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persephoneyss · 3 years

Text

The Monster.

Pairing: park jimin x f!reader.

Genre: Yandere, dark themes, anguish.

Summary: ❝You can be reborn like spring, but your nightmares will follow your footsteps at night.❞

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, voyeurism, Jimin is a little delusional, implicit murder, death threats, a little violence, stalking, death of secondary characters, reader idolizes his mother, humiliation.

Number of words: 6000+

︙ Author's note: this is my first fic here, sorry if there are errors. My first language is not English and I don't speak it fluently either, so I used the translator. Sorry about that. I hope you enjoy it, I am open to criticism. Thanks!

(Puedes leer este y más fics aquí en español.)

To block.

Your mind felt strangely familiar, like it was processing the same situation all over again. And then the same thing happened again.

Blocking.

You never noticed those little details, invisible to the eyes of others. Or maybe you took too seriously the message and advice that your mother always told you when you were afraid of being left alone in your room because of the obvious and silly repetitive story of the monster under the bed, you were crying looking for your mother's room in the middle of the night. You were looking for refuge in her arms. However, the only loving words she had for you were: "Ignore him and he will go away, darling."

It seemed very clever to you, you began to close your eyes ignoring your worst fears and in a short time you could do what most children could not at your age, sleep alone in the dark.

Your mother was wise, maybe that's why you never understood why your father left her overnight. She never commented on the subject and little by little it was forgotten in her daily lives. Your father never existed, you never saw him again.

In his small town no one was exceptionally well known, unless he had done something good or bad enough to be called a hero or, in the same way, a villain. You were barely seven years old when it happened, a family with a lot of money had chosen your town as a decent land, enough to build their luxurious house where their children who came from golden cradles would grow up. According to the gossip, they were foreigners coming to invade their town and rule it, when in reality the Parks never got more involved in politics than necessary.

They were just rich, spending money.

Young women from all over the world and even from other distant towns came every day to try to conquer the privileged children of the great mansion built finely and strategically in the middle of the main square. The young women were beautiful, many times you stood at the door of your house admiring their distinguished perfect faces and you wondered if the children of the Park family were really worth it so that young and beautiful women who had previously been rejected would come back again. in search of new opportunities.

Your mother sometimes stood next to you with a smile and released another phrase that ended up marking your style of thinking, her voice sounded so ethereal: "Money compensates for external beauty, plus the dignity that you lose to those who possess it, it will never have a price."

Your lost look made her smile beautifully badly, then that same sweet voice that taught you things that other women would see as irrelevant, she too moments later she orders you to come home to eat. You thought about it so much, your mother was beautiful, she could remarry if she wanted to. However, she never did, or at least until that day.

You were poor, you were never afraid to accept it. You noticed it almost immediately, when you saw other children playing with toys that seemed impossible that you will ever possess, your mother was friends with the one who was best friends with your father, a carpenter who seemed to be very kind. He always gave you toys that came out with small defects and he couldn't sell, he was a good man until he seemed to misinterpret the situations and her relationship with your mother, unexpectedly asking her to marry him. Obviously you had to stop seeing him after the rejection. However, you were stubborn like the woman who gave you life, almost every day after finishing school you walk two streets to her local.

"How is your mother? Any suitors who weren't rejected the first time?" You laughed, helping him finish his last job. You shook your head, Peter was always very nice and honestly funny, you still didn't understand how your mother could reject them, but you never got into adult affairs. You were just an eight-year-old girl.

"She still misses dad." You whisper trying to drive a nail into loose wood, before being interrupted by Peter.

You look curiously at his downcast face of hers, as if she was keeping something deep within himself. But he quickly changes his expression as well as the subject. "Very good girl, no more help for today" he says, removing the dangerous tools out of your reach, you let out a exhausted sigh wanting to help him. Deep down you felt guilty. "How are you doing in school? I heard that the Parks will start a new campaign to help more in the education of the children, maybe you can see someone from the family up close."

You move your head in distracting affirmation playing with a piece of wood, Peter watches you for a moment and then sighs. You really were special, and if I could tell what happened to your father, you would let go of that glow for sure.

The following days passed in the same way, there was only a radical change in your routine. Now they forced you to stay longer in school so that you could take art classes with the children of the Park family. You had heard many mothers talking to yours about how handsome they were, and since their daughters would undoubtedly have a chance with Jimin, who was the eldest son and of course the first-born heir, you thought for a long time about a tall man with more years than all those young women who hallucinated with the perfect millionaire husband. However, it was all an illusion. Jimin was not a man, he was a seventeen year old teenager.

Perhaps the young woman who did win him over would be very lucky to marry someone her own age and not a bitter old man who only had money. Jimin was everything, young, handsome and a millionaire, the best bet of any woman.

His first class was alongside his current teacher, introducing each child in the Park family. They were all very handsome, but Jimin seemed to shine brighter than the stars in the dark night. You wondered if his younger siblings would become jealous of him, it would be an interesting concept considering you had no siblings.

Your hands moved the clay very patiently, your classmates seemed to enjoy these classes and they were undoubtedly fun.

"What a beautiful flower ..." You smiled nodding, no one would ever think that someone like Jimin would be delighted with the common drawing of any girl. Her gaze traveled around your pure and innocent face, as if she couldn't get enough of you. She sat next to you, admiring how your hands continued to play with the dough creating new shapes and I certainly enjoyed every second.

She had never met someone who would attract so much attention from her, you were ethereal. Jimin was immediately drawn to you, your gaze clear as daylight and your soft features, maybe you were just a girl but you seemed to tempt his attention incredibly badly from him. He felt the strange sensation of making sure you were okay, safe, probably in his arms.

He followed you closely, always arriving at the same time. Her mother used to say that Jimin was very irresponsible, she never complied with the basic principles of being a Park: Discipline, order and punctuality. Jimin was different, his siblings may have fulfilled those three bases just to give what they wanted to their parents and receive more affection from him, but not him.

Jimin was obsessive. Impulsive, and he had self-control issues.

The biggest dangerous trait that his parents noticed since he was little, is that he suffered attacks of anger against anyone without caring about the consequences of this. More than three of his babysitters claimed that little Jimin had hit them, slapping and shoving them. But all of this was radically ignored by the Parks, who turned a deaf ear claiming that their son was simply too controlling, and in a way, he was. Jimin liked to have everything under control, at his disposal.

Jimin found himself fascinated with your little eyes looking at him without fear and, even though it was painful for him, without love. For you, he was nothing more than a stranger. He tried to change that, sitting next to you every day and talking to you a few times when he could get more than two sentences out of you. He liked art, I could tell by the way you focus too much on a small painting of an insignificant tree.

If you liked trees, Jimin could buy a forest for yourself.

You loved roses, he could plant thousands in every corner of town.

Or maybe, your obsession with the smell of vanilla. Jimin went wildly for the most expensive vanilla scented lotion, hoping for some praise from you and he really didn't fail.

No, when the next day he sat next to you and your gaze turned to him with a kind smile. "It smells great, Mr. Jimin." Your soft tone and your minimal compliment was enough to make his entire body shake, his hands began to sweat and his voice seemed to falter. It was amazing how you managed to make him so nervous, while he was still a child.

"Y-do you like it?" She asked even knowing the answer, your head bobbing in a quick nod and an even bigger smile adorns your features.

You put your painting aside for a moment to continue responding, Jimin feels elated to see that his plan worked. Now you're just looking at him, as it always should be. "It smells like vanilla, I like vanilla." You say honestly.

"I see, I also like vanilla." You seem shocked, Jimin increases the tension of him fearing that he said something wrong. He really wasn't lying, maybe vanilla wasn't something he used constantly but he didn't dislike it either, he was just disguising and embellishing a crude truth.

And before long, Jimin feels his life take an unexpected turn, people had started to notice his closeness to you. They called him an angel when in reality he was a devil, rumors and silly praise that he would be a good father were not lacking and the young women who came to his door every day to look for a date with him increased in an exorbitant way. You were oblivious to all that, clearly. However, you could not ignore all the looks that fell on you when you accompanied your mother to the market, as from one day to the next you became someone important just because you were the focus of attention of him Mr. Jimin, as you used to call him with respect. Peter also suffered the consequences of this, you had not stopped going to his store and the young women looking to conquer Jimin or at least get his attention began to follow you wanting to win your affection so that you will speak well of them with their desired man, no you were interested in what they could offer you but the biggest problem was that they did not like to receive a clear 'No.' as a reply.

They were insistent and often annoying. They followed you closely, even when you went to school or to visit Peter who now only went twice a week, you did not want to go out and have to face the pity that it gave you to see many beautiful young women begging for a vague love and that I was looking for more money arrangements than anything else. Also, not all of them had good intentions with you. Your mother made sure of your safety in the face of any incident, and with that came her last word, her strict order not to approach Park Jimin again until he found a wife.

The rest would be history.

He would surely forget you and start forming his own family, having his own children and likewise, looking for his own problems. Instead, that never happened. Jimin had discovered your plan, he was angry, he couldn't believe that you were ignoring his attempts to approach you in such a way. Your attitude was so pure but you were hurting her so much.

He was delusional, she knew he was. But he didn't want to stop. So, he did the only thing that would make you stay by his side.

You felt strangely calm, you had been to and from school with no one following closely in your footsteps. Until you noticed that the whole town seemed to look at you with superiority, with caution. Peter never stopped taking care of his store, however, that day it was closed. You gave little thought to that coincidence, walking home with slow steps. Deep down you were scared.

Maybe you thought you could feel it, in front of your house a crowd of people lay watching the most unexpected marriage request. Your mother was uncomfortable, you could tell by how her face was distorted, and how her hands seemed to shake for reasons not yet known to you. You watched in horror as Jimin knelt before her with a smile pulling a ring out of a small red box.

For a moment, you thought about your father. You felt strange, you always wanted to have a warm fatherly hug but it made you uncomfortable to imagine Jimin occupying that place, you did not want him, you did not love him as a daughter to his firstborn or as another similar relationship. He was a stranger.

Your body fell into the seat reserved especially for you, your eyes observed any place in the church trying to disperse your mind. Your little shoes brushed against each other, your hands rested on the wooden seat waiting for the wedding to end as soon as possible. You never wanted to oppose your thoughts to the idea of your mother falling in love or getting married again, you really didn't care much as long as that person was good for her.

However, he was Park Jimin. You felt disgusted when her mother looked at you from afar with despicable eyes, just as anger consumed you when Mrs. Park tried to embarrass your mother in front of everyone. You didn't ask for this, nobody asked for it.

Maybe you spent too much time thinking around you to notice that Jimin was unhappy. A little upset. He had done what he had to do, chained you to him in some twisted way, marrying your mother and he felt happy, at first. I could see you walking through the church, you were wearing a little white dress to match your mother's and for a sinister moment I imagine that you were the one walking towards him to be named his wife. But he quickly came back to reality, you weren't his fiancée. You wouldn't be his wife.

Deep inside him, he knew how gross it was to feel like this.

Your mother's eyes reflected how unhappy she was, her gaze was uncertain. Jimin smiled seeing how you kicked the decorations that fell to the ground, you were completely oblivious to everything and more to the look of her that she followed you closely. Many called him a good father. Seeing nothing but his protective attitudes, but under the circumstances there were only hints of what might come next. You weren't allowed to leave Jimin's house, his father had left the mansion where his whole family used to live.

Mrs. Park could find no better excuse to leave than the sudden tantrum of her first-born son for marrying an older woman, a widow, and a daughter. This is a mockery and disgrace to her family's last name. Jimin just let her go, he wasn't even there the day her mother boarded the first train to her grandmother's house.

Your mother flatly refused to leave her house at first, she did not want to leave the little cabin that your father had built with his own effort so that both of them would live there and in the future raise their children, you always lived there and you did not want to leave either. But you never had a solid vote, your mother ended up agreeing from one day to the next, you did not know how Jimin managed to change his word so suddenly. Maybe there was never one reason, but you became all of them.

You were painfully present at all times. You observed how little by little, the wispy and wise glow that your mother possessed was getting lost between her empty eyes and her bent body, her head was never raised as she taught you it should be. She was a stranger, you felt scared in her presence. You remembered very well how her face seemed to light up when she saw you coming home from school and how she taught you something new every day.

"Mommy..." You spoke, your hands were still busy with the picture that you hadn't finished painting. But curiosity began to attack your mind.

Your mother came out of the kitchen with a little gray apron, she smiled when she saw you sitting on the floor. "Yes, honey?"

"Why do people get married?" Your gaze lifted from the sheet of paper, wincing at her glowing eyes.

"It depends, it's not necessarily for love. Maybe for money, comfort or ..." her voice trailed off, she still staring at you she leaned down to take your face in her hands. "Because they found someone, as cute as you!"

"Mommy ... I want to marry you!" Your mother began to laugh, your gaze traveled all over her face, joyful of hers and for a moment, you swore that you would hate anyone who dared to take away the great happiness of a genuine smile.

You finished your drawing, just in time because the front door echoed through the entire cabin. Your father appeared with a small drawer in his hands, your mother seemed to be illuminated with an angel when she saw him enter with a kind smile. Both were such for which. They were, more than lovers and husbands, lifelong best friends. Your life seemed to have something that many do not get even after death.

An outer and inner peace. It was perfect.

Almost so perfect, it wasn't true. White roses were always your favorites. However, you began to detest its soft light petals when it seemed that all the townspeople bought the same bouquet of white roses for the funeral of your, now, deceased mother. You took a seat next to her grave, ignoring everyone's greetings and goodbyes, who apparently forgot how her criticism of her increased even as the days, months and years of her wedding with Jimin passed.

You couldn't blame anyone. Or you just didn't want to.

Because the rope around his neck was not placed by them. And the multiple scars on his wrists weren't his marks. A small part of you felt helpless, angry and respectively, disgusted with yourself. Could you help her? Yes. No. Maybe if you had ... And he had stayed in the past.

The little white rose in your hand fell to the floor, everyone had left the room to go to the large buffet served at the reception. You froze, then with the same rage you began to step on the already dead flower at your feet, the petals of it were no more than a pure color, now they were disgusting and dirty. Jimin appeared minutes later, your gaze fell on his hand that was holding a black and a red rose.

