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experimentaldata · 4 years

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When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go

A Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood fic. 2748 words. Rated T - Smoking and alcohol mentions, war mention, mild language. Set in Season 1 roughly, pre Maes-Hughes-you know what.

6:00 PM = Ed

It was raining again. He hated the rain.

Not as much as the Colonel, of course. It’s not like it rendered him totally useless. But losing his limbs had turned him into a human barometer. Each drop in the pressure meant that his stumps ached, and the the pain usually lasted until the weather changed. He’d woken up the night before from the pain, then slept uneasily until it was time to report for duty that morning, careful not to stir. He didn’t want Al to see how much it hurt him. Al had enough to worry about as it was. And he’d only blame himself. Ed could see the looks Al gave him when he thought he wasn’t looking. So he’d stayed still, and gotten up like he normally did, exuding only his typical amount of grumpiness. Thankfully, their day hadn’t involved a lot of moving around. They’d spent it in the East City library, reading and re-reading alchemy texts until Ed’s eyes ached almost as much as his arm and leg. Lieutenant Hawkeye had borrowed the Colonel’s car to drive them back to their hotel room, and left them with a picnic box for dinner, courtesy of the Hughes.

Ed ate the entire crock of chicken soup and four whole wheat rolls despite himself. It had been a long day, and the warmth from the food sank into every crevice, warming him inside and out. He described the taste to Al, who added it to the “to eat after my body’s back” list. The pain receded to the background as he ate. In its absence, he felt hollowed out - the tension keeping him on alert had finally let loose. Then it hit him. The wall he had held up all day against fatigue was finally breached. That darned soup. He told Al not to wait up for him, he was just gonna finish some research in their room. And he tried, he really did. Sprawled out on the bed, his jacked and boots tossed over the chair in the corner, he willed his eyes to stay open. Just one more page. Maybe chaper 5 of Complete Biological Processes for Alchemists would have the answer. Maybe if he held his head up. Loosened his collar. Put his head on his arm. Rested his eyes just for a second.

8:00 = Al

Al hadn’t heard from Ed in awhile. He wondered how long it would take him to fall asleep. Ed thought he could hide it, but Al knew it had been a bad pain day. He always knew. It must’ve been really bad for him to go to bed this early--usually he stayed up at least until he had eaten dessert. The double slice of cherry pie Mrs. Hughes had packed was still on the table though, next to the bottle of milk, both untouched. Al could only imagine how warm and fragrant that pie was. He scribbled a note about it in his food journal, then went to go check on his brother. As he suspected, Ed was sprawled out face-down on the bed, his head laying on his right arm. His shirt was hiked up a bit from tossing and turning, and one of his socks had fallen to the floor. Al shook his head. Sleeping with his tummy out again. And no blanket. He crossed the room softly and laid the blanket from his bed over his brother. Ed didn’t move. Out like a light, he thought.

He sat down in the chair by Ed’s bedside. It would be nice to sleep himself. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to fall asleep. He remembered so much about what it was like to have a body - he could imagine the taste of foods he’d tried before, the feeling of his favorite clothes and blankets, even smells he liked. Falling asleep, however, was a memory that eluded him - it was something you felt by not feeling anything, after all. But about a year into heir quest to get their bodies back, he had developed a work-around. He couldn’t sleep anymore, at least not like other people. But he could dream. It had started as small bursts of deja vu during the lonely nights he spent watching over Ed. Over time, he had figured out how to enter his memories at will each night, reliving them in a daze until he lost track of time. It wasn’t quite as good as sleeping, but it took him away from this body, and this strange place they were living, if only for a few hours. He leaned back in his chair and looked inward, calling up whatever memory his soul decided to play back for him tonight. And then Winry walked into the classroom, and those boys were teasing her, and he was telling Ed not to--

10:00 = Riza

Riza felt like a frayed rope. The week had been meetings on top of PT exams on top of paperwork Roy forgot to file. She’d strangle that man, Colonel or not, one of these days. All he had to do was sign his name and save the both of them from a week of heartache and a note to his file. But that might get in the way of his sucking-up time. Stupid state dinners, that sort of thing, she thought with a laugh. She poured herself another ounce of bourbon and sighed. It was getting late. Black Hayate was curled up in her lap, twitching in his sleep every so often. Probably hunting rabbits in his sleep, she thought with a smile. At least one man in my life never lets me down.

She took a long sip of her drink and sighed, letting her head sink into the back of the chair. No end in sight to all this chaos. Roy’s ambitions of becoming Fuhrer and current position as colonel meant he was forever in strategy meetings, personnel conferences, and diplomatic events. And he always wanted the hawk’s eye there to watch his back. She could read a room faster than he could blink, and their five-minute post-meeting conferences proved more useful than weeks of departmental consulting. Never mind that she had her own men to attend to, and that she was stuck cleaning up the mess after Roy was inevitably late with something, again. And he wonders why I drink, she thought. Well, that was one reason. There were other reasons why she needed help from a bottle to sleep at night. But she wasn’t going to dwell on that. No need to remember the past, in all its technicolor gore and misery. That was then. This was now. Now was a fireplace, and an armchair, and Black Hayate snoring, and her clock chiming - ten o’clock already? Better head to bed, then. Early morning PT drill tomorrow, and she had some new recruits to beat some sense into. Slowly, she peeled herself up from her chair, swaying slightly as Black Hayate jumped down off her lap. She laughed at his little sleepy whine and--was that a hiccough? Damn. She’d had more than she thought. Oh well. Her head was going to hurt tomorrow regardless. She slunk back to her bedroom, undressed down to her undershirt and threw herself into bed.

12:00 = Jean

What a night. First the cafe, a delectable steak and an even more delectable date. Damn, he thought, flipping over onto his back and pulling the blanket up. She was so hot. His eyes danced across the void of the ceiling as he traced the memory. From the cafe to that dive bar, where she had impressed him with both the quality of her conversation and the quantity of shots she could take down. She could drink him under the table, he thought, if they were going for that. But this was a Thursday night, so they left the bar and went instead to...a dance hall. Jean wasn’t exactly sure how that had happened. But he was sure of how he felt watching her move through the crowd. She had waist-length hair that tumbled down in waves to her waist, swaying as she did in time to the music. He chuckled to himself, and kicked his feet out from under the blanket. Still feeling the warmth from that one, he thought. He hadn’t wanted that night to end. But by eleven, the weeknight crowd had started to thin out, and in the absence of its energy, their conversation had stalled. A few minutes later, he was waving sadly at the bus as she sped off to her apartment. He stumbled back to his, alone.

He didn’t know what it was about him. Every date he had had for the past long while started out well enough. They would talk, offer a cigarette, maybe get a coffee. Something would spark. They’d go out. And at about the 6-hour-of-acquaintance mark, she’d mumble some excuse about an early morning shift, or an elderly aunt, or...he thought one girl had even made up a kid sister she needed to babysit. Regardless, they’d thank him for the lovely evening, and there he’d be. Sleeping alone, like he always did. He heard the clock in his neighbor’s apartment strike midnight. Tomorrow morning was gonna be rough, he thought. He had to report at--0400? 0430? Sometime. The lieutenant would have his head on a plate if he was late one more time. Sleep. Now. Gotta focus on not focusing, Jean. Don’t focus on falling asleep. Just let it happen. Just breathe. In and out. In. Out. in. out. in...out...

2:00 = Gracia

Being a mom is hard work, Gracia’s mother had told her. She remembered it well. That day when they had finally made it to her family’s hometown, six months after they found out they were going to have Elysia. Her mom had thrown a big party at her childhood home, and invited all the surrounding friends and relations to stuff themselves on her home cooking and wish the newlyweds well. Gracia joked that she was trying to make everyone as fat-looking as she was to save face. Her mom had just laughed. And that’s when she told her, her eyes blinking back proud tears, how hard it was to be a mom, and how proud she was that Gracia was going to be one. It was one of her favorite memories of her mother. Her mother lived just long enough after that to see her granddaughter one time, on her first birthday. Three generations of her family were under the same roof, for the first and last time she could remember. It was heavenly. With her mother there, it seemed like nothing could go wrong.

What she wouldn’t give for some of that magical mom power right now, she thought. She could see Elysia’s outline in the doorway, lit from behind by the hall nightlight. Somehow she had woken up right as her daughter crossed the threshold of their room, though she couldn’t hear anything over Maes’ snoring. Must be that special sixth sense moms get. Elysia had thrown up, it turned out. Her little face was stained with tears. She had tried to clean it up herself with her blanket, then stood in the doorway until mommy woke up. She knew she would. She was right. One set of fresh sheets, a warm washcloth, and a changed nightgown later, and her baby girl was tucked into bed again. She looked up at her mother and tugged at her sleeve. Would mommy sleep with her tonight? Gracia sighed. Between the kicking, the stuffed animal tossing, and the sleep talking (she inherited this from her father), sleeping with mommy meant mommy not sleeping much at all. But those brown eyes looked up at her, and Gracia melted the same as she did the first time she saw them. Yes, mommy will sleep here tonight. And now, installed in the toddler bed with her daughter’s feet planted in the small of her back, there was nowhere else she’s rather be.

4:00 = Pinako

Old age changes a person. It used to be, Pinako thought, shifting to her left side, that she could just look at a bed and fall asleep. A lifetime of hard work will do that to you. She had proudly worked her way through four years of uni, two more of automail training, and another two of apprenticeship without ever missing a night. Early mornings were when she got her best thinking done, anyway. And that’s how it had been for the past forty years. But as she neared seventy, things were changing. She slept fitfully now. Every small noise might wake her up, even the ones she was used to. Tonight, it was the dog barking at heaven only know’s what. She muttered some choice words and eased herself off of the bed. Better go shut that dog up before he wakes up anyone else.

She found the dog on the porch, holding the freshly-killed mouse he had caught in his mouth. More like a cat, that one was. Well, it was good for him to earn his keep. She patted him on the head and sat down in her rocking chair. She had left her pipe on the end table beside it. Hmph. Getting forgetful in her old age as well as sleepless, she thought. She tamped down the bowl and lighted her pipe, blowing a test smoke ring out into the starry night sky. Yep, still got it. She smiled contentedly and smoked for awhile, the dog curled at her feet. It was quiet out here. A light breeze whispered in the apple trees her and Yuriy had planted so long ago. The pipe got a little too warm, so she set it down and just rocked for a while. Maybe I should just stay out here tonight, she thought. Not like I was getting much sleeping done inside. It was going to be time to get up in a few hours, anyway. Just stay here, keep rocking. Let the wind blow. Stay quiet. Be still. Rock back. And forth. and back. and forth.

6:00 = Roy

Ishval. All he ever thought about these days was Ishval. The rain wasn’t helping. He had been stuck inside going to meetings all week. Mind-numbing stuff. This is not why he’d signed up to be a state alchemist. All these meetings and paperwork were getting in the way of...what? Sometimes, if he was being honest, Roy didn’t really know. At first, the path had been clear. Take this job, accept this assignment, fill out these forms. Drag yourself through enough mud, they’d assured him, and your gilded cage was waiting for you at the end. So he had, in central command, then at Briggs, and then - Ishval. There were some things you just couldn’t unsee, things that played out again and again on the blank wall you were staring at, trying desperately to put out the fires in your mind so you could sleep.

Tonight, it was the hospital camp they had taken, early on in the conflict. His superior officer assured him that the wounded were to be taken alive, as prisoners, unless absolutely necessary for the safety of their men. The position they held was valuable, and wounded Ishvalans didn’t pose much of a threat. But of course there’d been complications. It was an ambush. The rebel troops burst at them from all directions, and the order was given to light up the camp. Together, he and Kimblee had reduced the entire area to ash and rubble. They’d celebrated that victory that night, bits of wheelchairs and stretchers littering the ground around their bonfire. Another victory like that might have killed him.

Roy rolled over to his other side and willed himself to close his eyes. He hadn’t slept a wink all night. Make that the past three nights. Damn, this rain had to stop. He could hear it pattering merrily on the windowsill outside, mocking him. He felt so useless in the rain. Lately, he’d felt useless anywhere. What was this all even for? What was he trying to do? Could a country like Amestris really be saved? Could it come back from the brink of destruction? Could it ever atone for Ishval?

Just as his mind had given up trying to solve that conundrum, he jerked awake. His clock struck 0600. Time to get up.

#Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood #FMA:B #Edward Elric #Alphonse Elric #Riza Hawkeye #Jean Havoc #Pinako Rockbell #Yuriy Rockbell #Roy Mustang #Fanfiction

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lily-blue · 4 years

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CODE Z3RO | CODE 04

characters: BTS & Red Velvet genre: thriller, futuristic au warning: blood, death summary: The twelve most ambitious and promising university students are welcomed in Choego, the world’s first entirely artificial intelligence-driven city, to compete for five job contracts that could change their life. But what if something goes wrong? What if they get trapped? What if the city suddenly turns against them? Can they find a way out before the countdown reaches zero? words: 4,7K tagged: @philosopher-of-fandoms

➼ Chapter Index

The corridor was dreadfully quiet as if Jung Hoseok had walked down on an abandoned graveyard full of long forgotten souls. Honestly, he hated every damn minute of this impossible trial that the researchers had forced upon their group of twelve, but at least his rivals weren’t too much to bear except for Taehyung whom he hoped would have disappeared along with or rather instead of daddy’s little princess. At least, Sooyoung had been a weaker link than him, a brainless doll dressed in gold and glitter. Considering the dynamic of their miniature society, she had meant no harm, meanwhile Taehyung seemed to be one of those guys who would have given you the last drop of drinking water just to poison you in a deserted island. He was ambitious and Hoseok knew that people like him would have done anything to get what they wanted.

Taking a sharp right turn, the Sociology major pushed the canteen’s double door open and walked towards their group that was eating in the corner, putting his arms on the edge of an ugly, plastic chair’s backrest. For a few minutes, he listened to their quiet chatter about neutral topics in silence, rolling his eyes when one of the girls changed the subject from a television show to the weather. It was a natural reaction for the chaotic situation they were in, complete ignorance, but the fact that he had known that it was something he should have expected didn’t mean that it didn’t rub him in the wrong way.

He cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention. Looking at the empty lunch boxes and the dirty cellophane in front of Seokjin, he couldn’t wait to leave this creepy hospital behind, finding useful clues in the researchers’ headquarter, earning some good points for his neatness from their supervisors. He had always been good at finding links between reasons and consequences until the equation hadn’t expanded with risky variables such as haunted buildings, axe murderers and walking zombies. Would have it been possible that the researchers had made a complex trial for them, getting their inspiration from stupid, American survival shows and lame books for young adults? Shit! How much he hated their sick society and the masterminds behind the contemporary entertainment industry.

‘Did anyone see our Korean Richie Rich or that scary IT guy with the eerie look?’ he asked before he could have overthought their situation even more, his long fingers already shaking under the imaginary weight on his shoulders. Staying composed in an ambiguous situation had already taken a lot of energy out of his body and was harder that he had first thought.

‘Did you check the toilets?’ the grumpy guy with lilac hair asked, chewing on the last bites of his sandwich in an obviously annoyed pace and Hoseok wondered whether Taehyung had hated people in general or it was him whom he had an actual problem with.

‘Well, obviously. I’m coming from there,’ he answered and patted the front side of his jeans with a wide grin, satisfied that he had finally found a toilet after he had failed so during his first attempt, half an hour prior when they had stepped into this eerie labyrinth with dozens of empty rooms and abandoned beds. Although a part of him did find rationality behind the absence of people - Choego was still under construction and was waiting for its wealthy inhabitants after all -, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy whenever he thought about the silence that surrounded them 24/7.

His gaze never leaving the boy deep in his own thoughts, Taehyung rolled his eyes at Hoseok’s stupidity, saving his energy as he swallowed a cocky comment on the inevitability of having more than one toilet in a huge building like this one with at least six floors. Humming, he honestly started to doubt the company’s management, considering that they had indeed thought of idiots like Hoseok as valuable candidates. From his point of view, even his three-year-old little sister was smarter than a significant part of their group of so-called prodigies. The thought of teaming up with a bunch of losers was utterly ridiculous yet he couldn’t disobey the researchers’ orders.

They all finished the remains of their food in utter silence except for Wendy who hushed her boyfriend when he tried to break the unpleasant atmosphere with a joke about two cartons of milk talking in the desert that only Seokjin could appreciated. Said boy stood up not long after the carefree laughter left his mouth and looked around with a pinch of worry in his eyes as the peace finally settled between the lovebirds on his right.

‘So now that we all finished our breakfast and Joohyun also got her insulin, I suggest to go and find the others. Any objections?’ he asked in a firm tone as he took the lead voluntarily. After all, when it came to measuring their possible strengths and weaknesses, he was far the most qualified for the job since he’d already had experience in disastrous situations thanks to his degree in Crisis Management. He’d served his required volunteer service in Nepal where a massive earthquake had killed more than eight thousand people in 2015. He was certain that he could handle the researchers’ tough simulation just as smoothly as he’d helped to rebuild hundreds of buildings for those who had lost not just their homes but their loved ones, too, from one day to another. Although back then, he hadn’t had to deal with disrespectful youngsters like Taehyung.

‘You bet! Could you explain, why are they so freakin’ important?’ he asked as he stood up just the same, his itching palms resting on the top of the table, voice heavy because of the boiling anger in his veins. He looked at his rivals, annoyed, then smashed the wooden furniture, fingers curling into pulsing fists as he stretched his back and faced with the eldest challengingly. ‘I mean, we’ve already left that crazy bitch behind - thank goodness -, so why are they any different? Is it because of his money?’ he came up with the first thing that seemed rational enough to waste their time for losers when Seokjin’s sharp glance rendered him speechless. The lilac-haired boy gulped but didn’t blink, holding onto his pride with tooth and nail regardless of the others’ disapproval snorts.

‘It’s because we’re in the same team, Taehyung, and we won’t betray another fellow. Not until I’m here,’ Seokjin claimed earning a few smiles mostly from the girls. When he took the first step towards the double door, no one stayed behind. They all followed him to the hallway, leaving their bags and luggages casually in the corner, close to Jimin’s belongings.

