#also for the first time in a few weeks the weather has a cool breeze to it ane im HAPPY BOUT THAT

[sadkidwarexpert]

im okay! i spend the day out with my friends yesterday, it was nice. i saw the new spiderman movie with them, it was so good! im okay though.

that's so nice to hear im glad you're hanging out with your friends. I have like an entire pinterest board for movies i wanna watch this summer break. I'm sooooo done with studying

[ohmyamor]

oh my ***

Pairing: ateez (ot8) x reader

Summary: Everyone supposedly has a guardian angel, one that’s tasked to always keep their human out of trouble and on the right path of life. But you don’t just have one, you have...eight?!

w.c. 10.2k

Warnings: fluff, angst, near death experiences, threatening someone wooyoung with a bat, cursing, comfort, reincarnation, i think that’s it?

You wouldn’t necessarily consider yourself a lucky person. 

You also wouldn’t really consider yourself an unlucky person either. 

You just kind of exist, with the occasional good and not-so-good things happening to you. 

Like when you somehow managed to score you and your friends front row seats to see your favorite group in concert. Or the time that you somehow managed to break your ankle and your phone all in the same day. 

So, yeah, you wouldn’t say you’re the luckiest person in the world, but you’re also not the unluckiest person, so you’re pretty fine with continuing your life as is. 

Today, however, has been going oddly perfect. 

You woke up for the first time in forever feeling incredibly well-rested, which has not happened since before you hit puberty. The weather was perfect, maybe a little too perfect, but you didn’t care. You could finally open your windows completely to let in the cool breeze from outside, listening as the birds sang outside of your apartment. 

Checking your phone, you also noticed that your paycheck came in a whole day early. Opening your bank account, you stared wide-eyed at the number that was deposited. It was certainly a much larger amount than your last paycheck. 

Feeling absolutely ecstatic over how well the morning was going, you decided to make a trip to your favorite coffee shop and treat yourself to some breakfast. 

Connecting your phone to your speaker, you selected your favorite playlist and allowed the music to flow through the apartment. Picking out some cute clothes, you began to get ready. As you finished washing your face, you also noticed that your skin seemed to be really nice today, with hardly any redness seeping through and the dark circles under you eyes had seemed to disappear over night. 

Smiling brightly at yourself in the mirror, you finished applying your skincare before moving to get dressed and apply some light makeup. Once you finished, you couldn’t help but check yourself out in the mirror. 

I look so cute today.

Giving yourself a wink, you let out a small laugh at your own antics before grabbing your purse from where it hung on the wall and stepping outside. Making sure the door was locked, you began the short walk to your favorite cafe. 

You couldn’t help but admire how nice the sun felt on your skin. For the past few weeks, the weather had been anything but nice, and it almost felt like the weather had been reflecting your mood. With the project you had been assigned at work, you had been feeling so overwhelmed and stressed out that you often contemplated just quitting in order to get rid of the stress. 

But thankfully, the project was finally done, you had received great feedback from your boss, and it finally seemed as though your little slump was beginning to improve.

Making your way inside the cafe, you walked up to the counter and ordered your usual drink as well as a small pastry. 

A little treat for myself.

Sitting down at a table that had the best view of the street, you made yourself comfortable with your drink as you waited for your pastry. Though, you were pleasantly surprised when the man who took your order came out with two pastries instead of one. 

“Um, I think you might’ve given me the wrong pastry,” you frowned slightly. “I only ordered this one,” you pointed at the pastry that you know for sure you had ordered. 

“Oh!” the man smiled brightly. “No, don’t worry, it’s on the house!” 

Before you could even respond, the man gently placed both pastries on your table, sending you a small wink and making his way back behind the counter. 

You could feel your cheeks warm slightly at the man’s actions. 

Damn, today really is a great day you thought, bringing the pastry up to your mouth and taking a bite out of it. 

Holy shit this is so good too you hummed appreciatively. 

After thoroughly enjoying your breakfast, you bid goodbye to the barista before making your way out of the store. 

Hmmmm, what should I do now?

Glancing around, you remembered that one of your favorite bookstores was about a block away, and quickly made up your mind to go there. 

Walking to the nearest stoplight, you pushed the button on the pole and waited patiently for the light to turn green. Fishing out your phone from your bag, you scrolled aimlessly through social media and responding to some texts your friends had sent. Glancing up, you noticed the light was now green. 

Placing your phone in your pocket, you began to cross the street. 

You were almost at the other side of the crosswalk when a loud screeching noise caused you to whip your head to the side. There was a car moving down the street in your direction incredibly fast, and you watched as people on the sidewalks jumped out of the way as the car swerved from side to side and hit things on the street. 

Your heart raced you watched the car come barreling towards you. It felt like your feet were stuck to the ground and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move. 

Right as the car came feet away from hitting you, you shut your eyes, bracing for the impact of the car hitting your body. 

You barely registered the feeling of someone grabbing your hand and yanking you forward. 

Landing roughly on your hands and knees on the sidewalk, you stared at the cement in front of you as the sound of the car slowly disappeared in the distance. There were people running up to you from both sides of the street, some yelling while others gently crouched next to you and asked if you were okay. 

The strangers helped turn you around and you sat on the sidewalk unable to calm your racing heart. 

“Th-thank you,” you breathed out, looking at the woman who was closest to you. 

Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked at you concerned. 

“For what?”

You swallowed. 

“For grabbing me and pulling me forward. I couldn’t move and I though for sure the car was going to hit me,” you explained. 

It was your turn to look confused when she opened her mouth. 

“Honey, there was no one around you. I certainly wasn’t going to reach you on time and neither was anyone else.”

-

After the lady explained to you that the other pedestrians on the street had just barely reached you after you were already on the sidewalk, you couldn’t shake the feeling of someone’s eyes on you. 

The strangers who had come up to check on you were incredibly nice, and after convincing them to not call an ambulance and that you could stand on your own, the crowd slowly dispersed. 

The woman who had helped you insisted on calling a cab for you, even though you reassured her that you didn’t live far and you could make it home safely. She was adamant, saying that she wouldn’t let you walk home alone after what just happened and said it would weigh heavy on her conscious if she did. 

Eventually, you relented, and waited with her patiently as she called a taxi. 

When the cab eventually pulled up, she gave you a hug and said that she was happy you were okay and to get home safely. 

Waving goodbye through the window, you watched as her figure slowly grew smaller. 

Leaning back against the leather seats, you finally allowed yourself to process what had just happened. 

Your day had been going so well and that car had quite literally come out of nowhere. Even though the lady who helped you said there was no one near you, you were 100% positive you had felt someone grab your hands and pull you forward onto the sidewalk.

Your mind wandered to your parents and the stories they had told you when you were younger of guardian angels. 

“Guardian angels? What’s that?” seven-year-old you has asked your mom.

She smiled, softly running her hand through your hair from where she sat on the edge of your bed. 

“They’re people who are assigned to watch over you and always protect you. They help you when you’re in trouble and make sure you always make good decisions.”

Younger you wrinkled her nose. 

“They’re always watching me? That sounds creepy.”

Your mom laughed, tossing her head back. 

After what you had experienced today, maybe the stories your mom used to tell you weren’t that crazy. 

As the cab you were in slowly came to a stop in front of your building, you thanked the driver and rummaged through your bag looking for some cash to tip him. 

He waved his hand at you, telling you the lady who had flagged him down already paid and there was no need to tip. 

“I’m just glad I could get you home safely.” 

“Oh,” you blinked, kind of surprised he was saying no to being tipped. “Well, thank you, sir.” You said honestly. “I hope you have a great rest of your day,” you said, stepping out of the car. 

The driver bid you farewell and drove away from your building as soon as you walked through the front gates. 

Sighing heavily, you made your way to the elevator in the building and walked into the old machine, watching as the doors closed and the numbers for the floors slowly climbed up.

Honestly, you couldn’t wait to into your bed and knock out. Way too much has happened today that was out of your comfort zone, to say the least. 

Eventually, you reached your front door and reached into your bag to fish out your keys. 

Searching inside your bag with your hand, your eyebrows furrowed when you didn’t feel the familiar metal of your keys. 

I know I brought them with me, so where are they?

Taking your bag off your shoulder, you opened it up and began pulling out everything you had in there. You could feel the pit in your stomach get heavier with every item that was removed and no keys were found. 

You eventually emptied out your entire bag and still, you were unable to find your keys. Leaning your back against your door, you slowly allowed yourself to sink to the ground. 

They must’ve fallen out when I fell, you though bitterly. You could feel the familiar sting of tears in your eyes and you felt a lump in your throat. 

This was the last thing you needed today. 

You’re unsure how long you sat outside your apartment door, wallowing in your own misery. 

The sound of footsteps brought you of your thoughts. 

Glancing up, you noticed a tall man with short pink hair come to a stop in front of you. 

“Is everything okay miss?” 

Holy shit he has a deep voice

You sighed loudly. 

“Not really,” you admit. “I lost my keys at some point when I was out today and my friend who has my spare is out of town for the week.”

You’re not really sure what compelled you to tell all this to the strange man who you’ve never even seen in your apartment, but something about him gives off a very peaceful aura. 

You feel like you could tell him anything. 

The man furrows his eyebrows and a soft pout forms on his face. 

“Aw, I’m really sorry,” he sympathized. 

You shrugged, there wasn’t really anything he could do to help.

He glanced around nervously. Why? You’re not quite sure. 

“I’m, uh, actually one of the maintenance people and we’re here doing some routine check-ups,” he started. 

Check-ups? The building manager didn’t notify me of anything going on this week. 

“If you want,” the man continues. “I can go back down to the leasing office and grab the master key to unlock your door for you?”

You hesitate. 

On one hand, this man is literally offering to go out of his way to help you out and unlock your door for you. 

On the other hand, you have absolutely no way of proving he’s actually who he says he is. He could be a serial killer for all you know and you’ve basically just given him access to unlock your apartment and kill you in your sleep. 

Giving him a once over, you notice the bluish jumpsuit he’s wearing and the work boots he has on. Quite frankly, he does look like he’s been doing some manual labor, so maybe he’s telling the truth. 

“Okay,” you finally reply, albeit hesitantly. 

Honestly, if he does turn out to be a serial killer and comes back to murder you in your sleep, you’ll make sure to haunt him for the rest of his life. 

“Great!” he smiles widely, his eyes turning into the cutest crescent moons you’ve ever seen. 

At least he’ll be a cute serial killer, you think. 

“Oh!” he says, as though he just remembered something. “Also, my name’s Mingi! It’s really nice to meet you!” the man, Mingi, reaches his hand out. 

Pushing yourself off the floor, you quickly dust yourself off before reaching out as well to shake his hand. 

“I’m (Y/n),” you introduce yourself. 

Mingi hums. 

“That’s a really pretty name.”

You can feel your cheeks get warm. 

“O-oh, thank you.” 

It’s quiet for a few moments before Mingi speaks again. 

“Okay, well I’m gonna go downstairs to get the masterkey really quick. Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone!” he jokes, beginning to walk back down the hallway. 

“I’ll try,” you laugh nervously, thinking about the day you’ve had. 

If anything else goes wrong today, you don’t think you’ll have the willpower to keep living. 

You’re only waiting for a few minutes before you can spot Mingi coming back down the hall. 

Damn he’s quick.

“Got it!” Mingi says cheerfully, waving a small key in the air. 

You smile back, feeling relieved that you can finally get inside your apartment. 

He stops in front of your door, pushing the key inside the lock and wriggling it around a few times before you can hear the familiar click of the lock. Letting out a small “aha”, Mingi twists the doorknob and sure enough, the door to your apartment opens. 

You might actually cry tears of happiness. 

“Ma’am,” Mingi says in a fake posh accent, gesturing with his hand for you to go inside. 

You let out a small laugh and walk inside. Mingi remains outside of your door. 

“Well, thank you so much Mingi,” you say earnestly. “I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t showed up at the right time. My knight in shining armor,” you joke. 

Mingi blushes furiously, bringing up a hand to rub the back of his head and looking off to the side. 

“It’s nothing,” he says. “I’m just glad everything worked out.” 

You nod, unsure of what to say next. 

Mingi’s head suddenly snaps to the side, looking at something down the hallway, almost as if he heard something. You frown. You didn’t hear anything. 

“Well, it looks like I have to get going,” he begins. 

You nod. 

“Better get back before the big boss gets mad at you for slacking off, huh?”

You say it as a joke, but Mingi only lets out a nervous laugh. 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

“Um,” you’re not quite sure what to say. “Okay, well thanks again Mingi, I really do appreciate it.” You slowly begin to shut the door.

“Anytime,” he sends you a small wave and bright smile, turning to walk down the hallway as you finally shut the door. 

You don’t spend too much time thinking about Mingi’s strange behavior at the end, chalking it up to him having a really strict boss. Plus, you honestly can’t wait to change into your pajamas and knock out. 

Dropping your purse on your couch, you make your way to your room and quickly change into your pj’s before flinging yourself onto your bed. 

You hug the stuffed bear on your bed closely, feeling the tension and stress from your body slowly begin to fade away as your body succumbs to sleep. 

-

You’re not sure what time it is when you wake up. 

The lack of light coming in from outside lets you know that it’s dark, leaving you to assume it’s either really late or really early. 

You roll back over, fully intending on returning to dreamland when the sound of hushed arguing catches your attention. 

You groan, assuming it’s your neighbors who are always going at it. Seriously, if they argue this much, they should just break up. Arguing that much can’t be healthy for anyone. 

You’ve just grabbed onto your pillow, intending on using it to block out the voices, when you suddenly realize that it’s only male voices you can hear. Sitting up, you strain your ears to try and catch more of what they’re saying. 

You feel yourself freeze when you realize that the voices are coming from your living room. 

You sit frozen on your bed for a few minutes, unsure of what to do. 

Did these people break into your apartment? What are they doing here? What are they going to do to you? 

Reaching out blindly, you attempt to locate your phone, hoping you can at least call the police before the robbers can reach you. Pressing the power button, your heart drops when it doesn’t turn on. In your excitement to knock out, you never put it to charge and now it’s dead. 

Taking a deep breath, you try to think of a course of action. 

Slowly getting out of bed, you reach under the bed to grab the metal bat that you keep in case of emergencies. Maybe, if the robbers don’t have any weapons, you can either scare them off or hurt them enough to grab the home phone sitting on your kitchen counter and call the police. 

You cautiously make your way to the door of your bedroom, letting out a shaky breath before slowly twisting the doorknob. You gently push the door open, thanking whatever gods are out there that it doesn’t make any noise. 

Now that the door is open, you can hear the voices more clearly. 

“Why would you show yourself to her?” 

“What did you want me to do? She was having the worst day, I wasn’t gonna sit back and watch her suffer.” The voice sounds oddly familiar.

Someone else hums. 

“Don’t even say anything,” the original voice whispers angrily. “You should have never interfered earlier.” 

“She was about to get hit by a car, hyung! What did you want me to do, let it happen? Then we would be back to square one all over again.” 

It’s a different voice this time, slightly higher in pitch. 

They’re talking about what happened to you earlier. 

Who the fuck are these people? 

You arrive at the corner of the hallway, gripping your bat impossibly tight and peeking around the corner. 

From what you can see, there’s a few men standing in your living room. One with dark blue hair sits on your couch facing the kitchen, another stands with his back to the hallway where you stand, and there seems to be someone standing in front of him.

You can’t help but let out a small gasp when you realize the man standing with his back facing you has short pink hair. 

Mingi.

All three men whip their heads around. 

They stare at you wide-eyed, including Mingi. 

You come out from behind the corner and point your bat at the men. 

“Who the fuck are you?” you demand. “And why the fuck are you in my apartment?”

Your eyes dart around, trying to keep an eye on every person in the room. Your heart pounds in your chest and your hands are sweaty, but you’ll be damned if you go out without a fight. 

Mingi takes a step forward, his hands raised slightly. 

“(Y/n),” he starts.

He stops when you take a step backward. 

“Mingi, if that’s even your goddam name,” you spit. You miss the way all three men flinch slightly. “What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” 

“Was helping me earlier just a plot to figure out where I live? Are you gonna kill me?” you question.

A crestfallen look falls on Mingi’s face. A small part of you almost wants to feel bad. Almost. 

“No, not at all,” he defends. “Look, it’s kind of complicated, but I can explain. I just need you to put the bat down.” His eyes dart to the metal bat you have a death grip on.

You let out a harsh laugh. 

“No fucking way. I don’t care who the hell you are, I need you and your friends to get out right now before I call the cops.” You demand. 

“The cops aren’t going to help you sweetheart,” a voice comes from behind you. 

You let out a scream, turning around and blindly swinging your bat. It hits something hard.

“OW!” 

A man with long hair that’s black and silver hunches over in front of you, clutching his stomach. You stare wide-eyed. 

There’s more of them.

And where the fuck are they coming from?

“(Y/n),” someone else says your name. You whip back around, moving backward towards the wall and making sure the men don’t leave your sight. You keep the bat pointed at them. 

The man with dark blue hair siting on the couch is standing now, and he looks at you with wide eyes as well. 

“Please, just put the bat down and we can explain everything to you.”

You shake your head vehemently. 

“You guys broke into my fucking apartment and you want me to calm down?” You laugh incredulously. “Are you guys fucking insane?”

You miss the way the shorter male standing next to Mingi has disappeared. 

Mingi frowns, looking genuinely saddened. 

“I’m really sorry we have to do this.”

You furrow your eyebrows, now genuinely concerned he’s going to murder you. 

“What are you-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence when you feel fingers touch your temple and you black out. 

-

“What did you do?” 

“What we had to! She already managed to hit Wooyoung and she was obviously freaking out so we had to calm her down!”

Someone snickers. 

“Shut up Yeosang.”

“C’mon, you’re telling me it’s a bat that took you out?”

“She has a good swing! You should try getting a metal bat swung directly at your stomach and see how you feel.”

You let out a soft groan at the voices that surround you. They’re too loud.

You’re laying on something soft and it feels familiar as well. 

Am I dead?

“You’re not dead.” 

Your eyes shoot open. 

Sitting up, you groan at the light that shines harshly into your room and shut your eyes. Opening them softly, you glance around. You’re definitely in your room, which is a relief. 

But the eight bodies that surround you bring anything but relief. 

You tense up, your hands gripping at the sheets. 

You can feel tears beginning to blur your vision and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whimper. 

Someone lets out a sad noise. 

“We’re not going to hurt you,” a deep voice comes from your right side. 

You look over to see who said that. Familiar brown eyes stare deeply into your own, and the soft pink hair instantly allows you to recognize who just spoke. 

“How can I trust you Mingi?” 

A heartbroken expression falls over his face and he looks unsure of what to say. 

“He’s right sweetheart,” another voice speaks up. “We’re not going to hurt you.” This time it’s another tall man who speaks. He has peach colored hair. His eyes bore into yours, and you feel slightly unnerved at the raw honesty that comes across. 

You don’t say anything, opting to take a glance at all the men who are spread across your room. 

A shorter man who stands closest to your bed sighs and takes a step forward. 

“This isn’t how we wanted to meet, so please accept our deepest apologies for scaring you,” the man begins. 

“We’re your guardian angels.”

-

The man, Hongjoong, had explained to you that they were in fact your guardian angels. 

Typically, humans only had one guardian angel, he had explained, but you were assigned eight. 

Guardian angels were also never, under any circumstances, to reveal themselves to their humans, but some people, Hongjoong glared at the man sitting at your desk with dark blue hair as well as Mingi, had broken these rules. 

Which is why you were currently able to see all of them. 

“How do I even know you’re telling me the truth?” You questioned. This entire situation was absolutely insane and you could barely wrap your head around any of the information that was just given to you. 

“Well, we’ve been watching over you your whole life,” the blue haired male spoke up. “Ask us anything that no one else knows and we can answer it.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking about different things throughout your life that no one knew about you. 

“When I was in middle school and I asked out that boy a year ahead of me, what did he say?”

There’s no way they could know the answer to this. This is literally something I’ve never told anyone and I intend on taking it with me to my grave. 

“He said no because you reminded him of his mom and that grossed him out.” 

You stare wide-eyed at the man with medium length blonde hair that sat in the middle of your floor. 

What the fuck?

“Don’t worry, you honestly dodged a bullet with that one,” another male with cherry red hair shook his head. “You know that guy ended up marrying his first cousin?” The man snorted. 

You had no words. 

You had never told anyone that secret because it embarrassed you so much, but clearly, the men in front of you knew it. 

Maybe they’re telling the truth.

“Of course we’re telling the truth, we’re angels.” 

The man with two-toned hair speaks up. 

You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Did you just read my thoughts?” 

He shrugs. 

“They’re very loud.”

You stare at him. 

“Do you want me to hit you with my bat again?”

The man shudders. 

“Please, don’t.”

Another voice speaks up. 

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” the man with peach hair pipes in. 

You shrug. 

“I don’t really have any reason to doubt you, I guess.” You hesitate before saying your next words. “Plus, I don’t know what it is, but you guys have this vibe,” you gesture your hand vaguely. 

“It feels...safe?” You shrug, looking down at the spare thread you’ve been messing with since you woke up. “I felt it when I met Mingi earlier, but I didn’t know what to think about it.” 

You miss the way Mingi’s ears turn red. 

An awkward silence falls across the room. 

“Well,” another man, the one who stands next to Hongjoong, begins to speak. “Now that that’s done, we should introduce ourselves. I’m Seonghwa,” he sends you a beautiful smile. 

“I’m Hongjoong, as you already know,” Hongjoong says and you nod. 

“My name’s Yunho,” the man with peach hair speaks up. 

“I’m San,” the man with dark blue hair pipes up, sending you a bright, dimpled smile. You can’t help but send him a small smile back. 

“I’m Yeosang,” the blonde one on your floor gives you a small nod of acknowledgement.

“I’m Wooyoung!” Two-toned hair chirps loudly. You can’t help but side-eye him slightly. “What?” he cries. 

“Please don’t sneak up on me if you don’t want me to hit you again,” you warn. 

A few snickers sound throughout the room. 

“I’m Jongho,” the one with cherry hair tells you. 

Your eyes land on the last man who sits closest to you. 

“I’m Mingi,” he says. “But, you already know that.” 

You nod. He still seems a little bit sad. 

You hesitate, but reach out to softly grab his hand that rests on your bed. 

“Thank you for your help earlier,” you start. “And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at first.” 

You glance around the room. 

“But, you guys have to understand that this whole situation is kind of crazy.” 

Seonghwa nods. 

“We understand, and we’re sorry for scaring you so much.” He nods his head toward Mingi and San. “But those two broke one of the most important rules that guardian angels must follow.” 

You nod, understanding what Seonghwa’s saying. 

“Wait,” your eyebrows furrow. “I know Mingi broke the rule when he helped me get back inside my apartment, but what did San do?” 

You look at him as he crosses his arms and pouts, reminding you of a scolded child. 

“He’s the one that pulled you out of the street yesterday before the car could hit you,” Wooyoung explains. 

Your eyes widen and you sit up even further. 

“So I was right!” you exclaim. 

Mingi raises a brow.

“I knew I felt someone grab my hands and pull me forward, but the lady who helped me said there was no one there!” You pout slightly. “I thought I was going crazy for a second.” 

You look over at San. 

“Thank you for saving my life,” you tell him sincerely.

San throws his hands up in the air. 

“See? At least she’s grateful for what I did!” 

Yeosang rolls his eyes. 

“Of course she is, you idiot, she would’ve been dead if you hadn’t.” 

This time, you don’t miss the way they all seem to wince at Yeosang’s words.

You frown. 

“Yeah, actually,” you begin. “If you guys are my guardian angels, how come I almost died yesterday?” You look at them expectantly. “Isn’t the whole point of you guys being here to like, keep me alive?”

They avoid your eyes.

“We were a little...preoccupied,” Hongjoong admits. 

You click your tongue. 

“Well, at least San was there for me.” 

You send a grateful smile to him, which he returns with slightly red cheeks. 

“Hey!” Mingi whines. “I helped you too!”

You roll your eyes. 

“Yes you did, you big baby, but San literally saved my life,” you emphasize. 

“And I didn’t?” Mingi asks, offended. “What if I never showed up? You would’ve had to sleep on the streets and who knows what would’ve happened then?”

“Oh my god,” you groan, throwing yourself back on your bed. 

“I didn’t know angels were this dramatic!”

Jongho lets out a laugh. 

“The most,” he admits. 

The sound of your stomach rumbling has a warm flush spreading across your cheeks. 

“You haven’t eaten?” Yunho furrows his eyebrows.

“Mmmm, not since breakfast yesterday, I think,” you admit. 

Wooyoung jumps out of his chair. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll make you the best meal you’ve ever had,” he sends you a small wink before heading out of your room towards the kitchen. 

“He’s not going to burn my apartment down right?” You ask worriedly.

Hongjoong shakes his head. 

“No, Wooyoung’s actually a really good cook,” he reassures you. 

“Plus,” San says. “You have seven angels here to protect you if anything!”

You’re not sure if that makes you feel any better. 

- 

As it turns out, Hongjoong was right, and Wooyoung is an excellent cook. In a span of 20 minutes, he���s managed to make you an omelet that looks like it came straight out of a Studio Ghibli movie, along with some oatmeal, fresh fruit, and what looks like freshly squeezed orange juice. 

“Wow,” you gape at the food. 

Wooyoung motions for you to sit at the table. 

“It was meant for you to eat, not just stare at.”

You happily oblige, sitting down at the table and bringing up the fork to your mouth, only to pause when you realize no one else has food. 

“We don’t have to eat,” Seonghwa explains, reading your mind. “We can if we want to, but it’s not necessary for us to survive.”

You nod, feeling a little less guilty about eating in front of them. 

Letting out a satisfied hum at the taste of the food, you send Wooyoung a thumbs-up. He smiles brightly. 

“So,” you start, swallowing your food and taking a quick sip of your juice. “Now that I’ve met you guys and I know you exist, are you going to go back to being invisible to me?” 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa share a look. 

“Not exactly,” Hongjoong says. 

You raise an eyebrow, motioning for him to continue. 

“Now that you know we exist, we can’t exactly just disappear,” he elaborates. “It’s one of the reasons guardian angels aren’t meant to reveal themselves to their humans.” 

You nod slowly. 

“So, humans just never find out they have a guardian angel? Like, ever?”

Jongho mutters something under his breath. Yunho kicks his leg under the table.

“Sorry, what was that?” You ask, looking at him. 

He avoids your gaze. 

A tense silence falls over the table. 

You notice how Mingi shakes his leg anxiously. San taps his fingers on the table and Yunho avoids your gaze. 

You narrow your eyes at them. 

“There’s something you guys aren’t telling me.” It’s not a question. 

“I don’t think now is the best time to talk about this-” Hongjoong starts. 

“Humans only find out about their guardian angels when their time is near,” Wooyoung says calmly. 

Hongjoong glares at him. Wooyoung only shrugs. 

“What? She was bound to find out eventually.” 

“Their time?” You look around at the men that sit at your table. “Like, when they’re about to die?”

Yeosang nods. 

You let out a small “oh”, looking down at the unfinished food that stares at you.

It’s silent as you think about the information they’ve just given you. 

“The car,” you swallow. “The car that almost hit me yesterday. Was it,” you almost can’t get the words out. “Was it supposed to hit me?”

Your question comes out in a whisper. 

No one responds, but when you look up, they all fix you with a sad look.

You nod.

“Okay.” 

You push your plate away from you. 

You don’t have an appetite anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” Mingi whispers from your left side. 

His large hand gently encompasses yours. You nod, refusing to look him in the eyes. 

“But we’re not going to let you die.” 

You look up at San’s determined voice, barely able to see him through your misty eyes. 

“What?”

“We’re not letting you die,” he says firmly. “It’s not your time.” 

You shake your head. 

“I’m pretty sure if the universe decides it’s my time, then it’s my time,” you reply. You’re not sure if you’re saying it to convince them, or yourself. 

“I can’t just avoid fate.”

Hongjoong sighs. 

“San’s right.” 

You send him a questioning look. 

“We’re your guardian angels. We’re not going to let you die.” 

“Screw what the universe says,” Yeosang chimes in. 

You stare at them incredulously. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Look,” Yunho starts. “We’ve been thinking about it, and we’re pretty sure the universe is wrong about it being your time. We’ve been around for centuries, usually we have a good sense of when it’s going to be someone’s time and when it’s not.”

“And we don’t get that feeling with you,” Jongho continues for him. “We never have.”

“So, we’re going to do our best to make sure you stay out of harms way,” Yeosang finishes.

Your throat feels constricted and you can barely see through all the tears that have welled up in your eyes. 

“You guys would do all that for me?” You choke out. 

Mingi squeezes your hand. 

“Of course. We’re not your guardian angels for nothing.”

You sniffle, looking down at your lap and bringing up your other hand to wipe at your eyes. 

“Thank you guys,” you tell them sincerely. 

“Anything for you,” Seonghwa smiles softly. 

-

After the conversation at breakfast, the nine of you come up with a vague plan Wooyoung affectionally dubbed “Keeping Our Human Alive”. Despite the look you had given him, you had to admit, it made you laugh.

You all agreed it would be best for at least one of them to accompany you every day, more if any of them felt like tagging along. 

“That way,” Hongjoong explained, “if anything unexpected happens, at least one of us will be able to protect you.” 

You agreed.

“What about when I go to work and stuff?” You had questioned. “Won’t it be weird if there’s a different guy following me around every day?”

Yunho shook his head. 

“Just because you can see us doesn’t mean everyone else can see us too. We can make ourselves visible to other people besides our assigned human if we want,” he explained. 

“Oh, okay. Well, that certainly makes this easier then.” 

“What would you prefer for us to do?” Questioned San. “Do you want us to remain invisible all the time or only at work?”

You think it over for a minute before shrugging.

“Honestly, whatever’s most comfortable for all of you. I would prefer if at work you guys are invisible, but while we’re in public and stuff, whatever you guys feel comfortable with is fine by me.”

At your answer, they all give you fond looks which makes your face feel slightly warm. Clearing your throat, you continue.

“Also, I was thinking about it and if you guys are going to be with me 24/7 now, we need some ground rules.”

Jongho chuckled.

“Technically, we’ve always been here, you’ve just barely found out.”

You realize he’s right, and the memories of every single embarrassing thing that you’ve ever done in the privacy of your own home comes rushing back to you.

“Well, yeah, now that I know you guys are here,” you stumble over your words slightly. “Privacy is really big for me. I don’t have many rules, but I just ask that you guys don’t show up unannounced or else that might really freak me out, and please, if you’re going to come into my room, just knock.”

Everyone nods their heads in agreement.

“And,” you continue, “no more reading my thoughts please.”

Only a few of them nod, which makes you grow slightly concerned.

“Is that a problem?” You ask, a slight edge to your voice.

“Not at all,” Seonghwa reassures.

“It’s just that we do get a little concerned for when you’re alone. Being aware of your thoughts helps us decide if you need our help at that moment or not,” Hongjoong explains.

You nod.

“I get that, but if at least one of you is going to be by my side every single day from now on, I really don’t think there’s any need for you to read my thoughts.”

You continue.

“Plus, it’s really just about privacy for me. I don’t really feel comfortable with you guys having access to every single thought in my head, no matter how big or small.”

Hongjoong and Seonghwa both nod.

“We understand. And we’ll do our best to respect your boundaries.”

“Thank you guys,” you send them a small smile.

“Plus, if I need any help or anything, I’ll just yell out ‘bat’ really loud,” you joke, referring to the bruise you might’ve left on Wooyoung’s stomach.

Everyone laughs except for him.

“Not funny,” he pouts.

You let out a small giggle, patting him lightly on the arm. 

“You did kind of deserve it, my friend.”

Clapping your hands together, you let out a deep exhale. 

“Now that that’s all settled, I need to go grocery shopping. All of you are more than welcome to come.” 

A few of them look very excited, which both excites you and makes you slightly nervous. 

“Thank you for the invitation,” Hongjoong starts. “But Seonghwa and I will have to pass this time.”

You pout slightly. 

“Aw man.” 

“Trust me,” Seonghwa starts. “We would love to go on our first official errand run with you, little one, but we have some business to deal with upstairs.” 

He uses his index finger to point up and you look up as well.

Upstairs? 

“Ohhhh, you mean, like, heaven and all that,” you laugh nervously at your lack of understanding. 

The two men nod. 

“But don’t worry, we should be back by the end of the day,” Hongjoong reassures you. 

“Don’t worry guys,” Mingi slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “We’ve got this.” 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa stare at the male by your side, slightly unamused. 

“That’s what we’re scared of.”

-

It’s officially been about a week since your near death experience and finding out about your guardian angels. 

While having all of them around had certainly been awkward at first, you’ve all slowly begun to fall into a routine. Sometimes, you feel as though you’ve known them your whole life. 

Which, to a certain extent, you kind of have. 

Something about having them around just makes you feel incredibly safe and warm inside. Not to mention the slight butterflies you’ve been experiencing around them, but you’re quick to try and cage them as soon as they appear. 

Wooyoung and Seonghwa have taken it upon themselves to cook most of the meals for the nine of you. Every day when you come home from work, you can always count on a warm, freshly cooked meal to be waiting on the table for you. 

“You’re kind of like my house husbands,” you joked to them one time. 

Seonghwa blushed, while Wooyoung had blown you a kiss. 

“Anything for you sweetheart.”

Yunho and Mingi are the two that typically accompany you to work, although sometimes Jongho will tag along if he doesn’t have anything else to do. Despite the tall men’s playful personalities, they were both incredibly smart and helped you with your work whenever you felt particularly stressed out. 

San was certainly one of the more playful angels, you had noticed. 

Although all of them were fun to be around, San was always the first to notice when your mood wasn’t the best, and he was the best at comforting you after a long day. A bad day at work usually ended with San waiting for you with open arms as soon as you walked through the door for some cuddles and quiet time. 

When Wooyoung and Mingi had found out about this little routine, they both immediately demanded to be allowed into the “cuddle time” as they called it.

Jongho and Yeosang were the two individuals who you enjoyed spending some quiet time with. The three of you would usually wind down together with some tea and some books or a show. Although they were a little more reserved than the others, you still genuinely enjoyed your time with both of them.

But they certainly had their moments where they could be just as chaotic as the others. 

Exhibit A was the day you walked into your apartment to see Yeosang and Yunho standing in your kitchen covered in flour. 

“What happened?” you had asked, absolutely astounded by the amount of flour that somehow managed to cover every inch of your kitchen. You didn’t even think you had that much flour to begin with. 

The two of them sheepishly admitted that they were trying to bake some cookies, but things had gotten out of hand. 

Clicking your tongue, you walked over to the roll of paper towels to begin cleaning up. 

“What am I going to do with you guys-”

You had just turned around when the feeling of something soft and powdery hit your face. You sputtered, staring wide-eyed at the two angels. Yunho looked at you and then turned to Yeosang, who avoided your eyes. 

What followed next was a flour fight that resulted in a very long clean-up shift.

There was also the time you found out Jongho literally had the voice of an angel. 

The two of you were headed to your local plant store to look for some new plants to decorate your apartment with when one of your favorite songs came on the radio. 

Turning the volume up, you began singing along softly as did Jongho. As the song continued, his voice grew louder, and when the two of you reached a red light, you were unable to do anything except stare at him slack-jawed at the voice that was coming out of him. Only the sound of the car behind you honking was able to shake you out of your stupor.

Now, you guys have little karaoke parties in your car when the two of you are alone.

The only angel you had yet to spend a lot of time with, however, was Hongjoong. 

The man always seemed to be busy, as he was hardly ever in your actual apartment. Most mornings when you woke up, he was gone and he wouldn’t show up until the evenings. 

You would be lying if you said the hushed arguments he would have with some of the others didn’t concern you. They always occurred at night, when they assumed you were fast asleep. And they always revolved around the same thing. 

“She’s not the exact same, and that’s okay, but you guys can’t keep expecting her to be the same as our (Y/n).” You heard Hongjoong say one night.

You had been unable to fall back asleep after that.

Today, though, you really needed to go to the post office, and Hongjoong was the only angel available to accompany you. 

You stood awkwardly at the end of your table where Hongjoong sat using your laptop to do something. 

“Uh,” you clear your throat. “Hongjoong?”

He looks up a little startled. 

“(Y/n),” he acknowledges. “Is everything okay?” He looks at you concerned. 

“Yeah everything’s fine!” You reassure him. 

“I just need to run a quick errand and the others are all busy so I was wondering if you could go with me,” you trail off.

God this is awkward. 

To your surprise, although you really shouldn’t be, he nods his head quickly.

“Yeah of course. We can go now, if you’re ready?”

“Cool, let me just grab my bag and we can get going!” You rush to your room to grab your bag before walking back to the front door where Hongjoong already waits for you. 

The two of you agree to make the short walk to the post office, commenting on how the nice weather is today. 

Exiting through the front gates of your apartment, you two begin walking down the sidewalk shoulder to shoulder in silence. 

“So is-”

“I wanted-”

The two of you start talking at the same time. 

You both let out a laugh and you can feel your shoulders relax a bit. 

“Go ahead,” you allow Hongjoong to speak first. 

He takes a deep breath.

“I just wanted to apologize for the way I’ve been acting lately,” he says as he stares into your eyes. 

You have to admit, that’s not what you were expecting him to say.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been really distant and pre-occupied lately,” Hongjoong continues. “And I know you’ve noticed, so I want to sincerely apologize. There’s been a lot of stuff I’ve been dealing with and I don’t want you to think I don’t like this,” he gestures between the two of you, “thing we have going on.”

You shake your head. 

“No, please don’t feel like you have to apologize Hongjoong. To be completely honest, I have no clue what it is you guys have to deal with in the first place, but I’m really grateful you’ve all gone out of your way to help me.” 

You let out a small, sad laugh. 

“If I’m being honest, I don’t really get why you guys are helping me in the first place. I’m sure you’ve all had hundreds of different assigned humans throughout your existence, so I’m nothing special.” 

Hongjoong stops abruptly and turns to face you. 

“That’s not true,” he says firmly. The serious expression on his face has you taken aback. 

“What?”

“You said you’re nothing special. That’s not true.”

Hongjoong sighs and grabs both of your hands. 

“Look, it’s complicated to explain, and I will tell you, but we agreed we all wanted to tell you together. So, if you’re okay with waiting, I can tell you everything that’s been going on as soon as we get back to your apartment.” 

You would be lying if you said his words don’t scare you a little bit. 

“It’s okay Hongjoong, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” you reassure him, softly running your fingers over his knuckles. 

He shakes his head. 

“I- We all want to tell you, and you deserve to know the truth.” 

You nod your head. 

“Okay. Back at my apartment it is then,” you send him a small smile, which he returns. 

“Before we head to the post office,” you start. “Do you want to visit my favorite cafe with me?” 

Hongjoong smiles softly at you. 

“I would love to.” 

You guys continue walking down the few blocks and after a few minutes, you both stand at the stoplight that sits across from the cafe. You and Hongjoong laugh at the stories you tell him about the antics Yunho and Mingi get up to when you’re at work. The light turns green, and you begin to cross the street. 

“I’m telling you, I just told them about this lady in my office who’s always getting on my nerves and they made it their mission to inconvenience her in every way possible!” You exclaim. 

Hongjoong lets out a hearty laugh and you smile widely at how relaxed he looks. 

Just as your about to continue your story, you notice the wind blowing your letter out of your purse. 

Cursing, you tell Hongjoong to wait on the sidewalk while you run quickly after the paper. The letter lands in the middle of crosswalk and you’ve just barely managed to pick it up when the sound of someone yelling your name makes you whip around. 

Coming towards you at a terrifying speed is a car. 

You stand frozen in the middle of street, unable to move your feet. 

You barely manage to catch a glimpse of Hongjoong’s terrified face when you feel your body get thrown back, and everything turns black. 

-

You stand in a green field. 

The scenery is absolutely gorgeous and you can feel the warm sun and cool breeze on your skin. 

Looking around, you notice a large, crystal blue lake in the distance. Your legs begin to take you in that direction on their own accord.

You reach the lake and crouch down, slightly dipping your hand in the cool water. Soft ripples make their way across the surface of the water and you can’t help but feel completely at ease in this place.

Whatever this place is.

As you continue staring down into the water, you notice your reflection seems to look different.

The you staring back has much longer hair than you currently have, and the clothes your reflection wears is older, looking like they come from an early Victorian age.

You tilt your head to the side and notice that your reflection’s head doesn’t move.

A voice sounds out through your mind.

“You need to go back.”

“Go back?” You whisper aloud.

Your reflection nods.

“They need you.”

Other you doesn’t specify who you two are talking about, but deep down, you think you already know the answer.

Your reflection sends you a gentle smile before disappearing. You watch as the water returns to its calm state before gently pushing yourself back up to your feet.

You take one last look around the field you’re in, before closing your eyes.

-

The first thing you notice is how dark it is.

You can hear the sounds of people talking and crying around you, and you can feel hands softly grabbing your body, but you’re unable to open your eyes or move.

“Please,” someone whispers over your body.

“Please don’t leave us again.”

You lose consciousness once again.

-

The next time you wake up, your entire body hurts.

You let out a soft groan, slowly opening your eyes and allowing them to adjust to the soft light of your lamp.

Something heavy rests near your right hand, and turning your head slightly, you can see a head of familiar pink hear laying down next to you.

Using what little strength you have in your body, you raise your hand and gently rest it on Mingi’s head. Softly, you run your fingers through the short strands on his head.

He makes an inaudible noise and turns his head over so that you can now see his face. As you continue stroking his head, his eyes flutter open. He looks a little bit confused for a few seconds before his body is shooting up and he stares at you shocked.

“(Y/n),” he whispers softly.

“Hi Mingi,” you reply.

You watch as tears well up in his eyes and he throws himself on top of you, mindful to not rest his entire body weight on you. You can hear footsteps rushing towards your room before your bedroom door is being slammed open.

You can barely see over Mingi’s broad back that covers your frame, but you already know who it is.

As Mingi releases you, you attempt to sit up, only to stop and hiss in pain when jolts of pain shoot up your back.

“Be careful, little one,” Seonghwa says, moving forward to help adjust some pillows behind you.

You thank him and take a moment to look around at each of the men that surrounds your bed. You notice the dark circles under their eyes and the way their skin seems to lack it’s normal glow.

“You guys look worse than I feel,” you joke, trying to lighten the mood.

Yeosang frowns.

“You’ve been out for 4 days, sunflower.”

You blink harshly.

“Four days?”

Jongho nods.

“The worst four days of our entire existence,” he says.

You look down at the blanket that rests on your lap.

“I’m sorry.”

You’re not quite sure what you’re apologizing for.

“No I’m sorry.”

It’s Hongjoong who speaks.

He comes to your side, falling onto his knees beside your bed and taking your hand into his. He leans down to rest his forehead against your hand.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he cries.

“I should’ve known. I should’ve seen the car coming, I should’ve moved faster, I should’ve gotten you out of the way-” he sobs.

“No, Hongjoong,” you shake your head. “There’s nothing you could’ve done, the car came out of nowhere and it was too fast.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Yunho whispers.

“We swore to never let you pass before your time again.”

You can’t help the confused look you give them, but then, you remember the reflection you saw in the lake.

How the person looked just like you, but from a different era.

The arguments you heard Hongjoong have with the others.

Softly resting your palm on Hongjoong’s tear stained face, you speak.

“I need you guys to explain everything to me.”

-

All nine of you sit in your living room.

The boys helped you get settled on the couch, where you sit with San and Wooyoung flanking both of your sides. Hongjoong and Seonghwa sit across from you three while Mingi sits on the floor next to your legs. Yunho sits to the right of San and Yeosang and Jongho remain standing, but still close.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve met you,” Hongjoong begins.

“We’ve been very lucky to have met you almost every single time you’ve been reborn.”

Yeosang continues.

“The first time we met you was an accident. You happened to stumble upon me when I was helping a wounded human at the time. Soon after, I introduced you to the others.”

“But I thought the only time humans could see a guardian angel was when they were close to death?” You questioned.

Jongho nods sadly.

“You passed away shortly after meeting the rest of us.”

“In almost every single life where you’ve been reborn,” Wooyoung explains.

“We’ve managed to find you, but we’ve never been granted the luxury of time.”

You softly run your fingers through his hair, hearing the tremble of his voice as he speaks.

“The last two times that you’ve been born, we’ve been fortunate enough to be your guardian angels,” Seonghwa smiles.

“But in your last life, you passed away prematurely,” San says.

You turn your head towards him.

“A freak accident that we weren’t able to save you from.”

Mingi turns around to look up at you from where he rests by your legs.

“We failed you,” he whispers sadly.

You shake your head.

“You guys didn’t fail me. Not then, and not now. Just because you guys are angels doesn’t mean you can control everything that happens.”

“Sometimes,” you take a deep breath. “Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can’t always protect the ones you love.”

“But we have to,” Hongjoong says, looking you in the eye. “Not only is that our job, but for selfish reasons too.”

He looks down at his hands.

“We couldn’t take watching you die another time.”

It’s silent for a moment.

“How am I still here then?”

Hongjoong looks back up at you.

“We made a deal.”

You send him a questioning look.

“A deal?”

All the men surrounding you nod.

“What kind of deal?” You prod, noticing how they seem to hesitate to give you more details.

“Our life in exchange for yours.”

You inhale sharply, the sudden movement causing pain to shoot up your back. Wooyoung and San attempt to soothe your pain, but your mind is only focused on the information they just gave you.

“What?”

“We made a deal with God,” Yunho starts. “Our status in heaven as guardian angels, in exchange for the guarantee that you would live a full life.”

“What?” you say breathlessly. “Why, why would you guys do that?”

“Because we’re selfish,” Jongho says, looking at you with such tenderness you’re unsure of what to do with yourself.

“And we don’t care about being angels or having those powers and helping others if it means we have to live in a world without you in it,” Mingi finishes.

Tears begin to well up and spill out of your eyes before you can stop them. San and Wooyoung cuddle impossibly closer to you, hugging you tightly while the others watch on with misty eyes.

“Thank you,” you sob into your hands. “Thank you.”

They all smile.

-

It’s been about a month since you almost (should’ve) died.

In that month, the ex-angels did their best to help you recover from your injuries, although they certainly complained about no longer having healing powers to help stop you from being pain.

“Welcome to the life of being a human,” you rolled your eyes.

“This is lame, maybe we should’ve stayed as angels,” Wooyoung muttered.

You smacked him on the chest, ignoring his yelp and complaints.

“Don’t make me bring out the bat again,” you warned.

After you were fully recovered, you focused on helping the boys adjust to their new lives as humans.

“Why do we have to walk everywhere?” Mingi groaned, dragging his feet behind you.

You rolled your eyes.

He’s just like a little kid.

“Because my car can only fit four of you, but all eight of you decided to accompany me to the store,” you remind him.

He says nothing, but you could still hear his grumbling.

As they’ve slowly adjusted to human life, the nine of you have fallen into a smooth routine that’s oddly domestic.

Wooyoung and Seonghwa continue to cook the meals for you guys, and you all make an effort to eat at least one meal together a day.

Seeing as most of them aren’t morning people, you typically opt to eat dinner together instead.

You’ve also decided to introduce them to your favorite bookstore.

“How ironic,” you muse, walking hand in hand with San and Yunho as you all approach the quaint shop.

“What is, sunflower?” Yeosang questions.

“This bookstore is the whole reason I met you guys in the first place,” you give San’s hand a small squeeze.

He squeezes it back three times.

Later that night, when you’ve all returned home, you guys decide to have a small movie night.

After arguing over what movie to watch, Jongho insisted on watching a horror movie, which Mingi complained about loudly.

Not that it mattered, most everyone ended up falling asleep by the time the film was halfway over, including yourself.

You could hear the sound of someone moving around quietly in the living room and turned your head to the side, burying your face deeper into Mingi’s chest. The feeling of a blanket being laid over the two of you was welcomed.

You felt someone leave a soft kiss on the side of your head.

“Goodnight my love,” Hongjoong whispered softly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You hummed in reply, falling back asleep perfectly content and safe in the presence of your lovers.