"We should go, honey." He whispered as if afraid to scare you even though you were already looking directly at him. Your immobile figure instinctively ran into his arms, which greeted you with an incredibly loving warmth. The roses were placed on top of the coffin, a smile spread across your face when you saw the color red stand out against so much white, and for a second you came to compare the beauty of an outstanding color with your mother.

She stood out in a world where everyone wanted to paint themselves pure white.

Jimin was even more welcoming to you now. He pretended to sleep waiting for 11:30 to arrive so that he could hear your footsteps on the way to his room, you had developed a great amount of fear of loneliness. Jimin knew you always did that, but before it was with her instead of him. You would walk for several seconds looking in the dark for his room, which was next to hers, then I would always hear her voice singing for you, making you rest in his arms. For a long time, I want to be her. But now he was gone and I knew it was a matter of time before your steps stopped at his door.

She loved the closeness of your body to hers, how your hands clung to her nightshirt when you were cold or a horrible nightmare was projected into your dreams. Jimin horribly wishes he could see beyond your dreams, although that would be disrespectful to your privacy, he wouldn't mind breaking your trust too much if he could be sure that you would never walk away from him, even in your dreams.

He managed to chain your life to his, your scared look was the most beautiful thing I have seen before. I want to touch your little face and kiss your soft lips that tempted him every time the word "dad" came out of it.

Time was his greatest enemy.

Your presentation was no better, your hands were trembling again while your feet moved from here to there restlessly. Jimin just watched silently, but the distance between you and him was gigantic, he just wished that the damn bitch that was presented before him would shut up and leave his house. It was remarkable how you seemed angry, maybe it's jealousy, she has feelings for me. He thought sickly, a smile spreading across his face discreetly at his incoherent thoughts of him. The young woman sitting on the sofa in front of him smiled thinking that her talk had caused some pleasure in the young and widowed man.

Jimin admired her face, she was very cute, also she seemed to have good manipulation technique in people. She noticed it quickly when she walked through the door, her smile that seemed uncontrollable and genuine lit up his childlike face. He took a few seconds, he knew he shouldn't do it but he couldn't help comparing the woman to you. You were shorter, you were obviously younger and your gaze was more pure. Jimin was proud of your firm stance, knowing that in the two years since your mother's death you had developed a closer connection with him, and likewise, you were a beautifully perfect copy of him. Your hard gaze and your legs crossed with each other showed your firmness, and your silent opinion.

You wanted the fucking bitch sitting across from your stepdad outside your house.

You laughed at the very idea of one day finding a really good replacement for your mother. You couldn't replace a rose with bad herbs. For you, as selfish as he was, Jimin was your father, and he was your mother's love from the day he married her. No one would replace his position.

It was all three of them, and a part of your mind conned that Jimin still wasn't over the love he had for her. Or he would have remarried long ago, when the young women stood in front of the door of his house asking for a date with him. In those moments you didn't care, Jimin was a stranger, but now he was your father and you were his only daughter. No one had the right to ruin their harmonious relationship, they were both alone and someday serious like him.

You will be successful, you will make a lot of money and you will be able to marry someone you love.

But for now, your gaze fell on the little worn and dirty shoes of the woman in front of you. A smile crossed your face, your gaze lifted surprising the woman. While Jimin waited with his arms crossed for your following action.

"Woman." Your voice seemed to cut her tranquility, her face lost total color of life and a small grimace of fear passed over her fragile face. "I can't allow shoes like that to step on the carpet in my house ..."

The woman looked at Jimin who seemed indifferent, distracted by the painting on the wall.

"I'm sorry miss" she whispered trying to remove her shoes, his hands seemed more clumsy than usual. Her face burned when your hand moved closer to hers to prevent any further movement.

"Go away." A tiny part of you felt sorry for his embarrassed face and flushed cheeks. But it quickly came to your mind that she thought she was good enough to believe she was your mother. When she couldn't even challenge a stupid girl who acted like a spoiled brat. "Get out of my house, or I'll have to ask you not to just take off your shoes."

"I-sorry, I'll go now-..." A sob interrupted her dialogue, her hands searched for the notebook she was carrying but she gave up making a quick bow to Jimin and running outside.

The garden was your favorite part of the big house, the walls constantly made you believe that you were going to be eaten by them. Every day you came out of your lair admiring the many roses of many different colors growing beautiful and healthy. Your school stage was about to begin and you did not want to neglect your garden, which was also a tribute to your late mother.

So you hired a gardener. You were seventeen years old and soon to be eighteen. To say that you managed to experience the best of all those years was ridiculous, and deep down inside you, you thought that all of that was possible because of all the things Jimin did for you.

You had a debt, which you planned to pay in the future. You thought about leaving and letting him have a quiet life from now on without having to run to solve your problems, even if you never asked him to.

Jimin had eyes watching your every move, he clearly remembers how he put security cameras throughout the house, observing how you slept, what you did in the comfort of your room and privacy. Even when you walked into the shower and your hands ran over your body covered in water. Sometimes he felt guilty, for how he seemed to enjoy those moments that seemed so short.

However, it was repeated that as long as you were safe.

Breaking your trust wasn't that important.

Your eighteenth birthday was moderately quiet, Jimin was not used to throwing parties, and honestly, you never asked for one. So you just stood at the door of your house receiving expensive and cheap gifts from people who when they gave you the gift had a forced smile that told you many things. Most were familiar faces, of women who had previously sought a date with your father, obviously being rejected.

The little birthday cake looked so monotonous, the candles were the only thing you could stand out for. You were never aware that you had started to be privileged and extremely ambitious since Jimin proposed to your mother and forced her to marry him, pointing a gun at her pathetic silly little head. You had it all, and in your previous years maybe you managed to get excited about the new toys and accessories that were brought to you from other countries, you had everything that others did not, and a strange epiphany collapsed over you.

It was you, it was déjà vu. You were them, and those who were before, were now you.

You had all of them, and they didn't. Now, by your side, they were all poor. Jimin showered you with gifts, causing you to gradually lose interest in money. You remember your thoughts when it all started and likewise, you still remember the woman with the dirty shoes. You will be successful, you will make a lot of money. It was what you thought in the future for yourself, but now that was it, in a nutshell. Completely boring. You stayed for a moment thinking about them under the watchful eye of your stepfather who tried not to smile when you saw you, you were an adult now and he could finally take you as his own. They would be husband and wife, as it should have been from the beginning of its history.

And you will be able to marry someone you love. You still had only one option left, you blew out the candles with a single sigh causing Jimin to clap his hands and approach you to hug you fondly. The maids behind you only blushed when his boss started showing all of his affection. They weren't used to seeing him so often, Jimin had a firm and tough stance with everyone but he seemed to become as soft as clay in your presence. You came to mold Jimin in your favor, making him a cold person in front of his own demons and then, you left yours.

"I want marriage proposals, father." A gasp came from the mouths of the maids who just immediately fell silent. Lowering their head as they were taught. "I am ready to get married."

Jimin hummed still keeping his arms around you, your body was trapped in theirs. Your skin burned when his fingers squeezed your skin, leaving permanent marks. There was no reaction from you, you were used to this kind of unexpected treatment and it just didn't hurt.

"Get married?" His arms pulled away from you in disgust, there was no other reaction either. Jimin taught you not to object unless you knew you should. Stay calm and you will win. "And can you tell who would want to marry you? Useless little girl."

"Useless?" Your low voice seemed to make him happy for a moment.

Quickly his hands took the utensils to cut the cake, with a soft and sweet voice he continued: "Honey, men do not look for a girl with a lot of money like you. They look for someone to tame, and you, you could easily crush everyone with a wave of your hands."

A piece of the cake perfectly positioned on the plate was placed in front of you, a sob escaping your lips. You were really pathetic, eh? You clearly wanted to live something that has been claimed many times. You weren't going to get married, not without having it all like Jimin said. Then, you would lose everything and go back up to crush the others with greater pleasure.

"Aren't you going to eat? It's your cum-..."

"I will go to a neighboring town, I will finish my studies there."

Jimin looked down at his plate, ignoring how you got up from the table and put your cake aside. Then, your sweet voice finished destroying his self control that he thought he mastered long ago.

"I never liked that cake taste."

And it was the end.

You went back to the start again. You were planning to leave tonight, your bags were ready. Everything you needed was never in that house, it was never him. They were those that never existed in your present continued.

Your shoes did not seem to contrast with the dirt on the town's floor, you were also aware that those would end up in the trash. You didn't care, they were just shoes Jimin bought for your birthday, insignificant.

People were observant, and often foul-mouthed. It was no different than they spoke far from you or close to you, yet their mouths moved in a fussy way exaggerating reactions and creating new lies.

"_____...?" Your posture was decreasing, you no longer had to pretend. A smile covered your face, framing many emotions in one. "Come in please, it's your house."

Peter stepped aside, leaving room for you to enter. Your hands trembled but this time from cold, you still did not get over the harsh winter that suddenly passed. You took your shoes off quickly, briefly forgetting that this was no longer your home. You had sold the little cabin at a minimal price, and you were even happier when it was Peter who chose that place as his future home to live with his wife and his future child. Now he had two more. The little children ran in the tiny room playing with each other, a feeling of nostalgia invaded you when you saw them. You used to do the same before, together with your parents.

Those moments.

"Glad to see you around here, daughter." Peter hadn't changed, he was still the same kind and understanding person as ever. The opposite of you, of course. "Do you want to have tea? I heard on the streets that you would go to study far from here."

"Coffee, please." You responded still reluctant to talk about your departure.

Peter just laughed at your exaggerated denial, nodding and leading into the kitchen. You took a seat at the small table looking around. "You didn't change the decoration."

"Uh? ...." He seemed surprised by your observation, but he quickly smiled. "No. Actually, I think I liked it from the beginning how your ... er ... your mother decorated it. Besides, my wife loved it too. For her, it's beautiful as spring."

"Spring?" You ask, avoiding looking at it. You look down looking for some reason not to feel sad, in a way, you had compared your mother to spring as well. However, Jimin said that you were his. You never liked being called a light, because you always tried to be in your mother's shadow. And you liked it. "She believed that she is very wise, my mother was like spring."

"Thanks." A voice whispered from behind, your gaze fell on her and her face very much like your mother's. But they were obviously completely different. "I never doubted that you were just as wise. Spring represents the new beginning, a new beginning. Did you manage to find yours?"

Peter tried to intervene, clearly noticing the way his wife was trying to make you talk about your life after your mother died.

"I did. That's why I'm leaving here tonight."

"I'm glad we all need to be born again at some point."

You affirm with a small movement of the head, concentrating your gaze on the coffee cup in your hands. The smoke fell directly on your face hiding your grimace of disgust. Nobody deserves to talk about her like that yet.

"Ok, honey." Peter began by sitting across from you, with a cup of green tea and a serene expression. "Are you planning to go alone or with someone? I heard that travel today is very dangerous."

"Actually, I am accompanied by an acquaintance. His name is Jungkook, he also planned to leave and started working for me as a gardener to get the necessary money. We became good friends." You spoke remembering the adorable smile of the young man, he used to accompany you everywhere you went as if his job was to protect you. At first it was cute, but then it was annoying. Even after all that, you preferred to travel with him rather than alone.

"Oh that's very nice. I'm glad you managed to meet your goals. Good luck."

Your goals?

"Thanks, Peter."

His gaze lingered on your face for a moment, then he seemed to remember something very important. She gave you a smile before getting up to leave the kitchen.

"I have something for you, you are old enough to know this."

It was an envelope. Common and ordinary, but its envelope was beginning to deteriorate, showing that it was an old and very reserved letter.

You questioned your decision but took it, not wanting to read it in front of anyone even more when you read who wrote the letter.

You sat on the small wall, the trees and the cool breeze boosted your adrenaline. Small pieces of paper fell to the ground. So, you weren't thinking correctly at those times.

"I only married a man that I loved in all my life, I was happy. I had a daughter. I lived years of solitude and then, I was chained to an empty love."

"I know what you're reading this now. You're weak, darling. Maybe that's what made us mother and daughter. Because from the beginning I never had the courage to tell you that Jimin put a ring on my finger and a gun to my head. Or maybe, I was weak when I didn't get in the way of his errand, I should have told him that I hated him and that he could put a bullet in my head before giving it to my daughter. And maybe, I should have told everyone who passed by me that He was the same one who murdered my husband, he never left. I made you believe that. You never asked. "

"I saw you so happy today, you were running between the garden and the wedding. I could see his gaze following your hurried steps, I was almost completely sure that he was trying to get closer to you at all times. I told the woman next to me, But she shut me up saying that I can't be jealous of a father and daughter relationship. You weren't her daughter. She also ordered me to let them create a closer relationship, because I already had Park Jimin's heart in my hands. Liars."

"I always loved your curious voice. You used to ask me everything, and why everything was like that. But lately, I don't know what to answer. Why am I crying? Why is there a dark stain under my eyes? Why is there blood in the bathroom? Why did I never ask for help? I see you worry and you don't let me give you affection, because you prefer to give it to me. I also see how I start to bother him, I am a hindrance. Now I understand, I knew it but I never wanted to accept that it happened. He was everywhere, and likewise, I was never part of the plan."

"There were only two things I didn't tell you. I love you and my last piece of advice. Honey, lock it up and fly to the start, whenever you feel lost. A fresh start and never forget spring."

You stifled a sob. Covering up your pain. You had not noticed that the night had covered the sky, a dark blue blanket arrived. It took you a long time to assimilate that all the fragments were torn papers, and it was not a letter. It was an envelope filled with, apparently, incomplete sheets torn from a notebook. There was a fragment that was not part of the leaves, but rather was written later.

"Lost parts of a sad widow's diary.

Peter."

They were from your mother's diary. So where was the rest? What actually happened? A message came to your phone, you read it quickly still drying your tears.

JUNGKOOK:

Our trip is in an hour, I hope you said goodbye to everyone.

Received at 7:05 p.m.

I still do not:(

Received at 7:06 p.m.

Along with both messages was an attached picture, a photo of him and his grandmother. Jungkook talked a lot about her, and hers, her brothers. You smile, still wiping the tears from your face.

Your feet moved, the leaves in your hands seemed too heavy. And yet it was something you needed to do.

"Are you at home." His monotonous voice invaded you, he was busy reading a book that rested in his hand. The maid came over leaving a cup of coffee beside him, greeting your presence politely. "I have some things to discuss with you, darling."

