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sundaysundaes · 4 years

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Monochrome

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader/Female OC | Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff | NC-17 | Soulmate AU, Childhood-Friends-Become-Lovers AU

CHAPTER 1 OF 2. Part 2, titled Spectra, can be read here.

Summary: Lee Donghyuck once believed in the concept of soulmates—how fate would connect a red thread from one lover to another, in a form of dreams and memories. That was how his parents met, that was how they claimed their happiness, and he wanted nothing more but to live his life the way they lived theirs. Until one day, as he sees her slipping away from his hands, he has no choice but to stop believing entirely.

It was the color of amaranth red, Donghyuck remembers now, though he was still too young back then to know the name. It was the color of amaranth red that painted her cheeks and the tip of her nose as they were kissed by the morning breeze. It was the color of amaranth red that tinted her shoes, her knitted sweater dress, the two ribbons she wore on her hair. And it was the color of amaranth red that burst onto his cheeks, as his eyes widened in both glee, curiosity, and sheer excitement. He was four years old and she was five, but the way she spoke so courteously as she introduced herself upon their first meeting was something little Donghyuck could only imagine doing.

But it didn’t matter, Donghyuck was too distracted anyway. If he was older maybe he would’ve been left dumbfounded at the sight of her breathtaking smile, or the perfect curves of her lips, or the vibrant eyes she had hidden behind her symmetrical bangs. But he was merely a four-year-old, so he was more distracted with a jar full of chocolate cookies she carried in her arms.

“We’re the family that’s just moved in next door.” The older lady, who looked like the exact doppelgänger of the little girl, mentioned with a polite smile and a formal bow. “I hope we can become friends.”

Donghyuck’s mother cheered and took her hand in a friendly handshake before she beckoned the little girl to come closer. “Oh my, look at how adorable you are! You’re about the same age as my son. I hope you two can get along.”

Donghyuck, who had been hiding behind his mother’s legs, took a step forward. He was only interested in the jar full of cookies that she carried in her arms, licking his lips once as his eyes bore into it. But when the little girl offered the jar, grinning widely from ear-to-ear, and chirped, “Brought you some cookies! I helped my mother with these so I bet they’ll taste great!”, Donghyuck decided that he liked her more.

It was the color of azure, the crayon she held between her fingers back then, as she tried to imitate the look of his clothes on a stick figure. She was quite a painter, four-year-old Donghyuck thought, because there was no way for him to know how to draw mountains and the sun lurking behind them with that little head of his.

“Okay, so this is you,” she told him, smiling to herself as she finished perfecting her sketches of him. “And this is me. And this is our pet dog, Jelly Bean.”

“But we don’t have a dog.”

“We can have one in the future.”

“We can?”

“Of course. When we grow up, we can have whatever we want.”

Donghyuck believed her. He believed everything she said because she believed everything he said, even about the monsters living under his bed that his parents completely ignored. During their sleepovers, which occurred nearly three times a week in his room, she would always stand by as a guard, saying, “I’ll keep watch. If it appears, I will destroy it with my sword. Nothing can hurt you when I’m around.” And he would feel content, knowing she was there to protect him, even when in the end she fell asleep way before he did with her toy sword hanging loosely around her fingers.

Donghyuck would sleep next to her, curling up like a baby that he was, seeking her warmth. Their little feet would dangle out of his teepee tent and he would breathe in the scent of his grapefruit shampoo from her hair. And secretly, under his breath, as he tangled his pinky finger around hers, Donghyuck would say, “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“Why do you always draw the sun?” Donghyuck questioned one day with his round, chocolate brown eyes scanning the giant yellow circle that she drew repeatedly with her crayon.

“Because I love the sun,” she answered, searching for another yellow crayon so she could paint it even more. “It’s bright and it’s warm, and I can play outside when it’s out. Don’t you feel happier when it’s sunny outside?”

Donghyuck thought about it, he really did with the very little experience that he had. “Probably. I can play soccer when it’s sunny.”

“See? The sun is amazing. Nothing can beat the sun. Do you know that the sun is the biggest star in our solar system?”

If he was smarter, he would've told her that of course, it's the biggest star, you idiot, it's the only star in our solar system. But little Donghyuck, who could barely remember what came after the letter S, innocently asked, “What’s a solar system?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I forgot that you’re only four.”

“Hey, you’re only five!”

“But I know what a solar system is and you don’t.”

Donghyuck pouted. If only he was older, perhaps he could reciprocate with a better argument. But then again, she was quite smart—the smartest girl he had ever met. Well, in his whole four years of living anyway.

“You’re kinda like the sun, actually,” she suggested, gathering his attention back to her. “You have a bright smile and whenever you smile, you make me want to smile too. You’re like the sun because you always make me happy. Oh!” She suddenly jabbed one finger into the air, making him jump on his little feet. “I know! You should be called Haechan, as in Full Sun! And I’ll be calling you Haechannie because we’re friends.”

And Donghyuck smiled the way he always smiled, which made her point a finger to his face, shouting, “Yes, that’s it! That’s the smile! That’s my Haechannie!” And he liked the sound of it. He liked the way she called him Haechannie but not as much as he liked being called hers.

Because he’s always been hers, from the beginning of time till the end. It’s always been her who owns his heart, who paints a spectrum of colors to his monochromatic life, and who breaks his soul to pieces and tones everything down into black and white.

It’s always been her. No one else owns him but her.

***

It was apple green, the color of the duster his mother was wearing when she had her eyes glued to the TV screen, watching another episode of her most awaited romance series. It was way past their bedtime so Donghyuck performed his best ninja skill which was tiptoeing his way out of his room with his bunny socks enveloping his feet and his deer plush toy accompanying him in his arms.

He was five and she was six, but she had learned how to forgive when he could barely remember to send an apology after making a mistake.

“You stay here and be on guard, okay, Haechannie?” She whispered before she tiptoed her way to the kitchen, leaving him alone in the hallway.

He grabbed the sleeve of her rosy pink pajamas. “But what if my mom finds out?”

“She won’t find out. She’s busy watching TV.”

“What if she walks into the kitchen?”

“Then that’s the time you should give me a signal, Haechannieeeee. Will you ever listen to me?”

“I don’t wanna stay alone. Mom can be scary sometimes.”

“Ugh, fine, take my hand. We’ll get in together. You can help me hold my chair when I reach up to steal those cookies.”

“Can we just go back to bed? I don’t need any cookies.”

“No, no. When you have nightmares, you have to eat cookies.”

“But will you still sleep beside me?”

A delicate hand ruffled his raven hair until it got all tousled and adorable. “Of course, Haechannie.”

The moonlight did not shine as bright as the girl’s cherished smile. But it was okay, he thought, she could replace the moon with her lips. She could replenish the stars with her eyes. They did not sparkle nearly as beautiful as they were anyway.

On their way back to their room, Donghyuck heard two sentences being exchanged by the lovers inside the screen so he stopped and listened, carving every word into his memories. When he arrived back in his room, he ran toward her, circled his short little arms around her waist, and muttered the exact same words.

“There’s no life without you, Noona.”

And she didn’t question him anything, wasn’t surprised of him, wasn’t disgusted with it. She simply smiled back, turning around to embrace him properly, and whispered.

“There’s no life without you too, Haechannie.”

***

It was the color of cherry blossom pink, the petals of flowers that flown into his room, coming from the window that he just slid open. He stood up on his little wooden chair, waving his hands back and forth like a drowning man desperate for attention, as he shouted, “Noona! Wake up! They’re blooming!”

He was six and she was seven, but she had memorized how to count one to ten in three different languages when he could barely count all the planets in the solar system.

When she opened her window, her eyes were all squinted trying their best to adjust themselves to the brightness of the sun—or Donghyuck’s smile, considering it shone just as bright. “I’m still sleepy!”

“But you promised we’d go for a walk!”

“Ugh, fine! I’ll meet you outside my house in an hour. Don’t forget to wear your jacket, Haechannie, because I’m not lending mine again!”

He nodded, smiling all the way. But by an hour later, he had forgotten yet again to carry his coat with him because he was too busy remembering the look on her face whenever she called his name, and too excited to have her hold his hands during their little trip outside.

And it was fine, really, because she already brought two jackets with her, knowing him like the back of her hand.

***

It was the color of crimson, the droplets of blood that stained his shirt. He could barely breathe through his broken nose, and the pain stung so much that his eyes began to water. But knowing that she was there, sitting beside him on the side of the pavements with worried eyes observing his expression, he had no other choice but to rub his tears away before she could catch the sight of them falling to his cheeks.

He was twelve and she was thirteen, but she already had her own preferences of clothing, knowing exactly what kind of dress could accentuate her beauty, while he, on the other hand, was still pretty much wearing the exact same type of clothes like what his mother bought him two years ago.

“Are you okay?” Her eyes examined his face as she dabbed an ice-cold napkin to his bruised jaw. Donghyuck swatted her hand away, stealing the piece of cloth from her fingers so he could do it himself.

“I’m fine. I’m not a baby,” he muttered and he knew how harsh the tone he was using but he did not apologize for it. She most likely had forgiven him anyway.

“What happened exactly?” She was still tentatively reaching out to him, tidying the tousled strands of his brown hair. “Why did you get into a fight?”

“Who said I was in a fight?” He was. He absolutely was. It was against a boy with the stupidest haircut he’d ever seen on a male, in his classroom after he caught him stealing her sketchbook. Donghyuck saw him raking his pen back and forth on her drawings, grinning mischievously to himself as he did it. He didn’t stop to ask for an explanation. The second he saw her beautiful drawings get tainted by something that wasn’t made from her hands, he began to launch his fist, directly to the boy’s poor face. Donghyuck had always been more temperamental, so he fought more with his rage than his strength, which usually ended up with him getting a fair share of beating as well.

“Here.” He handed her sketchbook back and saw her widening her eyes in surprise. “That’s right, stupid. You forgot your stupid book. I was on my way back to the class to get it when I tripped down the stairs.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize I even took this out of my bag.” She blinked, checking her book and stopping after she flipped a few pages. Donghyuck froze on his seat. He’d already predicted that she would find out sooner or later that one of her pages—the one that was ruined by that asshole—was missing; he just hoped she wouldn’t notice right away. But maybe she also noticed the anxious look on his face when she went through the pages, which was why she decided to close the book, and do nothing but smile that stupidly blazing smile of hers.

“What?” He asked, already feeling quite flustered even when she hadn’t said anything yet.

“I’m just happy,” she replied, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for, uhh, for getting this back for me.”

And he looked up to the sky, not caring if the sunlight was burning every inch of his skin and blinding his eyes, as long as she didn’t notice the rosy blush that painted his cheeks.

***

It was the color of lemon meringue, the chunk of tart that Donghyuck shoved into his mouth. They were celebrating his fourteenth birthday and he had a bunch of friends coming over. And yet, there he was sitting on the bench in his backyard, next to a girl dressed adorably in a yellow lace party dress, who was scowling at him.

“What?” Donghyuck muttered, yet plopping another big chunk of the tart. “Why do you look like you want to murder me? Is it that time of the month already?”

“No, jackass.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s my tart.”

“Sure, but,” he pierced the cake with his fork, taking another piece into his mouth with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “It’s my birthday cake.”

She sighed—a habit that she did a lot whenever she was with him. “Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be opening the presents right now? I think your friends are looking for you.”

“Nah, I’d rather talk to you.” He shrugged, pushing the empty plate back now to its owner. “Besides, you look like you’re seconds away from crying. I figured I can be a jerk to you another day and play the role of your prince charming for the rest of the evening.”

“You literally just ate every bit of my tart.”

“You’re welcome.” He sent her a flying kiss and a wink.

They both leaned backward, resting their spines against the bench, staring blankly at the cloudy sky with their fingers lying idly just a few inches from each other.

“Have you heard about that thing with our soulmates?” Donghyuck suddenly asked, his tongue still tracing every little bit of the sugary taste left inside his mouth. “About how we’ll begin to constantly dream about them after we turn eighteen, even if we’ve never met them before.”

“I thought that was just a rumor?”

“I thought so too, but then my parents told me that the exact same thing happened to them.”

“They met each other in their dreams?”

“No, it’s like—” Donghyuck scratched the back of his head, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t know for sure, but it’s like your dreams are a mixture of your soulmate’s past and present memories. My mother said that she lived through his memories every night, until one day she met my father by coincidence during the day, and then she saw herself in the dream the following night. That was when she realized that he was her soulmate.”

“This is giving me headaches, but I kinda get the idea.”

“So whose memories do you think you’re going to see in your dream?” Donghyuck wiggled his eyebrows. “Mine?”

She snorted. “You wish your soulmate was me.”

“Actually, I do,” he stated, making her froze for a split second before she looked at him in bewilderment. “No, wait, don’t get me wrong,” he immediately corrected, raising a hand in the air. “It’s not like I’m into you or anything, ‘cause that’s, like, so gross since we’re basically like siblings by now, but if it really is true—this soulmate thingy—I wouldn’t mind if it turns out to be you because we get along really well, don’t we? Being soulmates doesn’t necessarily mean we have to marry each other—eww, God, no—” He made a show about it, sticking his tongue out in disgust. “It’s more like saying we’re connected. Know each other’s mind—like, we understand each other, you know what I mean? Don’t you feel that way about me?”

She thought about it, and with every second passing by, Donghyuck became more aware of how embarrassing his lines sounded in his ears. “You know what? Forget it. It’s dumb. I don’t know why I said—”

“Well, I guess, if you put it in a non-romantic way, then yeah, sure.” She smiled, a bit awkward and shy but sincere like always. “We can be soulmates. But I will only marry you if we’re the only two people left in the world. And even then, I would still think about it.”

He rolled his eyes but inwardly thanking her for not making this even more awkward than it already was. “Right, but for our friendship’s sake, let’s never talk about this again.”

“Agreed.”

They stood by in silence, hearing a bunch of children laughing in the background as they danced to the blaring music. “So on that note,” he said again, slicing through the awkward tension. “What are you so upset about today?”

She huffed, playing with her fingers. “I don’t know, I feel like everybody’s looking at me weird. I knew I shouldn’t have worn this dress—I know it’s too much—everyone is wearing shirts and jeans and I’m here looking like—”

“—a pretty girl,” he finished, staring nonchalantly at the clouds as he said it. “I don’t know what these guys think, but you’re prettier than any girl in the room today. You’re prettier than me, even, and that’s saying something.”

She bit her lower lip, holding back a laugh. “You just turned fourteen today and suddenly you’re old enough to flirt.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

She smiled sheepishly. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

He looked to his side, a lopsided smile on his face. “Feel better now?”

“A little.”

“Good. Now go fetch me another plate of that thing I just ate ‘cause I’m still hungry.”

***

It was the color of ruby, the lipstick she wore on her lips for the very first time, which made Donghyuck knit his eyebrows together, both in confusion and bewilderment.

He was fifteen and she was sixteen, but she already read a bunch of novels about first kisses and sappy love stories when he barely even owned a novel.

“Are you wearing make-up?” he uttered with a frown, scrunching his nose. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, his black Michael Jackson shirt falling a bit loose around his shoulders with the bottom edge of his light-blue jeans folded.

“Yes, and before you judge me for it,” she began, but Donghyuck was already sticking his tongue out at her, making the most disgusted look on his face. “You’re an ass, do you know that?”

“You look like a clown, honestly.”

“Well, this clown is going on a date.” She looked proud, which made him furrow his eyebrows even deeper. “And if she’s lucky, she’s going to get her first kiss by the end of the evening, while you, on the other hand, are just going to sit there in your room watching The Kissing Booth for God knows how many times and pretend like you’re handsome enough to date the female protagonist.”

“I am handsome enough to date the female protagonist. Handsome enough to date the male protagonist even.”

“Yeah, in your dreams. You’re just a virgin with a stupid bowl cut in reality.”

“Whatever. You still look like a clown.”

“Whatever. Now turn around, I need to change my clothes.”

“To your clown costume?”

“Turn around!”

Donghyuck had little options in his hand, when she brought her high heels in the air, ready to hurl them to his face, so he exhaled loudly in annoyance and lied down on her bed, turning his body around so he was facing the wall.

“Who’s this idiot you’re going with?” He eventually asked, because the rustling sounds of her clothes hitting the floor were getting too distracting.

“Na Jaemin. You know, that extremely cute boy from P.E Class.”

He knew who exactly Jaemin was. Heard his name being spoken several times as he walked down his school’s corridor. Girls were obsessed with him, and they would scream as if the world was ending whenever he played a game on the basketball court. They might be thinking why is someone as perfect as Jaemin interested in someone like her? And he hated the fact that he was thinking the same thing, just the other way around.

Why is someone as perfect as her interested in someone like him?

But on the outside, he toned it down to a simple grimace. “What the hell is a Na Jaemin?”

She threw her heel at him, hitting his spine and making him groan. “Hey, that hurts, you bi—” But his words died on his tongue when he saw her standing in front of her mirror in nothing but her matching underwear, with her dress threatening to fall from her arms.

“Hey!” She shrieked, squatting down to the floor and trying her best to gather as much clothing to her body to stop herself from being so exposed to his eyes. “I didn’t say you could turn around!”

And Donghyuck would’ve played it cool, he really would have, if he wasn’t too aware of the heat rising to his cheeks. “I, uhh—” He turned around again, clearing his throat. “Well, it’s your fault for throwing your shoe at me! I turned around in reflex.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying! From now on, you wait outside!”

“Fine!” He scrambled to his feet, making sure that he didn’t spare any glance at her—no matter how badly he wanted to—as he made his way out. “You have small boobs anyway.”

She screamed his name in both shame and anger but he was walking out with a cheeky grin on his face. He waited outside her room with his hands buried deep in the pocket of his jeans, yawning as he pressed the back of his head against the wall. A moment later, she opened the door with her face down, trying to tuck her bra strap under the collar of her dress. When he called her name, she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Damn it, Haechannie, I thought you’ve left!”

“I wanted to see your clown costume.”

“Why you little—” But this time, it was her turn to be lost at words because Donghyuck was staring at her in the way he never stared at her before. His eyes were gleaming as they took in her features—her lace cocktail dress that matched the color of her lipstick, her red ankle strap heels, her natural make-up that gave prominence to her eyes, and the way all of her clothing just fell perfect on her skin, embracing her every curve.

“W-what is it?” She asked, carding her fingers nervously through her hair—her soft, beautiful hair that always made him a little bit weak whenever she tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “Do I look weird?”

He forced himself to close his gaping mouth and act nonchalant again. After nine years of training, he was beginning to master his act. “Well,” Donghyuck said, shrugging, “It’s not exactly like the clown costume I remembered it to be, but it’s okay, I guess. So now tell me where is this Halloween party you’re attending because I’m going too.”

“I can no longer tell whether you’re joking or not, honestly.” She waved him off, tightening the straps of her heels. “Look, it’s my first date with a really cute boy who I really like. Can’t you at least wish me luck?”

Donghyuck didn’t answer right away. His heart was still conflicted about the whole thing and his head was still swirling over the thoughts of how pretty she looked. “I can’t believe you’re blowing me off for something as lame as Na Jaemin.”

“Someone as lame as—wait, he’s not lame!”

“But does he know you the way I do, though? Like, does he know how loud your snores are? I know that, and I accept that.”

“Haechannie, we literally spend every weekend together for the last nine years. I’m just taking one night off.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re still blowing me off.”

“Look, if it wasn’t a date, I would’ve asked you to come but since this is a date,” she stopped to smile, tapping her fingers against his cheek, “You be a good boy and wait for me at home, okay?”

As she walked out of her house, with him trailing behind her with heavy steps, Donghyuck said, “I hope his breath smells like shit when you kiss him later tonight!”

She laughed it off, raising her middle finger playfully at him, probably thinking he was upset because they didn’t spend the weekend together when he was entirely livid about something else.

He wasn’t sure how he felt towards her, but he was pretty certain that he didn’t like the fact she went out with some boy who probably wasn’t aware of her full name—or the way she would bite on her bottom lip from being too deep in concentration whenever she sketched something down, or the way she would puff out her cheeks in the most adorable way when she got teased too much. That fucking Na Jaemin wouldn’t understand her the way Donghyuck did.

So for the first time in his life, Donghyuck prayed something bad happened that night so her date would get canceled and she’d come running back into his arms, snuggling close with a popcorn bowl on their laps as they watched the same movie for the hundredth time.

Unfortunately for him, his prayer was not answered.

***

It was sapphire blue, the color of his hoodie was when he swung by to her house again, casually letting himself inside without even greeting her parents because he did it so many times within a day. It started to feel more like his house compared to hers.

“Oh,” she sneered, a smile appearing on her face. “You again.”

“What’s with the under-appreciating tone?” He clicked his tongue. “Most girls would actually scream in joy when I graced them with my presence.”

“Scream in horror, more likely.”

He ignored her banter, taking a seat on her bed again. She was lying down on her duvet, stomach pressed against the fabric with a fashion magazine under her fingers. “So,” he began, casually laying his head down on the dip of her spine, staring at the ceiling and secretly loving the feeling of knowing directly every time she took and released her breath. “Did he smell like shit when you kissed him?”

She flipped through a page. “As a matter of fact, we haven’t kissed. But that’s none of your business anyway.”

Donghyuck couldn’t help a smile creeping up his face. It was his luck that she didn’t notice. “Oh, but it is my business,” he said, trying not to sound as gleeful as he felt inside. “I really want to know whether he smells like shit or a dog's piss so I can make fun of him every time I see you.”

“Well, from the close proximity I had with him during our conversations inside the cinema, he smelled deliciously wonderful.”

“Deliciously? So he smelled like tacos?”

“Smelled way better than you, at least.”

“You’ve never kissed me so you wouldn’t know.”

“I already can tell without having to kiss you, asshole. You reek from a hundred feet away.”

“But just to be sure, wanna make-out with me for a while? I won’t bite.” Then he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Unless that’s what you’re into.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“AUNTIEEEEEEE, SHE’S SAYING THE F WORD!”

“SHUT UP!”

***

It was Navajo white, the color of her knitted scarf was, as it hanged loosely around her neck, matching the color of her duffle coat.

“Oh,” Donghyuck flatly said as he opened the door to his room, answering her persistent knocks. “You again.”

“Haechannie.” The way she said his name sounded like she was desperate for help, and that made his heart flutter a little bit at the thought of being needed. But the words that followed soon after, crushed every bit of his happiness within an instant. “Jaemin asked me to be his girlfriend.”

He could feel how tightly his fingers were sinking into his palms but he tried to keep his voice steady. “And you’re confused because you just found out he’s a girl?”

“What should I do?” She whined, completely ignoring his sarcastic reaction. She seemed anxious, jumping a little on her feet every now and then, which was so adorable for his eyes to take but whenever he remembered the reason why she was acting that cute, he could feel his jaws tightening again.

“Do whatever you want, it’s not my business,” he muttered, walking back to his room but leaving the door open for her to follow.

“I like him, Haechannie,” she continued, and with every word that came from her mouth, a javelin seemed to strike him even harder in the chest. “I really do, but am I ready to have a relationship? Like what do I do? I know I joke a lot about having my first kiss but now that we’re about to become official, and knowing that he’s most likely going to kiss me soon, I get so nervous.”

Donghyuck didn’t say a word. He had nothing nice to say, so he kept himself in silence.

“W-what would you do if you were me?” She sputtered. “I mean, if a girl you like asked you to be her boyfriend?”

Donghyuck had his hands hidden in the pockets of his hoodie, so she wouldn’t be able to tell when his fingers curled into balls of fists. He had the back of his hips pressed against his desk, locating his eyes on his shoes instead of hers. “This girl I like is actually talking about being someone else’s girlfriend,” he professed, “So I’m not sure I can give you proper advice.”

“Stop messing with me, Haechannie, I’m seriously begging for your help here.”

It was goddamn annoying, he thought, how she could be so dense when it came to things like this. Well, to be fair, he did have his fair share of flirting with her from time to time whether he meant his words or not, and knowing how playful he was, it’s a given that she grew to become accustomed to his teasing personality. It was nearly impossible for him to be taken seriously nowadays.

“Why are you even asking me?” He spat out, now looking at her eyes—almost glowering. “I’m not your boyfriend.”

“I don’t know, I really need someone to talk to, I guess.” She played with her hair, biting her lower lip worriedly. “And you’re my best friend so I naturally just come to you. You always seem to have the answers to everything.”

There was a pang in his heart when she singlehandedly decided on their relationship status and he knew he shouldn’t have asked for something more but with more days passing by where it was only the two of them walking side-by-side under the first snow, or calling each other’s names the first thing in the morning through their windows, Donghyuck couldn’t help but to hope for something more.

“Well, like I said,” he repeated, voice sounding low and foreign even to his own ears. “Do whatever you want. As long as it makes you happy.”

She took a proper look at his face. “Are you angry or something?”

“No.”

“What, like, did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then why—”

“I said nothing’s wrong!” His voice thundered through the thick tension that was hanging between them and he felt his own heart shaking in pain from the tone he just made. They stared at each other’s eyes in what felt like hours before Donghyuck finally covered it with a tired sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m just really tired right now. Didn’t catch any sleep last night from playing too many games.”

It took a good few seconds for her to regain back her composure. “Well, I don’t want to bother you then.” She didn’t sound angry, but she did sound hurt. Donghyuck was still in the middle of sorting out his feelings when she walked out of his room, saying, “I’m sorry for pestering you like this. Goodbye, Haechannie.”

He had never hated someone as much as he hated himself then.

It took him five hours for his mind to finally make up the decision to go into her house and apologize in person, but only a second for him to immediately do it once he’d made up his mind. He ran down the stairs so fast, he almost fell face-first on the carpeted floor. When he stood in front of her house, desperately pushing back air into his lungs, the door was locked and no one came to answer no matter how many times he rang the doorbell.

Muttering a train of expletives under his breath, he turned to his iPhone and found the first number in his emergency contacts. He was about to press dial when suddenly her name popped out on his screen, asking him to answer her call.

“Noona?” Donghyuck called, breathing in relief. “Hey, I was about to call you. I wanted to apologi—”

“Haechannie.” She sounded so happy, almost to the point of shedding tears. “Haechannie, he just kissed me.”

Donghyuck’s lips were parted in shock, his throat felt like burning, even though puffs of air still tumbled down from his mouth. His heart almost stopped beating entirely.

“What do I do, Haechannie, I’m so happy,” she said, laughing between tears. “I’m actually crying right now. I’m so lame, I know, but—God, I can’t believe I got kissed by my crush—no, wait, my boyfriend—oh God, it’s still embarrassing to say that but—”

As if turning deaf, her voice in his ears was reduced into a silent murmur before vanishing entirely. The loud beating of his heart soon replaced it as it pumped more anger and jealousy through his veins but Donghyuck wasn’t going to repeat his previous mistake. He wasn’t going to let his emotions take control again.

“Well,” he breathed out, unfamiliar with the sound of his own voice. “I’m happy for you then.”

“You are? Oh, thank God, because I thought you’d whine about me for not spending time with you anymore.”

“Do you really think that lousy of me?”

“I’m kidding, Haechannie. I love you. You know that, right?”

And it hurt, the way she said it, because it meant nothing more than a platonic love and he wanted it to mean more. Perhaps he had been waiting for those three words to mean more for the last nine years of his life.

“Of course,” he simply said, hoping she wouldn’t hear the crack in his voice. “There’s no life without you, Noona.”

It took her a while to respond, and he was worried whether the cold tone in his voice stood too vividly again, but she laughed before he could think too much.

“It’s been a while since we said that. Of course, yes, there’s no life without you, Haechannie.” She giggled again, “It’s kind of embarrassing to say that when we’re already this old. Maybe we should start looking for another catchphrase. I don’t want Jaemin to catch me saying that to you either—”

“No, don’t—” Since when did speaking to her become this hard? “It’s something that we’ve been doing since we were kids. I’m not gonna change our tradition just because of one asshole that you happen to like.”

A silence, then a chuckle. “Seems like you’re back to your old self again. I was beginning to worry. All right then, let’s keep it that way. I’ll just have to be more careful.” He could tell that she was smiling all the way when she said her sentences.

“When will you be back?” I miss you. “I want to see you.” I want to hold you. “We haven’t really talked these days.”

“Oh, umm…” She sounded so apologetically soft, so quiet, so out of his reach. “Jaemin actually just asked me to go somewhere with him, but I’ll be back soon. Is there something you need?”

He curled his fingers. “Nothing important. It can wait.”

“Great. Oh, Jaemin just called, I gotta—”

“Stop saying his name.”

When a small gasp came from the other line, Donghyuck raised his head, startled by his action. “I mean,” he cleared his throat, his stomach doing somersaults. “It’s just—” He couldn’t think of anything fast enough. “You’re right. I’m sorry for taking your time.”

“Oh, no, it’s…” A pause, which struck like a hurricane. “It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Sure.” But he didn’t hold her on her promise, because she now belonged to someone else.

He just had to get used to being alone.

***

It was the color of eerie black, the denim jacket that he wore above his white shirt as he prepared himself for his date. Donghyuck had cut his hair short, ran his fingers through his bangs so they no longer covered his eyes, and sprayed the new bergamot perfume he bought around his neck.

He didn’t notice it at first, but he had become more popular in school for the past few months, after being a vocalist in a band and performing during the school festival. Girls were approaching him, asking from what class he was, wanting to know whether he wanted to hang out with them from time to time and it felt weird, although he had been quite popular back then too, it was more because he was the funny kid—not the hot kid in school.

So eventually he started going on dates, and every time he managed to spend a day with a girl, he’d come home to brag about it to his neighbor, wanting to evoke a reaction but what came out of her was only a small chuckle and a shake of her head, “What are you talking about? You’re just a boy. You know nothing about girls, let alone going on a date with one.” And he would drop the topic, fuming for the rest of the day.

“There.” He straightened his jacket, gazing at his reflection in the standing mirror. “New day, new beginning, Hyuck. You can do this.”

You can forget her and move on.

So he checked on his phone, noticing a new chat just popped up under the name of the stranger he had been seeing for two weeks, and felt his heart beating as steady as usual. Everything felt the same. Even after he’d kissed her for the first time, intertwined his fingers with hers as they walked from one cafe to another, or hearing her laugh over his words even when he didn’t try to be funny—everything felt the same. So… plain. Unexciting. And after two weeks had passed by, meeting this stranger—the girl with the auburn colored hair, crooked teeth, and waist thinner than most—began to feel like a chore.

No, you said you’d do this. You said you’d move on from her.

“Ah, Haechannie!” The way his childhood friend immediately smiled upon his presence, waving a hand back and forth as if they were long lost companions instead of neighbors, almost made him stop in his tracks. “You’re going somewhere? You look so nice!”

His resolution faltered as simple as that. Only by the sound of her voice calling his name, only by her contagious grin creeping to his face, only by simple praise that made his stomach flip most delightfully.

“What do you mean, I look nice? I always look nice.” Donghyuck was proud of himself to be able to conceal his feelings most of the time, and not actually acting like a blushing seventeen-year-old boy with the hugest crush on his childhood friend that he was.

She took her time analyzing him and for the first time in his life, he began to fidget on his feet, swallowing his breath.

“Stop staring at me, you’re making me feel weird.”

“Sorry, I just can’t believe you’re this big,” she said, her eyes sparkling in amazement. “Like, I know we’re neighbors but we’ve been busy dealing with our own things these days so I haven’t really taken a closer look at you but man, look how much you’ve grown. You’re way taller than me now.”

“Yeah, if you weren’t too busy playing tonsil hockey with that fucking Na Jaemin all the time, you would’ve noticed.”

“Indeed.” She looked amused, even proud somehow. “But I got to make-out and stuff. What have you done so far, cherry boy?”

He clenched his jaw, jealousy coursing through his veins. He tried to shove the picture of Jaemin running his hands all over her body—her perfect body—to the back of his head and he thought he did a remarkable job at it. But when he smiled, his eyes didn’t follow through.

“None of your business,” he simply said, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his jeans and walked away. “I’m going on a date. See you later.”

“You’re going on a date?!” She shrieked, eyes wide. “With who?”

“A pretty girl.”

She took a hold of his hand, stopping him from walking further. “Is this the girl you’ve been seeing for the last two weeks?”

He didn’t realize she kept count. “Yeah. What about it?”

“Nothing, I was just…” She awkwardly shrugged, her fingers hanging loosely around his arm. “Just curious, that’s all. So, like… Do you like her? What’s her name?”

It was almost possessive the way she asked the questions which on one hand, made him feel happy, hoping that she was jealous about it, but on the other hand, also pissed the hell out of him because if she was indeed jealous—if she ever felt the same way as him, even if only slightly—why did she go to Jaemin’s arms instead of his?

“Her name,” he glanced at her with lifeless eyes, “is Miss None-of-Your-Fucking-Business.”

Her smiled dropped instantly. “What is your problem? I just wanted to know—”

He knew he had the worst temper and patience in the world when it came to her, and he was not always like that before. Ever since the feelings he harbored for her grew bigger and bigger with each day passing by no matter how hard he tried to make himself fall in love with somebody else, he grew even more anxious, even less patient, and he hated the way he’d become.

But he couldn’t help it.

“Want to know what?” He asked, now facing her, circling his long fingers around her wrist and raising it in the air. “What do you want to know, exactly? It’s not just her name, is it? You want to know the things I do with her too? Want to know how I feel for her?”

Her eyes began to shake, frantically trying to understand him. “What—why are you so upset?”

“I’m not, I—” He sighed with a groan coming from the back of his throat, letting her go before he massaged his temple. I’m just so stressed out knowing how clueless you are of both your own feelings and mine. “Look, I gotta go. I’m running late.”

When he walked away, taking just about three steps ahead, she shouted. “Haechannie!”

He turned his head around, just enough to see her smiling softly at him. “This weekend,” she said, “Spend time with me this weekend. Please.”

“Noona, I—”

“I miss you.”

Just like that, she had him wrapped around her fingers again. It’s not fair. You’re not fair. You can’t keep doing this to me. But he smiled back, his gaze growing gentle, almost longing. “Then I’ll see you this weekend.”

He was in a fight he knew he’d lose every time.

***

It was coral pink, the color of the girl’s lip cream but he felt it pressed against his lips before he could see it properly. He felt his collar being tugged as his body was pushed further into her room, hasty hands pushing the jacket off his shoulders.

“You smell so good,” she said, giggling as she brought his bottom lip between her teeth. “And you look so fucking hot in this outfit.” Donghyuck hit the back of his knees against her bed and tumbled down onto her sheets, with his self-proclaimed girlfriend following shortly after.

“Wait—” he said, his eyebrows joining together in the middle from feeling both confused and uncomfortable. “What about your parents—”

“They’re not home,” she said in a rush, climbing onto his lap. “And I want you.” She tangled her lean fingers around his locks, pulling his head back to expose more of his neck. “I’ve been wanting you for so long, Hyuck,” she gasped, her mouth latching on his skin, tasting his bergamot perfume with her tongue. “And we’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

A little more than two weeks had passed since they first went on a date, and he really thought he could like her but whenever he closed his eyes during the kiss, his mind would start acting on its own, morphing her face to someone more familiar. Someone who could pull on his heartstrings and play with them only by the sight of her smile.