As if the obvious disagreement between Taehyung and Seokjin had forced everyone’s mouth shut, the incomplete group walked down the hallways without exchanging small talks, only Joohyun’s heavy breathing emerging from the background noise of their firm steps. Unlike his caring girlfriend who simply couldn’t hold herself back from glancing at her roommate’s direction, Namjoon looked more than bothered because of her current state. But he chose not to confront the redhead more than once within a single hour and fixed his gaze on the strange duo right in front of him. Seeing Taehyung’s clenched fists and crimson ears, the mechanical engineer had some serious doubts whether Joohyun was the only one they should have been worried about.

‘Did you see the Saw?’ Hoseok asked completely out of the blue as his gaze glided from the light green tiles to the boy on his left with an arched brow floating slowly yet challengingly to the middle of his forehead. He seemed nervous, Namjoon could tell, as his trembling hand ruffled his messy locks unintentionally, his hair already resembling to a bird’s nest because of his ugly cap that now peaked out of his jeans’ huge back pocket.

Namjoon narrowed his eyes, waiting anxiously when the lilac-haired boy’s annoyed voice reached his ears with a harsh ‘What?’

The older boy had always thought of himself as someone who rather avoided conflicts than raising his voice on the verge of an upcoming storm yet he couldn’t stop his shoulders from becoming naturally tense as he observed his childish teammates. He didn’t understand why any of them or anyone in general would have made an anxious sphere even more uncomfortable on purpose and if not on purpose then how came that they didn’t notice the obvious, the negative effect of their debate on the remaining people in their group. For him, it was enough to shoot a quick glance at Wendy’s creased forehead and he knew that something was definitely off with the situation.

‘In the sixth movie, although I’m not sure, there was this horrific game in which all the victims had to work together…’ Hoseok went on, trying to take a further discussion on the subject that seemingly made the whole situation worse as Taehyung’s fingers curled up in a slightly shaking fist.

‘Jeez! Just shut up already, would you? You’re such a headache,’ he snapped and speeded up his hasty steps to get as far from the Sociology major as possible considering his limited options. In the end, he slowed down next to Seulgi and walked by her side in silence as if she hadn’t been there in the first place. Not that the girl would have minded the momentary peace, Taehyung’s rejecting attitude was better than listening to their whining.

‘Asshole,’ Hoseok murmured under his nose, darting his tongue out at the younger’s back when he thought that no one was watching. But his resentful comment didn’t slip Namjoon’s attention as the engineer stepped behind him and watched her girlfriend as she checked on Joohyun when she was finally left alone. Her genuine eagerness to help others in need never failed to amaze the ever so rational boy therefore the fond smile that played in the corner of his mouth was rather proud than annoyed.

‘I saw that movie, man. It was the fifth actually,’ he answered the question Taehyung refused to and even patted Hoseok’s shoulder a few times to soothe his nerves, encouraging to follow the others who were already a few steps ahead of them. ‘A bit disgusting, if you ask me, but genius.’

They changed their opinions on the mentioned movie in which there had been a group of people who had to work together in exchange for their freedom. Yet, they failed miserably as they couldn’t stop sacrificing each other, not caring about anything but their own lives. Every single task in the survival game was designed to emphasize the importance of teamwork hiding it behind selfishness and the players only realized it when it was too late. At the final challenge, they had to fill an enormous object with their own blood and considering that by the time they had reached the last room only two of them survived, they almost bled out and died inches away from their redemption. If they hadn’t been killing one another so carelessly, a few ounces of blood would have been enough from each one of them. It was mind-blowing, one of the most amazing plot twists in the history of horror for sure.

Opening every single unlocked door and walking into every damn toilet and janitor’s room, they searched for Yoongi and Jimin literally everywhere in vain as if the Earth had suddenly opened its mouth and swallowed both of them up in whole. It made everyone uneasy.

They were on the ground floor in the eastern wing when Seokjin finally stopped and they all could take a short break from this insane hide and seek. Though, not everyone was so keen to rest as Jungkook and Taehyung markedly walked back and forth, not knowing what to do with their energy. But while the grumpy boy kicked into the wall here and there lightly, testing his strength, Jungkook observed the remaining doors on the current level one by one.

‘I really don’t think that they’ll be there,’ Namjoon stated when the youngster pushed the door with the basement sign on it open and peeked inside, turning his head left and right.

‘Maybe,’ he hummed, not really paying attention to the fellow engineer’s presence as he stepped on the first step behind the door instead. He had questions and he was more than willing to leave their group behind for a few hours at most if it was really necessary to find the desired answers. What was the whole point of this simulation beside the obvious, that the researchers were curious about their problem-solving abilities in an artificial catastrophe? What happened with those who had left the group? What if they all managed to pass the trial? Why had they lied to them about their schedule for the rest of the day when they clearly had other plans for their candidates? What kind of skills were required to get a contract? Creativity, cooperation, critical thinking? ‘But I’d like to check the whole facility in case they hid some clues on one of their computers,’ he explained, grabbing the handrail as he looked at Namjoon from above his shoulder. ‘You don’t have to follow me, though.’

The older boy furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, ready to protest but the voice that filled the air was definitely more high-pitched and less raspy than what his vocal chord could have ever maintained. Both Jungkook’s and Namjoon’s head turned towards the petite girl, standing right behind the latter, watching her acting all embarrassed because of the faint ‘I’d like to. Sounds like a good idea even if I won’t be much help,’ that had left her mouth. Yerim brushed a tiny mop of hair behind her ear over and over again, unable to stand the younger’s piercing gaze for more than an ephemeral moment. And everything became much worse when Taehyung decided to join their company.

‘Hah! Of course, she thinks that. After all, it’s his idea,’ the lilac-haired boy blurted out, his deep voice heavy with ill will and mockery. The Marketing major’s loud presumption and malicious smile turned the girl into a blushing mess within a blink of an eye and seeing her frightened look, anyone could have told that she wished nothing but to dissolve into thin air.

‘Is there something you want to say?’ Seokjin joined the conversation as well and stepped between Taehyung and Yerim like a human shield as if his presence could have protected the girl from everything that the grumpy boy had been so ready to throw at her face.

Taehyung snorted. Ridiculous.

‘Sure. Your sister isn’t any better than Sooyoung was,’ he claimed, tilting his head to Yerim’s direction as the others walked closer, their figures forming a lame, irregular circle around the epicentrum of their debate. ‘Now that Gangnam girl’s gone, she’s the weakest link,’ Taehyung scoffed matter-of-factly, earning a few deadly glances from their teammates although no one protested, not even Seokjin. The eldest just stood there with tense shoulders and clenched fists, breathing shallow and worried. He hated that the Marketing major wasn’t that far from the truth - considering their abilities in an emergency situation, Joohyun, Hoseok and Yerim seemed to be the less useful members of their group. While the older girl panicked in stressful situations and Hoseok got easily scared even of his own shadow, his sister usually froze when everyone around her was loud and pressing. He had still remembered the first fire alarm test they’d had in primary school since Yerim’s homeroom teacher had made sure, it remained unforgettable as he’d freaked out in front of everyone when he had failed to find the little girl. But it didn’t mean that they couldn’t have surprised them with unexpected, innovative solutions. They had plenty of time to prove Taehyung wrong and Seokjin hoped they would. After all, without Yerim, they would have slept through and have failed the first part of the simulation.

Turning towards Jungkook, Seokjin relaxed his stiff muscles and spoke up in a rather calm voice.

‘Actually, we have plenty of time. Let’s go and check the area,’ he said, encouraging the younger with a firm nod as he took the first steps towards the door. To Taehyung’s dissatisfaction, everyone followed them thus he was the only one who remained in the hallway.

‘It’s useless. It’s not that we’ll find some nasty skeletons in their basement,’ he shouted like a sulky child and his annoyed statement forced Namjoon to stop on the first stair, head snapping at his direction. He looked at Taehyung, confused, lips in a firm line, white like virgin snow. Truth to tell, he didn’t like him - especially not his destructive attitude - but he was a part of their group, just as much as anyone else, and teamwork was the keypoint of their task. The researchers wanted them to work together, in unison, and Namjoon wasn’t that stupid to disobey their will because of Taehyung’s ill-wishing behaviour. He didn’t plan to shut him out since he didn’t plan to lose his chance to get a contract because of him either.

‘Don’t be a dick, man! I’m sure, you don’t want to be their enemy,’ he said, calling for him with a simple wave of his hand. ‘Let’s go!’

A few seconds later, the hallway was as empty as it had been before they would have crossed the threshold of the abandoned hospital - eerie and silent, lack of human souls.

Kim Seokjin was an excellent team player until his little sister wasn’t a part of the said group because then she became more important to him than anything or anybody else and preferences inevitably destroyed the collaboration. It wasn’t his fault though, their parents had raised him to be like this, they had literally planted the protectiveness in his nature from the moment Yerim had been born.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked in a voice so quiet, it was barely above a whisper although he did it out of goodwill rather than being ashamed of the fact that his sister wasn’t as fierce and independent as their mother who had been a zealous activist in Yerim’s age. She and their father had met on a protest against the educational system and its clearly disadvantageous and sometimes sexist rules such as the unsaid privileges that the wealthy students had gotten and the must of mini skirts even in winter. Well, back then they had been on different sides and that was what had made their love a groundbreaking story. Seokjin found it endearing and inspiring at the very same time.

Shaking his head, he put his palm on his sister’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly. His caring touch earned an equally light sigh in return.

‘Yeah. It’s not that I suddenly become useless just because he said so,’ Yerim replied and even though her voice was faint, both her eyes were shining with a reassuring glint, her lips curling up all the way to her ears. She didn’t want her brother to worry to no end nor was willing to give the satisfaction to Taehyung by letting him see her fall apart. So she strengthened her heart and didn’t let anxiety consume her soul.

‘That’s my girl,’ Seokjin smiled and patted the top of his sister’s head, staying by her side as they followed Jungkook who seemed unbothered by the fact that Yerim couldn’t take her eyes off of his back and could have easily burnt a hole in the middle of his bladebone if one had been beared with superpowers. Ah! He would have given everything to be able to turn simple object to gold.

At some point when the first closed door appeared on the hallway, Seokjin started to make mental notes and different theories based on their surroundings and all those things that had happened to them since they had arrived to the artificial city. Although it looked logical that the city was empty considering that it didn’t have any citizens and the food supply in the canteen was also rational, the lack of instructions bugged him as if something had been off, as if the simulation hadn’t gone as planned. They should have found at least a video or audio file by now that could have help them step on the appointed path, shouldn’t have they?

Sharply turning right, Seokjin was so immersed in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice that Jungkook’s firm body stopped dead in front of a glass wall that separated them from a well-equipped laboratory full of huge, white cabinets and tables, papers laying in piles on their titanium surface.

‘Look! There’s a computer,’ Jungkook spoke up, his index-finger pointing at the electrical device in the left corner of the room. He didn’t hesitate, not even for a moment, as he lifted his bracelet in front of the small control panel on the right side of the door with a victorious smile on his face, demanding entrance which he got after a few seconds of complete silence. ‘Cool.’

When the boy stepped inside the lab, Seokjin grabbed his sister’s wrist, looking deep into her eyes, searching for some kind of confirmation in them that she knew what she was doing and she wasn’t so impatient to follow the raven-haired boy inside the room because she was indeed attracted to him as Taehyung had suggested approximately ten minutes ago. Not that he had problems with Jungkook as a person because he seemed like a really nice guy but the fact that he had let Sooyoung stuck inside their dormitory didn’t make him the most reliable fellow. He didn’t want Yerim to be used by some guy who was mostly alluring because of his distant behaviour. He was familiar with young adult books, he knew that these kind of boys always got the shy girl in town.

Yerim pulled her arm out of Seokjin’s grab and walked inside the laboratory soon followed by the rest of the team except Taehyung who refused to play by Jungkook or anyone else’s rules. He leaned against the glass wall from the outside and shot an ill-wishing smile at the eldest when he gave in to her sister’s wishes and crossed the threshold as well.

Since her steps came to a halt a few inches from Jungkook’s back, Seokjin walked to the computer, too, while the others opened the cabinets and the hidden drawers that they couldn’t have seen from the hallway. Joohyun and Namjoon made themselves busy with the printed papers on the tables.

‘Honey, could you take a look at these reports? It’s absolutely Chinese for me but you might be familiar with the ingredients in the right corner. They sound pretty medicine-like,’ he mused, looking at the said girl from above his shoulder, watching her as she put a tiny phial filled with some blue fluid back to its container.

‘Just a sec,’ she replied and slid the glass door back to its frame, paying close attention not to break anything inside.

As she step behind her boyfriend and took the paper out of his hand, Seokjin’s gaze glided back to the computer’s screen. Honestly, he didn’t understand a single thing but Jungkook’s clicks were so firm and confident that he put his trust in his knowledge without thinking. He opened then closed some folders, pushed the keys on the keyboard, furrowed his brows and started everything all over again until a stubborn window blocked him from further investigation and after a careless right click, everything went black.

‘What happened?’ Yerim asked, curious, leaning a tad bit closer to the blank screen and so to Jungkook without thinking twice. As her nostrils got filled with the boy’s characteristic scent that was definitely stronger and manlier than she would have thought, her whole face turned ruby red and she stepped backwards so hastily that she bumped into her brother’s shoulder. Seokjin rolled his eyes but didn’t make a comment on her obviously awkward behaviour. No, he turned towards Jungkook instead, waiting for his reply.

But that answer had never come as the door that allowed them to leave the room started to move, fast.

‘Everyone! Get out of this room! Now!’ Seokjin shouted as soon as he caught a glimpse of the closing exit, waving with his hands towards its direction as if his exaggerated gestures could have fasten everyone’s speed. But it couldn’t.

Since Joohyun couldn’t handle stress and Wendy cared too much, Namjoon couldn’t pull them out of the room on his own because dealing with a mild panic attack and his stubborn girlfriend was simply overwhelming. He needed help and Seokjin was the only one who was willing to give them that extra hand. He ran towards his frozen teammates and grabbed Joohyun by her wrist. The eldest threw her arm over his shoulder casually then lifted her petite figure as he carried her out of the lab, letting Namjoon show him the way.

‘What the…,’ he heard Jungkook swearing as he accidentally crashed his shoulder into the glass wall, trying really hard not to collide with Seulgi who got to the door the same moment as he did. Seokjin rolled his eyes, panting, before he put the girl in his arms down.

‘Where is Yerim?’ he asked when he caught his breath and looked around, anxiety growing in his chest due to the absence of his little sister.

‘Inside,’ Taehyung stated with a flat face while he pointed at the girl who had seemingly frozen a few steps from the blank screen. Her gaze were cloudy, lips slightly parted with fear.

‘I left her with you. You should have grabbed her hand and pull her out, you selfish bastard,’ Seokjin snapped, screaming like a wild animal and the only thing that kept him back from slapping Jungkook’s face was the clinking sound of the closing door. It was already through halfway but he couldn’t stay still.

The boy ran back inside the lab and wrapped his long fingers around his sister’s wrist, pulling her towards the hallway like crazy but Yerim fell into her knees because of the sudden force and hit her head into the table, feeling the bitter taste of her own vomit in the back of her throat. She didn’t move until her brother helped her find her balance and pushed her towards the door. Three. Yerim finally took her first steps on her own, running. Two. Seokjin was so happy that his sister managed to reach the hallway in time that he didn’t notice the report that had slipped out of Wendy’s hand on the floor. One. Glass collided with glass at the same time, the young man’s butt crashed to the floor. Shocked, no one dared to say a word.

The relieved smile soon froze onto Yerim’s lips as she realized what had happened. Her whole body was a shaking mess as she turned on her heels and looked at her brother, stuck inside the lab. She put her palms onto the wall, tears blurring her vision.

‘No,’ she whispered over and over again while her spirit slowly gave up, knees fitting close to the ground. ‘We’ll get you out, don’t worry, okay?’ she promised, not knowing that the room was actually soundproof and all Seokjin could see was her sadness and guilt. So he smiled, crawling to the wall in his own pace. He didn’t have to be fast anymore, there was no need to rush.

Meanwhile Hoseok stepped to the control panel and lifted his own bracelet in front of it in vain. It didn’t work, in fact, it rejected his request more dramatically than he would have ever thought. It shifted red and turned on the security system.

Seokjin’s shoulders tensed as the ventilation system markedly stopped working and the air became heavy with an unfamiliar chemical product, something transparent with no scent yet with something that burnt his veins. He shook his head, leaning his sweaty forehead against the glass, and took a few swallow breathers as if it could have magically solved his breathing problems. It hurt like hell, moving his limbs, keeping his eyes open hence he stayed still, gaze fixed on his clearly panicking sister. She was worried, he knew it. She must have been already screaming for a while, making silly promises that she couldn’t keep. It would have been so typical of her. He laughed and his raspy voice echoed in the sphere as the world turned red.

Red walls, red people, red tears. Even the last memory that popped up in his mind between confusing, fading pictures was red, cherry lips sealing his mellow ones with the untrue promise of infinity.

➼ chapter V.

#code zero #bts scenarios #red velvet scenarios #ssbyme #here's where the roller-coaster begins #thriller #futuristic au #poor seokjin #he was such a good brother

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pug-bitch · 5 years

Text

That’s not why I’m going (30)

Raspberry is refined

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: about 4,500 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This picks up almost where we left off, during the first day in Portavira, starting with Drake’s POV. A little heads-up: since we’re getting closer to the Decision Ball and the equivalent of the end of Book 1, I plan to end this part of the series soon, possibly in a few chapters. BUT -- I will continue with a sequel that corresponds to my rendering of Book 2!

*****

Drake is grateful for Max. They spent the rest of the afternoon together, in Drake’s room drinking whiskey that they smuggled in from the cabin, and talking. They talked about everything: Amara, Liam, Sav, but also their own late-blooming friendship, which had been budding for years but was only allowed to thrive thanks to Amara.

Maxwell glances at his watch; it’s already 6pm. Almost time for dinner. ‘Maybe we should get back out and get some coffee,’ he suggests.

Drake shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I think maybe I’m gonna stay put tonight. Skip dinner.’

Max shakes his head. ‘That’s not a solution. I know you’re stressed, and so am I, but disappearing might look even weirder. Come to dinner, we’ll stick together, you, me, and Bertrand.’ Max takes a sip of his whiskey and smirks. ‘Daddy and the two fun uncles.’

