#again these are messy summaries but the gist is close enough I think

[ridiasfangirlings]

So a quick rundown of two other K Fan Clan stories featuring Scepter 4. Again keep in mind that my Japanese is not great and this is a mix of google translate and what I could figure out on my own.

First, the Scepter 4 health check story. This is a short one. Basically it starts talking about Scepter 4's importance and how they're the only organization with the ability to track down Strains and that the other government ministries recognize that, however there is a mention of 'budget harassment.' Cue alphabet boys E-H, looking at a schedule indicating that the members will be undergoing a health check that appears to involve staying a couple nights at a luxury hotel. As civil servants it makes sense that they would have a regular check up but usually it's just a one hour checkup with chest X-rays, blood tests, urinalysis and a doctor's interview. The scheduled check up in front of them has hundreds of steps, MRIs and PETICT as well as gastric and colon cameras, etc. Gotou then notes that's not the worst of it, everyone has to get a mammogram as well. The boys have a moment of 'Men can get that as well?' and Enomoto notes that men's chance of getting breast cancer isn't zero after all. Hidaka wonders how much this costs, Gotou looks it up on his PDA and says that a premium executive check at the hospital is close to this and the cheapest is about 300,000. Everyone's like 'wait our dorm hasn't stopped leaking since last month, the shower hasn't stopped switching between hot and cold water,' Fuse says he thinks his and Enomoto's room has a mouse...but they have enough budget for this premium health check course. Eventually they all conclude this unbalanced budget is because the other related government ministries hate Munakata. (Everyone then gossips a bit about Fushimi seeming unhealthy and will Awashima's boobs fit in the X-ray, eventually all members were found to be healthy.)

Next, my favorite of these two: Wind and Clouds! Reisi Castle!

An Idol K Scepter 4 story! There is a heavy silence on the location bus as the members of Scepter 4's 'Shitsubou-tai' (Rapid Dream Unit? Something like that...it's the alphabet boys, basically) are preparing to go to their doom. Scepter 4's 'Promotion! Scepter 4' Idol variety show has become nationally popular among all people regardless of gender. Apparently due to this popularity, it isn't unheard of for the idols to be shipped to South America, or the North Pole, or to skydive from 2000 meters in the air. So naturally the poor members are more afraid than anything of 'The Countdown' to their next recording, which is never announced in advance – they are only suddenly packed into a bus and sent on to the recording site. Kamo notes that at least it's in Japan this time and someone mentions that didn't he go to the Amazon last time (where he was apparently surrounded by toxic poisons and nearly sucked into the river, luckily he came back alive. Ganbatte, Kamo-san ;^;).

Everyone ponders survival on a deserted island, or perhaps crossing the desert (these poor poor boys..), knowing that Munakata's ideas always exceed expectation. Finally they arrive, getting off the bus at a place where there's a large tunnel. That's when a voice comes over the loudspeaker welcoming them, it's the president of Scepter 4 and one of the 'Idol Kings,' Munakata Reisi. Munakata tells them it is time for the challenge as the walls below the speakers descend and they can all see what's on the other side of the tunnel wall: a Japanese-style castle with a small but perfect castle tower is there, surrounded by moats, walls and fences. Munakata proudly explains that this is Reisi Castle, which he undertook from design to construction supervision (have I mentioned I love Munakata? I love Munakata). What he intends is that the squad will have to break through each layer of castle defenses in order to defeat Munakata, the master of the castle. In order to give them time to formulate strategy and complete this Munakata has set up a challenge period of ten weeks.

Everyone notes that up until now they've faced many challenges overseas but this project seems of a different level, having to defeat Munakata. Fuse wonders if they can challenge it now and Munakata says of course, everyone figures that capturing the castle quickly will be easiest and so they charge – and Fuse promptly yells for help as the bridge splits in two and overflows with slippery oil. Akiyama and Benzai manage to reach the top of the drawbridge and try to pull the others up, sadly Fuse dies (well okay no he doesn't he falls into the moat). On the other side of the bridge a tank (? This part was difficult ;;) appears, everyone prepares to die.

Elsewhere, someone is swiftly controlling all the traps, focusing on Akiyama. Yes, the operator of the traps is none other than Scepter 4's most popular member, Fushimi. RIP Alphabet Squad. Fushimi devised and is controlling most of the traps, he notes that Akiyama and Benzai have dropped out as he continues to deploy the traps. Vice Castle Lord Awashima sits at Munakata's side and they all watch as the poor alphabet boys fail miserably.

It takes until the 10th week for the castle to fall. The remaining members who break through the defenses reach the top of the tower where Munakata himself waits with a wooden sword. Cue 'Munakata, battou!' and the last three members are struck down in an instant, burying their small hope in utter despair. On the bright side, ratings went up 57%.

[whydoeseveryonewanttobangchan]

🎨 Actually, I’m feeling rather inspired, Hyunjin… 🎨

✎ Pairing: Chan x fem!reader, Hyunjin x fem!reader

✎ Genre: Smut

✎ Summary: Hyunjin can’t decide what to paint next, but Chan has some ideas.

✎ CW: Partner sharing, voyeurism, degradation, praise, oral sex, fingering, slight daddy kink, curse words, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (wrap it up 🫵🏻)

✎ Word count: 2,599

❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥

The lazy afternoon in the dorm was going just as anyone expected. Han and Changbin were off doing whatever, leaving Hyunjin to sit at his easel creating his next masterpiece, while you and Chan sat on the couch watching tv, your limbs draped over his.

Chan was nonchalantly rubbing your legs, dragging his fingertips up and down from your ankles to your mid-thigh. His basketball shorts that you stole borrowed stopped right above your knees, but he used his long fingers to reach under the fabric just enough to be comforting without getting you too excited.

Hyunjin was making his cute sounds from the other room as he painted, but now the hmms and ahhhs have become uggghhhs and urggggs and then you hear a “FUCK IT.”

Next comes Hyunjin from the other room, frustrated and sulking. Chan’s hand stops mid stroke, just under the hem of the shorts.

“Flowers again, mate?” he asks.

“No, it’s her hand. I can’t get it right. I hate hands,” Hyunjin replies. He runs his paint-stained fingers through his long, blonde hair and holds them at the nape of his neck, broadening his chest as he stretches backwards. “I just need a break.”

“Come sit here,” Chan says, patting the empty spot on the couch to his right. “Let’s relax.”

Hyunjin makes his way to the couch and Chan picks up your legs to make room. Hyuniin plops down with a sigh and "thanks, hyung." Then Chan places your legs back down, heels resting on Hyunjin's thigh.

The younger boy’s eyes dart down and blood rushes to his cheeks. He awkwardly licks his pretty lips and tries his best to refocus on what’s on tv.

You and Chan both know Hyunjin has a little crush. It’s not hard to see how he stares as you walk by or readjusts himself when you get too close. Maybe this could be fun.

“How far did you get, Hyunnie?” you ask sweetly, referring to his painting but also maybe something else.

“Uh, about halfway I think. I don’t know,” he says with a sigh. “I wanna keep working but I think I’m done with it for today. I’m just stuck.”

He furrows his brow and sighs again. You tap his thigh with your toes.

“It’s ok, just start something new!” you encourage.

He looks down at his leg again and his blush deepens. He reaches for the pillow resting up against the couch and plops it in his lap. Chan senses the shift, giggling softly as he resumes rubbing your legs.

Hyunjin lightly clears his throat and says, “I don’t know. I’m not really feeling… inspired, you know?”

Chan’s lips curl into a smirk — the kind where you know something is brewing in that dirty mind. He says, “Well… I have an idea that may actually entertain and inspire us all.” He shoots a quick wink your way and starts rubbing your legs more slowly, teasingly. You’re starting to get the gist.

“Hmmmm,” you playfully muse, reaching toward your boyfriend’s face to fiddle with the messy curls that rest on his forehead. “What are you thinking, Channie?”

You both look at Hyunjin, who is now pressing the pillow into his lap as he stares at your legs, watching his hyung’s fingertips go up and down, up and down.

“Well, y/n, I think we should play,” Chan says, reaching his hand farther up under your shorts, lightly toying with the lace on the edge your panties. “… and I was wondering if Hyunjin would like to join us. How does that sound?”

Hyunjin’s eyes meet Chan’s, then yours.

“What? R-really? I mean, what do you mean? No, I…” he stutters and trails off, trying his best to keep his eyes on his lap and not pay attention to what’s happening around your crotch.

“It’s ok, Jinnie, you can look. I don’t mind at all,” you say with a soft smile. “You can touch, too, if you’d like.”

You tap your toes on his thigh, under the pillow. He hesitantly looks, slowly dragging his gaze up your legs to your crotch, watching Chan’s fingers rub your inner thigh. Hyunjin glances up at you, lightly smiles back, and places his left hand on one of your ankles.

“There you go, mate,” Chan encourages before turning his attention back to you, staring lovingly into your eyes as his hand travels back to your crotch, thumbing your folds over your underwear. His other hand reaches toward your chest and cups the outside of your right breast while his thumb makes small circles over your nipple. Only your thin T-shirt rests between your chest and his warm touch.

“Mmmm…” you hum, closing your eyes and leaning your head back against the arm of the couch. Chan increases pressure and speed from both thumbs, aiming to get you wet through your panties.

“Can you take over on legs?” Chan asks Hyunjin, gesturing with a nod to your now-hands-free shins.

Hyunjin slowly runs his chill, slender fingers from your ankles to knees and back down, eliciting another soft moan out of you.

“What do you want, baby?” Chan asks.

“Hmm, you. Your mouth,” you say, lifting your head and opening your eyes again to meet his. With a smirk, he leans down to put his pretty lips on you, sucking on your nipple through your shirt. He’s started pushing into you through the lace, and he can feel your panties getting damp.

“Mmm, so wet for me already,” Chan muses against your chest.

Hyunjin pauses stroking your legs and you see his eyes darken.

“Chan, can I…” Hyunjin asks.

“Fine by me,” Chan replies. “But you have to ask her.”

“Mhm, touch me, Hyunne,” you answer quickly, drowning in excitement and anticipation.

Chan removes his hand from your shorts to grip your breasts as he adjusts his torso so your lips can meet. You’re so anxious to see what Hyunjin will do that you don’t even mind the lack of contact between your legs.

Chan kisses you in his usual mind-blurring, romantic fashion, and you feel Hyunjin’s hand slide up your thigh, under your shorts and toward your pussy. He hesitates right before touching you, but you arch your hips up to meet him instead.

All his hesitation seems to melt away as soon as he feels how wet you are, and he immediately pushes all four fingers up against you with a sense of urgency — like he’s making up for lost time.

Suddenly, Hyunjin pulls his hand out, and gets up to kneel next to the couch for better access. He reaches under your waistband and panties to touch you again. He fumbles for a bit until finding a comfortable angle where he can press on your clit and stick two fingers inside.

You take a quick breath in around Chan’s full lips, startled by Hyunjin’s eagerness. Chan pulls back to observe what his friend is doing, and a lightbulb seems to flicker on in his mind.

“Hyunjin, you have another canvas right?” Chan asks.

“Uh, yeah? Why?” Hyunjin answers, blindsided.

“I have a sudden urge to paint,” Chan says, sitting up and lifting your legs so he can get off the couch.

You’re intrigued, and Hyunjin is just plain confused.

“But… we’re… uh… don’t you want to do this?” Hyunjin asks nervously.

“Actually, I’m feeling rather inspired, Hyunjin.”

With that, Chan leaves the room and heads toward Hyunne’s creative space. You hear some fumbling, cursing and clanging, but then Chan is heading back to the living room carrying Hyunjin’s easel and some brushes.

“What do you think you’re doing, baby?” you ask playfully.

Chan simply raises a finger indicating you should continue to wait, and heads back to grab more supplies. He returns with a blank canvas, some markers and some small containers of paint, balancing them expertly in his toned arms.

He places everything down and begins setting up at an angle where he can clearly see the couch. He pulls up a chair and grabs a marker, ready to make a rough sketch of his next masterpiece.

“OK, you two. Give me something good,” he says, removing the marker’s lid with his teeth, holding it in his mouth.

Hyunjin smirks and turns back to you. “You good?” he asks.

“Yeah, sure,” you reply. “Let’s inspire him.”

Hyunjin lowers his body back on to the couch on top of you, placing his knee between your thighs. Your hands instinctively reach for his hair, pulling him close. His soft lips crash into yours eagerly, though it takes a few seconds to get a comfortable rhythm without bumping noses.

His tongue dips in to explore your mouth like he’s trying to find a secret door in some old mansion. He runs it along your teeth, the roof of your mouth, under your tongue. He doesn’t want to miss out on a single part of you.

You reach down between you to put a hand on Hyunne’s cock over his sweats. He moans at the sudden but anticipated touch, pressing his hips down into your palm. But then he pulls back.

“No, wait,” he says. “I need to make you cum for me.”

He reaches down to grab your hand and lift it back above your head, pressing it into the couch. He does the same with your other hand before burying his face in your neck, licking and sucking and biting in a way that you’re sure will leave marks.

The sound of a zipper coming undone snaps you back to reality, and you look over to see Chan still has a marker in hand, but he’s also pulled out his cock. He strokes it slowly as he watches Hyunjin make his girl squirm.

Hyunjin pulls down the collar of your shirt with his teeth, exposing your taut nipples to the chill in the air. He goes back and forth between the two, teasing you with his tongue as he drags it slowly across your chest, leaving a trail of warm saliva.

“Use your teeth too,” Chan coaches as he draws and plays with himself. “She loves that.”

Hyunjin does as he’s told, biting down lightly at first, then harder. Chan’s right, you do love this. And Hyunne’s doing such a good job. Like he read your mind, Chan pipes up again.

“Good boy,” Chan says. “I love watching you pleasure my little slut.”

Hyunjin’s cock stiffens further at the praise, and your cunt tightens at the nickname. You love being his little slut, too.

Hyunjin reaches down to lower your shorts and you help, lifting your hips so he can easily slide both them and your panties down your legs. After a few more hard bites on your tits, he runs his tongue down to your pussy, excitedly lapping up the juices he and his hyung coaxed out of you so far.

“That’s it, taste her,” Chan says and strokes himself faster.

And Hyunjin does. He digs into you with his lips and his tongue, even biting softly. His fingers are next, thumbing your clit and reaching in to feel every part of your soaking wet cunt, just as he did with your mouth. It’s so good. So, so good.

“Make her cum. Tell that pretty whore she needs to cum for you.”

“Cum for me, please,” Hyunjin breathes into you.

You’re close, so close. Hyunne is stroking you from inside and trying to suck the life out of you through your clit and you feel it coming soon. So soon. Now. You’re gonna…

“STOP.”

Hyunjin startles and halts his movements. You both look to Chan, confused and unfulfilled.

“Not yet. She doesn’t deserve it yet,” Chan says.

Hyunne pulls his fingers out of you, and you whine as your pussy is left to the cold air when there are six perfectly capable hands in the room.

“Don’t be too sad, Princess,” Chan teases. “You don’t want to miss out on his big cock, do you? It would be such a shame if he couldn’t stretch you out, make you scream.”

Your hips involuntarily thrust upward at the thought.

“Please, Jinnie, fuck me,” you plead.

Hyunjin wastes no time pulling his dick out and rubbing its head on your clit.

“Beg for it,” Hyunjin answers.

Both you and Chan are happily surprised by his confidence. Chan chuckles behind the easel and a mischievous smile spreads across your lips.

“Please, god please. I need you, Hyunjin,” you beg. “I need your thick cock. I’ll do anything…”

“Anything?” Chan cuts you off. “Hear that, Hyunjin? She’s so desperate for you she’d do anything.”

“What are you thinking, Chan?” Hyunjin asks playfully.

“Hmmm, I’m thinking we stuff her,” he replies. “You ravage her her tight cunt while I fuck her beautiful mouth.”

“Deal,” Hyunjin says.

He quickly pushes inside you, moving in and out at a good pace. Chan cockily stands up and walks toward you, his stiff cock upright and leaking pre-cum. You turn your head toward him and open your mouth, ready to taste him.

“Good girl,” Chan says, stroking your hair. “You’re taking his cock so well. And you look so beautiful while he fucks you.”

He leans down to kiss your forehead before angling his hips toward your face and gently pushing himself into your mouth. You close your lips around him and press your tongue firmly up to his shaft, preparing to let him take the lead like he loves to do.

Chan places a hand on your head to keep you steady and begins thrusting in and out. He tries to adapt to Hyunjin’s pace to meet you as your body shifts up and down with Hyunjin’s strong pumps into your tight pussy.

The sound of moaning fills the room as both men thrust in and out, in and out. Chan holds and rubs your scalp while Hyunjin uses the hand not steadying your hips to play with your nipples again. It’s not long before you feel yourself finally reaching the climax you were so rudely denied before.

You lift a hand to Chan’s thigh and meet his eyes, and he knows you’re almost there.

“Should we let her cum this time, Hyunjin?” Chan asks. “She’s been such a good slut.”

“I think so,” Hyunjin replies. “She deserves it now, taking both of us so well.”

“Hmmm I guess you’re right. You can cum, sweetheart,” Chan says sweetly, and you’re finishing on Hyunjin’s dick almost at his words alone.

“I’m gonna… ughhhg… too…” Hyunjin says, barely holding on until he senses you’re done to pull out and finish on your stomach.

“Good boy,” Chan praises then looks back to you. “Do you want Daddy’s cum too, y/n?”

You give him the yes eyes and then he’s cumming too, coating your throat in him. You love the way he throws his head back and squeezes his eyes closed, and watching from this angle is truly something beautiful.

He pulls out of your mouth and plants a soft kiss on your lips before reaching for tissues to tidy everyone up. As Hyunjin is cleaning up the mess he made on your stomach, he suddenly remembers the painting.

“Oh, Chan, what did you actually paint?” he asks.

“OH!” Chan exclaims.

He does that cute little skip over to the easel, picking up the canvas and turning it to face you. It’s literally just… lines. Scribbles.

“You did… nothing,” Hyunjin says, almost with disappointment. “On a perfectly good canvas.”

You, on the other hand can’t stop laughing. Chan is giggling, too.

“I’ll buy you another, man, it’ll be OK.”

[ohheyitsokay]

trials

this takes place in my ‘poly frontier’ universe

pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco “Catfish Morales, Ben “Benny” Miller and a female reader

wordcount: 2.1k

warnings: all fics in this series are 18+, poly relationship, domestic, romantic, and sexual intimacy. strong language, angst with a happy ending

summary: this one is a Santi story - he tries to bring another girl into the relationship, and learns instead how much he loves you

it wont be everyone's cup of tea but I felt like it was an important part of the story

note: don’t hate Santi! I think this is a pretty normal, and the best sunsets come after rain

>>

Santi was the first to branch out. He didn’t mean to – hated himself for it a little, but he did.

This – whatever this is, it’s a ticking time bomb, he told Will. One of has to do something before it breaks all of our hearts.

It was a lie.

They both knew it. But he had the money and the looks and the confidence and he was just hurt enough by the sight of you asleep in Ben’s lap one afternoon that he just… let it get to him.

Brooded and boiled until he was overcome with false righteousness and pure selfishness.

He didn’t look you in the eyes when he told you he was going to try to get another girl. It wasn’t that he was leaving what you all had, just that he deserved a chance at whatever he called balance. His gaze in the other men’s eyes was too bold – the look of a desperate man, terrified of being hurt so causing it on his own terms.

You nodded numbly, shocked in spite of yourself, scolding and scathing voices in your mind telling you not to be selfish. Not to be greedy.

He deserves more than sharing.

Tucking yourself into Frankie’s arms, you tried not to glare or cry and only failed at the latter. Because it’s not the dating another girl that hurt, really it’s not. Polyamory is hard, and it was always an open option. What hurts is his blatant choice to ignore the relationship his has with you, specifically, that he’s ignoring everything you and him have worked for, built with love and time and care.

Rubbing gentle hands over your skin, Will and Frankie and Ben shared looks as Santi stalks away.

Frankie corners him in the garage the next morning. You had slept between him and Will the night before, but they had all felt you toss and turn, all spent a fair amount of time staring at the ceiling themselves. His dark eyes are an insecure that shoots into Frankie’s core – it’s a look he knows, has spent months overcoming. He swallows hard, his words dying in his throat, and he simply shakes his head.

It almost breaks Santi in two, the first moment one of his loves betrays the damage he’s done, but he tells himself there’s no going back.

“Better now than later, when our parents hate her or –”

Frankie’s look stops him and he flinches away.

Will is at the bar he chooses without an invite, knowing where he’d be without having to even ask and they both try not to think of you at home with Ben, probably dripping flames. Santi wonders if it hurts more to watch him flirt, or to do it, but neither of them say a word to each other. In spite of it all, the respect his judgement, respect his choice, and that hurts too.

It feels strange to have others looking him up and down and to look back, smile with lust void of love and soak in the attention.

Before he succumbs to it, Santi wishes Will would come over, slide his hand around his neck and… stop respecting him so much. It would pull him back, but since he doesn’t, the thought dies under the burn of cheap alcohol.

-

She’s lovely, really, graceful like a cat.

Santi has kept her from you all for a few weeks now, keeping his dignity with distance. But now she’s here, in your home, and you should be jealous but instead you just smile sadly at her, and slip off to the kitchen.

He likes… coffee, dark roast, with just a clump of raw sugar. You’re stirring it when you realize they followed you, hovering at the door. The ache of it is less than it was before and they’re happy together, so for his sake, you sit down across from her.

She’s kind, friendly. Knows the gist of the situation, tells you she’ll go at your pace.

And it crashes into you, how he’s pinned you at a time when know one else is home, offering her up to you like a plea, a child who used the superglue to make a gift, never mind the fact that his hands are both stuck to it and burning.

It feels reasonable to have another woman around, to make the numbers less absurd, to – to help you. Her smile is a little shy and she takes you hand and she looks at Santi with such adoration that a knot loosens in your chest involuntarily.

She doesn’t joke about it, any of it, and you almost wish she would. It would be so much easier to hate her if she was shallow, or stupid, or something but she’s not, and when she smiles you almost think you could be friends. You wonder if you could make it work, like they do for you.

Ben and Will come home early, stepping in like the angels they are, planting themselves solid at your side like trees with roots deeper than they are tall. When Frankie comes home, he takes the spot of the two of them as their eyes draw Santi into another room.

“What the fuck, Garcia,” Benny is as hurt as you are by it all, maybe more.

“Shut up Miller.” He’s glaring, filled with venomous satisfaction at how well the two of you have been talking.

“Cant you see it’s for the better?”

There’s silence – neither of them agree, too confused by him to respond.

“Don’t you ever wonder,” Santi tries again, knowing they’re listening because they love him too.

“No.” They spoke in unison, which makes Will roll his eyes. Neither of them hesitate, and something in Santi cracks.

-

You poke holes in the bottom of a styrofoam container with a plastic fork. She’s long gone now, but the date still lingers as you poke at your leftovers and try to unwind each moment of the date like strings of spaghetti.

On the surface it had gone well, you had thought you had fun until you felt a burn of tears under your eyelids.

Closing them you sigh, breathing like you practiced, gentle tides of love and logic washing over a feelings you tell yourself are selfish.

When you open your eyes, your Santi is standing behind her chair, and you almost cant breathe.

He went away for two weeks to help with a mission, and he’s here, one side of his mouth higher than the other. You want to kiss it, but you smile instead, and say, “You missed her by a couple minutes, sorry,” and actually mean it.

“I caught her in the parking lot,” he sits slowly, carefully, and when he reaches for your hands it’s almost tentative. It makes you blink again, how his eyebrows are bending. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t understand what it means, cant predict at all what he says next.

“I broke it off,” his eyes are in yours.

“I don’t understand,” you hear yourself say.

Santi searches for the words, like he had them but cant make them come out of his mouth.

“She’s not you,” he says. “I want you.”

You realize with a start that his hand is trembling, and he says your name in a way you’ve never heard before – like he’s terrified. That’s how badly he wants this, wants.. you. There’s no question in your mind, your eyes answer him.

It’s messy, not like a movie, the way he tugs you up and up and into his arms, the shudder of his broad shoulders and he buries himself into you as much as he can.

Like a hazy, blurry dream, your arms find their way around him, holding him like he’s fragile, another first.

He doesn’t say You’re enough for me, or You deserve the world, or anything dramatic.

Instead he says, “Can I buy you dinner?” And, “I’m sorry,” and “It’s been too long.”

And he says “I love you.”

-

He already asked the others, calling them each on his drive to you. Asked like he was young, if it was okay. Santi knew none of them had fallen in love with her, because even he hadn’t. But he had to ask for their permission as much as yours, to try to win you back.

They were more guarded than you, wary of his passion.

It takes time, and work.

He stays up later than he should talking with Benny about everything and nothing, hands nervously putting together snacks. When the younger man holds you, Santi teaches himself to join, to be held and hold you both. It feels good, which feels like guilt.

He works on that, too.

Frankie and him never talk about it. For weeks he thought his oldest friend had understood, more of less forgiven him without a word. One day they’re out for lunch, and his eyes flicker at the waitress, tucking her hair behind her ear. When he returns his gaze to the man across him, his blood runs cold. It’s been years since he’s seen furious determination brewing in Frankie’s dark, caring eyes, but it’s there now and he hates it. It takes discipline, to watch how he’s perceived as closely as he watched his intentions, but he does it.

It was easier than winning Will back.

“How long has your logic been shit?” Has your heart been in the wrong place this whole damn time?

“I just got on the wrong path, Ironhead.”

“Like hell you did,” his eyes were ice. “You let that happen.”

It would’ve been easier if he punched him. This wasn’t a kiss and make up moment either. The work ended up being long talks while you forced them to drive to pick you up when your car broke down the town over. Forcing words out being so honest it hurt, until has heart and throat felt raw. Making Will understand it was out of his own fears. Showing him how he was fixing it.

And weeks of letting with watch him again, eyes not missing a single touch or flinch or moment between you all. Actions to reinforce his words.

It hurt, but infinitely less than feeling distant from you all to begin with.

-

Will and your Catfish bring it up with you, one sunday afternoon as you tuck yourself between them and let their hands trace your skin.

“How are you doing?”

“I don’t know, Will. Better, I think. I missed him.”

Frankie places a row of warm kisses down the side of your neck.

“He missed you too. It’s Pope, he’s... he’s scared, love.”

“I don’t know if I believe that, yet.”

Ironhead grumbles at your confession, his big fingers squeezing the meat of your thigh.

“You gave him another chance, but you’re holding back. What does your gut say?”

“Unreliable - I’m in love with him.”

His head pops up and he kisses you before half-smiling. Frankie’s hand finds one of his, and they share a look.

“Can we tell you, querida? What we’ve seen.”

“Some objective evidence,” Will kisses you again.

“He loves us.” Another kiss. 

“You.”

-

It’s quiet as Santi flips through his latest files. The evening air is cool, and he should be getting ready for bed but you’re not home yet, and they’re all milling about waiting. You texted them how tired you were, what an awful evening you had.

“It should just be another couple of minutes,” Will says, and Frankie checks his watch. Ben wanders to the kitchen and they can hear him mixing hot chocolate.

When you walk through the front door, they fold you in their arms. Santi holds back, doubt still nagging at his mind. You let him back in, let him take you don't dates, but you didn’t fit together any more. He was running out of ways to communicate with you.

But you slump over, gently pushing aside his files and placing his laptop away before replacing it with yourself. Molding into him you sigh, and almost instantly fall asleep.

You’re small and vulnerable in his arms and the weight on his legs feels like trust.

The air in the room shifts, lighter, more breathable than it’s been in months. Adoring, proud eyes watch, and he wants to cry.

For the first time maybe ever, he’s sure that everything is going to be okay.

-

The bar was mercifully quite that evening, and if made it easy for you to find your love. A small, familiar feeling tugged in your gut as you made your way over to him, eyes on the waitress who was leaning over him with unwholesome intentions.

Then the feeling settled, and was replace with a warmer feeling. She was putting down a tray that had your order on it, and Santi was thanking her, distracted checking your message on his phone.

“Hey, handsome,” you said, the warm feeling spreading throughout your chest. “Can we actually get out of here?”

His brown eyes were big, dark lashes catching the low lights as he stared at you. Somewhere in his mind, he thought too protest because your drink just got there, but the words stuck on his tongue. 

“Yeah... yeah of course, baby,” He signaled for the check before standing to draw you in his arms. Saying no to you had never really been an option. 

The two of you barely made it to his truck before your hands were all over each other. You liked the feel of him, pinning you against the metal frame, the desperate way he kissed you.

Pope was saying something about how you looked so fucking sexy, needing him so badly you couldn’t wait. You couldn’t concentrate on them. 

“Pope,” you said against his skin, sliding your hands under his shirt. In response, he only made a soft groaning noise and increases his urgency.

"Santi," you tried again, before your own gasp cut you off.

"Santi - fuck - Santiago!"

The look he gave you was that of a dog, when you held the treat just out of reach.

"I'm yours," you said, pulling his head in to press against your forehead. "And you," you kissed him, hard, fingers gripping his beautiful curls. "Are mine."

"Fuck," you could feel his heartbeat, his pulse, he was pressing into you so hard, like he wanted to blur where he ended and you began. You knew he understood.

"I am," he said into your skin again and again that evening. Not selfish position, a promise and a proclamation: "I'm yours."

"I'm yours."

<<

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[mentally-in-northern-italy]

Wrong Idea — James Potter x reader

***not my gif***

Summary: You have a big crush on James Potter but have to live with the ‘fact’ that James is smitten with your best friend, Lily. But is this really the case, or have you just got the wrong idea?

Word count: 2.9K

A/N: Hi! Second fic, whoooo! No one really requested this but it just came to me. Again, a bit too long for my liking, but it’s okay. Any feedback is very much appreciated. Requests are open, so feel free! Enjoy!!

_________________

“He is totally staring at you, Lily,” you whisper to your friend as you stand beside her, both pretending to be overly concentrated on finding just the finest box of Chocolate Frogs that Honeydukes has to offer. 

“He is not,” Lily whispers back, acting as if this prospect sounds ridiculously unbelievable but you could see her small smile as she tried her best not to glance at his direction. She continued to act as though she was very carefully examining a box of Chocolate Frogs as you chuckled quietly, trying to ignore the faint pang in your chest.

James Potter. Star Quidditch player. Self-appointed ‘mom’ of the Marauders. Personification of the very cliche, but fitting phrase, “messy hair, don’t care”. And, of course, a very famous lady’s man.

And, lastly, your ‘former’ crush who was now seemingly smitten with your best friend, Lily.

You weren’t sure when it was exactly when you had realized that you were inordinately conscious of how you looked whenever he was around, how you stole quick glances at him throughout your shared Potions class, hoping he wouldn’t notice, or how much the thought of the raven-haired boy consumed your mind. Slowly, but surely, your crush on James had developed into something so strong and overwhelming, you couldn’t even think of confiding in anyone else. Not even your best friend, Lily Evans. 

When you had heard about the rumours and gossip circulating around the school, about how James was supposedly head-over-heels for a certain red-head, you had tried your very hardest to force those feelings out of you. You couldn’t have a crush on James. He liked Lily. End of story.

You felt even worse when Lily would blush mildly, her cheeks turning as red as her hair, whenever James stopped you two to talk in the middle of the hallway. How Lily would talk your ears off about how much she hated James, and how annoying and arrogant she perceived him to be, but you knew better. You knew Lily liked James too, maybe not as outwardly as James liked her, but enough to make you feel like a terrible person for liking the same guy as your best friend of five years.

And now, you couldn’t help but notice the way James’ eyes seemed to follow you two, as he stood by a shelf at the entrance of the shop, watching you both weave around the shelves stocked with sweets and treats in Honeydukes, talking quietly amongst yourselves.

“Lily, you like him, he likes you,” you try to tell her once again, ignoring how it made your heart sting a little every time you thought of them together, “why, in Merlin’s name, are you acting so oblivious?”

“[Y/N],” she scoffed, feigning offense, “I’m not acting oblivious. And I don’t like him. I just don’t… mind him.” 

“Mhm,” you hummed as you picked up a cauldron cake off the shelf, “I totally believe you, Lils.” 

“Believe what you want, [Y/L/N],” she retorted with a clever smile but the smile started to falter as she started to look more nervous, looking steadily at something behind you.

You turned around to look at what it was exactly that had her looking so alarmed and were just as alarmed when you saw James approaching you two, after abandoning the display he was previously taking a close look at, with a confident smile set on his handsome face. 

“[Y/L/N],” he greeted as he smiled at you for a millisecond too long, sending butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy, “Evans.”

“Potter,” Lily greeted him back curtly, her face set into a smile that conveyed politeness but not necessarily obvious interest.

Maybe it was your failure to repress your intense feelings for James, but you could’ve sworn that he was looking intently at you, perhaps in the hopes that you would also acknowledge him in some way. But, you didn’t trust yourself to be able to speak without melting into a stuttering mess so you stayed quiet, averting eye contact, and fidgeting with the packet of the cauldron cake in your hands. 

“Did you need something, Potter?” Lily questioned, raising a single eyebrow. James’ gaze still hadn’t left you but he was forced to tear his eyes off of you to address Lily. 

“Oh, no, I don’t need anything,” he remarked, regaining his confident (bordering on arrogant) composure as his eyes involuntarily shifted to you once again, “I just wanted to ask something.”

This captured your attention as your eyes jumped up from the cake in your hands to the sly smile that James was sending you and Lily. This is it, you thought, he’s going to ask her out and--

“Is there any chance, [Y/N],” James started out, sending you a sincere look, making your breath hitch in your throat, “that you could give up that Cauldron Cake?” 

“Huh?” you say in surprise. Cauldron Cake? 

“The one you have in your hand,” he smiled, “Uh, Padfoot, apparently, has been craving one for a few weeks and, unfortunately, that’s the last one they have. I looked all over.” 

“Oh,” you said, a bit awkwardly, evidently struggling to find the right words for this unusual sort of situation, “yeah, I guess you can…” 

“Y’know, I told him that’s not how cravings work,” he tried to crack a joke as you handed the cake to him, his hands slightly brushing against your own, making you weak in the knees, “but he claims I wouldn’t get it. It’s just a dog--, uh, a Sirius thing, I guess.” 

He laughed an incredibly awkward laugh, while you and Lily stood there, clearly unsure of what to do. It would not be correct to say you didn’t laugh because  you thought what James had just said was unfunny… no, it was more about the fact that you hadn’t understood it at all. This wasn’t like James. Sure, James’ jokes weren’t hilarious but they certainly weren’t as… dry as the one he just told. If you could even call it a ‘joke’. It sounded an awful lot like he just winged it -- came up with a half-assed joke just for the sake of coming up with one. Not a typical James Potter move, that much you knew. 

Lily was watching this exchange occur with weirdly curious interest. She wasn’t sure what was happening but she also couldn’t tear her eyes away from darting back between you and James. It didn’t take her too long to get a general gist of what was going on… she was the brightest witch in her year, after all.

“Right,” you say, attempting to swiftly leave this incredibly strange conversation, “I’m afraid Lils and I should get going now. Enjoy the… cake.”

“Oh,” James looked down at the cake, as if he had entirely forgotten he had it in his hands and then back up at you, “yes. Thank you, by the way, for the cake. I’ll see you back at the common room, [Y/N]. Evans.” He nodded in Lily’s direction, while he mentally cursed himself for acting so awkward.

Before anyone could say anything else, you took a hold of Lily’s gloved hand and started to lead her towards the exit of the shop, ignoring whatever it was she was saying to you. You shook your head a little as ridiculous thoughts started flooding your brain. Why did he use my first name and not Lily’s? Am I reading into this too much? Am I going crazy? 

You had decided that the latter two were more likely to be the case when the corner of your eye caught an entire shelf in front of the entrance of the shop, stocked with Cauldron Cakes. And the display wasn’t too far away from where James originally stood. In fact, that’s the very display he was checking out when you had noticed him staring. 

________________

You groaned as Marlene and Lily dragged you out of the dorm room, against your will, mind you, insisting that it was absolutely crucial that you abandon your History of Magic of homework and follow them.

“We have a test coming up!” you tried to reason with them, “Lily, Mar, come on, we should be studying!”

“Studying can wait, [Y/N],” Marlene said to you, matter-of-factly, “Quidditch cannot.”

They dragged you by the arm, through the Gryffindor common room, to the Quidditch game, which was just about to start. Today was a big day; the first Quidditch game of the season, Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. 

You, of course, knew what this meant. 

James Potter. Flying around on his broom. Being a brilliant chaser.

You had never been a particular fan of the game, but when you had started liking James, you found yourself going to the Quidditch pitch quite often. That is, until you deemed your feelings for James to be forbidden. Now, Quidditch games were just about the same as rubbing salt to your, very deep, wounds. 