"Me too, Jimin." It was the first time you had said his name without due respect, he seemed surprised for a moment. But his expression changed to one of happiness, as if he had been waiting for it. "I couldn't say goodbye, I'm leaving today. I think you already know that, though."

"Actually, no. But it's nice to hear it from you."

"I ..." Your voice dried in your throat, a giant doubt fell over you. You didn't want to leave without telling him how much you hated everything about him. His attention, his affection, his smile, his gaze, his voice. Everything about him was disgustingly charming. "I think I'll go get my bags."

Jimin nodded, ignoring your presence. Still distracted with reading him.

"Before you go, can you give me that back, darling?" Your gaze followed where he pointed his finger. Your hand. The leaves were still there.

"It's something of mine-..."

"Oh I don't think so. It really is very easy to threaten someone, just suffice to say that you can put a bullet in their head to make them your obedient little puppets."

"I do not understand your..."

"Me? It was obviously me. I'm surprised you thought your mother would be smart enough to leave a confession letter to her ex-lovers, days before her death. You really had a lot of credit for her." His chatter was accompanied by a laugh. You were paralyzed, shaking in your useless state of shock. "But I will not say that I did not plan, I hoped that you would never have the courage to try to leave my side. And even if that were the case, I knew that you would say goodbye to the only person who reminded you of her. Peter, she has a family. lovely."

Nor did he expect you to have the courage to cheat on him with another man. Oh, the gardener. Poor Jungkook, his body now rested leaving behind your favorite flowers. Jimin bit his lip, another mocking smile peeking out with intensity remembering the cutthroat figure of the innocent but guilty young man.

You were his...

"How can you be so cruel?" The doubt in you seemed to want to keep growing, passing second by second through your head. You weren't sure you could understand that everything that happened in front of you was actually planned by the same person who swore never to leave you alone. The same man who disguised himself as a sheep so he could eat you like a wolf. "Did you kill my mother ?!" Jimin seemed surprised by your desperate tone, he did not expect to be able to unbalance your state so easily.

It was lovely. Certainly.

"No sweetie." He murmured closing the book in his hands, setting it on the table next to the steaming cup of American coffee. "But it would have been exquisite to be the reason for his pain. Unfortunately, it was your father who won that title."

"Where did you get this from? I know she wrote it, and I also know that she would never give it to you knowing what a monster you are." Tears were running down your cheeks like water, you knew you were a mess but Jimin seemed to look at you like you were a perfect work of art.

"I found it." He spoke casually, getting up from his seat. Walking slowly towards your trembling figure. "It was a coincidence, I like casual things. It was a coincidence that you studied at that school, that your mother was a widow, that your father died. That he will make me fall in love with you."

What is your goal now?

"I love you darling."

Escape from the monster.

#yandere bts #bts yandere #bts #yandere!bts #yandere bts au #yandere kpop #Yandere #kpop yandere #kpop #kpop smut #bts smut #bts x reader #jimin x reader #yandere jimin x reader #jimin yandere #jimin x you #park jimin #yandere!jimin #jimin smut

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recurring-polynya · 4 years

Note

Do we have a Byakuya giving Renji marriage advice fic? I'd love to read one!

I know this is gonna seem like I can’t read the prompt, because it’s 95% Byakuya giving Rukia marriage advice, but I just honestly think Byakuya trusts Renji on this, given that Renji has worked for him for years at this point and just sort of anticipates all his needs and understands him better than really anyone, and also, Byakuya does not understand Renji at all and has no idea how his dumb jock brain works. He knows exactly how Rukia’s brain works, though.

Anyway, I am back on my Byakuya-writing-letters bullshit, please enjoy some Sunday afternoon feels. I think it should be obvious, but this takes place the night after Rukia and Renji’s wedding.

❤️ 🥂 🎊

It was late at night, but Rukia couldn’t sleep. Too much excitement, maybe, the unfamiliarity of a new house, the evening’s pleasant alcoholic haze fading into the beginnings of a hangover. It certainly couldn’t be the idea of a new life entirely, looming in front of her like an iceberg, complete with a new name and all sorts of new possibilities. Primarily, there was a new bed and a new person who slept in it with her, and she found the idea of waking him up terrifying, so she slipped out from under the blankets and crept downstairs.

She was digging around in the kitchen, wondering if Renji had gotten around to making any pickles since he moved in a month ago (there was an entire cabinet full, wonderful man!), when she remembered the note.

Rukia had briefly flipped through the envelopes of wedding money they had received earlier. The one from her brother bulged, and when she opened it up, the bills inside were large. Renji got nervous in the presence of large sums of money and she suspected he would attempt to give it back, so put it away quickly to deal with later, but not before she noticed a sheet of paper tucked inside among the bills. It had only her name on it, in her brother’s finest handwriting.

After retrieving the note, she settled on the couch (which had been Renji’s but was now theirs because that’s how this worked) with the jar of pickles tucked beside her (the pickles were hers because they were the spicy kind Renji made specially for her even though he couldn’t eat them himself).

My beloved sister, the note opened.

It is my impression that one of the important roles of an older brother is to go before one’s younger siblings, to chart the unknown terrain of life, and to act as guide and mentor. My own marriage was characterized by deep love and joy in the face of hardship, and I hope that yours will contain all of its happiness and none of its heartache. Unfortunately, I regret to inform you, I have no idea how I did it.

When our lots were first cast together, as you know, I declined to form a close relationship with you. This was a mistake on my part, born of the fear that you would remind me too much of Hisana. Later on, to my horror, I found the truth to be far worse-- although you do share some of your sister’s fine qualities, in personality, you bear a much greater resemblance to myself.

That being the case, I imagine that by the time you find this note, you will have tied yourself up into knots over whether or not you ‘deserve this’ or if you can ever be a satisfactory partner. We are very fine Kuchiki, you and I, Rukia. We are strong of body and of will. We are dignified in all we do. We devote ourselves to our duties before our else. Our hearts are strong and love strongly, but we hold them close, as we must. Our family is our pride, which, paradoxically, makes it nearly impossible to share ourselves with those we hold closest.

Your sister Hisana was an exceedingly stubborn person, who formed her own opinions of me, which may or may not have had any grounding in reality. She frequently told me that I was ‘kind’ and ‘thoughtful’ and ‘sweet’ and a variety of other adjectives that no other thinking person would dare to apply to me. It is very difficult to live with such a person for long before you find yourself trying to live up to their misguided delusions.

As it happens, this is among the distressing number of personality traits my adjutant shares with my late wife. His optimism is endless, his vision is permanently rose-tinted, even when he insists upon wearing those horrendous goggles. Any yet, time and again, I have seen him bring out the best qualities in the horrible ne’er-do-wells under our mutual command. Indeed, if I have ever been a good brother to you, it is mostly due to his belief that I could be so. It is a verifiable fact that you are one of the best best souls in all of Soul Society, one would think it would be unimaginable to inflate your worth beyond its actual measure, and yet, somewhere, he manages that, as well.

How is one supposed to live up to these sorts of expectations from the person they love most of all? It is impossible. At least in my case, Hisana was quite aware that I am a pompous buffoon, whereas Abarai fully believes the sun rises and sets for your personal benefit. I am going to tell you something that may be difficult to hear: you have to simply deal with it. He is never going to stop. If you are truly as like to me as I suspect, you will rebel against this, your brain constantly trying to sabotage your happiness.

The fact of the matter is, Rukia, these feelings of inadequacy spring from the very fact that you hold him so dearly that your own estimation of him is also blown out of proportion. Do not misinterpret me. I am very fond of Abarai, but he is a mess. A disaster. You have probably never seen his filing system, but it would give you the vapors. (I do suggest that you take responsibility over that aspect of your household management.) Again, I sympathize. He is actually not nearly so bad as your sister, whom I once watched deface a centerpiece at a very fancy benefit dinner (the end result was extremely offensive and also very humorous). In my mind, she is still the most perfect person I have ever met.

Perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps you are plagued with none of the insecurities that troubled the early days of my marriage, and that I was only able to come to terms with once it became evident that our time together would be finite. I desperately hope this is the case, and if so, please do me the courtesy of destroying this letter, and forgetting all of this.

In either case, I wish you the utmost happiness with your horrible husband.

Your affectionate brother,

Byakuya

Rukia’s fingers clenched on the edges of the paper. The edges of her eyes were burning. How dare he do this to her, after all these years? How many times had they crossed paths in the gardens in the hours when they should have been sleeping? Since when did they need to say things in order to show how well they understood each other? Rukia had half a mind to march over there right now and punch him in his perfect face. He was most likely sitting out next to the koi pond this very minute.

“Thinkin’ of skippin’ out on me already?” a sleepy voice asked behind her, and Rukia jumped nearly a foot in the air.

“What? No!” Rukia rubbed at her hair and frowned apologetically at Renji, who seemed more interested in yawning. "I was thinking too loud and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Nah, my skull is too thick, I can’t even hear my own thoughts most of the time.” Renji leaned over the back of the couch, and Rukia guiltily folded her note in half. “Letter from Captain?”

“Uh, yeah,” Rukia excused. “Sorry. It was kinda personal.”

“I understand. I got one, too. It was less personal.”

A piece of paper dropped in her lap and as she was busy unfolded it, Renji grabbed her jar of pickles.

“Hey, that’s mine!” she protested.

“You don’t gotta tell me what your brother wrote to you,” Renji yawned, tucking the pickles under his arm. “But I think you should probably listen to him. He knows what’s he’s on about.”

Rukia looked at the piece of Squad Six letterhead in her hands. In precise, businesslike handwriting, it read:

To: Abarai Renji, Assistant Captain, Sixth Division

From: Kuchiki Byakuya, Captain Sixth Division

Re: My sister/Your pending wife

Lieutenant Abarai,

Please be aware that Rukia is prone to poor decisions when she has insomnia and it is in your best interest to prevent her from consuming excessively spicy and/or vinegared goods past a respectable bedtime.

Sincerely,

Captain Kuchiki

“Rat fink!” Rukia exclaimed.

“Come back to bed,” Renji implored, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I know some good ways to make your brain shut up.”

“Okay,” Rukia agreed grumpily. “I’m eating those pickles for breakfast, though.”

“I’m makin’ pancakes, but suit yourself.”

Rukia decided that maybe it was best to try and get some rest. She had a big rest-of-her-life coming up the next day.

#my writing #byakuya kuchiki #rukia kuchiki #renji abarai #renruki #byakuya feels are the worst feels #but pining-for-his-dead-wife byakuya is the best byakuya #the paradox of byakuya

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emotionally-imbruised · 5 years

Note

I’ve been thinking non-stop about gemma and y/n not knowing what to talk about now that y/n is dating harry because like they’re best friends and y/n wants to spill about the amazing sex she’s having omg ail is amazing and I’m so happy it’s getting the recognition it deserves

I love you??? Thank you so much hun wow. And ok, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either, and with all the hontent we received the weekend of the hall of fame induction??? It just turned into this whole thing lol, enjoy. (Ok so this turned out way more dramatic than I anticipated initially but oh welllllll.)

Accidentally In Love: Didn’t Mean To Do It

Word Count: 3.4k

“Gem?”

Your best friend doesn’t look up as you speak but instead continues to type away on her phone, not realizing you had said anything at all. After she sends the message she was so focused on, she finally glances up and jumps slightly when she sees you staring back at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“What’re you and Michal going off about now, hmm?” You ask jokingly as you glance down at her phone to see a conversation open with her boyfriend’s name at the top of it.

“Talking about you actually,” she replies with a smirk before taking a sip of her steaming coffee — winking as she does so, knowing it’ll get a rise out of you.

“Only good things I hope.”

“Mmm, maybe. Maybe not.” The two of you both let out a small laugh as she sets her mug back down and soon lets an awkward silence seemingly inflate the space between the two you.

This coffee date with Gemma has been… odd, to say the least. You flew to London from LA yesterday (Sunday) evening to begin your week-long stay in the UK for a quick little vacation from work and went out of your way to make sure that a good chunk of your time here was spent with your best friend; which naturally, she agreed to. The two of you are now currently sat in the small cafe across the street from your hotel, finally catching up, seeing as you hadn’t seen each other since when she was in LA last and well… everyone knows how that was slightly disastrous.

Having your best friend walk in on you, making out with her brother was one thing you never thought you’d experience ever, but alas, that’s precisely what happened. You hated everything about the situation (minus the finally being able to kiss Harry part) because you knew it put Gemma in an awkward place and were just very unsure of what to do next. A huge weight seemed to be lifted from your chest when she eventually came around and said she was ok with you and Harry pursuing whatever it was going on between the two of you.

However, this is the first time the two of you have been in the same place since then, and she’s been acting a little strange. Gemma’s barely said a word to you other than the initial catching up, and if there’s one thing you know about your best friend, it’s how to tell when something is bothering her — especially if whatever it is bugging her has something to do with people she cares about.

After another moment of observing her, you finally decide to ask her about it. “Hey, is everything ok?”

“Oh, uh yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” She shakes her head slightly, and it’s clear that your question caught her off guard, but you don’t let that stop you.

“You’ve just been oddly quiet. Usually, when we get the chance to meet up after a long period, it’s nearly impossible to shut either of us up… we’ve barely said anything to each other, G. Is something on your mind?”

“I… I guess I just don’t know what to talk to you about anymore,” she responds and averts her gaze from you completely.

“What do you mean by that?” You ask in a slightly defensive tone. “You know we can talk to each other about anything.”

“Can we though? Because ever since you started messing around with my brother, that hasn’t really been the case.”

And there it is. You had a feeling this might’ve been what was bugging her, but you still weren’t able to prepare yourself for the sting you felt as the words left her mouth to confirm this theory. “I-I don’t know what you want me to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she states firmly and takes another sip of her coffee. “M’just letting you know how I feel, cause… I don’t know, it just hasn’t been the same since, well you know. We used to be able to share everything before a couple of months ago, now it’s just weird.”

“Weird? Gemma, I literally avoided Harry for two weeks after telling him how I felt out of fear that this would happen. Weird is a damn understatement when it comes to all of this, but the one thing I thought would’ve stayed consistent out of all that was our friendship. Nothing has changed, ok? I’m still me.”

