#ah the classic: au with more potential than i have talent

[yuziyuanapologist]

i got this as an ask several weeks ago, from the angst prompt list that i cant be bothered finding again, wangxian + “shit, are you bleeding?” unfortunately sometimes tumblr decides that i must pay for my crimes and deleted the ask instead of saving it as a draft. so. but i had the fic saved! so once more with feeling:

it’s here on ao3, 2.9k words, canon divergence from ep33, no big warnings but mostly-non-graphic injury description and also my personal vendetta against the lan clan’s rules.

big thank u to @goldencorecrunches for reading this over and generally being the best

It’s been a strange few days. 

As Wei Wuxian wakes up from what feels like a dream, he finds himself somewhere he’s never been - yet somewhere familiar, all the same. The sound of soft notes - the song of clarity - floats through to his consciousness, he turns his head to the side, smiling gently at Lan Zhan, deep in concentration with his fingers on the strings.

It’s not the way he would have chosen, to come here to Gusu, but he could get used to it. He’s certainly grateful for it, brought here safe instead of dragged back to Lotus Pier - or, indeed, slaughtered where he stood. 

Zidian gets no more pleasant, in a new body. Sixteen years away clearly has not mellowed his sh- his ex-shidi. 

He has questions, though, as to why the sixteen years have worked in what seems like the opposite way on Lan Zhan. Wasn’t he desperate to scold Wei Wuxian before, wasn’t he desperate to - drag him back here to Gusu?

Well, he managed. But it - well, either it was never as bad as he thought it would be in his last life, or Lan Zhan’s intentions are more gentle now. Sweeter. He’s simply playing for Wei Wuxian, dressed all in white save for -

“Shit, are you bleeding?”

The notes come to a discordant halt as Wei Wuxian forces himself to sit. Lan Zhan straightens his shoulders - the shoulders that, down one side, are tainted with a stain of dark red.

His only answer - typical Lan Zhan - is “Mn.”

“Lan Zhan - wh-”

“Do not panic,” Lan Zhan says, even as Wei Wuxian hauls himself to standing, his legs buckling beneath him in protest. Lan Zhan stands in one fluid motion, and crosses the room to take Wei Wuxian’s arm, and lift him back to the bed. 

Wei Wuxian protests half-heartedly, but only from sitting - he really is weak in this new body.

“It is nothing unexpected,” Lan Zhan says, quiet resignation filling his voice. “Stay.”

“Lan Zhan-“

But Lan Zhan has already crossed the room, moved behind the screen in the corner, and Wei Wuxian’s vision is fuzzy already from standing so quickly - he can’t protest, or follow - he can only wait.

It’s not long, a few minutes at most, that Wei Wuxian passes with his head in his hands, trying to fit this information in somewhere that makes sense - although, of course, he’s been gone sixteen years. It could be anything.

Lan Zhan emerges, and his robes are once again pure white, as if nothing had ever happened.

He settles back behind his guqin, and his fingers meet the strings once again, soft notes melting into the evening. 

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian speaks up, even though, despite the sixteen years since he's known him - he knows he will give no answer

As predicted, he gets only silence. 

"Was it Zidian? Did Jiang Cheng-" he cuts himself off with a shake of his head. That's not how Zidian works, and he knows it. The only likely part of that story is Jiang Cheng, and perhaps - but Lan Zhan was so unconcerned, it can't be a recent injury. And it is nothing unexpected - 

"Is it a curse?" 

"You ought to have paid more attention in your lectures here." 

Wei Wuxian scoffs. “I’ve been dead for sixteen years,” he reminds Lan Zhan. “Even if i had paid attention, would you really expect me to remember?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t respond beyond a slow blink, one that could disguise the edges of a smile - but it’s been sixteen years. It could just as easily be anything else.

After too long in silence, Wei Wuxian lets out a sigh. This isn’t how he wanted to begin to make amends, this isn’t who he would choose to be, on his second chance. Overbearing, insistent, prying. That was for Lan Zhan, that was for sixteen years ago. “Lan Zhan -”

“It does not matter,” Lan Zhan interrupts, and his voice falls to soft tones, evocative of tears that no one has shed. “You are here.”

*

Blood runs slowly into the water of the Cold Springs. Wei Wuxian watches, his mouth slack with worry. For all that Lan Zhan had acted as though it was nothing to concern himself with - and for all that he had then refused to speak more about it - this wound is deep. It cuts from the top of his shoulder blade, all the way down below the water, and the blood flows thick and steady.

There are other scars, too - long healed, but that might once have been just as deep.

“Lan Zhan -“

As soon as the words sound in the quiet air, Lan Zhan's tranquility is stopped  - he flees the water and dresses before Wei Wuxian can even finish the sentence. But - on his way out of the water - he exposes a second wound across his lower back - shallower, than the first, the blood thin and only trickling from the wound - but still it bleeds.

Lan Zhan moves to face him on the bank of the stream, tying his robes closed. He blinks slow, and opens his mouth at the same time as Wei Wuxian. “Wei Y-”

“You said it wasn't anything to worry about,” Wei Wuxian says, barely even trying to keep the accusation out of his voice. “This is - this is -" he lets it rush out in a breath - there aren't words for what he means to say. 

"It is nothing to worry about," Lan Zhan repeats, without meeting Wei Wuxian eyes. But there's a pallor to his skin, a weakness to his breath - he takes a step, and stumbles. 

"Lan Zhan!" 

"I am fine," says Lan Zhan. "My body will adjust." 

"What do you mean? Can you not give me a straight answer?" 

Lan Zhan's eyes drift shut. "I need to rest." He moves past Wei Wuxian and starts down the path. 

Wei Wuxian is not so easily distracted. "You need a doctor, Lan Zhan," he tries to insist, reaching for Lan Zhan's arm, but he's shrugged off in an instant - and though it's weak, Wei Wuxian has almost no choice but to let go. He follows along, though, hand inches from Lan Zhan's arm in case he needs to hold him up.

A minute later, Lan Zhan replies in a low voice. "No doctor of the Cloud Recesses can help." 

"What? What do you mean?" 

But try as he might, he gets no further answer from Lan Zhan, until they're back in his jingshi and Lan Zhan settles cross legged on the floor, eyes falling shut and yet doing nothing to slow the red bloom on the back of his white robes. 

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian tries again, but he is ignored. "Lan Zhan, at least -" a solution comes to him. "Do you have a needle and thread, then? Preferably silver, but I mean, I get that we can't all be Wen Qing," he laughs a little to himself, and feels the pull of guilt down at the bottom of his stomach. She's gone, says his chest. Sixteen years gone. And - that's enough time to be fine, says his head. 

Lan Zhan doesn't reply. 

"I will tear this room apart, Lan Zh-" 

"It is against the rules." 

"What, to have needle and thread?" 

"To stitch the wound." 

None of this adds up in the slightest. Wei Wuxian falls into sitting beside Lan Zhan so that he's facing him, leaning his weight on his hands. 

And, not that he expected otherwise, but Lan Zhan does not look at him. 

"Why -" 

Lan Zhan lets out a breath, as close to a frustrated sigh as he has likely ever been. 

"You have to know I'll keep asking, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian grins, shifting so that he can knock his shoulder into Lan Zhan's. "Just tell me." 

"It is a punishment," says Lan Zhan. "The lesson has not been learnt, so the wound will not heal." 

Wei Wuxian feels all traces of mirth vanish from his face. 

"You mean," he swallows. "The section of the rules that I once asked about - the one that Zewu Jun assured me was about an outdated practice that hadn't been used for seventy years?" 

A moment's silence. Then - 

"Mn." 

"What could you have possibly done - what could you still be -" he's incredulous, disbelieving, but the answer dawns on him before he finishes the sentence. "Oh." He exhales all of the energy, lets his anger become cold and sharp, a means to an end - a flavour of fury that feels, perhaps thankfully, a little less easy than it had been in the last life - but he still knows it well. "It's me, isn't it?" 

Lan Zhan's eyes open, falling on Wei Wuxian, softened with worry, creased with pain, and yet truthful in silence. 

"Lan Zhan, I can't -" 

"Stay," Lan Zhan says - pleads. "My body will adjust." 

Already, Wei Wuxian is shaking his head. "How can I -" 

"I lost you, before," Lan Zhan says, voice shaking, strangled, almost inaudible. "It would hurt more - to lose you again." 

It softens Wei Wuxian's anger, and yet fuels it. "Lan Zhan." 

And yet, he knows where his talents lie. In mischief and craft, in deviance and trick. 

"I'll make you a deal," he says, and though Lan Zhan's eyes have fallen shut again, there's a shift to his brow, a worry and a resignation. "I'll stay. If - you let me stitch you up." 

Lan Zhan swallows. "It is against the rules," he says weakly. 

One side of Wei Wuxian's mouth pulls up in disgust. "If you think I ever cared about that, you have the wrong measure of me." 

He's awarded with the barest hint of a smile,but still no agreement. Coming to a decision, Wei Wuxian reaches into his robes for a blank talisman, and without casting anything onto it, he places it down on Lan Zhan's lap. 

"Hostage situation," he smiles. "Freeze talisman. Lan Zhan, whatever will you do?" 

Lan Zhan opens his eyes to glance down. "Wei Ying," he says. "This is blank." 

"Mm, pretty sure you can't move, actually, so," Wei Wuxian tails off with a mischievous shrug. "Needle and thread? Or should I go?" 

“Don’t go,” is the response, so quiet and desolate that Wei Wuxian almost caves - but this is for Lan Zhan’s own good. “The drawer behind the screen.”

Wei Wuxian smiles, hand to Lan Zhan’s forearm in thanks as he stands. 

True to the request, Lan Zhan stays exactly as he is while Wei Wuxian digs around for everything he needs; needle and thread; a basin of water and cloth; bandages, too. He returns to kneel carefully behind Lan Zhan, and hesitates with his hand a finger’s breadth above his shoulder.

“Lan Zhan - can I -” He finds the edge of the robe with his fingers, brushing the skin of his neck.

There’s an almost imperceptible nod - and - a shudder? -as Lan Zhan reaches for the tie of his robes, and loosens it, enough to shrug the robe off his shoulder down to pool at his waist. Half-dried blood sticks the fabric of his undershirt to the wound, and Wei Wuxian tries not to wince along with Lan Zhan as he pulls just a little too roughly, murmuring an apology. 

It’s not that he’s ever seen blood before, of course not - but it’s been a long time since he’s seen Lan Zhan in any pain, and it does not get any easier.

“Lan Zhan,” he keeps his voice low as if the volume will also cause pain, and lifts a damp cloth to the site of the wound, to ease the pull. “I know you said - you want me to stay - but -” He finally manages to tug the shirt away, exposing the wound for how deep it truly goes. “I’m not worth this.”

“You are.” It’s a tone that allows no arguments, a certainty that allows no doubt. All Wei Wuxian can do is believe it. Or - well - leave his rebuttal unsaid.

He shakes his head, for himself, since Lan Zhan won’t see it, and sets about cleaning the wound. The flow of blood is steady - not lethal, of course it couldn’t be, if a lesson is supposed to be learnt by the end, but it is enough that, no sooner than Wei Wuxian has wiped it away, more has taken its place, and soon enough he’s left with a blood-soaked cloth and a wound that still pours.

His hands have never been steady, but when sewing up his own wounds back in the Burial Mounds (“Just give me the needle, Wen Qing, I can do it myself”) it hadn’t mattered - because the only pain he was dealing with was his own, and he deserved it - he could barely feel it anyway. Here, now, with Lan Zhan soft before him, hands resting on his knees and shaking every time the wound is disturbed, he needs to be strong, stable, careful.

He lifts the needle. “Lan Zhan - it’ll hurt.” 

He thinks, anyway. He thinks it used to hurt.

The only response he gets is a determined hum, the muscles below his fingers tensing. 

“Okay,” he says, and sets to work. As he does, he desperately searches for something to distract Lan Zhan with - every time the needle goes in he tenses - slight enough to be unnoticeable, but clear enough that even Lan Zhan can’t hide it. 

He could joke about it - well, if you won’t let me leave, this is the only option - or he could talk of something else -  but all other subjects have evaded him since he’s been faced with this wound and the second, with the countless other scars, with the bare skin of Lan Zhan’s body, before him, slashed and destroyed for protecting - 

“You didn’t only protect me,” he says quietly, distracting himself enough to run his finger over one of the other scars. “These other scars -” he reaches one unlike the others, threaded through with familiar black filaments. “There was one for each of us?”

Lan Zhan lowers his head, but does not respond. It’s close enough to a nod, and Wei Wuxian mimics the gesture, before returning to the task at hand - his eyes falling on the second wound, barely even bleeding, but unmistakably still open. He tries to fit it in, between everything else he knows - but finds no space for it. “And this one? Was there -”

He cuts himself off before he dares to hope. It will only lead to disappointment.

“It -” Lan Zhan exhales shakily. “It’s - different.”

Wei Wuxian can say nothing to the dismissal, knowing that Lan Zan will say no more, but narrows his eyes.

He’s close to finished, now, and the stitches seem to be holding so far. But - it’s not a permanent solution.

He lifts Lan Zhan's undershirt from the floor, and shakes his head at the bloodstain. 

"Lan Zhan, where do you keep spare clothes?" he asks. "I'm done here, but you can't exactly put this back on." 

"I will -" he starts to stand, but Wei Wuxian catches him by the waist, pulling him back down. 

"Stay still," he instructs. "You're injured." 

He - for some reason, he can't bring himself to let go of Lan Zhan, now, though he shows no signs of moving again. Instead, he keeps his hands where they are, not holding tight - not even holding, just - touching. His Lan Zhan. 

He strokes his hands up and down Lan Zhan's bare skin, testing his limits, his eyes trained carefully on the wound - both to make sure he doesn't disturb, and simultaneously deep in thought about it. Lan Zhan's breath comes unsteady with hands on his skin, but not - if Wei Wuxian is correct - upset. 

"It's been sixteen years," Wei Wuxian says absentmindedly. "And you still think I'm worth this." 

"Yes," Lan Zhan says, with no trace of doubt. "You are." 

Wei Wuxian can't help but let out a huff of laughter, letting his head fall forward to Lan Zhan's uninjured shoulder. "You're so -" he sighs out whatever it was that he was going to say - his mind can't summon the right words anyway. 

With his eyes on his - admittedly imperfect - needlework, he conjures other questions.

“This discipline whip that they used,” he says, letting calculating anger control his thoughts but trying his hardest to keep his voice soft. “Where is it kept?”

He’s almost patient, waiting for Lan Zhan to respond, but when more seconds pass, he prompts “Lan Zhan?”

“Why do you ask?”

As if he doesn’t know. “Any talisman, however complex, can be reversed. Even on a spiritual tool.”

“It is against -”

“If you want me to stay,” replies Wei Wuxian. “Then I have to try.”

For a moment, he wonders if Lan Zhan will refuse him. If he will say, after all, that perhaps he has come to his senses, perhaps the rules are more important - but at long last, he sighs. 

"The storeroom behind the library pavilion. It is guarded during the day, and warded in the night." 

"Good thing I've broken your wards before, then," Wei Wuxian smiles, glancing out at the still bright sky. Later, then. He smiles to himself, and slides his hands forward, pulling Lan Zhan into an embrace - one that he could easily shake off, but doesn’t. In fact, his shoulders, tense as they had been, settle into relaxation, a breath of calm. “I suppose I should get you a shirt.”

