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1d1195 · 2 years

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Yours

This is going to be a lot of dialogue... for good reason of course. But not a lot of description.

Harry Styles was her best friend to say the least. She worshipped him. But not in obsessive way. Not in an oppressive, ‘he’s the king type of way.’ (Even though she kind of believed he was.) It was mutual for sure, too. She felt it every time she was with him. They simply adored one another. She was his queen.

She tried explaining it one day as he walked her to work down the street from their apartment. “Harry, when I used to hang pictures of you on my walls, I thought no one could match your smile,” she said softly. “Truly, I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

While he wasn’t one for long eloquent speeches (if it wasn’t to the sound of a guitar, it was hard for him to explain how he felt), he did what he could. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “That,” he said softly. “That’s exactly how I feel about you,” he told her cupping his hand against her cheek. “And I didn’t even hang pictures of y’on m’walls until after I met you...like a normal person.”

She giggled and pushed onto her toes to give him a gentle kiss. “I’ll see you after work,” she said as she entered the banking building. She had her own office decorated with flowery pictures and ocean-themed knick-knacks. It was the embodiment of her.

Of course, they had their days. Sometimes they would argue about trivial stuff. Usually that Harry was paying for too much. Sometimes it was just that he missed her. He was lonely during the day—not that it was her fault. A lot of the time it drove her nuts that Harry never let the dishes soak when he left them out overnight. (That one really irked her.)

But overall, they were simply them. Harry noted this was by far the easiest relationship he ever had. The tabloids paid no mind to her. There was nothing to say about the perfect angel. She got a degree, she went to work, and she was beautiful. Harry remembers the day he met her fondly: he was applying for a loan at the bank. Apparently when he walked in, he was scheduled with one of the brokers, but the man took one look at him and said, “I’m sorry, my secretary didn’t inform me that it was you applying for a loan. Follow me and I will introduce you to your soul mate,” he said seriously and marched to the back office with the view of the city behind them. “Clear your schedule,” he said knocking on the door. “He needs a loan,” he said and patted Harry on the shoulder as he waited outside the door.

She dropped the papers in her hand, and they went flying across the floor of her office. “Holy shit,” she whispered. Chuckling, Harry bent to the ground and started gathering her mess of papers together and the rest was history, as they say.

He was gone a lot, but she was always there for him to follow his dreams. It had been three years since that fateful day. Together they shared a routine and he adored it…and more importantly her. He had learned so much about her and from her. The reason she was so intelligent and sagely. It took a bit of time to figure out, but he found it was because she had to grow up long before anyone should have to grow up.

It was at night that he learned the most. He wanted to write hundreds of songs about the secrets the dark told him. It was always easiest to chat when it was dark in their shared bedroom. She would wake up moments before him—like they were simply tethered by their alertness to one another. He would roll onto his side and the moonlight would paint over her face just making enough to see her shadow but not know if her eyes were open. He would grab onto her waist and pull her toward him, liking the warmth he felt of her breath against his chest.

He thinks about their talks. They’re what made him fall harder for her with each question. She asked so many good questions. He learned an abundance from her. It killed him a little bit to think about, but it couldn’t be removed from his brain. They played on repeat as if he was trying to figure out what was going on in those moments that he didn’t see what happened before it was too late.

“My mom sang I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You, when I was born until...basically until she passed away,” she said quietly. Harry asked about lullabies. If she had any growing up. “I would sing that every night to my baby. It would bring my mom closer to the baby too. And I’d also sing a song that made me think of the baby’s father.” Harry would never tell her out loud, but he hated when she referred to not being with Harry. It made it sound like she didn’t trust him.

In hindsight he wonders if he was right about that.

The only reason he never confronted her is because he knew a secret about her that she doesn’t even remember she told him. It was after a night when she had more than her normal three drinks, and the sweet, adorable, tipsy angel he adored so much let it slip that the last thing she wanted to do was scare Harry off. Despite the reassurance he gave, she wasn’t sure it was possible.

In the end, he at least promised her that wasn’t the reason.

“I didn’t know y’sing,” he murmured thinking about the lullaby she had. That was true. Of course, he heard her hum. Once in a great while he could hear her mimicking the princess movie she watched while babysitting the kids next door to their apartment.

She snorted. “Harry. How on earth am I supposed to sing in front of you?”

He ignored her silly question. He had a more important one. “If we had a baby, d’y’know what song y’would sing?” He wondered

She nodded quickly. It was like she was ready for the question before he asked it. “M-hmm. I Want to Write You a Song—that’s my favorite and it’s perfect for a lullaby.”

He filed that away in his brain for later. He hadn’t thought about that song in such a long time. It was never toured and it was a long while before he thought he’d be singing it to his own children. He would have to give it a listen later when she was asleep. See if he could figure out what drew her to it. “What about your ex?” He followed up with his next question. “What did you pick for him?”

“Do you really wanna talk about this?” She knew he didn’t love hearing about him. He wasn’t jealous, but he was so infatuated with her the idea of someone else owning a piece of her heart made him feel sad only because he wished with everything in him that she never experienced heartbreak.

He wished with everything in him that he didn’t cause it either.

But nonetheless, her ex was a big part of her life. They got engaged. Then they weren’t. She had to have thought about his lullaby.

“M’jus’ curious is all.”

She paused. “Yellow. Coldplay”

He nodded thinking about the words. “That’s a nice song. Why’d y’pick it?”

She shrugged, “He reminded me of yellow.”

Hmm. Harry thought. “What color do I remind y’of?”

“You’re asking me a lot of questions,” she said knowingly and the time on the clock read a half hour from when he last looked. She yawned and Harry instinctually reached out to trace a line along her hairline and then brought his hand to rest on her hip. He kissed the side of her head and sighed.

“You’re jus’ so interesting.” He said it in such a heartfelt manner that it made her heart flutter. He wanted to learn everything there was to learn. He couldn’t believe she was still surprising him so many years later. She was grateful for the dark because he couldn’t see the blush that crept to her cheeks. With Harry she always felt like the only woman in the room. His entire being was enthralled with her. He clung to her every word. It made her feel special.

She adored their middle of the night talks.

“Blue.”

He felt his eyebrows pinch together and he spoke his bitterness before he could censor it. “S’not really fair your ex gets sunshine, and I get depression.”

She giggled and Harry swears that it was better than all the song lyrics he could ever come up with. “You goose, it’s not depression. You’re the ocean and the sky. You’re the color of the moon. You’re blueberries and summer. You’re the color of rain and planets and stars. You’re better than yellow.”

Harry thinks about being blue a lot when he’s missing her.

“How did you handle the divorce?” She wondered one night. 2:30 AM again. He had just come back from the kitchen with a glass of water that he sipped from, and she noticed. “Because I imagined my mom and dad divorcing for years but when I thought it would for real...”

He pondered briefly how long she’d been awake. Wondered how she settled onto this question and what had run through her mind leading up to it. He shrugged. “It was hard. But I was young. S’easy t’understand when y’don’t know the whole story.”

“Do you resent your parents for it?”

“I resent m’dad a little because I feel like I didn’t have a role model t’tell m’what t’do sometimes. I resent m’mum only because her second husband passed and I watched her go through that heartache twice, but worse,” he explained. He thought about it for a moment longer not wanting to make himself sad when someone beside him was too pretty, too lovely, and too sweet to be sad near.

She reached out, took his hand. Winding their fingers together she didn’t say anything for a long while. Harry thought maybe she’d fallen asleep. There was never any warning at night when one of them would fall asleep. The questions were always answered but it was hard to say goodnight after the late night talks. It was like they didn’t want the conversation to end and by not saying goodnight they could continue it into the next night. “Do you believe in soulmates?” She whispered.

Sleepily he squeezed her hand and curled over toward her. “Not till I met you.”

“Do you believe I’m your soulmate?”

“Can’t imagine anyone else, kitten,” he murmured kissing her temple and pulling her beneath his chin.

He thinks about how he said that to her on the days that he believes in soulmates again. On the days he thinks of her.

“Do you not like something about yourself? —Seriously.” He said pointedly when she smirked at him ready with a list of insecurities as her mouth opened ready to list them off.

She paused for not more than one breath. “I’m not spontaneous at all.”

“You don’t like that?” He wondered in shock. “Holy cow, kitten, That’s…that’s like m’favorite thing ‘bout you.” He chuckled. “Your lists are s’colorful and you’re s’organized and I’ve never been s’calm goin’ t’the airport or an appointment knowing you planned it.”

“In past relationships,” she shrugged one shoulder. “I was called neurotic, psychotic, crazy...I don’t know. I just wanted to be on time to parties and see the previews at the movies.” He listened carefully so he was sure to be cautious of what she wanted. They never missed a trailer at the movies. There was no being fashionably late to parties. “Can I ask you a question?” She wondered. He nodded quickly. There was never a question she asked that he didn’t want to hear.

“Do you see us growing old together?” She asked curiously.

If Harry thought for two seconds, he would have noticed her line of questioning recently was very telling. He should have been more aware of the aura he was giving off and more aware that she noticed it. “Of course. Do you?”

“I hope...a lot. But I get nervous still about whether you love me, if you’ll grow tired of me, if I’m boring you, etc…” she listed.

“Kitten,” he said pointedly. But again, if he thought about her question, he would have noticed she only asked because he was slowly pulling away.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

On their birthdays, special holidays, and anniversaries he remembers her asking him this question. He prays she doesn’t think that those are the reasons.

Now, she was sitting in the hotel room and her mind wandered to the beautiful green eyes that starred in all her dreams. Her hands were wringing themselves over and over as she thought about the last ten or so months without Harry. They were a whirlwind; but nonetheless she thought about him every day. It was impossible not to think about him.

The deep breaths weren’t doing anything for her. She was still anxious and distraught. There were so many things she needed to tell him. But he left. And when he said...well she just told him to leave.

“Kitten,” he whispered.

“No,” she said tears dripping down her cheeks. “I’m always mature and put together. I can’t be right now. Just go. I don’t want to see you right now,” she sobbed and slammed the bedroom door shut.

The sound of the door slapping shut snapped something in her heart. He promised. She thought to herself. Over and over. She stopped thinking about it because she thought that crying alone in a hotel room was the epitome of being pathetic.

She thought about the way he smiled and how he held her doors open for him. Some days he would make her pancakes and bacon. She liked them with chocolate chips and powdered sugar so he would always make her those. Not to mention he walked her to work each day and held her hand and they tried to prevent one another from tripping over the air. He was just the sweetest. Being with him was like learning to breathe underwater. It felt impossible but boy was it an amazing thing to do.

The person in the next room over began to stir and the creeping sense of loneliness and guilt started to roll through her body. As she stood to return to the room, she thought about the green eyes some more and who they stared at now in the middle of the night asking questions that were only meant to be asked at three in the morning.

In reality, she wasn’t entirely alone.

He always haunted her thoughts.

At precisely 1:49 in the morning Harry found himself jet-lagged but still tremendously tired of playing music and greeting fans from that previous evening. He felt his mind racing with questions and no one to ask them too. He scribbled that thought of unanswered questions on the empty page of his notebook. He thought about yellow. He thought about blue.

He wondered who she asked questions to now. He wondered if he knew how special the questions were and if they were answered the right way.

The next room over clearly had music coming from it. It was too quiet to make out the words, but it sounded nice and soothing. He thought about going over asking the person to play it louder on their speaker so maybe it would lull him to sleep.

With twenty more questions on his mind, he started to drift. His eyelids began to slowly blink close, and he thought about her lying beside him, gently stroking his cheek with her fingertips until he was completely asleep and then she would move to tug lightly at his hair until he was deeper into his dream state.

It was always dreams of her that he had. It’s how he liked it and he wondered why he ever thought leaving her was a good thing.

At precisely 1:52 in the morning, his eyes snapped open. He wasn’t tired. There was no music that could lull him back to sleep. He was awake.

And he had questions.

Harry found himself tripping as he bolted out of bed. He was practically sprinting out of his room, into the hall. Nothing but a T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts adorned his body. The security detail blinked at him in surprise as he knocked rapidly on the door next to his. Heart pounding, breathing erratic he waited for what felt like eternity. Eventually, because he was on high alert, he heard the smallest gasp from behind the door.

Bracing his hand against the frame he leaned in close. “Lemme in,” he said lowly. The lock clicked open and there she stood. After all this time, his heart raced, and she didn’t move her gaze from the floor. He wanted to scream at her. He wanted to kiss her. But there was something more important he had to deal with at that moment. “Where?” He wondered.

“Harry, we just got to sleep,” she whispered in defeat.

He marched through the room looking for the right area until there it was. The tiny play pen where the sleeping baby resided inside. Harry peered over the side and reached into the pen to run the back of his hand on the tiniest little cheek he’d ever seen. It was soft and warm. Attached to the cheek was a button little nose, a pair of long lashes closed over what had to be the roundest eyes he’d ever seen. He wanted to wake her up. He swallowed around the rock in his throat and he wished he wasn’t teary because they blocked his vision. And clearly there was already so much time he wasted on not seeing what was before him. “How could you?” He whispered.

She didn’t say anything. Just a hand pressed over her mouth as tears worked around her fingers and dripped to the floor. “Can I explain?”

“I don’t think y’ve much choice,” he said. He refused to move his eyes from the tiny being. He feared she might actually go away.

“Mr. Styles?” Someone called into the room curiously.

“Get. Out,” he hissed back. He was never rude, but not a single soul could know about this right now. There were too many unknowns. The door clicked shut. Harry admired the tiny arms, the small fingers, and the onesie that was wrapped around the baby like a second skin. “What’s her name?” He wondered.

“Darcy,” she whispered. Her voice barely audible.

“Can I pick her up?” He wondered.

She walked the last remaining steps between them and peered over at the tired babe. “Yeah, she’s out,” she said softly and rubbed her hands over her eyes to wipe away the tears. Harry carefully reached in, his eyes burning with more tears as he lifted her into his arms, and she made the tiniest little grunt and squeak that babies do. He swallowed again as he held her to his chest, and she settled against him. He admired the two lips that were so tiny and the way she yawned. He felt like sobbing. She was beautiful.

Of course, he knew if this was her mother, there was no way there would be anything less than a beautiful baby between the two.

“You broke up with me the day I planned on telling you,” she said. Harry managed to tear his eyes from the baby to the girl standing back by the door. “You said that it just wasn’t working anymore.”

His heart broke again. “You should have told me.”

“Probably,” she sniffed. “But what would that have done if not just trap you in a relationship with a girl you didn’t love held together by a baby you would resent?”

“Do you know—” he started.

“Let me finish.” He was silent. He found he was swaying holding the baby against him so closely she felt like an extension of Harry. She was so little. She was so warm. She was his. It scared him but it felt so incredibly right. Like this is what he was meant to do. He waited for her to speak again. His eyes were glued to her beautiful figure dressed in moon light.

“The moment she was resting on my chest,” she said gently. “I realized I made the biggest mistake of my life. I don’t know what I was thinking, and I feel so horribly awful. I should have done so many things differently. So, I went to correct it. I’ve been following you for...since she’s been in this world. I’ve been trying to work up the courage. I just…what am I supposed to say? Christ, Harry. I am so, so, so sorry.”

He didn’t say anything for a few moments he just held the little girl close to him. He kissed the top of her tiny soft little head. “How old is she?” he wondered.

“She’ll be three months old in two weeks.”

“What was being pregnant like?”

“I wanted your chocolate chip pancakes for every meal for an entire month. I cried outlandishly at the news. Every Thursday at exactly 3:08 I would throw up.”

He smirked. “Did you make Mumma sick?” he cooed. She smirked weakly and looked at how Harry’s whole hand covered her tiny back. She felt awful keeping this secret.

“How…how did you know it was me?” She asked.

“I was pretty much asleep, and I heard this...really pretty singing and I didn’t know who or what it was. I couldn’t make out the song. I was almost out when it occurred to me y’were singing I Want to Write You a Song. And...I realized that meant you were singing Can’t Help Falling in Love With You before that.”

She nodded in confirmation. “And you knew that was me because…?” She asked.

He blinked at her. She must not have remembered the lullaby discussion. How interesting. “You told me about your mum singing that to you in the middle of the night,” he said.

Her lips parted and she visibly looked like someone shocked her. “You…You remember that?” She asked.

“Kitten, I remember everything you’ve ever told me.” It was silent for a while. “M’still pretty mad, but I know why y’kept it from me,” he said eventually. But after all it was the middle of the night. It was time for questions. He came close to her the baby between them, sleeping soundly but not squished. He pulled his gaze from the tiny love to the woman that gave him truly everything he ever could have wanted and didn’t even bat an eyelash about how hard it must have been all alone and how hard it must have been to hide from everyone that wondered where the little one’s dad would be. He thought about being blue. He thought about soulmates. He couldn’t think about anything but her and this beautiful little baby. “What do you want?” He asked her.

“What do I want?” She questioned.

“What do you want?” He repeated. They were both quiet for a long moment. “From me?”

She had her answer ready. It was already leaving her mouth when he asked. “I want you and her,” she said softly.

In the dim moonlight that painted over her, he was falling quickly. There was so much to say but not enough time. He was getting tired. They needed sleep. He bent his head down and pulling his hand from the tiny angel, he tilted her chin up and he felt his heart hammering so loudly he worried it would wake the sleeping baby. His lips brushed hers and she shivered against him as they did. She seemed to sigh with relief. The feeling was mutual. Harry’s mouth was so soft and gentle against hers.

At 2:19 AM he pulled from her mouth and whispered. “We’re all yours.”

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cinnaminsvga · 3 years

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a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary:

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.}

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it.

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch. If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away. Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p. You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you��!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

1K notes · View notes

satendou · 4 years

Text

⟼ monster

⍣ all time low series | next | 1/4

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: tendo/reader

⇢ au: atl!au, college!au

⇢ summary: you like horror movies, tendou likes horror movies, what could go wrong?

⇥ masterlist

⇢ warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, mentions of bullying, insecurities, piercings, cursing

⇢ word count: 13.2k

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ a/n: i think this is the biggest fic i’ve ever written and it’s one of my favorites, if not my absolute favorite i’ve written so far. it was kinda hard to write it in a way that stayed true to my vision for it but also didn’t make it childish, so i hope i succeeded in that regard. as always, thank you to @keijiskitten for editing this!