It felt wrong. All of this felt wrong. But he said he’d move on, he promised himself he would, and this was one of the ways to do it.

“You seem distracted,” she moaned softly against his ear, pressing her hips against him. “Am I boring you?”

He didn’t say a word and instead forced himself to kiss her better. He held her by the nape, angling her head to the side, and she sighed against his mouth, hooking her fingers around his silver necklace to pull him even closer.

Donghyuck was lost deep in his thoughts, and his heart just wasn’t there, but he didn’t push her away. She spread her legs and tangled them around his waist, pressing herself down until she could feel the zipper of his jeans grazing against her underwear. Donghyuck hissed under his breath, not agreeing with how his body reacted on its own and she grinned against his lips, guiding the hands he reactively laid around her waist to move further down her body.

“Touch me here,” she begged, taking his right hand and slipped it under her shirt, pushing her breast against his palm. Donghyuck let out a heavy breath as he let her tongue slipped past his lips and he closed his eyes again because that was the only way that this could all feel right to him.

Noona…

But no matter how good her touches felt on his skin, guilt was the only sensation he could feel in his heart. The more they kissed, the more he realized that she was not her, and she could never be her. He couldn’t smell the scent of strawberries from her hair. He couldn’t hear the cute giggle she made when his jokes got to her head. And no matter how they seemed physically similar—the look of her hair, the shape of her eyes, the way she dressed—he still couldn’t lie to himself and pretend she was her.

“Wait—” He pushed her gently off his lap by landing both hands on her shoulders. “Let’s stop.”

“Why?” She was upset, he could tell. “What is it?”

You’re not her. “I feel like we’re going too fast.” I don’t want you, I want her. “And what if your parents come home?” I feel sick. I need to get out of here. I need to see her.

“They won’t be home until midnight, I promise.” She had her fingers curled around his nape again. “Please, Hyuck, don’t you want me?”

She didn’t give him the chance to answer, swallowing his protest with her lips, tasting more of his mouth with her tongue. “Mmph—no—wait!” he pushed her away again, firmer this time to the point she almost toppled over. “Look, I’m not in the mood, okay?” His tone was getting harsher, which only led her to feel even more agitated.

“Why the fuck are you even here then?” She spat out, throwing her hands in the air.

Donghyuck shoved her away none too gently this time, stepping down from her bed. “I don’t fucking know,” he growled under his breath, putting his denim jacket back on. “I’m leaving.”

“What are you, gay?!” She was screaming as he stormed off, slamming her bedroom door on his way out.

***

It was the color of sunset that illuminated her face, as she sat on her porch with her knees pressed together to her chest and her spine glued to the wall. Her eyes were blank, almost lifeless as she stared into space, her previous conversation with her beloved childhood friend replaying non-stop in her head.

Does he really like her? Why didn’t he tell me anything about this? How far have they gone? Has he kissed her yet?

The heat was spreading to her cheeks at the thought of Donghyuck leaning in close, his eyes going half-lidded before he closed them entirely, his lips—his beautiful, plump lips—slightly parted in anticipation before he—

She buried her hands in her palms. What is wrong with you?! He’s practically your brother!

It wasn’t like she never thought about him as something more. She just never allowed herself to think about him that way. What they had was special—Donghyuck was special. He was her only true friend, the family that always stood by her side even when her parents didn’t. The one who noticed the simplest things about her without having to be told—like handing her a brand new sketchbook whenever she was about to run out of pages, or the way he would always take a day off school whenever she was sick in bed so he could accompany her the whole day, watching re-runs of her favorite show while munching red velvet cakes the way he knew she liked.

He was the one who could see behind her lies and excuses, and the only one who would come over to her side at any hour just to fulfill her dumb requests—even though he whined the whole time. And she knew she was special to him in some ways as well, because she was the only one who he allowed to see him cry while watching Titanic which to this day, still brought a smile to her face whenever the thought came up.

It was getting pretty distracting when puberty hit him like a truck somewhere in his first year of high school. His shoulders got broader, his jawlines became more prominent, his voice got a tad deeper, and he was getting taller and taller that she had to tilt her head upward to see his face properly during conversations. He was packing more muscles too, from all the soccer activities he did after school, turning his complexion from slightly pale into the perfect color of a sun-kissed tan. While she, on the other hand, only had two pimples appearing on her cheeks and her chest growing slightly bigger.

She adored him. To her, his existence had become such an integral part of her life that whenever she didn’t see him for a day, she would sit on her porch, counting the minutes until he walked past her house, calling her, “Noona,” with that cheeky smile on his face before he told her about his day.

That was before she dated Jaemin, though. Because after that, he became quite distant. It felt weird and slightly out of character for him to give her the cold shoulder whenever she mentioned his name, but she thought perhaps it was just a boy thing. The whole conversation about her drooling over her boyfriend was probably too boring for his ears, and Donghyuck was always straightforward with the things he wasn’t fond of so she shouldn’t have been so surprised.

Maybe he just wanted to give her the time she needed, so she could spend her days with her boyfriend—like what she was supposed to do—but she couldn’t help it that whenever Jaemin called her noona because he was also a year younger than her, the thought of Donghyuck’s teasing eyes and lopsided smiles crossed her mind.

And then the thought of him, holding another girl on his bed, his lips brushing against hers—

Ah, she mentally groaned, attempting to massage her scalp but ended up yanking on the roots of her hair. Lee Donghyuck, what am I supposed to do with these thoughts of you?

“You look like you’re going insane, honestly.”

She’d recognize that voice in a heartbeat even if she had her eyes closed and when she saw him slouching over her fence with a teasing smile painted on his lips, she nearly crumbled to the ground.

“Were you waiting for me, Noona?” He questioned with his eyebrow raised in a teasing manner, causing her to blush even harder.

“Of course not, idiot, why would I?” And the sound of his small chuckle warmed her heart. “You’re coming back pretty early. I thought you were going to spend the night with her.”

“Yeah?” He dragged open the fence, walking closer to her spot. “You were thinking about me spending a night at her place? Doing what, exactly?”

“Shut up.” She threw her sandal at him which he easily dodged before he took a seat beside her. “Did something happen on your date?”

“We had sex.”

She wasn’t sure whether it was because of the way he just casually said the words as if he was talking about the weather, or simply because he said those words at all, but she found herself frozen to her toes, her heart dropping into a bottomless pit, her chest suffocating.

“O-oh…” She gulped, bringing her eyes down to her fingers. “That’s great… I guess.”

“It was great,” he said, leaning back to press his spine against the wall as well. “But her parents came home soon after so I had to bail.”

He was still talking but she could no longer hear him, as if he was drowning in the background, his voice turning into whispers.

There was a feeling she couldn’t understand that kept appearing in her chest, sending fire to her fingertips. It felt like he was crushing her heart little by little with every word he said, choking her until she couldn’t breathe. She never felt like this before. Was it sadness that she felt—knowing that her little Haechannie was not her little Haechannie anymore? Or was it loneliness, knowing that he had someone else in his life—someone who could feel his touches, and made him feel theirs, in the way she could never do?

“Noona.”

She blinked herself awake. “What?”

“You’ve been quiet for a while.”

“I was just…” She desperately sought an answer. “I’m sleepy.”

It was a terrible lie and he could tell, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he offered her his shoulder. “Come here, then.” And she obliged, lying her cold cheek against his warmth and for the first time in her life, she began to be more conscious of everything.

Of his intoxicating scent. Of his slow breathing. Of his velvety voice sounding dangerously close to her ear.

Of his presence, entirely.

“So,” he pressed the side of his head against hers, voice turning gentle and quiet. “You’re not playing tonsil hockey with your stupid boyfriend today?”

“He had something to do, like a group project or something. And it’s fine, I needed some time alone to sort out my—” feelings. “—thoughts anyway.”

Donghyuck snorted. “Thoughts? Like, plural? You with that one brain cell of yours?”

She poked him on the side of his abs, forcing him to laugh in the way he usually did in the past. “All jokes aside though, Noona.” He sighed, staring at the way their hands were lying side by side on the wooden parquet. If only he could just move slightly… “Are you happy with him?” was the question he asked, but he actually wanted to hear the answer to Are you happier with him compared to when you’re with me?

“I think I am,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her words which ironically sparks pain to his every nerve. “I mean, it’s my first time being in a relationship so I barely know anything at this point, but… He does make me feel something in a way that no one has ever made me feel before.”

“What, like, horny?”

“That too, but—” She huffed. “I don’t know, like, he makes me feel wanted. Desired. He makes me feel pretty and I feel like I’m more confident now as a person, knowing that there’s someone out there who wants me that way, you know?”

Donghyuck stared into space, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “But does he need you, though?” Does he need you like I do?

“Is there a difference?”

“Well, wanting you would be like he wants to hold hands with you, kiss you, touch you, be intimate with you or something but you can be replaceable as soon as he’s satisfied with you and starts wanting someone else.”

“I don’t think Jaemin is the kind of person who thinks like that.”

I don’t fucking care about Jaemin. “Yeah, I hope not. I don’t ever want you to have your heart broken.”

There was a silence that hung around them, and it started to make him feel flustered at his own words so he immediately added, “By anyone else but me. The only one who can mess with your head and your stupid heart is me. That’s like the reason for my existence—to make sure your life is a living hell.”

She smiled, taking his hand in hers, and squeezed him softly. “Yeah. You’ve always been my little devil after all.”

The word ‘my’ had a nice ring to his ears, enveloping his heart in a warming sensation, and Donghyuck blushed again, for an entirely different reason but as long as she didn’t notice, he would be fine.

***

It was ash grey, the color of his sweater that she borrowed to be worn as her sleeping attire during their sleepover at his house. It felt strange for two young adults in their primal stage of life to be sharing a room, but Donghyuck was more than pleased to offer her his bed while he slept on the floor, and his parents also didn’t mind, as long as they kept their bedroom door open.

“Final chance to back down, Noona, because I’m not stopping once we go all the way,” Donghyuck warned, suggestively raising his eyebrow, making her gulp nervously.

“I-I’m ready,” she said, nodding her head shakily a few times.

“You sure.”

“Just do it.”

“Well then, here we go.”

And as he clicked play, the movie started. It felt like it had been years since the last time they watched a movie together, sitting side by side on a carpeted floor, with a popcorn bowl on her lap, and a MacBook on his. They shared earphones, forcing them to sit as close as possible to avoid having them slipped out of their ears. Horror movies were her weakness so he always insisted to watch one of them to torture her—and also to see her cute reactions but Donghyuck scratched that off his mind—and somehow, she always ended up agreeing to it.

Donghyuck could watch every jumpscare in the movie without batting an eyelash, but his heart jumped every time whenever she clung on to him, her arms wrapping tightly against his, her head sinking at the crook of his neck, her frantic breath fanning his skin.

“What are you so scared about?” He asked, thanking God that he didn’t stutter. “It’s just a ghost of his dead girlfriend, haunting him for vengeance while singing a creepy tune as she does it.”

“Literally everything you just said!” She sobbed, her fingers clutching tightly to the fabric of his shirt, her fingernails nearly scratching his skin.

Donghyuck knew he was blushing and he hated it, and if she kept doing that, who knew what he’d become. “Let’s just stop then.”

“But you want to see this movie, don’t you—AAAH!”

His ears began to ring. “Not with you screaming like this!”

“It’s okay, I can handle this.” She puffed out her chest, taking a deep breath. “But can I hold your hand, just in case?”

It was his turn to take a deep breath. “Sure.”

It was scary, Donghyuck thought, how his mind could pay no attention whatsoever to what was showing on the screen, and instead focusing every nerve in his body on the sight of her fingers resting on top of his, squeezing them tightly whenever she was scared out of her mind.

There was a knot in his stomach, making him feel lightheaded and he tried to push the thought of lifting her fingertips to his lips and kiss them until she could think about nothing but him away from his mind.

By the end of the movie, he knew nothing about the storyline but she was bawling her eyes out. “I can’t believe I’m crying over a ghost’s background story, this is so stupid,” she said, sobbing fervently until her entire shoulders began to shake.

Donghyuck lifted one knee to his chest, laying his arms on top of it before he rested his cheek on them, He gazed at her with a pair of longing eyes, gleaming in adoration. “You’re so cute,” he sighed in a breathy voice.

Still rubbing the tears out of her eyes, she asked, “What?”

“The way you get so worked up over stupid things like this is just—cute. You’re so cute.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop saying those kinds of things to me. You already have a girlfriend. It’s not right to do this to her, even if you’re just joking around.”

Maybe it was because she seemed a bit hurt, her voice sounding strained and plaintive, or maybe it was just her line entirely but whatever it was, it made his skin crawl and he could no longer control what came out of his mouth.

“What if I didn’t have a girlfriend then?” He questioned, eyes deadly serious. “What if I wasn’t just flirting with you? What would you do if I told you I meant everything I said, every praise, every feeling I had for you?”

Her hands froze mid-air as she tried to wipe the rest of her tears away from her eyes. “What are you—”

“What would you do if I told you I loved you?” He leaned closer, brushing his fingertips against her tear-stained cheek. “Would you believe me if I say I’ve been in love with you ever since I met you?”

Silence struck like a hurricane, and there was a storm swirling in her chest. “I…” Her throats felt dry. “I, uhh…”

She looked so conflicted that it began to hurt him even when she didn’t intend to, because Donghyuck wanted her to immediately say, “I would’ve said the same thing,” straight to his face without having to trip on her words. Without her voice sounding so brittle. Without her face looking like she was about to break someone’s heart.

So he simply got up to his feet, forcing a train of laughter to erupt from his mouth. “I’m just messing with you, idiot. Stop looking at me like you got your panties in a twist, I was just kidding.”

And he expected her to be angry. Angry enough that she would shout while throwing things at his face, but instead, she broke down in tears again but smiling so widely in relief.

“I’m so glad,” she said, nearly choking on her tears. “I’m so glad you were just joking.”

He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide the pain that fleeted on his eyes, so he turned around, sinking his nails deep into his palm so he could focus on that pain instead of the one in his heart before he gathered his quilt with both arms. “Let’s just go to bed, it’s late.”

“You’re sleeping on the floor again?”

“What do you think?”

“But…” She nibbled on her lower lip. “It’s, umm, I don’t mind if we sleep together—I mean, on the bed, like, side-by-side, not—” She caught herself, shaking her head. “Anyway, it’s big enough for both of us anyway, and also…” She grew quiet, fiddling with her fingers. “I’m still so scared right now so if you could just, you know, sleep right next to me, that would calm me down a lot, I think…”

Donghyuck had his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, glaring at his ceiling, asking his Lord, why must you test me like this?

“You do know that your boyfriend would kill me if he knows I’m doing this with you, right?”

She winced, smiling sheepishly. “Can’t you just keep it a secret?”

He sighed, making sure that he had the expression that said I’m-so-done-with-all-your-bratty-requests when deep down inside, he was shaking in both excitement and fear of not being able to hold himself back.

“I’m a man too, you know,” Donghyuck grumbled, slipping himself underneath the comforter. He didn’t take off his shirt this time, unlike the other nights when he slept alone. “I could attack you in your sleep.”

“Isn’t that the very reason why we’re keeping the door open?” She giggled, though the tremble from her previous breakdown was still there. “This is actually rather exciting. It’s been years since we slept side-by-side like this. It reminds me of our good old days.”

“Yeah?” He jeered. “Remember what else we do in our good old days? We take baths together.”

“Just shut up and go to sleep.”

Donghyuck slept on his side, facing the other side of the wall while she laid on the bed with her spine pressed against the sheets and her eyes glued to his ceilings. Though she was the one who said those words, it took her forever to fall asleep. “Haechannie?”

“What?”

“You’re still awake?”

“No, this is his voicemail speaking.”

“If you’re too tired to talk, could you sing me a song or something? It’s too quiet and I can’t help remembering that creepy tune she sang every time she showed up.”

“My God, what are you, a kid?”

“You forced me to watch that, so take responsibility for it!”

“Ugh, fine,” he groaned, turning to his back with his eyes locked on his ceilings and then started to hum. She listened to it wholeheartedly, a smile popping up on her face but it didn’t stay long before she realized something.

“Are you singing the theme to Mario Bros?”

“If you even begin to complain, I’m going to kick you off the bed.”

“Right, okay, continue then.”

She listened again, prepared for the same tune, but he changed it at the last second. “I can’t believe you changed it to Spongebob’s now.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, just go to sleep!”

“Okay, geez!” Her smile became permanent on her face. “You just said the F word. Mommy’s gonna be pissed at you tomorrow.”

It ended up with them throwing playful punches and kicks under the duvet and Donghyuck laughed a lot, missing and loving every second of it because this was how they used to be—playing around like kids, messing with each other’s hair and faces. At one point, he began to hover over her, trapping her body between his arms, his knee placed on the small space between her thighs. The pendant of his silver necklace was grazing along her collar bone, making her shiver slightly from the cold.

She was sweating, her bangs sticking to her temple, and she was as breathless as he was, panting for air. It felt like time began to slow for Donghyuck the second his eyes were locked on hers, his surroundings vanishing into a blur. He was so close, too close, that he could feel her breath on his lips, could almost taste the scent of her shampoo on his tongue, and if he could just lean in…

The sound of his name tumbling down her lips in a soft, almost inaudible manner was what stopped him from pressing his lips against hers, and he was thankful because otherwise, he could’ve done it, and then everything would be ruined.

He couldn’t afford that to happen.

“Your breath stinks,” he said instead and pecked her quickly on her forehead. He immediately scrambled to his other side of the bed, shouting, “Go to sleep, you idiot,” as he gave his best effort to pretend he was sleeping.

You were so close, Donghyuck thought, you almost ruined everything. Pull yourself together.

And if I can’t have her, just let me have this moment for the rest of my life.

***

It was the color of ivory, her trench coat was as she wrapped it harshly around her body, all the while fuming in anger. Her phone was buzzing non-stop, alerting her to the new messages that arrived almost at the same time and she knew exactly who they were from.

I still can’t believe you’re choosing him over me to celebrate your birthday. - Haechannie, 09.10

We do this every year, Noona, we PROMISED to always celebrate our birthdays together. - Haechannie, 09.10

And now that you have Na fucking Jaemin giving you sloppy blowjobs as your birthday gift, you suddenly just forget about me?! How fucking ridiculous is that?! - Haechannie, 09.11

Does he even know it’s your birthday today? Did he congratulate you on it like I did? Showing up at your door at midnight, carrying the world’s most gigantic alpaca doll in my arms when it was fucking freezing outside?! Because I sure as hell didn’t see his stupid donkey face! - Haechannie, 09.12

Also, not trying to be an ass about this, but do you even know how hard it is to find a one-meter tall Alpaca doll?! Why can’t you just like teddy bears like everyone else for fuck’s sake. - Haechannie, 09.13

“Oh my God,” she groaned loudly to the air, almost stomping her feet in fury as she texted back, “I’m not ditching you, you selfish idiot! I’ll be back before dinner and then we can spend the rest of the day together so for once in your life, stop sounding like a fucking asshole!” She paused, thinking more words to add before she jabbed her thumbs to her phone screen again. “Also, I didn’t ask you to get me anything so you can take that stupid ugly doll back if you’re going to be a bitch about it because I don’t need it!”

And she pressed send. But before she could catch her breath, another response came by.

Great. Do me a favor, will ya? Don’t show up at dinner. I’m not your fucking backup plan. - Haechannie, 09.15

She was so close to smashing her phone against the wall, but the text coming from her boyfriend, telling her that he was waiting for her downstairs, made her heaved the heaviest sigh she’d ever made, shoved her phone into her purse, and stepped down the stairs with angry clicks of her heels.

The entire birthday date was a disaster for her because Jaemin was discussing something important but she couldn’t decipher a word he said. The look on Donghyuck’s face when she said she had promised Jaemin she’d go on a date with him on her birthday—how shocked and disappointed he was, not to mention furious—was the only thing that she could focus on. She kept replaying it over and over again in her head, until Jaemin took her hand and called, “Noona? Did you hear what I just said?”

And she was so terribly upset that she began to lose control of her mouth. “Don’t call me that. I have someone back home who calls me that a lot and it’s getting annoying.”

“O…kay,” Jaemin awkwardly said, pulling his hand away from hers. “I was just trying to be respectful.”

She threw her head back, sighing loudly in exasperation. “You’re right, sorry. I didn’t mean to take this out on you.” She took a deep breath, waited until she calmed down a little bit before she continued again. “I just had this fight with someone and it keeps bugging me.”

“Let me guess. Is it Lee Donghyuck again?”

She raised her head in surprise, looking at him. “What do you mean again?”

“He’s all you’ve been thinking about, for as long as I remember.”

“Yeah, because he’s like a little brother to me who annoys the hell out of me.” She rubbed her temple, feeling her energy drained. “Well, he’s not actually my brother, but he acts like one—he gets on my nerves, teases me a lot, calls me stupid all the time—”

“Why do I get the feeling that he’s more than just a little brother to you?”

She frowned. “What do you mean? You’re not listening to me—”

“Look, you know what?” Jaemin ran a hand through his hair. “I think it’s best to end this.”

“What?” She nearly dislocated her jaw. “What are you even saying—are you breaking up with me?”

“Well, you’re going to graduate soon and you told me once that you’d probably leave town for college, and with all this Donghyuck thing going on…” Jaemin sighed. “I just don’t see how this is going to work.”

***

It was the color of dark grey, the heavy clouds that hovered above the earth with thunders flashing between them. She stood in front of Donghyuck’s door, fingertips shivering slightly from the cold as she rang his doorbell. The boy came to answer shortly after, his usual gaze quickly turning into a menacing glare at the sight of her. He was about to rave over their previous fight when he noticed how she was all drenched from the rain with tears streaming down her face. She glanced up at him, murmuring his name between sobs, and Donghyuck hastily gathered her in his arms, not caring one bit how the rain seeped almost instantly to the grey Nirvana shirt he was wearing.

“Are you okay?” He attentively asked, cupping her cheek with his lean fingers. He lifted her face, examining every detail of her features, making sure she wasn’t hurt in the slightest. “Did something happen?” His voice suddenly turned gravelly. “Did he do this to you?”

She sniffled, burying her face in his chest. “Jaemin broke up with me.”

“On your fucking birthday?!”

She nodded.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Donghyuck said, almost growling as he embraced her tighter. “I’m gonna keep you company today and make sure you’re okay first, and then I’m going to kill him.”

There was no need for apologies to be exchanged, because Donghyuck already had his arms around her, drying her hair with a towel and lending her his sweater that he knew she loved. His parents weren’t home at the time, so they sat on the kitchen counters, legs dangling a few inches above the porcelain floor with a cup of hot coffee in their hands.

“This is the worst birthday in the history of mankind,” she said, slurping her coffee. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Well, there was actually this girl who got murdered on her birthday—”

“Just humor me, will you?” He chuckled and patted her hair. “But to be fair, I don’t think he’s aware it’s my birthday today. He hasn’t said anything, didn’t give me anything. I also never told him, and he…Well, he never asked.”

“And yet, you still went out with him.” He sighed, now tucking a loose strand of her hair to the back of her ear. “I know you’re an idiot, but I didn’t think you were this much of an idiot.”

She grew smaller. “Please be mean to me another day. I’m currently wounded.”

“Right, okay, come here.” He cradled her in his arms, placing his chin on top of her head. “You smell like a wet dog, by the way.”

“Thanks.” She was about to lean more to his touch when his phone began to ring.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” She questioned when he did nothing about it and when he kept quiet, she broke apart from his embrace, jumped down, and grabbed his phone from the table.

“Unknown number,” she mumbled when his ringtone stopped playing. “Wait, there’s a text.”

“Don’t read it.”

“It said aren’t you coming over.” She raised her eyebrows in question. “Is this your girlfriend?”

He yawned. “A different one.”

“What, that fast? Were you supposed to meet her? Oh my God, I’m so sorry for taking your time, why aren’t you—”

“Rather than saying that,” he took a sip of his coffee, “We should begin our revenge plan on that stupid ex of yours. I mean, I could just straight-up punch him in the face, but you already know his weakness. It’s time to strike, baby.”

She blinked, her puffy eyes soon began to gleam mischievously. “I’ve already planned it all out. Do you wanna hear it in alphabetical order?”

***

It was the color of burgundy, the quilt that covered her body when she suddenly woke up from her dream with a jolt, surprising the man who slept on the floor next to the foot of her bed.

“What happened?” Donghyuck asked, rubbing his eyes away from sleep. “Nightmare?”

Her eyes were wide when she looked back at him, gulping hard before she said, “I just had the dream.”

“What dream?”

“The dream, Hyuck.”

“Wet dream? I thought that was only for boys—”

“No, you’re not listening to me. The dream.” She threw her blanket away, scrambling back to her feet, and kneeled in front of him, taking his hand in hers. “I just met my soulmate.”

Donghyuck almost shuddered. “What?”

“It’s true, Haechannie, it wasn’t just a rumor,” she said, looking at her trembling fingers. “They said the dreams would start sometime after we turned eighteen and I saw it. I saw him. And it felt so weird. It wasn’t like a dream, it was—” Realization befell her eyes. “A memory. You were right, it was a memory—his memory.”

“Okay, wait a sec.” He held up a finger in the air. “What exactly did you see? And talk like a normal person this time.”

She nibbled on her lower lip, deep in her thoughts. “So, you know how when you’re dreaming, you can’t tell if it’s a dream? Like you’re suddenly somewhere, doing something that you can’t remember the beginning of it but it felt normal so you kept doing that, until suddenly you wake up and you start noticing how weird it really was.” Donghyuck nodded, albeit still a little unsure. “Well, this isn’t anything like that. You’re completely aware that it’s a dream—at least, I was. I remember telling myself it was a dream but now I realized it was a memory.”

“My God, you’re taking too long,” he complained. “What exactly did you see? For fuck’s sake, just tell me!”

“I was in a classroom at some school that I’ve never seen before and there was this guy who looked just about my age, sitting on the last row—just right by the window. He had the softest hair, a pair of big, beautiful doe eyes, cute thin lips, broad shoulders—”

“Hold up.” He grimaced. “You’re not talking about me, are you?”

“One of these days, Lee Donghyuck, I’m going to strangle you in your sleep, I swear to God, I will.”

“Right, apparently not then. Please, continue.”

She took another two seconds to throw ice daggers at him with her eyes before she finally started again. “He was scribbling something down on his book. And I tried to talk to him, but he couldn’t hear me. I could hear him, though, and everything else that was going on in the classroom. I could hear him hum a song before he nodded his head, looking like he just figured something out, and then he was writing things down again. I tried to reach out to him, but I couldn’t physically touch him too. I was just a bystander that saw everything—like watching a movie or something.”

“A completely boring movie, if you ask me.”

She rolled her eyes, completely ignoring him. “Then, when I blinked my eyes, I was standing somewhere else. There was this lake, so beautiful, surrounded by mountains—like the entire scenery of it was just breathtaking, and I don’t think that’s in our country so he might have traveled somewhere overseas.”

He snorted. “Sounds like an annoying rich kid.”

“Can you just—” She sighed, calming herself down. “So, I saw him there with a camera in his hands and a guitar case strapped to his back. He was taking some shots of the landscape and, uhh,” she shyly chuckled, “I know it’s too fast for me to say this, but his face when he’s concentrating—“

“Constipating?”

“Concentrating,” she corrected and Donghyuck sent her a kissy face. “The face he made when he was concentrating was so cute.”

“Ugh, enough with the lame commentary.” He yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “Why are you so sure he’s your soulmate? Sounds like just another weird-ass dream to me.”

“I can’t really explain it, but…” Her eyes turned soft, cheeks going a bit rosy. “It feels like I just found something that I didn’t know I lost—something important, something that was a part of me, even. And it just makes me feel whole, you know? It’s weird saying this when I don’t even know his name but… That’s just how I feel. Everything just clicked.”

“Huh…” Donghyuck’s tongue was protruding against the inside of his mouth as he tried to process his thoughts. It suddenly felt like his heart was being cut into several pieces, the moment his reality sank in. He didn’t realize it was that serious. Or at least, he didn’t want it to be that serious.

She squeezed his hand. “You understand how I feel, don’t you, Haechannie?”

He sent her a timid smile before he pulled her body into him, pressing his chest against hers, leaning down to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Yeah,” he muttered softly, his lips grazing the fabric of her sweater. “I get it.” And she giggled, embracing him tighter, thinking that maybe he was just as happy as her.

She didn’t notice the way his fingers slowly curled against the back of her sweater. She didn’t notice how he deliberately pressed his lips against her clothed shoulder as he spoke so he could hide the shivers in his voice. And she didn’t notice how his eyes were shaking in the fear of losing her, how he could barely bear the pain in his chest, how his mind almost made him vomit the words he’d been dreading.

It’s okay. She hasn’t met him yet. Maybe it’s just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything.

God, please don’t let it mean anything.

***

It was a shade of purple, the color she used to paint a lavender in her sketchbook before she drew the rest of the landscape. But before she could finish painting the next thing, she sighed dreamily into the air, closing her drawing book with both hands.

“He’s in a band,” she said as they laid side-by-side on the grass, enjoying the warm sunlight on their faces and the scent of the pine trees in the garden near their homes. “Was. Or still is, I’m not sure.”

And she laughed, she always did whenever she talked about him and although the sound of it used to warm his heart, it made him struggle even more with jealousy. So he just hummed, scrolling down his Instagram feeds to distract him.

Three months had passed by ever since she had that dream, and Donghyuck was conflicted between wanting to know more or hearing none of it for the rest of his life. She had the dream every single night, reliving every single one of her soulmate’s memory—both past and present—every time she closed her eyes, and to him, she seemed more alive when she was about to go to bed, rather than after she woke up.

“I heard him sing once during his band practice when his vocalist had a sore throat. He sounded great but like, a bit hesitant, you know? Like he’s not confident with his voice.” She turned around to her stomach, staring at him with excitement in her eyes and a speck of scarlet painting her cheeks. “Well, he doesn’t sound anything like you, but I still think he’s great.”

“Good to know,” he coldly replied. She seemed to take notice of that.

“I’m sorry, Haechannie,” she said, “I must have bored you to death with all this soulmate talk.”

“Yeah, well, he’s your soulmate, not mine, so I couldn’t care any less.” He could’ve been nicer about it, but then again that wouldn’t be him.

“Well, guess what?” She landed half of her body on his stomach, knocking some of his breath with her weight but he just threw a glare in response and not pushing her away. “Somebody is having his eighteenth birthday in a month. So then, we’ll have your soulmate to talk about too.”

“Yaaay,” he weakly cheered, face flat and ignorant.

She pouted. “Why aren’t you excited about this? You’re gonna be dreaming about your soulmate! I’m excited to know who’s that lucky girl going to be.”

His chest felt heavy and it had nothing to do with the girl on top of him. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I hope she’s nice and pretty,” she said, smiling genuinely at him. “Because only the most perfect girl in this entire universe can deserve my Haechannie.”

But he didn’t want a perfect girl. He just wanted her, so why was it so impossible to ask?

“Wish I could wish the same for you,” he said, placing his phone on his chest and leaned back on his elbows so he could focus his gaze on hers.

“What do you mean?”

And he switched their positions, rolling their bodies on the grass until she had her spine pressed against the ground with him hovering above her. “H-Haechannie?”

She looked so perfect like this—trapped between his arms, her doe eyes widening in surprise, taking in his sight, her lips parted making a soft gasp of his name.

Ah, I want to make her mine. Why can’t she be mine?

He leaned down, the tip of his nose almost brushing against hers. And if he could just forget everything—their friendship, her future life with her soulmate—for a few seconds and allow himself to be selfish, he would close the gap, meeting her lips with his, bask himself in her warmth, and he would let her moan against his mouth, would caress her cheeks with his fingertips, and would just wish the time to stop so they could repeat that for eternity.

But this reality of his was not that.

This reality of his felt more like a nightmare—one that he could never wake up from.

So in this reality, he brought his lips dangerously close to her ear, and whispered, “I hope your soulmate picks his nose and eats his booger whenever you’re not looking because only then he’d be perfect for you.”

And before she could kick his abs in response, he already scrambled back to his feet, running away as if his life depended on it.

***

It was the color of cerulean blue, the scarf that Donghyuck wore around his neck because he was a bit sensitive to cold even when spring was about to come to an end.

“Let’s go somewhere,” Donghyuck said, adrenaline rushing through his veins. “Anywhere. Just you and me.”

“What, now?” She frowned, looking at the clock on her bedroom wall. It was two hours before midnight—before he turned eighteen. “But it’s late—”

“I don’t care—”

“And it’s freezing outside—”

“I’ll keep you warm.” He was already tugging on her hand, pulling her up to her feet. He wrapped his scarf around her neck and placed his beanie on her head. “I don’t have my gloves but I’ll hold your hand all the way, so no more excuses and let’s go.”

Because it might be his last chance to spend his time with nothing but her presence filling his thoughts. He dreaded the possibility of having that dream sometime after the clock struck twelve. He didn’t want his heart to be taken by someone else—let alone, a stranger. And he knew he wouldn’t dream about her because she had found her soulmate and he was not him.

And if it was true—if having that dream changed his entire perspective where he could only love that one girl for the rest of his life then…

Just let me have this moment with her, where I can still love her with all my heart, even if she doesn’t love me the same way.

“Where are we going?” She demanded as they broke past the front door as quietly as they could since her parents were sleeping in their room.

“I don’t know—I don’t care—I just—” He breathed into the night air, puffs of warm breath painting the space between them. “Anywhere is fine. I just want to be with you.”

He saw her cheeks turning scarlet but he didn’t hope for too much. It was probably just the cold playing tricks on him.

“Okay, well then,” She tightened her duffle coat around her body. “Lead the way.”

He smiled, feeling blessed for having her putting so much faith in him, even after all this time.

There weren’t many places open at that hour, and it was fine because they already felt content just from walking side-by-side under the cherry blossoms that had withered all of their flowers. The way she held his hand reminded him of their younger days, both gentle and somewhat protective—like a sister to a younger brother and it made him feel both joy and sadness because he wanted to intertwine their fingers together as lovers, embrace each other under the dim glow of the streetlight, and connect their lips together while whispering loving words between chaste kisses.

“Haechannie,” she said, snapping him out of his reverie as she stopped them both in their tracks. “Happy birthday.”

Donghyuck blinked, not realizing how two hours just passed in an instant. “I’m as old as you, already?” He sneered. “I feel so gross.”

But she didn’t laugh the way he thought she would. Instead, she was looking at him with a glint of loneliness in her eyes which made him wonder why. “I bought you something.” She rummaged her coat’s pocket before she showed a little black box the size of her palm with a red bow wrapped around it.

