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myinaru · 1 month ago

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Childhood Best Friend Complex - Part 2

You and Heeseung have been best friends forever. Emphasis on forever. Like, learned-how-to-walk-together type of forever. But college throws a wrench into your usual routine: one night blurs a line that was never supposed to move, and suddenly, everything feels different.

Now there’s weird tension, awkward silences, and unspoken things you’re both too stubborn to say out loud. You don’t know what’s worse, pretending nothing’s changed or admitting everything has.

Because staying friends? That was always the plan. Wanting more? That was never supposed to happen.

Pairing: Lee Heeseung x Fem!Reader

Genre: College AU, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 39.6k Total (11.8k - Part 2)

Warnings: Dry humping (hell yeah), Corny maybe idc, Lots of misunderstanding, Mentions of multiple kpop idols, Cursing, Cunnilingus, Unprotected sex (pls don't), Praising, Heeseung is a yearner, Lmk if I missed anything lol

Author's Note: First time uploading here lol. This fic was heavily inspired by the manhwa/webtoon Childhood Friend Complex. I'll be splitting it into three parts since Tumblr won't let me post it in one go. Hope y'all enjoy T-T

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

It wasn’t that anything necessarily big changed.

There was no confession. No dramatic blowout. No sudden declaration that things between you and Heeseung had shifted.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because everything technically stayed the same. You still shared lunch sometimes. Still exchanged half-sarcastic texts about your departments. Still found him standing beside you when the vending machine wouldn’t work, muttering something dumb like, “You scare it.”

But underneath all that? The norms had started to feel... different. Like it was hanging on by habit. Like you were both still playing the roles you’d always played, but now, someone else was quietly writing herself into the scene.

You didn’t like admitting it.

You didn’t even want to think it.

Because it made you feel petty. Stupid. Insecure.

But the truth was there, in the way your eyes always seemed to drift toward them. Heeseung and Yeri. Your name and his used to be the ones always mentioned in the same breath. Now it was hers.

“Did you hear their duet’s going well?”

“They’ve got really good chemistry.”

“She totally matches his energy.”

You tried to ignore it. Tried not to care. But each time, your brain grabbed onto those words and refused to let go.

Now, the university’s interdisciplinary festival was in full prep mode. Meaning more meetings.

More chaos. More hours spent in shared spaces with students from every department, Performance Arts, Medicine, Dentistry, Science, Athletics, all of it combined together under one event.

And today was another all-department coordination session. Nothing fancy. Just a general sitdown in the multipurpose hall to go over final scheduling, check logistics, finalize performance slots, make sure no one had a complete breakdown before the actual festival.

You showed up on time. Not early. Not late. Just enough to be on time without looking like you were trying to bump into anyone.

But as soon as you walked in, your eyes flicked across the room, and there it was again.

Heeseung. Already seated in one of the middle rows. Laughing quietly with someone beside him.

You didn’t need to guess who.

Yeri was leaning slightly toward him, her elbow resting casually on the chair arm they shared. She wasn’t loud, not obnoxious. But she had that kind of confidence that made everything she did seem intentional.

She looked at him when she spoke. Touched his arm to emphasize a point. And even from a distance, you could see the way her lips curled upward when he actually responded.

He wasn’t laughing like she was. Not nearly as much. His smile looked tired, his posture a little off. But he wasn’t stopping it either. He wasn’t moving away. He wasn’t brushing her hand off or even shifting slightly to the side.

He was letting it happen.

And you hated how much that sat with you.

You didn’t even realize you’d paused at the doorway until Vicky came up beside you and tugged your sleeve.

“Come on,” she said, nudging you gently toward the far side of the room. “I saved you a seat.” You sat down beside her without a word.

And for the next thirty minutes, you tried to focus. You really did. The facilitator’s voice echoed off the walls as they ran through updates; venue maps, booth assignments, emergency protocols. Someone asked a question about audio equipment. Someone else groaned about the last-minute changes to the talent showcase lineup.

You took notes. You nodded when needed. You acted like you were present.

But you weren’t.

You kept catching yourself glancing sideways. Watching the two rows in front of you. Watching her.

Yeri laughed again, not loudly, but clearly. She leaned over to whisper something to Heeseung, her hand briefly brushing his shoulder as she leaned in.

This time, you saw it clearly.

Heeseung didn’t laugh. But he let her lean in. Let her touch linger. He didn’t look at her like she was the only person in the room, but he didn’t look uncomfortable either.

And for some reason, that was what stuck.

Not the closeness. Not the flirting.

But the fact that he didn’t flinch.

You kept your expression neutral. Quiet. Collected. You didn’t frown. Didn’t glare. You just... watched.

Then you stopped watching.

And you stared down at the paper in your lap instead.

Vicky glanced sideways, but didn’t say anything. Not right away.

It wasn’t until the meeting let out and the students started packing up that she finally bumped your knee with hers.

“You okay?”

Her voice was quiet. Soft.

You hesitated for a beat too long before nodding.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just tired.”

She didn’t believe you. You could tell. But she also didn’t press.

“Okay,” she said simply. “Tell me if you wanna skip next shift. I’ll cover.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks.”

As you both stood up to leave, someone from the volunteer team, a girl from the med department, you think, walked past with two others. They were chatting too casually, not thinking about who was near them.

“Honestly, I thought Yeri and Heeseung would’ve made a great couple anyway,” she said, laughing under her breath. “Like, come on. That chemistry? It just makes sense.” You didn’t look up.

Didn’t say anything.

But something inside you dropped. Like a part of you had just been officially replaced, and no one had bothered to tell you.

Later that night, you found yourself sitting on your bed, lights off, laptop open but forgotten beside you.

You weren’t even sure what you were looking for when you opened Instagram. Just scrolling. Mindless.

Then you saw it.

Someone from the performance team had posted a candid photo from today’s meeting. The lighting was bad. The image slightly blurry. But there, in the background, caught midconversation, Heeseung and Yeri.

He was turned slightly toward her. She was smiling. Their heads tilted together just enough to look close. Familiar. Like two people who belonged in the same frame.

You stared at it for a long time.

It wasn’t even a particularly romantic photo. Nothing dramatic. Nothing obvious.

But it still made your chest feel tight.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

You didn’t believe it.

Things had been off for a while, but you didn’t want to admit it.

At first, you chalked it up to the mess of the semester with the schedules tightening, responsibilities piling up, everyone scrambling toward festival season. Heeseung was busy. You were busy. That was normal. That was expected.

But over time, it stopped feeling like a phase. It felt... like something slipping.

The texts started slowing down. First it was a few hours without a reply. Then full days. You’d send something light, “Did you sleep through lunch again?” or “You alive?” and get a thumbs up emoji hours later. Sometimes not at all.

And it wasn’t just that. You used to see him every day without even trying. Now you couldn’t remember the last time you bumped into him outside of some committee gathering or prep session. It was weird. And quiet. And nothing like you were used to.

Still, you kept giving it time. You told yourself he’d come back around. That he was just busy. That things would settle.

But things didn’t settle.

You kept showing up to lunch at the same table out of habit, only to sit alone with your food going cold. Heeseung would arrive twenty minutes late, sometimes more, always out of breath, his hoodie half-zipped, hair damp like he’d just left dance practice. And when he finally sat down, he’d dive straight into updates about the festival. About Yeri. About choreography tweaks and rehearsal conflicts.

You listened. You nodded. You even asked questions, just to fill the air. But it was getting harder to ignore how your name didn’t seem to belong in the sentences anymore.

That Wednesday, you waited ten minutes longer than usual before pulling out your phone.

No text. Not even a missed call.

By the time Heeseung showed up, you had already finished half your drink.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, sliding into the seat across from you with a huff. “Choreographer added a last-minute segment to block in.”

You looked up from your sandwich. “It’s fine.”

He gave you a crooked smile. “You sure? I feel like I’ve been flaking on you.”

“You’ve been flaking on everyone,” you replied lightly, pretending it didn’t bother you. “It’s equal opportunity neglect.”

He laughed a little at that, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess that makes it better?”

You shrugged. “Depends who you ask.”

There was a beat of quiet as he opened his own lunch box, but his eyes stayed on his phone. You caught the edge of a notification lighting up the screen. A name that was all too familiar now.

[12:37pm] Yeri (Performance Arts)

“got the water bottles u like!! want one?” You didn’t mean to look. But you did.

You took a sip of your drink and forced your voice to sound casual. “You and your partner getting close?”

He glanced up, chewing. “Huh?”

“Yeri,” you clarified, trying to sound like it was just a passing comment. “You’re practically glued together these days.”

Heeseung blinked like he hadn’t even thought about it. “We’re just working a lot. She’s on top of logistics too, so there’s been a lot of overlap.”

“Right,” you said. “Must be nice, having someone so... dedicated.”

He didn’t notice the shift in your tone. Or maybe he did and chose not to mention it.

You looked down at your half-empty plate. The air felt heavier now.

Then you tried again, stretching a smile across your face even if it didn’t feel real. “Maybe I should start calling you ‘partner’ too.”

Heeseung blinked, clearly confused. “What?”

“Nothing.” You waved it off too quickly, stood up before the silence got worse. “Anyway. I should get back. Vicky’s waiting.”

He didn’t stop you. Just looked up, lips parting like he wanted to say something, but never quite did.

You left without looking back.

Later that day, you found yourself holed up in a study room with Vicky, trying to finish a lab write-up, but your mind kept drifting.

She noticed.

“You’ve read that sentence like five times,” she said, nudging your arm.

You blinked down at your notes. “Sorry.”

Vicky leaned back, arms crossed. She wasn’t prying, she started not to, but she also didn’t beat around the bush. “Heeseung?” You stayed quiet.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Y/n,” she said, gently now. “You’ve been pretending this doesn’t hurt for weeks.”