“Everything has changed Y/N, how do you not see that?” The eldest Styles sibling begins, and you feel a slight sense of aggravation bubble within you at her tone. “You’re not just my best friend anymore; you’re also my brother’s girlfriend, or fuck buddy, or whatever it is the two of you call it because, hell I don’t know.”

“Is that why you’re mad? Because I haven’t gone into details about my sex or personal life as of late?” You ask incredulously and watch as she lets out a loud huff. “Honestly didn’t think you’d want to hear about that kind of thing anymore.”

“Ew no, I would never want to hear anything regarding that when my brother is involved,” she defends with a scrunched-up nose. “But Y/N, this is what I’m trying to say! We used to talk about this kind of thing completely unfazed because that’s what friends do. I just, feel like I’m losing my best friend. And it just so happens to be to Harry of all people.”

“You’re not losing me to anyone G. I know this is still so weird, and I’m still getting used to it all too, but Harry makes me really happy. The happiest I’ve been in a long time with any relationship I’ve developed because fuck, a lot of people I’ve associated with are awful. Harry is not one of those people, and he treats me really well. As my best friend, I thought you’d want that for me.”

“Of course I want that for you, you’re crazy to think otherwise. I want that for Harry too, but I haven’t quite adjusted to the thought of the two of you being that for each other. Does that make any sense?”

“Nope… Can honestly say I’m still pretty lost actually,” you respond with an unconvincing chuckle and try to ignore the fact that you can feel your eyes beginning to water out of frustration. “I mean, i-is this your way of saying you don’t want me and Harry to be together?”

“Y/N I-.”

You watch your best friend open and close her mouth a few times without finishing her sentence, making it apparent just how much she’s considering her words before she says them. A moment passes, and the awkward silence unsurprisingly resumes again. Gemma lets out a sigh of defeat, and you can’t help the scoff that leaves your mouth as you reach up to wipe away the stray tear that uncooperatively decided to escape from your eye. “That’s exactly what you’re trying to say, isn’t it?”

“I’m not even sure if that’s what I’m trying to say yet.” She replies, causing you to look at her questionably. “I’m definitely not the biggest fan of what the two of you have going on, mainly because I’m not used to it. But I’d never ask you to choose between him or me. No, I can’t do that to you or my brother, I just… almost wish it didn’t happen to begin with if m’being honest.”

This time it’s your turn to let out a sigh of defeat as you shake your head, and blink back more of the tears you feel are threatening to escape. This is exactly what you tried to avoid back in December when this whole thing with you and Harry started. Every bit of you wishes Gemma would’ve said something then about how she felt about the situation because this exact conversation could have been prevented. With how she handled everything that happened in LA, you genuinely thought she was ok with you and Harry possibly being more than just friends — but clearly, that was misinterpreted, and you have one question racing through your mind because of it; what changed her mind?

You like to think of yourself as someone Gemma would consider good enough to date her brother, someone she’d trust enough to never intentionally hurt him. Which you feel that you are as well, but with how she’s acting right now; maybe that isn’t the case, and that thought hurts a lot to even just consider.

Unsure of what to do next, you advert your gaze from hers and decide to do what you do best — plan an escape route. “Right. I uh, I think I’m going to go back to the hotel.”

“What? No,” she starts and stands up from the table at the same time you do. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to upset you. I know it probably doesn’t seem like that because of how I’ve handled everything, but I honestly didn’t, and I’m sorry. I just wanted to let you know what I was feeling, please sit down so we can talk about this.”

“I need to think some things over before I have this conversation with you Gem, so I am going to leave. I uh, I’ll see you on Thursday when we get lunch with your mum.” And with that, you gather up your things before making your exit; not saying another word or bothering to give her one last glance, despite the holes you feel her gaze is burning into your back as you go.

That evening, you’re sat in the king-sized bed in the hotel room you awkwardly had to ask reception desk to book for a few more days as you figured everything out. Originally you were only supposed to stay in the hotel for just your first night in London and spend the next few nights of your stay with Harry at his apartment before he left for New York City that Thursday for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony. With Harry having plans to only be in NYC for two nights before coming back to the UK, you were going to stay with Gemma before going back to Harry’s once he returned home for the remainder of your trip. But now that’s all changed because of your stupid overthinking mind and everything else that has happened today.

You’ve yet to see Harry at all since arriving here from LA, and that alone is making everything so much more difficult. He made the trip to Holmes Chapel this past weekend for a visit with some friends and just so happened to be getting ready for his drive back to London when you called him saying you wouldn’t be at his apartment when he got home. You didn’t go into details about your coffee date with Gemma, just explained how you needed to think some things over without stating what those things were; which left him even more confused. When he started pressing for more information, you panicked and ended up cutting the conversation short by saying there was poor reception in the hotel and accidentally losing cell service before he could protest.

Flash forward to the present time, and you now feel like absolute garbage about it all. You’re still unsure of what to with the whole situation you’ve created for yourself and frankly, you really just don’t want to tonight.

A small buzz from your phone goes off from under one of the many pillows on the bed to indicate another new notification from probably either Harry or Gemma, but you continue to ignore it as you let out a breath and take in your surroundings. Sprawled out around you are an open bag of potato chips and a couple chocolate bar wrappers. The half-full bottle of wine you bought earlier remains perched in easy reach on the nightstand, and finally, about seven tissues you used to wipe away your tears as you watched the final few episodes for season 2 of Grey’s Anatomy stay scattered all over the place. A girl is allowed to eat her feelings ok, and if your current setting doesn’t flawlessly display what someone who is ‘going through it looks like, you really don’t know what else will.

Your phone buzzes again as your gaze falls back to your laptop that has displayed the darkened screen asking if you’re still watching for the past few minutes now and gasp when you see your reflection. The messy bun your hair was thrown up into earlier has come loose and is now flopped to the side of your head, your eyes are noticeably puffy looking, and mascara streaks stain your now very rosy cheeks. You look like a hot mess, to say the least, but you really don’t care at this point.

After a moment, you make the executive decision that maybe you should go have a nice warm shower to recollect your so obviously clouded mind before perhaps deciding to not be a coward and actually respond to Harry. Ok, maybe not Harry, but at least Gemma. Harry will just divert your attention from thinking this whole thing through and figuring out what will be best for everyone, even if that consists of breaking someone’s heart; which you undoubtedly feel will end up being your own.

Once you’re all situated in the washroom and are about to start running the water so you can allow it to warm up, a knock sounds from out in the room. It catches you off guard momentarily, and you find yourself frozen and waiting to see if whoever is there will knock again. When they do knock for the second time, you quickly look to your naked reflection in the mirror before scrambling back into the room so you can change before answering the door. “Uh, just a second!”

“Y/N, can you let me in please?” Harry’s voice booms from out in the hall sounding rather desperate, which causes you to freeze in your tracks.

“H?”

“Yes, now would you open the door?”

With a quick shake of your head at his unexpected visit, you look over your shoulder at the fluffy towers folded up on a shelf in the washroom and make a quick dash to grab one so you can wrap it around your body before going back to answer the door. “Hey, what’re-?”

“Y/N, what the hell?” Harry stresses as he barges into the hotel room and immediately starts pacing; running a hand through his growing curls as he goes. “I’ve spent well over the last three hours trying to get a hold of you after you hung up on me for no reason thinking that something happened, or that you had someone here and this was your way of ending things with me or… or-.”

“Woah, hey, look at me, ok?” You start as you shut the door and reach out to grip onto his arms, so he stays in place; making sure to tighten your armpits, so the towel doesn’t fall loose. “I’m right here, alone, without a scratch on me. I’ve been watching Grey’s Anatomy and eating my feelings if you really want to know what I was doing.”

“Without me?” He scoffs and earns a chuckle from you. “What’s with the towel?”

“I was about to have a shower,” you reply, causing a pout to form on his lips at the thought of you not including him in that either. “See, you’ve got nothing to be so worked up about.”

“Sorry. Kind of an initial reaction when my girlfriend, who I haven’t seen in quite a while calls me saying I won’t get to see her out of nowhere.”

You can feel him relax under your touch and can’t help but just continue staring at him in awe without being able to respond, even as he snakes an arm around your waist to pull you against him. “Girlfriend?”

“Well… yeah,” he says as a slight blush starts tinging his cheeks, and a stupid smile stretches across your mouth. “Been calling you that for a while now to all m’friends. They think I’m pretty whipped, starting to think I might be too.”

Without another word, he leans down to connect his lips with yours, which you instinctively respond to; allowing the ache and craving you’ve felt for him during your time apart to take over as logic screams at you to not. He gently pushes you backwards until your back hits the door, before finally letting his hands roam around your body completely. As he does this, you can feel the towel beginning to slip and just as it hits the point of almost showing off everything you’ve got, you come back to your senses.

“Little impatient and touchy, yeah?” You mutter against his lips and use your hands to reposition the towel.

“When it comes to you? Always.” He responds before placing a final peck to your already swelling mouth and leaning back a little bit. His right-hand drops from where it’s placed on your hip and uses moves it to lean against the door as he continues to look down at you intensely. “You gonna tell me what that phone call was about, love? Or am I going to have to guess?”

“I-,” you begin, but stop as you try to think of what to even say. “I don’t even know H, I’m so confused.”

“Ok, well why don’t you start off by telling me what happened today then, yeah?” There’s no point in protesting, so with a simple nod, you allow Harry to lead you back over to the bed and tell him about everything that happened with Gemma.

Once you’re done telling him everything that’s happened today, he remains silent and seems to be avoiding your gaze. “Harry?”

“So that’s what you meant by needing to think things over,” he states and keeps his eyes adverted from yours. You don’t answer, but rather just nod your head; which results in him finally looking at you. “What is there to think about Y/N?”

“What- did you not listen to anything I just told you?”

“Yes, I did. Quite thoroughly actually, and the only problem I see is one you’re making bub. Gemma is an adult. She’s my sister, and I value her opinion, but she does not get to say who I can and can’t have a relationship with. I also can’t help but think that there was probably some miscommunication and the two of you let this be blown out of proportion rather than actually talking it out like you both tend to do.”

It catches you off guard just how well he really does know your friendship with his sister, but that doesn’t prevent the scoff that still leaves your mouth in defense. “It’s really not that easy, Harry.”

“Yes, it is!” He argues right back, and you start feeling a little annoyed by his stubbornness.

“I don’t want to lose my best friend, Harry!”

“Who says you’re losing anyone? Y/N, if what you want is to be with me… that’s all there is to it.”

“I’m not sure what I want, alright! Maybe all I really want is space!” A small gasp follows your words as soon as they leave your mouth, and the two of you are left in silent shock. You regret your words immediately and wish you could take them back because that is the last thing you want, especially when it comes to Harry. “H, I-.”

A small defeated sigh leaves his mouth and cuts you off before you can continue, causing a slight ache to form in your chest as he looks at you with hurt written across his features. You watch as he closes his and takes a deep breath before slowly standing up from the mattress. “Ok. If space is what you want, I’ll be on my way.”

“Harry, I didn’t mean that. I just-.”

“You’re confused.” He finishes for you, and you feel tears beginning to prick at your eyes again. “I am too right now. Maybe this whole space thing is actually what we both need.”

“No, I-I wasn’t thinking. Harry, I didn’t want to hurt you, I’m still trying to figure everything out when it comes to us. I, I wish I knew the right thing to say right now.”

“Me too,” he responds and looks away from you to the door. “Didn’t think there was anything to ‘figure’ anything out when it came to us, but I’ll leave you to it. Give me a call when you find out what it is you do want Y/N because clearly, this isn’t it.”

He doesn’t say anything else as he makes the few steps across the room to the door and opens it. The tears are fully streaming down your face as he looks back at you with an unreadable expression, and silently turns on his heel before disappearing back out into the hallway; leaving you a trembling, sobbing mess with what’s left of the broken heart he didn’t take with him when he walked out that door.

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homeiswherethestuckis · 6 years

Text

Hey, It Pays the Rent (Part 2/3) Friends

@notedchampagne I meant to finish this sooner so it was closer to your birthday, but it kinda got away from me, lol. Anyway, here’s the second part of your roommates/enemies to friends to lovers birthday fic! I hope you like it! :D

(sorry in advance for the length)

(Part 1/3) Enemies

(Part 3/3) Lovers

It was weird how quickly you went from hating Karkat’s steaming insides to considering him a friend. A month ago you didn’t want to go anywhere near that asshole, and now you look forward to your weekly movie night with him.

Or maybe...maybe it’s not as weird as you think? When you really consider it, you’d never had an actual conversation with Karkat until that awkward night early in your roommateship. You’d known Karkat for years, and yet you knew jack shit about him. Maybe you would’ve been friends with him sooner if you’d ever had an honest conversation with him before this.

Not that you’ve been having tons of emotional heart to hearts since.

Actually...aside from Karkat’s single awkward outburst, you still know jack shit about him.

You should probably change that sometime…

“Dave?” Karkat yells at you from the living room. “How’s the popcorn coming?”

But now’s not that time.

“Yeah, it’s coming!” You rip open a bag of popcorn from the microwave and dump it in a bowl. “Look out! We’ve got some piping hot corns, popped and buttered for your pleasure. I’m telling you, dude, you’re gonna be so into this your taste buds are gonna orgasm so fucking hard you’ll be tasting shit funny for a week.”

You set the bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table and flop onto the couch next to Karkat. You use the table as a footrest.

Karkat squints at you suspiciously. “The way you phrased that makes me really question leaving you in charge of the popcorn.”

He says this as he shoves his entire hand in the bowl. You point this out by nudging the bowl with your foot. “Clearly you’re not that concerned about it.”

He glares at you and pulls the bowl closer to himself. “And get your fucking stink frond away from my hot snack corn!”

You snort. “Okay, okay, if you’re that serious about it I’ll leave you two alone.”

You start to stand up, but Karkat grabs your shirt and pulls you back down. “No, you stay put, you shit. If this snack is gonna have a fucking orgy in my mouth, you have to stay put and watch this monstrosity you’ve created go down in the most hellish way imaginable.”

He takes his hand out of the popcorn bowl, a couple kernels fall from his hand and onto the carpet. Without taking his eyes away from you, his brings his fistful of popcorn up to his mouth and eats it out of his own palm like he’s a god damn horse. And, like the disgusting horse he’s pretending to be, he chews with his mouth wide open, making the nastiest sounds humanly (trolly?) possible just to gross you out.

It does.

But it’s also hilarious as fuck.