The way he would look over at Lily, who stood right beside you, and wink at her made you angry. And not angry at Lily or James, but angry at yourself. All the glances he would send her way only made you get mad at yourself for ever feeling this way about someone who was so far out of your reach.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Lily said as you snapped out of your thoughts, leading you through the hallways in the direction of the Gryffindor stands.

“Yeah,” you mutter under your breath, with a twinge of sadness, making sure she wouldn’t hear, “for you.”

_______________

Gryffindor had won the match. Hufflepuff played exceptionally well, but it was no match for the Gryffindor’s brilliant offensive tactics. 

As the Gryffindor seeker had caught the snitch, the cheering in the stands rang out. You, Lily and Marlene jumped up, screaming and clapping, overjoyed at this brilliant win. 

“Come on,” Marlene said excitedly, “let’s go down to the pitch!”

“What?” you asked, alarmed. You did not want to be in close proximity to James right now. Not when his jersey would be clinging onto his body and his hair would be all sweaty and his face all red, making him look even more hands-

“Yes! Let’s go,” Lily agreed instantly, dragging you by the arm. 

You groaned once again but you knew they wouldn’t listen. As you three, no, as you two were walking down, -- Marlene was practically skipping -- thoughts of the Quidditch match in action flooded your mind. James sent so many winks and smirks in Lily’s direction that you could’ve sworn by Merlin that some of them were to you. Or this was just wishful thinking. After all, Lily was sitting right beside you. You decide that this is just you getting confused -- but then again, why did Lily always glance your way after James smiled at you, as he scored a goal, expecting you to react in some way? And why did she look genuinely pleased, instead of having even the hint of jealousy in her eyes? 

There’s nothing for her to be jealous about, you told yourself repeatedly, he was looking at Lily. 

As you three reached the Quidditch pitch, you could see clumps of students, crowding the Quidditch players, congratulating them excitedly. 

“Lily, I came to the match,” you tried to whisper to her as you two stood there, unsure of where to go, “can I please go study now?” 

“No, [Y/N] [Y/L/N]!” providing special emphasis on your full name, yelling loudly, capturing the attention of everyone on the pitch. Everyone’s head turned to look at you as you seemed to shrink into yourself and Lily wore a proud smile on her face, looking at you slyly. 

The mention of your full name had attracted a lot of unwanted attention. But it also, almost immediately, seemed to attract some wanted attention as well. 

Well, not wanted, that wasn’t allowed as per your rules, but appreciated, nonetheless. 

James’ head turned to you as he diverted his attention from some excited first-years to you and Lily. Your eyes had widened remarkably, your face had started to heat up and the butterflies in your stomach who had seemed to be asleep previously, had now woken up. 

“Oh, would you look at that,” Lily said quickly, “Thomas Lee looks dashing, I’m going to go tell him congratulations!” And with that, she walked away from you and towards Lee, the Gryffindor keeper.

James had started walking over to you as you stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do. Do you meet him halfway? Do you keep standing there? Merlin, why did this have to be so difficult? 

“[Y/N], so glad you could make it,” he smirked at you as he pushed his sweaty hair back. 

“Uh, yeah, congratulations,” you said, trying to keep yourself from looking at his figure, “you played really well.” 

“Thanks!” said James, with, what looked like, genuine gratefulness, before the look in his eyes turned cocky again, “Although, I’ve played better. This game was a piece of cake.” 

“Of course,” you couldn’t help but smile softly at his words. This is the James you knew. The James you liked. The James you shouldn’t like.

“Speaking of cake!” he exclaimed suddenly, trying to salvage this conversation from turning awkward, “Thanks again for that cauldron cake! I was so bummed when I found they had run out.” 

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” you told him politely, when you remembered something. 

They hadn’t run out of cauldron cakes. In fact, they had them all piled up on the shelf right in front of the entrance. Before you could say anything, James started speaking again.

“Y’know, there’s a Hogsmeade trip coming up,” he started out confidently, but the slight shaking of his hands and the easy-to-miss quiver in his voice indicated otherwise.

“Yes, I know,” you told him, quietly. Was he telling you to ask Lily for him? Godric knows you would never be able to do that. “Lily knows too, so… you can ask her. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

“What?” he looked very surprised, his eyebrows had furrowed as if he had no idea why you had mentioned that. 

“The Hogsmeade trip. You should ask her. She might seem like she would say no but she’ll say yes.” You ignored the feeling of your heart sinking. 

“But, I don’t want to.” he said with a slight shake of his head.

“What?” 

“I wanted to ask you.” his voice had gotten unusually quiet.

You were in absolute shock, to say the least. James Potter wanted to ask you? To Hogsmeade? What about Lily? 

“What about Lily?” you asked, confusedly, “I thought-- everyone thought--”

“I like you, not Evans,” he told you with no hesitation, “who said I liked her?”

“Literally everyone thinks so.”

“Well, they must have gotten the wrong idea.”

“But--”

“[Y/N], for someone so bloody smart, you are incredibly oblivious,” James said, with the slightest bit of his irritation showing through, “Didn’t you see me staring at you? Winking? For Merlin’s sake, there wasn’t a shortage of Cauldron Cakes back at Honeydukes! I just wanted to talk to you.” 

“But you were staring at Lily,” you say defensively, “not me. Why would you do that?”

“Because… I like you?” 

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do!” 

You shook your head in frustration. You couldn’t do this to Lily. This is not what best friends do. No, there is no way you would act on these feelings.

“Lily!” you turn away from James and make your way over to Lily, “we need to go.” 

You drag Lily away from Lee and start making your way off the pitch, leaving Lee and James staring at you both in confusion.

“So, did you say yes?” she asked you as you tried to walk as fast as you could without making it seem like you’re running away.

“What?” you turn to her. 

“To James? He asked you out, didn’t he?” she asked eagerly. You were surprised to see she wasn’t sad. At all. In fact, she seemed happy for you. 

“But you like James,” you tried to tell her, trying to work this whole situation out, standing only a few feet away from James and Lee, who were watching this interaction intently. Didn’t she?

“I thought I did,” she told you, “but I think I only convinced myself that I did, because I thought he liked me. To be honest, I really don’t. And all those times you tried to tell me he was staring at me? It was always you, [Y/N], I just happened to be standing right beside you every time.”

“But, I--,” you struggled to find words. 

“Look,” Lily said as she put a hand to your shoulder, “I know you like him. I also know he likes you. Why, in Merlin’s name, are you acting so oblivious?” she said, imitating your words from that trip to Honeydukes.

“You really don’t like him?” you asked, unsure of what you wanted the answer to be. On one hand, you would love to go out with James, on the other, you never wanted to hurt Lily’s feelings.

“No! Not even one bit,” she reassured you, “I’m a bit relieved, really, plus, I think I’ve found myself a keeper.” She turned away from you to face Lee, still stood a few feet away from you two, and smiled. Lee winked back. You laughed at this and reluctantly turned your head to James, also stood a few feet away from you. He stood with his confidence a little diminished, looking defeated. But he still gave you a small smile and waved awkwardly.

“Go! Say yes,” Lily told you, chuckling, “We can even go on double dates together.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully at Lily before you took a deep breath in and started to make your way towards him. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Um.”

“Let’s start over,” you told him as you straightened your posture and fixed your hair. 

“Start over?” he asked, regaining the arrogance.

“Ask me out again, Potter,” you told him, having found confidence yourself after your talk with Lily. You no longer felt bad about liking James. And you felt even better knowing he liked you.

“Oh, yes!” James plastered his smirk back on his face, “There's a Hogsmeade trip coming up, [Y/N].” 

“Yes, I’m aware,” you nodded and smiled, stifling giggles from erupting.

“Let’s go together.” he said cockily, his eyes twinkling.

“That was pathetic, James,” you said as you started to laugh softly.

“Hey!” 

“But yes. Let’s,” you told him with a mischievous smile, “Maybe this time, I can help you find the very noticeable, hard-to-miss Cauldron Cake display.” 

“Deal.” He sent you his infamous James Potter grin at which you grinned back.

[cdyssey]

Regret

Summary: When Fran doesn't come down to breakfast after spraining her ankle, the whole house is concerned for her—especially Niles and Mr. Sheffield. Set after "An Affair to Dismember."

A/N: Okay, so I've binge re-watched nearly four seasons of The Nanny in four days, and had to get at least one fic out of my system, lmao.

Fran Drescher's acting in "An Affair to Dismember" when she suddenly broke while talking to Maxwell made me sensitive. ;-;

AO3 Link

—

Breakfast is a remarkably boring affair without Miss Fine bursting through the door, raising her arms in a floral robe, and proclaiming, with signature adenoidal stylings, “Good moooorning, everyone!” 

The clink of silverware, the scraping of ceramic plates, the ruffling sound of Mr. Sheffield anxiously attacking the New York Times like a new Andrew Lloyd Webber play has just dropped—all of it is so terribly drab that Niles spends the first fifteen minutes of her pronounced absence coughing loudly in the hopes that his employer will pick up the hint to do something about it.

“Oh, do go get a bloody cough drop, old man,” he finally snaps, smacking his newspaper down on the table. “You’re driving me mad.”

“Sorry, sir,” Niles arches a brow as he refills Mr. Sheffield’s coffee mug. “I have asthma.”

He turns away to replace the coffee pot on the side table.

“And half a mind to kick your tetchy derrière,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that, Niles?”

“Nothing, sir! Just saying thank you for your attentive care.”

“Dad,” Master Brighton thankfully interrupts, “where’s Fran, and what have you done to make her mad this time?”

Niles immediately turns around again in time to see his boss’s shoulders straighten in that way they often do when he’s indignant.

Or guilty.

Or some mixture of them both.

“I beg your pardon, Brighton,” he replies stiffly. “Why do you immediately assume I’m the problem here?”

“Process of elimination,” Brighton shrugs. “Fran’s not mad at me, Maggie, or Grace, and Niles is one of her closest friends.”

“You’re so astute, Master Brighton,” Niles smiles wryly as he moves to the left to get a better view of Mr. Sheffield’s face. The vein in his temple is beginning to throb, which is always a good time.

“She hasn’t dated anyone recently,” Miss Margaret pipes up.

“And she’s always fighting with her ma,” Miss Grace adds, “but that's never kept her from Belgian waffles before.”

“So, Dad,” Brighton grins, patting his father once on the back, “unless our math is wrong, that leaves you.”

“Goodness me,” Mr. Sheffield mutters, angrily stabbing a piece of link sausage with his fork. “I didn’t know I was in the presence of the lost Hardy Boy.”

“So you did do something!” Margaret exclaims. 

“No! I bloody well did not, Nancy Drew. For your information, Miss Fine accidentally hurt her ankle clubbing last night with Val. I don’t think it’s broken, but I’ve called a doctor to come by just to check.”

“Tsk, tsk. And you didn’t offer to pick her up Cinderella-style and swoop her downstairs so she wouldn’t miss breakfast?” Niles asks chidingly, only to be greeted with a nasty glare.

“Yes, I did offer to bring her down to breakfast as a matter of fact... but Miss Fine seemed strangely subdued when I spoke to her through the door... I didn’t know what to make of it to tell you the truth...”

Mr. Sheffield’s brow contracts as he searches Niles’s face for an answer, and Niles stares back just as studiously, observing the profound concern in his employer’s dark eyes.

The gentleness.

The romance.

The stunningly oblivious care.

Niles sighs fondly.

Unlike Miss Babcock, he’s never had the heart to kick poor puppies when they’re down.

“I’ll bring her Advil and a fresh ice pack,” he promises. “Perhaps some pain relief will help her to regain her spirit.”

“I hope so,” Mr. Sheffield replies, self-consciously turning to his plate again, the tips of his ears rather pink. “I hate when Miss Fine isn’t feeling well.”

“Here, here,” the whole table concurs.

—

Twenty minutes later, Niles is at Miss Fine’s door with a silver tray laden with all the essentials: painkillers, an ice pack, a mug of coffee (milk instead of cream and extra sugar), and a copy of the new edition of Gloss. He lightly taps on her door with the side of his loafer.

“Miss Fine, can I come in?”

“No,” comes an immediate and sharp reply. “I’m not dressed!”

“How discouraging,” Niles sighs smilingly. “What ever shall I do?”

“Suff’a, and at least give me a minute to find a brassiere.” 

“Oh, we’ll be here all day then.”

He hears a strange thud, a collection of evaluations (“dirty, dirty, slutty, Maggie’s, dirty”), and an assortment of Yiddish curse words he now vaguely recognizes from being friends with Miss Fine for nearly four years now. And then finally— 

“Come in, Jeeves, but shut the door behind ya ‘cuz I haven’t applied a morning layer of lipstick yet.”

Niles elbows the knob and pushes with his shoulder until the door lights open to a peculiar sight. Far from being neat, Miss Fine’s room looks like Macy’s after its annual Black Friday sale with clothes strewn everywhere—from the dressers to the wardrobes to the floor. An empty suitcase is lying on the bed next to Miss Fine, who is sitting in bed wearing an oversized t-shirt, her injured ankle propped up on a pillow. Niles can tell, even from the doorway, that it’s red and swollen, but to his satisfaction and relief, it doesn’t appear to be broken.

“Welcome to the jungle,” Miss Fine mutters when she notices his incredulous gaze. “We got all the animals out t’day.”

“I can see that,” Niles replies, placing his tray on her bedside table and shutting the door. With his usual efficiency, he then walks back over, retrieves the ice pack, and gently places it on the affected area, frowning when she flinches.

“Mr. Sheffield said that the doctor was coming at ten,” he says as he gently lowers himself onto the bed, clasping his hands primly on top of his lap.

“Mm,” Fran grunts noncommittally, grabbing the two Advil pills and knocking them back with a swig of coffee.

“What? You’re not curious as to whether or not said doctor in question is single, Jewish, and living in a Manhattan penthouse? Miss Fine”—Niles reaches over and places the back of his hand on Fran’s head—“do you have a fever?”

“Oh, Niles,” she swats his hand away, “I’m not in the mood.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that one.”

“Niles!”

“Sorry, Miss Fine,” he withdraws his hand with a laugh. “You know I have to warm up before Miss Babcock arrives.”

“Glad to assist,” Fran quips, taking another sip of coffee, and it’s only as she closes her eyes to savor the taste, that he notices there are lines beneath her eyes from what seems to have been a sleepless night. 

The smile sinks from his face.

“You know,” he says quietly, “in all of our acquaintance, I’ve never known of you to injure yourself while dancing.”

Fran opens her eyes only to immediately glance away, tapping her long nails against her mug.

“Val tripped me up when she thought she saw Elton John,” she shrugs dully. “Turns out it was just a really lifelike poster of him behind the bar...”

“I see,” Niles returns, raising a brow. “It was nice of Miss Toriello to forgo her weekend trip with her parents to come back and… boogie woogie oogie with you.”

“Dammit,” she pouts, scrunching her nose. “I didn’t think I’d told you that.”

“You didn’t. I overheard you and Miss Toriello gabbing on the phone about it yesterday morning.”

Fran can’t seem to help herself; she smiles crookedly, even as she shakes her head.

“I dunno who’s more absorbent sometimes—you or the dish sponge.”

He smiles back at her, patting her uninjured leg gently.

“Me, naturally."

"I can believe it, Chatty Cathy," she sighs.

"Now tell me, Miss Fine"—he regains his solemnity quickly, unwilling to let her deflect with jokes—"why does your room look like a tornado went through Loehmann’s?”

Her dark eyes immediately glance around the messy room, as though looking for an excuse and failing to find one.

It’s only now that Niles is sitting down, taking everything in, that he notices that most of the articles strewn about are her favorite clothing items, from her holographic Versace dress to the black tube top that Mr. Sheffield can’t pry his eyes away from every time she wears it.

“I almost did a very stupid thing, Niles,” she half-whispers, looking down into her coffee cup, her fingers tensed and shivering around the handle. “And the thing is, maybe it wasn’t really all that stupid? Maybe it was the smartest thing I could of done in a lifetime of doin’ so many stupid things.”

She pauses briefly before sardonically adding, “People included.”

Though Niles doesn’t have enough dots to connect the full picture, he has what he needs in the way of evidence to get the basic gist: Nigel being in town, the two of them going out, Nigel leaving town, the suitcase, the swollen ankle, and Miss Fine's uncharacteristic melancholy, smeared across her face so sharply that it may as well be lipstick.

He swallows thickly, suddenly grasping how close that they had all been to losing Fran forever.

“Well,” he says, making an effort to hitch an oblivious smile on his face, “isn’t it your mother who says that everything happens for a reason? It seems as though you’re right where you belong.”

“Yeah,” she snorts indelicately. “Twenty-nine multiple times over, single, and livin’ in a mansion with a man who won’t even commit to his meal orders at restaurants, much less his very available and desperate nanny.”

“Beautiful, young, and living in a mansion with three children who love you, a butler who’d be lost without you, and a man who won’t commit to his tie choices either but still cares for you deeply all the same,” Niles corrects her softly. “He was very worried for you when you didn’t come down to breakfast this morning. He didn’t even do the crossword on the Times.”

“Gee,” she rolls her eyes playfully, “how romantic.”

“Very,” Niles grins, “a modern day Romeo—emotional hangups and all.” 

With that, he pats Fran again and stands up; he has no doubt that Mr. Sheffield will be calling for him soon to interrogate him as to Miss Fine’s wellbeing. 

Maybe he can even get C.C. on speaker phone to rub it in her face.

“Y’know, Niles,” Fran smiles at him fondly, “if this whole Mr. Sheffield thing doesn’t work out, we should elope in Vegas in ten yea's.”

“Only if you wear this little number,” he says, bending down and picking up a black cocktail dress from the floor, folding it neatly over his arm.

“You wish you could be so lucky.”

“If we’re going to be in Vegas, anything can happen, I suppose.”

After he retrieves the silver tray from the bedside table, he bends down and kisses Miss Fine lightly on the head, his heart hurting when he notices the way that she closes her eyes beneath the gentle touch—young and vulnerable and terribly hurt by something he can’t quite fix with a well-timed witticism.

“Get some rest, Miss Fine," her murmurs against her head. "I'll check on you a bit."

“Thanks, hubby."

—

Scarcely ten minutes later, he’s down in Mr. Sheffield’s office as per usual, offering the producer a fresh cup of tea even though he had already drunk his traditional two cups at breakfast. 

He insisted, though, on a third, for some excuse he couldn’t quite come up with.

And instead of coming up with an excuse, he immediately asked for all the particulars of Miss Fine’s health.

Predictable chump.

“Thanks, old boy,” Mr. Sheffield frowns, returning to his crossword, tapping the end of his pen arrhythmically against the paper. “Let me know when the doctor for Miss Fine arrives. I want to be there when he checks her over.”

“Ooh la-la-la,” Niles hums, dropping a sugar cube into the tea with a zesty plop.

Mr. Sheffield places his pen down on the desk angrily. 

“Not like that… I just want to ensure she’s going to be well… you know, for the children’s sake.”

“Yes,” he sighs theatrically. “How will the children ever be able to bear their nanny having a twisted ankle?”

“Oh, shut up,” Mr. Sheffield snaps. “I don’t pay you to be sarcastic.”

“No, sir, you pay me to help you with the crossword when you’re missing three-across,” Niles smirks knowingly when he glances down at the incomplete puzzle. “What’s the hint?”

Mr. Sheffield adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose before looking down again.

“A word that means feeling bad for not doing something that you should have done all along. Disappointment. A sense of shame.”

Niles straightens up with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“Oh, sir, do I really have to spell it out for you?”

[honeydots]

127 with shuake would be good.

"My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you're ready to sleep."

once again. didnt forget abt these. im working thru em. 

Summary: Goro wakes up one day in a hospital bed with only a bullet wound to keep him company, and not a single memory of who he used to be. 

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(ao3 link)

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He was almost certain the last few weeks had been a dream. 

Or maybe, several long and white coated dreams. The kinds with bright lights at an arm's length, and ill-fitting clothes, and men coming in waves carrying their clipboards as flags. With deep voices all at once whispering, echoing, “what is your name?” 

Maybe he was in a hospital. 

His first day of full consciousness was slow and lonely. His second day too, time spent wiggling his toes and counting ceiling spots. Day three he asked for a glass of water and scared a nurse out of her skin, and his week was kickstarted. Which only really meant an actual doctor came in and declared retrograde amnesia the only explanation for his condition.

His “condition” was quite the word to use. Which condition? They could play bingo. Was it his memory loss (obvious, weak narrative), or could it have been the state of comatose he’d been in (intriguing), or even the bullet wound (now here was a mystery, what a plotline) he’d heard remarkably little about? Amnesia, the fickle bastard, was the type to bring one answer to dinner, and disappear by morning. 

But what did he know? 

Well, he knew that this was a pretty shitty hospital.  As far as how he assumed they should be managed, this one was on a low tier. And according to the nurse, as was their police station. Incompetent, and uncaring of his case, which had apparently been made. 

It’d been a week now. He could get up. Limited, with his IV, but he could. The nurse said later that maybe the police would listen to him now, since he was conscious, basically up and kicking. ‘Listen to him now,’ was also an interesting phrase, because he hadn’t been speaking in the first place. 

He wasn’t injured. His vitals were fine, the nurses had told him, and commented he was taking up an unnecessary bed. Not that he could actually make any kind of sound argument, which was frustrating enough on its own, but this didn’t seem like proper procedure. 

He was, once again, very alone in his room. He thought about going to the police station. Incompetent as they may be, there would be no answers here. There was no one here to help him; some healthy boy in a hospital bed. 

He got up. His IV was stuck in poorly, the tape just barely holding on. They’d disconnected him from all sorts of machines. Nothing was roping him down except for saline solution and his own two feet. 

And, he was already standing. 

It wasn’t hard to pull out. 

His hospital gown was tied all the way down, falling just past his knees. He had odd socks on, their texture was weird, and they were several sizes too big. They were thick and patterned, maybe slip proof? But shoeless as he was, they would do.  

The hallway was very empty. He was on the ground floor, but he wasn’t sure there were other stories. Maybe one, or a basement. It didn’t matter much. There just wasn’t anyone around. His concern was in that he didn’t know how long their absence would last. 

There was a glass door at the end of the hallway.

To the police he’d go. A medical bill dodging amnesiac would probably get him some attention. Enough to get a name? 

The door was not locked. That was probably good, for a hospital, and not a security breach, which is where his mind had initially gone. 

Doors are meant to be opened, he thought. There really isn’t anything wrong with that. 

It was just a little bright outside. The sun was up but not too far. He was in the parking lot, and it was almost entirely devoid of cars. Small, small hospital. 

He didn’t exactly have a map, and no nurse was around to give him any condescending directions. He’d might as well go forward, then. He started walking, and thought to himself how odd his feet felt on the concrete. 

No one was out. He hesitated to call it deserted, just maybe a bit early. He kept walking, nerves high, still worried he might get mauled by a stray doctor.

It seemed like this was a very small town, going by his surroundings. Lots of trees, and cracked roads, and old buildings. He didn’t think much of taking it all in. He’d have time for sightseeing when he remembered his initials. 

A bit farther ahead was a woman, leaning on a car parked on the side of the road. She was glaring down at her phone. She looked— maybe irritated? Or tired. He wondered if he could ask her for directions. An aimless stroll through town wouldn’t take him to where he was going, after all. 

“Excuse me,” he called, “Ma’am? Do you know the way to the police station?” He approached her with just enough caution to call it looking out for himself, ignoring the sorry state he was already in. 

She glanced up from her phone. Her hair was short, and dark, and it bobbed around her face. She registered him for a moment, and her eyes went big. 

“Holy shit.” 

He knew enough to know that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “I need to go to the police, please.” 

The woman kept staring at him. “You—” she stuttered, “are you Goro Akechi? You are, aren’t you?” 

This encounter was already going awry. Did she know him? “Do you know me?” 

“Uh…I mean, no, we’ve never met.” She pushed herself off her car, and slowly put her phone back into her pocket. 

That wasn’t really what he meant. He needed to persist, here. This could be a lucky hit. “No I— Do you know who I am?” 

Blatant confusion spread across her face. “Uh…  Are you not Goro Akechi?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. 

She stared at him again, almost suspicious. Then she looked him up and down.

“Are you… coming from the hospital?” 

“Yes.” He watched her mouth open just a bit in disbelief. He wondered how this woman knew him. If explaining would get more information out of her, then he’d do it. Privacy only existed when you had something to protect, after all. “I’ve been given an amnesiac diagnosis, you see. I’m going to the police station to see if I can find any sort of lead on myself.” 

She looked shocked. “Amnesia? And you’re going to the cops?” She blinked, and suddenly looked very serious. She grabbed one of his shoulders. “Wait. That’s bad news. Don’t go to the police.” 

He (Goro?) hadn’t expected to hear that.“What? And why shouldn’t I?”  

“You… holy shit, kid, do you actually have amnesia?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen you need to— oh good god, this is gonna sound like I’m trying to kidnap you— I definitely know who you are. I can tell you but we shouldn’t… here. If someone finds you… ” She exhaled hard, and looked him dead on. It made Goro freeze. “Fuck, okay. The gist of it is— you’re in more danger than you realize. Like, a lot more. Will you come talk with me in my car?” 

Alright. So, a lot to process, and a lot he didn’t know how to. He didn’t even know if he should process it, or if that was the kind of story that should be immediately disregarded. Someone telling you to not go to the police and please get in their car seemed like a textbook stranger-danger red flag. There had been something uneasy about her tone, though. Like genuine concern— not that such a thing couldn’t be perfected and acted, however. 

But she’d given him a name. And it felt almost tangible, the more he thought about it. Less bendable and more sturdy. It was very easy to attach to himself. And it was a lead, wasn’t it? 

“Hey, did you get discharged, or are you just wandering around? Cause they’re gonna be looking for you if they didn’t let you out,” said the woman, jump starting Goro (almost certainly, Goro) out of his head. “And kid, I cannot just let you turn yourself in to the cops.” 

‘Turn myself in,’ he thought to himself. Such particular wording. It made his stomach drop. This woman knew more than him, clearly. And really, for fucks sake, if he died, he died. Obviously he hadn’t left enough of a mark on anyone to warrant not a single visitor during a five year coma. According to the nurses, it was more evident that he’d simply been dumped in town— like someone had already been trying to get rid of him. 

Well, whoever they were, they’d forgotten to bury his bones. 

He straightened himself up. “Okay.” 

She looked surprised, at first. She swallowed around it. “...Yep, okay then. Hop in before you change your mind.” She popped open her car door, and Goro circled around the side and followed suit. 

Her car was messy. It was filled with food wrappers and empty bottles, but papers and notebooks were scattered around, too. So she kept busy, it seemed. He decided he’d consider this a point in the not-about-to-murder-you direction. Too much here that could be used as evidence against her. Too personalized. He was almost envious. 

She adjusted her seat forwards and turned on the ignition. She was a bit jittery, Goro noticed, as she scratched the back of her head vigorously. 

“So, I’m gonna drive us somewhere that isn’t here but I can talk and drive so, just— like,  just a second, okay?” 

He nodded. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. “...Goddamn,” she muttered, and then pressed down on the gas, turning her car onto the barren road. 

She kept her eyes forward, but kept true to her promise of talking. She sighed. “Right. So, uh, to start… Okay, first, my name’s Ichiko Ohya, I’m a journalist. Get that cleared away. Next comes you which is a bit more complicated, but you probably wanna know why we’re dodging cops so I’ll start there. Or, as close to there as I can.”

He would take anything he could get from her, actually. The cops situation was undeniably concerning, but right now he was essentially a sentient empty shell, absorbing everything for the first time. A kid in a metaphorical candy store, but the store was a dodgy reporter who still might be kidnapping him and just stalling.  He’d call himself the kid, but it dawned on him he didn’t even know how old he was. Fantastic. More things the hospital staff hadn’t bothered to tell him. 

“Your name’s Goro Akechi. I told you that already but, that’s you. At least I’m like, ninety percent sure.” She spared him a glance. “You do look a bit different but all in all I’m— I’m pretty sure. Just the hair and the stubble, you know.” 

Goro hadn’t exactly looked in a mirror recently, so no, he didn’t know. He knew he had long hair— certainly longer than Ohya’s. He rubbed his jaw and felt the rough and gritty bristles that had prickled onto him. It bothered him that he didn’t know. It bothered him that he didn’t know what he looked like. 

Ohya continued, not letting him dwell for long. “You’re also sort of famous. Well, you were, and it was mainly with teenagers and moms in the city, but you were a popular detective. So, that’s how I know you. And I swear I’m getting to the running from cops part, but you have to know this first first. Oh, shit, it’s right here.” She took a sharp turn into a grocery store, and Goro had to grip the side to keep steady in his seat. 

She didn’t act very sheepish about it. “Sorry, for that. We’re gonna talk in here.” 

She paused her explanation to pull into a spot, which Goro felt a little thankful for because, under his circumstances, that felt like a lot of information to take in. He was well known, but not well known enough that anyone out here knew him. ‘Famous detective’ raised some weird alarms in his head, a position absurd enough that it might be true. It felt unfortunately right, like a disappointing truth. It was different from his name, more unwelcome. But it didn’t click either. Nothing had been clicking at all. 

There was a pit growing in his stomach, like something was in there, chewing down on his insides. But he’d found he didn’t care for ignorance, so he would put up with it for as long as it took. 

Ohya turned her car off, pushed her seat away from the wheel, and got herself comfortable. She faced him, nonchalant but sincere. “So this is where the really juicy stuff comes in, alright? So like, listen up now, if you weren’t.” There was something very serious about her eyes. 

As if he’d have let any of her explanation slip under his radar. “I’m listening.”  

That was a good enough answer for her, it seemed. 

“I’m trying to think of the best way to explain this, honestly,” she started, thumbing the back of her hand. “You… okay, there was this guy. He was a really big politician that you were involved with, and it’s kind of a gray area as far as what you were doing for him, but you and him worked together. Kind of. He was a really shitty guy.” 

She looked like she was considering her words. She turned her focus out the windshield for a moment, and sighed again. “He basically ended up confessing because this group— well, actually, they don’t matter right now. He confessed, and he talked about you. For some of it. It was a long fucking confession. But half of what he said wasn’t even coherent. He was talking about some crazy shit and no one knows what he meant by it. You were part of that whole section.” She paused again, thinking. Goro let the silence sit. He didn’t want to jump to a conclusion until he’d heard her out. Which was proving difficult, truthfully, because this all left a sour taste in his mouth, one that had almost certainly been there before. 

“They wanted to take you in for questioning, but you disappeared. And, to add fuel to the fire, they were having a hard time getting any actual concrete evidence,” she began. “Can’t make an arrest based on a confession alone. He did other things, too, and that's what he ended up being indicted for, but there's still that problem. This whole chunk of confession is still there that technically lines up with his timeline of events, but there’s no way to prove it. That’s why they want you,” Ohya’s expression darkened. “At least, publicly, that’s why they want you.” 

She readjusted in her seat again. She faced him fully. “This guy— Shido’s his name— he’s got goons. Not to mention, he had complete control over the police, and there are other higher up’s who worked with him. Some of those guys got busted with Shido’s confession, but there’s a few where there just isn’t enough evidence to put ‘em away. These are the ones who you need to watch out for.” She took a deep breath, not finished. 

“I’m gonna be frank with you,” she continued. “They want you dead. They don’t want a single loose end, and you’re still dangling. The police are on their side. Are you understanding me?”

Goro tried to let the words sink in. That was more than a lot to think about. The creature in his stomach was grinning now, he could tell. But, this was also no time to get overwhelmed. If her words were true— which, the overwrought familiarity of her explanation compelled him to trust them— he needed to keep his head above the water. 

“So these— subordinates. You’re saying they’re after my life? They can’t be actively hunting me down, if they have the influence you’re implying, or I’d have been found by now,”  Goro said, deciding to ignore the fear creeping up his spine. “So then, what’s my public status? How unlikely was it that I was the egoless comatose patient they were searching for?” 

“Uh…” said Ohya, seeming like she was the stunned one. “Well, you’re right, they don’t really have a manhunt right now. I guess I don’t need to worry about beating around the bush here— you’re presumed dead.”

Interesting. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said, furrowing his brow. “But, obviously, a body was never found. They’re probably prioritizing morgues then, not hospitals. That does explain why I wasn’t discovered after all this time.” Though, if they’re smart, they’d also keep an eye on cases like his. They probably were, in fact. He’d gotten lucky that the police here were clueless. 

Ohya gave him a very funny look. “You know, it’s almost creepy how well you’re taking this. You were in a coma this whole time?” She shook her head. “I’d have thought you’d be more out of it, honestly.” 

“Is this not what you’d consider a wake-up call? I’ve been ‘out of it’ for a week. It’s common sense that I’d react like this,” he told her. Just going outside had cleared his head. He had a feeling hospitals had never been a fitting place for him. “Yes, I was in a coma,” he added, as an afterthought. “They said I’d been shot.” 

Just as the words left his mouth, he realized the implications that had. 

Ohya noticed just as fast. “You said shot?” 

They’d certainly both had the same assumption— maybe an attempt had already been made after his life. 

But there was something that felt wrong about that scenario, too. “I’m not… entirely sure it’s what you think it is,“ he replied. Maybe wrong wasn’t the correct word but, it wasn’t completely right either. “There’s no benefit to not making my body public. And, if they’re really after me, it seems messy, to say the least, that they didn’t finish the job properly.” He tried to speak confidently. The effort was familiar, too. Part of him wondered when he’d get the chance to do some self-analysis and tear himself apart. 

Ohya caught on very quick, rolling with every punch Goro gave. “Christ, kid. What kind of shady shit were you into? So we’re thinking you’ve got another group after you?” 

“I don’t know.” 

He really didn’t. There were missing pieces, but that was evident. He had no end of missing pieces. If he was supposed to be some detective, then maybe he should get on with acting like it, and figure out whatever the hell this was.

Whatever business he’d wrapped himself into. 

Ohya, again, spoke too quickly for Goro to finish digging through his own head.

“Maaan, I’ve really got myself into something haven’t I?” She rubbed her eyes, like she was already exhausted. “Look, I’m a busy woman. Don’t expect much out of me, but apparently I’ve got a bad habit of adopting puppies. So I’ll see if I can at least point you in the right direction, okay?” 

He didn’t have much of another choice, other than to let himself be killed. He nodded again, not sure whether to call himself pleased or solemn. 

She buzzed her lips and looked at him, obviously thinking. Then she opened her car door. “Well, okay. First things first, you gotta get some clothes, ‘cause you can’t go walking around like that. God, you don’t even have shoes…” She got out and stretched, and then turned back to him for one last comment. “Don’t expect much, okay? I’m not made of money. Don’t you dare go anywhere, either.” 

She slammed the door shut and started walking into the store. 

Goro was glad for the moment of peace. He let his jaw relax, closing his eyes. He hated how familiar the stress felt, and how desperate he was to welcome the feeling. A life or death promise was about as thrilling as one day should get. 

Getting any memory back was his top priority. But he didn’t have an inkling of where to start. He didn’t have a phone, or a computer, and certainly not a home. He guessed he could use a public computer at a library, but just searching himself might raise more questions than answers. They’d be important questions, he was sure, but he wondered about the bias, the assumptions, the fact that it’d be an outside perspective looking in. He didn’t know how delicately he should go about regaining his memories. 

Not to mention, he had only the word of a stranger and a low feeling in his stomach confirming he was even Goro Akechi. And now, with the reputation he’d had, if he even wanted to be him was questionable. Memories of such a life seemed… unpleasurable, at best, but he hadn’t set himself up to be able to just start over. Remembering his past was his best chance at plain old survival. 

He wanted to have some kind of plan before Ohya came back, but he was drawing blanks. What he really needed was someone who knew him personally. Beyond media attention, if there was a single poor soul around who’d actually known him. He found himself doubting such an existence, past anyone who was out for his head. 

He heard the car doors unlock, and he opened his eyes. Ohya was walking back with two bags, and she was on her phone again, barely looking where she was going. Well, there goes him having a plan. Bouncing ideas back and forth was the last thing he wanted to do. It was time wasted and he knew he would get frustrated, but his choices were limited. At least Ohya seemed pretty knowledgeable. It was possible she knew more than she was letting on, too. 

She opened up the car door and tossed the bags onto his lap. “Hey,” she began, setting herself back into place, “I got your stuff but— I remembered something in there that might be a good starting place for you, if I can run that by ya.” 

Or, of course, he could hear Ohya out and avoid idea bouncing all together. Something solid had come by much quicker than he thought. 

*****

Ohya’s plan wasn’t bad at all. 

She’d told him she had a contact from a few years ago, who was in charge of a bundle of self storage units. Apparently a certain “Goro Akechi” had registered himself one a couple months or so after Goro’s public disappearance. They’d told her once they noticed the name, but Ohya hadn’t taken up the lead at the time. When Goro asked why they’d even told her that, she left it at “no reason important,” and kept the topic adamantly off the table. Goro would push the envelope if it weren’t for the fact that his life (a life he didn’t even know he had, for the record, and one that still bothered him) was on the line. 

