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zigtheeortega · 3 years

Text

if we meet again

[part one of the again series]

pairing | bryce x mc

word count | 10k

warnings | mentions of sex, innuendos, drinking.

tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @dakotawinchester, @writinghereandthere, @pixelsandkink, @masquerade-reimagined, @choicesarehard, @nerdferatum, @bobbymckenzie, @agentdumortain, @bryceslahela, @lahellacute, @violinet, @zigsnose, @adamdusmortain, @drsobemoji, @choeries, @houserosario, @plasticdodecagon, @noimarocketman (tagged sideblogs instead of main blogs!)

author’s note | so i recently finished the before trilogy of films, and i really wanted to write something based off of it but in a way that would better encapsulate bryce and my mc spencer! part one consists of years 1 - 4, taking place through their undergrad years at university. this is gonna be a bit of a journey so buckle up!

read on ao3! [disclaimer: ao3 version has smut included, not separate.]

•─────────────────•

year one

The ride from the airport to her parents’ home was long and grueling, the slushy ice pelting the windshield barely passing for snow.

It was practically sub-zero outside, a stark difference between the mid seventies weather she’d just left.

Boarding a plane wearing a tank top and layering as she stepped off was a weird experience to say the least. It was like stepping into another world.

The cookie cutter suburbs were nauseatingly bland. Was this really what her parents wanted?

Sure, they were the typical awestruck immigrant family who were obsessed with the American experience, but to be wholly consumed by it? God she never wanted a roundtrip date to come so fast in her life.

They’d closed on the house faster than she could complain about it, but she couldn’t have done much anyways. They’d packed the house up right before she left for her freshman year of college, so the decision didn’t affect her too much.

The slush came down harder, sounding nearly like hail on the roof of her taxi.

She glanced down at her dirty tennis shoes and grimaced – she dreaded having to lug her suitcase from the taxi to her front door.

When it screeched to a stop, she handed the driver a couple bills (leaving a hefty tip, because hey, it was the holidays) and retrieved her things from the trunk.

Backpack slung over one shoulder, suitcase gripped in her right hand, she braced the freezing wet rain.

The walk from the mailbox to the front door was way longer than she remembered. About halfway up the short stairs, she made a crucial mistake. The ball of her foot caught a patch of ice and she tumbled to the ground.

“Ah, fuck,” she grumbled, twisting her body so she was sitting on the stairs. The rain seeped through her jeans, freezing her ass and thighs.

“Hey, miss, you okay?” A voice called from across the lawn.

Her loose hoodie obstructed her vision, so she couldn’t see the man, but she heard his shoes squelch across the grass as he jogged towards her.

“Here, lemme take that,” he said, grabbing her backpack and suitcase before helping her up with his free hand.

She tossed her hood back to catch a glimpse of the kind stranger, and her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of the handsome boy in front of her.

A single dimple appeared on one of his flushed cheeks as he flashed a grin at her, his hair damp from the falling rain. “You good?” He asked again, brown eyes searching hers.

“Uh, yeah, I’m alright. Thanks for coming to help me up,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I’ll help you to the front door. This is your house, right? I’m not aiding and abetting a burglar?” He teased, turning to walk towards her door.

“No, no. My parents live here,” she said, pointing at the house.

“And you don’t?”

“Technically yeah, in between semesters,” she said, shrugging. “Just took my last final this morning.”

“Oh, cool, me too. I made it in a couple hours ago,” he said, gesturing to the house to the left of theirs.

“So, our parents are neighbors?”

He grinned. “You sound disappointed.”

She shook her head, shoving her hands in her pockets. “No, it’s nice to know someone my age around here. They moved into this house right as I was moving into my dorm, so I didn’t get a chance to get to know anyone.”

“I guarantee my parents were the one to sell you this house,” he said, handing her the backpack and rolling her the suitcase.

“Your parents are realtors? That’s cool,” she said, nodding. “They must be great at their jobs if they convinced them to buy the house so fast.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the edges, his irresistible dimple popping up again. “I don’t know shit about the housing market, stranger.”

She couldn’t hold her giggle back. His laugh was infectious. “I’m the stranger? You ran up to me first.”

“Yeah, but I landed first, so I deem you the stranger,” he said, gently poking her arm. “So, stranger, do you have a name?”

“Spencer Matsuzaki,” she said, holding a hand out, half of her palm covered with the damp wrist of her hoodie.

“Bryce Lahela. Nice to meet you, stranger.”

––––

The first night home wasn’t terrible. She was practically interrogated, though.

She zoned out, slipping into the same routine she always did when she was bombarded with questions about school.

She had to stay neutral and cordial while explaining aspects of her life in grave detail on top of leaving out tons of information for her parents' health. Her parents would go into cardiac arrest if they knew how much she’d drank that semester.

After dinner, she retreated into her room for the night, grimacing at the catalogue-esque decor. Her parents really leaned into the middle class american aesthetic, and she wasn’t fond of it.

She missed living in the city. Their apartment overlooked her favorite movie theater, favorite coffee shop, and the playground of her old elementary school a couple streets over.

She missed being within walking distance of places that harbored her favorite memories. And from her new window, her view was nothing more than the house across the street and a few scattered bare trees.

The only thing she enjoyed about her new house was the balcony in front of her window, just large enough for her to sit comfortably with another person. Not like that was happening anytime soon, though.

She tugged the blanket around her shoulders, trying to fight off the biting cold. She tightened the drawstrings of her hoodie, shielding her headphones from the wind so she could hear her music clearly.

Her thoughts wandered to the boy next door.

Bryce Lahela. Beautiful face, beautiful name.

She couldn’t really put a finger on it, but something about him was so familiar. Like she’d known him for lifetimes already.

God, she admired people with that quality – being able to make someone so comfortable the minute you meet them that they just slip into whatever void you’d needed filling.

Potentially a dangerous quality, but Spencer didn’t let herself think about that possibility.

The snow had let up, the freezing temperature preserving what’d already fallen. She allowed herself a glance over at the Lahela residence, half hoping she’d find him outside.

Thankfully enough, he was exiting the front door with a wide shovel in hand, bundled up properly, unlike when they’d met a couple hours before.

She watched him as he easily shoveled the muddy sludge off of the walkways. It was just quiet enough that she could hear his soft grunts with effort at the initial plunge of the shovel into the snow.

She didn’t mean to stare. But what else was there to watch? The road was quiet, bare, like a car passing by too loudly would break the suburbian immersion.

After he’d shoveled the first pathway leading up to the house, he moved to the driveway – not before he ripped the beanie off of his head, shaking out his golden strands.

She watched unabashedly, trying to figure out how the hell a gorgeous surfer bro straight out of a Hollister ad was living next door.

He squinted in her general direction, throwing up a gloved hand to cover his eyes. A grin spread quickly, and he tossed the shovel to the ground with the other hand, using it to wave.

“Hey, stranger!” He called.

She ducked down, trying to hide her blushing cheeks as his laugh rang out, disrupting the silence.

–––

Ten pages from the end of her crime novel, right before they revealed the killer, a heavy handed knock caused Spencer to jolt nearly a foot into the air from her sitting position on the couch.

She picked up the book that morning, trying to do something productive that’d double as an excuse to get out of conversing with her parents. Eight hours later, give or take, and they’d barely bugged her for meals, let alone awkward small talk.

Shuffling to the door in her pajama pants, she yawned as she yanked the door open, expecting to see a mailman or something of that nature.

Bryce stood there instead, flirty smile and all, dimple pronounced like the cherry on top of his overwhelming attractiveness.

“Am I boring you already? Sheesh,” he teased, shoving his hands in his pockets.

She cut her yawn off, squeezing her eyes shut. “Sorry, I –” She cut herself off with yet another yawn, shaking her head. “Uh, sorry. I know that was probably super ugly.”

He shrugged. “I thought it was cute.”

She tugged her arms around herself, the tank top doing virtually nothing to shield her from the cold. “So… What’s up?”

He grinned, digging in his pocket. “I’m glad you asked.”

He whipped out two tickets, handing them to her. “Light show. You and me. Now.”

“Now?” She asked, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline.

“Yeah, now. What about it?”

She gestured to her outfit. “I’m not dressed.”

“So? Get dressed,” he shrugged again.

She rolled her eyes. “You really think my parents will let me out this late? I came back to a curfew, you know.”

“Oh. We can work around that.”

“How?” She was genuinely baffled by this guy’s confidence.

“Sneak out.”

“Did you… Did you just skip over the part where I hinted at how strict my parents are?”

He shrugged, again. “Worst case scenario, they ground you for the rest of the break. Then you go back to college in a couple weeks, and they can’t boss you around there, so what are you really risking?”

She chewed her lip, contemplating. “I mean, I can’t argue with you on that one.”

“So you’ll come?”

“Yeah. You’re lucky my parents aren’t home right now,” she said, jabbing an accusatory finger at him.

“Like they could resist this face.”

––––

Downtown – or what she presumed was downtown – was overtaken by lights, the edges of the area blocked off, vendors lined up in parking spaces, nets of overhead lights illuminating the huge displays below.

They’d been walking in silence for a while, just soaking it in and basking in the holiday spirit.

Despite her disdain for the town, Spencer loved the way they celebrated the holidays.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” Bryce said a bit suddenly, running off before she had a chance to respond.

“Oh… kay,” Spencer murmured, watching him disappear into the crowd. She tugged at her beanie, raking shaky fingers through her hair.

Bryce was… unwavering. He had such a strong personality and a knack for flirting without meaning to.

To put it in its simplest terms, he made her nervous. Really nervous.

It was like the minute he left her immersion was broken and she realized just how hot he was and that she should be nervous.

Her eyes wandered, trying to alleviate some of her apprehension. She hadn’t been to a community-unifying event like that one before, so watching the families and children prance through the snow was enough to fulfill the soft spot in her heart only classic Christmas movies could fill.

“Here,” Bryce huffed from behind her, breaking her concentration.

She turned at the sound of his voice, flinching when she realized how close he was to her, disposable coffee cup in hand, steam slithering out of the small hole in the lid.

“What’s that?”

“Hot chocolate. I figured you’d want something to warm you up,” he smiled, lifting one shoulder in a lazy shrug.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she said graciously, taking the cup from his hands, warming both by the way their fingers brushed each others’ and the heat from the drink. “Thank you.”

“Ah, no need to thank me. It’s the least I could do after dragging you out here,” he said a bit sheepishly, kicking the toe of his boot into the snow.

“You didn’t drag me out anywhere. You were convincing,” she laughed, taking a small sip of the hot chocolate, revelling in the way it warmed her from the inside out. “Maybe a bit too convincing.”

“I don’t need to know how powerful I am or I’ll let it go to my head,” he winked. “How is it?”

“Delicious.”

He nodded. “Perfect.”

She sipped on her drink in silence for a while, racking her brain to come up with conversation topics.

They’d really only spoken in passing, so what the fuck were they supposed to talk about?

“So… you want to ride the train?” He asked, pointing at the train riding through the town square.

Within minutes they were seated on the train in the caboose – the very last seat. Families were spread out through the first couple cars, then onto couples.

They probably didn’t want toddlers watching high school aged kids swapping spit, so they sent them to the back.

That notion made Spencer nervous. Was she on a date? He hadn’t really specified – hell, he was barely giving her details about where they were going before dragging her out of her house.

The train began to move, slowly riding through the square, the families in the front chatting and the children giggling and waving at the passing patrons.

She chatted with Bryce about nothing in particular, just kind of getting to know each other. She found out he loved baseball, hated night classes, and was a huge fan of pineapple – he could smell it in her shampoo.

She’d just begun to relax before noticing the young couple in front of her lean in for a kiss that turned a bit heated. Her hands were clasped in her lap to keep them from trembling, her breath just as shaky.

A warm arm grazed her shoulders, his arm resting on the top of the seat. There wasn’t any pressure for her to do anything with him. But she kind of wanted to.

She mustered up the courage to flick her gaze in his direction, settling on his soft, pleasant smile, seemingly permanent on Bryce’s features.

“Is this a date?” She blurted, cursing herself immediately.

He didn’t seem phased.

“If you want it to be.”

She definitely did.

––––

The walk to her front door was long, even longer than when she was on her own lugging her belongings through the icy slush.

“I had a really nice time, Bryce,” she said, ambling up the last couple steps.

“Me, too. I’m glad I bought an extra ticket yesterday,” he grinned.

She raised a brow at him, prompting him to continue.

“After I helped you inside I immediately left to go get tickets,” he said bashfully. His cheeks were flushed – from the cold or the admission, she had no idea.

“So you’d had this date planned for a whole day?” She asked, a bit taken aback. He’d definitely painted it out to be a spur of the moment thing, no premeditation in sight.

“So it was a date,” he teased, dimple even more prominent as he spoke.

She scrunched her lips to the side to hide her own smile. “Yeah, I think it was.”

“Can I kiss you?”

She made the grave mistake of breaking eye contact, her gaze darting from his mouth back to his eyes. He closed the gap between them in one step.

“I can’t kiss you in front of my house. My parents could see,” she whispered as his gloved hand flicked her messy strands away from her cheeks.

“You wanna save this for another time?” Her heart couldn’t help but race at his playful tone.

She nodded.

“How long are you gonna be here for break?” He asked. “I wanna see you again.”

“I’ll be here through the week.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pulled her into a hug, warm and enveloping despite the cold. “Goodnight, Spencer. Sweet dreams.”

She was so comfortable, so safe in his grip that when she felt him loosen it, she squeezed him tighter without really meaning to.

It was scary how quickly she’d grown attached to a complete stranger.

“‘Night,” she waved, eyes still trained on him as she closed the door.

––––

It took her way too long to fall asleep that night.

His last question and her agreeance to the terms ran through her head on loop.

She was anticipating what he was going to do next. Excited to see how the rest of her break would look like.

After a restless night, she awoke pretty early, lounging around in bed for way too long, aimlessly scrolling through social media.

A day ago, she’d have been jealous of her friends vacationing at the beach, but… she wasn’t as upset at the idea of being home for break.

She stood up, stretching and popping her limbs, grabbing a hoodie from her luggage to throw on.

As she did, something caught her attention, just at the edge of her peripheral – a folded slip of paper in her window sill.

She grabbed it, unravelling the damp paper, trying to decipher the bleeding ink.

“Had to leave earlier than I thought. Sorry. Not sure when I’ll see you again, so here’s my number.”

The paper had been covered in water for a long while, so long that the number at the bottom was smudged, the hardest to read out of the whole message. She could barely make out the area code, let alone the rest of it.

She crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, deciding she could just head over and ask his parents for his number instead if he’d left for school.

After trudging across the lawn through the snow, she noticed something was a bit off, but decided to push the feeling down and ring the doorbell.

She peered through the glass of their front door, realizing that the lights were off, clothes and boxes and bags strewn across the foyer.

No one was home.

––––

year two

The moment the taxi pulled to a stop in front of her house, her eyes searched the front lawn of the house next door.

The familiar sensation of disappointment lingered, despite her constant chastising to not get her hopes up.

She sat on her balcony for a couple hours a day, the space heater on full blast at her feet, trying not to look desperate as her eyes flickered to and from Bryce’s house.

But no one entered or exited the house all break.

––––

year three

He stared down the bottom of the glass, eyes trained on the milky film the eggnog left behind, the spiced rum shots he’d taken warming his limbs.

The trial had been grueling.

No one could’ve prepared him for the way the legal system chewed him up and spat him out each time he entered the courtroom and sat on the opposite side of the room, avoiding his parents’ cold glares.

He shouldn’t have had to testify against them in the first place, but who else were they going to call to the stand? Keiki? She could barely write her own name, let alone understand her rights.

And she shouldn’t have to see her parents – hell, her whole family – being scrutinized and ripped apart, televised for anyone within a thousand mile radius.

He didn’t know that this town was their escape.

If someone would’ve told him two years ago that his first Christmas in college would’ve left him in shambles, his entire world upturned, he wouldn’t have believed them.

Thank god it was one of the only properties they owned that was untouched by their blood money.

Word had spread to his university students, causing him to have to go into hiding. Did all his work from home, got special permission from the chancellor to move his courses online.

He was forced to stay in Hawaii, juggling court and school on top of the press and the general stress of life – he’d been on autopilot since his parents woke him up in the middle of the night to fly back home.

The moment he finished his finals that semester, he boarded the plane without a second thought.

He needed an escape.

Despite the whirlwind, she was on the back of his mind through it all.

Anytime his life got a little too difficult, his mind roamed to the last time he felt normal – the last 48 hours before everything went to shit.

When he’d touched down he’d entered the empty, dusty house, throwing his things down and trudging next door.

The heavy raps of his knuckles against the wooden door were the only display of confidence he could muster.

Is Spencer here? He asked.

She’s in Europe for break.

Europe.

Of all the places she had to be during the holidays, it had to be across the world.

So he found himself at the bar, a newly 21 year old downing holiday drinks as fast as the bartender could make them.

She’d probably forgotten about him. It’s best he moved on anyways.

––––

year four

Graduation was so close she could taste it.

Yeah, she was drowning in med school applications and coming down from her post MCAT high, but her degree was peeking over the horizon, just within her reach.

She could only afford to visit home for a couple days before she had to roadtrip to a couple med schools to tour and interview.

She’d grown into herself the past three years, gaining confidence she didn’t know she had in her. Countless haircuts, style changes, shifts in interest – anytime she was uncomfortable she reinvented herself. It was freeing as hell.

So… going home was weird. Like she was regressing. She knew she wasn’t, but it didn’t stop the itching feeling that she didn’t belong there.

Her parents convinced her to visit for the holidays since it was her last year before she was truly on her own. The car ride was anxiety inducing – she tried to shove the thoughts to the back of her brain.

It’d been three years. She couldn’t dwell on it anymore. It was just a fun weekend, a spontaneous date, a gorgeous guy. Nothing more than that.

She’d moved on for sure – lots of dates, sloppy bar makeouts, and one night stands – but she couldn’t completely forget about the stranger.

It wasn’t like anything super memorable happened – it was a classic crush because of how confident he was.

Now that she’d started to emulate that same confidence herself, the allure was mostly gone, but she just couldn’t let him go no matter how hard she tried.

This time her eyes flickered to the house next door, gaze lingering a bit longer than she wanted to allow herself to look.

At least on paper she was growing.

–––––

Her first dinner at home was the same as always. She spent most of the time dodging intrusive questions and diplomatically answering as well as she could.

Maybe she should’ve thanked her parents for pressuring her to come home – it was perfect interview preparation and she didn’t have to lift a finger.

Her room was untouched as usual, the decor nauseatingly basic – if she hated it before, she hated it more now.

The suburban life was even farther away from what she’d wanted three years ago. Fast paced city life and a job in a world renowned hospital were her only two goals as far as she was concerned. Anything else could wait.

As she unpacked her toiletries, she found herself glancing at the door to her balcony.

She shook it off, choosing to settle in bed with a warm blanket with her laptop and planner, trying to focus on her diploma application.

––––

She jolted awake, scrubbing the sleeve of her jacket across her cheek, grimacing when she saw streaks of drool on the fabric.

She shuddered a bit, realizing she fell asleep on top of the covers, the room’s temperature absolutely freezing.

The space heater was close by, luckily, so she didn’t have to shuffle far to plug it in, crouching down next to it to rub her hands in front of it.

The window to her balcony was cracked just slightly – it’d probably blown open bc of the wind or something. She pushed herself to her feet again, closing and locking the door, but not before catching a glimpse of a light. It wasn’t a streetlight. It was a porch light.

She flung the door open and stepped onto the balcony, ignoring the snow seeping through her fuzzy socks, numbing her toes.

Bryce’s lights were on, and fresh tire tracks trailed up the driveway to the garage.

––––

She tossed and turned that night, a little glad that she’d gotten at least some sleep in the form of a nap.

She gave up after a while, brewing coffee and sitting in the kitchen with her laptop for a couple of hours before her parents awoke.

When they finally woke up, she practically jumped at the chance to ask them about him.

“No one’s lived next door for years. Someone comes and checks up on it once or twice a year, but other than that, it’s vacant,” her mother said, elbows deep in a sink full of dirty plates.

She was thankful her mom was preoccupied so she wouldn’t see her deflate.

––––

Spencer allowed herself approximately thirty minutes of sulking before she made a to-do list of everything she needed to get done before noon.

She’d been home for less than a day and she was already itching to get out.

The drive from her parents’ house to the tiny coffee shop was short, the handful of tables inside bare. She guessed it was because most people were at home enjoying spending time with family – she was the odd one out for having her planner and laptop splayed across the table.

She was neck deep in a chem textbook when she saw him.

He was more chiseled. Taller, too.

The beanie was tugged tight around his head, cheeks flushed. The quarter zip up fit him like a glove, hugging every single muscle.

He slipped his gloves off, tucking them into his pocket, squinting – probably trying to decipher the inane pun names for each drink.

“Can I get a, uh, latte with a couple espresso shots?” She heard him ask, peeking over the top of her textbook, trying to get a good look at him.

He chuckled pretty suddenly, pointing at the clear display of pastries. “Add one of those little things onto it.”

“You mean the ‘Rudolph Red Velvet’ cake pop or the ‘Dasher & Dancer Dark Chocolate’, sir?” The teen said.

His grin stretched even wider, hunching over to read the labels. “Can you tell me the rest of the flavors?”

“Well, we’ve got the full setup of reindeers. It gets pretty confusing at times – ’Dasher & Dancer Dark Chocolate’, ‘Prancer & Vixen Vanilla’, ‘Comet & Cupid Cheesecake’, ‘Donner & Blitzen Berry’, and ‘Rudolph Red Velvet’,” the teen listed off, pointing at the nearly identical cake pops.

He laughed, booming throughout the small room, ringing out even over the blenders.

Yeah, that was Bryce. No doubt about it.

“Give me one of each,” he said, handing the teen a couple bills. While they counted the change, Bryce tossed a $20 bill onto the counter. “This is compensation for having to read those god awful names.”

They mirrored his expression, pocketing the bill.

Spencer was nearly frozen with fear – she didn’t think she was going to run into him. She looked frumpy and felt exhausted, and was a little frustrated at how little she understood from the passages she’d tried deciphering.

She stood up, then sat down immediately. She stood up again, conflicted.

But before she could decide what to do, he turned, coffee in hand, bag of cake pops in the other – one cake pop tucked deep into his cheek.

She saw him.

He saw her.

Time slowed.

She was grateful that he was the first to move towards her, eyes bright, gaze soft like he’d seen an old friend – God, that reaction alone was enough to make Spencer float above the clouds.

He chewed his cake pop on the way over, setting down his bag and coffee near the edge of the table out of the way of her mess.

“Hey,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food, chewing vigorously.

“Bryce, oh my god, I – I thought I’d never see you again – you just disappeared and –”

He held up a hand, swallowing. “What’d you say?”

“Oh, I said that I thought I’d never see you again –”

“Wait, wait,” he flipped the side of his beanie up, revealing wireless headphones, which he tugged out and immediately pocketed.

Christ. Embarrassing. Her cheeks burned, inwardly cringing. This is going so swimmingly, Spencer.

He shook his head incredulously, mouth moving like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

“I… didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, eyes slowly raking over her features.

“Oh my god, I didn’t think I’d see you, Bryce,” she said, nervously adjusting her glasses. Good thing he didn’t notice her recycling sentiments.

“So… how have you been?” He smiled, taking a sip of his latte.

He was playing this way cooler than she was. How was he not freaking the fuck out?

“I’ve been good. Uh, good and kinda busy I guess. I’m waiting to hear back from a couple of med schools and I’m graduating this spring, so I’m excited about that,” she said, trying and failing to figure out how to condense three years worth of personal growth into a couple sentences without boring him to tears. “What about you?”

He nodded, tipping back the steaming latte again. “I’ve been pretty good. Got into my dream med school and it’s, like, across the country from where I am now, so that’ll be good for me. Fresh start, you know?”

She gave him a slight smile, closing her textbook and stacking her planner on top of it.

“Oh, I was just picking this stuff up, so I can let you get back to studying,” he said, unsure, jabbing his thumb towards the door.

“No, no, I was closing it so I can give you my full attention,” she explained, shaking her head. “Just getting some random stuff done. I’m fine.”

He relaxed a bit more at that, settling into his seat like he was at home. “So… what are you working on?”

“I’m getting some last stuff done before I leave this weekend. Just some basic housekeeping. Ironing out details, you know,” she nodded, fiddling with the frayed hole on the hem of her hoodie.

He was trying to jump back in like everything was… normal. This wasn’t normal.

“Oh you’re leaving?” He seemed disappointed, a wrinkle forming between his brows where he pushed them together.

“Yeah, I’m using part of my break to fit in some last minute tours and interviews.”

“Oh… Well if you’re leaving soon, do you wanna do dinner at my place tonight?” He asked. “I feel like we’d be more comfortable catching up there.”

A… date? After all these years? And he still knows literally nothing about me?

––––

She chewed her lip, trying to hold back a smile.

His pulse raced, wondering if she’d reject him. He should’ve thought it through before blurting out a question like that. He’d spoken to her for all of five minutes and he was already asking her to go back to his place.

“So… is this a date?”

The mischievous look on her face was contagious – just a hint of flirtatious teasing like the first time they met.

“Yeah, but only if you want it to be,” he answered, tossing the drink back again, the liquid warming his insides (his morning run was long, and the wind was biting).

“And if I don’t?” She adjusted her glasses again, the only sign of tension amidst her otherwise calm demeanor.

And if he hadn’t ran through the memories of that night over and over, fixating on every little detail he managed to retain, he might’ve not caught it.

Her nervousness was a comfort – It meant she still liked him enough to be on edge around him.

“Then we’re just two neighbors catching up while eating food,” he shrugged, popping another cake pop in his mouth.

He held the bag out to her. “Want one?”

She peered over into the bag, lashes gently brushing her under eyes. “Will you get mad if I take Rudolph?”

God, she was so fucking pretty. He couldn’t get over it. All these years and she only managed to get hotter.

“Why would that bother me?” He mumbled through his mouth full of cake.

“He’s supposed to be special, right? I just thought you’d want him,” she said, crossing her arms on the table and leaning in more.

He sat up, leaning an elbow on the table, tipping forward to close the gap between them – he plucked the cake pop from the bag by its stick, waving it in front of her face.

She didn’t retreat. The only reaction was the color rising to her cheeks, a hint of rouge beneath the spatter of light freckles on her face – the ones that no one could see unless they were this close.

“You’re special, too, y’know,” he said, pushing the limits even more, bringing it to her lips. “Take it.”

He was egging her on, testing whatever change she’d clearly been through – underneath the confidence lurked something sultry that he desperately wanted to bring out of her.

She leaned forward and lowered her mouth around the pop, sinking her teeth into the stick, her lips grazing the tips of Bryce’s fingers.

She pulled back, chewing through a smile. “Yum.”

His stomach flipped, but he kept his poker face even.

It was odd, having this girl in front of him that he’d thought about for years when he’d convinced himself it was a fluke or a dream or a little bit of both.

They both chewed in silence, eyes still firmly locked on each other.

There was so much he needed to say but it just wasn’t the right time.

“What time should I come over?” She asked after swallowing.

“When do you usually eat dinner?”

She rolled her eyes at him, still trying to hold back a smile even though she clearly found him mildly entertaining if not infuriating as hell (which was an attitude he thrived off of).

“I don’t care, Spence. Whenever you want.”

––––

Bryce tapped his foot, adjusting the napkins and cutlery for the hundredth time before pacing towards the monitor that showed him the front door’s security cam.

He should not have told her to come over whenever. The delivery guy was stuck in traffic, so his whole plan of pretending like he cooked was thwarted by the icy roads.

He checked the delivery app for the millionth time, the time remaining still stuck on “14 minutes”.

Was a button up with slacks too much for dinner? Christ, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually been nervous before a date.

He wasn’t sure if it ever had happened before, because it didn’t happen.

He wasn’t afraid of shooting his shot with anyone. That cute guy at the gym? No hesitation. His bio lab partner sophomore year? Of course. The ex-girlfriend of the one fraternity brother he didn’t like? Yup. That one fraternity brother he really liked? Hell yeah.

There wasn’t a time that he he actually had to try to get someone to like him – his conquests weren’t really conquests. They’d always just kind of… fallen into his lap, for lack of a better phrase.

But he also couldn’t name a single person he’d “pined” for, whatever that meant. Spencer was the first girl that had slipped through his fingers – maybe this date would be closure. If she was down to fuck, maybe they’d get the weird three-year-long outstanding “what if?” question answered.

He filled the bucket with ice, neatly digging the champagne bottle’s base into it, even grabbing a rag to wipe the perspiration off the metal to buy some time.

A few more minutes passed. When he checked the app again, it’d changed to “13 minutes”, and Spencer was walking down his driveway.

Even on the grainy screen he could tell that whatever she had on was gonna drive him wild.

He strode towards the door, flinging it open to greet her.

“Hey, Spencer,” he grinned, opening his arms wide for a hug.

She matched his expression with a sweet smile of her own, slipping into his grip and molding herself against his body like she belonged there.

Fuck, she smelled delicious. Her hair, her lip gloss, her perfume – everything about her was delectable and made holding back all the more harder.

“Hey, Bryce,” she murmured, squeezing him. “It’s cold. Can we move inside?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Sorry about that,” he apologized, pulling back but keeping his palm on her lower back, shutting and locking the door behind him.

She walked into the main corridor, just kind of… observing. Taking everything in.

“Huh.”

“What do you mean, ‘huh’?” He asked, glancing down at her discreetly.

“It’s… nice. I can tell it’s your parents’ house.”

He chuckled, surprised. “Yeah, but what is that supposed to mean?”

“None of your personality is in this house. I figured it’d be brighter. Less marble, too,” she said, gesturing towards the decorations straight from a catalogue sprinkled throughout the house.

He couldn’t help that his parents insisted on flying out their personal interior designer to every house they owned. But it didn’t make it any less cringe worthy.

“No, you’re right,” he nodded, shrugging. “Can’t argue with that.”

He gently steered them towards the kitchen, his eyes flitting towards her as she scanned the house, a pleasant enough look on her face.

“What would you change about this house?” She asked, sliding onto one of the never-been-used barstools.

“Well, for one, I wouldn’t even have it in the first place,” he said, opening the cabinet next to the fridge, retrieving the champagne glasses.

“Really?”

“Really. If I had it my way, we would’ve never left Maui.”

She nodded, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

Setting the glasses down in front of her, he stood on the other side of the counter, grabbing the bottle by its neck, unravelling the wrapping on the outside. “Hope this is alright. I just picked a bottle that looked expensive.”

“Expensive doesn’t mean better,” she said, eyes trained on the bottle, probably trying to read the label.

“You’re right, again. Two for two,” he joked, sliding the cork from the opening with a loud “pop”, the sound ricocheting off the walls and flooring.

After pouring it, he cocked his head her way, encouraging her to take the first sip.

She tipped the glass back, her nose scrunching after taking a deep swallow. “Mmmm. I would’ve settled for the shitty boxed wine I drank in college over this.”

He took a sip and shook his head, sticking his tongue out with a grimace. “Yeah, this tastes like ass.”

She snorted, covering her mouth as she laughed, making a breathy choking sound that he found oddly endearing.

“To answer your question, I’d probably paint the walls yellow. Hang up my grandpa’s old surfboard my dad passed down to me, if I can even find it. Maybe some movie posters,” he continued, gesturing towards the deadspace on the walls in the kitchen.

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I pictured, too,” she hummed, shivering after downing the rest of the glass.

“You don’t have to drink anymore. We agreed it tastes like shit,” he walked over to the cabinet, browsing the bottles, nearly empty. “I only have… a little bit of tequila and some rum.”

“I’ll take a rum and coke then,” she smiled gratefully, pushing the empty glass to the side.

While making the drinks, he checked his phone, hoping that the driver was close by. No luck – the time hadn’t shifted.

“So… when’s the delivery guy getting here?”

He could sense her behind him. When he turned to offer her a glass, he realized just how close she was.

She accepted the glass, craning her neck around him to look at his phone’s screen. “I knew it.”

“What? What’d you know?” He asked, unable to look anywhere but her plush lips, curved upwards into a grin.

She was life-ruiningly pretty. It was like God himself scanned Bryce’s brain and 3D copied his fantasies into the form of Spencer Matsuzaki, who was quite literally the girl of his dreams.

“I knew you weren’t a cooking type. I figured you were gonna get takeout, and I was right,” she pointed at his screen, the delivery app still open.

“Yeah, I was gonna try to impress you and pretend that I’d cooked everything but clearly that didn’t pan out,” he chuckled, peering down at her.

“That’s the oldest trick in the book, Bryce. I would’ve easily clocked that,” she shook her head, taking a quick sip of her drink, still standing close enough to him that he could feel her breath on him each time she laughed.

Before he dropped everything and propositioned her right there to take it to the living room, she turned on her heel and walked back towards her stool.

They sipped their drinks in silence, an air of awkwardness settling into the atmosphere – for the first time in, well, years they were completely and utterly alone.

She chewed her lip, swiping her thumb across the perspiration on the cup. “So…”

“So?”

“I feel like we have a lot of ground to cover.”

He nodded. “I guess the question now is ‘where do we start?’”

“We could just ask each other stuff and see how that goes.”

“I’ll go first – are you still single?”

A laugh ripped from her chest, bounding off the walls and floor, filling up the space with sound (one that was quickly becoming his favorite).

“That’s the first thing you ask me? After all these years?” She asked incredulously, shaking her head in awe.

He grinned. “Sounds like you’re avoiding the question.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Avoiding the question? Or you’re single?” He teased.

“I’m not seeing anyone at the moment, no.”

“Oh, at the moment. Seems like I’ve got some competition.”

Laughing, she tipped her head back to take a deep gulp. He watched as she did, a bit envious of the glass wrapped between her fingers and the rim caught between her lips.

She was a bit more timid when she drank the hot chocolate he offered her years before, cupping it with both hands and taking soft sips, smiling shyly, like being offered a drink on a date was something she should be grateful for.

The way she held herself was different. Before, it was like she was apologetic for taking up too much space, but this version of Spencer took the world by storm – like when she walked into the room, she claimed the space as her own before anyone else could tell her differently.

Whatever miniscule reservations he had about sleeping with her were out the window before she set her glass back down.

“I’m assuming you don’t have anyone at home waiting for you if you asked me that first,” she said, bluntly, chewing on a piece of ice.

“What makes you say that?” “Well you’re obviously gauging whether or not you want to fuck me tonight so I might as well be as upfront as you,” she shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

“Is that so?” He quirked a brow at her. “Would you count frequent hookups?”

“Nope. I’ve got those, too, but I don’t count ‘em.”

“So you turned out to be pretty wild, huh?”

She laughed. “I hope you realize how weird you sound. I’m not who I was at 18. Shit, and you barely even knew me then!”

He held his hands up in protest. “My bad.”

She tapped her nails on the counter, looking a bit conflicted. “No, it’s okay. Just a bit of a sensitive topic, I guess.”

“Parents, huh?”

“Yep. Don’t quite approve of who I am, even though I’m literally going to be studying to be a doctor,” she rolled her eyes. “I did get pretty wild, though. I mean, I had to get it out of my system before med school, you know?”

He shrugged. “Totally understandable.”

“Speaking of, why aren’t yours here? I figured I was going to accidentally run into them or something,” she mused, crunching on another ice cube.

He tried hiding his reaction, but he couldn’t help the way he tensed up at the mere mention of them. The thought of her bringing them up crossed his mind before, so thankfully he was able to keep it moving.

“Oh, they moved back to Hawaii a while ago. Been waiting to put this house on the market but it just didn’t seem like the right time.”

“So why aren’t you with them for the holidays?”

He stiffened, racking his brain for a believable lie. There was no fucking way he was baring his soul to the girl that just stepped back into his life.

She was the last good memory he had before everything went to shit, so he couldn’t break the illusion. Spencer was too good for this – maybe too good for him.

Court baggage was a heavy load to bear. Criminal baggage was even heavier. Lying to save face was the only way he could protect them both.

“Oh, it was just cheaper for me to stay here than fly back to Hawaii.”

She nodded, seemingly in agreeance, swirling the last bit of ice around her glass before tipping it back again. “S’good you get a little peace and quiet between semesters.”

“You have no idea,” he breathed, practically sighing in relief, thankful the crisis was averted.

“I do have a question, though,” she said, setting the glass down and pushing it away from her. “Why did you leave your number on my window sill?”

He leaned over the counter, bracing his arms against it. “So you did see it.”

“You’re lucky I found it! You could not have chosen a worse place to put it.”

“Well, you used to always walk out on your balcony so I thought it’d be safe.”

She pursed her lips, seemingly holding back a smile. “You remember that?”

“Yeah, of course. Why didn’t you, you know, use the number, though?” He asked, teasing.

Her mouth popped open, looking almost offended by his words. “Oh my god, you think if I had your number we still wouldn’t have talked for three years?”

“When you put it that way, I guess it doesn’t make sense,” he laughed, taking a swig of his drink.

“No, but I can’t get over that – you thought this entire time that I just didn’t try to contact you? Bryce, you offered to kiss me before literally disappearing into the night – you thought I wouldn’t have at least, you know, tried following up on that?” Spencer was giggling in between her words, barely able to get it out of her system.

“Yeah, well, you think I didn’t want to follow up on the kiss either? I’m the one who offered!”

They were cutting up, both leaning over the counter, folded over in laughter. They’d shifted closer as they got more comfortable with each other, their arms nearly grazing each others’ over the cold granite.

God, she was so beautiful. Everything he felt when he met her three years ago was pretty much amplified. He had it bad for her.

When she noticed how close they were, her eyes flitted to his lips, tongue darting out to wet her own.

“You wanna cash in on that now? I heard that ‘Bryce Lahela Kiss Coupons’ never expire,” he said, voice low, reaching out to swipe the pad of his thumb over her chin.

“Bryce…” she said, closing her eyes, before leaning back to put some distance between them. “We have to lay some ground rules first.”

He sighed, standing up at his full height. “Okay, shoot.”

“I’m not trying to go all analytical on you, but we have to get this out of the way first. Tell me where your top three med schools are.”

A snort escaped him before he could stop himself. “What, do you only fuck guys that go to –”

“– And girls –”

“And girls – that go to John Hopkins?” He asked, teasing. “Me, too, by the way.”

She shook her head, ignoring his joke. “Nope. Just tell me.”

“Well, I’m looking at California, New York, and Chicago. What about you?”

“Ohio, Virginia, and Washington.”

The pieces fell into place for him. “Damn, you were playing chess and I was playing checkers, huh?”

She laughed. “No, no, I was just curious. I didn’t think we’d get as far as relationship talk, but I figured after everything we’d been through, we might as well discuss it, you know?”

“So that means this is a one-and-done type deal.”

“I guess so,” she said, scratching at her neck. “I’ve made out with plenty of people before and forgotten it, so if you want to just see how we feel, I’m down.”