You laugh and give him a light shove. “You’re so nasty, bro!”

He swallows his mouthful and rolls his eyes at you. “If that’s not a classic case of the pot calling the kettle pitch.”

“Do you mean...black? Because that’s the saying. Pot calling the kettle black.”

“That’s what I just fucking said.”

“No, you said pitch.”

“Whatever.” He shrugs. “I meant black, then. Sorry my memory is complete shit when it comes to your human idioms.”

He picks a kernel out from between his sharp looking teeth with his even sharper looking nails. “Even though it failed to deliver on its promise of getting my tongue off, this popcorn’s good.”

“Thanks, I microwaved it.” You pop a couple pieces in your mouth. “What are we watching?”

Every Saturday, you spend the night chilling at home and watching a movie with Karkat. It started out right after the big welcome back bash you threw for him, also known as the night you officially became friends. You’d made him marathon Star Wars with you, because somehow Karkat had managed to go his entire life without consuming a single piece of Star Wars media up until that point.

He liked it more than you’d hoped he would. You swear there were fucking stars in his eyes by the time you’d finished the last one. He turned to you and asked if there were more.

And of course, you said yes. While trying to keep a straight face, you mention that there are prequels. A whole trilogy about Darth Vader’s life and his descent to the dark side. Did Karkat want to watch it?

Fuck, you had to try so hard to keep from laughing your ass off when Karkat emphatically said yes.

It was late by that point, already past midnight. You told him that might be a thing to do next week, if he didn’t have anything planned for next Saturday already.

He didn’t.

And so was the birth of Saturday Movie Night.

“Hitch.”

“Okay, cool.” You nod. “I mean, we already watched Troll Hitch, but if you wanna ogle every variation of Will Smith in existence for another hour and however fucking long then sure, I’m down for it.”

His face flushes as he shoots a glare at you. “Shut the fuck up, I never say shit about your inane Ben Stiller fixation.”

“Dude, I didn’t mean anything about it, it’s chill. Nothing to get so defensive about. Besides, you can’t tell me you didn’t fucking love Zoolander, because if you did say that you would be a dirty lying fuck and we both know it.” You toss a piece of popcorn at him. “Now start your movie.”

You watch the movie and try your best not to talk all the way through it like how Karkat hates. You do throw in a kind of relevant comment here and there, though, mostly because there’s no way someone could expect you to be quiet for a whole hour. Karkat seems to get this about you, and only shoots you mildly annoyed looks throughout the movie’s run.

When the movie’s over, Karkat takes it out and puts in the next one. It’s a troll movie, so you don’t bother asking what the title is or trying to pay much attention to the absurdly over complicated plot. The popcorn’s already finished by the time this movie starts. Karkat’s asleep about halfway through the second movie. You put the empty popcorn bowl in the kitchen, turn off the tv, and quietly sneak to bed so you don’t wake him up.

All in all, it’s a pretty average movie night. A little under average, actually. Karkat doesn’t usually fall asleep during it. Still, not a particularly remarkable night.

Which is exactly what you tell Rose when she asks you about how your day was yesterday. You finish it off with a shrug and watch her stab her fork into part of an omelet as you wait for her reply.

“You know, it’s funny,” she says thoughtfully, “whenever I ask either of you how your day was, you both mention that. Honestly, at this rate we should just invite him to brunch with us. It would save me from having to hear about the same mundane event twice.”

“Yeah, like fuck I’m gonna invite him to our sibling brunch.” You snort, stuffing a pancake into your mouth. “This is a family only event. Not like you try to invite Kanaya to this ever.”

“You’re right, I don’t try to invite Kanaya to this ever.” Rose nods. “Although, I have to wonder why you used my girlfriend in your example of people I wouldn’t invite to sibling brunch.”

You down your pancake with a gulp of apple juice. “I don’t know, she’s the first person I thought of.”

She smiles and wiggles her eyebrows at you. “A likely story.”

“I don’t think I like what you’re implying, Rose.”

“Just because you don’t like it doesn’t makes the implication any less true.”

“Karkat’s just my friend, Rose.”

“And I don’t doubt that.” You raise a suspicious eyebrow at her “But until recently you did despise him quite a bit. Your feelings towards him seem to be easily swayed. Or maybe, much like when you had that crush on John throughout high school, you’ve been misinterpreting your feelings this whole time.”

“Have I ever told you how much I hate you psychoanalyzing me?”

She sips her tea and smirks. “Only every day.”

“Well, I do. I really fucking do.” You reply, stabbing part of a pancake. “As usual, you’re overreaching with my dick and making accusations based on fuckall nothing just to mess with me.”

“True.” She nods. “Most of my analysis is usually only semi-serious, but you and I both know I include at least a grain of real analysis in there, if only to keep you on your toes.”

You roll your eyes at her. “Okay, fine, I’ll bite. What’s your grain of real advice in accusing me of having a crush on Karkat?”

“You tend to ignore your feelings until they’re too strong to be forgotten about anymore, and then you act on them without thinking, which never ends well for you. Even if you don’t have a crush on Karkat now, or you never have a crush on him, I still think you should try to keep yourself aware of your emotions surrounding your new and drastically different relationship.”

That’s….not terrible advice. Fuck. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t nor will I ever have a crush on Karkat. He’s my friend and not my type.”

“Since when did you have a type?” Rose snorts.

“Since nunya.”

She takes the bait. “Nunya?”

“Nunya fucking business.”

You finish off brunch and take Rose back to your apartment so she can do her book club thing with Karkat. They got back into doing that the week after the party, when Rose let Karkat read whatever project it was that she was working on. Karkat told you all about it at one point, he seemed like he was really into it. You told him to tell Rose about what he thought and not you, since she was the writer and you had no idea what he was talking about.

They talked on the phone for a solid hour, during which they decided to resurrect their failed book club from high school and drag the smelly rotten club corpse back to Karkat’s room to stay indefinitely.

By which you mean they get together once a week and talk about books or something. You actually don’t know what the fuck their book club activities were, you never went to a meeting.

Karkat drags Rose to his room as soon as the two of you step through the door. Aside from a welcome back nod, you get no acknowledgement. His door slams shut, and you may as well be alone in the apartment.

At this point, there are a couple things you could do with your valuable time:

You could do something productive, like start up on some homework early or clean your room or something.

Or….

You could take a nap.

God, with all these pancakes stuffed inside you, you don’t know how there’s even a decision here. Clearly this is the perfect opportunity for some choice couch naps.

You get yourself situated on the couch with something on for background noise when you get a text from John’s dad. He’s decided to donate some of John’s older but still nice clothes to charity and wants to know if you have any that you wouldn’t mind him taking. Of course, there’s no obligation to do so if you don’t want to.

So of course you’re going to do it.

You get up and start shuffling off towards your room. On the way there you bang on Karkat’s door and you tell them that you’ll probably be in your room sorting clothes when it’s time for Rose to go.

You spend about twelve minutes taking clothes out of your closet and tossing them onto the bed for further scrutiny. By minute thirteen you get distracted by some of the other shit you’ve thrown in your closet.

You’re sitting on the floor and laughing your ass off as you dig through a box of old photos and comics you’d written during school. You were even more hilarious than you remembered. You’ve gotta give younger you some credit, all this shit is pure motherfucking gold. You don’t know how long you’re reminiscing when you’re disrupted by a knock on the door.

“It’s open!” You shout as you crawl out of your closet and stand up.

The door opens just enough for Karkat to poke his face in. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, whatever.” You shrug. “Where’s Rose?”

“She went home a couple minutes ago.” He replies as he closes the door behind him. She said she had some other more important shit to do.”

Karkat surveys your room slowly, taking in the whole mess of it. You’re suddenly aware that Karkat’s never been in your room before now. It shouldn’t matter, but god you’ve never been more aware of how much of a disorganized mess your room is.

He looks at you and smirks. “I see you’re really busting your ass organizing your extensive wardrobe in here.”

“What can I say? Shit’s boring, I got distracted.” You toe your box of mildly interesting junk into his line of sight. “I’m only human, dude.”

“As if that’s an excuse.” Karkat says, rolling his eyes. “Do you want any help, or are you determined to waste your whole day on this one shitty, simplistic task?”

“I’m cool with doing it myself, but I’m not opposed to you helping.” You shrug again. “As long as you don’t start belting out Marina and the Diamonds lyrics or whatever the fuck you’re listening to like every other time you do a chore.”

His brow knits together in a quizzical look as he joins you by the closet. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t do that.”

Wait.

Wait….

Does he not know? That he fucking does that?

How could he not?

But...the confusion on his face seems so genuine. Is he really not aware?

“Yes you do? Bro, you holler like a velociraptor during mating season.”

“What? No I…” he stops midsentence. His eyes go distant for a moment as he replays memories of past chores in his head, the filter of his headphones removed. His face darkens to a shade of grey tinged with red. “...I do. Holy fuck, how much of a situationally unaware shit pan could I be not to notice I was doing that? And you just fucking listened to my tone deaf screeching this whole time? Why would you willingly subject yourself to that, are you a masochist or some shit? Are you getting off on my voice grating your auricular clots to shreds? You’re some unique kind of fucked up, Dave.”

You have no idea how he reached this conclusion, but whatever. “Okay, you caught me. I get off on your sandpaper howl shredding my eardrums like sharp cheddar. Sometimes while you’re screaming I like to pull the shreds out of my ear and sprinkle that shit on some Doritos and make myself a sick plate of tasty nachos. Your voice is like broken glass under my fingernails and it gets me all hot and bothered inside. When I masturbate I can’t finish without your malicious yodeling ringing in my ears. It ducks me up in the worst way, dude.”

The embarrassed blush on his face creeps up to his ears and down his neck, his face grows a deeper shade of reddish grey. “I know that’s your idea of a joke, but I hope to fuck you’re joking.”

“Nope. I am completely one hundred percent serious. You called to me like a siren, and now my dick is madly in love with you.”

He glares down at your crotch. “Tell your nasty crotch I’m not interested in stale cocktail weenies.”

“Okay. Just wait right here while I break it to the little guy.” You bend down and bring your face as close to your crotch as you can get. “Hey-”

Okay, that’s it you can’t.

Karkat bursts into a fit of giggles at the same time you do.

“Dave, what the fuck?” Karkat’s covering his mouth with his hand, trying to stifle his own laughter.

“I don’t know, man.” You really don’t. You were just spouting your usual bullshit and you guess it got a little sillier than usual. “So are you ready to pitch in with my threads or are you just gonna keep distracting me like an asshole?”

“Oh, like you were so productive before I got here.” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll help out. Shove your ass over.”

Karkat hip checks you so he can get a better look at your disaster area of a closet. He starts rummaging through your clothes and pulling things out, holding them at arm’s length.

“You know,” he says as he lays the clothes carefully on your bed, “you’ve got a fuckton of suits for a guy who’s surgically attached to a pair of ratty jeans.”

“Yeah.” You nod as you pull out one of the suits in question. “Guy’s gotta have at least one cool suit in case shit gets serious or if he just wants to look sweet and a little intimidating for no reason.”

“That neon vomit monstrosity’s supposed to make you look intimidating?”

“No, but it makes me look sick as hell.” You lay it down with your other clothes. “Or it did, anyway. I haven’t worn it in awhile. Fucker might not even fit anymore, I’ve gained muscle mass since then.”

You flex.

Karkat snorts. “I didn’t realize you were working your stomach out, Dave.”

“You know what, fuck you. It’s not like you have a perfectly toned physique yourself.”

“Yeah, but at least I live my dough bodied truth.” He strikes his own pose and gestures down at his stomach and thick legs. You look him up and down and nod approvingly.

“You definitely look confident.”

And he’s honestly not bad looking. In your opinion as his friend. He’s got a body that looks fucking perfect for cuddling.

“Looks can be deceiving, Dave.” He straightens back up and pulls something else out of your closet. “Where’d you get all these suits, anyway?”

“Most of them are from John’s dad, I think at least one’s from my mom.”

“John’s dad?” Karkat questions. “Why would John’s dad buy you suits?”

“I mean I did live with the guy for a couple years. He’s basically my dad, too.”

The first year you lived with John and his dad was the same year Karkat came to town.

“I think I remember that.” Karkat nods. “I thought John was your brother for awhile.”

You laugh. “Really? You thought John was my brother?”

“Well yeah, what the hell else was I supposed to think? Your stupid human relations shit is way more complicated than I’d originally thought when I came here. It was confusing. Still is, sometimes.” He admits. “Why were you living with them, anyway?”

“Some stuff happened with my bro that I’d rather not get into.” You admit. “Rose and my mom were the only family I had left, but they lived across the country and it was decided that uprooting me completely wasn’t in my best interest. John’s dad offered to take me in for the rest of the school year so we could all finish before any more major shifts happened. My mom got here near the beginning of summer and I moved in with her, but I still spent most of my time at John’s because I was more comfortable there.”

“Oh.” Karkat says. “I didn’t know any of that.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly a well known fact about me.”

Fuck, you owe Mr. Egbert so much. He’s such a great dude. How will you ever repay him for everything he’s done for you?

“So,” Karkat puts down one last piece of clothing and takes a step back to look at the pile on the bed, “which of this shit are you gonna get rid of?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I guess whatever’s got holes or doesn’t fit.”

Karkat gives you a sideways glance, a sly smile on his face. “Dave are you saying…?”

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m saying.” You nod.

“Fashion show?”

“Fashion show.”

You send your audience, Karkat, back out into the living room so you can change. You start pumping up some runway music and throw on some of the clothes from the pile on your bed. Just like that, you’re ready for the most cliche outfit montage of your life.

You step out of your room, I’m Too Sexy by Right Said Fred blasting from your stereo as you exit in the most dramatic and modelesque way possible. You do your best sexy shimmy walk all the way down the hall and over to the couch where you left Karkat waiting impatiently for you.

“So,” you strike a pose that you believe is mildly sexy and extremely embarrassing for you, “what do you think? You like what you see?”

He wrinkles his nose at you in fake disgust. “Not at all. Clothes look alright, though.”

“Cool. Keeping these ones.”

You strut back to your room and start the whole process over again. Occasionally Karkat gives you scathing comments about your ridiculous fashion sense. Usually he just laughs at your over the top modeling. One or two times, you get a genuine compliment.