Lan Zhan moves his hands to cover Wei Wuxian's, leaning his head back against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and turning to bury his face into his neck. His eyes are shut - he’s almost smiling.

“Stay,” he murmurs.

Wei Wuxian can't help the quiet laugh that escapes him. "I already said I will, Lan Zhan."

[yumeyooa]

revenge is brutally sweet | jeon jungkook

—jeon jungkook’s life so far has been going well. he’s the guitarist of the most famous band in the scene, he’s got the girl of his dreams, and everything he’s ever wished for is in the palm of his hands. what he doesn’t expect though, is to wake up one day in the middle of a controversy. what the controversy is, you may ask? a new band has been hitting the charts, and their lead singer is none other than you, a former member of the band and his ex-girlfriend.

➢  pairing: jeon jungkook x female! reader

➢ genre: angst | slight fluff | band au | slight highschool au | post breakup au | exes au | r 15 | guitarist! jungkook | vocalist! reader

➢ word count: 14.6k+

➢  warning: profanity | heavy drinking | toxic relationships | messy break-ups | self depriciation | bullying | messy closure | this is just very much super angsty

➢ love letter: AH SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG T_T I kinda drowned in midterms AHSHSHs but I hope you enjoy this fic <33 there’s more to this angsty collection to come so stay tuned!! 

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Life couldn’t be any better. 

This is what Jeon Jungkook constantly told himself every morning after his short, fifteen-minute shower while messily tousling his hair in an extra-soft towel as he takes in the dreary yet somehow vibrant view from his penthouse apartment, soaking in the sun’s rays. 

The city was busy, even though the sun had just risen and bloomed into full glory. The streets were filled with people rushing to get wherever they needed to be, cars driving past with the fervor of a shackled mad man on wheels. If Jungkook looked closer, he would have probably seen the black exhaust drifting in the air from the fumes of those ecologically damaging vehicles or the frantic looks on an office worker’s face as they hurriedly crossed the street obviously late for work. 

But alas, Jungkook couldn’t care less about the trials and tribulations of some strangers he didn’t even know. After all, his life was going great. In fact, he was literally walking on cloud nine at this point and felt like nothing had stopped him. 

Of course, it wasn’t always this way, which was why Jungkook appreciated his success tenfold. 

He, like every other success story, had started from the ground up. Music was something he had always dreamed of doing for the rest of his life. Ever since his grandfather had first shown him how to play the guitar, the melodies had wrapped their whimsical tunes around his heart and made themselves stay. It was fascinating to him how playing a couple of strings could produce such music that could move souls and bring smiles to people’s faces.

And ever since then, he was hooked. Every chance he got, he would play the guitar even if his parents tried to pry him off it. 

They wanted him to be a doctor after all, and there was no way in hell he was going to go by their wishes. While being a doctor was great, it didn’t ignite the same spark that music did, and for Jungkook, he would rather die than live a life without his flame running ablaze.

So, against his parent’s wishes, he pursued a career in music. It wasn’t easy, of course. At first, he had no support system for his dream. His friends and teachers ridiculed and discouraged him, saying that the future was bleak and he had no hopes of making it big. But if Jungkook knew anything about himself, it would most likely have to do with the fact that he was extremely stubborn and persistent, much to the disappointment of the adults in his life. 

So he continued. He continued reaching his dreams, joining every music-related activity he could at his age until he finally met Mr. Park.

Mr. Park was a bright man who came in one day as a replacement for their music teacher, who was an old lady who stuck to the classics and had a somewhat deceiving grading system. He came into class with disheveled hair, an unkempt tie, and when he turned around to write his name on the board, the whole class laughed as they could see his heart print underpants peeking through. 

But despite his clumsiness and seemingly carefree nature, Mr. Park was a master at his craft. He was the epitome of what a music teacher should be; exceptionally skilled, eloquent, and passionate about what he did. But Mr. Park had another talent that not many knew about, which was the eye for potential.

And Mr. Park saw potential in Jungkook.

He had taken Jungkook under his wing and taught him the ropes of music life. The keys of the piano, how notes were read, how symphonies were made. And the more Jungkook learned, the more he yearned for a life surrounding music. When he voiced his wishes to Mr. Park, expecting to receive the same rejection he had always known, he was pleasantly surprised to find out that he had his support.

Mr. Park was the very first person who saw that Jungkook could have a future in music. He was the very first person who showed Jungkook that there was a path for him to take that was far better than the path his parents laid out for him. A rocky path filled with trials and tribulations but ultimately reaped great rewards in the end. 

Like a moth drawn to its flame, Jungkook was attracted to the seemingly devastating path because somehow, amid the darkness, there was hope. Hope for a happier future, a future that wasn’t filled with regret and mourning but full of triumph and satisfaction. Jungkook would be a fool not to pursue the latter.

And thus, in hopes of finally seeing the light, Jungkook decided to start his own band. 

It didn’t start off right away, though. After all, no kid at his school wanted to be part of a band that, in the eyes of their parents, was a complete waste of time. Jungkook kept his small dream hidden deep within his heart, yet even so, it still burned with an unyielding passion. Even if years passed and no opportunity for him to start a band was in sight, Jungkook didn’t give up, knowing that his persistence would one day reap great rewards.

And finally, his chance came in the form of you. 

From the very beginning, Jungkook had always thought you were strange. In a prestigious school known for being the epitome of perfection and class, you were the odd one out, sticking out like a sore thumb with your disheveled appearance and undignified manner of carrying yourself. Almost immediately, you were set to be the outcast, ridiculed by your peers for your looks and mannerisms, even if, in Jungkook’s opinion, you weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary.

Unfortunately, the world is never kind to those who are different. 

Jungkook’s phone rings from where it is laid on his bedside table, the alarm blaring loudly, causing a shift in the once serene atmosphere of his apartment. Jungkook pays it no mind at first, choosing to finish drying his hair before finally picking up the phone, voice groggy and slightly annoyed from having his peaceful morning interrupted.

“Who is it?” He hastily asks, not meaning to sound as harsh. But could he really be blamed when it was 7 AM in the morning, and he wasn’t expected to show up to any scheduled event until noon?

“Jungkook!” An exasperated voice exclaims from the other side of his phone. It was Namjoon, his manager, Jungkook, quickly concludes. Although it was rare for him to call so early in the morning, especially in such a panicked state. Perhaps he forgot to inform him of a schedule? Although that was annoying, Jungkook wouldn’t really mind. After all, work made money. But if that were the case, it would have been odd for Namjoon to be so panicked about it. The man was known for being reasonably level-headed even in times of extreme stress, so perhaps it was something else entirely. 

“Did you read the news?” Namjoon quickly adds before Jungkook could ask what was wrong. At his question, Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, quickly sitting down on the side of his bed and grabbing his iPad from the same bedside desk, unplugging the charger along the way. 

“No,” he says as he types up the password into the Home Screen, laying his phone in between the juncture of his shoulder and ear. “Is there something I should be concerned about? I mean, it’s not like I got into a scandal or anything, right?”

Wrong.

Well, partly.

The moment Jungkook opens his Twitter, he’s surprised to see more notifications than usual. Of course, it was a given for him to have a ghastly amount of notifications as a celebrity. He did have a large fan base, after all. But the numbers on his screen far exceeded that of what he was used to, and amongst those notifications tagging his account, one article stood out amongst the rest, and the headline made his blood run cold.

“What the fuck?” He whispers, staring at the article in shock as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Am I seeing this right, Namjoon?”

The man on the other side of the phone is silent for a while before Jungkook hears a sigh. “Unfortunately, yes,” Namjoon says, and Jungkook can almost imagine the way he’s probably rubbing his temples together while sipping his cup of black coffee in his office out of stress and frustration

“(Y/N) is back,” he says, causing shivers to run down Jungkook’s spine. “And apparently Jungkook, she wrote a song about you.”

 The day Jungkook finally mustered up the courage to talk to you for the first time was an experience, to say the least. For what felt like years, albeit it was only a few days, Jungkook had been observing you from the sidelines, watching as you were berated by his classmates, who apparently had nothing better to do with their time. 

A part of Jungkook always felt guilty for never standing up for you. He knew you needed a friend. Someone to confide in this hellish school that made it seem as if it were every man for himself. But he was a coward, raised and molded to never take a step outside the boundaries he had set for himself, like a doll.

Although, with Mr. Park's influence, Jungkook could finally break free from his shell, even if it were just a mere few steps. 

"Here," he says nervously, handing you a carton of banana milk that he had picked up from the nearest vending machine the moment he saw you storm out of the classroom in tears. Even then, your classmates had laughed, mocking how sensitive you were, which disgusted Jungkook. Didn't they have any ounce of shame for making a person cry like that?

You look up from where you sat on the school's staircase, eyes puffy from crying so hard, a stream of tears still flowing down your face. You looked like an absolute mess, and the sight only caused Jungkook's heart to clench even more. He sat beside you, albeit a bit distanced because he couldn't help but feel awkward. This was your first conversation, after all. 

You stare at him, not entirely understanding why he would extend kindness towards you. Was this a trick of fate? Was he doing this so you would someday do his bidding in the future? The kids of this school were scary, even scarier than the monsters that hid underneath your bed or the creatures that roamed around in the dead of night. Even amidst the light, they scared you, and you were terrified that the man offering you some banana milk would be just the same. 

"You don't have to take it if you don't want to," Jungkook says, after realizing you were staring at him warily, cautious over whether or not you would accept his gift. "Sweets always cheered me up whenever I feel down, and I thought maybe it would cheer you up too!" 

If anyone were to see your interaction, they would have burst out laughing from how awkward it was. You who were wary and cautious, and Jungkook who was awkward and shy. A stark difference between your usual timid behavior and Jungkook's confident act. In fact, if anyone else were to see this, they would have never believed their eyes. 

It was odd, after all. And you knew this very well. Which was why you were so confused at Jungkook's behavior. Why was he approaching you so kindly when everyone else ridiculed and shunned you out? You were different, someone who didn't deserve to be there. An imposter, an intruder. It didn't make sense for him to act friendly. 

"Don't take this the wrong way," Jungkook continues, setting down the banana milk in the space between the two of you as he fiddled with his fingers, a habit he had picked up over time. "I'm not doing this to mock you or make fun of you later down the line… I just really don't like the way they're treating you. It's not right."

You're stunned. Rightfully so. This was the first time someone had ever gone against what others did to you, despite him doing so behind the scenes. A weird sensation bubbles up from inside you, one you can't quite place. But what you do know is that amidst it all, there's warmth. Jungkook's words sounded genuine and sincere, not like the usual condescending tone you were used to hearing from the rest of your peers. 

He genuinely seemed to care. 

Jungkook's eyes widen in surprise when he sees you grab the carton of banana milk, opening the straw in pushing it through, taking a sip. You sheepishly stare down, not even bothering to look Jungkook in the eye before muttering. "I prefer strawberry milk… but this isn't that bad... I guess… Thanks…" 

His eyes gleam, happy that you've accepted his offering and watching with a content smile as a small smile of your own forms on your lips, a far cry from the mess you were mere moments ago. He had somehow managed to cheer you up, and that was better than anything Jungkook could ever ask for. 

"No problem. Next time I'll buy you a whole box of strawberry milk!" He exclaims, excited for what was about to unfold between the two of you. 

But he would have never expected this. 

And on this week's celebrity news: Former Vocalist of The 97, (L/N) (Y/N) debuts solo with her new single 'Move On', which fans speculate is a direct message to her ex-boyfriend and former bandmate Jeon Jungkook. 

"Fuck!" Jungkook exclaims, overcome with emotion, as he watches the news unfold in the conference room of his label. He had quickly made his way over the moment he saw the headline, confused, devastated, and most of all angry. 

What in the world were you thinking, dragging him down like that?

"Jungkook, calm down," Namjoon says from the other side of the room, trying to prevent Jungkook from destroying the room. Jungkook was strong. And if he really wanted to, he could turn the whole conference room upside down in a blink of an eye, and Namjoon really didn't want to deal with whatever consequence would follow should Jungkook actually decide that he'd destroy the conference room. 

"How the fuck do you expect me to be calm, Namjoon?" Jungkook asks, exasperated as he walks from one end of the room to the other. "This is going to ruin my fucking reputation. And it's all because that bitch is too bitter about our breakup that she decided to fucking write a song about it."

"Hey." Another voice calls out, stern and ready to scold. Jaehyun, the band's bassist, glares at Jungkook with as much disdain as he could muster, not believing the words that came out of Jungkook's mouth. "No matter how you feel about the situation. I'm not going to stand by and let you call (Y/N) a bitch. She was and still is our friend. Just because you're so caught up in your perfect reputation doesn't mean you have to bring others down in the process, Jeon." 

It was rare for Jaehyun to ever call Jungkook by his last name. The two were as close as could be, having been the best of friends for more than ten years and counting. Jungkook knew he could trust Jaehyun with his life and vice versa, so it shocked him to hear that his best friend was defending her. 

"But Jungkook has every reason to be mad, Jaehyun!" Another voice pops up, this time a more feminine one that has Jungkook's heart-melting just a bit. Eunha, his current girlfriend, and the one who was there for him when you left him. She was the band's current vocalist, and Jungkook couldn't feel any more grateful to have someone as supportive as her in his life.

"She's using a personal situation to make her more popular, all the while bringing us down in the process! There's nothing else to call her but a bitch when she's hurting the band she started with! Is that how she says thank you when the band's been nothing but good to her?

It's incredible, Jungkook thinks to himself, how he was able to find someone like Eunha. She was the most compassionate and understanding person in the world, a far cry from what you had become. Bitter, selfish, and downright ungrateful. You probably wrote that song out of spite just to get back at him when he did nothing wrong in the first place. You were crazy, and he was glad Eunha allowed him to see through all of your lies. 

"Shut the fuck up, will you?" Jungkook's eyes darted in surprise to Yugyeom, the band's drummer, who had just cursed at his girlfriend. He glares at the drummer, mad at the fact that the usual happy-go-lucky man was now acting bitter in front of his girlfriend, who had done nothing wrong. Were his bandmates woven that deep within your cruel lies?

"Excuse me, what did you just say?" Eunha asks, appalled, tears forming from the corners of her eyes, which only causes the anger within Jungkook to grow. How dare they. How dare they make Eunha cry when she was doing nothing but telling the truth?

"You heard me, Eunha," Yugyeom continues, paying no mind to the burning rage that was about to burst within Jungkook. "I said shut the fuck up. So what if (Y/N) wrote a song about Jungkook? Why does it matter? She has every right to. I mean, our next single is literally a song Jungkook wrote after the breakup, so why the fuck are you berating her for doing the same?"

"Because she's hurting our reputation!" Eunha exclaims, clearly frustrated at how Yugyeom and Jaehyun weren't getting her point. "And besides, she was the one in the wrong during the breakup. What right does she have to make a song about it?"

Jaehyun scoffs, glare intensifying, causing Jungkook to clench his fist at their hostility. "And how do you know that when you only heard Jungkook's side of the story and not (Y/N) 's? For all we know, Jungkook could also be in the wro—"

Before Jaehyun could finish his sentence, Jungkook explodes, immediately rushing over to where Jaehyun sat and grabbing him by the collar, causing the rest of the band and Namjoon to panic, trying to break them apart, while Eunha watches, scared. 