“Oh, come on, ‘Kaashi,” you said, setting your hand on your hip. You were standing around in the middle of the classroom with him and a few others, waiting for your professor to show up who was no doubt getting a coffee from the overflowing Starbucks down the street. Class would be half over before he finally arrived. “It’s just a few scary movies.”

“Sorry, _____. I have to study and I just know that trying to watch movies with you and study is gonna be a nightmare,” he said, giving you a sympathetic look. “And give me nightmares.”

You rolled your eyes and looked around to Bokuto, who was scrolling through his phone while he chatted with Yaku about the next practice. That was a hard no. Poor Bo would agree without complaint and wind up with nightmares for a week, clinging to you throughout the night. Catching Akaashi’s eye, you exchanged knowing looks and chuckles.

“Hey, _____,” Semi said from your other side. He was busy filling out a music sheet with notes for his next possible song, and the way he said your name indicated he was more focused on that than your quandary.

Still, you turned to look at him over your shoulder, quirking your eyebrow at him. When he didn’t immediately continue, you prompted him. “What’s up?”

“Oh, right,” he said, looking up from the paper. He gave you a small smile and tapped the tip of his pencil on the desk in a smooth rhythm, leaving small marks all over the surface. “You should see if Tendo wants to join you. He’s really into horror movies too.”

“Um, who?”

Semi’s eyes widened in surprise and he pointed over his shoulder. You could hear Akaashi snicker from your other side. The chair on Semi’s other side tipped back on its back legs, and a man with close-cut red hair peeked around his back, waving cheekily at you.

“Hi, name’s Tendo Satori. I’ve only been hanging around you for about two weeks now,” he said and, though he sounded lighthearted and jovial about it, you could see the way his eyes remained narrowed, scrutinizing you. And he didn’t look impressed.

You flushed bright red, realizing you did know him but had never committed his name to memory. Mostly because he hadn’t ever really said anything to you or seemed interested in you at all.

“I-- well, I’m sorry,” you offered awkwardly. But you meant it, at least. You felt a bit bad now that he was in your face. Trying to lighten the mood, you joked, “I’m _____ _____ and my brain space is committed to horror movies and studying. No space for names I’m afraid.”

Semi rolled his eyes and Akaashi heaved a long-suffering sigh, covering his eyes with his hand, but Tendo laughed at your stupid joke. His eyes eased up, his smile relaxing, and he now looked genuinely interested.

“A horror movie marathon, huh? I’m interested. Why don’t you tell me more?”

Tendo didn’t actually expect it to go his way. As with most other people, he was sure you were just faking your enthusiasm and would flake out once you were free of him.

And yet when lunch rolled around and your group of friends were standing in the breezeway, shivering as you tried to pick out some place to go and eat off campus, you fell into step beside him.

“I really am sorry for not knowing who you were,” you offered, adjusting your bag on your shoulder and slipping a pair of gloves on. “Could we, maybe--”

He cut you off, grinning. “Forgiven and forgotten, _____.”

Hesitantly, you smiled back. He was strange, to be sure. Even though you hadn’t really had a true conversation with him yet, you got the feeling he was different, eccentric and unpredictable maybe. The way he harassed the shit out of Semi and some of the others was hysterical, though. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was that made you feel that way, but it wasn’t bad. You were even a little curious.

“Okay cool. So if, by chance, we were to do this movie marathon, how would you feel about cannibals?” you asked, tapping your chin thoughtfully. It was a theme you had been thinking about for a while, but none of your friends were into horror movies much, let alone a dozen or so movies centered around such a gory theme.

Tendo clicked his tongue and you heard a strange clink. “Hypothetically, right?”

“Right,” you said, your eyes zeroed in on his mouth, waiting for him to speak again.

He hummed, his lips curling in thought and his eyes narrowing as he stared off in the distance. Second in height only to Bokuto, he towered over everyone even though the two of you walked together at the back of the group. Speaking of Bokuto, you could hear him over the chatter of the other students around you, talking about the diner just a block away from the school and guessed that that was where you were going.

Then he shrugged. “That sounds rad. What’re you thinking? Hypothetically.”

“Well, obviously gotta go with The Hills Have Eyes. I mean, it’s a classic. And then of course Wrong Turn because there’s so many of those. And, uh…that’s all I have, but that’s literally like 8 movies and if we get past those I don’t know what we’ll do,” you said, weaving through the throngs of people on the sidewalk. You had forgotten you had been trying to see what was in his mouth just a few minutes ago as you avoided toes. You could see the diner sign up ahead, reading “Newly Opened” and a list of menu items, but it was otherwise obscured from your view.

A gasp from Tendo startled you and you whipped around to look at him, only to find him staring at you in disbelief.

He had to fight the laugh in his chest from coming up at the wide-eyed, freaked out look on your face as he said, “I cannot believe you’ve forgotten the most classic of classic cannibal movies, _____. How could you forget The Texas Chainsaw Massacre movies?”

Relief mingled with amusement on your face when you realized what he was getting at, and you covered your mouth as you laughed. Putting on your best ashamed expression, you closed your eyes. “I can’t believe I forgot those. I’m such a fake fan.”

“Kicked out of the club for sure,” he said, holding the door open for you. The bustle of the diner drowned out anything more Tendo said as you followed the others towards a large table in the back corner. After that, you were seated between Semi and Akaashi and the conversation was halted.

For the time being.

You didn’t bring up the marathon again, though you snagged Tendo’s number the day after you went to the diner. The conversation started out about movies and morphed into other topics like majors, highschools, how he knew Eita and how you had met Bokuto and Akaashi, amongst others. It left Tendo in a bit of confusion. The two of you kept up a steady stream of communication throughout the day, even sneaking in texts during classes that could net you extra work or pop quizzes. And yet never once was the marathon mentioned.

Part of him was bummed because he had kind of been looking forward to the movies, but the larger part of him was unsurprised. Something like that was way too intimate, and for someone like you to want to do something like that with a-- someone like him was too much to hope for. He was just happy that you weren’t avoiding him like most others did; he wasn’t going to ask for more.

Except he kind of did want more, and he didn’t want to feel that. The disappointment was already tangible on his tongue and he swallowed it down every time he saw you in the hall, chatting or laughing with someone else. It would ease slightly when you would turn to look in his direction, flashing a smile and waving as you passed by. In class, you started sitting beside him, Bokuto and Akaashi often following behind, and he found his small group of friends growing because of you. Bokuto was loud and brash and treated him like they were best friends, and Akaashi’s quiet demeanor reminded him a lot of Ushijima. Except he was maybe a little more expressive.

You even started walking home with him, parting ways when you had to go in different directions with a soft smile and a shine in your eyes that he tried not to read too much into. He enjoyed those days, when no one else was around and he just talked. You even knew some of the manga he read, and he lost himself rambling about Jump. When he brought it up once, about how he talked too much, you shook your head frantically.

“No, no, I don’t mind! It reminds me of Bokuto, to be honest. He can talk about anything and keep a conversation going so easily. I’m kinda jealous,” you said, giving him that satisfied smile again.

He tried to clamp down on the feelings, to keep a tight rein on the emotions that kept trying to pull his eyes in your direction anytime he heard your voice or drew his thoughts to you late at night.

Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, frustrated at the fact that he was thinking of you a-fuckin’-gain. Didn’t he have enough to worry about without wondering what you thought of him? He already knew. You weren’t interested. It was fine.

His phone dinged, the screen lighting up to reveal your name and a text.

You: ‘watcha up to?’ Tendo: ‘nm. studying and suffering. you?’ Y: ‘“studying” sksks what’re you doing tomorrow night by chance?’

Tendo’s heart stuttered in his chest and he groaned, barely resisting the urge to fling his phone out the frost covered window in front of him. For the love of god, could the universe stop fucking with him? Clicking his tongue, he considered telling you he was busy. It would be easiest, and save him the disappointment that was sure to accompany whatever you had planned.

But his fingers were traitorous and typed out exactly what he didn’t want to say. Or so he told himself.

T: ‘nothin. what’re you thinkin?’ Y: ‘well...i’m thinkin about cannibals’

Tendou snorted at that and watched the three little dots appear again.

Y: ‘and u’

He choked and slammed his phone down on the desk, wincing and immediately picking it back up to check the damage. No, no way, he wouldn’t look at it like that. It wasn’t like that. You were just inviting him for the movie marathon in a totally platonic way.

Another message came in.

Y: ‘and me’

You were actually trying to kill him.

He could think of nothing the next day but how much he was looking forward to that night. Once he had finally gotten his shit together enough to text you back, the kinks had been worked out. It was almost a no brainer that he would be spending the night. A movie marathon with twelve movies meant an all-nighter, if the two of you could pull it off. He would go home after classes, while away the few hours until around six o’clock, and then head to the address you had given him.

Unfortunately, he didn’t see much of you that day. You shared no classes, and you had a class when he took lunch, so he ate with Semi and Bokuto that day. Instead you snuck texts to him when you could, mostly talking about how excited you were for that night. It didn’t help, somehow both fanning and soothing his inner turmoil.

“Why do you look like you’re gonna throw up?” Semi asked at last. Tendo was staring at his half-eaten chicken sandwich like it had mortally offended him, and he was curious.

Tendo jumped, having forgotten the other two were even with him, and shook his head. “Uh, nothin’.”

But Bokuto snickered and leaned in to whisper to Semi, who was already suspicious of his short, clipped answer. Whether he actually wanted to whisper or not, Tendo wasn’t sure, but Bo sure as shit didn’t manage it. “Him and _____ are gonna watch movies tonight.”

Of course you had told Bokuto. And probably Akaashi too. He wondered if they had changed their minds and decided to join you when they found out. It put a rather annoying feeling in his chest, like someone was squeezing his heart.

The other two were still talking in a loud whisper, watching Tendo’s expression shift and flicker through a myriad of emotions. Bokuto was lost, but Semi could recognize them after so many years of knowing the moody red-head, and wanted to laugh. He was so good at hiding his negative emotions, but when it came to sadness or happiness, he was like an open book. And he was being pretty obvious right then.

“Wow, that’s pretty big, Tendo,” he said, watching his friend closely. Tendo flinched, shrinking into his hoodie, and Semi nodded to himself. “Don’t let yourself get so worked up. She wouldn’t ask if she didn’t want to.”

He knew where Tendo’s insecurities were coming from. A childhood fraught with bullies and fake friends and people pretending they wanted him around only to treat him like a freak. Even through highschool it was that way, with a particularly nasty incident involving a girl pretending to want to date him that ended with Tendo refusing to come to school for almost a week. After that, he kept to himself and the volleyball club, refusing to even acknowledge that anyone else might actually want to get to know him seriously.

It had gotten a bit easier when he left Shiratorizawa and those memories and most of those people behind. Growing up with them was what had made it hardest, so surrounding himself with fresh people who didn’t have any preconceived notions and rumors about him had allowed him to open up a little. Even Ushijima, across the ocean in California, noticed a marked difference in Tendo’s demeanor.

Semi just hoped you didn’t do anything to send him spiralling back into his insecurities.

“Yeah, I guess.”

It was easy for Semi to say that, but he had no idea what it was like, constantly worrying if people were being serious or if they were just waiting to pull the rug out from under him. Even now, he was fighting with himself to just get through the day, waiting constantly for you to change your mind and cancel the plans. Every time his phone lit up with your name, he expected it.

And yet, even after his classes ended and he arrived home, you didn’t. Just commenting that you would be MIA for a while while you cleaned the apartment and went to the store. And when you came back a few hours later, while he was binging Buzzfeed Unsolved videos, his heart leapt into his throat, but you were only telling him what you had gotten for him and to pick up anything else he might want on the way over.

The time couldn’t pass by fast enough while he busied himself packing as slowly as he could. He was already wearing sweatpants but brought a pair of basketball shorts just in case. A clean t-shirt and the other essential items he would need for the night went into a backpack, and when that was done he decided it was a good time to leave.

Unable to help himself, he sent you a text before he left, interrupting whatever you were already typing, the three little bubbles disappearing for a moment while you read his text.

T: ‘you sure you’re alright with this? i don’t have to come over’ Y: ‘?’ Y: ‘do u not want to!’ Y: ‘?*’ Y: ‘we can do this another time if you want’

He was typing before he could really think about the possibility that that might be the best option, his heart thumping harder than he liked in his chest, and he willed himself to take a deep breath. It was just two friends hanging out, watching horror movies together. Nothing more.

T: ‘no i do. was just making sure you were still ok w it.’ T: ‘leaving now to get snacks. your choices s u c k’ Y: ofc hurry up and get over here Y: ‘tf rude’

Locking the door behind him, he slung his bag onto his shoulder and sighed, hoping the night didn’t end as badly as his nerves were telling him it would.

Your doorbell rang an hour later, while you were in the middle of setting up your room for the binge. You were hoping he wouldn’t mind, but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable either. It was hard to miss the nervousness and the way he seemed to shy away from you sometimes, especially when you did certain things like reach out to pull something off his hoodie or read something over his shoulder. But you wanted this to be as normal as possible, to prove to him you were genuine.

You liked Tendo. A lot.

He was funny and sweet and just as eccentric as you had expected. His jokes were off-color but not offensive, just sarcastic and witty and you giggled every time. The way his face lit up when he heard you sent your heart into a frenzy, and the way it fell and he seemed to shrink into himself a moment later hurt. It didn't feel like a rejection of you but instead a rejection of himself and you wondered if there was any way to help him understand that you didn’t want anything from him but for him to be himself.

Upon opening the door, you found it was only the pizza delivery man, and you smiled with disappointment, until you spotted a shaved red-head coming up behind him.

Tendo gulped when he spotted you in your open doorway, wearing woolen leggings and a t-shirt, exchanging a box of pizza for cash and smiling brightly at him over the man’s shoulder. Waving, he waited until the stranger was out of the way before he approached you.

“Hey,” he greeted, peering down at you before scanning the empty living room of your apartment over your head.

You were unsurprised to see the wariness in his eyes, bleeding into the smile he was forcing on his face. It was your first time seeing a look so fake on him and for the first time you wondered if this was really a good idea. But it was only movies. And you liked Tendo. It would be fine.

So you smiled and ushered him in with one hand, the box perched precariously on your other, and watched him shrink into himself like he always did when he came within touching distance of you until he had passed into the living room. Then he just stood there, peering around with that same suspicious look, eyes narrowed and mouth turned down at the corners.

“So, what do you think?” you asked, pretending you hadn’t seen it as you moved into the kitchen.

“It’s nice,” he answered, letting his bag hit the floor with a thump. The rest of the apartment was silent save for the heater going, and little by little he felt himself relaxing. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble for little ol’ me, y’know.”

You giggled at the way he pointed at himself, wearing a cheesy grin as he walked into the kitchen. “Maybe not, but it’s been ages since I’ve been able to do anything like this. It’s as much for me as it is for you.” You punctuated your statement by poking him lightly in the chest, and he feigned pain.

“You wound me. And here I thought you were treating me special,” he moaned, leaning back against the counter and placing his hand over his forehead. He grinned a little hearing you giggle again, and then the pizza box hit his arm.

“I am treating you special, you goof,” you said, opening it up and letting the smell of cheese fill the kitchen. “With pizza. But I think we’d better take it into the bedroom, since that’s where we’ll be watching the movies. Just in case we fall asleep, you know,” you tacked on at the end, suddenly realizing how that might sound. Not that it meant anything, but again, you feared making him uncomfortable.

Absorbed in your thoughts, you missed the faint dusting of pink on his cheeks, clashing marvelously with his vibrant hair. You carried the box down to your bedroom with Tendo on your heels, eager to see your room. It was about what he expected from you-- a messy bed, a cluttered desk, clothes half in your laundry basket and half on the floor surrounding it. The TV sitting on your dresser was already set up with The Hills Have Eyes menu playing, volume muted. You set the box on the bed before smoothing the covers and crawling on.

Tendo hovered in the middle of your room, casting his eyes around nervously, looking for a chair or something to sit on. He definitely did not want to assume, but you patted the bed beside you, giving him a quizzical look.

“I’m not gonna bite, Tendo. Promise,” you said, and though you made it sound like a joke he could hear a line of seriousness at the core. Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, he walked slowly towards you, giving you every opportunity to change your mind, but you just looked impatient until he climbed on beside you. “Alright, now let’s get this started!”

Two movies in and the two of you had gotten pretty comfortable. Both of you had stretched out on the bed, but you had decided to lean up against the headboard with your pillows to support you while Tendo had opted to lay on his stomach with his head resting on his arms by your feet.

“Would you stop?” he laughed, pushing your foot away where it had been tapping incessantly at his shoulder. You were just doing it to annoy him, and you giggled at the irritated amusement in his voice.

The pizza box sat empty on the floor by the bed, but you found yourself craving something else to eat. When you hummed, Tendo looked away from the screen, rolling onto his side and propping his chin in his hand to watch you nibble at your lip. It was cute, he couldn’t lie, and the anxiety he had repressed by getting distracted by the movie came back slowly.

“What’s up?”

“I’m thinkin’ about...those chips,” you answered, and made to get up. You had to crawl over his long legs and almost fell off the bed as you gracelessly made your move, knee slipping off the small space between his leg and the edge of the mattress. Sticking your tongue out as he laughed at you, you pranced towards the door.

“Bring my bags too, would you?” he called, pausing the movie since you had forgotten. It had just started, and you were lucky that he was nice enough to do it, especially when he heard your voice carry back down the hallway.

“Kiss my ass, Tendo.”

He laughed at that, loud enough that you could hear it from the kitchen and over the crinkling of the bags as you rifled through them. In the end, you shrugged and carried them all back down to your room, along with a few drinks. Maybe you wouldn’t have to get up again for a little while.

You shivered when you stepped back into the room. It wasn’t much warmer than the rest of the house, and now your arms and toes were cold. The heater was already set as high as it would go and hardly touched the chill, and you cursed the cheap piece of crap.

“What, you cold?” he asked, pulling out a bag of the chips he had brought with him. The tab on a can of soda popped and he cursed as it fizzed over onto your blanket. “Shit, sorry.”

“No worries. Yeah, kinda. But the heater is already on full blast. Ugh,” you said, sitting beside him on the bed again. He was still wearing his hoodie, and up close he was warm, making you realize just how cold you were. You were just gonna have to crawl under your blankets because you would never survive the cold like that. “Wait…”

There was a tent on the screen where the movie had paused, and Tendo looked back and forth from it to you with curiosity. There was a calculating look on your face and he wasn’t sure he liked it. “Uh, what?”