Donghyuck faked a gasp. “No way, you’re proposing to me? But honey, I’m already carrying your child!”

She stomped her feet on his. “Shut up and just be serious for a sec, will ya?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He chuckled but he could hear how nervous he actually was from the little crack in his voice. He took the little present with a shy, slightly awkward smile. “Can I open it now?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t mock me for it.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at her before he opened the box to find a silver oval locket necklace displayed inside it. He glanced at her. “Don’t tell me you have a picture of us taking our bath together as babies in it.”

“Interesting, but no. I did have something written on it, though.”

“Okay, but if you wrote something stupid, I will—” He froze, hands stopping mid-air after he opened the locket and read the words engraved on the silver plate.

To my first love, Lee Donghyuck.

“Okay, before you say anything,” she cut him off, fidgeting a little on her feet. “Let me explain about it first. I don’t want to come out as weird or anything because after this, we’re both going to find our soulmates and go our separate ways so let me assure you that I’m not saying I love you that way, but—”

He pulled her into his chest, wrapping both of his arms around her shoulders, his lips pressing against her hair.

“Haechannie—”

“Shut up,” he said, closing his eyes as he calmed his racing heart. “Just shut up and let me have this moment.”

She wasn’t sure whether he got her previous message but she no longer cared, because at the end of the day, he was her first love in every way—as a family, a brother, a friend, and even a lover once, though she never allowed herself to think about him like that. So she tangled her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest, and closed her eyes for as long as he would let her.

Donghyuck wanted this moment to last forever but he knew time was running out even if he tried to stand still. It would be over the second he had that dream and fell in love with someone else. It would end the day she’d meet her soulmate, treating his existence merely as a bystander in her love story.

But for now… Just for now…

“I love you,” Donghyuck whispered so softly against her hair, almost inaudible by the sound of the wind passing through their ears. “I love you, Noona. So much that it hurts.”

She chuckled, embracing him tighter. “I love you too, Haechannie.”

Then why does this feel like a goodbye?

He pulled back, pressing his temple against hers. “There’s no life without you,” he said, a shy smile forming on his lips.

She cupped his cheek, rubbing comforting circles on his skin. “There’s no life without you, Haechannie.”

***

“So, umm, thanks for today,” Donghyuck said, as he walked her back to her house, rubbing his nape awkwardly as he said it. “And thanks for the gift. I’ll treasure it.”

“You better.” She playfully punched his arm. “It was pretty expensive, just so you know.”

“More expensive than a one-meter tall made-by-order alpaca doll I bought you?”

“Sorry, I’ll take that back.” She winced, and Donghyuck chuckled a little bit under his breath, patting her head and letting his fingers linger a little longer than usual on the soft strands of her hair.

“Well…” He retracted his hand, placing them in his coat’s pocket. “Good night.”

“See you tomorrow.” And she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek at the same time he was about to do the same and their lips grazed each other, soft lips meeting softer ones in the faintest of touch but carved something deep both in their bodies and minds.

They both took a step back at the same time, startled. He was busy looking anywhere but her face, and she concealed her lips with her fingers, bringing her head down to hide her eyes underneath her bangs.

There was a silence that made his skin crawl. “S-sorry, I was—”

“No, it’s okay, I get it,” she immediately said, forcing a smile before she hastily turned on her heels, her shaky fingers searching for her doorknob. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Donghyuck still had trouble breathing. “Y-yeah, sure.”

She timidly smiled again before she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Now that they were both out of each other’s sight, Donghyuck inaudibly cursed into the air, running a hand through his hair, feeling his heart ramming against his ribcages while she slid down to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and pressed her spine against the back of her front door.

The thought of their brief, accidental kiss was the only thing that painted their minds even behind their closed eyelids as they laid on their beds, hoping for exhaustion to take over their bodies. Once it did, they both fall into a soundless sleep where she began to think about another pair of lips but it wasn’t the case for Donghyuck.

Because, as he fell into his first soulmate dream, he was facing the same person—the girl who owned his heart, whose lips were just as soft as he’d imagined them to be.

Noona, he spoke inside the dream, staring at the sight of her, why am I dreaming about you?

***

829 notes · View notes

amjustagirl · 4 years

Text

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 3k

Summary:

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears the echo of birdsong in her laughter, her song to the gods in the wind.

(Loosely inspired by Kimi No Nawa)

Masterlist link here

AO3 link here

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

The first time it happens, Akaashi is in his third year of university.

The upside of staying in Tokyo for university (his mother cried when he got into Waseda, her alma mater) is that he sees his family almost every weekend for cosy family dinners. The downside of staying in Tokyo for university is that he really has no excuse when his parents insist on carrying on Hatsumode, the first prayer of the new year, at the crack of dawn at the shrine close to their home. It’s not that he minds the tradition per se, but he did just spend all night rushing his projects just so he could adhere to the unspoken rule that no work should be done during the New Year holidays and spend some time flying kites with his little cousins.

Still, there is something magical about starting the New Year watching dawn break and the world awaken from its slumber just as he reaches the summit of all twenty six steps to the top of the shrine, shrouded in the bare branches of the wisteria trees. He tosses coins into the box, drops into a deep bow twice, chin at waist level, clapping twice before bowing a final time. His mother buys far too many omamori, presses at least half of them into his unwilling hands when the omikuji he draws has a great curse scribbled on it. He’s not superstitious, so it doesn’t bother him, but he knows his mother is, so he does accept the omamori with some grace, though he draws the line at the love charm she tries to sneak into the pile.

‘Mum, I’m too busy at school for a partner’, he tells her firmly. ‘Why don’t you pass it to Yuji-kun, he’s already started work, but hasn’t found a girlfriend from what Oba-chan tells me’. His elder cousin shoots him a particularly malevolent glare that he meets with a placid smile as his mother diverts her attention to him instead.

The faintest shiver runs up his fingers when he deposits the old charm he found in the corner of his closet, grey and faded with time, in the koshinsatsu osamedokoro, the omamori drop off open only during the first day of the New Year. The shiver turns into a ripple of cool water racing up his wrists and roars into an tsunami of dread when the attendant tells him all deposited charms will be burnt in the ritual fire in a fortnight’s time, but he writes it off as a symptom of his lack of sleep and starts to turn away.

There’s a sudden echo of a nightmare of raging flames that prompts him to swivel around to snatch the omamori and stuff it back in his pocket, muttering apologies to the shocked attendant. Later, when he has time to process his impulse, he’d find it strange. In the meantime however, the festivities wait for no one, so he distracts himself by eating far too much dango and mochi in between rounds of tossing kites up to catch the wind. His uncles slip him full cups of sake and sweetened rice wine to his mother’s disapproval, which in hindsight he should have heeded, as he stumbles to bed that night, head heavy with alcohol.

That night he dreams of a girl with curly hair, lying in a field of endless gold - daffodils to mark the dawn of spring.

‘Also known as narcissus’, he hears himself say, hears himself narrate the myth of a man so entranced by his own reflection in the water that he lost his will when he realizes he cannot have his object of desire. A girlish voice lilts teasingly – ‘the flowers are too pretty to be ruined by your obsession of stories written by grumpy old men’. He wakes up with the ghost of laughter on his lips, but there’s a lingering sense of loss budding in barren soil of his heart.

It does prompt him to pop by the florist near his parents’ house to order a bouquet of daffodils for his mom to be delivered on the first day of spring. He’s accustomed to the old couple running the shop, so he pauses just for a second when he walks into the store to find a new girl at the counter. She must not be used to customers yet, dropping the bouquet she’s working on when she notices him.

‘Hi’, she stammers, cheeks pink. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’d like to make an advance order for daffodils please.’

‘For spring?’ she asks, and he nods, writing down his parents’ address when prompted. ‘That’s a good choice!’

She waves him off with a cheerful – ‘please come back again’, and he does not notice that there are stars in her eyes.

His mother drags him back to the shrine on the third day of the holidays, and he obliges her, ever the dutiful only son, even though the frigid temperature makes his breath puff up into clouds and the tip of his nose turns numb. The old omamori is still snug in his jacket pocket, and as his fingers brush against it, he can feel the threads of the charm unravelling, the fabric almost fragile in its worn, threadbare state but he does not attempt to dispose of it again.

‘What are you going to do once you’re done with your degree, Keiji?’ His mother asks, when they stop by an old teahouse for a cup of steaming genmaicha, the aroma of roasted rice tea warm against his cold nose.

‘I intend to apply for a job at a publishing company after I graduate’, he tells her seriously, and she nods, encouraging him to continue. ‘I’m hoping it’s something to do with my major, preferably Japanese literature, better yet if it's poetry, but in this market, I’ll take what I can get’.

His mother nods, smiling at him fondly. ‘I remember you used to be obsessed with Shakespeare and Greek myths when you were younger, all the way through high school, and your father and I thought that you’d end up majoring in that in university. You really surprised us when you chose to major in Japanese literature instead.’

‘I don’t know why, to be honest. Maybe I had a good Japanese literature tutor?’ He laughs, fiddling with his teacup.

‘Mm I don’t think so though. I remember you complaining that Raku-sensei was so dull he caused everyone to fall asleep.’ He shrugs, and though she stares at him curiously, she does not pursue the line of conversation any further.

That night he dreams of waking up in an old wooden house, shivering in a thick futon, the smoldering embers from the irori, mere inches from his face. It’s so very different from his childhood bedroom filled with modern appliances and walls of books neatly shelved in alphabetical order, but he doesn’t notice that in the dark. Instead, he reaches for his phone to check the time, bolting awake because that can’t be, he never misses his alarm, mentally calculating that he must leave the house in exactly fifteen minutes to make it in time for practice when a little boy bursts through the door.

‘Nee-chan’, the little boy whines. ‘I’m hungry. Time for breakfast’.

Did he just say Nee-chan? Scratch that - since when did he have a little brother?

He scrambles out of bed, groping his way in the dark to the washroom. The cold water should wake him up, but when he looks up at the mirror above the sink, the face he’s staring at does not belong to him. No - it belongs to a dark eyed girl with curly hair - but it doesn’t make sense, shouldn’t make sense, because when he reaches a trembling finger to poke at the mirror, he is she or she is him -

The ensuing panic and confusion makes him jerk out of his dream, but when he rushes to the washroom to check that he’s still himself, he is relieved to see that it’s still him - Akaashi Keiji, with dark circles around his eyes, staring back in disbelief.

He chalks his strange dream up to the stress he carries around from trying to clear all his course work so he can audit additional classes over the next term.

Except the dreams don’t stop, not even when he moves back to the university dorms. He keeps waking up drenched in cold sweat, clutching at his arms even though they’re clear of the scratches he sees in his dreams, red and raw and stretching all the way up his elbows.

‘Be kinder to Hana-chan, Keiji-kun’, he hears the call of the same girl in his mind and he shudders, unsure whether the disembodied voice floating through his mind is a memory from his dream. ‘She’s going through an awfully tough time’.

‘It doesn’t give her the right to hurt you like that’, he can hear his faint disapproval.

‘Never mind that, it’s not a big deal. What are we reading today – don’t tell me it’s anything like Hamlet. That was horrendously depressing.’

‘Midsummer’s Night Dream? It’s a romantic comedy at least.’

‘Only a nerd like you would read Shakespeare in high school – and it’s not even in Japanese!’

‘Hush – you don’t get to complain when I’m reading it out to you.’

‘What on earth is going on’, he mutters to himself. The copious amounts of frigid water he splashes onto his face is no antidote to this madness.

‘Sato-san, are you feeling alright?’ he asks his grimacing classmate in concern, lines of pain etched onto her face.

‘I’m fine, Akaashi-kun’, she manages to spit out, clutching her stomach with white-knuckled hands. ‘It’ll pass in a bit, I hope’.

‘Are you sure you’re fine? I could help you to the nurse’s office if that helps’.

His classmate shakes her head, a blush staining her cheeks. ‘It’s just that time of the month. I apologise if that’s too much information to be polite’.

Ah. But somehow even though he has no sisters, and his female classmates in high school were oddly reticent about their periods (strange, considering it is part and parcel of being a mammal for far more than a millenium) the steps to deal with this particular conundrum come to him so naturally it’s almost as if the answers were presented to him previously in a dream.

‘Here’, he passes Sato-san painkillers, chocolate and a hot water bottle he’d managed to talk the university nurse into loaning him, and Sato practically whimpers in gratitude.

‘You’re a lifesaver, Akaashi-kun’, she tells him and he nods, content that he’s solved the problem so efficiently.

That night he wakes up in her body again. The room is dark, save for the sliver of white light between the blinds that allows him to discern the growing crimson stain between her legs.

‘Don’t you know all women have to deal with this nonsense every month? But I’ll tell you a trick - painkillers, chocolate and a hot water bottle will make you feel as right as rain’, he hears her voice declare in his mind, and he startles awake to find himself back in his own bed, blessedly clear of any bloodstains.

It must be a dream borne out of what happened today, he tells himself firmly and shrugs it off. The rest of his slumber is thankfully shorn of dreams.

But then these dreams start to crash into his sleep like a series of never ending waves, and he’s a short hop, skip, jump away from falling off the cliff into a distracted madness, the rate his sleep keeps getting disrupted. He keeps waking up in her body, it makes him feel like a creep, wearing her skin like an ill-fitting glove, and he decided does not think about how strange it feels to have twin lumps of flesh in front of his chest (his mother raised him to be a gentleman, after all).

The contents of these dreams are relatively cyclical. He wakes up at dawn, puts on her school uniform, makes breakfast for the little boy - Toya-chan over the primitive hearth before rushing to school through dirt paths lined with trees. His - or rather her classmates stare at her with a mix of condescension and apathy, and her hours in school are spent in a lonely silence, save when Hana-chan gets up in her face and screams absolute nonsense about staying the fuck away from her, which seems a little dramatic considering she’s the one doing the confronting, but it’s just a dream, so he keeps telling himself. It’s not like he can change anything about it.

‘Does it bother you? That you’re alone?’ he asks her one day.

‘Not really. I have you and Toya-chan, don’t I?’ she responds.

‘I suppose’, he says, voice trailing off.

He catches glimpses of sun drenched afternoons spent in fields of flowers, glances of dusky evenings spent in the forest basking in the light of the setting sun. He agonizes over stacks of homework, digs for mushrooms in the damp earth, climbs through wire fences to scavenge for eggs in neighbouring farms.

‘Aren’t your parents worried about you and Toya-chan?’ he can hear himself question her one night.

‘My mom is dead and my dad can’t be home often, he works on construction projects around Sapporo. He sends cash to me and Toya-chan, and it isn’t always enough, but he tries his best ’, she answers, her voice feather light.

‘I’m sorry’, he tells her a little awkwardly, thinking about his happy family and wondering how it’d feel like to have them torn away from him so early on in life.

‘Don’t be’, she replies, ‘Sometimes I wonder if it’s better to have good parents who’re dead or absent rather than horrible parents who’re still alive’.

He jolts awake again, relieved to find himself back in his bed. It’s barely four in the morning, but he’s not going to be able to sleep after that, so he resigns himself to using the time to get cracking on his college assignments anyway. But he makes sure to call his mother once day breaks and he’s sure she’s returned from the market with groceries in tow, telling her awkwardly that he’s just calling to catch up and hopes she’s been well and ok bye mum I love you very much, heart pounding when he hangs up abruptly.

He has a standing appointment on the first Thursday every month to meet Kenma for coffee at a café a stone’s throw away from Waseda. They both order black coffee, which is strange for Kenma considering his legendary sweet tooth, but he knows Kenma too well to know that the ridiculously successful game streamer is only drinking coffee to stay awake, the shadows under his eyes deeper and darker than those under Akaashi’s own eyes.

‘Doesn’t Kuroo-san nag you go to bed at a decent time?’

Kenma doesn’t even bother to flick his eyes up, busy gulping mouthfuls of the bitter liquid. ‘Speak for yourself. Not sleeping well either?’

Akaashi shrugs his shoulders helplessly, stirring his coffee. ‘Mm. ‘I’ve been having strange recurring dreams and it’s been affecting my sleep’.

Kenma merely hums in reply, and Akaashi finds himself spilling out the entire weird series of events – though to be absolutely accurate, his dreams aren’t real so they can’t be termed as events, but they’ve been haunting him for the past month so they might as well be at this rate. He explains about finding himself in the body of a high school girl with curly hair and a dimple on one cheek, how he’s lived her life enough in the past month that he can map out her days with startling certainty, how he knows it’s not real – it can’t be real, but his dreams glimmer with such vibrancy that they feel real.

‘Am I going crazy?’ he asks.

‘I highly doubt it’, Kenma says, tapping his chin in thought. ‘Maybe it’s like one of those exploration video games where you have to take your time to discover its world to figure out the narrative the game is feeding you.’

Trust Kenma to relate everything to video games.

‘That was singularly unhelpful’, Akaashi says dryly as Kenma chuckles quietly in response.

He is almost afraid to fall asleep again but his eyelids are weighed down by weeks’ worth of sleep deprivation and soon he finds himself again in her body.

It’s a clear winter’s night. He’s huddled under a thick blanket to shield himself from the bitter cold, watching the embers in the hearth glow yellow and gold.

‘It’s late. Can’t sleep?’

‘Mm’ he replies. ‘Wondering what tomorrow will bring.’

‘You’re overthinking again, Keiji’, she chuckles. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be just another day. You’ll wake up back in your warm bed at the crack of dawn for volleyball practice, attend classes in your fancy private school, and play even more volleyball with your beloved Bokuto-san’.

He rolls his eyes heavenwards at her words and her laugh this time is loud, bright.

‘You know I only speak the truth. Now, since you need to wake up ridiculously early tomorrow, why don’t I tell you a bedtime story so you can fall asleep.’

‘I’m not a child’, he replies dryly, but does not object when she starts to narrate the tale of a princess exiled from the moon, who is raised by a humble woodcutter and his wife to become a renowned beauty, with five suitors seeking her hand. ‘That’s mean of her’, he mumbles as she describes how the princess rebuffs her suitors by setting them impossible tasks, drifts to sleep as her voice softens as she describes how the princess falls in love with the Emperor, but breaks both their hearts because she knows she must return to the moon someday. He’s fast asleep when she reaches the ending where the princess leaves all her memories on earth with tears in her eyes, gifting the emperor with an elixir of immortality which he burns, because he declares life isn’t worth living without her.

‘Goodnight Keiji’, she says, her voice shimmering in the still night air.

For the first time in a long while, Akaashi wakes up at peace.

Taglist:

@1tooru @animeflower26 @kageyamakock

#hq #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu writing #hq writing #haikyuu angst #haikyuu romance #akaashi keiji #akaashi keji x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x y/n #haikyuucreations #akaashi headcanons #akaashi angst #haikyuu fic rec #haikyuu scenarios

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wonderofwillows2 · 3 years

Text

A Minor Thing

It’s hard to describe the how you felt when you were young, especially hard to do it accurately. It’s enough of challenge sometimes to describe how you feel now. So without further ornamentation I suppose I’d better get on with it here. My father met my step-mother when I was only nine. My oldest sister was twelve my other eleven. They were happy for him, happy he was kind to her and happy she was kind to him. I was just happy to have a mother, there was something about having a woman’s voice in my young life that soothed a deep seated need. I loved the high and lilting songs she sang in her native language, the sweetness of the words that always seemed hover just that evanescent bit longer when they ended in a vowel. I loved the colorful clothes she wore and the high spicy notes of the new food she cooked for us.

It was two years later than they had the wedding, our family was small as my father was a bit older and his parents modern. Hers was vast, she had seven brothers and they all joked about their baby sister growing up even though she was thirty-six, an age I still can’t imagine myself as I write this. They claimed it was long overdue that she marry, her mother claimed so also and was glad she’d have grandchildren. It was an obvious point of pain that their daughter, our step-mother, could not conceive on her own. Her mother and father were both adamant that we would join the faith but she and her brothers interceded on our behalf. The wedding was a dry, but that didn’t affect me, I was drunk instead on the stories my new uncles told of a seemingly free and idyllic childhoods spent chasing one another through twisting streets and burdening the adults they met. There was no honeymoon, both claimed to be too old for that. Instead a few days after the wedding my father and new mother went to out for nearly a day and my father spent a few days out of work. It seemed he was in some pain. I thought nothing of it until a few weeks later. That was when they explained to me that there was one holdover of my new mother’s culture she could compromise on. My father had been circumcised. It was a practice I had never heard of and I asked them, in my innocence, what they meant by that new and strange term. My mother took the lead then and leaned close to me and took my hands in her own. They were soft and surprisingly warm as if she’d been wringing them in the anticipation of a difficult but necessary task, the kind so often avoided until it was doubtlessly time to undertake it.

She explained to me then, in her calmest voice, an almost tense voice of thinly veiled energy, that in her culture young men have their foreskins removed. She explained that it was cleaner, that it was harmless, that it was an act of beautification and health. My father then interjected that while it was not part of our own culture he had no regrets at such a small change. He placed his arm around her and looked me in the eye as he told me he had no regrets, that it really was a small thing to please her and how worth it it was to please my new mother who he loved so deeply and certainly. He explained also how she’d asked him to have this minor surgery if they were married and how he’d nearly abandoned the prospect but decided to go through with it. It was then my new mother shocked me, her sweet voice almost breaking with nervous awareness, that she had asked to have me circumcised as well. I processed this slowly and then with fear and looked to my father but he maintained a stoic silence and I new I would undergo this treatment. I would be cut in two weeks time. It is said anticipation of the thing is greater or worse in some measure than the thing itself. I am not sure of that myself but I can say those two weeks were spent in fear. Worse yet they were spent with my sisters knowing my impending fate. My mother had made sure to announce it to them and in front of me as well. They had been shocked themselves then curious, asking a flurry of questions to our new mother. She silenced them then but made sure to mention she’d explain more in private. She did not think it appropriate to cover the topic with me present. It was an objectification I would never quite get over. I was not to be privileged by her explanation, I was only to have my father’s for the time being and he was difficult to pry information from. He would merely tell me what a small matter it was, how little I should worry. Perhaps it was a happy thing that I was only just discovering the pleasant sensation my foreskin could give me, I might have missed it more then

My sisters were quite around me for the next few days sharing only greetings and giggling between themselves. Though they had always done this it felt like it was always about my looming appointment. I once overheard them call it a “penis trim” and then laugh short stifled little laughs. That hurt me to the point of tears and I cried in my room to avoid them. I once asked my mother if the girls would have to have any special treatments or surgeries. She simply assured me that girls were pure and clean, that there was no need to change them at all. I burst then and yelled in indignation that I was fine too, that my father was fine, we did not need to change. She barely reacted then, she merely paused then turned maternal and assured me it would be better to be cut, I’d be better than the other boys then. She ended the conversation then with a stern admonition that I should be brave and just accept my cutting, that all her brothers were done and they were fine. I dropped the conversation then.

The day before my cutting I was advised by her not to eat or drink that night. It was a brief but unpleasant fast. My parents were strict in watching me, my sisters in contrast to their previous behavior were kind and offered supportive words. My oldest sister, now a teenage offered that she had looked up what would be done to me and that she thought that circumcised penises were much nicer and that it would be good to be cleaner. She even went so far as to say she was sorry she would not get to meet more boys who were cut but that she might try to do so in the future. My other sister agreed they were nicer but also offered most girls would find it a nice surprise. This was little consolation and I cried then and begged them to intercede on my behalf. They held me and then said just to accept things. Our mother had explained it all and it would be better.

The next morning I was awakened by my father who advised me calmly but firmly to dress in athletic clothes and come downstairs, my sisters were to sleep through the whole affair. My mother waited dressed in her finer street clothes, she smiled and asked if I was excited. I could only mumble that I was frightened. She told me she knew I would be brave but her demeanor suggested it was a command as opposed to statement. It was not long before we were off. We rarely drove much as my parents took the bus to work but that day we took the car to the clinic. It was a small unassuming building of brown brick and marked only by a small sign. We parked and got out, my parents walked with me towards the building. It felt like a monumental structure though in reality I doubt it had more than six rooms. The name on the sign in the front seemed to be one from my mother’s homeland. I had no doubt it was her choice.

When we entered we were greeted by a receptionist in clothes like my mother’s. They spoke in my mother’s native tongue, her voice still so pleasant and sweet. It seemed they knew one another and there was even a bit of laughter exchanged after a pause where both looked at me. I felt once more like the mere subject of another person’s whims and felt then what I only now can identify as a feeling of diminishment. I never wanted to feel that way again. My father was silent the whole time, he seemed far away as if he were imagining another place. Eventually we were called and my mother and father walked with me to the room. I was made to undress and dawn a robe. A young woman native to my own country came in and took my vital signs, height, and weight. She and my mother chatted briefly in my language. She seemed indifferent to my plight. I thought she might raise a point against my forced acculturation but she said nothing. Finally the doctor came into the room, he was an older man – probably in his late fifties with a snow white beard. He spoke to my mother in my native language. Then in my own he advised me lie back and relax. It was then the nurse returned with some a cup of water and a pill. I was advised to swallow it and did so. The effect was profound and I soon found my anxiety at the whole thing abating though it seems likely that it affected my memory to as things soon started to blur at that point. My mother told me I was lucky, many boys in her country had no pain killers or pills. She told me to be brave. They all left for a few minute and I heard them speaking nearby though I didn’t terribly care about what. Only the doctor and nurse returned then, with a tray of tools. They moved a screen over my midsection. I felt the cold of the numbing agent then the pain of three shots. They left again and returned a bit later. They tested my sensation and asked if I felt pain, I told them I did not. The they went to work. The process was short I barely remember it, only the shock when they moved the curtain and a clear plastic ring was bonded to my penis behind the now bare glans. I felt no fear then due to the medicine. I only felt shocked.

I dressed and then left the room and was greeted by my smiling mother who hugged me and told me I was brave. We returned to the waiting room and the doctor invited my parents into his office. They returned with some papers and a small bag and we left and returned home. It was only at night the pain started but it was manageable. I refused stubbornly to show I was affected though I think it was naive to believe it did not show. My sisters were especially kind to me in those few days. It felt like a dream to me. I suppose that is a blessing as it lessened the humiliation of my mother and father checking my wound before I bathed. The rest of that week was spend with mild pain and itching. School was difficult then but I got through it. The next week the ring fell off and I was confronted by my new penis in its singular form. It seemed so naked and vulnerable encircled by the bright red line just behind the glans. The skin was tight and the glans a deep and unhappy mauve. I was acutely aware of the glans rubbing the fabric of my clothes. I hated my new penis then, I felt ashamed when I saw it. I felt like I would always be less of a man though my mother claimed I could now be one, that it was the skin that was boyish. The same week we returned to the same clinic for a check. The doctor happily pronounced me to be healing well. My mother was happy and my father relieved. I was told then I no longer had to bathe as carefully and could return to sports the week after. It was a relief that I could have at least some normality again. On the way out my mother and the receptionist spoke again, then looked at me and giggled girlishly. It was only when we got home and my parents were out of the room that my oldest sister informed me that the rim of my glans, my corona, was visible through the thin athletic pants I had worn. I felt utterly humiliated then

As time wore on I healed completely and began to grow up in a literal sense. I hit mu growth spurt and my voice deepened. I was proud of my new need for deodorant and tiny excuse for a mustache that graced my upper lip. My penis grew too and I began to get frequent erections. They were tight to the point of nearly being painful but this soon subsided. I learned also that my penis provided new unknown pleasures though something always seemed a bit off, like there was just a tinge of pain when I played with my bare glans. It didn’t stop me but I soon discovered through conversations at school that I needed lubricants to get the same from my self pleasure that the other boys did. It was one of the few time that I recalled my circumcision and truly thought about it. I delved into researching the topic and learned that my own glans, and my father’s, had likely been desensitized by our surgeries. The fact that it was very little was not comfort and I wondered how such a thing could be called “small” or “cosmetic”. I once raise my concerns with my step-mother, she merely laughed and admonished me for my greed. She told me men get plenty of pleasure. I raised my concerns with my father and he merely told me there was no undoing what was done.

It was another year and a half before I met my first girlfriend. She was a friend of my middle sister and a bit younger than her but still older than me and more experienced. I was not her first and she delighted in the comparison between my penis and that of the other boys she knew. She liked the look of it and claimed it was much prettier than the others and said she cut her own sons. I do not know if she was serious. I had my first experience at oral sex with her and she claimed she much preferred to perform the act on me as she had easy access to the glans with no skin to move. I was happy enough then to be cut. I supposed it was not so bad. I did not learn until a bit later that part of my intrigue to her was that she had learned I was cut from my sister. I would have been upset had I learned before hand and was glad I did not. I soon learned a few who knew my sister were similarly interested and I wonder if she had intentionally promoted me as a learning experience. I asked her about sharing the information but she simply played coy and apologized, saying it had “just slipped out.

So now as I look back, ready to graduate college, I think It was best that I was cut. It is true it cuts down a bit on my pleasure but the women I have known were always pleasantly surprised by my penis. My current fiancee is from the United States where I learned that male circumcision is a normal practice. I was surprised by that but happy at her happiness. She told me she did prefer cut men and would have insisted I have the surgery if I were not. I suppose it is a strange confluence of events that I would wind up in a situation so similar to my own father’s. I would never have guessed it, or that one day I might well consent to cut my own son at my wife’s request. There is no moral to this, it is only a recounting of events. However those events are ones that have influenced me for my whole life, I still feel a tinge of powerlessness from time to time and I still feel the humiliating sting of first seeing my altered penis. My step-mother – my mother – is so fond of my fiancee, I suppose in the end my circumcision was really for her all along. I’ll never ask of course but I’ll always believe it was more than just a cultural preference that led to my father and I being cut.

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ddagent · 4 years

Note

Childhood friends AU but in canon

My first time writing in seven weeks!!! Sincerest apologies if this sucks; I do hope you enjoy it.

“Is she presentable?”

From behind the handmaiden, a choked snort of derision echoed out into the hallway. Jaime, Lord of Casterly Rock, just smiled. The handmaiden, short of stature but sweet of face, merely nodded and allowed him entry. Her gaze lingered on his crimson tunic and golden curls before the girl took her leave; no doubt to return to the kitchens and wax poetic about the Golden Lion. Jaime took a moment to bask in the admiration before he entered his oldest friend’s chambers.

Brienne was sat in front of the looking glass, staring unhappily at her reflection. Jaime crossed the room and pressed his lips to her freckled cheek. “Lady Evenstar.”

“My Lord.” Brienne sighed as he perched himself atop the dresser. “Who is it today?”

“Loras and Margaery of Highgarden.” Jaime barely restrained a yawn. “It’s been a while since we’ve had any of the great houses.”

His remark earned himself a rare smile from Brienne; Jaime’s chest puffing up at the honour. “It wouldn’t be. Not since you pushed poor Edmure Tully into a ditch.”

“Poor Edmure Tully? It wasn’t poor Edmure Tully when he was being rude to the great Evenstar of Tarth.” Jaime plucked a piece of lint from his tunic. “Anyway, it wasn’t just me. Cat helped.”

Jaime’s gaze met Brienne’s, and his dearest friend’s stoic demeanour fell apart at the memory of the Lord of Casterly Rock and the first daughter of Hoster Tully pushing the heir to Riverrun into the drained moat. Brienne’s cheeks grew flushed; her sapphire eyes alight at the recollection of his company. He fell in place behind Brienne; his firm hands resting atop her broad shoulders. His chin then placed itself upon her head; the only time Lord Jaime Lannister would ever be taller than Lady Brienne of Tarth. He earned another laugh, her hand reaching up to cover her smile, and Jaime could retire happily knowing his day’s work was done.

“Come, my Lady Evenstar. The sooner we dispatch with the Tyrells, the sooner we can head to Maidenpool for the tourney.”

Reluctantly, Brienne took his arm, and the pair left her chambers in favour of the great hall of Casterly Rock.

Servants and stewards passed them without question as they walked, arm-in-arm, through the halls of his ancestral home. In one year, upon his sixteenth nameday, Jaime would officially come of age, and he would no longer be subjected to these ridiculous matchmaking efforts. He had hoped, with his father’s passing five years before, that it would have put paid to maiden after maiden being thrust into his path. Brienne, too, had hoped for the same when Lord Selwyn had passed the mantle of Evenstar off to her.

But here they both were. Dressed in their finest; the heirs of the Sunset and Narrow seas. Looking to see off their intendeds so they could watch grown men fail at fighting with sticks.

“Addam made me promise that we’ll be there for the first bout,” Jaime proffered. “We’ll have to be quick.”

“We’ve had years of practice.”

He grinned. “It should be easy. Tyrion says that young Loras prefers the company of the rougher sex.”

“And Arianne says Lady Margaery will bed anything that moves.”

“Perhaps we should swap partners, my Lady, and make our mothers happy at last.”

“And where would be the fun in that?”

No fun at all, Jaime thought, as they passed through the last corridor that would take them to the great hall. Both his mother and the Lady Elinor despaired at being unable to find matches for their eldest children. They had been thrust upon the Tullys. They had been thrust upon the Starks. The sons and daughters of their bannermen had been trotted out intermittently since he and Brienne had been six; the Evenstar and the Lord of Casterly Rock finding fault with each and every one.

Of course, the first of them had been Brienne herself.

The daughter of his mother’s oldest friend; a match that would have united the east and west coasts of Westeros. Jaime had grumbled at being stuffed into an ill-fitting tunic and forced to act the part of a courting lord as he presented himself to Lord Selwyn and his wife. His mother had given him a red rose to give to his intended. But in Jaime’s shock at the sight of her – taller, with a smattering of mud-like freckles upon her broad face – he had dropped the rose at her feet. Brienne had kicked him in the shins at the slight, he’d pushed her to the ground, and the two were sent to spend the afternoon in the Sept ruminating on their behaviour.

The next morning, after the offer of a match had been reneged, Jaime had turned up at Brienne’s chambers to offer her a sword instead.

“Perhaps I’ll duel Loras,” Brienne mused as they came to a halt outside the doors leading to the grand hall. It had been a long time since they’d been able to disregard their suitors on a whim; their mothers’ insistence had forced them to get creative. “I’ve heard he’s good.”

“You’re better.”

Brienne grinned. “I had a good teacher.” Jaime beamed. “Ser Goodwin is a remarkable master-at-arms.” His elbow dug into her ribcage, and Brienne pinched the flesh of his stomach. Some things never changed. “I think that will send him on the first carriage back to Highgarden. Cocky young men don’t care for it when I knock them into the dirt.”

“Funny, I rather enjoy it.” Perhaps not when he had been seven and considered himself the best swordsman of all time – only to be bested more often than not by his best friend. “But your plan has merit. Now, to dissuade Lady Margaery. It’ll be difficult. I’m incredibly handsome, rich—”

“—arrogant, vain, needy—”

“—I am not needy.”