“I’m fine,” you said, voice too sharp. And then softer, with a break you didn’t mean to show, “I’m just tired.”

Vicky didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she reached over and closed your notebook.

“You don’t have to be okay all the time, you know.” You didn’t answer. Just stared at the table.

The next day, on your way to the library, you passed the studio again.

You didn’t mean to stop. But the door was open. And your eyes flicked toward it without thinking.

Inside, Yeri was handing Heeseung a bottle of sports drink. He smiled as he took it, looking surprised but grateful.

Then he looked down.

And you noticed the small, scrawled letters across the label.

Heeseung ♡

It was dumb. A joke, maybe. Or not.

He muttered a ‘thank you,’ voice too soft to hear.

You didn’t stay to watch the rest.

You kept walking, not fast, but just enough to leave it behind.

That night, you went up to the rooftop. You didn’t know why. Habit, maybe.

You used to go there together. Late-night study breaks, ramen cups in hand, laughter echoing into the dark sky.

Now it was just you. The air was colder than you remembered. The city lights stretched out far beyond the campus, but it didn’t feel comforting tonight. Just... distant.

You sat there, arms wrapped around your knees, staring at nothing.

And for the first time, you wondered if maybe he wasn’t just busy.

Maybe he really was slipping away.

Maybe you really were replaceable.

The hallway was quiet by the time the last of the volunteer boxes were packed away. You rubbed your temples, body aching from the back-to-back shifts; morning coordination meeting, afternoon cleanup rotation, and then the impromptu rehearsal run you weren’t even scheduled for but ended up dragged into anyway.

Heeseung was still here. That was rare lately.

You found him near the vending machines, crouched down, digging through his bag for something. The hoodie he wore was damp at the collar, his hair messy like he hadn’t had a break in hours. He looked up when you walked past, surprised.

“Oh. You’re still here?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t have a choice.”

He straightened, offering a tired half-smile. “Yeah. Today was brutal.”

There was a long pause after that. Not the easy kind you used to fall into. This one sat heavy, awkward between you.

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the flickering light above. “At least you’ve got someone bringing you snacks and drinks now. Makes it easier, I guess.”

Heeseung blinked. “What?”

You didn’t look at him. “Nothing. Just... must be nice.”

He stood straighter, tone shifting just enough to be noticeable. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You finally turned to face him, voice too even. “Exactly what it sounds like.”

“Y/n.”

The way he said your name, it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t teasing. It was cautious. Like he was trying not to set something off.

“You’ve got Yeri,” you said, hands tightening at your sides. “She seems really invested in helping you out.”

Heeseung frowned, genuinely confused. “She’s just helping with rehearsals.”

“And labeling your drinks?” you asked, raising a brow. “Cute touch.”

His face tightened. “Seriously? That’s what this is about?”

You scoffed, stepping away from the wall. “I didn’t realize we were doing the whole ‘defend her immediately’ routine now.”

“I’m not defending anyone,” he said, voice low but sharper now. “I just don’t get why you’re acting like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve committed some crime for accepting a drink.”

You shook your head. “Forget it.”

“No,” he pressed, following a step closer. “Say what you mean for once, Y/n. What’s going on with you?”

You swallowed hard, not ready to spill it, not like this, not when it already felt like he was miles away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It clearly does,” he said. “You’ve been cold for weeks.” That stung. More than you expected.

You looked at him then, eyes meeting his. “I’ve been cold?” He hesitated.

“You’ve been distant too, Y/n. Don’t act like this is one-sided.”

You stared at him. “Of course I’ve been distant.”

The next words almost came out, almost spilled out of your mouth too fast.

I’ve been hurting. I’ve been watching you drift and I didn’t know how to reach for you without embarrassing myself.

But instead, you bit them back.

“Whatever,” you muttered, grabbing your tote off the floor. “You’ve got your partner now, right?” His expression changed. Like you’d slapped him without touching him.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly.

You didn’t answer. Just slung the bag over your shoulder and turned toward the stairwell.

Behind you, he didn’t say your name again. Didn’t stop you.

And this time, the silence was unbearable.

You left first.

You pull your blanket tighter around you, burying your face into the pillow like maybe the pressure can hold everything in. You’re not crying.

No way.

But your eyes sting and you can’t tell if it’s from exhaustion or from the way your chest has been aching for hours, like someone’s wedged a stone behind your ribs and keeps pressing down.

Earlier, you hadn't meant to see anything. That part matters. You weren't snooping. You were just tired.

Just needed your charger from the volunteer room before heading home. Just needed five seconds to grab your stuff and disappear.

But when you turned the hallway corner, the faint sound of laughter stopped you in your tracks.

Not just any laughter. His.

You froze, blinking at the thin crack of light spilling from the studio across the way. The door was slightly ajar, just like that day, like someone had forgotten to pull it closed all the way, and for some reason, you found yourself standing there.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough.

Yeri was there, leaning against the mirror wall, hair tied back, cheeks flushed from rehearsal. Her eyes sparkled under the soft lighting, exhausted but still bright, still full of something lighthearted. And Heeseung stood just a step away from her, loose hoodie slung over his practice shirt, posture relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in days. Weeks, maybe.

He looked comfortable. At ease.

And then she held something out to him. A drink, one of those canned vitamin waters he liked. The kind only a few people knew he actually preferred after practice, even if he always claimed he didn’t care.

“Found the last peach one,” Yeri said with a small grin. “Thought you’d want it before Jungwon hoards the fridge again.”

He laughed. Not loud, not showy. Just that warm, tired laugh that sounded like something slipping past his defenses.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it without hesitation. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“You looked like you were gonna collapse,” she teased, nudging his shoulder lightly. “I thought I’d have to carry you out of here.”

Heeseung let his head tilt to the side, mock dramatic. “Honestly? Might not be a bad way to go.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile softened. “Please. You’d be the most stubborn patient.”

“Oh, definitely.” He nudged her back, and the contact lingered just a little too long before he stepped away.

They laughed again. It was soft. Familiar.

It shouldn’t have felt like a gut punch.

But it did.

Because he looked at her the way you remember him looking at you, when it was just the two of you waiting for the bus, sharing fries outside the cafeteria, stealing moments between classes where the whole world felt like it slowed down around you.

That drink? You used to buy those for him. Knew exactly which one to grab even when the shelves were chaos. You’re the reason he even liked peach to begin with. He hated it at first, said it was too artificial, until you forced him to try it during one of your late-night study sessions. You laughed when he made a face, and he kept drinking it anyway.

But now someone else was handing it to him.

And he took it like it was normal. Like it wasn’t anything.

Your hand tightened on your phone. You stepped back, heart hammering too loudly in your ears. The ache started small, sharp and shallow, but it grew fast, spreading under your skin like bruises you didn’t see coming.

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

Didn’t want to see what else would unfold in that room where your place used to be.

You moved quietly, careful not to let the door click too loudly when you slipped into the volunteer room. Grabbed your charger. Left without saying goodbye to anyone.

Now, hours later, you lie there in the dark, teeth clenched against the thoughts clawing at your insides.

You’d kept telling yourself: He doesn’t owe you anything.

He doesn’t.

He never said he was yours.

But that didn’t stop it from hurting.

Because somewhere in your mind, maybe somewhere stupid, buried deep under all the teasing and the soft moments and the near-confessions, you thought maybe you were his.

Even just a little.

Still, the image stayed with you. The ease. The comfort. Like maybe she’d earned that closeness now.

Like maybe she’d replaced you.

You roll onto your back and exhale slowly, staring up at the ceiling.

“He doesn’t owe me anything,” you mumble, like saying it out loud will make it true.

It doesn’t.

Because underneath all the justifications and reassurances you’ve been feeding yourself, about timing, and misunderstandings, and maybe-it’s-all-in-my-heads, you know the truth. You’ve always known.

That night you told each other to forget what almost happened? It was a lie. A stupid, flimsy lie that neither of you ever really believed.

And now, all those memories you kept locked up are surfacing like waves you can’t stop.

You remember the way Heeseung crouched in front of you on the sidewalk after that terrible group date, his gently laying on your knees for balance, eyes steady as he said, “I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

You’d been tipsy, humiliated, ready to walk home barefoot if you had to. But he knelt down anyway, even when people stared, and let you rant or throw something or just breathe. And he stayed. The whole time.

You remember that night you crashed at his place after that incident. The restaurant the next morning, ordering greasy breakfast food and paying for his omelet with exact change because “he let you use his toothpaste and everything.” The grin he gave you when you teased him for adding too much syrup to your waffles still lingers in the back of your mind.

You remember the pact you recalled in the park, laughing about being single forever and getting married at thirty just for the tax benefits. But then he looked at you, really looked, and said, “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.” Like maybe it wasn’t a joke to him either.

You remember the little things, too. The way he used to wait outside the dental building with a coffee in hand, already knowing how you liked it. The walks to the bus stop, the way his shoulder would brush yours, solid and warm and always there.

And then, there was that night.

You were both too drunk, too loud, too everything. You’d ended up tangled on his carpet floor, laughing about something stupid. And then there was silence. The kind that hums between two people right before they make a mistake, or maybe, something they’ve always wanted to do. His hand on your face. His breath against your skin. His voice, barely above a whisper, saying your name like it meant something.

It hadn’t just been alcohol. Not for you. And if he’d pulled away right then, maybe it would’ve hurt less. But he didn’t.

You cover your face with both hands now, breathing slow and shaky.

You want to believe it was all just a phase. A passing crush. But it wasn’t. It never was. You whisper it to yourself like it’s a confession. “It wasn’t just a crush.” You don’t say the rest.

I love him.

The words come to the edge of your lips and then stop, like if you say them out loud, they’ll shatter whatever’s left between you.

You turn over, curling into your blanket again, arms wrapping around your pillow like it could make up for the weight in your chest.

You thought admitting it would bring some kind of clarity. Closure, maybe. But it doesn’t. It just makes everything hurt more.