                                        ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

a/n: my fic to celebrate hitting 50 followers, you guys are insane, i love you all so much and i hope you enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it :)

[dudadragneel]

🖤I was thinking of a lee know/yn fic in which he’s had a lot of work lately and he’s tired and down, so he and yn plan a picnic for the weekend.

it’s all sunny and good weather when the day comes, but inside lee know it’s a whole other story. he wakes up like he didn’t get a single hour of sleep, his stomach is tense and his head hurts. he wakes up earlier than yn so he makes breakfast, but it ends up being a bad idea to eat it and he starts to feel it come right up. it’s random cause he didn’t feel nauseous before, but after the ordeal he definitely is and his stomach isn’t only tense, but also tender now.

when yn wakes up she notices sth wrong but lee know brushes it off as tiredness. she eats her breakfast and they walk to the park with their picnic baskets. good, cause lee know doubted he’d have made it through a car ride.

in the park the sun is bright and it’s hot which messes with lee know quite a bit, but luckily by the time they have to eat a soft breeze has started to blow, calming him down.

they eat their food, but lee know has a hard time and that’s when he may admit he doesn’t feel good, but at this point he’d rather stay in the park, so they do. yn knows that lee know doesn’t like worry, so she doesn’t act too soft about it but obviously cares.

they end up looking at the clouds with lee know laying his head on yn’s legs while she plays with his hair, trying to make loose braids. they unbraid quickly since his hair is short but it’s fine. after a bit he starts feeling better so they film TikToks and decide they want to roll down the hill and see who gets to the bottom faster. childish but fun.

but then everything goes downhill, literally, cause spinning obviously was a bad idea for lee know and now he can really feel his tummy cramping harshly. they go back to their picnic blanket to try to calm him down which doesn’t work, and he starts to feel too hot and suffocated while trying to stop the pain in his stomach, which is making it hard to breathe. it almost makes him tear up cause it’s bad, and when it gets even worse he can’t hold anything back, and I don’t mean only tears…

p.s: I feel like lee know and yn should be kinda similar, so it’d be cool if you could make her have a bit of a teasing and sassy personality like him.

Dear 🖤, I hope you like this one! I tried my best to make them both sassy 😅

A DATE GONE DOWNHILL

Dating an idol wasn't an easy task, first, you needed to mind where you would have your dates so there were no fans or paparazzi around. Second, his hectic schedule made it harder to have actual dates, like dinner, going to the beach, etc, so usually you would meet him at the dorms or your house. And you two had agreed that he'd sleep there whenever he felt like it since being away from the mess and chaos of the dorm could help him relax a bit.

Preparing for a comeback, his last few weeks were totally packed with schedules, he barely rested or ate. He would call you every day to talk about his day and you would listen to every single word he said and you noticed he was sounding more and more tired as the days went by.

When he got a little break, he was exhausted and feeling down, mostly because he couldn't see you and also due to the stress of not getting everything the way he wanted to. He wanted perfection, but that is a hard thing to accomplish.

You couldn't just sit still and watch him like that, he needed a breather so he could relax a bit and replenish his energy for the next round of schedules.

You thought of a picnic and he agreed with the idea. He went to your house so he could get a good night's sleep before the date, he was tired but he wanted to have fun with you.

Morning rose, the day was beautiful and sunny and you were super excited for the date, it was a real one after so many weeks.

However, things weren't looking good for Lee Know, and from the moment he got up, he knew the day would be a tough one. Even after sleeping for 7h to 8h hours straight, he woke completely drained, like didn't sleep at all. He sat on the edge of the bed and assessed his situation, he was tired, his head was hurting and his stomach was acting up.

He liked cooking, especially for you so he went to the kitchen to make breakfast, despite wanting to stay in bed a little longer with hopes that he would feel better.

He made your breakfast, set it on the table, and then made his. He just leaned against the counter and started munching on the light breakfast he made for himself. But after a couple of bites, he started to chew on it and couldn't quite swallow it. He kept on chewing until it turned into mush and forced it down, and it felt gross. He didn't know why that was happening but he soon found out because as soon as he swallowed, he felt it coming back up.

He turned to the sink, opened his mouth, and let out what seemed to be the last bite he had, he quickly turned on the water to wash away that disgusting thing. He was as surprised as he could get because he wasn't feeling nauseous, he thought what he felt when he got up was hunger but now he understood it wasn't. And as if couldn't get worse, he now could say with 100% certainty that he was feeling nauseous and his headache wasn't exactly helping either.

He held himself against the counter, rinsed his mouth, and then took deep breaths to try to calm down. Thankfully he managed to calm down but now his stomach was definitely feeling weird, he had this thought deep in his mind that his stomach would not be accepting food any time soon. Great, what a way to start the day.

After a couple of minutes, you woke up and made your way to the kitchen and saw the image of this handsome boy wearing shorts and a plain white shirt, simple, but the light of the early morning sun shining through the window made him look ethereal.

You walked towards him, wrapping your hands around his waist and kissing him.

- Good morning, Babe.

- Good morning.

He said kissing you as well. When you pulled away from the hug, you immediately noticed his expression wasn't looking too good.

- Are you okay?

You said, looking him in the eyes.

- Yeah. I'm just tired.

- Couldn't sleep well?

- I did but the week's been pretty packed so I'm still tired.

Lies. But he hoped you'd buy that excuse, the last thing he wanted was to worry you and ruin this so-anticipated date.

- Okay then.

- I made you breakfast.

He said, still holding your waist and pointing towards the meal set on the table.

- Thank you, sweetie.

You sat down and started eating your breakfast, Minho sitting in front of you, just admiring and patiently waiting for you to finish.

Once you were done, both of you changed into light comfortable summer clothes and finished setting everything inside the picnic basket.

The park you chose was not too far from your house so you decided to walk there and enjoy the scenery together.

Minho was grateful for your choice because even though he was feeling a little bit better he knew a car ride would have the worst outcome.

The walk to the park consisted of both of you complaining about how hot it was and how it felt like it was burning you alive.

Finally arriving, you two found a nice spot next to the lake and underneath a big tree, which meant you'd have a nice shade for your picnic.

Since you just had breakfast, none of you wanted to eat just yet, and Minho preferred not to eat all. He was feeling better when they left the house, but the walk under the sun and just how hot the park was, had messed with him. His head was hurting and honestly starting to throb, he was feeling a bit lightheaded, and his stomach was acting up.

Shit. Will the date really go wrong? He thought to himself, but he still didn't want to tell you about it, even though you had already picked up.

- While the sun melts us off our bones... Let's chat for a bit.

He said with a tone of sarcasm and a smile that just made you laugh. The way he managed to say such things and then put on a soft, but also almost menacing smile after was amazing.

- Why are you laughing? Am I funny?

- No. It's just the way you said it

- Oh, so I'm not funny? Okay, I'll remember this.

- Oh stop, Babe!

You said laughing and shoving him, earning a cute laugh.

You two talked, while the sun did indeed melt you, but you two made an effort to not talk about work or it would stress both of you, and your goal was to help Lee Know to get his mind off work.

You really wanted to enjoy the picnic, but it was scorching hot, not even the shade was doing much. The extremely high temperature was still doing its number on Minho, his head was throbbing and the sunlight wasn't exactly helping, he was starting to feel nauseous and worried if he'd manage to eat something or even just enjoy the date. When a sharp pain stung his head, he flinched a little and it caught your attention.

- Honey, what is it?

- Nothing, just looked at the sun and my eyes hurt.

- You didn't bring any sunglasses, did you?

- No.

- Here, put these on, and see if they'll help.

- Thanks.

It did help a bit, but everything else was still annoying him, yet he was in his decision to not tell you anything.

After a few more minutes of chatting, it was about lunchtime, so you started to organize the food you had brought.

Fortunately, the sun was hidden by some clouds and a light breeze cooled both of you down and relaxed Minho, who was tense at the thought of having to eat.

- Let's eat!

He had helped you prepare everything the night before, and both of you were good cooks, so it was safe to say the food was delicious. You were really excited to try everything, now Lee knows, not so much. Just the sight of everything and all the smells mixing together circling around him because of the breeze was making him start to feel sick again. He took a deep breath in and grabbed something to eat.

While you were enjoying and savoring every bite of everything, Minho was having a hard time swallowing the tiny bites he was trying to eat. He'd take a bite and chew until it turned into a tasteless paste, which made it even harder to swallow, he almost gagged a few times.

Surprisingly, he managed to eat a few things but they didn't taste as good as he'd wished, the same process of chewing it and trying to swallow repeated, and then his stomach sent him a warning, telling him that was enough food.

He was almost regretting eating at all when his stomach started to feel really full and off, the food obviously not sitting well. The feeling was so annoying he couldn't quite hide it anymore.

- Honey...

He said quietly, fidgeting with his fingers while looking at you, who was still enjoying your meal.

- What is it? Are you done eating?

You asked with a certain tone of surprise, noticing he didn't do as much as he usually did.

- Yes...I don't feel good...

- What is it?

- My stomach...

- Do you wanna go home?

- Not really, between staying at home and here. I'd rather stay, it's cooler here.

- Alright.

He took a few sips of water and hoped it wouldn't mess with his already sensitive stomach and it didn't, thankfully.

Since the sun was still hidden, you two decided to watch the clouds and just try to get rid of all the stress you'd been feeling.

He lay down on your lap and you lower yourself to kiss him, making his heart skip a beat.

- I like that.

He said with a beautiful smile, extending his hand to touch your cheek and tuck your hair behind your ear.

- I love you.

- I love you too, honey.

You reaffirmed, mimicking the gentle gesture. He closed his eyes and focused on the breeze and your presence, trying to relax every fiber in his body and enjoy the moment.

- Babe?

- Hm?

- Can I braid your hair?

- Only if you make me look pretty.

- Don't you trust my skills?

- Your hair styling skills? Nope.

- Minho!

- I'm joking.

He laughed. You proceeded to make tiny braids in his silky hair but they'd get undone as you went on, but he seemed to be enjoying it so you didn't mind.

Your touch and the light breeze that was still around, helped him feel a bit better, not 100% but enough to enjoy the date a bit more.

- Babe, do you wanna film some TikToks?

- Why? As long as it's not a challenge...

Since TikTok got famous, it became a trend to do challenges of every music that came out, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a bit tired of it.

- It's not. I just wanted to film this moment. We don't get to go on many dates like this, so I wanna make memories and cherish them.

He smiled at you and got up, and then you set the phone so it would record. He stood out his hand and asked:

- Will you grant me this dance?

- Of course.

You said blushing and taking his hand, he pulled you closer to him and kissed you before starting the dance.

You two were so lovey-dovey, that if it were any of the other members with their s/o, Minho would be teasing them non-stop.

When you decided to do other dances and asked him to teach you some moves, he started teasing you, but you wouldn't let it slide.

- Woah, since when you were so bad at dancing?

- What? I'm bad at dancing? Are you sure you're not a bad teacher?

- I'm the best teacher out there, you're just not a good student.

- Of course, I am! Get off your high horse, Mr Lee Minho. I actually learned some of your choreographies by myself, and they were perfect. Admit it, you're not a good teacher.

You said crossing your arms and smiling menacingly at him.

- Alright, touché.

You recorded a few more videos, dancing together and just laughing and enjoying every single second, and then you had an idea.

- Say, why don't we roll downhill, and the last to get to the bottom pays for dinner?

- Deal.

Minho had no idea why he agreed so quickly, knowing that doing that would probably be the last straw, and boy, it was.

You were enjoying this date like a kid and Lee Know wish he could say the same, it was painful to see you so happy while he couldn't share that with you.

- Ready?

- Ready.

- 1, 2, 3 go!

You started the race and as Lee Know was going down, everything inside his stomach was rolling around as well, it was revolted and angry at him, to say the least.

You got to the bottom faster than him and started to celebrate, but then you noticed that something was definitely wrong, Minho wasn't just tired.

When he reached the bottom, he immediately got up so he was kneeling on the grass. He grabbed his middle with one hand while the other helped keep his body steady, his stomach was cramping really badly and its contents were still swirling around.

- Honey? Are you okay?

- No...my stomach is killing me.

- Let's go back up, come on.

- Can you help me?

- Yes.

You went to his side, put one of his arms on your shoulder, and wrapped yours around his waist helping him up and guiding him up. The pain was bad enough for him to walk up while hunched over, arm still holding his stomach.

- Here we are.

You gently helped him sit down and grabbed a water bottle, handing it to him.

- Try to drink slowly.

He tried taking small sips but it wasn't working, his stomach was cramping without giving him any break. And to add to his misery, the sun was out again and it seemed like it was hotter than before.

- It's too hot...

He complained, fanning his shirt, suddenly his clothes felt tighter against his skin, like it was trying to suffocate him. The air around him felt hot and he couldn't breathe properly, so his breathing was erratic and he was almost hyperventilating.

- Honey, I need you to breathe with me.

You were now getting worried about him having heat exhaustion.

- Honey, you have a tank top underneath, right?

- Y-yes-.

He said weakly, trying to regulate his breathing. You knew he wasn't comfortable with being shirtless, especially in public, as you found out early in your relationship, that he only felt comfortable enough with you or the members.

- Then take off your shirt, it'll help you feel less hot.

He took it off and you placed a cool ice pack you had brought, on his nape. But the discomfort was too much, it wasn't only the nausea or the heat but also the pain in his stomach and the fact that he was ruining the date you were so excited about. It was getting so unbearable he started crying silently.

- Minho? What's wrong?

But he didn't answer, he was too focused on breathing through the nausea and the pain, you noticed his distress and grabbed his hand, trying to ground him.

- I'm right here Babe.

He squeezed it so tightly it almost hurt you, but you didn't mind, as long as it could help, even if just a little bit.

But his stomach decided it had enough, it started cramping even worse as if punishing him for stupidly agreeing with rolling down a hill.

When got really quiet, focusing his gaze on the ground, not moving a muscle.

- Minho?

You barely had the chance to ask anything before he gagged one time and turned around so he wouldn't soil the blanket. He coughed up a thick stream of partially digested food and you could see pieces of the lunch he just had.

You placed your hand on his back and started rubbing it up and down, while still holding his hand. He had his eyes squeezed and a painful expression on his face, as another bout of vomit gushed out immediately followed by another that left him out of air.

- That's it, Babe. Just get everything that's bothering you, out.

His stomach cramped again, making him lurch forward, arching his back painfully forcing out another wave of putrid vomit.

He was feeling so embarrassed that you had to see him like this. The fact that he was the second oldest in the group made him build a wall around him, a wall that only you and Chan could walk through.

For a moment his stomach gave him a break, allowing him to breathe and only making him spit out thick saliva from time to time.

Thank God there weren't that many people in the park, you knew he'd be feeling 10x worse if there were people looking at him.

- Here honey, rinse your mouth.

He rinsed his mouth and then took very small sips, afraid that whatever made its way in would immediately make its way out. You wiped his mouth, and his forehead which was dumped with sweat, and helped him sit back for a while and see if the nausea would ease a bit.

- There we go.

- I'm sorry...

- You don't need to apologize honey.

- But I ruined our date and you were so excited about it.

- You didn't ruin anything. We had fun, didn't we?

- Yes but look at the mess I made.

- Honey, I knew you looked off this morning but I didn't say anything out of respect for you. I know you don't like us getting worried about you, so I decided to just wait for you.

- I appreciate it.

- Say, why don't we go home so you can take a shower and rest? It's getting too hot in here and it won't help you.

- Yes, please.

- Alright. Just let me get this organized first.

You packed everything inside the basket and then walked up to Minho.

- Honey, can you stand? Or are you feeling dizzy?

- A bit dizzy...

The heat along with the ordeal of throwing up everything he'd eaten made him feel weak, he just wanted to go home but he was afraid of collapsing and worrying you even more.

- Just...give me a minute...

- Of course.

You sat down beside him, placing the ice pack on his neck again.

- Take deep breaths, babe.

You said as your other hand rested on his chest, trying to provide him as much comfort as you could.

He grabbed your hand and tried breathing along with you. After a few minutes, he felt well enough to try to walk home.

You helped him up and wrapped your arms around him.

- I'm sorry...

- Minho, stop apologizing, please. Let me know if you feel faint or if you wanna throw up again, ok?

- Yeah.

He was completely exhausted, all his energy had been drained from his body and he was still feeling too hot, it was still difficult to breathe properly. He was a professional dancer, he was an idol, he had to dance and sing at the same time and yet, today, this short walk home was making him insanely tired.

His vision was swaying and his stomach was acting up again, the last thing he needed was to vomit in the middle of the street but his body didn't give him much of a choice.

- Honey...I'm gonna be sick

- There's a bench over there, come on.

You guided him to the bench and gave him a plastic bag that was inside the basket. He grabbed the edges and burped a few times before vomiting what felt like his guts, the sound of it hitting the plastic made you grimace a little.

He didn't take a breather before retching again, bringing stomach acid and water.

- Babe, I don't think you have anything left to vomit.

You took the plastic bag and disposed of it, then you gave Minho some water to rinse his mouth again.

You helped him up again and the rest of the walk back home didn't have any more accidents.

Getting home, he went straight to the shower, wanting to get rid of the disgust he was feeling from throwing up.

When he walked out, face a little red because of the sun, you had already gotten the bed ready so he could properly.

He lay down next to you embracing you, eyes still watery and extremely vulnerable, which was a side of him everyone rarely witnessed.

You embraced him back, placed a kiss on the top of his head and didn't say a word, respecting him. Just holding him, and rubbing his back as he cried, you didn't need to say anything, you just needed to be there and you were.

Minho could be mistaken for a cold person, but deep inside he was a warm person who cared for everyone before himself. He could be the second oldest, but he was Chan's precious dongsaeng and your most cherished soulmate.

[swannieluv]

｡ﾟ･The Bold Mendacity - 𝟖. Request and permission

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐆.𝐈 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 (𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜) 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – 𝐖𝐜: 2,3k – ✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆!!: none. – 𝐀/𝐍: It's been so long since the last chapter. New chapters are already being written! – ✦⸼࣪⸳𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨: ♡ - likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!!

There's a week until your birthday and how fast has time passed since you were reborn. As you sat in your room writing a letter to Freminet, you couldn't help yourself from looking at the raindrops falling down the window's glass. You two had been exchanging a lot of letters daily, talking about the most random stuff such as the weather or what you should do at the festival. In your last letter, you asked for advice from Freminet when it came to asking for stuff. You didn't want to be greedy on your request to go out.

‘Maybe you should talk to her in a nice way. I also do not like asking for stuff so I try to be nice to my mom and help her with things Clorinde is your older sister so she must take you there.’

His letters often came with a few grammar errors or punctuation ones. He was still learning how to write despite being already eight, which isn't surprising since he didn't have much education like you, who were being raised in the Temple; and Freminet… Well, Freminet told you once he had never written a letter before writing to you. Though, it never bothered you. Being able to exchange letters has been one of the best things of your reincarnation.

After making sure his letter had been replied, you put it in a box to send it tomorrow. Now your care would go to “Furina”. Just a blue ribbon would've been enough to make the mechanical puppy look cute, yet you insisted on painting blue eyes in it. "Furina" was a bit rusty, perhaps a consequence of being in Freminet's pocket when he dived in to save you. It wasn't that bad, but the movements weren't working as they should.

Tic tac, tic tac.

Your attention went to the old wall clock. Normally, Sister Dora would ask you to bring towels or some water for Clorinde. It wasn't that she neglected her own needs, but it was good to have someone to help her if she needed anything. Clorinde takes her training very seriously, even practicing during storms. And since Sister Dora isn't here, which meant you were in charge of doing it by yourself.

“Should I get her water? It's raining outside though… Do people need to hydrate when they're in the rain?”

“Oh, I should be going now.” You took a towel from the closet and an umbrella for yourself and possibly Clorinde.

You fixed your uniform for the last time before opening the door, being met with the monochromatic white hallway. The same dreadful silence adorned the lonely atmosphere, which you were already used to.

Walking through the corridors, you made sure to take a different route just so as to not go through that damned statue. It still gave goosebumps every time you saw it.

The clicking sound of footsteps was all that could be heard. Why was it always so quiet whenever you were the one walking around? You were sure people were really active because you could hear voices from inside your room the whole day.

You stopped in front of the door that led to the training grounds, where Clorinde was. It was a big wooden door with two door latches, one near the ground and other a bit too high for you to reach. As a solution, you took the umbrella you brought and tried to unlock the latch with its pointed part.

And that was when the access to the outside was freed, coming with a cold breeze making you shiver. It was raining slightly more than you initially thought; and in the middle of the grounds you saw her.

The sight of Clorinde standing there with a sword — a metallic one this time, much different from the little wooden sword she carried when you first met her — made you pause on your tracks. She looked so cool like that, just like the heroes on book pages.

“I wanted to be cool like that,” you whispered absentmindedly, just repeating something you had the sensation of having or not said once.

“You know I can see you, right?” Clorinde forced her voice a bit louder so you would hear it.

For a second you had forgotten your original purpose. You left the towels on a dry place, opened your umbrella and went to where she was standing, getting your boots dirty with the muddy water.

“I brought two towels for you. Sister Dora says you shouldn't train in the rain or you'll get sick!” You tried to scold her, with a pout on your lips.

“I won't get sick and you know that.” She took your hands and placed the umbrella in a way it would cover you more as the wind carried the raindrops. “You should go back inside. We wouldn't want you sick on your birthday, would we?”

She walked away, without talking or doing much. Clorinde took one of the towels and went back inside, leaving you there in the rain.

Nighttime finally set in. Your boredom these last few days has been killing you. There wasn't anything to do after completing your daily chores and Freminet only visits once a week.

Clorinde was at the desk, writing something with the help of light that came from the candles. Things between you and Clorinde had been a bit… difficult recently. She has been off training more often and you barely see her during the day. The only time you both stay together is during the night as you both share the same room.

Her gaze was focused while writing, with softer eyes and lips curved slightly upwards. Clorinde seemed more relaxed than usual, even more than when she's with you. And it only added to your initial curiosity, so you decided to take a peek at what she wrote.

From your bed, it was possible to take a peek at what she was writing. Not much, but you could understand a few words. But a particular name in the beginning of the letter made you even more curious.

“Hm… Who’s ‘Navia’?” you questioned her by pointing to the name of the addressee.

Clorinde's eyes widened as she rushed to put an arm on top of the letter before you could glimpse the actual contents. “[Name], you can't just come unnoticed and read someone's stuff. It's uneducated.”

Her scolding made your small grin drop. It had been some time ever since you two last smiled with each other.

“I want you to spend time with you. Being alone is sooo boring!” you put your hands together as if begging for Clorinde to stop what she was doing for a second.

“Can't you just stay with Sister Dora or—”

“She’s traveling, again. You know that.” You took “Furina” from the desk and fidgeted with it as boredom kept devouring your happiness. The only audible sound in the room was that of mechanical parts clicking.

The two of you weren't spending much time together lately, and it has been bothersome because Clorinde wouldn't engage in any conversation or activity with you. Drawing with her? Too childish, she stopped doing it when you were around four; playing with toys? You barely had any, and she was fifteen so the chance of her accepting was too low.

You had definitely gotten attached to her, and the thought of not being able to stay close to her was surely torturing.

“She must have gone to Mondstadt, maybe she'll bring you trinkets.” Clorinde answered as her gaze went to you, or maybe to “Furina” in your hands. “Again… Where exactly did you get it from?”

“My friend Freminet. He's my friend, a good friend… a friend who spends time with me if you want to know…”

Clorinde sighed and crossed her arms. There was no way she would be able to deny being neglectful to your needs nowadays, yet she couldn't do much with how busy her agenda became. She had three years before turning eighteen, her childhood ended years ago and now Clorinde had to work hard on her future.

“Are you mad because I'm not spending time with you?”

“I'm not mad but it feels… lonely.”

It felt selfish, and maybe it really was. You couldn't trap Clorinde by your side forever, she was turning into an adult soon and you'll still be a child while it happens. For some reason, as you thought about it, your throat started aching as if there was something inside it. But you tried to brush it away.

“I don't… I don't want to leave you alone, and you know that.” Clorinde cut the silence by stating that. She seemed genuine in her words.

“But you're going to, anyway.”

Clorinde placed her pen down and turned around, so as to not face your eyes. It hurt remembering the old days of playing with her as she was still a child, when she used to carry you around like a bag and how Sister Dora had to teach her the way to hold a toddler properly.

‘If only I could tell her the truth… would things be any different?’ You couldn't reveal the fact you've actually reincarnated and that you're a teenager on the inside, just like her. Clorinde's exactly the same age you were before being executed, and soon she'll be even older than that. ‘I’ve seen this kid growing to be honest—’

You coughed before looking at her again. She seemed to have something on her mind, thoughtfully in silence.

“So let's do like this… what do you think about spending your birthday with me this year.” She put a hand over your head and gave you a pat.

“Spending time with me…” You thought about it for a second before it just clicked in your mind: ‘This is the perfect timing.’

And so, you gathered all the courage inside to finally tell her what you've been intending to say for the past few days. And with sad puppy eyes and clasped hands, you begged her. It was a trick you learned because whenever you did it, Clorinde and Sister Dora let you eat chocolate, and it worked with anything else.

It was the perfect time to use your privilege of being a child. You never asked her for anything much now that you think about it, so it might work.

“Then please take me to the Fontinalia Festival on my birthday! Please, please!”

“As in a birthday gift?” Clorinde crossed her arms and thought for a few seconds before nodding her head. “I… I would have to try to get permission and…”

‘I would have to speak with the administration… but I'm still underage so they probably won't let me take [Name] out.’ Clorinde’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a hug attack.

[Name] excitedly jumped on her, giving Clorinde a tight hug. It wasn't enough to make her fall from the chair, but strong enough to surprise Clorinde.

“Please talk to them! Please, please, please!”

[Name]’s eyes had a glow to them, a glow of excitement. It was now obvious to Clorinde how much they wanted to get out of the Temple for a day. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to try? It wouldn't hurt to, she already has ‘no’ as an answer so why not try for a yes?

“I'll try.”

“Yay! Big sister Clorinde is the best!” You laughed sweetly while hugging her even tighter. You were going out! You were finally going outside to the world!

A few seconds later, you coughed once more. But this time... It was water, again. And so your doubts started arising.

The Temple hall's peacefulness was clearly one of its many charms. Clorinde often found herself strolling around them aimlessly, going wherever her feet could reach. She finds herself stopping in front of the Hydro Archon's statue a few times, admiring the details put in such work of art.

Today was supposed to be one of these days. However, she was called by the Temple's administrator and planned to ask to take [Name] to the center of the city.

Her heels’ clacking sound stopped as soon as she paused in front of a large dark wood door. Clorinde has come to this place many times before and still got a bit nervous every single one of them.

With a hint of hesitation, Clorinde knocked twice on the door. The noise echoed along the corridor in a ghostly way, making her take a little glance behind her while waiting for permission to enter the room.

“Come inside,” an old voice commanded. It was a bit raspy, but seemingly amicable.

Clorinde grabbed the doorknobs before pushing it, revealing the fancy yet old-fashioned office. In the center, the mosaic window created a gleaming light bright enough to blind her, and so she shifted her eyes to the one seated in the middle desk: the Temple's administrator himself.

He was a middle aged man whose blonde hair was starting to get gray. He sat behind his desk, surrounded by documents and thick books. “Good afternoon, Clorinde.”

It's not like Clorinde and him were on bad terms. It's quite the opposite, he was kind and respectful of every single person who worked inside the building; and that was a problem since Clorinde is not affiliated with the Temple, any of the two remaining ones.

Next to the bookshelves, stood a tall figure Clorinde couldn't recognize. A man who was using a cane to support himself while analyzing the thousands of titles on those shelves.

“We have an important visitor with us today,” the old man laughed before extending a hand in the others direction. “It would be an honor to introduce you to our Iudex, Monsieur Neuvillette.”

Clorinde's eyes widened slightly, she was caught by surprise. The Chief Justice was in front of her, after all.

As the Iudex’s eyes met Clorinde's, she couldn't help but feel extremely nervous. This wasn't a normal meeting, there was surely something behind it. The Iudex was known as an extremely busy man, so what was the motive behind his visit?

For now, however, only the walls would hear what was discussed in that office.

[sl33paholics]

Fading Hues of Affection

Old Joseph Joestar (4) x black!fem! reader

Warning(s): Mentions of infidelity (on Joseph's part) angst, and death

This is after Kira killed himself on the ambulance or wtv. Is it bad that I wrote this while listening to Christmas music? Shit be making me feel jolly while wirting sad stuff. Also, I realized while proofreading this shit sad asf I feel so bad for the old man

What a hot day.

The sun's relentless rays painted the sky in hues of intense blue. The air shimmered with waves of heat, and the parched earth craved relief. The distant hum of cicadas provided a soundtrack to the sweltering afternoon as people sought refuge in the shade, and the promise of a cooling breeze became a whispered wish on every sun-drenched lip.

The two of you were sitting at a park, seeking solace beneath the outstretched branches of a large oak tree on a bench. The grass beneath was dry, a muted green, mirroring the effects of the scorching sun. Despite the oppressive heat, a shared gaze and a subtle smile passed between you two, creating a small oasis of connection amid the sizzling summer day. The distant laughter of children playing on the swings and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze provided a gentle counterpoint to the relentless heat, as if nature itself conspired to offer moments of respite.

"I haven't seen you in so long, (Y/N). Over 50 years, probably more?" Joseph mused, breaking the nostalgic silence. The words carried the weight of shared memories, and as you looked into each other's eyes, it was as if time had folded upon itself, revealing the echoes of a friendship that weathered the years. The laughter of children and the rustling leaves seemed to fade momentarily as the past and present intertwined beneath the shade of the oak tree. He asked, "It's a relief to see you in Japan; were you visiting?" His eyes, weathered by time, held a mix of curiosity and genuine warmth.

With a reminiscent smile, you replied, "Hmm~ yes, I was actually. I heard it was summer over here and I wanted to spend a few weeks here away from New York."

Joseph's gaze held a gentle understanding as he listened to your words. "New York to Japan, that's quite the journey. Sometimes, the pull of distant memories can guide us across continents," he mused, a subtle nod accentuating his sentiment.

"Sorry for not keeping in contact." He'd suddenly say, making you lower your gaze. "It's like one day I'm crashing my own funeral, next thing you know we're married with children going onto parenthood." The last part making you chuckle. A shared laughter that echoed with the familiarity of shared experiences.

With a soft smile, you replied, "Life has a way of fast-forwarding, ain't it? But here we 're, on a bench, catching up on the chapters we missed. No apologies needed, Joseph; our friendship has its own rhythm." You commented. The old guy couldn't help but smile a subtle acknowledgment of the shared understanding that time and distance hadn't diminished the camaraderie forged over decades.

"Oh, that brings me back to when I first met you. Suzi and I were eating out. Then bam! You and Caesar were out there groaning about practice, mainly you though," You continued, a playful glint in your eyes. The rustling leaves seemed to mimic the laughter that echoed through the park, as if nature itself shared in the amusement of that long-ago moment.

Joseph chuckled, "Ah, yes, those were the days. Little did we know how those casual encounters would lay the foundation for a lifetime of memories. The groans, the camaraderie, all of it—it feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?" You nodded in agreement, the oak tree stood witness, its branches cradling the tales of friendship that unfolded beneath its timeless shade.

It was quiet for a moment before the old Joestar spoke. "...you think Caesar would've been proud to see me today? See...us?" Joseph asked, his gaze reflecting a mix of nostalgia. The question hung in the air, carrying the weight of a friendship that had weathered in loss.

You met Joseph's eyes, a thoughtful expression on your face. "Absolutely, Joseph. He'd seen the strength that brought us to this moment. I believe Caesar would have been proud to see the friendship continuing, he's surely smiling down on us now." You put your hand on his back making a circular motion, a comforting gesture that echoed the years of understanding between you two.

A fat smile appeared on Joseph's face. Your touch felt so foreign to him, maybe because it's been forever since he's seen or heard from you. As your attention went elsewhere, he took his time to examine you. For your age, you looked beautiful. As if wrinkles and saggy old skin were allergic to even appear on your body, being in your 70s, you surely looked like you were still in your 20s. Your blown out afro once black now turned gray.

Joseph would be lying if he kept telling himself that he hadn't thought about you for so long. Those feelings he had once for you in his teens were "long gone." But there was no way he'd let himself act on it. He couldn't just let himself fall in love with someone else who didn't see him in that light and certainly wouldn't love him back. Especially since you're married. You're a wonderful woman – a great friend to him. Joseph didn't want to make those same mistakes he did with Suzi. It wouldn't be fair to her.

"Thanks for everything." Joseph would say, making you bring your attention back to him. "No problem, I heard you're returning back to America, so you won't be here for much longer. Tell Suzi I said hello." His heart felt like it was breaking into pieces when he had to slip away from you once more to go back home.

"Of course! She'd love to know that I got to talk to you. We'll have lots of time to talk once we're in America," Joseph let out a laugh before his ring tone went off. "An important phone call?" You'd ask, watching him stand up with the help of his cane. "The boat leaves today. I wish we could talk more, but I have to get going." He gave you a sad smile, knowing that the conversation would come to an end.

"We'll meet again in the States, right?" You asked. Joseph could only nod in response. "Then I'll speak to you once my vacation is over." You stood up as well, giving the old guy a bear hug. Your scent was intoxicating. Joseph didn't want you to let go. He missed you too much. "You take care now, okay? You can call me anytime." The older man couldn't hide the tears in his eyes as he held you close.

Joseph squeezed your hands one last time before he made his departure. You waved before looking down at your dress, seeing small wet marks. You weren't sure if you should wipe them. Should you tell Joseph? You wouldn't want to embarrass him. If only you knew the feelings that old fox had for you for all these years.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Ars Amatoria | ch. III

-all rights reserved-

Elucien AU word count: 2,6k words warnings: none

masterlist

She can’t believe it. Can’t believe that this is really good bye. That this is her very last day here, her last hours in her home town. Tomorrow she will be on the way to Florence and only God knows if she would ever return. Probably not. 

As Elain sprints through the alleys of Venice, her vision is blurry with tears. The sun is only starting to rise, it is still so early in the morning. And also a little cool outside, but on the inside Elain is burning with fury and pain. Awareness has taken a moment to really dawn on her, but when it did it hit her hard. Now everything comes crashing in on her — everything she is going to lose, that she is never going to see again, never going to experience…again. There are so many things she has not yet experienced, especially with Graysen.

She had been thinking, dreaming about their first kiss for weeks, for months actually, before it actually happened. And also about them doing a little more than kissing.  But now…now she would never experience anything more than kissing with him. She could never go the next step with him now, not if she is promised to another and not in such a rush. Her morals forbid her that and she hates herself for it. 

Elain hurdles past the weather-worn stone pillars, up the stone steps that lead her into an narrow alleyway. It is even cooler between the buildings, the sun not reaching those spots and the sudden cold that fills Elain fits perfectly for her state of mind.

She sniffs loudly, and wipes the back of her hand under her nose before she turns around a corner. She is speeding, not wanting to waste a single minute of her already limited time — every second counts. When Elain finally reaches the docks of the Canal Grande a loud sob parts her lips. She can’t believe that this is her last time here.

She has loved taking walks next to the Canal Grande, to climb onto one of the small gondolas and spend her afternoons there with Graysen or with her sisters. Now this is all coming to an end, to an absolutely abrupt end, and she will probably never ever be able to do one of those things again.

Elain stops near the docks, and lets her gaze wander. She feels a breeze brush her legs, her exposed toes, as she glances at the gondolas and the fishermen loading fishing rods and fish traps as well as small nets onto their boats. Petals float in the water and Elain loves the look of them — the contrast of the rose colour on top of the endless, deep blue beneath. 

The normally quite bustling city of Venice is rather calm this morning, only a few people are in the streets, getting ready for work or already working. Elain presses the heels of her palms into her eyes when more tears start to gather there.

She sniffs again and then removes her hands, straightens her back and releases a loud breath. “I can do this,” she whispers, silently but nevertheless in a determined tone.

There is anyway no chance of changing her future, this is going to be her future life and there is nothing she can change about her fate. Elain has to live with it. Has to deal with it. This will be her life and she has no choice other than fitting in and doing exactly as her father, and her soon-to-be husband tell her.

Elain swallows, wanting to fight the dryness in her burning throat. She walks closer to the water, sitting down on the cool stone of the quay, her legs dangling over the edges.

She glances over the docks, the few gondolas on the water. It is not solely the thought of having to leave this place that scares her so much. Also the uncertainty of what awaits her in Florence. She does not know Lucien Vanserra. She does not know if he is a good man, if he wants to marry her. If he even wants to marry.

And then there is also the disappointment, the cruel and dreadful disappointment she is feeling towards her father. She knows it is common during that time that daughters are getting married of to random man that promise to be good allies for the family, she has seen that happen many times in her friendship circle. But somehow, Elain has never considered that it could happen to her. She has been holding onto the little sliver of hope of being allowed to wed for love her whole life.

Then she met Graysen and thought she could truly be fortunate, that luck was finally on her side. And she has believed so until the previous evening. Until everything took a turn and the rug was pulled form under her feet. Back in their family home she has not fully registered what is going to happen, she needed a moment to process, and to breathe. She can breathe now.

Elain draws in a deep inhale. She lifts her chin, closes her eyes and lets some strays of the early morning sun fall onto her face. Florence will beautiful as well, she thinks and actually knows it. She has seen pictures. It is not as beautiful as Venice, she also knows that, but it will be alright. It is not specifically about the place itself…it is about the people. It will bring her closer to Feyre, distance wise, but still her younger sister lives miles away and so it is not really a positive aspect.

And she will live miles away from Nesta which already breaks her heart. None of her sisters will be in a close distance anymore which means she will be fully alone. Safe for her husband….for Lucien Vanserra.

Elain has to admit that there is a beautiful sound to her future husband’s name. Vanserra. She plays around with the name a little. Van-ser-ra.

Elain Vanserra. It does not sound too bad, it actually sounds quite nice. It would sound nice if she wanted to marry him. So, she pushes the thoughts away. 

“Ciao bella!” Elain’s head whips to the side. There is small man with a huge hat standing in a beautiful yellow-ish gondola. He has a long white beard and smiles happily up at her. “May I offer you you ride, young lady? You seem like you need to get out of here?” he offers in a kind voice. Rather the opposite, Elain thinks and shakes her head. “Thank you, but no, I am good.” 

The old man only bows his head and moves his paddle through the crystal blue water. He takes off and Elain watches him for a long time. Maybe she should have taken him up on the offer and just escape. Just run away from here and only return when it is safe to marry Graysen. Oh God, Graysen!

Elain pulls her legs back and jumps up, smoothing down the wrinkles in her dress. She needs to see Graysen as soon as possible, so she has enough time to talk to him. Elain hurries to the Ponte di Rialto as she needs to cross the Canal Grande to get to Graysen.

She takes her time walking over it, savouring every little moment, and then takes one last glance at the canal, inhales its scent, and breathes out a long breath. When she finally walks away, a small part of herself cracks open with the steps she takes away from it. She walks towards the allies, turns around a corner to a small shop that sells fish. She crinkles her nose, not liking the smell of raw fish and quickly brushes past it.

She takes the longer route, despite her urgency to get to Graysen, but for one last time she wants to walk past her favourite flower shop. It is not open yet, will only open in one or two hours. But she wants to catch one last glimpse at it, wants to peek inside the shop one last time and maybe she can even smell a few of her favourite flowers for the very last time. 

La Primavera.

The golden lettering is shimmering in the early morning sunlight and Elain has to smile. It is so beautiful and somehow she always has envisioned herself to be working here one day. She thought maybe Graysen would let her work here, and one day maybe she could be the owner of this shop. Not anymore.

Now her job is going to be that of a wife and a mother. She bites down on her lower lip, glimpses into the shop at the freshly cut tulips that are already on the counter. And then she leaves. She can’t stay here any longer otherwise she might really make irrational choices like running away.

So, Elain keeps walking, her feet aching a little bit. She is not used to walk for such a long time in these expensive and not-made-for-walking-long-distances slippers. Elain is sure there will be blisters on her toes, but it is the least of her concerns at the moment. She turns around the last corner, her heart hammering in her chest, her breathing becoming short as she stops right in front of Messer Nolan’s estate.

Lush and flowering trees are lined up next to the small path leading to the main entrance. Elain walks through the sculpted archway and heads right for the back of the house. She does not know if Graysen’s parents are awake yet, she doesn’t want to wake them. And most importantly, she only wants to speak to him.

She picks up a small pebble and throws it up to his window. It doesn’t do much and is barely audible. So, Elain picks up a little bigger stone and throws this one. Icy heat fills her veins as she stands there, waiting for Graysen to appear. She wants to explain. To apologise, hoping he will understand and forgive her. She wants to tell him how much she likes him and that she would have never chosen this. Nervousness fills every fiber of her body, as she waits, skin prickling. She wants him to understand, to see that it was not her choice, to—

“Elain?” His voice is cold and filled with venom as she steps onto the balcony of his room. His hair is disheveled, his blue eyes ablaze with anger. Oh God!

Elain shudders and furrows her brows. “Can you come downstairs, please? We need to talk.” She tries to keep her voice low, but still has to shout up at him.

“There is no reason for us to talk. I think you have done enough. There is nothing we need to talk about.” Graysen braces his hands on the balcony, staring down at Elain like she is inferior to him. The back of her mouth aches and she walks closer to the house, closer to the balcony and rubs the heel of her palm over her chest. Her heart is already in pain, she does not know if she is truly ready for this conversation. Will he forgive her?

“How do you know already?” Her voice trembles and her chin quivers. 

“Heard it through the grapevine.” Graysen’s lips are pressed in a thin line. “I couldn’t believe it at first. My Elain is going to wed this…this rich ass.”

“His name is Lucien Vanserra,” Elain blurts out. “And I did not choose to marry him. It was arranged.” 

Graysen huffs and shakes his head, disdain and disappointment etched into his features. “I want you to leave, Elain!” Graysen’s voice is so cold, filled with so much anger it makes Elain shudder. 

“I did not choose this. I still…I still feel the same way about you, Graysen. Nothing will change about the way I feel about you.” Elain is almost pleading, wanting him to understand that this was not her choice, that she would have never chosen Lucien.

“My heart still belongs to you, Graysen,” Elain breathes and tears bubble up in her eyes. “It is yours, just like it has always been.”

“I don’t want you heart, Elain!” her former lover spits, his face nothing but burning anger. “If I can’t have you, if I can’t have your body, I don’t want your heart either.”

She is disgusted about his words, she hoped that he would return her feelings, that he would be happy that his heart still belongs to him. A few tears slide down her cheeks as she shakes her head. She wants to argue, but Graysen beats her to it. “You know what the married life means. You will have to let him touch you. You will have to let him…fuck you.”

The word is so vulgar, so crude, she has never heard it spoken out a loud by people in her circles. She shivers in disgust at his choice of words and furrows her brows.

“I don’t have to do anything!” she responds, vehemently shaking her head, her lips pursed and brows furrowed in anger.

“So you will deny your husband the intimacy just like you denied it to me?” He cocks his brow in a gleeful way, regarding her in disdain. Elain does not answer him, only lowers her eyes to the ground beneath her feet. “I thought you love me,” she says, voice tinged with hurt and bitterness.

She knows he did not hear. Which is good. She does not want him to hear. She does not want him to see her pain. It breaks her heart that he acts like this, that he reacts like this. She has thought he would forgive her, that they could figure out a way to go forward. She thought they could talk together and figure out a solution. But she thought wrong. 

“So this is it then?” “One more question,” Graysen seethes, his teeth barred as he stares down at her. If she wasn't so sad, Elain might have laughed at how pathetic he looks right in this moment. “What question?” she finds herself asking instead, her voice much weaker then she has intended it to be. 

“What about the convent? Hasn’t that always been on your agenda? And now you are getting married? Married to another man that is not me? Of course, you are no longer thinking about the convent. Whores are not accepted there.” 

His words pierce Elain's heart like a razor, creating a deep and agonizing wound that tears her apart from within. But she does not let it show. She clamps her lips shut, curls her fingers towards her palms and breathes out. The convent hasn’t been on her agenda since she met Graysen. She always wanted to go to the convent, thought it suited her best, but that changed when Graysen came into her life. She is not going to give him the satisfaction of telling him that. She is not going to give him that part of her life, that decision he somehow made for her. 

“My plans changed.” It is all she says before she turns on her heels and walks away.