“I hadn’t even made it onto the grounds when you were throwing open my carriage door!”

“I missed you!” Jaime huffed. “But you might have a point. If Lady Margaery is so...prolific, it is perhaps the chase she enjoys rather than the prey. I could simply annoy her into forfeiting the match.”

Brienne frowned. “It’s risky.”

“It has merit!” Jaime’s arm slipped from hers; his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. Brienne mimicked him; her fingers flexing at the absence of steel. “My Lady Evenstar, the jewel of the east, if you are so sure of my failings, then how about a wager? The last one to get out of their engagement has to clean the boots and armour of the victor.”

Brienne did not even flinch. Just held out her hand for a gentleman’s agreement. “I accept your terms, my Lord.”

Jaime lifted her hand and placed his lips upon her skin. A fine blush covered Brienne’s cheeks; her chest hitching at the contact. Jaime’s stomach fluttered at the sight of her. Some days, their silly games and attendance at tourneys were enough. Other days, Jaime cursed the five-year-old who had decided that this singular woman was not enough for him when, in fact, she would grow to be his everything.

#Anonymous #braime #jaime x brienne #dd: fanfic #look a prompt!#ship: braime

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royalcordelia · 4 years

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Summary: After returning home from medical school, Gilbert discovers that the neighbor girl, Anne, has gone missing. He won't rest until he's found her, even if it means taking a leap of faith and venturing into his father's old wardrobe. (A Narnia!AU).

Notes: Merry Christmas @londonsboy!! I was your secret santa this year and I was delighted to get to know you! Talking to you made me remember how wonderful Narnia is, and I realized that Anne of Green Gables and Narnia both have that same whimsical charm about them. I hope your holiday was cozy and lovely!

1: A Child’s Lore

Gilbert remembers the Storygirl. He remembers the red twists of hair braided down her thin shoulders, each tied with bowed ribbons. He remembers the monarch butterflies balancing gingerly on her freckled fingers and the dimples haloing each half of her smile. He remembers cloaking himself away under the shadows of the treeline and watching the girl move slowly through the tall grass. With care and ease, she urged the butterflies to amble onto a nearby flower.

“Would you care for a story?” she asked them. Gilbert remembers straining his ears to pick up any trace of her voice, tender and easy on his senses. “I won’t fault you if you fly away, but if you have a few moments to spare, I have such wonderful tales.” The butterflies remained in place, fluttering their wings slowly in the warm sunlight.

“Very well, a story you shall have!” continued the Storygirl. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess named Cordelia. Oh, but she didn’t start out that way. You see, for most of her life, Cordelia suffered the great calamities that all poor orphan girls do…”

Gilbert’s back slid down against the tree, somehow too captivated to tear his eyes away. He settled on the ground, pushing aside verdant brush to keep his sights on her. Never before had he taken himself as a fellow who enjoyed fairytales, yet something about this tale and her voice left him no choice but to listen. So he listened. He listened and listened until she whispered, “The end!” The blues of her eyes turned toward the trees straight at him as if she’d known he was there all along. And then, she ran off, disappearing into the heart of the valley forever.

He was only thirteen then, but he remembers.

Now, he keeps the memory of the Storygirl in the same place he stores the memory of his father’s wardrobe—deep in the parts of his mind full of things he’d seen as a child, but could never prove the existence of as an adult. Myths, legends, and fancies of a child’s imagination. There lives the memory of the Storygirl and the days of yore when his father’s wardrobe held clothes, evergreen trees, and sweet breezes.

Gilbert knows they’re not real. But sometimes he wishes they were.

2: A Silhouette

Avonlea is uncertain and strange when Gilbert finally returns home. As his carriage carries him through town, the heavy feeling sinks deeper into his chest. Where has that ethereal beauty of the island gone? It used to seep out of the red soil like petrichor, but now the air has lost its fragrant charm. Gilbert can’t help but feel as if maybe the magic PEI days of his youth had been but a childish whimsy, stripped away by inevitable adulthood.

Then, the hazy memory of the Storygirl returns and for a brief moment. Uninvited, but not unwelcome. Gilbert closes his eyes and lets himself recall the details of her face. There’s comfort in his own childhood myths, as if he is not so far gone, after all. And when he opens his eyes, he’s home.

From the doorway, it looks like a portrait—Sebastian frozen on the parlor sofa with low hung shoulders, Mary holding his head to her middle and caressing his bushy silk hair. Gilbert emerges from the blue shadows of the entryway.

He should announce himself properly. Perhaps attempt reentering with a wide smile and some kind of good news to brighten the mood. Instead, he hears himself say, “Who died?”

Mary tears away from Bash with a gasp, soaring over to the door to pull Gilbert’s face into the crook of her neck.

“Gilbert! Were you due home so soon?” she says after drawing a watery breath. “I think we’ve lost track of the days!”

“Yes. I’m on time down to the minute,” Gilbert replies with a smile. “Are you...going to answer my question?”

Mary’s brows knit together in confusion as she pulls away to examine the state of his face. Her fingers smooth over the frown lines at the corners of his own eyes, but it’s Bash who answers.

“No one died. At least, we really hope not,” he explains, distracting Gilbert from his vague answer by pulling Gilbert close for a hug of his own. “None of that for now. Take your coat and shoes off before someone starts to believe that this isn’t your own home.”

For the rest of the day, Gilbert tries to whittle out the truth from Bash at any opportunity he gets. At the lunch table, after recounting tales from college and his boring graduation ceremony. At the kitchen sink, elbow deep in sudsy water. At the foot of the garden, pulling weeds and sprinkling water onto thirsty soil. He tries again and again, but Bash does not budge.

When evening rolls around, it’s pull has already lulled Gilbert to sleep on the parlor sofa. Across from him, Mary stitches together a small hole in one of his old shirts until her own exhaustion makes her prick her finger.

“Can’t keep my eyes open a second longer,” she yawns. Depositing a kiss on Bash’s head, then Gilbert’s, she murmurs, “Don’t stay up too long. I want to keep looking in the morning.”

Bash lets a moment pass when he hears their door shut, waits a few seconds more, then crosses the room to where Gilbert is sprawled out on the sofa. The newly minted doctor stirs at the feeling of his brother shaking him awake.

“Mary’s gone to sleep. We can talk now.”

Gilbert’s eyelashes are heavy, but he pries them open at the stony tone of his brother’s voice and pushes himself to an upright position.

“So...What have you been hiding from me all day?”

Bash’s lips press together.

“Did you know the Cuthberts adopted a daughter?”

“No, I didn’t,” Gilbert replies, confused why it matters.

“They adopted her just before your father passed away, I heard. You went away to our steamer, then straight to college, so you never had a chance to meet her. But when you sent me and Mary to this house, she was here waiting for us. Someone had told her that she’d be getting new neighbors, neighbors that might face the same sort of hardships she did when she first arrived. She showed us around Avonlea, helped Mary clean the house after being empty so long. Her name is Anne. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

“Did something...happen to her? Do you need me to see her?”

“You can’t,” Bash spits bitterly. Then, remembering himself, he says, “She’s not sick.”

“I don’t understand, then.”

Bash sighs, balling his fists in his lap.

“Mary and I went to visit her son in Charlottetown for an afternoon last week. Anne offered to come and give everything a good cleaning while we were gone, as a neighborly gift or something. We tried to tell her that it wasn’t necessary, but she insisted. She’s not one to lose battles. She arrived a few hours past dawn, but when we came back, she was gone. Then we found out she never went home to Green Gables. No one in Avonlea has seen her in over a week.”

Suddenly, it makes sense to Gilbert why the house is weighty with the feeling of loss . It has lost something. Gilbert doesn’t know this Anne, but whoever she is, she took the island’s light with her.

“What do you think happened?” Gilbert asks, rubbing his knuckles over his eyes.

“Someone broke in. Found a woman all by herself with no one around for miles. You can imagine the rest.” Bash holds his fist with his other hand, as if he might hit something if he lets go. “Anne is...a unique woman. Kind and brave. But to Avonlea she is strange and of varlet stock, and with the way they see Mary and I… Only a few families have been willing to help us look for her. Would you? In the morning? You know Avonlea better than us.”

Gilbert doesn’t hesitate.

“I will.”

3: A Recollection

It just doesn’t add up, Gilbert thinks bitterly, splashing cold water on his tired cheeks. His reflection stares back at him, looking just as dejected as he feels. But what else could there be? I’ve already scoured the house. No signs of a struggle. Nothing broken or stolen. Guess I’ll just have to look just as hard in town. See if anyone knows anything. He scoffs. It sounds like something out of a children’s book. A fair maiden walks into a house that swallows her up whole. Too bad I’m a doctor and not a knight. He means it only in jest, but it sparks the flame of an idea in the farthest corner of his mind—the corner containing his childhood and its fanciful inventions.

And then, there it is. A memory, a reminiscence of sorts.

One wardrobe.

One door drawn open.

One small Gilbert Blythe crawling into it.

He couldn’t have been more than six or seven when it’d happened, nor can he remember why he’d even ventured into the wardrobe in the first place. Perhaps it had been a particularly clever hideaway in a game of hide-and-go-seek. Or maybe his father had sent him in search of his coat and something had tipped him off that there was more.

The memory itself is relatively uneventful. Little Gilbert opened the wardrobe door, crawled in, and somehow, miraculously tripped into a bank of snow. The bank of snow was only a mere plot of land in a world Little Gilbert was not brave enough to explore. He’d scurried back to the door, but left it cracked open for just a moment longer to memorize the world he’d found. It left an image in his mind that he carried with him forever, a memory just as fond as that of the Storygirl—a patch of evergreen trees, sweet air, and an impossible winter magic.

Let’s pretend for a moment this memory is actually a memory and not just a childish imagination, Gilbert ponders. If Anne came to clean the house, maybe she opened the wardrobe to clean it and organize it. Could she have fallen in? Maybe she’s lost! Maybe she has no way home and—

Dr. Blythe, get a hold of yourself. Exhaustion has made you mad.

You’ll assist Bash in the morning, you’ll question the town’s people, you’ll come to the bottom of this. But you won’t be able to find her by courting such preposterous ideas.

4: An Act of Trust

His resolve lasts an entire hour.

Then it dissolves hopelessly and gives way to the memory of the Wardrobe-world. Pacing in front of his father’s bed, Gilbert weighs whether or not he should indulge his childhood suspicions. It plays over and over in his mind, a frustrating possibility.

At first, he fights it.

If Anne Shirley-Cuthbert is really as headstrong as the Bash has described her to be, then perhaps she left on her volition, tired of small-island life. It can’t be that hard to believe that a woman could abandon a monotonous past in favor of whatever this young century has to offer her. Gilbert’s very last suspicion should be that Anne somehow found a magical world inside a wardrobe and never returned. Yet, here he is, nudging his foot along the carved trim of the wardrobe with an itching to open it .

Damn it all. What is there to lose?

Then he does open it. The hinges of the doors screech after being left to sleep, untouched for a decade. At first, it smells of mothballs and the stale smell of his father’s clothes. But seconds later, there’s a hint of sweet—

Gilbert slams the door shut. Absolutely not, he scolds himself. You’re hallucinating. You want this woman to return so badly that you’ll pretend she’s anywhere but dead in a ditch. But then again … Gilbert turns back to the door, placing his hand on the newly dusted wood. Who would know if he indulged in this wild feeling? Shouldn’t he, a trained doctor and an intelligent man, listen to his own gut?

Alright , he decides. If he’s going to do this, he isn’t going to do it halfway.

With a short breath, he draws the door open and closes his eyes shut. Then, he’s crawling in, a grown man squeezed into the tight confines of a wooden closet. It’s difficult to breathe above the heavy smell of age and wool, but just like before, it slips away into an unexpected sweetness. Gilbert crawls closer to it, hands and knees finding new space with every pace forward. Behind him, the wardrobe door is abandoned and opened, but Gilbert doesn’t come back out.

Instead, his fingers find tall, soft grass and his intuition cries in victory.

5: A Twinless Shoe

Gilbert allows himself exactly ten seconds to sit and stare at the pleasant forest clearing before doing what any logical doctor might do in his situation—secede to the visual proof of a magical world and promptly begin observations.

On a first glance, the impossible world-inside-the-wardrobe doesn’t seem all too different than his Avonlea. There are clusters of trees surrounding the clearing, each crowned with vibrant shades of green, moreso than those of home. A mystical softness teems in the air like a breeze, loitering along his skin until he is a mess of goosebumps. A single lamppost towers over him catching sunlight, unlit but clean of moss or dirt. At its base, a leather boot, dainty and slim.

Something clears its throat, propelling Gilbert’s soul from his body at the shock of it. He whirls around, grass stains on the knees of his trousers. Before him, sits a trio of white-tailed foxes, peering at him with more expression than should be allowed for such creatures. Gilbert tries to steady his pulse but finds the effort unsuccessful.

“They’re only foxes,” he reasons with himself. “They make all sorts of strange noises. No cause for alarm.”

“That’s a foolish delusion,” the largest of the foxes answers.

Gilbert blinks. The fox quirks an invisible brow.

“I beg your pardon?” Gilbert stammers.

The fox stretches, equal parts annoyed and bored.

“With the types of humans that are supposed to stumble out of that door, you think you’d have a firmer head on your shoulders. Wonder what Aslan chose you for?”

“I dunno, Rambleleaf. Maybe he’s here for entertainment?” the second fox pipes in. Turning her sunbright amber eyes to him, she asks, “Do you sing? Dance? Tell stories?”

“That is what he brought Anne for,” the third fox adds. “Maybe one storyteller wasn’t enough.”

“I have a hard time believing that this schmuck could tell stories as well as Anne could,” Rambleleaf counters.

“Anne’s here ?” Gilbert spits out, desperate. The conversation between the foxes dies out as quickly as it started, replaced by a stunned silence. They exchange a glance, as if deciding whether or not to indulge this fumbling fool in Anne’s whereabouts, but Gilbert is desperate. “Is Anne Shirley-Cuthbert here? I’m told she has red hair and freckles.”

“You...you speak as if you don’t know her?” Rambleleaf queries, eyes narrow.

“Not personally,” stammers Gilbert. He clambers to his feet and rushes to the foxes, who jolt but don’t shy away. It seems as if he has surprised them, as if they’ve never had a human kneel so desperately before them. “We’ve been looking everywhere for her, trying not to fear the worst. Her parents are friends of mine. They’re worried sick because one day she left to visit my family’s home and never returned. Please , will you take me to her. I need to make sure she’s okay.”

“How did you know to look here?” Rambleleaf states, unconvinced. Gilbert can give them no answer, but the truth.

“A feeling. I once came once here as a boy and remembered it, though I can’t say I know where here is.”

Rambleleaf ponders this, his tail coming up to the underside of his chin, like a hand scratching at whiskers. His eyes trail to the boot underneath the lamppost, then fall undecidedly on the poor fellow before him.

When finally he says something, it’s—“Who are you?”

“Me? Oh, um, I’m Dr. Gilbert Blythe.”

“Well, Dr. Gilbert sir, I’m Rambleleaf, or just Ramble if you’re nice about it. Welcome to Narnia.” The name Narnia sends a warm thrill down Gilbert’s spine to finally hear it. The existence of it is already enough cause for hope. Rambleleaf nudges Gilbert’s hand with a clawless paw and points over to the single boot laying sideways in the grass. “You’re in luck. We’re good friends of Anne’s. She sent us back to find the shoe she left behind, so if you want to see her, you can follow us back to the Larsack village. It’s not far from here. Just a bit north on the west border of the Western Woods.”

“I’ll follow you,” Gilbert decides resolutely.

“Good. Then grab that boot and we’ll be on our way.”

Gilbert does as he’s told, pushing aside the frustration of being told what to do by a fox. With the shoe in his possession, he curses that he didn’t think to bring any sort of satchel or carrier case. Then again, he isn’t supposed to be here long. Just long enough to find Anne and bring her home.

Then, without wasting another moment, the foxes disappear in the wood, leaving Gilbert to follow.

And he does, the door to his father’s wardrobe entirely, completely forgotten.

6: A Duet

They trek through the thicket of the forest until the soles of Gilbert’s feet have grown sore at the unfamiliar terrain beneath them. Having left his pocket watch sitting on his desk back home, Gilbert can’t be sure of how much time has passed—enough certainly for the foxes to have eased their snide opinion of him. He finds they like to listen, asking Gilbert all sorts of questions but offering no answers of their own.

As it turns out, Gilbert is not so bad a storyteller, after all.

“—but children believe in magic the way adults in my world don’t. So I told the little girl that the cure for her stomachache was a feather on the underside of her toes and all her laughter made her forget that she had eaten too many biscuits. Sometimes I think medicine has more possibilities than we can know. Certainly being here has…”

Gilbert slows to a stop and turns his ear to the sky. He draws in a quick breath of hope at the faint lilt of laughter, music, and one rich voice towering above it all.

He takes off running, hopping over Rambleleaf and sprinting down the path. A crowd’s cheers and the minstrel songs grow closer and louder with each wide stride. He all but crashes into someone at the back of the crowd, scanning the clearing for a head of red hair and a face of sandy freckles. There are a few tents set up along the circle of the crowd, and in between them must be a hundred people sitting and standing, all with their attention locked on one person. From the back, Gilbert finds his view obstructed by some particularly tall Narnians. Just as he begins to plan a route through the mass of people, a soft paw nudges his ankle.

“You’re just in time to hear her speak,” Rambleleaf says at his feet. “Can you lift me up so I don’t get stepped on? I want to see this too.” Gilbert kneels, allowing Ramble to hop onto his shoulder before embarking into the crowd, drawing closer and closer to the makeshift stage.

And then he sees her and all the pieces of his mangled heart slant together, restoring it in one, breathless moment.

“The Storygirl, ” Gilbert heaves quietly.

“That’s what we’ve taken to calling her here, too,” Ramble says.

His Storygirl hasn’t changed a bit. There are still halos crowning her smile and kingdoms of possibilities in her eyes. But the young dreamer and commander of words Gilbert had seen in the fields all those years had grown so tall and beautiful that he had no words left for himself—only a fiery warmth and an insatiable desire to talk to her.

“That’s Anne there?” Gilbert whispers to Ramble.

“Unmistakable, right?” Ramble murmurs back.

“I’m going to get closer.”

“Oh, good! I can’t hear from all the way over here,” Rambleleaf agrees, nudging Gilbert with his nose.

Gilbert collides with a few shoulders and elbows as he passes through, but only because he cannot tear his eyes away from her. He feels like the thirteen-year-old lad with weak knees and a pining heart all over again. When they’ve reached the makeshift stage, Ramble waves his tale to the Storygirl. The flash of white catches her attention and through the next words of her tale, she gives a dimpled smile and nod.

Then her eyes fall on Gilbert and her tongue stumbles. He watches her gaze travel from his heart-struck eyes, to his Avonlea clothes, to her boot in his hand. Anne chuckled and extended her bootless foot. Gilbert blinked down at it, the “Doctor” part of his mind wondering if she wanted him to examine it.

“The boot, Gilbert,” Ramble hisses in his ear.

“Oh! ”

Anne continues to keep the crowd enraptured in her tale even as Gilbert slides the boot over her lacy stockings and ties the laces. When he’s finished, she bends low to him and whispers, “Care to help me with my story?”

“Me ?” Gilbert chokes.

“Yes, Gilbert Blythe. You .”

A shiver shoots like a flash of summer lightning down his back. How does she know my name? Gilbert’s mind wonders on repeat. He feels himself nod, only to be swept up onto the stage with her strong hands a second later. She offers Ramble a hand down, pressing a kiss to the top of his fur, then turns back to Gilbert.

“Play along!” she murmurs quietly.

Gilbert nods once more, turning nervous eyes to the crowd of onlookers. Beside him, Anne shoots back into her carefully woven tale.

“It would’ve been easy for Cordelia to resign herself to the fate everyone wanted for her. But could she submit herself to everyday mundanities? Milking cows and pulling weeds? She could see the honor in these tasks, but somehow knew that her destiny laid elsewhere. She turned to a neighboring lad and asked him his thoughts.”

Anne grabs Gilbert’s fingers and poses her body as if engaged in a conversation with him. Her tongue stills, and she urges Gilbert to take the next few lines.

“Well, er…” Get it together, Blythe. He takes a deep breath. “The neighbor lad assured her that she bore enough heart and talent to succeed at any task she put her mind to. That it wasn’t a matter of finding her destiny, but...creating it? For herself.”

Anne smiles. Gilbert feels it thrum pleasantly behind his ribs.

“Cordelia asked the neighbor lad if he would help her find the better feelings of her heart, the truth behind her soul and desires.”

“He agreed,” Gilbert says resolutely. “Because the lad had already traveled across the world to find her. What was another journey?”

7. A Pair at Tea

“You must tell me how you managed to find me!” Anne exclaims, pouring sweet tea into two small stone goblets. Her hair is loose over her shoulders, and Gilbert wonders if it’s the reason for the raspberry, rose smell of her.

Gilbert hasn’t quite shaken the timid nervousness. This is how he imagines he might feel if he were engaged in conversation with the King of England—only Anne is much more beautiful, even if she is just as intimidating. His eyes follow her hands as she hands him his tea, and he accepts the offering as something to occupy himself with.

He ignores her question. For now, at least.

“How...how do you know my name?”

Anne smiles into her goblet.

“I’ve dusted your photograph hundreds of times helping Mary clean your home. You’re often all she can talk about when we’re polishing the silver or scrubbing windows.”

“Really?”

“Indeed. I know plenty about you, Dr. Blythe.”

“Just Gilbert is fine,” he hums, cheeks warm. Then his eyes dim and he stares at his own reflection in his tea. “What sorts of things do you know?”

Anne ponders this for a moment. Her fingers twist strands of hair into a gentle braid as she speaks, “I know that we just missed each other when we were children. That you left the island the same winter I arrived. I know that you’re the golden boy of Avonlea, and that all the mothers have been counting down the days until your return to marry their daughters to you. I know you won a prestigious scholarship that allowed you an excellent medical education. Congratulations by the way. I know—”

“ Alright !” Gilbert coughed. “I almost feel ashamed that I know barely anything about you. Only that you’re selflessly kind, a legendary master of storytelling, and that you’re unearthly beautiful.”

Roses flourish her cheeks in lovely shades of red. Gilbert bites his lip to keep from smiling.

“Anything you’d want to know, you only need ask. I’m an open book.”

“Then may I ask what it is you’re doing here?” Gilbert begins carefully. “The Cuthberts are worried sick. Bash and Mary, too. We all thought something terrible had happened to you.”

“Terrible? Why? I’ve only been gone nearly a day. I’ve disappeared for longer periods of time into Charlottetown to visit friends.”

Gilbert blinks.

“Anne, you’ve been missing for over a week. You came over to help clean the house a whole week ago.”

Her face shoots up to him.

“You must be mistaken. This isn’t my first time visiting Narnia. Time travels more quickly here than it does in Avonlea. That’s the way it’s always been.”

“All I know is what I’ve been told.”

Anne rises from the table, a hand over her mouth.

“A week? But...but how did you know where to find me?”

It’s Gilbert’s turn to blush, but he answers honestly.

“I think I accidentally stumbled upon Narnia as a boy, but always thought it was a dream or an imagination. When you went missing at my house, I just had this...feeling I couldn’t shake. I’m still having a hard time believing it, to be honest.”

“For a man of science, I think you are doing admirably,” Anne says warmly. “I admit, I stumbled here in a similar way. I was going to wash your fathers old things because they’d grown so dusty, but I tripped into the wardrobe.”

“That’s kind of you. To take care of my father’s things, I mean. Especially when you weren’t acquainted with him.”

“Mary told me he meant a lot to you,” Anne answers easily. “Besides, you’re a man now. I thought you might like to wear some of his things to help keep his memory closer by. I know I wish I could. Wear my mother’s dresses, that is.”

“Oh,” Gilbert frowns. “I apologize. I’d forgotten you’d lost your family too.”

“An unhappy sort of thing to have in common with someone, I’ll admit,” Anne replies, a sad smile on her lips. “But you and I both have our makeshift families now. And this new little friendship of ours. That brings me to this question, though, Gilbert. How long do you plan on staying?”

“How long do you plan to stay?” Gilbert replies, heart catching speed in his chest.

“For the duration of the match,” Anne replies, as if it were obvious.

“The...match?”

“Ramble didn’t tell you? There’s a Storytelling Match that’s taking place right now. Whomever can spin the best tale will get to tell a story to Aslan, the King of Narnia.”

“Ramble did say something about Aslan bringing you here for entertainment.”

“That’s only a guess,” Anne corrects warmly. “I’d like to win the match and meet Aslan, and then I plan to return home.”

Gilbert isn’t sure what to say next. The right thing to do is return home and explain as best he can the truth behind Anne’s disappearance. At the very least, fabricate some lie that assures everyone of her safety and inevitable return home.

But to his surprise, he finds he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to witness this storytelling match, support Anne and witness her victory. Maybe what Anne said about time in Narnia is right, after all. If they stay in Narnia for a while longer, perhaps it will be like no time has passed at all.

“Will you stay, Gilbert?” Anne asks quietly. “I know you’ve just met me and that we’re barely acquaintances. I won’t fault you if you return back home to your patients and to our families. But…”

“But?” Gilbert whispers hopefully.

“But if you’d like to stay for a while and explore Narnia with me, I would welcome the company. In fact, I’d be glad for it.”

“I’m so newly home that I don’t quite have patients yet,” Gilbert says offhandedly, mulling the idea over in his mind. “And there’s no guarantee that if I leave that I’ll ever be able to come back and see you. To make sure you’re alright.”

“There’s not,” Anne agrees, eyes glimmering with warm light.

He surprises himself with what he says next.

“Then I’ll stay.”

#anne of green gables #anne with an e #shirbert #shirbert fic #tessa writes #the truth always comes out in the tags and the truth is this #this was very hard to write #which is why it's a bit late #but i gave it 110%!!#so i hope you all enjoy it just the same #merry christmas and happy holidays to you all #i send all my love! <3

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

Text

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Nine

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Paladin Danse had felt like the husband in one of those pre-war picnic advertisements the whole damn evening. After helping Codsworth carve the roast, the large man had assisted Backhand in making up plates for everyone. Roasted carrots and mashed gourd made their way onto the plates as well before the Longs had shown up to sit at the rickety old picnic table. It was a bit like taking a shift in the mess hall, though it had been several years since Danse had been required to do such a task.

Despite Codsworth's ramshackle appliances (and the paladin hesitated to even label them as such), the robot appeared to be outstanding at making do with what it had. It easily managed the extra pot and cooking sheet, numerous arms deftly keeping everything from over or under-cooking. Danse was duly impressed.

Sturges arrived with an elderly woman clinging to his arm, the aforementioned Mama Murphy if Danse had to guess. She was a frail-looking thing even by Commonwealth standards, all bundled up against the balmy evening air.

Backhand greeted her warmly, the knight drawing her into a careful hug before urging her to take a seat.

Everyone gathered around the table and the environment was one of lax comradery, much to Danse's surprise. He had never been involved in a true family dinner, but this seemed to be something like what he had heard about. It was a little cozier than the mess hall on the Prydwen; he kept bumping elbows with Backhand and the woman kept brushing it off like it was nothing, laughing at his stern apologies. Jun plied Danse with a variety of questions about the Brotherhood which he did his best to answer, while Marcy and Sturges asked Codsworth for seconds. All the while Dogmeat begged from anyone that would offer him attention, ending the meal with his head resting on Mama Murphy's thigh as the old woman absently scratched him behind the ears.

It was...it was nice.

But now, warm and well-fed, lying on the mattress he had procured, Danse found himself wide awake. His thoughts wandered to the massive machine Sturges was constructing on the outskirts of town, the molecular relay . Could it be possible that the Institute had no true physical openings to the Commonwealth proper? It seemed like a villain's scheme out of those illustrated paperback manuscripts the squires loved to read, not something that had any basis in reality.

Though Ingram had weighed in on the matter, she had also believed it to be fantasy, entirely relegated to the world of theory. As such, she may have been a bit more wild with her calculations. A bit more willing to push the envelope.

Danse turned over, staring at the doorway as he considered whether he ought to bring up his concerns to Backhand. This was her son at stake. But it would do her no good to get blown to pieces by some malfunction or miscalculation.

Hell, they hadn't exactly covered experimental methods of travel in advanced training. The large man sighed and grudgingly slipped from the bed, digging his fatigue pants out of his pack.

He crept across the hallway, noticing a light still shining from beneath the door of Vega's room. At least he wouldn't be waking her.

Gingerly, Danse rapped his knuckles on the door. "Knight Vega?" There was no response. The paladin eased the door open, his words dying on his lips as he took in the scene in front of him.

Elizabeth was sound asleep in the bed, her hands folded underneath her chin in what Danse had come to identify as her favored sleeping position. On her bedside table a single candle fluttered in the breeze from the now-ajar door, starkly illuminating the pallid cryo burns on her forehead and chin in its yellow glow.

Of course she was asleep. She was just as tired as he had been, if not moreso.

His eyes were drawn without his conscious input to the blue crib that sat empty alongside the door, the vacant area inside it a solemn, silent reminder of why he was even here in the first place.

Jesus . Danse felt stupid. What had he been planning on doing? Vega, as your commanding officer, I'd greatly appreciate it if you would come discuss my concerns with me. Pander to my needs . He grimaced at himself, shaking his head. Just what kind of fool was he? Sure Danse, she would just sit down, have some damn tea with you and let you whine about how mechanically unsound all of this seems.

He cautiously moved further into the room and snuffed out the candle before retreating and shutting the door. It would do her no good to burn the place down around her ears as she slumbered.

The paladin retraced his steps across the hall to his room, but if sleep had been reluctant before, now it was downright unobtainable . The bed was comfortable enough. Hell, it was a more comfortable bed than he had experienced in literal months . His brain simply refused to be still.

Danse groaned, staring up at the ceiling. It seemed he was in for another night of patrol duty.

He got fully dressed and ventured outside, closing the front door silently behind him before setting off down the main 'street' of the development. He barely got halfway to the large tree at the roundabout of the cul-de-sac when he heard someone calling his name.

It was Sturges, Danse realized, the other main hailing him from the top of one of the houses. "C'mon up and take a load off!" The mechanic urged, patting the roof beside him.

Danse glanced off down the thoroughfare of Sanctuary, and then shrugged. Eh, what the hell . From an elevated position he could see threats coming.

The paladin heaved himself up the ladder and plopped down beside the mechanic, declining the cigarette when it was offered. "I come up here when I got thinkin' to do." Sturges turned his face upwards. "Everythin' seems so much smaller. More compartmentalized -ish, you know?"

"I'm afraid I cannot sympathize, civilian." Danse replied, wishing he didn't sound quite so stiff.

"Look up for a minute, man. Take in the view. Then try and tell me everythin' down here ain't small potatoes."

Danse dutifully obliged, tilting his head back to observe the sprawling cosmos high above. It was hardly his first time gazing at the stars and pretending to think deep thoughts. He said as much to Sturges, who chuckled.

"I used to sit up here and wonder how I got to be so good at tinkerin'. I don't remember much about where I came from, not like how other folks do. Can't recall bein' little, or havin' anyone else around. It's all just kinda' vague." He took a contemplative drag off the cigarette. "I figure I must have come from the Institute. Maybe them Railroad boys got hold of me, smuggled me out like a puppy from a pet shop." He gave Danse a lazy grin. "Of course, it don't matter much either way. Now, I'm workin' to bring 'em down. At the end of the day, I'm makin' myself useful. And if I really am a synth, I get a kick out of the idea of all them bigwigs losin' their shit over somethin' I did."

Danse knew that his first response ought to be immediate apprehension of the mechanic, followed by interrogation and eradication. But something about what Sturges had said resonated with him, settled in his stomach like a lead weight. "You assume you are a synth merely because your early memories are not as clear as they ought to be?"

Sturges waved him off. "Nah nah, like...they're not really there . I mean, they're there, but it's all kinda'...I 'unno, sterile . Lots of blanks in between, more than the gaps people talk about when they got trauma n' such. Can't remember losin' my first tooth. Breakin' a bone. Whether I had a family. Little things that add up." He glanced over at the other man after a few silent seconds. " Damn , you alright? You're white as a sheet. You been gettin' enough sleep?"

Sterile . That was a word Danse had privately attributed to his own early memories long before this moment. Devoid of any defining characteristics, any instance of real impact . Just hazy, irradiated landscapes and gray ruins. Alone, always alone.

He had known, vaguely, deep down, that most people seemed to have the ability to recall important periods from their childhood that he simply lacked. He had chalked it up to being an orphan, being forced to survive on his own from a tender, unknown age.

But…

But what if it was something far more sinister?

"I just have a lot on my mind." Danse replied finally.

...

It took him four days. Four days where he was out of his armor more often than he was in it, four days of the two of them sitting in what was once her living room as they pored over tattered schematics, defunct wills and shady paper trails of all kinds.

Four days of watching her absently tuck a lock of hair back behind her ear. Four days of her being blissfully, wonderfully armor-free as well. Four days of just getting to be in proximity of her without anything going horribly wrong.

It only took him four days.

Vega had chosen to wear an appropriately light skirt for their less than taxing work of the day, the ragged pink fabric pooled around her as she sat on the floor and studiously sorted through yet another box of somewhat suspicious documents. The sun was setting, a radstorm hanging low on the horizon in the distance. Its green glow muted the pinks and oranges down to a dull yellow, wraith-like beams making their way through every unpatched crack they could find. The light struck the lenses of her glasses when she bowed her head to look closer at a document, the motion sending a few weak prisms scattering across the opposite wall.

Danse couldn't help himself, his mouth dry when he gruffly blurted out, "you look nice today."

Elizabeth gave no indication that she noticed he had said anything, only looking up after several seconds had gone by. "Sorry, what?" She apologized, blinking behind her thick glasses as a troublesome curl slipped forward over her ear to frame her cheek. "I was engrossed in this thrilling tale of larceny."

Danse chuckled feebly, thanking God that she hadn't heard him. "Ah, nothing. Sorry to have interrupted your reading material." His hands twitched, and then clenched on his thighs after she smiled benignly at him and returned to her reading.

Her divorce papers had been among the many documents they sifted through. She had read them aloud, making a theatrical endeavor out of the whole thing. Backhand stood and paced, gesticulating and apparently imitating how her ex-husband had done his job in the courtroom. Danse had laughed at the time. But all the while he wondered about how Nate had treated her, and at her animosity towards the nickname that the man had apparently bestowed upon her. Their divorce was obviously far from amicable.

A nickname. That was essentially all she had left after the divorce she had requested, that and the child which was born on the same day that they finalized the papers.

" He had me sign them in the hospital." Backhand had told him, her voice a little less bright. " I had just come from getting Shaun scooped out of me and he was already in my room. I couldn't even lift my arm to sign. One of the nurse robots had to help me. " Her eyes were far away when she continued, " he didn't even want to see Shaun ."