You go out in your neon vomit green suit, it’s a little tighter than you remember, but honestly you’re surprised it still fits at all. You drape yourself over the coffee table and give Karkat the best smoldering look you can muster. “Paint me like one of your French girls, Karkat.”

He looks you up and down with such a serious expression that it makes you blush a little for making such a stupid entrance.

“Shit,” Karkat finally sighs, running a hand over his mouth, “you look fucking great.”

You’re so flustered by his unexpected compliment you don’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah. Fuck you, if I’d known you could clean up so nice I would have demanded you dress at least better than a rabid hobo in public. I mean that suit’s ugly as fuck and the color makes my bulb’s water but you make it work somehow. I hate how much you’re pulling this fabric disaster off, Dave. Really, I do.”

“Thanks,” you finally manage to reply. Then, because you’re an idiot, “wanna watch me really pull this fabric disaster off?”

“Oh, yeah, Dave, do that. Please take off your pants and expose your chicken bone legs for my viewing pleasure.” He starts fanning himself. “Fuck, I’m getting hot and bothered just thinking about your strip tease. Don’t even think about popping a button off of your god awful shirt near me or I swear to fuck I’ll swoon right off this couch and onto the edge of the coffee table, probably causing a botched lobotomy in the process.”

“You’re saying I’m literally so hot right now I make you lose brain function?” You grin as you toy with the top button of your shirt. “Oh, Karkat, you flatter me.”

Karkat gives you a small shove. “Go back to your block, asshole.”

You do. You go right back into the fashion show and pretend you didn’t just do that. Because what the fuck? Was that shit you just pulled? Was that you trying to flirt? Gee Karkat you like my clothes? Here let me take them off for you. Stupid. Stupid. What the fuck?

You shake your head and start to change. The suit is laid on a pile of clothes you want to keep.

The fashion show continues, and everything is the same as normal in regards to Karkat’s reactions to your clothes and terrible posing.

“Your clothes are too tight. Your shirt looks like it’s cutting off circulation, how the fuck did you even get that on?”

“What are you doing with your leg, Dave? Put that fucker down.”

“Who let you buy that? Who the hell even made that? That fabric is woven from curses and bad acid trips, you need to burn it.”

The only exception is when you show off a suit.

“Oh wow, holy shit, you actually look decent. How dare you.”

“Can you look less good in that nasty ass color? Thanks.”

“Dave, seriously, you’re not allowed to own this many suits and look so fucking good in them just to have them all waste away as moth food in your dirty closet! Stop dressing like trash and wear these, you dick!”

“...I should get a suit.”

You stop pretending to model and take on a more casual stance. Your hands are shoved into your pants pockets. “You know, maybe you should.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, “with what money?”

“I mean,” you spread your arms wide, “you could take one of mine? I’m probably only gonna keep the green one for me.”

Karkat still looks unconvinced. “You do realize we’re completely different sizes, right? You’re aware of that? I’d split your suit in half trying to fit my doughy fat ass in your skinny high school pants.”

“Uh, it’s called a tailor, you dumb bitch? I’m not just gonna make you squeeze yourself into my pants like a fucking human sausage. We can get the thing fitted for you, dude.”

“Isn’t that a lot of money? That I don’t have?”

“Yeah, probably? I don’t know for sure man, but if you’re that fucking concerned about cost I’ll cover it. You can consider it a wriggling day present.”

“That’s still a lot of money, Dave! I can’t let you spend a shit ton of money on me. I’ll just wait until I can afford to buy one myself.”

“Why, though?” You ask. “We have suits here right now, why bother waiting? If you’d rather not take it as a present then you can pay me back for half later.”

Karkat tilts his head. “Half?”

“Yeah. It’s not like I bought this suit for myself. I haven’t spent a dime on this shit, and I’m guessing the cost won’t be too fucking devastating between the two of us.”

Karkat considers your offer carefully. “I still don’t like that idea, but I’ll take it. Give me your least obnoxious suit.”

“That’s gonna be tough.” You admit. “I have a black one you might be into?”

You decide not to mention the iron-on patch of a butt you put on the lapel. It shouldn’t be too hard to remove, you hope.

“I’ll take that one.”

You finish off the fashion show, and Karkat helps you pack up most of your old stuff into a box for Mr. Egbert to take. When he arrives to take your things, you ask him if he knows a good tailor you could talk to about getting some alterations done. When asked for more information about it, you explain that it’s for Karkat. He gives you a look that you can’t read very well and says it’ll be easier if you give the suit to him. You fold up the suit and place it on top of the box so it doesn’t get mixed up with the items inside the box. Mr. Egbert thanks you and ruffles your hair.

Well, that ends that. You go back to your room to put what remaining clothes you have away.

“Hey, Karkat!” You yell from your doorway.

“What?”

“I just realized I gave away over half my wardrobe. Can I borrow some of your clothes for awhile?”

You rock some of Karkat’s clothes for awhile before you get some new ones of your own. Up until then (and a little past that) you steal his sweaters and sometimes his pants, both of which you have to roll up.

Damn if you don’t look good, though.

Unfortunately you can’t even mention how much you like wearing Karkat’s clothes without getting looks from people. Rose and Kanaya you understand, because for some fucked up reason Rose still thinks you may be developing a crush on Karkat unconsciously and has somehow dragged Kanaya into her theory. But John? Fucking John? He keeps giving you these big goofy smiles like he knows what you’re really talking about.

Which is ridiculous. Because you really are talking about how warm and nice Karkat’s sweater is.

You’re not using his sweater as a metaphor for your feelings for him.

Fuck everybody.

The only benefit you got from all this Karkat discussion is that now you’re pretty good at changing the subject. During one of these sudden subject shifts, Rose teaches you a new game she’s been playing with Kanaya recently. She’d developed it to help strengthen her relationships with others (specifically Kanaya) and to learn things she may not have otherwise.

The game is simple. You tap twice on someone’s hand and ask them a question. The other person has to answer the question immediately without leaving them enough time to overthink their answer, ensuring the most honest response possible.

As an example, she taps on your hand. “Dave.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your opinion on apple juice?”

“I fucking love it.”

Perfect.” She takes her hand back. “And that’s how you play.”

She calls it a stream of consciousness game.

Depending on how it’s played, it can be very informative or very intimate.

You and Karkat play it in as many ways and as many places as you can.

You’re sitting on the bus with Karkat on the way to Troll Foods.

Tap tap.

Karkat takes out an earbud.

“Do you miss Alternia?”

He blinks, surprised by your question and maybe more surprised by his answer. “Not as much as I thought I would.”

You and Karkat are getting ready to watch a movie.

Tap tap.

“Yeah?”

“How come you’re always wearing shades?”

“Aesthetic.” You shrug. “And my eyes are sensitive, too much light hurts them.”

Tap tap.

“Who do you think would win in a fight, Vampire Vin Diesel or a Werewolf Will Smith?”

“Depends on who bites first.”

Tap tap.

“How much ice cream is too much ice cream?”

“If you buy more than two gallons you don’t get to be in charge of the food budget anymore.”

“What about frozen yogurt?”

“Only two gallons!”

“What if I get two gallons and a pint?”

“Dude, please.”

And on and on like that whenever either of you are particularly bored. You’ll admit, the game is more interesting than you thought it would be.

About a month after you gave Mr. Egbert your clothes, he comes by the apartment with a package for Karkat. You try to take the package from him, but he says he’d prefer to give it to Karkat himself and see him try it on to make sure it fits.

You invite Mr. Egbert inside. “Karkat, John’s dad is here with your suit!”

You hear some thumping in his room, followed by Karkat racing out of his room and to both of you. Karkat’s eyes are huge with excitement as he holds out his hands. Mr. Egbert hands him the package without a word, and Karkat runs back to his room with it.

You wait in the hall with Mr. Egbert while Karkat changes.

“How have you been, Dave?” He asks.

You shrug. “Can’t complain.”

“You’ve been taking care of yourself? Eating well? Sleeping?”

“Yeah.” You nod. Granted, you’re not eating quite as well as he’d want you to, but you have enough ramen to cover three square meals a day and sometimes Karkat tries to make real food. You stare straight ahead at Karkat’s door in case he could tell you’re technically lying. “I think I’ve been doing okay.”

Karkat exits his bedroom, fiddling with a tie that he seems to be struggling to make live up to its name and actually tie.

“Karkat, you look like you’re having trouble with that.” Mr. Egbert gestures for him to come closer. “Let me help you.”

Karkat walks over to him obediently and takes his hands off the tie. Mr. Egbert ties it with deft fingers, tightening and straightening it carefully so it’s perfect.

“There you are.”

“Thank you.” Karkat takes a step back and turns to you. “So? How do I look?”

There’s no other way to describe what he’s wearing other than as a plain old black suit. The buttons and his tie are grey. You note that your iron on ass patch has been removed. It’s a completely normal suit, nothing inherently special about it. But-

“You look amazing.”

He taps your hand.

“Karkat, I mean it, honestly.” You laugh. “Really, you look great. Fucking superb, you’re really rocking the shit out of that suit.”

Karkat’s beaming. God he’s so happy to have this fucking suit. And he should be happy to have it, he does look amazing! Really amazing! Fucking hot, even!

Fucking hot in a totally platonic sense.

Obviously.

“You look good.” Mr. Egbert nods in agreement. “It looks like it fits well.”

“It does.” He’s smiling down at the floor and fidgeting with one of his sleeves. “Thank you.”

“Well, that’s all I came here for, so I suppose I’ll leave you two alone now.” Mr. Egbert announces. “Remember to call me if you need anything.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll walk you out.”

Karkat goes back to his room, probably to change back into his old clothes. “Bye.”

You start walking to the door with him, which is actually a completely unnecessary gesture because you were only like ten feet away from it to begin with.

“So, uh...” you say as you open the door for him, “how much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. The alterations were completely free of charge.”

God, he’s such a horrible liar. But you’re not gonna call him out for it. If he wants to do something nice for you guys then you’re not going to stop him.

You will, however, sneak some money to John to sneak to his dad later.

“Wow, that’s a pretty sweet deal.” You say, pretending to believe his obvious lie. “Thank you for doing this. And hey, come over whenever you want! We’d love to have you over more often.”

“Of course. I might take you up on that, Dave.” He starts to leave, but once he’s halfway out the door he takes a deep breath and turns around again. “I’m glad you’re both doing so well, you and Karkat seem very happy together.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “we are.”

He gives you another quick nod and exits. You close the door as you watch him walk disappear down the hall and to the stairwell.

That was...a weird thing he said just now. A nice sentiment, yeah, but weird as hell. You can’t put your finger on why it was weird, though…

You brush some hair out of your face, and part of your sleeve unrolls and rubs against your face. That’s when you remember that you’re wearing one of Karkat’s sweaters.

Then everything clicks.

You’re wearing Karkat’s clothes. You pretty much told Karkat that you thought he looked hot right to his and Mr. Egbert’s face. Karkat was blushing the whole time like an anime school girl. You gave Karkat the suit as a present.

Oh.

OH.

He thinks you’re dating.

John’s dad...the guy who is probably the closest thing you have to a dad...pretty much just told you he supports your relationship with Karkat. A relationship that you don’t have. Because you don’t have a thing for him at all.

Obviously.

You get another full night of telling yourself that before something else happens to seal your fate.

You’re pulling an all nighter on some homework due Monday that you’d neglected to start sooner. In order to keep yourself awake, you’ve been alternating between downing energy drinks and cups of coffee. At one point you tried to put an energy drink in your coffee, but that tasted like puke and you physically couldn’t bring yourself to choke it down.

Somehow, you manage to finish all of your homework. Granted, it’s mostly half assed and probably wrong, but the point is you’re done with it now and deserve sleep. You get ready for bed, yawning the entire time you do so. God, you’re exhausted.

You yawn again, this time you catch a whiff of your breath and cringe. Your breath smells like shit. If you breathed directly into someone’s face you could probably kill a man. Running your tongue across your teeth verifies that not only is your breath horrible, but your teeth are fuzzy like they’re covered in a layer of moss.

Maybe you should brush your teeth before bed.

You drag your feet towards the bathroom. It’s a little weird that the bathroom door is closed, but you don’t think anything of it until you turn on the light.

“AH!”

“AH!” You cover your eyes and slam the door.

“Why would you just walk in unannounced like that, asshole?”

“Why are you taking a bath with the lights off?”

There’s silence from the other side of the door for a minute. Then Karkat’s voice comes through the door, almost too quiet for you to hear. “Did you come in for something, Dave?”

“Yeah, I...I wanted to brush my teeth before bed. It’ll be a quickie, I promise.”

“You’re just getting to bed?” Karkat asks incredulously. “Dave, what the fuck?”

“Hey, I was doing my homework! What’s your excuse?”

“I have insomnia.”

“Okay, fair.”

He sighs. “You can come in and brush your dirty nubs now if you want. Just don’t look over here.”

“Okay.” You cover your eyes and start opening the door. “I’m coming in.”

Karkat snorts. “Yeah, I know, dunkass.”

You walk in. This time you’re not surprised by the sight of your roommate in a bath. The shower curtain is pulled tightly closed, all that’s visible is Karkat’s silhouette.

Somehow that’s almost worse.

You open the medicine cabinet and pull out the toothpaste and your toothbrush while trying your best to not to so much as glance in his direction. It’s a little more difficult than you were expecting it to be. You can hear the water move, splashing in tiny waves against the porcelain as he shifts into a more comfortable position. You can hear his breathing, his sighs at having to share such a close space with you in what is now definitely an awkward and unwanted moment.

You run your toothbrush under the tap. You continue to try not to look over his way, but you keep just barely catching yourself in the act.

It’s unbearably quiet in here.

“So,” you say casually in an attempt to break the tension, “it smells funky in here.”

Holy shit, was that the best you got? It smells funky in here? What the fuck?

“It’s an Alternian ablution mix.”

Oh, he responded to that stupid thing you said. Nice.

“An ablution mix?” You squirt some toothpaste on the brush. “So like, bath salts or something?”

“It’s closer to bubble bath. Here,” He sticks a wet grey arm out from behind the shower curtain and feels around on the floor before his fingers find a medium sized plastic bottle, “you can read the bottle if you want. There’s an English translation on the side.”

You take it, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on the bathroom door so you don’t accidentally peek anything you’re not supposed to be looking at. You study the bottle while you brush your teeth.