But one last time she glances over her shoulder and says, “I hope you rot in hell, Graysen!” And then she is gone, running quickly back to the alleys, then through them, her feet aching fiercely. But the pain in her heart is much deeper, hurts much more, and leaves a damage there that can probably never be fixed.

~~~~~~~~ taglist AA: @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @areyoudreaminof @acourtofthought @liftyourhipsformelovex @hallway5 @stickyelectrons @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @bibliophiliaxvignette @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @arabellatheauthor@autumndreaming7 @nestas-workwife @rarephloxes @tuzna-pesma-snova general el. taglist: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel@aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee

for @elucienweekofficial 💛

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes author's notes

It's a testament to Naruto's growth that he's started picking up on some of Sasuke’s weaknesses, few as they may be. 

Number one: he’s got a missing arm to exploit. In spite of the fact that Sasuke hardly considers it a handicap in most instances, it certainly causes certain… difficulties. 

Number two: Sasuke has been out of commission in terms of anything other than basic training for this week and last as he finished his prescription for strep throat. Really he’s just gone through the most standard and non-strenuous forms and exercises, prior; today is the first day they’ve actually sparred no holds barred in the span of a couple of weeks. The nightmare he awoke from promptly at three thirty-eight in the morning isn't helping matters in terms of his focus, the memory of Sakura’s eyes alight with fear as he cut towards her, his missing hand crackling with white electricity, seared into his subconscious. It has him jumpy and the slightest bit unfocused, throat raw alongside ripped open memories and one cheek still feeling the cold echo of ceramic tile, as if it’s been branded there permanently by the melancholy, a deluge of white noise.

Additionally to the second point, though he’s a ninja and has trained since the ripe age of six to fulfill the needs of said profession, and he’s also very accustomed to lacking sleep, this is training with a friend in the confines of the village boundaries, not a mission. Although ninja are rarely careless when handling weaponry or letting jutsu fly, repeated practice with the same comrade allows one to be lulled toward a certain false sense of complacency, especially if there’s a hospital nearby that could easily treat the lion’s share of catastrophic injuries, let alone a world class medical ninja who runs the place and one knows for a fact is on duty.

Number three: it is blazing hot. Muggy is a better word for it, honestly; it reminds Sasuke greatly of the harshest weather he encountered in all of the Land of Swamps, heat smothering on the inhale aside from the occasional cool breeze against his sweat-soaked muscles. His clothes are sticking to him like a snake’s skin does just ahead of molting, heavier than usual and clinging every which way. It’s possible severe weather is on a collision course with Konoha, sweeping air across the continent that’s not nearly as broiling as the dirt and granite below their feet. Only time will tell what the climate will bring, later today.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly: Sasuke has shit ankles, and it seems Naruto has picked today to finally make use of that fact.

So when the idiot feigns a barrage of punches to his torso this particular morning bleeding into early afternoon, Sasuke effortlessly dodges and doesn't think anything of it, as there was a lesson, once, early in his Academy days.

“Remember, kids,” he recalls Iruka instructing, following up his words by nailing a bright red target dead center with one of the worn Academy kunai. “Quality over quantity. One kunai dead center of the target is better than five kunai that are all three inches off.”

Naruto had loudly complained, because his aim was garbage back then. He then proved it by barraging twenty kunai in the general direction of the target. Iruka had to deflect a smattering of them away from their classmates, and not one was anywhere remotely near the bullseye when all was said and done.

This was well afore his clan’s massacre, back when he was just a normal kid, so Sasuke, like most of his classmates at the time, found it to be funny. 

It was more irritating than funny when they were all a little older and he was a different person and Naruto, upon gaining mastery of Kage Bunshin no Jutsu, determined said jutsu to be his new sure advantage. When they sparred following becoming teammates under Kakashi, the dobe still hadn’t learned the whole quality over quantity thing. Twenty shadow clones would surround Sasuke, yet he was able to deflect and dispel each and every one with only a few well-timed kicks and six or seven on the mark shuriken. 

It did offer some sense of satisfaction in terms of the quiet gloating that came after, he supposes. He used to wonder if the idiot would ever learn, if he’d ever realize that Sasuke did - does - have shortcomings, and furthermore, if he would ever manage to capitalize on them.

Today, however, there is no sense of satisfaction, because Naruto has belatedly chosen today to exploit Sasuke’s weakness. In a sudden blur of yellow, his teammate changes course at the last second, lunging for his left shin.

Sasuke has always been - had, he corrects himself after the fact dully - ambidextrous in terms of training all of his limbs to wield weaponry and react accordingly, but that doesn't mean he is completely without fault. He's always favored his left leg to lead with, even now that he's solely right handed. It's taken significant overhaul to correct his sword forms stretched across the past several years to compensate. It's not often he's pushed to the point of being midair in the first place, so he hasn't fully corrected his tendency to land his left foot first despite his proficiency in being one handed.

Naruto yanks his stupid ankle out from under him and twists to redirect Sasuke’s weight towards him rather than away as he himself intended.

As a result, Sasuke’s jaw collides with a fist, hard and biting: his right, Naruto's left.

His shoulder takes the brunt of the subsequent pummeling toward the ground, catching his weight sliding before he rolls into baked loam and dirt. His mouth takes another hit and he grits his teeth, or perhaps grits the lack thereof.

Grunting as pain sears him - " Shit," he curses - he haphazardly spits out his right lower canine and one of its corresponding premolars into his hand. They’re knocked out nearly fully clean, he thinks at first glance, stringy pale root and all.

His jaw throbs as Naruto arrives behind him in a flash, brandishing a kunai to his neck and whooping a cheer utterly unbefitting of a ninja.

This will be a fucking pain, he notes dully, rolling his eyes as the dobe shouts in victory. He supposes this is perhaps karmic justice for all of the occasions on which he defeated Naruto in their youth and then proceeded to fully rub it in.

"HA! I WIN, I WIN! In your fucking FACE, teme!"

Sighing, Sasuke nods resignedly so Naruto will drop the kunai. He then rises slightly, brows furrowing as he shifts his weight into a seated position. Wincing, he spits out blood and what appears to be a small chunk of gum, angry pink and crimson, but no additional teeth come out, at least. 

Adjusting his jaw as the dobe rises to his feet behind him, Sasuke feels for the damage with his tongue, frowning. It doesn't feel like his mandible is cracked this time at least, but he'll need to go somewhere relatively quickly if he’s to keep his teeth. He carefully grabs hold of one, rotating it until it’s at the proper angle, and delicately pushes it back in place. He then repeats the action with the other tooth as they were instructed to do in another lesson at the Academy, this one more sobering even though they all only had baby teeth at that age and could afford to get one or two knocked out without major consequence. Keep the root alive , he thinks drolly, another reiteration of Iruka’s tutelage as pain rattles into the roots of his mouth. Maybe not all of them came out clean, he realizes, at least not in the case of his canine tooth.

"Teme's gotta go drinking, teme's gotta go drinking," his best friend is prattling in a sing-song voice, completely gleeful and taking approximately no notice of the dental conundrum he’s created. “Or, you gotta tell me what you gave Sakura-chan! Which will it be, huh?!”

"What dentist here would take a walk-in?" Sasuke bites out harshly in lieu of an answer, annoyed in full now given the pain and the dobe’s crowing. His brows furrow further as he retrieves his chokuto for stowing, rising. He's seen a dental establishment once or twice on walks with Sakura, but it was on the opposite side of the village, far from the training ground he and the dobe typically use.

Naruto pauses, fists lowered from the air temporarily. Blue eyes blink in mystification.

"Huh?"

Sasuke pins him with a withering look.

"Dentist. Before the roots die, idiot. Where?"

Naruto’s brows furrow in further puzzlement until Sasuke gestures vaguely towards his jaw and the fair amount of blood now caking just below his lower lip. The confused expression morphs into something else; the dobe, apparently, has the basic decency to seem a little abashed.

“Uh. Sorry, right.” 

And then a grin Sasuke loathes overtakes his teammate’s expression. 

”Well, Sakura-chan can fix it quicker,” the blonde says cheerfully. “So you probably just wanna go to the hospital!" 

Sasuke arches a lone eyebrow in question as he uses his tongue to hold the teeth down into place; he was unaware Sakura’s medical ninjutsu extended to dentistry. Naruto nods emphatically in answer to the question despite its lack of verbalization.

"Yeah, she's kinda an expert! She'd have to be, I guess. She’s put a few of mine back, too, but…" A faraway look shifts into existence on Naruto’s face that Sasuke drolly recognizes as genuinely fearful before he’s shaking it off. Perhaps the dobe has gotten his teeth knocked out on multiple occasions, enough for Sakura to give him an earful and then some. He would probably find it amusing if blood wasn’t leaking into every nook and cranny of his mouth.

"Anyways, want me to go with you?" Naruto wiggles his eyebrows. “Or would you rather have more alone time with-”

“Shut up," Sasuke barks obstinately as he rises, though the words in his mind are further akin to absolutely fucking not. He tilts his head to let the blood pool to his other cheek so he can spit it out with less discomfort. Maybe his teeth will be fucked up enough that he can't eat or drink for a handful of days, at least, and he can put this whole state of affairs off until it’s not a Saturday night when the bar is bound to be packed.

"Haha, okay, okay! Sorry, I know I tease both you guys a lot but it’s just…” The dobe’s voice trails off as Sasuke turns to leave without another word, setting course in the general direction of the hospital.

“Hey, hey! Wait, you're not getting outta drinking, though!!" Naruto bellows as Sasuke jumps up the nearest tree to proceed to the hospital by rooftop. “I'll invite Sai, so you can invite Sakura-chan once she puts your teeth back! Maybe tonight around nine? At Utsura Utsura; Sakura-chan knows where! This is perfect, y’know, just in time, ‘cause I gotta leave next week for the Chunin Exams so stupid early in the morning! Oh, man, and-"

"Whatever," Sasuke growls back, uncaring if he’s within earshot or not as he lands atop the nearest gambrel.

It takes only a little over a minute to arrive at the hospital’s front entrance. The roots of teeth can die quickly, he knows, so it would be unwise to wait this one out in Sakura’s office. He does spit out another small puddle of blood into the bushes and wipes the corner of his mouth to rid it of most of the drying cruor ahead of stepping through the meticulously clean double doors. It’s unlikely the hospital staff are unfamiliar with blood, but he assumes he’ll have to speak at least a few words in order to explain the situation.

It's a foreign feeling, he finds, to step through the glass. He dislikes it, as it leaves him feeling a little exposed to medical staff who are not Sakura. He expects no patient truly enjoys coming to the hospital by nature of its very purpose, though, and less still for something more akin to an emergency than a casual injury.

The receptionist gives him a once over, raising a thin eyebrow.

"Teeth knocked out," he supplies quietly, eager to get the words out before his gums are swimming with amassed crimson; he doesn’t particularly wish to have it dribbling down his chin mid speech. "Two; lower left side."

The woman nods, hazel irises calculating in a way that seems fairly shrewd for what he presumes is a civilian. 

"You put them back in clean for now?" She reaches for a clipboard and begins writing down what is likely his information, which forces him to promptly realize she knows who he is, as she didn’t ask for his name. He supposes one-armed former defected ninja aren't exactly a dime a dozen in Konoha, and he does wait outside the hospital to meet Sakura fairly frequently. Perhaps she's seen him through the glass entryway; he's never thought to check.

Sasuke nods about halfway through that stream of logic, shaking off his initial discomfort; it won’t serve him in this situation.

“How long have they been out?” The woman questions as she writes, not looking up. He now observes that the ID badge clipped to her shirt reads Nakamura, Mei. It’s similar to the badge Sakura carries around on her lanyard, though there are less symbols on it. He assumes the colored icons denote different levels of clearance within the hospital’s hierarchy and archives.

“Two or three minutes,” he says quickly, closing his mouth as soon as the words are out so as not to drip blood onto the floor. It has a thin and unpleasant tang as he swallows the currant liquid instead, placing his tongue back atop both teeth after he does so to keep them in place.

"Alright. Haruko, can you take him for check-in?" The receptionist asks, swiveling to face what must be a doctor or a nurse arriving from down the hall, a woman he deduces must be in her thirties. "I'll page Sakura since it's time sensitive. She’ll want to get them fixed in the next half hour, I expect." 

Sasuke frowns. Paging likely implies that she’s working on one of her projects by now, no longer seeing patients. He hopes he won't be taking her away from anything pressing. She mentioned wanting to stay later today than she usually does to work on some things towards the end of her shift; he presumes it’s related to the stacks of papers she’s been bringing home. She was going to bring supper to his apartment once she was done, along with her chess set.

Those plans will need updating now, he expects with a pang of disappointment. If she really can fix his teeth, there’ll be no getting out of going to the bar, save allowing Naruto to unleash his Rasengan on the front door of his apartment until the wood converts to kindling. He wonders if Sakura will even want to come; Sasuke has gathered in the past couple of months that she doesn’t seem to go out drinking regularly, and she might be tired from working lengthier hours today, staying until five rather than three.

An image of a very prolonged evening involving himself, the idiot with all of his antics, Sai, a boisterous bar with sticky counters, and overly full glasses of strong alcohol repeatedly shoved in front of him materializes in his mind. It’s enough to set his mouth toward a frown, if there wasn’t one already permanently affixed to his face.

"Uh… Sure," the woman named Haruko says, drawing him from his thoughts. She comes to the counter to claim the clipboard the receptionist is extending out to her. "Is Sakura-san..?"

"Sakura's in the lab; her appointments were all for this morning. I’d guess it’ll only be a few minutes at most before she's up, though. Just take his vitals so that's done with; it'll save some time." There’s enough sureness in the woman, Mei’s, voice for Sasuke to gather she’s been doing this for a considerable duration of time, although she can’t be much older than Sakura. He doesn’t recall seeing her during his brief stint in the hospital immediately following the war, but the hospital was also in a bit of a state of chaos then. It wouldn’t make much sense to have an official receptionist when one could use an extra set of hands for help amongst hundreds of wounded ninja, medical ninjutsu capabilities or not. 

Sakura herself was prone to working eighteen hour shifts during that time period, he recalls. She spent as many minutes as she could in his and Naruto’s hospital room prior to his detainment as he awaited Konoha’s official verdict, but he remembers she nearly always looked exhausted, and there were two occasions where he observed her popping soldier pills so she could continue to help.

"...Okay." The doctor or nurse, Haruko, eyes Sasuke warily prior to turning. "Follow me," she intones curtly, so he does, albeit at a distance, doing his best to seem unassuming as he recognizes her uncertainty as the matter of course uneasiness he often receives from the general populace. He assumes she also may be a civilian, if she can’t fix his teeth herself, though he supposes most medical ninja are nowhere near the level of proficiency that Sakura is. Perhaps replacing teeth requires the most finely-tuned of chakra control capabilities.

While he's not truly paying attention to each step of the check-in portion of the exam - he doesn't particularly enjoy being around medical staff aside from Sakura, given his history, even with things as innocuous as getting his height and weight taken - he notes with some satisfaction during his brief stint on the scale that he's up to 167. He's managed to put on four pounds. 

Sakura will probably be pleased with that information. He is, too, he thinks as the woman named Haruko timidly hands him some gauze to stall the bleeding. He promptly pushes it into his mouth, sidled aside his tongue. She then proceeds to apprehensively take his pulse and dutifully scribble more of her findings on the clipboard. He hopes the gain will partially distract Sakura from the fact that he's here as a result of him and Naruto disfiguring each other yet again. 

Promptly, Sasuke then arrives at the realization that Sakura’s fingers are likely going to be in his mouth for this endeavor in the ensuing half hour, and his brows draw together in sincere disquiet. 

It's at maximum two minutes following the woman’s departure from the exam room before he hears a familiar set of footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. The door creaks open and Sakura breezes in looking every bit the professional, a white jacket shrugged around her shoulders and her own ID badge hung around her neck.

"Hey, Sasuke-kun," she greets, smiling warmly and closing the door behind her. The clipboard is in her hands. "Another spar?"

Sasuke nods, motioning briefly to his mouth. It’s no small task to force his features to relax, forcibly working out the tension in agreement with her steps as if it’s an unruly tangle stuck at the crown of one’s hair.

"...Yeah," he adds, voice somewhat distorted by the gauze; it’s soaked nearly half through at this point, he realizes. He sets to carefully removing it, as the blood has affixed it to his teeth; talking with it in will be less than ideal.

Sakura claims a seat in the swivel chair, wordlessly picking up the meager trash can to offer to him. He disposes of the stained gauze and she places the receptacle on the floor between them, glancing down at the information on her clipboard with concern prior to fully meeting his eyes.

"And?" She presses, and though her face clearly contains some degree of worry, her tone holds a fair amount of what sounds an awful lot like amused curiosity. He relaxes, then, as she doesn’t seem truly upset; if anything, she seems pleased he’s sought her out. He supposes she did specifically impart upon him to seek her expertise when injured.

Sasuke sighs, briefly deflecting his gaze to the wall as the corner of his mouth twitches entirely against his will.

"...I lost," he admits subsequently, turning his apperception back on her to find she’s attentively scanning the pages before her.

“...So you did,” Sakura murmurs, pupils making repetitions from side to side as she follows the flow of notes and data. “Two teeth, lower right side?”

He nods once in confirmation.

“Hmm,” she comments in a way that sounds absentminded, fine pink brows rising slightly as she scans the clipboard one last time. Apparently deeming she’s gathered all the necessary information, she sets it aside on the counter nearest to her in favor of grabbing a disposable glove from the box on the counter.

"Lucky for you I'm sort of a resident expert in putting teeth back in,” Sakura murmurs, smiling and pulling the glove over an unassumingly dainty hand that he knows can crack granite. His brow furrows as he again envisions Naruto hightailing it to the hospital to get his teeth reacquainted with his gums repeatedly over the years. Sasuke wonders briefly if the idiot even remembered to clean them, beforehand; it would be extremely on brand for Naruto to just shove dirt-covered teeth back into empty sockets at crooked intervals, inviting some kind of infection or root damage from an errant chunk of gravel.

Sakura must sense his confusion upon turning back towards him, because she chuckles, a high tinkling sound he loves as she rises further to reach for the upper middle cabinet.

"I’ve fixed Naruto’s back in place twice, but I have a lot of practice. Tsunade-shishou used to knock mine out all the time," she reveals, grinning as if this is the most jocular recollection in the world as she retrieves one bottle of liquid amongst several that must be medical in nature, as well as a disposable cup from a stack in the cupboard. "My upper left canine has been coaxed back in at least ten times. She got the entire upper left quadrant in one go, once. Made a game of it until I was good enough at dodging; I had to run laps around the village for every one she punched out."

Grimacing, Sasuke tries to visualize the tiny Sakura he left in the village getting knocked around by the former Hokage as the Sakura of today pours a small amount of the liquid from the bottle - it’s labeled 0.25 sodium hypochlorite - into the disposable cup. It’s an image he greatly dislikes, her spitting out blood and teeth at all of thirteen years old, but he can’t fault that Senju Tsunade’s tutelage proves effective. He expects Sakura would probably dislike or object to the majority of the training he underwent whilst operating under Orochimaru, were he to tell her about it. He himself vehemently dislikes recalling much of it.

“I’ll fix the roots back in,” Sakura mentions, garnering his attention back to the present. “It’ll hurt a bit, but only for a few seconds each. Not much worse than getting a cavity filled, really. Could you..?” Her voice trails off, and she glances at his mouth and then down at the trashcan below them.

Ah. He spits out the meager amount of red that’s pooled from his mouth into the receptacle, simultaneously wondering what getting a cavity filled feels like. Sakura then hands him the cup.

“Swish with this quick and then spit it out, please. It’ll kill any bacteria,” she requests politely, so he does. He then discards the cup and parts his lips as he meets her eyes, nonverbally giving her the go-ahead and trying to call to mind anything but the fact that her fingers are going to be in his mouth. 

There’s the barest tinge of pink decorating her cheeks as she reaches out with her glove-free hand, delicately pushing with two fingers until he takes the cue and turns his head a bit, giving her better access to the area in question. Her hand then drops to rest flush against his mandible; he assumes she must have to feed chakra in from both sides.

Her gloved fingers are small, once they’re just past his lips. They’re sure, though, pressing with circumspect expertise.

Don’t think about it, he admonishes inwardly, directing his focus to the upper left corner of the room and focusing on the aroma of raspberries and strawberries intermixed with fresh antiseptic as a distraction.

The slate blue glove begins to glow faintly green out of the corner of his eye, and then there is pain where his premolar must be getting forcefully reacquainted with its socket, the nerve, and the blood vessel it left behind. It’s a strange type of hurt; not the most excruciating he’s ever experienced by any means, but also not mild. There’s a sensation of hot and cold just before it dissipates entirely; it must be attributed to the nerve fully reconnecting.

“I’ll coax the gums back into place over the tooth in a second here,” Sakura murmurs in explanation. He speculates that her focus is locked on his jaw, though he’s hesitant to look at her directly. “I want to fix the other one first.” 

Her chakra pulses, docile and as if probing the damage. It’s enough to make him wince a little, as if it’s applied pressure against a direct nerve, and he’s suddenly certain that he was correct about the canine having left part of its concomitant root in his mouth. 

“Your canine’s worse than the premolar; the root tore,” Sakura confirms after a moment, frowning in the corner of his eye. “This’ll hurt. I’m sorry, Sasuke-kun. Try not to bite.” 

Her chakra pushes from both sides, and there are a solid ten torturous seconds of intense affliction. Sasuke screws his eyes shut in an attempt to not snap his teeth together as his instincts tell him to. It’s not worse than losing his arm by any means, but it’s extremely unpleasant, and a foreign feeling besides.

He exhales slowly once it’s over, her hand against the outside of his jaw dropping as she funnels alleviating chakra into the part of his mouth she’s just fixed. He feels his gums expand somehow as she does so, cajoled back into place to affirm the position over both teeth.

It feels bewilderingly like they were never knocked out in the first place, as if the pain he’s just experienced was nothing but a figment of his imagination. Sasuke resists the impulse to use his tongue to feel it out further, as her fingers are still there, inspecting her work.

Seconds tick by, a blur of complementary pale green and pink at his right and sterile white on his left.

"You have nice teeth," Sakura compliments softly a minute later as her chakra finally dissipates, fingers leaving his mouth and hands drawing back to herself. She peels back the bloody glove as he blinks, disposing of it in the garbage between them. She then rises, reaching for a new small cup from the cupboard, still open.

He spits as discreetly as he is capable of whilst internally marveling at her proficiency in medical ninjutsu. “...Thanks.”

"Have you ever even had a cavity?" Jade eyes glint with mirth as Sakura fills the cup at the sink, interrupting his wondering at how difficult healing such as this would be to learn. If he were to get a couple knocked out during a mission, it would be good to be able to save his teeth himself in the event he was unable to seek care for them immediately.

"...I don't know," he finally responds, shoving musings of new jutsu aside. Most of his adult teeth came in after he was already on his own and couldn't stomach sweet things anymore, so he’s never consumed any sort of sugar with them regularly, and when he does, it’s probably not enough to encompass significant damage in terms of decay. His mother also taught him early how to properly brush and floss his teeth; it’s a habit that stuck. "I don't think so."

Sakura arches an eyebrow as she hands him the cup of water, sink turned off now. He realizes that it’s for him to rinse any lingering taste of blood away, so he does, swishing the water around prior to spitting circumspectly once more into the trash can. He drinks the rest, feeling around his mouth with his tongue after he’s swallowed and noting that it really is completely healed. He’ll be able to eat and drink just fine, he gathers as Sakura returns the disinfectant bottle to its place in the neatly organized cupboard before closing it.

Pity, he thinks, resigned to his ineluctable fate now. Won't be getting out of it, then.

"Have you ever even had a toothache?" Sakura asks disbelievingly, drawing him from his musings. A soft smile decorates her features.

"No," he answers honestly as he discards the cup. A smirk begins to play at the corner of his own mouth now that he’s pain-free, because he’s about to ask a question he’s fairly certain he already knows the answer to, given her contraband drawer and the variety of sweet things he’s seen her consume in the preceding months. It’s also significantly more entertaining to tease Sakura than it is to contemplate an evening at a loud bar alongside his obnoxious best friend. "Have you?"

She flushes prettily as she takes her seat again; he’s sure she's immediately recognized the tone of voice he uses when he’s teasing her.

"...Many times," his girlfriend admits, looking away sheepishly.

"...Cavities?" He presses curiously after the clock's hand tracks several seconds, tone misleadingly innocuous and mouth twitching.

Sakura rolls her eyes, but her cheeks glow darker, and he takes that as his assumption being correct.

"...Six,” she answers after a beat. “Or, well… Six in my adult teeth. Though to be fair, most of them were before I turned sixteen.”

One corner of his mouth tilts upwards in full of its own accord; he expects that to mean her proclivity for sweets has been a lifelong endeavor, and that she probably had at least a couple cavities even while operating solely with baby teeth.

She bites her lip as she picks up the clipboard again, scanning the information there and for all intents and purposes appearing as if she is attempting to bully a smile into submission.

And then every aspect of her facial expression softens for a moment. 

“You gained four pounds,” she murmurs softly, warm gaze speckled with golden flecks wandering to him meaningfully.

The other edge of his mouth lurches further upwards, dangerously close to a full smile, before he manages to catch it, biting the interior of his lip to keep it in place.

“...Six to go,” he comments.

It has the intended effect. An infectious and appreciative smile unfurls atop her lips, irises sparkling and expression clearly very pleased. There’s an inundation of seconds in which she holds his stare, beaming as if he’s simultaneously accomplished some monumental task and gifted her a palatial compliment.

Her visage then turns contemplative as she scans the rest of the page.

"Anything else wrong?" Sakura questions, inflection turning serious. "Haruko marked your pulse at forty-nine. That’s kind of low for you."

He regards her blankly for a moment ahead of recognition setting in. In response, he carefully averts his eyes, torrid heat rising to his neck.

"I'm fine," he supplies quietly.

Her head tilts to the side a little in his peripheral vision, pale rose baby hairs undulating amidst the motion. “You didn't hit your head when he got your teeth? Slowed pulse can be a symptom of a concussion."

"...No. Just above my chin. My shoulder took the hit, after."

Sakura’s frowning in full now, expression analytical at the corner of his gaze as if she’s trying to assess whether he's being fully forthcoming, during which time his neck enflames further and he exhales slowly in the hopes that she’ll drop it.

“No headache?” Sakura presses.

“...No.”

“You’re not feeling tired? Dizziness?” Her tone is nothing but courteous and caring, every bit a medic; he knows she’s just doing her job, aiming to help.

“No,” he repeats. 

There is a tremendously long pause.

Then, “Sasuke-kun,” almost as quiet as a whisper, pleading, and he has never been able to shrink away from that particular tone of voice when she makes use of it, all compassion and auspicious altruism.

"...If something was wrong, I’d tell you," he reaffirms finally as he meets jade eyes drenched with concern. He's aware his adamance may be mistaken for something else in this particular instance. He in no way wants to give her the impression that he doesn't trust her medical opinion… but alternatively, he very much knows why his pulse was slower taken by a stranger than Sakura usually finds it, and admitting that openly would be rather embarrassing.

"I can't help but worry.” Her voice is small, yet simultaneously ripe with conviction. And she's right, of course; care is written all over her face, etched into the set of her mouth and the knitting of fine pink eyebrows, aggrandizing even into the posture of her narrow shoulders and the hue of shifting seafoam surrounding luminous dark pupils.

Corrosion, he recalls. Truly it's not such a big thing to admit. If anything, it’s normal; he's a man, grown and well past puberty. People are supposed to find their significant others attractive, reasonably enough that their pulse quickens. Such things should be… rather obvious, he thinks. 

And yet.

Sakura's eyebrows furrow further together at his continued silence, a small crease forming between them, and her demeanor shifts toward moreso that of clinician Sakura, the one who, he’s gathered, doesn’t often abide a medical mystery, forever in pursuit of answers and the next penultimate discovery.

"...Did she use a different technique?" Sakura questions, frowning. "The wrist is the most accurate."

"...She used the wrist," Sasuke confirms after turning the statement over in his mind, searching for a way out through the admittance and finding none. He privately feels rather in the mood to bang his head against a wall; if he had sustained a legitimate concussion, it would get him out of going to a packed bar for a small number of days. Maybe even long enough for the Chunin Exams to begin in Sand, excitement crowding the idiot’s mind. He knows Naruto forgetting about this entire debacle probably isn’t going to happen, but it would've been worth a shot.

Sakura continues appraising him, perplexed, and despite his frustration with voicing his feelings, he finds her charming when she wears such an expression.

“Naruto said we’re meeting at Utsura Utsura,” he decides to say, newly subservient to his fate and changing the subject abruptly as that seems like the best and only available option at present. “Nine.” 

She grows further confused. “We?” She echoes questioningly. 

Sasuke’s mouth twitches.

“You, me,” he confirms, keeping the timbre of his voice nonpartisan. “Sai.”

Sakura blinks once, then repeats the motion several times, gears turning slowly but surely. Her dimple eases into existence alongside her smile; he’s relieved to witness its return.

“A Saturday night?” She questions, intonation incredulous as she arches an eyebrow in disbelief. Her lips are still curled upwards. “I can’t deny that a few drinks would be nice… Especially since we had to postpone our team dinner a bit.” Her lips purse to the side in thought, and she scrutinizes him dubiously. “But… Utsura Utsura? It’ll be loud.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes halfheartedly, although inwardly he’s relieved at her response. It won’t be so bad if Sakura’s there, and she seems open to the idea. It makes him contemplate other notions briefly, reviewing several potential options of recompense before he settles on one, though he knows she doesn’t expect it.

“...A deal is a deal.” That, at least, he’s willing to admit. Additionally, now reflecting, Kakashi would likely have been invited to drink, too, were he not swamped with preparations. Their team dinner is slated for Tuesday evening, postponed twice now due to last minute meetings and registration paperwork.

Drinking with Kakashi is not a prospect he finds particularly enthusing, given his old sensei’s uncanny ability to decipher what he's thinking. Perhaps tonight really would be better than any other option. He’ll use some of the week or two Naruto’s gone for the Chunin Exams to correct his footing so this doesn’t happen again any time soon. In addition, he’ll analyze all of the dobe’s weaknesses to use against him in their subsequent rematch.

Amusement ripples across Sakura’s face at his words, drawing him away from his contemplation.

“...Okay,” she agrees, searching his expression. “We can play chess another time. You promise me nothing’s going on with your head, though? You shouldn't drink if there’s a chance of concussion.”

If only you knew, he thinks wryly, sardonically stifling a snort. Something is definitely going on with his head, though it is not in any way an injury; he fleetingly recollects the variety of creative ways in which she occupies his cognizance, the manner in which she has sidled into each and every corner of his head. 

“I promise, Sakura.”

He rises, as he doesn’t wish to take her away from more important things for too long, in spite of the fact that he’s still working through another impetus or two. She stands as well, pulling the clipboard inwards to her chest and maneuvering the wheeled chair back toward its previous station.

“...I’ll pick you up at your apartment at seven,” Sasuke finally murmurs quietly, eyeing her to gauge her reaction.

“...Seven?” She questions, free hand abandoning the chair as she blinks and tilts her head to the side curiously, peering up at him. Her lashes catch the light roseate, strawberry blonde and impossibly long.

“For dinner.”

At that, amusingly, Sakura smiles, although her fine brows rise quizzically.

“What an evening. We’re having dinner with them now, too?” She implores, tone playfully misbelieving. “I don’t know if I can eat Ichiraku’s twice in the span of four days, though. Do you think between you, me, and Sai, we could convince him to go somewhere else?”

It requires a fair amount of effort on his part to stay straight-faced, to hold his mouth in check to avoid giving himself away.

“...You and I are having dinner,” he corrects quietly, near a whisper and studying her earnestly. “Wherever you’d like.”

Fair cheeks flood arrant ruby as Sakura’s eyes widen, glit gold sparking at the edges where the fluorescence brightens her pupils. It’s not quite the chartreuse he often sees when they’re walking around the village after the street lights are illuminated for the evening, but it’s something similar, blueish light skewing jade green to nearly a pale and vivid teal at the edges.

Pretty. He would like to memorize this expression with his Sharingan someday. He wonders if she’d let him; he’s loath to do anything of the sort directly without attaining her express permission. Additionally, he’s also far too reserved to even consider asking such a thing in the first place.

For now, he thinks, shoving his self-indulgent thoughts aside for future consideration as Sakura stammers endearingly. It’s sort of funny, to watch her mouth open and close in surprise.

“O-oh?” Her skin is stained nearly the exact color of strawberries at their ripest, completely camouflaging the freckle that rests high on her cheekbone. “I…” 

Her vision then sweeps away, left hand rising to rest atop her right. Her fingers have tightened their grip on the clipboard; she’s hugging it to her chest in the way she often does when he’s said something that’s caught her off guard.

“...Like a date?” She questions shyly, tone teasing as she bites at her lip; he appraises it as an effort to stifle a contented grin. It makes him feel as though he's opened some metaphorical window to allow the first spell of sunshine in, permeating his chest and heart and all the rest.

Carefully, he raises his hand until it’s level with hers, very deliberately running the backs of his fingers across her knuckles to urge her to meet his eyes again.

It works; jade irises flit immediately to his hand - she clearly didn’t expect him to do that, as her hands jilt a little at the contact, though they stay well within his range - and then upwards at him.

He affirms wordlessly, nodding and dragging his thumb tenderly across her digits once more prior to allowing his hand to fall away, satisfied that he’s been understood.

Sakura is smiling in full now, so he allows his own lips to quirk upwards a small increment in turn before he moves to depart. He doesn’t wish to keep her from her work for too long; whatever projects she’s been working on, he’s gathered they must be significant.

“...Sakura?” He murmurs once he's reached the door, pausing with his lone hand on the knob as he tilts his neck sideways to make eye contact.

It takes her a moment to respond; she hasn’t moved an inch yet, still standing firmly in place, unmoving as if in a daze.

“Yes?” She finally questions softly, wearing the rosy expression he’s come to recognize as expressly distracted. Further warmth unfurls in his chest, blood swishing and singing through his veins, no longer leaking into his mouth.

“Thank you.” 

He’s pleased when her smile grows wider.

“You’re welcome.”

The hands of his apartment’s clock cycle by the hours. He counts them with a cough drop for each, beginning with a much-needed shower and dressing. He doesn’t really have designated “nice” clothing; mostly he just throws on his standard black sleeved shirt with black pants, traditional and common ninja garments. Still, he makes an effort to select the pairing that exhibit the least wear; although it isn’t a first date, really, it is the first he’s verbally categorized as one to her directly, so he feels he should make some effort at the very least. He brushes his hair more carefully than usual before shrugging on the one-shouldered sword sling he typically dons over his shirt, though this time the slot for his chokuto sits empty. He feels marginally off balance when he doesn’t wear the sling, and even moreso when the sheathe is vacant, but instilling any kind of fear in inebriated bar patrons is a recipe for trouble. Kakashi’s far too busy as of late with preparations to deal with any kind of mess on his behalf, and frankly Sasuke is tired of being the root cause of such situations. He hopes the idiot isn’t a clumsy drunk; he really doesn’t want the sling to end up smelling like alcohol.

Another hour is spent nursing two caffeinated cups of tea, leaning against the wall of the living room and studying the cherry blossom tree across the street as he sips. Presumably, this will be a lengthy evening if Naruto’s involved, and given that he’s operating on only a few hours of sleep, it seems the most advantageous course of action. The beginnings of small sakuranbo are commencing their seasonal appearance amongst the now apple green leaves, highly noticeable against the desaturation of the overcast sky and the rustling of an occasional gust blowing in from the southwest. The cut muscle in his stump is twitching, as if the barometric pressure has begun to change, but it’s not full-on pain yet; more just an over-awareness, anticipation, like something is about to happen, just within his grasp, good whereas Sakura is concerned or vexatious once the twenty-first hour arrives. It matches his mood well, and aids him in shaking off the lingering recollections from earlier this morning.

It’s somehow gotten muggier by the time he departs to meet her, in spite of the fact that the breeze has definitely picked up a considerable amount. It whips his dark hair askew at an intersection, then peters out by the next, verdure in abundance strangely still all at once as he passes the green building with its bed of alabaster azaleas, steering well clear of the swarm of people. Someone who lives there must be watering them; they’re even more overgrown and flourishing than they were when he first returned, amassing resonant blossoms.

As he pulls the glass door of Sakura’s building open, he sees the elderly woman in the downstairs apartment, Hanako, is in the midst of stooping low with the aid of her cane, irrigating the plants that enclose her egress. The cat turns amber eyes in his direction from its perch on the neighbor’s doorstep. Sasuke discerns that she must have been trying to tip the spout of the watering can to catch on the lowest few pots, although her balance seems undeniably off and her face betrays a grimace of pain.

“Hello,” the woman says, straightening a little to nod his way as the cat lazily strolls towards him simultaneously. Though he’s pretty sure Maru won’t try to bolt through the open entryway, Sasuke promptly closes the complex access door completely shut behind him. 

The pained expression on Hanako’s face shifts into a wrinkled smile once she’s fully upright. Her eyes follow Maru as he saunters up to Sasuke, curling familiarly about his shin as if he’s greeted him a hundred times.

“I’m sorry, dear. I have a hard time remembering things sometimes,” Hanako says as he crouches briefly to offer Maru a scratch around his ears as he knows most cats like. “Your name..?”

“...Sasuke,” he intones quietly, thinking to himself that the feline has perhaps gotten fatter since the last occasion he’s seen him, now that he’s seeing him up close.

“Ah, yes. That was it,” Hanako says, drawing his attention back to her. Laugh lines crowd her mouth as she smiles widely, nodding in the direction of his shin. “You like Sasuke, don’t you, Maru?”

The cat makes some sort of trilling noise in acknowledgment of his name before a purr ripples through its throat. Sasuke gives him one additional scratch ahead of rising back to his full height, analytically surveying the smallest pots nearest the woman’s doorstep. 

“Now, now,” Hanako admonishes as the cat curls its tail to encompass his other shin now, back arched. “We don’t need to get Sasuke covered in orange fur. Here, kitty, kitty.” 

The cat cambers around Sasuke’s leg reiteratively, purring still, before trailing back to the center dwelling, where it promptly rubs its head affectionately against Hanako’s ankle. 

“I was just watering my plants here,” she says jovially, motioning towards the pots. “Feels like it will rain tonight, you know? I try to mimic the weather outside for them, you see. That’s what my own mother taught me to do with indoor gardens. The plants know what to do, she’d say. No need to shelter them from the climate; we just help them along.”

Sasuke nods once, gaze traveling back to the planters inquisitorially. There’s one filled with freesia, another with carnations, and a third that’s difficult to identify from this distance. Conceivably her joints aren’t quite steady enough today to hold the watering can directly above the shortest pots, or at least, not long enough to fully sodden it without spilling moisture onto the floor where it would quickly become a slipping hazard.

Without speaking, he slowly approaches and extends his lone hand in pursuance of the navy blue watering pail. The old lady’s pale eyes widen momentarily in surprise, but she hands it over quickly, countenance sinking into clear relief. 

“Well. Thank you, young man,” she says, tone grateful as he wordlessly tips the spout atop the soil the carnations are embedded in; they’re variances of rich pink and violet. “My hip is bothering me today. I broke it… well, it was a few years ago now, I think. Hard to remember when you’re as old as me, but I took a spill.”

Sasuke dips his chin again in acknowledgment, finishing his work on one pot before adjusting the watering can to drip moisture into the planter beside it: the freesia this time, more variances of ultraviolet and near magenta, intermingled with the occasional true red. They’re firmer than the average flower, stems thick and solid. They don’t bend beneath the moisture at all as he tips it atop them, watching the drips race down sepal and stem.

It’s unusual, he finds, to examine someone else’s flora following the slow and steady study he’s been afforded of the ones Sakura keeps around her home. Hanako’s are more intensely pigmented than hers, mostly florals with the colors high in saturation and skewed in hue; they remind him a bit of the garden at the Uzumaki household, a contrast against the pastel that lingers in his memory most often. The latest ones he’s noticed with clippings missing are the pale alabaster cosmos blooming on Sakura’s balcony, along with two florets from the lilac moth orchid beside her front entryway. He’s still not sure what she does with them; he realized the last evening he was invited to sit with her on the balcony that there aren’t any vases in her room, and the moth orchids blooms were a bit too big, he thinks, for interweaving into someone’s hair. Perhaps she’s using them in her research in some way, testing theories on poison antidotes or other medically-oriented fields he surely wouldn’t understand. It’s also possible she brings them to the different patients under her care within the walls of the hospital, enlivening their sterile white rooms with a burst of bounteous chromaticity; it’s something that would fall well within her character, though he does sort of wonder if purchasing flowers from Yamanaka Flower Shop would be more convenient, given her busy schedule. Conversely, he also privately understands that blooms fostered by one’s own hand are feasibly more meaningful.

There’s the quiet click of a door opening and closing above them that he recognizes to be Sakura’s. It’s shortly followed by her familiar gait, flouncing steps echoing across the landing above them and down the stairs. Maru slips away from Hanako in his peripheral vision; Sasuke assumes it’s to greet Sakura with the same lazy friendliness he himself received.

“Oh!” He hears Sakura’s surprised voice behind him, punctuated by a brief pause in her steps on what he calculates to be the middle of the stairs. “Sasuke-kun. Hanako-san.” Additional steps resound as Sasuke souses the last pot. Now that he’s close enough, he’s identified it as a bantam calathea plant.

He’s completely unprepared for what he sees as he turns his head to acknowledge her greeting, lifting the can slightly to lessen the flow of water to a trickle.

Sakura is descending the stairs clothed in a lavender dress, the color only a smidge lighter than the seal that adorns her forehead. Wide and loose-fitting lace straps, along with a thin tie, frame her collarbone and chest. A lengthy expanse of lace continues all the way down the garment, framing small center buttons on both sides that only end at the hem, just above the middle of her thighs.

“I could’ve gotten those for you earlier,” she says kindly. “I’m sorry; I should have checked.”

“It’s alright, dear. Sasuke here was kind enough to help,” he hears only faintly, utterly fixated on the entrancing freckle adorning her inner thigh, in plain sight as she takes the last two steps down the steps. Meager ties ornament the sides of the dress, too, tiny ribbons that tighten the fabric enveloping her waist. 

It’s just as form fitting as her training gear, and thus it is just as distracting, though definitively more dainty; it may be what people call a sundress. It shows more of her collarbone and shoulders than anything else he has ever seen her wear.

“You know how my hip gets when it’s going to storm,” Hanako is chuckling as Sasuke blinks again, because Sakura stoops to give the cat a scratch at his mane at the bottom of the stairs. Expeditiously, he turns his focus back to the calathea plant in lieu of letting his vision roam across her cleavage. 

Nice is too subtle a word for how she looks, he thinks as he rises, his goal of assisting in watering the greenery completed. Alluring is a more apt description. Supple is another word that materializes in his mind, the toned softness of her thighs burned into his retinas. He’s struggling to force his ruminations away from a temptingly new and utterly foolish mental combination that he has never considered: Sakura and lace fabric.

“It’s supposed to storm?” Sakura questions as she also rises back to her full height. His brain mentally catches up to the conversation as she adds, “Want me to look at your hip quick? I can alleviate the pain for you, if your medication isn’t helping with it.” 

Hanako laughs again. “Well, I’m not sure on the weather. I don’t think the forecast calls for it, but…” She looks at Sasuke, then back at Sakura. 

“Well… I think you’re probably going on a date, right?” The elderly woman observes more than asks, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “That’s a lovely dress, dear. I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time.”

Sakura’s fine pink brows are knitted together in concern. Jade eases in Sasuke’s direction briefly, expression questioning, and it is so stupid how his gaze is drawn to her lips. He surmises she might be wearing some kind of makeup; they seem a slightly different color than they usually are, and subtly shiny. 

Men are weak creatures, he thinks wryly, making a valiant attempt at pushing the unbelievably stupid thoughts tugging at his subconscious away into the darkened flames of a denotative Amaterasu.

“...I don’t mind,” he says absentmindedly, tearing his eyes from her mouth finally to meet her gaze intentionally. They still have plenty of time before they’re supposed to meet the idiot and Sai. 

A sweet smile overtakes Sakura’s face at that, and a pleased, unnamed something turns over in his chest at having made her happy, as she then nods in the old woman’s aspect. 

“Ah. Well, thank you,” Hanako says at his right, rotating to scuttle slowly back towards her door with the aid of her cane. “Come in, then.”

The cat trails after his owner, who leaves the entryway wide open, gradually making her way through what appears at first glance to be an entryway tremendously similar to Sakura’s.

Sakura makes her way past Sasuke to accompany the woman into her living quarters, and Sasuke promptly realizes that the back of the dress is also cut rather lower than most of her clothing. The scattering of freckles that remind him of serpens caput is in plain view, and there are a couple more on the middle right of her back that are now on open display.

She slips off her shoes - they’re nicer than her usual sandals, too, and taller - and disappears into the residence behind Hanako as if she knows the layout of the place. Perhaps she does; it doesn’t seem as though the woman was shocked at all that Sakura could help with her hip. She might do this rather regularly if she knows the woman’s hurting.

There is a scattering of seconds where Sasuke finds himself pondering a multitude of things: namely, for some reason, how the crest that adorns most of Sakura’s normal clothing must rest right atop that series of freckles, a white circle of fabric concealing them from view, and how he would like to trail his fingers there, or maybe his lips. 

He doesn’t realize that his girlfriend has left the door open for him behind her, a silent invitation, until her head pops momentarily back around the entryway annex from the interior of the apartment. There’s a unique expression on her face, jade eyes silently questioning, as if to ask if he’s going to follow. 

So he does, carefully removing his shoes and closing Hanako’s front door, traipsing past the threshold into the living room, where he chooses to linger at the edge of the space. 

It is indeed a comparable layout to Sakura’s, though the kitchen is on the far wall in front of him rather than annexed on the right. There’s an entry out to the patio from the middle of the kitchen, easily seen through two windows and an all-glass screen door. His gaze is drawn to it at first, as the cat lazily makes its way to said entrance, resting on his haunches after coming upon it and seeming keen on beholding the outside world in all its motion and liveliness; it would be a good vantage point from which to view the birds, he surmises as he observes. There’s likely a nest under the moderate amount of awning he knows is affixed to the exterior building; he’s walked by it enough to have witnessed paltry fowl congregating nearby at least once or twice.

There are several things throughout the space that definitively foretell that an older woman inhabits the space: the mug on the dining table is antiquated, cream Hirado ware with inlaid indigo patterning, along with an army of small photographs framed in aged wood, hung meticulously straight across the expanse of wall. The pictures themselves are a testament to her life; they’re somewhat colorful up to a point, then fading into washed out sepia, followed shortly thereafter by black and white photos only; he realizes they must be arranged in chronological order. 

It’s strange to see the connections forged in someone’s life laid out so plainly and visually. Many of the pictures include Hanako herself, although she gradually gets younger along with the children who are in the photographs with her. The newest one shows only a little girl, possibly five or six, sleeping in an armchair with Maru curled around her. It must have been taken here in the apartment, perhaps a chair out of sight in the woman’s bedroom once the girl was tired out for the afternoon. It doesn’t really look like it’s too new of a picture, but he notes the cat is significantly skinnier in it, so he gauges its age to be at least two or three years. 

There is a scene of the girl at age two or three, out at a festival enwrapped in a small fuchsia kimono and holding a hand that’s barely in frame. Another features the girl as a baby, swaddled in a pale pink blanket that strikes him as having been knit by hand. A young man and woman along with Hanako smile at the camera, which prompts Sasuke to confirm what he suspected: the girl is her grandchild. The man must be her son, then; Sasuke observes that they share similar facial features, the same deep-set pale blue eyes and pronounced cheekbones. Sure enough, the man gets younger as his vision trails left; there is one of Hanako smiling next to him and the young woman in the other pictures on what must have been their wedding day. The bride is wrapped up in a pure white shiromuku, as bright as the fresh snow behind the three of them.

As he visually traces the line of pictures down the rest of the wall, he frowns, because the story it communicates isn’t necessarily a happy one. 

It is clear that at one point Hanako had two sons. The one featured in the more recent pictures seems to be the younger, as the other is significantly taller in comparison in the pictures that include them both: an outdoor picnic in clear weather, a standard family picture at a formal studio, and finally, a tiny one in which the elder son proudly wears a Chunin vest with Hanako and her other son smiling on either side of him. It’s clear that he’s just attained promotion status, although the picture has faded to the extent that the trademark green is more of a brown in the swath of sepia.

The photos neatly transition into black and white prior to that; both boys when they were younger, playing with some sort of toys on a wood floor or sitting on Hanako’s lap in a rocking chair or a scene from a birthday, faces smeared with cake. There’s a man Hanako’s age in two of the earliest that must have been her husband, though it’s hard from the distance and the size of the photographs to discern any defining features. There’s a hitaiate tied to the man’s arm in one of them.

Hanako’s spouse has been gone a long time, and it’s probably fair to assume that he died in the line of duty, given their age at the stage of the photographs. The lack of later pictures of her eldest son implies that he, too, is gone. Sakura didn’t say the woman was a retired Shinobi, though; she must be a civilian who married one, and thus one of her sons became one, too. He hopes her youngest son is still alive, at least. He examines the recent pictures anew, trying to place when they were taken by how similar in saturation they are to the oldest pictures Sakura has displayed on her own wall.