There was no way he would agree to it. Way too intimate, right? But it really seemed like it’d be right up his alley, and it would be fun to build, and it would get you warm. It was the perfect idea really.

“Tendo, how do you feel about making...a pillow fort?”

The heater continued to buzz in the corner, overlaid by the slight static from the TV, while Tendo processed your question. His mouth had fallen open, brows furrowed while he stared at you in what could only be surprise, and you laughed nervously.

“Wha-- Seriously?”

“Um, you know what, nevermind. I guess it was a stupid idea. It just seemed like it might be fun and--”

He cut your babbling off with an excited wave of his arms, leaning forward into your space and in the light from the TV you could see a childlike happiness glowing in his eyes. “I’ve never made one but it sounds like fun. You know how to do it?”

Stunned by the turn of events, you nodded. “Well, sort of. Mine have always fallen down after a while though,” you admitted, standing up from the bed again. “We need chairs and books and all the blankets and pillows we can find. And the couch cushions. Probably.”

In no time flat you had everything gathered, with Tendou hovering around waiting for you to direct him. It was a pain to get everything set up, and you ended up using the bed since you didn’t have enough chairs. Moving the chairs all over the place until there was enough room inside and you could put the books down to seal the ‘walls’ was tedious, but it was worth it when Tendo crawled in to set up the cushions to seal the space beneath the bed. After padding the floor with several blankets to lay on, you stuffed the pillows from your bed in after Tendo. When you didn’t immediately crawl in after him, he poked his head out to see what you were doing.

“Well, we didn’t think this through at all, so now we gotta watch the movies on my laptop,” you said as you ejected the DVD from your player. The jingle of your computer booting up played and backlit your face in the glow, and you prayed it wasn’t going to go right into an update. It took a few minutes to start up, so you passed it to him while you plugged the power cord in and ran it into the fort.

You could hear the clicking of the mousepad and by the time you flipped off the light and crawled in beside Tendo, the movie menu was playing. You also realized just how cramped it really was with Tendo’s lanky form inside. There was just enough space for both of you, but you were going to have to either sit up with it in your lap or you were going to have to set it to the side of you and lay on your sides.

He was tense, staring determinedly at the movie playing and trying to avoid moving too much. Or so you guessed, anyway. Anytime you so much as shifted he would jerk away before relaxing, and you were a split second away from nixing the idea. A part of you was starting to wonder if it wasn’t you that was the problem, but if it was, why had he bothered to agree?

“You’re really warm, Tendo,” you said, trying to break the ice. It was an awkward and clumsy attempt, but maybe you could help him settle down if you showed him you weren’t uncomfortable first?

But that just made him pull further away, leaning against the couch cushions. “Oh, sorry.”

It was already warm and comfortable in your little fort, a light blanket thrown over your knees and warming your toes. And with him beside you, you were actually a little more than comfortable. “No,” you said, waving your hands frantically, “no, like, it’s nice. I’m finally warm.”

It was hard to tell in the washed out light of the laptop, but Tendo’s face turned a very bright shade of pink. He tugged the neck of his hoodie up over his nose and fixed his eyes firmly on the flickering violence, annoyed that he was overwhelmed by something so simple. Why did you have to be so damn cute?

But it did the trick, even if he didn’t know that was your intention. He finally relaxed and stopped flinching every time you shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. Sitting cross legged only worked for so long and Tendo noticed you moving around after a while, when your knee knocked his for the third or fourth time.

“You alright? You’re about to bring the whole fort down,” he commented around a mouthful of chips.

“Ah, well, my back is starting to hurt sitting up, I guess. I wanna lay down,” you said, sounding whinier than you meant to, following it up with a short stretch. It alleviated the pain for a moment, until you hunched over again.

He swallowed his chips and returned his eyes to the TV screen, thinking. On one hand, he wasn’t exactly comfortable. On the other, he had no idea what you were thinking. Did you want to abandon the fort?

But you didn’t say anything, fiddling with the blanket for a few moments as you tried to work up your courage. You damn sure didn’t want to tear down your fort-- it had taken you way too long to put the stupid thing up-- and if you said the idea of cuddling up with Tendo wasn’t appealing, you would surely go to hell for lying. The underlying problem was him. What would he say if you brought up the obvious solution?

You were taking too long to answer, so Tendo prompted you, pausing the movie. “Do you want to just get back on the bed again?”

“No,” you said, and then flinched. You had answered way too quickly and that somehow made him nervous and reassured at the same time. “This is really nice I just…I-know-that-you’re-kind-of-uncomfortable-and-I-don’t-want-to-make-you-more-uncomfortable.”

Tendou stared at you, unblinking as he tried to decipher your breathlessly rushed words. After a moment he laughed, still confused, but he could see the anxiety on your face. “I-- what? All I heard was uncomfortable, I think. But you don’t make me uncomfortable.”

Your heart thumped painfully in your chest as that weight left your shoulders. He was so intuitive it was almost scary. Even still, you had to make sure. “Oh, really? You always seem like...weird around me, I guess. I was starting to think I was pushing too hard, I guess?”

“Sorry,” he said, scratching the back of his head. His elbow brushed the sheet above you and he quickly dropped it. “I’m used to people being uncomfortable around me. Guess it just turned into a habit to avoid people I don’t know. So that I don’t freak them out.”

Not entirely true, given that he enjoyed messing with people, but it was true in your* case. It took you a moment to answer, and he started to worry that he had said too much.

“You don’t...make me uncomfortable, Tendo. You never did. You’re a weirdo but not...in a bad way,” you said, and glanced at him to gauge his reaction, worried he would take it in a negative light.

But he was smiling, eyes fixed on the paused movie and you bit your lip. He was way too attractive and you couldn’t fathom anyone who thought otherwise. Clearly they were just cowards.

“Well that’s a relief. It would make things pre-tty awkward right now if I did,” he said and bumped your shoulder. It felt like a whole planet was lifted off his shoulders with this revelation and he heaved a huge sigh. “So, if we don’t want to abandon the fort but our backs are about to crumble, what do we do?”

“Uh.” You blanched, having forgotten about that little hiccup. Your idea was embarrassing to think about let alone explain and if you hadn’t made him uncomfortable yet this was sure to.

“Uh,” he mocked, and twisted around like a snake so his face was in front of you, blocking the light from the screen. “Spit it out before we collapse.”

“Just-- um--” you stuttered, and he quickly realized whatever your idea was, it had you flustered. He was just about to start teasing when you picked up the laptop and set it to the side of you. Rolling over onto your side, you tucked your hand underneath your pillow and relaxed, feeling the pain immediately alleviate. “Now you lay down. If you want.”

Your heart was racing in your chest, waiting for him to do something. It was a long, long minute before he finally said anything, and it wasn’t what you expected. Not that you had any idea of what to expect.

“Uh, are you sure? I mean, we could just--” What was he thinking? This was exactly what he wanted and wasn’t it Semi who had said she wouldn’t ask if she didn’t want it? Did he really have to overthink everything? You were in a literal pillow fort watching scary movies with him, offering to let him cuddle up with you, and he still thought you weren’t sure.

“Well, unless you aren’t,” you said, and was that disappointment in your voice? No way.

“No no, no. I’m gonna take my hoodie off first, though. It’s way too warm in here now,” he said, backtracking quickly. Then again, maybe it was just him that was too hot. It was an actual dream come true, and he pinched himself quickly just to make sure he wasn’t asleep.

You rolled over onto your back to watch him struggle, his arms brushing the ceiling and walls of your warm little haven as he fought the hoodie. Your eyes widened as it finally came free, seeing the colorful swirls of ink covering his arms. “Holy shit.”

“Wha--?” he said, and turned to find you staring open mouthed at his tattoos. “Oh, right, I guess you haven’t seen these before, huh?”

“Nope,” you said, sitting up and squinting to see the undefined shapes in the faint light. It was almost cute the way he held his arm out to you hesitantly, like a child offering you a drawing to examine and praise. Taking it, you traced the lines covering his smooth, warm skin, trying to figure out what they were. But the shapes were undefinable in the faint light. You could make out splashes of blue and purple, red and pink, separated by black lines or faded together to make something. Part of you wanted to ask, but there was something mysterious about not knowing. “I can’t even tell what they are but god, Tendou, I know they’re gorgeous.”

He shivered at your featherlight touches, the feel of your fingers skimming delicately over his skin, and your words caused fire to erupt in his stomach and chest. His tattoos were something he was extremely proud of, one of the few things he had that made him feel confident, and hearing you compliment them made him feel so fucking good. Chucking his jacket out into the room, he returned to your side and the two of you got comfortable.

Pressing play on the movie for the 3rd time, the two of you fell silent. With your head below his chin, it was the perfect position for him to see the screen over you. You could feel the warmth rolling off of him, only an inch of space between his chest and your back, and both of you were well aware of it.

It was nearly impossible to focus on the movie, trying to reign in the urge to just slide back a little bit and mold yourself to him. Nibbling at your lip, you rolled just a little under the pretense of stretching and bumped into him. Just your arm into his, and he didn’t move away.

“You good? Need more space? I can crawl under the bed if you want,” he said, smirking at you. He thought he knew what you were playing at, but your next words confirmed it. It was the oldest trick in the book and, even though no one had ever used it on him, he had seen it at work with Semi and Shirabu too many times.

“Just stretching. I’m still a bit cold though,” you said, facing the TV again.

Suppressing a snicker, knowing damn well that wasn’t what you were after, he offered, “I can get you another blanket, if you need it.”

The silhouette of your shoulders fell, and you couldn’t hide the sigh that accompanied it. “It’s alright, Tendo. It’s not that bad.”

You really should have seen that coming, you guessed. The swell of hope and the crash of disappointment was painful in your chest, and you tried to focus on the movie again, ignoring the tempting warmth at your back. If he wasn’t interested, he wasn’t interested. It was cool.

Which was why you jumped when a weight settled over your side, a snicker filtering behind you as he molded himself to your back. It was slow, hesitant, and you would guess he was trying to make sure you were alright with it. Warmth seeped through your t-shirt and you sighed happily, shimmying back into him out of instinct, and this time you could feel his quiet laughter in his chest.

His arms were so long that he had to fold it in front of you, hand coming to rest just underneath your chin, and when you relaxed so did he. With his chin resting atop your head now, he asked, “Better? This is what you wanted, right?”

“Shut up,” you whined, hiding your face in your hand. It was embarrassing enough without him having to tease you about it. But you supposed it wouldn’t be Tendo if he didn’t make fun of you for everything. It was so easy after that to focus on the movie, now that you had gotten what you wanted. The snacks lay forgotten near your feet, not wanting to move and mess up the delicate balance that was now between the two of you.

It was tenuous and any small movement from either of you could send it toppling in either direction, and you weren’t even sure what it depended on. You knew for sure which way you would like to see it go, but it was just as comfortable the way it was.

Silence fell again until the movie ended, which was the only reason you moved. You could probably have fallen asleep like that, but you weren’t ready yet, wanting to bask in whatever you had with Tendo for a while longer.

When you sat up to change the next movie, Tendo rolled over onto his back, watching you fiddle around with it. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck and he shifted uncomfortably. Seemed you felt the same because you turned to look at him, an apology written on your face.

“Sorry, do you mind if I go change into shorts. It’s actually too warm for these now,” you said, setting the DVD case back on the pile. You felt like you were suffocating in your thick winter leggings now, but if he wasn’t okay with that then you would suffer a little longer. At least until you melted.

“Oh thank god you said something. I was about to die in these sweatpants, I swear,” he answered, fanning his face with his hand. You were pretty sure he was just exaggerating that though. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’, and crawled towards the escape flap, wincing at the sound of crunching and crinkling under your knees all of a sudden. “Oops.”

“Oh those had better not have been mine,” he whined, flashing the light of his phone towards the bag. He groaned, seeing his bag of doritos crushed. He could hear you snicker outside the sheet as you walked away and growled, “Watch it. Yours are still in here, _____.”

You opened a drawer as he finally came out as well and began rifling through his bag, pulling out the pair of shorts he’d packed. When you turned around with a pair of soft shorts in your hands, you found him standing awkwardly in the middle of your room again and laughed. “I’ll go change in the bathroom. I gotta use it anyway. I’ll be right back.”

Your footsteps receded down the hall and he raced to get changed before you came back. His sweats landed on his backpack and he shrugged at himself. What did it matter, so long as they weren’t on your floor?

The sound of the sink reached his ears just as he was climbing back into the fort, frowning at his crushed chips even as he shoved a handful into his mouth. He was so gonna make you pay for a new bag, especially because you had laughed. The door creaked open and the flap shifted, and he almost choked on his chips as he realized just how short your shorts were. Were your legs always that long? And smooth? And pretty? Shit.

“How are your chip fragments?” you joked as you made yourself comfortable beside him again. Your hair fanned out behind you and you gathered it up off the base of your neck, twisting it around so that it spread out above you instead. How the fuck was the back of your neck sexy*?

He was so screwed.

“Uh,” he replied. Smooth, Satori. Shaking his head, he tried to gather his thoughts and focus them literally anywhere else. It worked. Sort of. “Pointy. You owe me a new bag.”

You scoffed, smiling at the car full of vacationing teenagers on the laptop. “There’s like four other bags in here. Quit whining.”

But he wasn’t giving it up, throwing his bag into the corner and hopefully out of the way of your carelessness. Settling behind you like he had before, he once again left space between you, afraid now of how his body might react if he didn’t. “No, all of them suck.”

You definitely noticed the gap and wondered if he was just waiting for you to take the initiative, so you did. Before he could blink, you were once again molded to his chest, head tucked under his chin and knees folded around his. He tensed, fingers curling into a fist while he willed himself to chill.

His arm came down around you again, but you could feel how stiff he was. When you made to move forward again, to give him space, his arm locked, even pulling you back again and you grinned. With his arm now lit up properly by the light of the laptop, you realized you could see the tattoos more clearly, and began to trace the stars and fish on his arm.

“Aren’t these the spirit fish from Avatar?” you asked, skimming over the white and black koi. It was a watercolor piece, lacking the heavy lines like the ones on his other arm, and you felt him nod against the top of your head. “They’re gorgeous. Who’s your artist?”

“A friend of mine in Miyagi did those,” he answered, watching you continue to trail up his arms. Goosebumps were raising the fine hairs all over his body, your touches so gentle and intimate, your focus rapt. Higher up near his elbow was what appeared to be two jolly rogers, but they weren’t the normal ones. “Those are from a pirate manga I read in Jump,” he said before you could ask, and you smoothed your hand over them before sliding it back up near his hand.

His heart skipped a beat when your fingers curled into his palm, hesitating before you slipped them between his. He was sure you could feel his heart pounding away in his chest, unaware that you couldn’t because yours was racing fast enough that you were lightheaded. Folding his fingers down over your hand locked them together, but you didn’t try to pull away. If anything, you tried to cuddle up closer to him, dragging your hands so that they were pressed to your chest. It was the most intimate thing he had experienced in recent memory and if his heart didn’t slow down it was going to explode.

The movie wasn’t holding his interest and a new question cropped up in his mind, one he had wondered more than once before tonight and he couldn’t figure out why he thought of it now, but he latched onto it because otherwise he really thought he was going to combust. Besides, it would ease some of his insecurity if he got an answer.

“What took you so long to set this up, anyway? I kind of thought you had changed your mind for a while,” he said, staring at the screen. He was sort of taking it in, an anchor point so he didn’t get lost in his thoughts.

Your chest rumbled against his hand when you hummed, and your answer was so mundane and rational that he almost laughed. “Well a part of it was wanting to get to know you a bit before we did this. Didn’t want to invite a total stranger to spend the night, after all. And then it was just a matter of waiting for my roommates to freakin’ leave.”

“Oh, are your roommates actually gone*?” he asked in surprise. He had thought they were just out for the night and would be home-- probably not soon, given the time, but still. “Like, for the weekend?”

You hummed again in agreement, twirling the ends of your hair absently around your fingers. You were locked onto the movie, absorbed as Leatherface chased one of the characters he didn’t care about through the yard. He fell quiet, thinking you wanted to watch uninterrupted, but then you asked, “That’s alright, right? They would have just wanted to join in otherwise and they can’t stand horror movies either, so they would’ve just talked through it.”

Exactly like he was doing, he realized, and his face grew hot. Hopefully he hadn’t already annoyed you. He nodded, responding in a much quieter voice. “It’s fine. Was just surprised, I guess.”

For a while, neither of you said anything and Tendo managed to focus on the movie, feeling you jump and twitch every once in a while at scares you weren’t expecting. Unfortunately, those movements were brushing against areas that he really didn’t need them too and your shorts did nothing to diminish the curve of your ass against him or the slowly growing hard on he was getting. It didn’t help that every time he shifted even a little you would just follow him, as if he wasn’t pinned by your hand holding his.

But shit, if he didn’t move soon he was going to be screwed. The bathroom-- that would get him out of there before he embarrassed the fuck out of himself.

It was too late, though. You flinched and ground your ass back into him and he groaned before he could help it. You froze, he froze, he just really wanted to die.

“I-- Sorry. I’m really sorry,” he said, tugging at his hand to try and escape. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but the best option was probably to leave and transfer to a school in a whole different country. He could already hear your words now, an echo of so many times before, the sting of disappointment a familiar feeling around his heart.

“I’m sorry, Tendo. I just don’t see you that way.”

It was because he was a freak with a weird name and creepy eyes and-- fuck. It was high school all over again, being rejected by someone he genuinely thought liked him only to find out they were using him to get to Ushijima or pretending to as a fucking joke, only this time Ushijima wasn’t around and he had really gotten himself into it by agreeing to any of this.

But you were refusing to let his hand go, holding so tight he thought his fingers might break, saying his name until he came back down from his panicked high.

“Tendo, Tendo, calm down, please,” you were begging. You had rolled onto your back, unable to sit up because you were using both your hands to keep him from jumping up and taking the whole fort down. You could see it on his face when he finally heard you, wide vermillion eyes locking with yours while his heart continued to race.

He remained propped up on his elbow, ready to run at the first opportunity, and you almost felt bad for antagonizing him as much as you had. If you had known your teasing was going to get him this riled up, you would have tried a different tactic-- or not tried it at all. Maybe you had pushed too far too soon, and the skittish look in his pretty eyes worried you that you had ruined it.