Drake pretends to gag. ‘If you refer to your own brother as ‘Daddy’ again, I’ll jump out the window.’

‘Hahaha I know, it’s gross. I’m just saying, we’ll avoid suspicious interactions with Amara, she and Hana will do their own thing, and it will be good.’

Drake nods. Knowing that Amara and Hana are together makes him feel better. ‘You’re right. But after dinner, I’m coming back here and I’m not coming out until tomorrow’s fishing activity.’

‘Fine!’ Max throws his hands up. ‘If you want company, I’ll come back up with you and we’ll watch a movie. Deal?’

‘Right. But I’ll pick the movie.’

‘Ugh, Drake. I’m not in the mood to watch a cowboy movie.’ Max’s eyes light up. ‘Unless… unless it’s Brokeback Mountain!’

Drake chuckles. ‘Alright, alright, Brokeback Mountain it is.’

*****

‘Lady Amara, you look ravishing today. House colors, too, how thoughtful.’

Madeleine’s hypocritical tone had sent chills down Amara’s spine, and not the good kind. That bitch was up to something.

Still, Amara keeps her poker face and responds, ‘Thank you, Lady Madeleine, so do you. I love the silver piping on your dress, it’s gorgeous.’

Madeleine raises her champagne flute and flashes an extremely fake smile as she walks away to join Kiara and Penelope.

As soon as she turns her back to them, Hana’s and Amara’s smiles falter. ‘Ugh,’ Amara says, ‘that was painful. We both agree that she’s smug about something, right?’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ Hana replies softly. ‘We’re gonna need to stay on our toes.’

‘Agreed.’

Amara feels her clutch vibrate, and she promptly opens it to find her phone ringing. Just her former boss, probably trying to see if she’s gonna come back and bartend again. She sends him to voicemail. At least Michael has stopped calling and texting ‘Please pick up’ fifteen times a day, so that’s new.

‘Everything ok?’ Hana inquires.

‘Yeah. Just sending my old boss to voicemail, that’s all.’ She closes her clutch and takes a sip of her champagne. ‘So, any idea what Liam has in store for Liv?’

‘No, he just talked about a grand gesture but I have no clue what he’s preparing.’

Amara hesitates to fill Hana in on the Rashad story, but stops herself. Liv would kill her. ‘Should we give her a heads up?’

Hana shrugs, ‘What would we even say? Liam was so vague. I’m thinking maybe he’s thinking of choosing her, after all. But… if I’m wrong…’

Amara nods, ‘It could give her false hope. You’re right. Let’s zip it for now.’

‘But Amara,’ she continues, ‘Liam is really lost. He feels rejected by Drake.’

Amara feels a knot in her throat. She knows that already, of course she knows. But being told this, by the gentlest soul ever, feels like a reminder that she and Drake are essentially alienating Liam. She swallows hard. ‘Do you think I should tell Drake?’

Hana gives her a benevolent smile. ‘Maybe. I think Liam needs him right now, and although I’m sure Drake is aware of it, it couldn’t hurt.’ She pauses. ‘But it might not be a good idea for you to talk to him privately while we’re in Portavira. So, I can find him at some point today or tomorrow and talk to him about it.’

Amara squeezes her friend’s hand. ‘You’re a gem, Hana. I don’t know what I would do without you.’

Hana chuckles, ‘Babe, what would we all do without each other? We’re a team.’

‘But you’re our rock. You’re amazingly strong and I’m so proud of being your friend, Hana.’

Hana blows her a kiss and walks towards the apéritif buffet to fill a small plate.

*****

Olivia can’t help but look behind her at all times. She snuck out right after dinner was over, and went to change into an outfit that would be more...burger-friendly than her red gown. As she walks fast through the long driveway to the garages, she hopes that Rashad will be there. After all, they coordinated nothing, beyond what he said to her at the welcome party: he’d be leaving after dinner to go to town, and she’s welcome to join. That’s it.

Maybe he’s already gone? It took her a while to get out of her gown and to choose an appropriate outfit, she even debated raiding Suarez’s closet for something understated. Maybe Rashad lost his patience and left?

Maybe he even changed his mind and retreated to his room? Maybe she’d read too much into this invitation, maybe he didn’t want a burger after the lush fish dinner they’d had. Liv had barely eaten, saving her appetite for their sneaky second dinner.

What an idiot, she thinks. She should have texted him to coordinate something, but now her phone makes her paranoid. She’s kept it off all day, and now it’s sitting in her purse, useless. She won’t turn it on, though. Too risky.

She hesitantly walks in one of the garages. Empty, except for Liam’s towncar, and Bastien’s.

As she walks into a second one, a warm voice greets her from inside a sports car, all windows down.

‘Hop in, Nevrakis.’

She has to fight back a smile. She darts towards the passenger door, a little too eagerly maybe, but who cares. They have to leave fast, before anyone notices.

‘I thought you’d left already,’ she says, not even realizing that she’s sharing her fear with him.

Rashad chuckles as he puts the car in first gear. ‘I wouldn’t leave without you. Ready for the burger of a lifetime?’

*****

His father had pushed Liam to have a one-on-one with Madeleine, even when they were at Penelope’s estate and he should be spending more time with the lady of the house. Liam didn’t have the energy to refuse, both his father and Madeleine were starting to wear him down. So, he offered her a brandy and a stroll by the water after dinner, thinking that it was the safest way to go, since people were around.

He wasn’t wrong; her attitude was more demure today, and she had obviously given up on jumping his bones for now.

Liam was trying his best to be charming and pleasant; the last thing he wants is piss her off, which would inevitably piss off the King.

His phone is burning a hole in his pocket. He has to fight the urge to look at it, to see if anyone has replied to him regarding his plans for later tonight. Has Bastien confirmed that all is in place safety-wise? Has Bernadette come back with the item he requested? And, most importantly, has Olivia seen his message and replied?

He’ll find out soon enough. But after his talk with Hana, he feels more confident. This is what he needs to do, even if it wasn’t his original plan.

*****

Maxwell looks at his phone and smiles.

‘It’s Amara! She wishes us a nice guys’ night, she’s spending the evening with Hana, having wine and watching TV.’

Drake’s heart flutters. He’s happy to know she’s with Hana, and that she’s having a good time. They agreed not to text while in Portavira; they don’t know who could be spying on them in a house they don’t know well. But still, the fact that it’s Max relaying her message hurts a little.

He shakes his head. No, that’s stupid. They’re lucky enough to have a strong support system, people who love and support them despite the mess they bring to the table. Drake needs to be thankful. He is thankful. He just had forgotten how to let people in, that’s all. Once in a blue moon, his old instincts kick in.

‘Are they watching Queer Eye?’ he asks Maxwell, who immediately types.

‘Yes! Spot on!’ he laughs as he reads the new message from Amara.

‘Heh. I know them well.’

Drake types up the title of the movie on Netflix and it pops up.

‘Ready for Brokeback Mountain, Max?’

Maxwell claps his hands together, ‘YES. I love me some gay cowboys.’

‘Actually, not to be pedantic about it, but they’re shepherds. And they probably qualify more as bi.’

Maxwell erupts in a boisterous laugh, ‘As I live and breathe, here comes Woke Walker! I love it. And you’re right, I was putting them in an erroneous box. I also had no idea they were shepherds, in my defense, but it doesn’t make them any less hot. Any chance we could get a whiskey up in this bitch? The girls are getting tipsy, why not us?’

Drake gets up to find his stash. ‘Of course. Let’s get lit.’

As he pours the amber liquid in two tumblers, he notices that Maxwell’s face darkens a bit.

‘Everything ok, Maxxie?’ he inquires.

Max shakes his head. ‘Oh, yeah. I was just…’ He lets out a long sigh. ‘Grateful. For this.’

Drake hands him his drink, and they clink glasses. ‘To this, then. To good friends.’

Max smiles. ‘To you, Drake. I’m so thankful you forgave me. You know, for hiding the truth about Sav.’

Drake’s heart breaks a little at the mention of his sister. ‘Of course I forgave you, I had no reason not to. If anything, I’m having some trouble forgiving myself. For not being easier to talk to. For her, for you, for everyone around me.’

Maxwell takes a big sip. ‘You had walls up. Only normal, after everything your family went through. For the record, Sav didn’t leave to get away from you. She loves you and thinks the world of you.’

He smiles, ‘Thanks, Max. I appreciate that.’

‘And believe me, she’ll be happy and shocked to find out that you found love with an amazing woman such as our Amara.’

Drake laughs heartily, ‘Thanks Max… I know I’m supposed to be offended, I mean, you said she’d be shocked that someone like me could end up with Amara, but… it’s accurate.’

Max almost chokes on his whiskey. ‘Noooo it’s not what I meant! I meant like...she’ll be shocked that you put down your walls and let someone in!’

‘Hey, I get it. I’m surprised too, but… you know Amara. She sneaks up on you. Makes you open your doors, and the windows, too. I tried so hard to avoid falling for her, but I think it was too late, right away. As soon as we talked on that beach in New York, I was fucked. In the best of ways.’

Maxwell puts a comforting hand on Drake’s shoulder. ‘I love that for you. And you know, you’re good for her too. More than you realize. Look at the strides she’s made with her grief. Ever since you told her to talk about Sergio in a positive way, she does it all the time, with both of us and with Hana, and she seems so much better. YOU did this, Drake.’

Drake blushes. He starts to feel some sneaky tears making their way to his eyes, but he won’t let them fall. Instead, he clicks on the movie and turns off the light. ‘Let’s get this party started.’

*****

‘Oh, and I’ll have the strawberry milkshake, and also a beer, any Belgian one you have.’

Liv raises an eyebrow and chuckles.

As soon as the server is gone, Rashad smiles and asks, ‘What’s so funny about my order?’

She shrugs, ‘Strawberry milkshake? Are you eight years old? And a little girl?’

‘Drinks don’t have genders, Nevrakis,’ he responds playfully.

‘This one does!’

‘Oh, and tell me, since you’re so wise, what’s the difference between my apparently immature strawberry milkshake, and your clearly superior order?’

Olivia clears her throat. ‘Strawberry is childish. Raspberry, on the other hand, is refined.’

Rashad bursts out laughing. ‘If you say so, my lady.’

Ever since they got to the restaurant, Liv has been feeling something she hasn’t felt in years. Relaxed. She’s wearing pants, a regular blouse, and her hair is in a simple ponytail instead of her usual elaborate updo. She noticed that Rashad, too, has changed, although very slightly. He’s wearing jeans instead of his dress pants, but kept his button-down shirt. Liv catches herself looking at his arms. He rolled up his sleeves, which allows her to see his tan and muscular forearms.

She needs to stop staring.

He smiles at her playfully. Did he notice? ‘So,’ he says, ‘what’s your favorite place to go, besides Lythikos?’

‘Hmm, I guess I really like Switzerland, and Germany. It’s similar to my home, but also different enough to be interesting.’

He nods. ‘Good choice. I love Munich myself. Awesome city. I do business there about once a month.’

‘And that’s your favorite place to be?’ she asks, surprised by how much she cares about the answer.

‘It’s up there,’ he says. ‘But I honestly love the States. For me it’s a tie between New York and Austin.’

‘Here are your drinks, guys,’ the waitress announces, putting down the milkshakes, and the two beers.

‘Thank you,’ Rashad says politely.

God, he’s handsome. Why is she so attracted to him all of a sudden, when she barely noticed him for years? Was it his genuine concern over her state of mind after the leak? Was it because of the time they spent together? Was it the wake of Liam’s rejection and infatuation with Suarez?

Maybe it was all of it. Maybe it was none of it. All she knows is that she’s truly enjoying the conversation. They can’t stop chatting away and they barely notice that time is passing by. Liv hasn’t exactly let her guard down, she still can’t help but be sarcastic or even abrasive at times, but he’s not trying to confront her, or to smooth her over. He simply laughs with her, and challenges her just enough to keep her on her toes.

‘How do you like the burger?’ he asks.

‘It’s not bad at all. I had a good homemade one yesterday at Walker’s cabin --don’t tell him that I said it was good-- so obviously this one isn’t as tasty, but it’s pretty good.’

‘Right? It’s not bad. I’m jealous about the homemade food. I only eat court food when I’m in Cordonia, and airplane/hotel food when I’m away on business. I would sell a kidney for a homemade meal, even the simplest one.’

‘Well, Walker’s burger was good, but not kidney-good. Let’s not kid ourselves.’

Rashad laughs heartily. ‘Well I definitely won’t tell him you said that.’

They eat in silence for a couple of minutes, and then Rashad puts down his French fry and clears his throat.

‘I wanted to reiterate,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry for being pushy with the text this weekend. Not my intention to be annoying.’

She waves her hand, ‘Hey, don’t worry. I’m weird about communication, to be honest. Don’t mind me, I’m just not fit for society.’

‘For what it’s worth,’ he says, making eye contact, ‘I think you’re great.’ He pauses, takes a sip of his beer, and continues, ‘But you know that. You’re Olivia Fucking Nevrakis.’

She gives him a faint smile. ‘Believe me, with everything that’s been happening, it’s nice to get a little reminder from time to time.’

*****

‘Oh my God Amara you were so precious!’

Hana and Amara, one bottle of wine in, were knee-deep in old pictures on Amara’s computer. They were going through a folder that had baby pictures of her, and Hana was squealing at the cuteness. This one was Baby Amara on Little Sergio’s lap, both wearing adorable pajamas with animals on them.

‘We were pretty fucking adorable, huh?’ she slurs.

‘OMG and little Sergio, look at this face!’

Amara nods. ‘He was so cute. And he kept the same face for his adult life, too.’ She pulls up a picture on her phone, of Sergio, Michael, and Baby Callie at the hospital after their surrogate had given birth.

‘Good Lord, what a beautiful family.’ She stops herself. ‘I’m so sorry, Amara, I didn’t mean--’

Amara smiles sadly. ‘Hey, it’s ok. It’s nice to talk about him. It’s good for me.’

Hana takes her hand. ‘Callie is adorable. If you don’t mind me asking, is she biologically Sergio’s or Michael’s?’

‘Sergio’s. It’s pretty obvious in more recent pics, look.’

‘OMG, I can’t take the cuteness, Amara.’

She puts the pictures away. It is good for her to talk about them, but it’s enough for one day. ‘I wanna see pics of Baby Hana, now! Tell me you have some!’

‘I don’t think I have any on my phone, but I have pics from when I was at uni.’

‘So...any chance I can see more photos of the famous Caroline?’ she asks.

Hana smiles and nods. ‘I think I can make that happen, yes.’

She pulls up a bunch of pictures from their time at Oxford. Hana hasn’t aged a day, her hair is just longer now, she used to have a long bob instead of the long locks she has now. ‘You guys are beautiful together, Han. Caroline looks lovely.’

‘She does, doesn’t she?’ Hana says wistfully. ‘She’s the one who got away, Amara.’

‘What’s her last name?’

‘What?’

Amara grabs her computer and gets on Google. ‘What’s her last name, Han?’

‘Um, it’s Stewart, but--’

Amara types furiously. ‘Stop me now if you don’t want this, but I’m on a roll.’

*****

‘Drake, can you imagine? He can’t quit him,’ Maxwell slurs through tears and whiskey. ‘He wishes he knew how to quit him, but he can’t!’

‘I know, buddy, I know. They’re star-crossed lovers.’

‘Fuck,’ Max says as he wipes away his tears, ‘it really all went downhill after the tent scene, huh?’

*****

‘Hold on, you’re telling me that you’ve NEVER seen Breaking Bad?’

Olivia shakes her head. ‘Never.’

Rashad makes an explosion motion over his head. ‘You would love it. It has murders, you know.’

Liv cracks a smile. ‘So I’ve heard. But drugs aren’t my scene.’

‘Oh, come on, they’re not my scene either, you’re just trying to make me sound like Pablo Escobar. I just think it’s a brilliant show, that’s all.’

Liv throws her hands in the air. ‘Alright, I trust your judgment. We seem to have the same taste in entertainment, at least mostly, so maybe I’ll check it out.’

They left the burger joint a while ago, and now they’re just walking around the streets of Portavira, a second beer in hand. Liv knows it’s almost midnight, they should be going back soon, but she really, really doesn’t want to. She doesn’t even want to think about the stupid fishing activity they’ll have to go through tomorrow. She’d rather poke the hook through her own eye.

‘Hey Liv?’ he asks.

‘Hm?’

‘Thanks for coming out with me. I appreciate it.’

‘Well, thanks for inviting me. And for footing the bill. I could have paid for myself, you know.’

‘Oh, I know. But I wanted to treat you, as a thank you for hanging out. I’ve been enjoying it.’

She nods. ‘Still, I want to repay you. Care for a nightcap? Here’s a bar, we could finish the beer we have and get one last drink before going back.’

‘Deal.’

*****

Liam’s stomach churns. He can’t take the stress. Almost midnight, hopefully she’ll be here anytime soon. He checks the jewelry box for the hundredth time. A ruby necklace, lined with diamonds, which he had Bernadette pick up earlier today. The champagne is chilling in a bucket, stabilized between two rocks. There is a torch lighting up the part of the beach he is on, just enough to see, but not enough to attract bugs and other creatures. The tide is mid-low, going up, so the waves are getting closer and closer, making this time the ultimate moment for a magical late-night rendezvous.

Now he’s just waiting for her.

She’s gonna come, right?

*****

‘I just think I’ve been wasting a lot of time waiting around like an idiot.’

Rashad takes another sip of the martini he ordered. ‘Not like an idiot, Nevrakis. Like a hopeful person. There’s a difference.’

She hates herself for talking about her pathetic love life, tonight of all nights, but he’s still trooping. He’s listening to her, offering advice, and he doesn’t even seem turned off by the whole package. Parts of her want to push it further, to see what exactly it would take for him to run for the hills.

But most of her wants him to stay right here.

‘No, Rashad, it’s pathetic. People see me as a confident person. How many times have I been told that the sexiest thing about me is my confidence--’

‘I’m gonna stop you right there,’ he says in an assertive tone that gives her chills. ‘That’s not what makes you sexy. Of course you have confidence: you’re a badass and an awesome person. You’d be crazy if you weren’t confident. No, what makes you sexy is everything else. Your laugh, your smile, your glimpses of vulnerability.’ He takes another sip. ‘And of course, your determined demeanor, and everything else about you.’