"You motherfucker," Jungkook curses, hand raised into a fist, ready to punch Jaehyun in the face with all the force he could muster. But before he could do so, Namjoon and Yugyeom immediately held him back, causing Jaehyun to let out shaky breaths as he glared at Jungkook, hurt, confused, and angry. "Why are you defending her? She was the one who hurt me! You're supposed to be my fucking best friend!"

"Maybe if you actually listened to what she had to say and what she was going through, then we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place," Jaehyun screamed back, anger slowly growing as each moment passed by. "You've always been like this Jungkook, self-centered and fucking mean. (Y/N) was right for wanting to leave."

"What did you say, you fucki—"

"Enough!" Namjoon screams, holding his ground. This had gotten out of hand, and it was beginning to stress him out, and clearly, that same stress was spreading through every single person in the room. This wasn't even supposed to be that big of a deal. All they were supposed to do was listen to the song you wrote, and come up with a statement, So why the hell did this turn into a full-blown fight?

Gosh, Namjoon needed a raise. 

"Jeon Jungkook calm the fuck down, or I'll have you on probation, you hear? The same goes for all of you. I don't want to hear any bullshit about who's right or wrong in the relationship. All I need is for us to listen to the song and figure out what we're going to tell the higher-ups. So stop acting like you're a bunch of teenagers and sit down."

Usually, Namjoon wasn't this scary. But there was a glint in his eyes that taunted the band. And they knew that in the heat of the moment, the best thing to do was to shut up and listen. Besides, he was right. The way they were going, no progress would have been made, leading to further complications. With a huff, Jungkook sits down, staring grumpily into space. He wasn't comfortable with what had just occurred, a frenzy of emotions bottling up inside him from the outburst.

Luckily for him, Eunha was quick to hold his hand into hers, soothing him enough to calm his nerves and mentally prepare himself for what was about to unfold. Because he knew he wasn't going to like it.

And true to his words, the moment Namjoon pressed play, he didn't like it. Not one bit. 

Jungkook couldn't quite pin why your song made his blood boil and heart clench. From an outsider's perspective, it was a good song. A really good song. As a musician himself, Jungkook would never deny that. You had a knack for creating some really great tunes that were out of this world, after all. It was the very thing that made him ask you to start a band with him in the first place. 

But there was just something about this piece in particular that seemed different. Your very aura was different, Jungkook concluded as he watched the video, listening to the way you screamed about how good it was that he was able to move on while you haven't. How you laced memories and fragments of your relationship and expertly wove them together to create a masterpiece that echoed into the very depths of his beating heart. 

It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Because amidst the chaos, you looked free. 

There was something beautiful about the way you were in the middle of a room up in flames, almost to the point where Jungkook knew that it was metaphorical. You liked metaphors. Jungkook remembers how long ago, when the band was just the two of you, you mentioned how metaphors brought out the beauty of the world. They made the ordinary extraordinary. They made the dull come to life. Metaphors were beauty itself, and that's precisely why you loved to play with them so much. 

It's funny to see how that part of you hadn't changed, even after how many years. 

"Jungkook?" Eunha calls out to him, a concerned look gracing over her face. "You okay?" 

Honestly speaking, Jungkook didn't know. The high of his anger had finally settled, and all Jungkook felt was a burning numbness scouring through his veins. It's laughable how mere hours ago, Jungkook was sure that today would be another great day to celebrate how amazing his life was. Yet, here he is, in the middle of a conference room, watching as you submerged yourself underwater at the last scene of your music video, feeling empty. 

He doesn't directly answer Eunha, afraid that if he were to say anything, unwanted words would slip from his lips, and he would unleash another round of chaos and hell. And he was too mentally exhausted to go through that again. So he merely nods, clasping Eunha's hand gently and sighing as Namjoon pauses the video, turning towards the group. 

"Well," Namjoon says, surveying the room to see the band's reactions. But who was he kidding? He knew damn well that the band wasn't nearly overjoyed seeing and hearing what their old friend had to say, especially Jungkook. The poor kid looked lost. "That's that. It looks too vague to be considered a song catered to Jungkook, so I'll inform the higher-ups that it has nothing to do wi--"

Suddenly, Jungkook stands up, causing a deafening silence to befall once more as everyone watches him with cautious eyes, afraid of what he was about to do. 

"I'm going to get a drink," is all he says, moving to head out the door. No one really says anything in protest, Yugyeom and Jaehyun still feeling the aftermath of the previous fight. Only Eunha seemed to be visibly bothered, scoffing at the rest of the team's reactions before quickly latching on to Jungkook's arm. 

"Babe, it's still early in the morning. At least let me accompany you?" She asks, that hopeful glint burning brightly in her eyes, to the point that it makes Jaehyun recline back in his seat uncomfortably, not liking the way she seemed so unnatural. You were never like that. And while Jaehyun knew it was wrong to make comparisons, he couldn't help it. 

You were his best friend just as much as Jungkook was. 

"I'll go alone," is all Jungkook whispers, shrugging Eunha off who is about to protest, but Namjoon is quick to shut her up with a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking his head when she tries to chase after him. Jungkook needed to settle down and sort his thoughts through if he ever wanted a chance at getting through this situation with you. 

And maybe, just maybe, he could finally make amends. 

“Do you have a dream?”

This was the question that started it all, Jungkook supposed. He remembers the very day you asked him that one decisive question that, looking back, changed both of your lives. For good or for worse, Jungkook wasn’t sure. But as he reminisces the memories of the past and tries to figure out where everything went wrong, he couldn’t help the gut-wrenching feeling that settles within him. It’s so upsetting, in fact, that the moment Jungkook arrives in the pub across the street, he immediately drowns himself in a bottle of soju. 

The two of you were spending the lunch break in the empty stairwell, the same place where the two of you first met and the same place where the two of you gradually started to hang out. It was a quiet space, free from the condescending eyes of the perfection-seeking kids you called classmates. It was a space where you and Jungkook could be free, even for just a little while. 

Sipping on his banana milk, Jungkook looks at you curiously. You were staring at the strawberry milk he had bought you, fiddling with it nervously, not even bothering to look him in the eye. He wonders what goes on through your mind, what thoughts dance around within its hollow crevices, shaking you up and causing you to become a nervous wreck. Especially when the question wasn’t as bad as you were probably thinking. 

“Hmm, do you want the honest answer or the answer everyone wants to hear?” He asks back, looking up at the ceiling. For an elite school, they didn’t do well to maintain the more hidden areas. Was that a sign that they really didn’t care about things that weren’t relevant to them? Maybe. Maybe not. Jungkook didn’t particularly care. It was just more bearable t stare at the ceiling than sit in awkward silence, 

“Honest,” you say after a few moments, much more confident than a few moments ago. After hanging out with you for a few months and observing you within the silence of your conversations, Jungkook somehow knows that no matter what he’d do, you would forever be shy. Regardless if you knew someone well or not, the first moments of conversation would always be parallel to a first meeting. It was a curious thing, honestly. But it was more intriguing once he realized that your confidence grew the more you spoke. 

In a way, it was kind of cute. 

“I wanna make music,” Jungkook says after snapping himself out of his trance. He once again averts his gaze from yours, but this time it wasn’t to avoid silence, but rather to think, to immerse himself in his thoughts. Because this was the first time, someone had asked him what he truly wanted to do with life. The first time someone wanted an honest answer from him, not a polished response set up to please his parents and peers. 

“Not the classical kind, though,” he continues, smiling softly to himself. “Not really fond of it as much as you think.” From the corner of his eyes, Jungkook can see you gaping at him in surprise, and it causes him to chuckle. You were never really expressive beyond the weary walls of the seemingly abandoned stairwell. To the rest of the student body, you were expressionless. Someone who took all the beatings and ridicules with a blank face. As if you were a doll, waiting to be ruined. 

But here, you were much more alive. Much more expressive than Jungkook was used to seeing. It was as if the (Y/N) beyond the worn steps of the stairwell was an entirely different person. A mask you placed upon yourself to protect your heart from the cruel reality you had come to face. And Jungkook was more than fascinated at the fact that you had brought that mask down for him. 

“If I could, I’d do rock, maybe even some metal If I got enough courage,” he continues, smiling to himself unknowingly giddy at the sight of you. “There’s just something different about it, you know? The music runs through your system and gets you all hyped up; you just can’t resist it. And when the beat drops, it’s as if your emotions are on an all-time high, and it weirdly makes you kind of free. It made me realize that this was what music was supposed to be, I guess.”

“Wow,” you mutter, after staying within the silence of your initial awe. “That’s... poetic.” Jungkook laughs at the look of disbelief in his face, shooting his empty carton of banana milk in the air and watching in satisfaction as it lands straight into the empty trash can just right down the corner before turning to you, a grin high on his lips. 

“Oh, come on,” he whines, rolling his eyes playfully. “Why do you sound so surprised? Do I not look like I’d be a good musician?”

“It’s not that!” You quickly exclaim in your defense, flailing your arms in the air to avert Jungkook’s thoughts about the situation. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook was only joking, highly amused at your reactions, wanting to see more. “I just assumed you’d be more into sports, you know, since you’re so good at it? If you ask me, you kind of look like you’d do well in either football or basketball… so I just kind of assumed that was what you wanted to actually pursue. Not that wanting to pursue music is a bad thing! It’s great, it’s just that rock is kind of unexpected....” 

You were beginning to ramble at this point, the shy sheep from within you bursting forth as you fiddled with your thumbs nervously, anxious to see Jungkook’s reaction. Would he be mad at you for assuming things about him off the bat? Probably not, right? You did initiate the conversation by asking him what his dream was, after all. Wait, maybe this was your fault. Gosh, you should have just asked any other question that wasn’t as deep. 

This friendship thing was too difficult for your liking. 

As you bury yourself in your thoughts, Jungkook couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. It was small at first, almost going unheard by you who was so deeply consumed by the matters of your mind, but the more Jungkook laughed, the louder he got until he was full-on cackling, much to your dismay, confusion, and shock. 

“What’s so funny?” You ask frantically, trying to make sense of his actions. Did you say something wrong? As far as you knew, you hadn’t, but what if you had and accidentally crossed the line? You hoped not. You really didn’t want to screw any chance you had at having a real, genuine friend. But to your dismay, your questions remain unanswered as Jungkook continues to laugh, almost as if he wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. 

“Hey!” You exclaim, pouting. “Stop laughing at me, Jungkook!”

“I-i’m sorry,” He says after a few more laughs, trying to wipe the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes. “I couldn’t help it,” He laughs again, although this time, it seems as if he’s calmed down, sporting a cheeky smile. “Your reactions are just something else!”

Jungkook watches as you become flustered, once more, much to his fascination and amusement. He’s never been the teasing type, or more like, he’s never had the opportunity to become the teasing type, especially with the perfect image he had to curate in front of his peers. But he liked this. He liked being friends with you. It made him all the more free. 

“What about you?” He suddenly asks after a while, feeling that it was high time to cut you some slack. You look up at him in confusion as if you had entirely forgotten why this entire conversation had happened in the first place. “Do you have a dream?”

It’s silent, yet this time, Jungkook notes, the silence is uncanny. It’s not the same comfortable silence that Jungkook is used to whenever he was hanging out with you. It was as if the silence had suddenly crashed down and enveloped the cheery atmosphere in its deceitful arms. A trap, if you will. 

And Jungkook was unsure whether he wanted to break free from it or stay there with you. 

But you take the first step, finally looking up to meet him in the eyes, and Jungkook can feel his heart sink just a tad bit from how empty and solemn they were. “I don’t think so,” is all you say, brushing off the concerned look on Jungkook’s face with a smile. “I’ve never really given it much thought. That’s why I asked,” you chuckle halfheartedly, staring up at the ceiling. “Although I think it would be nice,” you say, smiling a bit more genuinely. “You know, to have a dream?”

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say. How was he supposed to react to that, anyway? No matter how difficult his life was, he had always had a dream. It kept him going, made him push through no matter the difficulty. Dreams were the driving force of life. The hope amidst the darkness. To not have a dream, even just a small one, rattled Jungkook. 

It terrified him because now Jungkook realized that he knew nothing about you despite you being his first friend. He didn’t know the reason why you decided to become a living doll in the eyes of others. He didn’t understand why you subjected yourself to such suffering when, from the small talks you and Jungkook had with each other, you seemed to have a loving family. 

He wanted to help you, to be there for you. Because he wasn’t sure whether or not you were actually feeling lost. That’s what friends were for, right? Jungkook wasn’t exactly sure on how to do this whole friendship thing, but if there was one thing he did know, it was the fact that friends helped each other. 

And Jungkook would be damned if he couldn’t help you in any way that he could.

Soju bottles littered the lone table that Jungkook sat upon. At this point, he wasn’t sure how many bottles he had drunk, but it sure was many, more than he could handle if he were, to be honest, but amidst his drunken state, he just couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Why was he acting like this anyway? 

He was supposed to be happy. His band was one of the most successful ones out there. He had thousands, if not millions of fans, who supported him in everything he did. So why, just why was this insignificant matter affecting him so greatly?

Was it because it was you?

“Dear, are you alright?” The old woman, running the pub asks, concerned as she sets down a piping hot bowl of warm hangover soup, which has Jungkook’s mouth watering to the point where drool almost seeps out, mainly because he only had a bite of a sandwich on his way to the office which Eunha forcibly made him eat. But even so, he couldn’t bring himself to eat, especially with the array of emotions that were burning deep within him. “Do you need me to call someone for you?”

Jungkook stays silent, not even bothering to respond to the old lady, who only grows wearier at the lack of response. He didn’t mean to be rude. It was just that he couldn’t find the strength to actually do anything but wallow in his own misery. His thoughts were going on haywire, with no place to land in sight. 

What had he done to deserve this? He was sure he had done nothing wrong, so why were you doing this to him when all he had done was, be nothing but nice to you? He had supported you ever since the beginning, and this was how you repaid him?

He doesn’t notice how the old lady leaves to call someone from the company, despite him not saying anything. It was probably for the best anyway. He was too out of it to even ask for help. The old lady was right and kind for going out of her way to do this for him. Although it made sense, after all, this specific pub was where Jungkook had been drinking ever since he had reached adulthood. 

Maybe she would call Namjoon? It was likely, but Jungkook hoped not. He was sure that if Namjoon were to see his sorry state, he would scold him until his ears bled out. Although he couldn’t really blame Namjoon, if any manager were to see their client drinking away their woes like he was, they would probably freak out. Primarily since he was known for drinking at most two bottles. Jungkook just really didn’t want to deal with Namjoon right now, especially after what had transpired earlier. 

He hoped that she would call Eunha. Sweet, loveable Eunha, who was there for him when the shitshow that was his breakup with you went down. Even until now, Jungkook was still in the dark of why you had left him and the band, but Eunha was the one who stayed by his side. Ever since he had met her two years ago when she first entered the company, they had become the best of friends. And now she was his girlfriend, and he couldn’t be happier. 

All of a sudden, a familiar voice wafts through the empty pub. One that has Jungkook’s head whipping everywhere it could to figure out where it was coming from. It was sweet, melodic even. But at the same time, it had a hint of melancholy and freedom? Why was the voice so familiar? Where had he heard it before? 

Jungkook’s eyes darted around, trying to see if he could spot the culprit behind his dilemma until they finally landed on the wide TV that sat in the middle of the pub, presumably for their customer’s enjoyment. And lo and behold, in his eyes, he sees you. 