“It’s alright, Tendo,” you said, trying to keep your voice quiet and soothing. It felt an awful lot like you were dealing with a wary animal-- like a coyote or a fox. When the insistent tension in his arm faded is when you relaxed your death grip on his fingers.

The sound of the movie was too loud in the unnatural silence between you, and you rolled over to turn it down. When it was only a background buzz, you turned back to him. He was still staring at you without blinking, his eyes devoid of the panic from earlier but now they were eerily blank.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, deadpan. He flinched when you took his hand again, forehead scrunching in confusion. “I don’t understand. There’s no way you-- What are you doing?”

It was your turn to be confused, pursing your lips at him. He sounded so lost-- and wary again-- like a child. For the first time, you wondered what his childhood had actually been like. He talked an awful lot about Ushiwaka and Semi, and the volleyball club in general, but you heard nothing outside of that. It made you suspicious now.

“What am I doing?” you parroted, finally sitting up. Your joined hands fell into your lap and you stared down at them, petting the back of his hand with your free one. “Do you not want me to?”

His words were stuck in his throat, trapped by the lump there, and he swallowed thickly. His mouth felt like cotton, and he shook his head, croaking out, “It isn’t that. I just don’t understand why.”

“Why what?” you asked, gentle amusement in your voice. There was no teasing, no malicious undertones that he could hear, like you were waiting to spring the final part of the joke on him. And he was listening for it. After years of dealing with it, he had learned to recognize it in people’s words and on their faces. The way their lips would curl and their eyes would narrow just before cruelty would spew from their mouths, he knew the tells and you--

Had none.

There was nothing but open curiosity and nervousness-- and hope. A lot of hope swirled in your eyes and he swallowed again. He was just going to disappoint you. If not tonight then tomorrow, if not tomorrow then next week. It was going to happen--

“Why do you like me? How do you like me? I’m-- weird. And you’re--” He gestured frantically up and down at all of you. You weren’t anything he was-- a freak. With freaky eyes and a freaky name and a freaky personality.

“I-- um,” you said, and you couldn’t help but smile. There was clearly a lot of baggage with him, and his questions made that obvious. It was likely too much to unpack tonight, especially when you were still only just getting to know each other. Reassurance was what he needed, and that was something you could offer on the spot. “You’re funny...and sweet and...very good looking. Your eyes are so pretty. Um, there’s also the fact that you’re the only person who would watch these movies with me, which earns you a lot of points, in my opinion,” you said, tapping your lips as you stared up at the ceiling.

Your face was on fire as you listed things off the top of your head, your throat tight with anxiety as you wondered what he would say in response. They were all surface level things for now, but you knew underneath the armor that there was a lot more to Tendo, and you hoped you had a chance to discover it.

He groaned low in his throat, not from disgust but from a deep seated need to believe you meant those things. His forehead met your shoulder, his fingers squeezing yours. He didn’t fight it when you eased back down, following after you without a word, leaving his face hidden in your neck. He was still trying to gather his thoughts and calm his overworked heart. It would be so easy to reject you and be on his way, to return home and beat himself up for letting himself get too close and too comfortable with you when he knew nothing would come of it.

Except something had come of it and he wasn’t sure what to do now. Semi and Ushijima always told him he was too closed off and that someone was going to come around who actually liked him and his ‘weird ass’ and that he was going to lose that chance because of some stupid high school assholes. Was he though? He wanted to believe you, wanted to trust you, and slowly he relaxed, his stress leaving him in a long, tired exhale.

“You mean it?” he whispered against your neck, and you could feel his lashes tickle your skin when he blinked. His arm was heavy where his hand rested on your stomach, fingers intertwined with yours, and you squeezed his hand as tight as you could.

“I do. I like you and really want a chance to get to know you better,” you whispered back, and it suddenly felt like no one existed but the two of you, protected from everything in the world outside by a few sheets and each other's warmth. There would be things to discuss and hiccups to overcome, but you could worry about those tomorrow. In that moment, all you wanted was to prove to Tendo you wanted him.

Maybe it was your words, whispered softly into the dark, or your hand gripping his for dear life, or the way you let him cling to you like a lifeline, or maybe it was a combination, but when he pulled back from his hiding place and found you staring at him, he slotted his lips against yours without thinking. Your lips parted almost immediately, free hand sliding out from between your bodies to tangle in the close cropped hair at the nape of his neck and you used it to pull yourself closer.

When your tongue poked out to glide across the seam of his lips, he let you in on a breath, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. His eyes were squeezed shut tight as your tongue met his, praying that what was happening wasn’t a dream, and he wasn’t expecting it when you gasped and pulled away all of a sudden.

His eyes popped open and he stared down at you with panic. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

“I-- forgot you have a tongue ring,” you said, and the laughed. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

He blinked like an owl, eyes wide as he processed your words. It wasn’t something that he had ever expected to hear in his life, let alone from the girl he was half-making out with in a freakin’ pillow fort. He suddenly wondered if his life had turned into a Shounen Jump manga.

“Well, so are you,” he said, and leaned in for another kiss.

It was kind of hot to see him confident and you felt heat pool in your stomach, starting to bleed further down as his tongue slipped into your mouth again. He tasted like the root beer he had been drinking all night, and you couldn’t resist toying with the piercing, swirling your tongue around it and listening to him moan against your mouth.

Your shirt had ridden up your stomach as you moved around, trying to get closer to him, and neither of you realized it until Tendo’s hand smoothed over your skin. He froze mid-kiss, waiting for your reaction, and was unsurprised when your hand grabbed his.

What he didn’t expect was for you to guide it upwards, letting go when you hit your ribs to cup his cheek. Pulling back just enough that he could speak against your lips, he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Frankly, Tendo,” you said, and kissed him again before you continued, “I haven’t wanted anyone this bad in forever. Even if we wake up tomorrow and change our minds, I am fucking sure right now.”

He groaned, letting his hand hike your shirt up a little higher until his hand cupped under your breast. He wasn’t sure when you had taken your bra off, or maybe you hadn’t been wearing one the whole time, but there was nothing impeding his skin from caressing yours. Your breast was so soft in his hand, topped by a pretty pink nipple that he couldn’t resist pinching. You mewled underneath him, pulling your shirt up to uncover your other breast and he moved to that one, doing the same and feeling your nipple harden at his touch.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he rasped, gazing down the length of your body. Your thighs were clenched, and his hand migrated lower, fingertips skimming over your skin.

The heat that was pooling earlier erupted when they met the waistband of your shorts, but he paused, looking unsure again.

“Tendo, I’ll show you how much I want this,” you whispered and grabbed his hand. He was still hesitant, looking at your face as you slid his hand into your panties, and his eyes widened.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned, his fingers gliding over your soaked lips, spreading your slick all over them. His fingers quickly found your clit, circling it and you squeezed his hand between your thighs, hips jerking. “All because of me? I’m flattered.”

Teasing at your soaked opening, he waited for you to balk but you only twitched, panting against his lips before he sunk one finger in, your walls parting easily. You moaned and he swallowed it in a kiss, his tongue filling your mouth again. It wasn’t long before he was fitting a second finger, crooking them up and grazing your sweet spot, his thumb taking over massaging your clit as he pumped them inside you. Your arousal was already high enough that you could feel your orgasm coming on, and you pulled away to announce it.

“T-Tendo, gonna--” You gasped when he forced them in deeper, a mischievous smirk on his face as he prodded your cervix. “How-- fuck, your fingers are so long,” you whined, toes curling.

“Think you can take one more?” he asked, already fitting the tip of a third finger in. But it was only when you nodded, tears pricking the corners of your eyes that he slipped it in. Your teeth dug into your lip before they parted in a soundless cry.

The coil snapped on the first thrust and he groaned, drinking in your face as he tipped you over the edge. No one had ever cum so prettily for him before and he wanted to see it again.

But only if you wanted it. His cock throbbed painfully in his shorts when he pulled his fingers from your twitching hole, feeling you shudder against him. Examining his glistening fingers in the screen light, he slid one experimentally into his mouth and moaned. “You taste so good, princess.”

You gasped at the pet name, a warmth unrelated to the one between your legs blooming in your chest. He said it was such reverence that you flushed, hoping he’d say it again at some point. Never had anyone called you that before, at least in that context.

When he laid back down beside you, his erection brushed against your leg and he stifled a groan. He was wearing boxers but the friction against his cock was still a pleasurable sensation. Not as much as your hand might be--

Speaking of hands, he nearly jumped out of his skin when you cupped him, squeezing and kneading up the length of him confined in his clothes. A shaky breath ripped out of him, the result of him barely containing a moan, and his long fingers wrapped around your wrist to stop you.

“That’s alright, _____. You don’t have to--” But you weren’t listening and the pressure felt too good. His head fell back, eyes fluttering closed, content to let you literally massage his dick until you started tugging at his shorts. He stopped you more insistently then, pulling your hand away. “Wait a second. Let me get ‘em off since you’re so eager, princess.”

He pulled his shirt over his head first, because it was getting way too hot in there anyway, and then kicked his shorts and boxers off into the dark corner. His cock bobbed against his stomach as he rolled onto his side again, leaking precum already.

Your hand was soft against his stomach, roaming over the hard planes of his abs and down further, until it wrapped lightly around his head.

And froze.

“What the-- Tendo, what are those?” you asked in a high pitched, startled tone. Before he could answer, you let go and rolled onto your back, exposing him to the light and you thought for sure you had died and gone to heaven.

It wasn’t just his arms that were covered in ink. His shoulders, chest, and sides were all covered in it as well, swirls and splashes of color interrupted by splotches of black or white or skin. You could hardly make out what the images were in the flickering, inconsistent light, but you recognized flowers and circles, and on his pec you were pretty sure there was a scene of a lake bathed in moonlight. And as your eyes followed the path of colors down, you landed on the thing that had startled you in the first place.

“Those are--” you breathed, taking his cock into your hand again. There was a ball at the tip, covered in precum, and you knew if you traced down, you would find another just below the crown. Further down on his shaft were five horizontal barbells in a row, and you recognized it as a Jacob’s Ladder. “Fuck me.”

“Gladly,” Tendo quipped and pounced. He settled between your legs and tugged your shorts down over your hips, and you had to hold your legs up to let him pull them the rest of the way off. He was too tall to sit straight up without brushing his head against the ceiling, but he braced back on his arms when you grabbed his shaft again. He groaned when you fondled the ball below his crown, shuddering at the intense pleasure. It was one of the major reasons he’d gotten it- to enhance the sensations. But the feel of your fingers gliding over his tip, gathering the precum and nudging the ball was something else entirely. “Holy shit, that feels amazing.”

His voice sent shivers through you, deep and raspy and way too needy. But you were unsure of what would hurt him, so you kept your touches light, feeling his thighs tense under yours, his fingers squeezing your calves as he let you explore. Before long though, he was pulling your hand away, pinning it down at your side. “Can’t keep that up, princess. I need more, if you’re alright with it,” he said, letting his cock settle against your cunt.

The piercings were warm and pronounced against your folds, and you shuddered when the ball under his head grazed your clit. The thought of them inside you, rubbing all along your walls as he fucked you was too much and you could feel yourself growing wetter, your pussy drooling for it.

“Yes, Tendo, please. I want it, I want to feel them inside me,” you begged, rocking your hips. The stimulation was mind blowing and your walls clenched, empty and needy for him to fill you up. And he would, his cock was huge-- he still had room for more piercings below the ones he had. You had no doubt you would be stretching to take him and you keened in the back of your throat.

“I want you to call me Satori, princess. And I need you to let me know if it’s uncomfortable,” he said, pressing the tip of his cock into your sopping hole. “Sometimes they make it hurt, but you’re so fucking wet I don’t think it will. You really like these, huh?”

You were really just answering his question as you said yes, but a stream of them fell out of your mouth as he pushed the rest of his cock inside you, encouraging him to continue. The stretch was so good, your walls splitting easily for him, and you could feel every ball just like you had imagined grazing against your walls. The ball at his slit rested snugly against your cervix, and you didn’t even realize you were screaming as you came, hips jerking in his hands as he let you ride it out.

He was staring at you with what could only be awe, his mouth slack and eyes wide with surprise. “Holy fuck, princess, did you just cum?”

Your breaths were coming in pants as your mind spun, trying to come down from the unexpected high. It came on so suddenly you had no time to prepare, and tears slid down your cheeks. “F-Feels so good,” you whispered, fingers digging into the blanket beneath you. “Satori, oh my god.”

“Are you alright? We can stop--” he said, but you shook your head frantically, locking your ankles around his back, and he laughed under his breath. You sure were something else. He knew for a fact no one had ever come just from him sliding into them and a swell of pride filled his chest. “No? Alright, whatever you want, princess. Can I move?”

This time you nodded and he was slow as he pulled back, making sure you were okay. You were so tight around him from your orgasm, your walls fluttering with overstimulation, but your back arched when he stuffed himself back in, a breathy moan slipping out of you. Hiking your legs higher up on his hips, he bent over you, gathering your hands and pinning them above your head, lacing his fingers with yours. His lips met yours as he thrust into you slowly, grinding deep and stifling a moan. Once again you were playing with his tongue ring, flicking it as you suckled on his tongue. The fort-- and probably the room-- was filled with the wet slap of his hips on yours every time he drove his cock into you, drowning out the low buzz of the forgotten movie still playing. He was being careful, waiting for you to stop being so sensitive, and he knew you were ready when you arched into his chest and pulled away.

“So good, Satori,” you murmured against his lips, hips rising to meet his. Your eyes were glazed and fucked out, tears still flowing and you could already feel the start of another orgasm, but he was moving too slow. The drag and pull of his piercings had almost all of your attention, the ball at his tip constantly tapping your cervix, making your toes curl with every thrust. “You’re so big, and those-- fuck-- piercings feel so good inside me. I can feel them all everywhere.”

He snickered darkly at that and kissed your cheek. “You wanna feel even better, kitten?” he whispered into your ear, nipping the shell. He could feel you nod against his cheek, nails digging into his hands where he kept them pinned above your head, and then he was letting them go and pulling out of you. You whined, staring up at him in dismay, but he already had your thighs in his hands, prodding you to roll over. “Trust me, pretty girl. On your stomach, just like that.”

It was a bit difficult to get comfortable, but he grabbed a pillow and jammed it beneath your hips before settling with his legs outside of yours. And when you shook your ass, begging him to hurry up, he couldn’t deny you, not when he wanted to be back inside your tight heat so badly.

“Holyshitholyshitholyshit,” you whined, high-pitched and breathless as he finally filled you again. His thighs trembled as he forced himself not to just stuff himself into you, you were so tight. And the way you were crying and shuddering beneath him wasn’t helping, especially when you gasped his given name like a prayer. “*Satori, oh my god.”

If you thought those piercings felt good before, you were in heaven now. Everyone of them dragged slowly over the front wall of your cunt, grinding into your sweet spot and you had to bite the pillow to keep from outright screaming. And he was so, so, so big inside you, but with your legs trapped between his there was nothing you could do but take him. Against your will, your legs kicked, hitting him in the back as you wailed into the pillow, tears streaming down your cheeks in an endless flood.

He snarled into your ear as he planted his elbows beside your head, plastering himself to your back. “You are so fucking tight, princess. How do those piercings feel now?”

“So good so good so good,” you babbled, circling your hips back on his dick to get any friction you could. The orgasm that had been building came back ten fold just from him hilting inside of you and you knew that if he fucked you like this you would be cumming in seconds. “‘Tori, please move, please please please.”

Your needy begging made his cock twitch and you whimpered as he slowly pulled out of you and pushed back in, intentionally slow to let you feel everything. The pleasure was ebbing and flowing, building and falling because he wasn’t moving fast enough, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to go faster, not when you could feel him so clearly. Every time he bottomed out, he made sure to grind down into you, nudging your cervix with the tip of his cock so he could feel you clench suddenly around him. It never failed to make him moan, your slick walls gripping him so tightly as he dragged himself back out. He wanted to make your pussy his new home and barring that he was going to fuck the shape of his cock into you.

“Tell me what you need to make you cum, princess,” he whispered into your ear. He knew what he needed, but he was still learning what would make you feel good.

Releasing the pillow from your teeth, the first thing you did was moan out his name again as he buried himself inside you again. You were so close to cumming, your clit throbbing with need and if he even brushed it you were going to be gushing all over him. You gasped as he thrust a little harder than before.

“If you don’t answer me I’ll just keep going like this, kitten. I can go for hours, if you want,” he whispered, warm against your ear. That made you twitch underneath him, and he chuckled. “You like the sound of that? We’ll try it another time. Right now, I need you to tell me where you want me to cum and how I can make you cum, okay?”

His words were dark and sweet and coaxing, and you were sure you had never whined so much in your whole life. “Touch me, please, Satori. I wanna cum all over your cock and pretty piercings while you cum in me, oh fuck.”

Bracing himself on his elbow, he forced his hand beneath your stomach, aided by you lifting your hips, and you whimpered when he finally, finally brushed your clit. It was all it took and you had to bite the pillow again as you creamed all over his cock, whiting out and screaming into it as you shuddered and jerked. He eased you through it, leaving his cock buried inside you while he fondled your clit, listening to you whimper and moan. It was a good thing you had hidden your face because you would surely have woken the whole complex up otherwise.

He groaned into your ear as you massaged his cock, so tight that you launched him into his own orgasm, cumming inside you as you had asked. He remained still inside of you even after you had relaxed, leaving small kisses all over your hair before he leaned down to rest his head on the pillow. He had fucked you so slowly that he hadn’t broken a sweat, and yet he was still out of breath and panting. His head swam for several more minutes, until you shifted beneath him. But you didn’t move like you wanted him to get off.

Instead, you turned to look at him, a lazy, blissed out grin on your face and said, “Holy shit, that was so amazing. I’ve never cum so many times.”

“So were you. I’ve never made someone cum so many times,” he admitted, and replayed the way you came just because he had filled you. That was something he was unlikely to ever forget. He brushed some hair out of your face before leaning in to kiss you. It was slow and gentle, belying how tired the two of you now were, and he could see you were ready to fall asleep. “Gonna pull out of you now, princess. Need you to stay nice and relaxed, okay?”

You nodded, your eyes closing and winced as he slid from your ruined hole. A stream of cum followed after and he took a moment to appreciate it, allowing a smirk to steal across his face. There was no doubt you were his now, at least for a little while, and he committed it all to memory before gently gripping your shoulders. “We should really get cleaned up, then we can go to sleep.”