She stays silent for a minute, and takes a sip of liquid courage. She swallows and nods.

Before she knows it, their lips crash together in a mutual urgency that she has never known before. They kiss deeply, their eyes closed, forgetting the world around them.

When they finally come back to Earth, Rashad takes a deep breath, and simply says, ‘Wow…’

Liv lets out a short laugh. ‘Yeah…’ she says.

He rubs the bridge of his nose. ‘That was...something, Nevrakis. Although, I didn’t really foresee our first kiss being in a dark corner of a bar.’

‘I’m a simple bitch,’ she jokes. ‘I don’t need a fairytale setting.’

He smiles and nods, before cupping her face in his hand and pulling her closer for another kiss.

*****

Hana and Amara had been searching any type of info possible about Caroline, and they finally found a few leads. But then, Amara rightfully realized that she was too drunk to be a good detective, so she promised Hana she would get back to it soon, but in the meantime, they can watch another Queer Eye episode.

As they laugh together and comment on the makeover, Amara finds herself feeling wistful. Besides Mia, she hasn’t had such a good female friend for years. Being in the NYPD had not helped. Of course, there were female detectives, and some women among the higher-ups, but they were still a minority. Plus, in order to pass her detective test, Amara had needed to put in a lot of hours and had very little time for friendship. Mia was the one who had stuck with her since college. They had been roommates since Day 1 and had never looked back.

So, being here, with Hana, doing their nails together and watching Queer Eye, felt comfortable, like coming home after a long, difficult trip.

She misses spending time with Drake, she really does. Several times in the past few hours, she almost turned around to joke around with him and tease him about what Tan France would say about his denim shirt. But she’s grateful she’s here with Hana. She and Drake will reunite after Portavira, before the last weekend of the competition, and she can be patient.

‘What do you think the boys are doing?’ Hana asks, as if reading her mind.

‘Max said they watched Brokeback Mountain and now they’re binging episodes of Chopped.’

‘Awww, how cute! I love Brokeback Mountain! And Chopped, I guess Drake really has the cooking bug, huh?’

Amara smiles, ‘Yeah, I guess he does. What did you think of his hosting skills?’

Hana sits up and takes a sip of her water. ‘Honestly? He impressed me. He seems to really love it, and the whole mushroom-leek burger idea was genius. Simple yet refined.’

Amara nods, beaming with pride towards her man. ‘I know right! That’s what I said! And you should have seen the fish he cooked for me on Saturday. Although we almost burned it…’ She stops herself from oversharing.

‘Uh oh,’ Hana jokes, ‘too busy doin’ it?’

Amara lets out a deep laugh. She’d never heard Hana talk like that; she really is a lightweight. ‘You could say that. But even with the timing issue, it was delicious, he really has a talent.’

‘I hope he explores it,’ Hana says seriously. ‘I see a lot of change in him since we all met. You made him open up, Amara, and I’m excited to see where life takes you guys!’

*****

All hope is lost now. He opened the bottle of champagne at 12:30, now completely sure that Liv wouldn’t show. The torch burned out, and Liam didn’t bother lighting it again. Now he’s just going to mope here, until he finishes the bottle. And then, maybe he’ll see what Drake is up to, he could use a shoulder to cry on.

High beams in the distance. Maybe she came after all? No, she doesn’t have a car here, she came with Maxwell. Who is it, then? Liam can’t risk anyone seeing him look this pathetic. He grabs the champagne bucket, the jewelry box, and crouches behind a rock.

Slammed car doors. Laughter. Voices in the distance, getting closer.

‘Ugh, I don’t wanna go back yet.’

Liam’s heart shatters. It’s Liv’s voice, but she’s not alone.

‘Hey, we can stay here as long as you want. The only thing I won’t do is sleep on the beach. Too many bugs.’

Liam recognizes the man’s voice instantly. Rashad. Oh, so Liv probably didn’t see his message and came here for a stroll with Rashad. Right?

Right?

Well, it’s almost 1 AM. So the casual stroll theory is, at best, very naive.

Liam hears them laugh together, as they whisper things to each other and walk farther away from where he’s standing. On the one hand, he’s relieved. No one will spot him. On the other hand...he can’t hear what they’re saying anymore.

He can see them, though.

They’re now sitting on a big rock, suspiciously close together.

His heart drops when he sees Rashad take her hand, and pull her closer.

It shatters when he sees them kiss.

*****

Taglist:

@drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @jovialyouthmusic @andy-loves-corgis @mariahschoices @drakesensworld @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @drakewalkerisreal @nikkis1983 @simsvetements @alesana45 @iplaydrake @emceesynonymroll @lily1999love @drakewalkerwhipped @drakxwalker @drakewalkerrosenberg @drakeswalkers @drakelover78 @silviasutton1989 @dcbbw @carabeth @furiousherringoperatortoad @hollygirl1269 @sirbeepsalot @ladyangel70

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

#dramara #that's not why i'm going #drake x amara #drake walker x amara suarez #drake x mc #drake walker trr #drake walker #drake trr #trr drake #drake walker x mc #drake walker's denim shirt #choices trr #trr fanfic #the royal romance fanfic #choices fanfiction #fanfic #what would tan france do

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anistarrose · 5 years

Text

Warm Memories (Forduary Week 1 - Comfort)

Summary: Lost in an icy wasteland, Ford searches for shelter and finds nothing.

Word Count: ~3000

Warnings: suicidal thoughts (specifically pertaining to martyrdom), hypothermia, near-death experiences

For @forduary Week 1: Comfort!

(You might be able to tell that I started this last week, during the great US Midwest Polar Vortex Apocalypse.)

There’s a sliver of exposed skin between Ford’s goggles and his hood — just one tiny gap that lets the ice-cold wind slip though, biting and stinging at his face until tears fill his eyes. He turns away from the direction of the strongest gusts, and unties the piece of cloth he’d wrapped over his mouth and nose, trying to adjust it — but his fingers have grown numb, and the wind tears the fabric out of his clumsy hands.

The stinging spreads all across his face from the goggles down, and he struggles to refrain from licking his lips — it’s tempting to bring warmth to his face for even just a moment, but he knows it would only let more and more crystals of ice form in the end. He tries to raise an arm to cover his nose, but he has to lower it instantly in order to keep his balance in the wind. If he falls into a snowdrift, he’s afraid he’ll never be able to get up again.

Desperately, he scans the area for some form of shelter, even though he knows he won’t see anything. The wind practically lifts entire snowdrifts into the air, creating a void of eerie, all-consuming white, and his goggles are growing foggy too, making him even more blind to his surroundings. Though he’s afraid to know the answer, he can’t help but wonder how long it’ll be before his own tears freeze.

He takes a breath, and it feels like he inhales more snow than air. He coughs and spits, desperate to get the cold out of his throat and his lungs, but the moisture just splatters all over his face and solidifies in an instant, tracing frozen rivers down from his mouth to his chin.

He tries to take a step forward, but doesn’t feel anything — not even the lurch of falling forward into a snowdrift. He isn’t even sure if he’s even standing up, he realizes, or if he’s already fallen down but been too numb to notice. His eyes, his ears, his sense of touch — all of them rendered useless by this roaring, numbing white void of a storm.

A distant, robotic-sounding voice in the back of his head rattles off symptoms of hypothermia:

Loss of coordination. Dizziness. Weak pulse. Memory loss.

Ford takes — tries — to take a breath.

Shallow breathing.

Loss of consciousness.

Death.

There’s no denying it anymore.

I am going to die here.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to him. It’s a miracle he’s even survived so long beyond the portal in the first place — he’s been accepting this as inevitable for over a year now.

But some part of him — a foolish part of him, maybe, but also a part of that kept him kicking, fighting, alive — has hoped that that inevitability would only come after confronting Bill again, after saving the universe from the demon he’d aided, after undoing his own worst mistake. He’s hoped for his death to be a noble sacrifice, a worthy trade for the safety he’d bring to the multiverse — not a slow fade to white in an unnamed wasteland, body doomed to be buried under snow and forgotten.

And only now does he let himself admit it, but another part of him has always hoped he wouldn’t die all alone. He doesn’t want to disappear forever into an empty white void, he doesn’t want to die without saying goodbye, without saying he was sorry…

“Stanley,” he whispers, “I… I didn’t…”

He can’t get the last few words out.

He can hear noises, but he doesn’t want to get up. It’s so warm where he is, so wonderfully warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t want to shift his blankets around and let even one single joule’s worth of that warmth escape…

Wait, warmth? Blankets? How…

He opens his eyes, and takes a moment to recognize the crackling fire a few feet away from him. Some sort of kettle is suspended over it, spewing steam and a sweet, familiar scent that makes his mouth water. He can’t help but lick his chapped lips again, and they don’t freeze this time.

He looks down at his own body, relieved to find all his limbs seemingly intact and un-frostbitten. There are no blankets, but he is draped in a new cloak that’s a bit thicker than his old one, and feels like it has a larger hood as well. He tries to curl and uncurl his fingers and is struck with a jolt of panic when he finds that he can’t, but when he lifts his hands up to look at them, he realizes why: his outer pair of gloves have been removed, but taped to the fingers of the inner pair are chemical hand warmer packs, each radiating a gentle heat that melts away the numbness.

He looks around the… house? No, it’s really more of a shed — just a few cushioned chairs and a table, a stone-ringed fire pit, and one lonely cabinet. The thin walls are made of a material that looks like normal wood, but must be somehow different, because it seems to be insulating the little space much better than wood should be able to.

“Storm’s over,” a gruff voice announces from behind him, and he jumps. He’s about to make a break for the door when it continues:

“Hey there, buddy, don’t freak out. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have hauled your heavy ass half a mile out of a snowstorm.”

The speaker gives Ford a wide berth as he approaches the fire pit and removes the kettle. He looks like a human, albeit a human with odd fashion choices — his graying hair is pulled into a long, ragged ponytail, and despite being inside, he still wears a pair of goggles over his eyes. Strangest of all, he’s wearing Ford’s old cloak.

“Who exactly are you?” Ford blurts out. He wants to trust this stranger, he wishes he could, but it would be just like Bill to try and to capture him alive just to gloat —

“I’m just a wanderer,” the man answers. “A lot like you, I’m guessing.”

The man’s words are fairly upbeat, but even with his eyes obscured, the frown that crosses his face lends a sad feeling to his words — a homesick feeling, maybe. But it disappears in an instant, and with a smile, he asks Ford:

“So, you want hot chocolate?”

Any beverage could be poisoned or spiked with truth serum or who knows what, but Ford’s still craving all the warmth he can get, so he nods. The stranger pours him a mug, and then procures a small, transparent bag from his supply pack.

“Marshmallows?”

“Uh… no, thank you.”

“More for me, then.” The stranger dumps mini-marshmallows into a second cup until it’s about half full, and then uses hot chocolate to fill in the rest. Just looking at it makes Ford feel like puking, but he slips his hands out of the taped-up gloves and wraps them around the warm mug that he’s offered.

“Don’t spill it, okay? You can get chocolate in damn near every dimension, but you’d be surprised how much I have to pay for some half-decent milk from a normal Earth cow. This is good shit, and I don’t wanna waste it.”

Ford takes a sip. It really is good — and not just that, but familiar, exactly the same as he remembers it tasting back home. Maybe it’s a little sweeter than he prefers, but the chocolate is rich and the milk gives it a creamy texture he didn’t realize he’d missed so much. It takes him back to the days before he was allowed to drink coffee, the winter days when he and Stanley would come inside after getting into a snowball fight and warm up with the hot chocolate Shermie would make them…

The stranger’s words finally sink in. “You’re from Earth?” Ford asks.

“Not your Earth,” the man tells him, surprising Ford with an almost eerie confidence. “But yeah, an Earth. And a pretty similar one to yours, I’m guessing.”

He picks up his mug and swirls it around a bit, as if waiting for the marshmallows to melt, and takes a sip.

“You didn’t leave your dimension too long ago, did you?” he asks.

“About a year and a half,” Ford answers. It might be exactly a year and a half, for all he knows — every once in a while, he’ll forget whether he marked down the day or not, and by now he figures his count is only accurate to within about a month. “What about you?”

“Seventeen or eighteen years, lost track.” The man chuckles bitterly. “Honestly? I hope it’s eighteen. Gives me a better excuse for all the things I forgot.”

“Forgot?”

“Yeah, I just… forget the little things. Those little nice, warm memories, like… how bacon tastes. My first girlfriend’s phone number. The name of the one teacher I didn’t hate in middle school. The plot twist that got me hooked on that one comic I could never quite catch up on, no matter how much I would save up to buy the new issues —”

“The way the air smells right after it rains,” Ford blurts out. “I haven’t been to one dimension yet where it’s the same.”

For a moment the stranger is quiet and Ford thinks speaking up was a mistake, but then the man quietly adds: “That smell of oil when you give your car a tune up all on your own, and you make a mess but you’re so proud of learning how to do it yourself. Oil just doesn’t smell the same anywhere else, either.”

“The sound of coffee brewing. No one has coffee pots quite like Earth’s.”

“Complimentary bread at restaurants. How am I supposed to just eat a whole basket of bread and sneak out without paying when they don’t even give me complimentary bread?”

“The feeling of writing with a good quill pen.”

“The color of the bike I learned to ride on.”

“The name of the store I always bought jellybeans from as a kid.”

The stranger seems like he’s about to say something, but then he just looks down and rests his head in his hands. “Guess it happens sooner than I realized,” he finally murmurs. “I’m… I’m sorry, kid. I hope you find your way back soon. I wouldn’t wish this life I’m stuck with on anyone.” He adds something else under his breath, but it’s hard to make out.

Ford doesn’t know what to say. He has no idea how to comfort this man, not when his way of grappling with the same feelings has been to simply give up on ever getting home — and he’s not going to tell the man who saved his life that the only thing he’s really letting himself hope for is dying in a blaze of glory to take down the monster he helped create.

So he just replies: “Thank you for saving me. And for the hot chocolate.”

The stranger shrugs awkwardly. “If you’re feeling better, I guess… I guess we should probably go our separate ways and all soon. I’ve got what feels like half the multiverse after my ass, and I don’t wanna make you a target for them.”

“It must be the other half that’s after my ass,” Ford remarks, deadpan, and the stranger stifles a laugh.

“Yeah, and I we probably don’t want them joining forces or anything, do we? There’s a place where a bunch of portals pop up only about a mile south of here — you feeling good enough to use snowshoes?”

“I’ll be fine. Are you staying here?”

“No, I’m ditching this place too. Already been here for about a week, which is kinda pushing my luck as far as getting tracked down by space cops goes.”

“I assume you’ll want your coat back, then.” Ford starts pulling it off, but the stranger raises a hand.

“No, you keep mine and I’ll keep yours. Mine’s warmer and you look like you really need it, while I’ve got a bunch of layers under here.You should put your gloves back on, though — they’re drying out somewhere over here.”

He makes no comment on the numbers of fingers on the gloves as he rummages around, which should be a relief but just makes Ford uneasy instead. There’s no way the stranger hasn’t noticed by now, so why stay quiet? Even the most otherwise polite people, Ford has seen, have no reservations about blurting out their questions to him — so why not this man? He seems more genuinely well-intentioned than just about anyone Ford has met since the portal, but there’s also something off about him, something different about him, that Ford just can’t put his finger on…

The stranger tosses Ford the gloves and chugs the rest of his hot chocolate.

“Start bundling up,” he says, wiping a pale brown moustache off of his face. “The wind’s gone, but it’s still cold as balls out there.”

He frowns, looking concerned. “You know, if you don’t feel up to it, we can wait. I’m sure no one’s gonna come and try to kill us if we sit around for another hour —”

“No, I’m ready,” Ford replies. “Let’s go.”

***

The hike is uneventful, with little conversation besides a brief discussion of favorite foods from Earth — bacon for the stranger, coffee for Ford — and then a slightly longer, more heated discussion about whether coffee counts as a food. When they reach the portal hub, it feels like they’ve arrived too quickly.

Ford’s going to miss having company.

“So. Guess this is it.” The stranger gives a quick look-over to a diamond-shaped rift that glows purple as it flickers open near him, and steps towards it so that he’s only a few feet away. “Stay safe, good luck, don’t do anything dumb — like I said, I hauled you out of a snowstorm, and I don’t want all that work to end up worthless ‘cause you get yourself killed ten seconds after you leave my sight.”

“I’ll try my best not to die. Thank you again, and…” Part of Ford wants to ask for a name, but he has a hunch he won’t get one, so instead he asks: “Do you want your snowshoes back?”

“Nah, keep ‘em. I just stole ‘em from a random stranger about a week ago — I’ve got no emotional attachment.”

“Alright, then I suppose this is goodbye…” As the man turns to leave, Ford fiddles with his cloak out of habit, pressing his fingers against the area that should conceal an interior pocket. He’s expecting to feel a stiff, rectangular piece of paper bending under his touch — but he doesn’t, because of course, the stranger has it now, how could I forget about —

Desperately, he grabs the man’s wrist. “No, wait! I — I need my coat back!”

The stranger stops just inches from the portal and turns back around to look at Ford. “Seriously? This thing could close any second —”

“Just — please! I need it! It’s — it’s something important to me!”

“You were fine with switching coats back at the cabin! What’s so important that —”

“It isn’t the actual coat,” Ford explains hurriedly. “It’s something in one of the pockets. I almost forgot about it, but… but please, I really —”

The stranger slowly moves a hand under his coat, and towards the interior pocket positioned right over his heart. His expression goes completely blank as he pulls out a worn photograph and stares at it, eyes still obscured by goggles and completely unreadable —

“It’s… it’s me and my brother.” Ford can’t see the picture itself, but he’s brought it out of that same pocket on enough bleak, homesick days to have every detail committed to memory. “I’m sorry for making such a — such a fuss about it, but I’d really like it back, if you could…”

The stranger still doesn’t reply, though Ford can swear his hands are shaking.

Maybe… maybe he hasn’t seen any pictures of Earth in a long time? Or maybe he has a family of his own that it reminds him of?