If this unit did belong to him, there could be a very solid lead on himself in there, and leads on his acquaintances, too. Ohya didn’t know if the garage still existed, though. So she said she’d give them a call and see if they could figure something out. 

Which is what led to Goro sitting in a barber’s chair. After he’d gotten dressed (an ensemble of sweats, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes) Ohya had commented that he looked like he belonged in a homeless shelter, and “really needed a haircut.”

She said something about how he’d always kept himself looking clean, and Goro believed it. He was already feeling discomfited the way he was. So unkempt and basically filthy. So, she decided that while she was getting her contact all in order, she’d pay for him getting a trim and a shave. 

She was helping him more than he’d expected her to, in ways he didn’t really expect. But he’d take what he could get. He’d hardly had a reason to say no. 

He sat waiting in front of a mirror. He hadn’t gotten a good look at himself until now, but god, she was right, he looked pretty fucking bad. 

The first thought that came to him was sickly. Eyes sunken in, deep bags under his eyes. You wouldn’t expect him to have just been in a permanent state of slumber for the past five years. Or maybe the correct assumption would be, a coma hadn’t been enough sleep for him. 

His hair was just below his shoulders, and he had a very pitiful looking beard. He didn’t recognize himself. He didn’t think that would change much after his haircut, but it made him itch. It was a face that didn’t feel like his. He wanted to rip it off and replace it with a new one, one he knew better. 

Maybe he’d never liked looking at his reflection. 

Ohya had spoken to the barber for him. The one he got either wasn’t the talkative type, or really got his vibe of not wanting to speak to anyone. She went to work in silence, washing his hair with fruity shampoo and dressing him in a long black apron. That was all fine, albeit uncomfortable, but once she started cutting, Goro found he couldn't watch. The snips were loud, and definite, and it left his chest feeling tight. He couldn’t do anything but let his thoughts run blank. 

He wondered if that was hair he’d had before his incident, now falling away. He’d have the same eyes, and organs, and teeth, too. But he felt all wrong in this body. Like it had gone on without him. 

He was thankful when she moved to his beard. Just for a moment, though, because having someone so close to his face made him want to retreat as far back into himself as possible. A blade so close to his throat. He wondered how hard of a push it would take to make a cut. He wondered how deeply he’d have to go to make it bleed. 

 Maybe he’d always hated barbers, too. 

When she’d announced she was finished, and Goro forced himself to look back in the mirror, it actually took him aback. It had taken years off him. She’d styled his bangs, and left no hair on his chin, but most importantly, it was clean. Soft looking. Pleasant. 

It was almost enough to distract him from the discolored scar plastered on his forehead. 

He stared for probably too long. His disheveled bangs had kept it clearly out of view on his first glance, but now that he was fresh and groomed, it pushed its way into the limelight. It was reddish, and almost shiny, and painstakingly circular. 

He could feel dread bubbling up. He tore himself away from the mirror, and found an instant sense of relief when he wasn’t staring anymore. 

Reflections and barbers. More to read into later, he supposed. He was learning he had been quite the hassle. What an annoyance. 

Ohya met him at the entrance. Pure amusement was all over her face. “Shorter than I expected, but you’re looking pretty smart like that.” Her eyes went to his scar, but she made no comment on it. She frowned, but that was all. 

Goro didn’t mind her reluctance on the topic. He raised his eyebrows, and spoke with the silent mutual understanding of  “that is one gnarly goddamn scar” between them. “Ah, and I’m sure the sweatpants add to the look.” 

“Watch it,” she snapped back, sliding into her usual demeanor. “Not like I could get you Levi’s, kid.” 

She paid for his haircut, and out of the shop they went. They walked to the car in anticipating silence. She had her phone out again, texting someone now. Goro didn’t want to get his hopes up. Texting could mean anything, or nothing, or half of one or the other. 

She pushed her seat back getting into the car, and pulled one leg up with her. Goro waited for her to speak, keeping himself tense. He really wouldn’t be able to loosen up if he tried, like a wound up doll who’d gotten stuck. 

Ohya broke the quiet. “It’s still there.” 

Goro sucked in, but didn’t let himself relax. Nothing ended there. It was one check off a list, but not all of them.

 “And can we go in?” 

Ohya blew air out of her mouth. “Well, she said she wants to make sure it's you, because there's only so many privacy laws she wants to break.” She shrugged at him. “But honestly, looking at you now, there's not a doubt in my mind you’re Goro Akechi. So, you can chill about it.” 

He leaned back into his seat. The tensity had not left him. Something was making him lucky today, and he hated it. He would feel much more comfortable in the mitts of misfortune. But he couldn’t help feeling giddy, too. Like something was rubbing circles into his back, easing, but not erasing, bits and pieces of his concerns. It was something to focus on, and a goal to achieve. Above all, that relief made him feel pathetic. 

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to go today or not, but you look more thrilled than I think I’ve ever seen you, so I’m just gonna take that as a yes.” 

He hated the way she worded that. He frowned. “Only if you’re as concerned about my identity as you seemed to be earlier. You’re welcome to take your time, I’m surely not going anywhere.” 

“You’re snarky! I never realized you had an attitude,” Ohya laughed. 

She got the car going, and they were on their way to the unit. Apparently it was quite a ways, and Ohya advised him he’d better buckle in for a long one. 

He could feel his eyelids getting heavy. He had things he wanted to think about, and questions he wanted to ask. Working up a tolerance to being active was not something that could be done in a day, but fuck if he wouldn’t try anyway. 

But, despite how he tried to fight it, Goro fell asleep. 

*****

He woke up when they were about ten minutes from the units. Ohya commented she’d thought it was a little funny that he’d been so exhausted doing just about nothing all day, but admitted too that his body was probably pretty weak, and he really should take it easy. As easy as he could, at least. 

They were both quiet for the remainder of the drive. The sun was getting low now. They were passing by suburbs between grassy fields, driving past exit by exit. He had no idea how long they’d been going for. Ohya had called herself busy, and Goro believed it, so her continual help felt unusual. People weren’t just like this, he was almost sure. 

She also knew things that felt… almost inappropriately relevant to him. The topic of the unit still tingled in the back of his mind. Why had they called her about his storage? And for that matter, why had she even known so much about him? The information she had felt intimate— like the results of a deep investigation. Had this all been yielded from that politician? 

But Ohya had a distinct air of privacy. There could’ve been something personal about her aid, but Goro figured that she wouldn’t crack easily. It might be better to leave it— personal matters tended to yield lasting effects, after all. At least, he assumed so. He really wasn’t sure if that was as big of a plus as it appeared on the surface, though. 

When the centre came into view, Goro let those thoughts ease into the back of his mind. He could focus on Ohya’s MO later. This was leaps and bounds more important to him; if anything was going to last, it was this. He could play detective, just like he was supposed to, and maybe come across some special clue. Perhaps he could test out his muscle memory and flex whatever skills he presumed he’d had. 

They arrived, and it looked extremely closed. Like the only customers they’d been expecting were ghosts. The lights in the windows were off, and the gate guarding the units was shut tight. It wasn’t encouraging. 

Ohya read his expression pretty clearly. She bumped his shoulder with her fist. “She knows we’re coming, my contact’s still here. The front just closes at 6:00. I’ll deal with it, so just stay put for now.” 

And just as she said, after she hopped out of her car and approached the office, the door swiftly opened and a woman joined Ohya outside. The two of them seemed friendly. Goro watched as they talked, noting quizzically to himself that Ohya was someone who talked with her hands. 

Ohya gestured to her car and they both looked over to Goro. He watched them walk over, and obeyed smartly when Ohya signaled him to roll down his window. 

 The woman peeked her head around to look at him, her eyebrows arched high. “Wow,” she said, completely staring now. “I mean, he looks like him, that’s for sure.” 

Ohya grinned. “Sure does. That enough for you to let us in?” She didn’t really say it as a request, more like an expectation. Goro appreciated the tone. 

She fiddled with her bottom lip. “Hmm. You said amnesia? He got any doctor's notes about that?” She asked, giving cue to Ohya’s sour expression. 

“You didn’t say a word about notes 

on the phone, you know.” 

The contact clicked her tongue, and looked back to Goro. She bit the inside of her cheek, and sighed. “Just cause it’s you, Ohya, I’ll take that nasty scar on his forehead as my confirmation.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Come with me inside, I’ll get his key.” 

Ohya made a haughty noise of achievement, and followed the woman back in. Goro rolled up the window again. 

They were taking a little while. He rubbed at his scar absentmindedly. So obviously a bullet wound, maybe that had been the real reason his barber hadn’t made much conversation. Whoever tried to kill him had shot just where it counted. You don’t fire a warning shot into a head. He wondered if he’d deserved it, and doubted he didn’t.  

Goro removed his hand when Ohya reemerged from the building, and she was looking confident. She slid back into her car and jingled the key to his unit victoriously. “Easy peasy. She’s gonna open the gate for us in a second. Your unit number is 508.” 

They waited for a little while, nerves ever growing, until the automatic gates opened on their own, groaning and creaking until fully extended. Ohya started her car and drove in, squinting at the unit numbers in the low light.

Rows upon rows of garages awaited them. This must’ve been a pretty large lot, by the looks of things. The dirt road was the only uneven piece of scenery, the repetition was endless. He kept a watchful eye on the unit numbers, as well, skipping between the evens and the odds. 

After a few right turns, and one very tight u-turn, they were there. 508 stood wedged between its neighbors, almost at the end of the row, but not quite. Not a thing stood out about it. It was just as gray and worn and untouched as the rest of the facility. Not even the dirt was remarkable. It reminded him of the hospital. 

Ohya held the key out to Goro. 

“I’m assuming you want this to be a ‘just you’ kinda thing?” 

The gesture was something he should’ve expected, but didn’t. It made him hesitate for a moment. 

He took the key. “I appreciate it,” he said. 

“No sweat.” 

He got out of her car, and she drove off to the end of the row. She stayed parked within general sight of the unit. It was essentially pseudo privacy, but neither of them knew how long he’d be in there, and who knows what this could trigger. Ohya also didn’t seem like she knew a thing about amnesia. He wouldn’t look to her for comfort of any sort, but there was reassurance in her being a safe figure. 

He took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. This was his step one. He’d gotten himself into some deep shit, his past self hadn’t seemed to have a shred of self preservation in mind. Had he not encountered Ohya, he could’ve been dead by the hands of the crooks that call themselves the police by now. He had a lot more steps to cover, and each one would be riskier than the next. He was much more on his own than he realistically should’ve been. Most people had friends, as far as he knew. But this was seemingly his own fault. He wanted to know why exactly it was his fault. 

One more deep breath. 

He inserted the key into the lock, and grabbed the handle of the metal shutter. He pushed up, and with a squeak of rust and a bang of metal, he opened up his door to more dangerous times. 

And it was nearly empty. 

It was barren concrete. Newly disturbed dust was floating about. It was eerily quiet, and the stale air made his throat itch. Cobwebs stuck in the corners, barely visible in the low light of the setting sun. Though he wouldn’t call it underwhelming. 

In the center of the floor was a cardboard box. About medium sized, without a lid. It matched well with the rest of the room, lined with dust and unaltered. He kneeled in front of it. 

It was its contents that felt much more exciting. There were papers, lots of them. Thick manila envelopes full of information for him to flip through. He scooted back towards the entrance and pulled the box along with, trying to get the last of the light funneling in to help him read. 

It was heavier than he expected, and he didn’t know how much to attribute that to his current lack of strength. He took out the first envelope and it, despite the dust, was clear and candid. When he flipped it around, he noticed with eagerness that there was writing on the front. He tried to make it out as clearly as he could, and in careful handwriting, it read: “05/21/2020— Case No. 1471” 

It was a case file. He pulled out another envelope, and it was similarly marked. His interest was surely piqued. There must’ve been some sort of relevance to these, if they were going to be so pointedly left here. He pulled out a third, and then a fourth, and from the weight he’d expected many more. But, the pile ended there. Instead, what filled the rest of the box was another, smaller, wooden one. 

He took it out delicately, gripping it securely around the sides to ensure he didn’t drop it. This seemed much more… personal. Shiny cherry wood, latched but not locked, just small enough to sit on his lap firmly. A thought that couldn’t help but be excited came to mind. 

This could’ve belonged to me. 

He wasted no time. He undid the latch, and it gave a satisfying click. The hinges creaked just barely as his clammy hands lifted the lid, and pulled all the way back, until it rested hanging by itself. 

Inside sat more papers. Some were crisper than others, some had obviously been crumpled and then flattened out again. But there was consistency in each of them being folded neatly in half, stacked neatly on top of each other. 

He picked up the one from the beginning of the pile, unfolded it, and was surprised to find it had hardly been written on; a simple “To you,” at the top. This was a candidate that had been clearly wadded up and discarded. He set it down carefully, and picked up the next. 

This one hadn’t been written on much, either. It said even less, just “Hello.” 

He picked up another, and another. It was all soft stationary, each topped with slightly different wordings, and some decorated with a couple lines, even. But they were all just about the same, a simple greeting, and then resigning. 

They were letters. Or rather— drafts for one. So he’d learned today that he was indecisive, maybe a bit quick tempered, but potentially also at least organized. He assumed the existence of these drafts meant he’d never gotten around to sending his letter, either. And perhaps he’d never get such a chance, if this visit didn’t convince any muggy memories to creep out of their caves.  

As he pulled out drafts and read his pathetic one-liners, he came across a page that was different. There was actually a fair amount of content on it, over a paragraph's worth. It had obviously also been cast aside, but even a spare scrap could be useful to him, in this state. He used the last of the remaining light to read it. 

“To whom it may concern, 

I would like to skip the inherent shamefulness of writing a letter to you, of all things, in my introduction, and I will title this ambiguously under the assumption that if you believe this does truly not concern you, that you will save me the mortification of reading through it anyways. 

I won’t formally phrase this as a farewell, but you should take it as one. 

Our unknowns are too great to write, and while you were not innocent, neither am I, and there are truths between the two of us that shouldn’t have remained unspoken. I’ve never thought to run from the blame. 

My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you’re ready to sleep. 

Perhaps a fact I recognized too late.

I do not want to say goodbye, however I—“

It cut off. 

The letter left a lump in Goro’s throat. He read it through once more. He wanted to analyze each sentence down to its core, but the light had died out. But there were bits and pieces, words that suck out in his mind. “Farewell,” “Innocent,” “Unspoken.”

“Too late.”

Goro bit down on his lip hard. The case files— those he understood. With the life he’d allegedly lived and the people he’d known, of course something like that would be predominant. They were fact on paper, ignorant of bias, they’d be full of names and leads. They were important. But, he didn’t understand why these almost-letters had been left here. Out of anything that could’ve been kept. Had there been someone he’d felt so strongly for? To be kept in safety behind lock and key? 

To identify this person— that could be his next goal to achieving his memories. To ignite the fire of their eventual reunion, and perhaps they could know what happened to him. They could come easy, though he suspected that anyone who he’d decided to be so rottenly open with wouldn’t be typical. But, they would also know him, past the media, past the appearances. 

And, though he wasn’t going to admit it, he’d needed something more hopeful to work towards. 

He put the papers back where they belonged, placed the entire case back into the cardboard box, and stacked the case files back atop it. 

There was no telling how old these letters were. They could’ve been from much before his incident. But this set him up for a goal, a big one, that might get him back to whatever meager place he’d left himself in. 

He picked up the box, and prepared himself to head back outside to Ohya. He needed to muster up his resolve, because this was only the first out of two very important clues this visit could provide. 

He positioned the box onto his waist, and took one last look into the dark before closing up his unit. He returned to Ohya’s car, pulling open the door without so much as a greeting, and set the box on the floor in front of his seat. 

Ohya leaned forward, interested. “That a box you got?” 

He wasn’t going to talk about the embarrassing letters he found. Even if he wanted to, his second clue came first. “It’s not that important right now,” he lied. “Is your contact still here?” 

She raised her eyebrows at him, but let the topic drop. “Sure is. She can’t leave ‘till we leave.” 

Good. “I need to speak with her.” 

She hummed in reply, seeming very curious by his idea. They drove back up to the entrance, Ohya not questioning his motives, but still giving him an inquiring side eye every so often. 

They got out of the car together this time, and walked into the front office. The woman was reading behind the counter, almost completely in the dark, with only a desk lamp lighting her work area. 

She glanced up at them, and placed her book upside down. “Hey there. You got that key?” 

“Yes,” Goro replied. He placed it lightly on the counter. She took it without a word, and got up to put it back on its hook. Goro stopped her before she turned. “I have a question for you.” 

She seemed a little surprised. She glanced between him and Ohya, and then put her free hand on her hip. “Okay?”

He hoped he could push his luck just a bit further today. He’d made it this far, after all. 

“Is there any way I can see the documentation that was filed when this unit was made?” he asked. 

The woman pursed her lips. “Ohya?” 

Ohya put her hands up defensively. “Don’t look at me. This is all him.” 

The woman stared at Goro. He stared back. This was arguably the most important part of the visit. He needed to see those papers. Just a single particular part, it was the one factor that needed an explanation. He would not leave until he got that documentation, and if he had to stand his ground and pull her leg a bit to get it, he would. 

After their staring contest lasted just a moment too long, she folded her arms. “Jeez. Only because I feel bad for you, okay?” she huffed, turning on her heel. “And because my niece liked your food blog.” 

She disappeared into the back of the office, leaving Goro feeling just a bit full of himself. He would think about the food blog comment later.

Ohya lightly punched his arm. “Okay, good going. But whatcha going to do with that?” 

“There’s something I need to check,” he replied flatly. It made Ohya grunt unenthusiastically. 

The woman returned with a few papers, all paper clipped together. She tossed them onto the counter. “This is a customer copy, okay? So feel free to keep it.” She glared at Ohya. “And, I’m going home now. So, get out, please.” 

That got a laugh out of Ohya. “I know I can always count on you to bend a couple of rules for me.” 

“Out.” 

They left the building, Ohya waving her last goodbyes while Goro rushed to the car. He needed to get some light on these papers, it was long past sundown now. He slid himself into the car, clicked on one of the lights, and went to work reading, all while Ohya was still walking over. 

Ohya opened her door and stood outside watching him, leaning on the frame. First, it was with interest, but it soon turned into irritation.

“Kid, tell me what you’re looking for. You’ve got your eyeballs all over that thing,” she said. 

He didn’t let their conversation stop him from reading. He kept his eyes glued to the page, checking each word and box before moving on. 

He did owe her an explanation. Getting his thoughts out would help him focus a bit, anyway. 

“These sorts of things— storage units. Wouldn't they be paid for recurrently?” 

Ohya went quiet for a moment. “They are,” she said, and joined him in the car. “Shit. Those funds can’t be coming from you, can they.” 

“Exactly. I’m looking for the responsible billing party.” He turned onto the next page. None of the handwriting matched what he’d seen on his papers and files, which further confirmed to him that this unit hadn’t been one he’d purchased himself. Whoever this was had put all that information in there, those cases, those letters. He suspected they weren’t his mystery recipient, but he could confirm that with them once they’d met.

Why this had been done in his name, though, was beyond him. 

He flipped onto the last page, and found his prize. Big black bolded letters asking for the responsible parties name, and neat penmanship filling in the blank. 

“Sae Niijima,” he read aloud. 

Ohya gawked. 

“‘Sae Niijima?’ Seriously?” she scoffed to herself, and sunk down further in her seat. “She’s an attorney. A damn good one, too.” 

An attorney? He wondered how she could’ve known him. “She’s the one paying, apparently.” 

Ohya tapped long slender fingers onto her steering wheel again. She dropped her head. “Guess that means she’s our next lead, huh?” 

Goro adjusted himself in his seat. “It does.” 

“Ahh, man,” she complained. “You’re really somebody who’s in with the big guns, you know. You better let me have some exclusive with you after all this is done, or something.” 

Goro gave way a hint of a smile. Probably his first since he’d woken up. If this would be the last of his luck, so be it. He hated to rely on something so shifty and mischievous, anyways. This was a start, barely a sprout, to whatever his big picture was. But he’d see himself to the very top. 

Really, he’d already died once. Hardly a way to go but up. 

“We’ll see.” 

[bubmyg]

dare to begin - jjk

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genre/warnings: college!au, f2l (idiots to lovers), amateur model!jeongguk, aspiring photographer!jeongguk, amateur stylist!reader, graphic design student!reader, a touch of angst, mostly tooth rotting fluff

word count: 16,748

summary: jeongguk has a camera and you have a pirated editing software so what better for two broke college students to do than to open a photography business to their…closest friends on facebook or where kim seokjin’s modeling agency wants to sign jeongguk and you don’t know the first thing about curling his hair.

a/n: this was inspired by that random dispatch photoshoot in vegas...i’m not even sorry

“Oh fuck off.” 

Jeongguk’s head lifted from where his forehead was pressed between the crook of his elbow, squinting at you through bleary eyes. “...for once, I didn’t even say anything—”

“Not you,” You clicked so angrily on the notification, it didn’t register and you had to jam your index finger into the button again, “The bursar’s office.”

“Oh, did they—” Jeongguk rolled to his back, head half dangling off the end of your bed as he pulled his phone to his face. “—oh. Tuition statements.”

“How can they make us pay for something that hasn’t even started yet? We haven’t even finished this semester.”

“What are they going to do if we don’t pay by the first day of the semester—” Jeongguk’s eyebrows peered at you underneath his phone, “—kick us out?”

You glared at the mass of numbers twisted into the statement until they muddled together and gave your conscious the mirage that the cost was an extra digit more. Your phone skidded across the surface of your desk, coming to a stop in the pointed corner next to a decorative jar of pens and a concert ticket you’d pushed through the cork board material substance lining the back. 

“They won’t kick me out?” You didn’t look up from studying a fray of graining wood on the pointed corner of your desk but cocked an eyebrow at the waiver of uncertain concern in Jeongguk’s voice paired with the change in position from we to me, “Will they?”

“I don’t know,” You answered truthfully, arm slung over the back of your desk chair to face his pouted lips still slung backward over your bed. An unspoken why would they kick you out? “I really don’t.”

He answered your rhetorical with closed eyes and his phone pressing to his abdomen, “I don’t know if I’ll...have enough. That much. By then. Even if it’s not until the end of the summer…”

You scolded the glaring image of your bank statement when you gently tried, “There’s all kinds of loans you can apply for. What about scholarships? Isn’t the science department like...the biggest at the university? Surely they offer something—”

“I don’t think I have the grades,” There was a silence occupied by his notebook with messy organic chemistry notes rewritten twice from the previous semester when he’d taken the exact same class. Jeongguk dropped your gaze, shifting until the back of his head was resting on the side of your mattress while he went for his cuticles, picking at the edge of his thumb while soft red crept into his puffed cheeks and flaring nostrils. 

You abandoned the open animation file on your laptop that you’d forgotten to click save on for the seventeenth time within the hour, a final project you just had to turn in with a semi coherence to the material of the semester to maintain your existing grade. You stumbled, desk chair catching on the edge of your crumbled rug but it didn’t deter you from flopping in beside Jeongguk, leaning over him with both elbows pressed into his stomach to snatch his notebook. He eyed you curiously under wavy fringe until you settled on him, chin pressed into the bottom of the pages as a concentrated scrunch met the pass of your eyes over his handwriting. 

“What are you doing?”

You glanced up, gradual in the drag of your hands up his sides until you could jam your index fingers into the sensitive spots around his ribs, coaxing a soft squirm and a gasping giggle from his lips. 

“Helping you get those grades. Do you really want to take organic chemistry for the third time?” Jeongguk didn’t flinch because your inquiry wasn’t teasing or jabbing, it was serious for the sake of never seeing him on the verge of tears over three credit hours again. He shook his head in negation instead, reaching behind him to snatch one of your pillows to drag behind his neck, propping him up just enough to study the curl of your stature against his chest. 

“No, ma’am.”

“Good, now pay attention.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You watched Jeongguk sink his teeth into the mint chocolate ice cream balanced two dollops high on a cone with a wrinkle to one side of your nose, the smile on your lips forced when he swallowed the green between his cheeks and quipped, “What?”

“You know what,” You twirled a string of hot fudge onto your plastic fork, mouthing your lips over it until the sweet substance melted on the roof of your mouth, “Forget it.”

He shrugged, happily taking another, literal, bite off the opposite side of the treat tower, lips sponging down the length of his hand to noisily suck on the melted stream of ice cream that had rippled across his knuckles. 

You sighed. Jeongguk grinned mint green, “Tastes like freedom.”

“My summer job says otherwise.” The bookstore wasn’t a fun place of employment during the school year let alone when three fourths of the student body was gone. 

Jeongguk dabbed at the corner of his lips with a napkin, a sharp contrast to the way he’d been barbarically gnawing his way through the ice cream, “So does my summer tutoring. A lesser of two evils.”

“I suppose…”

“At least we can drink on Wednesday’s now and only feel slightly guilty.”

“You don’t drink.”

“I drink a little—” 

“Is this your way of asking me to come over for beer tonight?”

He grinned sheepishly, “Doesn’t have to be for beer. Hoseok moved back home yesterday. I’m extra alone.”

You eyed his prize possession, his camera, encased snugly inside it’s over the shoulder case that Jeongguk kept within grasp on the tiny cafe table shared between the two of you. He followed your gaze, a careful hand coming to rest on the strap even though he knew you respected his comfort enough not to touch it. 

“So, what, you talk me into following your wandering ass around the park for hours to take pictures and now you want me to hole up in your apartment and watch whatever terrible nature documentary you’ve found on Netflix?”

Jeongguk mumbled around another chunk of the treat in his palm, unaffected because he knew you were going to show up at his apartment regardless of invitation, “I bought us ice cream, didn’t I?”

You grumbled your thanks into your deviation of attention, pulling your phone to your eyes as you jabbed another spoonful of sundae into your cheeks. Jeongguk continued to happily munch while you scrolled through one social media and then the other, finally landing on Facebook with a disgruntled roll of your eyes the second the first post appeared. 

“What?”

“Facebook.”

“Did Yoongi post another Area 51 meme?”

You scrolled to the next post just to confirm that yes, sadly, before scrolling back up to the original source of your offending scoff. You eyed the generic smile plastered on the lips of the girl you’d went to high school with, the same as the generic caption on the generic set of pictures she’d taken of her dog and someone’s baby, advertising a brand new photography business, one she’d be doing on the side with no prices listed and simply a shoot me a text to book an appointment!, a service exclusive to those who knew her and who would pay her a little extra because of that connection and a business page created exclusively for a business that would be forgotten by the end of the summer. 

Your lips parted to explain, unfortunate in absently scrolling past Yoongi’s string of laughing emojis at whatever Area 51 meme his conspiracy theorist group chat had sent him that morning, before you were pausing. Thumb freezing, lips parted in a perfect circle, eyes the only thing moving as they swept upward. 

Jeongguk watched you like you were seconds away from shedding a shell or sprouting a second head or both, ice cream sticking to the pout of his bottom lip and a new melted stream lipping into the stretch between his thumb and index finger. He didn’t follow your gaze when it jerked from him to his camera bag, watching as your entire being lit like the thing you were sprouting wasn’t a second head but instead a hovering light bulb. 

“You know what we should do?”

“...go to the park and take pictures of the playground equipment in obscure angles that strangely turn out to be aesthetically pleasing?”

“Close,” Your nail dug into your screen until you were at the top post again, flipping your phone over while you continued to study the zippers wrapped to the width of Jeongguk’s camera bag. When he’d squinted at the screen for what you deemed necessary to get the gist of the post, you continued, “We should open a photography business.”

Jeongguk squinted, “A what now?”

“A photography business. You take the pictures, I edit them. Foolproof way to earn extra cash.”

“In order to have a photography business we have to have something to photograph…”

“I bet we can get Yoongi to pay us twenty bucks to take pictures of his dog.”

“It’s almost not worth the twenty—”

“Okay, forty dollars,” You shrugged, reaching out with your own clean but crumpled napkin to dab at the excess ice cream on his hand, “I’m sure there’s some of our friends back home who need pictures of their baby. Or their cousin’s baby. Or their little brother’s senior pictures—” You blinked at the confused round of his doe eyes, “—what could it hurt to try?”

After a second of silence and swatting your hand away to lick at the dried ice cream instead, “...well we’ll need examples.”

“Good thing we were just about to go to the park—” You gestured toward his camera bag, “—and that thing is virtually attached to you.”

Jeongguk gradually began to loosen, “You want to do this right now?” 

You stood then, binning your virtually untouched sundae before reaching out for his mostly eaten treat. He shoved the last of the cone between his cheeks instead of handing it to you, puffed cheeks innocent as he handed you his mass of crumpled napkins to throw away instead before you were taking both his hands to pull him up. 

“What better time than now?” You grinned when he cocked an eyebrow, still holding onto your hands, “C’mon. You can help me edit them tonight.”

Skeptical, “Okay…”

Jeongguk dropped one of your hands to reach for his camera, shrugging it messily over his shoulders while you squeezed the remaining appendage in your grasp, teasing, “Don’t act like you weren’t going to take a ton of pictures of me, anyway.”

You weren’t immune to the soft blush that spread outward from the center of his cheeks, chin dropping as he shouldered his way out of the nearby door, holding it open for you and when you skipped through he grumbled, “Shut up.”

You were fresh off a playful argument about whether he could arrange your hair into a halo of hearts around your head when it happened. 

“Not possible,” You dismissed, a disguised threat as you glared up at him from your seated place on the grass. He stepped closer and you held up a steady palm, “Do not touch me or my hair.”

Jeongguk whined, fingers wrapped around his lens as he crouched, twirling and snapping a picture of your indignation. “At least lay down for me? The flowers look nice…”

“These are weeds—”

“Please?”

You obliged because the stars in his eyes told you to, falling backwards to the plush earth with an arm tucked behind your neck and a hefty sigh. He’d stepped between your legs, one foot at your knees and one at your hip as he craned, tongue in cheek in concentration until he mumbled, “I still think the hearts would look cool.”

“I thought you were good at this whole photography thing.”

You retracted into yourself before he could grab you, a shriek of laughter tumbling out of your lips even before his fingers curled into your sides and you flailed an absent foot at his stature squatted over you, chanting I’m sorry, stop! until Jeongguk relented to a messy sitting position next to you in a soft cloud of grass clippings and dust, camera plopped in his lap as he glared at you. 

You rolled until you were perched on your elbows, reaching out your previously assaulting foot to prod the light denim on his thighs. When he cocked an eyebrow, you tried, “Any good ones?”

Without missing a beat, he hummed, “As good as we can get with that face of yours.”

“Hey!—” 

The tiniest of smiles pressed the ghost of a dimple in Jeongguk’s cheek and he tossed his head, “Come here.”

An awkward waddle over and you were pressed into his side, cheek on his arm as he scrolled through the shots on the digital screen. It was something about his ability to capture shots at just the right moment in just the right lighting with just the right angle that elicited a feeling of fond within you, that even if you didn’t particularly like the squash of your chin between your neck or the way the wind had curled the material of your shirt around your torso, it was still a glimpse into how Jeongguk saw the world, saw you. A strange fuzziness bubbled to the tips of your fingers as he continued to scroll through his lens to what he perceived as your beauty, focused more on the gradual smile that grew higher on his teeth as he flipped past candid shots of you telling him off to staged shots of you perched on a park bench looking as skeptical as you could about the barking squirrel perched just out of frame above you. 

“Good, don’t you think?” His fond faced you, further melting the numbness on the edge of your appendages to the entirety of your stature. 

You relaxed into his so that your nod brushed against his bicep, afraid of what your face would say if you met his gaze and you mumbled, “Told you we didn’t need heart hair.”

“Hush,” Jeongguk’s screen went black as he set it gently on the cross of his ankles, leaning on his palms to accommodate your stature better, “Do you think we got plenty of examples?”

You continued to stare at his blank screen, skin warm on the fabric covering his arm and suddenly it happened when you blurted, “Let me take some of you.”

A possessive hand curled to obscure your view of the blank preview screen, shoulders jumping as he tried to laugh it off, “No, that’s okay.”

Chin on his shoulder, you dared to look at him and utter, “What? I’ll edit them. I mean, I know your face looks like that but that’s the beauty of technology.”

“My joke,” Jeongguk’s neck craned backward to observe you, smile flustered like the pink that had overtaken more of his cheeks, “...why do you want to?”

You shrugged, “You always take pictures of me. I just thought we could change it up—” You swallowed, “You know. For our business.”

“Ah, marketing technique, huh,” Slowly, he uncovered the device, flicking it back to life with a seasoned thumb as he was stretching it to place it softly on your thigh, “Okay, boss. Where do you want me?”

You’d used a camera before but something so expensive to the price tag but priceless to the wary man before you made it an extra weight in your palms, fumbling at first to get anything that wasn’t blurry. One of your first clear shots was after you’d shoved on broad shoulders until he was seated on a wooden bench, awkward and small at first until you sighed with the camera at your hip. 

The exasperated relax that sighed from your lips opened up a new realm that had the strange bubbles from earlier lodging into the base of your throat when Jeongguk reclined, both arms framing the back of the bench and his legs flopped open, that slight crinkle to one edge of his nose still present until you slowly rose the camera and it erased into something effortlessly smug. 

“I can’t...I can’t get it to focus.” For two reasons now.

Jeongguk nodded in seeming understanding and you had a hunch he didn’t entirely understand why but he patted the spot next to his thigh on the bench nonetheless. “Come here. Rest your elbow on this and then try. It’ll stabilize it a little bit more…”

You startled yourself and him when you bypassed the bench for his thigh, digging your elbow into the taut muscle as you pulled the camera to your face, catching his surprise first and then the slow smirk that melted back into his features, chin tilting as you got a few more shots before pulling your touch away. 

The next set of shots was you frantically ordering him to stay like a dog until you’d jogged the proper distance away (Don’t trip! Watch my camera!) and motioned for him to walk to you. It was rigid at first, just as before, a little too fast and his face was on the edge of bursting into audible giggles. You continued to back away, holding up a palm for him to pause again and then you shouted, “Relax!” louder than before and more important. 

There was an easy gait to his walk now, feet crossing as they stepped in front of each other, one hand finding the front pocket of his jeans as the oversized hang of his striped blue shirt crinkled at his thin waist. One hand dared to fluff at his hair, gaze going out to the occupants of the park rather than the desolate intersection to his other side and you couldn’t help but giggle at the unsure smile that crossed his lips immediately after the action. 

Jeongguk settled for an easy saunter after that, one hand in his pocket, both in, both out, until you were tired of the clench of his jaw and you called over the raise of his device to the lower half of your face, “Hey! Are those yellow converse you’re wearing?”

He frowned at first, “What’s wrong with my yellow converse?” before breaking into a gentle grin, one that started at the crinkles around his eyes and traveled into the wide pull of his teeth as the easy swing of his steps stumbled into his louder laughter and you continued to click away all the same until he set his sights on you. Hunched back, rolled shoulders, arms comically splayed out behind him as he darted for you, a squeak of surprise leaving your lips and before you could think to hold onto his camera and run, he was on you, arms around your waist to direct his giggles directly over your ear. 

The excitement died with gentle sways in the center of the sidewalk. Jeongguk continued to hold your hips as he pulled away, quieter now, “Do you think we have enough now?”

“Plenty,” You held his camera out to him until his grip was secure on it, prodding your index finger to the center of his chest, “Did you want to take anymore? I know you originally wanted to come because you had some ideas for your portfolio…”

He beamed, slightly apologetic in the slant of it on his lips, “It’s okay, we have all summer. I’m...kind of hungry anyway.”

“We just had ice cream!”

“We’ve been here for four hours.”

You eyed the time on your phone and then the dip of the sun behind some wisped clouds in the horizon. “Oh.”

“You’ll come with me another day, though?”

You patted Jeongguk’s chest instead of prodding it. “Of course, Guk.”

He plopped in beside you, two paper plates balanced between his long fingers and the curve of his wrist, each piled high in fresh slices of pizza. One plate was deposited to the coffee table beyond the sway of your ankles, the latter pulled over his thighs to begin happily munching at the toppings while you continued to hack at the keys on your laptop. 

“Any progress?” Jeongguk leaned closer with grease stained lips, “Making us look good?”

You hummed, dragging your finger over your touchpad. Another notch down on contrast, another notch up on the chosen filter, some color correction, and lessening of shadows to compensate for the natural lighting. 

“Trying my best. And…” You navigated to save the image on the screen, one of Jeongguk walking toward you with a hand in his pocket and an easy expression adorning his otherwise tentative features. “I’m done!”

He pouted, grease stained finger trailing to the screen, “You cut off my shoes.”

“I blame your camera,” You exited out of the program, pulling up your internet browser instead. You paused, the cursor blinking on the search engine and you turned to observe the fish of Jeongguk’s lips as he gnawed on another bite of pizza dough, “...do you really want me to post some of these?”

He dusted his fingers on the edge of his joggers, leaning closer until his cheek was smooshed against the crook of your elbow. “I mean, what can it hurt.”