Danse knew logically that not every human being was cut out to be a parent. Nowadays, it was enough of a struggle just to survive. But he found himself wishing, stupidly , that he had been there two hundred years ago. Wishing that he had been present to send Nate packing, with or without his damned papers.

Finding Elizabeth wounded at Fort Independence had been bad enough. The idea of her laying limp in a hospital bed, half-dead from the effort of trying to give birth with some cretin badgering her into signing divorce papers--Danse wasn't sure how his blood could retroactively boil, and yet here he was.

" He wanted kids ." Elizabeth had said. She never mentioned what she had wanted.

It was becoming increasingly difficult not to think of her as simply Elizabeth, despite the paladin constantly mentally correcting himself. Knight Vega . General Vega . It was becoming increasingly difficult to stop daydreaming about a different life, where the two of them eked out a companionable existence and enjoyed tea in the evenings.

He was so lost. He wondered if she would let him kiss her and in the next breath scolded himself for such a ludicrous idea. She had a life already , she had her dog, Sturges, Jun and Marcy, Mama Murphy, this little settlement. She had the Minutemen and Preston. There was no room for him here. He was an assistant on her quest. He had promised to help her find her son and Danse kept his word, even if it involved things that weren't his to promise.

Danse still couldn't reconcile with truly thinking about her like that since the police station, his body wracked with guilt every time his mind wandered a little too far south. Self control was one of the few things he had left in this world, and Danse did his best to force his thoughts to be chaste when he was alone at night, did his best not to think about what Haylen had said to him during his visit with her and Rhys.

" It's okay to like her, you know. " The scribe had remarked, her smile soft and knowing as her fingers twined with Rhys'. " You're still allowed to enjoy your life, Paladin ."

It was futile. It was pointless.

But wasn't that how everything always turned out with him.

…

Sturges claimed that the machine was ready and Backhand couldn't resist throwing her arms around him. She knew he probably couldn't breathe.

"Tomorrow mornin', bright an' early, we'll fire the bitch up." Sturges grinned, slapping her on the back before pulling away. "Fingers crossed our luck holds and you'll be back with your little boy."

"I can't thank you enough for this." Backhand murmured, taking his hands in her own. "Seriously, from the bottom of my heart Sturges, thank you ."

"Shucks ma'am, you ain't gotta' get all sentimental on me. I'm just happy to help." Sturges replied with his easy grin. "After what you did for us in Concord, this ain't nothing."

"Congratulations, kid." Mama Murphy said from her chair, wheezing a little. She had asked to be moved outside earlier in the day, as it was pleasantly warm in the sun. Sturges and Jun had carried her throne out by the foundation where Sturges had been constructing the 'slapdash relay' as he had dubbed it. "You'll be on top of those Institute eggheads in no time."

"Now, I need you to know a few things for tomorrow." Sturges cautioned Vega. "There ain't no sure way to test this thing. We're flyin' blind, unfortunately. I can't guarantee your safety, General. I'd advise you to treat this like your old army endeavors. Not to be grim or nothin', but just...well, make your peace. Smoke 'em if ya' got 'em." Sturges advised, smiling wanly.

"I'll get in touch with Preston." Backhand replied, believing she understood what the mechanic was getting at. "I won't leave you guys twisting in the wind if I get turned inside out or something." She tried to joke.

"It ain't us he's concerned about, kid." Murphy piped up, watery eyes fixed on Vega's face. "You better talk to that man of yours. Make sure he knows."

"Man?" Backhand asked in confusion.

"Your gentle giant, kid."

"Oh. Oh! " Vega blushed furiously even as she tried to explain that Danse was only here as her sponsor for the Brotherhood, nothing more.

Mama Murphy hummed knowingly, "kid, you can't hide nothin' from ol' Mama Murphy. It's okay that you're anxious. I don't need the Sight to know that you been through a lot." She patted Vega's hand. "Go on, kid. You'll be fine."

It was on trembling legs that Backhand sussed out Danse after her radio conversation with Preston.

" You don't owe the Minutemen a damn thing, General. " Preston had said firmly. " Ronnie will be more than up to the task, if this is where we part ways. I hope you find your son, General Vega, and the Minutemen thank you for everything you've done. You gave us hope , and that isn't an easy thing to find ."

Danse was, as ever, working on his armor. He seemed to maintain his gear almost obsessively. Currently he had one of the legs detached from the frame, painstakingly sweeping the sand and grit out of the joints so he could apply a fresh coat of grease.

"Paladin Danse?" Vega asked, embarrassed by how her voice squeaked. "C-Can I get a word with you?"

"Of course, Knight Vega." Danse replied, placing the leg off to one side and picking up a rag to wipe the excess grease away. He propped his hip up on the power armor station, looking at her expectantly.

Backhand's words dried up and she cleared her throat. "I um, should be able to try to get into the Institute tomorrow." She managed to say.

Danse's eyebrows rose. " Really . Sturges truly has that much faith in his machine?" The man asked, not unkindly. "I can't find any fault with it, of course. What people like he and Ingram can do has always been incomprehensible to me. I am incredibly curious to see whether the device works. Will you permit me to see you off?"

"That's kind of what I wanted to speak with you about." Backhand said hesitantly. "Danse, I...I just wanted you to know that…"

Oh she was a coward , just the worst kind of coward! Danse smiled after a moment. "It's alright, Vega."

Backhand blinked up at him, stunned. "It...it is?"

Danse nodded. "Venturing into uncertain territory is always a tumultuous experience. Take all the time you need. I'll be here to listen." He assured her.

She was going to cry. Oh no , oh dammit . Backhand took a deep breath in, stalling her tears for the moment. "I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your help." She was a coward . "I-If I don't come back."

"You've been a breath of fresh air for me, soldier." Danse's hands landed on her shoulders, his sincere grin tearing chunks out of her stomach. "Despite our strange and rocky start, you've proved yourself ten times over in my eyes. I'm incredibly proud of what you've accomplished, and I hope our partnership continues even after you've rescued your son."

"Y-Yeah." Backhand sniffled, losing the fight with her tears. "Me too, Danse."

"It is entirely reasonable to be apprehensive, Knight Vega. There is no shame in admitting your trepidation." The paladin's thumbs pressed into her shoulders, idly rubbing circles. "Don't let it eat you alive."

Backhand felt like a creep. She wished she was brave enough to ask for a hug, while scolding herself for thinking that way. Danse had been such an anchor for her, it wasn't right to expect more out of him. "I won't. Thanks." She promised quietly. "I should probably...go. I'm sure Marcy needs...um, something."

Danse nodded, removing his hands from her shoulders. Vega silently mourned the loss as she fled like the coward she was, certain that she had turned a violent shade of crimson.

...

I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your help.

Danse loathed himself for clinging to those words. Loathed himself for putting his hands on her, what the fuck was he thinking? He talked a great game, but his self-control never seemed to improve.

He couldn't believe he had gushed like that. Telling her how proud he was, how glad he was to be able to work with her...she had rescued his team, rescued him .

He stared up at the ceiling and rubbed his eyes, then dragged his fingers firmly down the sides of his neck in an effort to soothe away the tension that threatened to lock him in place. His trapezius muscles in particular screamed for mercy, making him grunt and dig in a little harder. After several moments of focused attention, the spasm eased. Danse hummed, relieved. He was always concerned that the next one could be his last. He hadn't exactly treated his body with tender loving care, especially when he trained himself to a pulp.

The rush of endorphins was what did him in every time he worked out, the triumphant feeling when he pushed his body that much further past his previous limits.

Danse absently began to smooth his palms down his thighs as his mind wandered. When he caught himself, he tore his hands away like his own touch burned him. That was...God, it had been a fair amount of time, but…

Danse bit his lip. But …

The paladin shifted his weight, trying to get more comfortable and cringing every time the mattress springs squeaked. He spread his legs a little wider, one leg hanging over the side of the mattress while the other bent at the knee and pressed against the wall.

His touch was, as ever, function over form. Danse slid a hand between the waistband of his briefs and his stomach, hissing out a breath as he felt his body stir under his own fingers. The paladin just rested there for a selfish moment. It had been so long since he had touched himself.

He scrolled mentally through a catalogue of his previous endeavors and the media he had seen over the years, trying to decide on a visual to accompany his activity.

Cutler came to mind, as he always did. His smile, his eyes, the way a blush rose high on his cheekbones when he and Danse engaged in such pleasant diversions. Danse had never failed to tell the other man just how handsome he was, if only to watch his flustered reaction to the compliment.

But God, Danse would give anything to have a moment to himself that wasn't tainted with melancholy recollections. He carefully put the memory of Cutler aside and continued to think, not incredibly surprised with his brain's next course of action.

It settled on that pre-war mag he had seen passed around in the barracks, the one full of lingerie and women who looked outstanding . One of the buxom models came to mind, her blue eyes and brown hair very similar to--

Danse flinched, feeling like an idiot for immediately switching to fantasizing about Vega in some sleazy, delicate…

Barely-there…

Fuck .

Danse bit back a groan. She was pre-war, he reasoned wildly, it was only logical that he thought of her. She had curves and real muscle that wasn't simply visible due to emaciation. God, and she was beautiful to boot. He could at least admit that much.

His traitorous cock decided to make the choice for him, hardening beneath his hand while he wrestled with himself over imagining Vega in something so devastatingly attractive. It didn't have to be Vega, he rationalized, it could be anyone . Just a woman who resembled her. Entirely by chance. He absolutely wasn't about to masturbate to the idea of his ward in a skimpy outfit.

Danse pulled his undershirt up, catching the hem between his teeth to keep it out of the way. He couldn't be loud here, so hopefully the fabric would hold his embarrassing noises at bay.

His hand sank to the base of his cock, encircling it and then tugging lazily upwards. Danse almost crumpled in on himself, oh God , it had been ages . He panted out a breath, teasing the sensitive head of his cock for a moment before stroking back down. No matter his guilt, some portion of him was definitely interested in Vega. Beggars couldn't be choosers when it came to stealing a private moment in the Brotherhood, and so he gave in.

Danse jerked himself off with long, smooth motions, doing his best to keep his pace even. There was nothing worse than falling out of rhythm with his imagination.

God, she was probably so damn warm, so wet , tight, hot . Danse choked a little when he wondered what she would sound like, utterly devoted to his fantasy now. Would she tell him to be quiet, or would she let him ramble? Let him kiss every part of her body, let him devour her, taste her on his tongue…

Danse bit back the groan he desperately wanted to let escape at the idea of her calling his name or calling him paladin while he ate her out, " fuck ," he breathed softly, squeezing the base of his cock.

Elizabeth , he wanted to say her name out loud, God he wanted to say it so badly, he could feel an ache in his jaw from how hard he was biting his undershirt. He wanted to say her name until she loved it again, until whatever hurt she felt over it vanished into nothingness. He used to call me Beth . The man who was Shaun's father. The man she had married.

Danse knew it was stupid for him to be irritated by a man who had been dead for around two hundred years. But she wasn't Beth. She was Elizabeth .

He wanted to bury his hands in her hair, kiss down her neck, learn every scar and mark on her body. At the same time he feared her getting to know him in that manner, really know him. How greedy and undeserving he was, how much of a failure he was.

It was futile to think about. Pointless, even. These feelings, these desires...nothing would ever come of them. Danse knew that. This was just a means to an end and his damned heart, his emotions were going to make a mess of everything.

He silently spilled his release onto his stomach and then went slack, gasping for breath as his cock twitched and jumped against his belly.

The paladin threw an arm over his eyes, grateful at least that his body understood the age-old cue to let him get some damn rest.

...

He didn't sleep well, but at least he slept. Danse was up before the sun, his eyes heavy as he ran through his gear check and suited up in his armor.

Backhand emerged from her house, clad in her combat armor and armed only with her pistol. Danse noted that she had dark circles under her eyes as well, the young woman sipping coffee from her metal mug like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

"Want some?" She asked Danse, darting back inside when he nodded in reply.

The two of them made their way to the old foundation where Sturges had built the relay, companionable silence filling the air between them.

Danse watched the sun rise, his eyes drifting to Elizabeth every now and again. She appeared to simply be enjoying the peace, her own eyes closed as she drank her coffee cross-legged on the foundation.

The paladin cleared his throat. "Knight Vega, I-"

"Up bright an' early, eh?" Sturges called from the residence he appeared to have claimed as his own. "Be with ya' in a moment, General!"

Backhand tipped her mug to him in acknowledgment, looking up at Danse curiously. "You were saying, Paladin?"

If something happens to you, if you don't come back, if I don't say the things that I wish I could- - "Do you have that lucky bandanna of yours?" Danse asked instead, crushing the sentimental nonsense down. "I imagine it may prove useful for ensuring your success."

Backhand laughed, patting her pocket. "Always carry it on me, Danse. The homeland takes care of their own."

Danse inclined his head and fell silent once more, watching as Sturges fiddled with the control podium. Electricity began to arc and sputter from the generators placed around the site, making the mechanic frown and readjust a few dials.

"Not sure how long I'll be able to keep it steady for once I dial in on the signal!" He called over the racket of the generators. Vega nodded, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. Danse watched as the engineer hauled her in close and pressed something into her hands, the man speaking too quietly for Danse to hear. Then, "alright General, it's now or never!"

Vega approached the transfer plate as Sturges turned dials and punched numbers, the man's hands flying over the control panel. Danse stood off to the side, uncertain of what might happen but also unwilling to let her face this alone.

She pressed her fingers to her lips and brushed them against Danse's helmet. "I'll be back." Vega stated with a wink.

Danse rolled his eyes, chuckling a little. "Good luck, Knight." He said, his voice tinged with humor.

And then she was gone. With a flash of light and a burst of noise like a thunderclap, she vanished . Sturges' delight was only dampened by every piece of equipment he had painstakingly built immediately and fatally overloading, leaving the engineer and Danse scorched and dismayed. Danse, for his part, hadn't truly expected the device to work . He had assumed it was just a pipe dream, something for her to throw herself into so that the grief wouldn't swallow her whole.

But she had disappeared .

Part Ten

#fallout 4 #fallout four #paladin danse #paladin danse x sole survivor #paladin danse imagine #fallout fandom #fallout fanfic #paladin danse/sole survivor #paladin danse x f!sole #brotherhood of steel #bos #fo4 companions #fo4 companions imagine #bethesda #fo4 paladin danse

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sariasprincy-writes · 5 years

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Hollow Point 36

One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen // Twenty // Twenty-One // Twenty-Two // Twenty-Three // Twenty-Four // Twenty-Five // Twenty-Six // Twenty-Seven // Twenty-Eight // Twenty-Nine // Thirty // Thirty-One // Thirty-Two // Thirty-Three // Thirty-Four // Thirty-Five // Thirty-Six (here)

Chapter Thirty-Six At the End of All Things

The first time Sakura awoke, everything was hazy. Like she was in a thick fog, her head filled with clouds. There were voices just beyond and a beeping nearby that seemed to reverberate through her skull. Bright lights shined in her eyes, but she couldn’t find the strength to shield her vision from it. Then she faded out again.

The next time Sakura opened her eyes, her surroundings were much clearer. She was still groggy, her dreams and reality dancing on the same line until she didn’t know what was real and what was her imagination. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings, but when she finally blinked into focus, she instantly recognized the hospital room.

Like a knee-jerk reaction, adrenaline filled Sakura’s veins as she recalled brief flashes of the port. But one glance down at her hands and she saw they were free of handcuffs. She hadn’t been caught by the CIA.

What did catch her notice was she was no longer wearing a Kevlar vest. Instead, she had been changed into a standard hospital gown. There was a sheet tucked around her middle to keep her legs warm and an IV inserted into her arm. It was connected to a bag with a clear liquid inside, likely just fluids. And perhaps pain killers, she realized after a sharp ache lanced through her shoulder when she tried to move her arm.

Pulling back the collar of her gown, Sakura found the left side of her upper body was wrapped in bandages. Post-surgery. At least someone had removed the bullet. Though, she would need to get out of the hospital soon before the police were called and she was questioned. If they hadn’t been called already.

That’s when Sakura realized she was alone. Where was Kakashi?

Through the clear, sliding doors, she could see the nurses’ station down the hall. There were two nurses there now, but they were busy with paperwork. She watched them until the television on the wall behind the desk caught her attention. It was playing the morning news.

From her distance, she couldn’t read the captions, but the channel was showing a helicopter view of the warehouse in Newark. It was still dark, just before dawn, the shipping yard lit up by a handful of overhead spotlights as red and blue police lights flashed. The video was at least a few hours old. Just outside the hospital window, the sun was already peeking above the horizon.

In that moment, Sakura remembered Itachi. Her heartrate and blood pressure spiked as she recalled the blood that had been gathering around him while she had been forced to watch on, unable to help. She worried what had become of him, where he was now.

Pushing herself up in bed, Sakura searched the room for her personal items, specifically her phone. She could call Kakashi or Shikamaru. It would be the fastest way to learn if there had been any casualties in the CIA’s raid.

However, before Sakura could move to get out of bed, the door to her room slid open. Automatically she glanced towards the sound, only to freeze as she recognized the person in the doorway.

Tsunade.

Her adopted mother was exactly how Sakura remembered her. She had long, blonde hair she had pulled back away from her face with the exception of a few strands that had escaped to frame her intelligent, hazel eyes. Tsunade was approaching sixty now, but her youthful face didn’t look a day over fifty. She exuded authority and professionalism in her white doctor’s coat, and in that instant, Sakura suddenly knew exactly where she was. Tsunade’s hospital.

Her adopted mother didn’t immediately speak as she stepped into the room flanked by two younger doctors, likely interns, but her expression was stern and clear: Sakura was to say nothing.

“I see you are finally awake,” Tsunade said, her voice calm and professional. As if they were complete strangers. “Are you in any pain, Ms….?”

“Johnson,” Sakura replied after a small hesitation. “Sarah Johnson.” The most vague American name she could think of in that moment.

Tsunade glanced at one of her interns, ensuring the young male doctor wrote the name down in her file before she returned her attention to Sakura. “How’s your pain now?”

“Manageable,” Sakura replied on autopilot. She was still stunned to see her adopted mother before her so suddenly after these last few years of radio silence. Sakura couldn’t tear her eyes away.

As if Tsunade was simply her surgeon, she stepped forward and began going through a normal examination of Sakura’s injury, post-surgery. “You had some nasty shrapnel to your shoulder, but I was able to successfully remove all of it. The man who brought you in said you were hit by debris from a car accident across the street. Unfortunate place and time.”

Sakura wondered what the actual chances of that happening were. It was probably the first thing Kakashi had thought of when the ER nurses had asked what happened. Sakura knew Tsunade knew it was a lie too. Her adopted mother was smart enough to know a fragmented bullet when she saw one, but she was lying to keep Sakura’s cover. Both their covers. It was a lie to keep the police at bay.

“Do you know where he is now?” Sakura asked.

“I believe getting coffee. He should return shortly,” Tsunade answered, examining the line in her IV for kinks. “The damage to your shoulder was fortunately minimal, but it will take several weeks to heal and some months of physical therapy to regain full use.”

Tsunade turned away from her then, continuing her examination as she spoke to the interns, asking them questions and teaching them as she went along. All the while, Sakura kept her gaze on her, as if afraid if she even so much as blinked too long, Tsunade would vanish right before her eyes.

After a few minutes that seemed to stretch on for hours, the interns finally left. The room lapsed into silence as Tsunade scribbled notes down into her chart.

Eventually, Tsunade closed Sakura’s chart. She capped her pen and slipped it into the front pocket of her coat before she finally met Sakura’s gaze. “I’ve kept your gunshot wound quiet, but someone will recognize the injury soon. You need to leave before the police are called.”

Sakura barely heard her. “Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you in over three years.”

“You had your mission,” Tsunade replied, her hazel eyes unaffected. “The rest was for you to finish.”

“And you didn’t think I might need support to do that?” Sakura asked, her confusion evident. “I’ve been calling you. For months now. Why didn’t you answer?”

“I taught you everything. I trained you to the best of my abilities. There was nothing more I could have done.”

Sakura let out a laugh that was more incredulous and exasperated than humorous. “You could have been there.”

“You were always meant to complete your mission alone.”

“Yes, but-”

“Enough, Sakura,” Tsunade interrupted. “We’re finished here.”

Her cold tone startled Sakura. She gave pause as Tsunade simply stared at her as if Sakura was nothing more than a boring piece of art. Slowly, one-by-one, the pieces began clicking into place. Cold dread filled Sakura as it dawned on her that she had put herself, Kakashi, Ino, Itachi in danger for a woman who saw her as nothing but a means to an end.

“You told Hashirama that you wanted a daughter, but he didn’t give me to you because you couldn’t have children,” Sakura said, her voice accusatory but calm compared to the raging storm building within her. “You wanted someone to train. Someone to take care of Hashirama because you couldn’t do it yourself. Not without getting caught.”

Tsunade’s face might as well have been carved from stone. “You did as directed. You completed your orders. You are released.”

Those words were like a slap across the face, but Sakura wasn’t given the chance to reply when the door to the room slid open again. It was Kakashi. He looked relieved to see her alert and conscious before he sensed the tension emanating from her. Concern briefly flickered behind his eyes before his gaze shifted to Tsunade.

She barely acknowledged him. Merely stepped towards the bed to mute the alarms on Sakura’s monitor before she slipped the IV out of her arm. “Don’t allow the nurses to see you when you leave,” Tsunade told her.

Then she was gone. Out the door and out of Sakura’s life. Perhaps forever.

Sakura could only sit there, her mouth slack and her eyes unfocused as she tried to process what had just happened. How everything she had believed her entire life could have shredded right before her eyes. It felt surreal, like a dream she couldn’t escape from.

White, hot anger flooded her heart and filled her veins like lightning. Betrayal stung like acid in her chest. She wanted to punch something, shoot something. Her fingers itched to wrap around the grip of a gun. She wanted to burn New York City to the ground.

Then, like a bubble, all that rage popped until she was left with nothing but a sinking sadness that buried deeper and deeper into her soul. It wrapped around her like a blanket, tumbling so deep she didn’t know if the feeling would ever leave her.

All those memories of her childhood burned bright in her mind’s eye. The smile on Tsunade’s face when she had brought Sakura home for the first time, her words of encouragement when Sakura failed and the pride in Tsunade’s eyes when she had succeeded. Grief sunk into Sakura’s chest like a heavy stone as she realized it had all been a lie. Tsunade had groomed Sakura to love and adore her until Sakura would do anything for the woman who had rescued her.

Sakura was certain she would have sat there in that hospital room, stuck in that single moment for the rest of her life, had the faint echo of footsteps not broken through her thoughts. She blinked back to herself as Kakashi stopped beside her bed. He looked like he wanted to reach out, but thought better of it.

“You okay?” he asked.

Sakura opened her mouth but not even a breath escaped. She didn’t know if he meant physically or mentally, but it didn’t matter. They needed to leave.

“We should get out of here,” Sakura said instead, suddenly itching to be out from this cramped, suffocating room.

A ghost of a frown crossed his mouth, but then it was gone as he slipped the backpack off his shoulder she hadn’t realized he had been carrying until now. Inside were a change of her clothes. He steadied her as she slipped into her jeans and shirt, the latter task he had to help her with after she realized she couldn’t lift her arm more than a few inches without a great deal of pain. He hung her jacket over her shoulders, leaving her sleeves empty before he collected the rest of her things.

Then together, they slipped out of the hospital unnoticed.

The pair drove in silence for some time. The hospital was over twenty miles out of New York City. Sakura didn’t ask why Kakashi had taken her specifically to Tsunade. Had Sakura gone anywhere else the police would have been called, she would have been questioned and it would have led to a series of headaches that were best avoided from the beginning.

In the quiet, her mind rolled like heavy, thunder clouds. She replayed her conversation over with Tsunade, that piping hot rage sitting in her stomach like boiling water. Only to give way as her last moments with Itachi filled her memory. The hurt and betrayal and heartbreak in his eyes. She wondered if he had felt like she did now. Learning he had been used, he had been played.

Her stomach twisted sharply. The question of his fate hung heavy on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t find the courage to ask, afraid of the answer. Instead, she asked another burning question.

“What happened? After I was shot.”

Kakashi didn’t glance at her as he took the juncture to the next highway. “The CIA successfully took down Akatsuki. Everyone not killed was rounded up and arrested. Your plan to take out the major members of Akatsuki was a significant part in allowing the CIA to success. None of them showed with their men. Tobirama, Tenten and whoever else you called got them all. Everyone is dead but Kisame. He escaped to Egypt.”

Sakura hummed at that. “Call Temari. I want eyes on him.”

“You think he’ll retaliate against you for trying to kill him?”

“Not on American soil, but yes.”

Kakashi hummed his agreement. Then after a brief silence, he asked, “What about here? The Underground is in chaos. Now would be the perfect time to claim it.”

She fell quiet as she considered that. With Akatsuki in shambles and Hashirama dead, the Underground had a lot of availability now. It would be the perfect opportunity for her to take over the Eastern Coast. Which she was going to do. Just not in the way Kakashi was expecting.

“Tell Tobirama to take control of Hashirama’s assets. Tenten can have whatever territory is left over.”

Kakashi shot her a look of surprise. “Why would you do that?” When she replied with a meaningful glance, it dawned on him. “Because then they both owe you favors. You can control the Eastern Coast without having to manage it yourself.”

Sakura hummed her agreement.

“Then what will you do?” he asked.

Sakura thought about her next statement carefully. She thought about Tsunade’s parting words, feeling that painful betrayal again. “I want you to spread the word that Tsunade is dead.”

Kakashi glanced at her sharply until the tires bumped over the lane dividers on the highway. He jerked the wheel to straighten their course. “What? After all this, you’re giving everything up?”

She shook her head. “No, just her,” she said. Her voice was soft but she wasn’t able to completely keep the bitterness out of her voice. “From now on, I will be known as Sakura. I won’t give Tsunade the credit any longer.”

He peered in her direction again but said nothing as they continued their drive. The pain in Sakura’s shoulder was beginning to worsen as the drugs faded, but it paled in comparison to the ache in her chest, until she could no longer stand not knowing.

“Where’s Itachi?” she asked quietly.

A heavy silence passed before Kakashi answered, “He was taken to a hospital under the CIA’s protection. I spoke to my contacts there. He’s alive,” he said, causing hope to bloom in her chest. It died on his next words. “But he’s in a coma. He took a bullet to the stomach. They don’t know how well he’ll recover yet or if he’ll even…”

“Or if he’ll even wake up,” Sakura finished, feeling that hole in her heart slowly rip open little-by-little.

Kakashi peered at her, but she didn’t dare look at him. She couldn’t stand his pity at the moment. “I’m sorry, Sakura.”

“Don’t be,” she murmured. “This is my fault. I did this.”

They didn’t speak the rest of the way to Sakura’s apartment. Simply sat in silence as Kakashi steered them across the bridge and back into New York. Before them, the impressive skyline towered on the horizon, but Sakura didn’t see. She was numb to the world around her. Exhausted, both physically and mentally.

It was only once her door opened that Sakura realized they were parked in her underground garage. Kakashi helped her out of her seat before he adjusted her jacket around her shoulders to hide the bulky bandages, lest anyone should pass them.

Blindly, Sakura allowed Kakashi to lead her through the building until they reached her apartment. Kakashi unlocked the door and closed it behind them as Sakura kicked off her shoes. She said nothing as she made a beeline for her bed, letting her jacket drop somewhere on the floor before she slipped under the covers.

Kakashi was at her side a minute later with a spare bottle of prescription pain meds she kept in her medicine cabinet. She popped two in her mouth and greedily sucked down the bottle of water he handed her before she curled up on her uninjured side, her back to him. He simply pulled the covers around her.

“Can I get you anything else?” Kakashi murmured.

Sakura thought of Itachi, but the image of him lying in some government hospital unconscious and hooked up to life support stole her voice. Swallowing, she shook her head. “No.”

She vaguely heard him set something on her nightstand. A moment later, she realized it was her cell phone. “Call me if you need me.”

She said nothing in reply. Merely stared at the wall on the other side of her bed as she listened to Kakashi’s footsteps cross the room before the deadbolt slid back into place.

Sakura didn’t know how long she laid there. The meds took the worst of the bite out of her injury and exhaustion weighed on her like a physical weight, but her mind refused to rest. Her thoughts kept replaying the events at the warehouse. She wondered how she could have changed things, what she could have done differently, but the look on Itachi’s face wouldn’t leave her. It was burned into her mind.

What had she done?

Curling further into herself, Sakura opened her mouth to let out a heavy sigh. What escaped instead was a shuddering breath. And before she could stop it, a wave of emotion washed through her, picking her up and sweeping her out the sea before the currents pulled her under. Her anguish spilled out of her until it clogged her throat and made it near impossible to breathe, filling every corner of her empty apartment.

Or so she thought.

For from the living room, Kakashi said silently on the couch. He listened to each sob that echoed from the bedroom, until the sun was high and exhaustion finally overcame them both. It would be nearly sunrise before they would wake again.

Three weeks later…

Sakura blew the steam off her coffee mug. She waited until it was cool enough not to burn her tongue before she finally took a sip and deemed the flavor to her liking.

Inside the coffeehouse, businessmen and women were hurrying in and out. The little shop was tucked between a large bank and a high rise of offices, making it a popular stop for those on their way into a meeting. A woman stopped beside Sakura and dumped in an unhealthy amount of cream and sugar before she quickly left, apparently running late for something.

With her shoulder still recovering, Sakura had to do most things one-handed. She set her to-go cup down on the counter before she snapped the lid over the top. Before leaving, she checked her phone.

There was a new message from Tenten. She was still on time to getting her shipments dropped off. Tobirama would be back in town tonight to update Sakura on the other shipments leaving Cairo. His plane was to land a few hours after sundown.

Satisfied, Sakura pocketed her phone again before she grabbed her coffee and made for the exit. A man in a nice business suit held the door for her, smiling something a little too friendly as he looked her purposely. Sakura was hardly fazed. She merely returned the smile before she slipped by without a word.

On the sidewalk, she paused to look for Kakashi’s car as she took a sip of her coffee. She didn’t know where Kakashi had gone in the morning rush, but she waited patiently. Ever since he had picked her up from the hospital, he had hardly left her side. He would be there soon.

Lowering her coffee cup, Sakura gazed about the downtown streets lazily. After a few minutes with no sight of Kakashi, she made to shuffle her coffee into her still-healing arm to pull out her phone when something caught her eye.

No, not something. Someone.

It was Shisui. He was standing across the busy street, leaning against the side of a sleek, black Lexus. She recognized it as Itachi’s. But it wasn’t the car that caught her notice. It was Shisui himself. He looked terrible. Absolutely haggard with dark circles under his eyes and his skin a little too pale, even for a New Yorker. He looked like he hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten in weeks.

And like a candle blowing out in the wind, the warmth left Sakura’s body. She knew what had happened.

They had pulled the plug on Itachi.

She couldn’t explain how she knew it from that single look from Shisui, but she was absolutely certain. Itachi was gone.

As if someone had pressed pause on the television, everything stilled. The people around them, the cars on the city streets. The entire world stopped and held its breath.

Then Shisui turned away and slipped into Itachi’s Lexus. Without a single word, he simply drove away, leaving Sakura alone on the busy sidewalk, the coffee in her cup tasting like mud and ash. The grey city seemed to become even dimmer, like all color had drained out of the world.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Sakura pushed herself to focus on her work, getting shipments ordered, organized and delivered. Her day was over before she realized it and she was forced to face her new reality.

She sent Kakashi away. He had been confused but he didn’t deny her request, and for the first time since she had been shot, Sakura was alone.

She sat in the kitchen chair she had pulled up to the window and sipped on tequila as she tried her best not to think about the shirt in the back of her closet – the one that smelled like Itachi – until suddenly, she realized she was drunk. Apparently, chain-drinking did that.

The urge to give in, to wrap herself up in the last bit of clothing that reminded her of his gentle kisses and tender touch, nearly overwhelmed her, and likely would have if her phone hadn’t abruptly pinged.

It was from Tobirama. He had landed.

Suddenly, Sakura had a far worse idea.

Less than an hour later, a taxi dropped Sakura off in Queens in front of a large house with tall, iron gates. The guard had let her in on-sight, allowing the driver to pull up the well-lit, circular drive to stop before the great mansion.

As Sakura stepped out of the cab, she admired the home. Tobirama had made a few modifications, including more lights that accentuated the stone work. It looked much classier than when Hashirama had lived there.

At the door, a butler greeted her and accepted her jacket. He made himself scarce when Tobirama appeared at the banister and descended the stairs. His hair was still damp from a shower, and he had changed into a grey sweater and a nice pair of cotton, white pants after his flight. Something comfortable but classy lest someone dropped in late. Someone like her.

“Sakura,” Tobirama greeted. His tone was welcoming but obviously curious. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight. Is everything alright?”

She had tried to fill the gaping hole in her chest with tequila, but she smiled nonetheless, hoping she appeared more sober than she felt. “Yes. I hope I’m not intruding.”

His confusion lingered, but he gestured for her to follow him anyway. He led her to the very den she had sat with Hashirama before. Only now it felt different. Less intimidating and more focused. Like an actual office should be.

Inside, a maid was dusting a tall painting of a beautiful forest with horses grazing in the middle. As soon as the worker saw them enter, she quickly stepped off her stool and excused herself, taking the folding steps with her.

Sakura didn’t pay her much mind. Instead she gazed at the painting as she briefly wondered what its significance was. It certainly hadn’t been there while Hashirama lived there, but the thought was fleeting. She turned away when she heard Tobirama pull out two crystal glasses before he poured a couple of fingers in each.

Only after they made themselves comfortable on the lush, leather couch across the room did he finally ask, “Are you really so keen to know how my trip to Egypt went?”

Frankly, Sakura couldn’t care less about Cairo at the moment, but for pretenses, she inclined her head.

They sipped their whiskey as Tobirama updated her. He informed her of Temari’s success in seamlessly taking over Akatsuki’s old territory and contacts, and Tobirama’s latest attempt to track down Madara’s whereabouts. Of course, it had led to another dead end like it had for the last several weeks.

“I know the bastard was there,” Tobirama told her, a small frown on his lips. “But he slipped out before I could track him down.”

“Do you suspect where he went?” she asked.

“Hong Kong.”

Sakura hummed in reply as she sipped more of her drink. The whiskey settled warmly in her stomach, but it did nothing to ease the cold in her chest.

“Once I get my shipments squared away here, I can go there and follow his trail-”

“No,” she shook her head, much to Tobirama’s surprise. “Let him stay there.”

His brows furrowed. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Madara has contacts there that neither of us have. If we go after him, he’ll have us killed on-sight,” she told him, briefly studying the amber liquid in her glass. “There’s one thing I’m certain of and it’s that Madara wants both of us dead; for what we did to Akatsuki and for what we did to Izuna. Let him come to us when he finally decides he can’t live in a world with us in it. For now, he can rot in his hole.”

