talk a lot anyway in the first place, though you have begun to notice that he’s becoming more talkative the more you hang out with him. However, you aren’t quite sure if you’re imagining it, but it seems like Yoongi’s change in personality doesn’t really apply when he’s with anyone else. On the days where you’d pass by his cubicle on the way to the water coolers, he’d still have his usual stoic expression on his face as he goes through his paperwork with the grace of a robot. When he’s with you, however…

“Says the guy who’s started drinking frappes after I suggested them to you. Don’t lie to me, Min Yoongi.” You’re giggling softly, and you can tell Yoongi’s seams are already breaking. Pink gums and straight teeth are seconds away from peaking through. You wink cheekily at him.  “You’re just as sweet as your personality is.”

“Stop, that’s so embarrassing!” he exclaims, hiding behind his hands. He’s already smiling. “I’m not as sweet as you think! I’m a mean guy!”

“Yoongi, you literally just bought me hot chocolate with marshmallows because you remembered what I like. I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body,” you retort, rolling your eyes at the prominent pout on his face.

“Not true! I stole an extra coupon booklet when I was at the grocery store the other day.”

“Ooooh, I do love a bad boy,” you say, but the two of you are already laughing hysterically. “Seriously, thanks. I really needed this today.”

“Dang, bad morning already?” he winces, having noticed the purple moons under your eyes when he had approached you. He didn’t want to mention it without you bringing it up first, but he had been worried about you since last Friday when you had left the workplace with a slammed door.

“Try bad weekend. Mr. Lee has been pushing my buttons for months now, but I seriously didn’t think he thought it was a challenge. He’s been giving me shitty filing jobs to complete like I’m some overworked intern!”

Yoongi cocks his head, confused. “Aren’t you, like… In the advertising department? Why would he make you file things?”

“Exactly!” You’re all but roaring now, but Yoongi can’t help smirking at the stray dollop of whipped cream that had somehow found its way on your nose. He pulls his sleeve over his wrist, swiping it away with the fabric as nonchalantly as possible (which is to say, he’s as red as a spanked ass when he does it.)

You don’t even notice his actions, still deep in the abyss of your rage. “And also! My shitty phone ran out of storage space the other day so I’ve had to delete all the songs on my library and I can’t find any good playlists on Spotify to help me dissociate on the train!”

“Wow, that’s a mood,” Yoongi says, chuckling. He clears his throat, an idea popping into his head. He turns bashful all of a sudden, gaze diverting upwards as he musters the courage to say, “I-I mean, I think I can help you with that last problem, if you want…”

You stop huffing and puffing long enough to appear intrigued. “Oh? Are you gonna send me a playlist?”

Yoongi splutters. “I mean! If you want it, I do have some songs that I like listening to.”

Yoongi squeaks when you smile at that, radiant and all-encompassing. He wonders how he’s not dead right now.

“Oh god, that would be great actually! Text me the link, would you?” you say, already making grabby hands for his phone. “Here, lemme put my phone number in your phone.”

Yoongi almost drops his phone as he takes it out of his pocket, staring in awe as he watches you type in your number into his phone. He has to keep himself from outright howling when he sees you place a sunflower emoji beside your name. How fitting, he thinks to himself.

When you return the phone back to him, he immediately texts you the link to his playlist. You have to keep yourself from screaming to the heavens when you see the very Yoongi-esque title, “Songs for the Sleepless,” complete with the grainy-noir-film-type playlist art to complete the look. It was just so… personal, so Yoongi, and it’s making you clench organs that you didn’t know were clenchable.

You whistle at the sheer number of songs on the playlist, with the first song being—“Didn’t peg you as a Lana Del Rey fan,” you pipe up, scrolling through his playlist with acute interest. “Kendrick Lamar and Epik High, I understand. But Lana?”

To his credit, the playlist did seem like it had a narrative of sorts, despite the eclectic range of artists and genres. You only recognize maybe ten of the songs from his five hundred song playlist, and you’re very curious to see what type of songs he connects to.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he shrugs his shoulders, though a little bit embarrassed. “Lana Del Rey could sing my obituary and I’d jump out of my grave in an instant.”

“Bit morbid but okay,” you laugh, finger ready to close your music player app when you catch sight of a song with an artist you didn’t expect to see. You reach over to tug on his sleeve, your sly smile already causing Yoongi to break out in hives. “Hey… I didn’t know you shared your name with a singer, unless, of course…”

Yoongi doesn’t even let you finish your sentence when he yelps in surprise, snatching your phone out of your grip as his eyes bug out of his sockets. His ears redden, words tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall as he tries to explain himself despite your raucous giggling.

“I––You weren’t supposed to––I forgot about! That was––I was just––Ugh,” he groans despairingly, smacking himself in the forehead with your phone. You’re still giggling madly, enjoying the spectacle before you as Yoongi’s ears are practically shooting out steam.

“You’re so cute.” It slips out of your mouth with such ease that you almost don’t notice saying it at all; you’re still smiling dreamily at Yoongi as he stares at you in shock, mouth still agape from his earlier rambling. You gasp loudly when your brain cells finally catch up, but by then it’s already too late. Now, the two of you were a matching pair, with your fire engine red ears standing at attention.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that,” you mutter into your hands. You wish the earth would swallow you whole right now.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that,” Yoongi wails beside you, but you don’t notice the small satisfied smile he’s sporting on his reddened face. “Y-You can’t just say things and not expect me to…”

You look up, wondering why he’d suddenly trailed off at the end. “Expect you to what?”

Yoongi, once again, defies the laws of the universe by somehow turning even redder than humanly possible. “N-nothing. Ignore me. Let’s just admit we’re both embarrassing and carry on, can we?”

“Sure,” you agree, nodding enthusiastically. “But, does that mean I can listen to your songs, Mister Min ‘I’m-a-superstar-singer-in-my-spare-time’ Yoongi?”

“I’m not a superstar! I just record songs in my free time, that’s all,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Says the guy who apparently raps as a hobby! Seriously, I can tell I’m gonna love it already.”

His gaze is turned upwards, cheeks puffed up in embarrassment. He looks like he wants to say something else, however, and you wait for him as he tries to gather the courage to say what else is on his mind. “S-say, I was wondering… Since I’m already here and all, do you want to maybe go out wi—”

“Yo! Hyung!”

A deep voice from across the office floor snaps the two of you out of your little bubble in an instant. It doesn’t take a genius to tell who it is, not when there’s only one person in the entire company who would dare wear a sushi-print tie to work at one of the most lucrative companies in the country.

Kim Namjoon hobbles over to your little cubicle space in all his sushi-print tie glory, knocking over a coworker’s potted plant in the process. Between you and Yoongi, you had been more surprised by Namjoon’s sudden exclamation, mostly because you’d never been particularly close with the eccentric man. Yoongi probably can’t say the same since he had briefly mentioned that he and Namjoon go way back, though you’re starting to have some doubts about that due to the dirty glare Yoongi was currently pointing at the sentient noodles-for-legs.

Namjoon waves cheerily at you before cutting to the chase as he envelops Yoongi in a not-too-gentle hug. “Hyung! I’ve been looking for you. You weren’t at your desk this morning so I was wondering where you’d wandered off, but of course I’d find you here at Y/N’s de––”

Yoongi promptly stomps on Namjoon’s feet, causing the younger to yelp out in pain. “Namjoon. I told you I’d talk to you later.” Yoongi smiles sweetly, but you can see the aura of danger radiating off of him in waves. “Emphasis on later.”

Namjoon pouts petulantly, but he doesn’t look all that offended. “I was just gonna remind you to ask Y/N if she wanted to join us for lunch la––OUCH! WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET!”

Yoongi appears unbothered, not even looking back at Namjoon’s shouts of betrayal. All the while, he still has his gaze trained on you, never wavering for one second.

“Please ignore my colleague. He can a bit… Unnecessarily loud,” Yoongi says, accompanied by Namjoon’s splutters of indignation.

“Umm?? I’m right here?? Your actual best friend?? Geez!” Namjoon huffs, looking at the both of you incredulously. You just shrug your shoulders, completely dumbfounded by the last five minutes of human interaction.

“As Namjoon was saying before we were so rudely interrupted… I was going to ask if you wanted to have lunch with me? Namjoon can join too, but only if he behaves,” Yoongi jokes, smirking at Namjoon’s ireful glares.

You giggle quietly at the unlikely pair, amused beyond belief at this new side of Yoongi that you hadn’t been aware of. So this is how he is with his friends… Cocky Yoongi is definitely someone you wouldn’t mind talking to occasionally, you admit.

“Sure, I’d love to. Just let me finish all this filing crap for Mr. Lee, then I’ll head over to your desk at around 12?” If you work at a breakneck pace, then you could probably finish sooner if you didn’t let anything else distract you. “Oh! And I should probably return your umbrella before you leave. I keep forgetting to give it back to you.”

“No worries,” Yoongi says. “You should keep the umbrella. I’ve got a spare anyway.”

Namjoon’s head whips toward Yoongi at that, staring at him skeptically. “Dude. Ain’t that your favorite Kumamon umbrella though? Didn’t you almost murder me that one time I forgot it at the McDonald’s last mo––WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET! I’M GONNA GET FLATFOOT SYNDROME!”

“Not my problem,” Yoongi replies, pinching Namjoon’s nose for good measure. He turns to you, waving goodbye. “See you in a few?”

You stretch your back, psyching yourself up to get back to work. “Right. I’ll text you when I’m done okay? See you at 12-ish!”

The boys make their leave, bickering all the while. You catch wind of a bit of their conversation as they turn the corner, their voices echoing down the hall.

“Hey, I noticed that you were looking Y/N in the eye when you were speaking. Why don’t you ever look me in the eye when we talk!”

Yoongi snorts, flipping him off. “It’s because you’re not as nice to look at. Simple as that.”

In your seat, you smile secretly to yourself, butterflies erupting in your chest. Filled with newly found fervor, you chip away at the pile of work on your desk until it starts to vanish from view.

Before you know it, you’re off to see Yoongi once more.

x x x x x 

There is a boy you know who likes to show his vulnerability quietly. It would go something like this:

x x x x x 

There is a boy you know who likes to show his love quietly. It would go something like this:

Your day begins with a phone call: a warning. Your boss tells you to come into work as soon as possible, not a note of enthusiasm or friendliness in his tone. He ends the call just as abruptly as it had come, the silence following soon after deafening your ears. Your heart races marathons in your chest, and your brain goes to the worst place it can go.

Your hands are sweating gallons upon gallons as you shrug your coat on, fumbling with your keys as you struggle to place them in your pocket. For a brief moment, you think about calling Yoongi for moral support, but think better of it. You don’t want to bother anyone, especially not him.

You, the lone ranger, walk out of your apartment and into the murky urban outdoors, the first pitter-patters of rain making their descent the moment your foot meets the pavement. You don’t have quite the energy to go back inside to grab your umbrella, not when you’re unsure if you’ll be courageous enough to leave your bedroom once more if you did.

You’d always been a coward, a soft-hearted fool. Content with shouldering the consequences of your actions without another word: a sufferer in silence. For the past few weeks, you thought you might have changed. You’d been smiling a lot more, laughing a lot more. Your cheeks were often more red than any other color these days, and it was all thanks to a boy you know.