You began to type then, slow in entering the cursed Facebook and you chatted as you typed, “Should we create an official page for the business and everything?”

“Absolutely we should,” Jeongguk made grabby hands at your laptop until you relented and let him pull it into the awkward curl of his lap. His eyebrows furrowed at the first post on your feed, the same Yoongi Area 51 meme that continued to fester in your feed because Taehyung couldn’t and wouldn’t stop commenting on it and his tongue sandwiched in his molars with further confusion, doe eyes scanning down the length of the screen until the tip of your nail pointed him in the right direction. 

Jeongguk hesitated again on the first question. Name. 

“Uh…”

“I got it,” You leaned your head against his, softly, “Dare to Begin…” 

Dare to begin a new semester that neither of you knew if you could properly pay for. Dare to begin a summer of trying to figure out how to pay for that semester. Dare to begin a new semester by some miracle and then what (figure it out when you get there, survive) with a major you adored and a major he did because photography wasn’t a viable career option. Dare to begin a friendship with someone who photographed the world like the beauty he saw it in but photographed you like he was in love with the world because you existed in it. 

Dare to begin a new business on Facebook, of all things.

He wrinkled his nose, “I was just going to go with Flash Fiends or something.”

“Oh, come on,” You reasoned your prior thoughts to something that wouldn’t cause suspicion of your sentiments, “Dare to begin, like weddings? They’re beginning their journey with us. Senior pictures? Beginning a journey. Baby pictures? Again...beginning a long life journey—”

“You’re serious about this?” Jeongguk had already typed Flash Fiends in the name box and you squeaked in indignation. 

“I guess not,” Suddenly bashful, “I just thought it was creative…”

“It is,” You blinked and he’d navigated through three other windows before he was typing dare to begin with Flash Fiends as the opening line in the description box. He hacked away some more, a generic description and you equally agreed to put prices in the album with the pictures of the two of you. Another jam of his pinky into the enter key and he lifted up off your side to hand you your laptop back. “There! Okay, now do your thing.”

Doing your thing included dragging all the files into an album, adding searchable hashtags, making the post public, choosing to set the last photo of Jeongguk you’d edited as the cover photo. A couple more clicks to make the post, navigating to share it onto your profile and dropping a tag of his profile and, “My thing is done.”

He took your laptop from you to replace it with the extra plate of pizza, sliding the remote into his hand in the same movement and flicking on the television. “Now,” He gestured solemnly to the litter of devices in front of you, both your phones and the still open laptop, “We wait.”

You remembered two of the share notifications before you dozed off underneath the cozy puff of Jeongguk’s duvet and the heavy weight of his arm draped across your waist. One from Yoongi, an oh so serious I’m going to help my friends! share that included the obligatory you’re very talented, Guk-ah! I’d love to have you shoot Holly one day...comment. One from Taehyung, a less than serious share that included a string of laughing emojis solely on the image of Jeongguk lounging seriously on the wooden park bench. 

The notification you most definitely did not remember was the email from Kim Enterprises titled internship inquiry. 

You crawled from Jeongguk’s embrace to snatch your laptop, afraid to pull the email up on the tiny screen of your phone in fear you were reading it wrong. The light off the screen roused him from his sleep before your suddenly-not-tired-anymore gasp did. 

“What? What’s wrong?” He misjudged the search of his hand for you, gently sliding across your cheek instead of your arm like he’d been aiming but you barely flinched, covering your lips with both hands instead. 

“This can’t be real,” The words muffled through your fingers before they were in action again, highlighting the email address and jamming it into the search engine. 

“I’m not following you…”

“To be honest,” You clicked on the first result of the search, another gasp raw in your throat when the website, that website, emerged, “Me either.”

“B-Bloom?” Jeongguk squinted at the screen, turning your laptop towards the sleep still coating the fringe stuck in his eyelashes, “What is Bloom?” 

“A magazine. An extremely popular magazine.”

He brushed your fingers out of the way to navigate back to the tab with your email on it, squinting at the address, “Why did an extremely popular magazine email you?”

“Let me read this email to you, Guk.”

“I can read—”

“Greetings owner of Flash Fiends. We were extremely intrigued by the contents of your recent business inquiry not for the service at hand but rather the individual seen in some of the photos. The social media entity tagged him as Jeon Jeongguk, and if that is the identity of this individual, we’d be interested in signing him—” You paused, swallowing half your tongue and holding a singular finger up as you inhaled audible through your nose, “—for a summer modeling internship in the interest of some of our newest summer spreads, paid of course. If that is something that would be of interest to you, please reply to this email with an updated resume and we will be in touch. Thank you again, and we look forward to hearing from you. Park Jimin, Department Head of Kim fucking Enterprises and Bloom fucking Inc.”

There was a passing moment of silence, some shifting as Jeongguk fell back into the sheets with his pillow curled in his bare arm and he mumbled, “I told you Flash Fiends was an incredible name.”

“Jeongguk! Did you hear me?” 

He hummed, “I saw it, too.”

“And? They want to pay you! This is the perfect opportunity to earn the money you need for next semester!”

When he was silent for a frightening second, you shut your laptop and shucked it to the floor, turning until you were facing him. You’d barely settled when a tiny, forced smile was dimpling into his cheeks. “I’m not going without you,” He tried to provide and you frowned. 

“Uhm, yes you absolutely are.”

“I’m not a model, babe.”

“You’re entirely more attractive than you give yourself credit for,” You blinked at him, soft fingers subconsciously reaching to stroke wavy tresses from his gaze, “Come on. What could it hurt to try?”

“You said that about the photography business idea, too, and now look where we are,” He flushed under your touch between his eyebrows, “Besides, are you going to run that alone if I leave?”

You bypassed his sarcasm, “We’re in a place where you could get that money you need for next semester. One step closer to graduation. And all you’d have to do is pose for some pictures. They’ll probably pay for your housing and shit too—”

“Okay, but I’m still not going without you,” You waited on Jeongguk to exhale through his nose, considering something over the top of your head before elaborating, “...if I’m going to try this, you’re going with me. Just like the photography business.” Just like everything. 

“You need a resume first.”

“And you need some sort of skill that goes hand in hand with a famous model—” He beamed, “—like yours truly.”

“Fuck off—”

“You could be my assistant.”

“Fuck off twice.” 

“What about my stylist?” Jeongguk let the suggestion hang in the air for a second before teasing, “Your eyeliner looks half decent sometimes.”

“And does any part of you genuinely think I want to go with you at this point—”

“We also need someone to fake these resumes for us—” His features wrinkled up, “—can we get arrested for that? Should I apologize to my FBI agent now?”

You ignored him, instead saying simply, “Taehyung.”

The software engineer blinked at you past artificial blue, the light coating the dyed grey locks that parted in all the right places around the circumference of his head, baggy flannel wrapped around his knuckles that drummed absently into his desk. 

“So...you were serious about that Facebook post?”

“Not really, but—” You exchanged a glance with Jeongguk, “—now we kind of are.”

Taehyung spun slowly in his desk chair, making one full rotation until he pondered, “So, let me get this straight. You want me to fake resumes for the two of you so that you can get a paid internship at Bloom, aka, one of the biggest fashion magazines in the country, because they somehow, through the power of the internet, found your half-joking, half-serious photoshoot and want to sign the amateur model that is Jeon Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk exchanged a glance with you this time, “Correct.”

The older boy blinked, once, twice, four times before shrugging, pushing sleeves up to his elbows as he dug bare heels into the floor, dragging himself closer to the computer to begin hacking away. The blue light turned white and he mumbled, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Twenty minutes later you were sitting across from Taehyung at his tiny dining table with a manila folder in hand containing two pieces of paper, stapled together neatly in the corner, and printed with thick ink you were almost afraid to touch. The man across from you sucked noisily on coffee from a Pikachu themed mug, taking a massive bite from a chocolate energy bar in the same movement and he spoke through the crumbs gathering on the corners of his lips, “I think you’ll find those sufficient.”

You ignored Jeongguk’s flat out whine at the contents of his papers, gleeing, “Oh, good thinking, Tae. I’ll absolutely take credit for RM’s cheekbones in the Seoul music video.”

“Wait—” Jeongguk placed his hand on your arm until he could drag your fake resume close enough to scan it. Another whine, high pitched and through slanted eyebrows and pouted lips, “—why do you get to be attached to Namjoon?”

“Your crush is showing.”

“At least yours doesn’t say you were a former foot model!” 

You couldn’t suppress the snort in your throat, gently prying the wrinkled papers from Jeongguk’s death grip to confirm that Taehyung did, in fact, write that Jeongguk had an impressive track record of modeling for various small shoe companies with posters plastered in every massive mall on the south side of the country. 

“Why—” 

“Because you can’t see your face, dumbass,” Taehyung finished the bar in hand in two bites, shucking the wrapper into a pile of various other trash on the edge of his dining table, “It’s easier to fake if they do check references. What do you think they’re going to do, pull your socks off to check?”

“There’s approximately a million other parts of my body that aren’t my face.”

“Not quite a million…”

“Anyway,” You flattened both your resumes to the table, tapping on the section that said references with a singular reference, “What is this phone number?”

“Mine,” Another energy bar had materialized from somewhere and the wrapper was loudly crinkling in Taehyung palm as he shrugged into another bite, “I’m your manager now.”

“There’s no way this is going to work.”

“This will work,” He took another swig from his mug and when something like a belch rumbled in his throat you figured out that it wasn’t coffee but something carbonated, “What? Do you not have any trust in me?”

You fiddled in the backseat of the cab, the seat belt too tight on your shoulder and digging into that spot on your neck the more you shifted. You tore your gawking gaze away from the city skyline trailing along outside the window to Jeongguk prodding at his thigh with your index finger. 

“You think they’ve called Taehyung yet?”

“If they haven’t yet they’re probably not going to,” His chin swiveled from the window to look at you, gently taking the nervous tap of your hand into his palm and holding it in his lap, “They’ve already said we’re in. We’re already here. It’s okay.”

You were silent through another stop sign and the anger of honking traffic over the soft radio before you uttered, “So Taehyung must be some kind of wizard, then.”

Jeongguk’s palm caught on the back of the driver’s seat when the brakes slammed again, offering you another gentle smile as his thumb swiped over your knuckles, “Evidently.”

“We’re here,” The driver informed you over the ambiance of unmoving traffic and screeching tires, holding out an expectant hand for Jeongguk to jam a wad of cash into before he was pulling you out onto the sidewalk after him. 

Backpacks on and suitcases barely lifted over the lip of the trunk of the cab before he was speeding away off the curb in a rare moment of serenity on the street. Your easy going shrug in Jeongguk’s direction was short lived until you turned toward the building in question, your building for the next few months, nonchalant turning to ice even as summer heat burned through the fabric of the hoodie you’d adorned since five am that morning at the airport. 

A skyscraper was the easiest way to explain it in layman's terms, towering endless stories high so it almost appeared to curve and sway into the flecks of clouds skimming through the blue sky. It seemed to be made entirely of windows, tinted enough and if you squinted, covered in elegant curtains or outlined with towering succulents in molted clay pots. The front door was sliding glass, accented in gold like the name plate jutting out in an awning over a massive outdoor rug with the same name and logo etched in a shag of the same hue. The longer you gaped, the more people entered or exited through the very glass doors, ingraining the soft mechanical hum they made into the forefront of your conscious along with the polished leather shoes and designer purses and singular wedding bands that likely costs more than you would pay in tuition for four years combined. 

“This can’t be it,” You panicked from Jeongguk’s arm again, finding it to dig your fingernails into and turn back onto the street, frantically trying to catch sight of your long gone taxi driver but the street had filled in your moment of disbelief and all shades of yellow and orange began to look the same. “Surely we told him the wrong address.”

“Babe,” He didn’t move his arm so as not to startle you, wincing the further your nails curled into his skin but gentle in his call nonetheless, “Baby, hey—” His eyes trekked the jump of your throat as you swallowed, finally meeting his eye contact, “—let’s just go inside. The worst they can tell us is no.”

They didn’t tell you no but the look from the receptionist told you to be self conscious of the joggers shrunk just above your ankles and the tattered edges of the hoodie curled around your knuckles that curled your skin anemic into the handle of your suitcase while Jeongguk easily chatted through her questions and paperwork, confirming that yes, you were the guests of Kim Enterprise. When you uttered purple to his under the breath pick a color inquiry, you didn’t expect it to be for a spiraling wrist band with a shiny metal key attached to one end, an end that pressed into the pulse point on your wrist. He turned from the desk, a folder in hand and a matching blue band on his wrist, one he shook at you so that the key twisted softly underneath the massive crystal chandelier taunting the space above the front desk. 

“We’re on the tenth floor,” He seemed entirely too at ease in the drape of his oversized crew neck and baggy joggers over open-toed sandals amongst luxuries like a jar of pens perched on the edge of the front counter you commended him for grabbing because the shiny ballpoints seemed to be carved of the same, close-to-real gold accented every inch of the building. He flicked his head again, soft bangs bouncing, and you were left to stumble after his stature until his advancements had to pause for a tall man in a matching tracksuit walking a happy looking doberman from the direction that you smelled chlorine. 

“Does this place have a pool?” You whispered with your hands braced between his shoulder blades, waiting until the man was out of sight to navigate for the elevators. 

Jeongguk waited until he stabbed the button, stepping back to jostle the folder in hand to squint at one of the pages. “Looks like it—” His eyes glinted for a second, “—and a full gym!”

He continued chattering about the amenities while you stepped onto the elevator, listing off the various delivery services that would come to the front lobby versus the ones that would bring it to your door, only pausing through a rant about what the in house cafe coffee cost when you jammed the key on your wrist into the lock of the apartment, your apartment, and pushed the door open. 

Jeongguk mirrored your panicked thoughts from earlier when he let go of the handle of his suitcase, causing the lopsided storage to tumble to the hardwood below. He articulated it next, “This can’t be it. There has to be a mistake. We’re in the wrong apartment or something—”

“Guk,” You comforted him with a hand on his hip, “Our keys wouldn’t have worked if this wasn’t the right place. They wouldn’t have called us by name at the front desk…”

You followed the awe of his gaze as it tilted upward and in swivel, taking in the muted caramel hardwood glossed underneath fluffy white rugs and hues of blue leather furniture, similar wood color to the floor marking that of the cabinets and tables nailed to walls or pushed into corners, accent pieces and fake flowers doused in blacks and whites sprinkled throughout the various nooks. The windows you’d noticed from the street stretched out in the opposite direction from where you’d came in, allowing you a view not of the street but through the city, a birds eye view through buildings taller and shorter than your own, some close enough to theoretically touch and others just an unworldly as they would be from ground level. Thin black curtains swayed from gold accented rods, a result of the white ceiling fan and the chill of air conditioning seeping out through various vents pressed into the crown molding of the rippled ceiling. A staircase marked the far corner, spiraling upward into an open concept hallway that disappeared into another handful of doors, the wood a slightly darker shade than that on the floor but the railing coated in a curved gold metal. 

He swayed next to you and when he shuffled forward, you registered that he’d stepped out of his sandals, picking his feet up like prolonged contact would dirty the immaculate condition. He’d no much as peeked around the corner, the curve of broad shoulders a sliver in your peripheral, when a noise of surprise came high pitched from him. 

You peeled off your tennis shoes by the heels, taking long steps until you were behind him. In the kitchen, an open concept room marked onto by the black marble bar that made an L shape to the hum of shining appliances. 

“The lights are motioned censored,” Jeongguk provided at a breath and the two of you were still enough in silence that they flicked off. You moved to test his theory, flailing a hand out and frosted globes curled into the ceiling in threes illuminated once more. 

You stepped around him, hardwood trailing into slick white tile and you nearly stumbled into the edge of the countertop when you tried to step for the neatly folded triangle of paper perched in the center next to a bowl of fresh fruit. You plucked it into your grasp, not without dislodging a yellow apple that rolled a few paces across the specks of silver shining through in the countertop, using your thumb to smooth out the creases to squint at the printed type. 

“What the fuck are we doing?” Jeongguk uttered finally, still rooted in place but slumped against the wall. 

You flipped the paper over, “Apparently heading to the agency for a meeting with Park Jimin.”

His eyes closed, feet shuffling until his entire back was pressed into the wall, “I knew that. They said that in the confirmation email. I meant—”

“—we can figure out what to do with this place when we get back. We need to get ready,” You glanced at him, “I mean, you can go in our airport clothes but I’d rather...not.”

“Right…” Jeongguk squinted, eyes trailing over your shoulder to the nestled staircase as he pushed himself up off the wall, “You think the bedrooms are up there?”

You frowned, “Why not just change down here?”

“On account of giant ass windows and thin curtains I don’t entirely trust yet,” His voice echoed to you no matter where he ventured into the house, going first to snatch his fallen suitcase and then secondly making his way for the ascend. 

You almost tripped trying to collect your own bag, heaving by the time you caught his stature on the stairs and he turned to you with an amused cock of his eyebrow. “Coming with?”

“Don’t leave me down there alone,” You countered, shoving at his waist, “Too big for me to be by myself. This makes my dorm look like a thimble.”

Jeongguk laughed, a soft sound as his feet hit the next level, glancing down each hallway and then at you. It was an unspoken race until your coiled muscles jumped the opposite direction, meandering into bedrooms at each end of the upper level. You heard his cackles grow louder from within the first door your reached and your conscious had just began to affirm the same thing he yelled to you, “These are fucking huge too!”

A massive queen bed with a white duvet and two white blankets neatly folded at the end, two white wicker rocking chairs, a white throw rug peeking out from underneath the bed frame, white tile in an en suite bathroom like that in the kitchen cut off where the slightly darker wood floor began. 

You dropped your suitcase unceremoniously in the threshold, picking your feet like Jeongguk had been before as you dug into the top pouch of the bag to retrieve a different outfit. Three splashes of water to your cheeks and a struggle with a jean button confirmed you were very much still alive and you dared to wander out into the hallway after a fight with an automatic sink faucet. 

There was one more bedroom half the size of the one you’d claimed on your side of the hall, one you inspected with a quiet hum, dragging the door shut behind you as your sweeping steps brought you back outside. The false sense of serenity your anxious mind had calmed you into immediately erased when there was a figure standing at the head of the stairs, forcing a scream from your lips. 

“It’s me—” But it didn’t look like Jeongguk, not the Jeongguk you were used to anyway. Neatly pressed black slacks falling neatly around his ankles, a black baggy top that curled into his elbows with vertical blue stripes cutting down the surface of the fabric, the material tugged and cinched with a thin belt at the point of his thin waist, new jewelry curled over his exposed wrists and collarbones and fingers, hair slightly damp and parted effortlessly. 

“What the fuck?” You barked. 

He glanced down at his shirt, picking at one of the loose buttons and then finally deciding to do it up, a muted, “Does this look okay?” catching in his throat when you rushed for him, catching his wrists and quickly undoing his previous action. He was flushed harsh at the neck when you glanced up at him, sheepish in the smile that crossed the own heat flaming through your stature. 

“Yes,” You affirmed, “You look great, but…”

“But—” 

“Aren’t I supposed to do your hair?” 

Jeongguk blinked at the pink in his cheeks worsened. “Yeah, I was thinking…” He seemed to wince but you knew it as embarrassment, “Maybe you could curl it for me some time? More of a wave than what’s naturally there...you know.”

You eyed one of the wispy strands that swayed out over the top of his ear, not included in the wet swipe of his brush through his tresses. 

“What do I look like?” You teased, grabbing his wrist to tug him down the stairs two at a time, “Your stylist?”

“Jeon Jeongguk and…” The man behind the counter trailed off, reading your name a bit quieter from the front of a blue file folder with a raised eyebrow. You nodded with a smile nonetheless, nudging Jeongguk who was still fixated on an oak tree sized fern resting in front of the sleek wall beyond the counter. 

“Perfect,” His chair clicked across the plastic mat underneath the wheels, head disappearing into a file cabinet before returning with two laynards. He passed them across the desk, blank ID badges encased in thick plastic sleeves that would earn you clearance. “Your headshot will accompany the ID—” He was addressing Jeongguk point blank, “—once you take an appropriate one. Company protocol.” 

Jeongguk passed you one lanyard, untangling his absently and he inquired softly, “...when will those be taken?”

The man frowned, “In just a few moments? Were you not aware?”

“I thought we had a meeting scheduled with Park Jimin,” You drew the man’s attention to you, stretching the lanyard around your neck. 

“Oh, you do,” He smiled, “His meeting is running late, so we’re going to send you to the studio first.”

“We weren’t prepared for a shoot…” Jeongguk tucked his own badge over his neck. 

The man willingly addressed you this time, smile tight lipped as an obnoxious office phone began to ring behind him, “Well, I’m sure your extremely talented stylist will be able to make you presentable from the shoulders up, yes?”

You swallowed, “Absolutely.”

“Perfect. The studio is down the hall to the left. Follow the signs posted on the wall,” More plastic wheels clicking across the floor and the ringing silenced as he placed the speaker against his shoulder, “Now if you’ll excuse me. Hello, Kim Enterprises—”

“Hey,” Jeongguk nudged you as you trailed down the mentioned hallway, squinting at an array of plastic signs drilled in a row on the wall. He tripped when you abruptly turned, pointing to direct him instead but he just nudged you again, “You can try out the whole curling my hair thing a bit sooner than expected.”

You dared to glance away from the scattered map in your brain to the shag of his locks of his eyebrows, ones that had already begun to dry and scrunch into soft waves. “Yeah,” You nodded, nudging him in the direction of the arrow for headshot studio, “Maybe.”

There was a woman stationed outside one of the open doorways, absently scrolling through her phone and she jerked when you approached, pocketing her phone in a messy fumble. “Ah, hello!” She greeted, and you rushed for the plastic at your chest to flip it over to display your name. “You must be the new duo...Jeongguk and—” She squinted at your name, uttering it too. “—perfect!” Soft curls bounced around her shoulders and when she turned you were knocked backward by the overwhelming smell of vanilla, but it faded like her figure into the room. “If you’ll follow me…”

The room opened into rows of empty makeup counters, bright lights burning hot over the top of walls half coated in mirrors. A few of the chairs were pulled out, like they’d been used earlier in the day, and some spare makeup bags were left sprawled with the products rolled onto the white counters. The woman was standing in a far corner at a clean counter aside from a neatly packaged makeup bag, a hair dryer, and a curling iron with the cord wrapped neatly around it’s head. 

“I think you’ll find this sufficient,” She chirped in reference to the items at the table. She pulled out the chair, just for extra measure. “If not, there are extra of everything in the cabinet on the far side of the room. If the skin tone is not correct, your welcome to any of the others, as well. This bag is yours for the duration of your stay so I recommend keeping it stocked so you do not waste time before shoots.”

“Other than that, have fun!” Her hand centered between Jeongguk’s shoulder blades, pushing until he followed her unspoken lead and collapsed into the chair. “Come across the hall when you’re prepared. I’ll notify our photographer of your arrival.”

He stared at you through the mirror until she’d slipped out of the room and then some, finally uttering slow and gentle, “Uh. So, what are you going to do to me?”

You decided to place your fingers in his hair to calm yourself in the slightest, fluttering the strands in both palms, and even your teasing was absent, “I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to fix this—” 

“Should you start with makeup?”

Both your gazes absently trailed to the rolled up black bag and your gradual nod came before your steps trailed to the opposite side of his chair. “I’m not going to do much…” You rambled while you discarded a liquid foundation that was a shade too light for Jeongguk for a powder one that appeared to match. “You don’t need it…”

You shook some of the substance into a tray, marveling at a clean powder brush before jabbing the soft end into the pile of dust curled in your palm. Your nose wrinkled when you moved for him, using your free hand to nudge his bangs out of the way before your internal monolog told you fuck it and the same stabbing motion became the end of the brush into the center of Jeongguk’s nose. 

He spluttered and you panicked when the fallout of the clumped dust spread below to the black fabric of his shirt. “That how you do it, huh?” He spoke through powdered stained lips and you frowned, spreading it up and over his cheekbones. 

“Close enough,” You finished evening out the powder before dropping the brush, reaching to dust at his shirt instead. He let you, waiting until you’d dulled the color into soft, barely there blots along the surface of his chest and watching with rapt attention as you straightened, settling curled fists onto your hips with a huff. 

“I think that’s enough makeup.”

“It’s just powder.”

“Exactly. You can’t even tell it’s there—” Jeongguk gestured to the drying and fraying mop on his head before sanctioning his hands underneath his thighs again, like you’d bite him if he moved while you worked, “—now fix my hair.”

You unraveled the cord, plugging it into the row of outlets lining the far wall before stretching the warming end of the iron toward Jeongguk’s face so quick he ducked, an attempt to loosen the perpetual frown that was carving a discolored circle into your bottom lip from the harsh suction of your teeth into the plush substance. When it didn’t work, he rounded his lips and blew upward so that the section of hair you feathered into your fingers fluttered out of your grasp. You cracked a smile then, dropping the curling iron to your side and you cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“Behave.”

He giggled, a soft sound that matched the crinkle of his powdered covered nose and his hands went back to being stiff underneath his legs. “Yes, ma’am.”

If it weren’t hard enough teaching yourself to curl short strands of hair on someone else, it was worse that the someone was Jeongguk, wide eyes coated in celestial bodies peering quietly up at you, a soft encouragement paired with tender giggles when you cursed. You nudged at the last strand, waving it over the tip of his right ear and you leaned back against the counter to inspect your work. 

It was his expression that faltered you now, an absent fondness that stared deep into your gaze when you met the very things that could rival any planetarium and you stuttered, “I-I think I’m done?”

“It looks good,” Jeongguk leaned forward to confirm, squinting at himself in the mirror, fixing a few strands to his liking and then he added a bit slower, “We can practice…”

A squeak left your lips and you went to cover your face because we can practice meant it wasn’t that good, but you weren’t allowed to wallow in it for long when two hands wrapped around your wrists, prying your cover away and drawing you closer until you were all but leaning over Jeongguk. 

“It’s okay,” More absent swiping to your knuckles and the freckle on the center of his bottom lip prominent when dimples pressed into his cheeks, “Ready?”

You let yourself smile, “You’re the model here, Guk.”

His headshots developed instantly and were sprawled in massive print sizes on the grain of Jimin’s desk, a glaring documentation of Jeongguk’s first professional shoot, your first time curling his hair, and the endearing little smile he allowed to adorn a sliver of his teeth. But even if you found it endearing, Park Jimin’s cross expression seemed to suggest the opposite. 

“Are these the ones you chose?” He mused, dragging a finger across the thing white space framing one of the photos. It was a pre-teeth smile, pulled lip dimpling the freckle on his chin, nose a second away from wrinkling at you flipping him off behind the scenes. 

Jeongguk considered his affirmation as a failure and it showed in the way it slid off his tongue, “...yes?”

Another handful of heartbeats into Jimin’s silence and Jeongguk uttered, “I mean...uh. T-they probably would look a little better if you’d adjust your umbrella lights. Or, you know, purchase new ones. They seem to be out of date. And are worsening the contrast—”

A second longer and Jimin shrugged, effectively cutting off Jeongguk’s rambles, and he gripped the edge of the photograph instead, sliding it into a neat pile with the others. They were quickly slipped into a folder, one he passed aside to make room for intertwined fingers in the center of his desk. 

“They’ll suffice for now,” Thin eyes studied you fully now, disregarding the hunch of Jeongguk’s shoulders in the chair next to you, snake like black peering out from beyond bleached blonde fringe, “...can I ask who you are?”

“His stylist.”

“Name?” You uttered it and Jimin nodded, leaning back into the plush back of his chair. “So is there a reason you’re here…?”

“I think I’ll need to know about Jeongguk’s future endeavors here if I’m going to, essentially, be responsible for his look—” You ignored the dry texture cracking at your tongue on the roof of your mouth with each new syllable, all the moisture instead clamming your palms that roughed out of sight on your thighs, “—don’t you think?”

He seemed impressed with that answer, two hands threading at the nape of his neck to let plush lips quirk with the raise of one eyebrow. “I think you may be correct,” Jimin drawled slowly, “You may stay.”

You bit down the sarcastic thanks for the permission because he was done targeting you, testing you, instead focusing his attention back on Jeongguk. The man fell forward again, dragging his chair closer with two hands between the languid part of his thighs before they transferred to rest on the round, plastic arms. 

“It’s a relatively simple internship. We already have you booked for some very specific shoots for our advertisements and the main magazine alike. I’ll email you a calendar, but for now—” Fluffy blonde locks disappeared from view before he resurfaced with a highlighted piece of paper in hand, slapping it the table and pushing it until it fluttered at Jeongguk. “—you’ll see your shoots highlighted in pink. Anything else you need to attend is in yellow. Meetings, check ins, things of that nature.”

Jeongguk still seemed like a fish out of water so you leaned toward him and questioned, “And the green color?”

“Retreats, bonding opportunities. Things of that nature,” Something genuine sparked in the smile on Jimin’s face as he glanced at you, “Seokjin is very into the team aspect of our company. You’re welcome to any of them, assuming you have the time between other schedules.”

Jeongguk still hadn’t spoke, drilling a hole into the paper, so Jimin took the social cue to inquire, “Any other questions?”

You were about to wonder about the glaring pink and yellow overlap for the Monday of the upcoming work week when Jeongguk spoke, firm and assuring as he glanced up. 

“I understand I’m here for modeling, but I’m extremely interested in photography. Independent and contracted, studio and otherwise. The times between schedules, would I be able to shadow some of your techs? Just for...the experience?”

Jimin barely faltered at the hopeful fidget of Jeongguk’s fingers in his lap, “I don’t believe we have the opening nor the time for that kind of request. I’ll check for you, but I wouldn’t count on anything.”

Translation, don’t ask questions, do what you’re here for. 

“So,” Jimin was still chatting as he pushed himself off his chair, back arching into a stretch, “We’ll see you Monday morning for the cover shoot?”

You froze into standing, the hand you were about to offer to Jeongguk consulting the chair you perched in as a vice as your knuckles bled anemic into your bone, “Excuse me...the what?”

“The cover shoot,” Jimin blinked as though that should be common knowledge to two rookie interns, “Seokjin recruited you with this concept in mind. You’ll be on the front cover of the next issue of Bloom.” 

More silence that Jimin was unaware to, moving around the side of his desk to make it to a row of towering file cabinets in the corner. He had the folder of Jeongguk’s headshots in hand, filtering it with careful thumbs even when you uttered a half octave softer, “Can we know what the concept is?”

Jimin smiled, the answer obvious as the mentioned cabinet rebounded audibly into a magnet placed on the inside of black metal. 

“They’ll be happy to explain it to you in your pre-shoot meeting Monday.”

“What if we’re doing all this—” Jeongguk winced for the fifteenth time when you lowered the curling wand to another strand of black, “—and it’s a shoot for my feet.”

You resisted the urge to accidentally let the edge of the iron graze his cheek in the unwind from the soft wave of his tress. You shifted where you perched on the marble, letting your thighs fall further apart for his waist to lean against the edge of the counter. With a hand on his shoulder, you pushed until his eyes trained on you, slightly sheepish, slightly shameless, entirely endearing and you sighed at the last attribute. 

“You think they’d put a whole ass foot on the cover of Bloom?” When he whined, you reached for another, untouched piece of hair, twisting and pressing it to the heat, “Nothing else. Just a foot. Maybe some scandalous ankle—”

Jeongguk pinched your thigh, “You’re mean.”

“This meanie can let you style your own hair and look like that on a magazine that everyone on campus is definitely going to see,” You ducked until he met your gaze again, serious despite the upward curve of your lips, “How mean am I now?”

“You’re not,” He grumbled, glancing off to the side, “You’re the best.”

“Thought so,” You let the curling iron teeter to its stand on the counter, bracing your hands on either side of you to inspect your work, “I...think we’re done.”

You resisted the urge to scream when Jeongguk ruffled searching fingers through the front, letting the styled strands fluff outward in the carefully done part you’d established with a complementary pen you’d found in a drawer in the kitchen. He arm fell limply to his side, latter tucked firmly in the unzipped pocket of his joggers and he looked at you from the winced corners of his eyes, “Does it look okay?”

You were gentle in pinched his chin between your thumb and index finger, turning his head so doe eyes were peering at your from the center of their endearing glory, but your lips fished and you hummed in Park Jimin fashion, “I mean, it’s still your face, but from what I have to work with—”

“That’s still my joke and it’s not funny anymore.”

You surprised Jeongguk and yourself when you used your grip on him to lean forward, feathering your lips to the center of his cheek, drawing a natural shade into the artificial blush you’d rubbed in light doses to his skin. “You look great, Guk,” To amend the tingle lingering on your lips, you added, “Only be, like, three-fourths as nervous as you were before.”

He disappeared from between your legs and was six steps up the spiral staircase to retrieve his bag when he managed to choke out a less than threatening, “I’ll leave your ass here alone.”

You hopped down from the counter, shuffling through the apartment to retrieve your key still stuck to its spiraling purple bracelet next to your phone that set on a charger attached to an extension cord (fatal flaw of the millions invested in the apartment: outlets placed in inept locations) when you heard two footsteps behind you, a descend on the staircase, and then a long pause. 

And then, “...do you think I should change shoes just in case it is of my feet—”

You were lost on one end of a long conference table while eight experienced professionals chattered on the likes of composition and aesthetics and ambiance and the vision of the newest issue, a list of words that meant similar but different things in the digital world with the manipulation of graphics at the tips of your fingers and you were more entertained with the aesthetic of the swirl of auburn color bubbling upward in your coffee when you stirred it with the tiny black straw. You were seemingly forgotten among the bustle that ended the meeting, a cattle like usher toward the singular door when the room was barely filled anyway and you found yourself hopeless in a room three times the size of the previous one with equipment you didn’t understand, more terminology you couldn’t grasp, and an entire missing Jeongguk. 

The woman from your check in was back, bringing you your makeup back with a disapproving tut, ushering you with the heel of her palm on the small of your back toward a tiny collection of tables in the corner of the studio, a shortened version of the one you’d been in the day before, and you found it all but occupied by a new set of strangers. 

You nudged the roll of your bag into the only empty spot, turning in time with the soft hush that met the other individuals milling about your general vicinity and you squinted because oh god, what now? 

Words like alluring, sensual, lithe could all be replaced with much simpler adjectives, one in particular that struck bluntly at the forefront of your conscious, one you wished to express to the various shoot executives mulling over a concept they could easily direct in a hands on fashion without needing a briefing. You’d thought that into the swirl of your coffee and you assumed the cloud of cream that had surfaced, breaking into various puzzle pieces outward toward the rim of the cup agreed with you. 

You understood why the bolded letters of various synonyms taking up a bullet point list on two pages of an outline, a waste of space and trees, was needed because your crude, one bullet wasn’t enough to encompass the entirety of Jeongguk’s being as he made his way toward you. 

All eyes were trained on the rookie subject of the shoot but he was focused on you, a soft excuse me to the woman standing in front of you as he shouldered around her to tower over you. It was Jeongguk, your Jeongguk, but you felt some fraction of what everyone else did with him that close looking like that. 

Tight jeans ripped in strategic places hugging taut thighs, cuffs buttoned loosely on relaxed knuckles, a sheer black shirt coated in metallic specks tucked neatly at the cinch of his lithe waist and secured in an equal V to the dip of defined collarbones. His hair was like you’d left it but frayed from the heat and softening from the lack of product, parting more on one side than the other and flopping into his eyes that blinked curiously at you. 

“Hey...hello—” Jeongguk snapped his fingers, waving his hand so you felt the brush of his palm on your nose, “—did you hear me?”

The neanderthal corner of your conscious had enough sensibility to not utter what you wanted, instead bypassing his inquiry to all but shout, “Where are your other clothes?”

“They’re...in the dressing room? With my other things?” Someone yelled something you didn’t quite catch but the slide of Jeongguk’s palm down your elbow suggested he did, “Look, they sent me to you for a last minute check. Do I fit whatever concept they were talking about?”

Your subtly was forgotten, buried by the singular word that continued to expand into your thoughts, likely dilating your pupils the same way and the culprit of the saliva that pooled back by your molars. 

Graphic design didn’t mean you were above putting size seventy-two Comic Sans font onto a document to print and plaster everywhere but even Comic Sans wasn’t worthy of whatever the concept was Jeongguk embodied. Nonetheless, you let the muted scream in your throbbing head takeover. 

“You look sexy, Guk.”

He flushed at his neck first, traveling around to dip into his chest but it didn’t crack at the clench of his jaw this time, something lingering in the flash of black in his irises and his throat jumped, fingers curling over your arm and you briefly forgot where you were until someone’s stature was intentionally bumping into Jeongguk’s side, breaking his grasp on you to shove him in the opposite direction. 