You press your face into the pillow, willing yourself to sleep, even as the memories keep playing in your head like some kind of cruel reminder.

And when the silence grows too loud, you finally whisper, just to yourself, “This is way too fucking much.”

This time, you don’t try to fix it. You don’t try to make it okay.

You just let it sit there with you.

Because what else can you exactly do?

Heeseung stared at the open document on his laptop, but nothing was sinking in.

The rehearsal schedule was sitting in front of him, highlighted dates, times, deadlines, but his mind kept wandering to the empty chair across from him during last week’s prep meeting. The one you usually sat in. The one that had stayed cold and unoccupied.

You hadn’t shown up on time like you always used to.

You hadn’t texted since the last time you’d walked away from him, shoulders stiff, expression unreadable.

And maybe it shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. Maybe he shouldn’t have looked up every time the door opened, hoping it would be you. But he did. Every single time.

You were still around, of course. He still saw you during volunteer work, during festival stuff. But it was different now. You showed up right on time or late. You didn’t look for him. You didn’t nudge him during boring announcements or send him dumb memes when the coordinator rambled too long. You kept to yourself, sitting beside Vicky or someone else. Always someone else.

And you never texted first anymore.

Heeseung scrolled through your chat thread last night. The last message was from him. A week ago. A casual "you get home okay?" that went unanswered.

He tried not to take it personally. But that ache had been growing.

Rehearsals were colder, too. Yeri noticed.

"You good?" she asked one evening, tossing him a water bottle during break.

He caught it, barely. "Yeah. Just tired."

She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t press.

The truth was, he was tired. So fucking tired. But not in the way they thought. He was tired of pretending nothing changed when everything had. Tired of trying to act like he didn’t notice the subtle way you avoided his gaze, the way your responses had turned careful, clipped.

He missed you.

God, he missed you.

He thought about the night after the group dinner, when you stayed over and kissed him like you were scared of what it meant but still did it anyway. The warmth of your hands on his jaw, your voice soft and unsure when you said his name like it was fragile.

He never forgot it. Not for a second.

But now?

Now, it was like it never happened at all.

You didn’t look up when Heeseung walked into the room.

You’d seen him coming, caught the shadow through the frosted glass, but you kept your eyes on your notebook, pen scribbling something meaningless. Just something to do with your hands. Just something to look at that wasn’t him.

You knew he noticed. He always noticed.

But he didn’t say anything either.

Not that you expected him to. It was easier this way, right? Keeping the peace. Keeping the distance. He had Yeri now, anyway. She brought him snacks. She knew when his rehearsals ended. She stayed behind to help him go over cues even when everyone else had gone home.

She called him “partner” like it was a nickname, and he never corrected her.

So no, you didn’t have a place anymore.

And still, that didn’t stop you from glancing at him when you thought he wasn’t looking. It didn’t stop the sting when you overheard Yeri teasing him in rehearsal the other day, laughing too hard at some joke only the two of them understood.

“Bet your partner can’t survive a rehearsal without you,” she’d said, voice warm.

And he had smiled. Not a full laugh. Not the way he used to with you. But still, he smiled.

You didn’t tell anyone what that did to you. But you did leave early that day, saying something about a group project that didn’t exist.

You kept rerunning your last real conversation with him. The not-quite-fight. The half-sarcastic, half-sincere jab about Yeri and the snacks and the attention. The way he blinked at you like you were the one being unreasonable.

“Don’t act like this is one-sided,” he’d said.

It wasn’t one-sided. That was the problem. You just never told him.

“You’ve got your partner now, right?” That’s what you said instead.

And you regretted it the moment it left your mouth.

Later That Week,

“Y/n,” Vicky said one afternoon, her voice gentle, “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

You didn’t respond right away. You were mid-task, helping tape decorations for one of the festival booths, trying to keep your focus on folding stupid streamers just right.

When you did speak, your voice cracked halfway through. “I’m fine.” Vicky didn’t push. She didn’t have to. The silence was enough.

Heeseung didn’t say goodbye when he left that day. He’d looked at you, he always did, but you weren’t looking at him. You were talking to someone else, your voice quieter than usual.

He lingered a second longer than he should’ve. Then turned and walked out.

That day, you took the long way home. It wasn’t planned, really. Your feet just sort of led you there, the corner outside the convenience store, near the apartment where Heeseung lived. The one you’d crashed in after a group night out, both of you tipsy, tired, laughing at things that didn’t even make sense.

You paused in front of the same sidewalk you’d stood on that night. The one where you’d clutched his coat and tried not to shiver. The one where he’d leaned in close, breath warm as he said something that made you laugh and forget how cold the night was.

You stared for a while. Didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

Then you walked home, arms folded tighter around your chest.

And this time, you didn’t look back.

The club office was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards. Heeseung sat alone, the glow of his laptop casting a pale light on his face. The rehearsal schedule blinked back at him, but his eyes were unfocused, staring through the screen rather than at it.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, then dropped to his lap. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the past few weeks.

The door creaked open, and Jay peeked in, a teasing smile on his face. "Still here? Burning the midnight oil?"

Heeseung offered a half-smile. "Just tying up some loose ends."

Jay stepped inside, glancing around the empty room. "Or still thinking about her?"

Heeseung paused for a moment, sighing. “I think Y/n’s avoiding me.”

Jay blinks now, leaning against the doorway. “Like avoiding you-you? Or just people in general?”

Heeseung leans against his chair. “Haven’t seen her since Tuesday. She keeps skipping prep meetings. And if she’s there, she leaves the second we’re done.”

Jay shovels a mouthful of chips. “Damn. That’s serious.” Heeseung waits for more wisdom, but none comes.

“I don’t get it,” he mutters. “We were… fine, weren’t we? I mean, I thought we were fine.”

Jay sets the bowl down. “You guys fight or something?”

“Not really. Not directly. But she’s… different.” Heeseung exhales through his nose. “Did I do something?”

Jay shrugs. “I mean…” He stretches his arms out like he’s just warming up for the bomb he’s about to drop. “Well, Yeri’s been attached to you lately.”

Heeseung frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Jay stares. “Dude.”

“What?”

“If Y/n likes you, and I’m not saying she does, but like, if she does, then that would piss me off too.”

The words hit like a body blow.

Heeseung goes quiet.

Jay raises his brows. “What?”

“She doesn’t like me,” Heeseung mutters.

Jay snorts. “You sure? You guys had, like, a thing. I don’t know what kind of slow-burn drama you’ve been cooking, but even I could tell something was there.”

“Yeah, was,” Heeseung snaps. “That was before.”

Jay just shrugs again, totally unbothered. “I’m just saying. If it were me, I’d be mad too.

Watching someone I like hanging out with someone else. All the time. Smiling. Sharing snacks.” “We’re not dating,” Heeseung mumbles.

“But were you ever just friends?” Jay counters, surprisingly sharp. “I mean, did it ever feel… just friendly to you?”

Heeseung looks away.

That silence is answer enough.

Jay raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. "Alright, man. Don't stay too late."

As Jay left, Heeseung's gaze drifted to the corner of the desk, where a small, half-written note lay beside a closed drawer. He reached out, fingers brushing the paper, then pulled back. With a swift motion, he slid the note into the drawer and closed it.

He opened his messaging app, a blank draft addressed to you staring back at him. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, then he sighed and deleted the draft.

His eyes landed on his old film camera perched on the shelf. He reached out, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. A soft smile played on his lips as he whispered, "She always liked this kind of stuff..."

The camera clicked softly as he pressed the shutter, the sound echoing in the empty office.

All of a sudden, something odd happens.

It starts on a Monday.

The morning had it out for you from the start.

First, your alarm glitched and woke you up twenty minutes late. Then you opened your cabinet to the horrifying sight of an empty instant coffee box. And your oral path notes? Still buried somewhere in your room under two textbooks, one laptop charger, and a heaping pile of unresolved stress.

By the time you made it to school, you were already sweating through your uniform and running on two hours of sleep, half a granola bar, and pure academic anxiety.

You shuffled into the hallway, barely noticing the hum of fluorescent lights or the sharp sting of antiseptic in the air. The dentistry building always smelled like stress and sterilization, and this morning was no different.

You reached your locker on autopilot, expecting the usual cluster of dusty handouts and last week’s anatomy quiz shoved inside. But something made you stop.

There was something taped to the door.

Your fingers slowed before they reached the handle. A small, crinkled packet of candy, taped slightly off-center like someone had stuck it on in a hurry. Your favorite kind, too. Not the kind you could find at the nearby convenience store, but the one you used to keep in your bag during high school, the brand you hadn’t talked about in ages.

Your first instinct was suspicion. Not fear, just confusion.

You looked around. No one was near you, except a junior from the ortho track yawning into his phone a few lockers down.

There was no note. No “from,” no explanation. Just the candy.

You stared at it for a second longer than you meant to.

Part of you wanted to laugh. It felt weirdly out of place, like a random act of kindness from someone who knew exactly what to get, but not how to say why.

You peeled it off, tape clinging to the edge of your thumb. It wasn’t heavy or dramatic or anything worth overthinking. Probably someone from your class. Or a friend. Or someone pulling a subtle prank. Right?

Still, you slipped it into the pocket of your bag instead of throwing it away.

You told yourself it was no big deal. But you found your fingers brushing against the wrapper again when you were halfway to lecture.

It stayed in your pocket all day.

The next day, you were early. Not by much, but enough to catch the tail end of the building’s weird, pre-lecture silence. The kind where the hallways sound more like libraries and less like war zones. Your breath fogged up a little in the over-airconditioned room. It was always too cold in your department. Even your bones complained.

Your lab coat hung over your arm. Your bag dug into your shoulder, heavier than usual from two atlases and the water bottle you forgot to empty yesterday.

The classroom lights were already on when you stepped in.