“Oh, I think you’ll remember this for a while,” he said, stretching across the counter to gently cup her face in both hands, pressing a deep kiss to her lips.

Their first kiss was unlike no other. What’d started out as an offhanded joke to relieve three years worth of tension quickly morphed into desperate grabbing of clothes, heavy pants, and even heavier tension crackling like a fire between them.

She fisted his collar, dragging him to her over the counter, kneeling on her bar stool and pushing herself closer and closer to him.

Bryce had his share of sloppy bar makeouts, passionate kisses amidst sex – even sweet domestic kisses during mundane tasks. But this kiss? Somehow it was a bit of everything rolled into one.

They parted pretty abruptly when he elbowed her empty champagne glass and it clattered against the counter.

“Shit,” he cursed, pulling back just a hair to check the damage.

When he turned back, she was still holding him, staring at him, a look on her face that he hadn’t seen before.

“That was…” her lids fluttered, tongue darting out to lick her lips – like she was savoring his taste.

“Really good.”

She nodded. “Insanely good.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Is it what you were dreaming of?” He teased, but there was a hint of sincerity to it.

She nodded again, her grip tightening on his collar. “I’m a little scared at how much I enjoyed it.”

“Scared? Why?” He murmured, stroking his thumb against her cheek in comfort.

“Well… this can’t happen,” she gestured between them.

“It doesn’t have to happen. We can pretend like the kiss never did, just like you said. I don’t mind,” he shrugged.

“But… what if I want it to?”

He couldn’t conceal the smirk tugging at his lips. “You wanna take this upstairs?”

She tried holding back a smile. “Maybe.”

“Well, you can think about it over dinner, whenever that gets here.”

The driver took about twenty minutes, and eating took them twenty more. Small talk was managed, jokes were cracked, but there was an unmistakable feeling in the air that both of them could sense.

Bryce was no stranger to sexual tension. Hell, he thrived on it.

Making a cute girl blush? Exhilarating. Getting a guy at the bar fund his hangover? Incredible. Those few minutes between knowing you’re going to fuck someone and actually fucking them? Couldn’t get enough.

The minute their plates were cleared, she took his hand and led him upstairs, throwing glances back at him like if she let go for a second he’d disappear.

As much as he just wanted to fool around, he couldn’t help but pocket the small details for later, just in case he decided it was alright to get emotionally invested. Despite feeling like he had a hold on the situation, he definitely didn’t.

He was a bit delusional in thinking he wasn’t already falling for her the way she was for him.

––––

[part 1.5 coming soon]

____

They’d been curled up in bed for nearly an hour and a half, just talking, every once in a while pulling the other in for another kiss that led to roaming hands.

In another life, if they’d both lived in that town and grew up there, there was no doubt they’d be best friends. High school sweethearts, even.

But she knew that whatever daydreams she’d conjured up could never be reality.

This was a one-time thing. They both knew that.

After a lull in conversation she slipped out of bed, gathering her clothes and tossing them onto the bed.

“You leaving?” He asked, sitting up.

“Uh, yeah. I think I need to get going. I’ve still got a curfew,” she shrugged, making a hand motion like she was pulling the trigger.

“Still have one? Damn, that sucks. Am I gonna get to see you tomorrow?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

He remembered her curfew?

She snapped her bra back in place, avoiding his eye as she slid on her straps. “I, um, have to leave.”

“I thought you were staying through the weekend?” He sounded taken aback, like he thought he had more time.

She slipped her underwear and pants on fast. “I have a long drive ahead of me and I kinda wanted a night to breathe before I tour and interview, you know?”

He was silent. She threw her sweater on before daring a glance at him. His eyes were trained on the mattress, refusing to look at her.

“Bryce,” she called, but he shook his head.

She sat on the mattress, tipping his chin up with her finger. “What’s wrong?”

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, sighing. “It’s stupid.”

“C’mon, it’s not stupid. Tell me.”

“I’m kinda regretting this being a one-time thing.”

She raked his hair back, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I am, too.”

He met her eyes again, brows furrowed. “You are?”

She nodded. “I like you. A lot.”

“So what’s stopping us? We can make it work if we try –”

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, looking at the ground. “I don’t know if we can.”

“Why not?”

“The distance, first of all. And we’re going to be in different programs in different states, so there’s no way we can fully commit to school and our future if we’re trying to start a relationship and maintain it –”

“Spencer, you think I’m gonna give up that easily after all this time? I just got you back,” he said, lifting a hand to cup her cheek.

“This isn’t giving up, Bryce… this is… practical. Rational,” she added, leaning into his touch. “The right thing to do.”

“It doesn’t feel right.”

“I know, but… I think it’s easier to move on now rather than later when we’re in too deep,” she gulped, trying to soothe the lump forming in her throat.

She knew this wasn’t gonna be easy, but she figured it’d be easier than falling for him over phone calls and video chats and sweet good morning texts and the inevitable breakup that came after.

“You sure we’re not already in it?” He asked, underneath his breath, gaze flitting to her lips.

She rolled her lips, shaking her head, trying to mask her wobbling chin.

“If you don’t want to get hurt, I get it, but I need you to know that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I met you,” he said, cupping her cheeks with both hands. “And – and I never thought I’d see you again, so I don’t want to let you go without at least, you know, trying to fight for you.”

He brought her in for a deep kiss, seemingly trying to plead his case with his touch.

“Maybe we should just go our separate ways and pretend tonight didn’t happen. It might be less difficult,” she murmured after he pulled away.

“None of this will be easy for us, Spence,” he pressed their foreheads together, both of them closing their eyes.

“Honestly, I want nothing more than to be with you. I want you so badly, but I’ve got so many commitments and my career and I can’t just throw my responsibilities out the window, because I know I would – that’s what scares me,” she whispered, voice cracking.

“You’re right. I hate that you’re right.”

––––

When she slipped back into her room after saying a quick goodnight to her parents, she curled up in her bed and cried.

She didn’t want to cry – it was like her body wouldn’t let her hold it in any longer. The sobs wracked her body as if personified guilt had grabbed her by the shoulders, dug its fingers into her skin, and shook her the tears from her.

Hours later, she woke up in the middle of the night, face still puffy and irritated. As she stood up to go throw cool water on her face, she noticed something taped to her window.

His number and socials were listed in a neat bulleted list, and below it, he’d scrawled a simple note:

“If we meet again.”

––––

#playchoices #bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #bryce x mc #my fic #jade writes choices fics

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luna-is-a-main-now · 4 years

Text

Your Words and Feelings, Chapter One

When his alarm went off, Virgil flinched in surprise as his eyes snapped quickly to the time displayed at the top corner of his phone. Had he really stayed up all night again? Apparently, yes, he had, and he was sure to get called out about it later. With a heavy, exhausted sigh, he made the alarm shut up and reluctantly rolled out of bed to start getting ready for the day. After doing his regular morning routine, he grabbed some food and finally looked down at his hand to check for the writing he knew would be there.

In red ink and fancy handwriting in the middle of the back of Virgil's hand was a small line of text reading: Good morning, my loves, I hope you all have a lovely day!

Below it, Virgil watched as sky blue ink in a curly, bubbly font quickly appeared in response, showing a drawing of a smiley face with a text bubble that cheerily proclaimed "You too! Thank you, Red!"

Virgil grinned as he pulled out his purple pen and scrawled back a small, quick note above the red. "Thanks Princey, right back at ya." With a sigh, he grabbed his stuff and set off for school, not even bothering to see if the owner of the occasional dark blue ink would reply. He rarely did, but Virgil got the impression that he appreciated seeing the notes from his soulmates nonetheless. At least, Virgil hoped he wasn't bothering him or the others with his little notes.

Entering his first class, Virgil sighed heavily as he dropped his bag heavily to the floor by his desk, then proceeded to drop himself heavily into his chair, both resulting in loud thumps. One more small thump sounded as Virgil laid down heavily over his desk, hiding his head in his arms and appreciating the soft warmth his hoodie’s sleeves provided.

He ignored the teacher as class started, figuring that because it was the Friday before a three day weekend, they wouldn’t expect them to do anything too important anyway. Not that he really cared right now even if it were important. He honestly would not have budged the whole time he had been in class if it hadn't been for the hesitant taps he felt on his arm. He snapped his gaze up with a glare, expecting it to be the teacher, but his eyes immediately softened when he saw that it was just the kid who sat next to him, looking hesitant as he fiddled with and adjusted his glasses numerous times.

“Hey… do you by any chance have a pen I can borrow? I must have dropped mine on the way to school.” Virgil sighed softly, but he looked so hopeful and desperate that Virgil couldn’t bring himself to say no. So he handed over the first pen he found, only realizing too late that it was his purple pen, the one he only used when communicating with his soulmates. The person who Virgil had given the pen to thanked him profusely and quickly started taking the notes before Virgil could do anything about his mistake though, and now he felt far too anxious to ask for it back before he was done using it, despite the pen belonging to him. He just hoped he would get it back, but for now, Virgil just put his head down again. He was too tired to deal with things at the moment.

The sound of the bell dismissing first period startled Virgil out of his half asleep state, causing him to slam his knee into the metal leg of his desk suddenly, and do so with enough force that it made Virgil’s stomach hurt. He hissed in pain at the same time the person next to him did, as they both reached for their knee. Surprise and dim recognition lit up in Virgil’s eyes as he rubbed at his knee, but the boy next to him hadn’t even realized what had happened, and was too preoccupied checking over his own knee to notice Virgil.

“Show me your hands,” Virgil requested, his voice still a bit gruff from exhaustion and pain. The person in question looked up at Virgil and nervously picked at the cardigan draped over his shoulders. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached his hands out to Virgil while looking at him curiously and very confused. Grabbing the one he knew it would be, should Virgil be right, he bit his lip and looked at it closely. Not that he needed to look to close before catching the fancy red script followed by sky blue and purple ink, and a small dark blue check mark. Checking his own hand, Virgil realized he must have missed it while he was asleep, but he had the dark blue check mark on his hand as well. Giving the boy in front of him a tired smile, Virgil held his hand out as well, watching as his new-found soulmate’s face went from puzzled to elated in seconds when he realized.

“Oh this is wonderful! I’m Patton!” He enthusiastically introduced himself as he seemed to literally vibrate with happy energy. Before Virgil knew it, Patton had flung his arms around Virgil’s neck and pulled him in for a hug. “I’m the sky blue ink! I’m assuming you’re purple?” He giggled softly as he stepped back to hand Virgil his purple pen back. Virgil could only nod numbly, being too tired to really keep up with Patton’s quick speech and excitable energy.

“Uh, I’m Virgil.” Virgil smiled at the slightly shorter boy, then pulled his phone out from his jacket pocket. Unlocking it, he quickly navigated to the phone keypad and handed it to Patton. “Give me your number? That way we can talk over the weekend?” Virgil offered awkwardly. He needn’t have been worried though. Patton beamed brightly at his suggestion and eagerly grabbed the phone from Virgil’s hands. Virgil had never seen someone type so quickly in his life.

“Ooh! I have C lunch! What do you have? If you’re up for it, we can meet up and talk then!” Patton bounced up and down excitedly. He beamed at Virgil as he handed him his phone back.

“I have C lunch too, and yeah I’m down for meeting up and talking then. I need to get going now though or I’ll be late for my next class… but I’ll see you later?” He smiled softly at Patton, and he nodded vigorously, before quickly grabbing his stuff and basically skipping out of the room with a cheery goodbye.

Virgil blinked, half believing he had imagined it all through his sleep deprived state, but glancing down at his phone, Patton’s contact was still there. Virgil smiled when he noticed he had added a sky blue heart emoji after his name. Virgil decided to keep it that way forever, and he really hoped that soon, he’d have two other names in his phone set up in similar style.

-----------------------------

Roman felt completely and utterly drained and fully exhausted, right down to his very soul. One or more of his soulmates must have pulled yet another all-nighter, and he had a pretty good idea of who it was. It was becoming much too common a habit these days, and Roman was getting sick of it, even though he knew that if it was the person he thought, he couldn’t control it any more than Roman could.

However, on the same token, normally Roman was a morning person. Before, people had even said that he practically glowed in the morning; they would always say that Roman was so bright and full of energy and that it made them happy to see someone so excited about every day, no matter how weird that mindset was as a freshman in college. Roman didn’t care that it was weird, he loved being full of energy and starting the day off in a positive mood. After all, the whole world’s a stage, as the saying goes, and Roman needed energy to perform his very best on that stage.

However, with the extreme lack of sleep running in the background of his brain all the time, all he got now was concerned comment after concerned comment. Roman was touched that his peers and teachers cared about his well being and that they actually checked in when his normally chipper mood was drastically different, but he swore he was going to scream if one more person asked him if he was alright when he was so clearly not. Despite Roman’s strict sleeping schedule and him getting more than the typically recommended eight hours, he still felt exhausted straight down his very bones. It was annoying. It also didn’t help that his knee hurt, also a result of one of his soulmates.

Sometimes the shared feelings bond between soulmates was such a hassle. Sure, he enjoyed feeling when his soulmates were excited and happy about things, as it made him feel all warm inside, happy that they were happy. However, he hated when he could feel when they were sad, depressed, hurt, angry, in pain, tired, etc and had no way to be there for them and help. All he could do now was write messages to them in red ink, and not even the messages that truly mattered such as his name, his number, or his location in order to meet them faster, due to whatever strange magic governed the soul bond between soulmates.

Grudgingly, Roman pulled out his fancy red pen, the pen he used only to write to his soulmates, because they were special and deserved a special pen. Wiping away their standard morning greetings with the help of a one-use rubbing alcohol pad, Roman began to write in his fancy, flowing script. He couldn't help but notice that it was actually much sloppier than it normally was. He couldn’t really bring himself to care all that much either though. He blamed his exhaustion and frustration for both.

Okay, which one of you pulled another all nighter? This is three in a row and it’s getting a bit ridiculous. Also, who hurt themselves? My knee has been aching all morning! You all must be more careful; injuries especially when exhausted have more effect, you know.

The scrawling purple text was slow to appear. It was as if the writer was hesitant. Roman felt bad that he had been so demanding; he never wanted his loves to be hesitant around him.

Sorry Princey. Those were both me. Insomnia is hitting me hard this week; I’ll try harder to sleep tonight. As for the knee… I got startled and rammed it into the metal leg of my desk. Not the best start to my morning, honestly.

Roman winced in sympathy. That all sounded horribly unpleasant. Roman wished he knew the owner of the purple ink. He wondered if he could help with the sleep issue in any way. He understood that insomnia couldn’t be controlled, but he wondered if maybe he could be able to help at least by singing or cuddling him till he was lulled to sleep. He wished to meet his soulmates soon; he was a hopeless romantic and thrived off of giving and receiving affection, love, and care with those he loved dearly. Despite never meeting his soulmates, Roman already knew he loved them to the very bottom of his heart. He only wished he could show them just how much in person.

Then, strangely, a small note began to appear on Roman’s wrist. However, this note wasn’t in purple, sky blue, or dark blue, the only colors his soulmates used. It was in a thick, dark black ink, like that of a sharpie marker.

Note to self: replace lost pen. Also, cookies? Or brownies?

The last part gave away who had written that easily enough and Roman chuckled. It was sky blue, or as they had nicknamed him, Padre. He was always making lists and reminders on his skin, and a lot of them pertained to sweets most of the time. Roman couldn’t wait to try the baked goods his soulmate must be quite good at making by now.

Okay, don’t worry about it Stormcloud. Roman wrote to purple, smiling as he used their occasional nickname for him. Take it easy today though, alright? Maybe ice that knee when you can. Also, Padre, did you really lose your pen?

Roman couldn’t help but smirk as he wrote back, addressing sky blue. He really did hope purple got some rest soon though, his insomnia was getting much worse lately and it was concerning. However, he was thoroughly amused at sky blue’s forgetfulness. He found it endlessly endearing and adorable, even though he had never seen it in person. This time, when Padre wrote back, it was in standard black ink pen, which Roman figured he must have just found in order to abandon the sharpie.

Yeah, I must have dropped it on the way to school or something! No biggie though; at least it was something easy to replace, even though I did love that pen in particular!

Roman smiled at that, too. He loved everything about his soulmates, even the one who used dark blue ink and didn’t interact as much as the other two. He had explained before that he didn’t really like writing on his skin directly, but that he didn’t mind seeing his soulmates converse. In fact, he had admitted it was enjoyable to see them talk, even if he wasn’t a part of it all that often.

Oh! Princey, Padre and I met this morning in class. Maybe now that one of us has met the other, that means we’ll all see each other soon? I hope so, at least. What about you?

The purple ink’s words made Roman’s heart stop for a second. Stormcloud and Padre had met? Oh, Roman was jealous, 100%, but he was also beyond excited.

Oh, I do hope so too! I can’t wait until I meet you all! Then I can spoil you all properly with plenty of love and affection!

Roman sighed happily as he began daydreaming about meeting his soulmates again for the thousandth time. He wanted to know all about them. He loved them with all his heart; they were all bound to be wonderful people and Roman had always felt so incredibly lucky that he seemed to have three wonderfully unique soulmates that he was destined to be with one day. It made his romantic heart melt and ache all at once everytime he thought about it. Checking his hand and the ink that had travelled up and down his arm as space ran out, he realized that Stormcloud had only responded with a checkmark, due to there being no open spaces left to respond. Roman quickly added his check mark, and so did dark blue and Padre. On cue, the ink started to disappear as one or more of them began wiping away the writing, save for Padre’s sharpie note.

The four of them had come up with that system long ago; if multiple parties were conversing and space ran out, they would all have to indicate whether or not it could be erased. Without 100% agreement, the writing would stay in order to prevent each other from getting rid of important things or things they hadn’t read yet. Dark blue, or Teach, as they often called them, had proposed that plan, and Roman had to admit that it worked perfectly for all of them.

After everything was wiped off, Roman smiled fondly at his arm, still stained with the colors of his soulmates. Occasionally, even wiping the ink off so soon after it was applied still left ghost marks of the words and colors behind. Roman loved that it occasionally looked like his arm was a faded tie-dye project. It was colorful and beautiful and served as a pleasant reminder of how lucky he was. Roman adored it.

Eventually, and with a small sigh of exhaustion, Roman decided to head off of his college campus, and toward a local coffee shop that had opened close by recently. He didn’t have any more classes today anyway, and a friend had told him that the coffee there tasted simply amazing, and that even other people who claimed to not be coffee people liked their stuff. Personally, Roman had never been overly fond of coffee, but he did appreciate the effects it had, especially in times such as these when he felt he might pass out at any second. He felt more and more tired as time passed, and he could only guess at how awful purple must be feeling since the exhaustion originated from him. However, Roman couldn’t help him yet, so he had to settle for trying to chase away the exhaustion that crept into his own system from the soul bond.

As he pushed open the door to the small little cafe, a small bell chimed pleasantly to announce his arrival. An employee greeted him politely with some sort of standard welcome, and Roman politely smiled and nodded at her in acknowledgement. He quickly walked up to the order counter and looked over the menu.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” The cashier asked cheerfully, smiling at him brightly. Roman smiled back at her tiredly.

“Ah, what do you suggest? I’m normally not much of a coffee guy, but a friend insisted I try coffee from here and that it would change my mind.” Roman chuckled softly. “It’s my first time here so I honestly don’t know what most of this,” he gestured slightly at the menu off to the side, “is. What’s good, is basically what I’m asking.” Roman laughed slightly, the notes laced thick with nerves and exhaustion. The cashier only smiled back at him again.

“Oh this happens all the time now! So many non-coffee drinkers have been coming in lately on advice from a friend; it’s kinda crazy actually!” She chuckled and threw her hands out in an ‘I dunno’ gesture. “People new to coffee typically like sweeter drinks as opposed to more bitter, so a frappuccino might be a good place for you to start! I personally say you can’t go wrong starting off with a standard vanilla or mocha frappuccino, depending on your tastes.” She offered helpfully, pointing to the mentioned items on the menu so Roman could look at the printed pictures of them more closely.

“Ooh, I do indeed like sweet things! Let’s go for the mocha thingy you said.” Roman chuckled as he forgot what it was called already. “Thank you for the help by the way.”

“Frappuccino, but most just call it a frappe or a frap.” She explained with a smile. “You’re welcome, and what size would you like?”

“Ah, probably a large if I’m to make it through the day. I’m exhausted; my soulmate pulled an all nighter.” Roman explained with a little laugh.

“Oh I know the feeling.” She chuckled. “That will be $2.34, would you like anything else?”

“That’s all, thank you. You’ve been a wonderful help.” Roman pulled his wallet out and gave her a five. “Keep the change as a tip, okay? I hope you have an absolutely wonderful day and night ahead!” Roman smiled at her brightly. She grinned at him brightly and nodded, waving at him as he walked to the end of the counter where they put out completed orders.

It didn't take very long for his drink to be called, and an employee handed the drink directly to Roman. Thanking him, Roman grabbed a straw and took a test sip of his drink. He hummed, pleasantly surprised at the taste. It was sweet, but not overpoweringly so, and the drink was smooth and perfectly blended, and the soft scent of coffee mixed with the whipped cream and chocolate drizzle on the top just made the drink seem all the more better to him.

On a whim, Roman checked his hand again, delighted to see more writing. This time it was in dark blue ink, meaning their seldom seen soulmate was reaching out. Roman couldn’t be happier about it.

Purple, please try to get sleep tonight. Your immune system must be severely compromised from the lack of sleep you are already experiencing. Sky, please also eat some healthy foods; not just baked goods, okay?

Roman smiled. This was how Teach showed his love, despite them all having heard the same advice over and over again. It seemed as though he valued how much his soulmates practiced self care and healthy choices, which Roman found touching.

Yeah, I got it Teach. Sleep is important, I know. Thank you for the reminder though.

Oh, I suppose I could pick up stuff to make food other than baked goods. However, I wanna show Stormcloud my famous chocolate chip cookies now that we’ve met! And I’ll do the same for all of you when it’s our turn to meet!

Roman practically squealed in delight as he pulled out his red pen to reply to that. However, he ended up bumping right into someone, and spilled both of their coffee’s. Roman winced, embarrassed at his careless mistake, but also managed to pull the person out of the way in time so that nothing spilled on him personally. He still felt bad about the lost coffee and the huge mess he had created in the middle of the cafe.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” Roman cried. “I should have been paying more attention, are you alright?” He asked, as the other male adjusted his glasses with a disgruntled expression. Roman’s eyes caught on a flash of dark blue, light blue, and purple ink on his hand before it was hidden again, but he couldn’t help but notice the dark blue pens in his shirt pocket. Roman wanted it to be true, but he swallowed down his excitement for now.

“I am alright. Unfortunate to lose my coffee before I can assume any of its benefits, but no matter. Are you alright? I admit it was also partially my fault.” He frowned slightly, as if he didn’t quite like how that had been presented, but was almost too tired to care. Roman noted that he didn’t have dark circles under his own eyes, so the extreme exhaustion he was displaying was a result of the soul bond, not his own sleep schedule. That only gave Roman more hope, and he couldn’t help but smile at the man in front of him, who he was sure was his soulmate.

“Oh yes, I’m okay. And, please, no, that was my fault. I was too busy conversing with my soulmates.” Roman smirked as he held his hand up and out towards the other male, making it as easy to see as possible, and prompting him to look at his hand closely. “I’ll assume you were possibly doing the same?” He asked as he saw the other’s expression go from neutral to surprised, and he smiled softly, an expression that had Roman’s heart doing flips in his chest.

“Well it seems you are correct. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Logan. You may have already guessed but I’m dark blue.” He gestured at the pens in his pocket with a smile, and Roman easily returned it.

“I’m Red, or Princey, or whatever other nickname I’ve been given by now,” Roman chuckled softly, and held his hand out towards Logan for a handshake. “My name is Roman, though. It’s a pleasure to meet you too, my dear soulmate.” Roman smiled at him even wider when Logan shook his hand.

“Here,” Logan commented as he took out his pen and started writing on a napkin, handing it to Roman once he had finished. “It’s my number. So we don’t lose contact when we leave.” He smiled at Roman in an almost shy manner.

“Thank you, and that’s smart! For now though, why don’t you grab a table? I’ll clean up this mess and order us some new coffee so we can talk? That is, if you’re free of course.” Roman offered hopefully as he accepted the napkin with Logan’s number on it, putting it safely in his pocket. Logan bit his lip and seemed to think on that for a bit before slowly nodding.

“Yes, I can stay for a bit. I have a class at three, and it is only one thirty, so I can stay until about two? I know thirty minutes isn’t long, I apologize.” Logan explained slowly. Roman only smiled at him brightly.

“No need to apologize! This was honestly a very sudden meeting, so of course you may have other plans! Or well, a class, but same difference. We can plan something better for next time now that we’ll be in contact over text?” Roman offered as he started off to grab a stack of napkins, and also requested a mop or something from an employee.

“Yes, for sure.” Logan smiled at him gently. “I shall look forward to getting to know you better, Roman.” He stated, then waved as he went off to find a table for the two of them. Roman quickly got to trying to soak up the spilt coffee on the floor with the napkins, and was very grateful when someone brought out a mop for him, making the process go much faster. Once he had cleaned up the mess he accidentally made he went back up to the order counter.

“That was quite the situation.” The barista snickered at him good-naturedly. Roman couldn’t help but chuckle back as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. He had made quite the spectacle of himself, admittedly.

“Yeah, not the most elegant or graceful way to meet a soulmate, I admit, but at least I met him.” Roman smiled softly. “I couldn’t be more excited about it, quite honestly. I can’t wait to learn more about him.” Roman said in an almost dreamy tone of voice, allowing his inner hopeless romantic to shine through. He had been waiting for the day he would meet one or all of his soulmates for years, and finally it was here and Roman already thought Logan perfect.

“I’m so happy for you! You should thank the friend that told you to come here. After all, had you not, this never would have happened.” She commented with a gentle smile. “Anyways, I’m assuming you’re trying to replace the drinks? So another mocha frap for you and an iced coffee for him?” She questioned, getting back to business. Roman grinned at her.

“Yep! And yes, I will be sure to thank my friend, for sure.” Roman smiled brightly.

“3.84 is your total, will that be all?” She questioned politely as she finished tapping in the order on her computer. Roman nodded, and handed her another five.

“I know I already said it, but I hope you have a wonderful day and night!” Roman called as he headed down to the pick-up counter. He only had to wait for a few minutes again before being handed both of his drinks, straws already in them. He thanked the employee who handed him the drinks, and quickly made his way over to Logan with an excited grin plastered onto his face.

Sitting down and sliding Logan his drink, Roman couldn’t help the grin that crept back up onto his face, and continued to grow. He couldn’t help it; he was just so happy. Logan tilted his head at Roman inquisitively and Roman practically melted off the chair at the gesture. He was ecstatic that Logan was his soulmate, and that he had finally met him.

“I’m so happy we finally got to meet. I’ve been wanting to meet any of my soulmates for so long and now you’re here, actually in front of me and it’s amazing and kind of surreal.” Roman sighed happily. “I just couldn’t be happier about this right now.” Roman finally said in response to Logan’s earlier questioning glance.

“Oh, well, yes.” Logan smiled and adjusted his glasses. “I, too, have been wanting to see who my soulmates are for quite a while. Though, I am worried about Sky Blue and Purple’s unhealthy habits.” Logan commented with a small frown, and tapped his coffee pointedly.

“Oh, yeah, I feel that one.” Roman raised his coffee towards Logan slightly. “Especially as college students. The lack of sleep of just working on my own projects is bad enough, but then purple never sleeps and it’s a nightmare getting through the day. I mean, I don’t blame him and I’m not upset, just concerned and very tired. Though, I can’t imagine what actually having insomnia must feel like.” Roman shrugged and took a long sip off his drink as Logan considered his words carefully.

“That’s fair. I just hope that when we meet him, perhaps we can help a little? One can hope, at least.” Logan sighed tiredly, and also took a long sip off his coffee. “I agree with you though. Especially about being a college student. Classes are much harder to perform well in when I feel I’m about to pass out from exhaustion half the time, despite keeping a fairly good sleep schedule myself.”

“You said it.” Roman chuckled. “And yes, I do hope that when we meet them, we’ll be able to help in some way. Even if it’s a small way.” Roman sighed softly and frowned in thought, staring down at his hand but without really looking. How long would he have to wait before they were all together? Of course, he was beyond excited he had met Logan, but he wanted to have all of his loves in one space and give them all as much affection as he possibly could.

“Oh, look at the time!” Logan exclaimed, checking his phone. “It’s already 2:05, I have to go. Uh, text me later, okay?” He asked hurriedly, and hardly waited for Roman’s quick, enthusiastic nod before he was rushing out the door. Roman shook his head with a small smile.

He didn’t get to talk with Logan long, but Roman knew he was already completely in love.

He couldn’t wait to fall in love with his other soulmates too.

#ts #ts roman #ts virgil #ts logan #ts patton #lamp/calm #polysanders #soulmate AU #soulmates #ink on skin #you feel what your soulmate feels #fluff #like so much fluff #fic #chapter 1 #YW&F

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heungtanbts · 5 years

Text

Quarter Life Crisis

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre/warning: slow burn friends to lovers!au, friend zoning, being dense AF, swearing & sarcastic bantering, a smidge of angst, explicit implications of smut

word count: 25k

A/N: guys. i’ve never written something this long and in depth before and i honestly don’t know how to feel about it. but i do know i have a newfound respect for fic writers. i poured so much time and effort into this, and can only imagine what other writers go through so please remember to show your fave writers love for all their hard work!

In the movies, the recently graduated, mid-twenties protagonist sets off on the journey of life and seems to immediately land a fantastic job, find a stellar unit in an even more luxurious apartment complex, gets a fancy car with a name that’s impossible to pronounce, is in a long term relationship from college and is going to receive a proposal within the next few months (but doesn’t know it yet), and basically, has life all figured out. If movies are going to portray young adult life like that, then that’s ideally what your twenties should be like, right? Being young, educated, ready to take on the world, further discovering yourself and finding true love.

This, however, is not what you imagined your mid-twenties to be like.

Sitting in a comfy pair of capri leggings and an oversized college t-shirt, you sink into your sofa and suck in a labored breath. You really shouldn’t have finished that last bit of Shanghai fried noodles. T’was a mistake, a horrible mistake. Rolling down the waistband of your leggings, your belly pops out, set free, and you finally feel like you can breathe again.

“Wow, you’re really packin’ heat there, huh Pillsbury?” A low voice calls mockingly from across the room.

“Shut up, I’m proud of my life achievements okay.” You immediately retaliate, not even bothering to look at the other potato potato-ing at the opposite end of the sofa.

You hear him snort incredulously. “Ah yes, because ‘he who achieves the pudge, achieves in life.’ Definitely heard Yoda say that one somewhere.”

Letting your head lull to the side, you can’t stop yourself from snickering at the sight of Jungkook sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce, hands held up in OK signs, eyes shut and head bobbing from side to side ridiculously in what you deem to be an extremely inaccurate impersonation of Yoda. Why you continue to hang out with this dweeb and allow him to put his nasty feet up on your coffee table right after hitting the gym for two hours is beyond you. Must be because it’s Friday night, affectionately known as Fat Friday, and he’s always the one who brings take out, like it’s a peace offering of some sort. That’s why.

At this age you would’ve never imagined that life would consist of a weekly Fat Friday “take out and a movie” routine with your best friend from college. As a young adult, you know you’re fortunate to have a stable 8-5 job that you don’t hate, a clean and cozy apartment unit in the city (with in unit laundry machines, bless up) and a small group of friends that stand by you through thick and thin. But after spending so many days and years like this, you can’t help but question it all.

According to those damn rom-coms, you should be out going on adventures, mingling with new people, sipping on over-priced drinks, showing up to the club with your posse and, maybe if you’re lucky, waltzing out with a newly acquired friend for the night. But here you are instead, having a chopsticks war with Jungkook over the last crab rangoon Kung-fu Panda style, even though you’re so full, the delicious fried appetizer might just have to sit in your throat for a while until your digestive system can make room for it. Living in your twenties is wild, just absolutely wild.

“God, please don’t tell me you do this when you go on dates.” Jungkook looks at you in both disgust and awe as you pop the last crab rangoon in your mouth, chewing noisily on purpose to rub it in his face while simultaneously enjoying the crunch.

“What, eat?” A speck of crab escapes and lands on your chin. Now Jungkook definitely looks more grossed out than amazed as he reaches out to thumb at your chin, removing the bit of artificial seafood and making a face as he wipes it on a nearby napkin.

“No, this isn’t eating. This is straight up a clip from the Discovery Channel about predators swallowing their prey.” He deadpans. “It’s like you’re training to be a food fighter, or something.”

You suddenly look up, eyes beaming with enlightenment, “That’s it, a food fighter, of course! That’s what I should be pursuing in life! Jeon, for once, you and your one brain cell have managed to come up with a brilliant idea.”

Jungkook doesn’t even seem phased by your insult and just moves to make himself comfortable, kicking his feet up on the coffee table as per usual. “You know, I actually think you could do it. With the way you eat- no, inhale food, you could show the world your one and only talent – gluttony.” He grins victoriously only to have to whip his neck from side to side in order to avoid the used chopsticks you spear at him, the wooden sticks clattering onto the linoleum floor. You scowl openly from having missed, settling back onto the sofa with your arms crossed over your chest.

“I could start my own muk-bang stream.” You think aloud, seriously considering the occupation for a moment. “Look cute, eat ten packets of ramen, answer questions about my life from the millions of die-hard fans watching – I could totally live that life.”

Jungkook chuckles at the mental imagery he gets, “Yeah, and then majestically throw up for your two whole precious fans to witness. Real cute.” His lip quirks upwards, “Those two poor fans, scarred for life, never able to heal from the trauma.”

You glare at him. “Just wait until my boyfriend hears of this, he won’t stand for this kind of abuse you give me. Is this even friendship? Where’s the love? The support?” You clutch at your chest dramatically, “Where’s the camaraderie, best friend? Where’s the-” You’re so rudely cut off by a pillow to the face, thrown by none other than your so-called best friend.

“Puh-lease, Park SeoJoon is way out of your league. I said it. Sniff sniff, cry cry, get over it, babe.”

You frown, shaking a closed fist at him. “One day, Jeon, you’ll see. One day.” With a defeated sigh, you flop onto your back and throw your feet up onto Jungkook’s lap, ignoring the “ugh your feet smell” comment he makes and instead, focusing on the dreary white ceiling of your unit.

The both of you know it’s just harmless joking when you refer to Park SeoJoon as your boyfriend and whenever Jungkook makes fun of your eating habits and pudgy food babies. To strangers, the way you two interact may seem a bit harsh and pretty immature, but for the two of you, the playful insults and level of savagery are just right. It’s a relief that you can bicker and banter with him and know there are no hard feelings, that you two know each other well enough to know where the lines that should not be crossed are. But it hasn’t always been this way.

When you first met Jungkook freshman year of college, he was ridiculously shy, probably one of the most soft spoken and just plain awkward people you’d ever met. So much so that, being the decent, civilized human being you were, you felt completely obligated to be nice back, mostly because you were afraid he might cry if you accidentally looked him in the eye or something. He seemed so delicate, perpetually wide eyed and fearful, and for that reason, you felt a little more distant from him and closer with the other guys. You were able to freely throw around insults and make all the snarky jabs you wanted around them. Jungkook was just too quiet, and thus you were too nice to him. That is, until one day, your mutual friend Taehyung proposed the idea of having a Mario Kart tournament out of boredom, and somehow it ended up being just you and Jungkook in the final race. Spoiler alert – you beat Jungkook. Blue shelled him right at the finish line and cackled like a disney villain as you cut right in front and took first place. You’ll never forget that moment – it was the first time he ever swore at you. Actually, that was the first time you ever heard Jungkook swear period – ears red at the tips, cheating accusations and demands for a rematch flying around chaotically. But ever since then, that weird wall between you two came crashing down, and that is how your beautiful meme of a friendship came to be.

In the comfortable silence, some random Marvel movie on in the background, you glance over at your best friend, lips involuntarily curling up into a smile. You’re more than glad that those walls came down that day, that you were able to spend majority of your college days attached at the hip, that now, as annoying as he may be, Jungkook is still by your side to this day, eating greasy take-out with you and spending what should be a lively night out, at home instead, vegging out and pigging out. A very nice Friday evening in, with a blubbery food baby. And Park SeoJoon as your imaginary boyfriend. You suddenly groan at the thought and shove your face into the pillow Jungkook just threw at you. It’s been approximately three years since your last relationship, but for some reason it feels like it’s been so much longer than that. That relationship with your then college boyfriend ended shortly after graduation and you can’t believe that was truly the last time you dated someone. You remember spending two weeks ruining Jungkook’s shirts one by one with your snot and tears while hugging tubs of melting ice cream to your chest. Three. Whole. Years. Ago.

You let out another groan and it’s louder this time, even with the pillow muffling your mouth. You’re unable to control your train of thought as it travels to a more stressful place, ruining your once zen state of mind on this lovely Fat Friday evening. What are you even doing with your life? Or to put more accurately, what are you doing wrong with your life? Are you doing something wrong? It just feels like at this point, you should you be doing something more, chasing after your goals and dreams, or at least have some more adult characteristics to your life. While it’s very true that you already have so much to be thankful for, for some reason it just feels like you’re doing something wrong – or something’s just missing. Everyone else seems to have it all together, so why do you still feel like you’re ten steps behind?

You must’ve groaned a couple times more without even realizing it because moments later, the pillow is abruptly snatched away from your face, revealing a very puzzled Jungkook.

“What are you moaning and groaning about?” He asks, raising a brow before giving you a look of utter disbelief. “Is it because of what I said about Park SeoJoon? Woman, for the last time, you just gotta accept the fact that it’s not gonna happen and move on with your li-”

“Jungkook,” You interject, voice quieter than normal. “Am- am I just doing this all wrong?”

Jungkook abruptly comes to a halt, his mouth still hanging open silently from when you cut him off. A slew of jokes and insults remains lodged in his throat as his chocolate eyes closely study your face. You can tell he’s internally debating on how seriously he should be taking your words. Like is this a “reply with another joke” kind of situation, or a “sit down, tell me what’s wrong” kind of conversation that’s about to happen? It feels like this is always how conversations are between the two of you, they can switch from childish insults to pondering the meaning of life in the blink of an eye. Luckily, Jungkook’s used to it by now – having sudden and unexpectedly deep conversations with you doesn’t terrify him anymore like it used to in the past.

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook inquires, deciding it’d be best to tread carefully. He uncrosses his legs and places his feet on the floor, elbows resting on his knees in a much more serious posture.

Over time, he’s gotten so good at feeling you out and directing the conversation as needed, even though he used to have internal melt downs every time you would open up to him. He’s gotten so much better at having conversations period – he handles them like champ now.