It was a local music show where famous stars would often find themselves performing to promote their new music. He assumed you were there to perform your new single, the one song that had him sitting here broken and destroyed with pride in your chest. Did you enjoy this?

Did you enjoy knowing that he was broken because of you?

He hated it. He hated how bright your smile was the moment he caught sight of the camera focusing on you as the hosts began their interview. You were brilliant, cheery, happy. And it sickened Jungkook to the core. Why did it seem like you were doing fine when he was here all bothered? How selfish could you possibly be? 

But as much as it hurts him, he can’t find it in himself to look away. It’s a strange sensation that Jungkook couldn’t quite explain. Why couldn’t he avert his eyes from you when all he’s been feeling today was pain? It didn’t make sense. But honestly, Jungkook couldn’t tell what made sense anymore. 

He watches you sing, hearing those blasted lyrics that made him rage just mere moments ago. Yet, this time, the lyrics made his heart clench. Perhaps it was the fact that your performance seemed more genuine because you were singing live. But why? Why were you singing those lyrics as if they had genuinely happened to you? Jungkook never caused you any pain, so why did it seem as if you were hurting more than him? 

The thoughts were too much. It was driving Jungkook crazy, and all he wanted to do was drown in them. He didn’t want to think. Thinking heightened the pain that brimmed deep within his chest. He just wanted to float in the ocean of his misery and stay there, hoping that someday he would land ashore and the pain would come to an end. 

Maybe if he took one more shot, it would help? 

He pours down the last remaining soju into his shot glass, not caring if it overflowed and spilled out on the table. Rationality was far out of his mind at this point. All Jungkook wanted to do was do anything that would make him feel numb. 

He raises the glass shakily, ready to feel the burning sensation of the alcohol run down his throat, that temporary relief that made him sink deep down into this endless cycle of emptiness. Yet, it doesn’t happen. 

A hand shoots down to stop his wrist. It’s a familiar yet unfamiliar hold, something Jungkook can’t quite place. Where has he felt this hold before? He looks up, his eyesight a bit blurry from his drunken state, so he squints, trying to see clearly. 

Who was it? Namjoon? Eunha? Heck, Jaehyun?

Turns out it was none of them. 

When his sight finally clears, he gasps in shock, breath hitching in his throat as he takes it all in. Because the person, whose hold was familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time, wasn’t his manager, nor was it his girlfriend or best friend. 

It was you. 

The person, the old lady, had called to get him was you. 

Well, Jungkook be damned. 

When you got the call from the old lady, you were on your way to your new studio after finishing up a schedule you had prior. The past few weeks have been busy for you. Leaving the band and Jungkook was no easy feat. It was a decision that you knew was a high-risk, high reward yet at the same time had higher chances of failure. 

After all, even if you hated to admit it. Without the band, you had nothing. 

Sure, there was the fame that came with all of the band’s success. You were the vocalist, after all. It was exhilarating knowing that millions out there would be listening to your voice, singing music you created with people you loved dearly. But in the midst of all of that, there was nothing. 

Jungkook, Jaehyun, and Yugyeom had everything going on for them. A backup plan in case the band didn’t succeed. A plan B, if you will. It made sense. They had privilege dripping from the palms of their hand, after all. Even if they had their own troubles and doubts, they didn’t have to worry about finding another way out because there already was a path laid out for them in the beginning. 

You went into all of this, risking everything. 

It was a choice that you had seemingly made on impulse if an outsider were to look back at the situation. When Jungkook had asked you to start a band with him, it was during another one of your many lunch dates, as you two had jokingly called it. Only this time, the two of you weren’t sitting on the cold and empty stairwell, but instead, you were in the old music room. 

“I can’t believe this,” Jungkook mumbles to himself as he cranks the rusted door of the old music room open. People barely used it nowadays, much to his disbelief yet relief at the same time. He couldn’t blame them though, the brand new music room was much more enchanting, filled with top-of-the-grade musical instruments than anyone would drool over. 

Well, at least it meant that he could have autonomy over the room (even though that wasn’t really the case). “You’re telling me that you never heard rock or metal before?” He gapes in disbelief as he sits on one of the dusty desks, looking at you with an outraged expression. You sheepishly enter behind him, taking a sip of your drink as you took a seat beside him. 

“You never asked,” is all you say, shrugging. Jungkook looks at you once more incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. “That’s because I assumed you would have known what rock and metal are! They’re like the greatest music genres of all time. How can you not know it?”

You shrug once more, not really having an answer. Well, you did, but it was probably stupid. After all, if this was his reaction to you not knowing about rock and metal. What would his response be if he were to find out that the only music you’d ever listened to was classical and nursery rhymes? Yeah, probably not a good idea. 

“Well, get ready then,” he exclaims, bringing out his phone, much to your surprise. Model student and Mr. Perfect Jeon Jungkook breaking a school rule? Who would have thought that you’d ever lived to see the day? “Because you’re about to experience an awakening, I tell you. A revolution!”

It’s amusing, really. You had never seen Jungkook as passionate as he was at the moment. Was this what it was like to have a dream? His eyes lit up as if sparkles were floating around him. As if he were about to step on cloud nine and enter paradise. He was bouncing his leg lightly in excitement, a goofy smile on his face that kind of reminded you of a bunny. 

Maybe having a dream wouldn’t be so bad, after all. 

He immediately scoots over to you once he has his phone ready, grabbing his earphones and plugging it into his phone, handing you the other ear. You hold it, a small smile on your face, and hook it unto your ear, not really knowing what to expect but excited all the same. After all, this was the music that made your best friend passionate and hopeful for the future. For sure, it wouldn’t be bad, right? 

Well, to say the least, it was an experience. An experience you couldn’t quite tell if you enjoyed or couldn’t fathom. It was entirely different from the music that you were used to. From the bright and soothing tones came ones that were heavy and thundered on your ears. Yet, in a way, it was exhilarating. 

You could see why Jungkook was attracted to this style of music. In a way, it was unhinged, a little more rebellious than the traditional types of music you were used to. But that didn’t mean it was worse. In fact, that’s what made it more exciting. Jungkook was right. In those few minutes that he had introduced you to the world of rock, you’ve gone through an array of emotions, from confusion to thrill and excitement of the highest level. The rollercoaster of new sensations was, to say the least, intoxicating, 

Because immediately you got hooked. 

“Wow,” you mutter, looking up at Jungkook, who was looking back at you with lively eyes. “That was… something else.” 

“Right?!” He exclaims, immediately jumping off the desk to grasp your hands in excitement; it was endearing to see. Jungkook rarely got riled up like this. Music truly brought out the best in him, you thought to yourself, watching as he continued to dangle your hands in his. “Isn’t rock just amazing? Oh, what I’d do to pick up an electric guitar and play,” He sighs, and you can tell from the far-away look on his face that he’s daydreaming about something and the sight warms your heart. 

“You should,” is all you say, startling Jungkook out of his trance. “I think you’d do absolutely great in music, Jungkook! You should go for it.” Jungkook looks at you, stunned. He blinks, trying to process what you had just said, before clasping your fingers a bit tighter, unsure of himself. 

“Really?” He mutters softly, “You really think I can do it?”

“Of course,” you encourage with a bright smile. “If it’s you, then you can do anything!”

It’s silent for a moment, with Jungkook deep in thought. But you don’t necessarily mind, as more than anything, you understood the weight of your words. Being Jungkook’s friend meant that you stuck by him through a lot of undesirable moments, moments that both of you promised to never speak of unless it was absolutely necessary. 

You knew how much he longed for his dreams. Ever since that rather inspiring conversation you had around a week ago, you knew just how much Jungkook bottled up his true passions and desires, even though there were moments wherein he would freely let them out. 

“Then you have to be there with me,” he says, eyes filled with determination. “I don’t think I can do this without you (Y/N).”

Looking back at it, you chuckle at how swooned you were with Jungkook’s words. It was crazy to think that he had swept you off your feet with a mere ten words that ultimately decided the course of a good chunk of your life. You let him, and for that, you were to blame, But that didn’t necessarily mean that you regretted your decision in its entirety. 

Suddenly, your phone rings from beside you, and you grab it from where it lay in your purse, only to see an old number that you hadn’t seen in a while. It’s been a year, you think, as you accept the call, pressing your phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“(Y/N) dear! It’s been such a long time!” You smile at the cheery sound present within the old lady’s voice, although you can’t deny that you hear a twinge of worry within it. You used to go to her pub every so often back when you were still in the band. And the old lady had been such a sweet soul, acting as some sort of parental figure to you and your bandmates through the years. 

“It’s good to hear from you again,” you mutter, pleasantly surprised at her sudden call but also a bit suspicious because you had no idea what she was calling for. “May I ask why you’re calling me?”

“Ah!” The old lady exclaims, and suddenly the initial chirp present within her fades into a frantic tone that has your eyebrows furrowing in confusion, not sure what to expect. “Do you mind picking up your boyfriend?”

You blink, confused and startled. “I’m sorry,” you say, still not processing it clearly. “What was that?”

You hear a sigh from the other side of the phone. It sounds tiring, exasperated even, Which shouldn’t be the case since the pub usually opens up later at night. It was only open during the day for company employees. And what sane person would cause trouble with this much sunlight out? 

“Your boyfriend dear,” the old lady continues, sounding absolutely done, yet at the same time, the concern was still there, and you swear you hear the sound of glass falling in the back, causing your eyebrows to furrow in worry. “He’s been drinking for hours, and this is more than he’s ever drunk!”

You stay silent, letting it all sink in. The only person she could have possibly been referring to was Jungkook. There was no doubt about that. After all, the old lady’s pub was where you and Jungkook would often find yourselves having late-night rendezvous, drinking the night away as you bonded over whatever life was throwing at you within those moments. 

But now, the pub gave you nothing but pain. 

“Grandma, I’m sorry to tell you this, but me and Jungkook aren’t—”

“—So you’ll come, yes? Thank you, dear! Truly a lifesaver!” 

She hangs up. You stare at your phone in disbelief, shocked at the predicament you had unknowingly gotten yourself into. What were you supposed to do now? The responsible thing to do was to probably phone Namjoon and tell him about the situation. But with what had just transpired earlier today with the release of your single last night and your performance this morning, you’re not so sure he would appreciate any sort of contact from you. 

With a sigh, you turn to head towards the pub. No matter how much you hated Jungkook for the way he treated you within the last few stages of your relationship, you couldn’t leave him alone to wallow in his misery (even though there was a part of you that was secretly glad that he was torn because of you). It would be too cruel of you. Especially considering that Jungkook had been a significant part of your life. 

Huh, guess you haven’t moved on as much as you thought you had. 

Even just reaching the pub brought back memories that you wish wouldn’t resurface. You and Jungkook used to wrestle over who would open the door for the other, and more often than not, Jungkook won. But you weren’t one to lose quickly, even to him. 

The familiar jingle that came with opening the door brought a pang of nostalgia to your heart. When you and Jungkook would enter the pub, just ten seconds after the jingle faded away, the old lady would come out of her quaint kitchen and say

“Welcome home— Oh, there you are, dear!”

Not exactly how you remembered it, but it was still familiar all the same. 

“Hello grandma, how are you?” You greet with a solemn smile, watching with fond eyes as the old lady comes up to clasp your hands within her own. “Oh dear, I haven’t seen you in forever. Why haven’t you visited in so long?” 

You’re not sure what to say. How are you supposed to tell her that you left and broke up with the man she asked you to pick up? That would put her in an awkward position, and you didn’t want to cause stress for the already weary lady. 

“Oh, never mind that,” she says, luckily dropping the subject. “Come in, come in, your boyfriend’s over there drinking in the corner. Did something happen? I’ve honestly never seen him drink this much before. At this rate, he’s going to finish my soju supply before I open up for the night!” 

You enter the main area, and immediately you’re hit with the familiar, comforting scent of alcohol and home-cooked meals, as odd as it sounds. Although the smell of alcohol was by far heavier in the air, and as you turn to look for the source, your eyes land in Jungkook.

And you’re, for lack of a better word, shocked.

It was almost as if he was drowning in an ocean of soju bottles, with some of the alcohol dripping off the table and into the ground or his clothes. Partly because he was pouring himself another shot, which you know he can’t take.

He could barely handle two bottles when the two of you were dating, so why did it feel like he was drinking more than ten. If he wasn’t stopped now, something majorly damaging could happen to him, and as much as you never wanted to speak to him, you couldn’t just ignore him when he was literally on the brink of life and death.

You stomp on over to where he’s at, hastily quickening your steps as he’s about to down his last shot, and before you can even think about what to do, your instincts act on their own, and your hand reaches out to him, stopping him.

No words are spoken. Rather, you can’t find the words to say as you watch with solemn eyes as Jungkook looks at his hand confused. He tries to shake it, to move his arm so he can bring the shot glass to his lips, but you remain firm in your grip, clasping just a bit harder so he wouldn’t push through with the shot. 

He looks around, following the trail left by your grasp until he meets your eyes, and already you can feel the whirlwind of emotions bubbling up inside you. This was the first time you and Jungkook have met after the breakup after leaving the band. You never expected the two of you to meet this way. Although, you supposed life was funny like that. It liked to throw unexpected situations in your face, especially in the most inappropriate times.

You watch as he squints, trying to make sense of who you were before he gasps, arm slacking, falling into the side as the alcohol from the shot glass splatters into the air. He squints once more as if trying to ensure that what he was seeing in front of him was real before stammering. 

“(Y/N)?” He whispers, broken, voice breaking. You try not to let your emotions show, knowing that if you do, he’d only lure you back into him, which was something you did not want at all. You were done. After many months, heck years of being torn apart by him, you couldn’t afford any more pain. It would break you even more than it already did, 

“Hey,” you whisper back, breath hitching as you watch the way Jungkook’s eyes widen at the sound of your voice, loud and clear for him to hear. Even with his drunken state, he can’t deny the pang of nostalgia that runs through his veins once he finally registers that it’s you standing before him. In the flesh. Not a vision on TV or a picture of you from his memories. 

It was you. 

“What are you doing here?” He slurs, trying to reach out to you, but you move away, refusing him any form of affection. Because you two were too far gone for that. 

“Grandma called,” is all you say, the disappointed look in Jungkook’s eyes not going unnoticed. “Asked me to pick you up. Said you’ve been drinking more than you used to and… I can see that.”

You gesture to the empty soju bottles that littered the table with a grimace, turning back to Jungkook only to hear him scoff and point a finger to you accusingly, although with his drunken state, his posture was way off. “Who do you think’s to blame?” He asks, sarcasm laced within his tone. You raise an eyebrow at that, choosing to let him continue before you could offer back any sarcastic remark of your own. 

“It’s you!” He continues, slamming his fist to the table, much to your surprise. “You and your stupid fucking song…. I mean, what the fuck is up that?”

“What the fuck is up with what, Jungkook?” You quip back, eyeing his fist cautiously in the case he would do something dangerous that would either injure him, you, or if worse comes to worst, both. 

“Don’t play dumb with me,” He continues, and Jungkook can feel the irritation, frustration, and fatigue build within him now that he’s finally gotten a chance to let all these raging emotions out. “You know what you did! Why’d you do it, huh?” His voice grows louder, causing you to flinch as you move your chair back just a bit. 

“Why’d you have to ruin my fucking reputation?” 

All of a sudden, it’s like something in you snaps. 