A few of your classmates were scattered around, some seated, some still dragging stools across the tiled floor. The usual chatter filled the space: someone whining about the lab manual, someone else reciting mnemonics for nerves. The projector flickered to life in the front, bathing the whiteboard in that cold blue light.

And then you saw it.

Your desk.

Second row from the front. Right side. Your safe spot.

And sitting right there, dead center on your desk, like it belonged, was a banana milk. The kind you hadn’t bought since… forever ago. Not the generic brand, but the nostalgic one, cartoony packaging, yellow cap, slight condensation fogging up the sides.

There was a note.

Pink. Square. Curling a bit at the corners from the humidity. You recognized the handwriting immediately, though your brain scrambled to deny it.

Hope today goes easy on you. Drink this.

You froze.

Just for a second. Then your eyes scanned the room, casually, act normal, your head not even moving an inch, as if expecting someone to be staring right back at you.

No one was.

Everyone looked half-asleep. A few people waved when you looked their way, distracted. You caught the eye of your seatmate, who raised an eyebrow like long night? You shook your head.

You touched the note once, then peeled it off the bottle like you were handling evidence.

Whoever left it… either knew you very well, or had been watching too closely.

But it didn’t feel like a prank. It didn’t feel threatening. Not like the wrong kind of attention you’d learned to dodge in your first two years here.

It felt… specific.

The note stayed in your hand longer than it should’ve. You didn’t drink the banana milk right away. Just slid it to the side and opened your laptop, acting normal, though the back of your neck felt hot the whole time.

That one didn’t feel random.

That one… sat with you.

A little too well.

By Wednesday, it stops feeling like coincidence.

There was a cycle to college days, especially by the middle of the week, where exhaustion blended with routine and your brain ran mostly on autopilot. You knew when to wake up, when to walk, when to nod politely at upperclassmen you didn’t know.

So when you saw the photo, it felt like your internal programming glitched.

It was just there.

Waiting on your seat as you returned from your locker, right before prosthodontics. Most of the class had already taken their places, notebooks out, laptops humming. Your professor’s voice buzzed quietly over the mic system, giving last-minute quiz reminders. Someone at the front groaned dramatically. You were half-listening.

Until your foot bumped your chair, and you noticed it.

A square. Slightly curled edges. Off-white.

You picked it up, cautiously at first. A polaroid. The faded kind that developed with too much contrast and too little clarity.

It was a photo of a café.

That café.

The one from that rainy afternoon sophomore year, the place tucked behind the old printing press building. You hadn’t been back in what felt like forever. The sign in the photo was tilted, the glass slightly fogged. A pair of hands, yours, rested on a chipped ceramic cup. The memory was so specific it made your stomach lurch.

No note.

No initials.

Just the picture.

At first, you tried to reason it away.

Maybe someone found your old post on Close Friends. Maybe it was a weird throwback prank. Maybe- No.

It wasn’t random. Not this time.

The drinks, the candy, maybe you could dismiss. But this? A photo of something that happened years ago, between just the two of you?

No one else knew this memory.

Except Heeseung.

And maybe… Yeri?

Your heart twisted.

Yeri had been around more lately. Laughing louder when he was near. Finding excuses to rehearse longer. She wasn’t cruel, exactly, but she knew how to toe that line. Knew how to smile at you a second too long. How to tilt her head when Heeseung looked your way.

Was this her?

Is she trying to taunt me?

Your throat went dry. That weird prickling feeling crawled up the back of your neck again, the same one from lab yesterday. You looked around the room, slowly this time. No one looked suspicious. No one even seemed to notice the photo.

You slipped it into your folder. Carefully. As if hiding it would make the knot in your chest unravel.

But it stayed.

You couldn’t shake the feeling.

Not that someone was being kind, but that someone was watching.

The noise in the hallway was enough to make your skin feel paper-thin.

Groups of students moved in packs, some fresh from their lectures, some just arriving from lunch, some laughing too loud on a casual Thursday morning. The Dentistry hallway was warm, humid from too many bodies and not enough airflow. The linoleum tiles squeaked under cheap sneakers and worn boots.

Your bag thudded on the bench as you dug for your notebook.

You’d been rushing all morning. Late for oral path. Your clinical partner had forgotten her gloves again, and you’d run out of time to print your readings. So now, all you wanted was to get through this lab with minimal human interaction and maybe five minutes of silence after.

You pulled your notebook out.

And something slid out of it.

Your breath hitched as the folded paper fluttered to the floor. It landed face-up. Neat creases. Familiar pen pressure. You picked it up slowly, heart already pounding before your eyes even scanned the words.

Maybe you’ll notice me again one day.

Your fingers clenched.

You blinked once. Twice.

Something about the handwriting tugged at your nerves, not because it was completely unfamiliar, but because it was almost familiar. Soft loops. Deliberate slant. A little too tidy to be yours. A little too warm to be your blockmate’s.

Your stomach turned.

You’d seen it before.

On the edge of a clipboard during rehearsal. On the corner of a script printout. Scribbled across a whiteboard when Yeri took over warm-ups.

That same Y.

That same Maybe.

Your breath caught again, this time sharper.

Your head snapped up, scanning the hallway instinctively. No one was looking your way. No one looked suspicious. Just your classmates, shuffling and talking and complaining about case requirements.

You looked back down at the note.

The first thought was: This is weird.

The second was: Wait… was this Heeseung?

The third hit harder: No. This looks like Yeri’s handwriting.

You stood there, frozen, the paper still between your fingers. The more you stared at it, the more your gut twisted. It felt like something Heeseung would say. Something quiet and aching and leftover from the version of him who used to wait for you outside class just to walk five extra steps beside you.

But the writing... It looked like hers.

Your throat closed up. This wasn’t just a message anymore. This felt like a performance. Someone writing lines in someone else’s voice. Playing pretend with something fragile. Something sacred.

You dropped the note.

Your hand flinched back like it burned.

A few feet away, someone called your name. A labmate, probably. You didn’t respond. You bent down, picked the note back up mechanically, folded it, shoved it back into your notebook without even thinking.

Your heart was pounding.

What if it was Yeri?

What if she was trying to taunt you?

She’d been everywhere lately. Always lingering near Heeseung. Always looking when she didn’t need to. Always acting like she knew something you didn’t. Like she owned something that used to be yours.

Maybe she was trying to twist the knife.

You tightened your grip on the notebook.

It had started as a simple doubt. But now... now it was a full sentence circling in your skull:

They're together.

She knows it.

She wants me to know it, too.

And the worst part?

You couldn’t tell if that note had come from someone who missed you, Or someone who wanted you to suffer.

You don’t tell anyone. Not even your best friend in the department, and she’s the one who catches you zoning out mid-convo and missing half the answers during study review. You just laugh it off. Say you’re tired. Say it’s the festival stress.

Because what would you even say?

“I think someone’s leaving me weirdly affectionate notes... and the handwriting looks like someone I don’t trust?”

It sounds paranoid. But it feels worse.

On Friday, you showed up to rehearsal with your guard up.

Even as you entered the campus theatre building, its echoey halls and scratched laminate floors, you felt it. That knot in your chest. That hum beneath your skin. Like your body was prepping for something it hadn’t been told yet.

And there she was.

Yeri.

Perfect posture. Her hair clipped neatly to one side. A Starbucks drink in her hand, matcha, probably, and a laugh caught on her lips as a freshman from your batch said something stupid and charming.

She didn’t see you at first. Or maybe she did and didn’t care to show it.

You didn’t say anything either. You moved toward your corner of the practice room, unrolled your mat, checked your laces. Did all the normal things people do when they’re pretending not to watch someone else.

But she kept hovering.

During warmups, she drifted near your stretch line. During the blocking run, she ended up beside Heeseung again, like it was just a coincidence. Like she hadn’t spent the whole week orbiting him.

And then came the break.

You were tying your shoelaces when you felt it.

A glance.

You looked up.

Yeri.

Just a flicker. A second. Her gaze slid off you like water, back toward her phone.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Not obvious. Not lingering. Just enough to make your chest tighten like it was warning you of thunder.

You stood. Back against the wall. Bottle in your hand. And then she walked past you. Water bottle in one hand. That same unreadable smile.

She slowed. "You look tired lately," she said lightly. “Are you okay?”

You blinked. The question wasn’t harsh. Wasn’t mocking. But it felt… wrong. Off-key. Like a compliment with the teeth filed down.

Your mouth moved before your brain caught up. “I’m fine.” Too fast. Too defensive. It slipped out like a shield.

But she didn’t react. Just nodded like she expected that answer. Like she already knew what you’d say. And then she walked into the studio, quiet and graceful like nothing had happened.

You stood there too long, holding your water bottle like it might help you stay grounded.

Was that concern?

Or was it mockery in disguise?

You thought about the handwriting again. The photo. The note. The timing.

Heeseung.

Yeri.

Together, maybe. And laughing behind your back. Pretending it wasn’t weird. Pretending you weren’t still flinching from a memory they’d made sacred and left behind.

Was it a coincidence she was suddenly always there?

Was it your imagination?

Or was she really trying to tell you, without saying it out loud, that she had him now?

That she’d taken something you didn’t even realize was still yours?

By Weekend, it stopped being cute.

It wasn’t a game anymore. Wasn’t flattery. Wasn’t mystery. It was something else now. Scarier. Personal.

You found the note on Saturday, wedged beneath your water bottle during the afternoon rehearsal block. You hadn’t even stepped out that long, just enough time to stretch your legs and grab a snack from the vending machine. The hallway had been nearly empty.

But when you came back, there it was.

The paper was thick. Folded precisely. Just one line, handwritten in blue ink.

“If I hated you, I wouldn’t know your favorite ice cream or where you hide when you’re overwhelmed.”

You stared at it for a full minute before picking it up.

Your hands started to shake before your brain even finished registering the words.