“What are we doing Jeon?” The words come out as a deflated sigh, an accurate description of how you feel at the moment. “It’s Friday night and while people our age are spending way too much money getting drunk and having fun taking over the city, we’re upholding a Friday tradition that consists of eating pure oil and poking at our food babies.” Jungkook immediately glances down at his own stomach before meeting your eyes again.

“Uh, I don’t have a food baby so you’re kind of alone on that one.” Jungkook corrects you, rubbing his hand up and down against his flat stomach. You shoot him the deadliest glare you can conjure up. It’s not your fault your body was made to cling to blubber in order to have babies and produce life in this world.

“What, you wanna just go out then?” Jungkook suggests, ignoring the daggers you send his way. “We always have the option to go out and get drunk, you know. If that’s what you wanna do, let’s just call some people up and go then.” Giving the glare a rest, you shake your head, arms and legs splayed out like a starfish as you stare up at nothing, another sigh heavy on your chest.

“That’s not it, Jeon. I just- ugh, I don’t know.” You twist around and smack your fists and feet against the sofa cushion, like a child throwing a mini tantrum. “All I know is that I’m young, I’m single, with all the time in the world and yet here I am, living life like a retired grandma.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with being a retired grandma? That’s like the ultimate goal in life.” Jungkook tuts, leaning forward to grab his bazillionth fried egg roll of the night. That boy is an intergalactic blackhole when it comes to food, yet he never has a food baby, damn damn damn.

“When I was 18, I remember wanting to hurry up and grow up and be in my twenties already.” You reminisce, still focusing on the popcorn pattern decorating the ceiling, “I figured by the time I was 26, I’d have discovered my true passions while exploring my twenties, that I’d be married, settled down after having fully lived out my younger years, maybe on the way with a little one or two, I don’t know.” You bemoan. “I guess adulthood just isn’t what I expected it to be.”

“So what you’re saying is you want to get pregnant.” Jungkook’s smiles mischievously as he leans towards you, flashing you a wink, “That can be easily arranged.”

“Pervert,” You jokingly shove him away, and he just chuckles. “You know that’s not what I meant. Plus I’m not ready to have kids, could you even imagine it?” Your eyes widen comically in horror, “I can barely take care of myself – God knows if I’d be able to keep a tiny, fragile human being alive.”

“True, those succulents you got for your birthday last year barely lasted two weeks,” Jungkook raises his cup to his lips, coughing under his breath before taking a sip, “even though they’re like the easiest plants to raise.”

“Please, rub more salt on my wound Jeon, I insist!”

Jungkook gives you a satisfied smirk before his demeanor morphs into something more serious, fingers rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. “I mean, I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong,” He muses, eyes flicking upwards to meet yours as he gives you one of his gentle, heartwarming smiles – the rare kind that comes out when he’s done joking and ready to comfort you.

“Think about it, you’ve pretty much met majority of the societal standards there are for being a young adult in this day and age. You’re educated, you have a job with a steady pay, got your own place, and you lead a pretty stable lifestyle.” He absentmindedly plays with the cup in his hands. “But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with still not knowing exactly what it is you want to do, or what next steps you want to take. Like so what if you’re single, lots of people are.” Jungkook shrugs. “Who even says that has to be the next step you take? I think it’s still okay that you are,” he looks down at his hands, expression soft, “that we are, still trying to figure things out, one day at a time, you know?”

You hum in agreement, Jungkook’s words bringing immediate comfort to your restless mind. He’s right. It’s not like you’ve made any grave mistakes or have some monumental life-or death issue to face. It’s not a sin to just do your own thing and not follow the “standard” steps of life people usually take. It’s just that the concept of it all, the topic itself, makes you feel like a baby – a very lost, disappointed, overgrown cry-baby because you don’t really feel put together or like you know what you’re doing. But like Jungkook said, that’s okay. It’s alright that you’re still trying to figure it all out, at your own pace – you’re slowly creating your own path.

“Since when did you get so wise, huh Jeon?” You smile, spirits lifted and already feeling a lot better than just a few minutes ago. Jungkook just always seems to know what to say to make you feel better.

He just shrugs with a jokingly cocky pout of his lips, “I’m the quarter life crisis guru, come to me with all your first world problems and you shall find enlightenment.” His words automatically make you punch him in the arm lightly and all you can afford is a weak insult muttered under your breath with a small smile on your lips.

If you were to have this conversation with anyone else besides Jungkook, you would probably die before admitting such embarrassingly trivial, quarter-life-crisis complaints. It hurts your pride, being an adult and having to admit you don’t really know what you’re doing with life. But because this is Jungkook, the insecurities of your heart come out so easily. No matter how much you joke around or annoy each other, he’s your closest and most trusted confidant. He’s actually a great listener – so honest yet gentle with his words (when he’s being serious, of course), and with him, figuring out life’s problems isn’t as daunting of a task. With him, conversations flow, anxiety is immediately blanketed over with a comforting peace, solutions are developed more smoothly, plans get put into action more proactively. He may still be salty every time he sees a blue shell and still gives you hell for it to this day, but if he was really that annoyed by you, he wouldn’t be sitting on your couch, listening to you complain and trying to help you figure out your life. That’s Jungkook for you – good old reliable Jungkook.

“Did someone say quarter life crisis?” You both whip your heads toward the door at the familiar voice that suddenly calls out of nowhere. “If it’s ___ we’re talking about, then she just needs to get laid. Problem solved.” That same voice lets out a yelp when a bunny slipper comes flying at his head.

“We have intruders.” You mutter as you look down at your one bare foot, the moment completely ruined. “I knew I shouldn’t have given you guys a spare key.”

“But you did, and it comes in handy in times like these.” Another voice, lighter and higher pitched than the first, pipes up. You allow your eyes to close, as if trying to take in the last bits of comfort from your conversation with Jungkook as jackets and bags are rustled around, the sound of footsteps growing louder and closer to you.

“How long have you guys been standing there?” Jungkook questions the newly arrived guests.

“Long enough to know that ___ needs to get some.” The first voice replies teasingly. Eyes still closed, the couch quickly sinks down next you, and an arm is thrown around your shoulders, “So, the well’s a bit dry this season, huh?”

“Oh my god shut up, Tae.”

“It’s drought season and the crops are in need of a good ol’ watering, ayy?”

“I’m seriously going to punch your face in.”

“Moses parted the Red Sea and then just left it parted, huh? Tsk tsk, the cruel man.”

Back in college, once those barriers between you and Jungkook came down, they seemed to come down with everyone else as well. As you and the others really started to get to know Jungkook, you quickly learned that he was the complete opposite of how he initially presented himself. He wasn’t shy at all, or timid in the least – the boy loved to joke around and once he was comfortable, would shoot playful insults left and right and make all the sassy comments just as much as you did, if not more. Because of that, he could be a real pain, since he seemed to thrive off of messing with you and seeing your reactions. But if you thought Jungkook was a pain in the ass, then Taehyung proved himself to be a real thirty-six-foot flagpole up your ass. No one ever guessed that timid little Jungkook would click so well with Taehyung and that together as a team of evil, they would cause you so much misery. It was to the point that everyone knew better than to leave the three of you alone together for longer than five minutes – for the sake of world peace. Though after growing up a little and leaving college, Taehyung stopped mucking around as much, and he seemed to calm down even more once he and Hari got together. But the little shit-head spirit still lives on inside of him to this day – it’s a light that no one can snuff out. Bless Hari’s heart for continuing to keep tight reins on him and love his sorry ass.

Before you can show him the fullness of your wrath, Taehyung gives you a shit-eating grin and quickly bounces over to the other section of the couch where his girlfriend, aka your closest gal pal and college roommate Hari has taken a seat, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

“She’s being awfully scary today, what’d you do Kook?”

Jungkook lets out an offended huff, and he’s right back to his normal, sarcastic self. “The hell did I do, I brought her highness take out on my way back from the gym and we’re watching her favorite Iron Man again for the umpteenth time.” He crosses his arms over his chest, “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You love Iron Man as much as I do, bitch. Don’t even try me with that shit.”

“See? Major case of the grumps.”

Hari peels Taehyung’s arms off and gives him a scolding look when he whines before making her way to your side. She places a comforting hand on your back, peering down at your distraught face. “You alright, ___? What’s up?”

“Ugh, it’s nothing, really.” You hide your face in your hands, “It’s literally not a big deal, I’m just a little irked, I guess.” Though it hurts your pride, you decide to be a little more honest, since they’ve already heard bits of your conversation with Jungkook. “Just debating whether I’m living my 26-year-old life right or not, that’s all.”

Hari raises her eyebrows, as if she can’t believe what her ears are hearing. “You’ve got a grown ass man who brings you take out all the time and willingly gives you free reign over his Netflix account. Looks to me you’re living the life, bub.”

“I think that was supposed to make me feel appreciated, but it just made me sound whipped as hell.”

Hari waves a hand dismissively at Jungkook, who scowls and starts reconsidering his life choices. “So what, you wanna go out and do something then? Something to make you feel better? Or in general, how can we,” She gestures to the three of them in a circular motion, “help convince you that you’re doing life just fine?”

“I’m telling ya, she just needs to get boned.” Taehyung mumbles while happily chewing on a fortune cookie. “See, even my fortune cookie agrees with me – thou must get the D in order to succeed.” You abruptly stand to your feet, turning to him with poisonous daggers shooting from your eyes.

“That’s it, get your punk ass over here, you little-“

“A boyfriend!” Hari suddenly clasps her hands together, an imaginary light bulb flickering over her head, “___ needs more than just a one-night stand, babe – we need to get her a mans.” You halt in your forward lunge towards Taehyung, who’s curled up in fetal position with his hands covering his head, and turn to her, your eyebrows knitting together in disbelief.

“You really think getting a boyfriend’s going to make me feel better?”

She nods eagerly, looking utterly convinced. “Let’s consider the facts for a moment, shall we? You’ve been out of school and working for a couple of years now, you’ve got this pad in the city all to yourself and nothing to do but eat junk and re-watch old superhero movies,” Your mouth falls open to protest, but Hari puts a finger to your lips, shushing you effectively. “And you’re having all these quarter-life-crisis symptoms. Maybe the issue is that it’s time for you to move on to the next chapter of your life, which in this case could be—”

“—finding a bae.” Taehyung finishes for her, his eyes wide as saucers as he uncurls from his fetal position to sit up on the couch. “Makes sense to me! HyukJae was what, three years ago? And you’ve been single ever since. Now that you’re an established, independent woman, there’s nothing holding you back from finding someone to do life with.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

There’s a beat of silence, but you wonder if the others can hear the gears turning in your head as you contemplate this proposal. It literally goes against everything Jungkook just said, finding a boyfriend just because it’s the proper “next step” you should be taking. Plus it’s not like you need a man to make your life complete – you’re already happily successful in sustaining yourself and your relationships with what you’ve got right now. But, you have to admit, a special someone could help spice things up a little, make life a little more fun and a little less drab. Maybe this person could help push you out of your comfort zone to go explore the city, find some new hobbies, get out of the apartment and try something new period. Maybe this significant other could help pave this new path for you and your life, because if lazy people were an army, then you would be the head chief in command, so God knows you need the help. So maybe, maybe you just need a little outside push to get you going.

The more you think about it, the more convinced you are that it’s at least worth a shot, and the determination slowly begins to grow inside of you. You know what Jungkook said but you figure taking this step is better than doing nothing at all. You suddenly stand up and pump your fist in the air like it’s a declaration of war, and you end up startling the others with your abrupt actions.

“Okay, let’s do it.” You announce, finding a new sense of motivation within you. “Let’s go and find me a mans! HUZZAH!”

Hari jumps up and squeals, immediately grabbing your phone off the coffee table and gushing about helping you make a dating profile and about which apps would be best for you to use. In the midst of all the commotion, Jungkook remains silent, his eyes trained on the floor, expression hard to read. But the excitement is too dizzying for you to notice. You just can’t help but have a good feeling about this next step in your life.

- - - - -

“Okay, bread, check. Rice… check. Veggies, strawberries, bananas, check check check.”

“Don’t forget my Lucky Charms.”

Looking up from your phone, you cock your head at the man with the messy wavy hair casually leaning on the shopping cart rail, a look of disbelief painted on your face. “I still don’t get why I have to include your favorite cereal on my grocery list, Jeon.” Jungkook makes a funny face at you, one that makes him look dramatically offended, the cart coming to an abrupt stop.

“Um, first of all, Lucky Charms should be everyone’s favorite cereal, including yours. And second, I need to keep a box at your place for when we do delivery ‘cause I need something to eat right after working out or else I feel like I’m gonna die – literally.”

You roll your eyes and ignore the way Jungkook shoots a grin your way as he continues to push the cart. “You’re a grown ass man who makes his own money, get your own sugary cereal.”

“Do you want your best friend to starve to death? Is that the kind of love we’ve got here?”

“And you call me dramatic.”

Pausing at the cereal section, you internally groan after seeing that some jerk just had to put all the boxes of Lucky Charms up on the top shelf. You need to have a word with the grocery store manager about discriminating so openly against short people like this.

“So speaking of bananas, how’s the dating app thing going?” Jungkook asks casually, whistling along to the song they’re playing at the store. This time you groan externally, lowering your head down to rest it on the other available half of the shopping cart handle.

“You did not just use bananas as a segway into this conversation.”

Jungkook hums in indifference, pushing the cart along and smiling to himself when you continue to walk with him, still face down and leaning on the shopping cart. He suddenly comes to a stop which results in you hitting your head against the metal bars where infants are supposed to sit, and you mutter a curse at him, rubbing the sore spot as you meet his eyes with a glare. He just arches a brow innocently and points up at the shelf, looking all too smug for your liking. “Found the Lucky Charms.”

You let out a huff before nudging Jungkook out of the way. “I mean, it’s only been three days, but it’s going alright, I guess.” You inform him, making your way towards the shelves. “I’ve only talked to like two guys so far, but honestly it’s just, kinda weird? I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel natural at all, so that’s been rough.”

It’s only been a few days since your little eureka moment about seizing the day and giving your adult life a re-vamping. It’s been strange, having small talk conversation with potential dates with only having a few pictures and some witty captions and quotes on their “About Me” pages to go off of. Technology has certainly reinvented the way people date nowadays, but you can’t help but miss meeting people naturally through mutual friends or at a social event or something. Nevertheless, Hari’s been harping on you every day about any new matches you’ve made and keeping close tabs on your conversations with your matches, but it surprises you that Jungkook’s suddenly taking interest in this whole spiel. He’s seemed so uninterested in this from the start, which was a bit disappointing if you’re being honest. You had hoped you’d be able to talk to him more about it and get his opinions on your matches and who seemed good and who seemed like a left-swipe, only to get less than enthusiastic input from him. So for him to suddenly bring it up on his own volition is certainly an unexpected surprise.

“Mmm, I see.” You don’t even notice the way Jungkook’s voice dumbs down a notch from behind, too busy staring up at the colorful rainbow box above your head as determination settles in your stomach. If you just believe in yourself, you can do it – you will reach that goddamn box of cereal for your goddamned best friend and his childish taste palate, even if it kills you. This isn’t for Jungkook – this is for all the other shorties in the world.

You make your first attempt to reach the cereal. You’re up on your toes and then come straight back down, your fingers not even coming close to reaching the stupid box when Jungkook finally speaks up again. “What- what do you even look for in a guy, anyways?”

You pause for a moment, stopping yourself from jumping up for your second attempt to turn and face Jungkook. Even though the two of you are best friends, you realize you don’t really talk about this kind of stuff with him. Hari is always your go-to friend for these types of conversations, and it dawns on you that not only does Jungkook not know what your ideal type is, but you also have no idea what his is either. You’re surprised to discover something you don’t know about your best friend.

“Well, for starters, I’d appreciate it if he wasn’t a serial killer.” You muse, tapping your index finger on your chin thoughtfully. “I also feel like I like guys who are tall, have nice hair, who keep themselves fit and know how to dress well. You know, a guy who knows how to be a basic human being.”

“Oh, so basically me.” Jungkook quips, “I’m flattered, babe, really. Didn’t know you were so into this.” He sticks his tongue out when you smack his arm in response.

“Someone who wears anything besides hoodies and basketball shorts.” You emphasize jokingly, sticking your tongue out right back at him.

Jungkook raises his brows. “So wearing nothing? I could dig the nudist life, sounds chill.”

You snort, “Please, Jeon, spare us all.” Turning back to the shelves, you continue to think aloud. “I don’t know, I just want someone who’s easy to talk to, like a friend, someone who likes to joke around, but can be serious when needed. Someone who’s passionate about his ambitions in life and is a real go-getter, unlike myself. Someone who will be romantic and loyal – not like all the cheese you see in the movies, but in his own special way. You know,” you shrug, coming up onto your toes as you take another unsuccessful swipe at the box of cereal, your fingertips grazing the edge of it, “someone who will just love me right, I guess.” With a little hop, you accidentally push the cereal box an inch backwards and it pulls a frustrated noise out of you. But you are determined to stay here all night if it means you’ll be able to get this cereal box down yourself. Fucking Jungkook and his cereal needs.

“What about you, Jeon?” You grunt out, this time reaching up with your other arm, as if it’ll make a difference. “What’s your type?” A rush of excitement comes over you when you manage to sneak the box back to its original spot, and now you can almost get two fingers around it.

“I…don’t really know.” You hear Jungkook say softly behind you, but you’re too zoned in on those damn Lucky Charms to notice the change in his demeanor. “I agree with a lot of the traits you named off, I guess.”

“What, you want someone tall, athletic, and well-dressed too?” You can most definitely hear Jungkook roll his eyes at that comment, and it makes you smile, even as you continue to struggle to make contact with the flimsy cardboard box, muttering incoherent complaints under your breath.

“I mean if he isn’t Park SeoJoon, then I’m not interested.”

Still facing the shelves, you can’t help but laugh at his mocking tone, even though you know he’s mimicking you. “Okay seriously though, I just realized I don’t know really this stuff about you. And come to think of it, I haven’t seen you date someone in like years.”

There’s a short pause in the conversation when suddenly you feel something warm press up against your back, and it startles you. You crane your neck upwards at a diagonal to see what it is and nearly let out a yelp. Jungkook’s face is merely inches away from yours, his eyes fixed on the box of Lucky Charms above. The scent of light soap and clean laundry detergent mixed with something slightly musky overwhelms your senses as he leans forward and presses himself against your back even more, the sensation causing a breath to become lodged in your throat. Without even having to rise onto his toes, he easily grabs the dumb box of Lucky Charms, finally ending your misery in more ways than just one, and before your body can even experience a full-on proper reaction, he’s already moving, a sudden chill replacing the warmth on your back as he moves to toss the cereal into the cart.

“Yeah, last time I dated was Ji Soo my sophomore year. Damn, that was a long time ago.” Jungkook recalls, leaning on the cart and continuing to push it down the aisle, not having any clue what he just did. He has no clue that your heart is suddenly thumping wildly in your chest, and that a heat is starting to spread across your cheeks, and you have to physically pinch yourself to snap out of it before Jungkook can notice something’s off.

Whenever Jungkook is physical with you, it’s almost always tied in with a joke or is just a part of the platonic comfort you two share with one another. Ruffling your hair, having his head or feet in your lap, pinching his cheeks – none of that is out of the ordinary. But feeling his back against you, his body so close and radiating heat onto your skin, breath puffing over your cheeks – this is all uncharted territory for you. And as his best friend, you’re not quite sure how to process the physiological effects you’re experiencing from it. You’re still in a bit of a daze, and you end up trailing a few steps behind him, close enough to keep up with the conversation but far enough to allow your body calm down. It’s sad how worked up you got just from your male best friend pressing himself up against you so suddenly. Maybe Taehyung is right and you’re just in desperate need for some physical intimacy or something.

“Ground ginger’s next on the list.” You mumble timidly, following Jungkook as he rounds the corner and into the next aisle. “B-but yeah, Ji Soo – feels like that whole month-long shebang happened eons ago.” You almost curse out loud when you see rows on rows of all kinds of spices littering the bottom shelves, and the one spice you need up on the damn top shelf once again. Starting next week, you will wear heels to the grocery store. Or stilts – whatever it takes.

“Yeah,” Jungkook chuckles to himself, “I still can’t believe she liked me so much that I just decided to go with it. Young dumb Jungkook definitely learned early on that that’s not how relationships work.”

“Cocky bastard.” You scoff, shaking your head. But he just shrugs, as if to say “it is what it is.”

“So how come you haven’t dated anyone since then?” You inquire, hoping Jungkook hasn’t noticed where the ground ginger is located because this time, you are hell bent on just snatching it up and calling it good already. You’ve had enough strange, foreign bodily reactions for the day.

“I…I don’t know.” Jungkook admits as you sneakily side step towards the shelf, standing up on your tiptoes while he’s busy staring off into the distance. His expression is reflective, and almost a little solemn as well. He really seems to be contemplating and taking this whole conversation quite seriously, even though it wasn’t intended to be that way. Maybe he still misses Ji Soo or something, the poor boy.

“I guess… I’ve just been waiting for the right person to come along.” Jungkook finally states after another few moments of silence, which you unceremoniously break after landing on your feet too loudly in a sad attempt to quietly jump and grab the bottle of ginger, which obviously didn’t happen quietly or at all, period.

A long list of all the expletives you know in multiple languages runs through your mind as you feel the warm plane of Jungkook’s chest press against your shoulder blades again. This time his fingers brush against yours along the way, and it almost feels like he lingers there for a second, but it’s probably just your imagination because before you know it, he’s already backing away and tossing the ground ginger into the cart, just like before. You really must be on something today – your raging hormones and galloping heart need to get their shit together and calm down already.

“I-I’m sure you’ll find her soon, one day.” You manage to stutter out, an awkward smile on your lips, “Someone who will accept you, even though you have the taste buds of a five-year-old.” You joke in hopes of lightening the mood that has somehow changed drastically in the last few minutes. Whether it’s because of how pensive Jungkook’s suddenly become or because of your inability to control your bodily functions at the moment, the air definitely feels different compared to five minutes ago, and it’s not very comfortable – at all. Fortunately, the joke seems to do the trick because a smile slowly spreads across Jungkook’s face, and all the seriousness and weird angst seems to vanish almost immediately.

“Least I don’t still dip my oreos in my milk when I eat them. Heck, I don’t even eat oreos anymore.” Jungkook scoffs teasingly, eyeing the blue package of cookies in the cart, “Seriously what are you, a child?”

“See? You’ve got such shit taste buds, Jeon.” You shake your head pitifully at him. “Just watch, you’re gonna end up dating a huge foodie or a professional food blogger who will properly roast you for having such awful taste, and I’d pay just to watch it all go down.” The imagery itself makes you laugh, and you take advantage of the newly livened mood to snag the cart from Jungkook and head towards the cash registers. “Let me know if you’re ever interested and I’ll help you hunt one down, yeah?”

You pause to flash a cheeky grin towards Jungkook, and the way he chuckles in disbelief is satisfying enough of a reaction for you to turn back around and make your way towards the self-check out area. But you miss the way Jungkook’s laughter quickly dwindles, transitioning into a soft sigh as he watches your figure walk farther and farther away.

“Yeah, I’ll definitely let you know, someday.”

- - - - -

“Welp, that’s number six in the books. Check. Done-zo. Fin. Es todo. Hip hop’s dead, y’all – it’s dead!”

“Uh, I take it the date went well?” Jungkook peeks his head out from the kitchen, a spoon hanging from his mouth and a jar of peanut butter in his hand (the super smooth, liquidy kind, like the weirdo he is. Who eats anything but chunky?) as you trudge your way inside his shared apartment with Yoongi and Namjoon, your old college friends who are also part of the same producer team as Jungkook, and throw yourself onto the sofa face first. You grumble something inaudibly into the cushion, but Jungkook doesn’t need to ask to know you’re probably saying some not so positive words under your breath. He holds his snack to his chest and walks over to lift your feet up, placing them on his lap and making himself comfortable.

“So, what went wrong this time?”

“He wath jmmf brrrurng.”

“Sorry, I don’t speak cave man.”

You lift your head up from the sofa and crane your neck back to glare at Jungkook, long messy curls covering half of your face and killing your intimidating factor. “I said, he was just boring.”

Jungkook makes a noise of understanding, unscrewing the lid and digging his spoon into the jar. He brings the rich cream to his mouth, smacking his lips with an obnoxious pop. “I mean, at least he wasn’t a creepy 58-year-old who lied about everything in his dating profile. Compared to that, ‘boring’ doesn’t sound half as bad.”

Giving up, you re-smush your face back into the couch cushion, mumbling some more incoherent words and phrases your parents would be shocked to hear you say.

It’s been about a month since you embarked on this journey of exploring the world of dating apps. Hari said so herself that she personally knew of four happy couples that met through dating apps and insisted that it’d be a breeze for you to find someone. So maybe it’s just you, maybe you have rotten luck, or maybe you’re just not a dating app kind of person, because Date #1 could not stop talking about himself – the only question he asked was if you were going to finish the rest of your dinner or not. Date #2 ended up being a sugar daddy type of deal, and although the figures were tempting, it just wasn’t what you were looking for. You nearly filed a restraining order against Date #3 for being way too inappropriately touchy and creepy throughout the entire date. You even had to text Jungkook to come rescue you from that whole mess and he nearly knocked that creep’s lights out for being such a sleaze bag. Date #4 was the 58-year-old who lied about his dating profile and said he was 28 when in reality, he had a daughter your age. YOUR. AGE. Date #5 was such a turn off with how rudely he treated the waiters and pretty much all the other restaurant staff – an automatic swipe left. And now Date #6.

You roll over onto your back, curls fanning out around your head. You probably look like Medusa’s ugly sister right now. “He just didn’t... talk. He was the total opposite of Date #1 who couldn’t shut up long enough to let me excuse myself to the restroom. This guy barely said anything and honestly, I don’t know what’s worse.” You mutter a quick apology to Jungkook who squeaks after you accidentally dig your heel into his thigh while ranting, hitting a spot that’s a wee bit too close to a very sensitive area for him. “I kept asking questions to try to get to know the guy, only to get one-word answers from him every time.” You indignantly point at the clock on the wall. “That’s why I’m back so early, it took like forty-five minutes tops for me to run out of patience and questions to ask.”

“Mmm, sucks.” Jungkook mumbles half-heartedly, seemingly more interested in licking the spoon completely clean. “So you basically ate tacos and talked to a wall for forty-five minutes.”

“Exactly! And the tacos weren’t even that good!” You sit up, waving around exaggerated gestures before falling back onto the couch, draping an arm over your face. “You know what, that’s it. It’s obvious these are all signs that I’m supposed to be a nun. This must be my fate, my inevitable future, and I see now that I can no longer avoid the path that has been so clearly paved for me.”

“My god woman, you are dramatic. Has anyone ever told you that?” Jungkook pokes you in the stomach with the heel of his spoon, and you to flinch from the ticklish sensation.

You peek out from under your arm, “Should’ve gone into acting, huh? Seriously, damn all my life choices, damn them all!”

Jungkook chuckles, clearly amused by your theatrics. “Maybe you should take a break from the dating apps, give the potential dating pool some time to refresh and replenish a bit or something. Or, you could actually take my advice for once and stop putting so much pressure on yourself to find a boyfriend and just roll with the punches as they come.” The look he gives you is jokingly stern, though there’s some seriousness in his tone, and it makes you sigh. Maybe Jungkook’s actually onto something, as proven by your current not-so-hot track record. The past month has been more draining than fun, and so far it’s all been for nothing. Maybe you just need to give it all a break, and give yourself a break, really. Or seriously start considering entering the convent – either one, really.

As you continue to contemplate your life choices, you watch as Jungkook brings another spoonful of PB to his lips, only to dribble a straight line of it down his precious white t-shirt. He mutters an expletive under his breath and sets the jar and spoon down on the coffee table, rubbing away at the stain with his fingers. His efforts prove to be futile when the ugly brown smudge remains and without warning, he stands up and pulls the shirt off over his head, revealing the perfectly chiseled muscles of his back and shoulders. You involuntarily gulp at the sight of his sunkissed skin and the way his muscles ripple as he moves to throw the shirt into the laundry bin.

“Yeah, maybe...you’re right…” Your breath comes out in a quiet whoosh.

It’s not like you haven’t seen Jungkook shirtless before. There was that one time you went hot tubbing on the ski trip you and your friends took in college, or the few times you had to barge into his dorm room and drag his half-naked ass out of bed so he wouldn’t be late to lecture. But Jungkook’s always been a lot more conservative than not, and he didn’t exactly have the greatest confidence back then either. He used to be absolutely mortified in those moments and would hurriedly grab at anything nearby to cover up his body. Even though so many people agreed he was one of the most handsome and sought after guys on campus, he was still so self-conscious of himself. But as he went through college, he started to become interested in exercising and eventually made the commitment to hit the gym to change not only his body, but his confidence and perception of himself as well. The Jungkook now, with his sculpted physique, lean muscles, and much larger, more dominating stature, is totally different from the skinny, insecure boy you knew back in college. With the way he built himself up over the last few years physically, mentally, and emotionally, he just oozes confidence with now, which is great, but also not so great – for you, at least.

You chastise yourself every single time, but you can’t help but ogle openly during these rare moments his sweet glory is revealed to you. It’s so wrong to look at your best friend like this, you know it is – he’s just very comfortable around you and knows it’s no big deal to walk around like the half-naked god he is because it’s just you. But it’s kind of impossible to not gawk, not when his body is practically screaming to be worshipped (and is 100% worthy of it). It’s times like these that you’re reminded he is not just the jokester and bunny boy you call your best friend – he’s a fully grown man, and just so happens to be a very physically attractive one. And with the way the sight of his mouth-watering build makes your lower stomach feel, you realize once again that you’re a grown ass woman as well – a woman who has needs.

“Hey, eyes up here, perv.” He says with his back still turned to you as he grabs a hoodie hanging on one of the kitchen chairs. “And you might wanna wipe off the drool while you’re at it.” That snaps you out of your reverie as you quickly avert your eyes and sit up clumsily on the couch, making sure to scoff loud enough for him to hear.

“For your information, the world doesn’t revolve around you and your penchant for indecency, you cocky bastard. And jokes on you, there isn’t anything worth looking at, son!” Out of the corner of your eye you see him pull on the hoodie and turn back towards you, a knowing smirk tugging on his lips.

“That’s pretty much what you say every time I catch you staring. But hey, I don’t mind having an audience.” He squeezes himself next to you, draping an arm over the back of the couch and his eyes are twinkling. “But you should either fess up that you think I’m hot or come up with some new excuses, ‘cause yours are starting to get real old, babe.”

You wrinkle your nose, ignoring the way the pet name weirdly makes your heart stutter for a second. “Don’t call me babe, you baby.”

“Baby?” He leans in, his nose just a couple of dangerous inches away from yours. “I’m only like eight months younger than you, babe.”

“Whatever, you’re still a baby to me.” You grunt, folding your arms in an attempt to maintain the very little space left between your bodies. His gaze is dark and challenging, and it alone makes the heat pooling in your lower abdomen grow. “Don’t make me bring out pictures from college, Jeon. Sit down, be humble.”

“But I’m already sitting, babe.” Jungkook remarks, his tone sarcastic.

“You know, I bet Soobin wouldn’t be happy to hear her boyfriend calls other women a name that should be reserved solely for her.” You click your tongue in disapproval, secretly relieved with being able to change the subject as you quickly brush away the lustful thoughts in your head. “How are you guys even doing, by the way? Will I ever get to meet this mystery woman? Like, she’s really not just some imaginary girlfriend you made up?”

Something flashes across Jungkook’s eyes, but it’s gone before you can determine what is, and you forget all about it when he makes a face and pushes your forehead back with his index finger, “No, I’m not you, Miss ‘I’m Park SeoJoon’s wife.’ And it’s only been like less than a month, okay, chill. I just want to make sure she fully prepared to meet the freak-shows I call my friends.”

Jungkook must’ve been inspired by your new mission to find a boyfriend or something because once you started going on dates, the man apparently decided to make his own dating profile as well, surprising pretty much everyone by his sudden jump into the game. No one even knew he was interested, and he didn’t tell anyone, not even you, that he was on the apps. But that’s how he found Soobin, this mystery girl he’s apparently been seeing for the past few weeks. She’s actually a total mystery though because he hasn’t said a peep about her and how it’s been going. He’s oddly secretive about it all, which is strange because normally he tells you everything. But not this time, even though you pry and pry and pry. For some reason he just won’t budge.

“Jeon, if she can’t handle us right now, she won’t be able to handle us period, so you might as well introduce her already.” You shrug nonchalantly. “We gotta deem her worthy or weed her out.” As his best friend, you feel the need to meet this girl and see what she’s like for yourself to make sure she’s good enough for Jungkook. It’s not your fault that you want to meet her so bad – you’re just looking out for your best friend’s well-being.

There’s a brief moment of silence as you catch Jungkook chewing on his lower lip – a habit of his when he’s feeling nervous or unsure about something – and you immediately begin to feel concerned. Maybe you pushed too much. Seeing him like that makes you feel a little guilty for prying so much without even considering that maybe something is up.

“Hang on, is something the matter?” Worry laces your voice, a hand coming to rest on his knee, “Is there a reason why you’re not saying anything?” You search his eyes for answers, but he just shakes his head vigorously, lips tightly pursed together. “Then why won’t you tell me?”

“Yeah seriously, none of us even know what this chick looks like. Why’re you keeping her such a secret from all of us?”

You hang your head backwards over the back of the couch and see Namjoon padding into the living, carrying what you assume to be an empty coffee mug in his hand. Namjoon’s always been someone Jungkook has greatly admired. He was the one who really encouraged the younger to pursue music and follow his dreams, rather than go into business like his parents wanted him to. If there’s anyone he’ll listen to, it’s Namjoon, though you continuously pray Jungkook won’t ever adopt the older man’s horrible sleeping habits. The dark shadows under his eyes and hoarseness of his voice indicate just how tired and in need of caffeine he is from most likely another all-nighter in the studio. But then again, the big producer man always looks like he runs on nothing but caffeine and no sleep. What a life.

Still hanging upside down, you give him a small wave and a “hi-yo” to which he copies your greeting adorably, his droopy eyes lighting up slightly.

“Hyung, not you too.” Jungkook whines defeatedly, running a hand down his face, “Look, she’s no secret, okay. I just, I don’t know, I just—”

“—don’t want to scare her off, yeah I get it.” Namjoon calls over his shoulder as he scuffs his slipper-clad heels towards the coffee machine in the kitchen. “It’s a new relationship, you’re still testing the waters, and we can be a lot to handle, so I get it. And by we, I really mean ___.”

“Hey!” You protest as Namjoon starts the machine before he comes out of the kitchen and strolls towards you, affectionately ruffling your already mussed hair.

“I say that with all the love in my heart, you Tasmanian devil.”

You scowl at him. “I hope your coffee is just as bitter as I am right now.”

“Anyways,” He turns to Jungkook, ignoring your griping. “Yoongi and I just got word that Slow Rabbit’s throwing some sort of PR event this weekend. He told us to invite the whole gang and any other friends, help boost our publicity a little.” Namjoon gives the younger man a pointed look. “Basically, it’s the perfect opportunity to introduce bae, if you want to, that is.”

“Oh, this is perfect!” You jump up and clasp your hands together excitedly. “We’ll finally expose Jeon for making up some fake ass imaginary girlfriend, and maybe I’ll finally be able to mingle with some normal guys for once.” You pause, turning to Namjoon, “Your producer friends are decent guys, right?”

Namjoon gives you a wary look and a half-hearted shrug, “Uhh, sure, I guess?”

“Awesome!” You chirp, “I trust you Joonie, it’s always been you and only y-” You let out a yelp when a pair of arms grabs your waist and spins you around so that you’re falling face first onto the sofa. The hands holding you hostage begin to mercilessly poke into your sides, forcing what sounds like a combination of choked laughter and cries for help out of you.

“Fake ass imaginary girlfriend, huh?” Jungkook growls, digging his fingers deeper into your love-handles, and you immediately howl in surrender. “I’m gonna make you throw up your tacos, you wench.”

From the sideline, Namjoon just sighs at the noisy commotion playing out in front of him, shaking his head as he watches Jungkook flip you onto your back and dive for your stomach, lips curling upwards mischievously. The wide grin on your face and ringing laughter in between yelps for mercy prevent Namjoon from feeling like he actually needs to intervene and save you. He does, however, feel disappointed (but not surprised) that you both can’t even see what’s happening here. He decides to just leave you two to duke it out, quietly sighing and shuffling into the kitchen to grab his coffee.

Maybe one day.

- - - - -

It’s the following Friday night and guess where you are?

Not at home in your pajamas watching Black Panther while eating Thai take-out that Jungkook brought, that’s for sure. The thought alone makes you so incredibly sad. Because instead, in cruel reality, you’re sitting at a table inside a very dimly lit club called the Sound Bar, which is surprisingly clean and roomy, waiting for this PR event to start already. You know this is how all the hip young adults live out their lives in the movies, but now you’re seriously beginning to regret all that complaining about wanting to go out.

A few people have arrived, and you recognize them as some of Yoongi’s friends that you don’t know too well yourself. They linger around the bar in a huddled group, sipping on beers and chatting away with the man himself, who also looks like he doesn’t particularly want to be here either. That’s because you and Yoongi know what’s up – comfort is king and living under a rock is the only way to go. The thought pulls a sigh from your lungs as you turn to scan the venue. Besides them, it looks like you and your closer group of friends make up majority of the crowd currently, but people are really starting to file in now, steadily filling up the spacious area with body heat, boisterous conversation, and a lot of different smells. It makes your nose twitch.

Strangely enough, you don’t see Jungkook and Soobin yet, and you keep craning your neck to watch the door like a hawk for their entrance. While you were getting ready with Hari hours prior, you made Jungkook double pinky swear to not bail and to actually bring Soobin so you could meet her and confirm that she’s real. (“If you don’t come, I’m actually going to spread the rumor that you have an imaginary girlfriend.” “You’re the actual spawn of Satan, I swear.”) You know he’ll come regardless – he wouldn’t just leave you hanging like this. It’s finally time to figure out why he’s keeping this girl on the hush hush, and what exactly is going on with him.

“Whoa.” A baritone voice brings you out of your thoughts. Swiveling around, you see Taehyung gaping openly at you, a hand covering his mouth. “Seriously, like whoaaa.”

You scrunch your nose. “Tae, don’t even start – you’re literally so embarrassing.”

“Hey, if Hari is your number one hype woman, then I’m your number one hype man, okay, just let me be!” He stretches his arms out towards you as if he’s showing off an award, holding up jazz hands and everything. “Just look at you, queen! My baby Hari did such a great job, you look like a total hoochie mama!”