“Are — are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean —”

The man finally returns the picture, pressing it into Ford’s hand — but before Ford can even breathe a sigh of relief, he’s pulled into a tight hug. Head resting over Ford’s shoulder, the stranger lets out a warm laugh, just as warm as the embrace — and not just warm, but familiar, too.

“If I can survive this long,” the stranger assures him, “so can you.” He steps back, and gives Ford a wide smile.

“Knock ‘em dead, Sixer.”

Ford’s no longer trapped in the hug, but he still can’t move. He can hardly breathe.

“Stanley?!”

He reaches out towards the parallel version of his twin, but Stan has already turned and stepped into the portal. He gives Ford a thumbs up as he flickers out of sight, and the gateway blinks closed after him, leaving Ford behind all alone —

No, not alone. He’s left behind with a pair of snowshoes, a coat, a picture…

And a new reminder of what home feels like.

***

(Stan barely even sees the figure collapsing in the storm in the first place, and he very nearly decides not to help. For all he knows, it might be a bounty hunter — or even worse — and they might turn on him the second he brings them to safety. He’s already stuck around in this dimension for far too long — no matter how he looks at it, it’s just not worth the risk.

But when he turns the body over and sees his brother’s unconscious face staring back at him, just as young as it had been when they’d fought in ‘82 and turning blue from the cold, he’s so, so thankful that he’s never been anything if not a gambler with an oversized heart.)

***

Thanks for reading, feedback is appreciated as always!

#gravity falls #stanford pines #portal ford #stanley pines #forduary #rosalia writes fic

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eleventoes · 7 years

Text

presage | oneshot

⟶ pairing: park jimin x reader ⟶ word count: 12.3k ⟶ themes/genres: clairvoyant!au | angst & fluff if you squint ⟶ ♪ : through the night - iu, ring my bell - suzy, going home - tarin , serendipity - bts ⟶ warnings: mentions of death ⟶ synopsis:

mistake noun

1. an act or judgement that is misguided or wrong 2. you saving Park Jimin from his imminent death 3. and falling in love with him along the way

***

A boy, wide-eyed and fresh-faced, so immersed in the music blasting in his ears that he was blissfully unaware of the world around him, his steps decisive as he crosses the dimly illuminated street.

A truck, the drunken man behind the wheel in a state much too inebriated to care, spiraling out of control and swerving at all the wrong turns, its collision into the oblivious boy almost inevitable.

And you, a mere bystander whose purpose there should not extend to anything beyond.

The three of you were key players in the events that should have transpired that cold winter night, and each role had to be fulfilled perfectly such that the universe itself could retain its rightful order; one that would serve to be disastrous if it were to be disturbed, even slightly. Harmonizing with the howling winds, the truck would have skidded sonorously on the glazed over roads, ramming mercilessly into the boy and proceed to overturn, flipping eight times over and instantly claiming two lives upon impact, leaving behind nothing but mangled and bloodied remains.

The town would have monotonously declared it a tragedy, and the devastation of both their families would have come to light via a poorly written article headlining the daily newspaper, only drawing attention for the sob story it would have provided. Sympathy was transient and fleeting, and soon the tragedy would amount to nothing but another traffic accident. You had a miniscule role, having to simply scream and dial for immediate medical aid, thereafter going back to your own life as if that night was but a distant memory, albeit a traumatic one. Had all three of you played into fate’s hands accordingly, the rightful order would be set in place, and the universe would go on to function as it always has, with no glitches in sight whatsoever.

Unfortunately, you had crossed the boundaries of which you were bound to, and had gone and broken rules that weren’t meant to be broken.

Only a couple of steps behind the unsuspecting boy, it was all too easy to reach out to grip his forearm tightly, thereby stopping him right in his tracks, pausing only a hair’s breadth away from where he would have been robbed of his remaining years.

Where he was supposed to have been robbed of his remaining years, if you hadn’t played with fire and decided to tempt fate itself, pulling the boy into safety once you had seen what was about to happen.

On hindsight, it was uncharacteristically impulsive of you, to intercept with the natural flow of events even if you had full knowledge of the near future, whether good or bad. Despite occasionally having visions of the eventual future, you rarely did anything about it, knowing full well that there would be unspeakable consequences if you intercepted, because there was a delicate equilibrium in which the universe has to maintain, and the faintest shift in that fragile balance would be chaotic, to say the least.

However, looking back on your recklessness, one variable that you had failed to factor in was your inexperience; one that would ultimately cost you a lot more than you had initially bargained for. In all your twenty years, you’ve had the pleasure of never having a vision in which you foresaw another’s death, and you never had to debate with your own innate humanity in order to save a life.

Perhaps you were only fearful of the immense guilt that would have ripped you apart if you had only stood by idly and watched an innocent perish, but regardless, your fingers had found its way to the boy’s forearm before you knew it, tugging him back onto the desolate pavement.

Earphones still plugged in, the boy only stares at you in incredulity, absolutely bewildered that a stranger had just wordlessly pulled him aside for no reason at all, but you only stare back blankly in an unspoken challenge.

He frowned, confusion clouding his features, but the questions on the tip of his tongue disappeared instantly when the box truck made its appearance. Gliding ominously on the road, the truck skewed dangerously along where the boy would have been casually strolling, before losing its balance, deafening squeals of the rubber tires roaring in the stillness of the night. The rest plays out exactly the way it did in your vision, the truck having ended up as beaten up as you had previously seen, and you don’t even look at the boy when the realization of what you had just done fully sinks in.

The beginnings of regret was starting to pool in your abdomen, and you were nothing short of terrified of what was to come, because you had done something that wasn’t your place to do. What exactly did you think you would accomplish, playing hero all of a sudden?

Not bothering to spare even a fleeting glance at the gaping boy, you trudged forward, eerily calm as you called up both the police and an ambulance. Quivering fingers betraying your stony façade, you almost lose grip of your phone as you rattled off the details and your location to the officers on the other end of the line, your heart wrenching in an emotion so strong you had to repeatedly tell yourself to breathe.

Fear.

Truly, the root of all evils. The one emotion capable of rendering a person motionless, the sheer intensity of it able to drive all rational thought out of your mind, consuming your entire being in paranoia. What happens now? You had acted too quickly, too rashly for your own good.

The boy, the would-be victim of a tragedy that had been repeated far too any times to count, darted forward, having snapped out of his stupefaction a few moments prior, trying to prod near the now smoking truck in order to offer any sort of help. Desultorily, you stick out your arm to stop him, lightly shaking your head and mouthing a simple ‘he’s dead’.

Mind hazing over at the sight of the gruesome accident, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were supposed to save the drunkard behind the wheel as well, guilt once again worming back into your heart. Was there anything you could possibly do to save him, to reclaim his life?

“Hello?” The boy was finally talking, and was now preoccupied with trying to get your attention, “Hello?”

“Huh?” Came your vaguely unintelligible reply.

“Are you feeling okay? You don’t look that good.” The boy murmurs softly.

To say you didn’t look good would be an understatement. Hair flung wildly across your face and your shoulders, with your features twisted in both shock and a grimace, you had probably looked every bit deranged. Similarly, the boy hadn’t appeared any better, his eyes wide with mortification at almost having lost his life, earphones hanging limply at his side, long forgotten.

Nodding in acknowledgement, you dazedly chewed on your bottom lip, making your way over to the curb to sit down and get a better hold of yourself as you await the oncoming sirens.

The boy follows.

The cold nipped at your cheeks and your bare ankles, earning a subconscious shiver from you. You had dressed lightly that night, clad in only two thin layers and jeans to fend off the wind, having only left your house to pick up some stuff from the convenience store a couple of streets over, and you were expecting a quick trip. This, on the other hand, was far from what you were expecting when you left your apartment and had skipped over to the convenience store to grab some snacks. Burying your face in your hands in a valiant attempt to find warmth, you instead find comfort in a hoodie gently draped over your shoulders.

Dark orbs reflecting twinges of concern and curiosity were burning a hole into your own.

“You looked cold,” He suddenly grows shy, kicking at a small mump of snow with his worn sneakers.

You look colder, you were about to say, noting that he wasn’t very adequately dressed for the season himself, but you don’t say a word. The myriad of emotions that was engulfing you in blue flames was too much to handle, and truth to be told, you were uncertain as to how you were going to face the boy beside you, and even more uncertain as to what the future would now hold, now that you’ve gone and altered fate. Worry was seeping into the knots of your shoulders, the weight of the situation much too burdensome for you to comprehend.

And then red and blue was flashing obnoxiously all around you, a telltale sign that the authorities have arrived, and that you should start busying yourself with giving statements and whatnot. Dull or not, it was a welcomed distraction from all your unanswered questions that had your mind spinning.

A quick confirmation of both your identities and several basic questions later, the two of you were good to go your separate ways, the way it should have been right from the very start.

As it should have been, but the boy thinks otherwise.

“I’ll walk you home.”

Eyebrow twitching at the unexpected offer, you force a civil smile onto your exhausted features, “No, it’s fine, my apartment’s nearby.”

“It’s not safe to be alone at night,” He tenaciously explains, letting out an embarrassed chuckle, “I can vouch for that, considering how I almost just, um, died.”

“Do what you want.”

You had hoped your clipped tone would have the boy second thinking his offer to walk you home, but you were all out of luck, and he persistently falls into step beside you as you headed towards your apartment building, “Thank you, for saving my life.”

You don’t respond, because you shouldn’t entwine your life with his anymore than you already had, and to play it safe would be to stay as far from him as humanely possible.

That boy, however, doesn’t take a hint.

“I’m Jimin, by the way.”

Silence.

“You’re Y/N right?”

Shit. Freezing, you slowly angle your head towards his, waiting for an elaboration, which thankfully comes soon enough without any prompting.

“I see you sometimes, at Seokjin-hyung’s café? Ah you probably don’t remember me, but I go there often.”

Squinting at him with only the florescent lights of the streetlamps as a guiding source of light, you realize that the familiarity of his silhouette wasn’t just your eyes playing tricks on you, and that he was indeed a regular at the café you worked at, though you don’t see his face at the counter often.

Fate sure liked to have its way with you.

The last vestiges of courtesy had already left your system, and you were far from being in the mood to entertain the very person who was, unknowingly, the root of all your vexations. Snuggling deeper into your clothes, you lengthen your strides, tuning out whatever the boy had been saying, because as nice as he was, he was the last person you wanted to see.

Convincing yourself that you should disregard the way his eyes droop at your unresponsiveness, you soon find yourself hovering near the entrance of your apartment building, with the boy, Jimin, shuffling awkwardly behind.

“Thanks.” You churn out gruffly, pushing past him and over to the lobby.

“Um, my jacket—”

Oh.

Flushing scarlet, you spin back on your heels to hand the hoodie back to its owner, embarrassed by how cozy you had looked, with your hands buried deep in the pockets and all.

“No, I meant that you could, um, keep it.” He breathes, taking a few steps back, “Okay, I’ll just go now.”

And he bolts down the road, blatantly disregarding the fact that he had almost died a while ago whilst crossing those very same streets.

You sigh, but a small smile threatens to tweak at the corners of your lips as you entered the elevator, and you do all you can to squash any inkling of affection that was growing for the boy who called himself Jimin.

You were treading in dangerous waters, and as only a pawn in the grander scheme of life, you had just crossed a line.

***

“Hyung, you better wipe that creepy grin off your face before Y/N sees you,” Jungkook remarks insouciantly, sliding into his seat next to Jimin’s with a matcha latte in tow.

Narrowing his eyes to proclaim his annoyance with the younger male, Jimin only lets out a grunt, kicking Taehyung in the shin when he joins in with the harmless teasing.

Much to his chagrin, his friends had wasted no time dragging him by the collar over to the café owned by Seokjin’s parents once Jimin had filled them in on the whole ordeal, one that Jimin himself was starting to regret divulging. He wouldn’t have minded if it was just any other café (and he was quite fond of this particular café because the fruit tarts were heavenly), but this just happened to be the same one where you were manning the register, with a gorgeous smile atop your lips while Seokjin chucked out the pastries not far behind. Okay, so maybe the fruit tarts weren’t the only reason behind his ridiculously frequent visits.

The café itself was a sight to behold, really, Seokjin’s parents had gone all out with the interior design, not at all hindered by how small and quaint the space was. Translucent curtains lightly billowing in the winter breeze, the soft plush chairs were strewn generously with even softer coffee-colored cushions, and the low pinewood tables had only made the place even more cozy than it already was; more than perfect for a relaxing afternoon away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Jimin especially loved the redolent aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air, surrounding the café with a homely atmosphere so dear and nostalgic that he never wants to leave. But most of all, he was intrigued by you, mildly fascinated with the way your eyes would light up whenever there were customers, making light conversation all with a genuine smile gracing your features. You being so friendly and welcoming with all the patrons of the café had actually deterred Jimin from going up there to make an order himself, fretting that he wouldn’t be able to say anything back and would just wither away into a blushing mess, which was saying something because Jimin usually wasn’t all that shy, since that was Jungkook’s job.

But today was going to be different. He was actually going to have something to talk to you about, an excuse to get to know the girl behind the warm yet ephemeral smiles—last night, when you had pulled him out of the way from an oncoming truck that had only materialized seconds later.

Jimin may be spending more time than he should at the studio, going through dance moves again and again instead of burying his nose into books, but he was no idiot. He knew there was something up, how else would you have been able to pluck him out of harm’s way when the tranquil streets hadn’t given the approaching vehicle away?

But no, Jimin wasn’t intending to strike up a conversation with you just to pry; he doesn’t really care how you did it, what matters was that you had swooped in to save his life and he was already unbelievably grateful. He just wanted to make small talk, exchange a smile or two, and ask if you were alright. The accident had been pretty graphic and it had been disturbing, for lack of a better word. Even Jimin had trouble sleeping last night, the crimson stains and grisly body haunting the crevices of his mind until it had finally been subdued by overdue slumber.

But he simply couldn’t fathom why you had outright refused to even give him the time of the day, his heart plummeting all the way underground when you don’t even look him in the eye, humming disinterestedly as you counted the change.

“Can I—”

“No.”

“But how did you kno—”

“No.”

Frustrated and dejected at the same time, Jimin exasperatedly runs his fingers through his inky strands, trying his best to disregard the hurt from your rejection heartlessly jabbing into his chest. Having expired all his plans to just smoothly start up a conversation between the two of you, Jimin adopts a variation of different strategies to, at the very least, garner a reaction from you, earning the amusement of just about everyone else in the café.

He starts things off slow, propping an elbow on the countertop and staring holes into your side profile for a good ten minutes, before giving up at your continuous indifference. Jimin has often been told that he had admirable charisma, the kind that would make it difficult to not look at him, and he had been accepted as a trainee with a small part of the reason attributed to his ‘bedroom eyes’, but now he was starting to question the validity of their statements, because you hadn’t once thrown him a single glance.

Yet if there was one thing Jimin knows, it’s that he couldn’t pout adorably for the life of him, but what he could do was scrunch up his face, contorting it into what most people would have considered cute. And it does work, to the relief of Jimin and his lightly bruised ego, but only for a split second, your lips quirking into a traitorous half-smirk. Half because it vanishes soon after; so soon that Jimin had thought he was seeing things.

Jimin wasn’t one to give up easily, and you definitely don’t seem to be letting up anytime soon, and so the pertinacious brunette resorts to playing the guilt card.

“About the jacket…” He purposefully trails off, eyes scanning your face for any hint of emotion, any at all, perking up when you abruptly stiffen from behind the counter, muted red coloring your cheeks. Jimin then internally fist pumps, because yes, of course he was going to imprint your flushing face into his mind and revisit it over and over again, but you didn’t need to know that.

But the butterflies come crashing down in a flurry of whirlwind emotions when you only reach in the back to pull out his grey hoodie, soundlessly bundling the fabric into his arms.

And Jimin was utterly crushed, stunned speechless at how atypical your detached behavior was. He had been a regular for quite some time now, and every time he had the fortune of seeing you around, an amiable aura always surrounded you, sometimes accompanied by the tinkling of your laughter.

He doesn’t understand.

“Why do you hate me?”

He didn’t expect you to respond, but the question had slipped out somehow, and he couldn’t take it back, not even when he abhorred the disappointment all too apparent in his usually lilted voice.

He hadn’t expected you to respond, but you did.

“I don’t hate you, please don’t think that way,” You exhale, and Jimin looks up in time to see the softening of your gaze, sparking something suspiciously akin to hope in his heart.

Now that Jimin had all your attention, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, if he was even supposed to be doing anything at all.

“I just think,” You quietly continue, “That it’ll be best for us to stay away from each other.”

And now that Jimin had all your attention, he wasn’t sure he wanted it anymore, your words cutting deeper than he thought they would; hurting more than he thought they could.

“But why?” He presses, he wasn’t one to give up easily after all.

From somewhere to his right, he could feel curious eyes on both of you, undoubtedly from the six idiots he now called his family. Jimin shakes them off; they had probably sensed the tension, but he’ll handle their teasing later. Right now he couldn’t care less, obstinately following you out from the back door as you engaged yourself in taking out the trash.

“No reason.”

And there you go again, back on with the ice cold exterior, even while you were ungracefully hauling the gigantic bag of trash behind you.

As if it was the most natural thing to do, Jimin eases the enormous bag of garbage into his own hands, effortlessly tossing the damned thing into the dumpster before turning to you, brows knitted in firm determination, “I’m not leaving until you tell me why.”

Then it happens again.

In a situation that was all too familiar, your small hand was clasped tightly around his wrist once more, and a forceful tug bristled with underlying fear and unadulterated desperation was all it took to have him stumbling in your direction. Just like the night before, the same tingles course through his arm, and a couple of beats passes with him scrutinizing your odd expression. You had your emotions flawlessly under control just a while ago, but it all came undone in an instant, horror and despair flashing across your confounded face.

Jimin understands why a moment later, when a startling shattering noise has him twisting his neck to locate the source of the commotion.

His blood runs cold.

There, at the spot where he had stood a few seconds prior, was a broken flowerpot, shards of ceramic scattered all around the back alley, mounds of dark moist soil sprinkled all around the thin sheet of snow. The flowerpot hadn’t been something to sneeze at; something to laugh over and brush it off if it had made contact with his head. It had been big enough to knock him out entirely, maybe even crack his skull.