That quote, that quote, was from the show you and Heeseung used to watch in middle school. Not a popular show. Not the kind you’d quote online or reference to new friends. Something small. Silly. Yours.

You hadn’t mentioned it in years.

No one knew about it.

Except Heeseung.

Except… maybe someone else heard.

Maybe someone overheard. Or maybe he told someone.

And the only person who had been consistently, strategically close lately… was Yeri.

You thought back to the last few days. Her glances. Her perfect timing. Her voice that never sounded quite as soft as it pretended to be.

“You look tired lately. Are you okay?”

That nod, like she expected you to say you were fine.

And now this?

Was this still a note?

Or was it a warning?

You folded the paper so tightly it creased like a blade. Tucked it into the bottom of your bag like it might burn if anyone saw it.

You started locking your backpack zippers.

You kept your locker closed, even between classes.

You stopped hanging around after rehearsal. You left first. Arrived late. Walked the long way around the Music building even if it made you sweat through your shirt.

Your earbuds stayed in, even when your playlist had long since stopped.

Because it wasn’t just about the note anymore. It was about the way you felt seen.

Not admired. Not even observed.

Seen like you were something to be watched. And that feeling… that was new.

You avoided Heeseung. Entirely.

You didn’t know what to think. Whether he was part of it, or just too close to the one who was. Whether he gave her that memory. Whether he was laughing with her about you, the way old friends sometimes do when they feel sorry for someone they used to care about.

He waved at you once on Sunday during the last cleanup before the festival officially starts. You didn’t wave back.

Didn’t even look at him. Just reached for your bag, turned, and walked away. The music was still playing, the room full of chatter, but your ears were ringing.

It hurt. God, it hurt.

Because maybe the worst part wasn’t the fear.

It was that the person who used to know you best had no idea what you were going through. Or worse…

What if he did?

You don’t wake up rested.

Even though you got a full seven hours, your body feels like it never stopped moving. Your limbs ache, not from physical work, but from tension. Like your muscles have been clenched for days and you forgot how to let them go.

You stare at the ceiling for a while before you get up. Today’s the first day of the Interdisciplinary Festival. Booths. Selling. Mingling. Crowds. Too much noise and not enough distance.

You already feel too drained, and the day hasn’t even started.

As you get ready, your mind keeps circling back to the gifts, the notes. The way they just kept appearing like pieces you were never meant to read. You haven’t found a new one since the weekend, but the silence doesn’t help. It only makes the air heavier.

What if it was her?

What if it wasn’t?

What if he knows?

You shove the thoughts aside with your toothbrush, with your hoodie, with the bag of booth materials slung over your shoulder. You’re here to work. You’re here to help. You're here to get through the damn day.

The festival grounds are already packed by the time you arrive. Colorful tarps, handmade signs, extension cords running like veins under the booths. Laughter, chaos, music thumping from cheap speakers. The scent of grilled street food already clings to the air.

You check in at your department’s booth, dentistry is doing a cute, mildly educational thing with mini tooth kits and enamel pins. There’s a raffle, too. You’re in charge of tracking sales and organizing the freebies.

Which is perfect. It gives your hands something to do.

It helps you focus.

Mostly.

"Hey, can you pass the price tags?" someone calls out.

You nod, grabbing the pack and sliding it across the table without looking. Your eyes drift again, without your permission, really, across the field of tents and student bodies. Searching.

You spot him halfway across the lot.

Heeseung.

He’s wearing a simple long-sleeved shirt rolled to the elbows and a lanyard with his department tag. He’s crouched by the performance art booth, helping adjust a foldable whiteboard that keeps sliding down.

Even from here, he looks… different. Focused. Calm on the outside, but you can tell he’s tired. There’s something about the way he moves, like his mind’s somewhere else. You know that version of him. You’ve seen it more times than you care to count.

Then he straightens, and as if sensing it, his head turns in your direction.

His eyes meet yours.

You don’t mean to freeze, but you do.

He smiles.

Hesitant. Small. Like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

You look away before you can decide what it meant. Before he can read your face. Before you can start wanting again.

You bend over to reorganize the freebies.

He doesn’t approach.

You don’t either.

Yeri shows up around mid-morning.

Of course she does. She's part of the performance committee, and her name is basically embedded into every schedule and announcement slide. She’s not wearing anything flashy, just a cropped cardigan over a simple top, jeans, but she still stands out. She always does.

She greets a few people near your booth, dropping smiles and soft waves like it costs nothing. People gravitate toward her naturally. She laughs easily, her voice lilting in a way that makes conversations sound lighter than they probably are.

And then she moves toward their booth.

You try not to look.

You really try.

But there’s a lull in booth activity, and your hands are still, and there’s nothing left to organize.

So you glance up. Just once.

Yeri’s standing next to Heeseung, her hand brushing his arm as she says something. He laughs softly, barely. He doesn’t pull away. Again.

Stil, he doesn’t lean in either.

You’re too far to hear the words, but you see the way she tilts her head. The way her eyes linger. The way he shifts his weight slightly like he wants to be somewhere else, but doesn’t know how to excuse himself.

Your stomach twists. Like it always does.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You’re not together. You haven’t even spoken properly in days. You’ve been the one avoiding him. This, whatever this ache is, shouldn't even exist.

And yet, your throat tightens.

Your hands curl around the edge of the table.

Around noon, one of your booth mates offers to run and grab snacks. You nod along and stay behind, glad for the excuse to avoid walking through the crowd. The last thing you want is to cross paths with either of them.

Your phone buzzes on the table.

It’s a message from your best friend in the department.

[10:34am] Vickypedia

“he’s been glancing over here all morning, btw.” You don’t reply.

You don’t know how to.

Because you’ve felt it too, in flickers. But you don’t know what to do with it. You don’t know if it’s guilt or affection or just residual habits.

You tell yourself again that it’s fine.

You’re okay.

That this unease in your chest is just the festival stress. That the weird notes were probably someone trying to be sweet in a way that landed… wrong. That maybe it really isn’t Yeri. Or maybe it is. Or maybe…?

You’re spiraling again.

By the afternoon, the sun gets warmer, and the energy of the crowd swells. You’re elbow-deep in raffle tickets, half-listening to the excited chatter around you, but your heart hasn’t caught up to the moment.

You feel disjointed.

Every time someone passes behind you, your shoulders tighten. Every time someone leans close to speak, you flinch a little too easily. The world feels a bit too close, like you're moving through static.

And every now and then, from the corner of your eye, you catch sight of her.

Yeri.

Sometimes alone. Sometimes not.

Always smiling.

Always composed.

Always a little too aware of where you are.

You catch her looking once, in the late afternoon. Not long. Not obviously. Just long enough.

And this time, she doesn't smile.

She just nods once, like an acknowledgment.

And then turns back to whoever she’s talking to.

You barely register the end of the day when it comes. Someone claps near your ear to get your attention, laughing when you jump.

"Sorry," they say. "You just looked really zoned out."

You smile thinly. “Yeah. Long day.”

You help pack up your booth’s supplies into a box. Your hands are sore. Your chest is heavier than it was this morning. The festival energy doesn’t cling to you, it bounces off. You feel untethered, like you never quite touched down the whole day.

You don’t know what you’re hoping for.

A confrontation?

A confession?

Clarity?

But there’s nothing.

Just a field full of tired students, taped-up posters, and lingering music.

Just the sound of your own heartbeat trying to convince you this isn’t what it feels like.

You wake up again, already bracing for the day.

It’s the kind of morning that feels too bright, like the sun’s mocking you for not sleeping properly. You barely touched breakfast. Your stomach’s too knotted up to hold anything.

Today’s the performance.

And that means Heeseung.

And Yeri.

You stall in front of your closet longer than necessary, pretending you’re just indecisive. But really, you’re just thinking about what to wear that’ll make you look fine. Not affected. Not like you spent half the week thinking about handwritten notes and brushing off your closest friends and avoiding the one person who used to know you better than anyone else.

In the end, you settle for something simple and casual, but not lazy. The kind of outfit that says, I’m not here to impress, but I also didn’t roll out of bed crying.

You arrive at the venue just before the crowd thickens. The makeshift stage is already set up.

Complete with lights, speakers, and a colorful backdrop painted by the Fine Arts department. Foldable chairs form a semi-circle around the stage, though most students are content to stand or sit on the grass.

It’s loud. Warm. Packed with energy.

The Performing Arts kids own the space like they were born for it. There’s already buzz going around about the final number. Someone mentions it’s going to be dramatic. Emotional. “The one with Heeseung and Yeri,” they say.

Of course it is.

You find a spot near the back, away from the crowd, where the lighting’s dimmer and no one’s paying too much attention. You can see the stage, but you don’t feel like you’re being seen.

You scan the performers setting up.

And then, there he is.

Heeseung, standing offstage in his performance outfit. Black long sleeves, flowy fabric, minimal accessories. He’s talking with one of the stagehands, nodding, focused. You know that look. It’s the same one he used to get before big recitals or exams.

Then Yeri walks over to him.

She’s in costume too. Her outfit matches his, fluid lines, soft fabrics. They look… good. Like they belong in the same setting.

They exchange a few words. She smiles. He smiles back, tight-lipped but polite. Then she reaches up to fix something on his collar.

Your nails dig into your sleeve before you can stop yourself.

The performance begins in full force.

First, it’s ensemble acts. Some lighthearted, some poetic. Spoken word, a musical duet, a monologue that earns a teary sniffle from someone behind you.

And then, the lights dim.

A hush falls. The final number.

The opening notes boom low and smooth through the speakers, a stripped-back instrumental. Two spotlights fade in.

Heeseung walks onto the stage from one side. Yeri from the other.

The crowd leans forward.

And you stop breathing.

It starts slow.

Just movement at first. Their silhouettes circling each other. Graceful. Every step like a wave. Not a word is said, but you understand it. It’s a story told through choreography. A story about distance. Yearning. Resentment. Reconnection.