Your cheeks burn a scarlet red. “Oh good, because it was totally my goal to look like a hoochie mama. Thanks Tae.” Now you also regret letting Hari squeeze you into this skimpy black two-piece set. It was a bad idea from the start, but Taehyung’s reaction just confirms it. The short noodle strap crop top tightly hugs your bust and shows off more of your midriff than you would ever prefer. You keep wanting to cover it up with your arms out of reflex. But luckily the shorts are comfortable, though a bit short for your liking. Your hair flows down in beachy waves and a deep burgundy tints your lips, and the silver dollar-coin sized hoops hanging off your ear lobes are over the top in your opinion, but Hari threatened you to wear them out, insisting the outfit wouldn’t be complete without them. If anything, it’s Hari’s fault you apparently look like a hoochie mama.

“No problem!” Taehyung grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He catches whiff of your unhappy demeanor and nudges you playfully, his expression softening. “Aw, c’mon __, lighten up a little! You look hot, seriously.” He pulls away to examine the state you’re in. “Do you need a drink? Actually yeah, you definitely do. I’m going to get you one.” Taehyung spins around on the stool to head to the bar, only for a hand to clamp down on his shoulder, stopping him mid-spin. Your eyes drift to the side and you’re surprised to see Jungkook giving his friend a silent but very clear warning, tilting his head intimidatingly. “No, I’ll go get it. God knows how many types of alcohol you’ll ask Hoseok hyung to mix into her drink. Then you’ll be responsible for dealing with the mess afterwards.”

Glaring at Taehyung’s sheepish smile, Jungkook’s slate eyes land on you and immediately widen, his jaw going slack when he sees the little (emphasis on little) black number you’re wearing. It’s probably because he’s so used to you wearing only leggings and oversized shirts and hoodies all the time that seeing you like this is a shock. That’s certainly how you felt looking at your reflection in the mirror at home. But you can’t help but shift uncomfortably in your seat, suddenly feeling the need to cross a leg over the other and place your purse strategically over your midriff from his gaze alone. Seconds, minutes, hours could be passing by but his glare doesn’t falter one bit. It’s almost seems like he’s angry or something but it’s also not quite that – you can’t seem to put your finger on it. Fortunately, the lights are dimmed low, and you just hope it’s dark enough to hide the blush that’s suddenly crawling up your neck from the way Jungkook keeps staring. At this rate he’s going to end up burning a hole straight through you.

“Doesn’t she look smoking?” Taehyung whistles low, giving his friend a nudge to the ribs. He barely moves and just continues keep his eyes glued on you.

“Hari did this?” Jungkook ignores him, finally speaking up after a few tense moments. His voice sounds much deeper than normal.

“Yeah,” You squeak awkwardly, looking away from his heavy gaze. What’s his deal? “So uh, where’s Soobin?” You try to change the subject, clearing your throat slightly and pretending to look around for this girl you don’t even know. You think it works, but then Jungkook catches you off guard by suddenly shrugging off his jean jacket and reaching around to drape it over your shoulders, the denim fabric engulfing your figure. It automatically feels a lot stuffier and ten degrees warmer, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the jacket or because of Jungkook’s unrelenting glower. You suddenly feel jittery.

“Dude, I could use this later when I’m drunk and cold and waiting for an Uber, not when it’s like a bajillion degrees inside.” You joke as you jump down from the stool and move to take the jacket off, only for his hands to keep it firmly in place on your shoulders. You look up at the man towering over you and have to consciously keep yourself from physically cowering away. Jungkook looks pissed. But for what reason, you have no clue. He just looks annoyed beyond reason, and not like when you normally mess with him and call him a fatty or something. It’s different, and it’s intimidating enough to make you swallow your pride and obey his next words.

“Keep it on.”

He lingers for a moment longer before dropping his arms and stalking off, disappearing among the crowd that has grown significantly in the last ten minutes, probably to go find Soobin. What’s disturbing is how your chest rises and falls rapidly, your heart hammering against your rib cage like a trapped bird that wants to be let out. You have no idea what the hell just happened here. It’s not like Jungkook to ever despise your outfits, let alone even care about what you wear in general. Maybe he fought with Soobin on the way here and is in a bad mood? Or worse, maybe you did something to upset him without realizing it. You shake your head as if to brush aside all the conflicting thoughts, and pinch the bridge of your nose. Yeah, you do need a drink, pronto.

At the bar you order a vodka-cran and send a weak smile to the bartender Hoseok, who’s a friend of Namjoon’s and an acquaintance of yours, requesting for him to make the drink a bit stronger than normal. He smiles back and doesn’t question your request, immediately whisking away to make your order. You would hug the man if you could, God knows how much you need a nice strong drink right now.

“___!” You hear Hari giggle and she plops down on the stool next to yours, looking very giddy and flushed in the face – a tell-tale sign that she’s had a few drinks already. At least someone’s having a good time. “Where’d you get the jacket? I kind of like the addition, it’s a bit grungy but in like a sexy, hipster way, you know?”

Remembering what happened with Jungkook, the jacket suddenly feels twenty pounds heavier as you shift it around awkwardly on your shoulders. “Uhh yeah, Jungkook gave it to me ‘cause, uh, I was cold.” Yeah, that’s why he acted the way he did. He was just angry because you might be cold…because that totally makes sense. You sigh inwardly.

“I don’t know about cold, it feels like a hundred degrees in here.” A voice chimes in, making you and Hari turn your heads simultaneously to the right. Dressed casually in a white button-down shirt that’s rolled up loosely at the elbows, a man sits on the bar stool to your right, sporting short jet-black hair, thick but neatly groomed eyebrows, a small, polite smile, and these beautiful obsidian eyes that are currently locked in on yours. Even though he’s sitting, you can tell he’s literally the definition of tall, dark and handsome, enough so to make you wonder why the hell he’s talking to you.

“Oh yeah, it’s like a god-awful sauna in here. In fact, let me go tell Joon, maybe he can get someone to crank up the AC or something.” Hari hurriedly blurts out, jumping from her stool with a knowing twinkle in her eye. She gives your arm a quick squeeze, a silent “good luck!” before taking off, making sure to look back at you every other step of the way. Very subtle.

Just before an awkward silence can ensue, Hoseok comes by to deliver your drink, which you immediately grab and begin to chug hastily, all the while silently praying this guy won’t end up being dud #7. Even if he does, you’re still going to need all the alcohol you can get to survive the rest of the night, what with Jungkook acting all weird, not having even met Soobin yet, or not having mingled with other people yet. The glass still at your lips, the thought causes you to wave your hand in a haphazard signal to Hoseok for another vodka-cran.

“Bit thirsty, aren’t we now?” Damn. Tipping back the last bits, you set the glass down and take in a deep breath, alcohol steadily dissolving in your blood as you ready yourself for whatever is to come. “Ha-ha, yeah,” You croak awkwardly, fidgeting with the glass, “just needed to cool down, ‘cause you know, it’s so hot.”

“Didn’t you just say you were cold?”

You glance down at the light acid wash jacket and momentarily shut your eyes in regret. If it was humanly possibly, you’d kick yourself in the shin for sounding so stupid right off the bat.

“This,” You open your eyes after re-composing yourself and put on a one-hundred-watt smile, “is merely a fashion statement. I was going for the grungy, sexy, hipster look, that’s all.”

“Ah, right, like your friend just said.”

You bite your lip. Okay, it’s official – you fucked up. You should just get up and walk away right now. Save some face and talk to someone else before this gets any more humiliating than it already is. You decide that this can’t go for much longer or else you’ll literally die and wither away from embarrassment. A goodbye is already on your lips and your legs itch to make a run for it when the guy suddenly starts to laugh, his shoulders shaking, while wearing a grin that undoubtedly looks really good on him.

“Wow, alright then.” Looking positively amused, he stretches a hand out to you. “Hi, I’m YoungHo.”

“And you think I’m totally bizarre.” You mumble back, wanting nothing more than to crawl under a rock and die. But YoungHo shakes his head, letting go of his drink to wave his hands at you as well.

“No I don’t, really.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, causing him to cock his head to the side, a lopsided smile on his face.

“I just think you’re kinda… quirky?”

“Oh God, you might as well tell me to go join the Ripley’s Believe It or Not crew.” You groan, propping your elbows on the bar and burying your face into your hands. He’s just being nice and trying to make light conversation and here you are looking like a total buffoon with half a brain cell left. There’s just no way he doesn’t think you’re at least a little insane. Your cheeks feel like burning pieces of coal, the heat effectively setting the rest of your face ablaze along with them.

He laughs again, the sound so deep and rich and honestly quite pleasant to listen to. But sensing your mortification, he quickly begins to cough, clearing his throat to rid of the laughter.

“You know,” He continues, seemingly more composed now, but a smile still twinkles in his eyes, “I used to not be able to understand why people would go see shows like that. They just didn’t seem all that appealing to me. But then I watched The Greatest Showman and man, it totally changed my views. Now I’m dying to go see a show.”

Your ears perk up after hearing the name of one of your favorite movies and you lift your head from your hands, the embarrassment slowly starting to fade away. “Isn’t that movie just amazing? And I totally get what you mean, I wasn’t a huge fan of stuff like that before but now I’m just waiting for something like Ripley’s to come to town so I can snag tickets and reminisce.”

He hums in agreement, “It also hands down has the best soundtrack out there. I think it’s definitely up there with the Lion King and Hamilton.”

You rest your chin on the palm of your hand, your muscles starting to relax a little bit now. “Hamilton tickets are seriously impossible to get. You’ll never guess how many email accounts I made just to try and win lottery tickets.”

“How many?”

“Eleven.”

“Get out of here.”

“No, seriously!”

Before you know it, more drinks are being poured and the conversation is taking off with its new set of wings, all embarrassment now left in the dust of the past. You two continue to chat about movies, which leads to talking about hobbies, favorite places in the city, the best pizza parlor in town (it might just be the alcohol or you’re just really that passionate about your pizza opinions because you two even end up getting into a very heated debate about thin crust versus deep dish). You’re honestly surprised by how natural it feels. Time flies through bouts of laughter and light conversation, and it all ends up being so much easier than you originally thought it’d be. And, this guy has yet to prove himself to be a dud yet. He’s actually very nice – attentive, funny, finds you funny. No joke, the man seems to really enjoy laughing at you. But he assures you that he’s not laughing at you – he’s just laughing at your antics, the peculiar things you say, the never-ending sass tank you’ve got fully loaded and on hand at all times.

At one point when you slam your fist down and insist that deep dish pizza is the only way to go, he tells you to prove it, smoothly asking you out on a pizza date so you two can compare thin crust and deep dish. You almost can’t believe it when he hands your phone back to you, “YoungHo :)” and a phone number illuminating on the bright screen. Things actually seem to be working out for once – you might’ve actually found a normal match!

Two hours of drinks and conversation breezes by before YoungHo tells you he needs to run to the restroom. “Watch my drink?” He smiles, a hand gently resting on the small of your upper back. You nod more furiously than you anticipated, but he doesn’t seem to notice and thanks you, turning to squeeze his way through the crowd.

It feels great to know that things seem to finally be looking up, you would cry if it wasn’t for the fear of ruining Hari’s wonderfully done make up. You do figuratively pat yourself on the back, though. You really did your drunk, 26-year-old self some good by putting yourself out there like this.

YoungHo seems like a decent guy, really. But in the short time you spent getting to know him, you still made sure Hoseok just kept the drinks coming, because no matter how nice of a conversation it was, you were still a little nervous the entire time. With your luck and current track record, things could go wrong at any time, so you needed the help of your good friend alcohol to get you to loosen you up a bit. But it’s only now that you’ve let your guard down a little that the effects of the drinks seem to really be kicking in full force. Only now is the room is starting to spin, your head feeling a lot fuller and fuzzier than before. You swirl Youngho’s whisky glass absentmindedly, sleepily observing the ice spin round and round at the bottom, the motion soothing, almost hypnotizing. If you keep doing this you might actually be able to put yourself to slee-

“You hanging in there alright?”

You startle from your drowsy haze, eyes uncoordinatedly searching for a bit before finally landing on a familiar figure to your right. It’s not YoungHo – this time, it’s a much more familiar person.

“Jeon-bun!” You excitedly coo, cupping your chin with your hands and leaning forward on your elbows to get closer to your best friend, who plops down on the seat next to you. You blink lethargically several times, a dopey grin hanging on your lips. “Why isn’t it my favorite boy, my baby, my love child, my little tulip.”

Jungkook whips his head toward you, the once stoic look on his face now morphed into one of bewilderment. “Tulip? Love child? What the actual- how many drinks have you had?”

“Psh,” You wave a hand carelessly at him, “Like, Monday.”

“Shit, this is bad.” Jungkook groans, carding a hand through his hair. “Monday’s not a number, stupid.”

“Oh, I meant seven, seeeevvveeeen, hehehehehe.”

You’d argue you can handle your alcohol pretty well, with six or seven drinks being your limit. But then again, it’s not like you remember much after having that many drinks, so you can’t really say for sure. According to Jungkook who’s witnessed and endured majority of your drunk episodes with you, that is definitely not the case, but what does he know?

You watch as he squeezes his eyes shut, as if pained about something, and the sight makes you frown. You don’t like seeing your Jungkookie sad, mad, upset or frustrated about anything. Not on your watch.

“HEY!” You shout, startling some people nearby as you press your index fingers onto the corners of his lips, pushing them up until they form a constipated looking smile. “No frowning allowed, nuh uh. My love child is not allowed to be sad. You’re ugly when you’re sad.”

“Oh gee thanks, real confidence booster.”

You let go and pinch his cheeks before letting your arms drop, swaying your head as you hum along to the music that’s playing. You recognize it to be one of Namjoon’s original songs from one of his mixtapes, and it also happens to be one of your favorites, the tune upbeat and catchy. It just serves to lift your drunk spirits even higher.

“YoungHo’s great, did I tell you that?” You suddenly announce. Eyes closed, you continue to hum as you wait for Jungkook to respond. It feels like it takes longer than usual for him to respond to you, but that could just be you and your impaired sense of time. But he eventually answers, his voice low and even.

“The guy you’ve been talking to all night, his name’s YoungHo, huh.”

You bob your head up and down, “Yeah, he likes pizza. And I think he likes me. Actually I don’t know yet, we’re gonna go get pizza next week so I’ll find out then.” You giggle, turning from side to side on the bar stool. Sighing happily, you suddenly swivel around to face Jungkook, knees bumping up against his. He flinches at the sudden contact.

“Jungkook-ah.”

“What.”

“I’m so happy.” You sigh again, staring off into space with a dreamy look on your face, not noticing the way Jungkook tenses up, gripping the beer bottle in his hand.

“That so? How come?” He says calmly, though his body reacts in the complete opposite manner. He nervously taps his fingers along the glass of the bottle and bites down on his lower lip, worrying the flesh between his teeth. But you don’t pay attention to it, his actions cloaked by the drunken spell that’s been casted over you.

“Because,” You tilt your head to the side, giving him an even more wistful smile, “pizza exists, Fat Fridays are the best, I finally met a guy who isn’t 58 or a total creep, I have the most amazing friends, and an even more incredible best friend and I love you, Jungkook.” A hiccup mixed with a chuckle escapes you. “I love you, best friend. You know I wouldn’t be able to do life with you, right?”

On a regular night out, drunk you includes the following: increases in smiling frequency, steadily rising volume of laughter, increasing amounts of shouting and passionate declarations, ensuing of blabbering nonsense, and finally, sleepy sappiness to end the night. Basically alcohol brings out your normal personality and amplifies it a few thousand times. Normally, Jungkook’s used to experiencing all your drunk symptoms and isn’t even phased by all the cheesy sap or ridiculousness that tends to spew from your lips. But this time your words hit differently – they strike his bones from an angle he wasn’t prepared to take a blow from. It causes him to swallow past a lump in his throat, and he quickly takes a swig of his beer to help force it down.

“Thought you said you were tired of Fat Fridays, said they made you feel like a retired grandma.” He manages to get out, eyes flitting around nervously.

You place a hand to your chest in feigned offense, “Who, me? I would never say such a thing, Fat Fridays are a blessing from above.” Reaching over, you give Jungkook’s hand a friendly squeeze, his eyes focused on where your hand lies. “I’m just saying that things are perfect the way they are right now, okay. YoungHo and I are getting married, you and I will keep the Fat Friday tradition alive, and everything will be happy and wonderful for the rest of our lives.”

“Married?!” Jungkook nearly spits out the sip of beer he had just taken and chokes back on a cough. “I think you need to take like eighty-six steps back and stop jumping to conclusions for a second, ___.” He scoffs in disbelief, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You barely even know the guy.”

“I know enough about him, trust me.” You drunkenly wave his judgment away. “Anyways, where’s Soobin? You did bring her, right? I want to meet her already, you asshole!”

Jungkook sighs and fights the urge to roll his eyes, even as you give his arm a spiteful pinch. “Calm down, she’s using the restroom. I’ll introduce her once she gets ba-”

“I’m here, babe.”

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, your eyes shoot open. You immediately spin around and hop off the bar stool, steadying yourself on the seat cushion once your feet hit the ground because apparently alcohol has the power to turn your legs into jelly. You squint a little in an attempt to get your vision to focus. Through the drunken fog, you’re able to make out a set of cat-like eyes, pink thinly pursed lips, a cascade of perfect ringlets of caramel curls, and a tight blue body-con dress hugging a slim, petite figure. This must be her, this must be-

“Soobin!” You squeal elatedly, taking the girl’s hands into yours, proceeding to shake them up and down furiously. “It’s soooo nice to finally meet you.” You let go of one hand to jerk a thumb at Jungkook. “This asshat’s been keeping us in the dark for so long when it comes to you, so I’m so happy to finally be able to meet you!”

You look back and forth between Jungkook and Soobin like an overly excited puppy that needs to pee. But you can’t help it, you’re finally meeting the girl that Jungkook has deemed worthy of his affections, so of course it’s a huge moment for you, for all of you. Best friend meets girlfriend, girlfriend meets best friend. It does makes you feel a little weird though, seeing the person who is apparently his girlfriend stand by his side. Whatever this feeling is, it’s definitely…foreign. But you’re too caught up in the excitement to really care – you just hope it’s a moment you won’t forget because of your frenemy Mr. Vodka-Cran. Screw him.

“Um, hi, it’s nice to meet you too.” The girl says uneasily, leaning a bit closer to Jungkook. “You must be ___.”

Your jaw drops open unattractively as you jab a finger at your own chest. “You know who I am?!”

“Jungkook talks about you a lot.” Soobin states matter-of-factly, her demeanor cool and calm – almost too cool and calm. You feel the need to introduce her to Mr. Vodka-Cran.

“Aw, does he really now?” You affectionately pat Jungkook on the cheek, who rolls his eyes when you coo at him. “I’m his best friend – actually, the best friend he could ever ask for – so I’m not surprised. But still happy to hear it.” You focus your attention back on Soobin, your eyes sparkling. “So, tell me about yourself! How did you and Jungkook meet? Oh wait, silly me, I already know you met on Tinder, duh! What I meant to say is, how’s it going? Are you guys happy together?” You suddenly gasp, “Are you guys going to get married?! Oh my gosh, congratulations! I can’t wait to tell the others-”

The rest of your words come out as a muffled, unintelligible mess from behind Jungkook’s hand. He knows better than to let the “blabbing nonsense” stage get any worse. It takes you an extra long second to register what’s happening but when you finally do, you give him a repulsed look before licking his palm in revenge, causing him to draw his hand back reflexively.

“O-kay, I think that’s enough ‘getting to know each other’ time.” He cringes, wiping the spit off on his dark denim jeans. “Uh, so yeah, ___ this is Soobin, Soobin this is ___.” He turns to Soobin, looking apologetic, “Sorry you have to meet ___ when she’s butt-drunk like this. Normally she’s a little off her rocker but I swear she’s not this crazy all the time.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Well that’s kind of a bummer to hear.”

Cheeks flushed, you whirl around and are greeted by another one of YoungHo’s amused smiles and he leisurely strides over to where you guys are standing. It feels like he’s been gone for forever; you nearly forgot about him for a second there. You wonder if he was really in the bathroom for that long or if alcohol just slows time down that much.

“YoungHo,” You beam, raising a hand up in salutation, before directing it towards the couple beside you, “this is my best friend and pet bunny, Jungkook. And this,” you gesture towards Soobin, “is his girlfriend Soobin! Aren’t they just precious?”

YoungHo bites his lips to hold back a bout of laughter, obviously having not expected your level of inebriety to increase this much in the few minutes he was gone. But he lets his manners go ahead of him, extending a hand out to Jungkook. “Pleasure’s mine, I’m YoungHo, a… new friend of ___’s.”

Jungkook stares at the man’s hand like it’s his first time seeing a hand and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. He stills, the booming music and surrounding chattering conversations blurring together messily in the background. You may be far from sober, but even you can feel the palpable awkwardness, and you frantically wonder why he’s just letting this stretch of silence pass on by without saying anything. It’s so awkward, YoungHo’s expression starts to shift into an uncomfortable one, his outstretched hand wavering slightly. Your eyes quickly flicker to Soobin, who looks just as puzzled as you feel, and out of anxious discomfort you inwardly start to chant you shake it, you dimwit, shake it!

After a few more excruciating moments of tension, the man seems to finally figure out how to operate his own hand and takes YoungHo’s into his, the handshake looking really firm – almost painfully firm. But at least he finally shook his damn hand and put all of you out of your collective awkward misery.

From beneath slightly narrowed eyes, Jungkook makes silent eye contact with YoungHo before he mutters a greeting and briskly lets go, shoving his hand into his pocket. You remind yourself to give Jungkook a lesson on basic manners after this night is finally over with.

“Allllllrighty then!” You chirp, clapping your hands together to break up the strange atmosphere. “Friends, girlfriends, tulips – everyone’s been introduced. This calls for celebration! And more alcohol!” In your trek back towards the bar, you somehow manage to trip over your own foot, gravity pulling your body forward in a sudden jerk that has you falling towards the gleaming wood surface. But luckily a hand, no, two hands grab your arms and quickly hoist you up, your eyes rolling around dizzily in your head from all the movement. Blinking in a daze, you turn to your left and right and see Jungkook and YoungHo holding onto you, wearing similarly concerned expressions on their faces.

“Well thank god I have the two of you to save me from banging up my face, haha!” A hiccup leaves your lips, but soon turns into a giddy giggle, followed by more hiccups. At this point, you don’t have enough sober left in you to even think about feeling embarrassed. You just grin stupidly, happy as can be.

“Okay, no more drinks for you. I think it’s time to go home.” Jungkook enforces sternly, pulling you away from the bar and consequently out of YoungHo’s grip as well. The event must really be taking off now because it’s much more difficult to hear his voice over the pulsating bass and rowdy cheering than before. In the distance you see a circle of people cheering on a group of break dancers who are spinning around on the floor and showing off their fancy, intricate dance moves. More and more people are squeezed onto the dance floor now, swaying their bodies to the music in one massive clump of body heat and sweat, the beat and blanket of intoxication fully taking control of the atmosphere. There’s just no way you’re can leave now, not when the party’s just getting started.

“No.” Jungkook says scoldingly, reading your mind before you can even think of protesting. “I already know what you’re thinking. Trust me, you’re gonna thank me tomorrow when you get a full night’s sleep and your hangover is ten times better than it would’ve been.”

“But Jeonnie,” You whine unapologetically, giving him an annoyed pout. “Just because you want to go home doesn’t mean I want to go home yet. Some of us just want to live our lives, you party pooper!” You swing your hand at his chest but completely miss, stumbling forward when you hit nothing but air. This time YoungHo is quicker to react and his hands are on your waist before you even realize you’re falling, his grip steadying you on your feet.

“Actually, I think that might be a good idea, ___.” YoungHo agrees gently, trying hard not to smile at your sulky frown that just grows larger and cuter by the second. “Might be a good time to call it a night, gotta keep you from breaking an arm or something. Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.” In your drunk stupor, you still get startled when Jungkook suddenly steps forward, wearing an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen on him before.

“No it’s all good, I’ll take her home.” Though he stands tall, his words come out in a nervous rush. The nervousness in his voice sounds so unlike him, so uncharacteristic of him. He must realize how hasty he sounded because he’s suddenly scratching the back of his neck, eyes flitting around awkwardly. “I mean, I’ve taken care of her drunk self plenty of times in the past, so I’m used to it. She can just be a real beast to deal with once the alcohol fully hits.”

Your face twists in offense, “Uh, excuse you Mr. Jeon-balaya-”

“No really, it’s fine,” YoungHo cuts in, stepping forward as well to match Jungkook’s stance. “I don’t mind at all. I’m completely sobered up and my car’s parked right up front. Besides,” he eyes Soobin who’s been standing there all along, quiet as a mouse, before shifting back to Jungkook, “you should take care of your girlfriend, no?”

Maybe it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you swear you see Jungkook’s hands ball up into fists at his side. He looks ticked, again, just like earlier when he first saw your outfit. But at the same time, your best friend, whom you can usually read like a book, faces the other man completely stone-faced, blank of any real emotion, and truthfully it comes across as a bit scary. This night just gets stranger and stranger by the minute.

You think the unbearable awkward tension is back, but this time you can’t really tell for sure. They continue to stare at each other like there’s some sort of show down to be had, and it soon becomes too much for your inebriated brain to comprehend. All you know for sure is that just as Jungkook predicted, the alcohol is really starting to hit you now. You know you’re standing still but it feels like the world is tipping sideways on its axis just to throw you off balance. The strong bass hammers in your ear and shakes you from the inside out in a way that makes your stomach churn uneasily, like Mr. Vodka-Cran is about to take his revenge on you. For the first time that night, you agree with the both of them – maybe it is time to go home.

“Jungkook,” Soobin suddenly speaks up after not having said a single word in the last ten minutes, “just let the man take her home. You were planning on staying at my place tonight anyway, no?” You bring a hand to your head as if it’ll help alleviate the headache that’s starting to pound away at your skull. Why does Soobin sound upset too? Did you do something wrong? What the hell is going on? Where are your goddamn pajamas ‘cause you really need to pass the fuck out ASAP.

Sensing your growing discomfort, YoungHo reaches for your purse on the bar stool and slings it over your shoulder, looking down at you worriedly. “___ really doesn’t look too good, I think we should head out. I’ll let her friend know we’re leaving, and I’ll be sure to get her home safe. It was nice meeting you both.” With a hand on the small of your back, he leads you away from a shell-shocked Jungkook and an equally upset-looking Soobin, moving forward through the hordes of people, not letting you turn back to look even once. You just hope all of this, whatever this was, will be cleared up by morning.

- - - - -

Things aren’t the same after that night at the Sound Bar.

Thankfully, you wake up the next day alone and in your own bed, the other half of it empty and fortunately unoccupied. You end up nursing a nasty hangover for the next two days after that night, your recovery weekend filled with lots of pedialyte, tylenol, and soup to keep your poor stomach at bay. It’s frustrating because no matter how hard you try to remember, that night is just one big drunken blur in your memory. Luckily Hari, who had been nearby at the time and witnessed it all go down, helps fill you in on everything that happened. You immediately spam Jungkook’s phone afterwards with apology texts, asking him to deliver your sincerest apologies to Soobin as well for being so rude and insane that night (you swear to never talk to Mr. Vodka-Cran ever again, that bastard). But strangely, there’s no reply. You vaguely remember him saying he was going to spend the night at Soobin’s place, so you figure he’s just busy spending his weekend with her. It’s no big deal, he’ll get back to you in a few days and things will soon be all settled and forgiven.

He eventually texts back to tell you it’s fine, but that he’s got a busy week ahead of him. The deadline for his demos are coming up, and apparently he’s super far behind and has a ton of shit to catch up on. You were hoping he’d be free so you’d be able to at least apologize to him one more time, in person. But you don’t get to see him, and Fat Friday doesn’t happen that week. Again, not the end of the world. He’s an adult, he’s got adult responsibilities to take care of, and it’s totally normal to not see your friend’s face for a week. Well, not normal for you, but you figure it’s normal in general.

The following week, Jungkook says he’s still swamped with work. You tell him you’ll go to his place to keep him some company in his misery, promising not to distract him too much and even offering to bring take-out, which happens maybe once in a blue moon. But he declines your offer (he says no to take-out!) and insists he really needs to be alone and concentrate. Though his rejection leaves a slight sting, his reasons are understandable – the producer life isn’t an easy one and knowing how much of a perfectionist Jungkook is, that life is probably just that much more difficult for him. It’s a very reasonable excuse.

Before you know it, two weeks go by, and it’s onto week three. His text replies are becoming sparse and each successive one sounds less and less like him. His apologies are half-hearted at best and he repeatedly blames it on the stress he was dealing with. But he says the demos are finally in, and that he’s free for the next few weeks before he starts up on another project. You ignore the fact that he’s been acting off, your desire to see your best friend trumping his unusual behavior, and text him to get his “fat ass ready for wings and some Thor action, cuz it’s Fat Friday baby!” hoping deep down inside that he won’t turn you down again this week. But to your utter shock, he does, this time with the excuse of needing to tend to his very neglected girlfriend. Another slap of rejection. But it makes sense that if he didn’t have any time for his own girlfriend, then he definitely didn’t have time for you. Of course he’d want to spend quality time with her to make up for the time he was gone. Of course.

So in those three rather empty weeks, you fill your time in other ways. The day after meeting at the Sound Bar, YoungHo texts you to set up your pizza date. Instead of lounging around at home like you normally do with some superhero movie on Netflix and Jungkook hogging up majority of the sofa with his body, you spend the evening going to two different pizza places with YoungHo. It ends up being a nice first date, one which concludes with you reluctantly admitting that thin crust is actually pretty bomb too (but you still pledge your loyalty to deep dish forever). The conversation still flows nicely with him as you both continue to get to know more about one another. Turns out, YoungHo’s a friend of a friend of Namjoon’s and works as some fancy business manager for some even fancier big-shot business company in the city. Strangely enough, this new tidbit of information makes you instantly think of Jungkook, who in his college days, once passionately declared he’d rather die than be stuck at a boring office job for the rest of his life. He sure is a man of his word, seeing how he kept to it and now is doing what he truly loves to do – producing and making music.

The second week, YoungHo surprises you by taking you to see Hamilton, the musical. Apparently, his company offers discount prices on certain events like musicals, and he managed to get seats in the orchestra pit for dirt cheap. He was worried it’d be too fancy and serious for the third date, but you’re just thrilled that you finally get to see the musical in real life, rather than just listening to the soundtrack on Spotify on repeat and creating an imaginary musical inside your head. The show ends up being even more amazing than you could ever describe with words. The songs, the dialogue, the characters – it’s a night that will be forever embedded in your memories. You know you just have to take Jungkook to see it the next time the Hamilton crew is back in town – you know he would love it just as much as you did.

The third week you offer to make YoungHo dinner at your apartment for date five, to change things up a little. He’s been so generous and proactive with planning all the previous dates, you feel like it’s the least you can do to show some effort on your part. So you invite him over and prepare a fancy steak and roasted vegetable dinner that you copped off a Tasty recipe. After dinner, you turn on the Hamilton soundtrack as YoungHo pours out two glasses of wine and continues the conversation about favorite childhood memories. He sits up properly on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other as he animatedly reminisces about the time he accidentally called the fire department thinking he was calling his mom. You smile and nod at his story and make sure to laugh at the right times, but for some reason, you can’t help but think about how he’s sitting. It’s an odd thought to have, but it bothers you throughout the night – it just looks too proper, too upright. If Jungkook were here, you think, he’d be sprawled out all over your couch, legs and arms hanging over the edges and you’d have to shove him off or prop his feet up on your lap just so you could sit. Then you’d make a comment about his feet smelling like a dead animal and he’d pounce on you and tickle you until you’re breathless and admitting surrender. But that’s if Jungkook were here. He hasn’t been here in weeks.

The days, hours, and minutes, crawl by at a snail pace until it’s finally week four since you’ve seen Jungkook. Now, there’s just – nothing. No legit or even half-assed excuses to explain for his prolonged absence. It seems like he’s even given up replying to your texts, seeing as though you were left on read three days ago.

You start to think that maybe this is just what it feels like to grow up. That adult friendships are just starkly different from younger ones, where you have all the care-free time in the world to hang out and talk and do nothing together. Maybe this is how adult friends end up becoming more distant from each other. Life starts to demand too much, significant others are put at the higher end of the priority list, and something has to suffer for the new change in the hierarchy. If that’s the case and that’s what this is, then you conclude that being an adult sucks, and you want no part of it anymore.

You don’t even realize you’re lost in your own thoughts until YoungHo says your name, snapping you out of it and back to reality. He was in the middle of explaining what was going on in the baseball game you two were watching at his place when you started to space out, traveling down the sad, dark rabbit hole you hate to admit you’ve kind of been living in for the past month. Now that your head is out of the clouds, you wince at the sight of the baseball game on the TV. Jungkook loves baseball. You wonder if he’s out there somewhere watching this game too.

The TV suddenly goes black. Youngho’s hand lowers the remote control onto the coffee table before he turns to you, one leg crossed over the only, polite and proper as usual. You can already tell by the look on his face that he has a question on his lips, ready to fire away.

“What’s been going on with you lately, ___?”

You blink a couple of times, not liking where this conversation is going. “What do you mean? Nothing’s up.” Even you don’t think your words sound convincing to your own ears.

YoungHo sighs. “These past few dates, I’ve caught you staring off into space multiple times, looking so sad and out of it.” He furrows his brows in concern. “Do you not even realize it yourself?”

You bite your lower lip. You know you’ve been feeling a bit gloomy and really out of it these last few weeks, you just didn’t realize you were blanking out that often – especially in front of YoungHo. And even if you were, you thought you were at least hiding it well. Guess not.

“Alright,” He shifts to sit closer to you, folding his hands in his lap, “Tell me what’s really going on.”

You almost laugh at that because frankly, you don’t know what’s going on yourself. Work’s been the same, you’ve been sleeping alright – not as soundly as normal but getting enough to function – and maybe your diet has been a little cleaner now that you haven’t had any greasy take-out food for the last month, but honestly that’s the biggest recent change you can think of – Jungkook’s absence. Just the thought of him makes your heart twinge. You miss Jungkook’s stupid face so much, the thought of him and his stupid voice and his stupid comments and his stupid presence have had you tossing and turning at night for the past few weeks. Every time your phone rings, every time you crave take-out or come home from work and just want to pass out on the sofa with a movie, you automatically think of him and wonder how he’s doing, if he’s doing okay, if he got enough sleep while pulling his hair out over deadlines – you wonder if he even remembers you exist anymore.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily to block out the pain. “I- I really don’t know, honest.” You admit the half of the truth, because you really aren’ts sure what to make of these thoughts and feelings you have for your best friend yourself. But it’s like YoungHo can read your mind, or maybe, you’re just that easy to read.

“It’s Jungkook, isn’t it?”

Shocked, you look up at him, lips parted to match your expression. “W-what?”

“___, you can’t fool me.” YoungHo sighs again, looking obviously frustrated, but he somehow manages to maintain a level tone, and his eyes look gentle as ever. “Ever since our first date, you haven’t been able to stop talking about him. Jungkook this, Jungkook that – it was never ending. I know you two are best friends and all, but honestly I was shocked when all you would do is talk about your male best friend ninety-five percent of the time even while on a date with another man.” He pauses for a moment, his gaze softening. “Not to mention you just look so down nowadays, I figured it must have something to do with him.”

Your eyes are still saucer-wide as YoungHo searches them carefully, his expression sullen. The way he does it is scarily similar to how Jungkook does it. Maybe this whole time you were wrong and Jungkook was actually the one who could always read you like a book, and not the other way around. But like your best friend, YoungHo seems to find whatever answer he needs as he inhales, the sound a bit shaky, as if to compose himself for what he’s about to say next.

“You love him, don’t you?”

It’s more of a statement than it is a question. In fact, the way he says it makes it sound like it’s so obvious, like hey the sky is blue, dogs are cute, you love Jungkook. It rolls off the tip of his tongue like a cold, hard fact rather than just a mere hypothesis that needs further testing. It shakes you at your core and makes your head spin, and the confusion is simply overwhelming.

It is an obvious fact that you love Jungkook – he’s your best friend, the one who’s been by your side for so many years now and knows you better than anyone else, even more than Hari or your own parents. He knows what makes you tick, and then he knows what really makes you tick and goes the extra length to make sure no one ever gets to that point with you, including himself. He always knows just the words to say to comfort you, or just the joke to crack to lighten up the mood and make you smile. Without fail he’s like your giant Care Bear, just maybe less fuzzy wuzzy up front. He’s dealt with drunk you, post-break-up-crying-over-ice-cream-you, low self confidence you, lost in life you, all the parts of you that you didn’t even want to bother with – Jungkook embraced them all. He’s been the most stable constant in your life. Yet in the past, you never really considered him in a romantic way, mostly due to the awkward start you two had and how long it took to get over that hill. And even after you did, then you started dating your college boyfriend. There was no time to even think about looking at him in that way – so you never did.

But YoungHo’s words ring unmistakably loud and clear in your ears, and suddenly there’s so much pulling and pushing of your emotions happening all at once. It’s like the boulder of sorrow weighing on your heart lightens up only to hang down even heavier now after hearing his words, like a fog has lifted to unveil your true feelings while your heart still runs around in circles, frantically lost, so confused and caught off guard. His words are a real sucker punch to the gut that you didn’t see coming, one that leaves you breathless, because never did you imagine that this would be the issue you would have with Jungkook. Arguing over what to get for take-out? Of course. Bickering over who the better looking person is? All the time. Cussing one another out in Mario Kart? A regular occurrence. But falling in love with your best friend? Never in your dreams.

You clench your hands into fists on top of your thighs. It almost feels like you’re going to cry for some reason, maybe from just feeling overwhelmed by it all. But whether they’d be tears of joy or frustration, you have no clue. It just doesn’t make sense. You can’t just wake up one morning and suddenly love your best friend in a completely different way, it doesn’t work like that. But the more you think about it, the more you realize it didn’t happen overnight – none of this did. No, all those times he let you cry on his shoulder, whether it was because of your college boyfriend or because of a bad grade, all those moments he paused his video games just to talk with you about life, about nothing, til the wee hours of the morning, all those times he fought with you for the last crab rangoon like his life depended on it, only to give in and let you have it in the end – it’s in all these little moments that you didn’t realize you were slowly falling for the boy with the doe eyes, the smart mouth, and a heart of pure gold.

YoungHo is right – you are completely and undeniably in love with Jungkook.

These last four weeks have been hell, missing Jungkook so much more than you ever thought you would. The feeling is ten times worse than that one time junior year, when he went to a music camp for two weeks in the mountains with no phone service or wifi signal. You koala-ed him for nearly a week after he came back and demanded he never lose contact with you for that long ever again. This time is definitely much worse. This time, his absence had been constantly gnawing at you – a bitter, lonely, slow spreading infection eating away at your insides bit by bit, eventually leaving a gaping hole that wouldn’t be easy to patch up. It’s strange because the more time passed without his presence and the more you saw YoungHo’s face instead, the more often Jungkook’s would pop up in your head, as if to torture you even more in your misery. But now it all makes sense why that was happening.