The bottle is clear plastic and filled almost all the way to the top with a vibrant green fluid. It’s a little thicker looking than most bubble bath soaps you’ve seen. The label is extremely colorful, swirled with purples and bright reds and greens that clash and almost hurt your eyes to look directly at. The Alternian on the front is written in bubble letters. Underneath it in a tiny font is the English translation Karkat mentioned in parenthesis.

“Soapor Bubbles.” You mumble around your toothbrush. “Isn’t sopor illegal here?”

“Concentrated sopor in high quantities is, yeah.” Karkat replies. “Which is total hoofbeast shit. It’s a sleeping aid! Just because some people like to ingest it and speed up their pan rotting doesn’t make it a completely harmful substance! But no, humans decided to be idiots about it and make it illegal to use in the way it was intended. Fucking idiots.”

“Okay, so what’s this, then?”

“It’s sopor diluted with some other natural shit for use in ablution traps.” He explains. “The bottle says it’s the highest concentration that’s legally allowed on the planet, or at least on this part of the planet, right now. And using it in a trap like this is supposed to help simulate how it’s used in recuperacoons back on Alternia. I don’t usually give a shit about soporific products because they do absolutely fuck all for me, but this one’s new so I thought I’d try it out.”

“Oh.” You finish brushing your teeth and spit into the sink. “Is it working, then?”

“I don’t know.” Jesus, you can practically hear him roll his eyes. “Some prick interrupted me before I had a chance to relax.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll get out of your ass.” You set the bottle down by the tub. “Goodnight.”

You go straight to your room and collapse onto your bed. You can’t sleep, and not just because of all the caffeine still buzzing through your system.

You can’t stop thinking about Karkat.

That split second where you saw him in the bath.

Okay, you didn’t see much. You saw his chest. But that was more than you’d ever seen before.

His anatomy was a little different than you were expecting, but it shouldn’t have been much of a shock since you’ve seen trolls take their shirts off (and way more) on tv before. It was just...different because it was Karkat’s.

His chest looked so smooth. Part of you wishes you’d touched it.

Another part of you wishes you’d seen more.

You curl up on your bed and groan into a pillow. Fuck, what’s wrong with you?

You’ve been trying to avoid it for a long time now, but you don’t think you can anymore. This isn’t the first image of Karkat you’ve burned into your memory and dwelled on in the middle of the night.

Karkat smiling, his nose wrinkling every time he laughs at something stupid you said or a joke you made. Karkat, chewing on his bottom lip and brow furrowed in concentration, eyes out of focus as he’s completely lost in thought. Karkat rolling up his sleeves up to his elbows before he works on anything.

Karkat, wearing a suit for the first time, face flushed with excitement and embarrassment and asking you how he looks.

And now this.

No, tonight wasn’t the first time you’ve thought about Karkat in a way that’s more than strictly friendly. Tonight’s experience was just more potent than they’ve ever been before.

You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t think this was a long time coming. This whole time, you’ve just barely been keeping the floodwaters of your feelings at bay, but this was the sudden crack that broke the dam. Now they’re all spilling out of your subconscious mind and filling you up so you have no choice but to admit it.

You really do have a thing for Karkat.

Even though you’ve finally admitted your feelings to yourself, you manage to keep from revealing them to anyone else. You don’t tell John, you don’t say shit to Rose, and you definitely don’t mention anything to Karkat. Instead you keep it cool and act normal, as if nothing’s changed at all. Because really, what has?

You became aware of feelings you already had for Karkat. Literally nothing is different now.

And for a few weeks, nothing changes.

Saturday Movie Night begins as normal. You and Karkat go to your local movie rental joint (gotta support your dying local businesses, you know how it is) and pick out a couple flicks. Karkat tells you you’re not allowed to pick The Room three times in a fucking row or he’ll blow his gasket all over this place and you’ll have to bleach all the gunk out of this shitty retro carpeting. You then ask him if gasket was his code for his troll load or what because that’s indecent as hell and probably illegal, Karkat, you could get arrested for that. Then you pick out another movie.

You both head on home with your movies, talking and figuring out which movie you’re going to watch first and what snacks you would have with it, since you’d gone grocery shopping a couple days prior. But when you round the street corner and saw your building, your plans for the night were put on hold.

From what you could see, there were no lights on in the whole building.

“Well that’s not frightening at all.” You comment.

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Here, you big wriggler. Take my hand, I’ll lead you through the darkness and to the relative safety of our hive.”

You grab his hand. “My hero.”

Karkat leads you through the dark building and up the stairs to your apartment. Thank god for Karkat’s nocturnal vision. He opens the door, and just for good measure you try to turn the lights on. Of course, they stay off.

“Jesus, I think we’re having a building wide blackout.” You sigh. “Guess movie night’s cancelled this week.”

“This is a crockpot full of slow cooked shit.”

“I totally agree. We should probably hole up in the living room til the electricity’s back. You head over there, I’m gonna go find some candles.”

You use the flashlight on your phone to help you navigate to the closet. You find about two big candles and one of those little tea light candles held inside a little ceramic jack-o-lantern. You gather them all up and start heading towards the living room, still using your phone as a guide.

Karkat is sitting on the floor and holding a tub of ice cream on his lap.

You set the candles down on the table. “Dude, what the fuck are you doing?”

“If the electricity’s out, this shit’s gonna melt to a soupy waste in a few hours. We need to get our money’s worth out of this.” He shoves a spoon into the ice cream. “There’s another in the freezer if you want to get started on it.”

“Damn, sounds like I might have to.” You dig a lighter out of your pocket and toss it over to him. “Light these, alright?”

You head towards the kitchen. Just as Karkat said, there’s another gallon of ice cream in the freezer. You pop the lid off and stab a spoon into the full carton.

There’s light when you walk back into the living room. The radius is small, but the light bathes what little of the room it reaches with a warm, soothing glow. You can see Karkat better now. He’s sitting right beside one of the candles, his face caressed by the soft light.

Seems like everything you heard about candle light being romantic as fuck was correct.

You swallow and tell your heart to calm the hell down. Karkat’s literally sitting on the floor eating a gallon of ice cream. What is there to freak out about? Stop it.

You sit down on the floor across from him and break into your ice cream. “I told you two gallons was way more than enough.”

“I still disagree.” Karkat says, shoveling more ice cream into his mouth. “We could’ve gotten more.”

“You’re really gonna say that? Take a look at our current situation. How the fuck would more ice cream be beneficial to us right now? The only way I could think to make this predicament any fucking worse than it already is is if we added more ticking dairy soup bombs into the mix.”

“More ice cream would only be a negative in this exact situation.” He counters. “Just how many more times do you think this kind of dumb shit is going to happen? Unless your answer is once every fucking week for the rest of our god awful lives, then I’ll accept that as a legitimate argument. Until then, shut the fuck up and eat your ice cream.”

“I think you might have a legit problem with ice cream.”

He pops the spoon out of his mouth. “No.”

“Fantastic counter argument. I have no rebuttal to that.”

You both keep eating the ice cream. You’re honestly getting no joy out of this whatsoever and are only eating it to prevent having to deal with a big puddle of rancid milk later. Honestly, after this you’re probably never gonna want to eat ice cream again.

You get a good way through the gallon before you have to stop.

“Karkat,” you groan as you flop onto the ground and hold your stomach, “I can’t go on. I’m dying. You’ll have to carry on for the both of us. Here,” you slide your ice cream closer to him with your foot, “take it. I believe in you and your weird alien dairy absorbing biology.”

He rolls his eyes at you again. “You’re such a fucking grub, Dave. What, you ate too much sweetened cow juice and now you have to take a nap because you gave yourself a tummy ache scorfing it down too fast?”

You nod. “Yes, exactly that.”

“Lightweight.” He scoffs as he lays down on the carpet next to you. “At this rate we’re never gonna get through all this ice cream before it melts into garbage.”

“Yeah, especially with you apparently tapping out, you ice cream monster.”

“Hey, you quit first.”

You both lay there on the floor next to each other. You watch the light from the candles shifting on the ceiling. The movement is almost hypnotic, it takes your mind off of all the ice cream in your stomach, at least.

There’s a soft tap tap on the back of your hand. “Yeah?”

“Have you ever been in love, Dave?”

“Jesus,” you laugh out of shock and turn your face to him, “what the fuck brought that on?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I was just wondering, I guess.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve had crushes before, and I’ve dated some. But...I don’t think I’ve been in love before.”

You tap tap on Karkat’s hand. “What about you? Have you ever been in love?”

“Fuck, yes. I fall in love all the time. Constantly.”

You tap tap on his hand again. “Are you in love now?”

He blushes. A small smile spreads across his face. “ Maybe. I don’t know for sure.”

Maybe. Your heart sinks a little.

You hate yourself for it. You should be happy for Karkat! He’s your friend! He might be in love and that’s great.

It’s great.

Tap tap.

“Are you okay, Dave?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Stomach’s mellowing out, I think.”

He frowns. You both know that’s not what he meant. You clearly had something on your mind. But technically you answered his question, and there’s nothing he can do about that.

Tap tap.

“Karkat, do you really think there’s any way we can eat all this ice cream?”

“Fuck no, but I’m ready to do it or die trying.”

You laugh. “Okay, I can get behind that. I think I can try eating some again. Switch ice creams with me?”

“Yeah, okay.” He sits up and trades ice creams with you.

You sit up and take small, experimental tastes of Karkat’s. Your stomach protests a bit, but not as badly as before. This is definitely something you’ll regret in the morning.

Tap tap.

“What’s your opinion on chocolate ice cream?”

“Honestly? A little overrated. It’s alright, but out of the three classic flavors, it’s the shittiest.”

On and on, your night continues like this. You eat your ice cream, ask questions, lay on the floor. Time doesn’t feel like it’s moving, but your phone with its dwindling battery life and the dripping wax of the candles says otherwise.

Tap tap.

“When’s the last serious relationship you’ve had?”

“Define serious.”

“Seven months or longer.”

“Fucking never, then, I guess.”

Tap tap.

“You ever had a relationship you regretted?”

“Most of them.” Karkat replies immediately. “Probably Sollux the most. We were on and off during high school, and that was mostly my fault. I wasn’t sure what I wanted with him, my emotions were spread all over the goddamn grid like the lines weren’t even there.”

“Are you on with him now?”

“No. We split up a few weeks before graduation. We’re still friends, but I think we’re going to be staying off from now on.”

Tap tap.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“The greatest rapper/film director who ever lived.”

“Realistically.”

“An archeologist.”

Tap tap.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A film critic.”

“Realistically.”

“A failed critic.”

Tap tap.

“Did you ever think we would be friends, Dave?”

“Honestly? Not really.”

Tap tap.

“What was your worst heartbreak?”

“Wow, clearly I’ve been going easy on you.” Karkat laughs.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Yes I do.” He replies. “And it’s alright, it was awhile ago I don’t really give a shit about it anymore.”

“Alright, if you say so.”

“It was the end of our sophomore year of high school. At this point I’d known John for roughly a whole sweep. I...developed a crush on him pretty early on-”

“-uh, yeah, I’d say. It was pretty damn obvious. Everyone and their fucking mom knew that.”

“-shut up! Do you want to hear my story or not?”

“Sorry, yeah. Continue.”

“The last week of school, I convinced myself it was the perfect time to uh...confess my feelings to him. I spent most of the week going over what I would say in my head. I had this whole horrible confession memorized. I almost recited a poem, but I decided against it and fuck, that was the best decision I ever made. I even went through different scenarios in my head over how I thought he might react. Good ones where he said yes and agreed to a date with me immediately, and bad ones where he outright rejected me.”

“Sounds like you were prepared.”

“Yeah, I thought I was. But of course, since life seems to enjoy fucking me over in the most sadistic way imaginable, I wasn’t prepared for what ended up happening.”

“What’d he say?”

“I don’t remember exactly what he said anymore, but it was along the lines of ‘thanks I guess’. Then he left.”

“Whoa, wait, what the fuck? He just left? You were like ‘hey, I love you’ and he was like ‘cool, peace out’? What the fuck?”

“That’s exactly what I thought! I mean, we’ve talked about it since then and I get it now but at the time I just kept thinking ‘What the fuck? What did I do wrong?’ and I spent the whole summer holed up in my hive replaying it over and over and whining to anyone who listened.”

“That’s...wow. That was harsh.”

So that’s what happened to Karkat that summer. And you guess that explains why he was so freaked out that one time he saw John that summer at the gas station. God, you feel like such an asshole for being happy to not have him around at the time.

“Before you try to ask me about my worst heartbreak, same.”

“Same?”

“John. Same.”

“You can’t just say same! That’s not a real answer!”

“It is if I say it is.” You counter, grinning. “Same.”

“Fine. Fine, whatever.” Karkat huffs. “I have no question, then.”

“It’s cool, I got one.”

Tap tap.

“Karkat,” whether it’s a whim, or because you can’t stop thinking about why Karkat would start a game with a question about your love life, or because you simply can’t hold yourself back anymore, you somehow ask an impossible question, “do you like me.”

His anwer’s immediate. “Yes.”

“No, I mean…” god, this is embarrassing, “do you like like me?”

He bursts out laughing. “Dave, what the hell? Are you twelve?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah,” Karkat admits. He rolls his eyes again, but the gesture’s ineffective because of his big goofy smile and the blush creeping across his face, “I like like you. I like like you a lot.”

Tap tap.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Dammit, Dave, don’t be difficult!” Karkat bangs a fist against your chest lightly. “Do you like like me, too, or not?”

“Of course I like like you, too.” You’re smiling like an idiot. “I can’t believe you even felt like you had to ask that.”

“Well, you did!” He counters, as if his feelings for you had been obvious.

Fuck, maybe they had been and you were just too blinded trying to hide your own feelings that you hadn’t even noticed.

Tap tap.

“When’s the last time you kissed someone?”

Karkat gives you a devious look. “It’s been awhile.”

“Do you want to change that?”

“Fuck, yes.”

And that’s all the coercement you need. You practically fling yourself at Karkat, bumping your faces together in a way that is both embarrassing and slightly painful. Your shared eagerness and awkwardness makes you both laugh. Through a fit of giggles, your lips finally meet his.

His mouth is sweet and sticky and feels warm pressed against yours. It’s amazing.