A blur of pink moves suddenly in Sasuke’s peripheral vision, and he shifts his focus to Sakura, shaking off his conclusions as he realizes he’s been staring at the photos and that it might be poor manners, on top of the fact that speculating on the woman’s family is really none of his business.

Hanako has taken a seat in a creaking rocking chair, a well-worn cushion placed atop its wooden frame in the middle of the living room. There’s an end table with an already lit lamp on one side, and a modest stool with a pillow placed on the other. He would think it was an ottoman to rest one’s feet, except for its placement; it’s on the far side of the chair, and every square inch of the pillow is clearly covered in orange fur. It must be a spot exclusively for the cat. 

“Lint roller’s still by the door,” Hanako is saying as she shifts slightly, giving Sakura easier access to what he assumes is her bad hip as her hand begins to glow verdant. “Feel free to use it up if you need to. I’d feel terrible if your dress was coated in fur; that purple is such a lovely color on you.”

Sakura laughs, despite her jade eyes still being emphatically focused. “It’s just a dress, Hanako-san,” she says, waving her free hand noncommittally. “Fur comes off. No big deal.”

Though he obviously says nothing, Sasuke inwardly agrees with Hanako; he very much likes the dress. The angle Sakura’s working at puts her in a position that allows him to study the graceful arch of her nape shifting into her trapezius; nimble muscle flexes there accordingly as she speaks and moves, swaths of lace framing her torso and accentuating her curves. Everything about her is slender and lithe, he deems as he studies the expanse of bared skin. She’s muscular but slight, all soft curves that scream dainty to the average unacquainted admirer, although he knows she is anything but. The dress somehow suits her just as well as her pristine doctor’s coat, or the purple skirt she wears from time to time, or the training gear that partially bares her midriff and besieges his weaker moments.

There is a long moment of quiescence as he watches her, fine blush hair turned desaturated dusty rose in the fading light of indoor evening against creamy skin; it sweeps her neck once as she moves, as if to examine the hip she’s working on through the woman’s house dress. It could be she’s probing for a nerve there with her chakra, cynosure following the impulse like muscle memory even if she can’t see anything with them. She does that recurrently if she’s helping with his bad arm, chakra tendrils threading in until she finds the nerve she must have been looking for, sight intently preoccupied on his stump as if in search of something she can’t see below the marred skin.

He then realizes that deep-set blue eyes have shifted to him knowingly at the edge of his vision, and that he’s been staring at every inch of Sakura’s exposed skin for the better portion of at least a full minute if not two. His neck warms in embarrassment as his gaze shifts to the elderly woman’s briefly; her expression tells him that not only is he caught, but also that Hanako is endlessly amused by what she’s just observed, crow’s feet crowding the edges of her senescent eyes in clear delight. 

Wizened pupils glance down momentarily as if she’s briefly searching for something - perhaps to gauge how Sakura’s healing is progressing, as she must be nearly finished by now - before ice blue settles back in his direction as if reassured by what she’s seen.

He soon discovers the reason: privacy for what she’s about to do. Chin tilted far enough upwards so that Sakura can see the woman’s wrinkled grin but not her eyes as she heals, Hanako winks at him. 

Dinner is a quiet and breezy affair at a small temaki stand located on the far south side of the village, far from the central commotion that Konoha can be during the dinner rush. The place reminds him of Ichiraku’s a bit, though its counters are simple shiny black instead of red currant, dark as obsidian and a sharp contrast to the pale pastel beauty sitting beside him. Sakura’s eyes glow as she chatters animatedly about anything and everything: why she likes this place’s umeshiso flavor the best of any of the fillings offered in Konoha’s restaurants, how she’s going to take him to meet Kakashi’s cat at some point in the next couple of weeks while their Hokage is away, and how Ino wants her to watch some new movie Sai discovered soon; he assumes that means the kunoichi is also going to be stationed solely in Konoha during the next few weeks as a precautionary measure, no missions to crowd her time. 

Sasuke admires her mostly silently as he chews his own dinner - zuke maguro flavor - appreciative that all of his teeth are intact and asking a whist question now and then. Gray overcast sky deepens in grayscale value as the zephyr picks up slowly but surely around them. 

“Hanako-san might’ve been right about the weather,” Sakura remarks, carefully popping the last roll into her mouth with delectation and chewing as she angles her head, clearly observing the sky through the flapping banners behind them that confine the restaurant. Small flyaway pink strands whip in the wind, and he arrives at the rather sudden realization that Sakura’s hair is a bit longer now than when he initially returned. He wonders if she’s growing it out, or if she’ll cut it in the near future. He would like it either way, he thinks; he’s immensely fond of the color, and, conjointly, of the way it feels in his hand on the few occasions he’s touched it, the pellucid evidence of trust he’s beginning to earn back.

Nine comes too soon.

Utsura Utsura, etched in prognostic neon scarlet and sky blue lettering, hovers above the entrance to the bar. It’s luminescent against the cloudy and darkening sky, and bright to the extent that it hurts his eyes a little. It’s clearly packed, he deems as they approach the building, boisterous noise spilling into the street surrounding the place and the faint smell of alcohol filtering into the air, barely caught on each breeze that pushes past them both. 

It is, in fact, the bar Sakura pointed out just after their first team dinner upon his return to the village, only a few blocks from Ichiraku’s, and it’s certainly the exact type of bar that the idiot would enjoy, hugely loud and filled to the brim with people. Sasuke analyzes it, frowning and trying to mentally prepare himself for a slew of annoyances: lack of personal space, loud voices, and what will undoubtedly be at least a few drinks pushed into his hand via the dobe unless he comes up with some sort of distraction.

“Not too late to escape,” Sakura teases, grinning up at him as they approach. He can faintly make out the reflection of the sign’s lettering atop the crown of her head, pale rose easily catching the light.

Sasuke then promptly rolls his eyes, exhaling a sigh. 

“...I’ll never hear the end of it if we do.”

Her grin pulls wider, lips catching on a tooth, and he’s pretty sure there’s a hint of a flush gracing her cheeks.

“We won’t,” she agrees, pulling the door open by its worn handle. He follows close behind her, and this ear-splitting odyssey begins.

It’s a sea of people as he assumed it would be, nearly all of them plainly in the beginning stages of inebriation and holding various glasses or bottles. A handful of them take notice of the newcomers filtering through their midst, focus succinctly flickering to Sakura with some interest before they notice Sasuke lurking at her heels; then, it seems, most of them can’t look away fast enough, eyes glazed intoxicant but not to the extent that they are incapable of recognizing him.

Good, he thinks, gaze briefly locking on Sakura’s back. For once his lack of people skills may work in his favor.

The interior of the place is darker than he imagined, although he supposes most bars probably are. He rarely has entered any similar establishments, barring when it’s a necessity to gather intel or track someone down for a mission. Lanterns he assumes must be wired to the electricity in scarlet and sapphire line either side of the building, framed by softly glowing lights in the same colorway. It extends wall to wall, creating alternate “sides” of the bar, one burning pale red and one glowing lightning blue. A wall of alcohol and a menu sidles along the blue side, fronted by a long cobalt countertop edged by stools. Tall tables litter the middle pathway, and smaller, densely packed ruddy booths line the far expanse. 

Commensurately, it’s enough people milling about to make him feel somewhat out of his element, and more than a few of them, those that don’t manage to look away quite as quickly as they think they do, fleetingly display either enmity or unease at his presence. Personal boundaries are something that doesn’t really exist here, he gathers as they venture through the throng of patrons. He supposes that goes both ways, though; he dislikes personal space, and in return, a rather large number of people dislike him. If it forces them to make their way to a different bar, then so be it. It could do with less people for one night.

Sakura’s dress seems lighter in here, he notices, training his surveyance on it in the crowd. It catches almost neon pink on the red side and periwinkle on the blue. A clearly graceless civilian drunkenly steps in front of her, cutting her off as they approach someone across the way that they’re shouting about knowing, drink sloshing in their hand. Sasuke stops as a result, crowding closer to her than he normally does in public; her hip skims by his for a millisecond. 

“Naruto usually gets one of the booths,” Sakura tells him as she shifts, near shouting to be heard in the raucous and deftly avoiding any of the civilian’s booze splashing that would mar her dress. It’s hard to tell amidst all of the noise, but there’s music lilting in and out, he realizes for the first time after she stops speaking and moves again, heading towards the far corner of the building with purpose.

Sure enough, they mill through the people a few additional augmented steps and finally arrive at a vantage point to see the interior portions of the last few booths; Naruto and Sai are both seated at the second from the end. A trio of juniper Chunin vests, teetering blue under the neon of the bartop mirroring the booth, captures his attention briefly - wearing official ninja garb out on a Saturday night seems odd to him, though he can hardly critique it, given his own state of dress is the most basic ninja clothing - but he redirects his attention to the booth, as he doesn't identify them as being anyone he's overly familiar with. Were it Shikamaru or Choji, he would at least acknowledge them, should they look in his direction, but they aren't. He wonders if Choji will both be out of the village for the exams, then. Sakura already offhandedly mentioned that Shikamaru would be accompanying Kakashi and Naruto, the exams being considered an opportunity for coordinators of the Shinobi Union to also meet.

“SAKURA-CHAN!” Naruto shouts, loudly enough to be heard above absolutely everyone and then some; an exceedingly high number of the heads turn their way. “TEME!”

“Naruto,” Sakura greets in turn, near shouting as the dobe squeezes out of the booth to stand; his drink doesn’t quite spill, but it’s close. Sasuke’s brow knits together as she briefly greets Sai as well, prior to sliding into the center of the booth. She must usually take the inside seat, he realizes as she scoots, in a spot that leaves ample space for one more person on either side of her. If Ino ever comes to these gatherings, she likely sits in the vacuum of space left between Sakura and Sai.

Sakura flashes him a smile once she’s in place, and he takes it as a cue that he’s supposed to sit between her and the idiot. He supposes that makes sense, as his best friend is still standing, a shit-eating grin overtaking his expression as he raises his glass to take a sip.

So Sasuke carefully slides into the spot next to her, not close enough to touch, but nearly so. It feels a little like he’s just entered some sort of trap as the dobe takes his place again, though he gives Sasuke plenty of space on his side. He inwardly surmises that perhaps it’s just his personal disdain for social gatherings coloring his experience.

“Hello, Ugly,” Sai greets plainly, smiling in that odd way he has, clutching a can of lemon chu-hai; it’s the same brand he’d been drinking at the movie night. “The hue of your dress is nice.”

Sakura smiles encouragingly, shifting in her seat in what Sasuke realizes is her kindly trying to give him additional space, although she doesn’t need to; he doesn’t mind.

“And Traitor. I have not seen you in a while. I hope you have recovered from your illness?” The inflection of the statement is odd, in a way that Sasuke wouldn’t have recognized as out of place were Sai not forced to nearly shout to be heard in this establishment.

Sasuke nods in acknowledgement, at which point Sai smiles slightly wider.

“Ugly tells me you finished the book,” his replacement informs him, causing Sasuke to wonder when Sakura has seen him, but he shrugs it off, assuming it was probably with Ino. “Did you identify a favorite piece?”

Sasuke dips his chin once more. “...Page two hundred fourteen.”

Immediately, Sai pulls a miniscule sketchbook and a pencil from his pocket, flipping it open to apparently scribe the page number atop an empty upper corner of paper. It makes Sasuke frown; he didn’t anticipate the artist would actually put in the effort to look. He returned the book the other day, along with the one he finished and discussed with Sakura while he was ill and out of commission.

“Wonderful. I will study it on my next trip to the art section,” the artist says simply, stowing the sketchbook back into his pocket. “I learned much about kenjutsu and sword formations from the one you recommended.”

Sasuke simply blinks, unsure what he’s supposed to say in response to that.

“Eh?” Naruto questions loudly, setting down his glass finally. “Kenjutsu?”

“Sasuke and Sai traded book recommendations,” Sakura supplies helpfully, setting her elbow on the table so she can prop up her chin with her hand. Her green gaze meets Sasuke’s before looking at Sai.

“Yes,” his replacement confirms. “I learned that kenjutsu typically operates from five primary stances known as Itsutsu No Kamae. Sword held overhead, to the side, middle thrust, sword down, and sword held horizontal. There is a chain of motions that connect them all, which makes the style effective at adapting to most any battle conditions. Muscle memory is instrumental to this style, as repetition trains the body to react instinctively.” Sai pauses as Sasuke blinks, because he’s pretty sure that was the opening passage of the book he recommended nearly word for word, recited in a near shout to be heard in the busy bar. 

“It makes it more impressive that you have adapted your style rather than replace it following your amputation,” Sai continues bluntly. Naruto and Sakura both cringe a little in his peripheral vision on either side of him, though Sasuke supposes Sai means well, so he tries to take it as the commendation it’s intended as; his replacement has seen him wield his chokuto once or twice on the couple of missions they were assigned together thus far. 

“You are missing to my estimate approximately fifty-three percent of one arm, and yet you display remarkably fluid swordsmanship with your remaining one. I would pick you as the most skilled kenjutsu user I have met. I found myself curious while reading if you have always been right hand dominant, or-”

“Sai,” Sakura cuts in, voice somewhat reminiscent of a parent admonishing a child when they’ve been unintentionally rude. Sasuke thinks it’s also perhaps accompanied by a swift yet subtle kick to his replacement’s shin underneath the table. “I know you mean that as a compliment, but it comes off as tactless. Too direct.”

An expansive pause passes, Sai seeming rather like he is working through a math problem in his head as his dark eyes observe Sakura. He then looks back at Sasuke.

“My apologies, Traitor,” he offers, to which Sakura’s smile reappears in his peripheral vision. “It was not my intention to be rude.” 

“...It’s fine,” Sasuke says, because it is. He’s in no position to fault anyone for being overly blunt, and he’s been slowly but surely coming to sure terms with the fact that Sai’s strange mannerisms and lack of social intuition stems from a childhood that was, similarly to his own, poignantly fucked up. Kakashi summarized the whole debacle that was Sai’s addition to Team Seven while visiting Sasuke in the hospital after the war; Sai’s Shinobi career found its beginnings in a secret branch of Anbu established by Danzo, where he was cut off from normal interactions early in his orphaning and trained to be emotionless. Sasuke never doubted the truth of Kakashi’s words, nor did he believe anything but the worst in regards to any sort of program Danzo had established, but it’s only by spending extended time periods around the artist upon returning that the reality of it has become abundantly clear.

“Right-handed with writing, ambidextrous with weaponry,” he decides to add after a moment of retrospection; the question was asked with genuine curiosity, and there was a compliment attached, besides, however roundabout. 

Sai blinks, unhurried and assessing. Sasuke notices Sakura looking between both of them for a couple of seconds at the admission, expression betraying a little surprise, though she doesn’t say anything.

“Ah. Thank you for answering, Traitor.” His replacement smiles, then. 

Sasuke dips his chin, satisfied. 

“Wait, wait,” Naruto intercedes, at which point Sasuke slides his attention to the opposite side of their booth. “Two questions; what the hell is an amby-destress??”

“Ambidextrous,” Sakura corrects as Sasuke rolls his eyes. “It means you can use each hand equally well.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” the dobe comments, nodding enthusiastically. “Right, right! I knew that.”

Imbecile.

“Wait, so then my next question! What did teme have to read?”

“Art From Around the World,” Sai supplies, to which Naruto snorts, loud and attention catching. Sasuke turns only to see him shrink away, unoccupied hand held up in defense, which can only mean Sakura is leveling him with a frosty glare from his other side.

“Sorry, I’m sorry! Sakura-chan, I didn’t mean to- to-” The dobe stutters, clearly searching for words to explain himself. “I mean, uh, it’s just still so hard to picture him reading a book! I kinda thought that was just an excuse to hang out with you, ‘cause no one but you likes those things-” 

Now Sasuke narrows his eyes. “Bold words from someone who can’t pronounce echinacea,” he retorts harshly, swiftly cutting off whatever nonsense he was about to say. This prompts the idiot’s brows to knit together as he shrinks further into his seat, looking properly sheepish as he takes a sip of whatever poison he’s drinking; it doesn’t smell pleasant from where Sasuke’s sitting.

“Ugly is not the only one who likes literature. Beautiful likes books. I do as well,” Sai cuts in, tone perfectly level and drawing everyone’s attention back to the opposite end of the booth. “Have you considered that you do not like books because you are a dumbass?”

On purpose and excessively audibly, Sasuke snorts. He thinks he can see Sakura trying to hide a smile.

Leave it to Sai to put the dobe in his place. They’ve barely been here a few minutes and already his teammate has inadvertently earned himself chastisement; Naruto is guffawing, mouth hanging open like an idiot.

“I’m not a dumbass-”

“When I asked you, you said you hadn’t read a book since you were in the Academy,” Sai interrupts, tone still completely level and utterly devoid of emotion. “It is possible you have forgotten how to, as it has been nearly eight years since you graduated. You must hone your skills to stay sharp in them.”

The dobe is glowering icily across the table when the waitress arrives, holding a lone beverage that looks like it’s about ninety eight percent sugar: some sort of dark pink concoction, blended with ice and topped with a wedge each of lemon and lime. There’s a straw in her other hand.

“For Three Second Haruno,” the waitress says simply, grinning and motioning towards the northernmost part of the counter where the three ninja in Jonin vests sit. 

There are a solid three seconds where Sasuke positively, invidiously bristles, mouth sinking into a sharp frown and mood souring all at once.

And then he realizes that the three ninja at the counter are paying absolutely no mind to how Sakura reacts to the drink; they’re still faced forward, slouching as if they’ve had a long day and engrossed in their conversation, as if there’s no reason to spare so much as a glance for Sakura’s reaction. 

He is very curious as to what the nickname means, but whatever it is, it’s clear it wasn’t intended to indicate any romantic interest. The frown stays, but he relaxes his eyebrows, realizing they were furrowed. He then glances at Sakura next to him, realizing he would like to see her reaction. 

He finds her just finishing up the action of rolling her eyes.

“Tell Genma I say thanks,” Sakura tells the waitress in a tone that suggests this is a regular occurrence. She tentatively reaches for the drink, at which point Sasuke realizes he has a relatively ample view of her cleavage when she moves from this particular direction, also; he promptly looks away. “But he doesn’t need to keep doing this. It’s embarrassing.”

“Yeah fuckin’ right, Sakura-chan!” Naruto laughs heartily, reaching for his own booze and seemingly happy to draw the conversation away from his lack of reading comprehension and poor vocabulary. “As if he’ll ever shut up about it. And he shouldn’t! It was awesome! Also, he kinda owes you.”

Sasuke blinks, perplexed as the waitress shrugs helplessly. Perhaps Sakura healed the ninja from some life-threatening injury. Even now, not one of the trio has even turned to look their way. They do sort of seem familiar; he thinks he’s vaguely recognizing them from before his defection from Konoha.

For a moment, Sasuke turns his analytical pursuance to Sai in search of answers, but even his replacement’s normally expressionless face betrays some level of amusement; it seems as if they’re all in on an inside joke. 

As Sakura carefully rids each wedge of juice, squeezing it into the beverage, he realizes the waitress is looking at him expectantly, at which he feels further nonplussed. There’s not really a menu fully within sight from here, and he doesn’t know much about alcohol; certainly he doesn’t know enough to be able to order something he might like off the top of his head with no options or descriptions to refer to. His focus switches to the lettering on the far wall, partially obscured by the booth wall and Naruto.

“Teme’ll have a…” Naruto’s voice trails off as he frowns. “Wait, what alcohol do you even like, anyways? Probably something strong!” The dobe’s focus turns to the waitress as he asks what her absolute strongest alcohol is, completely missing the withering look Sasuke shoots his way. He agreed to be here and drink something. He did not agree to the idiot shoving the most pungent and vile spirits in front of him all night; he’s had enough of throwing up for one day.

He glances at Sakura in pursuit of silent help as the waitress begins to list the establishment’s strongest available booze, things with strange names like kirakira and honokuni awamori and iichiko special shochu. Jade eyes search his for a long moment assessingly, as if she’s trying to decipher what his expression means.

“The kirakira is sweet, right? I think Hinata-chan had it once, so that’s a no-go.” It’s more of a shout on Naruto’s part than a thinking out loud voice, and it fades out again at Sasuke’s left as the dobe hums in thought.

Sakura blinks, expression suddenly understanding. She holds his gaze a second longer ahead of switching her attention to the waitress.

“Chimamire no geisha, please,” she partly yells to be heard over the ruckus of the crowd. “A little less rice wine than usual.” She gestures subtly towards the pink drink in front of her. “And I’ll get through this first before I order something.”

“Of course!” The waitress acquiesces, bowing slightly before she’s gone in a blink, parting through the small crowd of people with purpose. Following her departure, Sasuke looks at Sakura questioningly.

“What is that?” He asks in a low voice, barely loud enough for her to hear. She knows his taste well at this point, so he assumes it’s something that he’ll have a chance of liking, although he’s not much one for rice wine on its own; he knows from using it occasionally for cooking that it tends to lean sweet.

“Tomato juice,” Sakura responds faintly; the flecks of gold in her irises flash garnet amidst the lights glowing above them. “With lime juice and a dash of soy sauce.”

Ah. Not sweet, then. Sasuke nods once appreciatively, warmth pooling in his chest. He murmurs quietly, meant only for her ears, “Thank you.”

Her lips quirk upwards, and he thinks her cheeks flush faintly. It’s hard to tell underneath the red lighting as of yet. 

“So, Sakura-chan!” Naruto perks up from his left, and whatever discreet spellbinding thing that was hovering in the charged air between he and Sakura dissipates. “How was work today?! Other than, uh…” His voice trails off, and the dobe scratches at his head nervously, clearly slowly realizing that perhaps it’s not the best conversation starter given he knocked two of Sasuke’s teeth out, creating extra work for her. “Other than, uh, putting teeth back, that is!” 

He then squints at Sasuke for some reason, blue eyes glinting with suspicion.

“You did manage to put them back in, right, Sakura-chan?” The idiot questions, laughing nervously and focus switching from Sasuke to Sakura. “I uh, kinda forgot about it till now. Guess I should’ve asked?”

To his surprise, Sakura giggles, at which Naruto visibly relaxes.

“Yeah, I did,” she confirms, circling the straw around the concave of the glass prior to drawing it to her lips. There’s a long pause where she seems completely relaxed, eyes falling closed temporarily as if savoring the first sip of slush. “It was kinda busy most of the day; quite a few Genin who pushed training too far, or that’s what I gathered from the report, at least.”

Sai nods on Sakura’s other side as Sasuke contemplates; conceivably he was not the only thing that pulled her from her work today, though he also imagines that normal Genin training and sparring doesn’t often lead to major injuries or missing teeth. 

He then wonders who was running the hospital back when they were all Genin before Tsunade, experiencing an acute few seconds of pity on their behalf. From what he gathers of Sakura's schedule, it’s a demanding occupation without orphaned and emotionally volatile children unleashing their most powerful ninjutsu on the roof.

“Yes,” his replacement says, drawing Sasuke from his thoughts and back to the ear-splitting mess that is this bar. “The training grounds have taken a beating. I am looking forward to their scenic views being restored soon.”

Sasuke takes that to mean that Sai enjoys drawing scenery in addition to nude women and… whatever else he must draw. Now that he’s reflecting on it, the training ground on the southwest edge of the village he and Sakura venture to from time to time is fairly scenic. Ino must like that one, too; when they ran into both kunoichi and ended up having lunch, they had been walking as if they came from that direction.

“Yeah, I imagine today is the last day of harsh training for a while for them,” Sakura confirms, smiling and resting her chin on one hand, elbow propped on the table again. “Their senseis will want them to be fresh for the trip and the exams.”

Naruto nods emphatically. “Yeah, that’s true. Kakashi warned them not to let their Genin push themselves too hard!” 

Sasuke barely suppresses another snort, reflecting on the arduous process of learning Chidori, pushing his body to its absolute limits directly under their sensei’s supervision and tutelage.

“Gee, I wonder where he got that piece of wisdom from,” Sakura laughs ahead of a further sip of her drink. “Anyways, it was busy, but I missed most of it. Thank the gods for good staff; I managed to spend most of the day down in the lab and a bit at the clinic.”

Sai dips his chin once in acknowledgment, observing Sakura calculatingly. 

“Have you managed to adequately adjust your bitchiness?” He then asks with a completely straight face, voice monotone yet curious as Sasuke frowns. Naruto cringes on his other side, though his expression is more one of fear on Sai’s behalf than disdain as it is on Sasuke’s part. That word doesn’t adequately describe anything Sakura does or is responsible for. 

Bizarrely, Sakura laughs again. “Sort of,” she responds, waving her hand. “I’m working on it, anyway. My brain gets sort of fried after staring at empirical data for that long.” 

“Soooo, it was a good thing that I knocked teme’s teeth out today, then!” Naruto surmises cheerfully and loudly, orotund shout nearly deafening Sasuke’s left eardrum as he unleashes a scowl towards the idiot’s side of the booth. “You gotta take a break every now and then, right?”

Before the retort has made it to Sasuke’s mouth, the waitress reappears holding a crimson beverage in a clear glass, ice cubes and a lime slice floating at the top. She slides it in front of Sasuke, smiling amicably, prior to slipping back without a word through the crowd in a hurry; he supposes the bar is pretty busy.

“Well…” Sakura hesitates from his right, almost utilizing an inside voice in comparison to the ridiculously cacophonous baritone Naruto employs. She then shrugs, smiling as she tilts her head to the side. “I haven’t been out with a group in a while, I guess. It’s a good way to unwind, now and then.” 

Naruto nods emphatically, grinning before gulping down more of his alcohol. Sai simply smiles, but he, too, raises his can to take his own measured sip. 

In the conversation’s lull, Sakura’s jade eyes find Sasuke’s, fulgurating to the drink and then back to him. There’s more than one unspoken message simmering amidst the lushly green verdant, and he gets the sense that she is somehow showing appreciation in his direction of all places. Possibly it's gratitude for dinner earlier, although she doesn’t need to thank him again for that; it’s the least he can do. Conversely, if she thinks she’ll be paying for his alcohol as some sort of quittance for the meal, she’ll have to think again.

There’s also an unspoken Aren’t you going to try it? So, carefully, he takes a sip, holding eye contact.

There’s something nearly savory about it, and obviously he likes the tomato juice. The lime makes it almost sour, disguising the taste of the rice wine remarkably well. It’s still leaning stronger than he would probably care for, but he can stretch out the process of consuming it slowly. If Naruto gets drunk enough, he might not notice that he’s only had one drink by the conclusion of this whole obstreperous debacle.

Not bad.  

“...Not bad,” he murmurs, trying to saturate his voice with his thanks. She shoots him a glowing smile prior to raising her own glass to her mouth. He notices, once she pulls away, that her lips have left a rubicund imprint on the straw.

There are perhaps multiple things about this evening that are due to haunt him later.

“So, Traitor,” Sai begins, and Sasuke drags his stare away from the stain to the artist. “Do you intend to get plastered?”

Internally Sasuke heaves a lengthy sigh. 

“Yeah!!” The idiot shouts as Sasuke responds, “No,” with a high degree of finality. This prompts Naruto to narrow his eyes at him, which Sasuke promptly ignores, taking another sip instead. 

Chimamire no geisha. He’ll have to remember that. It beats choking down whatever disagreeable nonsense his dimwitted teammate would have shoved in front of him.

“I must admit I am confused,” Sai says after a moment, focus oscillating from Sasuke to Naruto. “Dickless made it sound as though you were to drink limitlessly.”

The artist deftly and effortlessly dodges the sandal thrown his way. 

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!” 

Sasuke sneaks a glance at Sakura and finds her looking rather amused as she watches the exchange. There’s something terribly fond in her expression as she takes another sip, almost like her very existence right now is tinged with nostalgia and cheer. He supposes it probably is. It’s not like they’ve really gone out like this as a team before to drink. 

It’s… nice, to spend time all together, though he would prefer a less public activity. Sai is inordinately odd, difficult to read and awkward in speech, but he’s part of Team Seven. Sasuke would never admit it, but it’s been good to get to know him a bit better; it’s helped to enmesh him back into their lives more, to understand the dynamic that developed in his absence.

“Say, Sai, did you bring your hanafuda?” Sakura asks cheerfully after a tense moment is spent on Naruto’s part glaring at Sai while the artist himself remains firmly blank-faced, entirely devoid of emotion; clearly she’s trying to diffuse the tension.

Dark eyes flick to Sakura. 

“I did,” his replacement remarks, reaching into his opposite pocket this time and pulling out a small stack of cards. “It is tradition. Should I deal?”

Sakura appraises Sasuke on her other side, then Naruto, whose eye is still twitching.

“Sure,” she says to Sai, turning back to him. “Hana-awase?” 

Sai nods, and Naruto does, too, albeit begrudgingly, so the artist begins to expeditiously shuffle the cards.

As he deals, Sasuke lifts the cards as he receives them - apparently he’s supposed to play, too -  and realizes they are handmade, though it would be difficult to tell until one touches them and can examine them. They’re made of thick paper, and he surmises the designs on them were created by way of an extraordinarily small brush and perhaps ink or watercolors, as they are exceptionally intricate. A clean, even black border surrounds each edge, and the cards are laden with intricate illustrations that also contain the occasional elegantly painted kanji phrasing. 

All in all, he is dealt five cards, each containing detailed illustrations that would require a large amount of expert dexterity. Sai made them himself, he concludes as he studies them transiently: he’s been given the camp curtain card of March, the boar of July surrounded by bush clover, a September card featuring a blooming chrysanthemum, an October card that depicts lackadaisically falling maple leaves, and a December card with dark foxglove tree sprouts.

“New set,” Sakura offers in Sai’s direction, her tone endowing it as a compliment as she sorts her own cards, angled marginally away from him. “Very pretty.”

A genuine smile slowly unfurls on his replacement’s face.

“Thank you, Ugly. I made it recently. I was in need of practicing my fine detail skills and calligraphy once more.

Sasuke is of the opinion that it looks less like practice and more like the work of a master, finely tuned swishes of black ink kanji and meticulous linework, but he supposes being critical of one’s own skills crosses over to the world of art.

He vaguely knows the rules for hana-awase despite never having played it himself. Many of the people working under Orochimaru when he was in Sound made use of hanafuda decks and card games to pass the hours. There were several periods of time that required maintaining a low profile as various experiments and plans were carried out. He dislikes reflecting on that time, as being stuck underground tended to put him on edge, but he did observe many card games there from afar that he never ascertained from his younger years, given he spent most of them either a little too young to fully understand card games or too focused on revenge to spend that much time sitting still.

Sasuke plays quietly, using the game as a distraction to his advantage in terms of blocking out the loud noise of the bar. Though hana-awase is often a game of luck, it seems Sakura is particularly good at it and, as promised by a conversation regarding table games a while ago, Naruto is terrible. They play through a full round in which the idiot is decimated by all three of them before Sakura finishes her drink and, laughing, orders another, at which time he learns that it’s called a strawberry daiquiri. Whatever ingredients it’s made of - plenty of sugar, surely, he expects, mouth twitching in amusement - he thinks it’s fitting that that’s what she likes. 

He himself sips on his own beverage lethargically, growing accustomed to the taste. That is, until Naruto complains that he’s drinking too slowly at this rate, at which Sasuke promptly begins consuming it even more languidly just to irk him.

It’s not so bad, once he gets mentally past all the noise and commotion. The alcohol mellows him as it has in his limited past experience, to the extent that he loses an iota of his usual discomfort with social activities and relaxes a little.

“Sakura-chaaaaaaaaaaaaan,” the idiot whines loudly from his left upon his third defeat of the evening, just as Sasuke finally and unfortunately arrives at the bottom of his glass. “Can we play a different game? This one’s no fair.”

“You losing doesn’t automatically mean it’s unfair,” Sasuke states, not glancing up to see the dobe’s indignation as he gathers his own cards, prompting a feminine giggle from his right that he rather enjoys. When he looks, sliding his stacked cards to the center of the table, he sees Sakura has polished off her third strawberry daiquiri.

“You’re such a bastard-”

Sasuke rolls his eyes.

“-Y’know, you’ve barely even finished one drink! It’s not fair!” Naruto shoves the upper portion of Sasuke’s left shoulder. It’s not a true push; moreso, it’s half-hearted, reminiscent of the bickering they used to get into on missions as kids.

It’s still enough of a push, however, to have his good arm make fleeting contact with Sakura’s.

He allows it to linger there longer than is strictly necessary, insides twisting pleasantly when she makes approximately zero effort to pull herself out of shared space this time. In fact, he thinks she leans a little towards him for a compendiary swoop, though it’s subtle to the extent that no one who’s further than a drink deep would notice.

“We could do a koi-koi tournament?” Sakura interjects jocosely on his other side once he finally eases back into his own space; he hears her swirling the straw in her glass. When he turns, her cheeks are edging more pink than fluorescent crimson, clearly not a by-product of the lighting this time.

“What- ever! ” Naruto gripes, grumbling under his breath something along the lines of you’re no fun and briefly glaring at his half-full cup.

The waitress reappears to take their empty glasses as well as Sai’s empty can, and Sakura slides both hers and his own across the table so they’re easier for her to reach.

“Another, please,” Sai says calmly, not sounding inebriated in the slightest.

“Yuzushu lemonade,” Sakura orders next - also a fitting choice for her, Sasuke thinks - at which point the waitress nods and then waits politely, regarding Sasuke.

Slowly Sasuke exhales, frowning and wondering if he’s going to regret this.

“...Chimamire no geisha,” he ultimately requests, brows knitting together at the way Naruto whoops at his left; he tries not to roll his eyes this time given the waitress is still there. “Same as before.”

It’ll get the idiot off his case for a bit, and two drinks really isn’t that much alcohol, anyways.

The waitress flits away back into the crowd, returning roughly five minutes later to deliver their order; Sakura is well into a match of koi-koi against Naruto by then, fluorescence causing the paper of the homemade cards to catch the color of a salmon’s scale when they’re turned at a certain angle. 

Upon her victory, Sasuke promptly finds himself engaged in his own match against Sai. It’s lengthy by nature of the luck of the draw, though he’ll admit Sai is an apt challenge; he’s beginning to suspect that Sakura’s tenacity in board games has gained at least some level of practice from repeated matches against his replacement. Perhaps he’ll ask him at some point; if he enjoys cards, it would stand to reason that he could be well-versed in board games, too.

Ultimately Sasuke loses - “Ahahaha, in your face , teme!” to which he responds, “You lost, too, Usuratonkachi,” - but it’s not without putting up a good fight. He sips unhurriedly on his drink, after, allowing it to dull his senses the tiniest smidgen more. It’s still not enough to be properly drunk, but it’s plenty to relax him a little, to lessen the sharp edge of the clamorous bar’s volume.

Sakura makes her way through the spiked lemonade, the lemon wedge floating at the top of the glass gradually sinking to the bottom. She orders another about halfway through her match against Sai, progressively getting increasingly sprightly as the game progresses.

“Guess I lose,” Sakura relents finally as they finish tallying the latest round of points and Sai’s victory becomes clear via way of the sake card and an extra ten added to his score. She doesn’t sound the least bit chafed by it. In fact, it’s rather the opposite; there’s a permanent grin affixed to her face, a lazy sort of smile and slightly dilated pupils swimming in green-red fluorescent shift. She catches and holds his gaze once deliberately, cheeks flushing as Sai shuffles the cards back together and returns them to their place in his pocket. 

The maundering about anything and everything continues for the better part of another hour; Naruto leads the conversation, though Sakura definitely helps and Sai interjects to add something every now and then. There’s talk about a woman someone named Yamato is dating, on which Sakura extrapolates, because apparently she knows her, a surveyor by trade who helped with property lines when they expanded the clinic. This in turn leads to Naruto going on a grating twenty minute tirade regarding an old land dispute he had to sit through alongside Kakashi, complete with overly exaggerated impersonations and intermittent pauses to gulp hefty sips of his newest liquor, some concoction that had a ridiculous name like Bunraku Barrage. 

“I thought they’d NEVER shut up! I had a whole page where I was supposed to take notes that I filled with drawings of little toads by the end of it ‘cause they just kept sayin’ the same stuff over and over, and I told Hinata-chan after that-”

“I did not know you knew how to draw, Dickless. I would like to see your work-”

The dobe’s response is to scowl in offense, dig drink-sticky ice cubes out of his drink, and fling them at his replacement one by one in successive order as Sakura tries to hold back a tipsy chuckle next to him. 

Sasuke listens more than he participates, though he would be hard-pressed to say he isn’t sort of enjoying himself, given he’s arrived at several rather obvious conclusions as his teammates all grow increasingly inebriated. Said conclusions are like most things he thinks, in that he keeps the thoughts to himself.

Naruto is the loud, lightweight type of drunk, carousing with grand merriment and even more conviction than usual, although Sasuke reasons that the loud portion of that assessment isn’t really a change from his base personality. Sai is moreso the type who outwardly doesn’t betray much of a change, other than a slightly delayed reaction time and occasionally interrupting whoever’s speaking rather than waiting for them to finish whatever they were saying.

But Sakura?

Sakura is cute when she's been drinking.

Her green eyes spark with easy, unrestrained joy, and she seems to find the most innocuous things funny, though she’s still adroit in terms of reaction time and interjecting into the flow of conversation when appropriate. Her pupils dilate unrestrainedly when she looks at him, as if to assess his reaction to something that Naruto and Sai said, more open in that she’s not hiding the fact that she wants to know what he’s thinking. Her cheeks flush, too, darker than her hair, and one of the lace straps of her dress keeps slipping the tiniest bit off her shoulder. 

It’s her mouth that distracts him most of all. A lazy grin has been firmly planted on her face for the better portion of the last hour, and her lips are still kind of shiny despite having gone through several glasses and leaving lipstick marks on each one. It’s enough to make him ignore the noise, ignore the dobe’s taunting, because she’s within arm’s length and less, with no sign of any desire to exit his proximity. In fact, it’s quite the opposite; he’s fairly certain she’s at least three inches closer to him than she was when they initially sat down.

She’s clearly enjoying herself - it’s possible that she’s been working too hard lately, and thus perhaps she needed a night out - so he’ll begrudgingly inwardly admit that he’s enjoying it, too. 

Now if he could just get out of nursing any further alcohol. He doesn’t want to push it; a small loosening of his tongue is plenty ample for tonight.

It’s not until Sasuke drains the last bit of his second chimamire no geisha that the dobe’s focus eases off of Sai; apparently he’s run out of ice cubes.

“Finally! I thought you’d never finish that thing!” The dobe’s speech is more sluggish than it usually is, signifying that the alcohol has begun to stake greater effect. He turns, comically slowly, in the direction of the waitress, currently milling in between the center tables. 

“HEY, CAN I ORDER A BARRAGE FOR MY FRIEND HERE-”

“I’m not drinking that,” Sasuke deadpans, frowning. He would say something, but judging by the waitress’s reaction, she didn’t even comprehend the idiot’s asininely slurred speech with all of the noise encumbering the words.

“Awwww, teme, why not?!” Naruto bemoans, shaking the small amount of liquid left at the bottom of his glass prior to draining it. He wipes his mouth with approximately zero courtesy, after. “I’ll even drink another one with you! You said you’d driiiiiink.”

“Yes,” Sasuke asseverates, betraying no enthusiasm and gesturing to his empty glass. “And I did.” 

“Two drinks barely count-”

Again, perhaps Naruto has matured in that he is more perceptive than he used to be.

“You never specified a quota, Dead Last,” Sasuke counters.

“Pssh.” Naruto waves his hand flippantly and attempts to roll his eyes, although it seems as if the prospect is making him dizzy. “You gotta lighten up a little, teme. What are you gon’ do after this anyways? Decipher more scrolls since you’re so good at them?”

It is then that an entirely amusing idea occurs to him, and he latches onto it as an easy way out of this situation. 

It could work… if Sakura plays along. 

More pertinently, it’ll annoy Naruto.

"No," he murmurs, barely audible over the clamor of the bar and working hard to contain his smirk, lest he completely give himself away. It’s hardest when he lets his gaze temporarily flicker calculatedly to hers prior to landing back on their idiot teammate. "I’m walking Sakura home."

It only takes a second before Sakura’s grinning up at him in his peripheral vision, nimble-witted no matter what. In turn, Naruto immediately glares at him, seeing straight through the ruse. Sai just regards the three of them blankly. 

"Nuh-uh! No way are you getting out of it this easily!" The dobe frowns ahead of adding, "Besides, Sakura-chan's even more of a menace when she's been drinking! One time she punched me so hard when we were getting wasted with Granny Tsunade, I had internal bleeding!"

“I remember that,” Sai vocalizes. 

"It's true," Sakura giggles ahead of taking another sip. At first he's not sure which statement she's referring to. A long pause passes in which Sasuke, Naruto, and Sai all look at her anticipatorily. 

Ultimately, her attention lands on Sasuke, gears briefly turning as she silently assesses what he’s really after: an accomplice to rescue him from the grim fate of having to consume a copy of whatever that poisoned monstrosity in the dobe’s hand is. As Sakura grins conspiratorially, her cheeks somehow flush darker. 

“I’d like some company,” she reveals with a convincing show of agreement, though the set of her mouth strongly implies that she’s trying not to laugh. “Who knows what kinds of unsavory characters could be lurking about?"

It is so utterly Sakura to still use a word like unsavory when she's been drinking, Sasuke mulls, stifling a snort of amusement. Naruto groans animatedly on his other side, sounding utterly defeated even as he continues to bitch. 

“You think I buy that for a second, Sakura-chan? Or should I say Three Second Haruno?!” 

Sasuke is too distracted by Sakura meeting his eyes again, smirking brazenly, to even throw a gloating glance in the dobe’s direction.

And suddenly, a deluge is torrenting the roof.

Sasuke is the least inebriated of all of them, so he notices it first. It doesn’t ease into it at all, really; there’s just a crash of roaring pitter patters suddenly there, torrenting from above as if vengeful gods have just rather unceremoniously thrown out their bathwater across all of Konoha. 

It doesn’t stop, however, and Sakura’s the next to notice, chin barreling upwards at the noise. She beholds the ceiling and its dissonance, long pale pink lashes glowing strangely ruby against the fluorescence, though she doesn’t say anything.

“Strong rain,” Sai comments in a monotone voice, drawing Sasuke’s focus away from Sakura and the way her lips have fallen open; the artist is draining the remaining alcohol from his can by the time Sasuke looks further right. “I suppose that is a sign that this evening must end.”

“Eh?” Naruto asks as he nearly drops his glass, clearly straining to listen. “Rain?”

Sasuke twitches, because he really is one of the least observant ninja he’s ever been around. Even some of the civilians milling about paused in their guzzling prior to his idiot best friend did. 

That thought is punctuated by a raucous boom of thunder.

"Shit," Naruto mutters, rising suddenly and nearly falling over woozily; it takes him a moment to recollect his balance before he begins to dig in his pockets for his wallet. 

"I didn't know it was 'bout to storm… I gotta get home. Hinata-chan hates ‘em!"

While Sasuke was unaware that nineteen or twenty something Hinata is fearful of storms, he’ll admit it’s a little endearing, the speed at which the dobe slams down enough money to cover his drinks and then some and is the first to speed out of the bar, shouting, “Bye, Sakura-chan, Sai, teme!” The term besotted newlyweds comes to mind; as with the majority of Kakashi’s lackadaisical descriptions and understanding of things, it’s apt. 

Sai pushes his now empty can to the center of the table with one hand as he retrieves money from his wallet via his other. “I will be going then, too. I expect Beautiful will want me home.” His replacement shoots them both an unusual smile as he rises, pulling the custom scroll Sasuke recognizes as the one the artist utilizes for his signature ninjutsu.

Sasuke frowns, confused, but all becomes clear as Sai makes a short sweep of his brush and a rudimentary umbrella pops into existence via the manipulation of a very small amount of chakra.  

“This outing was most entertaining,” the artist comments, stowing his supplies in advance of gripping the handle of the sketched umbrella. “I will see you later, Ugly, Traitor.” He then proceeds to turn, rather unsteadily; he must be more drunk than he appears, although now that Sasuke is reflecting, he doesn’t think the artist went through too many cans of chu-hai.

And so Sai is parting through the crowd and out the door in short order, too, just in time for a crash of thunder to echo through the streets. It’s enough to quiet the few remaining patrons in the bar who were too drunk to hearken the sound of the torrent smattering atop the roof. Quite a few of them are suddenly digging through their own pockets for wallets now.

“Sounds like quite a storm,” Sakura comments as another crash of thunder echoes above Konoha. When Sasuke turns back to her, he sees one of the straps of her dress has slipped off her shoulder again.

“...Yeah,” he manages absentmindedly, eventually tugging his gaze away long enough to reach for money from his own pocket. It probably would be wise to get Sakura home before the rest of the storm rolls in; it sounds as if it won’t be a particularly pleasant one. He knows she’s plenty capable of making it home on her own, but he wants to make sure. 

When she shifts slightly, moving to reach into her own pockets, he realizes she’s getting out her own money to pay, so he nudges her gently with his elbow. 

“I’ve got it,” he murmurs at a volume that only she will hear. 

A dark, rich blush inches its way across her face. 

“I…” Her voice trails off, and he bites the inside of his lip subtly to prevent it from twitching upwards. 

“You don’t have to,” she finally says as he lays enough on the table for a rough estimate of both their drinks and a sizable tip, faintly unfocused green eyes following the payment. “You already got dinner.”

In lieu of responding to that, Sasuke simply begins to shift out of the booth to rise, shooting her an amused look that’s also tinged with a suggestion to get her home: Aren’t you coming?

At first he expects she’s going to argue, but as the gears turn, something in her expression subsides. A smile ekes onto her features, and she averts her eyes momentarily. 

“...Thank you,” she expresses finally, rising and meeting his gaze afresh and appreciatively, though still accompanied by the dark blush. 

Sasuke simply nods, searching the shifting crowd of people for the easiest path out of the building. It’s easier than when they came in; quite a few people have made their escape out the door already, barreling down the street at the lagging speed civilians tend to have given they use no chakra to aid. Sakura lingers close behind him, following him to the door. A civilian jumps back hastily when they see Sasuke, a lingering expression of fear on his face, at which Sasuke frowns but tries not to react. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” He catches Sakura saying once they’re three people away from the door, at which he turns to her abruptly. “We could-”

“I’m still walking you home,” he tells her huskily, throwing her a meaningful look and quiet so as not to be heard by the majority of people within earshot. “...If you’d like.” 

There is a lengthy silence, or, rather, as much silence as there can be in a semi-crowded bar, but her soft features bit by bit morph into a smile.

“Okay,” she agrees as they finally get to the door and another round of thunder barrages the sky. Sasuke sees the corresponding lightning explode across the firmament through the open door in front of them, this time. Thick raindrops are collecting in the streets, and puddles have already begun forming in the crevices of the road. 

“Probably won’t be much of a walk,” Sakura jokes as the streak of gold subsides, grinning, at which Sasuke nods. 

They tear through the caliginous streets in a grayed blur. Sasuke doesn’t quite make it up to full speed, as he wants to keep pace with her, but Sakura is also a bit speedier than he remembers her being, even while intoxicated. The street lamps are all lit by now, the lights bleeding into the refractory of raindrops and obscured architecture. Lightning lacerates the horizon twice more along the way, although there’s nothing directly overhead as of yet that carries urgent danger.

Were they not capable ninja with speed as their aid, they would be more than damp by the point at which they make it to her apartment building. It’s the first monsoon of the season, sudden and intense rainfall soddening civilization; thick raindrops trail their way down the mirk and brick and wood of each building, flow down every shimmering leaf in each garden, and collect determinedly in the diminutive pooling concaves of the road.

Sakura’s pink hair clings to her neck with moisture once they’re finally inside her complex, dulled dusty rose in the darkness, and Sasuke finds himself thinking he’s glad, actually, that it’s the middle of the night, because he’s pretty sure her dress is clinging a little tightly to her skin, too, and were he to view it with the aid of broad daylight, he…

Well, it’s better not to dwell on it.

A boom of thunder that sounds closer than the previous handful resounds behind them as Sasuke pulls the complex door shut. There’s a subtle sound of raindrops dripping off of both of them, quietly plunking atop the concrete flooring before quickly expanding and subsiding. He can barely see the small watermarks they leave in the lack of light; none of her neighbors appear to be up, no luminosity emanating from beneath their doorways. 

Briefly, there’s a look of worry on Sakura’s feminine face as her eyes flip upwards to the bay window, clearly in response to the roar rattling the clouds; her shoulders straighten at the sound. When the last clap fades, Sakura settles and makes for the metal stairway, casting a cursory glance behind her as if this time she’s the one asking Are you coming?  

So he does, hand settling into his pocket and trailing behind her.

“That thunder sounds kind of close,” she voices in a hushed tone as she pulls her key from her pocket, clicking it into the lock and turning. It catches, clean and smooth. “I hope it doesn’t hit any of the electricity supply. The rain’s good, but… Well. I guess the hospital has a generator. Two, actually. Should be fine.”

Ah. It makes sense she’s worried about that. Despite the influence of a few drinks, she remains the levelheaded and cognitional woman he knows well, concerned for the wellbeing of others to the nth degree and sharp as a tack. Sasuke nods in agreement absentmindedly as his fingers close around his own copy of her apartment key, feeling the worn metal against his digits and tearing his gaze away from the damp fabric at the small of her back to the pastiche of pots that adorn her entryway. All of her plants appear recently watered, he notes, soil still dampened to a darker loam; she must have watered them before meeting earlier.

Sakura passes through the sage green door, and Sasuke trails behind her inside, closing it behind them both. He would like to say goodnight to her prior to leaving, but he also doesn’t wish to drip water all over her floors, so he lingers on the mat as Sakura removes her shoes, thus far betraying no change in balance despite her moderate insobriety. Another detonation of storm rips through the darkened building as she does so, louder than the one afore; it causes her shoulders to stiffen upwards just so once again. His head angles, trained on the sound as a frown inscribes itself onto his mouth. 

It's not as if he hasn't weathered worse storms - he has, many times - but he doesn’t particularly enjoy being without cover when close lightning is involved due to its unpredictability. He supposes it will only be for a few minutes at maximum, though, and a building with electricity is much preferred to the nearest damp stalagmite-laden caves or dilapidated abandoned buildings he sought shelter in while on his journey.

“How long do you think it’ll keep up?” Sakura asks with a searching expression, drawing him from his ponderings back to her entryway. She carefully nudges her shoes onto the rug with bare feet, albeit not looking at them as she does so; she’s regarding him casually instead, arms crossed as if she’s thinking. A more subtle crackle of thunder punctuates the air just then, and Sasuke shrugs, looking determinedly away from the semi-transparent lace strap that’s lolling off her shoulder. She hasn’t turned the lamp on, so it’s dark, but not dark enough that he can’t still see the way the dampened fabric is clinging to her skin.