Even in this very moment, you still miss those big, brown, doe eyes of his with all your heart, and the way his nose wrinkles adorably when he laughs or smiles, along with that brilliant smile itself– seriously, when was the last time you even saw the light? You miss the sight of his big hoodie clad figure splayed out on your couch and being able to banter with him and make him snort with the ridiculousness that spews from your mouth, you miss calling him names and immediately getting insulted back. You miss having his head or even his feet on your lap with Hulk playing in the background. You miss him so much, it hurts.

So much that you finally decide that enough is enough.

“YoungHo,” You begin after who knows how long, your voice sounding more stable now. “I think I- I need to go.” Too busy filtering through the complicated web of thoughts and emotions, you didn’t even notice the way YoungHo’s expression completely changed since the start of the night until now. His expression is soft but there’s a sense of solemn acknowledgment in his eyes, and you can just feel his disappointment, the weight of reality sinking down on his shoulders. But his lips pull up into a somber smile as he stands up from the sofa and watches you follow his motion, your head hung low in shame.

“I’m so sorry, I’m a horrible person,” You blubber, feeling genuinely guilty, “I’m sorry I’ve wasted so much of your time and efforts and that I’m dumb as fuck and didn’t realize this sooner to avoid all this unnecessary misery. But I just want you to know that I had an amazing time hanging out with you. You’re an awesome guy, YoungHo, and I mean no bullshit when I say that I hope we can stay friends.” You find the courage to look up and directly into his eyes, eyes glistening with remorse. “I really mean that with all of my heart.”

He offers you a smile and it’s small, but to your relief, it’s genuine, and that helps to ease the guilt a little. “Whenever you’re craving thin crust, I’m always just a call away.” He cocks his head towards the door, “Now get out of here and stop being miserable already. Go, before I change my mind.”

You stand on your tiptoes to leave a light peck to his cheek, giving his arm a squeeze before you’re out the door, rushing towards the elevators while fumbling around with your phone to call an uber.

Jungkook may be busy and have more important people and things to tend to, but that doesn’t change the fact that that bastard neglected you and your friendship for an entire month now, that just the thought of him still makes your stomach churn with something miserable and painfully empty, though it feels different in the light of these new feelings you’ve discovered. But at this point, your feelings don’t even matter. And screw all of this “normal progression of adult friendships” crap. All you know is that no matter how you feel, no matter how he feels about you, in the end, you just want your best friend back – you need Jungkook back in your life.

- - - - -

[7:34PM] You: joon

[7:34PM] You: where the hell has jeon been lately?

[7:35PM] You: bugger won’t reply to my texts and i rly need to talk to him

[7:36PM] Joonie: uhh, lately?

[7:36PM] Joonie: at home

[7:37PM] Joonie: playing overwatch

[7:39PM] You: ……

[7:40PM] You: what

[7:40PM] You: the actual

[7:40PM] You: fuck

[7:42PM] Joonie: what?

[7:44PM] You: for the last 4 weeks

[7:44PM] You: i thought he was busy dying over his demos and hanging out w/ soobin

[7:44PM] You: but he’s been ditching me for OVERWATCH?

[7:46PM] Joonie: well he was dying

[7:47PM] Joonie: he just turned in his demos not too long ago

[7:48PM] You: i’m gonna kick his sorry ass

[7:50PM] Joonie: wait

[7:52PM] You: what

[7:53PM] Joonie: you mean you don’t know?

[7:54PM] Joonie: jungkook didn’t tell you?

[7:55PM] You: ugh what now

[7:56PM] Joonie: dude

[7:58PM] Joonie: jungkook and soobin broke up like a month ago

- - - - -

“Jungkook!” A breathless shout leaves your lips as you barge through your best friend’s bedroom door, flailing it open and simultaneously scaring the living daylights out of the owner of said bedroom. His hunched figure at the desk jumps up and whirls around at the sound of your voice as his headphones slide off one ear haphazardly.

“Holy Widowmaker, yes hi, hello, shit you scared me.” He exhales all in one breath, eyes still enlarged and mouth hanging slightly ajar. Judging by the look of surprise bordering sheer terror on his face, he definitely wasn’t expecting you. But then again, he doesn’t look like he was expecting anyone, really. He’s wearing a black hoodie that’s one size too big for him and matching colored basketball shorts, the oversized hood pulled up over mussed chestnut hair, and it honestly looks like he hasn’t moved to shower, change, or just move at all. But he still somehow looks so good like that, bits of his wavy hair falling into those warm hazelnut eyes, plump lips parted slightly – so unfairly and effortlessly handsome. It’s a mystery how you faced this man for so many years and somehow remained immune to his gorgeous looks alone (well, as long as he was fully clothed).

“Wow,” You manage to get out between rapid breaths from quite literally running straight to Jungkook’s apartment from YoungHo’s place. You glance at his computer monitor before focusing back on him. “You really are playing Overwatch.”

He tilts his head in confusion. “Uh, why yes, I am?”

The urge to smack him for giving such a lame and frustratingly obvious answer is strong, but since he doesn’t understand the context from which you state this, you decide to spare him from your wrath for the time being, putting away the fists of fury for now as you march over to where he’s sitting in his fancy black and red, almost half cocoon-shaped gaming chair.

“How are you Jungkook? How’ve you been lately?” The questions roll off your tongue icily, eyes narrowing into slits that are meant to be intimidating, but it doesn’t look like it does all that much to Jungkook. From the way his eyes are still bulging out comically, it seems he still hasn’t fully gotten over the shock from your grand entrance as he mumbles a dazed “uh alright, how ‘bout you?” under his breath.

“Oh good, I’m glad, just so glad.” Sarcasm drips from your voice, and it’s hard to keep it from shaking. “And me? Oh well I’m just peachy – feeling fan-fucking-tastic.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” He queries, crinkling his nose in disagreement and looking too cute for his own good, “‘cause you sure as hell don’t sound or look like it.”

“Oh no, really, I’m just dandy!” Hands on your hips, you raise a brow at him and click your tongue once, “I’m just thrilled to see my best friend again after he avoided me for four weeks straight without any solid explanation as to why. It’s nice to see you’re still alive and kicking virtual ass, that’s all.” Slowly slipping his headphones off and setting them besides his mouse on the desk, Jungkook hesitantly rises to his feet, looking guilty, apologetic, but also slightly frustrated as he approaches you. He chooses to stand a few feet away, hands slipping into his pockets as he shifts his gaze to the floor. You can just feel this new barrier separating the two of you, and that realization hurts, especially since you still have no idea why he’s been acting so damn weird around you lately.

His lower lip is caught between his teeth, his eyes flitting around nervously as he contemplates what to say, how to explain the mess that was the last four weeks in order for it to make sense to you. But you’ll wait as long as it takes to hear him out and to resolve this issue. You’ve already waited four weeks, what’s another couple of seconds, minutes, or hours more? What else do you have left to lose?

You decide to help him out, though. You’re not sure it’s the best move to make, but you know it’ll get the job done and get the ball rolling for sure. So you bite the bullet and go for it, your voice much quieter and timid than before.

“How- how have you and Soobin been doing?”

It goes completely silent in the room safe for the almost inaudible sound of breathing and your heart beat pounding against your ear drums; besides that, it’s so quiet you would probably be able to hear a pin drop if one did. A thick tension begins to cloud the air that lies between you two as you wait for him to answer, for him to finally admit that he’s been lying, for him to stop with the bullshit and tell you what’s really going on with him. And after a few more excruciating moments, you begin to see him come around. It starts with how he squeezes his eyes shut and bites down on his lower lip even harder, staying like that for a few moments, the regret so evident in his expression. He knows he’s been caught red handed – that there’s no more escaping this conversation.

“Who told you?” Jungkook finally grits out, a low murmur under his breath as he trains his sights on the floor boards.

“Well, not you, that’s for sure.” You answer, the soft tone of your voice contrasting the sting that accompanies that comment. “Since you weren’t replying to my texts, I asked Namjoon about where the hell you’ve been lately, and he just suddenly dropped the bomb on me.” When all he does is continue to stare at the floor some more, you sigh, trying to cover up the way your lip quivers. You hate this weird awkwardness between you, and you want nothing more than for things to be okay again between you two – it’s driving you absolutely insane.

“What’s been going on these past few weeks, Jungkook?” You push on, silently begging for him to just give in already.

“___, I,” Jungkook stutters, raking a hand through his hair, the movement pushing his hoodie off his head to fully reveal his face. When the dim light from the lamp hits his face, only then do you realize just how haggard he looks. It’s almost like he hasn’t been getting very good sleep, much like yourself this past month. “I’ve just been… really busy.”

“Wrong answer, try again.” You refuse to lose to his stubbornness, not when you’ve come this far, not when things have escalated this much, not when your friendship feels like its dangling on its last fraying thread. He’s stubborn, but you’re a Taurus, and you are hell-bent on getting answers out of him, even if it means just standing there staring at him all night. You need to break down this new all he’s built up against you – it’s all you can think to do to get your best friend back.

Jungkook must sense your unwillingness to back down because he suddenly runs a hand down his face, a heavy sigh resonating from his chest. He knows this is all unavoidable – that now’s the time to lay it all out on the table. So he does, and nothing can prepare you for what he’s about to say.

“I was scared.”

Not expecting that answer at all, your brows furrow together in concern, and you feel your hands itching to just reach out and hold Jungkook, who can’t seem to lift his head and for once just looks so small. “Scared? Of what?”

“I, I thought I had more time,” He peeks out from under his eyelashes, lips forming a grim line, “more time left with you.”

Confusion fills your expression. “You make it sound like I’m dying and only have a few days left to live or something. What do you mean you thought you had more time?”

Jungkook clenches his jaw. It’s obvious that bringing all of his thoughts and feelings to the surface is proving to be a lot harder than it may seem. His hands keep curling into fists and unfurling over and over, the movement full of anxiety and tension. But then to your relief he finally speaks, breaking the silence with his quiet confession.

“For so many years, it’s just been me and you, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He starts off, voice soft and hesitant. “Even after college, we still somehow made it a routine to see each other at least what, twice a week? And then somehow Fat Fridays became a thing, our thing, and just having you by my side became enough for me. That’s all I ever needed.” His expression twists into one of distress, his brows knitting together, “Then all of a sudden, Hari and Tae convince you to start searching for a boyfriend to help with your quarter life crisis, and before I can even blink, you’re off on your first blind date who ends up being some dude that doesn’t know how to shut up to save his life.” You cringe inwardly at the thought of Date #1, doing your best to not let it show on your face for fear of interrupting Jungkook’s flow. Luckily he doesn’t seem to notice it and continues on, taking a cautious step towards you

“So what choice did I have left? I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I somehow ended up downloading a couple of those dating apps you were using and made my own profile. And as you know, that’s how I met Soobin.” Jungkook smiles sadly, scoffing quietly to himself. “I – I had to fill the void somehow. And she seemed cool, liked anime, and she was pretty so I figured, why not give it a shot? If you were out there giving all those losers a chance, I might as well do the same.”

“Wait,” You interrupt him, pinching the bridge of your nose in confusion, “so you only dated Soobin because I was dating other guys?” He nods solemnly, shame filling his expression. “But why? Just because you thought I wouldn’t have time for you anymore?” Heart clenching inside your chest, you reach out to take a hold of his hand, “Jeon, you should’ve talked to me about this instead of avoiding me like the plague. You need to know that no matter what, I will always have time for you. You’re my best friend, and there’s no one else I can do Fat Fridays with – there is always time for you in my life.”

“No, that’s not it.” Jungkook interjects quietly, shoulders sagging like the energy is being sapped out of him. The sadness etched in his eyes make your heart sink even further – it makes you afraid to hear the rest of what he has to say.

He inhales deeply, involuntarily tightening his grip on your hand. “I was always afraid it’d happen one day, losing you to another guy. But honestly, I thought I still had time. When your first few online dates flopped, I was so relieved because it still meant I had time left with you. But then,” He exhales, his expression hardening slightly, “this YoungHo guy comes out of nowhere and sweeps you off your feet, makes you laugh and looks at you like he’s hit the jackpot and it just made me feel sick to the stomach. Then he offers to take you home,” Jungkook lets out a short laugh, the sound incredulous and wounded at the edges, “and that was the cherry on top. In that moment, I didn’t care if Soobin was there, I didn’t even care that she was my girlfriend at the time, as horrible as that may sound – all I knew was that some other guy was taking you home, and I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“It felt like all of my worst nightmares were coming true. You looked like you were so into him, and he looked just as smitten with you, and when he left with you that night, I thought ‘wow, this is it.’” Jungkook closes his eyes briefly in anguish, as if just saying the words themselves is painful for him. “I thought ‘this is how I lose her – this is how I officially run out of time with the one girl I need in my life. I’m such a coward for not saying something sooner, for not taking the risk and just going for it. This – this is it.’”

Jungkook slowly looks up to meet your eyes, watching as tears gather at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over at any second. All this time, your best friend was fighting in a silent battle against his fears and insecurities, and the worst part is that those fears and insecurities involved you. You were so dumb and blind and really had no idea this is what was happening to him this whole time. But it’s all starting to make sense now. Why he was so upset that night at the Sound Bar. Why he was making up excuses to avoid you. Why he’s been hiding for the last month – it was to avoid having this very conversation. He thinks this is the last night he’ll ever have with you.

“That night, I went back to Soobin’s place and man, she let me have it.” Jungkook chuckles, the sound not happy in the least bit. “She was pissed, and rightly so. She told me she didn’t get why I was even dating her in the first place when it was obvious that all I cared about was you.” Giving your hand a gentle squeeze, Jungkook steps closer so that now, finally, his toes line up with yours, his body towering over you and dark eyes searching yours intently, as you take in his scent that smells like home, and it helps to ease the sharp sting in your heart a little. His other hand finds yours so that he’s holding them both, so gently within his palms, thumbs tracing your knuckles gently, affectionately.

“If you don’t get it by now, even after all I’ve said, then you’re a real idiot.” Jungkook jokes lightly, but his muscles are tense and shoulders hang heavily in stark contrast to his words. “But you’re also a moron for not realizing that I’ve been in love with you ever since you kicked my ass in Mario Kart freshman year of college.”

It took you all these years, a quarter-life-crisis, several horrible blind dates, and even a potential boyfriend to get your eyes to finally open and truly see what Jungkook has just confirmed for you. It’s just that when someone is by your side that often, that regularly, it becomes natural to have them there, to have their presence nearby almost at all times and it’s so nice not having to question it. It’s so easy to get comfortable and not consider any other ideas or feelings because why do that when what you’ve got is already so good? Why venture into dangerous territory when life is great in the safe zone? But that’s exactly what Jungkook did. He embraced those very ideas and feelings and kept them bottled up and neatly tucked away all these years, knowing what you two had was so good, knowing it wasn’t worth risking the friendship you two had built up and nurtured over time. He never pushed his feelings onto you, or held you back from anything just because he felt a certain way about you. All he did was stay by your side the entire time, protecting you, silently loving you and figuring out life with you every step of the way. It’s always been Jungkook – it’s always been him.

“You know, you’re gonna need to thank YoungHo after this.” You mutter after a brief and tense silence, a tear escaping to trickle down your cheek.

Jungkook, who still has worry and stress scribbled all over his face, visibly recoils at the sound of the name of the man who was once after your heart as well. “And why would I ever need to do that?”

Not letting another moment go to waste, you suddenly perch up onto the tips of your toes, letting go of Jungkook’s hands to cup his cheeks and press your lips against his. Hands snaking through soft, wavy locks, you press yourself further into his plush petal lips, moving your mouth gently against his as he remains frozen in place. It takes him a few seconds to react, and in those few moments you can imagine what he must look like – shell-shocked doe eyes, eyebrows raised in astonishment because is his best friend really kissing him right now? But then slowly he begins to melt into your touch, brushing against your flesh hesitantly, as if he can’t believe this is all happening, his hands finding the small of your back to pull you flush against his chest. You capture his top lip between the two of yours and gently suckle on it for a moment as if to reassure him that this is real and that it’s all okay now. He seems to take the hint because then he’s suddenly sliding a hand up your sides to cradle your head, lips fervently chasing after yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip, begging to be let in. With a small moan, you allow him to lick into your mouth, the wet muscle hurriedly fighting for dominance with yours in a way that makes heat pool in your lower abdomen.

You never knew it would feel so right to kiss Jungkook like this, to feel him moan against your skin and graze his warm hands all along the curves of your body. The more accustomed you become to his touch, the more you want him – the more you crave him. But before it can get any more heated, he slows his movements before pulling away, slightly breathless, more strands of hair scattered messily on his forehead to frame his gorgeous face, the stupid stupid face you’ve missed with your entire being.

“Please say it.” Jungkook breathes out, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes dark and dripping with want. “Before we move on, before anything else happens I just- I need to hear you say it.” Feeling his hot breaths fan against your skin, onyx eyes fixated on yours, it’s in this moment that you realize you would do anything for this man. That even though he gazes at you like you’ve got galaxies in your eyes, he’s the one who owns every inch of your stubborn and stupidly blind heart. You don’t blame him for wanting, no, needing, solid affirmation after everything he’s been through, after everything the both of you have endured. And you yourself don’t want to hold back any longer either. But despite how overwhelmed you are with emotion, a playful grin twitches at the corners of your lips. Because this is still Jungkook you’re dealing with here – and you plan on dealing with him the way you would any other day.

“I…” You stutter, watching Jungkook’s eyes widen with anticipation as you utter the words he’s been waiting for years to hear.

“I love Park SeoJoon.”

You make the declaration playfully, unable to contain the wide smile that fully spreads across your face. There’s just no other way you could ever imagine this moment playing out. And to your delight, Jungkook growls at this and presses your body tightly against him, causing a laugh to slip past your lips. It feels so euphoric to finally be able to actually laugh and joke like this after spending these past few dismal weeks without your best friend – without the love of your life.

“Don’t make me make you say it.” His threat is empty, and it shows in the way he leans his forehead against yours, eyes crinkled at the corners and twinkling brightly even in the dimly lit room. And the way he looks at you has the words falling from your lips before you can even think to say them.

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook, more than just a friend. I love you so much more than just that.” Your cheeks feel like they’re going to split from how much you’re smiling. “And I’m sorry it took me a whole ninety-eight light years to realize it. I’m the village idiot.”

Jungkook turns his head to snort and you expect him to say something sassy back like he usually does, but instead he just beams with a radiant glow you don’t think you’ve ever seen on him before, or on anyone else, for that matter. He gazes at you like a man who, after endlessly searching far and wide for miles and years on end, has finally met the end of his sufferings and is being rewarded for his hardship – like a man who has finally returned to his home.

Completely satisfied with your answer, Jungkook pulls you back into his embrace, the shape of his lips immediately molding to fit yours. He tastes sweet with a hint of bitter saltiness from the one or two tears that escape as you close your eyes to meet his kiss with your own, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. These are tears of relief and joy – a sign that everything is going to be okay from now on.

Suddenly you jump up and hook your legs around his waist, and he lets out a small grunt from your unexpected attack, but he reacts quickly and catches you with no effort required, his hands immediately finding and supporting your bottom as he leans back in to kiss you, caressing your lips with his own like he just can’t get enough of you.

“Are- are you okay with this?” Jungkook murmurs between kisses, giving your ass a tentative squeeze, to which you just sigh into his lips, giving him a small nod before you reclaim his mouth. With a kiss to match every step he takes, Jungkook carries you to his bed before gingerly laying you back, his lips still attached to yours, only parting to trail kisses along your jaw and up the column of your neck until he finds a sweet spot right behind your ear. The feeling of his lips gently nipping at the sensitive area there has you arching up into his chest, your fingers finding their way under his shirt to stroke up and down the skin of his back in a light, feathery motion.

“You really, really have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Jungkook whispers against your skin, catching your earlobe between his teeth, “How long I’ve wanted you.”

“Jungkook,” His name comes out in an airy breath, your eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his hands exploring your body, gently skimming down your sides and eventually lifting the hem of your shirt.

“Mmm, babe.” His hands slip beneath the fabric to caress the skin of your torso just beneath the swell of your breasts, head lifting from the crook of your neck to meet your eyes, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I am allowed to call you that now without getting beaten up, right?”

“Jeon, if you don’t hurry up and strip and get the show on the road already, I’m gonna do more than just beat you up, baby.” You snap jokingly, but it’s impossible to ignore the need and impatience clearly embedded in your voice, your dark pupils blown out and full of lust. You hold back a giggle at how Jungkook’s eyes go saucer wide, a visible confirmation for how he interpreted your words as a flush quickly creeps up his cheeks as well, making him look so cute, it’s almost unbearable. But he immediately shuts down all those thoughts as he rises up to his knees to pull off his hoodie, tight abdominal and pectoral muscles greeting you as he stares down at you, his gaze potent and heavy.

“Holy cheezits.” You exhale, eyes hungrily raking over the honey-glazed skin and the intricate lines that make up the map of his toned body. This time, you have no shame in openly gawking at all the hard work and dedication that has obviously paid off for him as you admire the lean muscles of his shoulders and arms and the way two particular crevices at his hip bones create a sharply defined “V” shape, the lines narrowing and then disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. He seems to notice your lack of shame too and chuckles darkly at the sight of your wide eyes drinking him in.

“What, are you hungry or something?” He laughs, and the sound is like music to your ears after not having heard the beautiful sound for so long. “Like, do you really have to bring up food right before I’m about to make you forget everything but my name?”

You suck in a breath and just hold it there at his bold words, words you never thought you’d ever hear him say, especially to you. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

He smiles before bending forward to leave a gentle kiss on your lips. “It’s whatever you want it to be, baby.”

That night, it felt like all hell broke loose, and the truth was finally brought to light. That life changing, very over-delayed night, Jungkook made sure to take his time with you. After several weeks apart and countless years of stuffing his emotions down his own throat, instead of rushing and letting it all end up as one big blur in his memory, he made sure to etch every kiss, every fluttering touch against your warm skin, every breathy moan and call of his name deep into his memory, to fully indulge in your warmth and the weight of your body against his. He teased you slowly with his touch, his mouth, the press of his body, while embedding the feeling of your smooth skin into his finger tips to remember forever, even though he knew he’d have many more opportunities to do so. He let himself come unraveled in front of you as you teased him right back, drawing your name from his lips in sweet low moans as you pleasured him and made his deepest, darkest fantasies come to life. You brought each other to your highs over and over again, kissing, caressing and exploring every single inch of skin available. Countless I love yous were pulled from your lips as he rocked into you, slowing down and then speeding up his pace, bringing you to the edge of your high only to bring you back down, whispering even sweeter confessions and promises against your skin as you came for him, satiated him, and loved him with your entire existence.

At the wee hours of the morning, the two of you finally spent and tangled up in one another’s arms, breaths and heart beats matching and slowing to a sleepier pace, you pressed light kisses to his bare chest as he tucked your head under his chin, pulling you even closer against him, the feeling so indescribably perfect, like that’s where you have belonged the entire time. And in the few moments of consciousness before sleep took you captive for the night, Jungkook lightly stroking his fingers against your naked back, it dawned on you in that moment that what you’ve been missing the entire time was never an exciting, wild nightlife or having new hobbies to try out all the time. It wasn’t even going on dates or just having any old boyfriend and living life as the other young adults do. You realized that Jungkook’s always been the so called “missing piece” you felt you needed, even though he was always right there in front of your eyes all this time. He was just a piece of your puzzle of life that’s been sitting in the wrong spot – until now. It was him that you needed, and not just his friendship, not just his company, but his everything, Jungkook’s entire being – you just needed Jungkook.

With this in mind, sleep finally claimed you prisoner as you felt one more I love you whispered against your skin, a smile left on your lips as you slowly faded away into unconsciousness.

Being an adult wasn’t turning out to be so bad, not when you have everything you could ever need in your arms – not when you have Jungkook, your everything.

- - - - -

[Loser’s club group chat]

Hari: ___ where are you?

Hari: why you won’t pick up

Hari: your apartments empty

Hari: AND WE’RE LATE FOR BRUNCHHH

Hari: srsly anyone know where she at?

Tae: let her be bruh, maybe she just got laid or something

Hari: why are you texting me i’m standing right next to you

Hari: and omg wait, could it be?

Yoongs: i can’t believe i had to sleep in the studio last night because of them

Joon: yall know i normally sleep like the dead but not last night holy shit

Tae: omg IT FINALLY HAPPENED

Tae: THE RED SEAAA

Hari: um excuse me

Hari: WHOS THEM???

Joon: PSA – jeon’s a very verbal lover

Joon: and a moaner

Joon: like a LOUD moaner

Hari: JEON??

Hari: LIKE ___ AND JEON??!!?

Hari: OR IS THAT JUST YOUNGHO’S NEW NICKNAME OR SOMETHING??

Hari: IT FINALLY HAPPENED??? WHAT THE FUCK????

Yoongs: seriously took em long enough

Yoongs: been eye fuckin each other for years now

Tae: HALLELUJAH FELIZ NAVIDAD YALL

Joon: so all it took was ___ going on a couple of blind dates huh

Joon: should’ve done this ages ago then

You: uhh

You: good morning everyone

You: i honestly

You: don’t even know what to say

JK: what can i say folks

JK: i tend to leave em speechless ;)

Hari: JOON

Hari: YOONGS

Hari: TAE AND I ARE COMING OVER LEAVE THE DOOR UNLOCKED

Hari: YOU HAVE A SHITTON OF EXPLAINING TO DO MISSY

Tae: don’t worry guys ill stall her

Tae: so you can get dressed and shit

Tae: or don’t. your choice ;)

JK: its all good

JK: ___ still has a lot of explaining to do for me as well

JK: we’re all waiting babe

Hari: BABE?!?!?!

Hari: omg i could cry i never thought i’d live to see this day come

You: ………

You: it’s gonna be a long day

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secretlynestaarcheron · 4 years

Text

COLD AS ICE - working title

Figure skater x Hockey player Instagram AU

ONE

Nesta’s blade hit the ice and she feels steady, as if the thin blade beneath her feet were more supporting than her own two feet. She pushes, gliding across the ice, warming up with a lap before she would get into the complicated twists and turns. She breathes in the cold air the burning in her lungs welcoming as she moves backwards, her legs burning with excitement.

Her mother was a competitive ice skater, and as soon as Nesta could walk she was put in ice skates and thrown onto the ice, after her mother passed away it became her saving grace, she would disappear onto the ice after school for hours.

When it came time to pick a college it made sense to go to the same place that her mother had skated, Prythian University, it was also nice that it was close enough to check in on her sisters every once in a while. She tried to get them to enjoy skating as much as she did but they never took to it, Feyre more interested in compact sports such as hockey and soccer whereas Elain had no interest in anything other than botany.

“You’re making enemies!” a familiar voice calls from the other side of the rink, Nesta turns to see her best friend Morrigan standing on the ice in her own skates. A bright purple hat covering her blonde hair, at least they matched her leg warmers. Nesta moved faster, catching up so she’s lapping with Mor.

“Why do you say that?” Nes murmurs, sticking her hands in her pockets to warm, without the blood pumping she would start to go numb.

Mor gives her a raised eyebrow, “Your instagram story? You called out the whole Prythian men’s hockey team, did you not think there would be repercussions?”

Nesta rolls her eyes, twisting so she’s skating backwards, looking at Mor. “Why would I care what they think? They obviously don’t care about the figure skaters or they wouldn’t have taken our rink time, I think it’s time someone finally called them on their shit.”

Mor shakes her head at her best friends stubbornness, “Coach explained to us it's because they are playing Spring Court soon, don’t you wanna see them crush Tamlin?”

Nesta cringed, she hated Tamlin, ever since he went after her younger sister Feyre only to cheat on her on some bimbo made her blood boil, but so did the hockey team thinking they deserved everything handed to them on a silver platter. “You’re only saying that because your cousin, ex-boyfriend, and best guy friend are on the hockey team.”

Mor chuckles, “They have names you know,” she retorts.

“Yeah, weird ones,” Nesta retorts, pausing to lean against the wall and look at Mor. “Who names a kid Rhysand? Or Azriel, or worse, Cassian.”

“Like Nesta is any better,” Mor retorts. Nesta gives her a pointed look, “Keep laughing, Morrigan.”

“What’s got you ladies so chipper this afternoon?” a familiar voice calls making both Mor and Nesta groan. They turn towards the entrance to the ice where Tomas Mandray stood. He was a redshirt on the hockey team and absolutely obsessed with Nesta, the only thing going for him was his money.

“Oh you know, just contemplating what it would be like if we wrote of all men,” Nesta says, slamming into the wall aggressively as she rubbed her hands against her arms, all these distractions were cutting into her practice time. The hockey team would be coming in to practice shortly.

Mor chuckles, “Speak for yourself, I’ve already written off men,” she retorts, as she moves passed them and begins to practice her routine for the upcoming show. Tomas turns to look at her pointedly before giving his full attention to Nesta.

He runs a hand through his short cropped hair before slipping on a hat, “So, Nesta, I’ve been thinking a lot about you and me,” he begins, Nesta can’t help but hum in response wondering where this is going. “I think it’s finally time we give this thing ago, I am tired of all these girls that aren’t keeping being entertained, besides you’re the only girl on the figure skating team I haven’t been with.”

Nesta mouth drops and she turns to Mor, who smiles at her sheepishly, “What?” Mor says, with a shrug, “I was drunk in freshman year, we all make mistakes, some just make bigger mistakes than others.”

Nesta shakes her head at her friend before turning back to Tomas, “I am flattered, truly, but-,” She stops when someone hits Tomas behind the head, She glances up to see Cassian Monte in all his glory standing tall beside them. She never knew if he was just tall or if the blades gave him the extra inches.

“Leave the girl alone, Mandray,” Cassian snorts, his tone forceful but his smile is still his usual charming self, he runs a hand through his own long curls and Nesta can’t help but wonder how they feel between his fingers. “She has more pressing orders to attend to, like bashing the pride of this school.”

The fantasy drops and she stares at Cassian, her mouth in a straight line, “Ah, the pride of this school, I wouldn’t associate that with a hockey team that no one but Prythian county knows about,” she retorts, pushing away from the wall and crossing her arms up at him.

He chuckles, “Why don’t you get off the ice and let the real skaters practice,” he snaps, a new edge to his voice that she’s not familiar with. He steps onto the ice as she glances down at her watch, “We’ve got five minutes left of free skating.”

She glides past him, moving through a few easy moves before going on to the hard stuff, she knew he was watching her, studying her every move. She wouldn’t go too far as to injure herself but she did want to show off that skating doesn’t need to be violent.

She finishes up, moving towards the exit as she catches her breath, Mor sat on the bleachers waiting for her. “Hey Nes,” she pauses, looking behind her as Cassian skates forward, she hated being called Nes by anyone but a handful of people but for some reason she was okay with him saying her name.

She looks at him pointedly, waiting for him to continue, he looks away before turning his deep brown eyes onto her, “What you do is pretty cool,” he says with a shrug.

She laughs, his eyes lighting up, “Appreciate it,” she retorts as she steps off the ice. What could she expect from a college student who has already lost two teeth and been concussed five times, it was improvement.

“But it’s not real skating,” he calls after her, but as she grips the handle to her bag she pushes the door open deciding to not waste a breath on him anymore.

Comment to be added to a tag :)

#nessian #acotar #cassian #nesta archeron #nessian fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #sjmaas #nessian fanficition #feysand #figure skater #hockey player #nessian instagram au #acotar instagram au #archeron fanfiction

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bibbykins · 5 years

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Scopophilic Affection (M)

Here it is! At last! I have had a rough couple of weeks. My roommate left me and my gf with the rest of the rent without any notice (yikes, I know. Kids, don’t break the lease, it’s shitty) soooo I’m going to plug my ko-fi below. Anything helps and would be greatly appreciated. Either way, donation or not, I hope you thoroughly enjoy and know that my ask box is open!

Genre: Smut/Fluff

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: Voyeurism, choking, obsessives themes, yandere

Summary: Scopophilia is a more dignified way to define voyeurism, something Seokjin had no intention of partaking in until he came across your live stream. Seokjin is a dignified man, but never in his life had he felt so depraved watching you smile and work like it was his profession, unable to reach through the screen and make you his. Unable to tell you how much he loves to watch you because you have no idea you’re live stream even exists. He can’t tell you how hypnotizing you are without the glaring controversy of him watching your hacked-into webcam, both as a human and director in the computer science division of the company he is a board member of. Nevertheless, you were his very guilty utmost pleasure.

A beige wall with the blandest accents he’s ever seen with a sketchy cream color. The kitchen appliances were conformity white with rust whispering its way out from under the oven. The toaster was melted on one side and he couldn’t help but wonder how. The microwave was in slightly better shape but the stains seemed to still hold the screams of food from the 1990s. The carpet was somewhere between the beige walls and the mahogany table and looked about as comfortable as sandpaper.

This would not do at all.

Even with the personality shining through the subpar living space, it was just not suitable. Not for much longer.

Jin was a man of exquisite taste. This, among his impeccable beauty and breathtaking aura, was some of his best-known traits. He was the sweetest dream everyone on campus would ever have the privilege to even catch a moment of. He was the Director of Software Development within the largest tech company in the country. He came from money and yet made more than enough of his own all while juggling graduate school. Beyond his professional talents, he was a natural virtuoso and musician. With fans from all sides of his life, it would come to no shock that he was a picky man.

Ever the kindest member of the campus princes, he opted for an aura of stoic professionalism. He exchanged pleasantries and engaged in his fair share of banter with people beyond his close-knit group of Adonis-like men. However, he had a strict limit on how much he could take of people he didn’t care about.

He had everything he wanted and it was nearing time for him broaden his capacity beyond his close family and six friends by just one person. The pool was exceptionally lengthy considering his father’s very own Cinderella story and his parents’ overall good nature. And yet, nobody was fit to be his. Nobody he met even gave him anything to think about beyond their pleasantries. He would not settle for good enough, they had to be perfect. They had to be someone entertaining, someone, without such an evident facade, and even then, someone worthwhile behind that facade. Maybe he had trust issues, or maybe he knew how much one could hide in public.

While a man of exquisite taste, it was also… particular to say the least. Kim Seokjin was not built to marry these nice girls his parents set him up with from time to time, he was built for someone much greater. He had a taste for the more sinister sides that he seldom was able to properly explore with others. Kinky is a word one could use, but he believed adventurous encapsulated his preferences more eloquently. He took pleasure in spoiling someone with all he could offer as they spoiled him with their body. Empty hands begin to ache after some time. He was longing for something to grip other than himself on more irritable nights. He had found previous sexual partners who suited him just fine until they stepped out of the threshold from the bedroom. Vice versa, he had also been on perfectly good dates but with terribly bland sex.

It was on one of the nights after a mind-numbing date that he threw himself into work whilst listening to the background noise of tech reports. All was fine until there was talk of a hard to reach website that allowed patrons paid access to people who “consented” to 24-hour streams of their lives via laptop and the highest payer owns who can view that particular person. Call it morbid curiosity or his voyeuristic side making an appearance, Jin found himself on the website with ease and scrolling past a ton of stranger’s faces. The teaser clips showed thirty seconds of the past day.

Jin doubted the website would be up for much longer due to its legal gray area of filming people without informed consent. It seemed the website operated on a one-click user agreement to a couple of separate websites they controlled. It didn’t take a genius to see these people had no idea of their streams. On each profile, it had general demographics, the times that person was in frame, if they ever changed on camera, and even if they performed sexual acts for an audience they had no idea about. Jin felt some remorse as he scrolled from victim to victim, but something happened when he came across a bland beige wall behind an interesting girl.

Sure, he had seen many beautiful women but none of them were shown sitting in front of the camera and so adorably pouting at the camera for the entire thirty-second clip, occasional huffs of irritation coming from your plush lips. It awoke some kind of curiosity he could not understand but wanted to satiate. Were you reading emails? Had you gotten a bad grade? Were you watching a frustrating film? It seemed you were a college student but spent your nights at home. He figured you worked full time while not at school and used that as an explanation for your socially inactive life but deprived sleep schedule. Against his better judgment, Jin gained full reign over your stream, making it exclusively for him.

He never quite cared for sharing.

Just like that, there you were, in a large shirt and shorts as you stared at the laptop with a blank face. It went on like this and Jin began to feel silly that he made such a rash move to violate your privacy like this, not to mention the fact that he spent such a grandiose amount of money just to stare at a girl. This was obviously a mistake. He should just turn off his computer- you began to laugh and just like that, Jin was enchanted. Maybe it was the fact that you laughed so wholeheartedly despite being alone or just that you were your true self at this very moment. He had unrestricted access to you like this. He wondered what you were watching. Against his better judgment, he wondered if he could make you laugh like that.

Your phone rang, making you jump ever so slightly. Jin smiled at this, noting how easily startled you were and the way your eyes looked so kind after being broken from the trance your laptop had you in. He found himself holding his breath as you pressed the phone to your ear, waiting to hear how you sound, “Hello?”

You paused the movie you had been watching as you waited for your cousin’s girlfriend, Jaelin, to speak, “Y/n! Where are you?!” The background was loud and she was evidently drunk.

You rolled your eyes, “At home, where else?” This was a common occurrence, and usually, you would not entertain her drunk-dials, but you figured hearing another human’s voice today wouldn’t hurt.

“You should meet me! There’s a ton of parties tonight!” She screamed and you flinched at the volume her mic had to endure.

“I have this screenplay to annotate and I’m leading the stage tricks seminar in a week to practice so…” You trailed off, holding up your finished and annotated screenplay before shrugging.

“People are going to that? Seriously?” You stood corrected by yourself as a sting hit your confidence. This human’s voice was indeed beginning to hurt you.

“Professor Tarbot is having the freshman attend it so, yes, people are going to my seminar, so…” You trailed off as you heard your cousin’s voice in the background, reminding Jaelin that you don’t need to go out before the call went dead, “Lovely.” You muttered before pressing play on the movie. You were always the black sheep of the family. If familial love was kickball, you were absolutely picked last. Despite this, when you moved out as soon as you could to pursue your dreams, your family was appalled that you would leave your own flesh and blood.

Your smile noticeably died with the phone call and Jin couldn’t help but wonder what exactly happened. He missed your smile already. You looked down at your phone for a while before your lip begin to quiver ever so slightly and Jin felt his stomach churn.

“No, no, no.” You fanned your face before looking to the ceiling, “None of that, crybaby.” You cursed before sighing out and looking forward again, “Work on the seminar.”

So, you were a fine arts major of some sort. Jin thought about this as he watched you get ready for bed and eventually fall asleep in front of the laptop you took everywhere. By the end of the night, he had just about a full apartment tour. He shook off this new feeling in his chest before closing his laptop.