She finished her statement by swallowing the rest of her drink in one large gulp. Then she stood to place the glass on the desk, out of the way.

“And in the meantime, what do we do?” Tobirama asked.

Sakura turned back around to face him upon his question. She didn’t reply as she eyed him, taking in his relaxed form as he lounged on the leather sofa. The hand grasping his whiskey rested on the arm of the couch while the other rested beside his thigh.

In this setting, he was more handsome than she could ever remember him being. Money looked good on him. And so did she, she decided.

“I’m sure we can think of something,” Sakura replied. Her hand skimmed up the front of her blouse until she found the top button. Then she popped it open.

Tobirama’s glass stilled halfway to his mouth as she approached him. Automatically his gaze was drawn to her cleavage as it was slowly exposed to his viewing. He swallowed thickly before he made a point of meeting her gaze.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice carefully controlled.

Sakura shot him a look as if he had asked the dumbest question in the world before she dropped her shirt to the floor and slipped into his lap. Even with only her lacy, wine-colored bra keeping her decent, his eyes never left hers. He stubbornly kept his hands by his sides.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Sakura countered smoothly.

Something akin to a scowl crossed his face. “I thought we had agreed this was a bad idea.”

Her hands settled on the firm muscles of his chest as her gaze briefly flickered down to his mouth before meeting his gaze once more. When she spoke, her voice had turned soft to something almost vulnerable. “Don’t you ever wish we could go back to the way we started? Before everything got so complicated.”

An unusually serious expression crossed Tobirama’s face. His gaze searched hers, as if wondering where they would be now if things between them hadn’t ended so abruptly. She didn’t know what he saw in her eyes – if he saw anything at all – but then he was downing the rest of his whiskey. He set the glass aside before he twisted a hand into her hair and forced her mouth to meet his.

There was nothing gentle about the way Tobirama held her. He secured an arm around her waist before he picked her up and laid her against the soft leather of the couch, careful of her still-healing shoulder. As soon as she was settled, he was on her again, his knee pressing into the space between her legs as he bit a path down her throat. A sharp gasp escaped her when he found a sensitive spot, but the noise was quickly muffled as he crushed his mouth against hers again.

His kiss felt like drowning. Like she was being pulled beneath the current, her head inches or perhaps miles below the surface. She didn’t know if it eased or just numbed the pain in her chest, but she had the fleeting thought that if it could distract her from her grief if only for a few minutes, then she would take everything she could.

Just as the world had taken everything from her.

tbc…

#hollow point #chapter thirty six #itasaku #tobisaku #crime au #arms dealer au #modern au #im sorry ok #story isn't over yet tho #just an epilogue left

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years

Text

Academic Misgivings (Part Twelve) FINALE - Peter Parker

You and Peter Parker aren’t friends, but you’re not entirely enemies either. You don’t like him but he always tries to be nice to you. He has everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ll do anything to show him that you can make it on your own. But can you?

It’s five months after the Winter Formal and things have changed. Have they changed for the better or will your regrets ruin everything?

/ PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR/PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT / PART NINE / PART TEN / PART ELEVEN /

FIVE WEEKS AFTER THE WINTER FORMAL

You had thought about Peter’s lips before but never had you entertained the idea of his lips on yours. The mere thought was a dare so tantalizing you had fought against it and pick the truth of your reality. After everything, there was no way you would be kissing Peter Parker. So every little daydream (like how soft his lips would be or where his hands would rest as he pulled you ever so close) was pushed to the dark, back corners of your mind. Needless to say, those swallowed thoughts came rushing back the moment the dreams became a reality.

It still happened, even weeks after the first kiss.

“Good to see you too,” you murmured as Peter pulled away from your lips. He gave you a grin as he took the seat at your side.

“Mhm,” Peter hummed and you smiled. “Did I beat them here?”

“Looks like it,” you gestured to the empty table before you. Your lips still tingled from the kiss and it threw you back to the rooftop of your apartment complex a month ago. Instinctively, your smile widened at the memory.

“What is it?” Peter asked as he wiggled off his coat. Little snowflakes clung to the material and hung loosely in his dark hair.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, “just thought of something.” Peter leaned towards you and you felt your heart race under his soft gaze.

“What something?” He raised a teasing brow and you flushed.

“Not that something,” you gently pressed your palm against his cheek to push him away. Peter laughed and grabbed your hand to pull it away. His fingers intertwined with yours and you felt the heat of your skin sooth over a bit.

“I’m kidding,” he beamed, “what are we covering today?” He leaned over to the textbook splayed out before you. “Chemistry?”

“Your favorite subject.” You nudged Peter with your shoulder and you saw his cheeks go pink. The moment you started to lean into him, the bell hanging from the doorframe of the coffee shop rang out.

“Ew, you guys.” You pulled away from Peter and straightened your posture. Heat, once again, gathered in your cheeks as MJ studied the scene before her. Peter greeted her as she took one of the last free seats at the table. “Yeah, hi.”

A lazy silence came over the table until Peter clapped his hands. “So I’m going to get a hot chocolate. You want anything?” MJ shook her head and you smiled.

“We’re okay.” You reached your hand under the table and grab Peter’s that rested on his knee. “Thanks though.”

Peter nodded and stood up from the table in one fluid motion. You watched him head over to the counter where the barista, now with bright red hair, stood to help. Once his striped sweater grew blurry with distance, you turned back to MJ. Her dark eyes were glued on you as watchful as a tiger.

“I still don’t get what happened,” she mused. With a sigh, she slunk back in her chair and you frowned.

“I told you before,” you said, exasperated.

“Okay, but that same night you said you guys made up was the day after you guys...broke up…” She raised her hands in the air in a pitiful shrug.

“We talked after we left the Winter Formal. We talked a long time,” you glanced over your shoulder and saw Peter. He rocked back and forth on his heels while he waited for his hot chocolate. “And we figured stuff out.”

“Yeah, uh-huh,” MJ sighed.

You gave her a wary look before slinking down in your own seat. To be fair, you weren’t lying to MJ. Just merely obscuring part of the truth. She didn’t need to know about how you almost got hit by a car. Or about how Peter had kissed you for the first time that night swept up in a storm of adrenaline and passion. She definitely didn’t need to know about Peter being Spiderman. It had been a little over a month now and you still had a problem wrapping your head around that one.

“Did you guys start studying without me?” Peter asked as he sat down.

“No, we were just talking,” you said. Peter’s eyes squinted in confusion as he set the blue mug of hot chocolate on the table. There was an obscene amount of wiped cream on top.

“Then why does MJ have that look on her face?” You looked across the table at your friend and noticed her near painful scowl.

“Why does everyone ask about my face?” MJ asked harshly. You smiled and quickly tried to piece together a reply. Luckily, the bell of the coffee shop went off again and broke the tension.

“Hi guys,” Ned gushed as he darted over to the table. He slid into the remaining seat and eyed Peter’s whipped cream and hot chocolate. “Whoa.”

“I know right?” Peter reached over with a grin and Ned started their complex handshake. MJ rolled her eyes at the scene before she leaned over.

“Well, I’m going to study,” she announced bitterly as she pulled your textbook away from you. You gave her an amused glance, one that she returned with a faux fashion.

“You really think Ridgemont has a chance against us?” Peter asked as he pulled his hand away from Ned’s. His finger waggled in the air like a jellyfish as he spoke. MJ only let out a hum in response and Peter frowned.

“You mean, against this?” Ned asked pointing to your head. “Y/N can carry us to victory all on her own. No offense, Peter.”

“None taken,” Peter said with a closed-lip smile. He nudged his shoulder against yours and a blush bloomed across your cheeks.

“Thanks, Ned,” you cleared your throat, “but they’re pretty good. Their coach is a Chemistry Nobel Prize winner.”

“Pft,” Ned waved away your words, “we have Mr. Harrison.”

“And?” MJ prompted, not once taking her eyes off of the page she was studying. Ned’s eyes widened for a moment and his mouth fell open.

“I..he’s great. A great guy.” MJ sighed and shook her head.

“Either way,” Peter interrupted, “we should prepare.” You smiled in agreement and gave Peter an affectionate glance. One that did not go unmissed.

“Aww, you guys are gross,” Ned cooed and MJ nodded.

“Disgusting.”

Your cheeks burned at their teasing and, when you pried your eyes off your shoes, you saw Peter’s face was pink as well. You understood why Ned and MJ were joking around; you and Peter had, to say the least, an unconventional relationship. Not every couple can place their roots in dislike and jealousy towards one another. Plus, what had happened after the Winter Formal.

Peter opened his mouth to retort, to use words to mask your mutual embarrassment but the chirping of a phone cut him off. He pulled his phone out from his pocket and the pink color coating his cheeks faded. A wave of seriousness fell over his features as he stood from his seat. You watched him, hoping that your eyes communicated the concern you felt but could not share.

“I have to take this,” Peter said. He gave you a look, with brown eyes sure. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you replied softly. Peter gave you a half-hearted smile and walked to a more quiet corner of the coffee shop.

“Oh crap,” Ned groaned, “I need to ask him about the field trip!” Your eyes were still on Peter as he walked away. Not even Ned’s worried voice could pull you back. Who had called?

“What field trip?” MJ’s voice was merely a dull echo. Was it Mr. Stark, Iron Man? Was something wrong? A familiar sense of stress filled your heart. Flashes of the alien beasts that had threatened New York; one of the large, flying, and worm-like creatures crushing your childhood home. Your breathing grew heavy and rapid with panic.

“The biology one. We’re taking a bus to some park reserve thing. Y/N, are you in biology?” The rapid beating of your heart filled your ears and worry for Peter consumed you wholly. You just got him back; you didn’t want him taken from you. You wanted Peter, Spiderman be damned.

“Y/N?” MJ’s voice seemed to drain all of the flooded thoughts from your mind. Senses returned to you and you tore your eyes off Peter who, at this point was mostly hidden behind a wall.

“Huh? What?” You spun your head back to Ned and MJ. Their eyes were squinted by the furrowed brow expression they both wore.

“You...you okay?” MJ asked, her tone dripping with flat concern. She cared, you knew that, but she was still working on saying it.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you waved a hand and dismissed her worry. “So, what about biology?”

“There’s a field trip…” Ned’s eyes were still squinted at you as if trying to read between the lines of your expression. You knew that Ned knew Peter was Spiderman; but did he know that you know? You wanted to cry. “Are you going?”

“I took bio last year,” you explained. Your voice was much too high pitched. Calm down, you thought to yourself, Peter will be right back. He said he would.

“You sure you’re okay?” MJ cut Ned off. He closed his mouth and watched you. They didn’t believe you.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you repeated. You straightened you back and bit the inside of your cheek. You had to deflect, somehow, and your mind went wild trying to figure out how.

“You’re sure?” MJ pressed.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you fired back, “are you? Why are you asking so many questions?” Smooth, you thought bitterly.

“Because I want to get to the truth.” Her voice was cool; not a hiccup or crack in any word. If it weren’t for the fact she wanted the truth from you, you would have gotten goosebumps. Ned’s eyes widened and he looked at you with waiting.

“I don’t know what you-”

“Hey guys,” Peter rushed up back to the table. You would have to thank him for his superb timing. “I have to go actually. Stark Internship emergency.”

“What?” MJ asked in disbelief.

“Oh...well...be safe out there,” Ned said. MJ’s head spun on a near swivel as she stared at Ned who began to flounder. “I-I mean, you don’t know. Science is...can...it’s dangerous.”

“Y-Yeah,” Peter agreed with slight panic in his eyes. “Chemicals and stuff...it can et sticky....”

“You’re dealing with chemicals, as an intern to the most profitable technology company in the country?” Peter nodded. “Let me rephrase,” MJ raised a hand, “you’re being allowed to deal with toxic substances for the famous Stark Industries, a company that has everything and their reputation to lose?”

There was a long, drawn-out, and wildly uncomfortable pause. You weren’t entirely sure if you had started to smile because of the nerves crawling up your throat or because you finally had something to say. Either way, you grinned.

“Why do you ask? Jealous?” Your tone is teasing to make fun of yourself more than MJ. Her scowl falters for a second when it clicks and your smile widens. If you didn’t know what Peter was really up too, you would have been just as curious as MJ. Not to mention, a bit envious. But now that you knew what the ‘Stark Internship’ truly was, you were more than happy to sit at the sidelines.

Peter laughed softly and met your gaze. He gave you a smile that rivaled your own before he looked back at MJ. “Only like a few chemicals.”

MJ was prepared to press further when you stood up beside Peter. “Can I walk with you?”

“Yeah, of course.” Peter held your gaze and leaned in slightly. It was an unconscious habit he had picked up; one that you got to reap the benefits of.

“Great,” you grabbed your things and threw your coat on. MJ handed your textbook to you but you shook your head. “You can keep it until the decathlon. I already looked through it.”

MJ replied with an annoyed ‘okay’ and continued to read. You and Peter bid your friend a brief goodbye before you filed out of the coffee shop. The fresh front of Winter cold had hit the city. Yet there was still no snow. Despite the absence of falling crystals of ice, the chill was enough for you to wrap your scarf a little closer to your face.

“You saved me in there,” Peter said. The warmth of his voice and breath pulled you back from the cold edge. “MJ’s questions just get harder to dodge.”

“I know,” you agreed as you fell in step beside him. You reached your hand out and intertwined your pinkie with his. “She was interrogating me while you were on the phone.”

“Really? Crap,” Peter mumbled.

“You still think she believes her own theories that you’re...you know.” Peter raised a brow at you and you frowned. “That you’re Spiderman.”

“Oh, I don’t...she probably does. It’s been a while since she’s talked about it though.” You nodded and let your eyes fall to the sidewalk. Peter’s scuffed sneakers scraped against the pavement, somewhat dragging his feet. Wherever he was needed, he didn’t want to go.

“So...what was the call about?” You asked, gaze still fixed on the ground as you walked. Peter’s pinkie wrapped around yours a little tighter and you waited for the bomb to drop. “You’re not in danger...are you?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” Peter replied. You nodded and looked up at him. His attention was forward, glued on the block where you would part ways. You didn’t want to leave him quite yet and with the way his jaw was clenched tight, he didn’t want to either. Or there was something on his mind.

“Pete,” you pressed, “you know you can tell me anything, right?” Peter’s brown eyes met your gaze. His pupils were slightly blown but his lips were in a thin line.

“I know, it’s just...it was Happy. He told me that there’s some news outlet online that is claiming Spiderman does more bad than good. That he’s...that I’m a villain. He wants me to meet up and go over what to say if I get questioned about it...in costume.” He gave a wary look at a passerby and you pulled him to the side.

“You know that that’s not true,” you said as you lead him away. Peter stood before you as you continued. “You only do good,” you grab both of his hands, “you know that. Right?”

“I know,” Peter nodded. He rubbed his thumbs over the soft skin atop your hands. “I just need to make sure that everyone sees that and not some...menace….”

“Well, for now,” you leaned up and pecked his cheek. “I see you. You’re my hero.”

“Y/N...that was….”

“Horrible? I know.” You let out a little laugh and shook your head.

“Horrible but nice,” Peter clarified. He leaned and wrapped his arms around you. Warmth was all around you and you couldn’t help but close your eyes.

“I figured I would give it a try, being a good....”

“Good girlfriend? You’re a great girlfriend,” Peter beamed as he pulled away. You cringed and Peter frowned. “What is it?”

“I don’t know...the word ‘girlfriend’...feels weird still.” Peter’s face softened into a little smile. “That and I don’t think great girlfriends try to sabotage their boyfriends before they start to date.”

Peter let out a groan and threw his head back. “Y/N…”

“I know, we talked about it but that doesn’t make me feel any less bad about-” Peter’s lips cut off your little rant. His hand moved up from yours to cup your cheek.

The touch is enough to send you back to the night of the Winter Formal. Back, specifically, to the moments before Peter told you that he was Spiderman. You could still feel the surge of adrenaline and the cold, not dissimilar to the chill around you now, that gripped your body. That, and the heat of Peter’s skin on yours. A little spot of peace after fear.

Peter pulled away with a lazy smile on his now kiss-swollen lips. His thumb skirted the peak of your cheekbone and you leaned into the touch in a half-hearted attempt to hide your blush.

“Did that make you feel better?” Peter’s tone was teasing but low. It sent a shiver down your spine that you knew was not just the cold.

“Yes,” you admitted, “but I was just kidding.” You grinned as you threw Peter’s words back in his face. “I had my secret and you had yours, like you said.”

“Like I said,” Peter agreed. A chime of a clock rang through the crisp Winter air and Peter sighed. “So ten o’clock again?”

“Yes,” you said with a knowing smile, “same spot?”

“Yeah,” Peter said sweetly. He let his hand fall from your face as you walked towards the block. He was smiling but in his brow you could see the crease of longing.

“I’ll see you then Spider boy,” you said softly. Peter’s mouth fell open at your teasing and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s man!” He shouted as you walked towards the end of the block. You could see the top of your apartment complex through the grey clouds, waiting for you. You looked back and waved at Peter who, despite his annoyance, was smiling at you.

It was the same smile he wore after your first kiss together. An image you had committed to memory, like the night you saw what was under Peter’s real mask. You shook your head at the thought. While you had been hiding your own mistakes and schemes, Peter was keeping a bigger secret. A secret that had bonded you together, hopefully forever.

The door to the roof of the apartment complex was slammed shut behind you by the wind. You jumped at the sound and pulled your coat closer to your body for comfort. Despite the fact the wind had picked up and the fall of night brought its own new sense of cold, there was still no snow. Although the mass of clouds that loomed over the city seemed to be full of winter-wonderland promise.

Like little fireflies, the windows of the city’s buildings seem to dance as some flickered on and others off. Your phone too mirrored the insects when you checked the time. It was five past ten and Peter was no where in sight. You peeked out from under the awning and sighed.

“Where are you?” You asked aloud.

Your breath made a small cloud in front of your face as you looked over the towers that surrounded the apartments. Peter, where are you, you thought. He was never late. He knew that you would worry if he was. Just like you were now.

Since meeting Peter, you had come so far. Not only as a person but in your state of mind. You were happier, happier than you had ever been. Growth, letting your bitterness and jealousy fall to the side, had changed everything for you. It was Peter that had helped you, showed you who you could be. You wanted him to see how far you would go.

That was why you spared another nervous glance at your phone. It was only eight past ten now. You swallowed hard and shifted your weight. C’mon Pete, be okay. When the rest of the world stayed silent, you checked to see if he had texted you.

“Hey there.”

You gasped and placed your hand to your chest at the sound of his voice. When you looked up, Spiderman, Peter, was upside, hanging from the awning above the door you had walked out of. The white eyes of the mask expanded as you stepped towards him. You could see the fabric of the mask bunch up a little towards the chin and you knew Peter was smiling.

“Hey yourself,” you breathed out. You felt your lips turn up too, unable to stop the relief that flooded your system. He was here and he was safe.

“So you’re just hanging out, huh? Waiting for me,” Peter asked. His voice was muffled slightly by the mask but his amused tone was unmissable.

“Wow, who knew Spiderman has a sense of humor,” you jabbed as you took another step towards him. You could feel his body heat now, stark against the cold air.

“Well, I mean, you, since you’re dating him and all. You get all of the quality jokes.” You let out a forced laugh and reached up. Gently, your fingers curled under the fabric of the mask and pulled it off. Peter’s bright brown eyes shown with the city lights, although more akin to the stars scattered in the sky.

“H-Hi,” Peter breathed softly. You smiled sweetly.

“Hi.” You traced your fingers along his jaw and, even upside down, Peter looked heart achingly handsome.

“Y-You look pretty upside down,” he stammer out. You laughed and let your hand fall from his face. With your arms crossed over your chest you gave him a serious look.

“I don’t look pretty normally?” You were teasing, but Peter’s eyes widened with fear. His already pink cheeks reddened and you grinned.

“No that’s not what I meant-”

“I know, Peter,” you cut him off and reached for his face with your hands. You brought his lips to yours in an instant. It was strange, kissing with one person upside down. But with Peter, you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. When you pulled away, Peter was smiling too.

“That was….”

“Weird,” you both finished. You laughed and so did Peter. When quiet fell over you, you leaned in again and pressed your lips to his cheek.

“I thought it was going to be cute,” you explained.

“It, it was,” Peter rambled as he let his limbs fall to the rooftop. He landed with a small thud and a lazy smile. “Sorry about being late. An old lady needed directions and…”

“You don’t have to apologize for being a good person,” you interrupted. You grabbed Peter’s hands in yours and gave them a squeeze. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

Peter beamed at you and you took the chance to take in the sight of him. The tight blue and red fabric clung his his strong frame. He must have noticed you ogling because his smile widened. With a knowing, almost teasing smirk, he tore his hands from yours and spread his arms wide.

“You like the suit?” You rolled your eyes and sat down on the step near the door. You gave him another once over and rolled your eyes.

“I don’t like this side of you,” you teased, “put the mask back on.” Peter raised his brows and you held up a hand. “No. Don’t even say it.”

“Alright, alright,” Peter conceded and he sat down at your side. You leaned your head on his shoulder and sighed. Peter rested his head on yours and you felt his body untense. You could only imagine how sore he was from patrolling around the neighborhood. Especially if he did it every night like he said he did.

“How did it go, beside the old lady?” Peter shifted slightly as you asked your question, only enough for his hand to find yours once more. The growing Winter chill was dulled by Peter’s warmth. It was like the cold wasn’t even there at all.

“It was okay,” he sighed, “just cold. Even for me. It hasn’t been this cold since ...” Peter raised his hands in a small shrug and you nodded against his shoulder.

“Since the Winter Formal.” Peter hummed in agreement and you lifted your head to rest your chin on his shoulder. “Do...do you regret telling me that night?”

“What?” Peter craned his neck and met your gaze. His brows were furrowed in confusion when he stared down at you. “Telling you what?”

“About,” you lifted your hand that Peter wasn’t holding. His mask was still in your grasp and his expression softened.

“Y/N, I don’t regret a thing.” You pulled away from Peter and let his mask fall into his lap. “Do you?”

You sighed and rubbed your free hand over your face. “I think I do.”

“You mean,” Peter leaned forward enough so that he could look into your eyes. “Do you regret us?”

“No! No,” you grabbed his hands and shook your head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean that I have regrets. About how we started.”

Peter’s eyes were still squinted in slight confusion as you explained. You sighed and let go of his hands. It was all so horribly convoluted. While you were grateful that you ended up with Peter, in this moment, you weren’t sure how you had.

“Just...just uh take a moment. Then tell me,” Peter rested a hand on your back and rubbed soothingly. He was always so calm, even when he was stumbling over his words.

“Everything,” you sighed, “with Flash and what I did. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Maybe you weren’t.” Peter said flatly. You scoffed, even laughed a little.

“More jokes? You’re on a roll.”

“I’m not,” Peter grabbed your hand and held it. When you met his eyes, you knew he was serious. His brows were knitted together, his eyes on you but distant in thought. He was piecing together his words. “You were just feeling. And I-I mean, that’s good but you were feeling bad about yourself too which wasn’t good.”

“I feel good about myself now,” you said after a beat. “Better at least.”

Peter smiled softly and reached a hand up to your face. “That’s good.”

“I have you to thank for that,” you added. You tipped your head into his touch.

“Don’t...it’s you. It’s all you.”

You opened your eyes and saw only softness. Peter meant what he said, he always did. He had nothing but kindness saved for you and you felt wholly undeserving of it. Yet he never failed to remind you that you did deserve the good. That you deserved more than what you were given; that you would get what you wanted from life and that he would help you.

“I’m proud of you, Y/N.” Maybe that was all you ever needed to hear: that someone was proud of you.

“Pete…” You gave his hand a tight squeeze and you saw him smile.

“And..and I-I...I really like you.”

You knew what he was trying to say just as you understood who Peter was. What was under his mask and what was under yours. There were not more misgivings left to read.

“I really like you too.”

Peter only smiled in reply and waited to lean closer. The tip of his nose brushed against yours and, instinctively, your eyes began to shut. Just before the dark behind your eyelids welcomed you and gave in to the feeling of love, you caught sight of the Winter’s first snowflake as it fell from the sky. Then you surrendered to Peter and the new source of warmth of your life.

I hope you all enjoyed this series! It’s been wild and I want to thank you for all the support you’ve all given me through the course of writing! I hope you all stick around and find joy in my other writings.

I love you all my friends, have a wonderful day.

175 notes · View notes

just-jordie-things · 4 years

Note

7 or 26 for the Kiss List thing with Richie?

Kiss Prompt #7: I’ve Missed You Kiss

You hadn’t wanted to leave Derry, in fact, you’d begged your parents to let you stay. I could live with my grandparents, you cried. I could live in Richie’s basement- there was only two more years until you were eighteen and could figure something out.

Of course, your parents didn’t think any of your attempts to stay in Derry were worthy ones, and you were still their child. So when they told you to pack your things, you did.

It was with great reluctance that you told your friends goodbye.

And you’d never hugged anyone for as long as you’d hugged Richie that day. You spent most of your afternoon in his arms, with nothing left to say. And when the time finally came where you had to get in the car and drive halfway across the country, the waterworks started all over again.

To your parents it had been annoying, because you were wasting time they wanted to spend on the road. But to you it felt like mere seconds. It felt like as soon as you’d kissed Richie goodbye, you were being ushered into the car.

You barely got to wave at him from the window before they’d driven off.

You thought you’d never forget the look on his face as he watched you go.

However you hadn’t been aware of the effect Derry had on it’s residents- and after a few weeks, you hadn’t remembered all that much about Derry. Overtime you stopped calling your friends, stopped calling Richie, and you got adjusted to your new life.

After a year it was hard to recall Richie’s name.

And by the time twenty-six more years had passed, the rest of your memories from your hometown seemed to fade away as well.

Outside looking in, it was sad, to have forgotten such meaningful memories, not to mention the trauma. But for you, there was nothing to be sad about if you couldn’t remember.

You moved out at eighteen, as you swore you would. It was difficult, living on your college’s campus, but you’d rather have debt to pay than spend another horrible day living with your retched parents.

At twenty-two you graduated, and lucky worked a job that was well paying enough for you to afford the rent of your own apartment.

And a few years after that, you were well set, no longer living off the leftover scraps of your paychecks. You’d made a name for yourself as a journalist, and while you may not have been living the fairytale ‘happily ever after’ you’d dreamed of as a little girl, you relatively enjoyed your life.

Of course, as soon as you stepped foot into that Chinese restaurant, and you saw those faded but familiar faces again, it had dawned on you that you hardly enjoyed your life at all. You’d just been grasping at straws to make yourself as happy as you once were, in your childhood. Ans with that realization came the sadness that had been harbored in the deepest part of your mind, where all of your memories had been hidden with it.

Everyone seemed excited to see you, calling your name, asking how you were and what you were doing these days, but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer any of their questions. You had too many of your own, and you were too in shock of just being here to focus enough.

You smiled, and happy tears began to fall down your face. You tried to wipe them away, but you couldn’t hide it now.

Bill was the first to stand up and hug you, and then Beverly, and Ben, and soon you were group hugging while you cried, and you just couldn’t believe that just like that you were truly happy again.

“Hey hey hey! we can’t start the orgy without me!”

A booming voice called out, breaking up the hug, and you knew who it was before you even saw him.

Of course you knew.

There’s only one person in the world who would say something as weird as that.

Looking at him again, after all this time, it was like love at first sight. All you had to do was smile and reach out to him, and he had taken your face in his hands and leaned over to kiss you.

It was like there hadn’t even been twenty-seven years in between the time you’d last kissed- or seen each other or spoken or anything really. It hadn’t mattered at all. You fell right back into his arms like it came naturally.

He always had a way of making you swoon.

“Fuck I’ve missed you”

“I missed you too, Trashmouth”

At least nothing had really changed.

(Including the demon clown trying to kill you)

((sorry not sorry))

15 notes · View notes

thesalemsaga · 4 years

Text

𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻 - 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀.

there was a twinge of pain erupting from her lower back as she awoke.

falling asleep on your desk is hardly the wise option, although one glance at the sea of papers she laid in, and you might even understand it. and if you knew the drive of seren armsend, it is that the girl with the sunny hair never gave up until all of her fuel was burnt out.

for six cold hours, she slept with her head rested against her arms, which were now growing so numb she felt that the blood had frozen and failed to rush through. her first waking breaths were startled, the panic that settles when you awake in a strange location, outside of the comforts of your bed and your blankets.

her head rose, tired eyes seeing smudged words in black ink and her fingers coated ebony and red from the energy she put into writing these letters last night. in the end, she couldn’t finish them, and everything hurt. she would do a useless job if she were to try again.

in her wake, her orange hair fell from the grips of a pin and fell down her back, tickling her skin which had grown cold over the night. her teeth shattered, breath trembled, and so she quickly moved to find a sense of warmth. it took a moment to notice the sun pouring through the windows, hiding behind dark curtains which seren threw open with all her might.

her heart was palpitating, like it does when a special day has arrived, one which you’ve been awaiting for quite a long time. her thoughts moving slow, barely awake, seren didn’t realize what it was until she went over to her desk once more and saw something which was not there before.

a card, and a wooden butterfly.

a knock came from the door, and after a few seconds of silence, it opened. her father stepped in, the respected headmaster who also held a gift box in his hands. his smile, rarely seen, was instantaneous when he spotted his daughter looking so curiously at him.

“ hardly how i expected to see the birthday girl today. ”

he carried himself over, limping with his cane in hand, and stood in front of his daughter. over the years, she had grown slightly taller than him. and especially after what she saw and fronted given her adventure, he felt as if she was fifty feet tall. he could see it in her posture, her eyes. yet sweet seren remained sweet, sugar-sweet.

“ sorry, i just woke up ”, seren mumbled through a sleepy hazy, gathering her thoughts to realize she was turning nineteen today. nineteen years on this earth and it felt like she had mentally aged five years since she returned from beyond the walls. “ did you get anything from mom? ”.

“ actually, this is from her. ”

the woman who has been absent from seren’s life for many years often still had time to send her a gift but it didn’t come with every birthday. it was no wonder seren thought her father was kidding as he handed her the wrapped gift and told her to go get dressed.

as he moved towards the door, seren’s curiosity peaked. “ she said she would be in india this month. or at least, that’s what i was told from . . . the letter. ” notes from mrs. armsend were rare, and seren kept an entire collection within an old shoe box she keeps under her bed. the february letter was her most recent one, a clear white envelope stacked with others in yellow and brown.

“ i’m not sure. still, she had time to send you a gift. oh, mine is on the kitchen table. hurry up and get dressed or you’ll be late! ”.

“ l-late for what? ”.

the response never came, seren was left in her room, clutching the wrapped present, turning it in her hands and shaking it to hear a rattle, for clues of what it could be. it didn’t dawn on her that she could open it, it was her birthday after all.

she went to her bed, sitting on the edge and with a wavering sigh, ripped the present open. usually she would take her time, it would drive her father mad, but given how difficult it is to wrap presents, she didn’t want to make a mess.

what was revealed from the box was a gift seren wasn’t quite expecting. usually her mother would sent trinkets, small things to remind the girl that her mother was always thinking of her. last year it was a pair of tap-dancing shoes, seren’s old tap dancing shoes from when she was a kid.

this year, it was a sweater. and it smelled nice.

‘ it’s washed, don’t worry. thought it would fit you, ’ read her mother’s note.

knitted with beige wool and smelling like her mother’s flower garden. seren felt as if it was the first proper gift she had gotten in a long time and that is not to insult her mother’s tastes. it was the first gift that one could say meant a lot to a girl who hasn’t seen her mother in over seven years.

she held the sweater to her chest, almost as if to grasp and hold the woman she misses dearly. she missed her by an inch when she was beyond the walls, they were a week apart from meeting, but salem’s downfall called and seren couldn’t stay for too long.

seren’s eyes, blue and curious, moved to the desk where she had first seen the clues related to her birthday. the wooden butterfly, carved carefully as if the artist molded it with the hands of a god. and she knew alexander rather well, he was not one to do something half-assed.

a blue monarch, painted blue and thin to the point where you might not even recognize it to be a mere illustration of the animal. jewels glued into the wings, glinting under sunlight and bringing a smile to seren’s lips. she was yet to open up the letter, figuring she would collect them through the day and open them when she’s tucked back into bed.

it was only through looking at that butterfly that seren realized what she was late for.

and like a burst in the wind, she threw on casual clothes along with her mother’s sweater, braiding her hair quickly on her way down the stairs and apologised quickly to the maids for getting in their way. “ dad, you could’ve woken me up sooner! or like, had martha come wake me up with a bucket of cold water! ”, she whined.

“ sorry, love! but i was quite distracted myself. don’t forget your gift! ”.

as the headmaster, he had a lot of things to do and seren tried to star clear from his path. she quickly swung back and took the gift box, it wasn’t that big but it didn’t matter, but it was heavy, it left her confused at first, to the point where she turned to her father to ask him what was inside. but one glance at the time and she made haste out of the room.

the walls of valhalla weren’t bleak this time around. a tuesday morning in the midst of mid-term vacation, she wasn’t expecting to see any students. most would’ve taken the train down to the capital and spent time with their family. some may have even paid a fortune to be flown out beyond the walls, which, believe it or not, were actually being deconstructed.

seren squealed slightly as she slid, just barely missing the turn to head up the stairs to the cafeteria. she hated being late, tying it in with being disorganized and messy and she liked to think of herself as anything but that. she couldn’t be late for a birthday celebration, especially knowing who would be there.

she burst through the cafeteria louder than she was expecting, gaining some attentions of students who looked over their shoulders and shook their heads with distaste yet the girl carried on walking. until her table was visible in the corner, just by the exit, near to the tall glass windows.

a pair of excited eyes stared back at her. perseus’s eyes. met with romeo’s excited cheer as he stood up and ran towards her for a hug, which she fully accepted. only, the impact was a little worse than she was expecting.

“ happy birthday, girlie! look at that braid-- do you need help finishing it? ”.

seren chuckled softly, pulling back from the warm hug, “ i’ll do it, don’t worry. and thank you. hardly feels like i’m turning old today. ”

“ have you cried yet? ”, perseus asked, gaining a minor head tilt from the redhead. “ no? oh, just me, then. i don’t know, i normally get emotional when it’s my birthday. it’s either due to pure sadness or gratitude. ”

evangelos grunted beside him, dressed rather gloomily for such a pleasant spring day. “ from now on, it’ll be of gratitude. no use being sad when we have an entire world out there to explore ”, he pointed out, bringing his arm under the table and then putting something on top for seren to see, a gift box. “ gifts out, gentlemen. ”

seren sat in between alexander and romeo. alexander was rather quiet today, more quiet than usual. she didn’t hear a peep from him until she nudged him slightly and smiled at his curious, innocent eyes. “ happy birthday, freckles. i hope my gift is being taken care of ”, he uttered.

and seren thought back to the blue butterfly and beamed gently. it was in her room, on her desk, perched in between her pencil case and her portraits. three portraits; of herself and her sister, of herself and her mother, and of herself and these gaggle of idiots.