And God, they sell it.

You try to remind yourself that it’s acting. That it’s what they do. Heeseung’s always been good at disappearing into his roles and so has Yeri. You’ve seen them rehearse, you’ve seen them prep. You know this.

But when their hands touch?

When Yeri’s palm finds his chest and she pushes, gently, like she’s letting go of something?

When he doesn’t react?

It doesn’t feel like acting anymore.

Your eyes sting.

You blink fast. Shake your head.

Don’t be ridiculous. You know what this is. You know how this looks. And still. Still, your chest burns like you’ve swallowed something wrong.

And then it happens.

Near the end of the piece, there’s a still moment, part of the choreography, you’re sure of it.

Yeri steps close.

Cups his face.

Just for a moment.

But it’s a long moment.

Too long.

The audience gasps. Cheers. Someone shouts, “Just kiss already!” which earned a few giggles in the crowd.

You turn your head, eyes darting down and away. But not before you catch it.

Heeseung sees you.

He sees your face.

And your hurt isn't hidden fast enough.

You turn away before you can register his reaction. You pretend to be interested in your phone, in the grass, in anything that doesn’t look like jealousy.

You don’t look back at the stage.

When the piece finally wraps, the crowd explodes.

Applause. Whistles. Phones up, cameras flashing. The host rushes out to thank the performers, but it’s clear who stole the show. People start pushing forward to get closer, half for pictures, half just to gush.

“Heeseung and Yeri, seriously…” a girl says beside you, practically squealing. “Like, are they dating? They should be. They’d be such a power couple if they got together for real.” You step back.

And then again, as more students surge forward to get a better view of the stage. Someone bumps your shoulder, and your balance falters. You steady yourself, the applause ringing too loud in your ears.

That’s enough.

The walk back to your dorm is quiet. The sun’s still out, but it doesn’t feel warm anymore. You take the long route, hoping the extra time will help you process what you just felt. What you saw, but your mind keeps looping back to the same thing.

That look on his face before you turned away.

He saw you.

When you get back to your door, there’s something waiting. Another note. Folded neatly, like it’s been sitting there all day.

You hesitate.

Then pick it up.

Your stomach drops as you read it.

You’ll regret ignoring this.

No smiley face. No name. Just that.

You stare at it for a while, your fingers tightening around the paper. A chill slips down your back. This one doesn’t feel romantic. It doesn’t feel soft. It feels like a threatening whisper at the back of your neck.

The third day is supposed to be the chill one.

That’s the whole point.

The sun’s out but gentler, the air buzzing with leftover festival energy. There’s an acoustic stage on the grass where students are passing around a guitar. A few first-years are on picnic mats playing card games. Others are threading beads for last-minute friendship bracelets. It’s mellow, warm, a little bittersweet. The high is wearing off, and everyone’s in that weird inbetween space where nothing’s urgent, but everything still feels important.

You spot the photo wall they put up, a collage of Polaroids from the past two days. You spot one of yourself behind the booth, half-laughing with your group, sweat clinging to your temples. The version of you in the photo looks... lighter. Like she wasn’t holding in a hundred burden.

And there he is.

Heeseung, smiling in one of the shots, arms around his team. Yeri’s just behind him. You glance at it for half a second too long before turning away.

It’s fine. You’ve been holding yourself together this long. One more day won’t kill you.

Your department’s booth is halfway disassembled. Tents down, tables cleared, only boxes of supplies left.

Your shirt sticks to your back. You’re sweaty. Your legs are sore. Your throat’s dry from giving out instructions and calling over people who clearly weren’t listening.

“Man, please tell me that’s the last one,” one of your blockmates groans, dramatically stretching their back.

You chuckle tiredly. “That’s the last one.”

“Thank God,” another adds. “I’m never organizing an event again. I swear I aged ten years.”

Someone collapses beside you on the grass. “Remind me why we volunteered again?” “Free food?” one of your blockmates offers.

“Trauma bonding?” another guesses.

Laughter ripples through your group, loose and tired.

Sunoo, a close friend you’ve met after volunteering, pats your back. “You killed it this week, by the way. Thanks for making sure we didn’t die.”

You give a small, crooked smile. “Of course.”

Then you glance at the stacked boxes beside you. “I’ll take these to storage.”

“Seriously?” Sunoo asks. “That’s like five floors up.”

“I need the break,” you say, hoisting two boxes up into your arms. “Aircon elevator ride? Yes, please.”

They wave you off with half-hearted cheers. “Stay alive!”

“Text us if you get stuck in the horror movie elevator!” someone jokes.

You roll your eyes, already trudging toward the building.

The halls are quieter than usual. Most students are still outside, too busy soaking up the last bits of festival atmosphere.

You elbow the elevator button, shifting the weight of the boxes. The elevator doors slide open. Empty.

Thank God.

You step inside, back hitting the cool wall. You exhale deeply, adjusting the boxes in your arms.

The doors finally start to close.

And then- SLAM.

A hand shoves between the doors at the last second. You flinch instinctively, your grip tightening on the boxes. The doors bounce open again with a ding. And there he is.

Heeseung.

Sweaty. Breathless. A single box in his arms. His eyes widen the moment he sees you.

The air leaves your lungs.

He steps in silently. The doors close.

You’re both frozen.

You can hear his breathing, shallow and fast. You’re not sure if it’s from running or from this.

From you. From this.

Seconds tick by.

“Didn’t know we were still doing the silent treatment.” His voice is quiet. Tired. A little raw.

You don’t look up. You stare at the elevator buttons instead. “Didn’t know we were still friends.” The silence that follows is loud. Crushing.

All of a sudden-

The elevator jerks. The lights go out.

You both flinch as everything goes dark, save for the faint red of the emergency lighting.

Your heart drops.

“God,” you mutter under your breath. “I shouldn’t have ignored why nobody takes the damn elevator.”

He drops his box with a thud. “Of course it does.”

You press the emergency button half-heartedly. Nothing but the same dull buzz.

The silence creeps back in.

Then, his voice again, quieter.

“Why weren’t you accepting them?”

You blink, confused. “Accepting what?”

He exhales. Shaky. Like it’s costing him something to speak.

“The gifts. The notes. I thought you’d… I thought you’d understand. I didn’t sign them, but I thought- I hoped, you’d just know.” You finally look at him.

His jaw is clenched. His eyes glimmer in the dim light.

“You…?” you whisper.

“You didn’t even keep them,” he says, hurt flickering in his voice, barely concealed.

You frown. “Not all of them…”

He shakes his head. “But enough.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “I thought they were from someone else.”

Heeseung laughs, bitterly. “Yeah. You looked scared. Like you were being stalked. Like I made you afraid of me.”

“I didn’t know it was you, Heeseung,” you whisper. “You never said-”

“I didn’t know how!” he bursts out. “You stopped talking to me. I didn’t even know if I had the right to show up in front of you anymore. I just… I just wanted you to feel me there. Even if you couldn’t look at me.” His voice cracks.

“I missed you so much, it hurt,” he chokes out. “And I saw it, you know? You flinched when you read them. You started walking faster. Stopped looking me in the eyes. I thought I ruined everything.”

You swallow hard. “But I didn’t hate you.”

“I didn’t know that.”

His hands twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them anymore. “All I wanted was to fix things. And I kept waiting for the right time. For something to change. And then the rehearsals keep happening and Yeri and I just-” His voice breaks. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” There’s a pause.

Neither of you move.

The elevator hums quietly under the emergency lights.

You don’t know who steps first.

Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you.

But suddenly, his arms are around you.

Not smooth. Not choreographed. Not clean like their dance.

It’s messy. Clumsy. A little panicked. Your box hits the floor beside his with a hollow thunk, but neither of you care.

He wraps his arms tight around your shoulders, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Please don’t hate me,” he whispers, face buried in your shoulder. “I didn’t want to lose you. I just didn’t know how to fix this.” He trembles.

You’re frozen for a second. Then your hands slowly reach up, clutching the fabric of his shirt. Holding him back.

Your voice barely comes out.

“Are you… crying…?”

He lets out a soft, trembling laugh. Pulls back just a little. His eyes are red, but he’s smiling. Barely.

He looks at your face.

Then your lips.

And then, He kisses you.

Softly. Slowly.

Like he’s scared he’ll break you.

You don’t pull away. You kiss him back. Your fingers grip tighter into his shirt, grounding yourself.

The elevator hums. Then jolts.

The lights flicker back on. The machinery whirs.

But neither of you move away.

Not until the ding of the elevator bell cuts through the silence like a gunshot.

The doors slide open.

Heeseung hesitates to pull back.

It’s his floor.

He hesitates. Steps forward just as the doors begin to open.

And you, your voice finally finds the courage.

“Heeseung.”

He pauses just in front of the door.

You say, “Meet me at my apartment later.”

The doors slowly close between you, and he holds your gaze until the very last inch.

And nods.

Then he’s gone.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

253 notes · View notes

kpopfanfictrash · 2 years ago

Text

Elemental (M) Pt. 1

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.

Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.

A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse

NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play

Word Count: 17,287 (32,487 total)

Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. Part I is here, and Part II will be uploaded shortly. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts. (also, if you haven't already realized based on the premise, Y/N does break up with Jungkook in the first part of this fic lol so, if that's something you don't want to read; fair warning!)

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

Magic, to you, has never been a boon.

Despite its romanticization in movies and stories, the reality of magic is messy and unpredictable. As dangerous as it can be fickle, your mom likes to say. Usually followed by a glance in your direction, swift enough for you not to notice, although you always do.

Either that, or an unconscious tilt her chin towards the photograph on the mantle. You aren’t sure she even realizes she does it, acting on instinct alone. The photo is of your dad, holding you on his shoulders with an ear-to-ear grin. He was the other Elemental in your family.