The week went on with Jin’s and your nightly routine remaining the same. He did his work, brushed his teeth, and went to bed. Except, he had you playing in the background. You, on the other hand, would write, procrastinate, brush your teeth in the messiest way, and return to either schoolwork or some show before falling asleep, usually at your desk or on your bed in front of your computer.

He certainly was not proud of how you would excite him in ways other women just… couldn’t. It was on one of his more irritable nights that he focused all of his attention on you. You were just watching a movie, nothing too crazy. Even so, Jin’s skin was set ablaze at the way your floral underwear was poking out as you sat on your bed with your knees up. Without fully realizing it, he began palming himself through his sweatpants.

He groaned out as you spread your knees to sit more comfortably. You leaned back and he could almost make out what your sex looked like. Your underwear was thin, so thin. You would surely soak through them if you let him have you.

“Y/n.” He breathed through clenched teeth as you stretched. You were goggling a little at the movie, taunting him almost. He cursed as his hand sped up, “Fuck, baby.” He moaned and when you simply gasped at something Jin could not see with his eyes screwed shut as he chased his high, he went over the edge. He moaned your name out like a disciple to his savior, like you were his light at the end of it all. The experience itself was nothing less than religious and an absolute breakthrough that Jin had been trying to avoid for a long time.

From then on, Jin had been watching you under a new lens. You were no longer a morbid curiosity of his, you were the object of all this affection he never felt such an immense need to release.

“What’s up, Jae?” You answered the phone after brushing your teeth, putting her on speaker, “A little early to be drinking, no?”

“Y/n, did you hear about the ArtCast scandal?!” You jumped at her volume as you applied your skincare products.

“ArtCast? I haven’t used the site since I signed up, what happened?” Jin tensed, already knowing what the female on the phone call meant.

“Get a new laptop, now!” Jaelin screeched and you looked at your phone with bewilderment, “They have been sharing user info and hacked into laptop cams for creeps to watch on the dark web!”

Jin hardly considered himself a creep. His actions were creepy, but he was not a creep, just a curious soul. He fought the urge to try and reason with you by finding your contact information. Although the idea was scrapped since that would certainly not help his case.

You rolled your eyes at this, “I doubt anyone wants to see me laze around and edit-”

“THIS IS SERIOUS!” You flinched at this.

“And I seriously don’t have any money to get a whole new laptop and I kinda need my webcam for work so,” You looked dead at the camera, eyes boring into Seokjin’s form, “Hi Mr. Laptop Man, if you have some spare money my PayPal is-”

“WHY DON’T YOU ASK YOUR FAMILY? I’M NOT KIDDING.”

Your eye twitched, “Don’t yell at me.” You seethed, “If they won’t pay for my school or even a meal, what makes you think they would buy me a laptop?” The pain was terribly evident on your face and your lip quivered, “Face it, Jae, you took my place and you feel bad, so that’s the only reason you even talk to me.”

“Y/n…” Her voice was softer this time and Jin watched a tear fall down your face and felt his heart clench. He didn’t care who your family was, all you would need is him soon enough.

“And I appreciate it, even if it is pity-based, but don’t pretend like they care about me.” You huffed, wiping your tears, “Mr. Laptop Man must think I’m so dumb.” You scoffed and Jin noticed the way your features twisted from anger to pain and melancholy. There was evidently some deep-rooted pain when it came to your family

You were isolated from them. This past week, Jin gathered that you were eccentric and not afraid to make a fool of yourself or put yourself out there. He now understood it was because your family must have degraded you to such a degree, you eventually began to take it in stride.

“Y/n, I didn’t mean to…”

You frowned as Jin wondered why you felt any remorse for this person, “No, I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.” You sighed and glanced at yourself in the mirror and poked at your eye bags, “I’ll catch you later, okay?” You closed your eyes, “Have fun on the trip. Give everyone a hug for me.”

“You could come-”

You clenched your fists against the counter, “Jae… don’t.” You breathed, “I’ll talk to you later.” You quipped before hanging up the phone, “Ugh, I probably sounded like such a bitch.” You combed your fingers through your hair, tugging at the roots slightly before closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. Your fingers slowly uncurled themselves and you robotically placed them at your sides, “No, none of that.”

It was evident that was a coping mechanism, a way to express your pain and insecurity. He imagined it was more than likely much worse before. This made his fist clench. Must he protect from everything, including yourself?

He scoffed at himself. He didn’t even know where you were in the world. He was lucky that he even understood your native tongue. He was also lucky that you spoke Korean on occasions. This made the odds of you living even remotely near him better, but not definite.

Why was he even doing this? Why was he watching you and fantasizing about you when you had no idea who he was and he had no idea where you were? Suddenly, he felt terribly ridiculous. He had spent every night this past week just watching you without your consent, dreaming about you, and imagining this entire life with you.

With a heavy heart, he waited for you to be out of frame before exiting your stream. He effectively wiped it off the website, he figured it was the least he could do to atone for the hours he spent watching it.

Jin rubbed his hands over his hands in frustration. This sexual and romantic solitude seemed to be really getting to his head. Tomorrow was a new day and he had to seriously consider finding someone as perfect as you and fast.

Or at least someone who could pretend was as perfect as you for a night.

The next morning went on as usual. He got up, went to work, and finally, attended school. His classes went on and eventually, he was in the courtyard with the same people as always.

“Dove, would you hand me the water bottle?” Taehyung mused to his girlfriend as he laid his form between her legs as she sat on the table. She handed him the water bottle and he kissed her hand as he retrieved it from her.

Jin rolled his eyes as he sat next to her, “And just when I thought I couldn’t feel any lonelier.” He groaned out.

“It’ll come when you least expect it.” She turned to him with a short giggle, “Tae just swept me off my feet just like that.” She snapped to indicate how sudden.

“It’s all about timing, my friend,” Taehyung spoke blissfully as his girlfriend combed through his hair.

“Yeah, look at my little Odette and I.” Jimin nuzzled into the neck of his girlfriend.

“Not helping the whole loneliness feeling for Jin, babe.” She grunted as she pushed his head away, “But he is right, he found the right time to fuck my brains out and now it’s a forever thing.” Her crude language made Jimin smirk a bit.

“Same boat, Jin.” Yoongi sighed, “We’ll get there.” He spoke before putting his headphones back in.

Jin nodded, used to hearing and seeing the same things. He looked out around the campus before heaving himself off the table, “I’m gonna get a soda, anyone want anything from the vending machine?“ When everyone shook their heads, he headed out onto the path to the Arts building.

It was outside the building that he saw a large gathering of some freshman intro class. He shrugged it off until he heard an eerily familiar voice.

“Okay, so that puts the whole hand through the coke can effect to rest.” Your voice was playful and melodic, “Now, for my final act, pun intended.” Jin whipped his head around as you beamed among the genuinely entertained class, “The infamous stage kiss!” You proclaimed as a rustle came about the crowd, “Yes, mumble, mumble, groan, groan. I know, but it’s a basic skill and as an intro class, you need to know them.”

Jin didn’t know if he was dreaming or not. Even if he was, he’d like for it to stay that way if it meant you were here. You were more than he imagined. You were all he could ever imagine for this past week. You were right there.

“Now, I need a volunteer.” A myriad of male and female hands went up much too enthusiastically for Jin’s taste. You chuckled, “Flattering, but I need someone above my age.” Hands went down, but not enough, “I will check ID, kids.” All the hands went down, but some unknown force made Jin’s hand go up, “I see one hand back there, so come on up!” You chirped and Jin made his way to the makeshift stage.

He found himself surprised for one of very few times in his life. What the fuck was going on? How were you here and in front of him? Was this even real?

To say your heart fell out of your mouth would be a gross understatement. Kim Seokjin was sauntering up to you, “Well, I don’t think you’re in this class.” You mused softly as he made his way to you.

He gave you a small wink and you would’ve squealed if you didn’t have self-respect, “Y/n, right?” He more so stated as he shook your hand.

You nodded with an evident gulp, “Kim Seokjin, our very own campus prince!” You clapped along with the rest of a suddenly envious class, “Okay so there are a couple ways to do a stage kiss. This can be done a couple different ways.” You explained and turned to Jin, “What is most important, though, is that your partner is comfortable with whatever you decide on, which goes for every aspect of life, my dears.” You winked at the crowd, “Now, are you okay with getting close to my face and me touching your face?” Jin smiled before nodding.

You were clearly in your element and it was mesmerizing. You had a passion for theatre and entertaining a crowd. This would be fine with Jin so long as the world knew it was his hand you’d be taking the moment you stepped off stage. You would give anything to be happy, this included your family’s support.

“Okay, so the typical way is the old fashioned way of covering your partner’s face with yours or vice versa.” You talked animatedly with your hands as your grasped Jin’s wrist and led him to the makeshift wall you had, “You have the regular kabedon way.” You moved to put his hand beside your hand, but Jin took initiative, making you jump, “A-And then the partner, or you, would close in at an angle and…BAM!” You giggled as Jin was brought to a halt leaning in, “A kiss.” You stared at Jin’s face for a while before breaking the spell with a sheepish smile, “Okay, so time is running thin, so, I’ll show you the thumb kiss.” You were so cheerful as you turned to Jin, “Now what you do is slide your hand behind their hair all romantic-like.” You went to bring your hand up to Jin’s face, but he took initiative making you jump as his hand cradled your face ever so softly, “And-uh- place your thumb on their mouth, and tilt ever so slightly, and…” You tilted your head up and Jin took this as the signal to bring his lips to yours softly, internally cursing his own thumb.

“BAM!” Jin chuckled, “A kiss.”

You giggled as you both broke away and Jin basked in the sound, “Alrighty, that’s our time! Thank you for being so responsive!” You beamed as the class dispersed with returning smiles. You turned to Jin, “And thank you, kind sir.”

“I can be quite the thespian if you want me to.” He was flirting, he was just hoping you knew he was.

“Quit trying to make me blush.” You chided with a playful smile, “It’s a felony to make me flustered, it’s a whole mess.”

Jin felt like this was an out of body experience. He wanted to pinch himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming about you as he had this entire week. Everything felt so natural with you. There was no facade or fake laughter. There was just you and him.

“As penance for my crime, I’ll help you clean up.” He smiled as you and you gave him a toothy grin.

He helped you pack up your random props and insisted on giving you a ride home, “There’s no way I’m gonna let you ride the bus with all of this.” Jin was adamant.

“I really don’t live far, it’s why I don’t take my car most of the time.” You tried to reason.

“Which is why it’s no problem for me to drive you.” Jin shot back and you huffed, giving a pout he knew all too well.

“Promise you won’t turn out to be some murderer?” You spoke through puffed out lips that he wished to place his own on.

He smiled warmly at you, “Promise, although my jokes are killer.”

You burst into a fit of melodious giggles as you shook your head, “Yeah, no way you’re a murderer, dork.”

The walk to his car was filled with stupid jokes and goofy laughing as if you had known each other for years. You basked in the warmth he provided you in such a short amount of time, and yet it far exceeded what your family supplied you. Maybe you didn’t have to get accustomed to loneliness if Jin was around. He made you feel valued, and you had heard he was kind, but you never knew just how kind. Was he like this with everyone? Or could he possibly like someone like you? Even just as a friend. At this rate, anything worked.

With this in mind, you turned to him, “So, are you gonna tell me how you knew who I was?”

“Well, that’s a loaded question.” Jin sighed out, debating on telling you some semblance of the truth, “Have you heard of the ArtCast scandal?”

“Oh, yeah, the whole thing with- Oh no.” You stopped walking, “Are you telling me that-”

“It’s a long story.” Jin smiled sheepishly at you, “I didn’t see anything intrusive or anything but-”

There was a lot to unpack in that exchange. On one hand, Jin had seen you in your most private area of existence, but you were never quite good at being angry about things. At the end of the day, you felt like it was your fault you were on there and you doubted Jin made a habit of dark web encounters. You reminded yourself he was a computer science major… or was it computer security? You’d really hate to make things awkward by being angry. Even so, were you angry? Were you this starved for a companion?

He stopped when you began laughing, “Man, I need to read User Agreements, that’s embarrassing.” You shrugged and Jin was taken aback by your calmness, “You must think I’m such a dweeb.”

“You’re not… creeped out?” Jin sped up to catch up to you.

You just offered a shrug, “All I do is cry and watch videos, so it’s not a big deal.” You chortled, “No use in dwelling on it, I got enough to dwell on.”

Jin felt a huge weight lift off of his chest as you went along your merry way with him. On one hand, you had no self-preservation skills, but you also had no hatred in your heart for anyone. This was enough to keep him tethered to you, and no longer the idea of you. You were nothing like him with your rose-colored glasses that you viewed the world with. You were much too delicate of a flower to be alone, vulnerable.

“You are one of a kind, y/n.” Jin mused and you felt your face heat.

“As are you, Seokjin.” Jin caught the extra skip in your step, “I’d like to see more of you.”

“And I, you.” Jin winked at you.

—-

When Jin pulled into your apartment complex he shuddered at the architecture, or lack thereof, “Terrible isn’t it?” You hummed.

“It's… not that bad…” Jin gave you an uneasy smile and you rolled your eyes, “Close to campus…”

“Well excuse me, sugar daddy, not all of us can afford a high rise.” You stuck your tongue out at him, but he was too focused on how inviting your mouth looked to him.

“Stick your tongue out like that,” He leaned closer to you in a half-joking manner, “And I’ll bite it.” He threatened, which only furthered your grin and made your nerves come alive.

“Kinky.” You leaned closer to him and suddenly the atmosphere in the car became much heavier with your tone, and Jin went to grasp your chin, the heat that pooled in between your legs when he did so made you gasp softly, “I dig it.” You breathed and that was all it took for Jin’s resolve to break.

Before he could make the move, you smashed your lips onto his. He responded immediately, grabbing the back of your neck to pull you closer. The kiss was everything either of you could have wanted despite how unbelievably sloppy it was. Your tongues soon intertwined and Jin went to your waist to pull you from the passenger seat to his lap. Somehow, you managed to do so despite the difficulty that came with keeping your lips connected while you did so.

“Your lips are so fucking soft.” You hummed against his mouth before going to his neck, “Your skin too.” You smiled against it.

He groaned when you began to shyly suck on top of his jugular, “Fuck, good girl.” He moaned out before you ground your hips against his at the praise. He then grasped the back of your hair, accidentally pulling a little harder than intended to bring your face back to his. He was ready to apologize until you moaned at the sensation, throwing your head back.

“Shit.” You moaned when he placed his plush lips on your neck, sucking hard, “You’re gonna leave a mark-ah!” You bit your lip when he sucked at your sensitive spot.

“Good.” He grunted and you only ground against him harder, “Fuck, you’re really testing me.”

“I live right there.” You panted as he pressed you against him, his hands grabbing at your waist.

“But your stuff.” He noted as he sucked on your neck.

“I’ll get it tomorrow morning?” You spoke softly, more shy, trying to ask him to stay the night without asking, “It’s been ages since I’ve had good dick.” You groaned.

“And why’s that, sweetheart?” Jin was domineering and it made your thighs clench.

“Nobody’s been worth my time.” You smirked as he gripped your hip, much to your delight and you giggled at this, “Okay, maybe that’s a lie and I just want you to think I’m desirable.”

Jin smiled at this as he unlocked his car, “I already desire you, baby.” You shuddered at this. You move to get out of the car, but Jin took the initiative to move the both of you. You should’ve been more embarrassed than you were about your legs being wrapped around a man you had only met properly that day as he carried you into your apartment while whispering the R-Rated version of sweet nothings in your ear.

You handed him the key, and the moment the door shut you were up against the wall in an instant. You weren’t shy about the continuous moans and groans he ripped for your throat with the way his hand cupped your sex and began ministrations.

Jin reveled in the sound you made, only bolstering the unyielding need he felt for you. He had pictured this moment for so long and here you were, legs wrapped around him as he stumbled from wall to wall to get to your bedroom with one hand inside your panties.

You didn’t even think to ask how he knew where your bedroom was when you passed the threshold because if the way his fingers slipped inside proved to demand your attention more. He laid you down on the bed and you scrambled to your knees to unbuckle his belt as he stood over you. He let out a low groan when your tongue made a stripe along the base. You had to admit that his dick was quite beautiful and thankfully clean. Granted, you’ve seen some nice dick, but he was so well kept and soft and everything you were happy to put your mouth on.

His hand grabbed ahold of your hair and you moaned with your mouth full when he took control of you by tugging your hair. You had always liked it rough, and it was like he was reading your mind. He was fucking your face in no time and your thighs clenched in an attempt to alleviate the ache that only he could satisfy. He eventually pulled you off him and he left your mouth with a satisfying pop.

He stared down at you, hair messy, drool trailing down your chin, and eyes captivating with a carnal want. The sight could absolutely make him cum if he concentrated hard enough. He gave you a teasing glance as his slender fingers took their time with his shirt and you stripped yourself of the dress you wore in an instant. By the time Jin was in view again, he dove at you, lips attaching to yours. Your eyes fluttered closed as you clutched him closer to your form and you took a moment to appreciate how fit he was. His plush lips trailed down your body while his soft hands reached behind you to remove your bra.

Jin pulled away to sit up and stare at you for a moment. You were under him, chest heaving, mouth open in want, and he looked at your body, breasts beyond what he imagined and he moaned when his hands ran over your body. His hands nearly ripped your underwear down your legs and he studied your pussy like a scholar. His fingers spread you and he groaned at how wet you were. His mouth engulfed you, tongue having ached to taste you for too long and the way you squirmed only spurred him further. He ate you up like a man starved. When his tongue went inside you, you swore you saw God.

"Jin!” You gasped, body unable to squirm in his firm grip. If you hadn’t been feeling so good, you would swear he was eating you out more for his sake than yours. You couldn’t even form words, only his name would come out of your mouth, and this was only aided when one of his hands went up to squeeze your nipple. His other hand went to stretch you with three fingers as air flooded your lungs in a dizzy of lust, “Fuck me!” You finally gasped out and that was all the prodding he needed.

Next time he would have to make you beg, take his time, drive you mad, but right now, he needed to feel you around him.

Jin plunged into you and you were immediately fucked out. The pain was delicious and you wanted more. He began to thrust slowly at first until your hips began to spasm, “Harder,” You moaned, “Please fuck me hard.” You begged and something in Jin just snapped.

“Who?” He slammed into you as you groaned in delight, “Who do you want to fuck you hard, hm?”

You took his hand and placed it around your neck, “You, Sir, please.” You batted your eyelashes at him and that was it, “I want you to fuck your cum into me.” He was a weak man for you. This much was solidified when he expertly slammed into you as he squeezed your neck intermittently. Strangled moans came from you until the hand holding his wrist squeezed and Jin let go of your neck to hear you scream for him as you came.

You didn’t disappoint as your back arched and eyes rolled back. The erotic image paired with the way you clenched around him only pushed him over the edge as he came, hips stuttering as you both rode out your respective highs.

You hardly remember him cleaning you up, what mattered most to you was the way he held you through the night.

You woke up to an empty bed and sighed out, figuring he was gone. Maybe this is your punishment for never making the guy wait like your mother said to. You huffed as your feet made contact with the floor and you flinched in pain, understandably sore.

You paused when you heard a sizzling. Jin was cooking. He was awfully comfortable in a home he had rarely seen and never been in, right? You stopped yourself for a moment.

You really fucked your hot stalker, didn’t you?

You audibly laughed. Your life was a fucking joke. Were you this desperate for attention to overlook the fact that this man had looked through the lens of your laptop long enough and hard enough to know the layout of your apartment.

You sure were.

You shook your head in exasperation as you headed out of the room where you encountered Jin in your kitchen, cooking eggs and he gave you a small smile. You returned if despite the conclusion you came to.

You certainly did fuck your insanely hot stalker.

“You know Jin, I don’t think you were completely honest with me earlier.” You mused, not bothering to look at him for a response, “It seems you encountering my little stream wasn’t as casual as you say.”

Jin froze for a moment. You weren’t an idiot. He knew it wouldn’t take you long to organize your thoughts and see the truth. Not that he planned to omit the full truth for long. He had just been hoping you were in love with him before it came out. He could only hope the orgasms brought you at least a quarter of the way there “Why do you think that, baby?” He spoke slowly as he used the plastic spatula to move the yolk.

“Call it a hunch, but I don’t think anyone is that passionate fucking someone they just met.” You spoke listlessly, “I don’t mean to sound vain, but are you obsessed with me?"

Jin let out a short laugh, "The short answer is yes, but before you kick me out,” He turned the stove off as he placed the cooked eggs on a plate before turning to you, fingertips drumming on the counter, “Why don’t we eat a bit while I make you a proposition?”

The smart answer would be no. The smart choice would be to kick him out, an idea you hadn’t considered until he said it. However, you were known for your charisma much more than your intelligence. With that, you sat down at your table and Jin smiled in relief ever so slightly. It almost made you wonder if he knew you weren’t going to kick him out at all.

“Who am I to say no to free food?” You hummed as Jin opened your silverware drawer without even needing to ask you, almost as if he had obsessively watched you go about your daily life for a week.

He handed you the fork as he sat next to you. You took a bite of the perfectly scrambled eggs because of course, they were perfect.

He watched you eat with an emotion you hadn’t seen before. He could tell you were confused, and he wanted so badly to tell you it was adoration. The swine you were surrounded by had been to idiotic to appreciate what they had. Even just watching you was a gift nobody deserved.

“So this proposition?” You mumbled as you chewed lightly.

Jin snapped out of his trance, “Ah, yes.” He straightened his posture and rolled his shoulders like a true businessman as you watched his mouth settle into a confident smirk, one slightly different than the one he held whilst holding your legs open mere hours ago. The memory almost made you want to forego the offer and proceed with another round instead. Never in your life had anyone made you feel so wanted, “I would like for you to be my… companion.” He snapped you from your thoughts and considered the word for a moment before speaking again, “I find the word girlfriend to be too casual for what I would like our arrangement to be.”

You shifted a bit in your seat, unsure what the word companion even meant to him, “And what arrangement would that be?” You took another bite, trying to avoid his intimidating aura.

“One of a romantic variety.” You nearly choked on the food, “I suppose the end goal is for you to be my wife.” This time you did choke on the food. Your windpipe had welcomed the egg but Jin was quick to pat you on the back as you coughed, “I was just about to say I’d like to grow old with you, and here you are, almost killing yourself.” He chided as he pushed a cup of water your way and he waited for you to put the cup down before proceeding, “Essentially, I love you, and I’d like for you to commit to being with me and eventually loving me back as we go through life together.”

Your eyes were wide as you looked past Jin, trying to avoid eye contact. Had anyone ever really loved you? Your parents, maybe. However, she was required to by society. Jin had no obligation to feel anything for you and yet here he was, making you food and offering you the love and attention you craved.

You felt your face heat at his nonchalant confession of love and yet your heart was racing at his hand landed on top of yours. Your entire body was buzzing and you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or anticipation, “Well, w-what’s in it for me?” The question was shaky at best. You were willfully confused and unsure why you had been so ready to say yes without even hearing the benefits.

Jin was evidently amused by your attempt to put on a disinterested front. You had never been a good liar. He loved that about you and thrived on your honesty, “For one, you’ll have a stable and consistent person in your life.” That one stung a bit which is why he wanted to get that out of the way first. He knew how lonely and isolated you were, “You’ll always have my support emotionally, physically, and financially.” You nodded, asking him to go on, “You’ll never have to worry about anything really, I find myself with an aching need to bend to your every whim.” You smiled sheepishly at this, “I can offer you a life of happiness, loyalty, security, and endless love.”

You didn’t realize how hard you had clutched his hand until you breathed out a released Jin from your clutches. He stroked the top of your hand in response, “And what’s required of me?”

Jin squeezed your hand for a moment, “Your love and affection.” He mused, “I want you to commit to being my lover- ah, that’s the word I had been looking for.” He lightly tapped his head, “You make me woefully absentminded.” He chided and you felt your heart flutter, “All you ever have to do is look at only me as far as potential mates go. I can certainly promise to keep you interested.” A smirk played on the edge of his lips as his other hand stroked your knee, “You’re intoxicating and I could very well prove to be your drug of choice as well.” He spoke lowly and you almost shivered, “Your rules, for lack of a better word, would be to love me, and only me, and ideally, work at home for the most part.” This caught your attention, “Your passion seems to lie with screenwriting and editing with a dash of set design, yes?” He hardly waited for you to confirm, “So, you can do most of your work at home as is, on any other endeavors, I’d like to accompany you.” You nodded again, agreeing before your mind was fully made up, “I don’t like the idea of the outside world having free access to you.”

“Go figure, considering the outside world had paid access to me.” You chuckled before taking a breath after seeing Jin’s smile falter, “Anywho, I would be quite a fool to deny you.” You sighed out, “You paint a nice picture, especially to someone as isolated and affection-starved as myself. You seem to have made yourself the skeleton key to all the locked doors I’ve been faced with in my lifetime.” Jin smiled proudly at this, “Yeah, it’s creepy you got off to watching me and are literally obsessed, but if you look like this, have that much money, and can make me cum like that during our first time, who am I to say no to a life of comfort and happiness?"

"Do you think you could love me?” Jin asked, confidence mostly gone and his eyes left with pure hope. For the first time, he didn’t know your answer.

You smiled at him, no doubt in your answer as you brought your hand to cup his cheek softly, “I certainly could.” You were softer this time, “But riddle me this…"

"Anything.” His hand brushed over your own as your thumb stroked his cheek.

“Why do you love me?” He placed a kiss on the back of your hand after holding it.

He sighed dreamily, “I’m surrounded by people with the whole world in the palm of their hand.” He rubbed his face against your hand, “Some love it, some hate it, but they’re all the same.” You saw him grimace at the very thought of these people, “They lie and constantly pretend to be something they’re not.” He looked up to meet your eyes, “But you, are so unapologetic about who you are and what you love.” He cupped your face and you could feel yourself heat at his touch, “You’re honest and not afraid to feel despite everyone trying to get you to conform to their standards.” He smiled at you and you knew it was over, “I genuinely just want you in my life, and I want to be someone special to you as you are to me.”

You were shaken from the trance when you felt a tear slide down your cheek. Never in your life had anyone been so kind and supportive of you. He didn’t joke about how unlikely your career path was or give you a backhanded compliment. He was just a guy who wanted to be in your life and support you- and if overlooking his obsessive stint of his was what you had to do, then fuck it. He could’ve easily lied to you and you would’ve fallen for him none the wiser. What does you knowing about his obsession really change? It doesn’t make him love you any less and it doesn’t make you any less infatuated. You would be his and he would be yours because you both wanted it to be as such.

Jin’s hand brushed the tear off your cheek, “No need to worry, petal.” His voice was gentle, “Not anymore, not while I’m around.”

Your eyes glinted with hope and just a hint of trust when Jin met them again. You leaned in to kiss him softly, an affirming kiss. It was a kiss that said, “You better not be lying to me Kim Seokjin, I’ll go crazy.” You breathed the words against his mouth and he gave you a playful smile.

He gave you a kiss in return, reassuring the faith you decided to put in him. He would never disappoint you. His hand went to the back of your neck as he tilted your head upwards to pull you in deeper, “I’m so in love you.” He breathed on your mouth in return and you shivered, the feeling foreign to you.

“Well,” You huffed, catching your breath, “Do I get to live in your fancy penthouse now?” You gave me a carefree smile, and it sunk in that he was no longer forced to watch you through a screen. He could watch you all day. He had plans to do as much. He found he could prove his love best by merely looking at you.

You really knew how to read him like a book. He noted how terribly naive you were. In a matter of 24 hours, you agreed to move in with a man who had spied on you like an animal starved. However, Jin only determined this as an exhibition of how meant to be the both of you were. A great playwright must have written your love story for the ages.

The world looked much more beautiful with your hands on him.

ko-fi

masterlist

#yandere bts #soft yandere jin #kim seokjin #bts smut #bts series #bts oneshot #bts fanfic #bts fluff

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myownsuperintendent · 4 years

Text

New Fic: “A Freshman Class to Watch”

Dana Scully, Monica Reyes, Samantha Mulder, and Diana Fowley complete their freshman year as college gymnasts. This is a wildly self-indulgent AU combining my two favorite fandoms, The X-Files and gymnastics. I hope I've made it comprehensible for the non gymnerds. Thanks to @scullys-right-eyebrow-txf for some help with the technical details (of course, any mistakes are my own). Also tagging @thefutureisporcelain as the only other person I know at the center of the XF/gymnastics venn diagram. The fic is rated T and is also here on Ao3.

.....

May

It’s Dana’s last JO nationals, which is still hard to believe. She knows it won’t be the last time she puts on a leotard, fastens her grips, salutes before the judges, and it’s not as though she’s not looking forward to college, to what comes next. Still, it feels like the end of something; everything feels like that, around this time. Last time running to her locker, last high school party, last time competing alongside the other girls from her gym.

She’s happy she can end it on a good note, though. She’s never totally satisfied with her own performances—there’s always something that could be better—but even she has to admit that everything goes well today, even bars, especially vault. She places fifth in her division, which is more than she’d hoped for, and she feels a flash of pride as she collects her flowers.

She sees Monica Reyes after the competition; they don’t live in the same city or train at the same gym, but they know each other pretty well by now, from running into each other here every year. She’s glad they’ll be going to college together, that she’ll go in knowing someone else on the team already. After training in the same place for much of her life, it’ll be nice to have someone familiar there when it comes time to make the switch.

“Hey, great job!” Monica says, giving her a hug. “You kicked ass out there today.”

“You did great too,” Dana says. “I love your floor.”

“Thanks!” Monica says. “Yeah, I was pretty happy. If only beam wasn’t a thing.”

Dana smiles sympathetically. “We’ve all thought that at some point.”

“Oh well,” Monica says. “Onwards and upwards. Did you see that college gym site? They said that we’re a freshman class to watch.”

“No, I can’t read that kind of thing,” Dana says. “It makes me too nervous.” She knows that’s weird—why should reading about gymnastics make her more nervous than actually competing? — but it’s true. She doesn’t like to think about people judging her, even if, as in this case, the judgment seems to be positive.

“Well, I think it’s going to be great,” Monica says. Someone calls her name then, and she turns to look. “That’s my coach. I’ve got to run. Text me, okay? And I’ll see you in a couple of months.”

“Definitely,” Dana says, and they hug again, quickly, before they go their separate ways.

She rides back home with her family, and they all go out for dinner that night, to celebrate. She keeps thinking about what Monica told her; she can’t help it. She wonders what the article actually said, if it was talking about her. It might not have been: there are plenty of other reasons they could be called a freshman class to watch. They have an Olympic champion, a world medalist. It might not have anything to do with her.

But she thinks about her vault today. She’d opened out at just the right time. Straight down the middle. Stuck it cold.

.....

June

Monica’s texting with Dana, because she always seems to have her shit together, which Monica could really use. When are you going to start getting stuff for your dorm?

Probably not until August, Dana texts back. Not enough storage space in the house. But my mom’s already freaking out.

How come?

Not sure, Dana says. I’m the third. You’d think she’d be used to it by now.

LOL, Monica texts. Are you excited?

Yeah. I don’t believe it’s real yet, though.

Monica knows what she means. It’s strange to think she’ll be off to college at the end of the summer, after thinking about it for so long. She’s excited for a lot of different things—classes and dorm life and even dining hall food—but she thinks she’s excited for gymnastics most of all.

That’s funny in a way, because gymnastics won’t be something new: she’s been doing it since she was six. But everyone says it’s different in college, being part of a team, competing more for the group than for your individual scores. She thinks she’ll like that. She wouldn’t change anything about her time in JO—it’s always been the sport in which she’s felt at home—but sometimes she has been jealous of the girls in other sports, on the soccer team or the basketball team, who have a lot of friends competing along with them, who aren’t doing it alone. She likes the thought of being a part of something. She likes the thought that they’ve chosen her to be a part of it. She could be intimidated, when she thinks about the competition history of some of the girls who will be her teammates—in just two and a half months! — but, somehow, she’s not. They wouldn’t have recruited her if they didn’t think she had something to add. And she’s going to work her hardest to contribute to the team.

She wonders about it all a lot. Who her friends will be. When she’ll start making lineups. If they’ll ever want her to compete beam (she kind of hopes not, but then on the other hand you are supposed to stretch yourself in college). What she’ll use for her floor music—she wants to do something more fun now.

She texts Dana again. Do you think I could do a floor routine to whale music?

Um…what?

You know, whale music. Like whale sounds.

I know what it is. I just don’t know if you could do a floor routine to it. There’s no rhythm.

You’re no fun, Monica texts back, but she guesses Dana has a point. And she doesn’t know if she’ll get to pick her own music right away, anyway. Still, no harm in thinking about it. She spends a while scrolling through her phone, looking at her music selections, until it’s time to go to practice.

.....

July

Samantha didn’t think it would be a big deal, watching Classics. All that’s behind her now. But she had to leave halfway through, and now she’s in her bedroom, staring at the wall. She doesn’t know why it bothered her so much, but she does know that she’s mad at herself. Mad and worried. If she can’t even watch other people doing gymnastics, in a competition that has absolutely nothing to do with her, what is she going to do when she gets to college?

There’s a knock on her door, and she considers not answering; she doesn’t want to talk about gymnastics with her parents any more than she absolutely has to. But then she hears Fox’s voice calling, “Sam?”, and she relaxes. It’s just him. She gets up, shuffling over to open the door.

“You okay?” he asks.

She shrugs. “I don’t really know.”

“You want to talk about it?” he asks. She shrugs again, but she backs out of the doorway, and they sit down side by side on her bed.

“What if I suck?” she asks, eventually. She’s not sure it’s the main question, but it’s one of them. “What if I get to college and I just suck, and everyone’s like, ‘Wow, what happened to her?’”

“That won’t happen,” Fox says. “Since when have you sucked at anything?”

“Last year,” she says quietly. “Last year I sucked.”

“No, you didn’t,” he says. “You…you were having a rough patch.”

“Don’t,” Samantha says. She knows he means well, but she doesn’t want to hear it. Everyone had said things like that: that her performance last year didn’t mean anything, that she could get past it, that she could come back even better than she’d been at the Olympics. But they’d all said it like it was somehow her fault that it hadn’t happened yet. That she just needed to try harder, eat better, practice more, change her attitude. Stop being such a baby. Want it enough. She knows that’s not what Fox thinks, but it reminds her of everyone else, just the same.

“Okay,” he says. “Well, I still don’t think you sucked. Me trying to do balance beam, that’s what sucking would look like.”

She can’t help giggling at that. “It just made me think about last year,” she says. “Watching, I mean.” Classics last year was the first time she’d really competed since the Olympics, and it had been…well, awful. Three falls across her first three events. She had really wanted to scratch vault, the last one, but she hadn’t wanted to end on that note. She’d landed it, admittedly with a few steps back, but that still made it her best event of the night. No one had said, that night, that it was the punctuation to her elite career. But looking back on it, she felt like she shouldn’t have expected anything different—that she should have known, going in, that she wasn’t going to be at the top anymore and didn’t even want to be.

“I get it,” he says. “But college will be different, Sam. And I’ll still be around if you need me.” They hadn’t planned on going to the same college—they probably would have laughed at the idea if anyone had asked—but now here they are, if only for one year. She’s gladder about it than she’s willing to admit.

“I know,” Samantha says. “And I know college is supposed to be when you have fun. And remember why you fell in love with the sport and all that.” She can’t help sounding sarcastic. It was so long ago, when she fell in love with the sport. “But I just feel like everyone will be watching me. Come see if they broke the Olympian.”

“Maybe at first,” he says. “But not once people get to know you. Then they’ll forget you ever went to the Olympics. You’re not that special.” He elbows her.

He’s teasing, she knows—he really is proud of her, proud of what she’s done, sometimes more than she is herself. Still, she likes the idea of everyone forgetting she went to the Olympics. It’s hard to forget it herself, with the medals hanging up in the living room. She wishes that she could just remember the feeling—that beam routine, knowing she was on from the first second, the spins perfectly connected, the barani landed without a wobble—and forget where it happened and what it all meant.

.....

August

Diana’s packed. It’s something she’s good at—two world championships, three times at Jesolo, and three world cups (and that’s besides all the domestic competitions and training camps) will do that to you. The only hesitation was about whether to bring her medals, which she’s got arranged in a display on her bedroom wall, but after a minute she decided to go for it. She doesn’t care if it looks snotty; it’s not. She earned them. She didn’t practice five times a week, didn’t train that dismount day after day, didn’t tear her fucking labrum so that she could leave her medals at home and pretend she’s not anyone. She’s got two world medals on bars and two with the team and she earned every bit of them.

Her mom pokes her head in. “You’re packed already, Diana?”

“Yes,” Diana says. “Just finished.”

“And you have everything?” her mom asks. “Everything you need?”

“Yes,” she says. She’s always been very independent; she’s packed her own bag every morning since she was five, and she came back from her first day at gymnastics class announcing in a loud voice what kinds of leotards she would need and how often she was going to practice. Her mom tells that story a lot, but Diana sometimes thinks she’s kind of sorry about it, that she’d like to do more for her. Not that she’s one of those gym moms, thank God. Diana’s been really lucky there; her parents have always been the good kind of supportive. They’ve come to all her competitions, even the ones that were on the other side of the world, and waved banners with her name on them, and they’ve also made it completely clear that she could quit tomorrow if she wanted to. She’s never, never wanted to.

Her mom looks at the wall. “You took down your medals?”

Diana nods. “I’m going to put them up in my dorm room.”

Her mom nods too. “Dad and I are going to miss you so much,” she says, after a minute. “Well, you know that. But you’re going to do amazing things in college.”

“You’ll come and visit,” Diana says. “You can come to my meets. It’s not like I’ve never been away from home before.”

“Still,” her mom says, “it won’t be the same. But I am looking forward to watching you.”

She’s looking forward to it too, to this new field of competition. Everyone says NCAA is all about the team, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have its stars. And Diana’s pretty sure she’s going to be one of them. She knows other people think so too: she read an article online, a couple of months ago, about how her cohort was a freshman class to watch. That has to have been because of her. The other girls in the class are two JO girls and Samantha Mulder, who—well, she was great when it counted. In the year it counted most, the Olympic year, Samantha was still all tiny and crisp form and 6.3 beam d-score, while Diana was all recurring injuries and low stamina and downgraded bars. Not that Diana has anything against Samantha, personally. The shoe could easily have been on the other foot. The shoe easily is on the other foot, now, because the last time she saw Samantha compete, she’d clearly entered the burnout phase, and she hasn’t been training seriously for a while, as far as Diana knows. And Diana’s ready. She’s healed and she’s been practicing and she’s ready to be a star in college, to make sure her gymnastics career ends on a high note. Because she’s in control of that.

She checks over her packing, carefully, and she zips up her suitcases. They’ll be driving down tomorrow, for a team training camp before classes start. She can’t wait.