“ you bet it is. ”

the table, previously barren and rid of any rubbish, found itself covered in a sea of colored wrapping papers, so many colors it made seren’s eyes hurt but not as much as the gifts which were brought forward, some so beautiful that choking back the tears was proven harder than facing salem.

and as the commemorations went on around her, the birthday girl merely observed her treasures in silence.

seren gazed lovingly at the glass rose, watching the flow of stunning lights filtering through it like fairies dancing from within, and if she was not careful, she could fall into a hypnotic trance. it reminded her so faintly of her snow globe from her early childhood, a fragment of a memory revived in a glass rose given to her by someone she never took for a romantic, even if his name would suggest otherwise.

navy eyes fell onto the gift beside it, perseus’s creation. a caricature, a rather comic one, too. seren pinched her lips together and smiled sadly. although the image of her sister never ceased in her mind, nothing beat seeing her in a physical sense, even if it was the size of a figurine. yet what mattered was the love that was invoked out of her, overflowing. her sister’s magical hair and eyes, chasing a butterfly in a field.

to avoid crying, seren then stared at a gift of an absent member. or at least he said he would meet them at the town square later. levi’s love of the hunt and liking to the crafts of man led to the gift seren wasn’t expecting, but loved regardless. concealed in a glass case, a frozen dagger, quite literally wrapped in layers of ice and fog that gave it an almost clear appearance. an ancient craft, a rare, cultural gift. seren smiled, though, wondering what might’ve caused levi’s love of knives so much.

in her arms, she held kailen’s present, wondering where the boy was at the same time. an album, composed of pictures they’d gathered over the months, from the adventure all the way to now, to just yesterday, where they had some fun at the beach. she would open the album and gloss often the dozen pages. so many memories, many which she kept close to her heart. kailen’s paternal instincts breezed with this gift, leaving seren feeling safe.

and the final gift, a bow. a simple, wooden box around the size of her small hands but it contained the most stunning gift of all; music. evan had sharp ears, knowing a song which would bring seren peace, and threw it into a music box, and when she opened, revealed engravings onto the wood of the lid, and as she spun the wheel and let the song play, she would think of those blue memories from their adventures, up until now.

seren felt delicate fingers through her hair, sensing a bow being tied to her braid by kailen’s hands. “ we hope you like it. took a while to choose each gift but the result was good, by the looks of things ”, was he referring to how seren was struggling to keep the tears at bay?

she sniffled, chuckling sweetly. “ they’re perfect. it’s just . . . the first time i’ve felt happy on my birthday. and it’s thanks to you idiots ”.

“ we’re not idiots! we just care a lot about you ”, perseus squeaked, reaching over and flicking her chin playfully. “ cheer up, pinkie. you still have to deal with us idiots till the end of the day. it’ll be magical, we promise. ”

with that, seren smiled. they didn’t even realize it, that every moment with them was magical. and that she was happy so long as she had them.

she owed the blue memories to these silly boys. these silly, but special boys.

#bonus chapter !

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heres-harleyyy · 5 years

Text

Redemption Ch.5

Pairing - Natasha x reader (F)

Summary - this is the story of how you met the infamous Black widow, but you know her as Natasha. Meeting by pure chance thanks to your ability to teleport, a friendship blooms and turns into something more.

A/N - Sorry it took me longer than expected to write this up, I promise the next chapter with have more Natasha in it!

Warnings - Mention of dead bodys.

.Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five // Chapter six // Chapter seven // Chapter Eight //

After you told Clint that you were in, he simply nodded not asking about what was on your mind, gave you a hug before stating he'd see you tomorrow and you’d be on your way.

Jumping home, you head back downstairs, passing through the living room you see your mom passed out on the sofa. Bottles of alcohol lay opened next to her, looking over her sleeping form she seemed more relaxed and younger. You understood why she turned to the drink after your fathers passing, she was only seventeen she had you. Your grandparents had cast her out for getting knocked up out of wedlock discarding the family. Your father had joined the army at seventeen with his parent's consent, in turn, taking you and your mother in. A year later your father was called away on duty leaving both of you with his parents, however, when your father died it was too much for his parents and again they cast both you and your mother out and moved across the country.

You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, walking over to her and placing a blanket over her. She tried so hard to be a good mother but she struggled which you couldn't fault her for. You'd miss her.

Turning away from her you head to the closet where some of your father's belongings where kept. After a few minutes, you find what you were looking for, his old military duffel bag. Grabbing it you jump back to your room and start packing what clothes you'd need, turning around to your bed you lift your mattress and grab the small that contained your savings. Quickly counting it out to make sure there was enough for your fake id before shoving that too in your bag. You then collapse on to your bed and let sleep take ahold.

After what felt like ten minutes your alarm clock wakes you from your slumber. Reaching out you slam the snooze button before groggily sitting up rubbing the sleep out your eyes. The events of yesterday come flooding back yet still you feel nothing. You quickly get up and go for a quick shower and get dressed catching your reflection in the mirror.

You looked tired, the faint colors of purples and yellow still married your skin highlight your right eye. A dent above your left eye next to your temple a permanent reminder that it was all real. That due to some solvent organisation you nearly died, you couldn't be with the girl you loved. That they had taken some from both of you.

Finally, an emotion ignites in you. Balling your fist up you lash out punching your reflection causing the mirror to crack on impact. Staring back at your distorted reflection you didn't recognise it, but you didn't care. Leaving the bathroom you head back to your room. Standing in the doorway you take one last look at the place you once called home, grabbing your bag you head downstairs taking one more look at your mother before leaving for good.

The walk to Clints takes you a little over an hour. You take in the small town that had been your home for your whole life, it's bittersweet. This place was full of childhood memories, had things been different maybe you would have grown old here. But that was no longer an option you weren't the same kid anymore.

When you arrive Clint and Laura are waiting outside, wrapped up in an embrace. Hearing you approach the broke apart. Laura had tears in her eyes she pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, slowly you hug her back.

"Take care of him please Y/N," she says trying to keep her own tears from falling.

"Always." You reply as you both part. She sniffs once before smiling at you both.

"Don't worry hun, we're not recruits yet." Clint laughs picking up his own bag. He gives Laura one last kiss before the two of you head off.

---

Getting the ids had been a breeze surprisingly, you both decided to play it safe and keep your own names just change your date of birth to say you both were eighteen. It was a simple change but still a risky one.

Thankfully though when you both went to the recruitment office they took you both on. After that things began to become a blur. The first year you both started to shine quickly becoming the top marksman of your squadron, Clint preferred long-range rifles rather than the assault. Making jokes about how he'd love nothing more than to take a bow and arrow out on to the field and create a whole new record. You, on the other hand, favoured hand to hand combat occasionally bringing in a melee weapon, something about the feeling of wielding a knife or baton made you feel more empowered.

The second-year you were both sent on tour. It was short and uneventful, only receiving a few casualties. It was then you began to feel again, it was slight but something. Of course, you loved Clint, he as your brother but the others in your squad you started to see them as family.

The third-year you are sent on tour again, yet this time it wasn't a breeze like last time. Clint and you were out on patrol round one of the tiny village passing by some small children that where playing in the street.

"You feel like we're being watched?" Clint asks, looking around shrugging his shoulder readying himself.

"They're always watching us, Clint. You know that." You reply scanning your surroundings for potential threats. Clint hummed a response.

"Strike Team Charlie how copy? Over." Sergeant Philips voice crackles through your coms. Looking back at Clint he nods before Turing around. You follow him.

"All good sir, heading back to the extraction point. Over." You answered. The sergeant gives you a quick response before the coms go dead again.

"You seem more on edge." You commented looking at your best friend. He looks back at you before shrugging.

"Just something's off, can feel it in my gut." He shakes his head and sighs.

"Probably Chefs cooking coming back on you," you laugh, lightly punching him on his shoulder. He, in turn, lets out a small chuckle. As you's around the corner you're greeted with a sight that turns your stomach. The children that were out playing in the street a mere few moments ago now lay dead. "Holy fuc-" you began but were quickly blown back by some unseen force. A scolding heat scorched your body as if you were standing next to a bonfire. You feel your back collide with the ground and deafening scream of white noise. Slowly blinking you shake your head trying to focus. Thick clouds of black smoke prevented you from seeing your surroundings. Quickly you stand making sure you can walk, which you can you quickly find cover grabbing your com only to see it was bust. "Fuck!" You throw it in your dump pouch before readying your rifle checking the surroundings. You spotted Clint still laying on his back unmoving, adrenaline began to pump through your veins, checking the surroundings quickly you ran over to him. Quickly checking to make sure he had a pulse you pull him into nearby cover checking for his com to request reinforcements but his to was bust. Voices of men screaming and gunshots caught your attention, cursing again you look around. You were outnumbered and with a man down you weren't likely to make it out alive unless you jumped...

Over the last three years, jumping had only reminded you over her so you stopped. To "have a normal life." Cursing again you grabbed ahold of Clint's plate carrier and closed your eyes, picturing the med bay. The men's voices got louder until you heard one shout next to you, you opened your eyes to see him aiming his gun at you screaming at you both just before he pulls the trigger you blink feeling your self jump. Looking around you see you're in camp a few tents down from the med bay. Clint groaned slowly coming round from the blast.

"Medic!" You scream at the top of your lungs finally coming back to reality. The medic team came charging out taking Clint into the tent, they took you as well making sure that you weren't hurt. The Sergeant found you and asked for a mission report which you gave in detail leaving out the part where you jumped you and Clint back to the base. Seeming satisfied with that he took you off active patrol and allowed you to stay at camp with Clint. He was out cold for two days before coming round, the doctor had said due to the blast some loss of hearing might have occurred but the word might filled you with too much hope. Clint couldn't hear anything around him or you. Luckily as part of you're training you'd both learned some ASL which you both were extremely grateful for.

---

"Y/L/N," Sergeant Phillips calls out as he enters the medic tent. You quickly turn around and stand to greet him. "You and Barton have report to my tent at once."

"Sir?" You question as he turns to leave.

He stops briefly before yelling, "Double time soldier."

"Yes, sir!" You respond turning back to Clint, signing to him that you both had to get up and go. He looks at you confused before asking why. You shrugged before helping him out of the bed and to the Sergeants tent. Inside there were two people you didn't recognise, one being a small man dressed in a suit and tie the other dressed in black with an eye patch.

"Ah good, you's are here." Sergeant Philips says before truing to the two gentlemen saying a quick goodbye and leaving. You and Clint exchange a look between each other silently question each other. Had the military finally clicked on to your fake documents?

"Please take a seat," the smartly dressed man says gesturing to the chairs opposite them. You help Clint over and take the seats.

"So it's Y/L/N and Barton correct?" The man with the eye patch starts looking over you both with an analytical eye.

"Yes, sir." You reply for both of you. He hums in response, the other man simply smiles at you both. "And who are you two?"

The man with the eye patch simply straightens his back looking down at yous, the other man quietly chuckles.

"I'm Nick Fury, director of shield." He says as if it was meant to mean something to you, your hands start to sweat with nerves, "And this is Agent Coulson. We are here to talk to you about certain issues that have caused our attention."

#black widow x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #natasha romonova #marvel fic #marvel x reader #marvel x you #queer fic

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prettywordsyouleft · 6 years

Text

Destined (Series)

Summary: You craved meeting your soulmate, but you wished more than anything he could be your best friend, Mark. When Mark finally meets his soulmate, you get the chance to find yours and he’s not at all what you expected.

Characters: Park Jinyoung x reader ft Mark Tuan

Genre: soulmate au / angst / romance

Warnings: cursing, a couple of injuries, lots of angsty feels

A/N: This was meant to be a Mark story but I went and made the mistake of making Jinyoung the second guy. Of course, he didn’t appreciate this and it twisted into something greater. This is my longest oneshot on here, but I hope you’ll give it a chance!

Also prepare your hearts because Jinyoung is a doctor in this, you have been warned!

Finally, this ended up being a mini-series. The links are just below to the following stories.

Word count: 8336

Series Index: Destined // To Love You // Forever [M]

You had often heard of it.

That feeling you would be consumed with as soon as you crossed paths with your soulmate. The undeniable urge to be at their side forever, travelling through life making memories and a family of your own, raising your children to dream of their own destined partner. You had craved to experience it for most of your life.

You had waited to meet your soulmate for so long now that you wondered if there was something wrong though. It was said that everyone would meet their partner before twenty-five, that way there would be plenty of time to finish tertiary schooling and get a job before moving onto a life full of love, marriage and stability. Society had been designed to follow this path for everyone and it was almost a perfect execution.

There were small nuances that society couldn’t control though, such as when a soulmate died before their partner could meet or when they had been born later than expected. Generally, even with slight age differences, by twenty-five most people had crossed paths once with their destiny.

But you were twenty-six already and had been for some time. Your twenty-seventh birthday was coming and you were panicked. Were they a few years behind you in age and you had just gotten unlucky and had to wait? That wouldn’t be so bad as long as they turned up. Was it worse than that; had your soulmate died? You didn’t want to consider being one of the minority – those who had no one to live their lives out with naturally. Could you still find someone if that was the case? Another minority who would match you as close as a soulmate could?

You knew of someone. You had known him your whole life, actually. And as much as you loved Mark with every fibre of your being, you knew that came from growing up together, from being best friends for so long. He knew everything there was to you, and the same could be said back. You couldn’t go a single day without Mark.

But he wasn’t your soulmate.

Sometimes, you wished he was. That you would just wake up and realise you had somehow missed the sign. That the two of you, who had shared your first kiss as teens just to see what it felt like when your friends started bragging about kissing their soulmates in school, had been so close that love was naturally something you had felt your whole life.

You knew better, you both did. No matter how much you wished and dreamed of a life of growing old with Mark, the sensation you craved wasn’t there. His soul wasn’t cut out of the same piece of destiny as yours was. For some time after turning twenty-five, you tried to tell yourself that if your soulmate didn’t arrive, and Mark was still single then you would just marry him instead. It would be frowned upon but it would be better than being alone and waiting to be assigned to someone if you made it to thirty alone. You didn’t want that kind of humiliation to be bestowed upon you and your family. You could see children with ease with Mark and he held a stable office job that would keep you both set up for life. A quaint home and maybe a dog would complete the setup. It was such an easily imagined dream that you could almost reach out for it every time you fantasised about it.

“We can’t,” Mark told you sadly every time your frustrations got the better of you. “We don’t know about our soulmates yet. What if we marry and then they turn up, do you want to become a divorcee?”

“It would be better than being alone,” you muttered and Mark took you in his arms, humming softly as he tried to settle you both down. You knew all too well he wanted this dream as well.

“I’m not your destiny, Y/N.”

“I want you to be,” you admitted and Mark buried into you, holding on tight.

“I want it too.”

Twenty-seven hit and twenty-eight loomed. You were sick of the rumours that you would be assigned to someone else and that your parents must have done something wrong in a past life to have such an ill-fated daughter. It broke you to see their saddened faces every time you returned from social outings without the tell-tale smile of love that most people couldn’t hide when they met their soulmate.

The small thing that got you through was that you weren’t alone, Mark still hadn’t met his soulmate either.

“Are you still waiting for your destiny?” you asked him one afternoon whilst out taking a walk together for exercise. He glanced at you and sighed.

“Not again, Y/N. Just let things travel how it should.”

“I want you though,” you whined and he laughed. “I want it all with you.”

“Everything?” he asked, raising an eyebrow up whilst he grinned down at you. “Your imagination is rather creative too I bet.”

You blushed, knowing full well he was thinking about you naked as much as you did him some days. He nudged you and you flinched, his laughter filling the otherwise silent scenic path of the forest.

“You’re dangerous.”

“No more than you are,” he refuted, turning to spin in the path to face you, walking backwards. “The amount of times I’ve almost given everything up for you, I’ve lost count.”

“Can’t you?”

Mark sighed and didn’t answer, turning to fall back into step with you.

“Help us!” a voice cried up ahead all of a sudden and with a quick exchange of a look, you both raced towards the noise, rocking back on your heels when you realised someone was injured. Mark took a sharp breath in before he lurched forward, rushing towards the woman laying on the ground bleeding from what looked like a fall from climbing the cliff face beside you. For some reason, you couldn’t get your limbs to move fast enough. Unlike the way Mark flew to her side, you felt like lead, watching on, disconnected.

Your eyes soaked it all in as if it were another world, Mark’s urgent instructions stabbing at your heart the longer they continued. You wanted to feel concern. You wanted to not be selfish.

But you could tell instantly that Mark had just found his soulmate and she was dying right before him.

You somehow managed to follow them to the hospital, and now stood in the room after the doctors had done their best to stabilise the woman. You knew you should have left but Mark begged you to stay to support him. You weren’t sure how supportive you could be when your own heart was crushed watching him grip at Oh Sera’s hand, who had been a stranger only mere hours beforehand.

Of course, you were jealous. But not in the way you had expected. You had always joked about it, that you would be so envious when the other found their soulmate first. That you would crave yours even more if that would ever occur. But now as you watched how your best friend rested his forehead against their linked hands, you wanted Mark to be yours more than anything. To let go of Sera and to come home with you instead. He was yours and you didn’t want to let him go just yet.

It was different for him though, you could tell that much. The conversation before crossing paths with Sera felt so juvenile, lost as your childhood years had become. There would be no more joking around about a future you both craved. Because in an instant for him it had all changed.

And left you broken and alone.

It was ironic how fate twisted its path around you both. Mark spent his days at the hospital and you would bring him things that he needed, quietly taking an early departure whenever he focused intently on the woman laying within the white sheets. She wasn’t improving but she still had a grip on life. You didn’t want her to die, you might hate the situation, but Sera was an innocent person who, from what her family described her as, was generous and kind. She suited Mark well you thought as you took your leave from the hospital room, blinking back your tears. You were slowly accepting that Mark would never fulfil your dreams. He had his own now and you didn’t want to stomp them out. You would find it within yourself to celebrate his success in finding his soulmate.

You didn’t expect to find yours in the same place though. It was just how you had been told your whole life; you didn’t need to see him to know that he was your soulmate. As you rounded the corner of the hospital the sensation began, your heart started to beat faster, confusing you momentarily. Your senses grew heightened and you could hear his footsteps the closer they got before you first saw him. It made you move with an urgent pace, wanting to know who was making you feel this way.

And then you saw him. He had an entourage of nurses and doctors flocked around him as he walked down the hallway, his white coat making him look every part of a dashing doctor in your eyes. His raven hair was slicked up in a tidy pomade, and his dark eyes scanned the chart a nurse handed him intently.

When you stopped near him though, his perfect composure faltered for a second. He flicked his eyes up to look at you, scrutinising you from head to toe.

There was no wonder, no hopeless romantic connection or a giddy smile that crossed his lips. Instead, he let out a dejected sigh and turned back to the chart in his hand, struggling for a moment to regain control over his thoughts before instructing the closest doctor beside him to check on the patient’s scans.

His voice made your skin tingle and you were surprised to be this affected by the handsome stranger. You understood the pull Mark held for Sera now, your heart slowing down to a rhythm that if you listened carefully enough, matched the doctor’s only a few feet away.

He didn’t make a move and you didn’t intrude on his work either. It was strange to feel such a surge of delight rushing throughout your body from finding him yet not knowing what to do about it. You had always heard how instantaneous conversation and love flowed between soulmates. Why did it feel like you shouldn’t bother yours though? Watching for only a moment, you let out a sigh which caught his attention, his eyes shifting towards you as you walked on by and out of the hospital.

The next evening, you felt him approach you as you came to deliver a change of clothes for Mark you had been given before leaving for work earlier in the day. It made you nervous when your hearing caught hold of his enclosing steps and you anticipated his arrival. Was he simply walking through the halls, doing his rounds? Or had he also been attracted by your unique connection to find you and finally talk to you? You weren’t exactly sure but when he stopped nearby you again, his eyes were wider than they had been yesterday. He was conflicted, that much was evident, and you finally caught glimpse of his staff ID clipped to his coat. You focused on his name.

Park Jinyoung.

Your future was with Jinyoung? Well, your parents would be thrilled for you to marry a doctor. The prestige of his occupation would remove some of the humiliation they faced the longer you remained unwed. You hadn’t ever been one of the types to daydream over dating a handsome doctor who healed the lives of many though.

He cleared his throat and stepped closer, enough for you both to engage in conversation, but not enough for anyone to view you as intimate. It suited you more than you expected it to. “Hello.”

“Uh, hello.”

“So, I’m certain you’ve realised who I am now,” Jinyoung stated, very straight-forward. You nodded once. “I was wondering if you could give me some time to meet with you? We have a bit to discuss now that we’ve found each other, right?”

He didn’t ask who you were like you expected. It made you frown as you nodded again, accepting the card he held out with a time and venue on it. He seemed awkward and cleared his throat once more. “Will this be suitable?”

“I’m sure I can meet you then, Jinyoung.”

He blinked several times before freezing, surprised by something you had said. Was it his name? Surely being as practical and evidently intelligent as he was, he’d realise his name was bolstered to his chest, would he not? Or was it the sensation of hearing his name from your lips? You weren’t sure but it felt like a minor victory to you.

“Right, well I will see you then,” he answered curtly and spun away, leaving you staring after him in for a moment.

“Did you meet him?” Mark asked you softly once you were seated in Sera’s room, explaining why you had been delayed. He was eager and it was bittersweet. You could see how happy your best friend was within his situation but it was too much to see him this intrigued by your own soulmate.

You nodded slowly. “He’s a doctor here.”

“Your patience has paid off then!” he cheered and you chewed on your bottom lip. Mark’s smile faded. “Are you not happy?”

“What?” you asked immediately and then shook your head. “Of course, I am. Isn’t this what we all want in life?”

“Don’t try and lie to me,” he told you, giving you a look. You diverted your gaze from him, hearing Mark sigh. “Is he not what you expected?”

“I don’t know who he is.”

“I didn’t know Sera either but look at us now. Even though she’s not present with us yet, I can tell she is the one for me. Give this doctor a chance, you never know, the love might start pouring out of you when you’re alone at this meeting tomorrow night.”

You hoped he was right, but you knew deep down you weren’t ready for Park Jinyoung to love you.

You arrived early to the appointment with Jinyoung, glancing around the fancy restaurant and instantly feeling uncomfortable. All the same, you mentioned your reservation to the maître d at the counter and she showed you into a private room, closing the sliding door behind you gently. You had never been in one of these rooms before and you marvelled the set up before taking a seat at the table. Everything looked expensive and you wondered if you would find anything simple to eat on the menu. Just as you were about to look at the food selection, the door opened again and you glanced up, feeling caught in Jinyoung’s dark gaze as he moved into the room. After thanking the maître d, he sat down across from you and took a heavy breath.

He was awkward again.

You had only known Jinyoung from two instances but you could already tell the difference between how he treated you and how he was with others. You had viewed him as the capable young doctor at the hospital, and how his staff all revered him. He was strong and demanded attention from all within that environment. But with you, he faltered. Most would claim this to be something they would want from their soulmate, to be the person who made them clumsy, who provoked them to show a more human-like side to them. To be that special.

You just felt like you were frustrating him and you hadn’t even spoken to him yet.

“Thanks for meeting with me tonight,” he finally said, his voice void of emotion. It was like it was a business contract and you felt uneasy, hoping to slip into something more comfortable with Jinyoung. He didn’t seem to welcome this notion and you kept quiet.

You wondered when he’d ask of your name.

“Shall we choose something to eat?” he asked, reaching for the menu as you stretched out to do the same, your hands both gripping each end of it. Although you hadn’t physically connected, it felt like you had and you stared at each other wide-eyed before Jinyoung let go of the menu as if it had zapped him. He motioned for you to take it and reached for the one underneath.

You suddenly didn’t feel very hungry.

As he perused the menu quietly, you peered over the top of yours at him. Would you like similar foods? Your parents both had the same sweet tooth and had often shared the same meals when dating in the beginning of their relationship. Would you and Jinyoung be like that? You continued to stare over at him until his eyes snapped up to capture yours, a sigh leaving him.

“Have you found something?” he asked, putting his focus back to the menu. He knew you hadn’t, you had barely looked at the various meals before you had gotten caught staring at him. Jinyoung glanced over at you again. “Shall I order for both of us?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to answer with your voice. He pressed the button on the table for assistance and you listened to him list off what you would both eat to the waiter who entered soon after. His voice was strong and commanding, and like the first time you heard it, your skin tingled as if every vibrato of his tone was being sent over to you in waves, hitting against you and arousing your senses. You had never been so affected by a voice before in your life.

The food arrived to fill the unsuccessful space between ordering and eating, and as you picked at your meal, you grew frustrated. You hadn’t come here just to sit in silence or skirt around the reason of why you were connected to the doctor. “Jinyoung?”

He dropped his fork at the sound of his name, closing his eyes for a moment to compose himself. He then reached for the utensil again, gripping it tightly. “Yes?”

“I’d appreciate if we just got to the reason to this meeting. Dinner is very nice and all but with no conversation, it just makes us strangers.”

“Isn’t that what we are?” he replied, his eyes not lifting from his meal. You could tell he knew how petty he was being and he took a steady breath. “Miss... Miss-”

“My name is Y/N,” you offered and he stopped for a moment again, struggling with however you were affecting him. Although you were dealing with a strong physical connection to him, emotionally you didn’t seem as afflicted as he was. You wondered why.

“Y/N,” he repeated and you felt your breath get stolen from you entirely. He watched you struggle with the weight of hearing your own name from his lips and a small smile played upon his lips. He knew how this felt and you wanted to curse everyone who hadn’t explained this feeling to you so you could be better prepared for when your soulmate called out your name for the first time.

You knew nothing could truly prepare you for the exhilaration you now felt consuming you from Jinyoung uttering your name though. It felt like a love call as if saying your name into the universe made the connection much more real. Jinyoung placed down his utensils and the clinking against the plate grounded you back to reality. “Shall I be blunt with you, Y/N?”

He was saying it now just to spite you. Swallowing hard, you forced a smile. “Of course, Jinyoung.”

Two could play this game.

He heaved a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t believe in the whole soulmate expectancy on life. I know it exists, I now know you exist. But I had been hoping that I wouldn’t ever meet you.”

Hearing your name from his lips no longer felt life-altering with how painful his rejection was. He dismissed your existence so easily and from the high you had been enjoying, you stumbled to the lowest of low in an instant. How could he be so cruel? To deny who you were to him? It hurt you more than you expected it to and you glared over at him immediately. He was surprised himself, whether it was from his own admission or your reaction to it, but the smug air of control he held of the first portion of his sentence deflated. Jinyoung merely sat in silence.

“If it makes you feel more at ease,” you finally started, his umber eyes flicking to look at your hardened stance. “I had hoped to become a minority.”

“You what?” he breathed, narrowing his gaze. Were you not allowed to inflict torture back at him? It was ironic, Jinyoung had clearly thought heavily about his own role in this situation but he hadn’t once considered what you might feel. At least, that was how you viewed it and it fuelled you on.

“I believe in soulmates, I wanted to experience that instant connection of love with someone,” you admitted, wringing your napkin within your hands in your lap as you wrestled with your emotions. Your desperation to cling to your romantic notions tugged at your heart again. It told your brain to be quiet, to not dismiss what little hope you had that Jinyoung could match with you eventually. But the pain was too unbearable and it clouded your judgement. “But it’s clear there was some kind of mistake when it came to us.”

“I’m sorry, what?!”

“After all, you just so easily dismissed my existence. You hoped to never meet me?! Well, I hoped to marry my best friend. We don’t get what we want though, Park Jinyoung. Life is destined before we get a choice. And in this lifetime I was ill-fated to be matched with you.”

“Ill-fated?!” he exclaimed, growing frustrated by your outburst. His hand clenched up on top of the table. “If you just let me finish-”

“So you could make further excuses as to why neither of us has felt that immeasurable need to fling ourselves into one another’s arms or to chide me for considering there may have been hope eventually?”

“You’re feisty,” he observed and you let out a huff of air. He smirked. “It’s a change from the meek Y/N of before.”

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t say my name from here out, considering how we’re strangers,” you continued, your emotions now overruling any rationale left. You were done with sitting in this room across from Dr Hostile.

Jinyoung nodded in agreement. “Well, this just works out just fine then. I never wanted to meet you because my dedication is to the hospital. I didn’t need any distraction from my job or a wife and kids at home that I couldn’t give proper attention to. It seems we both agree that our meeting only gives us a disadvantage and that we should continue in our separate lives.”

Yes, it was clearly a disadvantage to have been paired with the likes of him. You got up then, Jinyoung’s gaze moving with your action and you held your hand across the table towards him. He eyed the gesture and then got up, slipping his hand into yours. Shaking your linked hands, you forced a smile and ignored the intensity of holding his hand.

“May we never meet again.”

Five years passed by. Sera had regained consciousness a month after her accident and it was as if she had always been in your world. Mark and Sera soon moved in together and then got married, not waiting long until their first child was born. They were extremely happy together and you genuinely celebrated it. You knew that Mark’s soul was fulfilled more than it would have ever been if either of you had of acted on your past feelings. Instead, you got to be his best friend and now Sera’s too. You were able to be an Aunt to their daughter Sejeong, doting on the little girl as if she was a part of you as well. She definitely got her sassy side from you, that was for sure.

Since you were over thirty, you had been contacted by the government for matching. You ignored it several times, writing in protest to them that you wanted to live alone. Your parents no longer had to house you from this point on and you had moved into your own little apartment, in love with living each day to your own beat. There were no more expectations from your parents about wasting your life, and there was an element of freedom. Although you had spent so much of your life dreaming of your soulmate and fearing the worst when he never truly eventuated, you had to admit you liked where you were now. You could rely on yourself.

You never told anyone but Mark about Jinyoung, and even then you had lied and told him you had been mistaken. That doctor was no match for you. He had been comforting as any best friend should, and you had cried enough over the loss of your missing piece of your soul. But as time travelled, so did your mindset. Jinyoung had been right. Being a doctor was hard work and would have left very little time for you. You had imagined a life of being at home with the children crying and you exhausted from raising them alone. Of barely seeing Jinyoung enter your home only to leave it again after sufficient rest to head back to the hospital. To forever tell the children he did love them even when he missed their birthdays due to urgent surgeries. He had been sensible in brushing you off back then.

If there was anything you regretted in meeting Jinyoung though, it was ending it with that handshake. Even years on you still felt the pressure against your skin as if he had held it mere moments beforehand. It would wake you up at night, making you curse that handshake more than anything in your life. The tingling could last for hours, sometimes days and you were unable to do very little to distract your mind from it. Thankfully, it wasn’t constant but it was still enough of a burden to remind you that out there, Park Jinyoung existed.

You hoped he suffered from the same dull ache within his hand too, out of spite.

It was because of this lingering connection that you met him again. You had been suffering from the incessant tingling in your hand for days, getting so frustrated that you couldn’t focus on anything. At work, you barely were present, blundering through some meetings and hardly impressing your superiors in others. You were stressed and exhausted, and had little time to regard anything about your surroundings, let alone yourself. You couldn’t remember the last time you ate and you groaned, getting up to go buy a coffee and some food from the closest café, unable to focus on the documents scattered over your desk any longer. Taking the stairs instead of the elevator in hopes to become alert again with exercise, you pounded down the first few flights with ease. But then the twinge in your hand caught your full attention again, making you lift it up to your face and glower at it.

“Stupid Park Jinyoung,” you muttered as you took the next couple of steps, letting out a cry when you blindly missed one. It happened all too quickly, your body slipped and tumbled down the rest of the stairs, slamming against the wall heavily. You cried out in pain, attempting to pull yourself up when the noise of your fall caught the attention of others on that floor. It wasn’t long until your eyes closed with how heavy they felt.

When you opened them again you were in the hospital. There was a couple of nurses and a doctor nearby, looking at charts and a scan beside you. It took some effort to adjust to the lighting, and then you groaned when you felt all the pain.

God, it was intense.

“Ah, Miss L/N, you’re awake, how do you feel?” a nurse asked and you merely stared at her, trying to understand why you were here.

And then you felt it. A sudden sense of dread made all your senses heighten and you heard the rushed footsteps before you saw him appear in front of you. Jinyoung screeched to a halt as he grabbed onto the bed’s side-rail, staring down at you wide-eyed as he caught his breath.

“Doctor Park?” one of the nurses called curiously and you blinked slowly as Jinyoung examined you himself. “It’s your day off, what are you doing here?”

“Have you ordered an x-ray?” he asked of her and she eyed him momentarily before responding by handing over your chart. He scanned it proficiently, nodding once before directing her to administer further pain relief so you wouldn’t suffer too much. You watched him silently as he ordered the staff around, his eyes everywhere but on yours. It was too much for you to comprehend and you reached out for his wrist, Jinyoung’s voice stopping midway.

He turned to look at you, breathing heavily before he slipped his hand away from yours and continued directing for more treatment to be done to you.

It confused you.

You had broken your leg and suffered from a mild concussion. Overnight observation had been deemed essential much to your disdain. Once your leg was secured in a cast, and you were wheeled into your own room, you cursed not having anything with you. Your bag had been left in your office, and you remembered your phone was still on your desk. All you had on you was your debit card, and that wasn’t going to offer you a whole lot. You needed to contact your family and Mark.

At the same time, you felt too embarrassed to tell them. After all, you were in this position thanks to your soulmate that none of them knew about. Okay, so it was a bit of a stretch to blame everything on Jinyoung but with your current mood, you weren’t prepared to be rational about it either.

The door opened and you were surprised to see Jinyoung enter, closing it quietly behind him.

You were curious despite your disdain. Your eyes soaked in his appearance now that you were more alert than before, noticing the little changes that came with age. He had changed his hair and his arms looked like he had started working out more regularly. You wished you hadn’t noticed that about him and looked away when he approached your bed.

“How do you feel?” he asked and you noted he still was in his casual clothes. Was he asking as your doctor or as someone who cared? You scoffed at your foolish notion and shrugged.

“How would you feel with a broken leg and an aching body?”

He smiled. “I see you’re still sassy.”

“Only when it comes to you,” you admitted and he nodded softly. He didn’t say anything for some time, and you realised his eyes were softer than the last time you had seen him all those years ago. Was he worried about you? Surely, he had better things to concern himself over. But you couldn’t squash the feeling that he was here because he chose to be, not out of some kind of hospital regulation.

“How did it happen? I only felt it when you screamed and-”

“Felt what?” you interrupted, your eyebrows knitting together. “You heard me scream?”

Jinyoung shot you a concerned look. “You really don’t get it?”

You shook your head and winced, the room growing fuzzy. “Don’t shake your head, you have a concussion.”