Even with only one magical parent, the Elemental gene tends to be passed on to children. Your dad’s magic was water, skilled in manipulating and calling forth the element. He was lauded for it, which was in itself unusual. More often, Elementals are run out of town by other humans. Although time has gone by since societal integration, there are still many who view your kind with suspicion.

You can’t say that you blame them – not really. Because again, the reality of magic is it can be dangerous. Based on experience, bad things tend to happen when you lose control.

Head tilted, you squint through the fog at your boyfriend’s apartment. For centuries, fog has been heralded as an ill omen and maybe there’s some degree of truth to it. Maybe the first speaker lived near a temperamental water Elemental, unable to keep their emotions from manipulating the weather.

Thoughts souring at how close to reality this feels, you shake your head once and some of the fog clears.

A pep talk, you think. That’s what you need to convince yourself to enter. Unseasonably chilly this late in the summer, your fingers curl into the ends of your sweater. Going inside would be preferrable to standing out in the cold, and yet you can’t manage a single step.

Better to stand in the cold than enter and shatter.

Again, you remind yourself you’re doing the right thing and again, this doesn’t help. If anything, it makes you clutch your sweater tighter. For once, you wish doing the right thing meant what’s right for you. Exhaling deeply, your eyes shut as a train passes and shakes the ground.

You began dating Jungkook three months ago and within a week, you knew it was different. You have a tendency to hide pieces of yourself, knowing most people won’t like what they find. Jungkook never allowed that to happen. The first time you ghosted, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop the next morning and asked what had gone wrong. Taken aback, you responded honestly and to your surprise, Jungkook listened.

He stayed. Stayed when others had run, cementing himself on a short list of people you can trust. Three months into dating, things have moved at once fast and slow. Fast because typically, you exit relationships long before feelings like these ones develop. Slow, because you haven’t given Jungkook every part of yourself.

Physical intimacy comes to mind. On several occasions, this has proved… difficult.

Eyes opening, you stare at the door. Memories of last night rise to the surface. For a long time, you’ve known this relationship has an end date. Knowing this doesn’t prepare you for the difficult conversation ahead.

The last time you saw Jungkook was after midnight. Fat raindrops chased your footsteps while you ran from his place, descending the subway at a record pace. The look on his face remains stuck in your mind and even now, you find the thought hard to revisit.

Imagining hurting Jungkook again is unfathomable. Stifling a gasp, you spin on your heel and march away. Halfway to the gate, you get a grip on yourself. Coming to a stop, you remind yourself this isn’t about you. Jungkook will hate you – there’s nothing to do about that now. Now, this is about Jungkook and ensuring he’s safe.

Slowly, you turn around and make your way forward. In the name of procrastination, you stop at a trash can to clean out your purse. Old receipts, gum wrappers and a crumpled-up napkin shake into the bin. You pause at the napkin, staring at the embossed name of the restaurant you work at. Or – more accurately – worked at.

Slamming the trash lid, you turn. You began work at Pierre’s Bistro two months ago as a temporary measure. Ideally, you paint but lately, inspiration has run dry. Waiting tables pays the bills, leaving time at the end of the day to stare at a blank canvas.

Pierre’s is an upscale French restaurant a few blocks down with semi-decent food and waiting tables would be fine if the owner – Pierre – weren’t a massive asshole. Now that you don’t work there, you can be honest about that. Pierre was the most sexist, elitist, capitalistic piece of shit you’ve ever had the displeasure of working for. While on his payroll, you tried to make the best of it but now, you have nothing to lose. Pierre was a dick.

A point he proved yet again last night, much to your mortification. You prefer working the lunch shift to dinner, and weekdays to weekends. Saturday nights are worst of all, and last night Pierre didn’t arrive until well after six. You were forced to cover the entire front section, picking up for a co-worker who called in sick.

Rushing from the bar, you nearly crashed into your boss removing his coat. Grabbing you by the elbow, Pierre steadied you, his hand lingering.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he joked.

You forced a smile. Experience has taught you the best thing to do in those types of situations is to smile and laugh.

“No fire. Lots of customers! Excuse me,” you said and tried to move past.

Pierre didn’t release you. If anything, his grip on you tightened until you turned your head.

“Yes?” you said, impatient.

Pierre didn’t respond, looking you slowly up and down. Eventually, he released you to take a step backwards. “Nothing,” he said carefully. “Be careful out there tonight.”

Trying not to gag on his words, you moved on. Unfortunately, it was hard to escape Pierre’s notice once caught. From that point on, each of your flaws were held under a microscope. First, it was that you didn’t fold the napkins correctly. Next, you took a wandering path from kitchen to table. Each time you entered the dining room, scornful words were covered by simpering smiles.

By the time your shift end approached, you could barely keep going. A large group had entered and, seeing the host occupied, you took it upon yourself to seat them at your last table. Fixing your apron, you hurried through the restaurant and into the kitchen.

Grabbing another table’s dishes, you thanked the cook and pushed open the door. Immediately, arms shoved you back in. Startled, you barely had time to recognize the host, Vanessa, before the doors swung shut.

“Vanessa?” you said, adjusting your grip. “What’s going on?”

Harried, she glanced over one shoulder. “Sorry,” she sighed, curly hair slipping from her messy bun. “I wanted to warn you before you went back out. Pierre is pissed.”

Your stomach sank. “Pissed… at me?”

She nodded, another dark curl escaping. “Something about saving the table up front for his friends? Bullshit, yes,” she said at your expression. “But you know how he is.”

“Yeah, I know,” you muttered. Deciding there was nothing to be done but keep moving, you hefted your plates higher. “Okay, thanks for the warning. I need to get these to table ten.”

“No problem,” she said and stepped out of your way.

You walked inside with slightly less spring in your step. Pierre lounged near the bar, surrounded by a group of people you could only assume to be friends. Although you felt his gaze on your face, you avoided him the best you could while you made your rounds. Taking the long way to the kitchen, you passed in front of the window.

Which was the moment you noticed Jungkook waiting for you on the curb. He stood beneath a streetlight, light pooling around the ends of his dark hair. When he saw you approach, his face lit up and he smiled.

Cursing beneath your breath, you smiled back. You were supposed to be done a half-hour ago, but there hadn’t been a good time yet to stop. Waving back, you mouthed, just a minute, and frantically pushed through the crowd to the back.

Merely seeing his face lifted a weight from your chest. It was easy to be around Jungkook because he liked every part of you. You never felt the urge to pretend, to curve yourself into something someone else would find pleasurable.

Well, he liked every part except one – and you were working on telling him that.

Hurrying into the staff room, you forgot your plan to avoid Pierre. You nearly jumped a mile when a hand grabbed your elbow, spinning you to face your fuming manager.

Pierre stared down his nose. “Follow me,” he snapped, releasing your arm to spin around.

He passed tables full of patrons, leading you to the bar before turning. “Y/N,” Pierre said, his voice dropping. “Are things okay tonight?”

“Yes,” you responded, deciding one-word answers were safest.

“Then why, exactly, are you fucking this up?”

Your jaw tensed. “I wasn’t aware I was doing so,” you said carefully.

“The napkins?” Pierre made a tsk-ing sound. “How many times should I say that presentation is important? Not to mention your laziness. One of your tables had to flag me down to ask for a refill. And now, you gave away the front table.” His expression darkened. “What makes you think you, a fucking waitress, can step in for a host? You sat someone at the table I personally reserved for my friends!”

You shouldn’t have responded. You should have stayed quiet and yet –

“There was no name in the book,” you muttered.

“What’s that?” Pierre waited and, when you stayed silent, shook his head. “I hadn’t had time to write their name down, but I told Vanessa, who assured me it’d happen. Of course, she wasn’t taking into consideration Y/N, the wonder waitress! Taking everyone’s jobs and making them harder.”

At your sides, your hands balled into fists. It took a greater amount of concentration than normal to keep your emotions from spilling over.

Of course, there were explanations for Pierre’s accusations. The napkins were correct before he jostled the table. You had been circulating your tables and if you were unavailable, it was because of his poor staffing. Oh, and – he didn’t make a reservation for his friends.

Slowly, you exhaled and stuffed down the responses. Deep down, with other emotions and magic. Beyond Pierre, a glass trembled but once you relaxed, the water went still.

“I apologize,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll do better next time.”

Pierre sniffed. “See that you do,” he said, brushing past. Grabbing a beer from the bar, you heard his friends burst into raucous laughter. Apparently, your humiliation was entertaining.

Heaving a small sigh, you turned – and froze where you stood.

Outside, Jungkook stared into the restaurant with murderous eyes. Too late, you realized Pierre had pulled you in front of the window. Away from anyone dining, but in full view of anyone on the sidewalk. Like your boyfriend, who witnessed the entire spectacle.

For a moment, your emotions overwhelmed, and you felt magic crack the walls you kept hidden. Embarrassment crept past your boundaries. Humiliation. Fury. Stuffing everything back, you quickly turned to rush through the tables.

Jungkook’s gaze snapped towards you, his brow furrowing. Reaching the staff room, you paced up and down. Jungkook saw you. He saw Pierre’s outburst, which meant you’d have to explain. You’d have to explain to Jungkook – the only person whose opinion you cared about – why you allowed other people to walk all over you.

He’d start to ask questions. Questions like, when was the last time you really got mad? You’d have no good response. Not because you don’t get mad, because you do. But because you don’t ever allow yourself to act on the feeling.

Faced with the prospect of brushing him off, you buried your face in both hands. Your usual excuses wore thin in your ears.

Pierre isn’t so bad. It was a one-time thing. You promise you’ll talk to Pierre tomorrow.

None of it would be true, and you didn’t want to lie to Jungkook. People never understood why you wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but the answer was complicated.

Your last date said you lacked emotions, but you don’t think that’s it. Of course, you have feelings, but those feelings are buried beneath so many layers, they can be hard to see. It’s not that you don’t feel, it’s that you cannot.