.....

September

Dana’s parents dropped her off this morning (her mom cried a little, and her dad hugged her tight), and now she’s getting ready to head over to the gym. She’s redone her bun about five times. It’s silly, she knows. They’re just training; it doesn’t matter what her bun looks like. But this is her first day really on the team, and she wants to make a good impression, and she figures having a neat bun can’t hurt.

She checks her bag, too, where she’s packed her things, her water bottle and her muscle roller and some extra hair elastics. She can’t delay it any longer, she guesses, and most of her doesn’t really want to. So she heads out of her dorm, towards the gym building.

She’s left extra time, in case she gets lost, but it doesn’t take that long to get there. She pauses outside the door when she sees Monica coming toward her, also carrying a gym bag, also with her hair pulled back (ponytail for her). “Hi!” Monica says, when she gets close enough. “You get here this morning?”

Dana nods. “Yes. You?”

“Yeah,” Monica says. “I’ve just been unpacking a little. But I couldn’t really concentrate.”

“I know what you mean,” Dana says. She’s been trying to put her things away all morning, but there’s just too much adrenaline. “Are you…are you as nervous as I am?”

“Well, I don’t know how nervous you are,” Monica says, “but probably. But we’ve got to go in there, right? It’s not going to make a very good start if we just lurk outside the gym like weirdos. Plus, you’ve got nothing to be nervous about. I’ve seen you do gymnastics. You’re good!”

Dana has to smile at that. “Thanks. You’re good, too.”

“See, that’s the spirit,” Monica says. “We’re two good gymnasts, and we’re going to go in there and show them what we’ve got.”

“That’s right,” Dana says, firmly, and they walk into the gym side by side. She’s glad she has Monica with her. A team already.

Some of the upperclassmen are there already—Dana’s met a few of them, when she came here for recruiting, and she’s watched some of their meets, so they’re not entirely unfamiliar. There’s the girl who did the disco floor routine. There’s the girl who vaults an Omelianchik. And there’s their coach. Walter Skinner is one of the big reasons Dana wanted to go here, why she picked it over other schools. A lot of people say he’s strict, but that’s not something Dana minds, so long as he’s fair. She wants someone who can push her to be better, who takes the sport as seriously as she does.

He sees them as they come in. “Dana, Monica,” he says. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” Dana says. “I’m really excited to be here.”

“Me too,” Monica says, nodding.

“You can join your teammates if you like,” he says. “We’ll be getting started in a few minutes.” They nod again, wandering over to where the other girls are chatting in the middle of the room. They stick together, still.

The door opens, and another girl comes into the gym. She’s shorter than Dana, which isn’t that unusual in the realm of gymnastics, but it’s something she notices anyway. Monica nudges her a little, but Dana knows who it is, of course. Samantha Mulder: she was on the last Olympic team. She won the gold on beam; Dana remembers her routine, its perfection, its precision. She knew Samantha was in their class, but seeing her in person is still a little bit exciting. She says hello to Coach Skinner and then makes her way towards the rest of them, slowly, looking a little shy.

Dana smiles at her. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Dana.”

“And I’m Monica,” Monica says. It’s all a little weird—are they supposed to pretend they’ve never seen her before?

“I’m Samantha,” she says. “Hi.”

“How are you so good on beam?” Monica blurts out. So they’re not pretending, apparently. “I mean, have you ever fallen? I’d be in a cast if I tried to do half the things you do.”

Samantha shrugs. “I just like beam, I guess,” she says, and then she’s quiet, fiddling with the end of her ponytail.

Other girls are filtering in, and Dana sees the last member of their class, Diana Fowley. She’s not as famous a face as Samantha, but you’d still recognize her if you’d been following gymnastics during the last quad: she went to worlds twice and medaled on bars. She clearly spent some time this morning redoing her bun too; it’s pristine, sitting secure at the back of her head. Her tank top and shorts match. Dana doesn’t know if she was trying to make an impression, but she’s certainly succeeding. “Hello, Samantha,” she says when she joins them. They must know each other already, from the national team.

“Hi, Diana,” Samantha says. Her voice is quiet; she’s fiddling with the ponytail again.

The last girls come in, and Coach Skinner, along with the assistant coaches, groups them in the center of the room standing in a circle. “Returning athletes, welcome back,” he says, “and new athletes, welcome. As always, I’m looking forward to working with you this year. I’m here to help each one of you achieve her best as an individual, but, more importantly, to help all of you work together to achieve our best as a team. We made the final round at nationals last year, and I’m confident that we can do it again this year. It will take a lot of hard work, but you’ll get out of it what you put in. What I ask is that you bring a willingness to work hard, to try your best, to be open to feedback, and to always help the team. In return, I’ll be here to support you in what’s best for your gymnastics. Let’s go get ‘em this year!” Some of the older girls whoop.

They do some introductions—Hi, my name’s Dana Scully, I’m from California, I’ve been doing gymnastics since I was five, and my favorite apparatus is vault—but they get into actual training pretty quickly. Dana likes that; she’s never been a fan of icebreaker games. She wants to get to know her teammates and make friends, of course, but she thinks she can do that better by working with them towards a goal. By knowing they’re all in this together, as they spread out around the mats, doing leg lifts and handstands and back tucks off blocks. She can tell she’s going to be a little sore tomorrow—she hasn’t really been practicing in the last couple of weeks, there’s been too much to do to get ready for school—but she doesn’t mind. She’s back in the gym, as part of a team she can contribute to, and she’s so glad about that.

She watches the other girls too; they’re doing a circuit as the last exercise of the day, and everyone has to complete it before they can go. Monica’s front tuck is high and powerful. Diana points her toes in the air and seems determined to stick every landing. Samantha looks at the blocks like they might be snakes, but her air awareness is like nothing Dana’s ever seen. She remembers what Monica told her at JO Nationals: them, a freshman class to watch. In this moment, as she cheers her teammates on, she fully believes it.

Dana looks around for the other freshmen after practice—it would be good to have people to stick with, she thinks, while they start trying to navigate campus. Diana’s gone before she can see where, and she doesn’t see Samantha at first either. But when she and Monica make their way out the door, talking about exploring a little, she sees Samantha trailing after them. “Hey,” Dana says, “you want to come with us? We were going to look around.”

“Yeah, I want to find food,” Monica says. “And maybe if there’s a store or something? There’s already stuff I need for my room.”

“I said I’d meet my brother,” Samantha says. “But he could probably tell us.”

“Your brother?” Dana asks. “Does he go here?”

“Yeah, he’s a senior,” Samantha says. They’re outside the gym now, and she points to a tall guy leaning against a tree. She’s really smiling for the first time since Dana’s met her. “That’s him.”

Samantha’s brother waves as they head towards him. He looks a little bit like Samantha—same eyes, same smile—but the height difference is almost comical. He’s got to be over six feet, and Dana doubts Samantha quite reaches five. Not that she wants to make fun; she’s used to being a lot shorter than the people around her. “Hi, Fox!” Samantha says. She turns to the two of them. “This is my brother, Fox.”

“Samantha, don’t tell him that,” he says.

Samantha rolls her eyes. “He hates his name so much,” she says. “So just call him Mulder. I’m allowed to call him Fox because it would be too weird otherwise. Anyway, these are Dana and Monica. They’re on my team.”

“Hi,” he says, smiling. “How was the first practice?”

“It was fine,” Samantha says. “We want to find out where stuff is. Will you show us?”

“Of course I’ll show you,” Mulder says. “What kind of stuff do you want to find? Library stacks? Anatomy lab?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind,” Dana says. “I have a class there next week.” They seem a little surprised from the way they look at her. “I’m pre-med.”

“Hey, that’s cool,” Mulder says. “We can swing by the science buildings. And then there’s a dining hall near them, if you want food.”

“We do want food,” Monica says. “Sounds good to me.”

So they set off across campus, the four of them. It’s turning into evening already, so Dana decides she’s made it: her first day at college. She hasn’t gotten lost, she hasn’t embarrassed herself, and she’s met people who are going to be a big part of her life here: her coaches, her teammates. Maybe her friends.

.....

October

Monica invited the other three freshmen over to watch world championships tonight; she’s always watched it with the girls from her gym, and she thinks it’s more fun in a group. Diana said she was busy—she’s made it clear she’s here to do gymnastics, not to make friends—but Dana’s there right at 7:30, popcorn in hand, and Samantha shows up a few minutes later. They settle around Monica’s laptop to watch. “I want to be her when I grow up,” Monica says, as they watch Oksana Chusovitina vaulting; she’s in her forties and still making finals when most gymnasts are long retired. “Just keep doing gymnastics until I die. That sounds awesome.”

“You don’t think you’d get tired of it?” Samantha asks.

“No,” Monica says. “Why would I? I love it. I mean, my body might give out on me before I get that far.” She can’t really imagine being in her forties, let alone what doing gymnastics would feel like then. “But even if I can just do some cartwheels, I’ll be happy.”

Dana laughs. “Maybe if you have kids, you can be on a team together.”

“Yeah!” Monica says. “Definitely.” She watches as Chuso’s score comes up. “Did you ever meet her, Samantha?” she asks. She knows they were at the Olympics together.

“Just for a couple of minutes,” Samantha says. “We weren’t in the same group or anything. She’s nice, though.”

“That’s so cool,” Monica says. “Seriously.” Samantha sort of shrugs, but she’s smiling a little bit.

On a break between subdivisions, she looks at her phone, wanting to see how scores are stacking up. “Hey, here’s an article,” she says. “‘NCAA Gymnastics Stars of the Season: Our Predictions.’ And it says—”

“Stop!” the other two say, almost at the same time. They don’t like following college gym sites, but Monica doesn’t see the harm in it, so long as you don’t take anything too seriously.

“Why do you always read those?” Samantha asks.

“I know,” Dana says. “I don’t want to know what a bunch of people online think about me!”

“None of us are in it, anyway,” Monica says. “It’s Diana.” She scans the blurb. “Four-time world medalist…flawless lines…do you think Diana wrote this herself?” She laughs.

“I think it’s kind of hard for her,” Samantha says, quietly. “Doing so well and then getting hurt before the Olympics and having to start all over. I think that’s hard.”

Samantha has a point, she knows. That can’t have been easy, and if Diana’s kind of standoffish, kind of full of herself, maybe it comes out of that. Besides, they’re teammates; they should be on the same side. “You’re right,” she says. “I shouldn’t make fun.” She clicks out of the article.

“Besides,” Dana says, “she is really good. I wish I could do bars like that.” She shakes her head. “I hate bars.”

“Why?” Monica asks. “You’re pretty good at them.”

“I guess,” Dana says. “It’s been a process, though. I actually…I had to redo level five because I couldn’t get the routine.” She lowers her voice when she says it, as if someone might be eavesdropping, looking for scandalous gossip about the level five bar routine.

“Well, you obviously came back strong,” Monica says. “No shame in that.”

“Still,” Samantha says. “I get it. That’s hard too.”

“It’s just never natural for me,” Dana says. “I wish it was. And it obviously is for Diana.”

“We can only do what we can do,” Monica says. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses, right?” She turns back to the screen, where the next subdivision has started; a gymnast is vaulting a Cheng. “Like I could never do that. But I’ve still got some things going for me.”

Dana smiles then, and they keep watching.

.....

November

It’s two months into the semester, and Samantha decides that, all in all, things aren’t going so badly.

Her classes are pretty good. She was worried about them being hard, but she’s found she can keep up. She was worried about people recognizing her and asking questions, but so far that hasn’t happened much either; maybe it’s been long enough since the Olympics, or maybe people just don’t watch gymnastics as much as she thought. It probably helps that she never had her face on a cereal box or anything like that, thank God, thank God, thank God.

But even gymnastics…she’s liking it a lot more than she’s liked it in years. She’s only really training bars and beam for now, although she’s played around with a couple of floor passes. (She doesn’t think she could get anything more than a full twist around now on vault, and they’re already got plenty of those.) Her sets are a lot simpler than what she did in elite, and sometimes she misses some of the moves that used to be a part of her, but mostly she likes it. And Coach Skinner…he’s serious but he’s never mean. He doesn’t yell at her if she misses a dismount. He doesn’t ask her if that means she doesn’t care about it. He doesn’t say that maybe she doesn’t belong in the gym.

And she likes having a team, a real one, where they’re all working together and they all know they’re part of it. She likes having the other girls cheering for her, and she likes cheering for them too, likes dancing on the sidelines when they practice floor routines. She’s got friends here, she thinks.

She spends the most time with the other freshmen, and she likes them, especially Dana. She thinks they have the most in common, especially in the gym: they’re both serious about it, but it’s not the only thing in their life. She doesn’t think she’d ever want to be as competitive as Diana is, all the time, and she doesn’t know if she could ever have as much fun as Monica seems to, even here. But she can take pride in a skill well done, can love the feeling of flying. She thinks Dana’s like that too.

The two of them hang out outside of practice a lot. Sometimes they work on their homework together; Dana’s really smart, and she’s good at explaining things that are confusing. Sometimes they go off-campus to explore. “You know what sounds really good?” Dana says one Saturday afternoon. “Actual pizza. Not from a dining hall.”

“You want to get pizza?” Samantha asks. She’s not used to being invited to that kind of thing, not when she’s training, which is basically all the time.

“Yeah,” Dana says. “If you do.”

Why not? She’s in college now. Her parents and her old coaches can’t tell her what to do. “Yeah,” she says. “I’ll ask Fox. Maybe he knows a good place.”

He does, and they go, the three of them, to a place that’s a complete hole in the wall but has some of the best pizza she’s ever eaten. The whole time they’re there, they talk and laugh. She’s with two people who she likes spending time with. She’s doing something she wanted to, because it sounded fun. She’s not dreading having to be back in the gym on Monday. It almost doesn’t feel real, but she tries her best to trust it.

.....

December

There’s about a month until the season starts, and tonight they’re having an intrasquad competition, blue versus red. Diana’s on the blue team, and she’s doing the all-around; she knows that doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll make all four lineups in actual competition, so she’s using this as an opportunity to show that she should, that all of her skills are clean and consistent. She deserves to be out there, come January.

It’s not as crowded as she assumes it will be during the season, but there are some students there to watch. Coach Skinner is very big on trying to replicate the conditions of competition, even in an event like this that doesn’t count towards anything. That works with Diana’s mindset. There’s no point in doing things you aren’t going to take seriously.

They start on vault. She’s gone down to the full for college, at least for now; she’s grown since she last did the double, and it’s hard to get around. And the blind landing on the one-and-a-half is trickier than it looks. She’s hoping she can work up to it eventually, but even now, she thinks they could still use her, even without a ten start. Her full is very clean, and when she lands it solidly, there’s basically nothing to take. She lands it solidly tonight, and the other girls on the blue team cheer. She keeps her eye on the other fulls. They all have something to take away.

But she’s been looking forward to bars the most. She knows it’s where she can shine, and so it’s where she feels the happiest, the most solid. Her routine’s a lot simpler now, but she’s trained a couple of her favorite moves; she’s got her half-twisting shaposh in the routine now (she’s not about to jump to the high bar like an eight-year-old, come on). She goes over it in her head while she waits. Samantha’s the last one to go before her, on the blue team, and her routine goes pretty well, until she stumbles out of the dismount. She looks upset, afterwards, and Diana pats her on the shoulder, but she’s not really thinking about it. And she’s not paying any attention at all to the senior who’s going for the red team, because it’s about to be her turn.

Diana’s heard other girls say that she thinks she’s perfect. Girls at her gym back home, and girls on the national team, and even girls here already. Here’s the thing, though: she doesn’t. She knows what her weaknesses are, and she knows when she’s fucked up. She’d never say it to anyone, but she wouldn’t have picked herself for the Olympic team either. She would have been right for it once, only the year before, but by then other girls were better.

But all that means she knows when she’s doing well, too. And she knows, tonight, that she’s on: that her toes are pointed, that each transition is smooth, that her release is high and that there’s no way she’ll miss the catch. And when she comes in for the dismount, her feet are not about to move. She doesn’t need to hear them screaming for her. She doesn’t need a score. It feels for a minute like she’s back at worlds again and they’re about to put that bars medal around her neck. She thinks she might cry, if that weren’t totally ridiculous.

You’ve got to put each event behind you to go on to the next, Diana knows, so she thinks about beam and then about floor. They go well too. She thinks she’s made her case. Coach Skinner says, “Good job, Diana,” as they head out of the gym, and he’s not what you’d call an effusive guy.

She’s forgotten about the other girls, who are chatting around her as they change. As far as she’s concerned, this was her night. Again. Finally.

.....

January: Week One

She’ll be competing as a college gymnast for the first time in less than half an hour, and Dana is both extremely excited and extremely nervous. It’s a home meet, and she can’t decide if that makes it better or worse; they’ll have more support, but there will also be more people to see if she messes up.

Coach Skinner put her in the all-around, which surprises her. She’s confident about vault and floor, and beam is beam but she feels all right about it, but she’s very nervous for bars. As she fixes her hair one last time, she gives herself a pep talk, reminds herself that she’s being silly, that she’s put extra work into bars for years just so that it won’t go wrong. That this is not like that time in level five, that she’s gotten a lot better since then, that her issue with bars is one of confidence, not skill. She still wishes Coach Skinner hadn’t picked her, but she knows they need her, that it’s not their strongest event as a team and there aren’t that many routines to choose from. You just need to hit, Dana, she tells herself. No one’s asking you to get a ten. It’s your first college meet and you’ve got to enjoy it and stop psyching yourself out.

She wonders if she put on too much face glitter. Or not enough face glitter.

She turns to look at the other girls in the locker room. Most of the upperclassmen seem to have their getting ready rituals; they’re excited for the season to be starting, of course, but they already know what they’re doing in a way that she doesn’t. Monica has her headphones on and is bouncing on the balls of her feet, but she’s smiling. Diana’s sitting down with her eyes closed; she looks calm, like she always does. Samantha is clinging to her bag like it’s the only thing between her and death, and she looks like she’s about to throw up.

“Are you okay?” Dana asks her.

“I’m…I get really nervous,” Samantha says, her voice so quiet Dana can barely hear it.

“We all get nervous, I think,” she says gently. “But it’s going to be fine. You’re great at this. Your beam is so beautiful.”

But Samantha shakes her head. “I haven’t even competed since last year,” she says. “I’m not going to be any good. I’m going to let all of you down…”

“You’re not going to let anyone down,” Dana says. “We’re a team. We’re here to lift each other up.” She knows a lot of people think that kind of thing is cheesy—Melissa always used to roll her eyes, when she’d hear Dana say that. But she really does believe it, and she wants Samantha to believe it too.

She doesn’t seem to. “I shouldn’t even be here,” she says.

“That’s not true at all,” Dana says. “And it’s only the first week. We don’t have to be perfect.” She’s worried about Samantha, though; she looks terrified. “Do you want to talk to Coach Skinner?”

Samantha shakes her head. “No,” she says, her voice still small.

“Maybe we could do some breathing exercises?” Dana says. She doesn’t know if it’ll help, but she figures it’s worth a shot. “We used to do them before competitions at my gym back home. They can really calm you down. Does that sound okay?” Samantha nods, after a moment, and they sit down across from each other on one of the benches. “All right,” Dana says. “Copy me.”

She breathes in, holds it, breathes out, counting all the while; she sees Samantha doing the same, after a moment. It’s time to march out after a couple of minutes, but Samantha doesn’t look quite so scared, and she murmurs, “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Dana says. “Here, we can walk out together.” She keeps an eye on Samantha while they’re waiting to start. She’s not thinking about her own nerves anymore, not much anyway.

She’s fourth in the vault lineup, after Diana, who lands her full with just a small hop. “Great job!” Dana says to her, as she goes up, and Diana nods. And then it’s her turn.

She’s done this a million times, and she loves vault best. And everything feels right today, starting from the run. Her block is good, and she can tell she’s on in the air, opening out for the landing after one and a half twists. She has to take a step at the end, but only a little one.

The other girls are cheering for her, running to give her hugs and high fives. Monica’s first, shouting, “That was amazing!” Dana’s a little nervous waiting for her score, but mostly she’s happy. And when they show the 9.95, Monica screams and hugs her again. She doesn’t scream herself. She almost can’t believe it.

She’s not as worried as she was before the meet when they go to bars. She takes a few more deep breaths before she goes up, reminds herself how many times she’s hit her routine in practice. It goes fine, not as well as her vault, but for her it’s a good bars routine. And everyone cheers for her again, and it’s hard not to feel happy about that, even before she sees the score. 9.85. She thinks she must be hallucinating for a second, but there it is up on the screen. She knows NCAA scoring is looser than J.O., but still!

She cheers for the other girls too. Samantha looks scared again, when she’s about to go up, and Dana squeezes her shoulders. “You’re going to be amazing,” she tells her, and Samantha manages a smile at that. And she hits too, coming off the mats looking stunned and relieved. Diana’s the last to go, and she’s almost perfect. Dana wishes she could fly like that on bars, everything looking effortless.

At the halfway point of the meet they’re in the lead, and Dana’s happy as they move over to the beam. Coach Skinner talks to them as they warm up, giving them last-minute reminders. “Don’t rush your turn, Dana,” he tells her, and she nods. Now that she’s gotten through bars, she’s feeling a lot more confident. Beam can be unpredictable, but it doesn’t scare her. She knows she can hit for the team, if she just concentrates and does everything like she did in practice.

She takes her time setting up for the turn, like Coach Skinner told her. She snaps her arms down so that she doesn’t wobble when she lands the acro series. When she lands the dismount, her feet don’t move.

It’s a 9.9 for her beam, and she’s thrilled with that, but she’s more worried about Samantha than she is about herself at this point. She’s looking pale again, and a lot of girls from the other team have turned around to watch. Dana can’t blame them—she wouldn’t want to miss one of Samantha’s beam routines either—but she doesn’t think it’s helping. “We’re a team,” she says. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I’m not worried about you, Samantha,” Coach Skinner says. “Don’t worry about anyone else.” That seems to do something, because Samantha nods and draws herself up a little straighter. She walks up to the beam and salutes.

The thing about Samantha is this: she has a quality of movement on beam that none of the rest of them have. They probably won’t ever have it, no matter how much they practice. Dana can’t explain what it is, exactly. But it reminds her of something Melissa said to her once, after one of her meets. “I don’t get how you do all this stuff,” she said, “and you don’t feel like it’s freaky. It’s just like walking for you.” Dana hadn’t known how to answer her then, but now she thinks she knows how Melissa must have felt, because what Samantha does is different, somehow, even when they’re doing the same skills. She looks like beam is what she was meant to be doing. It’s not a question of being perfect, even: she has a big wobble after her side aerial, and even when she’s saving it, she still looks like that.

They mob her when she comes off the beam, with hugs and cheers. “You were so good,” Dana says. “So, so good.”

“I wobbled—”

“Fuck wobbling,” Monica says, and even Samantha grins at that. “That was amazing.”

“Pretty great,” Diana says; she’s been in her own world most of the meet, her face concentrated, but now she’s smiling too.

Floor is last. Dana’s already realized how different competing in college is—a lot more screaming—but floor is something else again. The crowd claps along to all their music, and they all do each other’s moves. Monica’s routine is going to be a big hit, she can already tell; the music is insanely catchy, and she knows how to perform, how to get everyone on her side.

Dana’s own routine isn’t as flashy, but she loves the music they’ve chosen: it’s a big band piece, “Beyond the Sea.” She hits the tumbling passes cleanly, remembers to smile, ends with a little shimmy. And then it’s over. She’s hit four for four in her first college meet, and her score comes up, 9.9, and that’s it, she’s done for today.

But she’s not, quite. Monica’s tugging on her arm. “Dana, you won the all-around!”

“What?” She looks around for some confirmation. She wasn’t adding up her scores over the course of the meet; there was too much going on.

“Yeah, look!” Monica points to the scoreboard. “Not bad for week one, huh?”

“I…is that real?”

“Of course it’s real,” Monica says. “You think they put fake stuff on the scoreboard?” She’s smiling as she hugs Dana. “You deserve it. You did awesome today.” The other girls are hugging her too, congratulating her, but she still can’t quite take it in. It’s not that she’s not happy or proud. It’s just that she didn’t expect it at all.

And she guesses she’s not the only one who didn’t expect it. Diana says, “Congratulations, Dana,” in the flattest voice she’s ever heard, and the expression on her face can only be described as scary.

But Dana wants to be nice. “Congratulations to you too,” she says. “Your bars, they were amazing.” Diana’s 9.95 was the highest score on bars for the meet, and that’s something Dana wishes she could do.

“Thanks,” Diana says, her voice still flat. “It helps to have difficult moves, I guess.” Dana tries to figure out if that was meant as an insult—she’s pretty sure it was—but Diana’s already moving away, so she decides to leave it, not to respond.

It’s not worth it. She’s too thrilled anyway, too filled with adrenaline, too eager to see what the rest of her college career holds. It’s started on a high note. She thinks she can keep it there.

.....

January: Week Two

They have their first away meet this week, and Monica is excited. It’s at Utah, which has a huge stadium, and a lot of people come out to all of their meets. Monica already knows that she can thrive off a crowd; sure, it’s not a home crowd this time, but she doesn’t think that’s going to stop her.

The only downside is that she’s rooming with Diana, and it doesn’t look like that’s going to be a super fun time. They’re only here for one night, and Diana’s already arranged all of her hair products in height order on the edge of the sink. What is the point?

Still, it doesn’t really affect her, she guesses. She’s lying on her bed, reading on her phone, when Diana looks over at her. “What are you doing?”

“Reading,” Monica says. “College gym site. Got to find out what they’re saying about us, you know.” She smiles, so that Diana can take that as a joke if she wants to. She knows that Dana and Samantha hate it when she does this, that they won’t let her read anything out loud.

But it seems like Diana will. “So what are they saying?”

“Well, they put this as one of the top meets for this weekend,” Monica says. “Both teams had really strong opening weeks…oh, and they say that Dana’s one to keep an eye on.” She watches Diana as she says it. She knows Diana’s mad about the attention Dana got last week; she hasn’t said anything during practice, but she’s not exactly subtle.

“Sure,” Diana says. “Of course.”

Maybe it’s not a good idea to piss Diana off the night before their meet, but Monica’s never been a particularly cautious person. “Why are you mad?” she asks.

“I’m not mad,” Diana says.

“Yeah, you are.”

“I’m not,” Diana says. “That’s so juvenile. I just think…they’re really ready to throw out the high scores for the 10.0 vaults, aren’t they? Even if they’re not perfect.”

“First of all, you’re bullshitting me,” Monica says. “And second of all, even if that’s true, why is it a problem? Dana’s on our team, the last time I checked. So it’s good for all of us if she does well.”

“I never said it wasn’t.” Diana’s not looking at her.

“And besides, she deserves it,” Monica says, because Dana’s her friend, and because it’s the truth. “She’s really, really good.”

“She’s fine,” Diana says.

“Okay, be bitter,” Monica says. “Again, reminder that this is a team sport.”

“It’s not really,” Diana says. “It’s a fake team sport.”

“Maybe when you were in elite,” Monica says. “Not here.”

Diana sighs. “Look, I just see it differently, all right? And there is an individual part, even here. If we want to make lineups—”

“You’re still going to make lineups,” Monica says. “I really don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Diana’s looking at her now. “Do you even care?” she asks. “About how you do, I mean. Not just this rah rah we’re a team shit.”

“Of course I care,” Monica says. “But I wouldn’t, like, break any of your legs. And I don’t care that I’m not in the bars or beam lineups, because I know other people are better there.” Diana’s looking at her like she’s insane now, so she goes back to reading. “They did shout out your bar routine,” she says. “That ought to perk you up.”

“Yeah, I saw,” Diana says. “Earlier this week.” Of course she did.

But at least Diana’s willing to discuss online coverage with her. “Did you see the American Cup announcement?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Diana says. “It wasn’t really surprising. She did get the silver at Worlds.”

Monica nods. “Yeah. I just wish she’d get a more interesting floor routine.”

“I wish ninety percent of people would get a more interesting floor routine,” Diana says, and then Monica’s laughing, she can’t help it. And Diana smiles at her, just for a minute.

.....

January: Week Three

Samantha’s still getting used to competing again. She was sure something awful was going to happen, the first week, but it didn’t. It didn’t happen the second week either. But this week, the third, she’s off on her beam series and there’s no chance to save it. She barely gets half of one foot on the beam before she’s falling.

She takes a deep breath and gets back up to finish, but the damage is done. She’s let the team down. She doesn’t know what Coach Skinner is going to say. He’s never yelled at her before when she made mistakes, but that was in practice: there’s more at stake when you fall in a competition, where everyone can see.

“Do you know why that happened, Samantha?” he asks her after the meet.

Maybe she’s supposed to say that she wasn’t trying hard enough. But she thinks she was. “I was trying,” she says. “I swear.”

“I know you were,” he says. “I meant, do you know what was off technically?”

“Oh,” she says. “I think…I wasn’t straight when I took off for the back handspring.”

“That’s what I think too,” he says. “It happens. I just wanted to make sure you understood, so you can try to check for that next time.”

She nods. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “That’s why we have a whole season. So you can keep getting better.” She nods again. She doesn’t know what to say. She tries to imagine her coaches back home saying that to her. She might as well imagine that she’s suddenly seven feet tall.

Dana’s waiting for her outside. “Hey,” she says. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Samantha says. “I’m sorry I fell. But Coach Skinner was really nice.”

Dana hugs her. “The rest of the routine was beautiful,” she says. “And your bars.”

Dana’s always so sweet, so kind. She was worried that people might only want to be her friend here because she went to the Olympics, even though that might be kind of a conceited way to think. But she thinks Dana just…likes her. And that might be the thing she likes most about being here so far.

.....

January: Week Four

Competing every week has been different, but Diana feels like she’s into the rhythm now. In some ways, she likes it more. She’s always been at her best in competition; she’s not one of those girls who trains well and then chokes. She likes attention, which she knows some people would say is a bad thing, but she doesn’t agree or care.

Actually, she thinks she should be getting more attention, although that’s not something you can really say. Aside from her bars, she hasn’t been as much of a standout as she expected here. Beam’s probably her second best, but it’s hard to stand out on beam when you’re on the same team as Samantha. She gets that, because Olympic champion and all, but she couldn’t have predicted Dana. Dana’s been outscoring her on everything but bars, week after week, and it’s maddening. And the worst part is that she always acts so damned surprised about her scores. At first Diana thought it was an act, but now she’s beginning to think it’s real. She can’t decide which possibility pisses her off more.

But in college they’re supposed to be all about the team. So she’s supposed to jump up and down and scream every time Dana gets another 9.975 on vault. Ugh.

She keeps working her own routines, of course, but there’s a closed ceiling here; it’s not like in elite where she could keep adding difficulty. As long as the routine starts from a 10, they’re all evaluated on the same scale. So there might be a limit to where she can go, and she doesn’t like that idea. It makes her think of Olympic trials all over again, of coming in knowing she wasn’t going to get there.

So maybe she’s not smiling and screaming after this meet as much as everyone else is, even though they won. She doesn’t think anyone would notice, or care, but Coach Skinner beckons her over as they’re leaving the arena. “Diana. Is everything okay?”

She can’t put it exactly as she’d like to, of course; she could pretend she’s tired, but she wants to be straight with him. “I just want to be better,” she says.

He looks at her for a moment. “You did very well today.”

“Not as well as I’d like,” Diana says. “Is there anything you think I should do to train differently?” He is her coach, after all; that’s what he’s here for.

“I’ve been happy with how you’re doing,” he says. “Is there something in particular that you feel isn’t working for you?”

“It’s not exactly that,” Diana says. “But I’d like to focus on correcting my problems, so that I can score higher.” For the team, she thinks about saying, but she doesn’t think she can pull it off without sounding fake.

“Everyone has room for improvement,” he says, and his voice sounds careful, “and I’m happy to work more with you this week, if you like. But you need to remember that it’s your first year here, Diana. And it’s only our fourth meet. You shouldn’t necessarily expect to be getting top scores right away.”

She doesn’t know what to say to him. She knows she’ll sound like a jerk if she says she wants to be the best on the team. “I think I’m just very competitive,” she says, finally.

“And that can be a good thing,” Coach Skinner says, “if it helps motivate you. But you don’t want it to take over your headspace, either. You should be proud of your work, Diana. You’ve been very consistent this season. You’re going to be someone we can count on.”

She knows he means it, and she is pleased, even if it’s not everything she wanted. “So we can work some more this week?” she says. “I think there are things I could refine on beam, especially.”

“I’m happy to work with you,” he says. “But think about what I just told you, all right?”

“All right,” Diana says. “Thanks.” And she picks up her gym bag and turns and goes.

.....

February: Week Five

“Wow,” Diana says to her after the meet, when they’re back in the locker room. “Way to go out there.”

Dana doesn’t say anything, but Monica does. “What the hell, Diana?” she says. “We’re a team.”

Diana shrugs. “Well, then, it would be great for the team if people could hit when they needed to.”

“The point of being a team is that we lift each other up,” Monica says. “So it doesn’t matter if one person falls. Like it’s completely possible for someone to never fall.”

“There’s falling,” Diana says, “and then there’s losing your shit all over the place.”

“Look, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Monica says; her voice is getting louder now, and this is becoming way more of a thing than Dana wants it to be. She already feels bad enough. “Do you think you’re helping? How would you have felt if someone said that to you after Olympic trials?”

There’s a silence, and Dana feels like she has to say something. “Guys, please just stop it,” she says. “Monica, it’s fine. I did mess up.”

Everyone ignores her. Diana’s gone pale. “You little bitch,” she says to Monica. “You little bitch!” Dana’s never heard her sound so upset.

“Okay, okay.” It’s Karen; she’s one of the seniors. “You both need to cool down. It’s not okay for you to be talking to each other like this.” As she turns to Monica and Diana, Dana finishes changing as quickly as she can. She wants to get out of here.

She doesn’t want to keep thinking about the meet, but of course she can’t help it. She had a good vault, but everything went wrong with bars. She missed a hand on her transition to the high bar and fell, and then…well, she just couldn’t get out of her head about it. It made her think about all her old bars nightmares, and the rest of the routine, after she got back on, wasn’t much good either. And the more she tried to shake it, the more it lingered. She fell on her turn on beam, and then she sat the dismount. After that, Coach Skinner pulled her from the floor lineup. He did it nicely, saying that he just wanted to make sure she was okay, and after the meet was over he pulled her aside and talked to her about focusing on the mental game and putting this behind her. He told her he knew she could do a great job again for the team next week. He was saying all the right things, but she couldn’t take in any of it. At least she didn’t cry.

She might cry now, though, she thinks as she leaves the locker room. Just go back to her room and cry for about an hour.

She didn’t see Samantha leave, but she’s sitting on the wall at the end of the path. “Hi,” she says, as Dana comes up to her. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Dana says. “I feel so bad about today.”

“I know how you feel,” Samantha says. “It’s so hard, when you don’t have a good day.”

Dana nods, sitting down next to her. “Bars is just so hard for me,” she says. “Even when I hit, I don’t feel good about it. And when I mess up…I just can’t bounce back. But I should be able to. I know it’s all a mental thing. But I…” She trails off. “It’s hard. And I let you all down.”

“No, you didn’t!” Samantha says. “No one’s mad at you.”

“You heard Diana,” Dana says.

“Well, I’m not mad at you, anyway,” Samantha says. She puts an arm around Dana’s shoulders. “I still think you’re great.”

“Thanks, Samantha,” Dana says. It does help a little, hearing that. “I’m just…I’m mad at myself, I guess.”

Samantha nods. “I know what that’s like,” she says. “The mental part really is the hardest.”

“Yeah,” Dana says.

“Gymnastics really makes you hate yourself, sometimes.”

That’s not exactly what she was saying. She hopes Samantha doesn’t think she’s making this into more of a thing than it is. “I don’t…hate myself,” Dana says. “I’m upset with myself, yeah. But I’ll be okay.”

Samantha’s hugging her knees. “When everyone’s expecting you to be good,” she says, “and you just don’t have anything that day, and you know you’re disappointing them…that’s the hardest.”

Dana doesn’t think Samantha’s talking about her falls today, anymore. “It’ll be okay,” she says, for both of them. “I’ll practice a lot this week. Work on the mental stuff. And it helps, knowing you’ve got my back.” Samantha smiles at that. “I don’t think I’ve really disappointed anyone.” She’s not sure she totally believes that, but she thinks it would be good for both of them to hear. They sit together for a little bit longer, not talking.

.....

February: Week Six

Monica knows she should apologize to Diana. She wouldn’t want anyone bringing up things she’d messed up, especially things that were important to her. And gymnastics is one of those things, for both of them, even though she knows Diana thinks she doesn’t take it seriously. She likes to have fun, sure, but that doesn’t mean she won’t give everything she has to perfecting a skill. They’re not so different, in that way. And she knows she was mean, even if Diana was mean to Dana first.

So she’s glad when she gets to practice early on Monday and sees that Diana is early too. “Hey, Diana,” she says. “I just wanted to say…I’m sorry for what I said to you on Saturday. I was being a jerk.”

“Yeah,” Diana says. “Okay.”

That’s not much of an answer. “I really shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

“I said okay,” Diana says. “So you can feel better about yourself now, all right?”

“I’m not trying to feel better about myself,” Monica says, even though maybe she is, a little.

“Then just drop it, okay?” Diana says. “It’s not something I love discussing. If that wasn’t obvious.”

Maybe she should just drop it. Instead, she finds herself saying, “You shouldn’t be ashamed.”

“Oh my god,” Diana says. “Are you my therapist now? I’m not ashamed.”

“All right,” Monica says. She’s had about enough of this. At least she apologized. Diana hasn’t apologized to Dana, as far as she knows. “I’m sorry I started this, okay? I just wanted you to know I was sorry. We’re a team, and we shouldn’t be tearing each other down.” Diana rolls her eyes and goes back to stretching, and fortunately Monica doesn’t have to push things any further, because Dana and Samantha show up then.

“Hey!” Dana says. “How’s everything going?” She’s not really looking at Diana.

And Diana’s not looking at her either—she’s looking at her own feet—when she says, “Hey. Sorry if I was too much on Saturday. I get really competitive.”

It’s not what Monica would consider much of an apology, from anyone else, but she’s surprised Diana’s giving Dana even that. Dana’s surprised too, if the look on her face is anything to go by. “Okay,” she finally says. “Yeah, it wasn’t very cool of you. I didn’t need you to tell me I’d messed up.”

“Well, okay then,” Diana says, still not looking. “I won’t.”

“Well, good,” Dana says. And they stand around a little awkwardly until Coach Skinner appears and practice starts.

.....

February: Week Seven

Samantha was happy yesterday.