He was shy, but brave. Quiet, but talkative. Mysterious, but vulnerable.

He made you realize that there was no need to settle for one side of a coin, not when you could have both. The longer you stuck around him, the stronger your desire was to become… more.

You wanted to be open; you wanted to be known. You wanted to be able to ask for what you want, and never feel the crushing sense of guilt that usually came afterwards. You wanted to be unapologetic, wanted to keep your hands open, waiting for good things to come your way. To never cower in the face of a gift being handed to you. You wanted to have all that life has to offer––

(Him. Him. Him.)

But there is something pitiful about being unable to keep your own promises. The embarrassment of returning to the state where you once were, of turning meek at the first sign of adversity. The dreams of a happier life drifts away from you like mist under the morning sun, and the pressing weight of the world once again makes its home on your shoulders.

And so, you do not cry when your boss tells you to pack up your things within the hour.

You do not cry when you cut your finger on the corner of your desk that had never been replaced during your five-year stay at this company.

You do not cry when one of your potted plants smash to the floor when you try to carry too many things at once.

You do not cry when co-workers you’d only barely spoken to come over to your desk with showers of condolences, as if you’d already died.

You do not cry when Kim Namjoon walks over to you, quietly bending down to help you carry your boxes down to the lobby.

And when all is said and done, you most especially do not cry when Min Yoongi runs to you with his lungs burning in his chest, glasses still fogged up from the morning cold outside. His hair is in disarray and his shirt is on backwards, as if he’d jumped out of bed the moment he knew something was wrong. When he skids to a halt right in front of you, the pain etched on his face is as plain as day.

Wordlessly, he takes the last box out of your hands, placing his car keys on top when he can’t hold onto them both. His eyes flit towards your clenched fists for a second, but looks away the moment you notice. Instead, he walks out to the elevator, and you follow soon after.

You do not cry when Min Yoongi helps you load his car with your things. You do not cry when he takes a first-aid kit out of his glovebox and puts a band-aid on your finger. You do not cry when he offers to pass by the local home depot to pick up a new plant when he notices yours is gone. You do not cry when he doesn’t treat you like your life has ended.

(But you feel it. Pricking along your eyes like a dam about to break. He is doing this to you. He’s making you feel again, and it fucking hurts.)

And so, he drives you home.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Yoongi starts after a while, tapping a rhythm away on his steering wheel as he waits for the morning rush traffic to subside. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, worried when you don’t respond. You keep your head pressed against the cool car window, staring blankly at the gray skyline.

“I… I hope you don’t mind if I play you something. Just… Just listen to it, okay?”

You don’t see him, but you hear his fingers switch their tapping to his phone as he unlocks it, searching for the song he wants you to hear. It takes a moment or two for him to find it, soft curses tumbling from his lips as he goes through his Google Drive for the unfinished draft that he hadn’t meant to show you until it was complete, but well––

You were always an exception to him, weren’t you?

The first notes come creeping up from behind you, and it reminds you of the way Yoongi would speak to you. All soft whispers and gummy smiles, like he’s restraining himself. Slowly but surely, the music grows louder, more confident with its sound. You can picture Yoongi standing upright, hand outstretched towards you as he asks you to follow him.

The song is unfamiliar, but there’s something about it that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention. You’re trying to go through your memories, sorting through the hundreds of songs that Yoongi has made you listen to but none of them seem to ring a bell. You’re still trying to figure out if you’d heard this before when the lyrics finally start.

“Lost in the sea of my regrets, you became my polaris.”

Yoongi’s voice comes from the radio speaker, jolting you from your seat. Your spine straightens, and you stare bullets at Yoongi’s phone as the song continues to play. When you look towards him, Yoongi’s face is a statue; the only thing giving away the fact that he was with you at all was the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“The shadows, which had been my haven, no longer feel as good as they once did. You, my light, have changed all of that.”

You gasp, and Yoongi’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. It seems like the two of you stop moving at that moment, neither of you daring to breathe. Even the outside traffic sounds muted compared to the sound of your hearts hammering inside your chests.

“I’ve long since forgotten to pray, but I will remember for you. I only dream of happiness for you, my morning light, my northern star. And I’d give it all up for you.”

Yoongi notices your tears fall before you even do; he’s quick to fluster, scrambling through his car side door for a tissue to hand to you, but he stops the moment he feels your hand fist the elbow of his sleeve. He turns to look at you, all blotchy and tear-stained, but beautiful all the same. And even through your tears, you smile just as radiantly as when he had first seen you.

“Thank you,” you mouth, fingers trembling as you fight to keep more tears from falling, but nothing can stop a dam from breaking. Not when you’re sitting beside the hurricane who broke it in the first place; it was the boy with feelings that never did quite fit in his body the way other people’s did.

Luckily, they fit right in with you.

When the song comes to the end, you’re sniffling up a storm, but you still haven’t let go of him. When you’re only a few minutes away from your apartment, Yoongi parks a little bit far off from your doorstep, so you have to walk the rest of the way home. But you’re still unwilling to let go, not yet.

Gently, Yoongi pries your hand away from his sleeve and you’re about to protest, but the words die on your lips the moment they form when Yoongi rubs his hands along the side of his slacks before placing them in yours. His hands are still cold, but comforting all the same.

“Let me walk you home?” he whispers.

You nod. Of course, you want to say. But he knows what you mean, anyway.

When he goes to unpack your things from the trunk, you shake your head, stopping him from moving any further. “I… I don’t feel like sorting through those things right now. Is it fine with you if I just… Go home for now? Please?” Your brain feels like lead in your skull after all the bottled up tears had finally escaped from years of constant pressure, and you don’t think you’re quite ready to go through all those emotions again. You feel deflated, but better. He always makes you feel better.

Yoongi closes the trunk, locking his car before stretching out his hands for you. You stare at the proffered hand for a moment.

“Oh, right.” Yoongi goes to rub his hands to warm them, but you stop him once more in his ministrations. He looks at you, confused, as you grab his hand from him. You rub circles into his palm, staring at the ground in embarrassment.

“You’re always warming your hands for me… So this time, I’ll warm them for you, okay?”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything in response to that. Instead, he tugs you along towards the sidewalk and keeps you close to him. As he walks with you, you notice the way he leans slightly to the left, like he’s drawn to you––like he can’t help be more than an inch further from you.

You keep glancing back down at your linked hands; he’s shaking, but then again, that could also be you.

You arrive at the gate of your apartment quicker than you would have liked. Neither of you move to separate; when you look back at Yoongi, you see that his eyes are trained on you. He doesn’t even flinch away like he used to. His lips are pursed, like he wants to say something but he’s still too afraid to.

So you say it for him instead.

“Do you have… somewhere to be?” Unlike you, he still has a job. He still has commitments. He still has a life outside of you. You’re hit with fear, once again, at the sudden change in your circumstances.

You might never get to see him again. Is this where your paths cross, never to intersect again? Your stomach drops at the thought, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“No, I don’t. I could…” Yoongi trails off, glancing at your apartment with soft hesitance. “If… If you want me to…”

Yes. Please. I’d love it. I love yo–– ”Yes. Stay with me?” you mumble.

“Always,” he promises.

The pair of you trudge up to your apartment, passing by the prying eyes of housewives with your heads bowed in embarrassment. They don’t miss your pinkies linked behind your backs, nor the subtle blushes on the apples of your cheeks. Thankfully, they don’t comment when Yoongi enters your apartment after you, but they do giggle when his coat gets caught on the door handle in his rush.

When the two of you are finally alone, the air isn’t as awkward as you had feared. You work like two cogs in a machine; he readies your TV and scrolls through your Netflix for a movie, while you go to your kitchen and have a small mental breakdown (while also microwaving some popcorn). Soon, the two of you are snuggled into your small couch, elbows barely brushing against each other.

You’re only half paying attention to the generic action movie that Yoongi had put on; you were still deep in your thoughts. You’re picking away at your hangnail, worrying your lip as you try to enjoy what might be the last time you’ll ever get to hang out with Yoongi again. You’re so deep in your musings that you don’t immediately feel when Yoongi wraps his arms around your shoulder, nestling your head into his chest.

“W… What?” You crane your head and stare at Yoongi in shock, but he’s already returned his attention back to the movie. His cheeks are burning.

You’re still stiff with tension despite his comforting caresses against your hair, so he changes tactics and brings your hand up to his.

You think he’s just going to hold your hand, but he keeps bringing your hand up until it gently caresses his face. Just as you’re about to ask him what he’s doing, he curls your fingers until only your pointer is left unfurled, and casually uses it to poke himself in the cheek.

He leaves it there for a second or two, and when you finally turn to face him, he’s smiling so sweetly at you that you almost feel compelled to cry again. His eyes and nose are all scrunched up, rose petal gums on full display. Your finger is still pressed gently into his soft cheeks.

“You said you liked to dream about poking my bread cheeks. Well, here’s your chance,” he says, like it’s nothing at all. As if what he has done was as simple as breathing.

Yoongi’s smile brightens when he feels your form relax against him, giggling softly when you go to pinch his cheek for good measure.

“Bread cheekies,” you say, like you’re in a trance.

Yoongi nods. “Bread cheekies,” he repeats. “And it’s all yours.”

There’s a promise in there, you know. Somehow, he had sensed your worry and had thought of the perfect way to calm you. Like always, he never has to say it. He’s never needed words, anyway.

The two of you stay like that for hours. The sun sets as surely as the moon rises, and Min Yoongi stays with you through the night. When your mind drifts off and only your steady breathing fills the room, Min Yoongi brushes a small kiss against your forehead.

“Dream of happiness, my love,” he whispers into your skin, just when he thinks you’re asleep, “I’ll dream of you, too.”

It’s a promise that he keeps.

There is a boy you know who never learned how to say he loves you, but it never mattered all that much to you––not when he’s willing to show you over and over again. It goes something like this––

[fuckit-hero-of-trains]

Sit by the fire until... Chapter 2

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870150/chapters/81650737

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you when you get magically transformed into a bunny rabbit against your will by the corrupted darkness of the Sacred Realm: somethings, unfortunately, tend to stick.  

Now, Legend isn’t saying that he’s hiding a cotton tail under his tunic or that his soul secretly aches to frolic in meadows or spend his time sleeping in holes or whatever else it is that rabbits do when they're not busy being very confused and scared twelve year old Hylians.

No.

But that doesn't mean he was left unscathed by having his entire anatomy re-written in less than an instant.

Because of course he wouldn’t. Goddess forbid he ever catch a break for once in his life.

He was still pretty young when it happened, so Legend can’t remember if his teeth had been quite so bucked before the incident. Regardless if they were or not, they sure as Hylia are prominent now. Then there's also the fact that he never really grew into his ears, the damn things always just a shade longer than they should be for a regular Hylian.

Before he joined this wild cucco chase masquerading as an adventure, Legend would sometimes catch himself looking at Ravio wondering, Is that how I would have looked? Besides the hair and eyes, the merchant was supposed to be his mirror image after all. Zelda and Hilda were, so it stood to reason that he and Ravio should be the same.