“...Could be a while,” he observes, straining to listen, to hear if the deluge has let up even in the slightest, but it hasn’t. The droplets are comparable to a symphony composed entirely of percussion, a firm and overwhelming beat pummeling above their heads.  “First monsoon of the season.”

Sakura nods, pupils a little unfocused as if she’s considering his hypothesis but the alcohol is acting as a buffer to obscure whatever problem she’s working through in her head. 

Briefly her gaze falls to his feet, and her face communicates befuddlement; he assumes it’s confusion as to why his shoes are on. He’s struck for the second time tonight that Sakura is endearingly cute when she’s been drinking. Perhaps she’s failed to note it’s well past midnight.

And then Sakura, without falter, softly speaks into the swathes of silken gray coating them both here, enunciating each syllable completely clearly and betraying not an ounce of intemperance.

“You should sleep here.”

It takes him a moment to fully process it, sinking into his being agnate the stentorian drizzle over their heads and saturing him with the complicated tonic of internal conflict. The sandals around his feet suddenly feel as if they’re cemented to the rug, rooted in the boundary of the threshold and indecision.

It’s absolutely nothing to do with her and everything to do with his tendency for disturbed sleep, the nightmare that gripped him the night previous. It’s a one in three chance minimum, and there are periods where multiple days of them run together, so there’s no guarantee he won’t be besieged tonight merely because he was last night.

That cannot happen here, although he would very much like to stay at Sakura’s apartment, and he cherishes the offer. He knows, albeit the fact that she’s at least a little drunk, that she’s being kind, concerned for his well-being.

But he can’t. 

Unless…

“...The couch?” He asks quietly, finally, after the seconds have paralleled years given their slowness in crawling by. It wouldn’t be so formidable a thing, then. If he wakes, he could read one of the books from her shelf and possibly make her an early breakfast. If it’s a really bad one, he could easily flit back to his own apartment prior to her waking.

But Sakura’s lips pull into a frown, fine pink brows knotting together. 

“Of course not. My bed is…”

Big enough for two, he finishes internally for her as her voice trails off, feeling both elated and wretched. 

She really does trust him enough for that: shared sleep, close proximity, and the like. He’s slept near her before, sure - missions necessitate it - but never that close. Never beneath the same blanket.

And he has to turn her down.

Sakura’s cheeks are growing darker by the second, scarlet stained into the dark warm gray of the hour, as if she’s just realized what her words could imply, despite the fact he knows she’s just talking about sleeping. 

"Um, I just meant- Well, I-" She fidgets, biting her lip and fingers twitching at her sides. "To sleep. Just sleep. If you want. Since it's storming. And… well, the lightning." 

She says that often, he realizes. If you want. Doesn't she know that she is all he wants? That she has just offered him something that he badly wants? Something that he contemplates nearly every night despite his knowledge of the fact that it would only serve to unjustly burden her? 

Hesitation claws at his windpipe dutifully even as a clashing something twists pleasantly behind his ribcage; he thinks it’s his heart, ramified with vines overtaking superannuated brick, urging him to say yes. And then feelings are off to war in his throat, arrows flung and trebuchets loosing blows of logic against his traitorous tongue that wants nothing more than to agree.

It is in the midst of that battle - in his lack of response, the mangling of hesitance at his possibility of being unduly exposed - that he watches Sakura's expression flash with hurt.

"Um." Sakura shifts her gaze to the floor, and everything in him plummets along with it in alarm, like lead has been poured into his chest cavity just prior to being pushed off a steep cliff. It reminds him of the looks she used to give him when they were Genin and he said something that deeply disappointed her, shoulders shrinking in as if to barricade herself off from him as her smile faded. Or worse, just after the war when she'd been eerily silent in his presence the first few days, as if her feelings needed biting her tongue or pulling a mask over them, as if her love was some kind of grand burden on him, as if she hadn’t just saved him from bleeding out after he cast the most categorically, conclusively cruel genjutsu on her-

Say something.

"Never mind. Sorry, Sasuke-kun. Uh-"

Corrosion, you craven idiot.

"Thank you for walking me. I'll see you… tomorrow?" Sakura is not looking at him, and any kind of overture she's offered to him is shrinking back as quickly as it came, sure to be kept close to the vest for the foreseeable future and then some; this will resemble a rejection to her, like he doesn’t want her close, when that’s not it; it’s just- 

Her eyes are crestfallen and shiny, he realizes. Despite the crepuscule and ataxia the storm is providing, Sasuke has excellent eyesight; blatant tears are conspicuously pricking atop jade skewed gray, barely held in check by her eyelashes and willpower.

Speak up.

"Or… maybe later this week, if..? Well, if you have… other things to do."

Sasuke is tired of many things, but above all, he is tired of being a coward, of his tendency to decathect, of making Sakura cry.

Her eyes are shiny-

"I'm really sorry, Sasuke-kun. I didn't mean to overstep… Or to… Well, I didn't mean to push you. I just meant-"

When he finally manages to wrench his tongue away from hesitance - I just won’t sleep , he reasons - he says possibly the stupidest thing he could, the first thing to come to mind, though he supposes the day sort of began with teeth.

"I don't have a toothbrush." 

It’s accented by additional raindrops sliding down the roof, as if they are an accompanying drumroll to emphasize his statement’s imbecility.

Sakura studies him for a long moment as if processing, and it makes him wonder if the damage is already done, if he's already rived and ruined things. Her eyes are still shiny; she blinks several times to clear them.

Were it a fleeting offer, he supposes it provides her an out, though there's a beast, desperately trying to claw its way out of the fissure that is his chest and into his throat, that shrivels at that prospect, hurts in a way that makes his own vision blur for a second, then two.

"I have extra," she ultimately responds softly, happily, tone audibly relieved and her lips pulling upward into a breathtaking smile. "You can have one."

So, slowly, carefully, Sasuke removes his sandals, placing them neatly on the rug prior to trailing after Sakura to her bathroom. She flips the light on before kneeling to the height of the cupboard below the sink, from which she pulls a small package of two remaining unused toothbrushes.

“I usually buy the bigger pack and just use them over time,” she explains, rising to her feet and turning to him with a pale purple one in hand. It’s remarkably similar in color to her dress now that it’s damp. 

Yes, the dress is very… damp.

It is at this point that he locks his vision firmly on Sakura’s face, which is flushed red as a cherry; he gathers that she has perhaps glimpsed herself in the mirror with the lights on. 

“I’m… going to go change quick… Er, if you want to brush your teeth first?” 

Sasuke nods, and she presses the lavender toothbrush into his hand prior to, thankfully, flitting out of the room.

Brushing his teeth seems to happen in a blur, existence seemingly slowing and quickening all at once in tempo with the spate of precipitation as well as another brawl of thunder. He brushes his teeth as if on clumsy autopilot, movement of the bristles slow and uncharacteristically disorderly.

It doesn’t take long for Sakura’s bedroom door to click open again. She emerges clad in a dark, blessedly dry pair of shorts and a loose fitting shirt somewhere between gray and pistachio green; he sees it clearly in the mirror’s reflection, right as he’s staring at the countertop cup that contains her own toothbrush, wondering if he should put the one he’s just used there. 

She deposits the dress, folded neatly atop her arm, in the laundry room at the apex of the hall before making her return to the bathroom. Her smile is sheepish as she grabs her own toothbrush and stakes a place next to him in front of the mirror, reaching for the toothpaste. 

It’s strange, to see both himself and her, side by side in the mirror. Their height difference is further pronounced than he thought, he reflects. The difference in their coloring is more apparent, too; his dark hair and lone visible murky eye are sharp in contrast to her pale skin, her lighter irises and the slightly damp pink hair still clinging to her neck.

Sakura has just begun her brushing, gaze meeting his in the mirror, when his eyes drop to the toothbrush in his hand, rinsed clean already, in silent question. Dark pupils assess him for a moment, then flash to the cup where she stores her own toothbrush in silent answer, lips quirking upward encouragingly.

He exhales a slow breath he didn’t realize he was holding prior to placing it there. He then waits, taking a step back from the immediate area of the sink, not wanting to crowd her there but also not wanting to enter her bedroom without her. 

Her own motions smooth and unencumbered by the evening’s activities, Sasuke observes that Sakura brushes her teeth thoroughly and methodically now. On missions when they were younger, Sasuke always spent the longest of any of them on the task. Naruto rarely brushed his at all until Kakashi started forcibly shoving a toothbrush in his hand anytime they were somewhere overnight. Sakura always fell somewhere in the middle; she always brushed her teeth, but perhaps could have spent a little longer at it on certain occasions. He supposes multiple cavities probably inspired her to take greater care for the action, over the years. 

She’s still smiling after she’s finished up, like the grin is permanently etched into the set of her mouth.

"Which side do you like?" She asks the question softly, kind as ever as he trails behind her into her bedroom.

"Left," he manages to say quietly, albeit a bit absentmindedly as he wrenches his head away from the uchiwa fan across the room, still displayed prominently atop her vanity. Despite the hammering of the rain, it somehow also seems quiet enough here for one to hear a pin drop, the air laced with something that feels much the same as anticipation to him. 

Sakura nods, grinning as if pleased with this information and not seeming to notice his prior preoccupation. He's pretty sure she prefers the right side; her book, the same one as the first occasion he’d seen her bedroom, still rests on the end table placed at the right of the bed, and that is the side with the lamp currently switched on. She proceeds forward to prehend her place, beginning to pull back the blankets and sheet.

He carefully follows her lead, carving a slow pace to the opposite side, intent on mirroring her actions. Her sheets are lavender, too, he sees now, though perhaps they’re a slightly brighter shade than her comforter; they match the pillowcases. He stares at them a moment, so unlike his own bedding and thinking on their visage of opposites even here. He himself always chooses dark colors as they weather the longest.

Sakura settles on the far end of the bed, closer to the edge than the center, enough so that there’s acutely defined space between them. He’s sure that it’s on his behalf, giving him plenty of space with which to reconcile his boundaries. 

Even still, there’s a crossing of some metaphorical threshold here, ill defined on pale lilac fabric pulled immaculately smooth as of yet on his end. A few hairs at his nape are standing on end in anticipation.

Sasuke tentatively meets her eyes, already looking at him and desaturated from being backlit. It’s possibly the softest expression he has ever seen Sakura wear; it steals his breath, makes it feel like the air is heavy yet warmer in his lungs. 

Slow as molasses slides down the concave of an upturned jar, he takes his invited place, leaving the clean unblemished boundary in the middle. He takes up more space in the bed than she does, he realizes, feet creating an indent beneath the blankets at the foot of the bed that briefly catches his attention. 

The blankets rustle, and his focus drags away from their feet - her own are pretty small, he notes at the motion - and to Sakura’s craned torso, twisting to flip off the lamp.

As she does so, the spine of the book on her bedside table lingers briefly within view, just to the left of her shoulder from his vantage point. It reads An Introduction to Electrocardiography. 

Sasuke nearly snorts for two reasons.

One, amusement, because of course Sakura would house, of all things, a well-worn medical text at her bedside. He’s not sure if it’s to assist herself in falling asleep at times or because she genuinely finds it that interesting of a read. Either option greatly entertains him.

Two, he’s not sure what exactly electrocardiography is, but he recognizes the cardi prefix as having something to do with the heart. Fitting, he thinks; his own feels rather like it may beat out of his chest currently, if he continues to allow his whirlwind of thoughts to careen out of check. It feels rather as if someone has come into the hallways of his mind and rearranged all of the boxes he typically keeps shoved out of sight for safekeeping.

She reaches the switch in short order and the world plunges into low saturation, shades of gray and subtle violet or green. 

He lays his head back on the pillow as she does the same, gaze affixed to her ceiling for now. He’s not sure if it would be weird to turn to look at her again, although he wants to. He contents himself with other observations instead as they listen to the rain, straining for visuals or his other senses to make sense of the present and trying greatly to leave the past in the past. 

Her comforter is thicker than his, he notices first; it makes it warmer beneath the blankets, a suitable subsidy for a night like tonight. His focus wanders to where the ceiling meets the wall, examining it: there’s a thin layer of mortar line, a remnant of the cruder tools utilized to construct buildings that have been abandoned for newer methods. His own apartment building has it, too, small flaws here and there, reflecting skilled work accomplished with obsolete apparati.

“Did you run into many storms like this?” Sakura surprises him by asking quietly, tone barely hovering above a whisper yet easy to hear above the din when he’s this close to her. “When… Well, when you were away, I mean.”

“...A few,” he responds after a moment of pondering, reflecting on the multitude of squalls and tempests he encountered while on his journey. Depending on the climate of the locale, it varied from simple thunderstorms to the more dangerous monsoons, and on one occasion he had to leave the coast rather quickly due to an approaching irate hurricane.

Another cannonade resounds, reverberating against every building; a flash of lightning accompanies it across the sky, briefly illuminating the balcony entranceway and the windows in the pitch. He apprehends, finally, that, while this storm is certainly loud and all-consuming, it doesn’t feel… fractious.

In fact, it reminds him of-

“I remember…” 

Sasuke angles his head her way slightly, tilted left atop the pillow and in a climacteric search for distraction. He can make out her side profile, button nose and curved mouth and the barest hint of splayed lashes.

It grounds him, a stable tether to the present with a lot of slack, should he want it.

“...I remember, you wrote a letter from the Land of Woods.”

Sasuke blinks. 

“You said the thunder sounded different there,” she murmurs softly. He watches her lips move, the subtle way the outline changes as she switches between vowels and consonants. “In the forest, I mean. You said it… echoes longer through the trees, if you listen. No buildings to bounce off of.”

His brows arch a little upwards, surprised she remembers that. He’d found a cave for the evening, tiny and cramped and not very deep. It was shelter, but he barely fit beneath that particular bedrock; it had given him a front row seat to the clashing concerto of pealing lightning streaking across the arching sky. The wind was mighty, too, a sad hymn of anguished autumn whipping the sonance around. Luckily it had come from the direction of the back of the cave, which put him out of the worst of the blustering November chill.

He’d listened to it for some time, watching the dark clouds roll across the sky and mother nature stake her dominion. It had sounded different, though, noises swishing through pine needles and crunching leaves rather than the more organized din of storms rushing through coordinated streets and roofs all roughly of a similar height. Sasuke had recorded his thoughts in a letter to her, one he hesitated to send, wondering if she’d find it tedious. It’s not like a storm is the most interesting thing in the world.

But she always responded to his letters, quickly and kindly - he was nearly a year into his journey at that point, their correspondence a familiar routine that felt as much needed to him as water or food - so he’d sent it anyways. Sure enough, her response had been positive; she’d said something along the lines of wanting to experience such a storm in the woods someday, far from civilization. 

The bedding rustles slightly, and he realizes Sakura is turning to lie on her side, to face him. He finds himself emulating the action, shifting to rest on his left side as if his body is acting on its own accord. Although it hasn’t yet progressed to pain, the action makes his stump twinge a bit again until he’s shifted his weight off of it.

There’s still a divide between them, a place where the blanket cleaves to rest against the mattress rather than bodies, clearly delineating the boundary.

“Thank you. For the letters, I mean,” Sakura says softly, articulation emblazoned with authenticity. It’s a gift to look at her more fully here. Her hair cascades off her pillow now, neatly melting into the pillowcase, and her eyes, her entire countenance, really, is gentle something that he thinks he recognizes but would struggle to voice. 

“You really have… Well, I mean. The way you described it was-”

Whatever she was about to say lingers in her throat, unspoken as she’s interrupted by a boom of thunder so loud that Sasuke deduces the storm must now be directly overhead. Her eyes widen, and her focus leaves him to study the ceiling, following the sound with concern as resplendent lightning flashes across the glass outside. He supposes she’s likely mulling over the hospital’s generator situation anew.

There is a change in the air, a sudden lack of electric current where previously there was. The vent nearest her bed - he appraises it is on her side, close to the wall - goes silent.

"Oh," Sakura murmurs. "Power's out."

Sasuke nods absentmindedly, caught on the way she purses her lips around the end of the statement, mouth slightly slackened. 

He would like to kiss her here, he realizes all at once.

It’s not a new realization. He’s known it for a while. Years, if he’s being honest and recollecting certain dreams, resulting in wakening conundrums and general introspection on the nature of intimacy, on what it means to allow oneself to be that close to another person without an escape plan, no contingency for evasion. 

Congeneric with most things he contemplates inwardly, things he turns over in his mind to view in every angle of light before actually doing , he finds the thought of being invited to share Sakura’s bed can’t compare to the reality of it, the exhilaration and tactility of being within her realm of reach.

It’s copiously overwhelming, this dizzying desire to reach out, ambit be damned. Sasuke would like to intertwine each of their fingers. He would like to run his thumb across the plushness of her lower lip, across every freckle dotting her skin. He would like to pull her close and press his lips to hers until neither of them can breathe. 

He would like to do more than that.

He can’t, won’t, or at least, won’t for a long while, because that would be akin to asking for trouble. He has things he needs to fix beforehand, numerous plants in need of watering, habits he needs to break so as not to be found lacking.

It’s just… overwhelming, this conflict, the desire to do something, now that he’s here in the drastic thrill of this moment, hesitancy near conquered by the aroma of tart berry and the way his heart seems to be doing somersaults in his chest, overriding his mind’s best intentions. 

“You smell nice,” Sakura says as her vision belatedly slinks away from the ceiling and back to him, at which point his neck warms; just how many times can one be caught staring? 

Her words then catch up to him. He blinks in surprise, a flush inking onto his cheeks now, too; he finds himself thankful for the fact that his skin tans, as it’s roughly the same value as the red trickling across his cheeks and thus likely indistinguishable in the current lack of light. 

"...I do?” He questions, once he’s realized he should actually formulate a response.

Sakura nods, slightly sheepish in the dark. He’s pretty sure her face is flushed, at which point he subtly, slowly exhales, because at least the flustered emotion is mutually assured; her digits are twitching a little at the edge of the blanket, betraying that she is not unaffected by his proximity.

"...Like what?" He’s never considered that he has any sort of aroma about him. His own soap’s scent is exceedingly subtle; he barely smells it, even an hour after showering.

Sakura explains in short order, barely missing a beat, as if she has known the answer for years.

"Woodsmoke with a hint of… something. Maybe sage?" She murmurs softly. "Or pine, maybe? Wild plants. And fire."

The explanation, albeit being uttered softly and kindly, tugs his mouth downwards a bit.

"I smell like fire?" It doesn't seem that would have a particularly good smell to him. He wasn't aware his Katon left any sort of aroma behind. He supposes his first few years of life he was rather surrounded by people who used the jutsu regularly, so he may be desensitized to it.

"I… Well, not like fire. Just… I think maybe your Katon no Jutsu?" Sakura extrapolates quietly, eerily mimicking his thoughts. "It's a good smell. Cedar, sage… other things… I don't know. I just… Your…"

He blinks, holding his breath for a second, because darkened green is holding him in place, studying him with an expression that seems… shy.

"Your lips get chapped, I think, after you use it. It's stronger then."

His frown sinks deeper, although Sakura is smiling as if this is the most wonderful fact in the world.

"...Is it bad?" He questions. Kissing someone with chapped lips sounds unpleasant. He appreciates the softness of her lips, often, to his muddlement. It's never occurred to him how his own mouth may feel to her.

"No, no!" Sakura insists with a small giggle. Her laugh shifts the blanket they’re sharing, a strange new sensation he finds he likes; it makes his frown dissipate. "No, I like it. I just mean, the aroma is stronger when your lips are a little chapped, so that might be where it comes from?"

He blinks, exhaling. It does make sense.

"I… I really like it. And… Well, I miss it, when you're away." 

Sakura’s gaze disentangles from his, sweeping away. Her fingers are still playing with the edge of the blanket, fidgeting. And perhaps it’s the miniscule amount of alcohol circulating in his system, or, more likely, the ardor augmenting in his chest cavity consonant with oil drizzled atop fire, but he finds this revelation compelling enough to loosen his tongue, to a degree. The world won’t end if he voices certain things.

"...You smell nice, too." It’s true, after all.

Her focus comes back to him with suddenly rapt attention, eyes widening. 

“I… I do?”

Sasuke nods once, in pace with the rain’s tempo on the roof. And then her countenance is questioning, so he offers more.

“Berries. Raspberry, mostly. And antiseptic, sometimes.”

Raised brows lower as her expression shifts from pleased to something stuck amongst befuddled and troubled.

“Antiseptic?” She asks in a small rattled voice, and he thinks she’s exceedingly cute. 

“Aa,” he confirms quietly, failing to hide his amusement. “If you’ve been working.”

A pause stretches between them, conversation briefly overtaken by raindrops and wind in the beams and brick.

"How romantic," Sakura comments at last, good-natured sarcasm saturating her laugh. He exhales breathily in response via his nose, his own version of one. 

Corrosion.

"I… miss it, too," he admits, distinctly quiet to the extent that he’s near whispering, as he finds baring his thoughts like this arduous. He assumes that the when I’m gone is implied.

"...Oh." Sasuke could be mistaken, but he believes there is perhaps awe in her tone as well as exorbitant appreciation for the admission. 

"Um," she says after a moment as he continues to enjoy admiring her. Her visage is somewhat different in the dark, in her bed, color schemes throwing reflected light across her palette. "Thank you. It's my soap."

"I know," he says unthinkingly as he continues studying her, at which she blinks thrice and his brain catches up to what he’s vocalized. His neck heats of its own accord and he sweeps his gaze away from hers.

Idiot.

"I… Oh." 

More rain spatters across the roof, plunking an even cadence like waves against a shoreline. He tries to force his pulse into a matching beat through sheer willpower.

"Um. Thank you.” 

Sasuke nods absentmindedly, gaze remaining trained on the lavender blanket, the angle of the folds between them both.

“Hey, um… Sasuke-kun.” 

Exhaling slowly, face still feeling inordinately warm, he meets her eyes anew to find her expression timid.

“Sorry, I know I’m talking a lot. I… Well, I… Do you think I could see your wrist?” She asks quietly. “I’m still… Well, I just… Would like to check your pulse again, I mean.”

His brows furrow together in question, at which point Sakura smiles sheepishly. A flash of lightning illuminates the sky through the glass; the scintillant plays across the sculpture of her face, cascading across a tilted cheekbone before streaming just as easily away into the gloaming.

“I mean, to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

Barely holding back a snort, the words you don’t need to worry hover on his tongue, unsaid. 

He gives in to the impulse from earlier instead, humoring her by slowly outreaching above her bedspread, past his perimeter to offer his hand. It may appease her; Sasuke doesn’t wish to make her worry.

Sakura’s fingers make contact with his skin and he tries valiantly not to shy away from the contact, the refuge, warm and soft.

It’s just her hand, he tells himself inwardly as she feels along for the vein, his pulse, and there it is: the thrill rushing through his veins.

Sixty seconds and then some tick by, agonizingly slowly. He spends them noting the exact hue and darkness differences between his tanned hand and her paler one, the mostly smooth expanse of hers versus his, nicked with puckered scar tissue.

“It’s back to normal,” Sakura eventually declares, tone tacitly relieved, although she makes no effort to pull her fingers back to herself. They rest atop the boundary of the middle of the bed, another message of opposites.

There is an immensely drawn out pause as he exhales slowly, thinking about the constitution of trust and radical honesties. He wishes, often, that he had known the truth about his clan from the get-go. He may have made vastly different choices, no apostasy and resultingly, no ensuing heartache for her and Naruto and Kakashi. 

This is less high stakes than that, and it is that comparison that pushes him. 

She’s drunk, though to what extent it’s hard to gauge. Perhaps she won’t fully remember tomorrow, if he admits it now. It shouldn't be such a colossal thing to admit, anyways, and she’s already offered him several things this particular evening. Sure, he’s vocalized one thing he’s been musing about for months, but that was in return for her acknowledgment. And he’s right here, with her, under her roof and invited into her bed.

“...It’s not,” he tells her quietly, forcing the truth out.

She frowns, and it amuses him immensely despite the way he’s suddenly finding it a challenge to swallow.

“It’s seventy-two,” Sakura says matter-of-factly. Her fingers still haven’t left his skin, resting against his wrist. “Your pulse typically runs a little fast for a Shinobi.”

He gives her a look that he hopes communicates what he’s trying to say, but she merely stares back as if flummoxed, as if what he’s said doesn’t make an ounce of sense. He may as well have just told her that the ocean is bronze instead of blue, or that finches are mammals instead of birds.

“It doesn’t,” he manages to confess, searching her expression for any meager glimpse of understanding that could save him from explaining the rest. And still, the rest of the words escape him, several avenues of relaying this information slipping through his fingers away into the interminable abyss.

You're the common denominator, he thinks and doesn't say, the words hovering in his throat; the phrasing is too detached for such a revelation. Were she to go searching in the archives of his medical files, the ones that are from the time they became Genin or earlier, she would see that well enough; his pulse has always run low, clear evidence of their profession’s requirement of physical fitness. He’s certain she has access to them, given her position. That she clearly hasn’t, that she is only working on the medical knowledge that she herself has been directly involved in, speaks volumes of her care for his privacy. It prompts more direct avenues of relaying this information.

It's you that makes-

No; perhaps not that direct. 

Sakura’s entire being has shifted to severe confusion and concern. He looks at her directly, swallowing and searching for the words.

“...Sakura,” he enunciates slowly, daringly, voice almost a whisper and laden with meaning as he slips his fingers into the spaces between hers, effectively intertwining their digits amongst the schism separating them, careful and slow.

There is a lengthy pause in which she simply stares at him in confusion.

Then, the barest flicker of understanding leaks in. 

“I…” Her voice tapers off, studying their joined hands. The quietness of her voice is nearly lost amongst the clamor of the precipitation. 

“...I?” Sakura finally asks it in a tone that could be innocent, trailing off as if she's losing the thought, and he thinks to himself that inebriation aside, she remains very much Haruno Sakura, observant and shy and sharp as a whip and phrasing her speech in a way that gives him an out, should he want it.

For now, his mind repeats, and yes, sometimes that will do, a level of partnership they slowly but surely approach. But logic demands that it will be for longer if he isn’t willing to be direct about the more minor minutiae and fine details.

“You,” he confirms, wringing the single word out of his throat, realizing he doesn't want the out and simultaneously relieved that he won’t need to vocalize further than that. Perhaps admissions are easier said amongst pillows and darkness, holding the hand of the one you love and wrapped in the warmth of a blanket during a monsoon.

At his words, Sakura flushes dark, crimson smudging her pale cheeks to a darker gradient, but thanks to his brother, his eyesight is crystal clear.

“O-oh.” A smile, jubilant and infectious, ekes across her features. She bites her lip, gaze dropping to their intertwined fingers, studying them. She’s pretty even without light, he thinks.

"Me, too," Sakura whispers then, peeking at him and nudging his pointer finger to her wrist; he can easily reach it without untwining their digits, he finds when he follows her beckoning. 

It takes him a second to comprehend that she’s inviting him to count her own pulse in return. So he does. The flicker of life is pleasant against his skin, counted in a thriving tempo against his own digit as the torrent pelts the roof.

He counts eighty-one beats in the span of the minute’s passing. He whispers it, too: “Eighty-one.” 

Her smile turns shy, and she tightens her grip on his hand, squeezing. 

“My normal is fifty-four.”

Ah.

It's nice to have that bit of knowledge, precious confirmation that the nerves he feels are reciprocated in objectively equal measure for it. It feels a bit like a reward for speaking what he’s thinking. 

They stay like that, hands clasped together at the center of the bed resembling a promise and harkening to the rain and thunder and lightning as they dance into oblivion, time drizzling away.

Given it’s been a rather prolix day on her part, it doesn’t take long for Sakura to drift asleep. Her eyes slip closed, and soon her breathing levels off fully, hand slackening slightly in its grip against his.

As he planned and for multiple reasons, Sasuke doesn't succumb to sleep. Other than those that are rather obvious, puddling memories that begin to throb in equivalence to his stump at the pressure change, there is one that stands out above all else.

Now that she's mostly still, chest rising and falling evenly in sync with the plunk of deluge against the shingles, he sees that Sakura’s hair in this lighting blends in with the color of her comforter near perfectly. It almost looks mauve, a small shred of moonbeam igniting the mulberry crown of her head. He’s studied Sakura while she sleeps here and there over the years, mostly on missions, though there was once in the hospital after the war when she fell asleep at both his and Naruto’s bedside, and then the time more recently when he encouraged her to take a nap on her own couch. 

This, however, is different. There’s a threshold crossed, some deeper succedaneum of intimacy ruptured between them and dipped into. The buzzing, muddled, good feeling filling the zenith behind his ribs still hasn’t let up since the second she asked him to stay.

He’s allowed to be this close to her. Moreso, she wants him here, in her bed. And that’s before the mutual admittances, the quiet credence and metamorphosed cognition.

Sasuke knows that Sakura is attractive, uniquely so. He thinks to himself that she's pretty at minimum several times a day, and, often to his great consternation, more than that during certain nights.

But here, slivers of a scant moon and haphazard storm refulgence cascading across her hair and catching a pale eyelash or three, Sakura is beautiful. Completely at ease with his presence aside her, freckle faded a cooler subset, even breathing causing her chest to rise and fall mere inches away from his. She is a soft balm for the sharp edges of life, a violaceous respite enwrought in shades of mauve and plum.

She's also warm, sharing a blanket as the torrent batters the roof. He feels it in their numinous enlaced fingers, in the body heat that inches its way further to his side beneath the comforter the longer he looks, crossing the centered ambit due to the nature of endothermic process.

He pushes the aching memory beckoning at the corner of his conscience away repeatedly, allocating it for later and trying to focus on aroma alone, uniquely her, all remnant petrichor and raspberry. 

And what he wants is wickedly selfish, but he loves her so much that it physically aches behind his sternum, the avidity palpable and enthralling. It is also an alternative, a diversion with the potential to tug him away from doors that have been closed so long the hinges have rusted together, decayed metals that may disintegrate in his lone hand, were it not kept occupied. 

And, above all, he knows he wants to remember this for as long as he lives, far beyond life’s epilogue of fallen, frosted leaves and colorless ash.

So once she's been out for at least an hour and he's turned the idea over in his head half a hundred times, he capitulates, and a trio of tomoe begin spinning.

This is the purpose of Sharingan eyes, he thinks as the colors spin into sharpened, captivating clarity: capturing the evanescent. Her hair really is lavender here, beguilingly ataractic, cascading messily across her pillow of a like value. Forget training, forget battles, forget the Uchiha being made to be warriors, in possession of fire and alloy bones and acuminate teeth; this is exactly what Itachi's gift is for, his sacrifice, what his ancestors should have fought and died for.

He captures her in his cognizance perfectly, unmitigated in all-immersive study, her fingers paramountly intertwined with his and her fair skin and the even rise and fall of her chest, scattered and skewed lavender hair framing her like the prettiest picture as time melts through a sieve.

Selfish , he thinks after a few minutes of careful examination, sated atramentous tomoe revolving away as if carried swiftly by nature’s stream, but her image, safe and at ease in his presence, is drenched into his retinas for the rest of his days.

Selfish… but worth it. It is something to behold foremost, to clutch immemorial and dear, filaments to recall and turn over in the light when he is at his disconsolate weakest. He understands why people write poems about lovers, all at once; this is a level of intimacy he's having difficulty fully grasping, all heart amalgamation, yet there isn't a thing in the world that could affright him away from her at this moment.

She's lovely, fairer than any rose and ethereally unparalleled, the most beautiful mercy he's ever rhapsodically espied or memorized this way.

He still doesn't sleep, but the steady ballad of tenebrific fading rain, emulsion repelled down the wet roof, and Sakura’s quiet breathing inches rather than feet away keeps him close company over the ensuing hours. 

Under the gleaming light of a quiescent clear morning, the rising sun sweet and heavy with gold, her hair regains its true color.

[leicamoments]

But to me it’s a sanctuary

Saturday saw me take a short journey towards Pateley Bridge to visit one of those little gems of a ground – Glasshouses Cricket Club.

Now, those that follow cricket and especially Yorkshire cricket may recall that this club was in the news just before the start of the 2023 season. They were struggling to get a team together – almost a perfect storm of location, change in attitudes to playing village cricket and a good few other factors.

Stories in The Stray Ferret, Yorkshire Post and Cricket Yorkshire brought their existential fight to the attention of a larger audience and thankfully players responded, allowing the Theakston Nidderdale Division Five club to register a team and take part in this summer’s campaign.

I could regurgitate a list of facts about the club…one of the founding members of the Nidderdale league in 1894…won the league title 19 times…okay, I’ll stop [but if you want to read more in-depth articles about this club and many others, then hop across to John Fuller’s Cricket Yorkshire website – Glasshouses also feature in his first book ‘All Wickets Great and Small’]...okay, I'll really stop now!

Departing from the usual match report style that I do [probably badly], I’ll simply tell you that this game was pretty one-sided, with the visitors - West Tanfield second eleven batting first and reaching 210 for eight in their allotted 40 overs.

In response Glasshouses struggled to get runs and by the 18th over they had been bowled out for just 76 – their opponents winning the game by a healthy 134 runs.

But that tells just one aspect of the story of the day, and if I am being honest wasn’t the most important part either – well not to me at least.

Rewinding a little

I arrived early for the 12:30pm start and was greeted by a smiling Ken who showed me down to the ground, offered to open the clubhouse, and stood with me chatting for a good while.

Ken has been living next to the ground since 1960 and got involved pretty much straight away. Apart from a brief two-year break, he has been groundsman ever since, and when needed the 80-year-old has also picked up a bat and played for the club.

He played last season, but the call for players through the media this season has been successful enough to raise an eleven, which means he hasn’t been called upon this campaign (although I believe he has stepped in for another team).

I’m in awe of people like Ken; devoted club members who work diligently year-in, year-out and are the pillars of grassroots clubs. Unfortunately, they rarely get the recognition they deserve from the outside world.

And now the end is near

Saturday was the final day of Theakston Nidderdale games in all leagues, and I was hoping against hope the good weather that we’ve experienced over the past few weeks would hold on for just a few more days…but alas, we had a return to typical UK September cricket weather.

It was cold, grey and there was a constant, almost imperceptible drizzle floating around on the crosswinds. A nightmare for photographers who end up constantly cleaning the fine mist off the front glass of their lenses.

Despite the weather, there was a light-hearted jovial feeling between the two sets of players and smiles during different passages of play – the sort of atmosphere that adds to the day rather than detracts from it.

That’s not to say there wasn’t anything to play for – I believe that West Tanfield had already secured the runners-up spot in the league, but Glasshouses needed some points to secure third [spoiler alert – they did].

There was the added drama of a dropped catch that resulted in a dislocated finger and an unscheduled trip to Ripon A&E for one Glasshouses player…I wish him a speedy recovery!

The last time I was at this ground was in the 2018 season and as I recall it was a wonderful summer’s day, with few clouds and a cooling breeze.

Yorkshire is spoilt for choices when it comes to picturesque cricket grounds, set in the rolling hills of the dales and moors. If I had to pin my colours to a particular mast, then Blubberhouses would get my vote as a favourite ground for Cricket…but it is pushed so, so hard by Glasshouses and a couple of others.

Let’s make no bones about this…the setting is pretty amazing and the views from the boundary rope are spectacular, however, as the cold grey skies of September cried a fine mist of tears, the peaks of the hills were obscured, and the valley was covered in a soft hazy grey blanket.

All very atmospheric.

When you draw up your own list of grounds to visit, you must put this cricket club on that list. I’m not going to argue with you…just do it!

The Future

The appeal for players in February was loud and worked this season, and for that, I and many others are truly grateful.

What I do worry about, and this isn’t just for Glasshouses, is that at a time when the game at grassroots is changing; cost of living going through the roof; players being more mobile; the draw of other sports; and the nature of league and cup games taking up whole days and/or weekends, competing for time and putting more stress on the work/family balance…one season, the call for players will fail and clubs will fold.

It's sad to see this happening and I hope that the 2024 league season will see Glasshouses get at least a starting eleven without the need for the same call to arms. I for one will be back to cover one of their games next summer.

Final thoughts on my latest trip to this small village cricket club, situated down the bottom of a cul de sac: I could have gone and covered one of the games where teams were vying for promotion, to win league titles, or avoid relegation, but I didn’t and I’m so glad that I chose to finish this grassroots cricket season at a Theakston Nidderdale Division five game – a game that truly embodied what grassroots cricket is all about.

Addendum

Glasshouses may have finished their league campaign, but they are having one final friendly game this coming weekend…maybe you could pop down, enjoy the game and take in those breathtaking views. You know you want to!

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Tales from Jianghu Shopping Center

@lansplaining made this post a few days ago reimagining all the Great Sects as shops in a weird roadside strip mall, and weird strip malls are, unironically, one of my favorite things in this world so I had to do this. I had no choice. For Vibe Purposes, I want y'all to know that this is set in the late 90's, early 00's, it barely matters except I think it really gives it a fun nostalgic ~flavor~. (Also I very much have a very specific strip mall that I like in mind for this because I'm normal 😂)

This is currently only a one-shot but I'm in love with this concept and would be happy to do more little one-shot vignettes/headcanons if anyone has anything in mind that they'd like to see! Ask box is always open ♥

[Masterpost] [AO3]

-/-

Lan Wangji stands behind the counter, hands resting lightly on the ever-so-slightly sticky vinyl as he listens to the thrum of the air conditioner lumbering to keep up with the latest midsummer heatwave. Through the windows - beyond the clustered rows of antique bric-a-brac and the glimmering crystal display winking in the blocks of light creeping slowly across the first few feet of the shop - the sun beats down unhindered to bake the blacktop tarmac and the handful of cars parked neatly between the cracking white lines. As he watches, a family of five steps out of a silver-gray van into the shimmering heat and heads across the lot, children’s hands tucked neatly into their parents’ likely-sweaty palms as they head for the corner restaurant a few doors down.

It’s lunch time, and though the strip mall doesn’t see a ton of business during the week, most days there’s always a bit of a bump right around noon, families and dating couples out for a wander passing through to enjoy the Jiangs’ cooking.

Lan Wangji lights a fresh stick of his favorite sandalwood incense and watches the smoke curl lazily up towards the half-length bead curtain clicking gently overhead, swaying a little in the breeze from the AC over the hallway through to the back just behind him.

“Wangji, do you want to take your break?” Lan Xichen asks from the back office, head poked around the door frame. He’s been doing the books and inventory this morning and Lan Wangji doesn’t envy him the job even if it is cooler back there, tucked well away from the sun-drenched front windows as it is.

“No need,” he says simply, the tip of an index finger tapping just once against the vinyl under his hand. “It has been quiet, I am fine.”

“Alright. I’m going to take mine and eat something, take yours when I get back alright? Shufu packed us cold noodles today, they’re perfect for this weather.”

“Mn.”

The smoke continues to curl lazily up towards the ceiling as Lan Wangji watches life go on outside the cool peace of the Cloud Recesses Antiques and Spiritual Supply Depot that’s belonged to his family for a few generations now, through several iterations spanning multiple decades. The air conditioner sputters but Lan Wangji doesn’t spare it a glance. Another family passes their front windows to head for the restaurant, and it’s only a matter of time now before he gets to appreciate his favorite sight of the day.

-/-

“I’m going!!” Wei Wuxian shouts over his shoulder and Madam Yu waves him off impatiently with her usual thunderous frown.

“Go, go!”

“Be careful A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli calls from where she’s standing over her favorite wok, hair pulled back tightly though the heat and humidity of the day - and the busy kitchen - have already coaxed little baby hairs around her ears and at her temples to hang loose around her sweetheart face. “It’s hot today, and people may not be paying as much attention as they should be.”

He gives both his sister and his aunt a salute and his usual wide grin before he hustles out the creaking back door of the restaurant, the storm door slamming shut with a clatter just behind him. The kickstand on his bike is a bit rusty but he knows just how much force to use to get it out of the way once he’s stuffed the crinkling plastic takeout bag into the insulated delivery pouch behind the seat. Not that he really needs the carrying pouch in this weather, he thinks with a sigh, but ah well. That’s the part of the setup that’s got the purple lotus logo, so he’s got to use it either way.

He kicks off from the pavement of the alleyway that burns his feet even through the soles of his sneakers and he’s off like a shot, pedaling furiously to an address he’s delivered to enough times that he hadn’t even needed to check the map back at the restaurant. At the speed he’s going the heat isn’t so bad, the artificial wind of his passing ruffling through his hair and through the gaping, cut-off arm holes of his t-shirt. The red of it is so sun-bleached it’s nearly pink these days and he really only keeps it because it’s the thinnest and therefore the coolest thing he owns for summer day deliveries (and because Madam Yu hates it with a passion).

“That’ll be 13.95,” Wei Wuxian says when he’s reached his destination a few minutes later, and he offers the guy a wide grin when he hands him a ten and a five and tells him to keep the change. “Thanks man, enjoy your meal!”

He hops down the stairs back down to the front walk and gets back on his bike to pedal back to the restaurant, a little less eagerly now that he doesn’t have to worry about delivery time but still more than fast enough to get a good breeze going in an attempt to dry some of the sweat turning his skin powdery with salt.

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng shouts for him when he’s just about to turn into the parking lot of the strip mall again and he grins at his brother frowning at him in a perfect imitation of Madam Yu.

“Hi A-Cheng - good delivery?”

“Got stiffed on the tip for no damn reason,” Jiang Cheng grumbles as they both pull to a stop in the parking lot and hop off to walk their bikes the rest of the way to the restaurant.

Wei Wuxian pauses as he always does after his first run of the day in front of the window of Cloud Recesses to squint into the welcoming dimness of it and spot Lan Wangji standing primly behind the counter, right where he always is unless on the rare occasion he’s helping a customer. He’s standing there alone today as usual though, so Wei Wuxian cups a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun as he waves eagerly with the other, bike resting against his hip.

“Would you quit bothering Lan Wangji for one single day of your miserable life?!” Jiang Cheng demands with a shove at his shoulder, but Wei Wuxian ignores him in favor of watching Lan Wangji lift his hand to wave back at him in the cute, shy way he always does. Fingers still pressed tightly together. A tiny left, right, left, and then he puts his hand back down on the counter. It’s so little, but it’s also everything.

“Don’t be jealous just because I got a tip and Lan Zhan likes saying hi to me and nobody else,” he says smugly once they’re on their way back to the restaurant. They cut around the corner of the building to stick their bikes back in the alley before they head inside; Madam Yu’s glare at the both of them where she’s helping Jiang Yanli finish up the next round of dishes is the only thing that saves him from being shoved into a stack of produce crates in retaliation for his needling.

He steps up to the till and punches in the order he’d just delivered, slots the bills into the proper little plastic trays and snags a single from under its clip with a snap of the spring, though he doesn’t bother with the nickel. Jiang Cheng steps up behind him to punch in his own delivery, grumbling as he drops the exact change he’d been given into the proper spots with a rhythmless clatter.

The lunch rush continues just like that, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng running deliveries as the others run the restaurant. Madam Yu is seating and serving with her usual stern glare - no one dares complain about Jiang Yanli’s perfect cooking with her staring them down. Uncle Jiang, having helped with the prep in the kitchen during the morning, is holed up in the office as per usual. He always says he’s in there doing the books and ordering, but Wei Wuxian wonders how much time he spends in there actually doing nothing but avoiding the sticky bustle of the restaurant in favor of kicking back in front of their ancient window-unit and ducking away from his wife’s glares while she’s otherwise occupied.

Ah well. Lotus Pier Asian Cuisine runs just fine either way, a well-oiled machine full of the smells of home, and when the lunch rush is over he’s happy enough to sit down at one of the tables near the kitchen doorway and roll silverware while Jiang Cheng does the dishes in the back, clanking and splashing and swearing when he thinks Madam Yu can’t hear him where she’s balancing the till with ruthless precision.

-/-

“Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue huffs when Nie Huaisang comes slinking out of the backroom - Nie Huaisang has been ‘reorganizing’ for the last two hour-long classes lest he be dragooned into service. A very strategic move on his part, he thinks, since the backroom is where they keep the box fan that’s at least better than nothing in the middle of the heatwave currently turning everything – him included - into soup.

“What is it, da-ge?” he asks and fans himself with the silk folding fan he’d picked up in Cloud Recesses and started carrying around a few days ago. It smells like it used to be in an old lady’s house but he doesn’t care if it still smells like mothballs and incense - it gets the air in front of his face moving so it’s an automatic win.

Nie Mingjue stops in the middle of the wrestling mats, bare feet sticking audibly to the vinyl when he lifts them and Nie Huaisang can’t help but wrinkle his nose. Their AC went out three days ago (hence the desperate search for a fan at Cloud Recesses), and while any sane person would see that as a sign to close up shop until it can get repaired, his brother doesn’t apparently see the wisdom in taking a rest. He’s drenched in sweat from the mid-afternoon boxing class and apparently unfazed by that fact, so very unlike Nie Huaisang’s wilting exhaustion that kicks in the moment the temperature creeps above a nice comfy 75. Considering the weather guy on the local community radio station said it’s ‘a sizzling 98 today!’ - in the shade - he’s far over his threshold for any work to be done. A tragedy, really, but one he’s powerless to stop. Oh well.

“Can you go over to Xichen’s and see if they’ve got any water in their fridge? We’re all out.”

“They’ve always got a whole tower of 24-count packs in the back,” Nie Huaisang huffs. “Can’t you just call him and ask him to bring a flat over?”

“I said in their fridge, A-Sang, come on,” Nie Mingjue growls and goes back to picking up the scattered body-pads off the floor, each step on the black mats still sounding like someone starting a fresh roll of masking tape. “I’ve been sweating my ass off out here, just go get me some cold water!”

Nie Huaisang feels the tiniest pang of guilt at that, and despite his hatred for the sun burning so hot it’s white outside he sighs and nods. Nie Mingjue goes back to clearing up with some more grumbling, and when Nie Huaisang finally manages to force himself to step outside with a jingle of the bell over their door he leaves Nie Mingjue furiously wiping down sweat-drenched exercise equipment with the strong smelling anti-bac spray that always makes Nie Huaisang’s throat tickle.

The fresh air when he steps outside is actually kind of nice, even if it feels like it singes his nose hairs off on its way down to his lungs. At least the air out here is moving a little, faint gasps of a breeze ruffling his sweat-stringy bangs against his forehead as he tries to keep to the shade under the awning even though it’s a losing battle this time of day. He waves at the Jiang siblings rolling silverware before the dinner crowd shows up on his way past the front windows of Lotus Pier, and studiously avoids looking into the front window of Golden Carp when he passes it next - no one wants to see Jin Guangshan if they don’t have to, and it’s not like Jin Zixuan’s stupid frown is much better.

“Oh sweet god, air conditioning!” Nie Huaisang sighs in heavenly relief the moment he steps into Cloud Recesses, dim and cool after the glaring brightness of the parking lot.

“Hello Huaisang,” Lan Xichen says warmly from where he’s sitting on the stool behind the counter flipping through what looks like an order catalog for at-home gym equipment. Why he would bother when their gym is right there, he has no idea, but whatever, not his place to judge.

“Hi er-ge,” he sighs with a particularly pathetic flutter of his fan that earns him a smile that’s equal parts amused and sympathetic.

“Still no luck with your air conditioning?”

“No one’s even been out to look at it yet, but da-ge swears he called somebody. I don’t know why he doesn’t just close until it gets fixed - I mean I know hot yoga is a thing but who wants to run around doing dumb exercises or boxing class with da-ge in a sauna?!”

Lan Xichen tuts at him and smiles again as he flicks his catalog closed. “A-Sang, you know Mingjue can’t just close down, especially not if he’s going to have to pay up front for the unit to be repaired,” he chides. “Though I do recognize that it must be very draining to be without cool air right now and closing is an attractive alternative in that respect. Would you like some water?”

“Yes, thank you er-ge!” Nie Huaisang huffs as pathetically as he can. “And can I have some to take back to da-ge too? He said we’re out-”

“I can take it,” Lan Xichen says too quickly to be totally casual, but far be it from Nie Huaisang to interfere in whatever that is. “You sit here in the cool and drink this - slowly! Don’t make yourself sick, just take your time.”

Nie Huaisang hops up on the newly-vacated stool with a pleased smile and a little kick of his feet as Lan Xichen sets a bottle of water in front of him next to their ancient – antique, they always correct him- cash register.

“Thanks er-ge.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll take Mingjue some water and stock up your fridge with more. When you’re finished with yours stay here until you’ve finished cooling off, no need to rush. I can help him until you’re ready to head back over.”

Nie Huaisang hides the urge to laugh behind his mothball fan and waves Lan Xichen out of the store with his armload of water bottles. He watches the man cross the parking lot to the Unclean Realm Fitness Center, sitting in lone, separate splendor caddy-corner to the Jiangs’ restaurant at the short end of the parking lot, and he wonders how in the world he doesn’t seem fazed at all by the heat turning the foot or two of air above the pavement into a shimmering mirage.

“Huaisang.”

“Wangji! Fuck!” Nie Huaisang yelps, heart hammering as Lan Wangji slips out of the back office and shuts the door quietly behind himself. “You need to start wearing a bell or something!”

“No need.”

Nie Huaisang grumbles around the mouth of his water bottle and fans himself as Lan Wangji steps up next to him to stand at the counter, hands resting lightly on the marble-patterned vinyl covering the battered wood top. A corner of it is peeling up near the register and Nie Huaisang wonders how Lan Wangji can stand here all day long and not pick at it.

“Er-ge just went over to the gym,” he says when the silence goes on too long. “Da-ge needed water.”

“Mn.”