You can’t believe it. You can’t believe the audacity Jungkook had to say something as outrageous and stupid as what he just said. The emotions that were already burning up within you finally exploded as you stared at him with all the anger and disbelief you could muster. 

And here you thought he was drinking because he had finally realized all the wrongs he had done to you. What a fool you were. 

“Excuse me?” You say, exasperated. “What did you just fucking say?”

“I said what I said (Y/N),” Jungkook continued, not noticing the way rage was about to take you into its waiting arms, only to allow you to explode upon him with all the pent-up hurt that you’ve accumulated inside you. “You and your fucking song ruined the band any my reputation. Is this how you repay me after everything I’ve done for you?”

You blink. The words slowly make their way towards you as you try to process them, letting out a chuckle at how ridiculous his words were. “Are you being serious right now?” You say, scoffing at how there wasn’t an inch of regret on Jungkook’s face. “You’ve got to be joking, right?”

You want to give him the benefit of the doubt. You want to give him a chance to prove your ears, mind, and heart wrong. That he wasn’t actually thinking those absurd thoughts that had your gut-wrenching and your heartbreaking after already being broken. This couldn’t be the Jungkook that you knew, right? He wouldn’t be this cruel, right? 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” 

“You piece of shit.” You spat without even realizing it, surprising Jungkook. He’s sobered up just a little from your outburst, looking at you like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, you regret speaking without any thought. But the more you try to rationalize it, the more the anger burns. This was unacceptable. 

“Reputation?” You scoff, looking at him incredulously. “You’re fucking worried about your reputation when there are bigger issues to be addressed here?” 

“(Y/N) I—”

“Shut up, Jungkook,” you say, cutting him off coldly. “You don’t get a say in this when all you’re worried about is your reputation over a broken relationship with someone you’ve grown up with for the past thirteen years!” 

Wide-eyed, Jungkook gapes at you, and you, in your disgruntled state, take this chance to get back at him, unleashing all the feelings you’ve buried deep inside you. 

“You dare ask me why I’m treating you this way when you’ve been nothing but nice to me?” You mock, his words hurting more than they should. “Do you even bother to ask yourself as to why I broke up with you in the first place, Jungkook? Why I left? Did you even bother to listen to my song?” 

His silence echoes throughout the pub, further shattering any lingering hope that you had about the situation. “No,” he says after a while, firm in his belief as he stared back at you, although his gaze seemed as if it could easily water away. “Didn’t think it was necessary; after all I did nothing wro—”

“—You treated me like shit for the last two years of our relationship, Jungkook. That’s what you did wrong.” You exclaim, not wanting to hear his excuses. “Are you really this blind to not know? To not see your own faults?”

How could he? You think to yourself, the unbearable pain of this revelation thrumming through every fibre of your being. It was painful. Painful to hear that he hadn’t even thought about the situation through your lens. He was too absorbed with what he had going for himself that he failed to see the world through your eyes, and it frustrated you to no end.

Because that breakup broke you like no other. 

Choosing to leave wasn’t an easy decision, by no means. You had risked everything to help support Jungkook in hopes that you would find a dream of your own. You joined the band, knowing that you would put your family’s safety and security at risk instead of pursuing a more stable career like starting a business or becoming a doctor.

You became selfish to follow Jungkook, so of course, you were attached. 

Jungkook, in a sense, was your world. You suppose, looking back at it now, that wasn’t the healthiest decision you took for yourself. But at that time, you could not help yourself. He was your first friend, your first love, your first everything. Jungkook showed you the ways of the world and then shattered it without a care. Of course, more than any other breakup, it would tear you apart.

Because to be honest, loving Jungkook made you happy. You remember when he first asked you out. Probably one of the best moments of your entire life. It happened after your band’s first major gig to open up the local summer festival. The two of you were still calming down from the high of the performance, excited, thrilled to have finally been given the opportunity in front of a bigger crowd. It felt surreal seeing the fascinated faces and happy smiles as they listen to your music.

Jungkook was right. This feeling was incredible.

“Holy shit. That was amazing,” Jaehyun laughs, hugging Yugyeom before turning to hug you and Jungkook. “I can’t believe we just did that!” 

“Do you think they liked us?” Yugyeom, ever the timid one asks. “I felt like I made a mistake somewhere along the second cho—“

“—Who cares, man?” Jungkook says, cutting Yugyeom off with a playful slap to the back. “We just fucking performed our first major gig. This isn’t time to be wallowing down on our mistakes. This is a time to celebrate!” 

You and Jaehyun hollered in agreement, following Jungkook as he dragged Yugyeom backstage where the four of you packed up, took a few commemorative pictures, and made your way towards the nearest convenience store to celebrate the night with some good old ramen, ice cream, and whatever your hearts desired.

It was a fun night, one filled with laughter as the four of you joked about whatever your mind could think of. Jungkook boasted about how he was right about their band getting somewhere, of how Jaehyun and Yugyeom, who were much more hesitant in joining the band, and after months of no progress, we’re beginning to regret it, had nothing to worry about. 

Jaehyun and Yugyeom even mustered up the courage to do a speed eating challenge, grabbing about her round of hot piping ramen and racing to see who could eat it the fastest, despite the heat burning their tongues both literally and figuratively.

It was a night where for once, the four of you didn’t have to worry about life outside of the band. Didn’t have to worry about the social pressure from school or home, Didn’t have to worry about stupid tests or becoming the best, for once the four of you could just be yourselves. Unapologetic and free.

When Jaehyun and Yugyeom decided to pack it up and head home, saying that if they didn’t arrive before their dreaded curfew, then their parents would literally send them to the pits of hell, you didn’t notice the way Jungkook grew silent. Maybe you did, but you were too preoccupied with the nauseated looks on Jaehyun and Yugyeom’s faces as they headed towards the public restroom to flush out the ramen in their system. 

“Hey (Y/N)?” Jungkook asks once Jaehyun and Yugyeom are nowhere to be seen. You hum in response, turning to look back at him, and immediately your eyes become overwhelmed with worry at the serious look on his face as he gazes up at the night sky, seemingly nervous and scared.

“Will you go out with me?”

It’s unexpected, a bomb to your heart if you could call it. You gasp the moment the words flow out of his mouth, staring at Jungkook in shock. Did he really just ask you out? 

You think it’s a joke. A cruel trick of nature. But by the way, Jungkook nervously fidgets from where he sits, and his eyes nervously dart around. Like they usually do during nerve-wracking situations like these, you knew in your heart that his words were true.

And you couldn’t be more overjoyed because you had fallen for Jeon Jungkook too. 

Throughout your many years of friendship, you had gotten to know Jungkook inside out. You were there when he threw a mini tantrum over missing first place in the final exam by one point, knowing that his parents would be disappointed in him. You were there when the two of you went out to buy his first-ever electric guitar after months of saving up money secretly. You were there for him when he was convincing Jaehyun and Yugyeom to join the band, even when he was about to get into a fight with Jaehyun over the matter.

And like clockwork, you had fallen.

It wasn’t particularly hard to do so. Jungkook had this certain charm to him, after all. He was an enigma. He could draw people into his rhythm like it was nothing and have them follow to the beat of his own drum. Sometimes you wondered if there was a hidden secret with the way he could so easily attract people, but the more you hung out, the more you realized that wasn’t the case at all. He was genuine in everything he did.

“Yes,” you say without hesitation, causing Jungkook to whip his head to face you in the blink of an eye, mouth slacking in shock. He blinks, you smile, and suddenly a smile of his own is forming on his face, reaching all the way into his eyes. 

“For real?” He whispers, not wanting this moment to slip away from his grasp. He was so close to having you in his arms, something he’s wanted for the longest time, that he was afraid that if he spoke any louder, he would ruin any chance he got. But your reassuring gaze and gentle hold immediately calm the raging wave of anxiety within him. “For real,” you affirm, and suddenly you’re in Jungkook’s embrace. 

It’s a warm embrace, one that has you returning it back with the same vigor, the same excitement bubbling in your chest. This marked the beginning of a new chapter for you and Jungkook, one where the two of you would walk down the unclear path you have chosen, still remaining by each other’s side, but this time, with hands intertwined.

You just wished it didn’t go up into flames like this.

You blink, snapping out of your trance as you gaze at Jungkook. Once more, seeing the way his lips were pursed into a thin line, his brows furrowed as if he had a lot going on through his mind. Which was only fitting. He had to, or else this wave of hurt and pain would only intensify and turn into something you would never be able to control. 

Remembering the happy moments was something you had promised yourself not to do, for it only brought you into another world of pain after looking at how the two of you were faring now. But in the midst of agony staring right at you, you couldn’t help but let yourself reminisce in hopes of relieving some of that anger and hurt so you wouldn’t do anything out of hand. 

“Tell me, Jungkook,” you finally say after a moment of silence, and you want to curse yourself for the way your voice cracks at the end. You had to be strong. You had to get through this. Because there was no way, you were going to let Jungkook ruin you once more. “How do you think our relationship was going within the last two years?”

Silence befalls the room for what feels like the millionth time, But this one is heavier than the last. Jungkook looks at you with such a severe gaze that you almost falter, forgetting the fact that he’s drunk with the way his eyes bore into yours. 

You dread his answer, not knowing what to expect. With the way, he was acting, and with all the things he’s said and done, you knew that his words would only hurt you even more from here on out. You clutch the fanfic of your sweater tightly, hanging on by a thread. 

But he says nothing.

The heavy silence lasts longer, and the more it persists, the more disappointment and disbelief creep into the cracked crevices of your already broken heart. Was he really going to act this way? Saying nothing at all? Did your relationship mean nothing to him in the past 2 years? 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, letting out a scoff as your eyes scan his figure. He’s hunched up as if unsure of what to do, what to think, or what to say. There’s probably a flurry of emotions running through his mind, but you don’t pity him. You hope it continues to weigh heavy, as it did to you for the last three years. 

“I was miserable, Jungkook,” you whisper, recounting the memories you had buried deep within, afraid to open them up again at the cost of your already fragile happiness. But to be truly happy, one needs to let go of all the agony locked within. “Ever since Eunha came into our lives, you started treating me like a side character, as if I wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“And no,” you say sternly, already knowing what Jungkook was to say by the way his eyes widened and his mouth slacked, an arm up in protest for your words. “I’m not blaming Eunha entirely, contrary to what you may think. Sure, her arrival started it all. Sure, there were times where she acted so out of line that I wanted to slap her in the face n’s remind her who exactly she was talking to. But I couldn’t. Do you know why, Jungkook?” 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you take a deep breath as you gather your thoughts. This was the first time you were finally going to let out all of your frustrations that’s been building up inside you for the past few years. It was a nerve-wracking feat, but a necessary one nonetheless, as even in those few moments of speaking, you were starting to feel just a bit more free. 

“Because I didn’t even know who I was anymore.”

Jungkook’s never been this confused in his life. 

It’s as if you had dropped a bomb on him without warning, causing him to be in a frenzy. What did you mean? How could you blame Eunha? Eunha was a sweet girl who could do no wrong. She was there for him whenever he needed that extra support, whenever he needed someone to ground him in this cruel, unforgiving world. 

She was there when you weren’t and was a constant in his life. How could such a sweet girl like her be the catalyst of this catastrophic situation? It had to be a joke.

“You’re lying,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. The pain in his heart was coming back again, and just when he thought he had finally gotten rid of that after drowning in alcohol moments ago. This was your fault. You and your stupid song, your stupid lies. You were driving me crazy.

“I’m lying?” You ask, and Jungkook looks up to meet your eyes, feeling another burst of pain shoot through him at the agonizing expression on your face. Why did you look so hurt? He did nothing wrong. He didn’t hurt you. He couldn’t have. He had always been there for you. He was the reason you could do what you could in the first place. There was just no way that misery was because of him.

“Jungkook, did you even realize that with how much time you were spending with Eunha, you weren’t spending time with me anymore? Remember how you used to walk me home at midnight after your time at the studio and my radio show? You stopped doing that ever since she appeared.”

Lies.

“For days, I stood outside the company for hours, waiting for you to bring me home because you promised that you’d never miss it for the world. And on the day that I finally decided to check up on you, worried that you might have been overworking yourself? I see you in the studio, laughing with Eunha.”

 Jungkook wanted to scream. He was stressed. He had to make music. Why couldn’t you understand that? 

“And when I confronted you about it? You shrugged me off, saying I was overly dramatic.”

You are. Jungkook insists in his head, thoughts spiraling. What’s wrong with him not bringing you home. Even if he was your boyfriend, he was not obligated to, right? You were supposed to understand him, right? That’s what lovers are supposed to do.

“I thought to myself, maybe you were right. Maybe I was overdramatic, so I did what you asked and shrugged me off. Yet, with each passing day, it felt like I was a stranger in your eyes. Do you even realize Jungkook that ever since Eunha came into our lives, we’ve only been on three dates?” 

You’re too demanding, his mind screams. Three dates? That was plenty for successful stars of your caliber. You had to understand that being under the limelight meant that he couldn’t reserve all the time in the world for you. 

His heart clenches painfully again, and Jungkook feels a sob hitch in his throat. 

“It hurt.” You cry, letting out the words that Jungkook wanted to say. “It hurt so much watching the love of my life and my best friend toss me to the side. Where was the you that promised that you’d always be there for me? Where was the you that promised to stay?” 

You’re crying now, tears streaming down your face as the words you’ve kept hidden for the longest time finally make their way out of your system. Every part of you was screaming in agony and pain, and you can feel the mended parts of your patched-up heart slowly break again. 

“Jungkook, I loved you. I loved you so much that I risked it all for you. I joined the band even though I wasn’t sure of our future because I saw how happy you were. You showed me what happiness could be, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that, but at the same time, you showed me firsthand real pain and heartbreak. And I don’t think I can ever forgive you for doing that.” 

No. Why? You had to forgive him. You were his best friend. Stop. Stop speaking. Stop it. 

“I left because I wanted to keep what we still had within our memories.” You whisper, remembering the night you finally came to your decision. Remembering all the times you cried and broke down, not knowing what to do or where you should go. All the times where you forced yourself to put on a smile on your face and act as if everything was fine even though it wasn’t. 

“And I hoped that in leaving, we could pick up all the broken pieces and create something new with them. Maybe it would not have been a relationship as strong as the one we’ve had before. But at least it was something. And at least I would have still had a connection to you.”

You’re calm now, in a much better headspace than before. But that didn’t mean the ocean of despair that you surrounded yourself in dwindled in the slightest. It was still there, waiting in silence for the moment it could envelop you once more into its treacherous arms and drown you in its suffocating whispers. 

“But what the fuck is this?” 

You can feel the tides begin to sway, and you will yourself desperately to keep them down. With how the situation was unfolding, you needed to be the bigger person. For your sanity, For Jungkook’s, and for the closure that you both needed, which you weren’t sure would ever peacefully come to an end. 

“I never thought that you’d think of us like this Jungkook,” you whisper, and much to your horror, a tear slipped from the crevices of eyes as you hurriedly wiped them, standing up to grab your purse as you stood to leave the pub, not caring one bit if Jungkook got home safely or not, you were too overwhelmed to care. 

“I thought you loved me,” You whisper as you turn to look at him one final time, and all of a sudden, Jungkook is hit with wave after wave of sadness, anger, pain, frustration radiating from you. It suffocates him, and the only thought running through his head were questions of him hurting you? Was this really all his fault? 