In which case, the bucktooth thing was going to be a problem regardless.

The ears, on the other hand, are a completely different story. From the quick glances Legend has managed to steal of Ravio’s side profile, the merchant has relatively short ears himself, which just make the Veteran’s own look comically long when the two stand side by side.

And ugh, and that wasn't even touching on his… less physical changes.

 Namely, his cravings.

Noshing on some leafy greens while home alone doing some chores? A-Okay.

Getting caught by Warriors and Twilight absentmindedly chewing on the hay he was supposed to be feeding the horses? Ehhh, not so much.  

Goddesses, his ego still hasn’t recovered from the amount of jokes the Pretty Boy had made at his expense. And that’s not even mentioning the veritable mountain of carrots he found in his bedroll, no doubt courtesy of that flea bitten farmhand.

Regardless of the less than natural way he got these… attributes, Legend couldn’t say they were all bad. ‘Cuz sure, his ears were a bit longer than average, but he could also hear better than most of his companions, able to catch the sound of crunching leaves above even their loud bickering. Like wise, his eyes were sharper than others in the low light of dawn and dusk, allowing him to see things others would miss.

Frankly, both skills had helped keep him alive during his quests. He was thankful for them in a weird huh, guess that works kinda way, but thankful all the same.

But sometimes Legend wanted to wring the goddesses necks because really? Being turned into a rabbit couldn’t have fixed this particular problem?

This particular problem being his absolutely horrible pollen allergies.

“ A-A-A!”

Each rapid, involuntary inhale feels like a simultaneous punch to the gut and a gasp for breath, the air yanked into his body and then stoppered up. It leaves the veteran in a state of limbo as a paralyzing calm falls over him; lungs full of air, shoulders hiked up, muscles tensed.

For a second, everything feels lodged in place, frozen, like the Champion had used his stasis rune on him.

And–

Legend clamps his mouth shut and tucks his face into his elbow just as tension snaps and–

“- acheew! ”

Nothing but a soft, cut off sneeze slips past his lips, yet, the force of holding it back  still sends Legend bowing over. He stays there, hunched over for a breath as his body recovers, before he straightens back up, sniffing irritably as he tries to ignore the itch prickling at his eyes and the congested pressure throbbing behind his sinuses.

A chortling huff sounds next to him and when Legend glances down he can see Wolfie– or should he say, Twilight– peering up at him, mouth open and tongue lolling in a doggy grin, but icy blue eyes too pointed, too teasing, to be anything but human.

Legend's nose twitches tellingly as it begins to tickle again and the wolf gives another stuttering huff. A laugh. Legend can practically hear Twilight’s twangy, Awww. You sneeze like a bunny.

The bastard.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, dog boy,” Legend grumbles, wiping harshly at his face in an attempt to stave off another sneezing fit. “Don't you have trees to piss on or something?”

That earns him peeled back lips and a growl, but Legend just sends the other a responding sneer as strides past the grumpy wolf and out into the rolling field of tulips that stands in front of them.

Another huff, this one more annoyed than amused, sounds behind the veteran before the wolf streaks past him, loping through the flowers with his nose down and tail high.

Legend rolls his eyes.

Twilight loves to show his teeth, but the farmhand is quite literally all bark and no bite.

And besides, they both have better things to do than needle one another. If Legend is going to be miserable, he may as well take steps to make that misery as short as possible.

Afterall, they aren't out here swanning through a meadow of flowers for pleasure.

The last Dark Portal they had all walked through had, once again, separated them. Legend and Twilight were lucky enough to find one another quickly, though, now that Legend thinks about it, it probably had less to do with luck and more to do with Twilight’s nose.

After regrouping, they had tried to search for the others more that day, but a storm had them holed up in a cave overnight to wait out the deluge. They had gotten up early to start their search again today, but so far they had no such luck in finding any of the others in the forest.

Which just left the inexplicable meadow of tulips surrounding the wood.

Legend had been hoping that the rain would keep some of the pollen at bay, but nooo that would be too merciful, wouldn’t it?

If anything, the rain just made this whole experience more aggravating. Now, along with stinging eyes, a running nose, and a throbbing head, Legend also had the delightful honor of feeling the tulip stalks and leaves and petals sliding wetly across his skin, the annoying slap of his tunic smacking his thighs as it got more sodden by the second, and the disgusting squish of water between his toes with every step he took through this Wind Fish damned field.

And sure, maybe it was worth it to reunite with the other heroes, but really, would it kill the goddesses to make his life just a little bit easier.

A bark pulls Legend from his miserable musings. Twilight's dark tail stands out among the ocean of pastel pinks and yellows and oranges, wagging frantically twenty meters away. It disappears after a second, replaced by a muzzle and expectant eyes.

Twilight barks at him again.

He must have found something.

Finally, Legend thinks as he begins to make his way over toward the other, hopefully a reason to get out of this floral hell hole.

“What is it, boy?” Legend asks, voice going high and mocking as he takes delicate care stepping on as many flowers as possible, “Little Time-y fall down the well again?”

Instead of a growl for his effort, Legend gets a flurry of black flecks falling upward, like pieces of reverse snow, in his peripheral vision.

“You know,” Twilight says as he straightens to his full height, eyes half-lidded. Unamused, “You’re really not as funny as you seem to think you are.”

And before Legend can interrupt that– No, actually, you just have a dog shit sense of humor. Literally– Twilight continues, “I can smell the smithy all over this thing.” He nods down at a small tree stump breaking through the tide of flowers. “The scent is a bit old, probably from sometime before last evening, but still traceable. I should be able to find him from here.”

Legend eyes the stump for a moment, peering into the cracked hole in the top of the wood. Inside, he can see the round, red caps of several toadstools sprouting.

He can also sense magic. Close to that of the fairies– natural and glittering and smelling of moss– but not quite the same.

The Smithy’s doing?

Or a natural occurrence?

Regardless…

“Welp,” Legend says, straightening up, “Let's go find him. Couldn’t have gotten far on those little legs of his.”

“Again,” Twilight huffs, the black fractals already consuming him once more as he transforms, “You’re not as funny as you think...”

His voice distorts and fades into nothing as the magic swallows him whole, leaving Legend once again having a conversation with a very unimpressed looking wolf.

“I like you better when you can’t talk,” Legend tells Twilight as the other sets off, snuffling at the ground.

The other pauses to give Legend a look that would be more at home on a disapproving mother’s face, before continuing his tracking.

He also whaps Legend in the leg with his tail.

Hard.

The prick.

They continue on their trek together like that for a while, Twilight occasionally pausing to shove his nose into the dirt some more as he decides which direction to follow as Legend trails behind, keeping his eyes peeled for a quadripartite tunic and a head of straight, gold hair.

It isn't long before the farmhand turned canine breaks off into a light trot and then a jog, and then a full on sprint.

And stops just as suddenly.

Legend is out of breath by the time he slides to a stop behind the farmhand, but from a cursory glance around, there doesn’t seem to be a short, mouthy smithy anywhere in the vicinity.

“What happened?” Legend asks, still searching, turning circles as he cranes his neck, “Did you lose the trail?”

Twilight gives a light whine, grabbing Legend’s attention.

Then he does two full spins and sits primly, looking up at Legend.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Legend crinkles his nose at the canine. “Use your words.”

Wolfie rolls his eyes in a way that Legend didn’t think was possible for dogs and then stands.

The canine stares at him intently, as though making sure Legend’s eyes are locked with his own. And then he flicks his eyes over the yellow tulip he is sitting next to meaningfully. Then back to Legend. Back and forth back and forth, his eyes go for a full minute before he stops and stares at Legend once more.

Legend feels as his face wrinkles in confusion.

It's just a regular tulip, just like the thousands currently around them. Pretty enough, he supposes. The bulb seems to be a little wilted, like it's been weighed down by rain water perhaps, but other than that, nothing to sneeze at.

Or everything to sneeze at, if you’re Legend.

Legend gives the flower one more skeptical glance before turning to look at Twilight once more, brow raised.

“Pretty,” he assures the other. “Not sure how it helps us find Four.”

Twilight heaves another too human sigh.

And then he reaches up,  takes the sleeve of Legend’s tunic between his teeth, and yanks.

“Hey!” Legend yelps as he’s dragged down into the dirt, “Watch the teeth! The embroidery on this thing took forever to do and even longer to enchant!”

Twilight pays him no mind, pulling him down and forward, closer to his chosen tulip.

Legend tries his best to keep his face away from the damn thing.

“I swear on The Three, if your slobber stains–”

Legend’s words crumple up and die in his throat.

There’s something in the tulip.

At first glance, Legend would identify it as the Smithy's earring. The small feathered one that he takes special care of. The one that Four refuses to tell Legend the origin of, besides his cryptic, “From a friend.”

Legend would say that it was just the earring, but… but it isn’t.

Rather than being completely red with a white tip, Legend can see that this little feather is only mostly red. Right before the tip, a darker red plumage takes over, followed by purple and blue and green.

Also, rather than being attached to the small, golden chain and stud Four uses to fasten the jewelry to his earlobe, it’s attached to a body.

A very, very small body.

By now, Twilight has let go of his sleeve, but Legend both doesn’t notice and doesnt care, all of his attention fixed on the little creature before his eyes.

From what he can tell, the little creature is asleep, curled up in the bulb of the flower, his feather tail tucked up near his nose for warmth. Looking past the plumage, Legend can see that the little guy has a very rat-like face, complete with a small, twitching pink nose, long whiskers and–because the creature is shivering– long, chattering rodent incisors. Oval shaped ears stick out from the creature's head, a mix between mouse-like and Hylian.

And framing those ears is shoulder length, soaking wet blonde hair.

Blonde hair held out of the little guy's face by a green headband.

And…

And he’s wearing the smithy’s tunic?

“... Four?” Legend whispers in amazement.

And just saying the other’s name out loud is like a spell because suddenly Legend can see all signs. The little guy has Four’s bag over his shoulder and the Four Sword at his hip. That same magic that was by the stump– the not-fairy, fairy magic– completely surrounds him, dusting him in the same way he is currently dusted in yellow pollen.

“Is that you, Smithy?” Legend asks a little louder.

But rather than startle awake, the small creature– Four, Legend reminds himself– simply hunkers down more fully into the flower, curling up more fully as his shivers increase.

“He must have transformed in order to speak with the Minish around here.”

Twilight’s voice, even though it is a whisper, gives Legend a start. He hadn’t realized the other had transformed, nor had he seen the farmhand crouch down by his side.

The other isn’t looking at him as he speaks, cool blue eyes instead locked on the fitfully sleeping smithy, face concerned.

“He once told me that the Minish are insatiable gossips. He must have transformed to try and find us.”

The concern on the farhand’s face darkens the longer he stares.

“He must have been caught out in the storm,” Twilight says grimly.

Legend tries to imagine what that would be like. To be the size of a mouse and out in a storm. Tries to imagine what it would feel like for gale force winds to pull at drag at him, crushing him into the dirt one moment and yanking off his feet the next. Tries to imagine dodging back and forth between tulips, avoiding the head sized, stone cold rain drops pelting down from the sky

It's not a pretty pictograph, he’ll admit.

And ugh, Legend really isn't a fan of what it's making him consider.