It may have killed him there and then, if you hadn’t done what you did and got him out of the way.

Time stilled, both of you too bewildered to make the next move, but Jimin recovers fast, head stilting to only catch a meagre glimpse of a pair of outstretched hands dangling from the balcony conveniently located above the back entrance of the café, no doubt the culprit of his near brush with death.

The same strange mixture of dread and relief coursed through his veins, a sensation Jimin gladly welcomes, because it was a good enough indication as any that he was still alive and breathing.

You, on the contrary, looked incredibly conflicted, gaze wavering at your exposed palms as if you had just realized what you did, looking so unimaginably scared and vulnerable that Jimin was torn between enveloping you in a bear hug and turning around to give you space to breathe.

He daringly opts for the former, aware of how unusual it would be to have an almost stranger invading your personal space like that, but the situation at hand was far from being what was considered a normal occurrence, and he couldn’t think of a better way to calm you down. Bracing himself for a hard shove in the chest, you surprise him by relaxing into his touch, breaths gradually steadying against the harsh palpitations of his heart, and he prays fervently that you don’t notice.

A few minutes go by like this, with the two of you huddled next to a dumpster, you fisting the wool of his knitted sweater while Jimin comfortingly rubbed small circles on your back, comfortable silence taking the both of you into its open arms.

Tilting his head at just the right angle, Jimin looks down at your damp lashes and the stubborn purse of your pink lips, rolling his own into his mouth thoughtfully. Yes, he had always thought you were cute and outrageously likeable, ever since he first stepped foot into the café and had been greeted with nothing but kind smiles and mellifluous laughter, and had often suffered in the hands of the rest of the boys, who had thought that his mini-crush on you was hilarious. But the feeling blooming in the pits of his stomach and spreading warmth to the rest of his body even in the dead of winter was something else entirely, a feeling Jimin longed to cherish and treasure with all of his being.

So he speaks.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Mmph.” You deliver from where your face was still pressed against his sweater, tongue numb from the cold.

“You said we should stay away from each other.”

You nod.

“I don’t want to.”

And perhaps the moment those words had left Jimin’s lips would be the exact moment where everything had begun; the start of something treacherously beautiful, yet so devastatingly bittersweet.

***

Park Jimin had the uncanny ability to charm the figurative pants off of everyone he meets, and now, at the very top of the long list of people who have given in to his alluring charm, your name sits tauntingly.

You couldn’t believe yourself; you had done it again, sweeping in to rudely interrupt the cruel plans fate had for him, as if you prolonging his life would do either of you any good. There were consequences, and you hadn’t wanted to stay around to discover them for yourself, but your stomach had gone and did a couple of cartwheels when Jimin had thought you weren’t looking; your heart dropping too fast when you had caught his downcast expression from behind the counter.

Steering clear of him would be the obvious thing to do, and you hadn’t wanted to hurt him in any way, shape or form, but you did regardless, and the affirmation of the very slight affection you had for the boy came in the form of an apologetic squeeze of your heart.

Perceptive as you were, you hadn’t taken much notice of Park Jimin before that fateful night, the only knowledge you possessed being that he, along with Seokjin and the five other regulars at the shop, were all trainees in an entertainment company a short distance away, justifying their recurrent patronage. Sure, his sleek jawline and sinfully full lips made just about every female (and sometimes male) customer swoon a little if they spot him while making an order, but that pretty much applied to all seven of the boys who had made a home in that secluded corner of the café.

But it was precisely because of your perceptiveness that you could practically hear the warning bells going off in your head, cautioning to not take another step towards the boy with the most adorable eye-smile you have ever seen, the boy who tried to play it cool even though that had probably gave his tiny crush away.

Yet every other cell in your body was screaming for you to do otherwise, and what’s worse was that you could see it.

You could see yourself falling irrevocably in love with him.

A teeny part of you was hopeful; maybe now that you had prevented his death twice, it wouldn’t come knocking at his door anymore. You don’t know what kind of logic you had to back that hypothesis up, but the irrational voice in your head would whisper ‘maybe both potential deaths had cancelled each other out, and he’s free to live his life now’ or something as equally ludicrous, like ‘maybe all along the purpose of my presence there was to step in and save him’.

And even though you intuitively know that getting to know him would be a Very Bad Idea, you no longer acted as if he was virtually nonexistent every time he tumbled into the café at the weirdest times, occasionally right before closing hours and sometimes, if he had bad timing, he’ll catch you in the midst of peak hours, when you’d be too busy to even look his way. It had to be insanely tough to be him, having to juggle both heinous hours of idol training and college as well, which was already a handful by itself. Not that you would know though, having gave up college in your final year of high school, knowing that it simply wasn’t for you.

As Jimin wound his way in and out of the café everyday for the past two weeks just to reiterate cheesy and somewhat punny pick-up lines he got from Seokjin just to wrench a smile out of you (you were dead set on giving him your best poker face, even if you were dying laughing on the inside), you woke up one day to find that you had a huge soft spot for a certain boy with dark fluffy hair and crescent eyes.

Not that he would ever find out, no way, not over your dead body.

And said boy was once again leaning over the counter, where it was now infamously known as Jimin’s spot, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Hey baby, are you a pineapple—”

Ah, there he goes again.

“Yeah of course I am, damn it, and I thought I was pretty good at hiding it too,” You deadpan, not even lifting an eyebrow as you chucked all the ingredients for Jimin’s green tea frappe into the blender and heated up some muffins in the microwave.

“God, Y/N, when will you ever let me live?” The brunette huffs, good-naturedly of course, because he’s sweet like that.

“Maybe I’ll do that when you stop hitting on me, Jimin.”

“That’s not fair, you and I both know that’s never going to happen.”

He’s not being fair, he can’t just say things like that out of the blue, and you hope he doesn’t see you almost knocking over the blender, your ears tinged pink.

“Okay, I’ll stop.”

“Really?”

“If you go on a date with me.”

Your answer was faster than Suga spitting fire, Jimin offhandedly notes, “No.”

“Well it was worth a shot.”

Rolling your eyes, you place his drink at the collection point, and instead of writing his name, you had written ‘idiot who doesn’t know when to give up’ in a neat scrawl, shifting back to admire your handiwork before gesturing to the idiot himself.

Jimin scoffs and takes a sip.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Can I get a pie?”

Frazzled, your answer comes out more like a question, “Um, sure?”

“Great! I’ll take you.”

“Huh?”

“I’d love to have a cutie pie like you,” He spurts the pick-up line along with peals of sputtering laughter, because Park Jimin would not be Park Jimin if he doesn’t laugh at his own pick-up lines.

Fighting back a smile and pulling on the straightest face you could muster, you reach over to whack him on the shoulder, but you were admittedly in awe of how many pick-up lines he pulls out of his ass every day. Snorting back a chuckle himself, Jimin smoothly twists his arm around such that his hand was clasped around yours, before gently grazing the back of your hand with his chapped lips.

“Go on a date with me,” He whispers, eyes swirling with emotions you could not decipher; not yet anyway.

The tinkling of metal against metal, the subdued conversations happening all around, the dad jokes from Seokjin a few feet away; they were all but white noise, and there was no one else in the world but you and the twinkly-eyed boy.

The most perilous of thoughts that had slowly inched into the fissures of your mind were too fraught with danger to be entertained, but you were past the point of caring.

“Okay.”

And I’ll protect you at all costs.

***

The first date had been like a dream and everything beyond; the kind of dream you would wake up to with the most enraptured of smiles as you bathed in the breaking daylight—the best kind there was.

Jimin’s day had started out like any other, having roused from slumber in his corner of the dance practice room, back aching in protest at his horrendous sleeping posture and bleary-eyed from the bare minimum of sleep he had gotten. As typical as the day had been, it had also been a little different, because Jimin suddenly thinks that the sun had been amazingly bright, the chirping of birds had been exceptionally melodious, and wow, has the grass outside the company building always been this green? All’s fine and dandy, except it was the middle of winter, and Jimin might need to get his eyes checked at the nearest optician.

“Hyung, this sweater—

Jimin plucked Taehyung’s favourite woolen sweater out of his makeshift closet on the swivel chair, ignoring the boy’s mild protests and plastering the fabric against the front of his chest.

—or this sweater?”

“Jimin,” Hoseok coos from the top of his bunk bed, “It’s winter and you’re going to an amusement park, she won’t be able to see whatever you’re wearing.”

“Unless you’re planning on doing something else,” Namjoon unhelpfully cuts in, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Ugh, why do I even ask?” Eyes rolling so hard that they almost met the back of his head, Jimin doesn’t bother hiding the raging blush on his cheeks, only retreating further into the mountain that was Bangtan’s clothes pile to dig for something vaguely presentable.

Seven guys crammed together into a pocket-sized dormitory was no doubt a recipe for disaster, especially when all seven guys spent 12 hours a day sweating buckets to the pulsing of a beat, and Jimin only hopes to find a decent sweater sans ketchup stains.

By the time Jimin had unearthed a clean sweater (white, because you don’t remember having mentioned that that was your favorite color, but he does), changed out of at least 5 pairs of jeans and shrugged on a coat, he barely had any time to do anything except pull on a beanie and bolt.

And even while running he couldn’t keep the smile off his face; at least not until he neared the entrance of the café, the place of the promised meeting, and not to be mushy or anything, but the sight of you nearly knocked all the wind out of his lungs.

There you were, short puffs of air leaving your lips as you absentmindedly kicked at the dirtied snow beneath your boots, looking as ethereal as ever with the locks of your hair cascading down in waves and your ears snugly encased in fluffy earmuffs. You weren’t even donning anything out of the ordinary, only a long white coat and some skinny jeans, but Jimin, like the hopeless romantic he was, still thought you looked incredibly beautiful, and even more so when you almost spilt the coffee in your hand down your shirt.

Jimin belatedly realizes, damn I got it bad.

“Park Jimin, you’re late,” You say light-heartedly, innocently adding, “If we miss the bus, I’m going to kill you.”

“I’ll die a happy man then,” Jimin returns, teasingly pulling at your cheek, cracking up when your scowl makes you faintly resemble a gremlin.

A cute one of course, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Not one to be at the losing end of things, you swiftly reach up to tug at his squishy cheeks, and you too, start dissolving into giggles, even though he still looked absolutely adorable and you knew it.

The two of you had probably looked like lovesick idiots in the eyes of the public, or maybe everyone had thought that you two were trying to see who could rip each other’s cheek off first; but regardless, the two of you continuously wrestle right there and then, all thoughts of actually boarding the bus on time long gone.

And as ashamed as you were to admit it, yes, you were the one who started the snowball fight. You knew the both of you would miss the bus anyway; one of the minimal perks of your clairvoyance.

If everyone else around you had initially thought you two were only morons playing around, they were probably now wondering if it was safe to let two lunatics roam the streets freely like this. Skillfully amassing a spherical ball of snow in your palms, you aim at Jimin’s ass, letting out an animalistic war cry while he gladly reciprocates the gesture.

The entire afternoon saw the two of you chasing the other down the street, sometimes tumbling over into a blanket of snow in a park, other times so preoccupied with attacking each other that you almost slam face first into a streetlamp. Yes, the snowball fight had been extremely engaging and mature, perfect for two rational adults such as you and Jimin.

The same probably doesn’t apply to the both of you bounding after the last bus that was departing for the winter fair; the one where the scheduled date was ideally meant to have taken place at. Rational adults do not run after buses while their hands were tightly clasped together, and they definitely do not holler after the bus driver to beg him to stop. But rational adults or not, Jimin found that he doesn’t really care, because your smile had been bright enough to ignite scorching fires and illuminate an entire night sky.

You didn’t care either, because the hand in yours provided you with all the warmth you would ever need.

The bus did eventually stop, much to your amusement; the driver had probably taken pity on the both of you, who looked every bit a mess with the wayward snow-laden hair and all the breathlessness from running.

Clambering onto the bus and delivering words of gratitude to the driver, the both of you trod to the back, plopping down onto the cushioned seats with a strangled noise. All the sprinting from the snowball fight had done a number on you, and you were so exhausted you were this close to being knocked out cold.

“Tired already?” Jimin’s voice snaps you out of your knackered haze, and you peeked at him from under your unkempt hair.

“Your fault for chasing me halfway around the park and tackling me to the ground,” Your tone was light, though a tad sleepy.

“Go on,” Jimin juts out his left shoulder, nudging you to use it as a pillow.

You pretend to contemplate over the offer, before letting out a smug ‘no’.

Joke’s on you, because you do end up falling asleep on his shoulder, the heat emanating from his body far too tempting for your sub-consciousness to refuse. You dozed off a little too fast, and into a deep sleep at that, so you unfortunately miss the way Jimin’s look of adoration brushes over your form, and the slight shifting of his position to accommodate your falling head.

The brunette sighs contentedly, distractedly playing with the scarf coiled loosely around your neck and smiling each time you sneeze in your sleep and nuzzle into his shoulder, trying his best not to let his cheeks explode from euphoria.

For the second time that day, Jimin arrived at the same conclusion.

Damn, I got it bad.

As luck would have it, the droning of the engine and the exertion from all the physical activities a while ago had lulled Jimin into slumber as well, and before he lost himself to sleep, he made sure to incline his head against yours.

And that was the position the both of you had jerked awake to when the bus came to a complete halt, and the driver announced that the bus service has reached its final stop and would be terminating on the spot. Flabbergasted and still shedding the drowsy aftereffects of the long nap, the two of you belatedly realized that there were no other commuters on the bus, and immediately scurried off, embarrassed.

Lost and mildly confused, it didn’t take long for you to suggest the next destination, because how better to end a date than dinner at a fast food joint?

Fast forward 10 minutes later, and you two found yourselves in the nearest McDonald’s.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to go to the winter fair,” Jimin apologizes, and from the look on his face you knew he felt bad for not staying awake during the bus ride, but he was insane if he thought you would hold that against him, “I wanted today to be perfect.”

Quiet, you sipped on your coke.

“You probably don’t want a second date, huh?”

“It was,” You suddenly speak, looking at everywhere else but Jimin, “Perfect, I mean. Still is.”

And then silence.

“Have I ever told you,” He leans forward to pinch your nose, while you scowled and did the same to him, “How ridiculously cute you are?”

You fling a drumstick at him, and it nicks him on the cheek before landing on his burger, to which you grinned triumphantly at.

“Have I ever told you how ridiculously cheesy you are?”

“Can’t help it,” He picks up your drumstick and twirls it around, “I’m a chick magnet after all.”

“Ha ha,” Laughing drily, you pluck the drumstick clean out of his grip and stuffed it gracefully into the black hole you called a mouth.

The night ends with a plethora of greasy pick-up lines and a neck-to-neck thumb wrestling competition, and you later find out that dates with Jimin rarely ever goes according to plan, though it never matters to you, because you always see them coming anyway.

***

Suffice to say, you agreed to a second date.

And a third.

You and Jimin may or may not be on your thirtieth date; no one knew because there were too many to count.

There were the coffee dates; the most common of them all, where Jimin would burst into the café with the happiest of smiles as he goes straight for the kill, pecking you on the lips even when you were in the middle of taking orders. You were taken off guard at first, but you adapted fairly fast, learning how to read his body language whenever he wants to embarrass you in front of a customer, dodging whatever cringey PDA he would toss your way. In return, you no longer ran on scheduled breaks; your breaks only came in the form of a certain Park Jimin, and you would never admit it but your heart would soar the minute he steps in, though for more reasons than one.

In due course, you meet the rest of his would-be band mates as well, growing to enjoy their company and join them in hour-long roasting sessions. Jimin doesn’t know you were added into a chat group with everyone else except for him, where you would receive notifications every once in a while with a derp photo of Jimin, and you would exchange it for one you took on your own. Or at least, you think Jimin doesn’t have a clue (hint: he does).

Then there were the quick lunch dates in their company’s dance studio, where you would sling a fake ID card around your neck (courtesy of Jimin himself) to enter the premises, heading straight for the studio and near jumping out of your skin every time you pass by an actual employee, though they were few and scarce. You thought it strange that no one ever gives you a second glance despite you lugging eight bowls of takeout with you, and Jimin, the nerve of him, never tells you that you didn’t need an ID card to enter the building after all; he informs security all the time. Each time, the boys would thank you for the food and push each other out of the small studio to give the two of you privacy, screaming ‘be safe’ on their way out, even though it was unnecessary because you two would just end up wrangling on the floor in a wrestle at the end of it all. You didn’t really understand why the hell you wrestled so much with Park Jimin of all people, but the make-out sessions afterward always wiped your memory clean anyway.

And you couldn’t leave out the karaoke nights, no, that would be absolutely appalling.

Not too far from the boys’ dorm sits a quaint little karaoke place, fully equipped with non-soundproof walls and no snack bar at all; but that place was an all-time favorite between you, Jimin, and occasionally the rest of the guys. The reason being that Jimin was a broke college student and you weren’t too well-off either, and both of you love cheap things; the cheaper the better.

The two of you wouldn’t be yourselves if you’d gone the mainstream route and serenaded each other with love songs all the time. That would too cheesy, even for Jimin’s standards, not to mention draining, and you both know the other would be squirming in their seats, unsure of how to respond to a confession in a song. So instead, you try to out-dance each other with your ugliest dance moves and see which of you was the better rapper by jamming to Tablo’s songs. The former proved to be difficult for Jimin; he was a dance major and he practically grew up perfecting dance moves, so you win all the time, uncertain if you were truly the winner because Jimin always ends up crouching on the floor, laughing his ass off at his oddball of a girlfriend.

Yet all good things come to an end, and the circumstance under which you had met Jimin had been pushed back into the recesses of your mind for a good three months. You were hopeful that maybe it had all disappeared for good, but providence had decided that it was about time for it to resurface.

The visions and the accidents were coming at an alarming rate.

“I can’t believe you spent the entire duration of the movie making me a crown out of popcorn,” You hiss, not menacingly, but disbelief had marred your voice. The two of you had been at the local theater, enjoying one of the few days where Jimin didn’t have training in the early afternoon, and you had strode out the theater with popcorn for decorative hair ornaments.