You grumbled cutely but let him help you up, the both of you stumbling blindly to the bathroom. Sleepiness was a thick fog, and you got cleaned up as quickly as possible before returning to the room. The two of you stood in the doorway, looking at the mess of nonsense covering the bed, and then you looked at Tendou.

“Let’s just sleep in there,” you suggested, taking him by the hand. He let you lead him over, watching the way your ass swayed as you crawled into the fort for hopefully the final time that night. In the few minutes it had taken him to get in after you, you had already pulled a blanket over your legs and were setting up the next movie to play. Not that you would be watching it, but he understood it was the principle of the thing. This was a movie marathon and it just wouldn’t do to fall asleep without being in the middle of one.

Once he’d gotten comfortable behind you, you rolled over and splayed out across his chest, startling him. He had expected to curl himself around your back while you went to sleep, but now you were tracing what lines you could see on his chest in the thin light. His hand rested on your waist, the other tucked behind his head, and he closed his eyes, comfortable with your warmth and weight in his arms.

“Satori,” you murmured, your hand falling flat right over the picture of the lake. “I really do like you.”

He laughed at that, and you could feel it rumble in your ear, deep in his chest. He was clearly as tired as you were, but you needed to say it. There was something in your half asleep brain that would not stop telling you to say it, and you were in no position to fight it.

“I figured as much, princess. Three orgasms are hard to fake, especially around a dick as big as mine,” he answered, and you blanched for a moment before erupting into laughter. He watched you through narrow eyes, fondness bubbling in his chest, until you settled back down against him. “You’re absolutely gorgeous, you know that?”

“So’re you,” you murmured. The nagging had stopped now that you had said what you needed too, and you were falling asleep quickly. “Don’t be gone when I wake up tomorrow, okay?”

“It already is tomorrow, and I’ll be here. There’s nowhere else I wanna be anyway,” he answered, letting his eyes close as well. With your comfortable weight on his chest and your even breathing mixing with the buzzing of the movie in the background in his ears, he drifted to sleep in no time, for once not worrying about what tomorrow would bring.

⇥ masterlist

⇥ taglist: @visaintes, @kunimwuah

#tendo x reader #tendou x reader #tendo satori x reader #satori tendo x reader #tendou satori x reader #satori tendou x reader #haikyuu x reader #.monster

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0606-hyuck · 3 years

Text

a letter to my lover | huang renjun

♡ dear y/n, i’m writing you this letter in the hopes that it gets to you well. our relationship has been tumultuous, that’s for sure, and i thought it was high time i wrote you a letter detailing all the times you said "i love you" that are important to me.

genre: renjun x reader, extreme angst, supernatural!renjun, demon!renjun

warnings: death, disease, mild profanity, and alcohol consumption

word count: 3.1K

a/n: this is by far my most favourite thing i've ever wrote, i hope you like it just a much as i do!

tagging: the lovely @roses-of-the-moon ♡ @mora134340 @ncteology + @nct-writers

My love,

The first time you said “I love you”, I was trying to scam you out of your 30 acre estate.

You were being sarcastic, of course. I remember that day, back in 1853, as if it were yesterday. You were just finishing up helping your father on the back paddocks when, the second he left you alone for a moment, I came up to the fence and pitched my preposition to you. That day I was using my favourite ruse - a charming fellow from a foreign land interested in trading your property for some vague amount of money in return. I had donned my best waistcoat and breeches, made sure not a hair on my head was out of place, and fixed a practiced salesman smile onto my face. There I was, trying my best to look as expensive as possible, while you were knee deep in cow shit.

As I explained my deal to you, I remember thinking that this was going to be one of my easier cons - there was a reason I had targeted you and not your father, after all. I simply needed one of the residents of the property to sign below the dotted line on my magically enhanced paper disguised as formal legal documents and bam! The property would be mine. Five minutes talking with you and I’d be the new owner of your estate.

At least, that was the plan. When I finished my sales-pitch, you plainly looked me up and down, scoffed loudly, and stated, “wow, I love you.” You must have noticed how my eyebrows quirked up in curiosity because you added, “the hair, the outfit, the accent, I love it all.” I was still confused until you said, “I especially love how you think that I am going to be deceived by a little boy who looks like he’s playing dress up in daddy’s old clothes. Good try, though. I bet it works on the others in this town who lack the brain capacity to recognise when they’re getting swindled out of their life’s savings.”

I stood there shocked, firstly because...ouch. Did these clothes really look that bad on me? And secondly, because you were right, this had never happened before. What was I supposed to do now? Luckily, you let me know what my next moves should be when you lobbed a chunk of sloppy cow shit from your work boot onto my pristine waistcoat and promptly told me to get lost.

The thing was, dear, I was a demon. And demons are notoriously deceitful characters. Never in my lifetime - which was a long time - had someone not fallen for my tricks. Okay, so my plan to convince the Founding Fathers of the United States to let me sign the Declaration was a fail, but small, simple scams like this one were foolproof. Until I met you.

The second time you said “I love you”, you were blackout drunk and five seconds away from falling off the bar.

Before I met you, Y/N, I was a traveller. I had lived through the development of new settlements and the discovery of faraway lands, and so I was always off to a fresh destination for a new adventure. When I ventured into your town, I was planning to only pass through, maybe stay a couple of nights before I headed off to my next stop. A quick chat with the inn-keeper who had an exploitable tendency to overshare led me to you, the child of an aristocrat father who happened to own a lot of land that would likely sell for enough money to make me a virtual millionaire. Remarkably, after you turned my offer down, I felt no desire to leave your town. For once in my life, I decided to stay put in one place until I could convince you to change your mind.

I frequented your estate a lot more after that day, much to your dismay. No matter what I said, no matter how sweet I made my words sound, you refused to give up your rights to your land. It was frustrating for me, Y/N, that you wouldn’t give in. At the same time, I acknowledged I could have just walked away and found someone else to scam, but I didn’t want to. You soon accepted the fact that seeing my face around your farm would be a given, and started putting me to work with you.

Cleaning the horse stables, bundling up handfuls of hay, tending to a vegetable patch. I never saw what we were doing as work, though. For me, I used the time I spent with you to get you to talk about yourself and reveal information I could use as blackmail so you would hand over your estate. You never did, though, and although I realised this I still couldn’t help myself from coming over to your farm every morning. I’m sure your father was confused as to why I was always there, but he never complained because, after all, it was free labour.

Our relationship at this point was very much a love-hate relationship. I despised you for the fact you were immune to my demon charms, but I also couldn’t stay away from you. You hated me because I was constantly asking you to sell your estate, but you couldn’t seem to turn me away when I showed up every morning. Whether we wanted to admit it at the time or not, there was no denying that we were drawn to each other.

I saw the looks you gave me, Y/N. That time when your father joked about me being your boyfriend, I saw you roll your eyes, but I also saw the way you carefully watched my reaction to your father’s words. You never noticed the way I looked at you when you were busy working, or when your eyes lit up as you talked about your passions. I was too careful to let you see something like that.

When you invited me to the local pub for the first time, you didn’t appear to be worried about being seen in public with an unknown man. I asked why you didn’t just go with some of your aristocrat friends, and you said they couldn’t keep up with your pace of alcohol consumption. Secretly, I was flattered you’d invited me. I quickly found myself regretting accepting the invitation when you ordered multiple rounds of mysterious foul tasting liquor and downed them in quick succession. This was the night that I found out you were a happy drunk.

I didn’t touch a drop of that poison, so you drank my share for me and were soon dragging me off my stool to dance. When the live band realised they had an audience, they picked up the pace and I found myself being swung around in circles by you, pulled in close, and then unceremoniously dipped low before we repeated the routine all over again.

I was completely sober, but it was fascinating for me to watch how you charmed the socks off other patrons. I remember thinking, for a fleeting second, whether you had some demon blood in you because I’d never seen someone get along with so many others that easily. Together, we teamed up and had the whole pub rambunctiously roaring with laughter well into the night, and even invented our own dance that we taught to the others and then all collectively performed.

I knew it was time for us to take our leave when you pulled yourself onto the bar and attempted a jig (or maybe it was a jive?), looked me in the eye, and told me you loved me. The patrons around us shrieked at your admission, but I was too worried about how close your foot was getting to the bar edge to fully comprehend what you had said. Just as I predicted, you tumbled from the bar straight into my open arms, and without another look back I carried you out of the pub and we headed to your home. When we reached your estate, the same one I had just recently decided to stop trying to con you out of owning, I asked you if you were serious when you said you loved me. You turned, gave me a knowing smirk, tapped the side of your nose, and said, “drunk words are often sober thoughts.”

The third time you said “I love you”, I was giving up everything that made me, me.

“Drunk words are often sober thoughts.” That phrase had become a staple in our relationship in the months since that night at the bar. To us, it meant something along the lines of “you know I love you”. You were now old enough to be married off but much to your father’s chagrin you refused to be, and instead lived in a small cottage at the back of your estate. It soon became my home too, although we never established what our relationship really was. Every time I tried to ask you whether we were exclusive, or whether we were dating, you simply replied, “drunk words are often sober thoughts,” while tapping the side of your nose. Even when your father tried to inquire why I, the unpaid farm boy, was now living with you, you told him the same thing you said to me.

Although our inside joke was ambiguous and a little confusing at times, one thing was glaringly obvious - we were meant to spend the rest of our lives together. Neither of us knew when I had gone from the annoying conman to essentially your live-in boyfriend, nor did we know when our animosity towards each other transformed into affection, but it didn’t matter. We were happy, and drunk words are often sober thoughts.

The only problem was that I was a demon, and you were human. Because of my immortality, you would die in about sixty years and I wouldn’t have aged a day. At this point, I couldn't imagine living my life without you. I’d stayed in the same town for over a year, for goodness sake! The decision to give up my immortality for you was one of the easiest I’d ever made.

I do regret not telling you what I was planning to do, though. We were two people in love in the 1850s, and I can imagine what your reaction would have been if I told you I was a demon. I’d probably be locked up in a mental institute, or maybe you’d even call the police on me. There is a ritual every demon knows that unbinds them from their immortality, though I have never heard many stories about it actually happening because, after all, who would want to give up their slick demon tongue and literal eternal life?

The day I did the ritual, you had planned to travel to a distant city for trade on behalf of your father, but something happened with your cart and you were forced to turn back, coming home right in the middle of my turning. I like to imagine that I was probably floating mid-air with glowing red eyes, given how loud you screeched when you opened the door. I felt so bad for you, Y/N. You rushed to me and tried to pull me from the ritual, but by this stage I was in a trance, physically unable to move, and the process was irreversible. You probably thought that I was dying, and that you’d have to live without me, because you held me close and for the first time in months you said, “I love you” rather than “drunk words are often sober thoughts.”

A few hours later, the ritual was complete. In your shock at my state, the thought of calling the police (or an exorcist) had vanished from your mind and you’d stayed beside me the whole time. When I was able to, I explained what I’d done and that I’d given up my immortality for you. I’m sure you were scarred from finding me like that, Y/N, but you were just happy that I was alive and safe. Now that the ritual was complete, we could spend the rest of our natural lives loving each other.

Well, that is what we’d hoped, at least.

The last time you said “I love you”, you were dying in my arms.

It happened so quickly, Y/N. So, so quickly. One day you were fine, and the next you couldn’t even get out of bed. I watched powerlessly as you went from a normal, healthy person to someone with an extreme fever, headaches, nausea, and dehydration. Your father and I called the local physician, but even he didn’t know what you were suffering from. He thought it could possibly be the fever that we had seen outbreaks of up north, but there was no cure yet. I was told to make sure you were as comfortable as possible because the disease could take you at any second.

And take you it did.

Your headaches, fever, and nausea were so bad that you spent most of the day screaming with pain, but you eventually were able to fall asleep in the evening. I lay beside you, absolutely unable to close my eyes for even a moment in case something happened. You woke up from a series of restless fits and your eyes were wide open. You gestured wildly for me to come closer, to hold you, so I pulled you into my lap and cradled you near. Your skin was blisteringly hot, and as you looked up at me you managed to say, “I love you, Huang Renjun.”

And that was it. There was no dramatic seizing of your body or vomiting of blood. You just closed your eyes and passed away in my arms. Your skin that was so warm before slowly became cold, and it was only then that I had the sense to call for your family and tell them what had happened. It had only been a few weeks since I’d given up my immortality to live the rest of our lives together. Who would have guessed it would be so short?

I’m sorry if there are tears on this page. Y/N, we just had your funeral. I know you’d be happy at the number of people who turned up to celebrate your life. It was held inside the church with the stained glass windows, the ones you always pointed out when we walked by. I made a wreath out of some wild flowers I found growing on our property. My handiwork was a little bit shabby - I’m still getting used to this less dexterous human body of mine - but I think you would have liked it. Your family, friends, and many people I didn’t even recognise all cried. I cried too, of course. Harder than everyone else combined, I imagine.

Your father decided you’d want to be buried on the estate you would have inherited when he died, so we picked a serene little space under a great oak tree for you to rest. I think you would have liked that, too.

I don’t exactly know why I am writing this letter. It’s not like I can...send it to you. I am feeling such overwhelming levels of grief right now that I thought writing down my feelings would help, but if you couldn’t tell already by the tear stains, I think it’s just made the pain of losing you even worse. I still haven’t fully accepted the fact that you’re no longer here. I spent the first night without you in our bed, alone. Your father offered me the cottage to live in for free. Since it is part of the estate, it legally belongs to him, and I think he wanted me to have it as a reminder of you. I said no.

I can’t live in a place that is so full of you, where every corner is a reminder of the life we could have had together. It also felt so wrong to have the place I spent so long trying to scam you out of handed over to me for free. I knew I couldn’t do that to you, Y/N. I thought about traveling, too. God, it’s been so long since I’ve done that. Ever since I met you, I finally had a reason to settle down and stay in one place. Anywhere you wanted to go, I would have gone too. But you decided to live in this town, and this is where you died. So I don’t know if I can walk the same streets we walked together without you anymore.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.” Throughout our whole relationship, I never told you I loved you. I always said that instead. It was our inside joke, after all. We never made our relationship official, either, though everyone accepted that we were together. Honestly, I don’t really regret not telling you I loved you, or asking you to be my partner. I know you knew I loved you, the same way I knew you loved me, without ever having to say it. That’s just how our relationship is. How our relationship was.

I also don’t regret giving up my immortality for you. You know I love you, and I would have done anything for you, no questions. It seemed to be the appropriate thing to do at the time, when we thought we would spend the rest of forever together. Sure, I am now stuck in a mortal body with no idea what I am going to do with myself, but there’s no way I could go back to the way I was living, anyway.

You changed me, Y/N, you completely and utterly changed me. I don’t know what the future holds for me, or how long I will even live for myself, but I hold onto the knowledge that whatever I do, I do it because of you and the influence you had, and will forever have, over me.

I think, for me, I face a lifetime of missing you, although I know one day we will surely be together again. We were never too vocal about our love for each other, but one thing we both agreed on was that there was almost some metaphysical force willing us to be together, and I doubt that is something that just stops with death.

My hand is starting to cramp up, and it’s getting hard to see the paper due to my tears, so I think I should leave this here. I can’t wait until I see you again, and I just know you will be as beautiful in death as you were in life - that’s just who you are. Remember, “drunk words are often sober thoughts,” Y/N.

Until we meet again,

Renjun.

this is my favourite thing i've ever written because i love to make myself cry!

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #nct-writers #dreamwritersnet #nct #nct dream #nct renjun #renjun nct #renjun nct dream #renjun #huang renjun #renjun x reader #renjun imagine #renjun scenario #supernatural nct

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trollcafe · 3 years

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Inferno

Length: 2155 Words TW: General Violence, brief mention of drugs. Brief: Boe causes problems for Bruuno. Credits: there's a reference to the Divine Comedy.

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Bruuno knew the office building like the back of his hand. Walking in through the back cargo entrance was the easiest way in. The violet guard had basically watched Bruuno grow up and actually smiled as he passed. He towered over the violet at this point but always felt a small connection to the stranger, and made a point of smiling back. The elevator complained loudly when Bruuno stepped inside. The elevator only had twelve buttons. The thirteenth button was disguised as the emergency alarm. It was muscle memory by now, Bruuno held the alarm as it rang for fourty five seconds. The alarm stopped and the elevator started to go up.

It opened into a dimly lit hallway. Expensive art decorated the walls, each painting in the same exact spot as it had been the first time Bruuno walked past them. They always had a way of making him feel small. Chilly air encouraged him to stuff his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The secretary was gone, but the door to Boe's office was unlocked, so Bruuno invited himself inside.

"Hello, Bruuno. Always a treat to see you. How are you? It's been ages." Boe's voice filled the silence immediately. The jade had been waiting, standing in the center of his wide office. He always spoke too much. Despite being spoken to, Bruuno instantly knew something was wrong. There was a deafening silence. More notably, there was no fuchsia wriggler jumping up and bodyslamming him while laughing.

"Where's Shi?" Bruuno turned to the jade with a look of confusion. Boe's relaxed smile planted a seed of worry in the fuchsia's chest. His shoulders lifted slightly in a nonchalant shrug, as if they were discussing the location of a book and not a child.

"She's safe." Boe's voice, smooth as silk and honey, did nothing to ease the growing concern.

"I didn't ask if she was safe." Bruuno stepped closer to Boe, brow furrowed, "I asked where she was."

"And I asked how you were. You've been clean for a while, isn't that nice?" Boe closed the gap between him and his former charge. Bruuno's intimidation attempt went entirely ignored, the jade was seemingly unafraid of anything Bruuno may do. Boe's hands left his pockets so he could straighten the fuchsias' jacket, closing it slightly. "Your little moirails helped with that, right? Awfully sweet of them. You really owe them one."

"I don't owe anyone shit." Bruuno didn't stop Boe from touching him, but made no effort to hide the hostility in his voice. "Boznik, where is Shiloh?"

"Mmm, wrong there buddy. You still owe me." Boe smiled and patted Bruuno's chest, knowingly ignoring the constant pestering over Shiloh. Bruuno's expression must have been blatantly confused once again, because Boe laughed. The jade turned away from the conversation, walking over to his desk. He straightened out some papers as he continued.