He spares another glance at Four.

And fuck, the little guy shivers and shivers and shivers until the fower he is sleeping in is shaking with it.

And then, he sneezes, the sound coming out tiny and squeaky and weak.

Son of a bitch.

With a sigh that is as weary and reluctant and annoyed as he can possibly force it to be even though the vetran is feeling none of those things, Legend takes hold of the flower near its stem. As gently as possible, he digs his nails into the soft green there, cutting the flower from the ground while keeping it intact.

He hands it to Twilight, who takes it from him with gentle, if slightly confused hands.

With one hand, Legend flips open his shoulder bag. With the other, he rips his hat from his head with a motion probably a tad more violent than is really called for. He arranges the hat inside the bag, making sure to cover his items with the soft fabric while also shaping a soft bed.

Without looking up from his work, Legend extends a hand out to Twilight.

Makes a grabbing motion when what he wants isn't immediately in his hand.

After a second, Twilight slowly places the stem of the flower back in Legend’s hand and the Veteran gently lowers it in the small nest he had created, making sure the bulb sits in a place both shielded from the sun and extra comfortable thanks to the extra fabric padding beneath it.

In one smooth motion, Legend takes a hold of the strap of his bag, pulls it carefully off of his shoulder, and places it on the other side of Twilight’s neck.

And then, he reaches down and touches the dark stone hanging from the necklace around the farmhand’s throat, letting the darkness flock around and consume him.  

When Legend blinks open his eyes, Twilight is looking down at him smugly.

He is looking down farther than usual.

Also looking smugger than usual.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, shaking out his fur before hopping on all fours to get closer to the bag.

“I didn’t say anything,” Twilight replies, not bothing to wipe the smug look off his stupid face even as he lowers the bag to the ground for easier access.

“Yeah you did,” Legend hisses quietly as he clambers carefully into the satchel, settling down the nest of leather and items and hat.

He pulls the flower closer to his side where it is warm.

Inside, he can feel as Four’s shivers begin to lessen.

"Cute," Twilight laughs from above them.

"Fuck you," Legend whisper spits, though he makes no move to push Four's flower away. If anything, he pulls it closer when he hears the smaller hero start to make small, chittering snores, surprised the smithy could sleep through such a racket.

Twilight, thankfully, doesn't comment, instead pulling the top of the bag loosely closed to give them some shade. Then, Legend feels as he gently lifts the satchel back up, slings it slowly over his shoulder as to not disturb the contents inside, and begins walking, hopefully back in the direction of the forest.

Legend can still hear the farmhand laughing to himself from within the bag, but without the others' eyes on him, he finds he doesn't care.

The pollen still itches at his eyes and nose and Legend can still feel the pound of his sinuses even now.  But something about the shade and warmth and soft rocking of the bag makes it hard for him to mind.

Four gives a harty twitch, kicking a petal directly into Legend’s face.

And even that doesn't dissuade the veteran from his task.

Instead, Legend sighs and pulls Four even closer, relaxing despite the discomfort.

He’s got dirt on both Twilight and now Four, the two heroes with sticks most firmly inserted into their asses. He can get out of whatever chores and lectures they try to pin him with.

Yep, he thinks , distantly. That's why he did this.

For the blackmail.

And no other reason.

[ximaginedreamsx]

Unbound

Chapter 4: Risky Business

The group settled down quietly in the dining area once again, a whole new set of thoughts buzzing in each of their minds. After a few moments of yet another silent spell, Ichigo spoke up.

"Urahara...I've got a question for you."

The shopkeeper looked over at the orange-haired boy. "Yeah, and what would that be?"

Ichigo's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Well, I was wondering...why didn't you just let Orihime come and heal Grimmjow? I mean, I'm not saying that Hanataro isn't skilled or anything but..."

"I understand exactly what you're saying, and that is a valid question." Urahara replied. "My reasoning is quite simple really. While I wasn't going to leave our guest as banged up as he was, I wasn't going to have him completely healed either. Orihime's healing abilities...they reverse all damage done to a person, to the extent that you would never know he or she was injured in the first place. Hanataro's abilities, on the other hand, require the person's own body to do some of the work. Despite his position, Grimmjow is still an Espada; even having him healed as much as he was is a highly risky move."

Ichigo nodded slowly. "Yeah...I guess that makes sense."

"Instead of discussing the odds and ends of hollow healthcare, shouldn't we actually be taking a moment to examine the severity of our current situation?" Uryuu interjected, drawing Ichigo's and Urahara's attention, as well as that of everyone else in the room. "We're not just harboring some random hollow here. It's an Espada - a vasto lorde-class menos and a soldier out of Aizen's own personal army. We're setting ourselves up to face potentially severe consequences from both the Soul Society AND Hueco Mundo. And that's not to exclude any potential problems we may have with the Espada himself, who had already demonstrated that he is still perfectly capable of defending himself despite being only "partially healed" as you put it. It seems to me that we are getting in way over our heads here."

Urahara's expression turned thoughtful. "I have taken all of that into consideration. It's an almost inescapable truth, for sure; once Soul Society finds out about this, the Head Captain's wrath will not only extend to Grimmjow, but to us as well. And there's absolutely no doubt in my mind that Aizen will be coming to retrieve his missing soldier at some point. However, in the grand scheme of things, I'd say we couldn't have made a better decision than the one we're making now. Like I said earlier...this occurrence has presented us with a grand opportunity - gathering pertinent information on Aizen's movements thus far, and any future plans he may have. For that purpose, I'm willing to face any risk if it means we can thwart Aizen in any kind of way."

Uryuu sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Well...I don't think I can argue with that logic."

Murmurs of agreement hovered in the air. Rukia, who was still recovering from the initial shock of her close encounter with the Espada, rolled her eyes.

"You people have no respect for self-preservation." she grumbled. "This is an insane - and, might I add, AVOIDABLE - risk that you're taking that will require the luck of gods to endure, the likes of which could get us all killed without a moment's notice...and the only thing you can think to do is jump in head first..."

"We can endure."

Once again, Takuya's quiet voice drew everyone's attention to her. She was sitting against the wall almost directly behind Urahara, listening intently to everything that had been said. Rukia stared confusedly at the girl.

"I believe...that we can endure whatever that is sure to come as a result of Mr. Urahara's decision." Takuya said; her attention then shifted to Rukia. "But everyone must be in accordance...if we are not all in accordance, then we have already doomed ourselves to failure before we've even gotten a chance to try."

Rukia gasped, taken aback by the girl's words; she opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again, finding that she had no response to counter with.

"Well, I think that about settles it." Urahara stated, moving to stand up. "And on that note, I suppose I should go and prepare a gigai. As for you guys, you should probably head home and get some rest. Tomorrow's gonna be the start of what's sure to be endlessly long days for all of us. Try to be back here by noon at the latest."

At that, everyone stood up, stretching and yawning as they did so. After muttering their goodnights, Ichigo, Uryuu, Orihime, Chad, and Rukia filed out of the shop and took off towards their respective residences, all wearily anticipating what new dilemmas tomorrow would bring them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Takuya stood before the door to the spare room, taking a moment to gather her nerves before she entered. She'd once again volunteered to go and check on the Espada...to make sure his wounds hadn't started bleeding again and that his bandages would last until morning. Finally able to gather what little courage she had, she slowly slid the door open and stepped into the room. Moonlight poured in through the small window above the bed - a sign that the rain had finally stopped and the clouds had broken up, she noted - partially illuminating the room with a pale glow. Sliding the door closed behind her, she stood there for a second or so to let her eyes adjust to the still predominant darkness before moving to sit by the bed. She looked down at the Espada momentarily. His eyes were closed, and he made no indication that he'd heard her enter the room; his chest rose and fell with steady, even breaths, convincing her even more that he was actually asleep. At that she brought her hands up to grab the hems of his blankets and, as gently as she could, pulled them back, revealing his almost completely bandaged torso. She then began checking him over, running her fingers lightly over certain areas of the bandaging where she knew the more serious wounds to be; however, not even five seconds after she started her ministrations, the Espada began to stir, and she immediately drew her hands back.

Feeling the sudden change in temperature somewhere in the haze of his sleep, Grimmjow stirred slightly. In that brief moment, he immediately felt the presence of someone else in the room, and cracked his bleary cerulean eyes open to see just who it was. It didn't take him long to identify Takuya, even in his state of grogginess; the girl's crystalline gray eyes glimmered in the pale rays of moonlight shining into the room. A slight scowl furrowed his brow.

"The hell're you doing, girl?"

Takuya struggled to slow her pounding heart, bringing her hands back down into her lap. "I was checking your bandages...and making sure that your wounds hadn't started bleeding again." she replied timidly. "I apologize for having disturbed you."

Grimmjow looked at the ebony-haired girl for a second longer before grunting and once again directing his gaze to the ceiling. Takuya, registering this as his "permission" to proceed with her task, brought her hands back to his bandages, her fingers once again lightly skimming over the areas that covered his more serious wounds. Immediately upon feeling the touch of her hands, Grimmjow shifted his gaze back to the girl's face. A focused expression had replaced the apprehensive one that was there only a second ago as she concentrated on her task. Slowly, his half-lidded eyes began to slide closed.

What is this...? Her touch feels...weird... Weird and...almost relaxing... Wait, relaxing?!

Grimmjow immediately forced the foreign thoughts out of his mind, mentally cursing whatever black hole they originated from. He then redirected his attention to Takuya, his eyes now almost completely open. His scowl deepened as he suddenly became even more determined to completely banish the disturbing feeling.

"I'm not gonna break into pieces if you touch me." he muttered. "I'm a fucking warrior; it'll take a lot more than your prodding little hands to even make me flinch."

Takuya, slightly caught off guard by the comment, slowly withdrew her hands once again. "I'll try to remember that next time." she said quietly.

She then pulled the blankets back over his body and got to her feet. "Goodnight, Grimmjow." she said with a slight bow before turning to leave the room.

Grimmjow's eyes followed her until she disappeared behind the closed door, almost as if to make sure that she actually left. Then, with a deep, irritated sigh, he allowed his sore body to relax again. Tch, relax...damn god-awful human feeling... At that final thought, his cerulean eyes finally slid closed once more.

"Damn girl..." he mumbled before slipping into a dreamless sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tension hung in the still air of the oversized throne room, despite the deceivably calm demeanors of the three men who now occupied it. Aizen sat in his typically relaxed position upon the stark white throne, his chin resting in his palm as he gaze stretched aimlessly to nothing in particular. Gin and Tosen stood on either side of him, the latter waiting on him to break the uncomfortable silence with a command or some sort of instruction regarding how they were to handle their current situation.

"My, my...we've certainly landed ourselves in a rather unfortunate bind, haven't we?" Gin spoke up, finally dispelling the awkward hush of the throne room. "Even after all we did to stop him from going to the living world, little Grimmy-kun managed to make it there anyway... Doesn't this little stunt greatly interrupt your plans for capturing that little auburn-haired girl?"

"Hmmm...I suppose it will alter them slightly, yes." Aizen replied coolly. "However, this slight change in events has in no way interrupted them."

"What then are your orders, my lord?" Tosen asked. "How shall we proceed with Grimmjow's capture?"