“Don’t confuse me then,” you murmured, holding onto your head in your hand in an attempt to cease the spinning.

“Whether we like it or not, we’re still connected, Y/N.”

“That much is evident by how much my hand tingles,” you bit back, staring at the hand as if it was a culprit. You sighed. “If I didn’t feel it all the time, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You suffer from it too?” he asked, surprised. You felt a glimmer of victory in knowing you weren’t alone. But it also brought with it another feeling, and your heart started to beat faster from it. “You’re stressed and your tests show you’ve been lacking in nutrition. Did you faint? Is that how this happened?”

“I was distracted,” you admitted quietly, avoiding his gaze. Jinyoung sat down in the chair beside you and you snapped your focus to the opposite wall, cursing inwardly at growing dizzy again.

“So immature,” he muttered and you chose to ignore it. “Well, I heard you clearly when it happened. I was out with a friend and I heard your cry in my head. Then my hand started to ache the worst it ever has. For some reason, all I could think about was finding you and I drove here without realising it. This is all very overwhelming for me.”

He wasn’t the only one.

You knew the connection between soulmates was strong but you didn’t know it was able to give the other a beacon of suspected danger like this either. If you weren’t so worked up by being in close proximity again with Jinyoung, you would have marvelled at how intricate being a soulmate to someone truly was.

“I never gave you permission to do this to me,” he continued and you stopped your fantastical thoughts, letting out a hollow laugh. There was the Jinyoung you knew. He gave you a strong look. “Why would you hurt yourself like this?”

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience,” you spat, rolling your eyes. Your head hurt and you were growing frustrated the longer he was at your side. “Just go on your way, back to what we agreed upon.”

“Do you really think you’re in the position right now to request that of me?” he wondered, reaching to pull your blanket up further. You froze at the action and Jinyoung smirked. “You were distracted? By me?”

You didn’t answer and that was all the doctor needed to feel chuffed for a moment. And then he looked at you lying in the bed and sighed heavily. “How are you going to look after yourself?”

“I have family and friends,” you assured and Jinyoung nodded mindlessly. “You can go if you like, I want to sleep.”

“Ah,” he said, shaking his head as a smile played upon his lips. “You can’t sleep.”

“What? I can too-”

“You’ve got a concussion, just as a precaution you need to stay awake for a few more hours.”

“But-” He shot you a commanding look and you groaned back your protest. “What am I meant to do then?”

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

You had been hesitant to speak. This was after all the man who had rejected you as his fated partner five years ago. You didn’t want to give him any more ammunition against you for future endeavours of dragging you down. You were a different version of who you were back then. You didn’t care so much about others’ judgement on how you lived now, and you didn’t need to consider yourself as a failure for not securing your soulmate.

Yet his suggestion felt strangely welcoming and you spent the next couple of hours mindlessly telling Jinyoung about your life. He laughed at your childhood antics, and he listened to your adult adventures. He commended you for living your solo life and showed admiration for your career. It was a different version of the Jinyoung you knew, and it was intoxicating. You soaked in his own life story as if it was a bestselling novel. You craved all the knowledge you could garner, and when the catering staff appeared with your dinner, you happily shared the meal with Jinyoung. The night wore on and despite being exhausted, you felt wired at the same time. You never realised just how easy talking to Jinyoung would be if either of you allowed it. You thought back to your first dinner together and wondered why back then it had been so difficult to even breathe around him.

Jinyoung smiled knowingly. “I’m sorry I dismissed you back then.”

“I was rather petulant.”

“You didn’t want to hear me, that’s for sure,” he said with a smile and you returned it, shrugging lightly. You let out a yawn. Jinyoung checked his watch and then nodded. “You should be fine to rest now.”

“Is this going to be a dream?” you asked as he stood up and Jinyoung looked back at you. It made you feel vulnerable under his gaze and you diverted your attention to the blankets your hands gently gripped to. “When I wake up tomorrow, will you be gone again?”

“I thought you wanted me to leave,” he teased lightly, smiling at you. You didn’t know what to say in response and he chuckled. “I have work tomorrow, so I’ll definitely be here.”

“Yes, but I meant-”

“I know what you mean, Y/N,” he said reaching down to tousle your hair affectionately. It made you hold your breath, your eyes falling captive in his gaze. He blinked once before leaning down, brushing his lips over your forehead before standing back up. “I’ll be here.”

“Take it easy, you’re not supposed to go that fast on crutches, Y/N!”

You had been excited to leave the hospital and get home but the idea that it was Jinyoung who brought you here had left you anxious. You wanted to find some normalcy in this otherwise dream state you had been living in the past two days. Jinyoung had kept to his word, appearing as soon as he arrived at the hospital for work. He had then checked on you multiple times during the day, even eating his dinner with you. It wasn’t unnoticed by some of the staff and your nurse had even asked you how you had managed to garner the attention of such a fine doctor.

You decided he was just that, and you had to admit his doctor’s coat made you swoon a little every time he came in wearing it. How you were this affected by Jinyoung in such a short space of time, you couldn’t quite comprehend but you knew it was down to your connection.

He was your soulmate, after all.

Still, you didn’t want to shamelessly fall for him just yet. You knew feelings were brewing between you both that you couldn’t deny, but you were injured. It made sense that Jinyoung felt obligated to assist you right now.

He didn’t have to bring you home though.

“You didn’t tell anyone yet,” he reminded at your discharge, sans his coat. You had frowned at his blazer that was in place instead, wondering if his shift had ended. Silently he had wheeled you out to his car, beeping the unlock button and then helped you into it. You had felt shy at giving over your address but he threatened to check your personal records for it if you didn’t and so you reluctantly allowed him to take you home. That much you could rely on him for.

But he stepped inside your apartment after you entered without being invited in and you screamed internally at how unprepared you were for a guest. You cringed at your pyjamas strewn on the sofa and your breakfast bowl still on the small table near the kitchen. You were certain Jinyoung would be the neat type unlike you.

“At least I don’t have to ask you where your clothes to change into are,” he said with a small smile, going around you and picking up your dirty dishes.

“Hey!” you cried, hobbling after him in haste. You got stuck on the rug’s tassels as you chased him and wobbled dangerously, Jinyoung rushing back from the kitchen to help steady you, his hands slipping around your waist. For a moment you breathed heavily with the fear of falling before you looked up into his gaze, and stopped breathing altogether.

He didn’t remove his hands from around your waist, but you could tell Jinyoung was having just as hard of a time as you were being pressed against each other. He eventually moved back and you both sighed.

“Be more careful.”

Was his voice huskier than it usually was? Or did your ears just pick up on his sentence in a different way? Either way, you felt weak through your knees and scrambled to grip the crutches more tightly so you didn’t fall.

Park Jinyoung was decidedly dangerous.

He cleaned as you went to your bedroom and got changed, struggling for some time with your bottoms until you decided to give up on getting them on. You were going to bed in a moment and you normally didn’t sleep with them on anyway. You would simply yell at Jinyoung to head home, and then use the bathroom before going to bed once he left. There would be no need for pants.

There was a knock at the door and you were relieved to put your plan into place. “Are you done?”

“You can head on home now, Jinyoung,” you called out, slowly getting back to your feet on your crutches. “Thanks for everything!”

“What does that mean?” he asked as he opened the door and you wobbled on your crutches at his sudden entrance, shocking you entirely. You whined unintelligently at him as he merely stood there with his eyes glued to your bare legs. The oversized tee hid everything it needed to, but that was all. You cursed him for entering your private domain.

“Do you ever knock?!” you cried and Jinyoung’s mouth fell ajar a little.

“I did,” he mentioned distractedly and then blinked out of his stupor, pointing to the barrier he still had a hand on. “I knocked.”

“You don’t just enter the room when someone starts talking though!”

“You were telling me to leave, how was I meant to know it was because you were scantily dressed?!” He heaved a breath, trying ever so hard to keep his eyes off your legs. He failed, coming back in for seconds shamelessly. You groaned.

“Go home.”

“No.”

“No?!” you echoed and rolled your eyes. “Jinyoung, I’m fine. I can hobble around to use the bathroom and take myself to bed. I was doing it in the hospital all day.”

“I’m not fine though,” he mentioned, stepping closer. You attempted to back up but that was difficult given your immobility. You took a deep breath instead the closer he got. “Why was I stupid to let you go back then?”

“You’re being foolish now,” you warned him softly, despite the sudden rush throughout your body. You wanted to be back in his arms again, to lean on him instead of the sticks on each of your arms. You yearned for his lips to find yours.

“Tell me you don’t want this too,” he murmured, now in front of you. You were blinded by lust, your hands itching to let go of the crutches you held onto for dear life now. You had forgotten all about your vow to take it slow with your feelings, especially when Jinyoung lifted your chin up so you were looking him in the eyes. Had they always been that warm? You felt as if they were liquid dark chocolate and you would sink for eternity in them.

You wanted to be rational. You wanted to tell him and yourself this was all down to your souls wanting this. That you both were perfectly fine without each other and this was just from the connection you’ve had inside since birth. You wanted to remind him of his lack of belief in being soulmates and to choose his own destiny as he had in the past. To make a choice of his own.

You realised he was choosing to listen to the desires in his heart now and it made you curse your own little self-restraint that remained. You reached out for his waist from your crutches and your slightest action was enough for Jinyoung to pull you into his grip, your hands slipping off the handles of your crutches entirely. You heard them clatter to the ground as you remained fixated on his eyes.

“I was a fool for not doing this five years ago when I wanted to,” he told you honestly, leaning down to capture your lips finally. If the tingling from touching his hand had been unbearable, the fire upon your skin was an intensity you couldn’t describe at all. As he held you tightly to him with his lips passionately kissing yours, you were entranced. Everything melded together as one as you tasted him, his tongue licking along your bottom lip suggestively. You gasped into the kiss and it deepened as your mind swirled with completeness. This is what you had been missing out on. This next-level fulfilment that nothing or no one could give you but Jinyoung. Your heart soared and your soul reached forward for his, binding you both together forever. Eventually, your lips separated from the series of kisses that followed the first, and you gazed up at the man who had caused your heart to ache over the past five years. You knew now he wouldn’t let you suffer ever again.

Jinyoung smiled, pressing his swollen lips against yours briefly before resting his forehead against yours. “I’m cursing you for breaking your leg right now even though it’s the reason we’re together like this.”

“Why?” you asked, vaguely remembering the reason for the constant ache in your leg. You gripped onto him more tightly as the pain coursed through you now that his lips weren’t distracting you. It made you understand his sentence and you sheepishly giggled. “Oh.”

“And it’s going to take about eight more weeks until your cast is off too,” he muttered, pouting as he reflected on your current predicament. You found him endearing and poked his cheek lightly. “Why are you making me wait so long to make you mine?”

“Aren’t I already?” you asked and he smiled warmly, kissing you again. The kiss was followed with three more before you whined at the pain in your leg. Jinyoung helped you sit down and then crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs. You felt the thirst that was obviously claiming the man in front of you too and swiped his grip away quickly. You heaved a deep breath, he was right, eight weeks was a long time.

But five years was even longer. You had gone that long without your soulmate at your side since you first met Jinyoung. You could survive a mere eight weeks until you were stronger to deal with the desires still emanating from within his eyes, right?

Then again, you hadn’t kissed him before.

This was going to be a sheer test of patience. Jinyoung grinned. “In about five weeks you should be okay.”

“I can’t believe we’re scheduling this,” you mentioned with a laugh and Jinyoung shrugged.

“Don’t want to wait?” he asked, moving his hands back up and you smacked them away.

“Three days ago you didn’t care if I existed or not,” you pointed out and Jinyoung shook his head.

“I cared from the first moment I saw you. I just wanted to be the best doctor I could be and let my pride rule out what my heart wanted. You made it easy for me to do that too.”

“And now?” you asked, teetering on the fine line of wanting to avoid this going any further, but needing to know more from the man who you couldn’t imagine going another day without.

“Now I want to complete you and live our lives together.”

You smiled giddily.

“I can be a pretty good doctor on the side,” he added on and then smirked, patting your arm gently. “Doctor’s orders, it’s time for you to put your leg up and rest.”

“Is the Doctor going off-duty now too?” you asked, allowing Jinyoung to guide your legs up onto your bed. He smiled and kissed your lips gently.

“I should go home unless you need me to stay.” You wrestled with an answer and he chuckled. “I’ll go home. Five weeks will be even harder if I allow myself to sleep at your side tonight.”

“Alright, go before I can’t resist you any longer,” you urged and Jinyoung smiled, nuzzling into you with his nose gently. “Jinyoung!”

“Y/N,” he murmured and you smiled at your name on his lips. “I wonder if it’s like this for all soulmates, to feel the urgency to connect in every way, physically especially?”

“Well, my best friend didn’t really waste time,” you admitted and Jinyoung chuckled.

“Good, I thought I was going crazy with lust for you that was out of place.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t hate you anymore,” you teased and Jinyoung gaped at you. You giggled and bopped him on the nose with your finger. “But I won’t let you go soon if you don’t leave now.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he promised and you grinned. “And every day after that too.”

“Until when?” you asked, wanting this to never end.

Jinyoung kissed you passionately before he pulled back to answer. “Forever.”

_________________

Next: To Love You

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"Love - the absolute circle of trustfulness - that's the secret of it all. I love the birds, the snakes, the society person, the academic, and the baby - all creatures of the universe are alike, and they will never harm you unless you fear them." -Charles Kellogg, 1915 Charles Dennison Kellogg was unlike any performer in the history of the American stage. He developed a few key obsessions - the forest, love, vibration, fire - into an irresistibly charismatic package and then sold that package in the form of himself through an uncanny use of the press, a vigorous appetite for travel, and a need to be the center of attention through a serpentine five-decade career as a pontificator and showman. In the early decades of the twentieth century, he amused and astounded heiresses and industrialists, yogis and artists, scientists and, most of all, the plain folk of most states in the union with demonstrations of his vision of a wholesome and interconnected world of all living things. His memory has largely faded, but he left behind a memoir, riddled with gaps and touched with hokum, many photographs, hundreds of press notices and reviews in newspapers, over an hour of sound recordings, at least one fragment of film, and a legacy of naturalism and invention that has entered into the lore of his native California. Kellogg was born October 2, 1868, the fourth of five children to Henry Kellogg (b. 1822 in New London, Connecticut) and Mary E. Carlisle (b. 1845 in Jefferson, New York) in the Sierra Nevada mountains of northern California’s Plumas County in a settlement called Spanish Ranch “nearly a hundred miles from the nearest railroad,” according to Kellogg. His father’s involvement in a nearby goldmine in the 1850s paid off, and he used his share of the profits to establish a provisions store for the area prospectors. Kellogg wrote that his mother was the only white woman in the area, and that he “lost her in infancy.” In fact, she left the family when he was about 3 years old, and his autobiography gives us an indication of the wound her abandonment left through the pains with which he purposefully wrote her out of his life’s story. (She died in Long Beach, California in 1917.) In his auto-mythology, Kellogg was as a child close to a Chinese servant named Moon and an unnamed Indian woman, who, he wrote, “taught me to fear no creature [and] taught me, too, the habit of minding my own business, letting the other fellow alone - bird, bear, snake, Indian and other humans. […] My earliest recollection is sitting with the Indians about their campfires or watching the Chinamen boil their rice between stones.” The impressions of the sounds and feelings of the wilderness in early childhood embedded themselves deeply in young Charles. He recalled it as a period of immense freedom, a world with “no doctors, missionaries, telephone, telegraph, schools, saloons, poorhouse, jail or gamblers; no police for there was no disorder. There were birds, grizzly bears, deer, wolves, foxes, skunks, badgers, mountain lions, wild cats, snakes, and all the smaller wood folk.” It was also here that before the age of six, he witnessed a wedding for the first time and learned about death and funeral rites among the Chinese. In this powerful paradise of vivid experiences, he was “lonely, but not unhappy,” spending his days “always preoccupied with birds and insects, listening to them and talking to them in their own languages.” It was between the ages of four and six that he began to experiment with his ability to imitate birds, forcing air through this nose with his mouth closed. He claimed throughout his adult life that this remarkable ability came down to an anatomical formation in his larynx similar to that of a songbird. This claim, repeated thousands of times, often backed up with the validation of unnamed doctors, was, of course, utter nonsense, but it is not clear whether he believed it, on some level, himself. It was many years after Kellogg had been sent off to live with his mother’s relatives in Syracuse, New York at the age of six or seven that Charles realized that he was in possession of a remarkable skill. In Syracuse, he learned to work with tools, to build furniture and fireplaces - skills he valued and worked into his persona as a woodsman. He attended Syracuse University and sang in the choir, aware that a relative of his father’s (by marriage) Clara Louise Kellogg, had become a famous soprano. But apart from mentions of his education in the manly, manual crafts, the period from the ages of seven to twenty-two when Kellogg became a civilized, college-educated Yankee were never mentioned in Kellogg’s stories. They didn’t serve what he was selling about himself. Almost immediately after graduation, we have the first press notice of Charles Kellogg as a performer, August 1891 at Chautauqua, New York, a hotbed of aspirational “edutainment,” where he debuted his unique bird-imitation talent. Realizing that he was on to something, he gave at least a half-dozen concerts of music with bird imitation at YMCAs, churches, and meetings around Pennsylvania and New York at the beginning and end of the year and another half-dozen in California a few months later. There were more shows in California in 1893-94, then back to Pennsylvania and Massachusetts in 1896-97. All of February and March of 1898 was spent touring Pennsylvania and Ohio. January through April of 1900 was spent on the road through Pennsylvania, Ohio, Maryland, D.C., and Virginia, by which time he was claiming to have anywhere from a 9 1/2 to 12 1/2 octave vocal range. After getting married for the first time, he spent November 1900 to April 1901 touring the same states again plus Connecticut and published an article in Success magazine called “The Wickedness and Folly of Killing Birds.” In early 1902, through Horace Traubel, friend and executor of Walt Whitman, Kellogg met the naturalist John Burroughs, thirty years’ Kellogg’s senior, with whom he traveled to Jamaica during January and February. Kellogg held Burroughs (as wells as naturalist John Muir, with whom he also spent several days with at one point) in esteem and treasured the memory of their trip. Burroughs was certainly an influence on and model for Kellogg. Whether Kellogg was aware of Burrough’s fierce denunciation in a 1903 article for the Atlantic denouncing contemporary nature-writers tendencies to anthropomorphize the natural world is unclear, but it was major news among naturalists for years, ultimately drawing comment from President Theodore Roosevelt. In 1904, Kellogg and his brother bought a 45 acre plot in North Newry, Maine, where they built the Kellogg Nature Camp, a Summer vacation resort for city folk wanting to spend time in with the woods. They built cabins connected by boardwalks, a common-house with a large fireplace (a specialty of Charles’s) and powered it with a waterwheel. It is now part of a nature reserve with many of the structures they built still standing. And each year during each late Fall, Winter, and early Spring, in an ever expanding radius, Kellogg began to cover the country with shows of his knowledge of and ability to replicate bird song - Tennessee and Kentucky by 1903, Nebraska and Kansas by 1907. By that time, shows regularly lasted two hours and received glowing reviews everywhere he went. His break came at the age of 43 in 1910, by which time he had left his first wife Emily and relocated to San Francisco and had ingratiated himself within a world wealthy socialites, where he was a favorite at parties. On December 4 The Call newspaper ran a, glowing illustrated full-page article on him titled The Man Who Sings With Birds in Their Own Language, which crystalized in print the stage-show that Kellogg had been assiduously developing, year after year, for nearly two decades. "He has the uttermost faith in the power of love and kindness,” the article asserted. “’It is all love," he says. 'Anybody who goes into the woods with the spirit of love in his heart without the faintest desire for destruction or possession can make friends with the birds if he is merely tactful and patient. Birds can read the heart better than men. They know their friends and are ready to love them.' In Kellogg's mind, there is no place for fear or hatred [...] Fear creates fear. Hatred breeds hatred. Love engenders love. These are the cardinal tenants of Kellogg's creed." His count of 3,000 performances in 24 years was, like almost everything else he said, likely an exaggeration but not so far from the truth that you could discount the claim out of hand. Twenty years of stories, stage patter, and tricks caught the public imagination. Less than a month after the article appeared in San Francisco, Kellogg went to Camden, New Jersey to cut his first trial disc for Victor Records on January 24, 1911 and then another four performances on the 28th. Victor didn’t release any of them. When Kellogg went back on the road on the east coast from October to December 1911, he had a new repertoire of claims for his abilities. This is when his press notices begin to claim that his throat is abnormally formed like that of a bird’s. And that: -He’d been to Paris and Berlin and received high praise. (His sister-in-law did invite him to perform at a private salon in Paris, where he met August Rodin, but not until 1912.) -His throat had been examined at Harvard. (He had been claiming that he’d “baffled scientists” there for years, and that they’d measured his vocal range from 64 cycles a second to 49,560 cycles.) -He speaks 15 animal languages and can communicate with bears, rattlesnakes, worms (who, he said, can sing), lizards, squirrels, etc. -That a man could (theoretically) be pinned motionless to a tree with the use of sound. -And, most crucially for his career from this point forward, that he could extinguish fire with sound. In February 1912 an article making many of these claims along with his belief that “vibration will ultimately take the place of electricity as a motive force” ran in syndication across the country in advance of his having signed with the Orpheum chain of vaudeville theaters for whom he performed three shows a day (a matinee and two at night) for months across the west coast - Winnipeg, Spokane, Los Angeles, etc - from April 1912 until April of the following year and then, without his standard Summer break, for the rest of 1913 across the east coast plus Indiana, Illinois, North Carolina, and Kansas. In New York City, he gave a demonstration of divination for water for another syndicated news article. He spent 1914 touring the west coast and midwest before returning to the Philadelphia area where he remarried to Sarah “Sad’i” Fuller Burchard on January 14, 1915 in Wilmington, Delaware. One month later, he went again to Camden, New Jersey in February 1915, where over two days he recorded the first four performances that were issued on discs. He was almost 47 years old and had spent the past 25 years on the road developing his act in halls, theaters, auditoriums, clubhouses, churches, tents, homes, and high schools. Kellogg’s assessment of vaudeville does not have the ring of disreputable behavior that has often been handed down through the years: “Back stage is not such a fry cry from the forest, for on these vaudeville stages I find conditions that are congenial to my own habits of the woods - conditions I do not find elsewhere in the world. In hotels, railroads, and even private homes, tobacco and other noxious odors, and not infrequently even uncleanliness such as cuspidors, are not unusual. System, punctuality and order are seldom the rule. In the forest, in all nature, punctuality, order, and system are the very breath of life. The stars, the tides, the migration of birds, the appearance of herbs, the trees, the flowers are all on time, giving that sense of harmony felt, and rejoiced in by all. Back stage, I find pure air in perfect ventilation, no tobacco, no bad odors, scrupulous cleanliness, system, order, punctuality - in a word, the perfection of organization, bringing quiet and a reposeful atmosphere in which to work.” Kellogg’s first vaudeville tour was a 1912-13 run at the west coast Orpheum chain, run by Percy Williams who was known as the first vaudeville impresario to pay high fees to the acts he wanted. The west coast Orpheum houses were run locally and, according to Joe Lurie Jr’s Vaudeville: From the Honky-Tonks to the Palace (1953), unlike many of the rowdier and down-market vaudeville theaters, “they were all fine, clean, well-appointed theaters, running clean shows, and were a credit to their towns.” Kellogg performed at shows with as many as eight other acts on the bill. The shows in Washington opened just after Bert Williams’ run and included a spoof of the domestic morality play Everywoman titled Everywife, the blackface comedy duo McIntyre and Heath, the Fearless Ce Dora (“one continuous thrill through the seven minutes which she spends revolving at railroad speed inside [a] golden globe”), and Thomas Edison’s early, abortive attempts at talking pictures. Through 1915 and 1916 Kellogg was headlining in the eastern U.S. for both Orpheum and B.F. Keith’s circuits of vaudeville houses in the eastern U.S. and Quebec as well as Majestic Theaters in the midwest and Texas, where others on the bills included dog acts, monkey acts, the Dennis Brothers’ rotating ladder act, and various acrobats, singers, and comedians. At the end of each show was Kellogg, standing in front of a painted woodland backdrop. Second on the bill for at least one of those shows was the Three Keatons, including 20 year old Buster, who was on the verge of leaving for Hollywood. Kellogg himself appeared second on the bill in late 1916 only under Nora Bayes, arguably the most popular singer in the U.S. His proclamations to the press at the time ranged from the flatly false (that he did not believe “that wild animals die unless molested by man or that they struggle with each other, because I have never seen them do either,” that he did not know his own age, that hat he spent 9 months of the year in the wilderness and came “into civilized society only when the call of a friend proves too strong to resist”) to the simply peculiar and the nearly-true (that he had “never read a book through - print disturbs me - although I believe in the teaching of the Bible as I have heard of them from others, because I have seen the proved true in my own life,” and “I have never tasted fish, flesh, or fowl, although I am not a vegetarian,” that dogs will die from long durations of discordant sounds) to the charming, bordering on visionary (“Fear - that’s what causes all sin. Fear of money, fear of getting caught, fear of wounded vanity, fear of public opinion, all all the rest,” and “I can take the recorded songs of a thousand birds and they will be harmonious. That’s because they are in tune with nature, while man and his instruments need to be attuned.”) Kellogg was an avid photographer, claiming never to take a gun (or a compass, claiming an inborn sense of direction) into the woods, but producing photographs prolifically from 1902 onward. We know that he had performed in Rochester, New York, home of the Eastman-Kodak company, by December, 1900, around the time of the introduction of the “brownie” camera - the first cheap, popular device for making photos. It is unclear whether he might at that point met Gertrude Achilles Strong (b. May 4, 1860; d. May, 1955), a recent divorcee and the daughter of Henry A. Strong, co-founder and first president of the Kodak company, or whether they met much later in the late 1910s in Hawai’i. Regardless, their meeting and relationship was pivotal for Kellogg. His first disc for Victor certainly sold very well, likely in the tens of thousands, and he claimed that he could earn $4,000 a week (a staggering $100,000 in today’s money - and more than half of the $7,000 a week that the Orpheum paid Sarah Bernhardt, their highest-paid entertainer) performing in the 1910s, and his family was relatively wealthy. But they weren’t Gertrude Achilles Strong wealthy. Almost no one was. When she died in 1955, she left behind a fortune of over nine million dollars, making her the single richest person in the history of the state of California at the time, well into the top half of the richest 1% nationally. In 1913, Kellogg bought over 88 acres in Morgan Hill, south of San Francisco, an area he dubbed “Ever Ever Land,” where he built an inventive and “environmentally responsive” open plan cabin that he called “The Mushroom.” Around 1920, Gertrude Achilles Strong bought his land and more than 500 additional surrounding acres. She built a mansion for herself there at a cost of $276,000 (four million today) as well as a house for Kellogg and his wife and put him on her permanent payroll as property manager. He built water systems for her property and built and patented a riding fruit and nut picker for the property, while he lived comfortably with his wife Sad’i and two young live-in maids for the rest of his life. Each winter from 1915 through 1919, Kellogg toured from coast to coast, stopping in Camden, New Jersey to record a few performances for Victor Records, where he cut a total of 26 performances, six of which the company the company destroyed without having issued them. On February 15 and 16, 1916, he recorded four light classical pieces, imitating birds and following along the well-known melodies, as if a bird were singing the tunes in its down language. On the 15th, Alma Gluck, a star of the Metropolitan Opera and one of the most popular sopranos in the U.S. also recorded three of her best-selling performances. Although she did not record on the 16th, and Kellogg possibly traveled more than 100 miles north to Dalton, Pennsylvania near Scranton to visit friends on the 17th when Gluck recorded “The Bird of the Wilderness,” with words by Rabindranath Tagore, he joined her again in Victor’s studio on the 18th for two bird-themed performances on which Kellogg provided bird imitations. When the single-sided 12” disc of “Listen to the Mockingbird” was released in the Spring along with a significant marketing push by Victor, its sales exceeded expectations. When “Nightingale Song” from a mid-19th century operetta called Der Vogelhandler (The Bird Seller) by the Austrian composer Carl Zeller, was released a month or two later as a less-expensive 10,” it became one of the best-selling records of the decade. Apart from the two sides recorded with Gluck, Kellogg’s recordings are evenly divided between the bird-imitation novelties with musical accompaniment (an unenduring genre that grew in popularity both on stage and on records in the early decades of the 20th century) and segments of his stage act in which he would lecture on his relationship with the wilderness with demonstrations of bird-calls interspersed. Seven of those sides remain a fascinating glimpse of Kellogg’s performing persona. The last of them, titled “Bird Chorus,” recorded without commentary on January 14, 1919 is an extraordinary and unheralded moment in the history of sound recording. Starting in January 1915 and through all of 1916, Kellogg added a section of his stage act in which he turned on “an orchestra” of six Victrolas borrowed from local dealers in each town, and played discs of his bird-imitation and then proceeded to perform with them, simulating, as one reviewer put it, “a voice from the deep forest.” For the “Bird Chorus” disc Kellogg simplified the process to a single disc of his own performing along with a live performance, ingeniously weaving two continuous sequences of songs together to give the impression of multitudes of birds singing together. It is the first instance of overdubbing. Notably lacking from Kellogg’s discography are examples of his most spectacular and longest-lasting piece from his stage act - the “Blade of Flame.” By the beginning of 1912, Kellogg introduced a gas burner on stage which produced a four-foot blue flame inside a glass tube. Kellogg told his audience that because all of nature is connected through vibration and because of the gift he possessed of a vocal range many times that of highly trained singers and larger than that of a grand piano, he could cause the “blade of flame” to dance and ultimately to extinguish it using only his voice. It was, next to his bird-imitating, his best-known and best-loved routine. He augmented it with a demonstration of the technique of building fire by wood friction (a skill he imparted to the then-nascent Boy Scouts). Naturally, his fire performances in enclosed theaters were of some concern to local fire departments, and he made it a regular public relations stop to visit fire houses in each town during the afternoons to demonstrate the act, reassuring them of his control of fire and wowing them along with the local press. The only footage apparently extant of Kellogg is one silent minute of a newsreel outtake Kellogg giving this demonstration for a group of Boston firemen on November 5, 1926. (The film, including ten precious seconds at the end of Kellogg demonstrating his bird-imitation technique facing the camera is available online at the University of South Carolina’s Moving Image Research Collections site.) He continued to elaborate the routine, using bowed tuning forks. In the mid-20s he arranged a series of radio broadcasts intended to demonstrate his hypothesis that vibrations broadcast at sufficient amplitude could extinguish house fires. His proposal was that in the future each house could be scientifically tuned such that fire departments would need only to broadcast the appropriate frequencies to put out the fires. The seed for the idea seems to have originated with Kellogg’s exposure to Herman Helmholtz’s book On the Sensation of Tone which had already been published in two editions in America before Kellogg began making theatrical use of its central concept, that the air around us is a medium through which vibration is transmitted in waves. Kellogg was so enamored with the idea that in May and June of 1913, Kellogg added a bit to his stage act in which he explained to the audience that mental vibrations are crucial in love and marriage and that “tuning” of a silent “mental wireless” to a compatible frequency with one’s mate was central to harmonious love. Newsprint reviews of his attempts to demonstrate this with his wife were decidedly snarky. The audience didn’t get it, and it was quickly dropped from the act. Kellogg’s greatest and most enduring “hit” as a showman was neither a stage-act nor a recording. It was a vehicle made from two large pieces. The first was a Nash Quad, a four-wheel drive truck capable of hauling four tons. The second was a 22-foot section of a fallen redwood log eleven feet in diameter. He obtained the former in early Summer 1917 from the Nash Motor Company in Kenosha, Wisconsin while they were being produced for use in the First World War. Kellogg convinced the company’s namesake president of a vision of the beauty of California’s enormous redwood forests (and, very likely, the publicity benefits of Kellogg’s scheme) and took the Quad to Bull Creek Flat in Humbolt County, where with the help of several axemen from the Pacific Lumber Company they spent months sawing off a section of a fallen tree, stripping its bark, and carving out its interior into a living quarters with beds, cabinets, kitchenette, and bathroom. Mounting it on the chassis of the Quad, he polished and varnished the whole thing a copper color and installed electric lights. By November of that year, he drove the wooden cabin-on-wheels that he dubbed the Travel-Log cross-country, stopping in Kenosha for work on the radiator and “finishing touches” (including their brand name, it seems). Using his celebrity and press-savvy, he toured the machine, giving talks on the beauty of the great redwoods and the dire need for their preservation, taking a piece of the forest to the people. In the process, he introduced America to the idea of a mobile home. It now resides in the Humbolt State Park’s visitor center, reportedly only yards from where the tree from which it was hewn grew for centuries. Kellogg recorded 11 more performances for Victor during the period 1924-26. Seven of them were discarded by the company without having been released. The remaining four were re-recordings of his first two records using the new invention of microphones. While he continued to perform, his schedule gradually slowed as he shifted his first to attention to Gertrude Achilles Strong’s property and then to a fascination with Fiji, where he first traveled in the Spring of 1925 from Hawai’i. Fixated on the idea of wooden lali slit-drums and their use in communication over distances, Kellogg arrived alone and presented himself as a naturalist to the Chief of the Native Department on the island of Suva, who showed him a the instrument and for him to visit to the island of Baqa to witness fire-walking (after Kellogg had given a demonstration of the “blade of flame” routine, having thoughtfully packed the gear needed for it, and gave a performance of “Narcissus” as a bird-imitator) in the company of a British medical doctor. Kellogg was suitably impressed and incorporated discussion of both lali drumming and fire-walking as further evidence of his central theme of the need for vibratory attunement in his subsequent performances through the 1920s and 30s. In 1929, Kellogg survived a near-fatal car crash immediately before he self-published The Nature Singer: His Book, a profusely photo-illustrated collection of impressions drawn from his life and career and a document of his own self-invention, which went through at least two printings (all of them signed; the first 1000 are numbered), wrapped in the attractive but exceedingly brittle birch parchment that he used as stationary and for press notices. That year, he also patented an automobile ignition that started with whistling. He continued to criss-cross the country, giving talks based on his experiences in nature combined with pleas for conservation. There was talk of a movie that never manifested. In 1940, he and Sad’i adopted a 9 year old girl named Shannon who had been born in Honolulu. (She subsequently married a Charles Newton, nine years her senior, in 1961, divorcing him in 1967, and died in 2007.) When in 1946 Paramahansa Yogananda published his Autobiography of a Yogi, describing his encounters with spiritual teachers and his travel in India and U.S., he briefly recounted in a footnote having seen Charles Kellogg do the “blade of flame” bit in Boston in the ‘20s. And that’s who Kellogg has been for the past century - a remarkable and unlikely figure at the intersection of science and art and showmanship and the spiritual. Charles Kellogg’s health declined through the 1940s before died of a heart attack on September 3, 1949 at the age of 80.

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