“But I guess you only loved yourself.” A chuckle falls from your lips as you make your first step out of the door. Not paying mind to the old lady who looks at you with a worried gaze, you turn to open the door of the pub, only for someone else to beat you to it. 

Lo and Behold, It’s Eunha. 

“You,” She gasps as she takes in your disheveled and exhausted state. Although that immediate shock quickly disappears as she catches Jungkook’s equally petrified state from the corner of her eye. She then glares at you, but you honestly can’t find the energy within you to care.

Because this was never about her in the first place, even if in some way she plays a small part. 

“What did you do?” Eunha spats as she rushes past you to go to Jungkook, not even bothering to hear you out. You sigh, gathering the last remaining buts of courage within clenched fists, and make your way out of the door, leaving Jungkook, your broken heart, and the memories you two shared behind for good. 

Not caring what he would do with those fragments in the end. 

“Jungkook!”

Eunha exclaims, immediately hooking her arms around him and hoisting him up into an embrace. “What happened? What did that bitch do?” But Jungkook doesn’t answer, thoroughly overwhelmed by the range of emotions that had just surpassed him from his conversation with you. 

Was it truly his fault? Was he the reason why things had turned out this way? There was no way right. He had treated you right, right? 

Jungkook tries to convince himself that he’s done nothing wrong, that he was perfectly innocent in this situation. But that nagging feeling deep within his mind and soul screams at him to finally realize the truth. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to know what lies beyond the bubble of happiness he had placed himself in. He doesn’t want to feel the agonizing pain he’s put himself through without realizing it. 

But not doing so would kill him more than knowing the truth ever will. 

So he opens the door to the truth and wallows in the misery of what he’s done. 

To be fair, there was some truth to Jungkook’s words. He had treated you like you were the most precious thing in the universe. And that was because, for the longest time, Jungkook did consider you highly special to him. You were his first friend, the first person he could confide his feelings in, the first person who showed him what love could be like. 

You grew up together, cried together, had your first drink together, stood on stage for the first time together. You had done just about everything together, and Jungkook cherished you more than anything in the world. 

In everything he did, he always tried to make you a part of it. Whether that meant buying your favorite drink or sending you pictures of whatever he was doing, Jungkook always wanted to help you see the world through his eyes because you deserved that much. 

Ice cream dates, sneaking out at night to have some chicken and beer, random dates at the local arcade, a stroll at the beach. You and Jungkook had practically done it all. So, where did it all fall apart? Where did Jungkook go wrong?

“Jungkook?” Eunha calls out, and Jungkook finally musters up the courage to look at Eunha, who was worriedly trying to get him to answer her. Her hold is familiar, something he’s been used to in the past two years, yet at the same time, something was missing within her warmth. An unexplainable feeling he couldn’t quite describe.

And then he realized it wasn’t you. 

Just when did he go astray? When did he start treating you like you weren’t the world to him? For sure, it wasn’t a singular moment. It was most definitely a culmination of many events that led up to his demise. But just how did it happen? 

He looks at Eunha’s worried eyes, those same eyes that he thought meant the world to him within those two years of your break up. Yet, for some reason, he just couldn’t look at them in the same way anymore. Not when there was this hollow emptiness in his heart that called out for you and only you, 

It was like a game of tug and war in his heart. He still loved Eunha; that much was for sure. But he couldn’t deny the love that he had for you as well. He remembered how Eunha was like a breath of fresh air for him. In the midst of all your nagging for him to take care of himself when he was working his ass off making new songs and dealing with management, Eunha was there to simply smile and encourage Jungkook. 

Like a fool, he got lured into Eunha’s charm and held onto it, not noticing that he was letting go of you in the process. 

His heart wails. It cries in pain and desperation of the love it has lost. Why did it have to be this way? Why was Jungkook such a fool? So consumed by his own selfishness, he abandoned the love you two shared and sought another, and now he was reaping what he had sown. 

You were gone. You would never come back. Whatever love you had between the two of you had left and died out. The world was cruel. It had given Jungkook so much hope yet took it away from him the moment he slipped up. Yet, he couldn’t really blame them. He couldn’t really blame you. 

Because he knew you had tried, he could see it in the way your eyes still cried out in pain when you see him. He could hear it in the agony of your voice as you sang passionately in your songs. He knew you did your best to pick up the fallen pieces and try to mend them back together. But all Jungkook did was rip them apart all over again. 

Life couldn’t have been any better for Jeon Jungkook until suddenly it was not. 

And he was the only one to blame. 

© yumeyooa 2021. All rights reserved. Copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform aside from a03 and tumblr or by any means is NOT permitted and will be dealt with accordingly.

➢ taglist: @wearenot7withu @nadiaislas @bbydoejk​ 

[sorshania]

Rocking the Trickster

Prompt:

Summary: Gabriel had learned, lifetimes ago, that the quickest, easiest way to weed out over-pompous asses making people’s lives miserable was to work at the most menial, low-ranked jobs possible. He just had to be there, minding his own business, and let the assholes come to him like bees to honey. And this job is no different than the others.

He just need to remember to keep a low profile.

Pairing: Gen

Word Count: 2763

Warnings: None

A/N: This is my first time taking part of the @gabriel-monthly-challenge and my first SPN fic in about forever!! (Yes, it took this archangel being brought back from the dead...) I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you guys will enjoy it.

Huge thanks and kudos to @chattydm for stabbing having a go at it with the Red Pen of Doom and helping me make it all much better :p

Mention of American Gods plot, I kept it vague on purpose because 1) Gabriel is not aware of it 2) I didn’t to go full AU mode (yet)

Tags:  @archangelsanonymous @lacqueluster @archangel-with-a-shotgun and @revwinchester

AO3 Link or read below :)

Gabriel had learned, lifetimes ago, that the quickest, easiest way to weed out over-pompous asses making people’s lives miserable was to work at the most menial, low-ranked jobs possible. He just had to be there, minding his own business, and let the assholes come to him like bees to honey.

Over the countless years since he left Heaven, he had worked a vast array of such jobs. Camel driver, serf, body-snatcher, lector in a manufactory... He actually liked that one! He got to entertain the factories’ workers, and telling stories was his thing. Plus, he got a high seat. A perfect way to keep an eye on everyone, especially those he decided to target for his “little life lessons”.

Heck! He even drove a truck for PEPSI for a while, delivering one of his favorite drinks all over the US. If his brothers saw what he had become… The mighty Gabriel, a truck delivery driver… Well, to be honest, Lucifer would probably bust a feather laughing.

That was ages ago. He shook his head, smiling a little as he returned his mind to the present. He took the pad the production coordinator handed him, quickly pushing all thoughts of his brothers away. It was a simple job, as they all were. He just had to to be a little more careful than usual to keep a low profile. He was in Iowa, not too far from Ohio, where he did his last job as a janitor for Ohio State. The last thing he needed was over-zealous hunters figuring out he had tricked them and follow through with their plan to kill him. Besides, if he remembered correctly, there was also a hunter congregation point, right in the next state. Another reason not to rock the boat.

 “Gabe…?” He smirked, rather proud of his idea to hide in plain sight. He rarely gave in to the temptation though, preferring made-up names or generic ones. Thankfully, naming their child “Gabriel” was still popular among parents, considering how often he heard it. But the voice calling for his attention was not the voice of his long-lost brother or sister, it was the voice of the one of the musicians he was supposed to be attached to.

Right. Focus on the job: Production Assistant, or PA as they called it, to this budding indie music group. And keep a low profile. Simple. “Sorry for that! I just… spaced out for a moment.” He made sure to sound extra cheerful as he handed the pad back to the producer. The lead guitar just smiled at him but the lead singer scoffed. Great! A Diva! Oh… He was SO on Gabriel’s naughty list.

The music group he was working with wasn’t so bad. He learned that they had become friends in high school, and the lead singer and guitarist were brothers. They kept an easy feeling of camaraderie around them, curbing most of Keith’s, the lead singer, asshole tendencies.

 He did a pretty good job at keeping it under the radar. It wasn’t *his* fault if the strings from Keith’s guitar suddenly snapped off, breaking the instrument’s neck in the process, just as he was about to start his solo. Clearly it was a sign of abuse, despite the singer’s claim and bewilderment. Of course, Gabriel had dashed off, only to come back just as quickly with a suitable replacement. That happened to be bright pink. With My Little Pony stickers all over its body and bright neon pink strings. Gabriel thought it did wonders bringing out the red in the singer’s bloodshot eyes.

Neither was he responsible if, somehow, Keith’s shampoo bottle ended up filled with hair removal product, forcing the man to completely shave the long hair he was so proud of. He kept complaining about it throughout the day and to whoever was willing to listen (or look like they cared), until the drummer told to shove it and keep his breath for singing. Besides, it was well-known that “chicks dig bald head after all”. Gabriel didn’t know if it was because of the “chick” comment or just the fact the usually silent drummer spoke, but Keith finally shut up and the rehearsal finished without any more hitch.

Granted, sending homophobic Keith to a bar hosting one of RuPaul’s Drag Race Main Challenge that specific night, may have been his doing. But heh! They played Classic Rock all the time! And you never mess with the classics. Not to mention that Keith appeared to be quite the connoisseur, judging by how often he commented and complained about his fellow musicians.

(It still didn’t beat the slow-dancing aliens Gabriel willed out of thin air, but this one was in his personal top 5.)

 All in all, the Trickster was quite proud of himself. Knocking the ever-pompous ass down a peg, but subtly, every time he acted out, was kind of fun. Reminded him of the time he took the mantle of “Loki”. Gabriel chuckled, singing softly as he finished cleaning up the record studio.

“I didn’t know you sang.”

Gabriel yelped, nearly dropping his broom. Few people could sneak up on him. He turned around to see Keith’s brother, Joey, standing in the doorway.

“Ah…” Gabriel looked away, a little embarrassed. He didn’t thought the kid had heard him. “I used to… About a few centuries ago…” It wasn’t technically a lie; the last time he truly sang, he was with his brothers in the Silver City. He glanced again at Joey when he heard him make some non-committal sound.

 The kid was an enigma. Gabriel had learned, from the first day he started working with them, that he was Keith’s older brother and that the music group was their dream. Joey mainly worked on the songs and musical arrangements, while Keith, making good use of his outgoing personality and ambition, took care of the fans, dealt with the production people, and made sure to get their names out there. Still, Joey never gave into pride the way Keith did.

He was polite, gracious even, thanking the people hovering around them both and making sure his requests were never obnoxious. That didn’t mean he was a push-over either. One time, when the producer, tired and annoyed that Keith had stormed off of rehearsal for the nth time, suggested Joey took over as lead vocals, the musician had flat out refused. And stood his ground until the producer backed down when he realised it would be foolish to continue pushing the issue.

It wasn’t as if Keith couldn’t sing. The man had talent, there was no denying it. But he was so difficult to work with. Gabriel suspected the only reason people stayed and helped was because they liked Joey more than they hated Keith. Yet, there had been times when Gabriel had caught Keith glancing at this brother, as if looking for his approval.

Still, Gabriel wondered why Joey would reject the producer’s proposal so violently. Joey merely shrugged when he asked him about it and insisted to stay behind that evening to help Gabriel finish his chores. Despite Gabriel’s protests. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t get the work done with a snap of his fingers, after all.

 “He’s not the first to suggest it.” Joey finally answered after a time. “Nor will he be the last… But… see, Keith… He’s made for this. He’s… He can shine under the spotlights like… like I never could. And I’m not jealous! I’m happy to write the songs when he works on getting our names out there. I’m happy to be there for him, so he can shine.” And he just smiled and got back to work.

It sounded like total bullshit, in Gabriel’s opinion. He had never met anyone who wouldn’t enjoy being in the spotlight. Maybe Joey just needed a little incentive…

The next time Keith was being an ass, Gabriel got the opportunity to hit two birds with one stone. It was last day after all, despite the production team not being aware of it yet, and he had always prided himself leaving on a high note. Pun not intended.

 Gabriel made a discreet rippling gesture with the fingers of his right hand. One minute, Keith was yelling and growling and ranting and being a general pain in the butt, and the next, nothing. Just… Silence. Pure. Sweet. Silence. And there was nothing to be done to change the situation.

That threw the production out for a loop. They were in the middle of recording a very important session. It was one of the rare duets sang by the brothers. And this one that had the potential to change everything and getting the group recognized. Gabriel only hoped Joey was ready to go at it, solo. He did feel a little bit guilty when he saw the fear and panic written all over the kid’s face. Best make a quick exit.

 “Gabe? Gabe?! GABRIEL?!!! WAIT!!!”

 Dammit. Joey had managed to catch up just as he was about to step outside. A few more steps and… Gabriel sighed and turned around, unable to resist the fear and worry and hope in the guy’s voice. He knew he should have flown out of there but didn’t want to risk it.

“Gabriel… You have to help…” Joey panted. “You have to sing Keith’s part…”

“Come again?”

“You have to sing. It’s the only way we can get the sing out in time.”

“You’re joking right? Why don’t you do it solo?” Maybe the kid really needed to be pointed the obvious.

But Joey just shook his head. “Can’t… not the right voice… doesn’t carry well… would ruin the song… But, yours… Yours could work… Just…”

“Joey, that’s ridi- “

“Listen, if you don’t want to do it, it’s fine… But -”

“Gabe is right… You have to sing.” A raspy voice, barely above a whisper interrupted them.

 They turned around to see Keith standing beside them. Gabriel could have hit himself. He truly was getting old. And he couldn’t just zap out there, he was really committed to see this through as low-profile as he could.

“You know it won’t work! It’s a duet! It needs to be sung by two people!” Joey protested, getting angry. “My voice is way too clear and high for your parts! I’ll end up sounding like a bad mash up of Alvin and Chipmunks, with a head-cold!!!”

“Then, we forget this, we wait for another opportunity and use this to work on new material.”

 The brothers stared at each other. Meanwhile, Gabriel couldn’t believe what was happening. Aside for the Alvin thingie part, that he could. Joey’s voice had reached a surprising high note in his distress. No, what surprised him was that Keith, Pompous-Asshole-Keith, was calmly trying to calm his brother down. Keith who was not even furious at the step back his nearly muteness was causing but who was in fact trying to find a solution. Gabriel was truly confused. Either this session must mean a lot more to them than he first thought, or he accidentally causes Opposite Day.

A heavy hand landing on his shoulder brought him back to the situation at hand. “Can you sing my part?”

Gabriel looked up to see Keith staring at him. The brothers appeared to have reach some kind of agreement while he was busy puzzling over what was happening. “Look… I know I’ve been an ass… and I have no right to ask you this.” Keith was saying. “But, it’ll help us greatly if you helped us out.”

“You… You can’t be serious.”

“Joey says you’re good. And that’s good enough for me.” By now, Keith was nearly growling, his voice giving out.

Gabriel scoffed, looking at each brother in turn.

The naked hope in their eyes tugged at something he buried a long time ago. “But I can’t play!” It was a cop-out, one last desperate attempt to get out.

And a poor one. Keith gave a lopsided small smile, as if he knew it. “I think I can help with that…”

Gabriel sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.

Bloody Hell.

The recording session was surprisingly easy. It took only one rehearsal to see how everyone worked together before they started recording. Gabriel’s presence raised a few eyebrows, but the Joey/Keith tandem quickly shut everyone up. It was impressive to see how efficiently they worked together. The other musicians just shrugged, happy a solution had been found. And Gabriel really got lost in the experience. It was surprising how easy and familiar it was to just be a part of something once again.