Aizen paused for a moment in thought before speaking again. "We shall take no action for the time being."

Tosen, almost visibly shocked by the man's decision, stepped forward slightly. "With all due respect, Lord Aizen...I must disagree with your inaction. I feel that this situation calls for us to act immediately. If we leave Grimmjow unattended, things could rapidly go beyond our control..."

"I am well aware of the severity of this situation, Tosen." Aizen stated. "I'm also quite sure that Grimmjow is more or less expecting us to come after him at some point. He, however, does not know when, where, or how this will occur, which gives us some measure of an advantage. And, if the timing of our pre-ordained retrieval is made flawless, we may also be able to capture the human girl as well, and would thus have killed two birds with one stone."

The ex-Shinigami turned slightly so that he could see his stolen captain out of his peripheral view. "Do you understand now, Tosen...why I am choosing not to act immediately?"

Tosen bowed. "Yes, my lord. I understand."

Aizen's everlasting smile broadened slightly. "Excellent." he purred; he then turned his attention to Gin. "Have you already pinpointed Grimmjow's location in the world of the living?"

"Sadly no, I haven't; Grimmy-kun's spiritual pressure is a bit too low to find at the present, but I'm sure that'll be changing eventually." Gin replied. "No doubt our little ryoka friend has haphazardly stumbled across him since his impromptu arrival in the living world, especially if he managed to land in Karakura. The boy's kind heart won't allow him to simply leave our Sexta Espada in a mangled state, so he'll surely be healed to some extent...which will in turn raise his spiritual pressure enough for me to find him."

"Hmmm, very well." Aizen said, resting his chin back in his palm. "Then I suppose that all that's left to be done now...is to wait for the most opportune moment..."

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

[led123123]

 omg how did I sleep until 1pm.. 

I guess I got tired of playing games.. lol

https://youtu.be/jZsYDUxYxL4

I must have got really.. tired of playing

https://youtu.be/jfbPFh90mjU?t=116

what?? I went to sleep after 4 am??

I should be playing.. loba.. because she can find wingman really fast. and she’s really popular now.. because she can take all ammo now

I’m getting this feeling in my hand right now.. it’s like.. feeling.. like.. small drops of rain on hand.. like.. from a sprinkler.. 

very small cold water drops

biting in the morning is best time.. because I don’t have any food stuck in it..

and.. there’s like.. a lot of old saliva after many hours of sleep.. so.. that’s why it’s best time

asdf

https://youtu.be/QWQxTK52uOU?t=226

https://youtu.be/Th6AfCWdK34?t=223

https://youtu.be/Th6AfCWdK34?t=207

how does this chart work.. 

https://www.investopedia.com/terms/s/shortselling.asp

shorting.. I was right.. it’s.. borrowing money.. damn.. that’s complicated

so she’s like.. proposing a price.. that she wants to.. like.. borrow.. I don’t understand..

“In short selling, the seller opens a position by borrowing shares, usually from a broker-dealer. The short seller will try to make money on the use of those shares before they must return them to the lender.“

borrowing from someone and selling it.. basically selling somebody’s shares.. to buy them later cheaper.. 

ok that makes sense why the chart is reversed.. 

so then she’s buying shares.. higher

https://youtu.be/Th6AfCWdK34?t=31

-5918.48 xD

https://images.app.goo.gl/erwErygi6qU6xKNt9

https://youtu.be/efNUXXBm5jE

https://youtu.be/efNUXXBm5jE?t=109

https://youtu.be/efNUXXBm5jE?t=163

https://youtu.be/Th6AfCWdK34?t=112

https://youtu.be/Th6AfCWdK34?t=175

isn’t that kinda.. like.. baiting.. people.. into.. buying.. shares.. or.. like.. shorting.. shares.. 

https://youtu.be/Th6AfCWdK34?t=358

green day?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Th6AfCWdK34&lc=Ugyc2o6IlUad2p4ki4B4AaABAg

lol.. she is in her comments too.. jesus christ..

that’s her..

she’s also in her comments

she has the first top comment

https://youtu.be/j867BITtigo?t=117

it’s precooked that’s why it doesn’t need much time to be ready

https://youtu.be/TUTezvLyKF0

the new car is really easy to control and really fast.. it’s OP

I was saying that it’s OP

because it’s so fast.. but.. there are like.. some.. barriers that you can’t go past.. they block this vehicle.. but they don’t block if you’re not in the vehicle

https://youtu.be/jfbPFh90mjU?t=51

https://youtu.be/litHbKaFMN4?t=49

I don’t know if my ads isn’t too high

https://youtu.be/o-OrWu4KFrw?t=182

https://youtu.be/xG2JDB34rzE?t=124

https://youtu.be/4DUAZqbA3AM

https://youtu.be/2tTaHAPFGwo

https://youtu.be/SdtNK-g4Bw0?t=24

https://youtu.be/q4FwKFk658c?t=63

https://youtu.be/8P1DNvy3aKU

https://youtu.be/Pr7892ZkIXo?t=28

https://youtu.be/Pr7892ZkIXo?t=230

https://youtu.be/ehsHma72L-I?t=353

what is his sensitivity.. ads sensitivity

my may seem a bit too fast..

at far distance it’s hard to control

is this pasta from yesterday still good?? I have no idea.. it kinda.. doesn’t has a bit of weird smell.. I don’t know.. I really don’t know. it’s really hard to tell.. I didn’t put it in the.. like.. 

it had like.. too much water.. 

I rinsed it in water and ate..

https://youtu.be/EbhgjbjY3IY?t=224

https://youtu.be/EbhgjbjY3IY?t=245

she buys 300 with just one click

https://youtu.be/Th6AfCWdK34?t=3

this trader said.. like.. “buying should be based on like.. some information.. not just prediction

https://images.app.goo.gl/vsBidvFMahwNFKp36

https://youtu.be/GKFPSS4yc2s?t=439

I was sceptical because of how gay this map looks

everything is so f*cking weird..

how everything looks in it doesn’t make any sense.. weird and doesn’t match

the map.. now looks like from cartoon.. but.. characters.. they’re trying to make characters realistic and look like people.. jesus.. 

characters are weird

nothing matches in it..

it looks like.. a lot of stuff from many different games.. are just.. packed together.. and.. like.. nothing makes any sense..

take paladins for example

https://youtu.be/vhiaxWx23fI

perfect looking characters that fit to map aesthetics. everything matches.. together.. just don’t try to make characters too realistic.. and making a map look like a disney land.. jesus..

https://youtu.be/vhiaxWx23fI?t=5

other maps looked realistic.. this map.. looks like.. so gay

it looks like this other game.. and.. also one more game.. so like.. I’m sick of these maps.. 

I’ve played game that looks same

it doesn’t look as bad after landing.. 

https://youtu.be/vhiaxWx23fI?t=125

they have bows.. bows are good.. there is a crossbow in pubg

https://youtu.be/vhiaxWx23fI?t=155

crossbow is really cool in this game

damage is really high velocity is slower than guns. it’s kinda like wingman

https://youtu.be/vhiaxWx23fI?t=172

this is like.. 10 times better than apex legends design

https://youtu.be/vhiaxWx23fI?t=406

not enough players play it queue time is really long and.. like.. ranked is not like.. as interesting as battle royale.. 

but game looks a lot better, characters don’t look like they’re picked up from garbage cans from completely different places of the world

and maps.. 

don’t look like it’s taken from garbage can from different place

https://youtu.be/vhiaxWx23fI?t=439

lots of creative ability skins

I couldn’t get to play ranked.. because queue time was.. really long.. 

characters and map looks good in this game.. and they don’t look like they’re from completely different trashcans

map is not as big though

and modes are.. like.. not that interesting

https://youtu.be/jfbPFh90mjU?t=100

https://youtu.be/nuQ_XFkPg0A?t=157

this is the only game that doesn’t look bad

but it was released quite a long time ago

so like.. walls look kinda.. hollow

https://youtu.be/JDFkIE5-GDM?t=142

I was like.. after update.. like.. my mouse settings were like.. changed.. like.. they added like.. mouse acceleration.. setting in the game.. or something.. and I kept playing with mouse acceleration on for like few months.. xD

and like.. 1.25 ads sensitivity used to be like.. normal ads sensitivity for ads.. because when adsing it always zooms in for around 1.25.. and now 1.00 is default ads sensitivity. it was too slow on 1.00 and I put it on 1.2 because of the zoom now ads sensitivity includes zoom, so 1.00 is normal, don’t need to set it on 1.2

so 1.0 is 1.2 before update

they said that this game is like.. unfinished.. and abandoned by game developpers or something

https://www.reddit.com/r/Paladins/comments/7kspki/hirez_studios_wiki_page_paladins_abandoned/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paladins_(video_game)

if more people played it I would play it more often. queue time is bad. and ranked queue time is.. I waited like.. 20 minutes.. one time

damn I wish I knew which parameter reduces frame time interval.. 

my brain melted so I had to stop thinking about 

https://youtu.be/nuQ_XFkPg0A?t=276

“but his viewers are normies” xD

https://youtu.be/nuQ_XFkPg0A?t=306

this. nara legend.. is really tanky

I don’t like.. kinda.. ranked.. because.. it’s like.. you pick 2 tanks.. healer.. and you win by standing on the capture point

and you can’t win by shooting them because damage dealers.. can’t stand on the capture point because they have a lot less hp.. so they can’t tank anything

it’s hard to kill a tank.. maybe if you like.. focus fire.. like always.. in these games..

I mean.. there are these.. heal reduction perks.. they basically counter these tanks..

but I haven’t played it as much because queue time is long.. 

https://youtu.be/vhiaxWx23fI?t=58

paladins designs match.. 

https://youtu.be/vhiaxWx23fI?t=139

she wrote it on page and she’s reading.. 

https://youtu.be/EbhgjbjY3IY?t=538

it’s gambling..

https://finance.yahoo.com/quote/AMD/?guccounter=1&guce_referrer=aHR0cHM6Ly93d3cuZ29vZ2xlLmNvbS8&guce_referrer_sig=AQAAALqlly1c3x_R_JaV2YA7U_SBDEumtiABVa3vZhprk0izxN4yMZGCIxeTsa_Q5yecnhyuC3lNlo41sYc84EpDPmDx3l7HcVG1XmPWUacDE9Hb-tUq7HPHHe0hQEBeSsIm7v7kK9bpkdic0XL7vmygC6lzpjzM0YTbS-ZcV4QNtvVH

amd 85 today..

it says “highly overvalued” next to chart

https://finance.yahoo.com/quote/NVDA?p=NVDA

nvidia is also going up. because they release new card. so they make money on selling them

or.. whatever.. 

omg.. nvidia.. year ago was.. 200. now it’s 579.. damn.

because rx 5000 series wasn’t as good as nvidia before??

https://youtu.be/21wY1VSYLLI?t=99

https://youtu.be/21wY1VSYLLI?t=309

it’s because they live on the island.. in england.. people also live on islands.. in china.. it’s also not like japan

it’s more safe.. because it’s an island

korea is also.. half an island.. 

https://youtu.be/21wY1VSYLLI?t=493

taiwan is also an island

amd was 38 year ago..

what caused nvidia price share to drop in 2018

https://www.fool.com/investing/2019/01/14/why-nvidia-stock-plunged-31-in-2018.aspx

“In one year, NVIDIA (NASDAQ:NVDA) stock went from being belle of the stock market ball to something akin to an evil witch casting spells on investors' portfolios. After returning 227% and 82% in 2016 and 2017, respectively, shares of the graphics processing unit (GPU) specialist declined 30.8% (including dividends) in 2018. “

it’s inflated because of the.. new graphics card release hype

“ Over the five-year period, for instance, shares of NVIDIA returned 895%, versus AMD's 386% rise. “

“The major market sell-off in October that hit highly valued tech stocks particularly hard. Concerns about rising interest rates, a slowing global economy -- and particularly slowing demand for semiconductors -- and the escalating trade war with China were likely the main reasons for the market jitters. NVIDIA stock declined 25% in October.“

https://youtu.be/lWY50jTQOhU?t=45

https://youtu.be/lWY50jTQOhU?t=58

https://youtu.be/lWY50jTQOhU?t=124

https://youtu.be/lWY50jTQOhU?t=179

https://youtu.be/lWY50jTQOhU?t=261

walls don’t look as hollow inside

overwatch characters look trash like all everything else honestly

https://youtu.be/9GvYbQI-xDA?t=20

should I reduce ads sensitivity? vote now

I don’t know.. like.. I think I can like.. change it only by 0.1.. 

so 0.9 would be a big difference.. 