They lapse back into silence then and Nie Huaisang pouts a little as he sighs, looks around the familiar interior of Cloud Recesses. There doesn’t seem to be anything new since he was in to buy the fan. The same crystals are displayed in the windows and in the glass case that makes up the body of the checkout counter. The same type of incense they usually put on is burning in the little dish beside the register, more scents displayed in a rack full of tidily stacked little boxes on the other side of it. The shelves in the middle of the floor and along the two side walls are laden with the usual selection of antiques : rusting tableware, random bits of kitschy crockery that look like they were last used in the 70’s, stained and/or creepy dolls, old photos of people who are probably long gone in poorly-fitting frames, small art or craft pieces from local independent makers scattered throughout the junk like pearls to be sold on consignment. The side-room behind its gauzy blue curtain is stuffed to bursting with meditation books and floor cushions, more crystals with little price tag stickers scattered on every flat surface.

He’s distracted from his lazy study of the shop by a flash of purple and red on the other side of the windows and he and Lan Wangji watch together in reverence as the Jiang brothers walk past, Wei Wuxian gesturing expansively and Jiang Cheng’s brows down like he wants to be pissed even though he’s smiling just a little at whatever it is his brother is saying.

They sigh in tandem - Lan Wangji nearly inaudible and Nie Huaisang dramatic enough for both of them - and turn their heads to watch the pair of them walk across the length of the storefront.

“Well. I should probably get back to da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says once they’re gone again, probably headed for the convenience store on the other side of the strip mall for some ice cream like usual this time of day.

“They will come back,” Lan Wangji retorts, and to anyone else he’d probably sound like he doesn’t care. Nie Huaisang, who’s known him (somewhat unwillingly) since they were toddlers can hear how anxiously he’s looking forward to it.

“You make an incredible point, Wangji-xiong, and we have to make sure we see them from both directions. The left side might be Wei-xiong’s best, but A-Cheng’s is his right.”

Lan Wangji’s jaw is set mulishly as he glares daggers out at the parking lot. “Wei Ying is beautiful from both sides.”

Nie Huaisang just smirks behind his fan and settles in more comfortably on the stool again - with both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji encouraging him to stay in the shop (and away from the gym) in their own ways, Nie Mingjue can’t possibly get mad at his extended break, can he?

They lapse back into silence, nothing to break it but the straining AC and the quiet clicking of the bead curtain that hides it. They both perk up - Lan Wangji’s posture straightening even further and Nie Huaisang sitting straight up out of his heat-melted slump - when the Jiang boys jostle back into view a couple minutes later, laughing about something together this time. Jiang Cheng is always more cheerful when he’s had some sugar, Nie Huaisang has noticed over the years.

The gentle electronic chime over the door rings when Wei Wuxian pushes it open and Lan Wangji feels like he was practically carved out of marble beside him.

“Hey Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian chirps, totally at odds with the quietly peaceful aura of Cloud Recesses. “I brought you a present!”

“It’s just ice cream, dumbass, not a new tape of that weird music you both like or something,” Jiang Cheng snorts as he shoulders in behind his brother and Nie Huaisang smiles over his fan as they lock eyes.

“Hi A-Cheng.”

“Huaisang,” he says gruffly, cheeks bright red from the heat and the sun as he ducks his head and runs a hand through his hair, a little sweat-damp from the day. 

“Shut up, it’s still a present, I bought it for him with my tips and everything!” Wei Wuxian retorts, undeterred as he bounds up to the counter and holds out a plastic-wrapped popsicle to Lan Wangji, the package covered in condensation just from the short walk back from the gas station. “Go on Lan Zhan, it’s an orange creamsicle! Your favorite.”

“Thank you, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says with all the gravity of a man whose life has just been saved as he reaches out and takes the popsicle with a quiet crinkling of the wrapper. Nie Huaisang very bravely, very valiantly, does not laugh at his childhood friend as he delicately peels the plastic apart and withdraws the popsicle like it’s fucking Excalibur, reverent and awed.

“No problem! Eat it quick, I think it probably already started melting just on the way here. We’ve got to get back to the restaurant but I’ll at least swing by again when you lock up okay? And don’t forget I can walk you home if you want, too!”

Nie Huaisang raises his eyebrows at that. Cloud Recesses closes right in the middle of the dinner rush and the Jiang brothers can usually only come hang out in the store for a few stolen minutes with the rest of them in the evenings, but he supposes Wei Wuxian could probably slip away during a delivery for the amount of time it would take to walk Lan Wangji home. He’d very much like to see what that entails, honestly. These two are the best source of gossip in their social circle, as per usual, and Nie Huaisang loves using his position as Lan Wangji’s only close friend to get all the juiciest bits before everyone else.

“Mn.”

“NIE HUAISANG!” Nie Huaisang jumps right off the stool at the sound of Nie Mingjue’s thundering shout from across the parking lot, perfectly audible through the door Jiang Cheng is still holding open with his shoulder.

“Busted,” Lan Wangji mutters out of the corner of his mouth because he’s secretly a bitch, which is good because Nie Huaisang wouldn’t be able to tolerate his taciturn company otherwise. He swats his friend’s back with his fan as he crosses behind him and then purposely brushes up against Jiang Cheng on his way out the door to slink back across the parking lot to the gym where Nie Mingjue is standing, arms crossed over his chest so he blocks the entire doorway with his bulk. Nie Huaisang laughs uncomfortably and darts a frantic glance at Lan Xichen over his brother’s shoulder but all he finds there is a sympathetic smile - not nearly as helpful as Lan Xichen seems to think.

“What were you doing in the back room while I was running classes?” Nie Mingjue demands the second he’s in earshot.

“I was organizing..”

“Is that why there’s a stack of dirty magazines and a half-eaten bag of potato chips stashed under dad’s old office chair?”

Busted indeed. Nie Huaisang squeaks and turns to run away, but his brother isn’t the best personal trainer this side of town for nothing and he catches him easily, hauling him up under his arm to carry him dangling back into the sweltering heat of the gym, ignoring all his whining protests.

“Sorry A-Sang,” Lan Xichen says as he heads out the door. “Good luck!”

“Five laps around the gym to start with, get going,” Nie Mingjue barks when he drops him rather rudely down onto the mats and Nie Huaisang knows when his efforts will just go to waste. He groans and hauls himself up to get started on the laps, protesting the injustice the whole way even as he starts wondering just why in the hell Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen were tucked so far into the back room that they’d found not only his favorite hiding spot amongst all the old equipment and boxes of exercise tapes, but his entertainment stash too.

Questions for another day, when he’s not about to die of heat stroke and the effort of exercising under his brother’s watchful glare.

-/-

Jin Zixuan rests his elbow on top of a glass case full of diamond engagement rings and doesn’t bother caring about the smudge he’s going to leave on the flawlessly polished surface. There’s no one in the store this afternoon anyway, nothing to keep him company but the humming AC units running full blast and the tinkly canned piano music crackling through the speakers overhead to break up the monotony. For as quiet as the strip mall usually is, during most of the year there’s decent foot traffic through Golden Carp Fine Jewelry - people buying engagement rings, wedding bands, high-end watches for their fathers or their husbands, glittering trinkets for their wives. The cases around the store are stuffed to the gills with tennis bracelets, earrings of all kinds, gold-chained solitaire diamond necklaces, brooches in all sorts of interesting geometric shapes crusted with diamonds and gems of all colors, anything anyone could possibly want.

Jin Zixuan looks out at all of it and sighs again, bored out of his mind. Jin Guangshan is around somewhere and could conceivably come out and catch him slacking off at any moment. That being said, the likelihood of his father stirring himself from his office is hilariously low at the best of times, but especially when the store is empty and there’s no one around to impress. He’s pretty sure if he focused he’d be able to hear him through the closed door of his office, but it’s probably better not to know whatever his father’s getting up to in there.

He watches through the front windows as Lan Xichen makes his way across the parking lot to the Nie gym, and then almost ten minutes later he sees the obnoxious Jiang boys come out of the restaurant next door to go across the mall in the direction of the gas station at the corner like they do most days. He sits up straight for a minute or two just in case Jiang Yanli comes out after them, but when she doesn’t appear he slumps down again, chin in his hand and a bored pout on his lips. If his mother was here she’d scold him for the unbecoming posture, but she’s not so he’s free to look as lazy as he wants as the minutes tick by.

“NIE HUAISANG!”

Nie Mingjue’s roar is loud enough even through the windows and over the ambient noise of the shop to make Jin Zixuan jump and sit up straight again, and he watches with some amusement as the boy in question - the youngest of all of them - goes slinking across the parking lot to Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, who look like nothing so much as parents about to play good cop bad cop as they discipline their wayward son. The mental image of that amuses him so much that he’s too distracted to notice the Jiang boys coming back before they’re banging hard enough on the window to make him jump all over again. He glares at them as hard as he can manage, but of course Wei Wuxian just laughs and Jiang Cheng flips him off on their way back to the restaurant, popsicles in hand and dripping on the pavement in their wake.

Jin Zixuan settles in again with a huff to glare absently at the red splatters on the bone-white sidewalk from Wei Wuxian’s rocket pop, stark in the late-afternoon sunshine. The light creeps slowly across the cream-colored carpet, blinding and too hot even with both AC’s running full blast; it’s the kind of sunlight that he doesn’t have to even be standing in to feel, the weight of it pressing at the other side of the windows a red-hot collar around his neck, the heat shivers out in the parking lot both beckoning and oppressive at the same time. 

He sits up straight again as a young couple wanders past the front of the store hand in hand. They stop in front of the left-hand window to look over the display he’d spent the whole morning adjusting out of lack of anything better to do, their fingertips leaving little smudges on the glass he’d polished as they point and gesture, their conversation inaudible. They move on without stepping inside and Jin Zixuan slumps down again, free hand tapping out a senseless rhythm on the glass with drumming fingertips as the summer slips by one bland, royalty-free song at a time.

-/-

Fifteen minutes before Cloud Recesses closes for the day, Wen Qing slips out of her uncle’s crowded sports bar with no one the wiser to walk quickly through the short alleyway between their back doors. She knocks on it politely, wary as ever that Lan Qiren usually puts in an appearance at the end of the day to check over the sales figures - and sure enough the man himself opens the door with a frown that softens ever so slightly when he sees her (being one of his best students for the entirety of her high school career had gone a long way towards earning his forgiveness for her surname, but she’s not a miracle worker).

“Wen Qing,” he greets in his usual gruff way as he steps aside to let her in. “Don’t distract the boys, they’re doing closing checks.”

“Yes Teacher Lan,” she says and slips into the backroom. He steps around her to return to his desk in the little office, and she continues past him into the shop proper to hop up on the stool behind the counter. There’s a catalog for at-home exercise equipment - the kind of stuff she’d expect to see peddled in the middle of the night on the QVC or something - sitting next to their clunky old brass register so she pulls it closer to flick through it lazily as she waits. She’s usually the first to show up for their nightly meetings so her presence goes unremarked upon by Lan Wangji, who just nods at her on his way to straighten up his already obsessively neat crystal display in the window, everything burnished orange by the slowly westering sun.

“Ah - hello Wen Qing. Are you also here for the air conditioning?” Lan Xichen teases when he spots her through the aisles and Wen Qing smiles just a little - she can imagine everyone’s stopped in at some point today for just that purpose except maybe Jin Zixuan, considering his dad is more than wealthy enough to run their AC into an early grave.

“Just here to supervise the usual loser check-in.”

“Ah yes, of course. I believe the rest will arrive soon.”

As if on cue, the electronic bell over the door chimes its muted three-toned song and Nie Huaisang leans heavily on the handle, panting for breath and so red in the face Wen Qing is actually concerned this time rather than irritated by his over-the-top nature.

“Da-ge is a monster,” he huffs as he shlumps his way into the shop proper to lay himself across the counter. She twitches the catalog away from his sweaty forehead and continues flicking through it, now reasonably assured that he isn’t about to die considering he’s still capable of dramatics. “Qing-jie, please. Please. Tell him I’ll die if he makes me exercise anymore.”

“Not a doctor yet, Huaisang. I can’t offer anyone any kind of medical advice or recommendation,” she says without looking up from her perusal of assorted pilates machines and the rainbow of neon lycra-clad models gesturing to them in all their airbrushed, hairsprayed glory. She flicks to the next page and Nie Huaisang turns his face towards the small breeze of it pathetically. 

“Is the old dragon here?”

“Watch your words, Nie Huaisang,” Lan Qiren calls icily, “Or I will show you a dragon.”

“Sorry, Teacher Lan!” 

“Before you ask, no I won’t hide you from him-” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder towards Lan Qiren’s draconian presence in the back - “Though I will happily help Teacher Lan hide your body.”

“I do not require assistance murdering Nie Huaisang, Wen Qing, and your willingness to commit a major crime has been noted.”

“Sorry, Teacher Lan,” she turns her head to call, though judging by his unimpressed grunt she knows he can tell she’s not sorry at all.

Wen Qing smirks again as Nie Huaisang whines pitifully into the countertop. Things lapse back into quiet then, likely because Nie Huaisang is too tired to continue his complaining and Wen Qing is uninterested in coaxing him into sharing more of his woes. She’s really only here tonight with news that feels pertinent for everyone to hear, so there’s no use saying anything until they’re all present.

“Hiiii,” Wei Wuxian sings as he sails into the shop a few minutes later, Jiang Cheng hot on his heels. The pair of them are thrumming with their usual keyed up energy, so Wen Qing can only assume it’s a hectic night at the restaurant - either because of a crowd or because of another argument between Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang, the reason hardly matters when the result is the same. “We can’t stay long, jie’s working on orders for both of us to take in the next ten minutes or so and Madam Yu’s on a tear. We still waiting on the peacock?”

“Fuck you Wei Wuxian, I’m right here,” Jin Zixuan says from behind them on the sidewalk just outside the open door, expression sour, and Wen Qing rolls her eyes as they all pile into the shop. The antique cuckoo clock on the wall beside the register sings 7 o’clock, and Lan Xichen smiles indulgently as he turns the lock and flips the sign on the door to ‘Closed’.

“I’ll just head to the back with Uncle,” Lan Xichen tells Lan Wangji - both a statement and a warning to the newcomers that they’re not alone and therefore not free to swear as much as they might otherwise. 

“Any news worth sharing?” Wei Wuxian asks as he props an elbow up on the counter on Nie Huaisang’s other side so he can lean in and pat at his sweat-drenched back in rough sympathy.

“New record shop opening Friday,” Lan Wangji says first and Wei Wuxian’s eyes light up - clearly Lan Wangji’s goal judging by his self-satisfied little smirk. Wen Qing barely refrains from rolling her eyes at their blatant flirting that’s only getting worse and worse by the day.

“Yeah?? Lan Zhan we have to go this weekend, okay? Promise!”

“Mn. We can go.”

“Does anyone have anything relevant to everyone?” Jin Zixuan asks a bit sourly, and though usually Wen Qing would find some way to subtly needle him for his attitude, tonight it’s actually helpful.

“I’ve got something,” she says to the room at large and all eyes turn to her, even Nie Huaisang still slumped over the counter. “I overheard Uncle talking to the landlord earlier today. Something about the Changs’ old nail studio next to us, and ah…you guys. Cloud Recesses.”

Lan Wangji blinks at her a few times and then his brows pucker into a frown.

“What about here?” Jiang Cheng asks for him, frowning far more thunderously than Lan Wangji’s perpetually minimal expressions. “What’s Cloud Recesses got to do with the nail salon? Or Uncle Wen for that matter?”

Wen Qing clears her throat delicately, aware of the audience likely (hopefully) listening in from the back, and straightens her shoulders. “I think Uncle wants to buy it out and expand the bar. He definitely wants to knock down the wall to the nail salon to extend the smoker’s lounge, and I think he’d like to buy out Cloud Recesses too.”

Wen Qing shrugs in response to the general cries of outrage around the room at that, plenty loud enough on Lan Wangji’s behalf that he doesn’t even bother opening his mouth.

“Why the f- heck would he want to buy Cloud Recesses? It’s been here forever,” Nie Huaisang asks, finally straightening up from hogging the entire counter to look at her directly. “People love it!”

Wen Qing shrugs again and presses her hands between her thighs to hide how they’re shaking.

“I think he thinks that it’s not a profitable enough business and would be better handled by him.”

She doesn’t have to turn around to know that Lan Qiren has appeared - all of her friends suddenly standing at near-military attention is enough of a hint.

“Wen Qing.”

“Yes, Teacher Lan?” She turns her head to look at him over her shoulder and she’s…relieved to see that he’s frowning, as per usual, but thankfully not like he’s angry at her personally for spreading what technically counts as gossip.

“You heard Wen Ruohan discussing this yourself?” She nods. “Did anyone else hear?”

“A-Ning did. He couldn’t come out with me tonight, but he definitely heard it too. We were doing chores outside Uncle’s office while he was on the phone.”

“Hm.” The room falls silent again as they all watch Lan Qiren think this revelation over, stroking his goatee in a gesture they’re all familiar with as his current (and former, in her case) students. “Bah! Meddlesome fool. I’ll take care of it,” he finally says with an impatient wave. “Go back to lighter topics, children shouldn’t worry about such things. Wangji.”

“Yes, Uncle?”

“Man the store on Saturday until lunch, you may take Wei Wuxian to the record store after you’ve done your duty. Your brother needs the morning off.”

Lan Wangji nods before Lan Qiren turns to retreat back into the dim recesses of the back half of the shop, every inch the wizened dragon returning to his lair, and there’s a beat before Nie Huaisang taps his chin with his closed fan, looking pensively up at the ceiling. 

“Huh. Da-ge said just a bit ago that he’s taking Saturday morning off from the gym, too,” he muses. “Weird.”

Wen Qing - who is well aware of which way the wind blows there considering Lan Xichen had been in her class in high school and had been painfully infatuated with Nie Mingjue (two grades their senior) even back then - just keeps her mouth shut and watches her friends try to piece it together over the next couple of minutes until Lan Xichen himself comes out of the back room, red as a tomato, and shoos them all out to head home - or back to work, for her and the Jiang boys.

She can’t quite resist shooting Lan Xichen a knowing Look on her way out onto the sidewalk, and she has to hide a laugh in her hand as she turns away from the sight of him winking and holding a finger to his lips to tell her to keep quiet and not spoil the joke. One thing she can always rely on around these idiots is gossip that’s ridiculous enough to keep her entertained, at least, and she’s already looking forward to the day they all realize what’s going on right under their noses. 

And when Lan Qiren quietly takes her aside a few weeks later to reassure her that she doesn’t have to worry about getting into trouble for having told him Wen Ruohan’s plans - nor worry that said plans will come to pass at all - she’s relieved to realize that she can also count on her weird little extended family looking out for her just as much as she tries to look out for them.

[aquagustd]

lexicon love - KNJ

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: who is the tall, mysterious stranger with an impeccable taste in books that visits your café every day?

genre: fluff

word count: 1.7K

warnings/tags: idol au, s2l, book café owner!y/n, writer!y/n, meetcute, y/n is as clumsy as namjoon, no warnings except dimples

a/n: my first namjoon fic!

↳part of the Serotonin Series

∞

The security door makes a soft beep as you push it open, shuffling to the power outlet behind the counter to turn on the lights. The hazy blue sky casts a dull light into the café. The cool Autumn’s morning breeze causes a shiver to run down your spine, therefore you opt to leave your coat on until the heating kicks in.

It won’t be long until customers start to pour in. You glance at the clock above the coffee machines, 6:43AM, Soobin will be in to cover his Monday morning shift any minute now.

Always the early bird, the bell above the front entrance door chimes as Soobin walks in, umbrella in hand.

“Morning Y/N noona”, he gives a bright smile as he makes his way around the counter to deposit his bag and umbrella in the lower shelves.

“Morning Soobin, I haven’t looked at the weather forecast for today,” you point to his umbrella, questioning.

“Ah, light showers later this afternoon as well as for the rest of the week,” he smiles while tying his apron.

“Ooh, I love this chilly weather, it makes me appreciate all the hot drinks, not to mention the stream of customers,” you wiggle your eyebrows, and he laughs.

“Ah yes, I better get to work then, are you okay? You seem a bit tired.”

You rub your temples, “I hardly got any sleep last night, had some editing to do plus I was working on the newspaper article for next week. I just got a bit held up because I got home late last night.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, noona. I know you can’t say no to anyone,” he raises his eyebrows, concerned.

“Don’t worry about me, ah look,” the bell chimes, “you have customers. I’ll be in the office if you need me.”

He’s right, you can’t say no to anyone, it seems like you’re the only editor in this town with all the calls you get. You barely have time for your weekly newspaper segments and must work around all your editing jobs instead of the other way around.

You sit at the office desk and boot up the computer to check the weekly sales of the book department.

It seems like most customers prefer to sit at the café and read, your book sales have declined since last month, but it’s nothing you’re too worried about because the café sales seem to have skyrocketed ever since you started stocking up on pastries, cakes and the like from Odeng’s Bakery.

You make your way to the service desk near the second entrance and can already spot a few patrons on the couches near the bookshelves.

The enticing smell of coffee greets you when you see that Soobin had left your regular coffee order and a croissant with strawberry jam ready for you to tuck into on the counter.

-

The day goes by hassle free and its around 3PM when the café is filled with the quiet chatter of all the college and high school students who are taking up ninety percent of the seat space.

But as you scan the area, you spot him.

The, you’ve assumed from his build, guy, who goes by the name ‘RR’ when he signs for rentals and purchases. Apparently, claiming the single couch and table at the far back section of the shelves as his.

He never approached the service desk, and his coffee order never changes. You see Mina, the afternoon shift waitress, take a slice of vanilla sponge or a few beignets to his table now and again.

He always has his face mask on with his hood over his head, in the more humid weather you wonder if he’s frying up in there. You peeked at the books he signed for and his list is filled with a wide spectrum of literary pieces. From fiction to non-fiction to autobiographies to poetry, the list is endless.

He’s tall and is well-read? Attractive.

Could he also be some sociopath with a strong affinity to books and coffee? Maybe.

But he comes to your café every day, even on Sundays, where he arrives a little earlier than usual, 11AM, to be precise. So, there will be a day where he’ll have to interact with you at the service desk. You thought about approaching him a few times, but what will you say?

Hi, I went through your reading list and I just want to say I love your sexy brain?

No. That’d be weird. So, you opt to just watch him from afar.

But you’re not…keeping tabs on him or anything. You find him intriguing, and you want to know more about this tall stranger, whose taste in books is so vast. Yes.

It seems that day has arrived.

You say your goodbyes to Mina, lock up the cash register and switch off all the computers but before you can turn off the main switch, you notice a figure, at the back of the shelves.

Particularly where tall guy usually sits.

Now’s your chance, you think.

As you slowly approach him, you notice he is slumped in his seat and his head hangs low, chin against his chest, cap secured over his hair.

“Excuse me?”

No response.

As you get closer you notice that his eyes are closed, and you can hear a faint beat from somewhere. You assume it must be his earphones.

You clear your throat. “Excuse me?”

That won’t do, the music is too loud.

You place a hand on his shoulder and shake once, twice, the third time he wakes up with a start and knocks his half full coffee cup, spilling its contents on the table and dripping onto the carpeted floor.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” his deep voice startles you and you stare at him.

His mask had fallen off his face when he jerked as he woke up, and you realize that you recognize him.

“RM?” You squeak. “Kim Namjoon.”

Oh no. He thinks. He looks around and sees you’re the only two in the café.

“That’s me, I’m sorry,” he looks at the time on his phone, “I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“It’s totally fine,” you chuckle, and he’s shocked at how calm your voice sounds.

You stare at each other for a few seconds, you could probably hear a pin drop.

He looks around, “Oh! I’m sorry”, he gives a deep bow, “I’ll leave now.”

“No, stay,” you splutter, and he quirks an eyebrow at you.

“I-I mean, I’ve been wondering who you were, I mean not that I’m acquainted with all my customers, but you always come in and I can’t really see your face and you wear that mask all the time and your books, and…” You look at him and he has a bemused expression on his face.

“What I meant to say is…It all makes sense now, I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

He chuckles and the sound makes your insides flutter.

“Y/L/N Y/N.”

“Huh,” your throat suddenly feels dry.

He leans back in the couch, “You know, I buy the local newspaper just for your segments.”

“What,” it comes out a lot softer than you intended and you wonder if he even heard you.

“I really enjoy your reading, the topics you touch on have me, what’s the word,” he looks to the ceiling as if the word is up there and you take the chance to stare at his neck.

“Reflecting…It has me reflecting on a lot of things.”

You blink at him and he stands up, knocking the menu stand on the table and he bends to catch it- unsuccessfully.

“I’m really sorry about the coffee, and about the uhm, random review.”

“Is that what ‘RR’ stands for?”

“What?”

“RR, random review? You always sign off with those initials.”

He laughs and stares at his shoes, two deep dimples making an appearance and you’re smiling at him. You have no idea why.

“’RR’ stands for ‘Runch Randa’, my uhm, old rapper name.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

More silence.

“Once again I am so sorry about the coffee, where are the tissues, I can help you clean it up”, he starts to look behind you towards the service desk, taking a few steps around the table.

You lift your hands up to stop him, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll clean up here.”

He picks up his bag and phone, getting ready to leave. In your haste to step out of his way, the heel on your boot gets caught in a part of the carpet that has buckled, and you brace yourself for the fall and close your eyes.

But your back never meets the floor, instead your body is cradled by two strong arms.

Opening your eyes, you are met with two brown orbs staring directly into yours.

You do not know how long you stand like that, him holding onto you while you grip on his, very large, bicep.

You can’t hold it in anymore and you burst out laughing. He seems to have been broken from a spell, because he immediately straightens up and steadies you with his arms on your shoulders.

“What?” He asks almost exasperatedly.

“Nothing, its just…” And another round of giggles starts up.

He starts laughing too and you both stand there like two clumsy fools.

This whole situation is hilarious to you both. From the few minutes you've spoken to him, he seemed, uncoordinated, yet he managed to catch you.

When things quiet down, you’re still smiling at each other, even if you wanted to stop smiling, you can’t, he has such an infectious smile.

“You should watch your step, Miss,” he has his hands on his hips now, sort of berating.

“ME?” And you gesture to the coffee now sinking into the carpets.

He raises his hands defeatedly.

After you’re done cleaning up the mess, you turn to the door, glad you know who tall guy is now: a very handsome, famous rapper who comes to your book café every day!

He follows you out and you enter the security code.

As you’re walking to your car, you hear a shout of your name. You turn and see he’s still standing by the door, hands in his pocket, shy smile in place with two sweet dimples.

“Coffee, 3PM?”

You beam at him. “Coffee, 3PM.”

-

a/n: let me know what you think!

[hslotharrie]

To My Best Friend

summary: reader faces quarantine at Harry’s and, turns out, it was exactly what they needed to come clean. also, Anne is the superior Mum.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: completely fluff. with marriage + mentions of family? not edited... when do I ever edit

based off of this ask<3

When you wake, the sun is shining through a slightly opened window in the far left corner of your bedroom. You can hear birds chirping amongst themselves from outside, cars driving far in the distance, it's quiet at Harry's home. Peaceful.

It's been a little more than four months since you and Harry decided to bubble at the beginning of quarantine. What you expected to be a few weeks turned into a lot more, but there were no complaints. Harry has the space, is the type to crave company, and you're his best friend.

Best friend.

You roll in the soft sheets, hugging the covers for a few minutes until you inevitably force yourself to get up for the day. You're not sure what sort of expensive luxury bed set this is, but god, they are comfy. You make a mental note to ask him later.

You zone out again on the soft sounds of the birds and the pleasant cool breeze flowing in through the window. You pull your phone from the bedside table to check the time, 10:56– and the weather, sunny and 78. You consider getting in the pool later.

Harry's phone rings somewhere outside of your room, followed by some muffled mumbling from the man himself signalling that he's awake too. You wonder if he's ate yet; he's a sucker for your omelettes and you're craving one about now.

You climb out of bed,  going to the bathroom to tame your hair and brush your teeth, before heading to the kitchen to put together ingredients for the omelettes.

It's about 10 minutes before Harry appears in the kitchen, provoked by the smell. He places a hand on your lower back as a silent 'good morning!' while he stands to your side to admire your cooking. You try your best to ignore the warm feeling that his touch brings; the feeling that makes you wish for more than just a touch.

It makes you nervous, how quickly his presence has you feeling butterflies or how fast he can make you smile when you're in the darkest of moods. You've been sitting on the feelings for years, they were always there, hiding in the back of your head. The feelings that made you wish you'd shared that drink with him just for the second-hand contact to his lips.

Those are the thoughts that make you nervous. You try not to think about them when he's standing right next to you watching your every move with a wandering hand on the small of your back.

He's dressed in a colourful flannel and some shorts, you notice, much different than your fresh out of bed joggers and t-shirt. You make a mental note to change later, and you consider stealing one of his flannels (there's the thoughts again,) just to have his smell on you.

He pulls away from you to begin setting up the eating area, bringing out cups and silverware and then returning with a plate when he senses the omelette is nearly done. He stands to your left with the plate held in both hands like an excited toddler and when you flip the breakfast meal onto his plate he leans over and presses a quick kiss to your forehead in thanks. The thoughts come rushing back; I like when you kiss me, Harry.

"D'you have any plans for today?" he quizzes, before taking a drink of his orange juice.

"Was thinking about going in the pool later," you tell him, "it seemed nice out, an' I love your pool."

"I rather like my pool too," he chuckles "I'll join you, yeah? Could go for a swim later."

When you finish eating, Harry takes the plates to wash despite your protests. You cooked, he argues, so he cleans. You glance at the time, almost 12, and decide that the time it will take to change and freshen up will be enough for your stomach to settle and therefore a swim will be safe.

Returning upstairs, you first search for a bikini and then your sunglasses, changing and adding a pair of shorts. You brush your hair, throughly this time, and tie it up to avoid contact with the chlorinated water.

Before you go back downstairs, you take a minute to look at yourself in the mirror— doing your best not to allow the thoughts to come forward. (You don't think about how your body will look to Harry, and you definitely don't allow yourself to think about what he might think about the bikini you chose. Absolutely not.)

When you return downstairs to the kitchen, the dishes are washed and on the drying rack. Grabbing two cups and straws, you fill each about half with ice and then filtered water; and carry them both out to the poolside where Harry sits contently in the sun.

Unbeknownst to you, Harry's eyes travel along your body through his sunglasses when you appear from inside of the house, wishing he could touch you. His brain flicks back to the phone call he had this morning with his Mum, how she encouraged him to make a move because she knows you're meant to be. His stomach flips thinking about it.

"Do you remember when we went to that party and you pushed that guy into the pool because he was flirting with me?" you smile, sitting down beside him and handing him one of the cold waters.

"Mm, we had to leave because he was gonna' beat me up," Harry chuckles, "I was drunk. Probably lucky he ended up in the pool."

"You were being protective! It was cute!" you defend,  rubbing his back lazily in comfort. He looks at you in a funny way, smile faltering a little before he returns his eyes back to the pool.

"M'gonna test the waters so the princess doesn't freeze," He proposes, rising from his seat when you give him a playful smack.

You rise as well, shimmying off your loose shorts and moving to sit at the side of the pool. Watching harry submerge himself first, you let your legs dangle off of the edge and into the water. It's cold, but a pleasant, enjoyable cold in the hot sun.

You sit contently for a few minutes, enjoying the water on your legs and watching harry swim back and forth. You lean back and turn your attention somewhere else, trying to avoid being caught staring.  Suddenly, though, a hand brushes up the side of one of your submerged legs, informing you of Harry's presence.

"Y'coming in?" he asks, standing now. He's tall, so your faces are about level now.

"Are you in a hurry?" He's close enough now that he's dripping cold water on your skin.

"Maybe,"

Suddenly, he's gripping your waist to lift you and pull you into the water. You squeal, grabbing his shoulders as leverage as he practically drops you into the water that feels ice cold against your warm sunny skin. He laughs loud and happy when you splash water in his direction as payback.

Soon, both of your energies mellow out. Harry's on his phone, while you're floating around in a doughnut shaped floatie. Harry snaps a photo, but you don't notice.

When it's time to get out, Harry offers to go grab the towels while you float around for a few more minutes. He's driving you crazy in the best way. Your skin still tingles where he had touched your sides to lift you into the water, and your palms burn with the memory of his bare shoulders.

When he returns, it's like his energy has changed. The sight of a shirt over his chest makes you frown momentarily, and he's light on his feet rather than the happy strides he took on his way into his home. You see him tuck his phone into his pocket as if he's been talking to someone again, and when his eyes meet yours the wide smile is hiding something else.

When you slip out of the doughnut and climb up the pool ladder, he mumbles a soft "c'mere" and wraps the towel around your shoulders. His eyes watch you for a little longer than they should've.

"Mum called again," He murmurs.

"I's she doing well? Is that who called this morning?" you question, keeping your attention on his eyes.

"Yeah, woke you up I suppose,"

"Not at all!" You defend.

He goes quiet, picking at his fingernails (a nervous habit you notice he's developed since beginning to paint his nails) and looking off to the side to avoid holding eye contact with you. This makes you nervous, he's never this way around you.

"Harry,"

"I'm sorry, 'shouldn't be such a big deal," he says, letting out an awkward laugh.

A soft smile appears on your face, taking his hands into yours to part them. Gently, you move towards him, pressing yourself wordlessly into his body and allowing his hands to wrap around your towel-covered body. It brings him comfort, and you ignore your own heart beating at the contact.

"Better?"

"A little." He admits. He loves holding you, and sure, it helps his nerves, but he's going to tell you.

His Mum's been on him since he told her you'd be staying with him, telling him “now or never, Harry!”, and he's beginning to realize it really is now or never. He doesn't know how long quarantine will keep up or how much longer you will decide to stay, and he misses you even when you're just running something as simple as a grocery trip.

He doesn't know why he's scared, he knows a friendship as strong as yours could work through anything, Still, there's always the possibility that things could go bad. “Get out of your head!'”Anne would say.

This type of topic between the two of you is quite common, given Harry's music and your tendency to be quite open. However, this type of topic concerning the two of you is uncharted territory.

He thinks about the story you'd brought up earlier. When you'd both went to a party together and some guy, very obviously drunker than the both of you, tried to flirt his way into your pants before Harry had pushed him into the pool himself.

The truth is, he knew you would hold your ground if you weren't interested. Actually, Harry knows from first-hand experience that you don't need protection, you can be very vocal when you need to be, and he's even seen you deck someone at the bar a few years back for touching one of your friends. You were the protector.

That's why, upon seeing Harry at such a nervous loss of words, you had hugged him. It was your own way of protecting him.

"I wasn't trying t'protect you when I pushed that guy into the pool." He states, quiet and unsure.

You only hum in reply, allowing him to finish his sentence but letting him know you heard what he said.

" 'was jealous."

What?

"What?" you pull away from him only slightly, “why?"

"I didn't want stupid—" he pauses for the name "Josh, or whatever, t'be the one to take y'home."

You give him a confused look, now that you can see his face. Not putting two and two together.

"Josh is great! I love Josh—"

"More than me?" he murmurs, and it clicks.

Oh.

"Of course not... Harry," you hesitate, watching his eyes move between your own and his jaw clench.

Is this happening?

"I wanted," his shaky hand finds your arm, sliding down to take hold of your own, equally shaky left hand to toy with your fingers.

"I wanted t'take you home. Crawl into bed with you. Whatever else." he finishes. His stomach is in butterflies by now and he feels the tight, anxiety feeling in his lungs.

It catches him completely off guard when your lips are on his.

When you try to pull away, scared you've overstepped, his mouth only follows your own and his hand rises to your jaw to hold you steady. He feels a weight lifted from his shoulders, holding you, kissing you, like this. This is what he's needed.

When you finally do pull away, it's to go inside. Harry erupts in happy laughter when you make a beeline up the stairs. Nothing happens though, it's too soon and Harry agrees, but that doesn't stop you from curling into Harry's sheets, cuddling and kissing each other while watching one of your favourite films.

Catching up on missed time.

***

The wedding reception.

How did we end up here?

"Honestly," Harry speaks loudly to the crowd of your family and friends within the dinner hall "I have two people to thank for sealing the deal."

You smile wildly, knowing exactly which story he's about to bring up. Your eyes travel through the table groups you and Harry had spent so much time planning out. When your eyes catch with Mitch's he gives you a wink.

"Anne, my beautiful Mother, thank you for not letting me coward out of finally telling my girl how I felt," he pauses, you place a hand on his knee

"And Josh—"

You can't hold back the laugh, especially when the entire room turns to face the poor, completely unsuspecting victim. Josh, face red and confused smile on his lips.

"Years ago, when I pushed you into that pool at your birthday party because— you would've killed me if I didn't run! Because you were talking to her and I got jealous!" the room is erupting in laughter.

The room is full of the most important people in your's and Harry's lives. Still though, your happy eyes are glued to Harry, working the small crowd of people as per usual and telling a story about the time of and before quarantine; of when you'd basically moved in with him and never left.

Later, when you're wrapped in warm blankets and Harry's arms, you're reflecting on your day. The guests, who you'd talked to, what you'd heard.

"Wow. I'm married." he dumbfounds.

Wow is right.

"We're married." you restate for him, giving his hand a soft squeeze.

"Wow. I'm married to my best friend.”

Giggles boil over in the dark room. Harry is astonished suddenly, pupils blown, wide grin on his face. He presses quick kisses to the side of your face and you snuggle into his side more.

"I think we win, H."

[luffles424]

Sunrise

☼ Pairing: Seokjin x reader

☼ Genre: angst, fluff, smut, angst with a happy end, post breakup au, actor!seokjin, fashion designer!reader, exes to lovers

☼ Count: 9.5K

☼ Warnings: 18+, accusations of cheating, poor communication, some arguments (the relationship at the end can be seen as turning toxic as communication breaks down, so be aware if you think that may now work for you or just need to be prepared), heartbreak, non-explicit description of panic attack, moments of emotional shut down

Smut warnings: teasing, soft sex, nipple play, body worship, oral (f recieving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (stay safe pls!), dirty talk, exhibitionism, bratty reader, rough sex, manhandling, bruising

☼ Summary: It’s been well over 10 years since you and Seokjin broke up. You’ve been doing fine. Until one night a dream rocks you to the core and you find yourself in a place from the past. Have you really moved on?

Has he?

☼  Newly added epilogue: Moonlight

☼ a/n: This is told both in the present and past, the flashbacks are in italics! The flashbacks also aren’t in order, but I believe they’re pretty easy to follow when they would fall chronologically.

Inspired by the 2000s emo playlist I listened to as work (especially Jamie All Over by Mayday Parade) Sorry if the tags seem a little scary, I’d rather overtag than have someone get blindsided while reading. But I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

The cool breeze washes over you, bathing you in the salty ocean air. It seems you found the perfect time to come out here. The light jacket you wore more than enough to keep you warm on such an unexpected trip. The sky is slowly being painted in pinks and purples and oranges as the sun slowly starts to sink into the horizon, small wisps of fluffy, white clouds occasionally obscuring the sunlight. You’ve always loved seeing the sunset out here. The colors reflecting off the ocean and leaving everchanging patterns before you. You’ve based plenty of designs on sunsets. 

The dress you wore to your first fashion week is still your favorite. The penultimate meeting of sunset and night sky. The outside was ombre layers of soft chiffon, shades of oranges and pinks and small bands of light purples. It pooled around your feet, you liked to think it made it seem like you had risen from the waters of a sunset reflection. The halter bodice wrapped around your neck in a shimmery, golden band. Hanging from the choker were thin golden chains, draped and connected to a golden belt at your waist. 

For all appearances, it appeared like just a sunset colored dress. But when you walked, or pulled the fabric apart at the slit in the front, it revealed a glittering deep purple fabric, speckled like a swirling galaxy. It had been the ultimate combination of the theme of yours and Hoseok’s collection, sun and moon. The dress still hangs in your closet, one of the few extravagant pieces you’ve held on too. You want to wear it again, you just have to find an occasion to do so. The dress deserves it. 

The scene before you specifically was what inspired it. Maybe not this spot specifically. There were a lot of memories tied to this spot that you tried not to think about typically. But you’ve always loved visiting the beach. Or lakes. Anywhere you could go and watch the sun sink into the water. Watch an uninterrupted sky blend colorfully with the water.

You can’t believe you’re back here though. It’s been easily more than 10 years since the last time you were at this beach, which is a drastic change from back then from when you came here all the time. Taking a seat on the bench beside you, you smile, a little sadly, as your fingers trace over the heart carved into the wood, weathered from years in the elements and use. But the letters are still clear enough and you skip over your initials, letting your fingertips trace the ‘ksj’ as you think on when they were put there. 

 The smile on his face is bright, as bright as the glint of sunlight off the small pocket knife in his hand. 

Your combined giggles fill the fresh spring air, the beach fairly deserted since you skipped your last two periods of school to come here. You hadn’t put up much of a fight when he made the suggestion during lunch. Your grades are good enough and it’s the last weeks of high school, you can miss a few class periods to have some fun, to spend some time together before university. Just in case you don’t get into the same one.

The scratch of the blade against the wood is softer than you expect, a gentle scratch, scratch, scratch as he meticulously and carefully carves your names into the wood. His tongue pokes out from between his lips and you fight the urge to coo at how cute he is. Doubling down on keeping quiet when you know doing so would also result in him being overly macho to prove he wasn’t cute. Not because he doesn’t believe he’s cute or anything, but he knows how much the faux display makes you laugh. You don’t want to interrupt his work when this seems so important to him.  

Finally he looks up from his work, proudly gesturing to the carving on the bench. 

“That’s so cheesy.”

With an exaggerated pout, he gives you the saddest eyes he can muster. “I worked so hard on this for you. As a testament to our love!”

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his jutted lower lip. “Well, I didn’t know it was so serious. My apologies.”

 A few more kisses and he’d promptly forgiven you and the two of you had spent the rest of the afternoon at the beach, taking blurry pictures on your flip phones. You’re positive that a printed version of one of those photos still lives in a box somewhere, where you didn’t have the heart to throw it away and so it’s stayed in a box of memories that moves with you but you never really look through. 

 You’re so tired when you finally get home. It doesn’t even feel like home anymore. You’ve spent more time either in the studio or with Jimin or Hoseok or at work than you have here. And you know from the times that you are here that Seokjin is gone just as often as you. It doesn’t even feel like you’re in a relationship anymore. It hurts to think about that. 

So you’d thought summer would be the perfect time for the two of you to rekindle your relationship. Fix whatever problems you were having, free from the stress of finals. But with senior year quickly approaching, everything seems to have just gotten worse. You can never seem to catch Seokjin to start the process of fixing anything. 

To your surprise, when you open the door you find Seokjin sitting on the bed, face pinched as he stares at something on his phone. Maybe this will finally be the opportunity to talk and start fixing things. You miss him, body cold and numb the nights you fall asleep here alone, always waiting and waking up disappointed. 

Before you can say anything, his head lifts and the cold glare he sends you stops you in your tracks. What could possibly have happened to make him give you that look? You know the two of you have been having some problems, but nothing that would warrant that look.

“Where the hell were you?” His tone is as icy as his eyes. 

You frown, gesturing vaguely towards the fridge. “Work. I put my schedule up so you knew.” He didn’t have the same courtesy. You never knew when he was working. Or what else he was doing when he was out. You had put yours up in hopes that he would do the same and maybe you would be able to find time to be together. Though you’re not sure he even bothered to go near the fridge. The few times you’ve made dinner for him and left the leftovers in the fridge with a note went untouched. 

He sneers and holds his phone out towards you. You have to step closer to get a good look at the image he has pulled up. It’s from just a few hours ago. You and Jimin sat at one of the cafe tables and laughing. It had been your break and Jimin came in to keep you company. Had Seokjin come by the cafe? Why hadn’t he come in? If he’d been there when this was taken, you were on break, you could’ve spent it together. 

“Then what’s this? Certainly doesn’t look like work to me.”

Your mind blanks. Is he seriously accusing you of lying right now? Indignation rises, acid burning in your throat. “What are you saying? If you were there why didn’t you come in? I would have loved to see you.”

“I wasn’t there. A friend sent this. And I’m saying that you’re never around. And I keep getting people telling me they see you out with him all the time. I haven’t seen you in weeks. But it seems like he sees you every day.”

He can’t seriously be accusing you of cheating right now. This seriously can’t be happening right now. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the accusation. It hurts that he’d honestly think you’d do that. Then the ugly thoughts come. What’s that saying, those who are most guilty are the quickest to throw blame at others?

“First of all,” you grit out, trying your best to keep your tone even. You can feel the rage churning in your belly. “I was on break when that was taken. Jimin came to visit because he knew someone wasn’t going to.” Seokjin’s mouth opens to speak but you continue, voice raising. He is not going to get to cut you off now. “It’s awfully fucking rich for you to accuse me when you have no evidence. You’re never even around. You know what they say, it’s never the one being blamed but the one doing the blaming.”

He scoffs and stands. In his anger, he seems to tower over you. But you’re too angry and indignant yourself for it to feel intimidating. You stare him down. 

“You’re really going to accuse me now?”

“It’s the same thing you’re doing! I was hoping to fucking talk when I saw you were home. I was so happy to see you here. We haven’t been home together in so long. I-”

“We haven’t been home together because you’re always out with Jimin.” 

“No I haven’t been fucking home because you’re never home and it fucking hurts to be in this shitty apartment without the person who’s supposed to be here with me. Do you know how fucking lonely it is waiting around here for a person who never shows up?”

Turning away from you, he takes a few deep breaths. 

You deflate slightly. You could still fix this. “Seokjin-”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to hear any more excuses.”

He moves towards the door and you panic. This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. You wanted to fix things. To make them better. Everything has spiraled and you can’t let him slip through your fingers. You reach for his wrist.

“Seokjin, wait-”

He wretches his hand free and glances at you over his shoulder with so much contempt that you feel your heart in your throat. “No. I’m done.”

This can’t be it. This really can’t be it. He sees you about to speak again and turns and leaves before you can get a word out and it feels like the rug has been ripped out from beneath you. The silence deafening in his absence. 

You don’t know how long you stand there for. You feel completely numb. Like this is just a bad dream and you’ll wake up soon and Seokjin will be next to you and you’ll tell him about this and he’ll laugh and comfort you and tell you that would never happen. You expect tears, but they never come. Everything feels so surreal. 

The man you had planned to spend the rest of your life with just walked out on you after accusing you of cheating. 5 years and he really thought that was something you would do. Do you wait around? Hope he comes back for you both to talk with calmer minds. 

You settle for a text.

You: Can we talk once we’ve both calmed down?

It’s less than a second later and the response makes your heart sink. Blocked. 

He really blocked you already. He’s not even going to try? You sink onto the bed. What are you supposed to do now?

At some point, mechanically, you text Jimin, asking if he could come over and bring some boxes. Looking around, you’re at least grateful that your place was small because it means you don’t have that much to try to move. Jimin arrives, faster than you expected. Or maybe you’ve just become that disconnected from the passage of time. 

He drops the boxes and comes up to you, hands fretting over you like there’s some physical injury he can attend to. Unless he knows how to mend a broken heart, his fretting is useless. Instead you move on autopilot, taking the boxes Jimin brought and packing your meager possessions into them. Jimin stands by the kitchen, looking sad and lost, unable to help because you have yet to say a word. He knows what happened though. It’s not hard to figure out. You’re thankful that he doesn’t try to get you to talk. Just lets you move and do what you need. Waits for you to ask should you need help. 

You’re almost finished packing when you pull the shoebox from under the bed and you suddenly feel like you’ve been hit by a truck. Flipping the lid open reveals hundreds of photos. Of friends. Of family. Of trips. Of Seokjin. The top pictures pull your attention. Two copies of the same photo. A blurry snapshot of you two grinning on the beach. You both look so young and happy. You wish you could go back to that. Everything was so simple back then. 

He must have put his copy in with yours. Because why would they need to be kept in different places when the two of you would never be apart. You almost want to laugh. You mostly want to cry. You stand with the box, debate for all of two seconds before you set his copy down on the bed. He can decide what to do with his own copy. That’s not for you to decide. Not anymore. 

Tucking the shoebox into the last of the moving boxes, you cast one last look around the apartment. The holes where your things were hurt to see. The physical evidence that this part of your life is over. Carefully extracted from a life that had been so delicately intertwined. You wonder if the gaps will even bother Seokjin. If he’ll even bother staying here, if he’ll move onto something bigger and better. Without you. Swallowing, you turn to Jimin before those thoughts can spiral. Not here. Not yet. Once you’re somewhere else and alone. Then it can all come out.

“Ready?”

You give a small nod and Jimin helps take your things downstairs. He does most of the work while you wait on the sidewalk. He calls a taxi, loads your things into, gives the driver his address. 

As it pulls away from the curb, you can’t help but to watch the apartment shrink into the distance. Feeling like you left your heart behind. You wonder if you’ll ever get it back.