When the producer called out “And… it’s a wrap!” and everyone just… jumped around, nearly bursting with joy. Gabriel just stood there, unable to move, feeling the pats on his back and shoulders, the one-arm hugs. He was staring at the brothers, hugging and thumping each other’s back. They let go and just… stared at each other, before the rhythmic guitar player sauntered over, saying something that made Keith roar with laughter. Or he would have, if he still had a voice.

Gabriel was suddenly hit by a wave of homesickness. It was too much to take in. Too hard to breathe. He didn’t think.

 He flew away, landing a few cities away, to try and get his bearings and calm the sudden hammering of his Grace. He usually managed to keep it at peace by entertaining himself with mortal ladies (and some goddesses), but… Nothing could have prepared him for the impact the sheer force of the tangled emotions he just witnessed, and caused.

“Well… You are not the one I had expected to find here.”

The voice came from behind him and Gabriel turned around to see a man emerged from the shadows. He was adjusting the cuffs of his tailored purple silk suit, his face hidden by the shadow cast by his hat.

“Hello Anansi.” Gabriel shoved his hands his pockets, mimicking the other’s relaxed pose. "Fancy meeting you here."

The cordial tone was a trick and they both knew it as they kept a respectful (and prudent) distance from one another.

 Gabriel’s eyes narrowed as he watched the African Trickster, half-wondering if he may or may not have been responsible for the sudden change of situation at the recording studio. Distances meant nothing for supernatural beings, and Anansi was known to work from afar. “I thought we both agreed to stay within our territories.” He said after a time. “Are you making a move?”

“Not at all.” Anansi said a little too smoothly, raising a hand, as if to indicate his peaceful intentions, his voice was singing, soothing, a mix of both Caribbean and African accents. “I am merely on my way to the House of Rock, to meet with the All-Father. Surely, you must be aware of this.” 

Gabriel frowned slightly. No, he didn't know the Old Gods were meeting. Truth be told, he wasn’t really close to his alleged fellows, not wanting to risk the off-chance of revealing his true nature. This had caused Odin to make numerous complains, and thin-veiled insults, about his lack of “investment in their plight.” Not that Gabriel really cared. “I have been travelling a lot lately.” He shrugged. “Perhaps my invitation got lost in the mail.”

“Perhaps…” Anansi said though he did not push the issue.

 Gabriel was the first to break the ensuing silence. “In any case, I shall let you be on your way.” He stepped aside to let the man pass. “While we both know Odin loves his theatrics, I won’t begrudge you your grand entrance.”

“Indeed.” Anansi tipped his hat as thanks, to which Gabriel responded with a nod.

 They kept an eye on each other as the African Trickster walked past him. Just in case.

“By the way, Loki,” Anansi said, his back now to Gabriel, judging he was at a safe enough distance, “I have heard stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Stories of wars. Stories of hurt. Stories of betrayal. Stories of brother fighting brother. Of friend turning against friend.” He turned around to look over his shoulder. His eyes were dark and unreadable, and Gabriel wondered one more time how much he knew. And if it was a threat he needed to take care of. “You might want to be careful not to get caught in the crossfire.” He said evenly.

“I will. Thank you for the warning.”

Anansi nodded and disappeared, leaving the former archangel in the dark street, wondering about what was about to come next.

THE END

[seriouslyhooked]

Some Call It Magic (A CS AU) Part 5/?

When Killian Jones moves to Storybrooke he instantly senses something strange about this little town in Maine but he’s willing to overlook all the bizarre signs for one reason: the single Mum living next door to him. There’s only one problem. Killian is nearly positive she’s a witch, a brewing potions and casting spells witch. But when true love is involved, does a little thing like magical powers really matter? Story rated M.

Part 1 Here, Part 2 Here, Part 3 Here, Part 4 Here. Also On FF Here.

A/N: Okay so finally after a little time away I am back with this story and I have to say I am so thrilled to be writing it again. It’s just such a fun universe to play with, and this chapter in particular will have the benefit of some Emma and Killian time alone as well as all the Henry meddling I’ve put in place so far. I hope you all enjoy and thank you so much for reading!

If only my brother could see me now, Killian thought to himself as he took in the mass of food and ingredients that surrounded him and wondered how the devil he’d gotten himself into this.

Obviously he knew the answer; what he desired more than anything was to spend more time with Emma, and when he offered the invitation this morning this had seemed the best way to procure that. Yet now with the benefit of hindsight Killian could see just how much more he’d taken on than was probably wise. It was one thing to invite a woman and her young, rambunctious son to dinner. It was another thing to cook the meal himself and somehow learn a skill set he’d never really tried to dabble with over the first thirty years of his life.

In another situation, Killian would have considered getting food from somewhere else and bringing it here. He wouldn’t masquerade and pretend it had been the work of his own hand, but he would potentially spare them all a rather unappetizing and poorly concocted meal. Unfortunately this town boasted very few dining establishments and the most notable one just so happened to belong to the woman he was (rather pathetically) trying to impress. And so it was that his only choice was to make the best of a self-inflicted, bad situation.

“‘Use meat hammer, roller, thinner, or pounder to create uniform filets.’ Bloody hell,” Killian muttered to himself shaking his head as he tried to make heads or tails of these instructions. “Seems you need a whole arsenal to make a meal… who knew?”

That last question was largely personal but the little ball of fluff that had taken up residence with Killian as of late purred all the same. Luna had a habit of doing that, and though Killian hadn’t been used to caring for a pet before arriving in Storybrooke he smiled at the tiny feline who had become a touchstone of his life here. It was nice to have the company, even if his current companion had no idea how to aid him in this mess he’d made for himself.

At that moment a knock sounded at the back door and though Killian was hardly in any shape to answer, he tried to get himself somewhat righted on the off chance that Emma and Henry had decided to come early. But when he opened the door, Killian found only the latter smiling eagerly and then biting back a laugh as he took in Killian’s less than put together appearance.

“Henry, this is a surprise. Is everything all right?” Killian’s immediate thought was that maybe there was something wrong with Emma. Perhaps she and Henry wouldn’t be joining him for dinner after all, but Killian hoped that wasn’t the case. The thought that he wouldn’t get the chance to spend the evening with them was a sorry prospect indeed.

“I think I should be asking you that. Let me guess – you invited us over but you have no idea how to cook,” Henry said as he popped into the house, not even waiting for an invitation. Killian meanwhile watched him go, finding that despite the intrusion he was happy for Henry’s being here. Suddenly the house seemed a lot less empty, and he had a bit more hope about what the hell he was going to do when it came to this whole cooking thing.

“I have an idea,” Killian professed as he followed Henry. “It’s just vague and largely incorrect.”

Henry laughed at the characterization as he walked into the kitchen. When he made it there, however, he abruptly halted, his jaw falling open in shock before he let out a low whistle and shook his head.

“Woah. We’re in worse shape than I thought. It’s like a tornado went off in here.”

That was probably putting it mildly. In all those movie renditions or TV illustrations of cooking attempts gone wrong, Killian had always thought that the dustings of flour and the gratuitous messes that amounted were for show, but he was a living demonstration that some people really were that out of their depths.

“Aye. I think it’s safe to say this kitchen has seen better days.”

“That’s okay. We can fix this. And if we can’t there’s always grilled cheese,” Henry offered kindly as Killian chuckled thinking back to David’s similar comment this afternoon. Clearly Emma must be rather vocal in her favoring of that particular delicacy if everyone was so mindful of it. “Looks like your making chicken parmesan. That’s pretty easy. Mom and I have made that together loads of times. But I’ve never seen a recipe like this one. Where’d you get this?”

Killian motioned to the cover of the book, which bore some pompous name about international classics in food. Henry just snorted and shook his head again, his brown hair flopping around as he did. It was clear from his expression and demeanor that he was hardly impressed and after spending the better part of thirty minutes being thrown for loop after loop, Killian wasn’t impressed with the bloody thing either.

“Yeah this isn’t going to work. Mom’s recipe is way easier. You stay here, I’ll go get it.”

“Oh you don’t have to do that lad-,” Killian started but Henry was already gone, bounding out the door with Killian just staring after him. He ran a hand through his hair muttering to himself about how he was in so far over his head, but then Henry was back in under two minutes with a sheet of paper in hand and a grin that was infectious enough to drive away that remaining doubt.

“Operation Save Dinner is going great so far! Come on, we’ve only got a little time left and if I have to teach you everything this could take a while.”

From there the going, though slow, was far steadier than it had been before, and with Henry at the helm of the ship, Killian began to believe they could actually get something done that would be edible in time for Emma’s arrival. More than that though the hour that they spent cooking and tidying up proved to Killian something that he’d already learned this week and through the course of the morning gardening: Henry Swan was a special lad and bright as any child Killian had ever met. In fact, Killian hadn’t a single other contender in mind for kids as impressive as Henry Swan. Henry was truly in a class all his own.

“You know you really aren’t so bad at this,” Henry said when they’d gotten all of the food in the oven and most of the counters cleaned up. “I’d say you’re right between Anna and Elsa on the chef scale.”

Killian had had some more interactions with Elsa since moving here and had met her sister Anna a few times as well, both at the café when he was making his morning visits to the shop (or really to Emma) and at other spots around town. They were both of them incredibly kind if a little quirky, but at the end of the day it was easy to see why Emma had chosen them as friends and why she trusted both women with the keeping of her son when the need arose. There was a goodness in both of them that was evident from the start, just as there were with so many other people Killian had met in Storybrooke so far.

“Ah, I take it the sisters aren’t as well versed in cooking as your mother is.”

Killian honestly doubted anyone was as good of a cook as Emma, especially given all the things he’d tried at Stay a Spell over the last few weeks. She was a natural talent, and if Ruby’s claims that nearly all the food was Emma’s recipe and made or prepped by her hand was true, then he didn’t even think it possible for Emma to make a bad dish if she tried. It was astounding that anyone should have such a gift and that the gift was confined to so small a place as this sleepy town in Maine.

“Hardly. Anna’s okay with a little time, and she makes real good mac and cheese as long as it’s from the box, but Elsa’s a disaster. Ruby and Mary Margaret say she’s the only reason Storybrooke has a fire department. She could set water on fire.”

“Luckily I haven’t had that problem yet, but not to worry there’s still time.”

Henry laughed outright at the joke and his smile was so bright and cheery that Killian could practically feel that boyish happiness coursing through him too. It had been a long time since he’d felt this at peace, and even with the nerves of Emma’s impending arrival and the fact that they weren’t quite out of the woods with all this cooking, Killian did feel like this was good. Honestly it was probably one of the best days he’d ever had and it was all shaping up to get better and better.

“Well lad, I can safely say that this never would have been possible without your expert captaining. How can I ever repay you?” Killian asked, truly meaning his appreciation when he voiced it.

A light came to Henry’s eyes as he pondered the possibility of Killian owing him a favor, and for a moment Killian wondered what exactly he’d just walked into offering an unlimited debt to be paid to a ten year old, but then Henry replied, surprising and delighting Killian at the same time.

“You can take me and Mom sailing sometime.”

“Deal,” Killian agreed before qualifying that with one amendment. “As long as your mother is amiable to the idea.”

“Amiable?” Henry asked and Killian chuckled before offering a synonym. This was hardly the first time Henry had taken issue with some of Killian’s wording choices and so he was well prepared for the moment.

“As long as she’s in, I’m in.”

“Great!” Henry said jumping up and giving Killian a high five in show of his approval. “Now, when she and I get here in twenty minutes I was never here, got it?”

“You were – what?!” Killian asked, only just realizing that perhaps all of this hadn’t been entirely above board. Bloody hell! Why hadn’t he checked with Henry or Emma that this had been approved by her? “Your mother doesn’t know you’re here?”

“Nope. But don’t worry, I’ve got a fool proof system,” Henry said waving the shell Killian had noticed he had in his pocket the whole time. He didn’t know what that was to mean exactly, but it mattered not. He was still too stunned about having maybe been complicit in keeping something from Emma that he let that slide. “She’ll never know the difference.”

With that announcement, Henry looked ready to bound out of the house but before he could depart Killian grabbed his arm, not with too much force but enough for Henry to stop and take heed of what he was going to say. Killian couldn’t quite describe the feeling he had but it wasn’t wholly unfamiliar. In fact he’d had a bit of this kind of protectiveness when he thought Emma was in danger in the kitchen, but this time it was different. Henry was only a boy and though he and Emma might have found a lovely little safe haven in Storybrooke, danger could come to any corner of the world and it just wasn’t right for Henry to be slipping away without telling his mother.

“I need you to promise me something Henry – no more of these visits without your mother’s consent, all right?”

For a second Henry looked sad and it was the first time that Killian had ever seen that brightness in the lad’s gaze dulled at all. Usually Henry was so vibrant and eager but right now he looked thoroughly distraught. 

“You don’t want me coming over here anymore?” Killian shook his head immediately to try and dispel that notion.

“Quite the opposite lad I assure you,” Killian said and Henry’s smile returned instantly setting Killian’s own worries somewhat to right. “I merely want to be sure that you’re not keeping secrets from your Mum. There’s no one else who loves you more and the only way she can see you truly safe and happy is to know where you are.”

“I guess you’re right,” Henry conceded, prompting Killian to expel a sigh of relief. “All right, from now on all operations will have me, you, and Mom.”

Killian grinned and nodded watching Henry steal out the back door once more and only when the boy was gone did he realize the particular words Henry had chosen. Maybe Henry hadn’t meant anything by it, but it made it seem like he was tying the three of them together always, not just in these little visits. It was probably foolish to hope that had been the lad’s intentions but Killian held the idea close, letting the hope for a more permanent attachment between the three of them linger for just a while longer.

The twenty minutes that it took for Emma and Henry to arrive felt like it took forever despite all the things Killian still had to distract himself like showering and changing for the evening. He had to get all of the food out of the oven, the refreshments ready, and the table set too, but even with all that Killian’s mind never wandered from Emma or the excitement he had about this evening. Sure there was the added complication of Henry’s having been here without Emma knowing (and Killian did intend to tell her that since he’d never promised Henry not to and because it wouldn’t be right to conceal it from her), but overall Killian was hoping the evening would still be pleasant and since he would be in the company of one Emma Swan, he didn’t see how it could possibly be anything but.

Finally the doorbell rang some time later, and though he held himself back and didn’t outwardly race towards the door, Killian did move swiftly and with purpose so as to get to this moment as fast as he could. It didn’t disappoint at all either, for when he pulled back the wooden barrier that separated him from his two favorite people in this new town, the first thing he saw was Emma, looking just as stunning and enchanting as she did every time their paths crossed.

“You made it,” Killian greeted, his gaze moving between Emma and Henry though it delayed a while longer on the former. Not that that surprised Killian. It seemed his natural reaction whenever Emma was near that his eyes should follow her and soak up all he could of the precious time he had with her.

“Sure did! And we brought dessert,” Henry said, handing Killian a box with the Stay A Spell logo stamped on top. Killian took it from the boy gladly and then let them both in, allowing Henry to run in in search of Luna as Emma hung back, stepping closer to Killian as he closed the door and filling his senses with that sweet, rich scent of vanilla and flowers he’d noticed each time they were this near.

“Clearly Henry’s very excited to be here,” Emma said and Killian chuckled even as he begged a question that might be deemed overly flirtatious.