“It’s not my fault I can’t focus on the movie with you next to me,” He had grinned that shit-eating grin that made you weak in the knees, so you had elbowed him in the stomach.

“Well, now my hair is greasy, almost as greasy as you,” You remember retorting, narrowing your eyes at his unrepentant stance.

“You wound me sometimes, Y/N,” Or so he had said, but he had immediately picked you up such that you were only a few inches off the ground, ambling down the street with you struggling in his arms. With a purposefully drawn out sigh, you stopped fighting off his hold on you; you had seen it coming five minutes ago. Again, the miniscule perks of your clairvoyance.

“You’re going to be late if you don’t catch that bus.” Grumbling, you had jabbed a finger pointedly at the bus stop, where Jimin’s bus was in the midst of departure. Gently, he set you back down on the ground before getting ready to run for the bus again.

Then came a vision of that very same bus toppling off the road and into a shallow ditch, injuring everyone on board and resulting in a singular death—Jimin’s.

You had gripped his arm tightly, the same way you had all the other times, and Jimin had only taken one look at you before sighing sadly, “I’m just going to have to be late, don’t I?”

Jimin doesn’t ask any questions the next time it happened again, nor the one after that, and not for the countless times after that either.

You never do explain your clairvoyance to Jimin, because if wasn’t as if you had your strange ability all figured out; and you simply assumed he must have realized that by now. Ever since you were a child, you could sometimes see things right before they happened. It wasn’t uncommon for the incidents you witness to have no relation to you whatsoever; you could just be walking down the street and you’d get a vision of some cat taking a leak on someone else’s front lawn. Very seldom do your visions hit close to home, not before you met Jimin, and because everyone else seemed to think you were creepy whenever you revealed what you saw, you had learnt to keep everything to yourself and to pay the visions no mind.

Jimin had never once disregarded your fears, always making sure to ensure that you were doing okay even when technically, his life had been the one at stake. That was how selfless he was, and you just couldn’t understand why the good always die young, but what you did understand was that you wouldn’t let the same happen to him, not on your watch.

“Aren’t you scared of me? Every time I step in and stop some stupid accident, don’t you just want to run away from me?” You had asked one night, when there had been a little too much liquid courage in your system.

He had only scrunched up his nose.

“I think you’re the last person I should be scared of,” Not breaking eye contact, he had continued, “Besides, you’re my hero.”

His shit-eating grin had vanished as fast as it had appeared, melancholy settling over his face, “I just wish I could protect you as much as you do for me.”

“Cheesy.” You hear yourself say, but you had almost wanted to cry.

Park Jimin is a fucking saint, you remember thinking right before passing out on the couch.

But if it meant that you could bask in his presence, or see his crescent eye-smile for just one more day, you would fight the entire world if you had to.

That day comes sooner than you expected.

***

A voice, all too sweet and all too familiar, “Baby, wake up.”

And for some reason, you listen, eyes jolting open with a start, nausea rocking your sweat-drenched body. The comfort of your duvet does nothing to calm your erratic nerves, only sticking to your clammy skin as you fist the cotton tightly into a crumpled ball. You imagine that you probably looked like complete and utter shit right now, but no, that could hardly be a concern; not when your heart was nearly going into overdrive, and not when your only audience was a very concerned Jimin.

You were close to wheezing by now, disquietude throwing your body into turbulence, only properly breathing and taking in your surroundings when a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around your torso, along with a soft voice murmuring words of reassurance.

In the rosy glow of your room, the frightening visceral images you had been subjected to moments prior slowly seeped away into a jaded and distant memory, the touch of reality snapping you out from the effects of your nightmare.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jimin has taken to stroking your hair gently, your head pressed to his chest as the fast yet steady drumming of his heartbeat sways your breathing back to a much calmer rhythm.

Opening your mouth to answer an affirmative, you pause and frown, “I…don’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” His breaths fan over your hair, tugging you closer into his embrace, “Nightmares aren’t worth remembering.”

Gradually sobering up with the hard-hitting rays of sunlight streaming in from the windows, you nod, almost succumbing to sleep again in Jimin’s arms. That is, until your feet were suddenly dangling four feet off the ground, and you were being whisked away into the kitchen with promises of breakfast.

“Omigosh, Jimin, put me down,” You whine in between bouts of laughter, poking at his cheeks and messing with his hair, “I’m not a kid.”

In response, he only tightens his grip, twirling you around in the empty hallway of the apartment you shared with Yerim, earning a childish squeal from you; not at all proving your point.

It has been just a little less than half a year since the two of you had started dating, and despite the recurrent near-death incidents that have recently increased in frequency, the relationship was still dancing vivaciously in its honeymoon stages. If anything, the both of you had only adjusted your lifestyles and routines to fit the other in without a hitch. Jimin, ever the romantic, still comes running into the café everyday in between the rigorous training he has to endure at the company and the expectations at his university, sometimes even staying your entire shift when his schedule allows for it, other times spending all of 15 minutes attached to your waist like some kind of koala. With how irregular his training hours were, it became routine for him to drop by your apartment long after dusk had settled in, panting from his short sprint to get to you, and the both of you would do nothing but cuddle and fall asleep to the movie neither of you watched. Sometimes it would be the other way round—you stopping by their dorm whenever the boys declare a bowling night and Jimin sneakily bails.

Last night had been one of those nights, and today wouldn’t be any different either.

“Movies tonight at the dorm?” Jimin asks with a grin, hovering near the doorway as he readies himself to leave for training, “The guys are going skating, those idiots. Only Namjoon-hyung actually knows how to skate, so I really don’t know how they’re going to survive.”

“Wow, never thought I’d see the day Park Jimin declining the opportunity of seeing the guys fall flat on their faces.”

“Tell me about it,” He grumbles jokingly, adding accusingly, “You’re the reason why they keep saying I’m whipped these days.”

“Aren’t you?” A shit-eating grin on your face (one that unsurprisingly reminds you of Jimin), you quickly swipe your lips across his cheek, trying not to flush.

“I am.”

And he pulls you in for a chaste kiss, smirking at your blush and disregarding his own before he looked at the time and did a double take.

“Shit, I’m going to be late, I’ll see you tonight babe.” Was all he said before one more kiss and he was out the door, running for his dear life.

Smiling and shoving on your sneakers, you start getting ready for your next shift, which would undoubtedly be boring with the absence of one particular mochi.

And you were right, as the rest of your day comprised of greeting lethargic customers and whipping up the magical concoction that was coffee; the usual. Of course, you liked your job, but it was always a little less interesting without Jimin around, though he doesn’t have to know that. Yet, despite enthusiastically serving all your customers and counting down the hours to the café’s closing, a couple of customers had still been milling around aimlessly, lost in their devices even when operating hours were over. Which meant that you had to stay behind to clean the equipment and lock up the shop, which also essentially meant that you would be late to movie night with Jimin.

Whipping out your phone, you send him a quick text informing him of your tardiness, of which was responded to with a selfie of him fake-crying dramatically. You ignore both the selfie and the stupid smile on your face.

Barely fifteen minutes had passed before your systematic cleaning of the equipment was intercepted by the vibrating of your phone, breaking the stone dead silence that had enveloped the café.

“Yes, Jimin? Couldn’t stand waiting for twenty more minutes to hear my voice?” Your voice had a teasing lilt to it, which would have been insane if Jimin considers the fact that you only wore a permanent scowl on your face a mere five months ago.

“Damn, hit the nail right on the head.” His voice was muffled through the terrible speaker quality of you beat up phone, but it still made your stomach flip all the same.

You laughed, bringing the phone to your ear as you wiped a mug squeaky clean, “How was practice?”

“Same old same old, I don’t think I’m even improving.”

Even through the phone, it was apparent that he was slightly down in the faint tremble of his voice and the frustration that laced through it, and your heart broke a little for the boy who never thought he was good enough, not even when he deserved the whole entire world.

“Jimin,” You sigh, “You’re absolutely wonderful and I adore the shit out of you, keep that in mind, got it?”

“Aw, I adore the shit out of you too Y/N—fuck what the fuck was that?”

Your heart stopped. Jimin rarely swore like that.

“Jimin? Jimin? Answer me, what happened?”

Desperation was infiltrating your tone, and you instinctively knew something was dreadfully wrong.

“Jimin? Jimin? Don’t you dare be playing a prank, answer me please? Jimin?”

The call drops, and you instantaneously pale, coffee mug crashing to the mahogany floor.

Jimin never hung up on you. Never.

It was exactly 10:13pm, and you can only hope you get to Jimin in time. Breaking for the door, you all but topple into the street, hailing a cab and flinging yourself into the passenger seat in a matter of five seconds. The dorm was further away from the café than Big Hit was, and would take you approximately fifteen minutes by car; and whether you liked it or not, you were going to spend the next fifteen minutes beating yourself up with despair and worry.

You couldn’t help but berate yourself for not having a vision as you usually do before something bad happens to Jimin, wondering why you hadn’t been more on guard ever since the accidents had started picking up its pace a couple of months ago. Now, Jimin was going to suffer the consequences of your idiocy; your negligency, and all because you couldn’t even do a good job of meddling with fate. Unknowingly, tears were spilling uncontrollably as you contemplated over the many things that could have happened to Jimin, and the fear of losing him had you gasping for air.

But what had truly transpired was way beyond your comprehension and your sanity, and as you stood before the familiar building, you could only gape.

Because in the tiny window where the boys’ dorm was located in the old and crusty building, angry flames were creeping up the walls, tearing and destroying all that was in its way. The fiery orange and blue embers were engulfing almost half of the building, but it had looked to be the strongest where their dorm had been, and you were unable to make out anything except for the copious amount of thick smoke, threatening to suffocate anyone within a ten-mile radius.

Sirens were roaring, and you register the sight of courageous firefighters drawing out water hoses and hurling themselves into the dangerous chaos without a second’s hesitation, but all you could see and think was Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.

Tearing through the throngs of people gathered all around to witness the raging inferno, you scan the area for that familiar head of dark hair, or for the pair of eyes that would soften whenever you called out his name, but to no avail. Your frantic shouting was only met with silence.

Teetering unsurely between distress and grief, your prayers were finally answered when the paramedics on site started tending to civilians who had only just escaped the burning building, injuries varying from harsh third-degree burns to minor scratches. This was it, Jimin was going to stroll out anytime now, unscathed and relieved.

Anytime now.

Except he doesn’t, and your world shatters around you when you see a body delicately covered with a singular piece of white cloth being carried over to where numerous ambulances were situated at, sympathy plain on the paramedics’ features.

And from underneath the blood-stained fabric, a hand peeks out; fingers limp unlike the ones you had held earlier on in the day, the ring which matches yours still perched daintily on his left ring finger.

Stunned, your legs give out and you collapse onto the damp gravel, choking on your spluttering sobs. Behind you, you catch the words of a police officer taking down statements from all those who had evacuated the building safely.

It had been an electrical short circuit in the unit next to the dorm, and Jimin had been trapped in its vicinity. If the fire itself hadn’t claimed him, the toxic smoke would have.

Fingernails drawing blood from your palm, you scream and scream; screaming for the loss of your lover, screaming at the unfairness of it all, screaming for the boy who had always been too good for the world.

***

You were still screaming when you woke up.

And once again, a voice, all too sweet and all too familiar, “Baby, wake up.”

Eyelids shooting open, you don’t wait for hysteria to consume you before thrusting your arms around Jimin, who returns the gesture immediately, as you sob wearily into his shoulder. The thumping of your heart was almost too painful to bear, and you should breathe; but you couldn’t will yourself to do anything but clutch him close, verifying that yes, he was alive and very much breathing.

And as in the dream, Jimin eventually takes to threading his fingers through your tangled strands, brushing them down soothingly as he spills words of comfort; except this time you don’t quite calm down as easily, body still as tense and stiff as ever.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

This time, you don’t hesitate before replying with a big fat lie, “I…don’t remember.”

As if following a cruel pre-written script, as if life was like clockwork rewinding itself over and over again, Jimin speaks the exact same words as he did in the dream; no, nightmare.

The surreal images had imprinted themselves into your mind, flittering through the interstices of all sane thought, and you just knew that it hadn’t been a dream; it had been a premonition, a warning of sorts.

That, was where you came into the picture, and the moment you realize that, the script would get altered and go off course.

Your bed lifts with the absence of weight, and Jimin was up on his feet again, a smile breaking across his chiseled features and making him look every bit as angelic as he was. You didn’t have to think back to the dream to get a sense of what he was going to do next, and sure enough, you were soon four feet above the ground, right on your way to the kitchen.

You don’t protest, and that out-of-character behavior had Jimin raising a questioning eyebrow, but you only bury your face deeper into his chest, inhaling his faint scent of vanilla and lavender, reluctantly unwrapping yourself from his body when he sets you down at the dining table.

Tossing the leftover pizza into the microwave, Jimin takes the seat across from you, tucking his head into his palms as he shamelessly stares at you, frowning at your distracted demeanor.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You know you can tell me anything.” He says it gently, for he was never one to pry unwarrantedly.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a little shaken,” You confess, hoping the half-truth would appease his concern, “I’m just going to go wash up a bit.”

Scraping the chair noisily against the tiled floor, you all but fled to the bathroom. Your presentiments only ever came in the form of visions lasting less than a minute, never had you had a whole dream spanning an entire night, especially not one where you could feel so vividly and hear the dialogue still ringing in your eardrums. Call it a gut feeling, but you knew this was vastly different from all the other times you had hit the snooze button on Jimin’s ticking timebomb. The rest of your day could take on two vastly different directions; one, the matter gets resolved somehow and you proceed to live happily ever after with Jimin, two, it all ends and you never get to see him ever again.

Either way, decisions had to be made and you didn’t have all the time in the world to do that. Sucking in a long breath, you mull over the plausible options available, back still against the bathroom door.

And it takes you a minute to make up your mind before you step out, meeting Jimin’s worried gaze with a forced chuckle. His eyes don’t leave your frame even as you sat back down.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” A teasing smile from you was all it took to dispel all the tension in his shoulders, and he visibly relaxes. Everything was normal again, and whatever that was bothering you had seemingly disappeared.

“Already did.”

Lips stretching into a full-blown grin and eyes crinkling into the crescents you were so fond of, he flips his phone to shove his lock screen into your face; a blurry photo of you open-mouthed and drooling into his shoulder as he laughs his head off, bliss apparent even through the pixels.

“Oh no! The pizza’s burning!” You chuck out in an attempt to advert his attention away from you while you scramble to wrangle his phone out of his grasp; an attempt that was largely successful.

Frantically typing in the digits of his passcode (not difficult, it was your birthday), you were just about to delete all 30 of your unglamorous pictures from his photo gallery, but Park Jimin had annoyingly fast reflexes and had tackled you to the ground in the blink of an eye.

The phone clatters to your side, forgotten, as Jimin uses your surprise to his advantage and starts tickling you, of all things. And if you had a weak spot, it was tickling.

Your giggles resonates all around the apartment, joy practically bouncing off the walls. By this point, Jimin’s plump lips were dangerously close to yours, and who would you be if you didn’t grab that golden opportunity?

Cocking your head to have your lips meet his in a swift kiss, you take a moment to relish in his astonishment before flipping him over to subject him to the dreaded tickles, knowing full well that it was his weakness as much as it was yours. He was positively howling with laughter, head thrown back and cheeks flushed pink. Of course, it would be such a shame if you didn’t snap a photo of that. So you did, clambering to get to the abandoned phone and taking a selfie with Jimin’s face pointed at an unflattering angle (except nothing is ever unflattering on him), setting it as his new lock screen before he could even protest.

“You’re the worst, Y/N,” He groaned from his sprawled out position on the floor, pouting, “I hate you.”

Your lips widened into a soft smile, glancing at his hands on your waist securing your position on top of his form because he was probably afraid you were going to fall and hurt yourself.

“I love you.”

It had been five months, but neither of you had dropped the ‘l’ word yet, both afraid that the other wouldn’t say it back, but you figured there wasn’t any time better to say it than the present; it just felt fitting to say it there and then, and Jimin apparently shared the same sentiment.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He kept it simple as well, letting the words linger a second longer in the air before pressing a light kiss onto your forehead.

You snag a quick one on his forehead too, after which you pulled him to his feet, “Come on, you’re going to be late for practice.”

And Jimin was moving with urgent haste again, scuttling to gather his things at lightning speed. Soon enough, he was leaning against the doorframe, a slice of pizza dangling from his mouth (because breakfast had been neglected in lieu of wrestling) as he pulled his sneakers on, “Movies tonight at the dorm? The guys are going skating, those idiots. Only Namjoon-hyung actually knows how to skate, so I really don’t know how they’re going to survive.”

You shake your head apologetically, “Can we make it my place instead? I kind of want to sleep in tomorrow morning.”

“Mhm, okay,” He pulls you in for a kiss, “Anything’s fine as long as it’s with you.”

“Ew, cheesy.”

“You love it.” Tugging at your left cheek the way he knew you hated, he flashes you another award-winning smile before dashing down the corridor, vanishing from sight.

As soon as he was out of earshot, you let yourself crumple into the quietest of sobs as you got ready for work at an agonizing pace, wistfully hoping for time to slow itself and for this day to never end.

And work wasn’t any less mundane as it had been predicted to be; the hours still ticked by as you served strings of customers and poured endless cups of coffee, but the ineffable worry still stuck stubbornly to the back of your mind, even when you had tried to divert your focus elsewhere. With your irresponsible act five months back, the order the universe was supposed to adhere to had been thrown into disarray, and you fear that the last few months had only been you trying to prolong the inevitable.

Your brooding does nothing to make time pass slower, and soon the day was drawing to a close, and as per the dream, a couple customers were still around as closing time neared.

You send the text a tad bit earlier this time.

heyyy sorry, am held up at work so i’ll b a little late:–( let yourself in, k?

sent to jiMINIe, 9:34pm

Heart twisting at the dramatic selfie he sends in response, you get to cleaning quickly, knowing you had limited time to work with. Whirling around the shop to make sure everything was in order before you locked up and left, you end up hailing a cab; you didn’t want to be late.

Now huddled in the passenger seat, you alternate between catching glimpses at your phone and looking out the window.

9:52pm.

Then the call comes, a little earlier than it should, and you pick up a little too excitedly, phone almost slipping out of your hands.