It lasts all of three seconds before you both pull away. You can’t concentrate on trying to kiss him because you can’t believe this is happening. You’re both still laughing. Karkat gives you another quick peck before nuzzling his face into your neck. His face is warm against your skin. He tap taps against your chest.

“So you really like me?”

“Karkat, holy shit.” You laugh. “We just kissed! You really think you have to ask me that?”

“Shut the fuck up and answer my question, asshole.”

“Yes, Karkat, I like you.” You can’t stop smiling, it feels so good to say. “I really do.”

It’s a good night.

You wake up to banging at your front door and a sour feeling in your stomach. That would be all the ice cream. You crack open an eye and everything is so bright you have to squint.

All the lights are on. “Oh, sweet, the electricity’s back.”

You sit up and stretch a bit because fuck, your back is sore as shit. It feels like someone’s been tap dancing a lively jig across your spine all night long. As you stretch, you notice something beside you stir.

It’s Karkat, fast asleep on the floor in an almost fetal position. Just looking at him and remembering what happened last night is enough to bring a smile to your face. He looks so sweet, asleep like that. Speaking of sweet…

Seems like you and Karkat didn’t accomplish last night’s goal of saving the ice cream from soupification. Over half of it went to waste after all.

Oh well, can’t win them all.

Karkat’s snoring, you’re not sure how you didn’t notice that before. It’s not a bad sound, but it’s loud. Probably explains why you didn’t hear the knocking at first.

Right, the door.

You scramble to your feet and fling it open.

There stands Rose, well dressed and annoyed.

“Fuck, I missed brunch!”

She nods. “You missed brunch.”

“God, Rose, I’m so sorry,” you run a hand through your messy and currently kind of greasy hair, “there was a blackout last night so my phone’s been dead for awhile and my alarm’s on my phone so it didn’t go off and I didn’t wake up but fuck that’s no real excuse it’s an explanation at best I’m sorry.”

Rose sighs. “You can tell me all about how you managed to miss brunch at our impromptu early to moderately timed lunch. Go get changed into something presentable, I’ll wait.”

“Okay, cool.” You nod and let her inside. “Thanks, I’ll be quick.”

You run to your room just as Rose explores Karkat in the remains of last night’s events. Knowing Rose, she’ll probably wake Karkat up. As you pull on one of his sweaters, you wonder if he’ll tell her about anything that happened the night before.

“DAVE AND I KISSED YESTERDAY!”

Well, that answers that.

You run a comb through your hair and head back to the living room. Rose is grinning smugly at you.

“What happened to ‘I don’t have a crush on Karkat’?”

You shrug. “Lied. Ready to go?”

“Yes.” She nods before glancing over to Karkat. “You should invite your boyfriend out to lunch with us, Dave. Clearly we have a lot to talk about.”

Rose exits, leaving you to ask Karkat by yourself.

“So, uh…” you stare awkwardly at your feet, “lunch?”

He snorts. “Sure.”

You wait for him to get changed into something that isn’t last night’s clothes. It doesn’t take him very long, especially since he left his hair as is.

“Can you believe Rose just technically arranged our first date?” You say incredulously as you lock the door behind you.

“I can’t believe she called me your boyfriend” Karkat counters as you walk down the hall together.

“Well you are, aren’t you?”

It only seems to strike him then that this is true. He smiles.

“Yeah,” Karkat takes your hand and squeezes it tightly, “I guess I am.”

#happy birthday like a week late!!!#lmao but seriously I hope you like this part!#there's still one more to go after this lmao #yo it's a fic and I wrote it

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apocvlypsed · 6 years

Text

( wiz khalifa vc ) yeah... uh huh, u know what it is -- linc is addicted 2 bringing new muses !

hello hello my loves, i present to you my socal sweetheart, shiloh correia! tap the clickity click to read more about this chill dude !!

reece king. — oh, have you met shiloh correia? he is a twenty two year old cis male that is feeling phlegmatic about the planet’s imminent doom. a gym receptionist, this leo is known around town as the viscerotonic, because he is bona fide & mellow, as well as distrait & extemporaneous. hopefully, loh will survive.

alright here we go: a very rushed, disorganized draft of his background because i have to leave for a doc’s appointment soon!! ( tw for illness, mentions of possible death, mentions of hospitals, mentions of homophobia )

backstory:

his name is shiloh, he's 22, and he works as a receptionist at the local boujee gym!! he moved to hawley when he was 19ish because he was in pittsburgh for testing and like... decided he might as well stay in the area a while to escape his smothering family?

born & raised in los angeles, so he's got one of those very chill, relaxed personalities. like... someone spills coffee on him? 'it's cool, man, really. good fashion statement.' survive a 5-year battle with leukemia? 'awesome, great, thanks doc.' just... very easy-breezy, chill vibes. he can often be misinterpreted as caring too little, but he’s just a very serene soul.

he kinda didn't have much of a real childhood after he got diagnosed with leukemia when he was 13. he was in and out of the hospital for a couple years before things got to be too taxing on his parents, and they sent him to a live-in treatment center shortly after his 15th birthday. they couldn’t handle Seeing Him Like That when things took a turn, but they said the real reason was the transit bills. going back and forth added up so much, and with not a lot of money to spare, it was too much for them to shoulder. shiloh didn’t question it because like... he knew how hard this was on his parents and younger sisters, he could see it. it saddened him to go to this treatment center though, because every shred of normalcy was ripped away. he could no longer go to school when he felt up for it -- his parents suggested getting lessons at the center, but shiloh insisted on staying enrolled at his high school. he learned mainly through emails and work brought to him by his friend elijah.

his younger sisters ( twins, sara & mackenzie, about 8 at the time ) would visit him in the center because they missed him? shiloh was very ill, but his siblings would take the bus across thecity and bring books for him to read to them like how he did at home. so this 15-16 y/o kid would be hooked up to chemo, literally reading harry potter quietly to his little sisters, making sure to do every single silly character voice, and look at them to gasp at the scary parts. admittedly he was quite low energy, but he put considerable effort into seeming 100% for them, so they wouldn’t worry. ( one time sarah asked him if he was going to come home sometime soon, and saying he didn’t know literally broke shiloh’s heart. after they left, he cried a lot. )

that’s kind of shiloh in a nutshell too. going above and beyond for others, not quite at what he would call his expense because it doesn’t bother him... but it kind of is at his expense in instances where he was ill and he pushed himself to extremes to quell peoples’ worries. he’s always been a charitable soul.

he returned home when he was 17, successfully in remission, and he would spend every waking moment with his sisters when he wasn’t at school. but remission was short-lived. he was at a party with his best friend elijah when the nausea and nosebleeds hit, and his classmate delayed calling an ambulance until all the alcohol was hidden. during that delay, shiloh lost consciousness. elijah fought his way into the ambulance. he held shiloh’s hand all the way there, right until the moment he woke up.

treatment gradually picked up again. some chemo visits turned into constant returns to the hospital. shiloh picked up pneumonia at one point, and school was just out of the question. elijah visited him on weekdays and his parents on weekends, so it worked for a bit, keeping their relationship masked. linking fingers in the stupid hospital hallway, taking slow walks along the terrace. but then shiloh’s family surprised him on his birthday. so did elijah. and it was a mess.

after elijah left, his parents were basically like, ‘we love you, but no. no. you can’t be This and That. you can’t be both.’ meaning sick and gay. his mother spent an extra hour there lecturing shiloh and crying about how the doctors said his prognosis wasn’t looking good, why would he do this to himself if he knew he could be passing soon? why would her boy purposefully deny himself entry to heaven? shiloh should have been angry, livid. but he... wasn’t. his natural disposition wasn’t conducive to getting defensive and he just didn’t have that kind of energy in him. so he just sat in his hospital bed and listened to his mother crying and cursing him, cursing their situation, praying to god for forgiveness on his behalf. when she finished, he offered her a tiny, tired smile. he squeezed her hand and murmured, “thanks ma.” after she left, shiloh had to sit with that. all of what she’d said. and it kind of changed his attitude about the leukemia. his test results came back worse, and things took another, more drastic hit. things really got bad for the subsequent six months. it was a rapid decline, probably the worst he’d ever experienced over the course of his illness. he couldn’t be as sociable, or as vibrant. smiles of ease became grimaces because no amount of painkillers could keep him comfortable. one time, when his sisters came to visit, he stood up to bring them to the cafeteria for ice cream and fainted in front of them. he slept for days, but the bags under his eyes never ceased. he got thinner. his hands shook when he held elijah’s hand. and for the first time in all of this, shiloh realized he truly might not make it.

elijah kept things normal. well. as normal as they could be. aside from a quiet “how’s it going?” and a couple minutes of leukemia-talk, they’d indulge in other things. watching netflix curled up in shiloh’s bed. sneaking peanut m&ms in for shiloh. bringing homework because shiloh insisted he was going to graduate that year, with elijah, with their friends. sometimes elijah’s visits consisted of watching shiloh sleep. and that was fine. every time that happened, he’d leave a note, so shiloh knew he’d stopped by.

if asked now, shiloh wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the day when things stopped getting worse and started getting better. maybe it had something to do with elijah asking him to their own prom and getting the nursing staff in on it. maybe it had something to do with being able to leave the care center, just for the night, and forget that his own body was the enemy.

on his 18th birthday, shiloh no longer looked like a shadow of himself. he looked healthier -- not 100%, but certainly not as terrible as before. “you look hot,” was elijah’s response when he came in after a week of not visiting -- training for soccer, he’d said -- and shiloh greeted him with a smile that was, for the last few months, unusually void of pain.

on a warm, golden march day, shiloh got results of his blood test saying he was officially in remission for a second time. and god, it felt so good. so freeing. he pushed through the last of his graduation requirement and was able to walk with his class to receive an honorary diploma -- his real one came two months later, after completing some online courses.)

naturally, he and elijah broke up so they could venture off and do their own things. shiloh didn’t want to be a burden. elijah went to school abroad. they still talk sometimes.

the correia’s, however, are worriers. they weren’t convinced that shiloh was alright, that he could go off somewhere far away and come back in one piece. so they spoke to his aunt and uncle in pittsburgh, pa and worked out a deal -- he could go stay with them for the summer working for their law firm. the east coast had better treatment if he ever needed it during that timeframe. but at the end of the summer, they expected shiloh back in la with them.

there were a few scares in pittsburgh, but the bloodwork never showed any dangerous levels that couldn’t be fixed by some isolated treatment, or rest. by his 19th birthday, shiloh had been steadily in remission for half a year. aside from some long-term side effects from treatments, he experienced no lingering discomfort.

while browsing the welcome center at the airport, waiting for his flight home, shiloh stumbled upon a brochure for a small town called hawley and just... fell in love with the way snow dusted the small streets in the cover photo? the freshness of the air, or how the pamphlet described it, at least. so he called his parents and spoke through their protests. “ma, dad... i’m gonna stay out here a while.” and then when his mother attempted to power scold her way into getting her son home, he hung up the phone.

he moved into a small studio apartment and landed a job as the receptionist at the local upscale gym! he honestly adores his job. sometimes dealing with stella from yoga is a bit much, but the contact and the stories he hears... it’s worth it. plus, the gym is super awesome and there might be a cute boy there he’s kinda into, on the down-low. ;)

shiloh’s just very easygoing and can converse with anyone. he’s agreeable and it takes a lot for him to get offended because honestly, everything kind of pales in comparison when you’ve barely survived your own body attacking itself.

he lives paycheck to paycheck most of the time. gladly. he’s enjoying his simple life, his normal life, existing without being tethered to wires and tubes and hospital cleaning smells. he probably always burns sweet-smelling candles because the scent of those hospital rooms is kind of ingrained in his memory. he just... he loves absorbing it all. the mid-afternoon sun, the silly coffee shop people, the way the panels of hawley sidewalks don’t always align just right. he’s thriving here, just breathing minute to minute.

headcanons

all in all, he’s very unbothered by the asteroid because he just... feels so lucky to be here? and he can’t change anything about a big rock careening toward the planet. so he’ll enjoy his time and not worry about it. because worrying is forfeiting valuable time he can just be spending having a laugh or enjoying the fresh air.

he’ll say he doesn’t care about snapchat streaks but then bombard you if your streak is in danger.

he sings! he’ll like, loop piano chords and a mellow beat and make up some r&b song about the pasta he’s making for dinner. he sounds like... a mix between daniel caesar and kevin garrett. just v chill and like warm honey. he can also lowkey rap really well but... shh... it’s a secret.

he kinda dresses very stereotypically la despite being in pennsylvania now? a lot of basics with loud details. he also really likes painting his nails in those cool holographic colors? yee

the first thing he did when he moved to pittsburgh was teach himself how to cook super well because he needed to make up for all the Shit he ate while in treatment. so get ready... ya boy’s gonna make you a masterpiece for dinner !

definitely doesn’t mention his illness a lot. his parents are constantly calling worried about the status of his remission so like... if someone acts really worried he’ll be like, “i’m fine, no symptoms, chill” and not even realize he didn’t tell them about his past. he’s just... all about living in the moment so things get lost in the shuffle.

he shamelessly plays words with friends while at the reception desk. pls tell him a good 4-letter word he can make with Z, K, I, and N bc he is struggling.

his footsteps are straight up silent. he moves so gracefully like.... he could sneak up on even the most alert people, and it’s mostly always by accident. he’s just got that calm air about him where he commands attention but in a subtle way. so people won’t notice him enter the room, but they will be locked in by his intrigue once he’s inside.

“pls remember to hydrate today xo” -- an actual text from shiloh correia.

he wears a LOT of hoodies layered with denim jackets. don’t judge him, it’s COLD here !!! (he says when it’s like... literally 60 degrees out... yikessss.

refuses to buy snow boots. his combats will suffice. and tbh buying snow boots feels like admitting defeat? even tho he chose to live here? he doesn’t want to seem like that wimp cali boy that can’t handle the northeast. *cue shiloh buying yet another heated blanket*

never learned how to drive?? so that’s super fun ! someone try to teach him, i’ll cry

as for connections, like.. anything? he’s been here for a solid 3 years, so there’s def potential for lots of stuff! aight i gotta run but i will be on mobile/discord !! pls come love me, i love u xoxo

#hawley:intro #҉ greetings & salutations ! intro.#҉ tell me pretty lies ! shiloh.#illness tw #homophobia tw

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