I need to stretch

https://youtu.be/4uzFGN_V6Xo

I increased normal sensitivity higher again and.. ads seems too high.. so I checked.. like.. 0.9 is kinda.. slow.. so I tried 0.95.. and I can set it to 0.95

now my fans are finally changing speed automatically. it took me a little bit of time to figure out why they wasn’t changing speed.. turned out that it was the motherboard.. not supporting 3 pin fans. only 4 pin fans

so I bought 4 pin fans.. 140mm. because they’re.. like.. more quiet I guess. and they fit in my case.. but can’t install 140mm fan on back.. so the one on the back doesn’t have automatic speed control

I like that they’re finally changing speed automatically.. 

it was the motherboard.. 

that didn’t support 3 pin fans.

automatic speed control

this cpu fan speed is 1400 lowest rpm.. it doesn’t go any lower..

that’s a little.. weird..

https://youtu.be/lyeyG8VXxOs?t=246

https://youtu.be/z88_26M2xQk

https://youtu.be/Gxd07p72pr8

https://youtu.be/17FFsnhR59g?t=219

50 thousand words?? imagine counting to 50 000

counting to 1000 would take a lot of time 

I’m tryna free some ram.. so I can load game

I don’t know what’s using so much ram

oh.. that’s the.. loaded videos.. on youtube.. they take space in ram.. they load to ram.. 

damn..

somebody is named.. “antidoteVIVI”

heavy mag in replicator.. “doesn’t spawn on ground” I forgot that it doesn’t spawn

lol I won the game solo.. xD

I used vehicle.. and.. like.. I fell off the edge and it blew me up into air.. like on a gayser. and I landed in the circle

and.. like.. they fought.. and.. they put revenant ulti.. and started fighting other squad.. there were 3 squads left.. so they started fighting other squad.. and I crept on their back.. and saw that they have put ulti there.. so I used it.. xD and killed 3 people with r99

with revenant ulti

my team died early and I was looting all game

I did hit one dude for 100

damn.. I think.. that I had like.. 3 fps when I died

I need to change wraith skin because people are gonna call me pleb

oh right.. damn.. I didn’t change settings back.. I increased settings before.. so that’s why I had low fps..

yes.. I had high settings.. now I reduced them

I really had like.. 3 fps.. 

like 20 fps or something

why didn’t I use loba earlier.. lol.. wtf.. I get hit more often though.. I can notice already..

lol. 

so much loot. I never had so much loot in my life

she’s so OP

I won this game.. they died to ring. xD last squad died to ring. xD

he was trying to res his teammate.. and his teammate survived.. I guess.. but the other dude died to ring.. omfg

I never saw as much loot in my life.. 14 batts.. lying on the ground.. xD

you can only take on bad.. so much loot.. that’s my new champion

it’s so good

they reduced cooldown on ulti.. and buffed her ulti.. that’s a lot of loot

why didn’t I use loba before..

how does youtube have so much space to store all of these videos.. like.. I mean.. they’re like.. how much space does it use.. like.. there’s so many people.. one video.. is.. like.. hd video.. is like.. how much.. 20mbps.. it would be like.. 

20 minutes is like.. 20 minutes would be like.. 2.5GB.. how can they store all these videos.. 

like.. really you can upload as much as you want?? like.. there’s so many people..

how do they have space for this

lets say.. like.. 100 million people.. uploads.. like.. lets say.. one person.. uploads.. like.. has like.. 350 videos.. 20 minutes.. each.. lets say.. 350*2.5GB=like.. 1TB.. 100 million terabytes.. is.. like.. 

https://images.app.goo.gl/7HbEL2MDPVZePHwf6

it’s like 100 exabytes..

“ 15 years of youtube data is stored on lots of hard drives. Not only that but the same data is stored on multiple hard drives may be 100,000 hard drives stacked in server and size of the server would be 10,000,000,000,000,000,000 Bytes (That's 19 '0's, or 10 "Exabytes").”

it’s 10 times less.. 

how

I guess they.. like.. keep the compressed version of the video.. so it takes less space.

https://www.quora.com/How-does-YouTube-compress-videos-Why-is-it-so-effective-What-data-makes-up-a-video-file

they’re using.. 30 fps.. so bitrate.. is lower..

like.. I mean.. no.. 1080p is 60 fps.

https://youtu.be/8qKz5YW5J-U

https://youtu.be/icruGcSsPp0

https://youtu.be/icruGcSsPp0?t=74

he’s slowly becoming a demon

https://youtu.be/icruGcSsPp0?t=87

demon voice

https://youtu.be/ES2TOpipTMk

wow my videos uploaded already

but it’s not compressed yet.. damn.. they use a lot.. of.. like.. these.. vdevs.. 

I mean these storage units.. with.. they’re basically computers.. with some cheap xeon processors etc.. how do they look.. what motherboards they use..

how much data each one stores

they use a lot of power

it’s 2am.. the night is young

“ In December 2016, Google announced that—starting in 2017—it will power all of its data centers, as well as all of its offices, from 100% renewable energy. The commitment will make Google "the world's largest corporate buyer of renewable power, with commitments reaching 2.6 gigawatts (2,600 megawatts) of wind and solar energy" “

they have cheap power though

like.. free power

https://youtu.be/ES2TOpipTMk?t=97

https://youtu.be/ES2TOpipTMk?t=161

he could just give me points..

https://youtu.be/ES2TOpipTMk?t=277

backpack is expensive now.. heavy mag only 25

https://youtu.be/ES2TOpipTMk?t=799

14 bats.. 15 med kits.. 

https://youtu.be/ES2TOpipTMk?t=864

this tunnel doesn’t stop damage..

😆 🔫

I hate where I am right now..

I’ll try wearing some other pants.. like.. these are.. not making my skin breathe..

maybe because they’re too tight and too short..

https://youtu.be/P2lG3CkULyw

https://youtu.be/P2lG3CkULyw?t=192

this is actually.. not bad.. this support

because then you don’t slouch.. 

https://youtu.be/P2lG3CkULyw?t=462

yeah. I wanna.. like.. adjustable.. like.. back.. 

adjustable armchair would be good

https://youtu.be/P2lG3CkULyw?t=521

https://youtu.be/P2lG3CkULyw?t=673

https://youtu.be/uwOHUGmMF_U?t=787

it’s weird.. it’s like selling someone’s shares.. for what though.. why would anyone let anyone sell shares.. 

to sell shares you need to have shares first.. then who has shares.. like.. how can you sell shares..  to sell shares you need to have shares first.. 

who’s borrowing these shares

lets say I borrow someone like.. I don’t know.. if I would borrow shares.. then.. like. it would cost something..

so I borrow shares someone who thinks that market is gonna go down.. so.. some people who think it won’t go down may borrow shares for provision 

fake video

kill me jesus fucking christ..

https://youtu.be/kkg4pO8RgWM

I can change ads by 0.01. mouse sensitivity I can change only by 0.1 minimum

but ads 0.01

https://youtu.be/306GO_1nCaU

I had low fps here.

omg. kill me..

this new champion is so useless..

the only good thing bout it is that he can make the vehicle fly in the air

https://youtu.be/D2unkivE-Y4?t=24

https://youtu.be/D2unkivE-Y4?t=102

https://youtu.be/kkg4pO8RgWM?t=27

https://youtu.be/D2unkivE-Y4?t=200

https://youtu.be/D2unkivE-Y4?t=416

https://realsport101.com/apex/apex-legends-season-7-trident-location-olympus-vehicle/

“The first issue with the Trident is that all players inside of it will take the damage it takes. That means if opponents shoot the Trident while your team is inside, the damage will be dispersed between you.“

https://www.gamepur.com/guides/how-to-avoid-taking-damage-while-using-a-trident-in-apex-legends

charged sentinel shocks like arc star??

“ The trolling possibilities may be diminished, but creative minds find a way. You can attach tactical abilities to the Trident, like Rampart’s turret, or Gibraltar’s dome… or Caustic’s gas traps, so you can float around like the giant toxic cloud you’ve always wanted to be. “

https://youtu.be/D2unkivE-Y4?t=407

he takes all damage I guess

[fallen-gravity]

Always

Fanom: Moana

Category: Gen

Relationship: Moana & Maui

Word Count: 3,024

Summary: When they fell asleep side by side, Moana and Maui discovered that they’re able to share dreams. Dreams they experience at the same time together. And when you’ve got this ability with your best friend, whom with almost all your time you’ve spent together has been positive, nothing can go wrong, right?

...Right?

Notes: This is loosely based off of this ask an anon sent me a few days ago regarding whether or not I thought Moana and Maui would be drift compatible. Now, I’ve never actually seen any of the Pacific Rim movies, but I did enough research to come to the conclusion that I thought they would be.

But then I happened across the fact that it’s possible to become trapped in a memory you or your partner have if you have trouble letting go of it, even if it’s not your own. I had originally come up with the concept of Moana getting trapped in one of Maui’s worst memories,of his abandonment, not really planning to do much with it. But when a certain someone went ahead and decided she was gonna write it for me, I decided fine, if you’re gonna do that, then I’m gonna write the reverse. Maui getting getting trapped in Moana’s, of her own abandonment.

When Moana pushes herself upwards, she looks around and finds herself in the middle of the ocean. Everything’s dark, and foggy, and she’s having trouble seeing what’s in front of her. Confused, she looks downward, and finds herself lying down on the deck of her canoe.

That’s...weird. She could swear that just a few minutes ago she was hiding it out from an awful thunderstorm with Maui on some island they’d discovered early this morning. Oh well. Maybe the storm had passed and Maui dragged her sleeping body back to their canoe without telling her just to freak her out when she woke up and no longer found herself on land.

She hates it when he does that.