“Yes, Jimin? Couldn’t stand waiting for 20 more minutes to hear my voice?” Your voice was devoid of the teasing lilt this time, but God knows you tried to keep your voice from cracking.

“Damn, hit the nail right on the head,” His muffled voice was music to your ears, and you cradle the phone closer, thinking that it’ll somehow feel like he was right next to you.

“How was practice?”

“Same old same old, I don’t think I’m even improving,” And there is was again, his self-deprecating voice; the one that makes you long for him to see that he’s too good to be constantly belittling himself.

“Park Jimin, you’re fucking perfect and I love you to the moon and back, so please, please just don’t push yourself too hard,” You sigh into the voice, injecting as much warmth into your voice as was humanely possible.

“I get it, mom,” He teases, and pause, “I love you too, so hurry your ass here before my butt goes numb.”

“Okay, okay, I’m on my way.”

“See you in a little bit.”

“Love you.”

You hang up, the intense sorrow causing the lump in your throat to swell, and your fingers grip your phone tighter, knuckles growing white and strained.

10:06pm.

The cab rolls into the parking lot, and the driver seems vaguely concerned about your state of anguish, but says nothing as you hand him the fare.

Legs moving all on their own, it takes you four minutes to make your way into the building, alight at the fourth floor, and arrive at the front door. The boys always kept a spare key underneath that dying potted plant next to the doorstep; today hadn’t been an exception. Your fingers soon made contact with the cool metal, and with an odd wave of halcyon, you let yourself in.

The dorm was expectedly empty, you noted with relief, crossing over the large piles of laundry to get to the only room, crammed full of bunk beds and the overpowering smell of air freshener.

Settling into Jimin’s lower bunk, you smile, the edges lined with bitterness and despondency.

The night you had formally met Jimin had been the beginning of the end, your fates had already been written in the stars aligning the night sky; stubbornly cast in stone, but you had simply turned a blind eye, losing yourself in your wishful thinking.

Would you had gone back to retract your actions? No, never, not in this lifetime and not in a million years.

But the universe was cruel that way; they couldn’t have that delicate balance being so easily tipped over by a mere pawn after all. What was meant to happen should have happened, and the lives that should have been lost shouldn’t have been reclaimed so carelessly. Life wasn’t a joke; it was fair. Nothing would come without a price, and often, that price has to be of equal value before a trade-off could be made. Essentially, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; those were the rules.

Your eyes land on the digital clock by the bed.

10:13pm.

And everything falls back into its place as the universe resumes order, and all is right in the world again.

a/n: because park jimin has been wrecking my (nonexistent) bias list, & what better way to celebrate than an angsty fic? also this was written before they released serendipity and i’m just super in awe at how well the lyrics fit?? thank you so much for reading^^ and please let me know what you think (i offer the usual, cookies and a virtual hug!)

#sfwbangtan #btswriters #kreativewritersnet #bts scenarios #bts jimin #bts fanfction #jimin fanfic #jimin scenarios

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aliceslantern · 7 years

Text

Nocturnal Memory, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic-- chapter 8

[ Dying takes a lot out of you, it's true, but when Demyx wakes up for the first time since his fight with Sora nothing's right. His memories are fragmented and he's missing his true name. And he's not the only one. An incomprehensible mystery and an inevitable war make him question what, exactly, he would do to become whole, and reclaim the music lost to him.

on FF.net/on AO3]

Demyx only barely stopped himself from saying "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," out loud. If Leon noticed his frustration, he didn't say anything.

Yuffie also had a scowl on her face when she got closer. "Squall, I swear to—"

He held up a hand. "Yuffie, you really need to grow up. You said you wanted a break from patrol. Well, here it is." He crossed his arms. "In order for this to work you have to get along. I fully expect you to be civil. You are both adults. Now act like it."

She snorted. "Yeah, alright."

They all went together to the first site, an aqueduct to the far side of town. The pipes and pump were broken, and as a result the water source was hundreds of meters belowground. Demyx could feel the distant humming in his bones; it didn't help his growing dread. He would rather do a lot of things than spend a whole day with someone who wanted him dead.

Once Leon was gone, they both stared up at the top of the aqueduct rather than look at each other. The stone was crumbling in places, and the green paint was washed out and chipped.

After a long moment, he tried to quell his racing heart. Demyx's palms were sweaty, and it wasn't just from the warm day. He dried them on his jeans. "So, uh," he began.

"I really don't want to talk to you," she said. She popped off a metal maintenance panel of the first pump and looked at the machinery. He saw the small set of hydraulics and wiring. With a bit more violence than was really necessary, she used a wrench to pry out the corroded pieces and yanked out the rotted wiring. "Just do whatever you're supposed to."

"I mean I don't really know what I'm supposed to do."

She rolled her eyes and pulled some new pipes out of the toolbox. "Of course not."

"Look, I'm not happy about this either—" He felt the blood rising in his face. "But maybe we should listen to Leon?"

She scoffed. She clipped the ends of the wires where they were broken. He wasn't sure of the state of the power. If she wasn't careful she could really hurt herself.

"Um," he said. "You've been trained how to do this, right?"

Yuffie huffed. "What, do you think I'm stu—fuck." She'd slipped with her wire cutters. She shook out her hand.

"…Cut yourself?" He asked.

"I'll cut something, alright," she said. She took off her wrist brace. The blood had already begun to well in her palm.

Demyx almost didn't want to ask. "Are you okay?"

"Fine."

He reached out. One thing he had recovered was an ability to heal. "Let me see it."

She took a step back. "You're not touching me."

"I can fix it."

"It doesn't need to be fixed."

He paused. "That's kind of bleeding a lot."

She studied it with an impassive expression. Red splotched onto the ground. "I'll go to Aerith. I don't trust you."

"And waste time going all the way back to town? Let me see it."

She glared at him. After a long moment, she turned her gaze away. "Fucking fine."

Demyx took her hand. Without the brace it was small, but strong and heavily callused. The cut fit right against her lifeline. He gathered some water in his hand, held it over the palm, and began to heal the damaged tissue. She flinched and jerked but did not take her hand away. It was a beautiful heal, he had to say; there wasn't even any scar. But she did not thank him. She tugged her brace back on and picked the wrench back up.

It took her about an hour to fix the pump. In the meantime he reached for the water underneath. He expected there to be a certain amount of blockage—either by fallen stone or other debris—and he wasn't wrong. It felt like plant matter or something otherwise light; it took him a while to draw it up because it required a lot of water pressure in the small stone pipe. Demyx was able at last to clear the way; by that point his stamina was about gone. He didn't want her to know that he was tired. His knees were shaking.

With a final crank of the wrench the tiny pump started moving again. "That should work," she said brusquely. "Well, don't just stand there, be useful."

Demyx tried. The water fought him, almost like it knew he was tired, and he felt a stinging pain in his arm muscles. How am I supposed to do this all day?

They moved onto the next one in silence. He preferred the quiet to the antagonism, but he could feel Yuffie simmering and often she cut glares at him. They followed the same routine—thankfully this one was a little easier on him, though there were more mechanical problems—and broke for lunch. He sat facing the town, legs dangling above a ground hundreds of meters below. He found he didn't mind the height. Demyx expected Yuffie to stay far away from him, but she surprised him by sitting only a few meters away, eating takeout noodles from a plastic container.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" She said neutrally, and gestured to the town.

He could see the moldering old castle and the blue rock in the distance. He guessed that it could be conjectured by some as beautiful, but he felt nothing towards the town other than a gaping homesickness. "I guess." He had nothing more to eat and wasn't sure what to do with himself.

"Funny how close it was to being gone forever, huh," she added.

He got the message. She was not trying to be friendly. "Look," he said, wondering if he should say this when so close to a ledge. "I know I've done some bad things. And I know my actions are not excusable, et cetera, whatever. But it looks like we have to work together for who knows how fucking long, so can. You. Not."

A moment of silence. She did not look angry. Demyx didn't know how to interpret the look on her face.

"To be fair…" Why was he still talking, "We've all done our fair share of shitty things, but I'm over it and I'm just trying to move on with my life, what's left of it. So leave me alone. Or at least shut up about it."

They stared at each other a long moment. Yuffie wore that same odd expression. Her eyes, he noticed for the first time, were not brown like he thought, but a dark shade of violet. She didn't look away, so he didn't want to either. His eyes were starting to water from not blinking. She broke the staring contest first and turned away, nose in the air.

"You're pathetic," she said.

Demyx tried to come up with some quick reply, like, well you're not a whole lot better, or something in that vein. The comment got to him in a way that he couldn't quite define. Because she was absolutely right.

He picked up the scraps of his lunch and tucked them back into the small bag he'd brought. He felt her gauging his reaction. It wasn't that he couldn't take an insult—oh boy, he could, he knew from experience—but that phrase had dredged up a forgotten stickiness. Fuck. Not now. Please. He gripped the wall for support, trying to play it casual, but firecrackers of pain were exploding behind his eyes. Demyx had to stay conscious. He couldn't afford to lose his shit. He could do that later, in the privacy of his own room in the weighty loneliness of the castle.

A cramped city, dingy and old, something with wooden parapets. He clung to consciousness, clung to the now, leading to a strange sense of doubled-vision. Bright banners. Sullen people, fast-moving crowds, being chased by… who? Or what? Not Heartless. This was human.

"We should get a move on," he heard Yuffie bark.

Humans. More than one, less than a few. Older than him but only by a little. He was not alone, he was in a group. Being chased for… stealing? Not food, though there was hunger.

Demyx no longer saw Yuffie's face. It was like the ground had been ripped up from under him. The sharpness of the pain worsened. He wasn't fast enough. He got grabbed up by the ankle. A knife that was cold and shimmery. Getting dangled above the first level of the city. Something about a punishment for dirty thieves. The necessary epithet, "You're pathetic." And then being dropped.

He did not regain consciousness before he hit the ground in the memory. He felt it all in stunning technicolor, ripping through a banner that saved him but only barely, flopping still too far onto the ground. Bones broken, in total: three ribs, the left radius and ulna, a fractured skull, and a femur. Lying there, disoriented and unable to breathe, just in time for the police to arrive.

Waking up for real because of a stinging slap. She'd actually hit him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Demyx's body seemed too heavy for him. He sat down and put his head in his hands. His cheek burned from her slap. "I don't know what they told you." He spoke like he'd never heard words before. "My memories—"

"Yes, I know, I was told. Your fucking memories."

"Quit yelling."

"I'm not yelling."

She wasn't. Now he had a real world migraine, bright and needy, rendering daylight into sharp arrows of pain. "I need a minute," he said, and to his horror his voice quavered.

"We've already wasted enough time."

"Shut up," Demyx said. He tried to breathe through the pain and get his body to heal it away. He focused on nothing at all and held his breath until it started to recede. He took a long drink of water. He wanted to try and figure out what he'd seen, but he couldn't do that with her breathing down his neck. "What's… what's next? Where do we have to go?"

"Towards one of the pumps in the south."

He stood on shaky legs. "Then let's go."

Home at last.

The castle had never been so welcoming before. At least it was quiet. His head was hurting again. Demyx just wanted to lie down and sleep; he felt the exhaustion all the way down to his bones. He wasn't sure he could do this, day in and day out. Something had to give. Maybe if he talked to Leon about it—

And then what? Give her the satisfaction of knowing she'd gotten to him? He would have to get stronger with time. At least, he hoped.

The walk back to his room seemed particularly long and his body dragged him down. He didn't want to stop and rest for fear that he would be unable to get up. His eyes were hot and sore with fatigue. He idly traced a hand down the molding of the hallway.

Up ahead he saw a previously collapsed passage had been cleared, leaving behind a raw tunnel of pure earth. Aeleus must have been here earlier today. Compared with the delicate architecture of the rest of the castle, it seemed like a gaping maw, but according to the map, it would get him back faster.

As he passed through the halls, he heard voices. Aeleus must still be working. Demyx didn't mind talking to Aeleus, mostly because there was absolutely no pressure to say anything, so he decided to keep on walking through.

Dilan and Aeleus were working in tandem, with Aeleus clearing the debris and fixing the supports and Dilan managing all the dirt and dust. "Well, if it isn't our little maintenance man," Dilan said smoothly. There was a shattering crack as Aeleus cut some of the rock; Demyx flinched. "What was it like, working for the committee?"

He debated, and decided that Dilan would probably enjoy hearing about his misadventures. "Oh, it was just great. I'm exhausted and my partner treats me like a pariah."

"So, basically another day on the job, eh?"

Demyx rolled his eyes, and then paused. "I guess so, now that you mention it."

With another crack the passage was cleared. Sweat dripped down Aeleus's face, and he swiped at it absently. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Glad to know you're about in fighting shape," Dilan said. "Heaven knows you might need to be."

Demyx blinked. "What?"

"I could use rest as well," Aeleus said. "Once I secure this spot, I say we all go eat." He stomped and pressed his hands against the wall. The earth shifted and shuddered above them. Demyx swallowed, but nothing more than a faint trickle of dust came down. "That should do it."

"Very nice work," Dilan said condescendingly. "Though it's a shame about the architecture. What lovely hand-carved molding."

"If you want artistry, you work on it yourself," Aeleus said blankly.

There was something familiar about going back with them. Like Dilan had said, it was like the old days, though they were all different. They had good intentions now, or at least, Demyx hoped they did. He was fairly sure that none of them meant any harm. But at the same time, minus Xemnas (Xehanort, whatever, whomever), could they all make the jump to "good" so quickly? What about everything they'd done—the Heartless, the manipulation, the controlled takeovers? The casualties that had to come with all that? The trauma they'd inflicted to others? A lump stuck in his throat.

And what good were they actually doing? Giving people water and fixing up the town seemed like something good. Still, Demyx didn't exactly feel satisfied with his day's work. Maybe it was because Xehanort was looming, but it seemed odd to him that they hadn't really moved on with their lives like they used to anticipate they would. Then again, some of them had spent nearly eleven years in the Organization, so maybe there wasn't even much to move on with. Ienzo and Demyx might have been younger and able to forage a new path, hypothetically, but the others? What did they have left?

And what about Lea? Demyx hadn't seen hide or hair from him in a long time. "Where is Lea?" he asked them.

"Off gallivanting with that Keyblade, I'd wager," Dilan said. "Loves playing the hero. It's kind of ironic."

"He's repenting," Aeleus said, but like usual he didn't expound upon that thought.

"Aren't we all," Dilan said dryly.

"It's different, for him."

"Well, believing hard enough isn't going to stop the enemy," Dilan continued. "And with the way this is all going… who knows?"

"Is it bad?" Demyx asked. Part of him really didn't want to know.

"How can it be good?" Dilan turned to face him. His black braids were caked with rock and dust. "How can it be good when we have an enemy who can see three steps ahead of us at all times? It's the most we can do to survive. Might be best to quit while we're ahead."

"We must survive," Aeleus said. "It's all to do."

"Right you are. I don't suppose you have any opinions on the matter?"

Demyx thought. "Aeleus is right. I just want to live. But I… I can't fight him. I don't even know if I can help."

"I'm sure you have something valuable to contribute."

"That's not what I meant," Demyx said. "I don't want to get sucked in again. Not now that I have a choice."

That stunned Dilan into silence. Finally, Aeleus said, "I suppose that's a wise thought."

Night and the sleep of the dead. He was down for the count for about twelve hours, and woke up disoriented. He half expected to wake up in his bed at the Organization's castle. But no, he was only in the small room on the small hard bed in Radiant Garden.

He went through his morning routine. He needed to do laundry. (When you only had four shirts you did an awful lot of laundry.) He was so tired so early in the morning that he struggled with the coffee percolator for a quarter of an hour, and then finally decided it would probably just be easier to shell out a few precious munny in town. Demyx shouldn't be late anyway. Well, what did it matter? Yuffie was going to be mad at him late or early.

But when he got to the spot they'd agreed upon yesterday he found Cid in her place. "I hope you brought some for me," he said when he saw the cup in Demyx's hand.

"…Didn't think of it," he answered lamely. But he was relieved. He could only hope this new arrangement would be permanent. Before he could even finish the thought, Cid added,

"I'm only with you for today. There was a pretty bad surge last night. You know, of Heartless. Yuffie's injured pretty bad. She and Leon both."

Like he cared. Still, he felt an involuntary swell of concern. Probably more for Leon. "Will they be okay?"

"They're in good hands. I've seen a lot of gross stuff, but nothing Aerith can't fix." He adjusted his goggles and leaned in. "Once I even saw her reattach a hand. It was amazing. Kid had full coordination and everything. Within an hour she was out playing again."

Demyx shuddered. "There's no risk for them, you know, to become…"

"Heartless?" Cid finished. "No, fortunately. Burns, more like, from one of them artificial types."

"…Oh."

"Well, look at us standing around gossiping. Let's get to work."

Another long, exhausting morning. Demyx thought he should probably talk to someone about why he was so damn tired. Maybe he was getting sick. Being stuck in the castle was like being in a vacuum, probably. Cid was pleasant and chatty and he could tell a great dirty joke, but Demyx felt weaker and weaker.

"Is there a bug going around town?" He finally braved himself into asking. "Like, a cold, the flu, something?"

Cid shrugged. "Not that I know of."

"Mind if I sit for a minute? Using my powers still wears me out."

"Go right ahead." Cid pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. "I had quit for a long time, but right now it's been so stressful that this is the only thing that helps." He offered the pack to Demyx.

He took one. The taste was different than he remembered, but the burn in his lungs was soothing and he felt a little better.

"Didn't picture you as a smoker," Cid said.

"Only every once in a while." He'd seen his fair share of party scenes as a member of the Organization—both voluntarily and because of reconnaissance. Mostly he just liked watching the people, the dancing, the music… he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"You good, kid?"

"…Yeah. Just… thinking, that's all."

Demyx took another long drag and ground out the butt. The music. He had to start looking for the music.

#demyx #nocturnal memory #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts 3d #fanfiction #i'm trying to play a little bit with ideas of guilt and trauma #i feel like it's not talked about enough in kh #especially concerning the organization #and all of the shit they've done???? like holy fuck human experimentation???#the org members are all super compelling in that regard #at least from a narrative standpoint #god I wish days had included more of stuff like that

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