"I only let you go because you became a liability. Became sloppy! Messy! Hard to fix your mistakes. You must've thought you were so smart, blaming that pesky little addiction problem on your matesprit. I knew what you were doing, Bru. You're not as clever as you think you are." Boe snickered softly as he spoke. Normally an unprofessional move, but Boe didn't care too much for the formalities when it came to his former charge. "I saw what you did to that other little fish, Klasha's brother. Both arms! Impressive! Ripped them off like they were nothing! Now Bruuno, that is the man I raised." Boe paused and looked up from his desk. Bruuno's silence was deafening as the horror started to sink in.

"I let you have your little fun. I helped you, even. You got to have your fifteen minutes of fame. You seadwellers live for so long...it really was just fifteen minutes out of that ancient lifespan of yours. And be honest with yourself Bru, who do you think helped you get there?" Boe's voice got softer, near a whisper, "I spared your life. I gave you fame. I let you have this glorious little life. And now you have to pay me back."

Each word that left Boe's mouth was a dash of salt on the ever growing wound. Anger started like milk on the stove, it always did. Slowly and slowly heating. One had to keep their eye on the pot every second it was there. It was so easy to just glance away for a moment, but doing so would cause the entire pot to boil over. Bruuno's anger was the same, growing slowly and unchecked until the pot boiled over and the contents burned everything around it.

"I never fuckin' asked you to spare me." Speaking between his teeth did little to hide the venom dripping from his voice. "I would've fuckin' preferred you didn't. But I didn't get a fuckin' say in any of this." Bruuno's fins pressed down flat like a cornered cat's ears.

"Well, that's unfortunate." Boe's smirk faded into an unamused frown. Any normal troll would've thought twice about being alone in a room with such a furious highblood. Boe knew better than anyone how catastrophic highblood rage could be. And yet, he stood before Bruuno, cool as a cucumber, collected as ever. He knew in his heart that Bruuno was a pushover, too soft to cause problems or stir the pot. Boe knew the troll he raised, how could he not?

Just as Boe knew Bruuno would never hurt him, Bruuno knew the jade would never harm Shiloh. There was an unspoken line between them that neither would dare to cross. Shiloh happened to stand directly on that line. Despite his rage, Bruuno knew Shiloh would be fine. She was most likely with Chowow, or Kamuuk, and they just hadn't told him. She certainly hadn't a single clue what was going on. Good, because this wasn't about her. His anger was less about Shiloh, and more the sheer audacity. The gall that Boe possessed to even dream of having that control over Bruuno's life. As the two stared each other down, Boe felt safe. Secure. He was certain that Bruuno would bend to his whim. After all, the fuchsia seemed to bend however someone wanted him to, why would he do any differently to Boe?

Boe's sense of security held Bruuno in his place. He felt small, smaller than he ever had in his entire life, because he knew what Boe thought of him. A passive troll who simply wishes to please everyone, who has no self worth beyond what he can present to others. He had done so much to get to where he was in life. Even if Boe really WAS pulling the strings, Bruuno was happy. He was genuinely happy with his life, the path he was heading down. For the first time in sweeps, Bruuno finally felt like he was healing. He no longer lamented over the torment he caused others, and the days spent awake wondering if karma would present itself with glittery fins once more seemed rare now. The pot of anger had boiled over moments ago, and was starting to burn in Bruuno's chest. One can never remember pain, brains aren't programmed to remember pain, but the raw burning in his lungs was so painstakingly familiar. It was an infection he covered up so well he started to believe it was really gone. An infection he had for so long that he almost felt empty when he covered it that well. Now that the anger fought through the makeshift gauze of happiness, Bruuno realized he missed it, in the same way someone misses a toxic friend or a migraine they had for too long. It had become a piece of him.

Bruuno remembered snippets from working under Boe, but more importantly he remembered how much he hated it. He hurt so many trolls for no reason beyond being told to. He was taught how to hold a gun before he was taught how to write. He learned the best methods of a hidden execution before he learned how to cook. The best took for pulling fingernails, pressure points to incapacitate someone, the direction to aim a weapon so it looked like an accident. From the best cleanup crew to call, to the safest places to dump a body, and the best excuses to tell a drone. Everything Boe taught him centered around pain and violence. Destroy lives and cause destruction for the sake of money and power. Breaking bones and shooting trolls at point blank did nothing but cause anxiety and depression, and created the insecurity that allowed Bubble to seep into his life like a virus. Bruuno was never happy with who he was or what he was doing. Who was Boe to decide if Bruuno got to be happy or not? Only Bruuno could decide that.

And Bruuno decided that he did deserve to be happy. That he didn't deserve this; not from Boe, or Bubble, Carina, the Empire, Shrivo, anyone else. He was worthy of being happy. And he didn't need to make himself valuable to others to be worthy of it.

By the time Bruuno had come to this mental conclusion, Boe had started and nearly finished another cheesy and demented monolog. He strolled right up to Bruuno once more, chattering away while folding some boring origami crane. At the end, he just crumpled the crane up in a dramatic show of power. It was apparent that he thought of himself as some kind of villain, that the hero in this story would do as every hero does. No hero would ever harm the villain, because that'd make them equal and just as evil.

But Bruuno was not Aeneas, nor was he Paul. There was hardly anything heroic about him.

"So, you see my point, Bru? Just a pawn in the game of life. An important pawn to some, sure. But you, too, can be so easily crushed." Boe's smile was sinister, but frankly Bruuno found it annoying. The burning anger had created the desire, no, the need to destroy, to break things.

The fuchsia silently looked at the crumpled paper in Boe's palm. After a moment, he gingerly took the crane from Boe. It was so small in his hand, so fragile, but he still craved to demolish it. Boe's smile returned, obviously pleased that his words stuck with his charge. That was, until Bruuno dropped the crane without a care and instead grabbed onto Boe's robotic wrist with one hand, and the opposite shoulder with his free hand. Without hesitating, Bruuno destroyed. He tore Boe's arm off, just as he had done with Meduza. The prosthetic came off like a breeze, but it was obviously never meant to, permanent prosthetics are so expensive and difficult to replace so they were secured in the socket so neatly. There was nothing neat about it now. Boe's expression was horrified. If he made a sound, Bruuno didn't hear it. All he heard was the crumbling of metal and the tear of flesh. The prosthetic may have been sturdy once but it bent and folded under the pressure of Bruuno's closing fist. The jagged parts of the metal cut his hand but the pain was a welcomed feeling, grounding almost.

The arm dropped unceremoniously to the floor, and Boe did too. Jade started to pool under him and stained his white button down. Boznik tried to prop himself up and move away, but was pushed back down by Bruuno's foot.

The weight of an 8 foot fuchsia on his chest was nothing compared to the weight of the trauma that hovers over Bruuno's heart constantly.

"How's that fer the man you raised? Still like 'im?" Bruuno's expression was deadpan as he spoke, with just enough weight on Boe's chest to hurt. "A real fuckin' asshole, ain't he? Takes after his lusus. Y'know how it is. Like lusus like son, eh?" A bitter laugh escaped, and only grew louder as more pressure was applied. Bruuno heard and felt a couple cracks, the pain being confirmed by Boe's strangled gasp of pain.

Boe was no stranger to pain, but the crushing weight on his chest and white hot burning from his arm had him fading in and out. Breathing was difficult, but not impossible, and was instantly better as Bruuno got off his former lusus.

"I hope we both rot, ya daft fuckin' jackass. Don't try this shit again." Bruuno wasn't certain if Boe even heard him, but he felt better saying it out loud.

He made sure to hit the emergency alarm on Boe's desk before he left out the way he came. The violet security guard was still at his post by the cargo entrance. The radio on his vest was going off with frantic chatter as Bruuno passed him.

He made sure to smile on his way out.

#ghost.art #drabbles #Bruuno sinopa #Boe hexxio #Ask 2 tage #This took way too long to format on mobile and twice as long to write.#If I need to add a warning leme know!

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wonder-womans-ex · 3 years

Text

Curtain Call

Act One, Scene Five

Sirius knows he’s petty. Extremely so. Petty enough to send the elevator all the way down to the ground floor so that Remus has to either take the stairs or wait, at least.

What Remus said is still wheeling in his mind. Remus kissed someone else. It hurts, yeah, but he’ll put on his brave face. He’ll move on.

The thing that hurts most—the thing he can’t ignore or get over—is that he’s not sure whether he’s more upset that Remus cheated, more upset that Remus dumped him, or more upset that Remus didn’t give him the chance to break it off. Remus should have owned up to it, and he should have given Sirius that choice. It’s like he said when before he left the staff room—maybe he would have ended things, maybe he wouldn’t have.

He should have at least had the option to break Remus’s heart like Remus broke his, but instead Remus just broke his twice.

Sure enough, Remus is five minutes late to the seminar, and Sirius knows that Lily’s pissed. What he doesn’t know is whether she’s pissed at Remus, or if she’s figured out that Sirius is the reason behind the delay and is pissed at him. She seems the type to just know these things.

He’s pretty sure he’s not imagining her glare in his direction when she says, “We’ll start in a minute or two; John will be back by then with the papers we need for today’s lecture,” but he decides to ignore it. After all, if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s ignoring his problems.

Well, and running away from them. It depends on the day and what mood he’s in.

He also doesn’t miss the fact that when Remus does return, he pulls the classic ‘take one and pass it on’ instead of handing out the papers one by one. It’s probably so that he doesn’t have to look Sirius in the face.

When the stack reaches him, Sirius has to reach back a whole row of seats to get to the next person. He almost tips over in his chair, but manages to save himself a sore tailbone—and a whole lot of embarrassment—at the last minute.

The page is split into five sections: theme, topic, setting, characters, and story objective. He remembers, vaguely, learning some of this in grade seven, but that’s where his memory blanks. (What the everloving fuck is a story objective?)

Apparently he’s about to find out.

Lily claps her hands together in an incredibly teacher-like way. If he didn’t know better, he would have a hard time believing this is the same woman who so aggressively played matchmaker (or maybe she was actually trying to drive them further away from each other; thinking back on it, Sirius can’t actually tell) only a few minutes before. “Well,” she says, addressing the room at large, “who can tell me what a theme is?”

There are a few raised hands, and she calls on the boy just behind Sirius, with chocolate-brown hair and more freckles than he can count. “It’s what the story is about. But like, in an abstract way.”

“Very good.” Lily takes a whiteboard marker out of her jeans pocket. Turning to the board, she draws a T-table, labeling one side theme and the other topic. Under the first heading, she writes abstract, and, across from it, concrete.

“Theme and topic are often confused, because they’re both what a story is about. But—what’s your name?”

“Benjy. Benjy Fenwick,” says the freckled boy.

“But Benjy here has hit the nail on the head. The difference between theme and topic is that a theme is abstract—a concept, or an idea, or a feeling—while a topic is concrete—such as a person, place, thing, or event….”

Sirius begins to zone out. Absentmindedly, he grabs a pencil and begins sketching on the smooth, polished wood of his desk. A circle, an oval, a line here and there, some shading—slowly, his doodle begins to take shape. By the time Lily says, “Now, who can give me some examples of a good story theme?” and people start calling out their answers, he’s perfected the glint in his anime-style eye.

“One last one. How about you, by the back, with the Blue Jays shirt?”

(Of course she’s pretending she doesn’t know his name. Lucky him—he’s always wanted to be demoted back to ‘hey, you.’)

His head jerks up. “Uh, relationships,” he says, because he’s a walking cliche and, yes, of course that’s the only thing on his mind. Why wouldn’t it be?

“There’s an interesting one.” She adds it to the board, right underneath hardship, pressing hard enough that the nib of the pen squeaks. “It could technically be counted as a topic, too, but it works well as a theme.”

There’s a pause as she looks around, seemingly searching for a suitable place to put her pen. Finally, she gives up, tucking it behind her ear.

“What I want everyone to do now is think carefully about what theme they want to write about. You can pick as many as you want, and you can add more later, but it’s easiest to focus on just two or three. You can pick one of the ones we came up with here, or it can be something totally different, but make sure it’s something that speaks to you.”

Her words resonate in Sirius’s mind. Something that speaks to him? He starts to write, his large printing cramped in the tiny box, and he gets halfway through the second C before he erases it again. He has to think for a minute. He doesn’t want to write about success, not when there’s so little of it in his life right now, but he doesn’t want to write about something dark, like suffering, either.

Loss, he puts down with finality. On second thought, he adds healing. And then, just because he feels like it, friendship.

The clock on the wall says they have twelve more minutes before they’re finished; he wonders what else they’ll do before the class ends. Right now, the only sound in the room is the quiet scratching of pencils—soothing, he must admit, even though he personally prefers the excitement of applause—and it seems as though he’s the only one who’s finished.

He lets himself look around, his eyes flickering from the clock to the whiteboard to the person sitting to his left. They dart to the door at the other side of the hall, and forward to where Remus is... staring right back at him.

The two lock eyes for a good fifteen seconds before Remus lowers his gaze to the floor. It’s not much of a victory, Sirius knows, but it’s a victory nonetheless.

So why doesn’t it feel like one?

There’s not time to burrow any deeper into his own thoughts, however, because Lily is writing once more on the board. Unfortunately for him, he can’t see what she’s written—even when she turns around—because her head is in the way.

“I assume most of you have your themes, and even if you don’t, you can always come back to it. Right now, we’re going to move onto topic—surprise surprise, also what the story is about, but this time on a more concrete scale. Let’s take Romeo and Juliet, for instance, because I’m fairly sure it’s a story we all know. Does anyone have any idea what the topic is?”

Silence.

Sirius, usually the self-aware one in any situation (but apparently not this one), knows there are two possible reasons as to why he raises his hand. Unfortunately, he does not know which of them it is. The first is simple—he’s confident has the answer, and he wants to share it. The second is both a little more complex and a little more likely, and that is that he doesn’t know what the answer is and maybe, just maybe, he wants to prove to Remus he’s not afraid to take risks.

Either way, his tentative “Love?” is declared—spoiler alert—incorrect.

“Wrong,” Lily says. “Love is a theme, not a topic. Try again.”

Well, he wasn’t expecting a second chance. (It seems he only ever gets them when he’s unprepared.) (Maybe there’s a lesson in that.)

“Um… people in love?” If the first answer wasn’t right, this one won’t be either. He knows that. But it is, frankly, all he can come up with.

“Ding-a-ling-a-ling,” Lily deadpans, which actually sounds a little funny in that accent of hers. He’s not going to mention that, though, because he’s on pretty thin ice already where she’s concerned. “Correct. Yes, maybe they sound like basically the same thing, but they’re not. The way I like to put it is this: if you can draw a picture of it, chances are it’s the topic. If you can’t, chances are it’s the theme.” After a moment, she adds, “I probably should have said that at the beginning. Whatever.”

This causes Remus’s lips to twitch up into a smile. In fact, it’s only just now that Sirius realizes he’s watching Remus at all—he could have sworn he stopped—and he forces himself to look away.

But he really can’t deny it any longer. He really can’t deny that that little smile, happy and pure with just a hint of mischief, still makes his heart pound and his brain turn to mush. He really can’t deny that despite everything—despite the breakup, and the recent confession, and the promises made late at night that he’s getting over this, he really is…

He’s still in desperate, painful, middle-grade YA novel love with Remus/John/does-it-really-matter-what-his-name-is Lupin.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #lily evans #remus x sirius #muggle au #university au #I really hate this chapter but whatever #it needed to be published

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joontier · 4 years

Text

The King’s Guard | Chapter 2

–> Pairings: kim seokjin x reader; jeon jungkook x reader

–> Rating: R

–> Genre/warnings: M U C H A N G S T; y’all I even cried while writing this sksksk why do I torture myself like this; slightly graphic mentions of dead people, mentions of blood, super slight gore; suggestive language, SMUT AGAIN (voyeurism, shit why do i expose myself too much, petting, unprotected sex, kitchen sex)

–> Word count: 8.8k

–> A/N: Korean vocabulary used will be placed at the end of the chapter :-) Also, all history indicated here is fictitious, then again, it is fan fiction after all. ALSO, GOOD LUCK WITH THE END OF THE CHAPTER ;) tell me whatcha think!!!

The King’s Guard - Masterlist || navi.

The King’s Guard | Chapter 2

The warmth in the room makes you stir in bed, the sun’s rays attempting to peek through the paper windows creating too much discomfort for you to continue your beloved slumber. As you turn your body, you see a scroll accompanied by a carnation on your bedside table. Hastily reaching for the scroll, your other hand clutches onto the blanket to cover your chest.

Your stomach drops. With trembling hands, you open the message. No, No, No. NO!

“My love,

Truthfullly, I do not know where to begin, nor do I know why I am writing this in the first place. What I can be somehow certain of is that I do not have full confidence that my plans shall come into fruition. I guess this letter shall provide me with the least solace for my judgments. The matters of the south have cost me sleepless nights and days, moments that I could regrettably have spent with you, and for that I am truly sorry. It pains me that you might have perceived last night a selfish act to heed to the wants of the flesh but know that every word I have uttered during our throes of passion was not made in jest.

I will not have to lie – you carrying my children, the two of us finally creating a family – the thought alone gives me unparalleled happiness. In the near future, I desire twelve children with you representing the twelve lunar animals, that is, if you allow me to do so. I will be satisfied with eleven, if you must.

Great is the pain that I have to bear with my decision, but great too is the weight of my duties to my country. You of all people have reminded me of that. It is treason against the country for me not to find a way to make amends, yet is treason against my heart to have left you like this.

Alas, I too am scared myself with this journey that I must take, but your love and prayers shall give me strength. My queen, I ask you to not worry much for I did not come unprepared, for I have brought with me the greatest warriors known to our nation, and they shall stand by my side, should the time come that our peaceful exertions shall lead to one of violence.

If, however, may our ancestors and the gods forbid, that the circumstances shall not permit me to return to you, the only love of my life, I cannot ask you remain alone without me in this cruel world because that would be most selfish of me. Live and indulge yourself in the pleasures of life, my dove, continue your flight in this world even if it no longer has me in it.

If I truly have gone for good, I want you to be happy. I am begging you to be happy. Find a man that shall love you from the tiny mole by your forehead to the tips of your toes. Find a man that shall cherish you for your entire being, find someone that shall bestow upon you love more than you deserve, just as you have done the same to me and to the people around you.

Let this reassurance console you that the happiest days of my life have been from your love and affection, and that I die loving only you and with a fervent hope that our souls shall be reunited after this and will have to part no more. Just because I would have passed away does not mean I am not with you, I will always be here looking over you, keeping you safe. Should the day come that you succumb to the sadness of my loss, just close your eyes and I will be by your side in an instant.