Speaking of Maui, actually, he’s sitting at the edge of the canoe with his back turned to her. He’s got his hook in his lap, and he almost looks...upset?

Oh.

Oh no. No, no, no. She can’t be. This can’t be happening. Despite every nerve in her body telling her to stay down, Moana spares a glance up at the sail. It’s torn clean in half, the edges of the sheet a singed black. When Moana opens the door to the storage compartment, HeiHei pops his head out of one of the baskets and clucks worriedly. She closes it, and turns back to Maui.

“Maui?” she asks, because this has to be a joke. This has to be. There’s no way this is happening again.

But then he stands, and when he turns to her there’s a sickeningly deep crack running through his hook, and it makes Moana feel sick to her stomach. Her feet act before she can think twice, and she jumps to her feet as Maui walks right past her.

“Maui?” she asks again, but he bows his head down like he can’t hear her, like he doesn’t want to hear her…

“I’m not going back” he mutters darkly, and she wishes he would look her in the eyes because this can’t be happening again. Moana doesn’t respond, but Maui continues on, like he’s stuck in some sort of loop, like he’s not aware this is old news and that they’ve already been past this-

The sound of something small and hard clinking against the deck startles Moana from her thoughts so suddenly she flinches at the sound. When she comes back to herself, Maui is standing at the opposite end of the canoe as her, back turned and hook raised, and her heart drops out of her stomach. This can’t be happening, he can’t be leaving her again he can’t be abandoning her like this again, not for this, not for the hook he threw away for her and swore he’d do again thousands of times over before he ever even considered leaving her again-

“Goodbye, Moana” he mumbles, and before Moana knows it she’s lurching forward with her arms outstretched to get him to stay. Just before she can reach out and touch his shoulder he whips back around and Moana physically stumbles backwards at the sudden gesture. He’s saying something, something angry and hateful but Moana can’t hear him and she knows he doesn’t really mean what he’s saying because they’ve been over this but she hates the way he’s looking at her and it’s scaring her.

And just as quickly as he whipped around to look at her, his back is turned to her again. Without another word, he flashes his hook once, twice, three times before he turns hawk and takes off from their canoe.

“Maui!” Moana yells after him, but he still won’t turn around, he still won’t look her in the eyes-

When Moana jolts upright, there’s something warm pressing against her side. She takes a moment to collect herself, blinking away the last lingering remnants of her dream as she takes a look at her surroundings. She’s still in that cave, and though it has calmed significantly since she and Maui had slipped in here for refuge she can still hear the rain pounding against the roof. She brings a hand to her chest, and taking deep breaths, she allows herself to calm.

It was just a dream.

It was just a dream.

She’s fine; she’s not out in the middle of the ocean by herself, and Maui-

Moana blinks, and turns her attention to whatever’s pressed up so closely to her side. Maui’s still here, he’s still curled up on his side, facing away from her, the same way he had been when she fell asleep. It was already getting pretty dark when the two of them found this cave in the first place, but no matter how much she had insisted that the storm would pass or that they could just head back out when it cleared up a bit, Maui insisted that they wait it out until morning. Maui, however, seemed to forget very quickly how cold caves tended to get at night, and it was with a lot of indignation on Moana’s part that when they decided to try to go to sleep that they lied back to back, closely pressed together to prevent the other from losing too much heat overnight.

Now it’s...reassuring, more than anything, that he’s right here. Moana rubs at her eyes and lies back down, shuffling herself slightly closer to him. Exhaustion immediately overcomes her again, like nothing had jolted her awake at all, and she closes her eyes.

She’s only asleep for a handful of seconds when Maui suddenly jerking startles her back awake. Her eyes pop open, and she shoots up into a sitting position. “Maui?” she asks, rubbing at her eyes. “Are you okay?” She asks, but he gives her no response. Before Moana can do anything else, he jerks again, and his arm flops down from his side and smacks down onto the cavern floor beside him in a dull thud.

“Maui?” Moana repeats, frowning. She reaches her arm out to him, but before she can reach him, his other arm flops over next to him and lands roughly beside the other one. Frowning, Moana gets onto her knees and crawls around him so she can look at him. His face is scrunched up in an expression so panicked and so heartbroken Moana has to physically restrain herself from scrambling backwards. He begins to twist around again, frown deepening, and he moves his arms like he’s trying to reach out to something. His lips are moving like he’s saying something and it looks frantic whatever it is and the more his lips move the more he looks like he’s trying to speak to someone who’s not listening to him and the more he does that the more his arms seem to reach out to grasp something he can’t reach-

To someone he can’t reach.

To someone who is leaving him.

No, no, no no, this can’t be happening. This can’t be. She and Maui have definitely shared dreams in the past. Nights where they both fell asleep next to each other or those nights on her canoe where Moana would turn in her sleep and somehow accidentally bump her forehead against his even though he insisted he wasn’t tired. But those dreams, the ones they’ve shared in the past, they’ve always been nice. More often than not they’re just dreams about sailing, about crossing that horizon line, but sometimes they’re also memories. Memories they both relive through at the same time. Dreams about the time in Lalotai he taught her her warrior face or their parting conversation on Te Fiti. Pleasant memories. But they’ve never shared a nightmare before. So this can’t be happening because this isn’t something that happens.

The sudden sound of Maui audibly murmuring something snaps Moana from her thoughts, and when she returns her attention to him he still looks heartbroken and panicked and like he’s going to fall apart at any second.

And then he does something so uncharacteristic, so unlike him- that Moana would’ve blamed it on the rain had it not eased into an almost inaudible drizzle outside.

He whimpers.

Actually whimpers.

Not just anything, either. His face is scrunched up in pain and heartbreak and Moana can barely hear it because it sounds so small and so broken-

“Moana-” he whimpers her name in a voice so quiet and so full of pain it almost makes him sound younger-

“Moana-” he whimpers again, and he sounds so apologetic, like he is trying to apologize to her in his sleep for something she forgave him for years ago-

She can’t take it anymore. Moana scoots closer to him and crawls until his head is close enough to her knees that if she just pulled on it a little it could rest on her lap. So she does. Carefully, she lifts his head and places it gently on her knees, and then adjusts slightly so his neck doesn’t have to crane up awkwardly for his head to be able to rest comfortably on her lap. Closing her eyes, Moana takes a few moments to slow her breathing to match hers with his own, and then she leans down and presses her forehead to his. She stays that way for dozens and dozens of heartbeats, eyes closed against Maui’s, breathing in and out over and over again in a slow pattern that matches his as he sleeps as he still relives that memory she never would’ve wanted him to ever go through again just hoping that this is getting through to him somehow- that she’s here, that she’s trying to help-

Suddenly, Maui gasps for air, and when Moana blinks her eyes back open she finds Maui’s wide with shock blinking up at her. She pulls her head away instantly, and slowly backs away to give him some space to allow him to come to his senses a little bit.

“Maui?” she asks tentatively as he takes a few deep breaths, and at the sound of her voice he runs a hand through his hair as he turns to look at her.

“I’m so sorry” he blurts before Moana can so as much open her mouth.

“What? No, don’t be” She says, frowning. “It was my nightmare, I gave it to you, I should be the one apologizing”

Maui frowns. “Moana, you-” he starts, and pauses to huff out the most broken-sounding sigh Moana’s ever heard in her entire life. “You still have nightmares about this?” He asks, voice straining, and Moana frowns, because this is the last way she would’ve ever wanted him to find out. “It’s been years since I- and you-” His voice drops off, and he sighs again. “I’m sorry” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry”

Moana frowns. “Maui, it’s fine-”

“Is it fine?” He asks, bringing both hands to his head. “Is it? Moana-you’ve been having nightmares about this for years, about-” He drops off again, and there’s pain in his eyes when he looks at her again. “About the way I looked at you?” He says. “The words-” He pauses. “I regret saying those things more than anything, Moana, but-now you’re having nightmares where I barely say a word to you at all? Because I’m looking at you like-like I hate you?” He shakes his head. “Moana, I don’t-” He pauses. “I could never-” He tries again, but drops off, defeated.

Moana frowns, because this is the absolute last thing she would ever want him to think. She’s fine, she really is, and she knows he doesn’t hate her, she knows he regrets that decision and that he would never make it again, but sometimes she just can’t help herself. Every once in a while, when she’s not occupied with other things, her mind just...starts to wander. Maybe it had something to with the fact that she had been irritated with him before she went to sleep, or she was so unused to the cold that surrounded her that she began to associate it with her bad memories, the place she only willingly lets herself go in the dark of night when she thinks nobody else is around. Her worst memory, as a matter of fact, of her best friend abandoning her to the sea, dark and cold in the middle of the night.

But he’s here now. She knows he’s here, and she knows he’s not going anywhere, and nothing comforts Moana more when she gets like this than to be in his presence, to remind herself that he’s not leaving again, that he’s never leaving again.

So she will do the same for him. She will be here for him and she will remind him that she is never leaving either.

“Maui”, she says in a firm yet soft manner. “Look at me” She says, and for a moment he ignores her, keeps staring at the ground, but before she can ask again he slowly raises his head from its bowed position towards the floor to look at her. “I’m fine. I mean it. I’m okay” she says, and Maui regards her for a long second like he’s looking for genuineness in her expression, but he does not respond.

“Look” she says, and sighs. “I’m sorry” she says, and shakes her head. “I never wanted you to have to experience that. I never wanted to share that with you” she says, and he goes to open his mouth, but she holds up a hand before he can interrupt. “I never wanted to have to share that with you because I know it hurts you to think about just as much as it hurts me” She says, and this time it’s Moana who’s having trouble meeting his eyes. Her eyes dart down towards the ground, and she tucks some of her hair behind her ear before she continues. “Maybe...maybe even more than it hurts me” She says, and returns her gaze to him. “Maui- I forgave you for what you did years ago. I know you regret that more than anything. I know you wouldn’t leave again” She pauses to make sure he’s really paying attention to her. “That you won’t leave again” She jabs a finger in his direction. Maui huffs a small, genuine laugh, and she can see the corners of his mouth creak up ever so slightly in a smile, but it drops just as quickly as it forms.

“But you’re having nightmares about this, Moana- about me- you’re waking up in the middle of the night and you’re losing sleep and I- I’m supposed to be protecting you, and I can’t even-” He trails off, grumbling to himself, eyes darted towards the ground and hands clenching tightly against his skirt.

“Hey,” Moana says. “It’s okay. You’re okay. It was just a nightmare.” She says, and shrugs. “Sometimes a nightmare is just a nightmare. It doesn’t mean anything” She says, and sighs quietly as Maui turns his gaze back to her. “Okay, yes, I still have nightmares about it sometimes, and yes, I do still think about it sometimes. But it’s not your fault” Moana shakes her head. “None of this is your fault. I do still think about it sometimes, but that’s just because my mind wanders sometimes when I’m too unoccupied or when I’m overwhelmed-” She shakes her head again. “But it has nothing to do with you. It never has” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Maybe-maybe it did at the beginning” She admits sheepishly. “But I know how wrong I was now.”

Silence.

And after a few moments, Moana can’t help the small huff of amusement that escapes her as a thought comes to her.

 “You know I haven’t had a nightmare like this in months? Not once since you came back to Motunui?” She asks, and he blinks at her, shocked.