She was happy because she was on beam, and sometimes she can forget about everything else when she’s there. This was one of those times. Her double turn was steady. She flew through the side aerial and both of the layout step-outs. When it came to the part of the choreography where she smiled and winked, it felt like a natural expression of how she was feeling. She stuck the dismount.

The other girls screamed and hugged her after she saluted. And then they did it again when her score came up. A ten.

It might sound silly to a lot of people, but she couldn’t remember being happier in gymnastics. Not even when she won her gold. Because there weren’t people screaming and hugging her then. Dana even tried to pick her up, which was pretty silly, because Dana’s barely taller than she is and they almost fell over. But they just started laughing then. And Coach Skinner patted her back and said, “Well done, Samantha.” And she could see Fox waving to her from the stands.

But that was all yesterday. This morning there was an article about the meet on the school website. She wishes the article didn’t have a picture of her at the top, and she really wishes it didn’t call her “Olympic gold medalist Samantha Mulder.” She’s not sure why she wishes it, because it’s true, after all, and they do cover all the meets, and it makes sense for them to talk about her getting a ten, because that’s important in gymnastics. But she doesn’t like people looking at her, thinking about her, expecting things of her. She wants this to be for her and her team, not for everyone else.

So she was already feeling weird about things, and that was before she opened her email. Before she saw the message from her parents. They saw the article and they’re glad she’s working to her potential here, because it really would be a shame to keep throwing everything she’s worked for away, after all the time and money they spent on her training. There’s no reason you can’t still be the best, Samantha. Being tired or upset or so sick of it all isn’t an excuse not to practice, Samantha. Bring home only the gold for us, Samantha.

This is the first time they’ve emailed her since January. She hates reading their emails, so she doesn’t know why she’s upset about that now.

She sits on her bed and hugs her knees. She doesn’t even feel like crying. She doesn’t even feel like anything.

She’s not sure how long she’s been sitting when she hears a knock on the door. “Who is it?” she calls.

“It’s me.” Dana’s voice. “Can I come in?”

“Okay,” she says, her own voice tight. “The door’s not locked.”

Dana pushes the door open. “Do you want to get dinner with me and Monica?” she asks. “We thought we could—hey, are you okay?” She crosses the few steps of the dorm room, looking concerned. “You look really upset.” Samantha tries to answer, but she can’t. “What’s wrong?” Dana asks, and her voice is gentle, and Samantha starts to cry.

Dana doesn’t ask anything more right then; she just puts her arms around Samantha and lets her cry. “I’ve got you,” she says. “Let it out. It’s okay.” Samantha wishes she’d had a friend to say that to her before. “Do you want to talk about it?” Dana asks, when she’s mostly stopped crying.

Samantha tells her about the email. And about how it’s not just the email, how it’s years of things like that. Of her parents only caring about her winning. Of her coach forcing her to keep going when she didn’t have anything left. “I really…I hated it so much at the end,” she almost whispers. She doesn’t look at Dana when she says it. She hasn’t even told Fox this. “I just couldn’t…I couldn’t be good anymore and I knew people were going to be so mad at me.”

“Is that why you said that to me when I fell?” Dana asks. “About hating yourself?”

“Yeah,” Samantha says. “I didn’t mean you should hate yourself. It’s just that’s how I always felt.”

“You know,” Dana says slowly, a little cautiously, “you know you shouldn’t have to feel like that, right? That it’s not right how they treated you?”

“I guess I know it,” Samantha says. “Like when you say it, it makes sense. But it’s hard to stop feeling it.”

“I’m sorry,” Dana says. She’s still hugging Samantha; she hasn’t let go.

“And I know it’s better here,” Samantha says. “Coach Skinner’s so much better. I guess that’s why I got upset. I thought I could like gymnastics again here, you know? And then their email…I’m worried everything is going to be the same.”

“It won’t,” Dana says. “We won’t let it.”

“How?” Samantha asks.

“Well, first,” Dana says, “we’re going to set up your email so that everything from your parents goes into a different folder. And you don’t ever have to look at it, if you don’t want to.”

“You can do that?” Apparently, she can. Samantha sits and watches her.

“And now,” Dana says, closing the screen triumphantly, “we’re going to meet Monica for dinner. And we’re going to get pizza and laugh.”

So they do that too. And Dana hugs her again at the end of the night, and she says, “You can always talk to me, okay? Text me any time.” And Samantha thinks about that for a while, before she falls asleep.

.....

February: Week Eight

They have an away meet this weekend, and it’s near Diana’s hometown, so her parents are coming. They haven’t seen her compete live in college yet, although she knows they watch every meet on TV. Usually, they call her up afterwards to tell her how proud they are. It’s a little embarrassing, but mostly she’s happy about it.

“My parents are coming to the meet tomorrow,” she mentions in the hotel the night before. She’s rooming with Monica again, and Samantha and Dana are in their room too right now; she did not ask them to come over, but Monica apparently did, sometime when her guard was down.

“Oh,” Samantha says. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” Diana says. What a dumb question. “Why would I be? They’ve seen me at worlds, so a meet like this isn’t suddenly going to intimidate me.”

“It was just a question,” Dana says; she’s painting Samantha’s nails and not looking at Diana. “You don’t have to be snotty.”

“Who says I’m being snotty?”

And Dana turns around and looks at her now. “A meet like this,” she says, putting on a voice that is, in fact, snotty but that isn’t what Diana sounds like. “We get it. You’ve been to worlds. You think elite is better than NCAA. Well, no one’s forcing you to be here if you’re too good for it.”

She didn’t expect that from Miss Good Girl Dana. “Wow,” Diana says. “Jealous much?”

It’s a dumb comeback, and she knows that as soon as she says it. “No, actually,” Dana says. “I was completely happy in JO. I’m just tired of you having an attitude with the rest of us.” Samantha’s looking away, as she always does at the faintest sign of conflict. Monica’s watching them as if she’s waiting for the scores to come up.

“I’m just a very self-motivated person,” Diana says. “I don’t need to be in a screaming lovefest to succeed.”

“Oh, of course,” Dana says. “And that explains why you take it out on us when you’re not happy with how the meet went.” Her face is turning red. “So if I fall, that’s something to lord over me, and if I do better than you, that’s a reason to freeze me out. For someone who doesn’t care about these meets, you sure seem to care when you don’t have the top score.”

She can’t let Dana rattle her. “Yeah, it’s a sport,” she says. “So, you know, I care about my scores. I’d rather do that than your fake ‘Who? Little old me sticking a vault?’ routine.”

“I’m not fake,” Dana says. “I’m just happy to be here. I’m sorry if you think that’s awful.”

Diana rolls her eyes. “That’s cute. Really.”

“But I don’t know why I thought I’d get through to you,” Dana says. “If all you care about is yourself, I guess that’s just the way it is.” She turns to Samantha. “Want to go back to our room? It’s kind of late.”

“Sure,” Samantha says, and they go.

“Wow,” Monica says, when they’ve left. “That was…something.”

“Whatever,” Diana says. “I know you’re on Dana’s side.”

“You have this whole thing about sides,” Monica says. “I’d like it if we could all be friends, actually. Believe it or not, I think things would be more fun that way. For you, too.”

“I don’t know how long it’s going to take for all of you to get it,” Diana says, “but fun is not my number one priority here.”

“Okay,” Monica says. “It’s not worth us arguing.”

“You’re right about that,” Diana says, and they don’t talk much more before they get ready for bed.

She sees her parents in the stands when they march out the next day—they’re kind of hard to miss, because they’re waving a giant banner that says GO DIANA! on it. It’s goofy, but she stands up a little straighter at the sight.

It’s a good meet for her, it really is. Her best bar routine of the season yet: a 9.975. The ten so close she can almost reach out and touch it.

And then the ten is there, in the next rotation. You don’t even have to wait for the scores to come up to know. Everything is perfect from the first step of Dana’s vault run: her block is straight on, she’s laid out all the way in the air, she gets so much height, and her feet don’t move on the landing. Diana loves her sport because when it’s done right, it’s beautiful. This is one of those beautiful moments.

But she stands frozen, with her hands at her sides, when the ten does come up and everyone else is screaming and cheering and hugging Dana. She can’t even make herself clap or smile or do something, anything, that makes it look like she’s a team player.

She sees her parents in the stands again, their banner still flying high. She knows this won’t make them any less proud. They’ve seen her be second best before, and they’ve celebrated her silver medals as if they were platinum. No, it’s Diana who’s less proud. No matter what the other girls say about NCAA and elite, there is a difference. There’s a difference between coming second behind Aliya Mustafina, who was the most decorated gymnast at the 2012 Olympics, and second behind Dana Scully, who’s spent her whole life in some rec gym. And there’s a difference in what it’s doing to her mental game. When she concentrated on herself, it used to be a good way, one that made her work on perfecting her skills. Now it’s just in a way that makes her stew.

She can see Coach Skinner watching her; he’s probably going to pull her aside later, going to talk to her about her attitude. She can’t even blame him for that. But she turns aside, and stretches for beam, and doesn’t look back at him.

.....

Week Nine: March

Dana doesn’t go to church every week now—she knows her parents wouldn’t be thrilled, but college is just so busy, and sometimes she’s exhausted and can’t get up on a Sunday, especially if they’ve just gotten back from a meet. But she goes this morning, and when she’s praying she thinks about gratitude. Her season’s gone so well so far, and even though she knows that’s probably not God’s number one priority, in the grand scheme of things, it means a lot to her. She still finds it hard to believe, though. When she came here, she wanted to do her best, but she wasn’t expecting to be a star. And now she’s freshman of the week for the fourth time. She knows Diana thinks she’s fake for being surprised by it, but she honestly is. She wants to let it sink in, though, so she can really feel all the gratitude it merits.

When she’s back in her dorm room, her parents call her. They congratulate her on being freshman of the week: she can tell they believe it, that they’re proud. She’s glad, because they’ve always supported her in gymnastics, even though they’ve never really gotten past referring to the individual skills as jumps and flips. (Mulder knows the name of every skill Samantha does. Dana’s very impressed by that.) She’s just finishing up the call when Monica and Samantha arrive; they’re all going to get lunch together.

“My friends are here,” she says into the phone. “Thanks so much for calling, though.” After they say goodbye, she turns to the other girls. “I was just talking to my parents,” she says. She feels a little guilty saying it to Samantha, even though she knows it’s not her fault that Samantha’s parents are awful about things.

“Mine called me this morning too,” Monica says. “They want to know what I’m eating and if I have a boyfriend.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know where I’d find the time.”

Dana laughs. “Yeah,” she says. “Anyone we’d date would have to be right there in the gym.” She’s thought about it herself, having someone special, but for now she likes being with her friends in the gym. She likes getting to know all the people she’s met.

“I guess some people manage it,” Monica says. “There are those gymnast couples. And I heard there are a ton of hook-ups in the Olympic village. Is that true, Samantha?”

Samantha looks thrown. “Um,” she says, “I was fifteen.”

“Good point,” Dana says.

“And I don’t really…” She’s fiddling with her ponytail, which she used to do almost constantly at the start of the year, so she must be nervous about something. “I don’t actually like boys.”

Dana hugs Samantha right away, because she wants her to know that she has nothing to be nervous about. “Thanks for telling us,” she says.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Monica says. “Now if I ever do find the time to get a boyfriend, at least I know you won’t try to steal him.” She grins at Samantha.

Samantha smiles too, for a minute. “I hadn’t told anyone except Fox before,” she says. “It’s actually…it’s part of the reason I didn’t want to go pro after the Olympics. I didn’t want to be public and have to hide myself like that. And I wouldn’t like all the attention you get, anyway.” It’s completely obvious, if you’ve known Samantha for more than five minutes, that she’s not the kind of person who likes attention, but Dana doesn’t laugh.

Instead, she says, “I get that. You can always talk to us, though. Right, Monica?” Monica nods. “Let’s get lunch.” And she winds her arm through Samantha’s, as they walk downstairs together. She’s grateful for this, too.

.....

Week Ten: March

Monica can’t believe the season is this close to being over. She feels like she just got here. She’s happy with how she’s been doing—she’s in the floor lineup every week, and usually in the vault lineup—but there’s still stuff to keep working on. In terms of her skills, of course, and she likes how Coach Skinner helps them with that, how he works with each of them as an individual. He doesn’t expect her to stick every vault like Dana or swing bars like Diana or have Samantha’s spooky sense of where the beam is every time—he just expects her to keep getting better at what she can do.

Which brings her to another thing she wants to work on: getting Diana to see that so that things can be less uncomfortable at practices. She thinks Coach Skinner must have talked to Diana after their away meet two weeks ago, because she’s been pretty subdued since then; she’s not what you’d call friendly, but she hasn’t lobbed any additional insults at Dana, and she did clap for everyone’s routines last week. Maybe Monica should leave it there. She doesn’t know herself why she wants to get Diana to be friends with the rest of them. Except that she feels like you can do both—try to be the best you can be and still see your teammates as friends instead of direct competition—and that college is the place to do it in. She doesn’t like to think about anyone having a bad time here, and she thinks that Diana is, even if her way of dealing with it is making it a bad time for everyone else too.

So she runs to catch up with Diana after practice. “Hey,” she says. “What are you up to tonight?”

Diana raises an eyebrow. “Why are you asking?”

Monica tries for charming. “Because I need some company to save me from having to study.”

“Why don’t you ask Dana and Samantha?” Diana says. “Don’t you always eat dinner together?”

Is Diana jealous of that too? “You could come,” Monica says. “If you wanted to.”

“I don’t,” Diana says. “And anyway, I doubt that invitation comes from all three of you.”

She probably has a point. “Well,” Monica says, trying another tack, “I was going to watch the Stuttgart world cup, since we missed it yesterday. You want to watch?”

“I already saw the results.”

“Well, it’s still fun to see the routines,” Monica says. “Don’t you think? Come on.”

Diana’s clearly unsure; maybe this isn’t worth it. But then she says, “All right. If you want,” and that’s something.

They settle down to watch it on Monica’s laptop. “Do you know any of them?” Monica asks.

“Yeah, I’ve met a bunch of them,” Diana says. “I don’t know them that well, though.”

“That’s still really cool,” Monica says. She doesn’t share Diana’s belief that elite is the only worthwhile form of gymnastics, but that doesn’t mean she can’t fangirl.

Diana seems to pick up on this logical inconsistency, though. “So you think I’m too snotty about having gone to worlds,” she says, “but that’s still the reason you want to hang out with me?”

“I didn’t say you were snotty,” Monica says.

“You didn’t exactly defend me either,” Diana says.

“Well,” Monica says, “I do think it’s kind of a big deal to you. Maybe bigger than it needs to be, here. But that’s not the reason I want to hang out with you. I just…I like to be friends with the people I’m in the gym with.”

“Okay,” Diana says.

“And I don’t mean you shouldn’t care about what you’ve done,” Monica says. “I think it’s awesome you can do all this kind of thing.” She gestures towards the screen, where one of the gymnasts is doing an impossibly packed bar routine, transitions and releases all back to back. “I know I never could in a million years.”

Diana’s fiddling with the zipper on her bag. “But that doesn’t matter here,” she says quietly. “Knowing how to do bigger skills…that doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t not matter,” Monica says. “I mean, it’s not as important, sure. But that doesn’t mean it’s not still cool that you can do it. It doesn’t mean…” She pauses, trying to figure out what she actually wants to say. “I don’t know why you get so upset when Dana does well. It doesn’t take anything away from you.”

Diana’s so quiet for such a long time that Monica’s sure she’s really put her foot in it. But she tries to give Diana space. She watches a French gymnast stick her dismount. She listens to the commentators opine.

“I thought I’d do better here,” Diana finally says.

“You do great,” Monica says. “You’re our best on bars by a lot.” She might have thought, earlier in the year, that she was stroking Diana’s ego unnecessarily by saying that, but now she’s beginning to think her ego isn’t as big as all that.

Diana shrugs. They watch the meet.

.....

Week Eleven: March

It’s almost the end of the regular season—next week is conference championships, and then regionals, and then nationals, if they make it, which Samantha thinks they will. Of course nothing’s sure, but they’ve been ranked in the top six pretty consistently.

She’s reading in her room, the night before their last regular meet, when there’s a knock at the door and she gets up to open it. It’s Fox. “Hi,” she says.

“Hi, Sam,” Fox says, and she can tell something’s wrong. He’s worried about her. “Did you know Mom and Dad were coming tomorrow?”

She stares at him. “No.”

“They called me just now,” he says. “They want to come see your meet. They said they’d emailed you, but you hadn’t answered.”

The filter Dana set up. Her throat is dry. “Why?” she asks. “They don’t really want to see me. Not really.”

“Look, I can try and head them off,” Fox says. “Meet them tomorrow and take them somewhere else. They won’t be there if you don’t want them to be.”

He’s always done everything he can to protect her. That’s why she feels safe and happy with him. That’s why she wants him at the meet tomorrow, cheering for her, not off somewhere doing diversionary action with their parents. “No,” she says. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But Sam—”

“I don’t want them to think they can control how I feel,” Samantha says. “They’ve already done enough of that. They’ll come and I’ll compete like it’s any other meet.” She doesn’t know if she can really do that. It sounds nice, but she doesn’t know.

He’s quiet for a minute, and then he bumps his fists against hers. “I know you will,” he says. “You’re the toughest person I know, Sam.” He means it, and that means something.

She and Dana sit together in the changing room before the meet, the next afternoon; she’s told Dana her parents are coming. “You okay?” Dana asks, squeezing her hand.

“Yeah,” she says. “Let’s just…let’s pretend it’s a regular meet.”

“I don’t know what you’re even talking about,” Dana says, widening her eyes. “What are we pretending? There’s nothing special about this meet.” And Samantha has to laugh, and she feels a little bit better. They do the same breathing exercises they do every time, and she concentrates on her breath, in and out, in and out. She remembers how nervous she used to get every time she competed, how fast her breath and her heart would get, how she always felt like she was about to throw up. Even at the Olympics. Sometime this year, that stopped. And she won’t let it start up again today.

She waves when they announce her name—she still doesn’t love that part, and probably never will, but she can get through it. She sees Fox in the crowd; he waves back. She doesn’t look for her parents.

The waiting through vault can be tough, so today she concentrates as hard as she can on watching the other girls and cheering for them. They have a good rotation; Diana and Dana both stick.

She tightens her grips before bars, making sure everything’s all set. And then she salutes and she goes, before she has a chance to think about anything. She has a close catch on the tkatchev and a couple of steps on the dismount, but she makes it through. That’s what matters. Doing her best and making it through. She knows why she had those mistakes, and she can work on them before next week. The other girls hug her anyway. It doesn’t mean she’s a failure or she wasn’t trying or she doesn’t belong on this team.

Dana hugs her before beam, but she’s not nervous about that, really. Beam’s always been for her, no matter what. Even when she hated everything else, she felt all right during the ninety seconds she spent up there.

She flies through her routine. Her feet are hitting the mat before she knows it, solid, unmoving. She doesn’t look at the crowd afterwards, just the other girls; she barely looks at the scoreboard either, until the ten comes up and they all scream.

After that, it’s easy: watching the rest of the girls on floor and doing their choreography and shouting her lungs out. Because she’s one of a team. And that’s why she had a good meet today, not because of anyone who told her she wasn’t good enough.

“Great work today, Samantha,” Coach Skinner tells her afterwards. From the way he’s looking at her, she thinks he’s not just talking about her scores: he’s talking about her mental game. She doesn’t know how he knew something was bothering her today, except that he’s a good coach and he doesn’t miss much.

She leaves with Dana, arm in arm, and Fox is waiting outside. “Hey,” he says, smiling. “You did pretty good today, Sam.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I thought so.”

“I saw Mom and Dad by the parking lot,” he says, “if you want to sneak out in the opposite direction.”

She thinks about it. A part of her wants to say something to them, defy them; a part of her wants to let her gymnastics do the talking and not waste any more mental energy.

Dana’s looking at something on her phone. “Monica says we’re getting pizza.”

That settles that. “Yeah, let’s do that,” Samantha says, and they head back around the gym to meet Monica, away from the parking lot.

.....

Week Twelve: March

Conference championships are tomorrow, and tonight they’re settled into their hotel rooms. Diana’s rooming with Monica again, which she’s used to by now.

“Here’s an article,” Monica says. “Conference championship previews. And what they mean for the future.”

“They don’t really mean that much,” Diana says. “Just bragging rights.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I love bragging,” Monica says, grinning. “Besides, it helps build up our reputation.”

“True,” Diana says. “What else does the article say?”

“It talks about the different conferences,” Monica says. “Predictions for the teams and the individual events. That kind of thing. You want to hear?”

She’s already leaning over to look at Monica’s phone—she wants to know if they think she might win the bars title—when she stops to think. “No, actually,” she says. “It’ll happen however it happens.”

“Oh, man,” Monica says. “Don’t say you’re leaving me alone in the world of feverish internet gymnastics gossip. Dana and Samantha already won’t read it.”

“Maybe they have a point,” Diana says. “It just makes you get in your head.” She’ll start thinking about whether she could win bars. She’ll start thinking about other girls who are mentioned in the article, and if they could beat her on bars, and if they’re actually better than she is.

Monica watches her narrowly, but she doesn’t ask her again. She starts talking about an essay she has to finish, instead.

They start on beam, the next day, which means bars will be last. Diana’s glad about that, because the scores will build—everyone knows it happens, even if they claim not to—but then she tells herself not to think about it. The judges will do what they do, but she’s in control of whether she hits. Besides, there are three other events to go before that, and she needs to concentrate on those. On everyone, not just herself. Coach Skinner told her that, when he talked to her a few weeks ago. That she should try to be present when the other girls were competing, to think about all of their performances as making up one whole.

It doesn’t come naturally to her, and it probably never will, but she’s going to do her damnedest to master it. If that’s what she needs to do here. If it can help her.

She tries to concentrate on the details of their routines. What they do that she could learn from. What they do that’s different from her own style. She tries to think of cheering for them, of doing their floor choreography, as part of that whole.

She tries really hard, when Dana’s launching herself off the vault table, up and up and up, to keep thinking that way. To think of it as something beautiful. To mean it when she yells, “Yeah, Dana!”

When it comes to bars, she goes through her routine in her head one last time. And then she’s up, flying from bar to bar, hitting her handstands, keeping the rhythm, pointing her toes. Sticking the dismount before she knows it. Bars is so fast, so much a part of her muscle memory.

The other girls clap and cheer and hug her, like she’s been doing for them. Dana smiles at her and says, “Great job.” She probably wants to mend fences. That’s very like her. But Diana smiles back while she waits.

She’s spent the whole meet trying to think about the team, not just about herself. It’s hard to keep doing that, though, when her ten finally—finally—comes up on the scoreboard.

.....

Regionals

They’re a host site for regionals, which Dana’s really happy about. It means it’s close enough for her parents to drive up, and she’s looking forward to having them see her compete with the team. Besides, it means she doesn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to get to the airport or deal with jetlag and an unfamiliar room and an unfamiliar gym.

She is kind of nervous, though. So far, the season’s gone better than she could have dreamed, but regionals means a lot more than any of the meets they’ve had so far. It’s sudden death: if they don’t finish in the top two here, they won’t be at nationals. She doesn’t want to have a repeat of her mid-season bars disaster. Nor does she want to start thinking about it, in case it throws off her mindset and becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

She’ll go over to the gym early, Dana decides, and sit there and do some deep breathing. It’ll help her to be in the space. To remind herself that this isn’t anything new, that she’s done it a hundred times.

She’s so early she isn’t even sure she’ll be able to get into the locker room, and when the door does yield to her touch, she’s sure she’ll be the only one there. But she’s not. Diana’s sitting in front of one of the benches, stretching.

“Oh,” Dana says. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Diana says. “Decided to get here early?”

“Yeah,” Dana says. “I thought it might help calm me down.” She doesn’t know why she’s giving Diana that. She hasn’t been as much of a pill the last couple of weeks, true, but Dana’s still not sure it’s a good idea to show her signs of weakness.

But Diana just nods. “Makes sense,” she says. “I like to get warmed up early too. Plus my roommate’s boyfriend came over and they were dropping hints they wanted me out of there.”

“Awkward,” Dana says.

“You got that right,” Diana says.

This is awkward too, Dana thinks, as she sits down. It’s not easy to think calming thoughts with Diana right there in front of her.

“How are you feeling about the meet?” Diana asks her.

“Pretty good, I think,” Dana says. Even though she just said she wanted to calm down. Maybe Diana won’t notice the inconsistency. But Dana doesn’t think she misses much.

She doesn’t expect the response she gets, though. “I get if I’m…if I’m not exactly making things easier for you,” Diana says. “I haven’t been at my nicest here. Especially to you. I get competitive, and you were doing so well, and…well, that’s not an excuse. Anyway…” She’s still stretching, and she holds it for so long that Dana wonders if she’s ever going to finish her sentence or if they’re just going to spend the rest of their lives in suspended motion. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Dana says. She could be cold now, but what would be the point? She wants to get along with the other people on the team. She doesn’t want to waste time thinking about rivalries and grudges. “Thanks for saying that.”

“You’re a really good gymnast,” Diana says. “Your vault especially.”

“Thanks,” Dana repeats. “So are you. I wish I had your bars.”

“Yeah,” Diana says. “Put us together and we’d be the next Simone Biles.” She starts laughing then, and so does Dana. She doesn’t know if she’s heard Diana make a joke before. “So are you nervous for today?” Diana asks.

“Yeah, kind of,” Dana says. “The whole all or nothing aspect. What about you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t get that nervous anymore,” Diana says. “We’ll show them what we can do. We’re not the top seed for nothing.”

She’s acting a little cocky again. But cocky about the team, not about herself, and somehow that makes all the difference.

.....

Nationals: Semifinals

Nationals is different, Monica can feel it. It means being up against the best of the best, with every step counting. No room for error, she finds herself saying in her head. She’s not usually a no room for error kind of person, but the atmosphere can really get to you.

At least she’s not worrying about the individual titles. The semifinals are where those are determined, and she knows some of the girls on the team could definitely contend, but she’ll just be going out there and doing her thing. Performing her heart out on floor. She likes being a star for those ninety seconds and being part of a unit for everything else.

They’re starting on bars, which means Monica has to wait through two rotations to do anything, but she thinks it’s a good thing on the whole; they’re getting what’s probably their weakest event out of the way. The first routine goes smoothly; Dana, up second, is working well too, until she loses her legs in a handstand and goes over. It’s not technically a fall, but she has to take an extra swing, and she doesn’t ever really get her rhythm back. She looks frustrated with herself as she comes off the podium.

“Shake it off, Dana,” Coach Skinner says. “You fought through. Concentrate on the next routine.”

“We’ve still got the rest of the meet,” Monica says. “Don’t beat yourself up.” She squeezes Dana’s arm.

Samantha, who’s already got her grips on, bumps her fist against Dana’s. “We’ve got your back,” she says. “Right, Diana?”

“Right,” Diana says. “We’ll go up and hit, and while we’re doing that, you be thinking about how you’re going to knock us out on beam.”

“Thanks, guys,” Dana says, softly. Monica holds her arm while they watch the other girls’ routines. Samantha’s is quick and tidy. And Diana’s is as gorgeous as ever, her transitions and releases and pirouettes all pristine.

On to the next rotation. Dana draws herself up before her beam routine. “I’m going to do this,” she says, and Monica knows she’s thinking about that meet in February, when she missed bars and then missed beam. “I’m going to hit for all of you.” And she does. It’s one of the best beam routines Monica’s seen her do, actually; everything looks incredibly secure. By the end, she’s really smiling.

Samantha’s the star of the show here, of course. Monica watches her compete every week, not to mention all their training sessions, and she never gets bored with it. You can see, watching her, why Samantha was a champion. Why Samantha still is a champion. There’s a little step on the landing, but Monica honestly doesn’t see anything else wrong. She guesses the judges don’t either, because Samantha comes up with one of the top scores of the meet.

Now floor. She huddles with the other girls as Coach Skinner gives them some last words of encouragement. She cheers and does the choreography for the first four routines. And then she’s up.

There’s nothing like doing gymnastics before a crowd this big and hyped up. And within the world of doing gymnastics, there’s nothing like doing a floor routine. Monica can feel the adrenaline threatening to overtake her; she concentrates on making it work for her, on keeping the tumbling passes big but not out of bounds, on selling her routine to the hilt. She feeds off the music, off her team, off the audience. She knows she’ll remember this.

The other girls hug her afterwards, and she’s happy with her score when it comes up too. It’s funny to think that she’ll only do this particular routine one more time, tomorrow, if they make the finals. But it’s exciting, too, to think that she’ll have a new routine next year. Maybe one she’ll love even more than this.

It’s time to concentrate on vault, though. Monica’s glad she’s gotten her adrenaline out, because vault’s over so quickly that it doesn’t give you any time to course correct. She’s third in the lineup, and she’s going before she knows it. She takes a step back on the landing, but all in all she’s pleased.

Dana’s their anchor, and her face is set, determined, as she stands at the end of the runway. From her beam and floor, it looks like she hasn’t let the mistake on bars get to her, like she’s in a good frame of mind. Monica’s glad about that, because Dana can stick the crap out of a vault when she’s on, and that would be good for them tonight. Mathematically, they’re already into the finals, but it never hurts to make a statement.

It’s a statement. High and huge and stuck right down the middle.

Four of the judges give her the ten; two of them go with 9.95, for some incomprehensible reason. “Oh, come on!” Monica shouts, but Dana’s so happy that she’s jumping up and down, and it is the top vault score of the whole meet, so she might as well let it go.

She cheers for them all during the medal ceremonies, even though she’s exhausted at this point; when the competition’s over, it really hits you. And they’ll be doing it all over again tomorrow. She may be exhausted, but she can’t wait.

.....

Nationals: Finals

When she’s getting ready for finals, Samantha remembers how she felt getting ready for team finals at the Olympics. How she was sure she was going to throw up. How she was terrified she’d make a mistake. How she felt all wrong in her red, white, and blue leotard, and how sweaty her hands were. How she felt so alone—the other girls on the team were nice, but they weren’t her close friends. She didn’t have any of those, in the gym.

Tonight she’s wearing a green and silver leotard, and she feels all right. Monica is insisting that they put a truly outrageous amount of glitter on their faces. “It’ll hype us up,” she says.

“It’ll get in our eyes,” Dana says. “You want to be the girl who missed a catch because she was trying to blink away glitter?”

“I’ll never be the girl who missed a catch,” Monica says, “because I don’t compete bars like you suckers. Can’t miss a catch if you never try.”

Diana is spraying her hair into place. “Give me a little bit,” she says, and she smears it on her cheeks. “Not bad. We could do something to match with eye shadow?”

“Now you’re talking,” Monica says. “See, Diana gets it.”

“Will you put some on me?” Samantha asks, and Diana does her eyeshadow carefully, in the same colors as their leotards. When they look into the mirror, once they’re ready, they all match.

Dana takes a picture. “You think we can win this thing?” she asks, softly.

“Well, I was reading,” Monica says, “and statistically, if we have our best floor of the season…”

“Oh my god,” Diana says. “Stop trying to make this a thing!”

“I think we can win it,” Samantha says. She can tell the others are maybe a little surprised, from the way they look at her. “No statistics. Just my feelings.”

“I think Samantha’s right,” Dana says, and she hugs her.

“But even if we don’t win,” Samantha says, “we’re…we’re going to kick so much ass!” Now they’re definitely surprised, no doubt about it. But Monica whoops, and so does Diana, and then they hurry out of the room, because it’s time for the last team gathering, for a final talk from Coach Skinner.

“I’m very proud of how you’ve all performed this year,” he says. “We had a lot of new contributors on our team, and you’ve all stepped up and taken on new roles. You’ve made yourselves an indispensable part of the team, and we’ve had some great achievements.” His face is serious. “That said, tonight those achievements are behind us. It’s time to build on them, yes, but it’s also time to set new goals. You can’t coast on the past—you’ve got to leave it all on the floor.” Samantha clutches Dana’s hand. The past is gone, she thinks. “Know your routines. Know yourselves. Know your team. I know what you can do—now show everyone else tonight. We can do this.” They all nod seriously. It doesn’t seem quite the time for whooping.

They whoop afterwards, though, when the seniors lead them in a cheer. Samantha looks at the other girls’ faces: they look nervous but excited, determined, ready to leave it all on the floor. She takes a deep breath before they march out.

She knows she has Fox in the audience, which makes a difference. He asked her if she wanted him to come, and she said she did. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed: he’s the only spectator that she really wants or cares about. But everything else is different.

They’re starting on floor tonight, which means Samantha’s beam will be the final routine for the team. She used to hate waiting more than anything, always feeling like she was about to jump out of her skin. It’s still not her favorite part of a meet, but it’s better now. She has the other girls’ routines to watch and cheer for.

Floor goes well. She does the choreography on the sidelines: Diana’s fluttering arms, Dana’s shimmy, Monica’s salute to the audience. She thought the semifinals were exciting, but tonight’s even better, each girl selling her routine with everything she’s got.

On vault, they don’t have as much difficulty as some of the other teams: they’re using two Yurchenko fulls, but they’re both solid tonight. After that, Monica does well with her tsuk, Karen sticks her Omelianchik, and both of the one and a halfs are good, especially Dana’s. She always seems to know where the ground is.

At the halfway mark, they’re in second, but things are close. That’s another thing she’s had to get used to here—every routine being graded on the same scale, without the big difficulty gaps that were there in elite. At first it made her nervous; it was so much easier for one mistake to be costly. But now she doesn’t mind so much.

“Keep it up, everyone,” Coach Skinner tells them. “Nice and easy. Like in practice.” He stops to talk to those of them who are putting on their grips, getting ready for bars. “You ready, Samantha?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says. “I am.”

He almost smiles at her, although he’s not really a smiley kind of guy. “I know we can count on you,” he says. She would hug him, if they weren’t in the middle of touch warmups.

She doesn’t love bars the same way she loves beam, but she likes having it come first, something to steady her. She squeezes Dana’s arm while they’re waiting. “You good?” she says.

“Yeah,” Dana says. “Thanks. I’m good.” She smiles at Samantha. And then it’s time to scramble off the podium—the rotation is starting.

The three routines before her are clean; she’s never seen anyone look as relieved in her life as Dana does, coming down from the podium. Samantha steps up then, pictures her routine one last time, salutes, and goes. It feels so quick, but then she’s done, and she’s hit, and the other girls are cheering. She hugs them quickly, before taking off her grips and walking to the side of the arena, where she can think about beam. She throws a back handspring. She wants to keep loose.

She still watches the last two routines, though. Diana’s is beautiful; two of the judges give her a ten. They’re still in a close second, going into beam.

“Do what we all know you can do,” Coach Skinner tells the six of them when they’re in the huddle. “Don’t think about the scoreboard. Think about the beam.” The one thing she’s never had trouble with.

Samantha couldn’t tell you much about the five routines before her. She thinks they go fine, because she doesn’t hear any gasping or groaning, but she’s busy concentrating. She doesn’t look at the scores—she doesn’t want to know what she would need, if it’s close enough at the end. Dana bumps fists with her before she goes up. “You’ve got this,” she says. “We all know you do.”

Her routine is almost over early; she can feel she’s off as she’s coming in for the landing at the end of her series, and one foot is almost off the beam. But she saves it, somehow, gripping with her toes, even though she has to wave her arms a few times. She takes a deep breath and slows down her choreography a little, to give herself the chance to refocus. Then the double turn. Then the side aerial. She’s moving smoothly now, and she’s able to smile, to look out at the judges and the crowd. She doesn’t see Fox—there are so many people—but she pretends she does, that he’s right at the spot where she’s looking. She sets up for the dismount then, and that’s on, high and stuck.

And then it’s over. She won’t be competing again as a freshman, but the other girls are hugging her, and she looks at the scores again, to see hers come in. They’re second. It’s so close. She has to wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t had that check on her series.

But Coach Skinner pats her shoulder. “Good job, Samantha,” he says.

So she stops wondering. She jumps up and down with the other girls, instead.

.....

Afterwards

Diana feels a little flat; she always does, after a big competition. They were up late last night, celebrating, and now they have to fly back to school. She finished early, and now she’s helping Monica stuff things into her bag.

“Want to see what Dana and Samantha are up to?” Monica says, when they’re done.

“Sure,” she says, and they go over to their room. They’re almost done packing too. Dana’s wrapping her first-place vault trophy up, with an almost tender look on her face.

“Enjoy it,” Diana says, teasingly. “Because I’m going to train a one-and-a-half this summer, and then it’s over for you.”

Dana looks startled for a second—maybe it’s too early to say mean things to her as a joke—but then she laughs. “Thanks for the warning,” she says. “I’d better start working inbars. Beat you at your own game.”

“It’s kind of funny,” Monica says. “You’d think you’d want a break, right? But I actually can’t wait to get back in the gym.”

“Yeah,” Samantha says. “I think I’ll actually like off-season training this year.” She’s not going home, she’s told them; she’s staying out here with her brother, at the apartment he’s getting, and she’s going to train in the university gym with Coach Skinner. “But I’ll miss you all, though.”

“We’ll miss you too,” Dana says, hugging her. “But we can chat.”

“Are you actually going to train a one-and-a-half, Diana?” Monica asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” Diana says. “I don’t really think I’m going to threaten Dana. But it’ll be good for the team.” She can’t believe she’s saying that and meaning it. “How about you, Dana? Actually going to work inbars?”

“No thanks,” Dana says. “But I do want to work on cleaning some stuff up on bars and beam. And thinking about what I might do for my floor routine next year.”

“Definitely,” says Monica. “I want to do something really different from this year. And I want to get my vault more consistent.”

They all look at Samantha. “I want to train floor,” she says. “I’d like to compete it next year. I’d like one of those routines like the Dutch have.”

That’s surprising. Samantha’s elite routine, the last time Diana saw her, was basically still a junior routine: dependent on being tiny and cute. Samantha’s still pretty tiny and cute now, even though she’s eighteen, and Dutch routines are known for being elegant and dramatic. It doesn’t seem like a natural fit, but she can tell it’s something Samantha really wants, so she says, “Go for it.”

“Hell yeah,” Monica says. “That’d be awesome.”

“It’s a great idea,” Dana says. “Something really different.”

They’re quiet for a minute, and then Monica says, “Look at us jumping ahead already. We literally just finished the season. And we’re the second best in the nation!”

“Yeah we are,” Diana says, and then they’re quiet for another minute, to take that in. Dana finishes wrapping the trophy and puts it in her bag.

“And we’re only losing three routines next year,” Monica says, “which is a lot fewer than most teams. I was reading online—”

“Stop,” Dana says.

“You literally never stop trying, do you?” Diana asks.

“Nope,” Monica says. She’s grinning.

“We’d better go,” says Samantha. “We don’t want to be left behind.”

So they head down to the lobby, to join Coach Skinner and the rest of the team.

#my fic #the x files #gymnastics #Dana Scully #monica reyes #samantha mulder #diana fowley #alternate universe

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