“And you love? What are your thoughts on sharing dinner with me?”

Emma’s eyes widened at the question as if she hadn’t expected it, but she didn’t back away. Instead she actually took a half a step closer to him and then let her voice drop just a bit lower than it’s already existent silkiness.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Emma asked and Killian nodded, his blood humming with pleasure at the reminder.

“Aye Swan you are, and I’m more than glad for it.”

The once playful back and forth took on deeper meaning then, and there was a swirling tension around them that was far from unpleasant. It felt almost like this crackling kind of energy and Killian was tantalized by it even as he knew it wouldn’t evolve to anything more right now. This was a strictly PG kind of evening given Henry’s presence, and though Killian had thought about what it would be like to pull Emma close and press a kiss to those lush lips of hers before, now was hardly the time. He still allowed his eyes to flick down to her mouth though and when she bit one in reply he barely restrained a groan.

“Henry told me what happened earlier,” Emma said, pulling Killian from the trance and back into the moment. He might have begun to worry at the mention of it too, if it weren’t for the undeniable warmth in Emma’s green eyes. “And he told me what you said about how he should come to me first every time instead of just sneaking off.”

“It seemed only right,” Killian replied but Emma wasn’t willing to let this discussion fall away between them. Instead she reached out her hand and found Killian’s free one, bringing back that all too alluring current of heat and rightness that Killian was beginning to think would be common place with a woman like Emma.

“It was, and I just needed to say thank you. Henry’s always been… crafty you could say. He has all those secret missions of his, but as his Mom nothing scares me more than him running off and getting into real trouble.”

Killian could see the truth of that claim as Emma said the words and he hated the thought of Emma facing anything like fear at all. But though he might not know all the particulars of who Emma Swan was or what she’d been through in the past, he did know that it hadn’t all been the colors and warmth and brightness of a town like Storybrooke. This was a woman who had cause to be wary, and though she’d provided a very different world for Henry, her need to protect him from harsher realities would never fade.

“There’s no thanks needed, love. It’s clear to see how much you love him, and as long as I have any influence I’ll always implore Henry to do the right thing,” Killian replied, squeezing Emma’s hand lightly before leading her back over the kitchen. Their hands stayed intertwined too right up until the moment that Henry bounded back in with Luna hot on his trail.

“Hey Killian, after dinner we should make a fire outside. Then you can see the fireflies!”

“Fireflies?” Killian asked. “This time of year?”

“Henry I don’t know about that, buddy. There’s no guarantees -,” Emma began, but her son interrupted as if he couldn’t possibly hold back.

“Trust me their coming,” Henry replied completely assured of himself and while Emma seemed a bit uncomfortable, Killian sought to ease the tensions. Perhaps she though Henry was putting him out, but honestly all Killian could think was that it would give him an excuse to spend more time with both of them.

“Well in that case I think a fire’s well in order. What do you think, Swan?”

Emma hesitated a moment, and Killian could see the thoughts floating through her head. He didn’t know exactly what they were, but he was happy for the moment when she seemed to cling to one that was light and appeasing. The teasing lilt in her voice returned once more and easiness was back between the three of them again.

“You sure you won’t get sick of us? Maybe we’ll finish dinner and you’ll be desperate for a way out…” As if that would ever happen.

“Not a chance, love,” Killian affirmed, hoping that she understood how much he meant that.

“Yeah Mom, ‘not a chance.’”

Both Emma and Killian shared a laugh at the attempt Henry made at emulating Killian’s accent, but Killian could feel diversion was still in order and so he maneuvered them all to the kitchen so as to get all that they’d need for dinner. And in a not so shocking twist, it turned out that the easiness between the three of them remained at that dinner spent together was the most natural, enjoyable, and delightful way to have spent an evening that Killian could ever remember indulging in.

…………..

To say that dinner had been fantastic didn’t do tonight justice. It wasn’t because the food itself was spectacular (though in all fairness, Emma usually loved any meal that someone made for her with thoughtfulness and effort), but thanks entirely to the company. Sitting there in Killian’s house listening to Killian’s stories and interactions with Henry was amazing, and it left this feeling in Emma’s chest of warmth and total comfort. This should have been scaring her, but instead there was no room for fear. All Emma could think was that this had been a pretty perfect night and that she really didn’t want it to end.

For Emma this evening had also been a demonstration in just how lovely things might be if she actually let Killian in for real. If she were to let her guard down and give him a real chance there were just so many potential upsides, not the least of which was the easy dynamic between the two of them and Henry. There was never a moment in the whole course of the evening when Killian questioned Emma’s authority or when he encroached in on her bond with her son, but all through the meal Emma sat there and thought about how after years of denying it was needed, she might actually want someone to step in and be a father figure for Henry. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to actually have a partner in all of this and someone to make this little duo she had going with Henry grow into a more traditional kind of family.

“You’ve gone quiet, Swan. I assume you’re eagerly awaiting those lightening bugs of yours,” Killian said as he came back from starting the fire and took a seat just beside her on the deck, their bodies only inches apart and that same electricity stirring inside her again at Killian’s being so near.

The mention of the fireflies caused Emma’s stomach to flip suddenly and some of her anxieties reared their ugly heads once more. She had been so nervous in that moment where Henry mentioned them because it was kind of a suspicious thing. Fireflies never stayed this late in a season in this corner of the world, and their reason for being in Storybrooke had nothing to do with climate and everything to do with magic. They were a manifestation of peace and calm here but they weren’t exactly normal and Emma had been worried Killian would pry about why they were here or ask more questions, but even in this moment Emma knew he didn’t really care about the fireflies. What he cared about was filling the space between them with a comfortable feeling and keeping the flow of conversation they’d carved out for themselves going.

“I was just thinking you must have been a boy scout or something. How does a guy from New York City know how to start a fire that fast?”

“Research and a fair amount of luck,” Killian responded, causing Emma to laugh unabashedly. “Truth be told I googled it this afternoon on the off chance I could persuade you and Henry to stay longer. Your boy just happened to beat me to the invitation.”

The mention of Henry had Emma looking back out into the yard where her little boy was standing and waiting for the fireflies to appear. They were just at the perfect moment when the twilight was in full force and the sun was gone but light still lingered, slipping away a little more with each passing minute. Any second now Emma knew the first one would appear and the show would begin, and as if she’d willed them into coming out, Emma watched as the first yellow blip appeared at the far edge of the yard. Another joined just behind and soon the whole backyard was filled with the intriguing, swirling dots.

“It’s amazing,” Killian whispered, his mouth now close enough to Emma’s ear that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. It caused a shiver to course through her and she wanted so badly to look back at Killian but she resisted, loving the feeling of this building anticipation too much to let it go. “And he knew they’d come. You have to appreciate faith like that. It’s an admirable thing.”

“Sometimes as his Mom I worry about that, but once Henry sets his heart on something, he never shakes his belief.”

That wasn’t something Emma had ever told anyone before, at least not in so many words. Everyone in Storybrooke knew that Henry was a believer. Some of the older ladies actually called him ‘the truest believer’ which according to Belle had some old magical connotations of good luck and good fortune, but Emma’s friends always wrote Henry’s dreaming and belief off as some unexplained ability that would further reveal itself in time.

Emma, meanwhile, knew there had to be a line. At some point, she feared, Henry’s giving so much of himself to these often fantastical hopes would come back to hurt him, and as his mother Emma wanted nothing in the world to ever cause her child harm. She just didn’t know how to teach him to channel all his enthusiasm. She never wanted to diminish that childlike wonder Henry had in spades, but for someone who’d lost her faith from a very early age, there were just no clear-cut answers.

“Well love, some things you just know,” Killian replied and Emma turned from where she’d been watching her son to look back at Killian. His eyes were already on her as if he’d been watching her the whole time, and their deep blue color was livened up by the flickers of firelight that danced in them. “And I gather that though he might be inclined to be almost overly hopeful, Henry is smart enough and gifted with a sensible enough mother to weather any storms that may come from such belief.”

“Have you always been this insightful?” Emma asked and Killian smiled, not in that cocky way he sometimes did but with a touch more bashfulness.

“I’ve always had a lot of opinions, yes. Whether they amount to valuable insight I couldn’t say.”

“Are those opinions what got you on the path to writing?” Emma asked, finding that now that they were alone for more than a minute or two at a time she actually had the chance to ask Killian some more details about his life besides the few things she’d picked up in their more organic, spur of the moment meetings.

“In a way. But I’m particular. I liked the puzzles of the crime beat just as much as I liked finessing my thoughts onto the page. You could say I have a flair for unraveling mysteries.”

Emma’s throat tightened at the mention of mysteries, and she wondered if Killian had started adding up the clues of the little things that were off about Storybrooke. She worried that he had, but before those worries could flourish into something more, Killian moved his hand over hers and that contact erased the darker thoughts that had wormed into Emma’s mind. It was amazing, but every time this man got close it was as if there simply wasn’t room in her world for malice or fear of any kind.

“You must be bored then,” Emma said, playing it off like there was nothing afoot in her small town.

“On the contrary love. I’ve never felt more invigorated or more interested in my life,” Killian whispered, and Emma knew they weren’t talking about his dealings with Storybrooke. Killian was talking about her and the look on his face said all the words that he hadn’t. He found her to be intriguing and all of the feelings Emma had been grappling with about how there was something more here between them to be uncovered were clearly displayed in Killian’s expression.

“Why?”

Emma didn’t even realized she posed the question aloud until it was too late, and for half a second she was mortified, but as soon as that ugly feeling appeared it was replaced by appreciation for Killian’s responding grin. His other hand moved up then to push back a strand of her hair that was blowing in the nighttime breeze and Emma tracked the motion, feeling her body come alive even more so at the gentle touch.

“Because for the first time in my life I finally feel like I’ve found something I truly want to be a part of. I’ve a purpose here and a sense that there’s more when for so long that was never the case.”

Emma considered his answer, and beyond the obvious implications he was laying down here of caring about her and Henry and this town, there was something familiar in Killian’s way of thinking. She could relate whole-heartedly to that idea of being directionless. For so long Emma had felt unmoored like that as well, and all she’d wanted was roots and that sense of assurance you got when you ended up right where you were supposed to be. Now she’d found that in Storybrooke, but Emma was starting to see that her world hadn’t been totally full. It was still missing something, something that tonight had provided so effortlessly.

“Killian, I-,”

“Woah!” Henry’s yell from across the yard pulled Emma and Killian from the little trance they’d both been in and after she blinked back that sort of haze of attraction, Emma saw what her son was on about. The yard was jam packed with fireflies, so many of them in fact that there wasn’t a single space around that didn’t have their telltale flickering lights illuminating the evening sky. “This is so awesome! You guys have to see this from right here, come on!”

Emma and Killian both moved to follow Henry’s instruction, and though Emma did feel a sense of loss at having had their personal moment broken, it was easily made up for when she not only got to watch the back and forth between Henry and Killian, but when Killian took her hand and held it in his as they looked up at the night sky. And in the end Henry was right, because from this angle they could see the stars that were just appearing and the lightening bugs twinkling between them in a totally ethereal way.

“Everybody has to make a wish,” Henry instructed as he took Emma’s other hand in his, closing his eyes and clearly hoping for something with all his might. Emma meanwhile looked back at Killian who shared a smile with her before replying.

“You heard the captain, love. Wishes are a must.”

Emma chuckled at that and at the moment when Killian closed his eyes, appearing to play along, and though she took a moment to take in her son and this man who was starting to mean so much to her, Emma eventually caved too, deciding to actually send up a silent prayer that tonight wouldn’t be an end to such experiences, but a beginning of them. When she opened her eyes again, Killian was looking at her again with that same look like even in this wondrous moment she was the most magnificent part of all.

“Best night ever,” Henry said then, filling the space between them with his same sort of glowing happiness and Emma smiled at him, pulling him in close for a hug and dropping a kiss at the crown of his head to try and hide her own overwhelming emotion.

Eventually, however, the time did come for the fireflies to drift away, and when the fire burned low and the hour grew late Emma made the decision that it was time to tuck in and call it a night. Henry was good about it too, not even trying to fight her but instead proving just how great a kid he was by thanking Killian for all he’d done and heading back inside without argument or delay. This left Emma and Killian alone again just the two of them, and though their window of togetherness would be brief, Emma was thrilled when Killian made the most of it, walking with her to the steps of her back porch in a very gentlemanly move.

“We should do this again sometime,” Killian said with his usual charm and touch of swagger. But underneath the vibrato, Emma could tell that he really wanted this. It wasn’t a game or a line or an empty promise; Killian was genuinely desirous for more and Emma so badly wanted to give it to him. For the first time in her life she actually felt ready to give in to hope and to just say yes.

“Maybe next time I’ll get a babysitter,” Emma replied taking the plunge and watching with delight as Killian caught her meaning. God, how could he even be handsome when flustered? It was enough to drive her crazy, and yet Emma wouldn’t trade that look of surprise and awe he was giving her for anything.

“Is that your way of asking me on a date, Swan?” Killian inquired, collecting himself a bit more as he did.

“I thought that was obvious,” Emma countered, playing up the flirtation but feeling the moment when the tides shifted again. Killian took the chance to step closer to her so they were only a whisper apart. But the only place they touched was their hands as Killian slipped her fingers back in his grasp and intertwined the two of them together in that familiar yet intimate way.

“Just making sure,” Killian replied as an almost roguish smile graced his lips. “And I accept. I only beg one request – that you let me plan the evening.”

Emma tilted her head at the plea and she took him in, her eyes searching his before tracing his face and landing on his lips. Visions of kissing him flooded her mind, and without thought she wet her own lips, swearing she could feel his heated response coursing through her like a low vibration. Then she looked back up at him and smiled, feeling in that moment that she could trust her gut and trust this man who held her close.

“Seems fair. After all I was the one who had to ask. The least you can do is plan,” Emma replied as she moved even closer. She purposefully brought her body as near as it could be without their being fully flush against each other and from the spark of piercing need that came to Killian’s blue eyes, she knew she was affecting him just as much as he affected her.

“I promise to make my slow going tendencies up to you with a date worthy of a woman such as yourself, Swan,” Killian whispered, his lips an inch from hers but right when she thought he’d give in and kiss her he stopped, keeping them from the embrace they both wanted for the sake of more delicious and oh so frustrating anticipation. “How’s Tuesday work for you?”

Emma blinked up at him and though her mind was a little foggy from the swirling mix of lust and like and a whole lot of other more complicated feelings, she came too once more and smiled. Then she countered with a move of her own, running her free hand along his chest lightly enough that it would feel like a feather’s touch against his skin. She watched his reaction to the feint contact and saw that his control was just on the verse of giving way but before it could she pulled back out of his embrace, leaving him with just as much unresolved need as she had.

“Tuesday it is. Goodnight, Killian.”

“Goodnight, Emma,” he said, his words wrapping around Emma like a favorite blanket as she walked up the stairs and through the doorway into her house once more.

Post-Note: So as you guys can probably guess from where we are ending tonight, the next chapter will bring about the first date for Emma and for Killian. You can all safely expect that I’ll make it as light and fluffy as I make all of the dates I write, but since this AU is a little different than many of my others, I’m sure there will be some interesting twists come the next installment. Anyway, I hope that you guys enjoyed the chapter, and again I appreciate your patience in waiting for the update. Let me know what you thought, and I hope you have a great rest of your day!