 Your phone dings with a notification, dragging you out of the sad memories. You give yourself a small shake. You hadn’t thought about that day in years, pushing it to the back of your mind. You had learned later on that some girls had told Seokjin lies about you to get the two of you to break up in a bid for his attention. It had backfired spectacularly because you found out through Hoseok after he overheard Seokjin yelling at the girl who asked him out less than a week after the break up. He never came to talk to you after the truth came out though. You never let yourself think too hard about why that might be. You’d already spent too many nights feeling numb and broken. You poured yourself into your work. Your friends. You had been content for your senior year. It didn’t go how you were expecting, but it was still good.

You smile at the device in your hand. It’s far more advanced than your old flip phones had been, even your college phone had been fairly low tech, the downsides of living on a budget. High school you would have killed for a camera this good back then. That blurry picture of you and Seokjin would’ve been much more clear if you’d had something like this back then. You swipe the notification away, just an email from your assistant about your schedule for tomorrow and what had been shifted around from today. But all that can wait until later, probably when you’re back home. The notification draws your attention to a text from Hoseok that you hadn’t seen though. He must have messaged while you were walking so you didn’t feel your phone go off. 

Hobihobi: Are you ok?

You smile at his concern. And honestly the fact that he even noticed you dipped out of the studio early. You had thought that he had been too busy on his own upcoming project to notice. It’s a pretty big deal for your label and he’s been working so hard to get this project. You’re just glad you have the perk of being boss to be able to dip when you need to. Although technically, you and Hoseok own your label, Daydream Designs, together. 

Texting him a quick reassurance, you pocket the device again, content to just enjoy the sunset out here alone. There’s a few people scattered around the beach. A few families beginning to pack up for the evening, a person running with their dog, a couple walking along the shoreline. 

You have such fond memories of this beach. For all the bad memories you have of the relationship, mostly from the end of it, at least the beach remains untainted.

 Nervously clutching the letter in your hand, your leg bounces as you wait for Seokjin to arrive. He’d texted you earlier that he’d gotten a letter from SNU. You’d rushed home to see you had a letter waiting as well. You were thankful that they had come on the same day. You can’t imagine how much more anxiety you’d have if you’d had to wait longer for one of your letters to arrive. 

You glance at the white envelope, the edges are beginning to wrinkle from your grip, but you can’t get your fingers to relax. Checking your phone again, you wonder where Seokjin is. He should be here soon. The beach is crowded today. The weather finally nice enough and the water clear and warm. It was a miracle that you’d managed to get your bench when you’d arrived. But someone had just been leaving when you’d gotten here and you’d quickly jogged over to take it before someone else could snatch it. It seemed like the perfect place to see what your future held.  

Seokjin appears suddenly, panting like he ran the whole way here. Which, given the sweat making his bangs stick to his forehead, is a good possibility. He still looks handsome, more so when he sends you a brilliant grin.

“You got our bench!”

Returning his smile, you send him a wink. “I had to fight an old lady for it.”

He presses a quick kiss to your lips as he sits down, brandishing his letter. “How do you want to do this?”

Chewing your lip, you think it over. “I don’t think I can open it.”

His eyes soften and he takes your hand. He can read you so well. “No matter what happens, we’ll always have each other.” He gives your hand a squeeze. “How about we open each other’s?”

Reluctantly, you nod. Would it really be better to see that he got in while still not knowing if you got in too? Swapping letters, you stare down at his name spelled out in ink. You know he got in. There’s no way he didn’t. Seokjin nudges you and you look up.

“Count of three?” You nod. “Okay… 3…”

“2…”

“1…”

Seokjin is a little faster in tearing open the envelope than you are but you keep your gaze firmly downcast, watching as your fingers tear open the paper with meticulous care. You skim his letter quickly. 

Congratulations.

He got in. Joy swells in you and you look up with a grin, momentarily forgetting your own letter. Your smile quickly falters though when you see the flat look on Seokjin’s face as he stares down at your letter and your heart sinks.

Tugging his hand to get his attention, you give him a sad smile. “Hey, it’s okay. You said-”

“You got in.”

You blink. His words swirling around your head but not fully registering. “What?”

He envelops you in a massive hug, laughing with joy. “You got in! Baby, you did it!”

You still feel a little dumbfounded, but you’re quickly filling with excitement. “You too! Jinnie, you got in too!”

He pulls back and presses a long kiss to your lips. His eyes look suspiciously wet, but you decide not to comment. You’re positive that your’s are probably a little wet too. “The next four years are going to be amazing.”

 He had been so optimistic back then. You could use some of that optimism now. 

You hadn’t originally planned on cutting out of work early, especially not to come here of all places. There were some designs that you needed to work on, a few ideas that you had that you wanted to get sketched up to show to Hoseok. But when you’d been walking through the common area during lunch, you’d overheard a couple of people gathered around a computer gushing about the Kim Seokjin wearing one of Hoseok’s designs. 

It’s definitely not the first time. Hoseok knew Seokjin in university when you knew him too, although you were always closer to him since you shared a lot of classes, and obviously a shared love of fashion. But the two were friendly and remained so afterward, but on a more acquaintanceship basis. The break up clearly divided some friendships, though you hated that it happened. You didn’t want anyone to feel like they had to stop being friends with either of you just because you two were no longer dating. 

You know it’s not the first time Hoseok has designed something for Seokjin. And normally, him wearing one of Hoseok’s designs wouldn’t bother you too much. Both because it’s good for Hoseok because Hoseok is a genius and deserves it, but because it’s also really good for your label in general in terms of good press. Though you know Hoseok sometimes slips your designs into things that get sent to him. You saw one of your jackets ended up at an award show. 

Idle chatter about Seokjin around the office isn’t that new. You suppose that’s one of the downsides to being in an industry that is very closely tied to idols and actors and actresses. It’s not an uncommon occurrence to hear them gossip about him, he’s one of the most popular drama actors currently and everyone loves to gush about how handsome and funny he is. They find it odd that you’ll talk about anyone with them except him. They leave it be much easier now, but in the beginning they still tried to include you. 

You’ve even dealt easily with the dating rumors. All the pretty actresses he’s supposedly dating. And why wouldn’t he? He’s gorgeous and talented and so, so kind. Any woman would be lucky to have him. You’ve been on the receiving end of his love. You know how easy it is to fall.

If your coworkers knew that you’d dated him in the past, they would think you were crazy to let him go. And maybe be a little jealous and probably pepper you with questions about him. You definitely are thankful they don’t know because the way some of them gossip about their own sex lives, they’d beg for details about a celebrity’s from first hand experience. 

 Excitement fills you as you sit in the airport. It’s finally summer. Your first year of college is behind you and you now get to spend two whole weeks with Seokjin in Jeju. Well Seokjin and his family. But they were kind enough to let the two of you have your own little place on the island. Well it was more of just the guest house to the main house they, along with Seokjin’s brother, would be staying at. 

This will likely be the only big summer trip you both take during college. Seokjin had originally planned to not go. More content to work all summer and save up money so the two of you could get an apartment off campus. His parents had offered to pay for a place, but Seokjin was adamant that the two of you wanted to do this for yourselves. 

You’d try to hide your disappointment about not going, but he knows you far too well and caved quickly to saying one trip wouldn’t hurt his independence. So now here you were, ready to fly out to Jeju. You haven’t been since you were little and you were excited that you got to go back and this time with Seokjin. 

The flight is quick and uneventful and Seokjin gets a taxi to take you to the beach house, his parents having arrived a few days prior. 

The main house is beautiful, but you’re more excited to see where you’ll be staying. The outside of the guest house looks like a miniature version of the main one. Inside, it’s spacious, all one room with an attached bathroom. The bed is separated from the living area by an ornate partition painted with a starry nightscape. The moon is painted in such gorgeous detail that you’re tempted to tell Seokjin you want to steal the partition when you leave. 

The living area is simple, a plush sofa and matching chair set facing a wall mounted TV. A small, well-stocked minibar is pressed against one wall. Around the partition and into the sleeping area is a large bed facing a set of french doors that open out onto a small deck that leads right down to the beach in two steps. 

Flopping onto the bed with a giddy giggle, you watch as Seokjin sets his bag down and gives you a fond smile. 

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

You squirm back slightly, coy smile stretching your lips. “I don’t know. The bed seems kind of empty.”

He chuckles, sitting on the bed and tugging you into his lap. “Better?”

Humming, you press a kiss to his lips. “Much.”

When you go to pull away, he follows, capturing your lips in another, deeper kiss. “We don’t… have… a lot of time…” he murmurs between kisses. 

You give a vague affirmative, only half listening to his words in favor of pressing him back into the mattress. His parents can wait, you have some important business first.

 The night air is cool, the french doors left open, gauzy curtains shifting in the gentle breeze. Shifting onto his side, Seokjin presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, soft and unhurried. It’s only been a couple of days since you’ve been here. But it’s been utter bliss, especially after the exhaustion from finals. 

You nudge the sheet lower down your bodies and press closer to him. Tonight seems like the perfect time for something soft and unhurried. A perfect time to really connect again. No hurrying because of classes, or roommates, or meetings. No papers to worry about. 

Just you and Seokjin. In a plush bed with a cool, ocean breeze enveloping you. If you peek through the curtains, you can just make out the shape of the moon, the illumination making Seokjin glow before you. 

He’s already bared to you. Both of you showering off the ocean water from an evening dip and simply crawling into bed together afterwards. The TV is off, the only sounds filling the room is the rustle of the sheets as you move and the lapping of the waves on the shore. You dare not speak and break the peaceful atmosphere and Seokjin seems to be on the same wavelength. 

Neither of you need to speak to know how to move around each other here. He cups your face, such a gentle caress, like you’re the most fragile and beautiful thing he’s ever held. It makes you feel cherished. He leans closer and time seems to slow down with the press of his plush lips to yours. He takes his time kissing you, so slowly like you have the rest of eternity for just this moment. 

Pushing you onto your back, Seokjin cages you in, enveloping you in the safe blanket of his embrace. His scent is overwhelming like this, you could drown in it. His hips press into yours, cock not fully hard yet, but that doesn’t matter. This is about taking your time with each other. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, hands sliding from his neck up into his hair.

The strands are a little dried out, a combination of the salty ocean water and the fresh bleaching it got. His parents hated it at first, but he defended it as just college experimentation. It’s supposed to be a time of discovery and why not try different hair colors. He’s unfairly attractive with the bleach blonde, just as handsome as his natural brunette. You know he plans to dye it another color. But he’s yet to tell you what it’ll be. 

You give his hair a light tug, relishing the sigh he releases against your lips. 

“Tell me what you want.”

“Just you.”

“You always have me.”

Seokjin nudges your thighs apart as he kisses across your jaw and down your neck. Trailing across your collarbones, he leaves a line nips down to your sternum. His hands slide up your sides till they meet your breasts, fingers cupping the soft flesh as he peppers kisses across the expanse of your chest. He traces one nipple with his tongue, teasing the bud to stiffness with each swipe. He moves on to the other one, changing it up and using his teeth this time. The air fills with your soft moans, blending with the waves outside. 

Moving lower, Seokjin kisses your belly, taking his time to touch every little mark across your skin. Pleasure simmers in your belly, every nerve burns like a live wire. Over all that, you feel loved. Absolutely worshiped as Seokjin presses a kiss to your mound with such reverence that you think he might convert right here and now. 

Seokjin eats you out just as slowly and thoroughly as he kissed you. He savors you with each swipe of his tongue, every suck, every twist of his fingers. Seokjin plays your pleasure like a fine-tuned instrument, drawing you ever so slowly to the edge. Your fingers thread through his hair once more, not to be demanding, but for the sake of feeling grounded. His tongue laps at you like you’re a ten course meal and he wants to savor every single morsel. When you chance a glance down at him, his eyes are closed, handsome face, what you can see of it at least, smoothed out in utter bliss. 

When you finally cum, it feels like sinking into pure euphoria. Seokjin drags it out for so long and so gently that you cum a second time. Though you’re so lost in sensation that maybe it’s still the first orgasm.

Pushing himself to his knees, his face glistens with your slick and you feel bereft with the distance suddenly between you. You reach out for him and he falls right into you, lips crashing against yours as his cock presses against your pussy. But you need more than that and you squirm, drawing a chuckle from deep in his chest. 

“Impatient…” he murmurs.

But despite his teasing, he shifts until the tip of his cock catches your hole and he slides in with languid push. You sigh his name and he answers with a nod, lips brushing your neck as he pulls back and starts a slow, almost lazy, rhythm. You cling to him, nearly delirious with pleasure. 

Nudging Seokjin, you pull him in for a kiss of your own. “I love you.”

He groans into your mouth. “Fuck… I love you too. So much.”

You lose track of time, your pace unhurried. Seokjin cums at some point and the two of you lay facing each other and exchanging soft kisses until you drift off to sleep. 

 You whine as Seokjin slips his cock into you. He’s been teasing you all day on the beach. At one point while you were in the water with him, his fingers slipped beneath your suit to tease along your pussy. You’d nearly screamed at the sudden sensation, but Seokjin had merely laughed and floated out of your reach, sending you a wink as he licked his finger. The second you returned to your room from dinner he was on you. This is so different from the other night. Somewhere in between the rushed couplings in the dorms and the slow, soft sex from then. It feels just as good, a little rough, fun, light. Perfect.

Seokjin grins cockily above you. “I barely did anything and you’re so wet for me, baby.”

Huffing, you try to kick at him, but he easily pins your leg down. He tuts and delivers a thrust that jostles you up the bed and draws a gasp from you. He looks entirely too pleased with himself. 

Before you can formulate any other sort of retaliation, the sound of voices catches your attention. Glancing to the side shows that neither of you shut the french doors. The voices don’t sound close, but they are near enough for you to hear. It’s not too strange, the beach is there for anyone. But it’s the first night that anyone has been out there, at least close enough for you to be able to hear from your bed. Music soon follows the voices. A party. 

Unbidden, the thought of someone breaking away from the party, coming down the beach this way and passing by the open doors has you clenching around Seokjin. He gasps at the sudden tightness, blinking down at where you’re connected. Licking his lips, he follows your gaze and a moment later, you see realization cross his features. 

His resulting grin is downright dangerous. “What’s got you going, baby? Hm?”

Swallowing, you turn back to him, blocking out the voices. You will not give him the satisfaction. “Nothing.”

Fingers digging into your hips, Seokjin glances towards the doors again. He gives a harsh thrust that pulls a startle moan from you. “Nothing, huh? I don’t think that’s true.” He turns back to you and there’s a dark look in his eyes. “I think that you want someone to walk by and see us. That the idea of being caught is exciting.”

You scoff, deliberately turning your face away from the doors. “I’m actually bored and thinking about what we’re doing tomorrow.”

Seokjin blinks at you for a moment before chuckling darkly. “Is that right?” You nod. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

It sounds like a threat and a challenge. And you’re never one to back down from a challenge. “Well in the morning, we’re meeting your parents for brunch…” 

Seokjin’s tongue presses against his cheek as he slams his cock into you. It would force you up the bed if not for his bruising grip on your hips keeping you firmly pinned in place, forced to take the full brunt of his cock spliting you open. 

But you’re just as stubborn as him. “Then we’re going… to the spa… oh my g-god… you… you made… p-plans for lunch…” 

Every few words you stutter out are punctuated by another harsh thrust. Your legs are pushed towards your chest and his next thrust has his cock rubbing along your g-spot and for a second, your mind blanks on what’s happening, pleasure so sudden and searing that you forget everything but the full feel of Seokjin’s cock inside you. He starts to grin then, victoriously, and that pulls you out of it just enough to continue, gritting your teeth as he continues to fuck you.

“Said you had… a surprise… then we were going to… oh, fuck… gonna go to t-town… buy some… gifts… Seokjin, please…”

He grins. “Gonna admit what you were thinking about?”

One hand leaves your legs, thumb brushing your clit and your resolve crumbles with your rising desire to cum. 

“Fuck… yes! I want someone to walk by. See you fucking me, making me cum, making me feel good… Seokjin, please…” you whine out.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

His rough thrusts pick up again. This time accompanied by the rhythmic movements on his fingers on your clit. Your orgasm builds quickly and leaves you breathless as Seokjin forces you over the edge. You cry out, heedless of the volume of your voice. If anything, the thought of someone hearing how Seokjin makes you feel makes you shudder with pleasure.

Seokjin groans, hands dropping to the bed as he chases his own orgasm, smothering his moan of your name against your shoulder. 

When he’s caught his breath, he raises his head, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “So… exhibitionism, huh?”

 The stories you had are probably worth a lot. Which is why you keep them to yourself. No one but you and Seokjin need to know those details. Especially not some of the more nosy people you work with. Hoseok thankfully played along with only knowing him on a professional level and not that you all went to university together. 

It’s typically pretty easy to just ignore the chatter when it comes up about him. But a couple days ago, you had a dream about him. One that after you woke up, you couldn’t recall almost anything about it. Except his face and the heavy feeling in your heart. His smile was burned into your mind and has left you feeling off since then. The mention of him today combined with the weird feeling brought back a whole slew of memories and things you had thought you’d long since moved past. To the point that you made the decision to leave work to work early because you were so confused. Why you were suddenly feeling like this about someone who you thought you’ve been over for more than 10 years. 

You never thought you’d be here back in university. Together with Seokjin. You both had thought you’d be together forever, whispered together about getting married, about the future. The things you’d do and the places you’d go to. 

 The arm around your bare waist tightens, a firm chest pressing into your back. 

“What’re you thinking about, baby?” Seokjin murmurs into the skin of your shoulder.

You chew your lip nervously before shifting in his grip so that you’re now facing each other. You’ve been thinking about a lot of things as freshman year draws to a close. All of them lead back to Seokjin.

The afternoon sunlight peeks in through the curtains, casting golden light across him and the dormroom. It’s an odd time to be in bed together, but it’s one of the only moments that you both have free and there’s no dormmates around to bother or have to kick out. Though you know Yoongi, Seokjin’s roommate and faux reluctant friend, would give you both the space if you asked. You don’t want to be the person that kicks him out constantly, so for now, you both are content to steal some free moments during the day when Yoongi has classes. Maybe next year you can think about getting a little place off campus together. A place both for you guys and maybe for your friends to visit and hang out at. 

You think Seokjin looks the most beautiful under the afternoon light regardless. Seokjin pecks your nose, drawing your attention back to him and his question that remains unanswered. You feel a little nervous bringing up what you were thinking about. But the two of you have been together for almost 3 years. You should be able to bring it up to him.

Swallowing your slight nerves, you finally speak. “Was just… thinking about the future…”

His answering smile is warm and gentle and you feel like the world could crumble around you and you would be safe here in his arms. “I hope I’m there.” 

Giggling, you press a kiss to his lips. “Of course. I can’t imagine a future without such a handsome man on my arm while I attend extravagant parties and get all the jealous stares to be dating someone so much younger than me.”

Gasping with as much drama as you expect from him, Seokjin falls onto his back, hands clutched over his chest. “I can’t believe this! The truth has finally come out! You’re only with me for my youthful looks!”

Fond smile growing, you settle your hand over his as he continues a dramatic monologue about the ultimate betrayal. You wish he would listen to you about changing his major. You know he’d love being an acting major much more than he currently is in his business major classes. A major he’s in only to appease his family. 

Finally tired of his dramatics, you lean up and press a kiss to his lips, effectively silencing him. “I love you,” you murmur against his lips. 

 You wonder when he changed his degree. Or if he ever did. You know plenty of people who go into acting without the degree and Seokjin certainly had the inherent talent to do it. It would be easy to verify if you just looked him up. Someone who’s so in the spotlight now would certainly have his degree information online. But you don’t want to do that. You wonder how invasive that must be. Although you and Hoseok are beginning to get that popular too, you wonder if those sorts of things will begin to happen to you. You can’t imagine you’d be very interesting to follow around. 

Truthfully, you don’t know what would be worse in regards to the fate of Seokjin’s degree. If he had done what you had told him all along and changed his major after you two broke up, or if he had decided to follow his dreams even if he didn’t have the degree for it. It’s undeniable that it hurts either way. The first time you’d seen him in a trailer had sent you spiraling in a way that you hadn’t since the breakup. 

 There’s a pounding at the door, but you can’t find it in yourself to get off the couch. The TV is still on the channel it had been on last night and you’re still sat in the same place as then. Honestly, you only know that it’s at least morning because there’s light streaming in through the windows and when you had seen the trailer it had definitely been evening. 

You had been watching some show, whatever you landed on first that seemed at least mildly entertaining, while eating dinner. A quick break from the sketches that are scattered across your coffee table. Sketches that could lead to your first big contract.  

But your peaceful and exciting night of work had been interrupted when you’d seen a preview for a new drama. A new drama with Kim Seokjin. It had been crushing to see. You had been telling him to do that for so long. To the point that it became one of the contributing factors in your seemingly inevitable breakup. 

It seems then that the problem was never with whether or not he would follow his dreams after graduation. It was just if you would be there with him. You cried when you saw it, a vice of bitterness around your heart that while you don’t get to celebrate with him, you’re so happy that he’s doing what he loves. You’re fairly certain you stopped sometime around midnight, though the night was a little hazy as your thoughts circled around one thing. How he hadn’t wanted you there with him.

The banging at your door stops at some point, though you don’t know how long they kept it up for. And then your door is suddenly being shoved open, banging against the wall and there’s two sets of footsteps moving quickly into the apartment. You hear a muffled ‘fuck’ and then you’re being enveloped in a hug. 

It takes only a moment for you to realize who it is, the orange-y scent of Jimin’s favorite cologne washing over you. Your breath stutters then, it hurts to breathe so you bury your face in his chest and his arms tighten around you. He murmurs comforting words and someone else sits behind you, hand gently rubbing your back. 

Eventually, you calm down and you pull away to give Jimin a weak smile, one that you direct to Hoseok as well when you see him behind you. Jimin returns with a pained smile of his own. 

“You saw, huh?” You nod and Jimin sighs. “I had hoped that you wouldn’t see it last night. It’s what I was planning to tell you at dinner tonight. So you could be prepared for it. I’m so sorry I waited to tell you.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, you have nothing to apologize for.” You rub your neck. “I… I didn’t think I would react quite like this… It’s been 3 years. You worked so hard to help me out of that dark place-”

Jimin puts a hand over your mouth, cutting you off. “No, you worked hard to get yourself out of that dark place. I was just there to hold your hand. It was a tough breakup. It’s understandable if there’s occasionally things that bring that heartache back up.”

You nod slowly, not fully believing his assertion that he just held your hand post break up. You probably would’ve dropped out of university after the breakup if you hadn’t met Jimin. You look between him and Jimin. “H-how did you know to come?”

Hoseok gives a sheepish grin. “You didn’t show up to work and I got worried. I texted Jimin on my way here and he seemed to know exactly what had happened.”

“Now that we’re here. How about I go get all of us some junk food and you two find something trashy for us to binge?”

 After that, it got much easier to see him on your screen. Or on screens in the train stations. Or plastered on ads and billboards. 

It helped you actually, to finally, truly move on from him. A sort of immersion therapy to numb you to his face. You didn’t need him to be happy. You loved your budding design business with Hoseok, clubbing with Jimin, dating both casually and more seriously. It all got easier with time and you’re grateful for the friends that you have. Your friends have always been there for you, even back then. 

 Your first birthday after the breakup was rough. Seokjin always planned something elaborate and thoughtful. There would be none of that this year. You went to work in the morning, gave your coworkers a fake smile as they wished you a happy birthday with a cupcake in the breakroom before you opened the cafe. It was sweet of them to do, but the breakup was still far too recent for you to truly enjoy anything like this. 

Jimin had night classes so you would have the evening alone. You at least had your own room now instead of sleeping on Jimin’s couch in his old apartment. You had protested his plan to move to a two bedroom apartment for you both to share so you could have your own space. You knew on your meager wages you’d never be able to help with rent at such a large place. You and Seokjin had barely been able to afford your studio together.

But Jimin insisted. He had more than enough to cover rent and you could just save your money. Or buy groceries and cook. He hated cooking, could do it just fine but was too impatient for it. It seemed like incredibly inadequate compensation for him giving you a place to live, but he just smiled and said that’s what friends do for each other. You had cried and he teased you afterward and then made you buy him ice cream. But you agreed to moving and letting him help. 

And it was nice to have your own room. It was great to live with Jimin. He was the sweetest and seemed to always know exactly what you needed. Hoseok visited often too, though you don’t know if he was coming to see you or Jimin more some days, and the three of you worked hard to get through your last year of university. Together. 

But with Jimin in classes tonight, the apartment would be empty. You didn’t really feel like cooking either. So you’d probably just have some ramen. If you could even be bothered to eat to begin with. You freeze when you get to your floor, brows knit in confusion when you see a beautiful bouquet of red and yellow lilies, interspersed with sheep sorrels. The vase is a glossy deep blue, splashes of purples and pinks and speckles of white paint of soft starry night. 

You wonder who they’re for. They must have been left at the wrong door. You carefully look through the petals for a card, finding the glossy little square quickly. Tears gather in your eyes when you see the little cartoon cat head sketched into the blank area of the card. It’s a little cruder than you’re used to seeing, the ear slightly misshapen, the cheeks a little too chunky, the lines a little unsure. 

But it’s unmistakably Yoongi’s cat doodle. Meaning he must have dropped these off for you, even though you and Seokjin have broken up. And you’re not even sure if he knew where your new place was. You’d have to thank him soon for them. It makes the day a little less rough to have something so pretty. To know someone was thinking of you.

 You never did get the chance to thank him properly for the gift. At least directly. You’d taken him a coffee, a few days later, as thanks. He’d looked a little confused but never questioned or made you say anything out loud. Which you’re grateful for. Just because you and Seokjin split up, didn’t mean you and Yoongi couldn’t still be on friendly terms. Though you haven’t properly talked to him in quite a while. Maybe you should ask him to meet up soon. See how he’s been doing. 

But even with all the progress you’ve made and all that your friends have done for you, you still have the occasional bad day. Looking back on it, it had been years since you had one that affected you enough that you had to take off work specifically in regards to Seokjin. You’re really not sure what made it seem like the beach, this beach was the best place to go. But there was just something that called you here. 

For as painful as the breakup was, Seokjin was your first love. He was amazing while you were together. Always loving and supportive. Even when things started to fall apart.

 With a groan, you push the apartment door open, giving a harder shove when it gets jammed. Like it always does and your landlord refuses to do a thing about it. The lights are off when you finally get the door shut and your heart sinks. Seokjin was supposed to be home. You haven’t seen him for more than a few minutes in the last week. This was going to finally be the night you spent together. Throwing your bag down, you flick the lights on, seeing the cramped studio apartment is indeed empty. You pull your phone out, seeing if maybe he just ran out for something or if he was running late, but there’s nothing. 

You try not to let your disappointment consume you and instead grab your sketchbook from the shelf and decide to get some sketches done while you wait, hoping, probably vainly, that Seokjin will be back soon. 

You jerk awake to the sound of the door slamming and when you blink blearily at the clock, it’s nearly midnight. You turn to watch as Seokjin kicks his shoes off, weariness written in his posture. 

“Hey,” you croak and Seokjin gives no indication that he heard you. “Where were you?”

Seokjin straightens and sighs before turning to you. There’s a dead look in his eye that you’ve never seen before, let alone had directed at you. “Out.”

For all that you had been sad or worried, anger and confusion surges through you at his complete disregard. “Out? You could’ve texted. We were supposed to have a night in together.”

His jaw tightens and he drops his bag beside yours before moving towards the bathroom, the only place in this shithole with a door. “I had to study.”

And before you can say anything else, the bathroom door is slammed shut behind him. You stare at it incredulously. He can’t be serious. You’re just as stressed as he is. Finals are creeping in and along with that is planning for senior year. At the rate you’re going, summer is going to be unbearable. 

 You sigh, shaking the memories away. You don’t want to dwell on the bad anymore. Even if the breakup was crushing, the good times were amazing. With the sun finally below the horizon, the moon takes its place, casting cool white light across the beach. And with it, comes the peace of being alone. You let the sound of the waves lull your thoughts to silence.

But the sound of footsteps pulls your attention, confused because the beach is basically deserted at this time, the chill brought in with the moon driving most people inside. Your breath catches in your throat when you see Seokjin standing not far from you. The wind blows his hair from his face and he looks tired. A little older, but still just as handsome as he was in university.

There’s no way that this is happening. You must be dreaming. That’s right. This is just another dream. A weird continuation of the one from a couple of days ago. Seokjin isn’t really here. Not at the same time as you. Not when there’s no one around. Not when your heart feels vulnerable and you can admit that you maybe really, really miss him. Sometimes.

But the chill from the wind feels real. The wood biting into your palms where your grip has tightened on the bench feels real. He looks real and handsome and devastating. Every bit like the man who stole your heart in high school and broke it in college. Who loved to make sure his loved ones were always laughing. Who had such a flair for dramatics that it was never a surprise that he’s such a popular and talented actor. 

The jacket wrapped around his shoulders is unmistakably yours. A silly, casual design that you had done but never put into a collection cause there was never one it fit. You had sewn it on a whim, the idea eating away at you until you made it, settled the itch in your fingers. There’s only one way that Seokjin could’ve gotten that.

Hoseok. 

Have they been talking more than Hoseok let on?

Seokjin hasn’t noticed you yet and you’re wondering if you’d be able to slip away without having him notice you when he turns and freezes. He seems just as surprised and blindsided to see you as you are to see him. You stare at each other and it feels like an eternity and a million conversations pass between you both. He swallows and closes the short distance between you both and tentatively takes a seat beside you. 

He looks nervous when he turns towards you. Clearing his throat after a moment, he sticks his hand out, tentative smile on his face. “Hi, I’m Kim Seokjin.”

You almost laugh. It’s such a him thing to do. As if you would ever forget him. Seokjin left a scar on your heart, you’d carry a little piece of him for the rest of your life.

But the introduction feels like more than a way to break the tension. There’s a question hiding in his innocuous words. Is this okay? Can I be here? Can we be in each other’s lives again? 

Most importantly, it feels like a fresh start. A new chapter. You and Seokjin are different people now. You’re both successful. You’ve grown, matured, learned. You’re no longer the starry-eyed, hopeful kids in college. Full of dreams and hopes, but with so little experience. 

Who knows, maybe there won’t even be romantic feelings between you anymore. Maybe you’ll just end up friends. 

But maybe this new start is what you both need. The sun may have set on your relationship in the past, but maybe it was just what you both needed to let the sun rise now. Something new, and exciting, but still a little bit familiar. 

You take his hand with a smile. “Hi, Kim Seokjin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Pairings: Arvin Russel x Fem!Christian!Reader

Summary: Arvin knew he shouldn’t have left you alone with that new preacher... 

Warnings: Sexual assault, physical assault, cursing, Teagarden being a perv, really nothing out of the ordinary for this movie. 

Word Count: 5250

_________________________

“Arvin! Stop!” You giggled, pushing your boyfriend off of you as he nibbled up and down your neck. There wasn’t anything sexual about it, he just loved to hear you laugh and he knew how much the action tickled your skin. “You’re so annoyin’!” You laughed, cheeks flushed red as you gently pressed on his head to try and move it. 

He pressed himself up, looking down at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever lay his eyes on. Arvin was straddling you, his knees trapping your hips beneath him. A hand was placed on either side of your head and he looked down at you, “But you’re so pretty when you laugh.” 

“Oh? And I’m ugly all the rest of the time?” You asked jokingly, hands reaching up stroke up and down his arms. 

Arvin leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling away ever so slightly, hovering just above your lips. Both of your guys’ eyes were still closed as if it were a romantic moment until he whispered, “Ugly as a mule.” 

You both busted up laughing and you shoved him, his body rolling onto the blanket beside you, “I’m breaking up with you.” You teasingly told him. 

“Ah, c’mon. You know you love me.” He looked over at you, loving how the autumn sun lit up your features. 

“I tolerate you. Don’t get it mixed up.” You rolled your head over to see him already admiring you. Your smile got bigger when you locked eyes with him. 

“Well I love you.” Arvin admitted sweetly, bringing a gentle hand to your cheek and kissing you one more time. 

Arvin made you feel beautiful and special and safe, all those things that no boy had ever made you feel. He always had. Even when you were children back in middle school and neither of you really talked to each other, when you saw him around the halls, a peace just settled over you that made you feel like you were on top of the world. When the two of you began dating ten months ago, that never changed. 

“I love you too.” 

The two of you laid back against the yellow blanket with little orange flowers on it, the one that you’d taken from the linen closet back home. This was yours and Arvin’s favorite place, a little clearing in the woods. The grass was tall enough to be soft but not so tall that it hid critters. Flowers lined the edge of the woods in the spring. It wasn’t springtime now but that only meant that instead of a display of white and yellow flower buds, the pair of you had a beautiful show of brilliant reds and oranges from the falling leaves. 

Everyone in town knew you were together. Word spread fast around Coal Creek and it was nearly impossible to hide anything. Your families were both supportive of the relationship. Emma loved that you were involved with the church and put effort into the community when you could, often participating in bake sales around town. She liked to tease that you won Arvin over with your “man catching apple cobbler” as she now called it, since he officially asked you to be his girlfriend over a slice of the delicious dessert after a Sunday service. 

Your parents liked Arvin as well. Even after Fred Dinwoodie had told your dad about what Arvin had done to Gene, it surprisingly made him like Arvin more. “You got yourself a good man who knows right from wrong and ain’t afraid to stand up for the people he loves.” Was what he’d said, which had surprised you. You knew that Arvin had beaten all the boys right after he’d done it, since he came to you to help him calm down and ice his knuckles. You were terrified for your parents to find out, though, sure that they’d tell you to break up with him for fear of violent tendencies. Thankfully, that day never came. 

It was nice out there, bundled up in a warm brown coat, laying on Arvin’s chest, and watching the leaves fly across the crisp sky in the breeze. 

“We should probably get headin’ back.” You said reluctantly, pushing yourself up to sitting. 

“Why’s that?” Arvin perched on his elbow to watch you tighten the jacket around your frame, a cool breeze hitting just right. 

“The new preacher asked me to come by this afternoon. Said he needed help planning a fundraiser to raise money for the less fortunate families in town.” You traced a finger over his knuckles gingerly, small pink marks littering his knuckles from his attack on Dinwoodie and his boys still healing over. 

“Ain’t you one o’ them less fortunate families in town?” He asked, trying to find a way to talk you out of this. Ever since Preston Teagarden had humiliated Emma on his first day, Arvin had it out for the man. 

You scoffed with a chuckle, “Yeah, but you are too and your grandma is still always bringin’ stuff to church. Just cause I’m broke as shit doesn’t mean I can’t try to help other people who are broke as shit.”

Arvin stood up with you and helped you fold up the blanket, “I just don’t like that new preacher. Somethin’s off about ‘im.” 

“I agree that he was totally out of line callin’ your grandma out like that two weeks ago but I’d like to think that maybe I can talk to him about it.” The two of you began to walk back to Arvin’s car, grass swishing under your steps. 

Arvin’s face twisted, “I just don’t trust the man. He’s always up there on that damn stage actin’ all high ‘n mighty every Sunday like he ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” He reached forward and opened your door for you, closing it after you slid onto the seat. He walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat. 

“He’s a sinner like the rest of us. It’s just about doing what you can to make yourself better.” You responded, looking over at Arvin sweetly. He gave you a skeptic look and sighed deeply as he turned his attention back to look towards the road. With one hand on the steering wheel, he slid his free hand over to hold yours gently. The rest of the drive was in comfortable silence, with the exception of the radio quietly playing in the background. 

Arvin loved you. He really really loved you. You generally had your wits about you, a heck of a lot more than most of the girls in Coal Creek, not allowing your religion to totally cloud your vision. You were a good girl, good enough to make his grandma happy and not cause too much trouble around town, always helping those in need, but not so pious that you made everyone else around you feel like a sinner. You were still fun, you still made mistakes. Arvin felt like you were something between ethereal and real, somehow elevating him as a person but also showing him just how good life could be. 

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but feel like you were making a mistake with this preacher. Of course, with your caring nature, you would help him, especially knowing it was for the poor folks in town. But something about Teagarden just made Arvin’s skin crawl. He just couldn’t put his finger on it… 

The tires rolled to a crunching halt on the gravel outside of the church. The graveyard to the side looked dark and gloomy as always, the cloud of loss looming over almost everyone in this town in one way or another. The church, though, stood small and humble in the field, white paint chipping after years of weathering. 

“Thank you for the ride.” You leaned over and pecked Arvin on the cheek. 

He let out a heavy sigh, “You really sure you don’t just want me to take you home?” 

You rolled your eyes at him with a sweet smile on your face, “Yes, I’m sure. It’ll be fine, Arv, but thank you for the concern.” Opening the door, you climbed out, “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“What? No. I’m givin’ you a ride home.” Arvin looked offended that you even suggested such blasphemy. 

“I don’t want you to have to drive all the way back here for me and I don’t know how long this’ll take. Besides, I don’t live too far from here.” You shook your head, leaning against the open door.

Arvin raised his eyebrows, “What kind of man would I be if I let you walk home alone at night? I’m givin’ you a ride home ‘n that’s final. I have to run to the market anyways to get some stuff for my grandma so I’ll just do that ‘n come back here for ya.” 

With loving warmth welling up in your chest, you leaned into the car, holding onto the roof for balance, while you kissed him on the lips, “I’ll see you in a few then.” 

Pulling yourself back out of the car, you closed the door and waved before spinning to walk towards the church. Looking behind you, you gave Arvin one final wave before disappearing through the door. 

The church was empty, though you expected nothing less on a Saturday afternoon. The pews were empty so you wandered into the building curiously. You closed the door behind you as you walked further in. “Hello? Reverend?” 

Preston Teagarden approached from the door off to the side of the main stage, where his office had been located, “Y/N! Forgive me, I expected you to be a little bit later.” 

You stopped in your tracks, “Oh, I’m sorry! You didn’t say an exact time. Just afternoon…” You chuckled awkwardly, suddenly feeling bad for arriving early. 

“No, no, it’s no problem at all,” He waved his hand dismissively. Teagarden made his way down the aisle a few rows before stopping, “So from what I’ve heard, you are the one to talk to about fundraising” 

Flattered, your cheeks turned a light shade of pink, “Oh, well I don’t know about that… I’ve done a few fundraisers but I wouldn’t say I’m the one to go to.” 

“Nonsense, girl! I’m sure you’ll help plan something amazing. Now, why don’t you come over here and we can start talking about it.” He gestured towards the pew he was leaning on and waited for you to sit down before sliding in next to you. 

Your legs crossed when you sat down, “So, I was thinking about this for a few days and the high school has a harvest festival every November. If we set up a bake sale, we could easily raise a few hundred dollars, at least. Everybody loves Mrs. Lyle’s lemon bars and I’m sure those alone could rake in a small fortune.” You giggled a little at your small joke and the preacher did as well. 

As he did so, his arm slid behind your shoulder so smoothly, you almost didn’t notice at first. Almost. Though the action took you off guard, you chose to write it off. People had done this before to you platonically so this probably didn’t mean anything. Just a show of interest in what you had to say. 

“Mmm, you’re makin’ me crave some sweets,” Teagarden chuckled, looking over his shoulder and then back around the room. 

“Well I can guarantee that you won’t be disappointed. Coal Creek ain’t got much but if we got one thing, it’s some mighty good bakers.” You dug around in your bag that you’d brought, searching for the journal that you’d been planning this event out on, “I actually did some math and I was thinking… we could charge a dime per cookie or a dollar a dozen, yeah? And then maybe a quarter for a slice of pie and then a dollar twenty five for-” 

The preacher stopped you, placing his hand on the notebook, “You really thought this out, huh? You sure are one smart girl there, Y/N. You go to the high school?”

The older man had scooched closer to you sometime during your ramblings and suddenly, you began to feel suffocated by his presence. His body was nearly flush against yours and his arm around your shoulders were trapping. 

He’s a preacher, he wouldn’t do nothin’, you tried to convince yourself but Arvin’s voice came ringing in your ears: I just don’t like that new preacher. Somethin’s off about ‘im. Trying not to be obvious, just in case you were misreading things, you slid away from him just slightly to put some distance between your bodies. As you did so, however, Teagarden’s hand closed around your left shoulder, rubbing it firmly but gently. 

Your eyes widened when you looked over at his grip and your heart began to pick up pace. “Yeah.” Your voice was shakier than you thought it would be. 

“What are ya? Junior, senior? You look young… but definitely not a little girl.” His eyes raked tactically over your body. Your legs were shaped out well in your cuffed denim jeans and your white and pink striped boat neck long sleeve shirt was far from revealing but Preston was well aware of the way the stripes curved out of place over your breasts. 

“Senior. I’ll be graduating this June.” Now your voice was solid and low, just teetering on threatening. 

The preacher smiled, “Ah, ain’t that exciting. Such a smart pretty little thing going out into the real world. It’s good to see a nice Christian girl going out there but y’know, the real world is real bad. Believe you me. You gotta be real careful out there. Temptation and sin ‘round every corner. The devil hides himself, y’know? Wraps up all his evil and disguises it as everythin’ you ever wanted.” 

“A wolf in sheep’s clothing.” You stated quietly but firmly, looking up to lock eyes with him. Arvin was right. Something was certainly off about this man and you were becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second. 

Preston smiled proudly, “That’s right. Now, you gotta make sure you ain’t fallin’ into any o’ his traps.” 

Your jaw clenched and your eyes darted around the room before landing in your lap, “I’d like to think I got a good ‘nough head on my shoulders to see Satan working in disguise.” 

He tsked, “That’s a good start but you can’t go relyin’ on your own knowledge of the world. You need to let God tell you what’s right ‘n wrong. Trust in Him.” His hand on your shoulder shook you slightly for emphasis while his other pointed upwards towards Heaven. 

There was a brief moment of silence in which you could have heard a pin drop before he spoke again, “How is your walk with God?” 

You looked over at him with narrowed eyes, “It’s alright. Could be better but everyone’s could, I s’pose.” 

“I agree,” Preston’s leg started bouncing and he looked towards the front of the church, where he typically stood preaching, “E’ryone could walk a little closer. Myself included.” He gestured to the front of the church, “Why don’t we pray? C’mon over here.” 

He stood up and walked up to the head of the room, just below the cross. Cautiously, you followed him. “I like to think as a man of God, I can do some of His work. Or rather put the good word out there and try to save as many souls as possible. Why don’t you get on your knees? Lemme pray for ya.” 

A shiver ran through your spine as you knelt down on shaky knees, eyes going up to the large black cross that hung on the wall. Please, Lord, get me out of this. You prayed silently. 

Preston stood behind you, his hands coming to your shoulders as he began, “Lord, today we pray for Y/N and her excursions into the world as a young woman. Help her see through the devil’s delusions and guide her through this world. Lord, I pray that you see Y/N in everything that she is as she dedicates her whole self to you. Give her strength, amen.” 

“Amen.” When your eyes slid open, your whole body was shaking. 

“So you say you got some good judgement?” Preston asked as you stood up, “Say you walk in the light?” 

“I try to but we all have our slip ups.” You answered humbly and honestly, avoiding his eye contact. 

Preston hummed, “I seen you with that Russell boy. Y’all going steady?” Silently, you nodded in response. “There’s a lot of temptation in relationships like that.” 

It was clear what he was insinuating and it actually made you mad. What right did he have to be poking around in your romantic and sexual life? “Has he ever touched you?” 

The bluntness of his question hit you like a rock, “With all do respect, Reverend, that ain’t really none of your business.” 

He put his hands up in surrender, “I don’t mean to pry. I’m just concerned ‘bout that boy dragging you down into temptation. Sullying your position with the good Lord, ‘n all.” 

“Arvin is a perfectly respectful man. He ain’t draggin’ nothin’ or nobody down.” Your voice was getting more aggressive. 

“So he hasn’t touched you? He hasn’t seen you…” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Like I said, that ain’t none of your business. Thank you for your concern for my soul but what Arvin and I do is between us and the Lord. I don’t need no middle man reverend to redeem me.” 

He shrugged, “But you know, one of the best ways to get right with the Lord is to surrender yourself. Fully.” He took a few steps towards you and your breathing hitched. There was a sexual tension in the air that made your skin crawl. 

“I’ve already given my life to the Lord.” 

You weren’t giving in quite as easily as Preston had expected. Those other girls, Lenora and Jeanette Reaster, had been easily manipulated into giving Preston what he wanted. Just tell them they were unclean and needed to get right with the Lord and right into his trap they fell but you… you were different. Smart in the worldy kind of way. You were the first girl to give him a hard time but Preston would be lying if he said he didn’t like the chase. 

You were staring daggers at him, your jaw clenched, and your body standing tall and strong. It was almost as if you were trying to prove a point. You could have run, could have darted out screaming about what had happened, but you didn’t. There was no proof and Preston knew it. This was how he got away with it all. No proof, all words and small touches that were just innocent enough to be misread. It wasn’t until he got them in the backseat of his car or in the office in the back of the church that he actually touched them but by then, it was consensual. Sure, for Lenora and Jeanette there was the issue that they were minors but that was the fun of these little towns like Coal Creek, The girl always took the fall. It was always her fault. Preston could get off scotch free and he knew it. He loved it. 

Almost like something out of a movie, he reached down and gently settled one hand on your hip and the other on your cheek, pressing his lips against yours without giving you a chance to object. You yelled indignantly against lips but when he pulled away, the hand on your cheek moved to cover your mouth. Preston leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “I am an extension of the Lord’s work. Surrender yourself to me fully to surrender yourself to Him.” 

** 

Arvin watched as you walked into the church with a distrusting pang in his gut. There was just something about that reverend that didn’t sit right. It killed him to watch you leave, knowing that you were alone in there with him.

But he also knew you were a big girl. The logical part of his brain kept screaming at him that he was being irrational. The reverend was probably an okay enough guy. He’d never be number one or even number twenty on Arvin’s list of favorite people but that didn’t necessarily mean that the preacher would kill your something. Besides, Arvin really did need to run to the market. Lenora had requested some pecans for a pie she wanted to bake and his grandma  needed more milk. It would be a quick trip as town was just a short drive down the street. 

Reluctantly, Arvin backed out the driveway and sped off down the street. 

The entire time that Arvin was at the market, there was an unsettling tingle all around his body. It got harder to ignore as more time passed. The longer he left you with Teagarden, the worse he felt. 

“Just these.” Arvin threw a bag of pecans and a gallon of milk on the counter and paid for it quickly, rushing back to his car. He wouldn’t be having these feelings for no reason. Best case scenario, you were absolutely fine and Arvin was just being paranoid. Worst case scenario… Arvin couldn’t think about it because every time he thought of one, another worse one popped into his brain. 

It had only been about twenty minutes since Arvin left you alone with the preacher. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how long planning a fundraiser would take. Church activities had never been his thing but he supported you as long as it made you happy. 

He sat in the car in the church parking lot, lighting up a cigarette to calm his nerves. Arvin’s leg bounced anxiously as he watched yet another late autumn storm roll in. The clouds cast a dark gloominess, turning the minimal light left from the mostly set sun a shade of grey.. There Arvin sat for another five minutes, awaiting your exit from the building but it never came. 

Fuck it. Arvin twisted his hat on straight and threw the door open, nearly stomping out. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something was wrong. He could feel it. 

Sure enough, when he threw the door open, he was horrified. Preston Teagarden had you locked in a tight embrace, his hands running over your breasts. The two of you were standing in the middle of the aisle, right in the center of church. You had a furious look on your face, “I swear to God you touch me like that again and I’ll cut your damn dick off!” You gripped desperately at his hand that was groping you, trying to pry it away but to no avail. 

The sound of the door swinging open was enough to draw both yours and Teagarden’s attention. “Get your fuckin’ hands off her!” Arvin wasted no time running into the conflict. Teagarden dropped you and your knees buckled from the unexpected action, landing you on the ground. 

He put his hands up in surrender, “Hey, now, let’s talk about this like real men.” 