“Shooting in five.” You felt like you were underwater, coherent enough only to register you can’t see lightening under the sea (the flash of a camera) and you were fairly certain you’d been pitched off the edge of Atlantis when you came to enough to realize the prior five was up and they’d created a makeshift “wall” (a piece of plywood coated in white plastic) for Jeongguk (the, very sexy, “model”) to lounge against with his hands shoved into his pockets. 

Part of Jeongguk’s shirt had come untucked from his belt, fluttering at the apex of his thigh, and it made your fingers itch to fix it until words of encouragement from the photographers elicited him to lift the arm on that side, palm smoothing down the back of his head until he found comfort in threading long digits into wavy tendrils. The sensible part of your brain moved to fire the necessary neurons to be annoyed that he’d just touched his hair again, hair you’d practiced on all weekend, burning yourself four times and the sheets of the unoccupied bedroom of the apartment once. 

But the feral cloud in your conscious won and you chose to focus on the sliver of his waist that appeared instead. 

You continued to eye it as he approached you again, sensibility pouting when you didn’t acknowledge that his sweat had smeared some of his carefully applied eyeliner or the lackluster gloss left on his lips wrapped around the ribbed edge of a water bottle, by passing all of those things in favor of his neck as it jumped and gulped. 

Jeongguk pulled off the water bottle with a labored breath and the only thing familiar in his stature was the slight slouch toward you, gentle fingers brushing past your wrist to grip the table behind you and lean into it. 

“Good?” He breathed, heat off his aura suffocating you and you wondered is the bottom of the ocean hot? too.

“Y-yeah. Yeah! Talented. Brilliant. Incredible. Amazing. Show stopping—”

He laughed and that was sexy too, shrugging into another languid gulp of water, pointed in stretching his neck out and he held the open bottle toward you until you took it. “As good as that Vine, huh?” His teeth appeared into the teasing smile that whipped away from you as he sauntered for the array of computer monitors in the corner displaying his shots. 

You fumed.

“That’s a Lady Gaga quote, dumbass.” 

Your knees, crossed albeit, were digging into the side of Jimin’s thigh and for a table to be so small in a quaint corner of a bustling rooftop restaurant, it garnered well over the decibels needed to make other patrons glance your way when a round of applause waved through the group. 

It was Jimin who had elicited the reaction with the piece of paper in his hand, firm and glossy and making that distinct flop noise when he’d untucked it from it’s folder pocket and maybe if you didn’t have to crane from your position next to him to see the image splayed out over the front, your knees wouldn’t be invading his space. He didn’t seem to care, wearing a charming smile that flashed over the top of your head to the man most affected by the various interest levels of stares gathered from around the general vicinity of the restaurant. 

There was a chunk of steak still stabbed through the throngs of Jeongguk’s discarded fork, meticulously cut by his focus that so desperately tried to evade the situation at any given opportunity. You noticed the pink in it before the pink spreading outward on his cheeks, framing the grateful smile he gave as acknowledgement before bowing his head at the audible emissions of praise.

“Quite the cover photo,” Jimin was still speaking, on the tail end of his reveal speech. He pulled the photo away to glance at it again, “And for an amateur on their first job as well. Phenomenal, truly.”

You touched Jeongguk’s thigh and it was the strength he needed to utter his thanks, soft at first and then louder as he addressed the other occupants at the table, “Thank you. It...it means a lot—” He turned and you followed his gaze to the one individual at the table who you’d yet to hear speak, seated at the head of the table opposite Jeongguk, wearing a black waistcoat and an easy smile to petal shaped lips. 

“—and thank you, Mr. Kim, for this incredible opportunity. I-I...we—” He glanced at you for permission to include you in his speech and you squeezed his thigh in encouragement, “—we wouldn’t be here without you.”

Seokjin bowed his head in a similar fashion to Jeongguk, dropped the cloth napkin scrunched in his palm to hold that hand up in solace, “You’re very welcome but please, call me Seokjin. Before you ask, my father wasn’t Mr. Kim, I just don’t want to be called that.”

Jeongguk didn’t know whether to laugh and he wasn’t the only one so Seokjin tried to amend further, “Formality is outdated. Am I right?”

Someone, a marketing tech for the specific cover shoot, murmured quietly to sate the CEO, “Correct, Seokjin.”

Other customers had gone back to their previous dinner table discussions, returning the restaurant to the dull roar of before, and your table was no exception to the seemingly mundaneness. Ice cubes against frosted glass, the click of cutlery into glass plating, an occupied silence filled with content chewing and thoughtful swallows. 

Questions to proceed the cover shoot reveal. 

“What exactly were you doing before this? I understand you’re still in university?”

Jeongguk didn’t have to lie on that question because Taehyung hadn’t lied on your resumes. Or your cheat sheets, depending on who was asking. You’d forced him to sit on the floor in the living room of the apartment and recite back any and everything contained on the email attachment Taehyung had begrudgingly sent you again, from the way your name and phone numbers were ordered on the header to the exact digits, a forward and back recitation of Taehyung’s phone number (a series you’d, unfortunately, never forget). 

“Yes, I’m going to school for, uhm...chemistry,” He winced because that also wasn’t a lie. Unfortunately. 

You kept quiet because they hadn’t asked you. On guard. On call, maybe. Eager to recite your major and list of minors like you were at a family barbecue with cousins who refused to talk to you for three years. 

An impressed murmur rounded the table in a wave. “Chemistry...What will you do with that?”

Like clockwork. “Med school, possibly. Maybe teaching. Not sure yet.”

“And your modeling experience—” Now into the flashcards once stacked in the need to review pile, “—who did you say you were signed with?”

“Ah…” His knife hit in a resounding rebound through the slab of meat he was attempting to dice into another tiny cube, “Well I wasn’t really signed, I just—”

“You weren’t signed?” 

You swallowed because it wasn’t Seokjin who’d ask the question but the smile on his lips had wilted into the furrow of his eyebrows, two elbows hitting the table as his fingers clasped in front of him. 

“The company has changed names since then,” Jeongguk jammed the cube into his cheeks but chewing didn’t let him off the hook as ambient dinner noises paused in wait of his answer, “It’s been a while…”

“Your resume says you’ve had published billboards up until last year. Were you not signed then?”

“It’s been a while since I originally signed. I had that contract for five years time and the company changed possession three times in that period. Who knows what it’s called now, you know?”

Safe. 

Your on call button beeping eagerly in the forefront of your conscious gradually flickered until it was off because your lie wouldn’t be as easy. You couldn’t produce a selfie or even a fake contact that would ring to rap superstar Kim Namjoon. Even Taehyung wasn’t that good. 

“Your manager, agent, whatever you have—” It was Jimin who asked this time, curious, “—would we know him?”

“Kim Taehyung,” Jeongguk offered up the name with little hesitation and you almost choked on a clump of parmesan tickling at your throat. The cheese convinced you there were a million Kim Taehyung’s in the world, the name not your eccentric, software engineer group project partner who’d once recited the HTML of the university’s financial aid office web page to you by memory and you managed to swallow down a gulp of your ice water, cube included, with minimal tears pooling due to your choke. “He’s our manager.”

The introduction of our caused eyes to fall upon you and blinked through the bleary tears remaining in makeup coated ducts. Some of the product smeared into your eyes then, worsening the tears of pain, but no one addressed you still. You just nodded to ensure they didn’t. 

The end of the meal meant goodbyes and goodbyes meant brief instances of small talk with each individual at the table. For you, they were limited to thank you for the meal. For Jeongguk, it was a sentence or two more, ones you were in earshot of. 

Seokjin came last, a soft hug wrapped around your shoulders that was awkward in the way that he patted at your arm. It was a firmer hand he reached for Jeongguk a firm shake in the middle of two broad statures as he stared directly through the haphazard fringe stringing into Jeongguk’s lashes. 

“Congratulations,” Another firm shake that traveled up into a pat on Jeongguk’s shoulder, “I look forward to seeing more of your work.”

You trailed Jeongguk’s pointed trek through the front door of the apartment building, taking three strides to his normal one and you tried to slow him with a tempting, “Should we go get ice cream? We should go get ice cream.”

He was slowest when in front of the elevator, jamming his middle finger into the up button. “Why should we go get ice cream?”

“To celebrate?” Your toe caught on the small gap between the ground floor and the elevator, “They seemed to really enjoy it—”

“I’d rather just go to bed,” It was harsh in delivery but his eyes softened and his chin tilted down toward you, “...if that’s okay. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” You affirmed and as an afterthought you teased, “Beauty sleep for the superstar.”

His smile was a ghost on the dimples in his cheeks, eyes downcast so his eyelashes shadowed on his cheekbones and his head dipped away from you to stride down the hall, staying that way as he fiddled with the blue spiral on his wrist and pushed into the apartment. 

Jeongguk was with you in peeling off your shoes onto a makeshift welcome mat, a plastic takeout bag from the Thai food you’d gotten the second night, before affirming again, less harsh and almost tentative, not to ask but that you’d say no and he wouldn’t get to complete his request. 

“...it’s okay if I go to bed? If I leave you alone down here?”

“Yeah,” You reached to touch his wrist, feathering your fingers over his knuckles, “Maybe I’ll figure out the TV so you don’t have to do it for me every time.”

He tried to smile. It didn’t fool but you let him go anyway, watching mute as he ascended the stairs, sluggish and slow like his fingers fiddling at the buttons of his creased button up. 

“Jeongguk—” He looked at you now, fingers braced on the railing, shoulders slumped as he turned, “—take your makeup off.”

“Thank you, baby,” A soft murmur that echoed in the silence of the house, “Good night…”

You tried the television twice and gave up on the third time’s the charm, trekking the route Jeongguk had made up the stairs but turning the opposite direction for your room. You saved the shower for the morning, pocketing your jewelry in an empty pouch of your suitcase, swiping a baggy t-shirt off the floor that smelled like your roommate, washed your face in the facet you’d mastered in three weeks time, tucked yourself underneath cool sheets, raising your phone to your face where it was attached to a looping extension cord plugged into yet another inopportune outlet on the far side of the bed. 

A makeup tutorial that was less of a tutorial and more of a demonstration of the guru’s skill set elicited the sleep in your eyes and you’d nearly dozed off when another light peeked from your peripheral, one that startled you to lock your phone and squint. 

It was Jeongguk, body language like you’d left him but pajamas on in place of his dress clothes with a blanket sanctioned over one shoulder and dragging against the ground like his sluggish footsteps. A pillow was clutched in his latter arm, squished against his chest with his chin resting on the plush surface, forming a natural pout on the purse of his lips and the wrinkle of his nose. 

“Hey,” You didn’t question, the initial startle of your heart morphing into something fond and heavy in your ears that caused you to spread your arms, “Come on.”

Mindless shuffling was domestically mundane, tugging apart the made side of the bed, replacing the pillows with his, tucking the duvet at his waist and his blanket over his shoulders, shifting further into the warmth to let him drape a hand to your hip, contact, while you propped yourself up on the curve of your arm. 

“You okay?” You thumbed soft strands of his fringe between your thumb and index finger and when he didn’t jerk away, you went to stroking the tresses between the spaces in your digits. It was wet, shower fresh, not dry enough to curl yet. 

Jeongguk grumbled, voice muffled and raspy into his pillow that he mushed his cheek further into, “Just couldn’t sleep, is all. Your bed is comfier.”

You ignored the way his fingers fist further into your shirt at your hip. Carefully, you nodded, “You sure that’s all?”

He hummed again, a mixture of hesitation affirmation and the reaction to your nails scraping into his scalp. You repeated the motion just to hear him mewl and feel him relax, melted shoulders shifted until he was close enough to wrap an arm around the small of your back. 

“The shoot turned out really well, huh?” Jeongguk snorted, the breath fanning against your neck and you frowned, “I mean, it’s really cool. That you’re going to be on the cover. Looking like that—” 

“I guess.”

You went to scrunching his hair at the back of his head between your palm, “The other things we’ve been working on since...they’ll turn out great too. Who knows, maybe you can erase the foot modeling for something legitimate and credible.”

Jeongguk’s hair ruffled in your grasp when he adjusted his cheek on the pillow, pulling away from your chest to be eye level. 

“You know something?”

You let your hand flop out of his hair to the pillow, “What?”

“I haven’t taken a single picture since we’ve been here. I haven’t even thought about touching my camera.”

“I hate it,” He continued, blunt with his nose crinkled at the bridge, “I miss it…”

“We have a day off in a few days. Maybe we could go exploring with it—”

“—and I can’t believe I’m saying this but I miss school. I miss being at university,” Jeongguk blinked, a prolonged blink that scrunched at more parts of his face, “Okay, I don’t miss that. I...I don’t know what I miss. It’s...something. Mostly photography probably but I think it’s just…”

“...I think it’s just knowing. I miss knowing. As in having at least a sense of what I’m doing. Where I’m going. What I want to do.”

Your features softened into something grim, nodding when he glanced at you. His laugh was bitter as he held your eye contact, “In short, I hate this. I, frankly, hate that you convinced me to do this. I...I can’t wait to go home.”

“I’m sorry, Guk, I didn’t—”

“It’s not your fault,” He breathed in, holding it, eyes closing, “Please don’t apologize. It’s been like this for a while. Me not...knowing.”

“I thought you were right. Money can fix a lot of things, like paying off my loans and tuition. But paying my tuition means I’m stuck in an unspoken contract of sorts with a major I hate that’ll propel me toward a career I’m unsure of but already hate, anyway.”

“The only thing I’m sure of is my camera,” Jeongguk shrugged, eyes open and wide and starred in natural celestials and a shimmer of tears, “and I don’t even want to touch that anymore.”

“I mean I do, but I don’t...you know?” His voice broke then, a glisten falling to his cheek now as a tear finally lipped over and you cooed, rushing forward to intercept him back into your embrace. 

“What’ll make it better?” You held him with two arms around his neck, cheek pressed into the damp strands at the crown of his head. 

“Don’t know. Leaving probably. But...I’m not going to do that. It’d make me feel worse. Quitting, you know.”

“What can I do? Anything? I already made you come here…”

Jeongguk pulled away from the damp spot he’d rounded on the collar of your shirt and the base of your throat, cheeks blotchy and tearful and he scolded, “I told you not to worry about it. I’m the hot mess.”

“Yeah, but you’re my best friend,” You thumbed at his cheek, collecting the drying tears, “My hot mess.”

You didn’t expect Jeongguk’s strawberry tulip bud lips to taste like salt the first time you kissed but you cleared the culprit of the taste with your thumbs while he pressed desperate affections into the seam of your mouth, holding you tight to him at the waist. You let him because you wanted it too but took his lull for a breath to cup his face, still working at clearing the fresh wave of tears on his cheeks while you hushed, “Not now.”

“M’sorry,” He apologized this time, a messy blubber through your tender touch, “I didn’t—I didn’t want to do it like this.” 

“If I don’t get to apologize, neither do you,” You kissed his nose in lieu of his lips, “You can kiss me all the time once you figure you out.”

Jeongguk sniffled, “Be careful. That’s incentive.”

“Maybe that’s why I said it,” You kissed his eyelid in tandem with another swipe underneath it and you mirrored the action on the opposite side, “And you never answered me. What can I do?”

He smiled when he noisily advertised the snot in his nostrils this time, squeezing your hips, “Just be you. You’re the last thing I photographed.”

“You’ll always be the thing I photograph.”

You were halfway through waving a strand of his hair down the battery powered wand in your hand, an online purchase with your second intern check. It was a seasoned movement now, easier with his hair that had grown without cut since you’d been in the city. It was an advertisement shoot, a casual look that would be perched above bar codes and brand affiliates on the back page of the magazine. 

“Crouch for me,” You paired it with a light smack to his shoulder, catching attention where it had wandered to a loose strand on the baggy t-shirt draped over his stature. Jeongguk was purposeful in being awkward, bending at the waist and the knees and he dramatically sat a hand on his thigh, cocking a hip out and sticking his tongue out at you. 

“Better?”

“I can’t stand you—”

“Is it their break?” 

You managed to maneuver your surprise into the jerk of the curling wand away so it didn’t burn Jeongguk, both of you glancing toward the new presence in the room. It was a frantic looking intern from the front desk, one that came and went on an odd schedule you couldn’t quite pinpoint but he looked two seconds away from tearing his hair out at the roots anyway. When the photographer nor the set manager didn’t respond, he took it as an affirmation, forward in grabbing Jeongguk’s arm to tug and motioning you with his free appendage. 

“I guess it is now,” You exchanged a glance with Jeongguk when the intern scoffed, not letting go of the larger man before him until you were halfway down the hallway and an abrupt turn to another later. 

“You’re needed with one of the head executives.”

The cover shoot magazine was set to go in print within the next few days and urgent around the studio meant they went about airbrushing the static in Jeongguk’s curled hair a different way and were seeking approval of the talent. You assumed Jimin was about to tutt in disapproval when you couldn’t see the smudge his stocky finger was gesturing to on the life sized image plastered across the center of his desk. 

But you turned past the sign indicating his office and you almost parted your mouth to gently correct the frazzled twenty-something, help him out for something that was bound to be corrected anyway, but he paused in front of an office, that office, one with a name plate bigger than the rest and the only one displaying the company logo in tandem. 

“Seokjin requested to see you personally,” The intern knocked but didn’t look inside, just propped the door open and gestured, “In you go.”

An excuse was on the tip of your tongue and you ran into Jeongguk on the way to express it but the intern had already coaxed at Jeongguk’s larger stature and you both were shoved into a shut room before your brain could even process that I have to use the bathroom on the first floor because that’s the only soap I’m not allergic to wasn’t a viable excuse. 

“Hello,” The sheer size of Seokjin’s size seemed to swallow his broad shoulders even in the tight hug of a navy suit jacket to the definition of his shape but the enormity contrasted to the warmth in his voice, smile, and eyes as all gestured for the open chairs turned inward toward his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

He shuffled at two specific sets of papers as you tripped over Jeongguk’s ankles for the same chair, catching and narrowly avoiding a spill of an empty piece of furniture. You settled as the horror set in of what sets of papers Seokjin held, stapled leaves taken from the same blue file folders you’d been greeted with on day one. 

You were useless in noticing you’d left your ID badge in the studio, too. 

“I ran your references, out of curiosity…” Seokjin bent the papers in hand at the thumb, “Tell me about Kim Taehyung.”

“That’s our manager,” A robotic answer spoke in monotone, Jeongguk’s blank gaze on the turtle paperweight perched on the edge of Seokjin’s desk suggesting the same type of mechanical movement. 

“Your manager is a member of two seperate government watch lists for hacking low level search engines?”

Your eyes bulged and you forgot your role, “He is?” 

“I don’t know,” Seokjin smiled gently, “but he probably should be if he isn’t. He’s not very subtle about it. Between him and the conspiracy theorist…”

“Yoongi,” You breathed, “Yeah...probably.”

“You—” He shuffled deeper into his array of papers, plucking one specific piece out to slide across the desk at Jeongguk. You recognized it as a screenshot of his online portfolio, the chosen album one of fresh summer wildflowers (weeds, you’d informed him behind the scenes) from the summer prior, “—you’re very talented.”

“And you…” This time a screenshot of your commissions profile, various examples of your work scattering the black and white screen cap, “You have an eye for design. My layout team could learn a thing or two from you.”

“I checked with your university and don’t worry, not your grades. I don’t care about those numbers frankly…” He tapped on something on the top paper in his pile, “Your majors. You didn’t lie about those. Graphic design, that suits your passions, from what I can tell at least.”

You nodded. 

“But chemistry?” Seokjin blinked, “I can’t imagine that fulfills you in the slightest. You said you plan to be a doctor?”

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk answered, quick and honest and for once he didn’t slump into the answer. “You’re right. It doesn’t.”

“Can I let you in on some cheesy but true advice?”

More nodding, this time from both. 

“It’s not worth it if it doesn’t fulfill you. Certainly not something so far in left field from what you clearly love to do. I said I didn’t care about grades but…” Seokjin cocked his head, a knowing smile on his lips, “Those grades don’t match someone who's passionate about their field.”

“I’m going to have to pull the cover shoot, for obvious reasons. I’ll have to send you home as well, with the rest of your internship pay, of course.”

You rushed to deny that in the same sentence that Jeongguk did, apologetic and hot at the neck when Seokjin held up a hand. 

“You get the pay on one condition. You go home and do something with it. Something something, not just continue on with that boring chemistry degree.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I told you to call me Seokjin but I’m going to change that, too—” Seokjin stood, rounding his desk for a handshake that Jeongguk rushed to straighten and intercept, “—call me Jin when you book your first photography gig, alright? Even if it’s just your conspiracy theorist friend and his fried chicken looking poodle.”

Jeongguk laughed, loud and unabashed and you were the first person he directed his joy at, only causing your elation to grow tenfold in your heart. 

“You too, after you design the new McDonald’s logo or something. I’m getting pretty tired of those golden arches…”

You thumbed at the tassel dangling off the graduation cap flopped top down on the edge of Jeongguk’s mattress. It fit Jeongguk’s head better than yours, so you brought it over for him to borrow so that the fight in the bookstore was one less stress his graduation checklist had to suffer from. 

“Taunting me with that?” Jeongguk’s neck hinged over the side of the bed, blinking backward at you. 

You glared, breaking away from the yellow fringe to crouch in front of his face, squishing his cheeks together to plant a chaste kiss on the exaggerated pout of his lips. One of many you’d planted on him after he’d met with his advisor to change his track from chemistry to digital imaging, adding an extra summer semester onto his graduation while he watched you take your leatherbound diploma in only muted jealousy from beyond the lens of his obnoxious camera obscuring the view of a dad in a Hawaiin shirt and sandals. 

Your headshot, the original one you’d taken messily after burning your arm and testing eyeliner thickness over the same mark, was framed in his room but not hung, leaning against the wall where he’d nailed a hanger but couldn’t get the cheap balsa wood to center. You pointed to it, “Taunting me with that?” 

“No,” He reached for you, grabby hands until you stepped into his embrace, allowing him to pull you down onto his bed, “I think you look cute.”

“I think you’re a sap.”

“I think I’m allowed to be considering you���re moving next week.”

“You’re renting a space in my bed in eight weeks,” You sat up to poke his nose, “We both lose.”

Jeongguk pouted, “Hey.”

You just grinned, “Hey, what?”

“That was the best part of that internship,” He marveled, blissful as his eyes shut, “Living together.”

“Oh yeah? Not the whole introspective finding myself thing?”

“Nope—” The fullness of his teeth shined even as his eyelashes stayed glued, “—the whole getting to cuddle the secret love of my life thing.”

“It wasn’t that secret.”

“It was.”

“Hmm, okay,” You folded your arms at your chest to prop yourself up on his stomach, “Speaking of secrets. Have you checked your phone?”

“Did Yoongi add us to another group chat?” 

You snorted, “Check your phone.”

You huffed when Jeongguk used the top of your head to hold his phone, thumb flexing against your forehead as it scrolled, and you giggled when all his motions, breathing included, gradually stalled. 

“Did Taehyung figure out how to hack email addresses too?” When you didn’t respond, Jeongguk peered at you underneath his thumb, “Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I got another email from Jin.”

“Oh, that,” You grinned, “Yeah, I do know about that.”

He grumbled, thumb moving into action again as he clicked around, opening the email and enlarging the font to read. 

“Jeongguk. I’m happy to hear you’re graduating soon and in something you seem to enjoy! It just so happens that we have an opening here in our photography department and we’re seeking someone with your exact credentials. I’ve reviewed your updated profile and can’t say I’m anything less that thoroughly impressed. If you can provide me with an updated, and legitimate, resume, the spot will be yours upon graduation.”

“Thanks for not spending my money on booze,” Jeongguk added with a laugh, “Seokjin (Or Jin. Just not sir. Or Mr. Kim).” 

“Really?” You rewarded his face with a kiss to his chin, moving the affections up his cheek as he marveled, “They really want to hire me?”

“They really want to hire you. For real, this time.”

“But...but wait—” He stopped you with the heel of his palm into the center of your forehead and you huffed, “We...we just got things figured out. And I’m going to have to move closer to the company…”

You did your best to plaster indignation onto your features, “You really think you’re going to get away with leaving your stylist here?”

Jeongguk’s eyes bulged, hopeful but not following, “...what?”

“Grab my phone for me.”

He happily obliged in dipping his hand into the back pocket of your jeans, handing you the device with a smile but deeply concerned, singular, eyebrow. You huffed, fumbling at the screen of your phone until you pulled up your own email, one you’d received two weeks ago and you enlarged the font to hand to Jeongguk. 

He frowned through his intense scanning before whining, “Is this why you wouldn’t tell me anything about your job offer?”

“Yes.”

“...did he hire you to run the design department?”

“Not yet but I am working there.”

“...so we’re not getting that apartment back home?”

“Nope.”

“...are we still moving in together?”

“Absolutely.”

An extra silence and you could feel the gears churning behind his skull in the rapid thrum of his heart at your palm, “...back to the previous apartment?”

“I don’t think that’s available anymore but no. I asked for something a bit more our taste.”

“So we can buy real welcome mats this time?” Jeongguk propped himself up on his elbows, curling his stature so you were drawn closer to his face and he happily rubbed his nose to yours.

“You didn’t like our bachelor pad chic decor?”

He ignored you, “And can we build IKEA tables together? Oh, what about name our apartment, you know, like people name their cars—”

[pandawritespoorly]

With Time: Chapter 30 - Needlework

Author’s Note: For those of you truly worried, I'd like to point out that the warning at the top remains 'no archive warnings apply'. This is probably sort of anti-climatic to who-knows-what you guys were imagining.

Woo! Chapter thirty! This is crazy to me, especially since I'm nearing the end where I'm at. I've also posted over 100,000 words of this, so that's exciting! (I think that was last update or the one before, but I didn't notice).

Anyways, enjoy some angst featuring children with too much pressure on them.

Akuma slide here.

Chapter Summary: Ladybug goes down during a battle and Adrien can’t find a pulse.

First | Previous | Next

“I’m so glad you agree with me. I really think Adrien has changed, and it’s not for the better.” Lila says tearfully.

“Oh, girl. It’s okay. We’ll do something.” Alya hugs her close.

“Yeah, my bro’ll come around eventually. He loves you.” Nino consoles.

“It’s just… I think he’s been spending time with Ma- her.” she stumbles, avoiding the name even all these months later, “I don’t want to lose him to her too…” she adds, quietly, as though it’s just an afterthought.

“Adrien’s better than Ladybug! He’d never abandon you for a liar like Marinette. If he does, you’ll still have us! I still have some choice words for him…”

“Yeah, total bummer Marinette took him away.”

“Oh.” Lila interrupts, “That might be why he’s acting so strangely recently. He’s absolutely terrified of her. Now, I’m telling you this in confidence so you can’t tell anyone else this, alright?”

The other two nod.

“Marinette threatens him. I already told you some of this, but she’s made a deal with Mr. Agreste. He gets a designer to run the company, and she gets to marry Adrien. That’s why we have to keep our relationship so secretive. If anyone found out, the consequences would be terrible! The only reason Mr. Agreste agreed to work with as awful a designer as her is because all the others would never agree to such a deal, especially since they’re all so close to me.” “That’s despicable! I can’t believe it!” Alya gasps, then scowls, “Actually, I can. That’s definitely a thing Malicious-nette would do. You’re so brave and strong for persevering through this!” “Don’t worry dudette, I’m sure something can be done.”

“Thank you so much.” Lila sighs, smiling weakly, “It’s such a relief to know that you guys have my back. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Lila truly is happy, because a plan is forming in her head.

---

It’s late February and Ladybug really wishes that winter would hurry up and end. She’s tired of being tired. She’d been resting at home when there had been an akuma alert. Now she had to deal with whatever it is this time.

Type 3 too, so there’s lots of dodging. She’s bad at dodging and things flying at her face scare her. Especially when she’s tired like this. 

It’s very hard for her to convince herself to drag herself out of bed when she knows it involves magical projectiles being thrown at her.

At least she’s got Chat Noir, he’s her favorite person. He’s so nice, and he didn’t think she was an abominable disappointment like she was preparing herself for.

He hugged her a lot. That was nice.

He’s really warm too, and he visits her a lot, and-

She’s still thinking about how much she loves him when she finally sees him.

“Hey Bugaboo, how-” He’s cut off when she throws herself at him, hugging him tightly, he looks down at her seeing that she’s smiling and he joins, “Just a hug kind of day today? I can live with that.”

“I love you and you’re really nice and you’re really warm and you’re-” she’s mumbling into him, but he hears enough to get the gist of it.

“Same goes to you, my love.”

The delighted smile she gives him makes his week.

“As much as I hate to interrupt you hugging me, we can’t just leave Paris to fend for herself.”

Despite (or maybe because of) his warmth, she seems reluctant to be let go, only hugging him more. She finally accepts reality and steps back.

At the very least, she seems to have woken up more, “Dumb Hawkmoth.”

“How about we try to get this akuma over with quickly so you can go back to sleeping.”

“Do you know anything about it?”

“Nope, sorry Bugaboo.”

She sighs, and they head in the direction of the akuma. They know they’re on the right track when they see buildings that appear to have been turned into a messy patchwork of various fabric scraps.

There’s civilians wrapped up in thread, while some appear to have had their clothing changed in a similar manner to the buildings.

The duo spots the akuma eventually, a cloaked figure floating around on a giant red button. The cloak is a mis-matched jumble of various fabric scraps and threads.

She spots them, “Ladybug, Chat Noir! I am Needlework! Hand over your miraculous!”

“Not happening.” Ladybug hollers.

The battle proceeds as usual from there. They adjust to her attacks and avoid them. She raises one hand and thread shoots out, anything that makes contact with it is changed as they saw earlier. People have a chance of either being wrapped up or just having their outfit changed.

As the heroes slip into the rhythm of the fight, they can’t help but notice that one of Needlework’s arms stays hidden beneath her cloak the whole time. In the ten or so minutes they’ve been fighting her, they haven’t seen her use it once.

Ladybug is starting to get tired by this point. Being out and about is one thing, but pretending to be at her usual energy level is even worse - especially during akuma attacks. She’s about to call over to Chat and suggest they back off momentarily to strategize when the akuma finally raises her hidden arm.

It’s sudden, but she raises her arm and throws out a giant needle, it misses Ladybug’s face by a mere centimeter and she can feel it poke a pigtail before it’s pulled back by the attached thread.

Ladybug stiffened the moment it came at her. She feels it breeze by her face, and with it being winter, her ladybug instincts are at the forefront. They take over, and she doesn’t even register what’s happening as she collapses.

Chat Noir just about has a heart attack. He could have sworn that the needle didn’t touch her, but something must have happened because she’s down.

Maybe it had to do with the needle attack? They hadn’t seen it before, so there’s no telling what it does.

It doesn’t help that his instincts are screaming at him that she’s in danger.

He crosses the roofs to her quickly, and his stress isn’t helped by the fact that she’s still on the ground, her legs pulled to her chest.

“Ladybug?” He calls to her gently.

She doesn’t respond, but Needlework is approaching, so he scoops her up to carry her somewhere safer.

He ends up back in his room, and sets her on the couch gently. She hasn’t moved yet and he really doesn’t like that. After a moment of panic, he figures it wouldn’t hurt to do the basics.

He checks her pulse, and her breathing-

He can’t find her pulse.

What happened? Is she dead? She must be dead, no no no no-

His ring beeps and he doesn’t even register it.

“Adrien, calm down. She’s fine-”

“Plagg she’s dead, she’s dead, oh she’s dead-” he wasn’t prepared for this.

“Kid, breathe, you need to calm down. You’re hyperventilating-” “Calm down-?!”

“Listen to me, she’s not dead. Take a moment to breathe and check her pulse again. If I’d realized this was coming I’d have warned you.” Plagg is resting above her heart, watching Adrien carefully.

He nods tearfully, doing as he’s told. Shaking his head, he turns to Plagg to protest, but the Kwami holds up a paw, “Give it a moment kid. You’re too stressed for this.”

Adrien waits some more, holding her wrist delicately.

There.

Plagg is right, Ladybug has a pulse.

Very faint.

Concerningly faint. 

But a pulse nonetheless.

Adrien exhales in relief, resting his head against her and gripping her hand tightly.

“Plagg, what happened?”

“She’s playing dead. Bugs don’t usually start doing this for another few months, but I guess she’s been through enough stress to be a little early.”

“How long will she do this?” Adrien hasn’t moved yet, still calming himself down.

“It can vary, it’s her first time so it’ll be shorter, but as soon as she feels the danger has passed she’ll wake up and return to normal. ‘Course, she’s unconscious, so her earrings decide when it’s safe.” “How do they do that?”

“With the ring. She won’t wake up if you’re not close. If the holder of the ring is stressed or feeling unsafe, she won’t wake up. Basically kid, stay calm and stay close.”

“So she’s fine.” “She’ll wake up any moment and won’t even know what happened. She’ll be a little scared obviously because that’s what led to this, but yeah, she’s fine.”

“Wait-” Adrien looks to Plagg, slightly panicked, “What if something happened when I wasn’t around? Would she just stay like this until I happened to find her?”

“Kid, you’ll always know. Doesn’t matter how far, a Cat will always know when their Ladybug needs them, and vice-versa. Follow your gut.” “Okay.” Adrien sighs, finally moving, “Okay. Okay.”

He picks her up gently, sitting on the couch and holding her in his lap. It’s easier to stay calm now that he knows what’s going on.

“So how often is this going to happen?” Adrien doesn’t look at Plagg, only watching his Lady.

“Depends,” Plagg has retrieved some camembert, tossing it up and swallowing it in one gulp, “Your Bug can be a little skittish. There’s really no way to predict it. When she’s scared, - or more when she feels in danger - it’ll happen. If she’s already excessively stressed, or her tendencies are prominent then it’ll probably be more likely.”

“Alright.”

After another minute passes, the girl in his arms startles awake, bolting upright and gasping, looking around in confusion, “Cha- wait what? What happened?”

Adrien hugs her tightly, comforted by the fact that her heart rate is back to normal - if maybe a little quicker from her panic and residual fear.

“Shh. It’s okay.”

“But- what- why- how did we get-?” she’s still panicky, breathing quickly.

“I’ll explain in a moment, but just take a minute to calm down. Everything’s fine.”

She nods, “Right. Right.” she hugs him back, murmuring, “You’re here, so… right.”

After a moment, he turns her to him, taking a moment to appreciate her eyes - alert and alive, “I thought you’d died. Mon Dieu.”

“Died?! Adrien, what happened?”

“You played dead, girly. That’s what ladybugs do.” Plagg tells her.

“But I’m not a real ladybug! I’m a human. People don’t play dead!” she protests, glancing between Adrien and his Kwami.

“Humans don’t hibernate either. It’s just another side-effect.” Plaggs shrugs, eating more cheese, “I don’t see why you’re all tied in knots about this.”

“Because! I scared Adrien!” She's not supposed to scare him, she’s supposed to be a hero, heroes don’t faint because they get startled.

“It’s okay Mari, you’re fine now.” Adrien interrupts.

“No it’s not!” Ladybug tears up, “I worried you! You don’t deserve that!” she puts her hand to his face, looking at him carefully.

“It’s not your fault, don’t beat yourself up about this. At least we know now.”

He’s so nice, and understanding. She doesn’t deserve this. He should be mad, she keeps messing up as a hero. She worried him - in the middle of an akuma attack no less. 

The tears fall silently. When would she stop messing everything up?

Her earrings beep. Tikki flies out to leave them be as she goes to Plagg.

“Oh, little lady, what’s wrong?” he wipes the tears off tenderly.

“I keep messing things up. You don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

“Princess…”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t apologize. It’s okay. None of this is your fault. You can’t help that you’re a Bug, and I can’t help that I’m a Cat.”

“I scared you! You thought I died!” She hates to think what must have been going through his mind.

“I know now. It won’t happen again. Shh.” 

“But it might-”

“But if it does, I know what’s happening. It’s okay, believe me.”

“Okay.” She hugs him, because out of the two, she thinks he needs the comfort more.

He doesn’t necessarily disagree, but he thinks they both need a moment of rest. Squeezing her closer to him lightly, he purrs softly. Both to relieve his stress and hers.

They break apart, moment of reprieve over.

They’ve got a job to do.

Transforming, Ladybug and Chat Noir exit the room together, following the trail of fabric buildings back to Needlework.

“I’m willing to bet that her needle is the akumatized object.” Ladybug nods, “That’s probably why she hides it so much.”

“What do you say we get this over with so that you can take a nap?” Chat suggests, glancing over at her.

“Mhm!” she raises an arm, “Lucky Charm!”

A spotted pair of scissors fall into her waiting hands, and she looks around momentarily.

He loves the look on her face when she figures something out, and grins when it comes, ready for her plan.

“Alright, Chat I’m gonna’ need you to get her to throw the needle again.” “Will do, Buginette!”

She waits on the sideline for her chance.

It doesn’t take long. Needlework throws out the needle again, and Ladybug rushes forward to cut the thread. Needlework shrieks as the needle falls to the ground, flying after it.

Chat beats her to it, snapping it over his knee to release the butterfly.