This is goodbye to your kisses that shall continue to linger on my lips even if I could not have them again. This is goodbye to your caresses that have kept me warm during the harsh, cold winters. This is goodbye to your endless patronizing that has grounded me through the many decisions I had to make. And finally, this is goodbye to you, my angel, my sweet carnation.

With every word written comes forth a tear, and I fear that I may not finish this letter without wetting the entire page. I will have to leave shortly, and now I will leave your security to the hands of our new captain. He has my trust.

Know that I would have traded a decade of my life just to spend ten more breaths with you. I love you, my queen, with all that I was, with all that I am, and with all that I ever will be.

Seokjin”

A loud, broken sob escapes your lips. Your cheeks become wet with tears, visible wet patches staining your blanket. You let yourself fall back to the bed, body crumpling in anguish. How could you have let him go? You curse at yourself for letting sleep take over you again earlier, when he was already at arm’s reach, so close to forbid him from leaving.

You stay like that on the bed for a few moments, body quaking with distress and clutching onto the piece of paper close to your chest. This was it. Although there was still a part of you that Seokjin will come home to you in one piece, your brain is already betraying you with images of your husband covered in blood, left lifeless in the middle of the road.

Crying harder at the image, you try to muffle them with your blankets that vaguely smell of Seokjin. Your chest constricts. You already know he had intentions of visiting the south even with your constant reminders of the dangers of the south. Your heart clenches when you recall the one time you had argued about it.

‘It’s a lost cause, Seokjin.’ You already felt that one thing was going to lead to another and this conversation was definitely going to end up in an argument.

“What I am I supposed to do here then? Stand and join festivities while my own people are being attacked by rebellious troops? While riots occur on the daily? While there are people dying of hunger on the streets?”

“No! I- That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what am I to do then?!”

“I just—If you go there…” You hiccup, unable to continue when your lips start to tremble. You choke as you suppress a sob, covering your face with your hands as you start to bawl your heart out. Seokjin flees toward you, apologizing profusely as he had probably scared you with the risen pitch of his voice. “Shhh,” he engulfs you in a hug, pulling you close to him.

You begin to calm down after some time, the warmth of Seokjin’s body easily consoling you. Your husband doesn’t let go when you finally catch your breath and your grip tightens around his waist, creasing his durumagi.

With your voice slightly muffled as your mouth is pressed against your husband’s chest, you continue talking, knowing that Seokjin will have no problem comprehending your words. “I’ve lost everyone because of them Seokjin. My father, my real mother, my friends…” you sniff, wiping your cheeks with the sleeves of your jeogori. “Please,” you beseech, “I can’t lose you to them too,” your voice cracks at the thought, eyes brimming with tears once more.

“I won’t let that happen, love.” He doesn’t know that.

You feel your chest starting to heave again, Seokjin slowly guides you to the bed, seats you both, and lets you lay your head on his lap as he rests his own on the wall adjacent to the bed. Gently, he strokes your hair until you finally, truly calm down this time, silent tears now rolling down your cheeks.

The words are heavy on your lips, every emotion rolling off your tongue as you say the words you dread the most. “They’re going to kill you Seokjin.” You take his hand and rest it against your cheek, his hand still seemingly larger with the way your two hands are clutching onto it. You continue with bated breath, “Maybe even before you enter the southern gates, maybe even before you get a single step out of the capitol...” Your voice comes down to a whisper when you repeat your earlier words. “They are going to kill you.”

You tilt your head a little to take a good look at your husband. You see the faint stubble just under his chin. He probably hasn’t shaved yet with the lack of free time on his hands. Shamelessly, you always imagine what he’d look like with a beard but you’re willing to bet your life that he’d be just as handsome as he is now. He keeps on shaving it, much to your dismay, countering that he doesn’t want you to feel and discomfort or itch when he kisses you. You’ll have to leave your bearded Seokjin fantasies somewhere in the future. If the future still has Seokjin in it.

In the past, the five major cities of Korea never got along. It was more of an unspoken rivalry for years on end between the kings and their subjects. People from the east took pride on their agricultural lands and livestock, the westerners’ livelihood depends heavily on lumber, northerners brag about their coal mining and fishery, the south leads the nation’s masonry and defense, and finally, the capitol is the center of textile and is otherwise known as the home of the scholars.

Combined together, this nation would have been unconquerable. But these royals are still human beings and human beings are vulnerable to temptation, constantly fueled by the idea of acquiring something that another does not have.

Unfortunately, a nation with citizens that had no sense of nationalism was the perfect target, the easiest to penetrate for the colonizers. The promises of an alliance to a foreign nation seemed to great an offer to decline. Fools. Just like that, the foreigners tricked each king to go against the other cities – their own people, their own blood. Empty promises drilled into empty heads. Blinded by inane vows of wealth and power, these people who call themselves leaders never knew they were being deceived altogether.

That is, until King Seokwoo of the capitol, Seokjin’s father, realized the deception early enough to stop the war but too late to pacify the nation’s internal turmoil. With his heart and dignity on the line, the brave king of the capitol had gone to the other kings to make them realize their mistakes, their greed, and their shameless thirst for power.

Nobody wanted to believe him at first, not when he too was a part of it all. He apologized in court – the one thing a king never does. He put his pride on the line for the country he loves, bowing his head in front of the other kings, and their respective advisors. King Seokwoo knew he was going to lose his credibility like this with his heart and pride on his sleeve, but only he knew, and only he understood, that a king should not be loyal to the throne and the power it holds, but to his country.

Only when he revealed the scrolls of plans he stole from the colonizers that they collectively decided to temporarily set aside their present caprices and decree a pact for the good of the nation. For once in a very long time, the kings had agreed on one thing.

That night, they had agreed to choose a king to lead the fight against the colonizers – the king who would lead Korea back to greatness. Three kings, in honor of Seokwoo’s bravery and humility, chose him to be the leader of the nation. Only one king of a city voted against Seokwoo as King of Korea – your father.

“My Queen?” A soft voice calls from outside your door. Haesoo.

“Leave, Haesoo.”

“Jungjeon-mama, please. You have not left your room all morning, and lunch—”

“I said leave!”

You recoil the moment the words spill from your mouth. You hadn’t meant to snap at her, she was your favorite court lady after all. She was stubborn, above all things, and you likened her to your younger self that’s why she earned your favor the most. But her adamancy only causes her more trouble, especially in times like these. Perhaps her slight insensitivity came with her youth? You’re certain that you’ve caused worry because of your audible wailing earlier, but company was the last thing you needed right now.

“Yes my Queen.” She replies, voice small.

You don’t know how long you stay in bed like that, watching your chest rise and fall under the covers with every breath. Your head is swirling in emotions – fear, anger, misery. As you continue to stare into the ceiling, your stomach grumbles so you deem it wise that you have at least one meal for today - just enough to satiate your hunger and give you strength to face the rest of the day. But not before indulging yourself in your favorite bath first.

You stay much longer in the bath today – letting the water cause wrinkles in the pads of your fingers. Shoving your husband’s image to the back of your head temporarily, your thoughts drift to other the other predicaments you have to face while Seokjin is away. ‘You have to be strong,’ you mutter to yourself. For Seokjin. For the future. For Korea.

The court ladies get startled when you suddenly rise from the pool, one of them hurriedly draping a towel over you. You let her lead the way to a dressing room where your royal garments are neatly folded on a table. Staring at your reflection on the mirror, your eyes linger on the red marks littered across your torso. You feel your chest constrict one more time. Taking a deep breath, you repeat to yourself. ‘For Seokjin. For the future. For Korea.’

Chaeyoung waits until you have worn your undergarments and helps you with the rest of your hanbok. You can feel the nervousness radiating off her, clammy hands tying the ribbons on your dress. You can’t really blame her; this was probably the first time they have seen you this cold and distant. You usually made small talk with the court ladies, genuinely curious about their individualities and because they’re the closest you can get to your subjects.

Certainly, Seokjin’s leave also has the whole palace on edge. Everybody was aware of what was going on in the south, and with their king’s sudden absence this morning, word has been going around in the palace. You’re thankful that the palace workers are discreet with their whispering, but these wooden walls were never thick enough to maintain secrecy between two people.

You leave the room as soon as Chaeyoung finishes and you come face to face with a familiar red and white uniform. “Wangbi,” Captain Jung greets as he bows his head. “Captain.” You acknowledge, finding yourself looking up at him when you do so – he was taller than you expected him to be.

“I am under the King’s orders to watch you wherever you go, my Queen.” He tails after you when you start walking.

“And does that include the private royal baths Captain?” You turn to face him again.

He gets flustered at your question, quickly averting his gaze from you. Looking down, the captain shakes his head, muttering under his breath something along the lines of ‘security’ and ‘king’s orders’.

You don’t know what urged you to tease him like that – probably because of his innocent-like features that makes him so tease-worthy, but since his arrival and inauguration as captain of the royal guards, you can’t help but get drawn to the man. Sure, he was attractive with attributes of youthful exuberance on his face, that, and that he was a finely built man, taut muscles hiding underneath those silken robes. At least, that’s what you presume from listening to the whispers among the court ladies.

They also said he’s had quite the reputation from where he came from in the East, famous for his looks and even more famous for his ways of luring skirts to his bed. So, you’ve heard. Genuinely surprised at how these rumors even came out in the first place, it still makes you laugh when you recall the obscenity of it all, despite the court ladies supposedly being the spitting image of modesty observed in the palace.

The rumors are true. You could easily attest to that as you have personally witnessed it once, how the captain could easily captivate women with his face alone. But his charm wasn’t the reason why you seem to magnetize towards the captain.

During their inauguration day, as you were too preoccupied with how dashing your husband looks in official robe, you hadn’t been paying attention to the event, let alone the emotional speech that the captain shared to the crowd. It was only when you caught sight of the scar on his left cheek that got you so curious. You wonder where you’ve seen that scar before. He looks familiar. He feels familiar. You can’t put a finger on it right now, but you certainly feel like you’ve known Jung Jungkook from somewhere, sometime in your past.

You don’t realize you’re lost in your thoughts when a hand suddenly pulls you back by your elbow, stopping you from walking straight to a wall. “Jungjeon-mama!” The lady beside you exclaims. “My Queen, are you okay?” The captain behind you asks, his grip now loosening on your elbow. You nod sheepishly, dismissing the whole fiasco with an awkward cough.

“You can go ahead, Chaeyoung. I’ll be back by sunset. Make sure dinner is ready by then.” The court lady nods curtly in acknowledgment and bows before leaving the both of you. You turn your head to look at Jungkook who continues to stand by your side. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way, your Highness.”

You plan on spending the rest of your day in one of the most serene places in the palace. Besides yours and Seokjin’s garden, the doltap shrine is another place you head to for peace and quiet. The shrine, complete with a mini pavilion, is situated on a small hill, surrounded by the beauty of nature – a place so perfectly serene that only monks and royalty are allowed to visit to maintain its tranquility.

It’s significantly father than any other house or office in this palace that it requires quite a tedious, long walk and a boat ride across the Gaeun river. This is why you rarely visit the shrine, but on the days that you do, the wearisome trek is always rewarding. It’s perhaps part of the whole process of meditation, you presume, as the shrine is a place where you offer your greatest, deepest prayers.

The captain trudges behind you, unable to cope with your leisurely pace. He quickens his steps when he sees he’s falling behind, but when he deems he’s walking too close to you he slows his pace once more until he has to catch up again. You become curious at his strange feat, unable to stop yourself from asking him about it.

“Captain, have you not taken a leisurely walk like this before?”

“My deepest apologies, Mama. I am really not used to a pace like this.”

Who knew the greatly feared captain could be so mildly…amusing? Jungkook gets surprised when you let out a giggle after having stared at him for a moment at his confession. He is unable to stop the small smile etching into his face at the beautiful sound, deciding it’s something he wants to hear all day long.

“You are a mirthful one, Jung.”

There is a skip in the man’s heartbeat when he hears you say his surname – or, at least, the surname he’s been using since his arrival at the capitol. He supposes it satisfactory that he’s made you comfortable around him, enough for you to call him by his alias. Not like you were going to be on a first name basis anyways. Jungkook found it easier to keep up with your pace after your verdict.

You were beautiful. Well, you still are, and probably will be for a very long time. He wonders if you already had your portrait painted. It used to be a hobby he thoroughly learned and enjoyed from where he’s from and now it has blossomed into a business around his past village, selling portraits for a few silver coins. He takes pride in his paintings, having learned the skill from the virtuoso himself – his father. He was the first man in Korea to add colors to a drawing, bringing forth life to an inanimate illustration.

Even if Jungkook painted you though, it would probably be useless for him to do so, because a portrait - even if done on the finest paper or painted with the brightest colors, could never capture your real beauty, nor give justice to it. In the past, he had heard stories of what the queen of the capitol looked like, but none of these rumors had prepared him for the genuineness of it all. Your beauty was indescribable, but Jungkook only knew one description that fit you the best – that you are the epitome of a woman’s unadulterated pulchritude.

Jungkook could not question why the king is absolutely smitten with you, admittedly, the rest of the nation is. If you were a lady that belonged to the same class, he would have tried to capture your heart from the very start. Maybe in another life, perhaps. But to him, it wasn’t just your pretty face that made you so riveting.

Unlike any other woman in the nation, you were headstrong, refusing to submit to the societal morals and principles. You were the only woman who would stand proud and tall amongst a sea of men, and one gaze from you had the power to intimidate both man and woman alike. Undoubtedly, you were raised like that: to be the queen – with your childhood nurtured with doctrines and routines only afforded to a king in the making. That fact he knew all too well.

When you look to your left, he spots a red mark on your neck, just below the smooth slope of your jawline. He flushes at the sight of the rose-colored blotch staring back at him, the base of his neck turning red at the recollection of the events last night. Jungkook can see your lips moving as you talk but he can’t seem to hear you, let alone take his eyes off the love bite on your neck.

“Captain Jung?”

Jungkook coughs to mask his surprise, “Sorry, Jungjeon-mama. I thought I saw something in the woods. It must’ve been a squirrel or a small animal.” You nod your head in acknowledgement and reply, “We still must be wary. There are…people…who do not mean well…” your words fade, voice cracking at the thought of your husband. Jungkook notices your anxiety.

“I will protect you with my life, my Queen. Please do not worry.”

“Of course, Captain Jung. I believe you.” Giving him a small smile, you continue walking, your shoes softly squishing against the green dewy grass. It’s a beautiful day today: the sky is clear and the sun is out, compared to your heart which is now clouded with storms and thunder. You shall try not to dwell on your emotions today.

“So, enlighten me Captain.”

“Ah, but Mama, my life may not measure up to yours in terms of adventure.”

You raise an eyebrow at his reply. Your life story isn’t known to many, even a number of the citizens don’t even know you are a southerner. Gazing into Jungkook’s eyes, you look for any mysterious truth hiding beneath them, but you’re only faced with his curious doe-like eyes. You’re conflicted if you’re supposed to feel disappointed or not if he was truly a part of your past, but you’ll have to leave that for another time.

“Surely, it can’t be that uninteresting.”

“If you insist, Jungjeon-mama. But don’t complain if you fall asleep before we reach the shrine.” The captain knows he’s pushing the line by teasing you like this, but the way you roll your eyes at him tells him you feel otherwise.

He tells the story he’s practiced endless times lacing a few truths from his past. “Well, I belong to a family of four. My parents work in the fields and my brother and I would play in them all day long until my mother would call us back in for supper. During the Great Colonization, my father used to serve King Donggeun of the East…” He steps aside to make way, a hand shooting out to help you to an elevated part of the head of the bridge. You place your hand on his gratefully, your feet taking quite the leap.

He continues with his monologue, “My mother always told us that she never thought father would never survive the Great Colonization. Even before the pact, there had already been attacks on the borders, the rivalry too much for people who call themselves citizens of the same nation. He had come home greatly wounded one night and my mother was crying so much that she could barely treat my father’s wounds. He had even offered her a literal bloody hand with the treatment, causing my mother to cry more, complaining about how he could have found pleasantries at such a grievous time.”

“Thankfully, the pact has been completed before things ultimately became worse. He was called to fight again to drive off the colonizers, but with the people from all the cities fighting as one force, casualties from our troops were only at the minimum. He has fought side by side with King Deonggeun and even saved the late king’s life at one instance. He had been promoted to a higher rank since then.” He pauses his narrative momentarily when your hand hooks around his elbow, clutching onto him as you go down a light slope to where a narrow dock is situated.

The captain tries not to be obvious about his astonishment at your actions as he places his hand over it, supporting your balance when you place a foot inside the boat. “But with a promotion in the military ranks comes more visits in the palace, and more visits in the palace only lead to one thing: King Donggeun taking an interest in my mother.” Your hand flies to your mouth to mask your shock. And just moments ago, he thought his life wasn’t supposedly as colorful as yours?

When Jungkook finally seats himself, he grabs at the oars and starts to row. It would have been fun if Haesoo had gone with, as you would inevitably tease her with her ogling the captain. She would’ve gushed at how his muscles must ripple underneath the uniform, or how his chest puffs out with every row. As your favorite court lady occupies your thoughts, you reckon that you owe her an apology later.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened next?” The captain lets out a chuckle at your wide-eyed curiosity. “Of course, Mama. I am a man of manners. A story must have a beginning and an end.”

“King Donggeun tried to conceal his feelings at first. But the rumored loss of his wife was too great of a sadness for him to bear. And he longed for the kind of comfort only a woman could give. Soon enough, father noticed the king’s longing looks, knowing all too well the sentiments the king hid behind his eyes. After all, he too was a man in love and a firm believer of the famous saying ‘the eyes are windows to our souls’.” The captain says the words with such drama that you fail to suppress the giggle that escapes your lips. Jungkook’s own lips twitch, chest beaming with pride with the fact that he has made you laugh twice today.

“Things kept in hiding will always come out, one way or another. And so, the king ended up confessing his feelings to my mother. He had begged her to be his concubine, even when they both knew she was tied to another. She fled from the king’s arms that night in fear and confusion, telling the whole confession to my father with teary eyes.”

The captain slows his rowing, creating small ripples against the clear water.