Arvin threw one solid swing to his chin, sending his head flying sideways, “You ain’t no real man. Real men don’t gotta go around gropin’ girls to get off, you sick fuck!” Another punch landed on his opposite cheek and it sent Teagarden to the ground. 

You scurried away from him and stood up just ahead of Arvin. Preston cowered, hiding his face, “Please, please, have mercy.” His pleading eyes went from Arvin to you and he lingered on your gaze, knowing that he had a better chance with the mercy approach with you. 

He found none. Even with his blood smeared face, his teeth stained crimson, and the way his body shook, you just scowled down at him, “I’m gonna tell e’ryone in this town what a disgustin’ man you are. You think you can get away with this, you’re dead wrong.” You sent a swift kick straight to his stomach, making him curl into the fetal position with a loud groan of pain. 

But then he laughed. He actually laughed. 

“What’s so damn funny?” You and Arvin both spat in unison, blood boiling. 

Preston laid his head back and closed his eyes, an almost serene look of confidence contrasting the blood that covered him and the swelling of his lip, “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to me. You came to visit the church after hours under the guise of helping me with a fundraiser. But then you used your womanly charms to try and seduce me, a married man of God.” 

“That ain’t what happened!” Arvin yelled angrily, fists clenched by his side. 

When the words left the preacher’s mouth though, your heart dropped. You knew the truth, Arvin knew the truth, the reverend knew the truth. But none of that mattered if the Reverend told everyone his concocted story because he was a man of God. Why would he lie? 

A sadistic smile spread across his face, “It is if I say it is. Ain’t nobody gonna believe two teenagers over a preacher.” 

“He’s right.” Your voice faltered as you spoke, nearly coming out as a shattered whisper. When Arvin looked over at you, your face had paled and you looked utterly broken. 

It wasn’t so much that the assault itself was enough to break you, though, of course, it had definitely left you with the lingering ghosts of his filthy hands on your body. It was the fact that you knew he’d get away with it, that no matter what you or Arvin said, the town would believe Teagarden. 

Arvin swallowed hard, trying to see through the blinding rage. As a boy, he never truly understood the bias that women faced when they were victims of sexual assault- how it was perceived as their faults in towns like this. It had never happened to anyone he knew so he never had much reason to think about it. Now, you were forced to live with knowing that you assailant was going to keep his position as a fucking preacher in town and that you couldn’t do anything about it. 

Arvin wouldn’t let it stand. 

He stomped forward yet again and knelt over Teagarden, sending blow after blow into his face. Bone crunched bone with a disgusting crack with every hit and you flinched every time. 

Your eyes were wide with terror. Arvin’s violent past with Gene Dinwoodie and his boys was not unknown to you. You were the first person he’d gone to after the attack, in fact, and you’d actually supported him for the most part, only wishing that maybe he didn’t send them all to the hospital and only roughed them up a bit. Actually watching him beat someone to the brink of death though was something else entirely. 

“Stop!” The word left your mouth before you even knew you’d thought it. 

Arvin stopped and looked over his shoulder at you in surprise. He was doing this for you after all. 

“Don’t kill ‘im. Please.” You begged, your voice heavy.

“What?” Arvin wasn’t actually sure what he’d intended on doing to the preacher. Sure, he wanted to kill him. That horrified, angry look in your eye as he touched you made a fire burn in him so bright, he didn’t know if it could be put out. But Arvin had never wanted to be a killer. He only wanted to prove a point and make sure that the message stuck. Now that he thought about it, though, he would have to finish the job or the preacher would tell him he’d attacked him. 

Your eyes were almost brimming with tears, though none fell. This whole evening had been too much. First the assault and now watching the love of your life throw his good conscience away for you. You wanted the preacher to pay as much as he did but this just didn’t feel right. 

“P-please… I don’t want you takin’ the fall for none o’ this. He don’t deserve to die but I think a good beatin’ will give him some time to reevaluate ‘imself.” You’d walked towards Arvin and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. 

Arvin couldn’t fathom why you’d be protecting this monster. The question was clear all over his face. Why? 

“I’m not asking you to stop for him. I’m asking you to stop for you. I don’t want you to have blood on your hands for me. Not for this.” His heart broke seeing you look the way you did, your eyes shining with tears, and your hand a little shaky. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you more. 

Arvin grabbed the preacher off the ground by the collar and pulled him up almost a foot, leaning down to get in his disfigured face, “If I ever hear that you went near Y/N or any other girl again, I will find you and kill you. If you so much as look at her again, I will kill you. And if you tell anyone what happened here tonight, I will fucking kill you. You understand? Consider it that mercy you kept beggin’ for.” 

He dropped the preacher gracelessly with a thud and wrapped an arm comfortingly around you. For a moment, he was scared that you’d flinch away. You’d never seen him when he let his anger get the best of him and he preferred to keep it that way. He didn’t want you to think that he was a violent man because he really wasn’t. Arvin just cared for a special few so much that he’d do anything for them. He’d never hurt someone he loved though and needed you to know that. 

Thankfully, you leaned into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder as he walked you back to his car, leaving the preacher an unconscious mess in the middle of the church. When you exited the building, night had fallen upon Coal Creek, casting a fitting darkness over the town. 

“Thank you.” You said simply and quietly, looking over at Arvin sincerely on the drive home. 

“For what?” 

“For everything. Just bein’ who you are.” You paused with a heavy sigh, “But promise me something?” 

Arvin looked over at you, taking his eyes off the road for just a second to show you he was listening. 

“Promise me you won’t go gettin’ yourself in trouble for me.” 

He shook his head, “He deserved-” 

“I know what he deserved,” You interrupted, “And I am so grateful that you stepped in to help. But I don’t want you gettin’ yourself thrown in jail or killed for me.” 

There was short silence before Arvin looked over with the most sincere look you think he’d ever given you, “I can’t promise that. ‘M sorry, Y/N, but if I ever see you in danger, I’m gonna do what I need to do.” 

It wasn’t the response you’d been hoping for but this boy had the ability to make you feel more loved than anyone else you knew. You only wished he understood that you only wanted what was best for him, just like he did for you. “I love you, Arvin.” You admitted, sliding across the seat to lay your head against his shoulder while he drove. 

“I love you too.” 

[nugnthopkns]

if everything could ever feel this real forever

word count: 4.3k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, alcohol consumption, allusion to sexual content (nothing explicit but minors please be aware!)

recommended listening: everlong | foo fighters

a/n: broke down and wrote for ratty matty. alternalty titled four times matthew thinks you’re the one and one time he knows (4+1′s are fun to write, pls don’t fight me). also pls ignore the fact i don’t know how airports work, i’ve only ever flown domestically lmao

Matthew feels different when you’re around. 

You don’t turn him into a completely different person. He’s still himself – an absolute pest at times – but more genuine. With you he can feel everything deeply, say whatever’s on his mind without the fear of being judged. It’s the best kind of different, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. His teammates constantly ask him when he’s going to lock you down; put a ring on your finger and change your last name, but he needs to be sure before he makes such a big commitment. 

one

It’s the beginning of July, and you’re sweating buckets in the back of an Uber. The driver has the air cranked, but nothing seems to alleviate the heat. You know it will be worse in St. Louis so you do your best not to complain, but it’s hard. Taking two weeks off to visit your boyfriend in his hometown sounded like a great idea, but reading the weather forecast has you re-evaluating the trip. 

Your phone lights up in your lap, and you eagerly unlock it. It’s a text from Matthew. Have a safe flight. Text me when you land. Tayrn will be there to pick you up – Brady and I’s on-ice got extended. I’ll see you when I get home. Love you. 

Though you wish he could be the first person you see when you touch down, you understand that his job comes first. Besides, your re-unification will be more private this way. I get to see the best Tkachuk first, fuck yeah you reply, before following it up with Love you too Matty. See you soon. 

Soon after sending the text you arrive at the entrance of Calgary International Airport. With a polite thank you to your driver, you grab your suitcase and head inside. The working air conditioning answers your silent prayers and you feel your body slowly return to a normal temperature. Check in is fast, and before you know it you’re breezing through security. A slightly nervous traveller, you’re at the gate earlier than you need to be. The plane doesn’t take off for another two hours. You don’t mind the wait, listening to a couple of podcast episodes and grabbing a snack at the lounge before boarding. 

The five hour flight passes in the blink of an eye. St. Louis is busier than Calgary, and it takes you longer than you thought it would to get through customs. Once passed immigration and at the baggage carousel you let Matthew know you’re safely inside the city limits. You grab your obnoxious suitcase – a bright red thing with a giant Flames logo that Matthew thought would be funny to give you – and set out to find Tayrn. She’s easy to spot, waving a giant poster with your name on it. Abandoning nearly all airport etiquette, you rush through the crowd to see her. Over the years she’s become a little sister and close friend, and you really wish you could see her more frequently. 

“Y/N!” Taryn squeals as you wrap your arms around her. The pair of you embrace for another moment or two before making your way to her car. Neither of you can stop talking, so excited to be in each other’s presence.

“It’s so nice to be back,” you sigh. “I really do like St. Louis.” 

Tayrn giggles. “You’re just excited to see Matthew.” 

Though she isn’t wrong, you swat her bicep in faux annoyance. “What? Can a girl not enjoy a nice Midwestern city?” You push your sunglasses up onto the bridge of your nose before continuing. “Besides, I only came here to see you. I see enough of Matt at home.”

She rolls her eyes but extends her arm so you can fist bump her. With a quick look to make sure the way is clear, Taryn exits the parking spot and heads in the direction of your temporary home. The open sunroof allows the wind to whip through your hair and you struggle to tame it enough to put it in a ponytail. One Direction blasts from the stereo, and you join Taryn in screaming the lyrics until your lungs hurt. Being on vacation, even if it’s only to St. Louis, is so freeing. You don’t have to deal with work deadlines or friendship drama. All that matters is spending time with Matthew. 

When you pull into the Tkachuk’s driveway it’s empty. It’s Thursday afternoon; Chantal’s at work, Keith is golfing with friends, and the boys are at the rink. You take a few minutes to unpack, filling Matthew’s drawers with your clothes, before joining Taryn by the pool. St. Louis is just as hot as the city you left, and the travel has left you feeling below average. A quick swim is sure to be the perfect remedy. 

The water is the right kind of cool, and alleviates any stress you were possibly feeling. You’re properly in vacation mode now, lounging on pool floaties and gossiping with Taryn. An hour later when Matthew returns home you’re in basically the same position. Stepping out into the yard he sees you urging Taryn to turn around so you can place sunscreen onto the one spot she missed, laughing all the while at some ridiculous celebrity rumor she’s telling you. Seeing you get along so easy with his sister, and the rest of his family, makes his heart swell.

In the couple of months you’ve been separated, Matthew’s thought a lot about his future. Specifically about his future with you. When he closes his eyes he can see it clearly: the two of you married with children and a dog, living in a house in the mountains and loving life. It’s idyllic, and even though he knows you’d say yes if he asked you, Matthew still can’t bring himself to do it. There’s something in the back of his brain telling him to wait until he knows with absolute certainty that you’re it for him.

Not wanting to be separated from you for a minute more, he snaps out of his daze and scurries over. Wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and pressing a kiss to the base of neck, he relishes in how you mould to him immediately, not even questioning who it was. 

“Welcome back baby,” Matthew mumbles into your skin. 

With a chuckle you wriggle slightly in his grasp, allowing yourself to face him. You press a kiss to his lips and it feels like heaven. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, you suppose, because you could stand here kissing Matthew your the rest of your life and be happy. 

“Hi Matty,” you giggle against his lips, parting from him only to rest your forehead on his and twist a curl around your finger.

From somewhere inside the house you hear Brady yell,  “Jesus Christ, you two, get a room.”

Without taking his eyes off you, Matthew replies, “Fuck off Brady!”

two

The energy inside the Saddledome is electric. It’s the Flames’ first home game in nearly a week, doing an east coast road trip and sweeping every team they faced. Six games later the team is on a nine game winning streaking and are hoping to keep it going. You know how much it matters in this moment – the playoffs are fast approaching and all points they can tally up are needed. 

You had decided months ago to buy rinkside tickets for this game, planning to surprise Matthew. He loves when you sit in the regular crowd, cheering and spilling your beer like any old fan. It’s humbling for the both of you, and honestly you enjoy it. Though you love those in the Better Halves box, you were a hockey fan before dating Matthew and sometimes like to enjoy games by yourself. Plus, your friend was supposed to be in town and join you at the game, and you figured she’d like to experience how insane the area is firsthand.

So you do your best to quickly shimmy around those blocking your seat, beverage in hand. It was all you could do to get to the rink on time, sitting in the dense downtown traffic for nearly three quarters of an hour after rushing out of work. You wanted to make it before warmups started to make sure Matt knows you’re there supporting him. No one really bats an eye at you, which you’re thankful for. In no way are you notorious, but it wouldn’t take a die-hard fan long to recognize you. Sitting down and letting a soft sigh escape your lips, you carefully place your jacket over the seat beside you. At the last minute your friend had to cancel her trip to Calgary, leaving you solo. With a quick look at the clock you see that warm up will start in just under a minute. The players begin to step onto the ice as you sip your beer. Matthew is yet to notice you but you don’t take offence. He’s in the zone and most likely won’t realize you’re sitting right in front of him until halfway through the third period.

“Look daddy, it’s Matthew Tkachuk!” you hear a young boy shriek in excitement. “He’s so fast, I want to play just like him.”

You turn to look and see two rows above you there’s a father and son, who looks around eight. He’s wearing a jersey identical to yours, and from the sounds of his excited chattering it’s his first game. Seeing the young boy so happy to be here, to see your boyfriend, has your heart swelling. You want to make this a game he’ll never forget.

“Hi,” you smile at the father. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I know Matthew quite well. Would you like me to get his attention so your son could meet him?”

A shocked expression makes its way onto the dad’s face, but he doesn’t react negatively. “You’d do that?” he asks. “Riley loves Matthew. Wants to be just like him.” When you nod, he lets you approach the boy. 

“Hey there Riley, I’m Y/N,” you say, smiling and extending a hand to him. “I’m a special friend of Matthew’s. Would you like to meet him?”

The boy looks at his father tentatively, and only once he nods encouragingly does Riley respond to your question. “Yes please.”

“Why don’t you come down here with me and we’ll get his attention?”

With a little help from you, Riley climbs over the seats and plops unceremoniously beside you. You help him straighten out his jersey before beginning a conversation. He tells you he plays in a local youth league and wants to make it to the NHL one day. When prompted, you explain to him that you work a boring office job that you love even though it makes you angry sometimes. It’s all very formal, but after cracking a few jokes you get him to loosen up.

Matthew, still not having noticed you, begins to skate along the boards in your direction. “Watch this,” you whisper-yell to your newfound friend, “I bet he’ll jump super high.”

As soon as Matthew passes your spot you bang on the glass and scream his name. Sure enough, his skates lift a good three inches of the ice and he shrieks. Teammates around him laugh and the look on his face is priceless when he discovers you’re the culprit. 

“Babe!” 

You smile. “Matty, this is my new friend Riley. He wears number nineteen just like you!” A glance at the boy lets you know he’s starstruck, and your eyes lock with Matthew’s. 

He leans down and rests his hands on his knees, at eye level with the child. “Hi Riley,” he begins. “I’m Matt. I like your jersey.” 

After that, Riley’s a tap that won’t turn off. He details every bit of his day to Matt, and even though their voices are muffled a bit from the glass they get on like two peas in a pod. Matthew is great with children and doesn’t shy away from having legitimate conversations with them. He talks to them like they’re people, which is something you admire about him. The warmup time runs out, but before he heads back to the dressing room Matthew hoists his stick over the glass, giving it to Riley. The younger boy beams and waves goodbye. You blow Matthew a kiss, which he gladly returns, and turn your attention away from him as his figure retreats. 

“Is he your boyfriend?”The question makes you laugh.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask, to which Riley just shrugs. 

“He called you ‘babe’, and my mommy calls my dad that. That means you’re in love,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. 

Matthew cannot pay attention in the locker room for the life of him. He’s trying really hard to listen to everyone’s hype speeches, but his mind keeps wandering back to the interaction you shared during warm up. You looked so happy watching him interact with the boy you found god knows where within the arena. It’s then he realizes he wants to watch you act like that for the rest of his life. He wants to see you bring excited children to meet him because you have the power to make their nights. His suspicion is confirmed when he steps onto the ice and looks in your direction, finding you and Riley pressed up against the glass cheering loudly.

three

The Giordano’s are hosting an end-of-season barbeque before everyone scatters into the wind, and you’re going to be late. No matter how much you reminded Matthew of what time you had to leave he still started getting ready as you were finishing up. This typically wouldn’t be a big deal, but he has recently started taking care of his curls, and the routine eats up a lot more time than he anticipates. 

“Matty, are you almost ready? There’s going to be no parking!”

His footsteps echo off the hardwood floor as he comes towards you. “That’s what you’re worrying about, baby? Parking?” Matthew laughs, pulling you into his side and kissing the crown of your head. 

“Yeah Matt, I am. You know I have parking anxiety.”

“I’ll drive then,” he says sweetly. “Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve driven us. Have some fun tonight.”

The short drive across town is full of laughter. Neither of you are great singers, but it doesn’t stop you from belting out lyrics at the top of your lungs. At some point Matthew breaks out a rather terrible impression of Axl Rose and you just have to post it to your instagram story. Captioning with a simple microphone emoji, you slip your phone back into your sweater pocket. Though most certainly warm enough to spend the entire evening outside, Calgary currently has a bit of a proclivity for wind, and you’d rather be prepared. Outside of Mark and Lauren’s house Matthew finds a spot and parallel parks with ease.

“Shut up,” you mumble, poking your tongue out at him. 

Matthew ruffles your hair in retaliation before jumping out of the vehicle, booking it around to the other side so he can open your door. He isn’t slick about hiding his intentions, grabbing a handful off your ass before leaning down to kiss you. Though you’d much rather stand in the cul-de-sac and make out with your boyfriend, you both have appearances to keep up. You get him to stop being a pest kong enough that you can enter the party and pass him off to his teammates. 

You congregate with some of the other girls in the corner of the yard, and enjoy a drink while the sun sets. It’s fun to gossip with them, to catch up one final time before most of them leave. You’ll be staying in Calgary, job tying you down for the foreseeable future. The only thing that’s better than spending time with your friends is glancing at Matthew from across the space. 

He’s enjoying himself, glass of water in hand. When he offered to be the designated driver he was serious, and he took the shit the boys were giving him in stride. Though you’ve only had one gin and tonic and can’t feel the effects of the alcohol, you’re glad he’s staying true to his word. The heightened water intake makes his skin glow, and you’re having a hard time staying focussed on the story Lauren is telling. He catches you staring and shoots you a dazzling smile. Tired of keeping your distance, you excuse yourself from the conversation and saunter over to your boyfriend. 

“Hey Y/N,” Noah says breezily, raising his glass to you in mock salute. You wrap your arms tightly around Matthew’s waist.

“Hanifin,” you smile. “I’m really sorry to do this, but I need to pull Matt away for a quick second.”

No one in the group is the least bit surprised. The two of you have a reputation for being young and in love, sneaking off often and doing everything that entails. Once the two of you are alone you rest a hand on his chest, dangerously close to the button of his shirt. You then move kissing along the underside of his jaw, pressing your body closer to his to ensure he gets the point. 

“Needy baby?” Matthew tries to smirk, but his voice wavers when you reach the junction of his jawbone and earlobe. 

Declining to speak, you continue your actions until he’s just as desperate to get home as you. Though you try to be sneaky as you exit through the back gate, you won’t be surprised if you wake up to a few crude text messages. You’re too far gone to care, solely focussed on showing your boyfriend how much you love him. 

The entire ride home Matthew can barely focus on the road. Not because you’re doing anything particularly risqué, a few too many close calls have put you both off of initiating things in the car, but because he doesn’t ever want to stop sneaking away from events with you. It’s exhilarating in more ways than one, and he hopes the feeling never goes away. Being with you, his best friend, is something he wouldn’t trade for the entire world. So what if he gets chirped by the boys for having precariously placed marks on his back.

four

September brings a chill to Calgary, but you couldn’t feel warmer. Matthew is due home this afternoon after nearly four months of being away. Of course you visited him in St. Louis, and he even flew back to the city once, but the two of you were mostly separated. Your shared apartment felt cold and lonely without him to annoy you, so you had spent as much time away from it as possible. No longer do you have to fall asleep with Matt’s side of the bed stone cold. 

Though you know he likely won’t care, you’re nervous about the new decor. In an effort to make yourself feel better in Matthew’s absence, you completed some home renovations. Most are superficial, like a new sectional and an ungraded home speaker system, but you had redone the entire kitchen after scrolling through pinterest. The cabinets are a bright yellow, and the walls are a warm cream. Subway tile has also replaced the previous backsplash. You’re quite proud of the way it looks – doing pretty much all of it yourself and only calling your dad when you really needed help. 

You spend much of the morning not doing anything productive, pacing the hallway back and forth. It’s nerve wracking and exciting to have Matthew home. Things will go much smoother with his presence even if he can sometimes be the most annoying person on the planet. You force yourself to eat a small meal before continuing to wear holes into your floor. He’ll arrive in a matter of minutes, and you’re practically vibrating with how much your legs are shaking. 

A key twists in the lock, as though it’s a Pavlovian response, you bound towards the front door. Not even letting him step over the threshold you wrap yourself around him as tightly as possible. Matthew giggles sweetly, and you swear it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. Tears flow freely down your cheeks and soak through his shirt. In a very ungraceful waddle Matthew carries the both of you inside your home and shuts the door lightly. 

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” Matt asks, obviously concerned because this is more emotional than any homecoming you’ve ever had. 

Through hiccupping sobs, you stutter out, “I painted the kitchen cabinets yellow and you’re going to hate them. And then you’ll want to break up with me but I won’t be able to take them with me.”

“Woah woah woah, slow down baby,” he soothes, rubbing circles on your back. “Why am I going to hate it?”

When you can’t come up with a justifiable answer, he knows your anxiety just got the better of you. Repositioning you slightly so you’re tucked into his side, Matthew walks through the apartment to see the kitchen for himself. He’s blown away by its beauty, and he can see just how much work you put into it. The room is so much brighter and inviting – he can’t imagine having any other kitchen now. 

Once you ramble off an apology for being so dramatic that he won’t accept, the two of you settle into the couch and start a reality television marathon. It’s a tradition that both of you take very seriously, and though he’d never admit it to anyone but you, Matthew looks forward to watching the outlandish dramas. The night is quiet, with you getting through quite a few seasons of Desperate Housewives, and at some point you fall asleep on Matthew’s chest. He knows he should gently move you off of him, start to unpack his bags, but he can’t tear himself away.

He can’t help but stare as you snore softly. There’s nothing Matthew would like more than to spend the rest of his life relaxing after coming home to you. If he’s being completely honest, St. Louis doesn’t feel like home as much anymore, and he finds himself counting down the days until he can return to Calgary. Matt supposes you’re the defining factor, and even Antarctica would feel like home to him if you were there. He never wants to lose that feeling. 

+ one 

There’s ten seconds left on the clock. Ten seconds until the Calgary Flames will become Stanley Cup champions. You’re holding your breath – you know a lot could happen in such a short amount of time. The lead isn’t as wide as you’d like it to be, only one, and you squeeze Taryn’s hand tightly. Everyone in the friends and family box is just as amped up as you. If the choice had been yours, you’d be sitting in the stands of the Saddledome, but in event the Flames win you need to be with everyone else if you want to join the team on the ice. 

Matthew carries the puck up the ice, and you audibly gasp. At the last second, a Bruins defenseman is blocking his view of the net. Not letting the scoring opportunity go for his team, he snaps a pass backwards to Elias Lindholm. A nano-second later the puck is in the back of the net. You possibly scream the loudest of anyone in the box, jumping into Brady’s arms excitedly. 

“Holy shit, they’re going to do it,” you whisper, and Brady nods enthusiastically. The clock now only has two seconds, and there is virtually no way the Bruins can make a comeback. 

You untangle yourself from your boyfriend’s brother and approach his parents. “How exciting is this!” Chantal gushes. 

“So fucking exciting,” you say honestly. “Listen, I want to talk to you about something.”

The Bruins’ head coach is halfway through his timeout, so you have to talk fast. You explain that you want to hang back while the family celebrates with their son and brother. Keith and Chantal try to argue, but you insist. You want them to be the first people to greet him as a Stanley Cup champion. 

A horn signals the return to play, and you return your attention to the ice pad below you. Everything seems to move in slow motion; all you remember is the final whistle being blown and getting crushed in a group hug by everyone else in the room. Your voice goes hoarse from screaming, and tears stream freely down your face. 

The party continues for a short time in the box, but then you’re being led through the arena and out onto the ice. Nodding in the direction of Matthew, you urge the Tkachuks to greet him. You congratulate other members of the team, snapping candid pictures of everyone to share in the group chat later. So many families will treasure the photos that you can’t bring yourself to stop, trying your hardest to grab everyone. 

Once enough time has passed for Matthew to properly be congratulated by his family, you make your way towards him. Wasting no time, he skates over and lifts you off your feet. Your lips meet his in a passionate kiss, and if you weren’t so proud you’d have reservations about sticking your tongue down Matthew’s throat in a packed arena. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper against his lips. “My champion.”

Matthew blushes profusely at your words, and you can tell he likes them. “Couldn’t have done it without you supporting me,” he responds, leaning into your touch as you rake your fingers through his hair. 

While you celebrate with the rest of the team, holding babies and snapping pictures, Matthew realizes he can’t live without you. No one else will fit into his life as perfectly as you. There’s no one he wants besides you. Matthew makes a mental note to go through your jewelry box in the morning to get your ring size. His mom always said he’d know when someone was ‘the one’, and now he understands what she meant.  

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 6 - Festival

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Teasing and a little bit of Fluff.

Summary: Your best friend Rina is curious about what's been keeping you so busy, and the two of you run into Gojo and his student at a food festival.

A/N: I have been working on my jjk fics but this chapter was a little bit difficult for me to write. A little bit of backstory and plot building here. Gojo and personal space? Non-existent. You can't tell me that the man wouldn't abuse his flirting rights.

- - - 

“Aren’t you a little warm in that top?”

Rina glanced at the high collared t-shirt you were wearing under your mini dress. The top covered the marks that Gojo left on your neck but the material was a little too thick for the summer heat. Thankfully, there was a breeze cooling you off otherwise you would be dripping with sweat.

“I’m fine,” you replied, directing your attention onto the vendors instead of your best friend’s narrowed eyes.

Rina asked you to come along to check out a food festival set up in the city. The entire district was lined with painted stalls which made for a picture perfect scene. The rich aroma of cooked food danced around you, enticing the bustling crowd that was growing in numbers. From golden battered fried takoyaki balls to mouthwatering barbecued yakitori, rainbow cotton candy that sent strings of sugar into the air and sweet kakigori to cleanse the palette…

Everything was making your stomach grumble.

“Oh, let’s get okonomiyaki!” Rina suggested.

After picking up your orders, you both sat at an empty table where you could enjoy your meal. You were ignoring the way Rina continued looking at you suspiciously, clearly not letting go of her obsession with the top you were wearing.

“Okay, that’s it. Let me see it.”

“See what?” you questioned, covering your mouth as you tried to chew on your food.

“The hickey you are hiding.”

You nearly choked as you swallowed but Rina didn’t flinch at your reaction. You patted your chest lightly, clearing your throat as you gathered your thoughts.

“I’m not hiding anything!” you replied defensively.

Rina rolled her eyes at you, “then at least tell me who the guy is…”

You waved your arm nonchalantly in her direction, desperately trying to avoid getting into a losing battle with your best friend. If there was one person in the world who didn’t need superhuman abilities to tell what you were thinking - it was Rina. She read you like an open book, making it near impossible for you to keep a secret from her. How you managed to go this long without her figuring out you were hooking up with Gojo was a miracle.

“I just want to know exactly what has been keeping you so busy recently,” she continued, “I’m having a hard time believing it’s work because you would be in a miserable mood if you were spending all your free time at the office.”

“ Or we can talk about how absolutely delicious this is...” you blurted, letting her words travel in your ear and out the other as you pointed at the meal in front of you.

Rina lifted her brow, shaking her head in disapproval. She calmly placed her chopsticks on her plate, leaning forward a little closer to you before hooking her finger in the collar of your shirt and tugging it down to check your neck.

“LIAR!”

You clasped your hand over the mark, your eyes widening as you prodded your best friend with your other finger.

“Oh, you are in trouble!” a sly smile spread across her pretty face, “when did you start dating again? I thought you swore off men after what happened with the fitness instructor..”

“Please don’t remind me of him…”

“Then who is this mystery man that you are hiding?”

You pressed your lips together, hesitant to reveal the truth about the deal you and Gojo had made. Yes, you were having fun together and none of it was supposed to be as serious as you were making it out in your head. In fact, Rina would probably applaud you for initiating this to begin with.

But…

Rina also liked to ask hard questions: why were you using him instead of confronting your heartbreak? Why were you chasing after something false instead of trying for real love again? Do you really want to risk ruining the friendship you both have?

Those were questions that you didn’t have the answers to.

“It’s...It’s some guy at work, you don’t know him…” you stated, finally settling on a good enough excuse to satisfy her curiosity

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“Just a few weeks…” you fibbed.

“Tell me what he’s like?”

“Uhh…he’s fun, I guess …handsome, kind of charming…but it’s only been a few dates, I still don’t really know him well yet.”

You swallowed hard, hating yourself for not having the courage to tell Rina the truth. Your best friend continued throwing questions at you while your brain spat out the answers before you could even think things through, your guilt twisting your insides with all the lies you were spewing.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner…”

Rina smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I just want you to be happy. If you like this guy, you should give him a chance. Who knows, maybe this could turn into something serious…”

“I am not really looking for anything serious,” you admitted, allowing yourself to be vulnerable. “At least not right now…”

How could you want something serious after what happened?

You and your ex-boyfriend were together for five years. You met him when you were both at university and he swept you off your feet. His handsomeness showed through his kind personality and he always managed to make you smile. He was your first of many things, including this painful heartbreak.

You hated yourself for getting comfortable with him, for allowing your mind to plan a future that you both could share. You were disappointed that he made you fall in love with him but more so, that he abandoned you to piece together what was left.

You always felt like you never had your closure. When you asked him why he cheated, he never gave you a solid answer. He was ashamed for keeping his infidelity a secret for so long that his only response was a pathetic apology.

Who was this woman that he was willing to jeopardize your relationship for?

Why did he stop loving you?

You blamed yourself because you couldn’t understand.

One minute you were happy and the next you found yourself betrayed in the worst way possible.

You had enough respect for yourself to know that you couldn’t stay with a man who would treat you this way. When you broke up, you expected him to beg for your forgiveness. He was your prince charming, of course he would come crawling back.

You only knew that he had moved on with his lover when you caught the two of them at the supermarket together. They were buying peas, completely entranced with one another and the adoration that your former boyfriend used to look at you with was now passed on to the woman with golden hair.

He was your weakness and you…

You still loved him.  

Rina’s eyes shifted to the crowd, pausing when she recognised a face among the sea of strangers.

“Oh! Look who is over there!”

You glanced over your shoulder, following her line of sight until you saw your dirty little secret wave at you from a distance.

Gojo was eating ice cream, mindlessly swerving around the crowd and looking exceptionally fine in his summer fit. Adorned on the top of his head were cat ears, a little souvenir trinket that some of the vendors were selling at their stalls. His free arm was draped across a teen boy’s shoulder, whose unamused face indicated that he was not keen on being here.

“Rina-chan!” Gojo sang as he approached your table, “it’s nice to see you!”

“You too! How are things?”

“Great! Busy with the usual but today I decided to stop by with my student. This is Megumi…”

The boy awkwardly bowed to greet you and Rina.

“It’s nice to meet you both…”

Gojo’s shades slid down his nose slightly, and you caught a glimpse of those blue eyes. When he winked in your direction, you couldn’t help but blush.

“What are you two up to?” he casually asked.

“Well, I finally got Miss “Busy All The Time” to myself today and we just had some okonomiyaki, that guy over there is selling it…”

Gojo hummed and swirled his tongue around his vanilla ice cream before calmly replying, “I know, she’s been so preoccupied lately! Oi, when are we going to have our catch up session?”

Your face grew warmer, Gojo was good at keeping secrets and him playing off like he hasn’t been the one taking up all of your spare time only resulted in you staring at him with furrowed brows.

Thankfully, Megumi interrupted the conversation.

“I’m going to walk around for a bit,” he stated, turning his heel to walk away from your little group.

“I’ll meet up with you in a minute,” Gojo replied with a nod.

“I’m also going to use this opportunity to find the restroom. Gojo can keep you company until I get back,” Rina added, as she stood up from her seat.

Gojo gave her a thumbs up, “happily!”

The sorcerer took Rina’s place, sitting down across from you while his long legs bumped into yours as he adjusted his position. He paused for a moment, watching your friend and his student disperse into the crowd before finally returning his attention back to you.

“Nice outfit by the way but a little warm for today’s weather in my opinion.”

“I wonder whose fault that is…” you mused, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling at his teasing comment, “I bet you think you’re so cute assuming you’re completely innocent in all this.”

Gojo smiled, “Actually, I know I’m cute.”

You couldn’t deny it, even right now as you watched him with those ridiculous cat ears that pulled back his white locks. He definitely was catching the eye of every girl and guy who passed by.

You flicked one of the black ears on his head,  “this is a new look for you…”

“I bought it for Megumi but he wasn’t too pleased wearing it around, kept saying that I was embarrassing him...” Gojo explained with a frown.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on your thighs and bringing the ice cream in his hand to your face.

“Want a taste?” he asked innocently.

Your heart skipped a beat, unaware that Gojo would get this close to you in public. He knew that you hadn't told anybody about what you both have been doing and you wondered if he was deliberately trying to put you in an awkward position. You subconsciously scanned the crowd to see if Rina or Megumi were around.

You tilted your head back slightly before asking, “do you understand the concept of personal space?”

“Relax,” Gojo said in a low voice, “no one is paying attention to us.”

“What if they come back…”

“I’ll see them before they see us,” he replied with confidence, grazing his free hand over your thigh. “Besides, you look like you could use something to cool you off…”

You arched your brow, deciding to give in and play this little flirtation game. You bit your bottom lip, gently wrapping your hand around his slender fingers and slowly leaning forward to lick the ice cream off his cone. You kept your gaze on Gojo, focusing on the devilish smirk that spread across his lips as he watched with approval.

“Mmm, that is good…” you moaned, before looking at him with glittering eyes, “wait, I didn’t get any ice cream on my face, did I?”

Gojo chuckled under his breath, “you’ve got a little something right here…”

His hand moved up to your face, his fingers holding your chin as he brought your lips to his. You inhaled, holding your breath as you were caught off guard by him stealing a kiss. The moment was fleeting and before you knew it, he parted his lips from yours but trailed his hand down your neck to take a peek at the hickey he left on your skin.

“I usually don’t care about where I mark you but if it’s a big concern I’ll make sure to do it in places where only I can see…”

Even though he spoke in a low whisper, you felt like it was loud enough for the whole crowd to hear how flustered you just got by his words.

You cleared your throat, turning your face away from him to regain your composure. “Behave, Satoru…”

“Mmm,” he hummed, “I could keep going but Rina will be back in any minute…”

You sensed a hint of annoyance in his voice when he said that.

The sorcerer leaned back, inviting the space that separated you both as he ate his ice cream with indifference. Sometimes you wish you could flip the switch as easily as he did but you found it impossible.

Rina arrived before you could even respond to his statement.

“What did I miss?” she asked, patting Gojo lightly on the shoulder to request returning to her seat.

“Nothing special,” Gojo answered with a shrug as he stood up , “I think I’m going to head back and find this kid before he leaves without me knowing.”

“Enjoy the rest of your evening! Also, you should stop by the candy shop sometime. I’ve been working on some new treats I think you might like…”

“I will,” he promised, stretching the lying game even further. He proceeded to remove the headband he was wearing, his white hair flopping over his shades as he handed you the cat ears. “Hold on to these for me won’t you…”

You took it, puzzled by the sudden gesture.

“What for?”

“Just an excuse to pick it up from you later,” he remarked innocently, “otherwise I’ll never see you!”

Rina laughed, clearly not catching on to his hidden invitation. Gojo waved goodbye and walked away, leaving you both to return to your date.

For a moment you thought your lie was about to catch up to you but realised that it was easy keeping this secret because nobody would expect you to hook up with Gojo.

You guys have been playing this song and dance for a while, saving your flirtatious banter and curiosities for when you two were alone together. Maybe you’ll come clean eventually, but for now you wanted to enjoy the bubble you were in.

You played with the cat ears in your hand, completely unaware that you were smiling to yourself.

- CHAPTER 7: GAMES - 

[teumeku]

bang yedam x reader

yedam was born to love you

the first time you met, it was by the lake. an oddly heart-shaped lake with forget-me-not flowers nestled around it.

you stood by the lake, smiling happily as you felt a cool breeze lift your hair in a gentle wave. a small basket rested loosely on your arm, half full of the blue forget-me-nots that surrounded the lake. brushing your hair out of your face, you huffed, looking down at your basket helplessly.

your eyes flitted around the lake, all over the plants, to find one that you hadn't picked flowers from so that you didn't strip a plant of all of its flowers. your eyes wandered over to a couple of plants bunched together on the other side of the lake but your face fell when you noticed that a boy was already sitting there. (how you hadn't noticed him, you never figure out)

however, those were probably the only plants you hadn't picked flowers from and you huffed, mustering up the courage to walk over to him. "excuse me, do you mind if i picked some of these flowers too?" the boy looked up as you spoke and you, being shy, avoided his gaze.

he shook his head with a small smile, "of course not, go ahead."

you crouched down, a distance away from the boy, fingers carefully picking the first flower from this new plant. the two of you sat in silence for what seemed to be the next half-hour, simply plucking the little blue flowers until he got up, bidding you an awkward and quiet goodbye, which you returned shyly. (you might have caught him looking back at you a couple of times as he walked away, turning around quickly when you looked up but you couldn't blame him– you couldn't keep your eyes off him either)

the first time he told you he loved you was when you made him a flower crown.

"you made this? for me?" yedam stammered as you held out the little blue flower crown.

you nodded excitedly and he smiled shyly, taking the crown from your hands and placing it on his own head, "how do i look?"

"amazing! it looks amazing on you!" you exclaimed, adjusting the crown on his head so that it didn't fall off. he smiled happily, watching you fuss over him, straightening the crown, and brushing strands of his hair from his face and as he watched you, he felt his heart hammer against his chest, gathering the courage to say what he had long wanted to say.

he opened his mouth but closed it again, too scared to say anything. but as your gaze left the heart-shaped lake in front of you and wandered over to him, he knew that the grin on his face told you everything– he loved you.

the second time you met, it was in the palace. you, the admired royal, and yedam, the visiting, esteemed musician.

you looked curiously at the boy playing the violin– you'd never seen him before and, yet, it felt like you already knew him. he was wearing a blue suit, a delicate shade of forget-me-not blue that suited him perfectly, eyes closed as if he was lost in the music.

you turned to your mother, who was sitting next to you, also watching the orchestra at large and you nudged her gently– an action she had long since given up on telling you off for (it was not royal-like, she said). "mother, who's that?" you gestured towards the front and foremost violin player, the boy in blue.

"you've noticed him, have you? that's yedam, the violin player your father told you about last week. he's from another kingdom but he's visiting on our invitation– the king of his kingdom has told your father so much about yedam's musical talent and we couldn't resist inviting him," your mother explained, but you had stopped listening after she said his name.

yedam. you thought you'd heard his name before, but you didn't know where. and you certainly didn't know why you thought he'd look perfect with a flower crown. you couldn't get his name out of your head, wondering just why oh why a stranger seemed so familiar but you were snapped out of your haze when you felt as if someone was watching you.

you looked back at the orchestra, at yedam and you found that he was already looking at you, his face mirroring the same confused feeling you felt.

the second time he told you he loved you was when he left your kingdom, rolling away in a carriage, rolling away from you.

you smiled sadly at the boy in front of you, leaning back on the carriage that was meant to take him home, "i don't want you to go..."

over the past few months he'd been here, you'd grown more than fond of yedam, coming to enjoy his company much more than you'd ever enjoyed anyone else's. his hand tightened around yours, "i don't want to go either but i have to. it's only right that i honor the end of my invitation."

"will you ever come back? to the palace? to me?" you mumbled, feeling tears sting your eyes.

"i don't know... perhaps one day, i will be back. but until then, i cannot promise anything, i'm sorry," he whispered, fingers nimbly wiping away your tears.

he looked back at the carriage and you sighed, "it's okay, i didn't expect you to promise... you should, you know, go now. i expect your parents are waiting for you, go home to them."

he nodded sadly, climbing into the carriage and looking back at you, he said, "i'll miss you." you tried your best to give him a smile, "i'll miss you too."

the carriage began to move as you uttered the words and you watched his carriage roll over the hill. you saw him stick out his head, looking back at you, waving. he hesitated before he shouted back, "i love you!" and you, in your disoriented state, waved back until his carriage disappeared from your sight, to which you whispered quietly, "i love you too." and you never saw him again. (you think his face fell when you didn't say anything back and you couldn't help but feel guilty whenever you thought of it)

the third time you met, it was at a flower shop. it was his first day on the job and you just happened to wander along.

to say that it was a rainy day was an understatement. it was simply pouring outside and you, having not had the sense to check the weather before leaving your apartment, were now standing in a small flower shop, soaking wet and drenched in rainwater. you couldn't quite believe your luck, most shop owners or employees wouldn't want someone in their store dripping from head to toe in water but the boy now standing behind the counter was unbelievably nice.

having seen you trudge through the rain, he'd kindly stuck his head out of his flower shop door and offered you refuge in it. longing for some sort of warmth, you'd accepted his offer almost immediately after weighing your (minimal) options.

apologising profusely, you followed him into the flower shop attempting to dry yourself off before entering but as it was still raining, your efforts failed. looking back over his shoulder, though, he'd chuckled awkwardly and disappeared into a side room before appearing seconds later, handing you a dry towel, "i know the towel's not that big but..." his voice trailed off as you took the towel.

"no, no, it's fine. you helping me out of the rain was already good enough, thank you. and don't worry, i can help you mop up." you smiled at him, patting your hair with the towel to dry it.

he shrugged, "nah, don't worry about it, just keep warm." you looked at him, confusion written across your face, "but... won't the owner be mad? or– that's only if you're not the owner." you stopped yourself before you embarrassed yourself further.

he shook his head, laughing a little, "my mom's the owner, she won't mind."

"oh..." your voice trailed off as your eyes wandered around the shop, "do you mind if i, uhm, look around?"

"of course not, go ahead," he nodded, moving back to the counter awkwardly, "i'll just, uh, be here."

you looked around the little shop, eyes ranging over the many flower arrangements until they fell upon a certain blue bouquet. they looked familiar– not just the flowers, but the arrangement as well and you looked back at the boy, "what flowers are these?"

he looked up, "oh, those are forget-me-nots! they're my favorite flowers– have been since i was little."

"ah, i see," you paused for a fraction of a second as you surveyed the flowers and then you looked back at him once again. something fell into place in your mind and your heart leapt, for reasons unbeknownst to you. but it almost felt like your heart recognised the flowers, and recognised him.

the third time he told you he loved you was in his room, in the middle of the night, 5 months after your meeting in the flower shop.

you were panting, having raced to yedam's apartment at nearly midnight after he called you, frantically asking you to come over. the door opened and you half expected to see him in a state of dishevelment yet when you saw him, he was looking as normal as ever, wrapped up in a comfortable-looking hoodie. you opened your mouth to scold him for sending you into a state of panic but he spoke before you said anything, "i'm sorry for making you come over but i just finished a song and i wanted you to listen to it and... yeah."

you smiled incredulously, rolling your eyes playfully but you said nothing, just letting him lead you to his room. "here, put these on," he handed you his headphones, the ones you had seen him wear on multiple occasions whenever he was working on a new song.

you took them from him, putting them over your ears as yedam clicked the play button on his computer and the song started playing. it was a beautiful song– not only the music but his voice, as well. there was no way to explain how much you liked it and as it came to an end, you took off the headphones, looking at him, "yedam, that was... beautiful."

"is it?" he smiled sheepishly, "i guess it should be because, you know, i wrote it about... you."

you felt your cheeks heat up and you shyly avoided his gaze, even though you knew he was watching you, "what is it called?"

"born to love you."

the fourth time you met, it was at school. or, you didn't meet him. only saw him, and he only saw you. but that's good enough.

it was the first day of school, back in this familiar, old school with it's blue walls, a bright forget-me-not shade. but however familiar the school was to you, whatever hallway you were currently walking in was not. first period hadn't started yet, but you'd begun your trek to class early solely for the reason of... you don't know where your classroom even is.

finally, after having popped your head into multiple classrooms, asking teachers for directions to the class, you came to stand in front of classroom 057. you peered into the class, to scope it out– it was brighter than the hallway, which was dull, with its lights flickering miserably. the teacher wasn't in yet, or perhaps had left the classroom for a little bit, and the classroom was empty except for the boy sitting in a desk on the other side of the classroom.

he was hunched over a book and in any case seemed much too preoccupied to notice you but he looked up as you entered the class. he looked vaguely familiar as your eyes met but his gaze flickered back down to his book in an instant, his hair falling to cover the side of his face from your view.

you shrugged it off, picking a seat in the back of the classroom as the bell rang. yet, as the rest of the students filed into the classroom, you found your eyes flit back to the boy and for a quick second, you could have sworn you saw him look back at you as well.

today, yedam arrived at school earlier than normal, took a deep breath, and left a present for you on your desk.

you paused as you approached your desk, noticing a neat envelope laying on the surface of your familiar desk. you eyed it warily, not knowing who had left it yet you found yourself too curious to stop yourself from picking it up. you carefully opened it, peeling the flap up so you could see what was inside it.

you noticed the blue flower first and you gently took it out from the envelope. it was a fully bloomed forget-me-not flower. something stirred in your thoughts, a blurry image of a heart shaped lake taking over the front of your mind. you shook it off, not knowing what to think. instead, you peered into the envelope again. there was a letter inside and you slid it out, unfolding it as you did so. you began to read it, eyes moving quickly over the words in ink, barely breathing.

"dear (reader), you don't know me. i think. well, we met recently, on the first day of school but i don't know if you remember me– from before, i mean. in fact, i'm not even sure if writing this letter to you is a good idea. or maybe writing it is good, leaving it for you to read might not be. but if you're reading this now, i guess it's too late to take it back, right? i just hope you don't think i'm weird– though, if you do, i'd understand why. but, anyway, as you can see, i'm not sure of that many things in this world. i don't think i ever have been. but when i met you on the first day of school, i was finally sure of one thing. you see, i think i was born to love you. (p.s. i picked the forget-me-not from my garden, in hopes that it would remind you of me.)"

you let out a sigh that you didn't know you'd been holding in. you turned over the letter, in search of a signature from the writer but to no avail. instead, you gently picked up the blue flower, touching one of the soft petals and you felt something deep in your heart, eyes widening as you remembered everything. the heart shaped lake, the forget-me-not flowers, the palace, the shop. his smile, his face, his voice, his touch, him. you remembered yedam.

—

hihi (´• ω •`)ﾉ i’m back after like... a month with a longer scenario !! and it’s my first non bullet pointed scenario !! and if it was confusing, it's about ur past lives with yedam and ur current life with him. i don't know if it's weird though (╥﹏╥) obviously, this is based on... yedam’s song from t-map ep. 46 because it’s a masterpiece and i wanted to try and write a masterpiece... that part didn’t work out very well but it’s okay! i hope you like it !! [p.s. i don’t know anything about where forget-me-not flowers grow... pretend they can grow near a lake. and i don't know when guitars were invented so bare with me here].