“Gotcha!” Ladybug sends out her yo-yo, purifying the insect as usual. When it flies away, she flutters her fingers at it, “Bye bye little butterfly.”

“Pound it!”

She calls on her cure, throwing the scissors into the sky, releasing the little beetles to fix the city.

“I can talk to the victim, you go home to rest.” Chat offers.

She nods, doing as he says, sleeping the moment she detransforms on her pillow.

---

When Allegra, Allan, Claude, Felix and Adrien stop by later, she is awake again.

They’ve barely entered the room when she stops them.

“Mm! Nuh! Mm-memmh!” she flaps one of her hands at them, and they pause. Whatever she said is muffled by the hand she’s holding in her mouth.

“What was that?” Claude asks.

She removes her hand, “Careful, I dropped a pin… or three.” she turns back to the desk where she has laid out fabric, and avoiding the scissors haphazardly open on the floor.

“Got ‘em.” Adrien’s eyes are better than hers, and he picks them up to return them to the pincushion.

Marinette puts the side of her thumb back in her mouth, bending to the put her scissors back on the table, “Mm hm.”

“Marinette, we cannot understand you if you insist on sucking on your hand.” Felix chides.

“Why are you doing that?” Allan questions.

“M hm mm hmm.” she pauses, removing the hand to clarify, “I cut my hand, that’s all”

“Marinette! Were ya’ planning on doing somethin’ about it?” Allan goes to her side, looking at her hand carefully.

“I do it all the time. I can get back to work once it stops bleeding. I can just measure for now…” She mutters flippantly, looking at her dress form, as if trying to picture her design.

“That’s not really what he meant. I think it’s time you take a break.” Allegra grabs her by the shoulders and spins her around to the trapdoor. The others follow.

Once they’re all seated in the kitchen, Adrien helps Allan find the first aid kit, and they patch the girl up.

“There.” Allan steps back once he’s finally satisfied that Marinette’s cut has been treated properly.

“As great as it is to see you up and about, maybe next time be more careful with the scissors.” Claude rests their hand on Marinette’s head.

“I was tired!” she protests, “I don’t normally cut myself that badly.”

“Then sleep. How often do you get yourself with those scissors anyways?” Allegra asks.

She shrugs, then flops onto the table, “Late winter sucksss. Even when I’m awake, I feel tired, but not tired enough to just sleep until it’s over.”

“You’ll last until spring.” Adrien comforts her, patting her arm consolingly.

“I like spring!” Marinette pops up again, smiling.

“Me too!” Claude cheers.

Adrien suddenly realizes what spring means to Marinette. Occasionally things hit him like that - he’s still catching up to combining Ladybug and Marinette in his mind. Not that he can’t accept that they’re the same, just that sometimes he forgets that things that once applied to only one of them now applies to both.

Ladybugs like spring. He saw that firsthand last year with his partner.

Her new friends will certainly be taken aback by how fast Marinette goes from slow and sleepy to hyper and happy.

He grins, this year he can see it first hand in and out of the mask.

“Oh boy,” he says quietly, grinning. He’s not entirely sure any of them will be ready for this.

“What?” Allegra turns to him.

He just shakes his head, “I forgot… just, you’ll see when spring comes.” There’s no need to ruin the surprise.

“Okay…?”

Claude has produced a card game from who-knows-where and is already dealing cards to his friends, so everyone takes a seat.

By the end of the third game, Marinette is slumped against Allan, completely out.

No one comments, leaving her be. Felix stands to retrieve a blanket from the couch to put over her and they keep playing.

---

Author’s Note: That chapter felt short.

Yay! Marinette lives! A new tendency to deal with though.

Akuma slide here.

That whole sewing scene required testing because I can't just be normal and make up sounds. I recorded myself trying to say the words while my hand was in my mouth and had both myself and my friend try to translate it into letters. Kudos to her for putting up with my nonsense.

Ooh, next chapter is notable in at least one Wayzz. (•‿<)

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any thoughts, theories, constructive criticism, or anything really in my ask box, in replies or through reblogs. I love seeing what you think!

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[zigsexual]

do you have anymore of the driam bodyguard au 👀 bc my soul literally transcended the physical plane, ur writing is incredible :-)

omg lov u… 🤧💕 for you my final parting gift of the decade!! as i’ve said before this is just some disconnected plotless bullshit, the other parts are in my masterlist if anyone wants to read those too but this au exists in a void so u don’t need to in order to get the gist of it

DRIAM BODYGUARD AU - DRABBLE 3

summary: well guess what they finally kiss

word count: 2900+

• • •

That night, Liam asks him to stay behind in his hotel room, mentioning some security concerns he wants to go over. It’s a bit odd, but Drake doesn’t pay it much attention until the door shuts behind him and Liam’s composure wavers. 

“There’s bad news,” He says abruptly, turning to meet Drake’s eyes. Drake looks back in bewilderment. 

“What is it?” he says, wondering what on earth could be bad enough to involve him in this kind of private meeting. His mind starts racing, running through all the potential threats to the Cordonian monarchy he had been briefed on ahead of the assignment. No way a country that small had a long list of enemies, right?

Liam bites his lip, anxious in a way Drake hasn’t seen before, and says what is potentially the last possible thing he would have expected. “It’s… ah, I think I may have to fire you.”

“What?” 

Liam’s cheeks color, though Drake can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or shame. “You’ve been… you should know it’s not your fault. I’ll leave you with the highest commendation.”

“You can’t fire me,” Drake says, incredulous. “I work for the federal government of the United States.”

“Well, then I suppose you could say it’s more of an arranged reassignment.”

“Hold on,” Drake crosses his arms, frowning. “What are you talking about? Is this some kind of weird joke?”

Liam sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not explaining this well at all, am I? I just… I was going to have my security chief tell you, to keep it professional, but I felt like… perhaps, it should come from me.”

“I’m not concerned with who’s telling me,” Drake retorts, still looking at Liam in confusion, “I’m concerned with why this is even a discussion in the first place. I’m assigned to you because I’m good at my job, you know.”

“I know.”

“Then care to explain?”

Liam bites his lip, looking more ruffled than Drake’s ever seen him. “I should have stuck with the plan, had Bastien talk to you. I’m not good at these kinds of things.”

Drake raises an eyebrow. “What, you fire a lot of people in your big fancy kingdom?”

“Listen —“

He knows he’s toeing the line of professionalism, but something about the prospect of losing out on such an unexpectedly enjoyable assignment has his stubborn side showing through. He tries to get ahold of himself, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine. You know what, I’m sorry. I should just head out now, get the replacement detail briefed for tomorrow. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I feel that I do.”

“It’s just business,” Drake averts his gaze, shrugs in what he hopes is a nonchalant enough gesture. “Not my place. I can respect that.”

Liam just looks at him, unreadable in that way he always is. Must be a royalty thing, a poker face trained since birth. 

“As long as it’s nothing I did,” he continues, “I know I’m a little rough around the edges, and maybe that’s not what you’re used to, being a king and all… but I understand.”

“Drake,” Liam says. 

The informality of his first name is unusual. He lifts his eyes back to Liam’s, trying to maintain a sort of dignity even in the face of his bewildered curiosity. 

“It…” Liam rakes his fingers through his hair again, and the gesture is so human, so normal, that it endears him to Drake all over again. “This is quite an odd situation for me. I’m trying to think of the right words.”

“I’m not picky.”

“Well, I am.”

“Spoken like a true king.”

This makes Liam laugh, which shortly dissolves into another pained expression. “You’re not making this easy.”

“What, firing me?” Drake raises an eyebrow. “You expect me to?”

“Of course not,” Liam smiles, though he’s wringing his hands in front of him. “I should have known better.”

He pauses, his expression fading into a frown. “I really should have known better.”

There’s a silence between them, stretching too long. Drake knows that he’s far overstayed the reasonable amount of time for a bodyguard that’s just been fired, yet something about Liam always has him reluctant to let go. And… well, he could just be imagining it, but he’s fairly certain Liam feels the same way. 

“If you must know,” Liam finally says, his voice softer than usual, “I was… concerned, so to speak, that my encounters with you were veering into something more casual than is appropriate.”

“Oh, I —“

Liam cuts him off. “Before you say anything, I want you to know the blame is with me. I knew that my feelings towards you were becoming a distraction, and it’s unfair to expect you to do your part when I can’t even manage to do mine.”

Drake just stares at him. “Your… feelings?”

Liam sighs. “Do you have to make me say it?”

“…Yes?”

Liam cracks a smile at that, though he still looks embarrassed. “I… well, I suppose I’ve found myself somewhat… infatuated with you.”

“Oh.” Drake’s mind is running a mile a minute, and still he can’t think of a single response. “That’s all?”

Liam is blushing, which is — well. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just… I mean, I don’t see how that impacts my ability to protect you.” Even as he speaks, he’s still processing, still trying to make sense of what Liam has said.

“It doesn’t,” Liam answers, meeting Drake’s eyes even with the flush spreading past his cheeks now. “It’s me, really. You’re my bodyguard, and it would be wildly inappropriate of me to ask you to continue as such when…”

He trails off, looking at Drake sheepishly. It’s the first time he’s seen Liam entirely vulnerable like this, and it only serves to make him more attractive. 

The reality is, of course, that Liam has always been attractive — has essentially redefined everything Drake had thought to be his type — and Drake still isn’t entirely sure that he’s not misreading this whole conversation. 

“When what?” He asks, tentative, hoping for an answer he hasn’t let himself dream of before. 

“Come on, Drake,” Liam says softly, taking a slow step closer to him, “I can’t pretend everything is strictly professional between us when I also can’t stop thinking about kissing you.”

Drake feels his stomach drop in the very best way, like the first hill on a rollercoaster with far too long a line. “Say that again.”

“You know I —“

He doesn’t wait, striding right into Liam’s arms and kissing the words out of his mouth. 

It’s exactly as good as he’d imagined it would be, and then some.

Their lips meet with a heady spark of long-overdue passion, Drake already cradling Liam’s face and twisting into his dark hair. He’s amazed at how soft Liam is, how smooth his skin feels beneath his hands. Perhaps he shouldn’t expect anything less from a king, but then again, he hasn’t exactly made out with any other kings. 

Liam kisses him like he’s thought about a lot more than just kissing, and soon Drake feels him slip a hand underneath his jacket and wrap his fingers around Drake’s side, pulling them flush together. Drake finds himself clinging to Liam’s hair in an embarrassingly needy way, willing him as close as possible as their lips come together over and over. 

They breathe quickly in-between long, slow kisses, both acutely aware of the rarity this moment of unscheduled time is. Liam’s hand tightens against Drake’s waist, and Drake can’t help but drop his hands to Liam’s chest, pushing him back against the door and undoing buttons before he really has a chance to think. 

Liam doesn’t move to stop him, so Drake drops a kiss against his jaw before moving to his neck, mouthing a line downwards to the same movements of his fingers as they free Liam from his shirt. 

He pushes the sleeves off Liam’s shoulders as much as he can, kissing his chest before Liam wraps a hand around the back of his neck to tug him back to his lips. It’s electric and instinctive and consuming, this feeling that shoots through his veins at Liam’s touch, and it’s as though every movement shared between them is communication enough. 

He breaks from Liam’s lips only to shrug off his jacket and start unbuttoning his own shirt. His fingers are shaking, from adrenaline or desire, and Liam meets him halfway to finish out the last few buttons and finally expose his skin. 

Liam takes a deep breath, eyes falling to Drake’s chest, and it’s the first time either have taken a moment to pause since they came together. 

“I…” Liam seems lost for words, another first; in all the time Drake has known him, he’s always been remarkably well spoken despite any circumstance. Now, with his silent admiration, Drake suddenly feels exposed. 

Exposed and… fuck, what is he doing?

He crosses his arms, averting his gaze. “Maybe we should… ah, table this? I just…”

Liam looks alarmed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to —“

“No, no, you’re good,” Drake looks quickly back up, meeting Liam’s eyes. “Trust me, you’re more than good, Liam. It’s me, I’m… I’m not good at… talking about things.” He sighs. “Which is a stupid thing to say considering we weren’t talking, and honestly I’d like nothing more than to get back to the ‘not talking’ with you, but for the sake of our unique situation I feel like maybe we should… figure out what’s going on here before things get too messy?”

Liam nods. “You’re right, and I apologize for being hasty. I’m sure you understand… I mean, with the way schedules are, it’s so rare to catch a moment alone.” He runs a hand through his hair, sheepish. “And I like you, Drake. I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I like you.”

“I like you too,” Drake can’t help but crack a smile. “You’re something else, that’s for sure.”

Liam returns the smile, so dazzling in his royal perfection that it catches Drake off-guard. His whole body is reacting to the beautiful boy in front of him, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s swept Liam back up into his arms and proceeded in kissing him senseless. 

So much for talking, he thinks, stroking the planes of muscle down Liam’s back and tracing his lips with his tongue. All rational thought goes out the window when it comes to Liam — everything slips backwards into the instincts of want and need and lust. 

With each movement between them he can’t help but marvel at the this ridiculous scenario: that he, Drake Walker, would be caught up in a sexual tryst with a European monarch while still very nearly on the clock. It’s so unthinkably bizarre that he decides to stop thinking entirely, instead giving in to the way Liam makes him feel — equal parts whole and ravaged.

Ah, fuck it. 

“Do you still want to talk?” Liam murmurs against his lips, his hands doing things a king has no business doing. 

“God, no.” Drake whispers back. “Worst idea I’ve ever had. Table it.”

“Tabled.”

Liam undresses him with a reverent care that is unlike any other person he’s been with. It’s slow and deliberate and marked by kisses against each new plane of skin, Liam’s hands giving him goosebumps at the lightest of touches. He can feel himself becoming more and more infatuated by the second, gazing at Liam with his whole heart in his eyes, letting out a contented sigh when he finally brings their lips back together. 

They wind up tangled together in Liam’s bed, kissing each other in between whispers peppered with platitudes and spurred on by the heady rush of dopamine. Drake can’t stop smiling against Liam’s lips, stroking a path into the smooth skin of his hip. He’s gorgeous, an absolute idealization of what a man should be, and the fact that he wants Drake just as much is dizzying. 

Drake tries to take his time, but the prospect of finally getting his hands on every part of Liam is too tantalizing. They’re breathing heavy before too long, murmuring things that aren’t quite words anymore, and Drake can’t help but marvel at the absurdity of his situation: meant to protect a king, here he is taking him apart. 

Of course, Liam does his fair share too, and Drake never thought he’d be swearing so much in front of royalty, but fuck if he’s not glad he is. Liam pulls sounds out of him that he didn’t even know he had, leaving him panting and sweaty and terribly smitten. 

When at last they both fall quiet, Liam strokes his cheek, propped up above him and gazing down into his eyes. Drake manages a weak smile, voice still shaky. “You do this with all your bodyguards?”

“Only the cute ones.”

Liam leans in to kiss him again and he returns it gratefully, wrapping his arms around Liam’s waist and tracing across his skin. 

“Jesus,” he says, voice low, “I can’t believe I’m not being punked right now. You’re a fucking king.”

Liam presses a kiss against his temple, then his jaw. “And you’re a terrible bodyguard.”

“Hm, is that why you want me fired?”

Liam has moved to his neck now, teasing kisses across the sensitive skin. “You’re supposed to put the bulletproof vest on, not take it off.”

“I told you,” Drake says, “I don’t want you bulletproof.”

“But you do want me.”

“Thought that much was obvious.”

Liam pulls away from him suddenly, looking down at him with a surprising tenderness. “You should know I never do this.”

“Right,” Drake flashes him a smile. “Only with the cute ones.”

Liam shakes his head. “No, I’m serious. I’ve never done anything like this before. Sleeping with someone I barely know…” His voice is earnest, a match to the worship of his gaze. “You’re the only one, Drake.”

Drake blinks slowly, the words settling in as he tries to make sense of the meaning behind them. “You’ve… really? Never?”

“I’ve had relationships before, of course. But when you’re royalty… there’s a certain level of discretion required for this sort of thing. It’s not worth the effort.” He smiles gently. “Or at least, it hasn’t been until now.”

Drake feels his face grow hot, and the embarrassment he feels at the realization that Liam’s made him blush only serves to make him blush harder. “Oh.“

“Yes,” Liam echoes, “Oh.”

“Well,” Drake says, attempting to alleviate the sudden heaviness that has fallen over them, “That’s really a bummer for you, considering I already sold my story to The Cordonian Daily.”

Liam won’t stop looking at him, which is making the whole blushing ordeal immeasurably worse. “You’ll only say good things, I hope.”

“Maybe,” Drake answers. “Maybe bad things too.”

Liam laughs, which only spurs him on more. He leans up on his elbows, only inches away from Liam’s face. “Might tell them they’ve really been deprived of the body on that king of theirs, covering him up in all those medals and shit. That he’s absolutely mind-blowing in bed, way too good at things that have nothing to do with ruling, and he’s got a massive —“

Liam shuts him up with a kiss, slow and deep and breathtaking. He cards his fingers through Drake’s hair, twisting into the strands and tugging him closer, while Drake finds the planes of Liam’s chest and spreads his hands across the skin. He can’t help the sigh that slips from his lips when they finally part, eyelids so heavy he can barely make out the smile on Liam’s face. 

“You mean it?” Drake whispers, “Only me?”

Liam nods. “Only ever you.”

“Shit,” Drake leans his head back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe that. I mean, I do — I believe you — but shit.”

Liam rolls onto his side, eyes still trained on Drake, their legs brushing under the sheets. “Is it so uncommon?”

“I guess not,” Drake turns to look at him too, at the unabashed affection on his face. “But it’s just… fuck, look at you. You’re literally royalty, you probably live in some palace being rich as hell all the time, and you’re Old Hollywood hot like some actual Hallmark character.” He lets his hand wander over to Liam’s hip, slowly tracing the lines of muscle up his side. “It’s a good thing you’re not one of those Europeans wearing Speedos all the time either, because I think if the world saw what’s under that suit of yours they might eat you alive.”

Liam smiles, averting his eyes for a moment, clearly unsure how to handle the flattery. “Well… thank you.”

“Honest to god, the fact that you’re single might mean there’s hope for none of us.”

Liam goes quiet, still against his side. Drake suddenly feels like maybe he’s talked too much; maybe Cordonians don’t see fucking as such an opportunity to open the floodgates of opinion amongst one another. After all, he’d technically been a member of Liam’s staff only a few hours ago. 

“Sorry,” he starts, “Am I being too blunt? I can—“

“Drake,” Liam interrupts, “There’s something you should know. Something I should have told you earlier.”

There’s an unusual tension in Liam’s words that immediately sets him ill at ease. “Okay.”

“I’m…” Liam bites his lip, finally bringing his eyes up to meet Drake’s as he says, “I’m engaged.”

[apotatomashedbybts]

[Genre: Fluff; slight angst

Pairing: Jimin×reader

Soulmate!Taehyung; BestFriend!Yoongi

Word Count: 4145 words]

[Summary: When Y/n met Jimin she knew that it was a love at first sight. But she didn't expect the consequences that came with loving him. After their unwilling separation will Y/n be able to do what it takes to get him back?

A story of love, loss, fight, dreams, and friendship...]

Chapter XII: Too Happy Too Soon

"The stars... Aren't they so beautiful tonight?"

"Yes.." Jimin paused for a while, "they are."

"I gaze at them every night. But tonight they seem more meaningful. May be it's because I am with you. You make the stars feel more beautiful."

"It's nothing like that!" He blushed.

"Everything is like that! The moon, the stars, the breeze, everything seems so beautiful and perfect. I do this everyday but today they do feel different. You make everything around you worth it. And I am telling the truth." I replied.

I scooched closer in his arms as we were lying down on the rooftop and gazed at the endless stars. With Jimin so close to myself it was hard to control my feelings and the words came out spontaneously. He made me feel so happy and the butterflies in my stomach were having a party.

"The same goes for you. I have always wanted to tell you these but you beat me to it. You always mesmerise me. I never knew what it would feel like to love someone and to be loved back. But now I know and I will tell everyone that it's the most wonderful feeling and I am the luckiest man in this world, to have you by my side." Jimin pulled me closer to him.

"Now you are exaggerating! I am the luckiest one. And you are not a man, you are still a baby." I nudged him playfully and the constant smile on my lips became wider.

"May be I could show you that sometime later what this baby can do." He said pulling off a perverted grin. Seeing him like that it was hard to control my laughter but I did it anyways and replied pinching his nose slightly, "Ooh naughty baby, no no, don't be so naughty." And we both burst into laughter. I felt content and my heart was full. I just wished for everything to fall into place so that Jimin could stop leading this life of always on the run and also I wanted Tae to gather the courage that he needed; he too deserved the happiness that I was feeling right now.

This made me remember the thing that I was thinking of doing for sometime now and this felt like the right time. I sat up and turned towards Jimin; I could sense that my expression was somewhat serious because his face turned into one after seeing me.

"Chim, I have something and I need you to wear it." I said taking out the chain from my neck that I had always wore .

"It's the chain that you always wear! Wait! Tae and Yoongi hyung wear the same chain! Why are you giving this to me? Isn't it like some kind of friendship bond chain? I have always thought of it as one!" He said with a worried curiosity while looking at the chain in his hand.

It was a normal platinum mariner link chain but the thing special about it was its locket. It was a big almond sized black opaque stone which was rounded by a thin line of diamond.

Jimin looked up at me and asked again, "Why are you giving this to me?"

I took the chain from him and explained, "This chain isn't a normal chain as it may seem. This stone is actually a protective metal. Inside this stone there's a tracking device specially designed by uncle, I mean Tae's dad. When we were in the last year of middle school there was a huge terror caused by a group who were kidnapping kids. That's why as a precaution he made these for us. But that's not important now. Your safety is my first priority. Until any of these get solved I want you to wear it. Please?" I requested him with the puppiest eyes I could pull off.

He giggled and taking the chain from my hand he put it on.

"It suits you!" I exclaimed and looked at him. I felt this wave of emotions that swelled up inside my chest and I couldn't help but tear up.

"He makes me happy," was the only thought that was swimming through my consciousness and I knew that I would go to the end of the world for this man.

He noticed me looking at him and waved his hands in front of my eyes, "You're drooling."

"How can I not when there's such a tasty full course meal in front of me?" was my reply which caught him off guard and made him blush. Before he could make a comeback I went on top of him and cupping his face in my hands showered it with innumerable kisses that made him giggle like a happy baby.

This was one of those nights that I wanted to last forever - us, in each others arms, comfortably sharing our feelings and loving each other without any worries.

.

The loud ringtone of my phone woke both of us up from our sleep but we were too reluctant of letting each other go and also to leave the warmth of the bed. On the third call my consciousness alarmed me that it may be something important so I got out of my bed and went towards the sideboard by the door while whining about why I kept it there last night. My groggy hello was met by a mad Jinnie's voice who would have totally threw his hands at me if it was possible through the phone.

After a series of sorry-s he calmed down and said smiling, as I could feel it, "Listen, I want you two to come to my café today at lunchtime. My cousin is coming from Seoul to visit me! And he is going to be a great help for us. So don't laze around, okay? I am hanging up. Bye!"

I looked at my phone, taken aback as he hung up so suddenly without letting me say anything. Sighing I turned around at Jimin who was sitting up on the bed - face puffy because of sleep and messy bed hair - looking as adorable as ever, clearly not planning to leave the bed anytime sooner.

Hopping over the bed I ruffled his hair some more and hugged him. He smiled lightly and leaned his head over my head. The moments passed by as we looked out the window and stayed in that position soaking ourselves in each others embrace; it was perfect.

Another ringing sound from the phone made us wince and it was Jinnie again. As soon as I received the call he shouted, "You are still on the bed, aren't you? Get. Your. Asses. In. The. Water. I told you, didn't I? That my cousin is a high ranked police officer? He will shoot you in the head if you make him wait! He has the permission and I'll be completely fine with it! Hmph!" And just like earlier this time too he hung up the call without listening to anything in reply.

"Looks like we have no other choice. Let's get ready." My words made Jimin groan and he hid his head under the blanket. I couldn't help but smile and wondered if I deserved all of him.

.

.

The café seemed busy as it always did but Jinnie was nowhere to be seen. We were afraid about being late though we arrived just before the time he told us to. He had always told me scary stories about his cousin like how he treated criminals, how he got angry when he had to wait and how he liked everything to be in order. We didn't know what Jinnie was thinking when he thought that it was a good idea to meet such a person when I was clearly not a well-mannered 'lady'.

"Relax y/n, relax. He is not going to eat you alive and even if he wants to Jinnie won't allow it so you are totally fine." I convinced myself and held Jimin's hands in mine after sitting on Jinnie's soft cushiony bed.

He convinced me that it was just a simple meeting and I should consider him as a friend as I considered Jinnie. Along with a few other words he took all my nervousness away. Leaning my forehead on his I calmed down and for a moment it felt like we were totally alone in an unknown island where no one had set foot before.

The creaking sound of the door and the loud shriek freaked us out and we looked at the door like a deer caught in a headlight.

"Geez! Wasn't the whole night enough? Now you are ruining my pure home too!" Jinnie walked through the door, right hand still over his chest.

We breathed out a sigh and I asked him, "And where are your manners of knocking the door before entering?"

He made a done face at me and said, "Why would I need to knock to enter my own house, dumbhead?"

I was going to retort something back but my words got lost before they arrived at my tongue as my eyes landed on a really small cute yet handsome face poking itself inside from outside the door frame. Following my gaze Jinnie turned backwards and almost instantly facepalmed saying, "Aish! Because of you two I totally forgot about him. Come on in!" Jinnie made room for him to enter and we stood up to greet him. I was sweating internally until his voice hit me like a million ton truck, "Hello, nice to meet you. I am Kim Namjoon, Seokjin's cousin."

.

.

I was totally fuming inside and was about to punch Jinnie whenever I could get him alone because he totally wronged me. He filled me in with the wrongest information possible about one of the sweetest person who goes by the name of Kim Namjoon. All the things about him being cruelest, angriest and an uptight being just flowed away into the drain once we started talking and I knew almost instantly that Jinnie was just messing with my head.

"You seem so different from what Jinnie had told me about you!" I said with a smile, low-key trying to threat Jinnie side-eyeing him who was clearly not scared because he knew his cousin well; the only loser seemed to be just me!

"Different? How so?" Namjoon asked keeping the coffee mug on the table after taking a sip from it.

"Well..." I looked at Jinnie as if asking for permission but in reality I was just contemplating whether I should add some more things or not to worth my panic.

"Nothing much. Just that 'Kim Namjoon can be pretty reckless and aggressive when it comes to security of nation. So please refrain yourself from securing his hate spot. He is a nightmare to his enemies, the cruelest ever. And he never likes things being messy.' - a gist of what he said." I replied doing a quoting gesture.

Namjoon covered his face with his long palm and smiled shyly, "He put my reputation in a quite high position I see." He laughed, "I am not that bad. But, yes, I do take my nation's security rather seriously and I don't like someone messing with it! And don't worry, the messy part is rather an unnecessary addition to my 'reputation', I am a messy person myself and a lot clumsy too."

"Yeah we know that very well Mr. Youngest major of the South Korean S.W.A.T team!" Jinnie laughed.

"What? You are already a major? Should I be scared?" I asked with my eyes big.

He looked at me - his sharp eyes invading the deepest corners of my soul - and asked, "Well, should you be?"

There was a strange energy in those eyes that reflected reliableness which made me answer automatically, "...No."

"Let's get into business then? I especially wanted to meet you after Jinnie told me about what happened back in Seoul! The Seoul Police Department had been on a chase behind them since long I can remember. But there's nothing as a solid evidence that can prove their involvement in any of the crimes. And I suspect that many from the police department itself are involved with them too. Jimin, I need you to be careful and on alert every moment of the day. You are now a subject of superior priority to us." The seriousness that was radiating from Namjoon reflected on us and we knew that it was almost like a national emergency. We could sense that the situation was graver than we had fathomed earlier. When Namjoon turned to Jimin and looked into his eyes telling him to be careful I could feel the dryness in my throat and the fear in Jimin's eyes. I held his hand into my warm ones as a gesture to relax him but it felt like I was consoling myself in the process and it was difficult. Namjoon paused for a moment and after looking at our tensed faces he leaned back on his chair in a relaxed position and said, "You don't have to be tensed, don't worry. We'll try to sort this out as quickly as we can. Jimin I need you to inform your father about my arrival and arrange a meeting tomorrow at around 2pm. I'll depart the day after. Don't worry much. Everything will be fine. I'll get going now. See you later." He stood up while speaking to Jimin and gestured Jinnie to see him off. Amidst all the thoughts that were running around throughout his mind Jimin could only muster a forced nod and that even while not looking at Namjoon. All of us knew that every word of comfort now was just like splashing water on a very old stain - of no use.

.

"Why don't you move in here?" I asked while running my fingers through Jimin's hair. He leaned in a bit more with his head resting on my chest and smiled, I couldn't figure out what that smile meant but as he shifted and switched his position with me, the proximity of his lips near my neck and the warm breath that touched my skin made the organised rhythm of my heart a bit louder - loud enough to make him whisper, "I can hear it..". There was something in the depth his voice held, in the closeness of our breaths that made this immense desire to close all the distance between us boil inside me. May be that was the first time we kissed so breathlessly but I didn't want it to be our last. There was a strange sweetness that made me want more of those lips, something that I could never get enough of. I could see his face make that expression that I had never witnessed but had imagined countless times - his chest heaving up and down, those eyes locked into mine that held desire to never let go, those plump redder lips - yes, I had imagined them innumerable times but never thought it could be this tempting. My heaving chest made a harmony with his as I laid under him, the trails of kisses along my neck making me squirm. He stopped for a moment and looked into my eyes as if his thoughts were running in the same way as mine. I touched his cheeks lightly with my left hand and then pulled him in for another kiss.

"If I can get kisses like this everyday then I have no problem moving in here." Jimin smiled mischievously while maintaining an eye contact with the ceiling.

"Oh. Is that so? But what if I don't kiss you anymore? Won't you move in then?" I asked fake displaying how hurt I was.

"Then may be I have to think of some alternative way..." He words trailed on at the end as he played along.

"Like?" I looked away, surprised at the little wetness at the corner of my eyes. Was I really getting into the trap of believing his made up playfulness?

"Like staring at you all day long and loving you endlessly..." He held my hand into his warm ones softly.

My heart did a somersault. Turning towards him I hid my face in the crook of his neck, "I hate you.."

My warm tears hit his skin loosely and he hugged me more gently whispering, "I love you more.."

.

.

The first rays of the sun made its way through the window and I felt like there was a lot of work that had to be done today. I gently nudged Jimin with my nose and kissed him gently on his cheeks - a more natural way to wake him up.

Seeing him shifting comfortably in his sleep I got back beside him, into my comfort zone. We still had time before we had to get ready and for the first time Monday didn't feel so awful.

.

"Aren't you going to go to class today? Why?" I asked Jimin with confused eyes.

He smiled broadly and pinched my cheeks, "In case you forgot, we planned yesterday that I am going to move in with you! So I have to talk with my dad and pack my stuffs. It's going to take a handful of time!"

My mind went blank as I processed everything he said just now. It put everything into a serial inputter and put out the conclusion that Jimin was moving in with me TODAY!

"WHAT?" I didn't want it but the word came out of my throat in the form of a scream.

"That is some late reaction." He burst out laughing, "You are so cute." He was still laughing while I watched him with disbelief.

"You are not kidding, are you?" I asked him holding him by his shirt's collar, looking into his eyes.

He stared into my eyes with the most sincere feelings he could convey as his laugh faded away and he replied, "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and if I could I would put my heart in the palm of your hands to show that my feelings are always sincere when it's about you. I am so sorry that I left you to suffer for such a long period.. I will never leave you ever again."

My heart played this known rhythm that it always played whenever my feelings for Jimin got overwhelmed which shook the inside of my chest. Before my tears could fall down I placed my lips on his lightly and whispered, "I know. I believe you."

.

.

Dropping me off at college Jimin went to his house to talk to his dad about us and also about the meeting with Namjoon.

I wished everything to go on smoothly and waited impatiently for Jimin to call me to let me know about everything.

After settling on my seat inside the class I texted Tae to tell him about everything that is going on here.

I guess soulmates have that kind of power where just there presence, just talking to them makes your heart feel the peace it always longs for. A faint smile lingered at the corners of my lips as I absent-mindedly opened the page of the textbook we were told to.

.

Forty five minutes have already passed in the class and I seriously had no idea what was going on because, come on, how can you study when your boyfriend is going to move in with you the very day? It was not possible, not even the slightest bit.

The momentary vibration of my phone made me jump on my seat. Jimin had texted me...

There was no way I could continue my class with the rate my heart was racing. For the first time I felt my legs do those continuous shakity steps underneath the table and I knew I would just burst out of the class if I get another text from Jimin. Yes, I would definitely do that.

.

Despite of how difficult it was to continue being inside the university, I successfully passed another two hours attending two more lectures. The credit for that goes to, of course, Jimin, for not texting me once in the middle. And this is me not so praising him! I was so ready to burst out of this damn university the second I received his message! 

I sat down at my favourite spot in Jinnie's cafe and took out my phone. I still had one more lecture left to attend but I was in no mood to do so.

Absent-mindedly I fidgeted with my phone thinking whether I should call him or not while waiting for my cup of coffee to arrive. I wanted to talk to Jinnie too but I guessed he was in the backyard tending his small herbal plants.

.

At last accepting my defeat to the itchy heart I decided to bunk my last lecture and finished my coffee quickly, almost burning my throat. The impatience growing inside me was too much to handle and I knew Jimin too would love it if I go and surprise him. By this time he might had already transferred his belongings to my apartment so I decided to go there directly. I hoped the landlady helped him as I had informed her about Jimin moving in earlier in the morning while leaving for uni.

"Why isn't he texting me though?" I thought and texted him first – "Hey Chim! Are you done transferring? Where are you now? Text me back as soon as you see this text. I miss you. Love you ♥️"

.

I checked my phone again before knocking on the landlady's door in the ground floor but Jimin had not seen my message yet. My stomach crunched as I prevented myself hard from imagining the worst possible scenarios. I shook my head each time something bad crossed my mind and tried to focus on meeting him as earliest as I could.

          The landlady, Mrs. Brook, opened her door and smiled at me warmly inviting me inside but I politely refused so that I can go find Jimin quickly. 

– "Mrs. Brook, sorry to disturb you and I am afraid that I have to decline your request today but did Jimin come here?"

– "It's no problem dear. Don't worry! And yes, he had already placed his stuffs in your apartment. He told me to tell you that he forgot to bring his phone that's why he won't be able to text or call you for awhile. He left about 15 minutes ago saying he is going back to his home to bring his phone and he'll return after meeting with his dad."

– "Oh thank you so much Mrs. Brook! If you would excuse me I'll take my leave. Thank you once more."

– "Mention not. I am always here to help you. Now get going. Have a safe journey. Bye!"

.

I skipped towards the bus stop rather happily realising I was worrying for nothing. Near the bus stop my steps got interrupted by a phone call and almost quicker than my expectations I picked it up without paying much attention to the fact that it was not from Jimin but from Jinnie.

"Hello! Jimin?" I exclaimed.

"No, y/n/n, it's me Jinnie." A somewhat disappointed "oh" came out of my mouth instantly after he said that.

"Yes Jinnie what's up? Done watering your babies?" I chirped, correcting my behavioral demeanor.

"Where are you now?" He asked – his voice expressing emotions that were rather opposite of mine. In fact that were quite unusual of him to begin with.

"At the bus stop near my apartment. I am going to meet Jimin at his house. Why?" I asked, question laced throughout my whole face.

"I need you to stay there. We are coming to pick you up. Stay there. Don't go anywhere. Okay?" With each passing word Jinnie's voice took more serious turn and an unfamiliar fear grasped my heart.

I didn't know why I stuttered while asking him, "Jinnie, i-is everything o-okay? I-is Ji-jimin okay? Nothing has happened to him, right?"

There was no answer from the other side of the phone and each fraction of passing time felt like a torture. A dry scream came out of mouth and I repeated the same question, "RIGHT?"

I could feel Jinnie was trying his hard to control himself as well as struggling to find the right words to say to me, "Listen y/n/n, we are already on our way. Please stay calm and don't do anything reckless...."

"FOR GOD'S SAKE TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!" I shouted, not letting Jinnie avoid the subject.

An audible sigh came out of Jinnie's mouth and he replied,"Y/n/n, Jimin has been kidnapped. The Yuhaehans got him." 

A/n: I have updated the previous chapter like a million years ago! Please forgive me! I'll try to complete this series as soon as I can! I hope you like it! And if you haven't read the series yet I hope you do.. thank you again for being patient!!! Love you all so much 💜💜💜!