“That same night, my father learned that love meant having to constantly make sacrifices for the better, even if we end up losing that which matters most in our hearts. What the king wants, the king gets,” the captain’s lips fall into a tight-lipped smile. “There was too much at risk, my father couldn’t say no to his own king. Needless to say, even if we did eventually get to live nearer the palace, mother’s visits became less frequent, and soon our mother became only a figment of our imagination.”

Each word of the captain struck at your heart. You had never expected so many shared similarities in your past. His eyes are swimming with emotion. Not once had you seen a royal guard like this, looking so vulnerable, so human in front of your eyes.

“With nothing to lose, the three of us left the eastern city and headed to the capitol. We begged for food and slept on the streets for days until a family took pity and welcomed us into their home. When the father of the family introduced himself as a royal guard, my father offered his services as payment for their kindness.”

When you’ve reached the other side of the river, Jungkook sets the oars aside before guiding you up to the dock. You wait under the shade of a nearby tree until he’s fixated the boat properly onto the dock. He approaches you, dusting his pants with his hands. “Where were we? Ah. The kind family. I, too, have also had a realization here in the capitol. Happiness does not last for long, so we have to learn how to live each day with glee and gratitude.” You both continue the walk, with each step getting closer to your destination.

“A few days after our arrival, my brother caught this incurable illness. We had consulted every physician in the city, but all our efforts were in vain. My father and I had to lay him to rest just when we thought we had started a new life here in the capitol.”

“My father? Like I had mentioned during our inauguration, my father sacrificed his life for his country. Because he loves our nation, and because he loves us. All he wanted was a bright future for me, and for my mom as well, though he’d never admit that out loud. He never stopped loving her, even when she exchanged her family for the kind of life we could never give her.”

“Well, Mama. Are you sufficiently enlightened now?” You stay quiet at first, reciting a prayer to the gods and to your ancestors and you place another stone on the pile of rocks.

“I am Jungkook. I am.”

The journey to the south was filled with dread from the very start. The troop left the capital in silence, every man anxious of what is to come. Or rather, who awaits their coming. Seokjin had not said anything before they exited the gates of the capital because he knew words of encouragement would have done nothing to soothe the disquietude evident amongst them. The company had chosen to take a shortcut through the woods, one that will allow them to reach their destination within a shorter period of time.

They already have been traveling for quite some time, yet it feels like they have been for days. There are far fewer villages near the woods where there are to pass, but Seokjin had not expected this particular village to be so different from the others.

Dust rises when the horses halt, Seokjin abruptly putting up his fist in the air. It’s eerily quiet. Empty stalls of goods stand with no merchant behind them. Houses feel empty, with no person coming out and about. A gust of wind passes them, like an omen being whispered into their ears. The hairs at the back of Seokjin’s neck rise.

“What happened here?” A guard from the front asks.

“Jeonha, look!” Another shouts, pointing to a nearby house. A boy comes forth and walks, limps rather, towards them. Seokjin dismounts from his horse and takes a few steps forward. He lets the child come to him, the king lowering on his knees to receive the child. The child approaches Seokjin with a steady pace and with one final step left, he loses all his strength and falls. Luckily, Seokjin’s reflexes are quick enough so he catches the child before he falls to the ground.

“It’s quiet now,” the child mumbles. He takes a deep breath, body quaking with exertion as he does. “They came here…took everything…killed everyone and…s-south,” Seokjin holds him tighter as the boy’s breathing shallows, “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He consoles, tears swelling in his eyes as he gently rocks the child in his arms. The boy’s chest stops heaving and he finally closes his eyes. The king’s fingers fly to the child’s neck, looking for a pulse. None. Seokjin’s brows come together in anger, his beautiful face contorting into one of rage.

He stands, the boy in his arms now seemingly smaller and lighter than before. “Namjoon, with me. The rest of you, check the village. See if anybody is still alive, go over every house, every room, every corner. If you see a southerner lurking around, bring him to me.” Seokjin orders. “And I’ll execute him myself.”

As the troop disperses, Seokjin commands Kim Namjoon to look for a shovel and follow him to nearby open lot afterwards. Thankfully, the king doesn’t need to tell the guard what to do. As Namjoon digs a hole, Seokjin gently lays the child on a wooden bench while he looks for a cloth to wrap him in. His heart breaks for this child – that the young boy had to go through so much at such a young age, and now at the time of his death, he couldn’t even be afforded with proper burial rites.

The burial was shorter than expected and Seokjin ends the rite with a prayer to his ancestors and the gods above. The pair sit beside the child’s makeshift resting place for a while, both in deep contemplation. Their reverie is cut short when another guard calls from behind, “Jeonha,” he calls again, breathless, “there is something you must see.”

He leads the pair through the woods and towards a small clearing, where the troop has gathered around. “What’s this?” Seokjin takes his steps cautiously, the group beginning to make way for the king. Once the path clears, Seokjin stops in his tracks. From his peripheral, he sees Namjoon’s failed attempt to not gag at the scene before them.

The villagers. The stench. The message.

Seokjin tries to close his eyes, wanting to forget he even saw something this terrible. But no, the image has already etched itself into his memory forever. He can’t even imagine what type of human would have the guts to do this…monstrosity?

Scattered across the clearing are the villagers, stacked on top of each other, the formation with a similarity uncanny with the rock formation in front of them. The villagers were piled behind the doltap, where one muddy hand from each pile reaches out, holding a scroll with the words written with the villager’s own blood. “You can never keep us out.”

Seokjin’s hands ball into fists as he realizes what instigated this massacre. During the height of the turmoil in the south, he had sent out a proclamation weeks ago to implore the entire nation to remain strong and as one amidst these trying times which put their patriotism to the test.

The doltap is a stack of stones, usually erected at village entrances – a natural representation of guardians of the village, keeping away the bad and inviting the good. It had been tradition for people to pile rocks on top of each other along with symbolisms of their intentions placed near the stack.

Since the proclamation, the citizens had been placing more and more objects in front of their shrines, like a bowl of rice grains or the emblem of the south. Inevitably infuriated with this new practice, the southerners wrecked village after village in rage, leaving nothing but desolation in their wake. These people are but a number from the villages they victimized. Seokjin is lucky this is first and only village he will see.

The sky is a purplish pink by the time they have finished the burial rites for the village. “The sun is setting,” Seokjin announces to the group, “we will take shelter and camp there, by the woods. It will not be smart to individually use the houses here.”

Nobody could sleep a wink that night, especially not the king. He supposed no one could ever, not when you had just witnessed such a horrific sight. He continues to stare at the moon, head swarming with endless thoughts. As he rests his head against the bark of the oak tree, Seokjin’s thoughts race to you, what could you possibly be doing in this hour, if you were thinking of him right now. If you’d taken supper or skipped your meals today. You always did that when you were upset, and he had no doubt you were.

“Namjoon,” Seokjin calls to the trusted guard. Namjoon has been like him the whole night, staring into the distance, curious what the future might hold for them.

“Namjoon.” He calls again, this time with a louder voice, successfully getting the younger man’s attention.

“Jeonha,” Namjoon turns, “my sincerest apologies, but the moon seems to have a wonderful glow tonight. Might this be a good sign?” The guard bows, shame coloring his face as he got caught preoccupied with other things on his mind.

“I too fervently wish for that…I…” He was not about to make the same mistake to Namjoon. Seokjin gets frustrated at the thought of always being a step behind the enemy. He’s made this mistake with Minseok, and he wasn’t about to do the same with Namjoon.

“You wanted to say something, my King?”

“I…I just wanted to thank you, for always being loyal to the throne.” Seokjin is all too aware of what the people are saying. They are his people after all. He ought to know them best. They’re blaming him for these agonizing events, if he just hadn’t sent that proclamation, then this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

“Only because the throne is worth being loyal to.” Namjoon replies, not missing a beat.

“So,” the king moves to a lighter topic, not wanting to ruin the illustrious mood afforded by the bright sky like this night. “how is the romance in your life? Haesoo, is it?”

The younger man gets caught off-guard, startled at the king’s sudden inquiry and knowledge. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, jeonha,” Namjoon looks down, cheeks starting to tinge with a blush. ‘He can’t give this away’, the guard thinks, suddenly all too aware that the king is sitting right beside him. As all of them had taken a pledge of loyalty to throne and the throne alone, so a relationship between workers of the palace was considered taboo, at least, until Seokjin’s reign.

“Namjoon. I am speaking to you as a friend. And even if I did speak to you as king of the nation, who am I to take control of the matters of the heart? You yourself can’t seem to help it. What more of I?”

“Jeonha, please tell me. What does love feel like?”

“Love comes in many forms, my friend. In fact, it’s everywhere. Personally, I think it’s what makes the world go around, if the studies and calculations of astronomer Lee is correct. What we’re doing right now is love, love for our country, our citizens. The memorials we hold for our late relatives is also a commemoration of our love. Love is not exclusive to human relations though, there is love for animals, love for nature…” The king turns to face the young guard who blinks owlishly back at him.

“I know that wasn’t the kind of love you’re asking about. I’m getting there, worry not, my friend. I just needed context.” Seokjin looks away, partly embarrassed at himself. “As I was saying… there is one kind of love however that I treasure the most, and for me, it’s the kind of love that enraptures you the most: the love for a special person. I hate to say this, but it’s something so complex that it’s indescribable. It makes you feel plenty of emotions all at the same time. For instance, when you see her, you feel your heart pumping out of your chest, or sometimes your heart constricts at the realization that she’s yours and yours alone.”

“That wasn’t that much of a help was it?” Seokjin sighs defeatedly.

“Can I be honest with you, jeonha?” The king nods. “No, not really.” The pair chuckle at that, both relieved that at least they found something to laugh about tonight.

Heaving a sigh, Namjoon turns to face him with glossy eyes. “Well, it is unfortunate that we are not lovers then. Yet. Then I shall ask her to be my betrothed, if we come home.”

“When, Namjoon. When we come home.”

The two continue return their eyes to the moon. It looks bigger tonight. Astronomer Lee says bigger moons bring about luck to all those who look upon it, Seokjin fervently hoping that this journey might somehow be in their favor.

You’ve been tossing around in bed for quite some time now, unable to sleep. Perhaps a cup of milk would do the trick, you thought, pulling the covers away from your body. You wrap a robe over the flimsy garment you usually sleep in and head over to the secret door of your room. It’s been specifically designed to blend in with the wall, only to be used in worst-case scenarios.

Sliding the door open, you creep out of your room, dragging your cotton-clad feet against the wooden floor to make minimal sounds. You head to the bridge connecting your hanok to the palace kitchen. You don’t realize you’re too concentrated on not making noise that you don’t notice the body in front of you. “Jungjeon-mama?” the guard asks, peering down at you. “I’ll just get something from the kitchen, I will be quick.” Discretion could only last for so long. He bows and moves out of the way.

Rummaging through the kitchen as quietly as you can, you silently curse at yourself for not bringing a lamp with you, now all you can do is sniff at the vessels of liquid, hoping that you’ll uncover the right one. Thankfully, you manage to choose the right vessel in no time. As your eyes had adjusted to the light, you manage to grab a ladle and a nearby bowl with almost no noise at all.

As you pour yourself some milk, you return the cover and rest your behind against the table.

You figure it’s time to apologize to her. As you open your mouth to call, a male voice beats you to it. “You’re so beautiful.” Mouth parting in mild surprise, your eyes widen, searching for the voice’s owner. You couldn’t make out who’s voice it belonged to as it was said just barely above a whisper, and you continue peeking through the small space when your eyes land on the captain.

Your hand shoots over your mouth as your lips fall wider apart. It’s finally happening! But wait… you stand up straighter in realization. Namjoon? You’ve heard the guard has been harboring affection towards your favorite court lady for quite some time now. Seokjin was first to notice it, pointing out how Namjoon would sneak glances at Haesoo whenever you were together, both parties walking as one. You heart clenches at the perplexity of the situation.

Surely you’re not meant to stay here and watch the spectacle? Milk was what you came here for, you remind yourself, but like always, curiosity gets the best of you. Jungkook takes another step towards Haesoo, who seems frozen at her spot. Do something lady! You watch as the captain slowly reaches out his hand, the back of his fingers gently caressing the lady’s face. Haesoo leans towards the man’s touch.

“May I?” Jungkook asks, eyes searching for any signs of doubt in Haesoo’s. The girl nods curtly and without waiting any further, Jungkook closes the distance between them. Watching their lips move in sync, you take this as your cue to leave, that is, until you hear a pot clanging against the floor. Your line of vision suddenly returns to the couple to check if someone got hurt, only to find out quite the opposite.

Jungkook has already backed up Haesoo to lean against a table adjacent to the wall. The captain lifts her with ease to sit on the table, Haesoo pulling her knees apart so she could properly hold onto the man, her nimble fingers pulling at Jungkook’s hair. The captain starts smothering her with kisses all over her cheeks, jaws, and neck like a frenzied, starved man. You can’t look away, not when Haesoo is failing miserably at her attempt to keep her whimpering at bay.

Jungkook’s fingers work deftly in undoing the ribbons on her hanbok, lips still trained on lavishing her skin with kisses. As the garment falls easily from Haesoo’s shoulders, Jungkook’s large hand palms her breast while the other is busy kneading the expanse of her thigh. The captain revels in Haesoo’s pliancy, with the girl tilting her head back at Jungkook’s ministrations, begging him for more.

Her hanbok is completely off her torso now, the silk bunching up at hips. Jungkook takes this moment to take a hardened nipple between his lips and swirling his tongue around it as a hand squeezes the supple flesh of the other. Haesoo mewls at the captain’s actions, back arching, words no longer needed to show what she wants, what she desires.

This is wrong. You aren’t supposed to be watching such a private moment, let along seemingly enjoying it. Like Haesoo earlier, you’re just as frozen in your spot as she was.

You no longer see much of Haesoo torso, considering their proximity, but you see Jungkook’s hand removing itself from the assault on her breasts, traveling to her core. She shivers when Jungkook’s fingers swipes against her folds and raising his fingers under the moonlight seeping through the window, observing how wet the tips of his fingers are due to the court lady’s essence.

“Look at you,” Jungkook murmurs in a low voice, watching the slick coating his fingers. “So wet and ready for me. I bet I’d slip right in hmm?”

“Please,” Haesoo begs, hiding her face between his shoulders in pleading. “I need you.” Jungkook seems to have no problem complying, abruptly bring his pants down to his thighs.

You don’t see much due to the lack of light in the room and their compromising position on the table, but this seems all the more thrilling like this. You reprimand yourself, as if Seokjin was lacking in bed. But you have not tried being intimate anywhere else but your room and his office – and the thought of doing it at such a common place like the kitchen where anyone from the palace could easily enter excites you in the strangest way possible.

Surely you can’t be going crazy, can you? Is it normal to find such a spectacle so strangely arousing? The sight of two lovers getting intimate?

Jungkook gently lays her down on the table, pushing her down by her shoulders. He parts her legs wider before adjusting his stance and slowly thrusting his hips forward. Your jaw slackens the same time with Haesoo. You feel your own nipples harden at the sight, the sensitive buds trying to pry through the material.

He pauses for a moment, letting Haesoo adjust to the feeling as his head tilts back, the lady’s velvety walls clenching wonderfully around his cock. When Haesoo tilts her hips, Jungkook takes this as a sign to start moving, each roll of his hips earning a whimper from the writhing girl beneath him. A few more slow rolls and Jungkook thrusts harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping ricocheting against the walls.

A gasp escapes your mouth when the captain maneuvers her legs to rest against his chest and the two stop at once, heads shooting up to look for where the voice came from. Haesoo winces when Jungkook pulls out and puts his pants up.

You flee from the kitchen at once, Jungkook abruptly looking for the intruder, he catches a glimpse of your white-clad figure run towards the door and he briefly questions himself who could you possibly be, but the royal seal at the back of your robe is a little too hard to miss.

Seokjin’s eyelids start to droop, sleep finally taking over him when he hears rustling behind. Namjoon, equally alerted by the sound, stands up and looks around. “Jeonha, we might have company. Please stand.”

It’s awfully quiet now, and the two of them are unsure of its because the troop has fallen asleep or… or if the unspeakable happened… They take a few cautious steps in separate ways, eyes scanning every tree surrounding them.

They wake the troop in silence, warning them of possible danger coming their way. Namjoon orders the company to stay more vigilant than usual, especially in the dark where they won’t able to see if an enemy is lurking around or not. Suddenly a guard falls to the ground, a bow lodged in his back.

“Watch the trees!” Seokjin shouts before chaos ensues. Men coming from all directions charge towards them, the sound of steel clashing against steel echoing throughout the forest. Seokjin’s troop is outnumbered greatly, he realizes. They have to escape before everyone gets killed. “Guards, fall back!” his arms are getting tired too but he can’t find the strength to give up, not when he sees his men falling one by one.

Time seems to slow down around him as he watches each royal guard get shot or stabbed to their death. He backs up slowly, bumping into Namjoon. “You ready?” Seokjin asks, finding it difficult to breath. There’s a slit in his sleeves, a cut a few inches long, feeling the blood trickling down his arm. “’Til death, jeonha.” Namjoon nods, wiping away the blood on his lips with his sleeve.

A group surrounds them – ten to two. “Now!” Seokjin commands, screaming as he charges against the men. He gets kicked at the back, the king falling on his knees. Seokjin’s head bows at the pain, but he plunges his sword to the soil, using it to support his weight as he stands up from his knees. He swings at them, the armed men laughing when he blindly thrusts the sword in the air. He’s been cut again, this time across his pectoral, the stinging pain felt until the tips of his fingers. His vision is getting hazy by the minute. He can’t give up.

Seokjin falls one more time to the ground, his arms bearing all his weight. He sees Namjoon’s body on the side – lifeless. He musters all his strength and attempts to push himself back up one more time. Before he manages to get on his knees, a blade of a sword points at his neck, one more move and the steel will pierce through his skin.

He follows the blade of the sword ‘til he looks up to a masked man with… blonde hair? His eyes narrow at the sight. It was his first time to encounter a man with hair of such color. The man pulls the mask over his head, a healing scar cutting through his right eyebrow and down to his cheek.

“Yoongi?”

“Told you, you can never keep us out.”

That’s the last thing Seokjin hears, as he feels the blade slicing through his abdominals. He falls to the ground, clutching onto his stomach as he spits out the blood accumulating in his mouth. His chest is heaving, everything is hazy. He’s losing consciousness.

The image of you smiling is the last thing he sees before blacking out.

[taglist] : @aretha170

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