“Really?” He asks, and Moana’s full on smiling now, she can tell, but she can’t help herself.

“Yep!” She replies cheerfully, but then she collects herself a little bit before she continues. “Maui, I do know you regret leaving more than anything. Even back when I first started having nightmares like this, you want to know how I would calm myself down?”

Maui only shrugs.

“I would sit there and I would tell myself that you’re not leaving, that you’ll always be here. And guess what? It worked every time.” She points a finger in his direction. “Because I knew even then just how true that statement is.”

Maui sighs, and Moana can almost see the weight lift itself off of his shoulders. Not entirely though.

“Okay, fine. Fine” He says. “But- if you haven’t had one like this since I came back, then why-why tonight? Why are you having this- this gods awful nightmare about me tonight?” He asks, and Moana shrugs kind of sheepishly.

“I don’t know” she admits, and shakes her head, this time in amusement. “I thought it maybe had something to do with the cold. I’m so used to it being so much warmer than this, even on rainy nights like these, that I guess I started to associate it with some things I don’t like to think about” She smiles in amusement. “I wonder why that would be” She jokes, gesturing vaguely around their small cave.

Maui goes to open his mouth to argue, she can see it clear on his face, but then he drops it, closes his mouth, nervously darts his eyes around again. He’s still not entirely convinced.

“Jokes aside, Maui, I’m serious. It has nothing to do with you. I’m still here, you’re still here, and you’re still my best friend” She says, and now she’s full on grinning, but she really can’t help herself. Because he is. Maui always has been and always will be her best friend, and nothing’s ever going to change that.

He sighs again, and Moana watches as the last of that weight finally lifts itself off of his shoulders. He’s not smiling, not yet, but Moana can tell that he’s calmed significantly.

“Promise?” He asks, and Moana can’t help but laugh as she crawls forward to press her forehead against his.

“Promise”

[cinnaminsvga]

A Boy Like You Preview | Yoongi

→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.

{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff → warnings: an overabundance of shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to squish his cheeks; kinda ooc but it is what it is don’t murder me!!! → words: anticipated 15k (?) → a/n: it’s like so fucking late rn and i have a midterm to study for but you know what....... you know what....... sometimes you gotta write blushy yoongi to make yourself forget that you are a poor college student whose boss just cut your work hours in half, so yea!!!!!! here’s whatever this is

There is a boy you know who likes to show his kindness quietly. It would go something like this:

The air is thick with static; your hair stands up on end: a warning. The scent of raindrops hitting hot pavement graces your nostrils as a waterfall drops from the sky. You see the sea of heads begin to disappear under a canopy of multi-colored umbrellas. You, the lone ranger, rush back into the building from whence you came, dragging puddles and annoyance with you.

You should have anticipated it, should have thought to check the weather app before scrolling through dull social media posts when you left your house that morning. Instead, your fingers are cold and umbrella-less.

You tilt your head upwards, watching as gallon upon gallon fell from the sky in an endless cycle. The watch on your wrist reads 5 PM, but the sky says it is 9 PM. The dark, swirling mass of clouds above you will continue on its thunderous parade, pausing for no one, especially not for you.

Your work bag is practically weightless, devoid of anything that might protect you from the onslaught of rain. The only thing inside is a small wallet that holds nothing more than dust and a loose promise of a paycheck. There is no way you can call a taxi like this, and the nearest bus stop is at least two blocks away. You are starting to think that your childhood dreams of becoming a mermaid hadn't been so ridiculous after all.

Then comes the hand of God. It touches your shoulder gently, hesitantly. You turn around to face a stranger, a boy with shaggy black hair and pale moonlight skin. It is not God, but he comes close.

In his other hand is your salvation wrapped in Kumamon print nylon. It is proffered to you with a silent nod, his gaze fixed somewhere behind you as he waits for you to take it. The tips of his ears begin to redden the longer it takes for you to respond. Eventually, your brain connects with your muscles as you robotically pluck the umbrella from his grasp, a stuttered "thanks" leaving your lips.

He nods stiffly once more, removing his palm from your shoulder as though he had been burned. He shuffles for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the words to say. You wait, patience never waning for the strange boy that you have come to know as your salvation.

He doesn't find the words, after all. You aren't too offended by his silence, but he appears to be mortified. And so, he leaves just as quickly as he had appeared, like a whirlwind dressed in an oversized blazer flapping behind him like wings. He runs through the rain without another thought, an arm raised above his head in a futile attempt to avoid the rain.

You try calling out to him, wanting to thank him once more and maybe to ask how you could return his umbrella, but he is long gone. A speck of black dashing through the gray.

You clutch the umbrella closer to you, a feeling of something new growing inside of you. It is too small to call anything, but it is warm. 

———

Umbrella boy has a name, and he happens to work on the same floor as you. You know this because he is standing right in front of you in all his bespectacled glory.

He ducks out of view the moment your eyes meet his. There is a stack of folders in his arms, and he bows his head until his nose touches manila. It's too late––he knows you caught him staring. He scurries behind walls of filing cabinets and desk cubicles, desperate to get back to his desk where he hopes you'll never find him.

The office floor is large, but it is not large enough to hide in. It takes only a few minutes until you find him hunched over his desk, every inch of space taken by enough towers of paper to cover a forest. It is no wonder that you never encountered your mysterious umbrella boy; he does a wonderful job of blending in. 

Your eyes trail his form, not out of any perverse intent, but just out of curiosity. You never would have guessed from his unassuming and meek nature, but the boy is devastatingly beautiful. The devil is in the details: you admire the soft slope of his nose to the adorable pout of his lips. His eyelids are charmingly mismatched and his cheeks are begging to be pinched. It takes a year’s worth of self-restraint to keep your hands at your sides, if only so you don’t scare him away before you can even introduce yourself. 

(You can already imagine your HR department contacting you about nonconsensual manhandling... You admit that you tend to get overzealous with your affection, especially when confronted with cute things. This boy would definitely need to watch out for you if he knows what’s best for him.)

((Also note to self: Stop having these psychopathic conversations with yourself. Being stuck inside the cage which is your brain is torture enough, so let’s not encourage it to get worse.))

There is a lanyard laced around his neck, the gaudy orange color of your company’s logo emblazoned across the thin material. And just out of your line of sight, you catch a glimpse of his ID. His name is––

“Y-Y/N?” He stutters out–no–he squeaks. Ah, so he’s noticed you. The folder in his hand slips out of his grasp, an avalanche of white tumbling all over his lap. He curses loudly, frantically sweeping away the mess under his desk, as if he could somehow magically make them disappear if he just kicked them hard enough. Unfortunately, the papers stay stubbornly tangible, and he is left with a halo of accounting reports around his workspace.

“Are you… umm…” You hesitate with your words, fearing that any sudden movement on your part might cause umbrella boy to combust on the spot. “Do you need help… picking those up?”

“I–Well, no–Yes, but–” His sentences are stilted, his brain struggling to catch up with his tongue. He clamps his mouth shut, then shakes his head like he’s trying to reboot himself. Finally, after a few more deep breaths, he goes, “No. I’m fine. Thank you for offering.” He says that, but he appears awfully content with staring holes into the keyboard of his laptop when he is speaking to you though. 

“Still… I’m terribly sorry for startling you,” you say, lips tugging downwards into a frown. You should have guessed he was skittish from how he had acted yesterday, but it’s quite a surprise to see one man so… disastrous, for lack of a better term. It’s awfully cute. “I just wanted to properly introduce myself and thank you for lending me your umbrella yesterday, but it seems like you already knew who I was.”

His face does a weird thing then and there. It almost appears like he was caught in a time loop, like someone was manually reversing and replaying his facial expressions like a video. It takes a few minutes for his little stroke to settle down, but even then, his cheeks remain a rosy pink. “I–I just… remembered your name during the company retreat the other month. I’m not weird or anything, I swear!”

“Well luckily, I was never going to accuse you of being weird anyway!” You laugh, trying to ease the perpetual look of anxiety on his face. However, it only seems to worsen his nerves with how quickly his skin starts to redden. “In fact, I should be apologizing for not remembering your name, Mister..?”

“Min Yoongi,” he replies, pausing for a second too long. He must have realized his delay because he coughs awkwardly into his forearm, averting his face away from you in a futile attempt to become nothing more than an abstract thought. 

He must be equipped with some sort of superpower, because you’re starting to feel his secondhand embarrassment flood through you like a tsunami. Are you that difficult to converse with? Does he want to be left alone so badly that he’s trying to subtlely tell you to fuck off? 

You’re about to start apologizing and scurry off back to your desk in barely concealed mortification when Yoongi clears his throat, his gaze fixed somewhere to your right. Whatever caught his attention must have been revolutionary with how large his eyes are, although last you remember is that the wall behind you is the same dull jailcell gray that you have come to know and hate. 

“I just… I’m sorry if I’m acting odd right now. I just wasn’t expecting you to come to my cubicle and I would’ve... I don’t know, tidied up? If I knew you were coming,” he mutters, propping his glasses back up when they start sliding down his nose. They make their slow descent back down immediately after, forever on an endless cycle of up and down his face. 

“You don’t have to clean up just for me! I’m not your manager or anything,” you say, surveying the absolute disaster zone that is his workspace. For his benefit, you sure hope that he has a map of his desk and filing cabinets, as it would have been a miracle otherwise if he memorized where anything was located in his personal office sty. “Though, it would be nice if you could see the bottom of your desk every once in a while.”

To your immense surprise, Yoongi lets out a resounding laugh at your quip. Though Yoongi isn’t a mute by any means, it isn’t like he spoke with much volume either. You hadn’t even thought your joke was funny enough to deserve a strained Caucasian™️ smile, so you appreciate that he had considered that you were even slightly funny. You love the pleasant tinkling of his laughter, so genuinely joyous that you can’t help but want to make a fool of yourself just so you can hear it again and again. 

When Yoongi stops, the familiar reddish hue that has made a home on his cheeks resurfaces, though it’s less from embarrassment now. His shoulders are more relaxed, and he doesn’t look like he wants to crawl out of his skin as much. He still has eyes averted away from you, however. “Sorry. I don’t know why I laughed too hard at that. I’m normally not this weird… I think it’s just the nerves.”

You cock your head to the side. “Nerves? From what?”

Yoongi freezes, mouth gaping open slightly. “I, umm…” He coughs into his white button-up sleeve, pupils shaking as he formulates a response. “Just from… work. Yeah, I just have a lot of paperwork to do this week and I’ve been, er, having difficulty relaxing.”

Yoongi visibly relaxes when you accept his flimsy excuse, not really lingering on the validity of his statement. “Oh, sure! Don’t overwork yourself too much, okay?” you say, smiling sweetly back at him. He stares, wide-eyed, not really sure how to go on with his life after he’d been blasted by the full force of your grin. 

God, you hope you remembered to use a toothpick during lunch. Was there spinach in your teeth? Oh fuck.

“Gah,” he intones, his brain not fully cooperating with his mouth just yet. If you were any more socially inept, you’d probably be doing the same. Eventually, he clears his throat and tries again. “Uh. Yes. I’ll try to do better next time.”