[our-smooty]

We’re Doing Fine

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Teen

Relationships: 2AceDoc

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred

Summary: Sometimes Ace felt like he was at a disadvantage in their relationship. Murdoc and 2D had so much history… so much time together. Sure, not all of it was good, in fact, a lot of it was pretty shit, but they still had in-jokes and stories to look back on. Ace had barely known Murdoc back in the day. They’d partied a bit and hung around with the same crowd but nothing big. And he’d only met 2D when he came to play bass for Gorillaz. It just wasn’t the same.

Sometimes Ace felt like he was at a disadvantage in their relationship. Murdoc and 2D had so much history… so much time together. Sure, not all of it was good, in fact, a lot of it was pretty shit, but they still had in-jokes and stories to look back on. Ace had barely known Murdoc back in the day. They’d partied a bit and hung around with the same crowd but nothing big. And he’d only met 2D when he came to play bass for Gorillaz. It just wasn’t the same.

Not that the other two made him feel that way on purpose. They had plenty of inside jokes between the three of them now, and Murdoc loved nothing more than to regale the younger bassist with stories about his various escapades. 2D always made sure to include Ace in their lives, even if he wasn’t technically part of Gorillaz anymore, and Ace appreciated that. It was just… well… sometimes he felt like a third wheel, despite all that.

Ace was laying on his bed, in his room in Spirit House--yes, he did still have his own room, even if they were all sleeping together most of the time--acting like a total sad-sack. 2D and Murdoc had gone out to do an interview with the rest of the band and while Ace had been invited he didn’t really feel up to pretending he wasn’t completely out of his element for hours while they all talked. So he’d stayed home with the intention of getting some alone time, but after a couple of hours alone time turned into over-thinking, and over-thinking turned into moping and now here he was, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling feeling like a complete waste of space.

He didn’t really have a place here anymore, did he? Murdoc was back, and the band was taking a break. There was no need for him to be skulking around the house like some sort of bad smell. Really, 2D and Murdoc were probably just being nice, letting him stick around. They already had each other, so why did they need him?

Ace heard the front door open and close as the band arrived home. He could hear Noodle and 2D talking loudly about a dog they’d seen on the drive home, coupled with Russel and Murdoc occasionally chiming in. There was the sound of shoes being tossed aside and then the sound of the fridge opening from the kitchen. Ace wondered if they’d gone out to eat without him after the interview; Russel had said he wanted Ace to show him his chilli recipe tonight, but it was always possible he forgot. Feeling even more left out, Ace rolled onto his side facing the wall, curling his knees up to his chest. Did they even know he was still home? Did it matter?

The heavy clunk of boots sounded outside his room, the tell-tail signs of Murdoc wheezing his way up the stairs. They were followed by a quieter, loping step that had to be 2D, judging from the number of times the footsteps stumbled. Ace listened as they both went into Murdoc’s room and felt his heart clench as his fears were validated. They weren’t even going to see if he was home, they probably forgot he was here at all, they--

Ace heard his phone buzz from somewhere in his comforter. He found it, half under the pillow where he’d tossed it. He swiped through the various Twitter and Tumblr notifications to see he had a text from 2D, asking where he was. There were a few other too, a text from Noodle with a funny cat picture attached, a picture of the band standing beside the person who must have interviewed them from Russel. Ace scrolled through their messages, reading and rereading them multiple times. It made him feel a little better, a little more connected. They were his friends, his lovers. They did care, didn’t they?

There was a knock on his bedroom door, followed by the squeak of its hinges as whoever was there peaked inside without waiting. It was 2D, of course, the singer never did really get the hang of most social niceties. Ace looked over from where he was curled up on the bed and offered a small, tired wave. “Hey D, sorry I didn’t answer your text.”

2D walked into the room fully, closing the door behind him. Ace watched him take in the scene, the dark room, the bassist’s messy hair, and the fact that he still hadn’t changed out of his pyjamas form the night before. He knew he looked like a mess, and it only made him feel worse.

“Hey, Acey. It’s pretty dark in here,” the singer said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out and ran a hand through Ace’s greasy hair, wrinkling his nose a bit. “You need a shower, babe.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Ace didn’t know what else to say, he knew he was disgusting. Normally he was all about his appearance but he just wasn’t feeling it today. Or yesterday. Or for the last week.

“No, it’s fine. Murdoc’s worse most of the time.” Stu was smiling a little, obviously hoping to get a laugh out of the other. When Ace just nodded and continued to lay on the bed, 2D frowned. “Are you alrigh’ Ace?”

This was so stupid. Ace was being stupid, feeling sorry for himself, acting like a needy child. “Y-yeah, I’m good. How was your interview?” he could feel 2D’s eyes on him still and hoped his question was enough to derail the singer.

“Not too bad, you know. Business as usual. Murdoc said some stupid shit, Russel told him to shut up, and I even got a chance to talk about Madge!” God Stu was adorable, waving his hands around and getting all excited. Ace rolled over to face the singer, wanting to watch him as he rambled. 2D smiled again. “What did you do today?”

That was probably the worst question the singer could have asked. “Uh, you know, nothing much.” Stu’s frown was back as he took a second to really look over Ace, his bedroom, and the way the other man was curled up on the bed.

“You’ve been in bed all day, haven’t you?” he asked quietly, taking one of Ace’s hands into his. “Ace you coulda said you weren’t feelin’ good…”

“I’m fine,” Ace insisited, sitting up. It took a lot more effort than he expected. “I-I didn’t want to bug you guys with my stupid problems.”

2D dropped the bassist’s hand to grab his own phone, sending off a quick text before pulling Ace into a hug. “Are you sick? You’re my boyfriend, your problems are important t��me.”

Ace let himself be held, closing his eyes. What had he done to deserve an angle like Stu as his boyfriend? “M’not sick, I’m just not feelin’ good today.” Or yesterday, or for the last week. It’d ben a while since he really felt like himself, but hey, it happens. Ace had made it through this type of thing before, he could do it again.

“Why?” 2D asked. Ace didn’t answer and the singer held him tighter, obviously getting himself worked up. This was exactly why he hadn’t said anything; he didn’t want 2D getting upset over nothing. Ace was about to try and reassure him when there was another knock at the door. This time, Murdoc walked in, again forgoing any thought of manners. The older bassist took one look at the scene in front of him and sat on the bed opposite Stu, leaning against Ace.

“What’s goin’ on then. 2D texted me sayin’ you’ve been in bed all day. And you didn’t come to say hello. Is that any way to treat your boyfriends?” Murdoc asked. Ace stiffened in Stu’s hold, sure that Murdoc was upset with him.

“Sorry Muds,” he whispered into 2D’s shoulder. He was ruining their night with his stupid feelings and his insecurities. As usual.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Ace,” 2D answered, tightening his grip. “Murdoc wasn’t saying you did anything wrong.” 2D shot Murdoc a little bit of a glare over the younger bassist's head. Luckily Murdoc caught on pretty quick, slinging an arm around Ace and resting his head on top of the others.

“It’s fine, love, I was jokin’.” Murdoc asked, running his calloused fingers up and down against Ace’s wrist. Ace closed his eyes and leaned into their arms despite his self-hatred. He was selfish like that and he hated it. It was nearly impossible to resist when the other two always gave in so willingly

“What’s wrong, Acey?” 2D asked. Ace squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face harder into Stu’s shoulder.

“I-it’s stupid,” he said, voice cracking. Beside him Murdoc hummed, nuzzling Ace’s hair. Stu shook his head and places a soft kiss on his forehead.

“S’not stupid if it’s makin’ you upset,” the singer insisted. Murdoc nodded as well and it gave Ace the confidence to finally tell them.

“It’s just… You guys don’t need me.” It sounded so stupid when he said it out loud. “You’re famous, and Murdoc’s back, s-so why am I even here?” Oh great, now he was crying. Tears ran down his face and onto 2D’s shirt as he began to shudder. “I-I’m nothing s-special, just a guy who c-can kinda play b-b--”

The tears overwhelmed him to the point he couldn’t get out the rest, but he’d said enough for 2D and Murdoc to figure out the gist of it. Ace began to sob, all the feelings he’d been working so hard to keep back running up and out in a violent rush. Maybe he’d been feeling this way for longer than he’d realized.

2D and Murdoc shared a shocked look as Ace began to crumble. 2D tried to hold Ace tighter, running a hand through his hair over and over again in a desperate bid to comfort him. Murdoc, who was never the best in these types of situations, did his best to shush the younger bassist, humming random bits of music.

“Ace, Ace love,” 2D said quietly. “You’re so special, to me and to Murdoc.”

“You’re a right diamond in the rough,” Murdoc agreed. Ace shook his head and continued to sob.

“N-no, j-just a g-gangster, a B-list a-actor,” Ace stuttered brokenly. “You d-don’t need m-me.”

Sensing this was more serious than a bad day, Murdoc rearranged them so he was laying down, Ace’s back against his chest. 2D took the hint and lay on his side, still cradling the younger bassist’s head against his shoulder. Ace let them move him about, unable to do much more than clutch onto 2D’s shirt and cry. It felt like every negative though he had about himself was brawling their way out of him at once, leaving him helpless.

“We love you Ace. An’ not just us but Noodle and Russel too. You’re a part of Gorillaz,” 2D said lowly.

“You’re a smashin’ bassist too,” Murdoc added gruffly. “Not as good as me but…”

“Murdoc!” 2D swatted at the Satanist with the hand not running through Ace’s hair, hitting him on the shoulder. Murdoc made a big show of moaning and whining.

“Ouch! Stu, that hurt!”

“Quit whining you baby, Ace is cryin’!” He was, but not as much as before. Little hiccups and sniffles were still forcing their way out of him, but focusing on his boyfriend's antics definitely helped. But he still felt like a third wheel, listening to them banter back and forth.

“It’s ok. I know M-Murdoc’s just an asshole,” he said, giving 2D the tiniest of smiles. The singer beamed back even as Murdoc squawked in protest. “I’m sorry for getting your shirt all wet Stu. And for ruining your afternoon.”

“Stop apologizing you git,” Murdoc growled, wrapping his arms around Ace’s middle and pulling him back as close as possible. “You’re always tellin’ me to go easier on myself, so I’m gonna say the same t’you right now.”

“Yeah. We aren’t lying when we say we love you, Acey.” Ace wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve and looked up at the other two with red-rimmed eyes.

“But you don’t need me. You’ve got each other, and the band. I’m just extra, taking up space…” There, he’d finally said it. He watched as 2D’s eyes went wide and Murdoc’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. They were obviously upset at him.

“No! Ace, darlin’ no,” 2D replied, leaning forward to pepper his face with kisses. Behind him Murdoc was silent, his crushing grip on Ace’s ribs saying more than enough. “Ace you’re so important to us, to everyone.”

“But--” Murdoc cut him off immediately.

“Listen, you stupid American cause I don’t say this often,” Murdoc said quietly enough that even 2D could barely hear. “I fuckin’ love you, Stu loves you, and we want you here, with us. Got it?”

“Yeah...” Ace replied, just as quietly. He didn’t really believe it, but the say the bassists said it made him feel a little bit better. Like maybe he didn’t have to believe it, but they did and that’s what mattered. “I’m--”

“If you say you’re sorry again, I’ll start kissin’ you and I won’t stop!” 2D threatened. The absurdity of it forced a small laugh out of Ace. Murdoc snorted, nose pressed against the back of Ace’s neck.

“That’s not exactly a threat, D,” he said. 2D looked scandalized.

“I would never threaten Ace!” Between them, Ace felt himself smile wide. Murdoc and Stu bickered back and forth over who would get to kiss him first if he said it. It was silly, how they were acting like children but it also felt amazing to be argued over, to be wanted by both of them that much. He still felt pretty awful and out of place, but knowing 2D and Murdoc cared made it a little easier to deal with.

“Why don’t you both kiss me?” he said, bringing an end to their petty argument before things got too rocky. Murdoc grinned and laid a big--somewhat wet--kiss on his left cheek, while 2D gave him a gentle one on his right. In turn he gave them each a kiss on the lips before settling back against his pillow. 2D did the same, a dopey look on his face as he nuzzled closer to Ace. Behind him, Murdoc continued to stay pressed close, though he relaxed his grip around Ace’s waist. It looked like they weren’t letting him get out of this any time soon, so Ace closed his eyes, exhausted after a hard day.

[searchingwardrobes]

What’s My Age Again?

It’s @xhookswenchx ‘s birthday everyone! She is a talented writer and an overall wonderful person. She wrote several of my all-time favorite fics, and is currently my beta for Priceless in my romcom series (sorry it’s been so long since I sent you anything!) When that fic got some backlash, she was a huge encouragement. I wish her all the best on her birthday and every day! She writes family fics so well, that I decided to gift her with some CS family fluff and humor. This story is based on my own misadventures with my kids and our minivan, as well as this ask thread about Killian’s adaptability in this realm and the likelihood that he reads owner’s manuals cover to cover. The title is taken from the song by Blink 182, but unlike the rest of the stories in this series, this fic has nothing to do with the actual song. It’s really the exact opposite of that song, so let’s just say I was being ironic.

Summary: Captain Hook never imagined he would captain a decrepit vessel or have trouble keeping a crew in line. Until he became a father. Or Killian Jones vs. the family minivan.

Words: 4,000

Rating: G

Trigger warning: Well, I don’t write parenthood as strictly fluffy and cute. Killian gets irritated with his kids, he makes mistakes, the little buggers drive him crazy, but he still loves them in the end. So if you think life with kids is nothing but sunshine and rainbows and will get pissed at me if Killian is anything but adoring 24/7, then skip this story.

Can also be read on Ao3. Part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist. 

Set in the universe of Shopping With the Captain, but with no shopping. Can be read on its own.

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kday426 @jennjenn615 @thislassishooked @bethacaciakay @teamhook @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @let-it-raines @winterbaby89 @branlovestowrite @distant-rose @welllpthisishappening @profdanglaisstuff @captainsjedi

Killian Jones had lived many long years, hundreds of years, on a ship at sea with uncouth, dirty men. Yet he had managed to keep said ship in beautiful condition and said crew in line. So how in the world had he been defeated by a mini-van and three small children?

They bought the mini-van when Ian was only a few weeks old. He and his older sister were what this realm called “Irish twins.” In other words, Ian had been a complete, unplanned surprise who arrived one month before his big sister’s first birthday. The little lad came home to nothing but a pack and play in the master bedroom, carried up the porch steps in his sister’s pink baby carrier. They had gotten rid of everything from Evan’s infancy, deciding that one boy and one girl was enough. And then, surprise!

Killian couldn’t decide what, exactly, caused the mini-van to descend so rapidly into squalor. It could have been the sheer exhaustion of having three kids under the age of four, two of them under two. There was a span of two years that went by in a blur of sleepless nights, diapers, and a double stroller, so keeping the van clean definitely could have fallen by the wayside. Or it could have been Emma’s somewhat messy habits. Or it could have been the fact that Evan sat alone in the very back seat – an area they had come to dub “the black hole.”

Yet it wasn’t just the mess. One at a time, things started to break. Killian knew what to blame that on – the cheap material called plastic that this realm seemed to prefer. First it was the button that opened the gas cap. Now every time they had to fill up the tank, they were forced to walk to the back of the van, open the lift gate, slide open an access panel, and gently pull a wire. Gently being vitally important lest you snap said wire.

Then it was the handle on the right back door. One day, Evan pulled on it, and it just snapped. You could slide the door open or shut from the inside, but not the outside. Then the sound system started shorting out. They would be driving down the road when the radio would suddenly start screeching like an angry dragon. He and Emma had figured out if they pounded on the dashboard hard enough, it would stop. But it was all simple, unimportant things. The van drove just fine, and when they found out how much all the tiny little broken things would cost to fix, he and Emma both decided it wasn’t worth it.

“We can look up a video on You Tube and fix it ourselves,” Emma said, and Killian agreed. It was quite remarkable, really, the things a man could learn on that magic box. They had managed to fix their clothes dryer, oven, and ice maker with its assistance, surely the van would be no different. Only finding the time to do it was the issue. Between ballet lessons, baseball practice, school, and work, they just never got around to fixing the myriad of little things wrong with the mini-van.

Which was fine. Mostly. But Killian Jones had been Captain of the finest ship in the realms. He had kept it fine order, all spit and polish. Every single time he reached for that broken handle or pounded his fist on the dashboard, he felt shame, as ridiculous as it sounded. He winced every time his kids tumbled from the mini-van sending empty chip bags and to-go cups from Granny’s falling to the ground.

The cracked windshield is what started to nudge him towards the proverbial edge. He noticed it when he was herding the kids into the van one Saturday morning. The boys had outgrown their baseball cleats, and Storybrooke didn’t have a sporting goods store. Emma wasn’t feeling well, so Killian offered to get all three munchkins out of her hair for the morning. His jaw dropped when he saw the crack running all the way down the middle of the windshield.

“Bloody hell!”

“It wasn’t me!” all three kids blurted out simultaneously.

Killian swiveled to face them, his eyes narrowed. “Now why would you feel the need to immediately point that out?”

All three responded according to type. Evan, the ten-year-old, crossed his arms and quirked a brow in defiance. Briar Rose, the seven-year-old, stuck out her trembling lower lip, her big green eyes already swimming with fat tears. Ian, the six-year-old, ducked his head so low, his nose was practically touching his chest.

“The boys stepped on it, Daddy,” Briar Rose told him in a wobbly voice.

Evan turned on her immediately. “Only to get your stupid My Little Pony off the roof!”

Killian held up his hand to silence them. “Okay, back up. What happened? Start at the beginning,” Evan and Briar Rose started shouting over each other, and Killian sliced his hand through the air. “Stop! Briar Rose, cygnet, what happened?”

“You always take her side!” Evan shouted. Killian glared at him, and he snapped his mouth shut.

“I was playing superhero ponies with Ian, and we were making them fly. Then Evan said Pinkie Pie was a stupid pony -”

“- I did not!”

“You did to!”

Killian rubbed his forehead wearily. “The window?”

“Evan threw Pinkie Pie super hard,” Ian piped up.

Killian cocked his head. “That shouldn’t have cracked the window.”

Briar Rose shook her head solemnly. “No. The rock did that.”

“No,” Evan argued, “the rock made the tiny one. Ian’s foot made the crack.”

“You climbed too!” Ian shouted, shoving his big brother, and soon the boys were rolling on the grass.

Killian pulled them apart. “That’s enough! I think I got the gist of the story. Just . . . “ he sighed, “get in the van.”

Yes, driving for an hour into the next town over while staring at that crack set Killian on edge. But it was that stupid broken back door that would finally make him snap.

***************************************************

Going shopping with the kids was never Killian’s favorite past time, shoe shopping least of all. But getting the cleats ended up being less of a headache than he anticipated. Knowing that Emma wasn’t feeling so well, he took the kids over to a nearby park with a playground for a picnic lunch. The stress over his quickly deteriorating vessel ebbed under the warm sun and spring breeze. And despite their mischievousness, he adored his children. Getting to have this time with them was precious, especially when he thought how quickly the years were flying by. Evan was in the double digits now and increasingly independent. Briar Rose was still small enough for him to carry, though he was always surprised at how gangly her arms and legs had become. And Ian, their baby, overnight had seemed to lose the baby fat in his cheeks.

He was surprised to see that it was past four o’clock and knew that they needed to get home before dinner. Naturally, the kids didn’t want to leave, and pulling them away from the playground was ten times harder than dragging his old crew out of a tavern.

Perhaps he had lost his touch.

They dragged their feet all the way to the van, and even when they were inside continued to test his patience. Killian had already buckled and was inserting his key in the ignition when he glanced back to see the sliding back door still wide open.

“How many times do I have to tell you three to close the door behind you?”

An argument ensued over who was the last one in. Naturally. Killian sighed.

“Fine,” he muttered, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out of. He reached for the back seat’s one functioning handle, but before he could slide the door closed, a wasp flew in.

Briar Rose screamed as if she were being devoured by a kraken. Ian panicked, flailing his arms and legs. Evan started throwing toys, trash, shoes, and a myriad of other items from the black hole at the wasp. This of course made Briar Rose yell at him to stop making it mad. The wasp came to rest on the window right by Briar Rose’s head. She screamed at the top of her lungs, yet the wasp didn’t move. Killian hit the button to lower the window, but the windows on the sliding doors only went halfway down, and the wasp seemed in no hurry to leave the mini-van. Briar rose yanked at the door handle frantically, but it wouldn’t budge. She started to cry.

If there was one thing in the world that Killian would move heaven and earth for it was to stop his little girl’s tears. He darted around the mini-van and without hesitation, reached through the window and flicked at the wasp with his hook.

It decided to land on the appendage. “Bloody hell,” Killian muttered, flicking his hook to get it off. It finally did, but not before stinging Killian’s good hand. He muttered obscenities as he shook the bugger off.

“Words, Daddy,” Briar Rose admonished.

“Words are allowed when stung by a wasp, darling,” Killian said before shutting the open door that had started the whole thing and climbing behind the wheel. He started the car, and immediately it was filled with an irritating electronic dinging. Killian muttered at the screen behind the wheel. A door was open. Grumbling, he marched all around the van, shutting every door. Still the dinging.

“I think it’s my door, Daddy,” Briar Rose said.

He groaned. Great, the broken door. He went around and tried to use the broken handle, to no avail. He climbed in the back seat, his centuries old joints creaking and protesting, and tried to slide it open from the inside. It wouldn’t budge. Yet Briar Rose was right – some how she had managed to open the door the tiniest crack, and now it wouldn’t slide back

“We’ll just have to deal with that infernal noise until we can get it to a mechanic.”

Protests rose from the back seat.

“But it’s so annoying!”

“Fix it, Daddy!”

“Why can’t you turn it off?”

“Because you three won’t take care of this van, that’s why!” Killian thundered, his patience finally snapping. “And you won’t shut the damn door behind you when you get in even though I’ve told you a thousand times! None of this would have happened if you’d just listen to me for once!”

Silence descended on the van. Evan slumped down so low in the back seat, Killian couldn’t see him in the rearview mirror. Ian ducked his head to his chin, his blonde hair hiding his face. Briar Rose curled up in a ball, her chin trembling. Killian clenched his jaw, guilt warring with his irritation as he pulled out of the parking lot. The dinging sound mercifully stopped when he got to a red light. That’s when he heard a worse sound – Briar Rose crying. He turned his head to look back at his baby girl. Huge tears were rolling down her cheeks. The guilt won.

“I am so sorry for yelling like that, little love,” he told her gently. “Please, please forgive me?”

Briar Rose managed a half smile as she sniffled and nodded her head.

“Really,” Killian repeated, addressing all three children, “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. I love you all, you know that, right?”

“Yes, Daddy,” they all chorused.

The kids still weren’t their normal, exuberant, chatty selves as they went on their way. It may have had more to do with the continual beeping than his temper, however. It had only ceased at the red light, Killian discovered, because the van was no longer in motion. The longer the beeping went, the more Killian’s head throbbed. He found himself wishing fervently for red lights, yet all that would do was prolong the trip home.

“I can’t take it anymore!” Evan cried out.

“Me either,” Ian whined.

“Can’t you stop it Daddy?” Briar Rose begged in what Emma called her Daddy’s girl voice.

“I really can’t.” Killian had read the owner’s manual cover to cover when they first got the van. He had read all about the doors, their safety features, and how to use the child lock system. There hadn’t been anything about how to stop the infernal beeping if the door wouldn’t shut.

Killian turned up the radio as loud as he could, trying to drown out the beeping. That only gave him a bigger headache. Then his hand started to throb, and he looked down to see that the wasp sting had swollen to the size of a grape. He squeezed his hand to find that his fingers were getting stiff. His headache moved from the front of his forehead and spread all the way to the base of his skull. Was there a red light soon? No, just miles and miles of Maine country highway all the way to bloody Storybrooke.

And that’s when he snapped. The beeping, his pounding head, his throbbing hand, his three children who had now taken up another chorus of whining. And he lost it plain and simple, leveling his fury on the computer panel above the steering wheel. With a loud shout, he plunged his hook right through the speedometer, and with a shower of sparks the beeping finally stopped.

There was a beat of blessed silence.

“That. Was. AWESOME DAD!!!” Evan shouted.

“You murdered the van,” Ian whispered in awe.

Briar Rose’s jaw dropped as her eyes grew wide. “Daddy, what will Mommy say?”

“I didn’t murder the van,” Killian argued, “it’s a machine.”

Ian’s lower lip quivered. “BB-8 is a machine. Would you stab him with your hook too?”

“Bloody hell,” Killian muttered. Were they home yet?

Killian was surprised to see Emma sitting on the front porch swing when they got home. She rose to greet them at the front walk with a smile that looked weary. She looked like she still wasn’t feeling well.

The kids tumbled out of the van like desperate sailors on shore leave, as usual. They were chattering a mile a minute at their mother before Killian could even get out of the van.

“Daddy killed the van!”

“Sparks went everyone!”

“It was awesome!”

Emma’s eyebrows rose as she turned to him. “You did what?”

“I can explain Swan,” he began, raising his hand and his hook in supplication.

“Oh my God, what happened to your hand?” Emma exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm so she could look at the wasp sting. Now his entire hand had puffed up like a balloon.

“Well, that’s how it all started -”

“What happened to the van?” she screeched, cutting him off. She dropped his arm and leaned into the driver’s seat.

“A wasp tried to kill us, so then Daddy killed the van,” Briar Rose piped up, as if that were the clearest explanation in the world.

“There’s a hole in the computer screen, Killian,” Emma turned to him and crossed her arms over her chest. “You plunged your hook into our mini-van!”

“It was the only way I could stop the beeping! There was a wasp, and we were trying to get it out, and you know how that one door is broken, and then the beeping -”

“Killian Jones, how old are you!”

He didn’t understand why she was getting so worked up. It wasn’t as if the van weren’t falling apart already. “Three hundred and twenty, give or take, but what the bloody hell does that have to do with anything?”

“I just think you could be an adult, for God’s sake and control your temper! Especially around our children!”

She shoved past him and stomped her way up the porch steps and into the house. Killian glanced down at Evan, who shrugged.

“Women,” the ten-year-old said sagely.

“And how old are you? Ten going on thirty?” Killian asked wryly as he playfully nudged his son’s shoulder. “Why don’t you three play out here for a little while? I need to talk to your mother.”

Killian opened the door gently, softly calling out Emma’s name. He found her sitting on the bottom of the stairs with her head in her hands. When she heard him call her name, she looked up, and he saw tears had stained her cheeks.

“Emma, I’m sorry about the van. You’re right, I lost my temper. I yelled at the children too, which makes me feel even worse.” He chuckled as he ran his swollen fingers through his hair. “After over three centuries, I think I’m finally feeling my age.”

“You mean you think you’re too old for all of this?” Emma asked in a small voice.

He tilted his head as he studied her, still unable to read what was going on in her head. “If you’re asking if I have regrets, then absolutely not. I wouldn’t trade you or the kids for one second. Although my old bones did creak when I was crawling through that back seat today.”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Emma cried, leaping to her feet. “I’m feeling my bones creak too, you know.” And after that proclamation, she turned and fled up the stairs.

He rubbed wearily at his forehead. His headache was back.

*****************************************************

Since Emma clearly wasn’t feeling like herself, Killian had walked to Granny’s with the kids to pick up dinner. When they got back, even grilled cheese and onion rings couldn’t lure her from the master bathroom. She said she was soaking in the tub, but Killian had known her long enough to hear tears in her voice, even when she tried valiantly to hide it.

“Are you worried about Mommy?” Briar Rose asked after swallowing a bite of her onion rings.

“Why do you ask that, cygnet?”

“Because you’re playing with your food,” she said matter-of-factly. He frowned as he looked down at his lasagna and ceasar salad. He’d barely taken three bites. He looked up at his children, who were watching him intently. They were far too perceptive; it was in their genes.

“Is Mommy mad that we made you kill the van?” Ian asked, his brow furrowed seriously.

“Oh no, lad,” Killian quickly assured, rubbing his son’s blonde head. He tilted his chin up with his good hand. “And for the record, I did not kill the van.

“Yeah, Ian,” Evan explained in a superior voice. He liked to lecture his younger siblings. “The van doesn’t go on missions like BB-8. You can ask Henry.”

Ian nodded as if that were that. “You can ask Henry” was a common refrain meaning that something was an indisputable fact.

“Your Mommy just doesn’t feel well,” Killian attempted to put the children’s minds at ease, “and sometimes when you don’t feel well, you get upset easily.”

“Like when Briar Rose and Ian were in Mommy’s tummy.”

“Yes, Evan, like . . . “ Killian trailed off, the full realization of his son’s words hitting him. He rose abruptly from the table and turned towards the stairs, but before going up, he dashed over to his oldest and clasped Evan on the shoulder. “How old are you again, son?”

“Ten -”

“- going on thirty.”

When Killian opened their bedroom door, all the lights were off. He could just make out Emma’s form on the bed, curled into the fetal position beneath the covers, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow. He eased down next to her, reaching out to play with the ends of her hair. It was still damp from her bath. He frowned when she remained with her back to him. He swallowed, weighing his words before plunging forward anyway.

“We’re having another baby, aren’t we?” he asked softly.

Emma rolled over then. The last remnants of day clung to the twilight hour, illuminating her tear stained face. He slid down in the bed, opening his arms for her, and she came willingly into his arms.

“I just turned forty, Killian,” she mumbled against his chest. “That means I’ll be fifty-eight when this kid graduates from high school.”

Killian could have pointed out that he had three centuries on her, but he knew now wasn’t the time. Besides, that may be how old he was chronologically, but physically he was only a few years older than Emma.

She sniffled, wiped her nose on his sleeve, and then continued. “Then you come home, and I find out you lost it over our disaster of a mini-van, and I guess I just panicked. I mean, if we can’t handle this mess we’ve got now, how can we handle another kid? Especially a newborn who’s up all night? And diapers, and all the stuff you have to haul around, and – oh my God! - potty training! I suck at potty training, and now I have to go through that hell all over again!”

“And yet our children use the facilities just fine,” Killian chuckled.

Emma rolled over to glare at him, and he knew it was too soon for a joke. “And you – talking about your old bones and shit.”

She pushed at him as if to leave the bed, but he wrapped his arms around her waist. She didn’t put up a fight. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and murmured his words soothingly against her hair.

“I would be lying if I said this news didn’t bring some trepidation with it. But it also brings joy, love.” He pulled away so he could cup her face with his hand. “I was just thinking today as I played with the kids at the park how fast time was going. I thought of how I missed chubby babies asleep against my chest.”

“You do look hot with a baby on your chest,” Emma conceded, giving him a wobbly smile.

“And nothing makes my heart swell with joy quite like watching you carry a child created through our love.” He brushed a chaste kiss to her lips. “And as for the sleepless nights, the diapers, the potty training, and the stuff,we don’t have to do it alone.”

Emma rolled her eyes, even as her smile widened. “I know, we have each other.”

Killian quirked an eyebrow. “Well yes, but I was referring to the three built in babysitters downstairs. We didn’t have three over the age of six the last time.”

Emma’s eyes brightened. “You’re right! I was thinking of the two year blur the last time, but . . . this is different, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Killian agreed, rubbing his thumb across her cheek.

“We have a ten-year-old! He’ll be eleven by the time the baby comes.” Emma frowned. “But is that fair?”

“Course it is,” Killian assured her as he tugged her against his chest. “Evan isn’t ten, he’s ten going on thirty.”

Emma laughed. “He is rather precocious, isn’t he?” She sat up and straddled Killian. She ran her hands down the front of his shirt, fiddling with the buttons. “And what about you, old man? How old will you be when this kid graduates from high school?”

“Let me show you love,” he growled, grabbing her hips, “how virile I still am.”

Eight months later, another little girl joined the Jones family. Abigail Jones. Abigail meant “joy” in Hebrew. Both her parents and all three of her siblings thought it was fitting.

[kinsbin]

Nightmares

Title: Nightmares Ship: Alexys/Negan [Self Insert/Canon] Word Count: 2080 Summary: Negan has a nightmare and becomes vulnerable. Alexys comforts him as best as she can, promising that no matter how vulnerable he is he’s always safe with her. 

A/N: A commission for @bad-blue-moon-rising of her and Negan! I did something very hurt and comfort (a personal fave genre of mine) and it was a lot of fun ;u;

Nightmares were not uncommon amongst those in Alexandria.

Indeed, the dreams of both past events and events that hadn’t even happened haunted the subconscious of the residences with a daily craving for vengeance. Alexys did not try to pry into the private lives of those around her, enjoying her privacy and keeping it to herself when possible, but, she wouldn’t say that she hadn’t wondered what others nightmares were like. She was sure everyone's were different, certainly, but in what way?  How did their minds translate the horrors of the apocalypse into dreams? Was there anyone left in the world who was even capable of having the sweet, succulent rarity of a good dream anymore? These questions were plagues on her mind, encircling her head like vultures as they faded day in and day out around her.

She was sure some dreamt of the death of loved ones. She was sure others dreamt of the death of themselves. Sometimes she overheard the gossip of nightmares shared amongst people who thought they were whispering out of anyone’s earshot, but also seemed to forget that she was closer to them than that. Details were gruesome and sad, certainly, but it was how things were in this life now. It was how they all lived. Perhaps that was why they got so much done, Alexys mused at times, to distract themselves from the inevitability of their terrifying sleeps.

Yes, though, she was sure everyone had nightmares.

The thought was not as palpable as it normally was in the later hours of the night, of course, as her mind clouded itself over with a craving for sleep. She had worked only daytime services, the night time ones evading her as Rick insisted on her efforts deserving rest. Though that rest found her rarely at night, a natural bought of anxiety and insomnia preventing the ideal sleep to come easily to her, the events and work of the days exhausted her bones enough to crave even the slightest rest that they could get. She accepted the distraction on her body, but, knew that it wasn’t just the amount of work she did for the community nor the talking in the day.

Negan was at her side, the difference with him in her bed versus a cold and empty space like day and night. She could roll over and hold him, feeling the heat of his skin on her cold hands as they held one another through their sleep. Negan’s form was a brick wall, a constant reminder that she was with someone who would be able to protect her. Someone she would be able to hold like this through the night and feel the warmth of without having him leave. He promised, after all, that he wouldn’t leave her alone at night. He had kept good on it so far, their evenings falling asleep to the sound of one another’s breathing as remarkable as a good night’s rest.

This night was different, though. A new feeling came over the bedroom as the night began to settle into something of an uneasiness. Phantom groans of zombies in the distance burned their hallucinations into her ears, keeping her up later than usual and clinging to Negan harder than most times. Alexys buried her face against his chest, inhaling the scent of their room and finding comfort in its familiarity. She watched her hand as it rested on his abdomen, moving up and down with every breath he took in.

They began to speed up, his breaths coming faster. Alexys felt Negan tense underneath her, his muscles twitching and body writhing slowly but surely in its sleep. She sat up, brows furrowing in sleep deprived confusion as she watched him. Negan’s face, so sharp in its angles and daring in its proportions, was morphed into something out of a painting. Forehead sheen with sweat, his teeth clenched tightly together as if he were enduring a great pain. His body moved unpleasantly in the bedding he was under, arms tensing while his fists clenched and unclenched with great vigor. Something was off. Alexys sensed it like an animal sensed a storm on the wind.

Sitting up, the shorter girl reached out to touch his chest, moving her hand from his body to his sides as she felt around him, eventually worrying that her touches might only make things worse. He ground out syllables in his sleep, gentle ‘no’s and heavy ‘please’s were burned into his lips in such a painful way that it made Alexys hurt just listening to them. The sympathy pains only grew further as Negan cursed softly under his breath, back arching as the dream seemed to escalate into unspeakable annoyances in his head.

Her hand fell on his shoulder, applying gentle pressure as she tried to shake him awake. Negan barely moved, her weak and sleepy movements no match for his built strength. Still, she tried harder. She gave his shoulder another touch and push. Negan groaned again. Alexys swallowed, leaning close to him.

“Negan, hey,” She whispered into his ear, her free hand brushing back some of her messy hair as she tried to find the right words to say, “You’re dreaming, wake up. Wake up, it’s okay, hey, I’m here...Negan! Please, okay?”

The coaxing went on until he finally awoke, body jolting to sit upright in the bed. Alexys barely had time to move back, heart throbbing at the gasp of pain and shock that escaped the larger man’s form. His hair fell into his face, strands sticking messily to his forehead as oriented himself against the mess of the world around him. Spots clouded his vision from where he had been clenching his eyes together so tightly. His muscles felt sore with the pain of tension. His eyes darted back and forth, still trying to get used to the darkness.

Alexys moved without thinking about it, reaching out to hold one of his hands while her opposite one touched his hot face. Negan flinched slightly, but eased into the gentle and familiar grip of his lover. Eyes closing again, they were softer this time. Easier as he focused on the feeling of Alexys’ skin on his own. Of her voice still whispering reassurances into his ear as she brushed his hair back and let her forehead fall on his shoulder.

Moments passed like this, their bodies against one another as Negan came off of the adrenaline high that the nightmare he had awoken from faded into nothing but the distant feeling of a memory. His body twitched, fingers slowly releasing the covers from the white knuckled death grip that had been here long before he woke up. Alexys’ form was used in the moment of comfort, the warmth of her body providing the means of relaxing. The steps of her breath helping Negan to count his own.

An arm came up after a while. He wrapped it around Alexys and brought her close to him, practically heaving her into his lap. He hugged here there, burying his face in her hair and sighing at the pleasant memories and comfort the scent brought about. Alexys snuggled against him with no objection, fingers tracing shapes on his chest as she admired the expanse of his slowly settling diaphragm.

“Are you okay?” Her voice was a whisper as she finally found it appropriate to speak out.

“...’M fine.” Negan took a deep breath, “Been better, hell, been worse but...I’m fine now, Angel, promise. Did I wake you?”

“I was already up,” Alexys hummed in return, “It didn’t sound like what you were dreaming about is fine, though...Was it bad?”

Negan tensed in her grip, and she felt guilty for even asking. Of course it was bad, she realized as she hugged him tighter, for she’d never seen a good dream go like that for anyone. The next words that fell from her lips were almost apologetic in tone as she mumbled them, “...Do you want to talk about it?”

Negan was quiet for a time after that, his breath coming slow as if he was contemplating her question using it. Alexys said nothing as well, content with thinking that the silence was her answer. That they wouldn’t talk about it and instead stick with making sure they were both going to be okay. That they were both going to be able to fall asleep again that night, if that was even possible. Sometimes bad dreams were worse the second time after you fell asleep again, breaking into the realm of your dreamscape at the last possible moment and hurting you even more.

She was surprised when he spoke again, his voice soft as he held her closer.

“Dreamt that those damn walkers got into Alexandria…” Negan’s tale began shakily as he explained the gist of it, “Got everyone...got Rick….Carl...Y….They got you...and…”

Alexys felt her heart ache as she pictured the dream in her mind. Negan, alone in a city that was burning around him, walkers clambering over the corpses of those he had once began to find acceptance in. Of those he had begun to love. Their rotting teeth sinking into flesh all too gruesome as they ate their fill. A flash of her own body, mangled as it was consumed, echoed in her mind.

“They ate me?”

“They turned you,” His voice choked at this, “And I had to….”

It was at this broken sob that Alexys realized what that noise meant. Looking up, Alexys saw Negan gazing down at her with a look of hur she had never seen on his face  before. Tears that welled in his ducts fell swiftly down his cheeks, leaking against his chin and dripping between them. It must have been detailed, she realized with sinking horror, to bring him to such tears. Negan tried so hard to be strong in front of others. To act like a man they wouldn’t want to be a a part of. It was equal parts terrifying and sad to see the effects that a single dream could have over the man before her. Phantom sympathies of tears pricked at her eyelids as well, and Alexys reached up to hold his face in both of her hands, brows knitting together.

“Hey, hey,” She murmured, “It’s okay, I’m here yeah? That was a dream...this is now. I’m alive...and I love you, and I never will stop loving you.”

He opened his mouth, whether to protest or to agree was unknown as all that came out was a weak sob and nod. He leaned forward, touching their foreheads together, half hiding himself in her smaller frame. She accepted it, never commenting on how it was unusual or how it wasn’t like him to be like this. Everyone cried, after all. Everyone had fears.

She just happened to be a part of them in one way or another.

“It felt real,” Negan gasped out, clutching her like she would disappear if he had let her go, “Like you were cold...Gone...I wanted to...to make myself go too, you know? Just to be with you...It felt so empty without you.”

“I’m here,” Alexys repeated as she ran her fingers through his hair, “I’m here and I always will be, Negan, I can promise you that. I...don’t want to lose you either. It’s a chance everyone has to take here and...thinking about it is scary.”

“Fuckin’ terrifying more like.” He laughed through his tears, causing her to laugh as well.

They separated once the tears settled down. His eyes were red as they gazed into one another’s faces. His hand reached up to cup her cheek, running a finger down her soft skin. Alexys smiled up at him, her eyes soft and reassuring as they both came together for a salty, vulnerable kiss. Alexys wrapped her arms around his neck. Negan pulled her to his side so that, when they lay down together again, there was no space between them.

A shaky sigh indicated he finished crying. As he settled back against her, Alexys kissed his forehead.

“I’ll always be here for you after nightmares,” she murmured, “To promise you that I love you...and that it’s all they were….okay?”

Negan nodded absently, his eyes hut as he relished in her presence and reassurance. Sleep found him slowly again, but, it hit eventually. So long as she stayed right there in his arms...He figured he could rest better now.

[imnotinclinedtomaturity]

4A

title: 4A summary: Most people’s soulmate tattoos are fairly short – “excuse me” or “nice to meet you” were common phrases. Most people just don’t say that much in one breath to a complete stranger. Most people, however, are not Phil’s soulmate. Thus, while everyone else has pretty, dainty phrases on their forearms, Phil has an entire paragraph crammed between his elbow and his hand in teeny tiny print. aka Dan’s a flustered mess when he finally meets his soulmate. words: 1.8k genre: fluff, soulmates au rating: g

Most people’s soulmate tattoos are fairly short – “excuse me” or “nice to meet you” were common phrases. Most people just don’t say that much in one breath to a complete stranger. Most people, however, are not Phil’s soulmate. Thus, while everyone else has pretty, dainty phrases on their forearms, Phil has an entire paragraph crammed between his elbow and his hand in teeny tiny print. The size, combined with the messy handwriting, caused Phil to spend hours deciphering what the first words his soulmate will say to him actually were. On his sixteenth birthday, Phil couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed that he was still clueless as to how his first interaction would go.

Since then, hundreds of hours in classes, work, and procrastination have been spent trying to make out the words. Over half a decade later, he’s pretty sure he’s correctly identified enough words to get the gist of what it says. Now it’s just a matter of waiting.

Phil sat on sofa in his brother’s lounge, idly flipping through a magazine, while he waited for his brother and his girlfriend to finally be ready to leave. A light knock at the door brought him out of his daze.

“Phil,” he heard Cornelia call from the bedroom, “can you grab the door? We’re expecting a package!”

With a sigh, Phil tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and walked to the door. His mum’s birthday present teetered slightly as the magazine collided with it. When he opened the door, he found a slightly smaller boy with a similar fringe holding a box and standing awkwardly in the hallway. Phil opened his mouth to ask where he should sign, but was cut off before he could say anything.

“Hi, I just moved in and this got delivered to me and the grouchy woman down the hall said to bring it to this apartment.” As the boy talked, Phil could slowly feel a smirk growing on his face. The boy, however, wasn’t quite making eye contact and continued rambling. “Are you Cornelia? Obviously you’re not. Are you her husband? Boyfriend? Sorry – just – here.” The boy shoved the package into Phil’s arms before turning around to retreat back towards what Phil assumed was his own apartment.

“So, do you always talk this much?” He called out.

The boy stopped in his tracks, slowly turning around to face Phil. The awkward expression was replaced by a cheeky grin accompanied by an adorably deep dimple.

“Only when I’m caught off guard by incredibly hot guys.”

Now it was Phil’s turn to blush. He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Phil, Cornelia’s quasi brother-in-law.”

“Hi,” the boy smiled. “I’m Dan, Cornelia’s new neighbor.”

“I’ve been waiting about six years for that package, you know.”

Dan leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms across his chest. Phil caught a glimpse of his own sloppy scrawl on Dan’s left forearm.

“Man, I knew the Royal Mail was shit, but I think that might be a new low. To be fair, I’ve only had it about ten minutes.” Dan chuckled quietly and Phil knew immediately that he would have no problem falling in love with that laugh.

Cornelia appeared behind Phil, carrying both her and Martin’s and Phil’s presents in her hands.

“Did you get the package, Phil?” Cornelia’s eyes drifted to Dan, who was still leaning in the doorway. “Oh, hi,” she said to Dan.

“Hello, I’m Dan.” Like a perfect gentleman, Dan extended his hand to shake Cornelia’s. “Your package got delivered to my place by accident.”

“Thanks for bringing it by! Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around.”

“Yeah, I just moved into apartment 4A last week.”

“Lovely to meet you. We’d love to have you over for tea sometime soon.” Cornelia turned to Phil. “Martin just called the cab and said he’d meet us downstairs.” She grabbed the package from Phil’s hands and tossed it onto the couch.

Phil didn’t break eye contact with Dan. “Sorry, it’s my mum’s birthday or else I’d…”

Dan straightened up. “No, no, don’t worry about it. I’ll be in my apartment—4A—all weekend, ya know, unpacking and stuff in 4A. So yeah, uh, whenever. 4A.”

A wide smile spread across Phil’s face and his tongue slightly poked out. He laughed quietly at Dan’s lack of subtlety. “Sorry, what was that? I think I missed it. Did you say 5C?”

“Shut up you spork. I’m just gonna…” Dan took a few steps backwards and gave Phil a small two-fingered salute with his left hand. This time, Phil got a better look at the words on Dan’s forearm: So, do you always talk this much? His stomach involuntarily did a flippy-over-thing at the sight. Dan turned around and scampered into his apartment, quickly shutting the door behind him.

Cornelia shot Phil a confused look, but grasped his wrist and pulled him towards the stairs without question. “Come on, let’s go before we miss the cab.”

Phil remained silent as they trudged down the four flights of stairs to the lobby. In the back of his mind, he heard Martin yell at them to wait up. Together, the three of them waited in the crisp November air; while they stood on the pavement, Cornelia huddled into Martin for body warmth.

The cab came and Phil climbed into the backseat, as if on autopilot. His thoughts drifted to caramel eyes and a long brunette fringe. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear Dan’s chuckle. He replayed their short interaction in his head over and over again on the way to the restaurant.

“Phil. PHIL. PHIL.” Martin’s fingers snapping loudly in his face pulled him out of his daydreams. “I said we’re here. Get out of the cab.”

“Oh. Oops.” Flustered, Phil opened the door and gracelessly clambered out, holding the door opened for his brother.

Dinner passed by in a blur. Several times, his mother asked him why he was particularly aloof tonight, but Phil brushed it off each time. Tonight was his mother’s special night and he didn’t want to overshadow her birthday celebrations. After the third time his mum expressed concern, Phil tried his best to push his encounter with his soulmate to the back of his head and engage more.

It wasn’t until he was standing outside the restaurant waiting with Martin and Cornelia for their cab again that he let his thoughts drift back to Dan.

“Cornelia?” Phil interrupted her conversation with Martin.

“Hmm?”

“What was in the box? From earlier?”

Cornelia smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m not telling you.”

Phil cocked his head to the side. “Why not?”

“It’s your Christmas present, silly.”

Without warning, Phil flung himself at Cornelia, embracing her in a tight hug. “Thank you thank you thank you.”

Cornelia patted Phil’s back as best as she could, given that her arms were pinned to her side by Phil’s smothering hug. “I’ve gotten you a present every year for four years. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, well, you never need to get me one again because you’re never going to top this.” Phil released her, stepping back.

“Okay, nerd, you haven’t even opened it yet.”

“No—I—uh…” His cheeks reddened. “Dan.”

Martin, who missed the entire interaction earlier, muttered, “Who the bloody hell is Dan?”

However, Cornelia’s eyes widened. Her eyes traveled down Phil’s right arm. “Was that…?”

Phil nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah it was.”

This time, it was Cornelia who smothered Phil. “Oh my god. I’m so happy for you.” She stepped back, reaching up to squeeze Phil’s cheeks between her hands. “Does this mean you’ll stop spending every moment you can at our apartment?”

Phil smiled so wide it hurt. “Yeah, but I can’t promise you’ll see any less of me. He is your neighbor, after all.”

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” Martin interjected.

“My package got delivered across the hall by accident and the new neighbor brought it over.” Cornelia roughly grabbed Phil’s arm and shoved it towards Martin’s face.

“Okay…?”

Cornelia rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, you’re so dense. Phil’s soulmate brought the package over.

A look of realization spread across Martin’s face. “Oh… Oh! Congratulations!” Phil smiled, suddenly eager to get back to the apartment. He was secretly hoping to bail on the Great British Bake Off marathon they had planned.

The ride back seemed to take an eternity. When they finally arrived at the apartment, Phil awkwardly loitered by the door while Martin and Cornelia hung their coats and set down their things.

“I’m sorry to be rude, but do you mind if I maybe go across the hall instead of watching the Bakeoff? See if Dan’s awake still?”

“Take the spares so you don’t wake us up when you come back.” Phil barely caught the keys Cornelia tossed at him.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Martin smirked.

“It’s not like that—I’m not going to… that. I just want to meet him. Properly.”

Cornelia shoved his shoulder lightly, pushing him in the direction of Dan’s apartment. “Get out of here. Have fun.”

As he stood in front of 4A, Phil took a steadying breath to try to calm his nerves. Before he could chicken out, he knocked lightly on Dan’s door. A quick glance at his watch told him it was nearly 23:00. He hoped Dan wasn’t an early sleeper.

Much to his relief, the door opened barely ten seconds after he knocked. Dan had changed into black joggers paired with a black tshirt and had clearly showered since Phil saw him earlier. Phil’s eyes were immediately drawn to Dan’s hair, which was a wet, curly mop on top of his head. Self-consciously, Dan fiddled with the curls, trying to tame them into submission.

“You have curly hair,” Phil murmured, stunned.

Dan flushed. “I know. I look like a fucking hobbit.”

Phil desperately wanted to reach out and run his hands through Dan’s hair, but they’d only just met and he didn’t want to freak Dan out. Instead, he said, “the cutest hobbit I’ve ever seen.”

The redness of Dan’s cheeks extended to his ears, but he smiled shyly and Phil could see a hint of his deep dimple. “Do you want to come in?”

“I’d like nothing more.”

As Phil entered the apartment, he scanned the lounge. It was obvious that Dan was still moving in, but the room was littered with knickknacks. A large Muse poster hung on the opposite wall. A charizard plushie sat haphazardly on the sofa. A boxed set of the Studio Ghibli movies balanced precariously atop the television. Mario Kart was paused on the screen.

No, Phil thought, I won’t have any trouble at all falling in love with this boy.

[iminclinedtowriting]

4A

title: 4A summary: Most people’s soulmate tattoos are fairly short – “excuse me” or “nice to meet you” were common phrases. Most people just don’t say that much in one breath to a complete stranger. Most people, however, are not Phil’s soulmate. Thus, while everyone else has pretty, dainty phrases on their forearms, Phil has an entire paragraph crammed between his elbow and his hand in teeny tiny print. aka Dan's a flustered mess when he finally meets his soulmate. words: 1800 genre: fluff, soulmates au

Most people’s soulmate tattoos are fairly short – “excuse me” or “nice to meet you” were common phrases. Most people just don’t say that much in one breath to a complete stranger. Most people, however, are not Phil’s soulmate. Thus, while everyone else has pretty, dainty phrases on their forearms, Phil has an entire paragraph crammed between his elbow and his hand in teeny tiny print. The size, combined with the messy handwriting, caused Phil to spend hours deciphering what the first words his soulmate will say to him actually were. On his sixteenth birthday, Phil couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed that he was still clueless as to how his first interaction would go.

Since then, hundreds of hours in classes, work, and procrastination have been spent trying to make out the words. Over half a decade later, he’s pretty sure he’s correctly identified enough words to get the gist of what it says. Now it’s just a matter of waiting.

***

Phil sat on sofa in his brother’s lounge, idly flipping through a magazine, while he waited for his brother and his girlfriend to finally be ready to leave. A light knock at the door brought him out of his daze.

“Phil,” he heard Cornelia call from the bedroom, “can you grab the door? We’re expecting a package!”

With a sigh, Phil tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and walked to the door. His mum’s birthday present teetered slightly as the magazine collided with it. When he opened the door, he found a slightly smaller boy with a similar fringe holding a box and standing awkwardly in the hallway. Phil opened his mouth to ask where he should sign, but was cut off before he could say anything.

“Hi, I just moved in and this got delivered to me and the grouchy woman down the hall said to bring it to this apartment.” As the boy talked, Phil could slowly feel a smirk growing on his face. The boy, however, wasn’t quite making eye contact and continued rambling. “Are you Cornelia? Obviously you’re not. Are you her husband? Boyfriend? Sorry – just – here.” The boy shoved the package into Phil’s arms before turning around to retreat back towards what Phil assumed was his own apartment.

“So, do you always talk this much?” He called out.

The boy stopped in his tracks, slowly turning around to face Phil. The awkward expression was replaced by a cheeky grin accompanied by an adorably deep dimple.

“Only when I’m caught off guard by incredibly hot guys.”

Now it was Phil’s turn to blush. He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Phil, Cornelia’s quasi brother-in-law.”

“Hi,” the boy smiled. “I’m Dan, Cornelia’s new neighbor.”

“I’ve been waiting about six years for that package, you know.”

Dan leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms across his chest. Phil caught a glimpse of his own sloppy scrawl on Dan’s left forearm.

“Man, I knew the Royal Mail was shit, but I think that might be a new low. To be fair, I’ve only had it about ten minutes.” Dan chuckled quietly and Phil knew immediately that he would have no problem falling in love with that laugh.

Cornelia appeared behind Phil, carrying both her and Martin’s and Phil’s presents in her hands.

“Did you get the package, Phil?” Cornelia’s eyes drifted to Dan, who was still leaning in the doorway. “Oh, hi,” she said to Dan.

“Hello, I’m Dan.” Like a perfect gentleman, Dan extended his hand to shake Cornelia’s. “Your package got delivered to my place by accident.”

“Thanks for bringing it by! Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around.”

“Yeah, I just moved into apartment 4A last week.”

“Lovely to meet you. We’d love to have you over for tea sometime soon.” Cornelia turned to Phil. “Martin just called the cab and said he’d meet us downstairs.” She grabbed the package from Phil’s hands and tossed it onto the couch.

Phil didn’t break eye contact with Dan. “Sorry, it’s my mum’s birthday or else I’d…”

Dan straightened up. “No, no, don’t worry about it. I’ll be in my apartment—4A—all weekend, ya know, unpacking and stuff in 4A. So yeah, uh, whenever. 4A.”

A wide smile spread across Phil’s face and his tongue slightly poked out. He laughed quietly at Dan’s lack of subtlety. “Sorry, what was that? I think I missed it. Did you say 5C?”

“Shut up you spork. I’m just gonna…” Dan took a few steps backwards and gave Phil a small two-fingered salute with his left hand. This time, Phil got a better look at the words on Dan’s forearm: So, do you always talk this much? His stomach involuntarily did a flippy-over-thing at the sight. Dan turned around and scampered into his apartment, quickly shutting the door behind him.

Cornelia shot Phil a confused look, but grasped his wrist and pulled him towards the stairs without question. “Come on, let’s go before we miss the cab.”

Phil remained silent as they trudged down the four flights of stairs to the lobby. In the back of his mind, he heard Martin yell at them to wait up. Together, the three of them waited in the crisp November air; while they stood on the pavement, Cornelia huddled into Martin for body warmth.

The cab came and Phil climbed into the backseat, as if on autopilot. His thoughts drifted to caramel eyes and a long brunette fringe. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear Dan’s chuckle. He replayed their short interaction in his head over and over again on the way to the restaurant.

“Phil. PHIL. PHIL.” Martin’s fingers snapping loudly in his face pulled him out of his daydreams. “I said we’re here. Get out of the cab.”

“Oh. Oops.” Flustered, Phil opened the door and gracelessly clambered out, holding the door opened for his brother.

Dinner passed by in a blur. Several times, his mother asked him why he was particularly aloof tonight, but Phil brushed it off each time. Tonight was his mother’s special night and he didn’t want to overshadow her birthday celebrations. After the third time his mum expressed concern, Phil tried his best to push his encounter with his soulmate to the back of his head and engage more.

It wasn’t until he was standing outside the restaurant waiting with Martin and Cornelia for their cab again that he let his thoughts drift back to Dan.

“Cornelia?” Phil interrupted her conversation with Martin.

“Hmm?”

“What was in the box? From earlier?”

Cornelia smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m not telling you.”

Phil cocked his head to the side. “Why not?”

“It’s your Christmas present, silly.”

Without warning, Phil flung himself at Cornelia, embracing her in a tight hug. “Thank you thank you thank you.”

Cornelia patted Phil’s back as best as she could, given that her arms were pinned to her side by Phil’s smothering hug. “I’ve gotten you a present every year for four years. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, well, you never need to get me one again because you’re never going to top this.” Phil released her, stepping back.

“Okay, nerd, you haven’t even opened it yet.”

“No—I—uh…” His cheeks reddened. “Dan.”

Martin, who missed the entire interaction earlier, muttered, “Who the bloody hell is Dan?”

However, Cornelia’s eyes widened. Her eyes traveled down Phil’s right arm. “Was that…?”

Phil nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah it was.”

This time, it was Cornelia who smothered Phil. “Oh my god. I’m so happy for you.” She stepped back, reaching up to squeeze Phil’s cheeks between her hands. “Does this mean you’ll stop spending every moment you can at our apartment?”

Phil smiled so wide it hurt. “Yeah, but I can’t promise you’ll see any less of me. He is your neighbor, after all.”

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” Martin interjected.

“My package got delivered across the hall by accident and the new neighbor brought it over.” Cornelia roughly grabbed Phil’s arm and shoved it towards Martin’s face.

“Okay…?”

Cornelia rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, you’re so dense. Phil’s soulmate brought the package over.

A look of realization spread across Martin’s face. “Oh… Oh! Congratulations!” Phil smiled, suddenly eager to get back to the apartment. He was secretly hoping to bail on the Great British Bake Off marathon they had planned.

The ride back seemed to take an eternity. When they finally arrived at the apartment, Phil awkwardly loitered by the door while Martin and Cornelia hung their coats and set down their things.

“I’m sorry to be rude, but do you mind if I maybe go across the hall instead of watching the Bakeoff? See if Dan’s awake still?”

“Take the spares so you don’t wake us up when you come back.” Phil barely caught the keys Cornelia tossed at him.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Martin smirked.

“It’s not like that—I’m not going to… that. I just want to meet him. Properly.”

Cornelia shoved his shoulder lightly, pushing him in the direction of Dan’s apartment. “Get out of here. Have fun.”

As he stood in front of 4A, Phil took a steadying breath to try to calm his nerves. Before he could chicken out, he knocked lightly on Dan’s door. A quick glance at his watch told him it was nearly 23:00. He hoped Dan wasn’t an early sleeper.

Much to his relief, the door opened barely ten seconds after he knocked. Dan had changed into black joggers paired with a black tshirt and had clearly showered since Phil saw him earlier. Phil’s eyes were immediately drawn to Dan’s hair, which was a wet, curly mop on top of his head. Self-consciously, Dan fiddled with the curls, trying to tame them into submission.

“You have curly hair,” Phil murmured, stunned.

Dan flushed. “I know. I look like a fucking hobbit.”

Phil desperately wanted to reach out and run his hands through Dan’s hair, but they’d only just met and he didn’t want to freak Dan out. Instead, he said, “the cutest hobbit I’ve ever seen.”

The redness of Dan’s cheeks extended to his ears, but he smiled shyly and Phil could see a hint of his deep dimple. “Do you want to come in?”

“I’d like nothing more.”

As Phil entered the apartment, he scanned the lounge. It was obvious that Dan was still moving in, but the room was littered with knickknacks. A large Muse poster hung on the opposite wall. A charizard plushie sat haphazardly on the sofa. A boxed set of the Studio Ghibli movies balanced precariously atop the television. Mario Kart was paused on the screen.

No, Phil thought, I won’t have any trouble at all falling in love with this boy.

[beanjuice-duh]

Once in a Century

a/n: This is a very ROUGH idea of how I feel like Taagnus(TAAKO x MAGNUS) would have happened and gone about. I, wholeheartedly, believe it happened but also believe it ended for obvious reasons.  summary: Taako wants to live and risk nothing, while Magnus is willing to die and risk it all. The love they share is lost in the translation of their different characters.  warning: NoNe? Besides temporary heartbreak. OH AND ITS A DRAFT w/c: ~ 2.9

Some loves last a life time. Those are the loves that come and concrete themselves so deeply into the story of someone, they come more than just a love. They become a definition of something. Loves that last a life time become an unspoken promise of a happily ever after, a swear that loneliness will never again come walking into that door. It is that sort of love that changes people, enhances and morphs good people into better people. Happy people into happier people. Love is what made stories worth telling, desires worth wanting. The loves that were meant to last are the loves remembered and valued.

But not all loves were made that way. Some loves were fleeting, some ended with pain, some unintentional and some simply had to be done. Love doesn’t always make sense or chooses wisely. Love that comes as a surprise, love that comes messy, the love of the everyday person came unannounced and from one moment to the next.

One minute Magnus never paid a second glance towards Taako as he walked on by, glued to his sister’s side. The next, he found himself at loss for the swell in his chest. Terrible timing was the gist of most of his thoughts. The end of the world chasing them down, they were the last seven people of their world and here he was, ogling at one of them. Magnus was never a person to not take action but he knew, at least this much, that something like this wasn’t…in his job qualification one could say.

At first he chalked it up to the sensation of being the last few people, these were the only people like him. The only people Magnus could ever relate to, the people who he wasn’t only sworn to protect he wanted to protect them. These were the people he shared meals with, fought the storm with, these were the people he would die with if that came to happen. His affections towards Taako could have just been him singling out just one of these emotions but …then there was the way Taako looked at him.

It wasn’t the way he looked at Lup or anyone else. It was…a game. A game with eyes, a game of silent dares. There were moments Magnus would make his rounds and he’d find the twins, conversing as they did among themselves, and with Lup’s back to Magnus, Taako often stole more than glances.

Taako demanded long stares while holding conversations. Invitations that were almost aggressively taunting Magnus to rush in but rush in and do what? Each accidental look pulled him closer.

Each off-handed stroke of brilliance, each delicious meal shared and laugh laughed was just another peg in Magnus chest. There came a point he acted on this feeling. Offering to clean dishes for him, moments in passing a plate Taako would touch fingertips and they’d find themselves in awkward silences. There came moments Magnus would wonder off ship and find something in particular that would please Taako. A gem or a native herb, then came actually spending time together.

No one noticed it much. Taako never liked leaving the ship, Magnus when he wasn’t drawn to the thrall of adventure and expedition for months during the year did spend quite a few weeks guarding the ship. Especially when precious cargo sat up in the dining hall. During the past cycles Magnus was never the best at keeping himself discrete. It didn’t take long for everyone to notice, there was a change in Magnus’s human heart a change that everyone but Magnus worried about.

“OYE! Big fella!” Lup shouted from across a grassy plane ripping Magnus’s view of Taako he had from the tree. He was watching Taako pace back in forth with a book in his hand. Magnus blinked a few times but couldn’t seem to wash the warm feeling from any part of him even while climbing down the tree to join Lup. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“What’s up Lup” Magnus smiled brightly, he waited for some sort of insane request or challenge but Lup’s face was devoid of its mischief and instead had a maturity Magnus had never seen.

Lup took his arm gently and smiled, “I was hoping we can …talk for a bit.”

“Oh…kay?”

Magnus allowed himself to be walked away from the ship. He looked back a few times spotting Taako’s face poking out the window. He blushed, figuring he had been found out. Of course Taako knew he was being watched. “Big man, you know I like ya right?” Lup began keeping her eyes on the road ahead. Without waiting for Magnus to confirm she continued steamrolling the conversation. “You’re a great fella, really…but you’re not the most…what’s the word…secretive guy.”

Magnus scratched his cheek with a finger and frowned. “I don’t really have any secrets to keep…”

“I know you like Taako, Magnus.” Her words sliced through his armor class with a critical hit. “I’m pretty sure we all know, the way you stare at him. You’ve been giving Taako a major ego boost lately…not that I can complain. Its nice having someone else do the dishes.” She chuckled but then the hold on his arm was tightened and Magnus felt his chest tighten with it. “I love him, Magnus, more than you can ever believe.”

“Lup…I care about Taako and I won’t ever hurt him I—“

“I love him Magnus but I know him…and he’s just…and you…you guys simply won’t…” She sighed, “Taako isn’t an easy guy to love, Magnus. He’s not the happily ever after most heroes look for big guy…I just want you to know that before…”

“someone gets hurt…” Magnus looked over Lup a few times and felt something his chest drop. Lup knew Taako better than anyone, probably better than Taako knew himself. Magnus took her words as a friend and as Taako’s sister seriously. That should have been enough to have ended it there. It would have—

But some loves were too strong of a pull. It was as if Lup never spoke to him. With each cycle in the early part of their adventure Taako and Magnus grew close in a way unheard of. They grew close as friends which was the front that they tried to keep but just below that friendship there was something there. Between the delicate shoves and grazes, the longing stares before saying goodnight, the chats over dishes being washed and put away. It was only a matter of time before the surface broke and silently it did.

Between a moment of stargazing through the port window of kitchen, through a silent, unspoken feeling of existential urgency, love fastforwarded and Magnus found the action he was searching for about 15 cycles now.

He found the first taste of love between elven lips.

The touch of desire gently pressed with hands combing through unruly sideburns. There was something here, an anchor. If the only real thing in their lives was to be what was on this ship than they, Taako especially, had no intentions of letting it pass by. If this was truly what their lives were to be, they were going to rewrite their stories to fit a chapter of love and joy. Something they both in their youthful romance, believed they deserve.

Magnus found himself falling into the profession of romantic easy. Thinking of others had been something he did often but now he had someone to think about. Every adventure from that cycle on had a side mission of what to bring to make him smile. What to say to gain an affectionate taunt or laugh out of Taako. He found himself listening aimlessly at Taako’s chatter not understanding most of it but enough to know he adored the sound of his strange voice.

He was selfless in his love, every bit of it dedicated, adoring…

But with the beginning of something as warming as this love the Hunger came and reared its head towards the ship. Each time, Magnus had to wonder how could he enjoy this love, this life with his friends and this person he now held so dear of this happened every year. There was no way to have it both, happily ever after and the end of the world.

With love at his core, a love for the elf who filled his days with refreshing joy and his friends, Magnus swore he would not stop until they were all safe. He would make a world safe, safe for Taako to live happily with all of their friends.

Magnus had no magic.

Magnus had no means of helping with flight or documentation but what he could do was find the light. Risk everything he had in him, every inch of his human might, to find the light or fight long enough by some chance defeating the hunger.

A blinded resolve fueled by the folly of love. No length was to great now, the reckless Magnus grew even more so when now he had someone to end the end of the world.

Magnus’s heightened recklessness didn’t come without notice. Their dedicated guard was …slightly unhinged and again, Lup found herself at the head of that worry. “Taako?” Lup walked into the kitchen and found Taako holding a flower between his fingers as he spun a finger that commanded a spoon well within his reach to stir his tea.

“Sup Lulu” He sang delightfully. A delight that was rare to Lup and she learned to love every second of it… which made her position as meddling sister so much harder. “What do you need?”

“I…need you to talk to Magnus.” She began, “Taako before you say anything…I need you to talk to Magnus about toning down his…hunt for the light.”

“Wait, I thought our whole spiel was “find the light” well that’s what he’s doing, his finding the light.” He argued back but the smile and delight was still firmly plastered on his face.

Lup crossed her arms and challenged, “what good is all that if he gets himself killed within a month of doing this. Taako…Magnus can’t keep doing these solo, Rambo style recovery missions for the light and you should talk to him. Because…what if he dies and we find the light. What if this is our last planet and he gets himself killed in the first week of being here. What then?”

Taako felt the flower slip out of his hands and float down to the floor. Losing Magnus like that…the idea was almost too terrible to bear. He agreed, he would talk to him. Surely Magnus would listen to reason. Finding the Light was their mission, of course, but he could handle it with a little more…care. Something Taako had been a master of.

Night came, and as usual Magnus appeared just as the group went their ways after dinner. Large hands spanned across Taako’s waist and held him close as he acted as though he wasn’t waiting for him. “So…you know a year is up soon…have you thought of calling it a day on the whole light thing?” Taako spoke and immediately felt the hands on him loosen a bit.

“What do you mean?” Magnus chuckled softly, his face pressed into the side of Taako’s as he listened.

“I just mean…I know our whole thing is find the light but since we can’t we gotta start packing up so we can get the hell out of here, ya know? So…like…that’s still a thing, right?”

“Taako, no. I’m gonna keep looking.” Magnus chuckled again as if he was stating the obvious.

“What you’re gonna keep looking until the hunger comes then what? Fly back to the ship?”

“…No I’ll keep looking and the hunger comes I’ll fight it. I have to give it my all.”

Even in love there was a moment, in all forms of love where it was tried. It was tested and pulled and weighed in the face of disagreement for its worth. “Why? Why are you-you don’t have to do that. This place is literally screwed regardless if we find the light now or not. There isn’t a point.”

“I could save someone”

“No you—“

“I could find the light, I could make a difference, I could make this world home and—“

“OR YOU COULD STAY ALIVE.” Taako he raised his voice incuriously. “What if we can’t escape this time. What if we have to ditch this planet and go and the stupid world leap thing doesn’t work, what if you die this time.”

Magnus pulled his hands off him and stared hard at the back of Taako’s head. “…then I die protecting people, and …trying to protect the people I love. The person I love.”

“I don’t need you to die protecting me.” Taako turned and gave Magnus a smile. His hands went to Magnus’s face. “I don’t need a hero, I don’t need a martyr. What I need, what I want is you to want to stay alive.” He stared up and into Magnus’s bewildered eyes. “I want to know that when the world is going to shit, you’ll run with me and we’re going to fucking LIVE. You, me, Lup…maybe anyone else who can run really fast. But whatever, we’re gonna make it and everyone else and the hunger can fuck off.”

A fold of frustration formed over Magnus’s brow, “you want me…to run?” He looked at Taako and without objecting or accepting Taako’s hands fell from his face.

A onesided understanding fell on Taako’s mind. Magnus would never run. He should have known it from the moment they met, Magnus was a hero. Magnus was selfless, Magnus was a protector but above all of that.

Magnus was good.

He’d never do something selfish. He didn’t have the capacity to. He could never be selfish for Taako; he’d risk his life over and over again and as long as Taako loved him, as long as Magnus was propelled by this idea of a happily ever after he was rushing in even more recklessly. He was trying to save the world for Taako even if it meant dying and that was not what Taako ever imagined.

Taako was selfish. Taako wanted to live even if it meant others couldn’t. As long as the people he loved lived then Taako was fine but above all that.

Taako couldn’t love a hero.

“Magnus…one day you’re going to be one hell of a hero.” He smiled up at Magnus, a steely resolve and smile on his face.  “And one day people are going to remember you for how selfless you’ve always been…by how many you’ve protected and the lives you’ve changed. And …you’re going to meet someone who…is going to love every bit of that.” The sound of his own voice left a bitter taste in Taako’s mouth. “But I can’t compete with that kind of limelight.” He turned and faced the sink again.

“Wha?” Magnus felt his heart drop to the ground and shatter like a dinner plate. “What do you mean?”

“I mean a hero kind of clashes with my whole, “I don’t give a fuck” style. And …honestly…not my type.” Taako wanted to look over his shoulder. He wanted to make sure the words he was saying were doing what needed to be done. “Magnus I’m sorry, but…I don’t need someone who wants to die for me. I want someone who wants to live for me. At all costs.”

“But I—“

“Can never be that…” Taako looked down, a tear rolled down his face and hung off the tip of his pointed, elven nose. “There will be someone out there for you Magnus who is going to turn you into the greatest Hero in all the planes of existence but that ain’t me, my guy.”

Magnus opened his mouth but nothing came out. Heat of anger, sadness, rejection forced him to storm out before he took a swipe at something in Taako’s precious kitchen. “You’ll thank me!” He shouted after Magnus…before resolving with his own broken spirit. Some romances were only meant to comfort and not last, but that didn’t make their pull any less strong or their end any less hurtful. It would be missed…and remembered.

Some loves lasted and others ended. There were some that ended loudly and drawn out, like a painful wound trying to scab over but constantly breaking open again. While other loves simply ceased.

Pained but silent, Magnus’s chase for the light was less driven. He worked solely to save the planet and less to rush in and provide a world for a love that wasn’t his anymore. Silent was the sting that Taako lost the habitual ritual of having extra hands to hold, an warm being to stand with and distract his mind away from the inevitable end of every place they landed on. It would have been so easy to keep Magnus longer. To hold tight his company while knowing well that it was only meant to be just love for the moment.

Through forgotten heartbreak the memories all flooded back to Magnus at the end. His first love and first heartbreak and the words that followed, ‘someone is going to turn you into the best hero of all the planes of existence…’ that was what Taako said to him.

And he was right. Magnus found someone who didn’t ask him to change.

He found a good in someone that made him want to be better.

He found Julia.

He was a better lover after loving Taako, memories or not. “Thank you.” Magnus smiled, staring down at his one time lover, and century long friend.

Taako chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Alright big guy, I don’t know what I did but your welcome, nat.”