When you feel, your magic reacts, and people get hurt.

That was the last part of yourself you kept hidden. Jungkook is normal and he doesn’t know you’re an Elemental.

You know that by now, you should have said something. Obviously, but the timing was never right. Twenty-five years old, and you still aren’t sure how to broach the conversation. Few people know what you are, so you haven’t had much experience with the explanation. Your magic isn’t something you use if you can help it.

Yet another lesson you learned from your mom.

Your dad, an Elemental, died when you were five. Before, you lived near the ocean on a flat strip of sand. Your memories from before then are faint, but whenever you try, you can hear his booming laugh. Can feel the salt sting your cheeks, your mom tossing you in the air while you spun around.

Everything afterwards faded. At five years old, a hurricane swept past the barrier islands and that, you remember. You recall your mom at the door, pleading with your dad not to go as he donned his jacket. You remember him holding her hand, kissing the top of your head, and saying he’d return soon. Not many Elementals lived in your area, and even fewer had water magic.

You recall the hours passing, stretching longer and longer until dawn approached. Flashing lights followed, a woman climbing from her car to speak to your mom. You recall the sound of your mom sobbing, the policewoman’s voice floating into the house.

The storm surge was stronger than expected, but your dad managed to divert the worst. He saved the town only to be hit by a bolt of lightning. Instant death, the policewoman said, her tone implying this might be a comfort. Chest tight, your fingertips dug into the railing. Comfort meant nothing when your dad was gone. The irony struck you even back then – your dad saved others, and no one came to save him.

For weeks following, your mom was a ghost. At first, neighbors stopped by to drop off casseroles and condolences. Soon though, their sympathy stopped, and the whispers began. You were young enough not to notice, too consumed by the enormity of your own loss.

Eventually though, you noticed something was off. Suspicious eyes followed you down the sidewalk. Mothers clutched at their children, hurrying them to the side of an empty street. One day, you traipsed downstairs and overheard your mom on the phone.

She sat at the kitchen table, facing away from the staircase. You paused on the landing, listening to your aunt’s voice blast on speakerphone.

“Nonsense,” she was saying. “Your husband was a hero, and anyone saying otherwise is cracked. He saved your town!”

“I know.” Your mom blew her nose. “But now, people are wondering if he caused the storm. They’re saying maybe he… made the hurricane. It’s this new mayor,” she said, frustrated. “He hates Elementals and keeps insisting our family orchestrated this to collect money. He says –”

“Oh, no.” Your aunt sounded furious. “Don’t you repeat a single word that hateful man says.”

“He has a point, though,” your mom said, her voice low. “Did you hear about Uniontown? A fire Elemental accidentally set their barn on fire. Nearly burned the whole town. Magic is dangerous. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen, and now –”

“When was the last time your husband lost control, though? Are you saying you think he caused a hurricane?”

“God, no!” You watched your mom straighten. “But there are people saying… awful things.”

“Some people aren’t worth listening to.”

“I know.” Wearily, she exhaled. “They’re talking about Y/N, too, though. Apparently, she caused a tidal wave at the pool last weekend.”

Hearing your name said out loud, you shrank back in the shadows. You weren’t aware your mom knew about that, or that she cared. Bobby Clemmons teased Judith Bryce about her hair until finally, you snapped. Bobby was swept to the other end of the pool, much to Judith’s relief. She thanked you repeatedly.

Bobby was fine, except for some water up his nose. From the way he carried on though, you’d have thought he broke his arm.

Your mother lowered her voice, as though magic was something to be mentioned only in whispers. For the first time, a sense of shame crept over you. Your dad had always been open about magic, though stern. Stern in his belief magic should help people, not hurt. Never once did your dad insinuate magic itself was the problem.

Magic is dangerous.

Your mom’s words on the phone sank in as, your head pounding as you turned around to run up the steps. Even at six, you felt panic. If magic was dangerous and you were magical – that meant you were dangerous, too.

Slipping beneath your comforter, you stared at your shaking hands. Rain hit your windows, snowballing your worry to full-on fear. By the time your mom rushed upstairs, you were rocking under the covers as a storm raged.

She helped to calm you down, got your magic under control and a month after, you moved far away from the sea. A version of yourself vanished as you passed the pier. Despite this, you felt instant relief at the thought of control.

You remember your mom smiling when you joined the highway. “This will be good,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “A fresh start, away from it all. You can be whoever you want to be, Y/N.”

Except for the person you actually were.

Her meaning was clear, even if she didn’t say it out loud. At the time, you found the thought soothing. If you didn’t want to use magic, you didn’t have to. You never had to become your dad, who all your friends said had caused the bad storm. Even the news had turned against you.

Earth Elemental suspected behind San Raoul earthquake!

Jailed air Elemental claims innocence against onslaught of tornadoes!

Fire Elementals flee after string of arson!

Always the exclamation point. Always the lurid fascination that blame could be pinned on a single person. New rules were implemented in the house. No magic, except in your mom’s presence. This soon became no magic at all, but you didn’t mind. Whenever you did use magic, it felt wild, chaotic – the opposite of how you wanted to feel.

Your early years were marked by the struggle to conceal your powers. Years passed without incident and then, something would happen, and you’d have to move. Your mom never begrudged you, simply packed the house to travel to the next city. Each time, you promised you’d do better but by the time you realized school wasn’t for you, you had moved no less than six times.

Art was a risk, though one you found necessary.

Creation meant tapping into emotion, but you found methods of coping. Painting was the only place you loosened the reins on your magic, and so it became an outlet of sorts. A release, preventing your emotions from spilling into unwanted places.

There were other strategies, as well. Deep breathing. Counting backwards from one hundred. Focusing on one point, then on another until the magic calmed in your veins. Until you forgot the dangerous and destructive water around you.

Some people proved more reactionary to you than others. With some people, your magic responded so strongly, you were forced to cut them out completely. The first person this happened with was your best friend, Katrina. You were fourteen when she confided in you her family was fire Elementals. In response, your magic surged.

For a glorious summer, you practiced magic in secret. Each morning, you and Katrina bounded through the woods towards the far creek. You summoned great waves of water for Katrina to singe into mist. Everything was fine until late one evening, your mom caught you. She witnessed the combined magic and lost her temper.

Dragging you from the woods, your mom slammed the front door in Katrina’s face. She sat you down at the kitchen table, delivering a scolding you’ve never forgotten.

Do you know how reckless you were? What if a tree had caught fire? What if you altered the town’s water supply? What if someone saw and the next time a disaster happened, they blamed it on you – or Katrina?

Stricken by these very real possibilities, you promised not to do it again. Although you begged not to move, your mom packed the next day – your fastest exit ever.

The second time you cut someone out was after high school. Elliot was an artist, a quiet guy who dabbled with oils. He saw you painting one day in the park and silently set up his easel beside yours. This happened for weeks until he asked you out. Your ensuing romance was brief and sweet, and your feelings grew within a short period of time.

When Elliot told you he loved you, you dissolved into panic. You could feel how your magic responded, reaching for water that surged through his tiny apartment. Tossing on clothes, you stammered apologies and fled into the night.

For weeks following, it rained. Enough for the reporters to forecast local flooding. The fact terrified you – imagining people trapped on top of cars, small businesses flooded, the Red Cross called in to ferry locals to safety. It took your mom flying out to put you at ease, clearing the skies and regaining control.

Since then, you haven’t let anyone else past your inner walls. Until Jungkook.

Swallowing hard, you stare at his apartment and wonder if you’ll survive. Breaking up with Elliot is one of your worst memories and you only felt a fraction of what you do for Jungkook. Maybe you’ll conjure a hurricane, bringing the events of your life full circle.

Shutting your eyes, you rub at them dully. There’s no point in wondering what-if. You need to end it now, before things get worse. All day, you’ve gone over the facts and arrived at the same conclusion.

As expected, Jungkook was livid about Pierre last night. He wanted to confront your boss himself, although quickly backed off when he realized this was your battle. This though, turned to confusion when you said your intent to do nothing.

Although you tried the usual excuses, none of them stuck. Even if it was just once, Jungkook argued, it shouldn’t go unnoticed. You snapped slightly at this, insisting you’d deal with things in your own time.

Getting angry near Jungkook was peculiar. Suddenly, you became aware of the water around you. Thick, leaden pipes lacing Jungkook’s walls. Moisture that hung in the air, in the clouds – within his very veins. The thought terrified you, wondering what you might do accidentally.

Your panic must have been visible, because Jungkook instantly softened. Crossing the room, he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s just… I hate seeing you hurt. Of course, you know what’s best. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

His grip grounded you, enough that your magic dissipated, and that you realized a truth you’d hidden for some time.

You were in love with Jungkook.

No one in your life had ever been like him. Someone who was always in your corner, who protected you when they could and lifted up parts they couldn’t. Someone who liked everything about you – even the parts you weren’t brave enough to admit.

Studying his face, you tried to ignore the sudden ache in your chest. Even last night, you knew the inevitable. Memorizing his face, you tried hard to hold on. Jungkook’s slightly rounded nose, his full bottom lip accentuated by two piercings. Dark hair fell over his forehead; strong features contrasted by a soft gaze.

Jungkook watched you as well, and you wondered if he felt the same. Wondered why he’d commit you to memory, since you were the lucky one. He was the miracle, and you were biding your time.

Bending, he lightly brushed your mouth against his. Instantly, you melted. It wasn’t your first kiss and prayed it wouldn’t be the last, but something about last night felt different. Walking the two of you backwards, Jungkook pressed you against the wall and kissed you harder. His touch became desperate, one hand sliding beneath the lines of your blouse.

Your breath hitched at the brush of his fingers, delicious and warm against skin. His touch unknotted a hidden, tangled piece of your soul.

Ever since you met Jungkook, you’d held yourself separate. When you asked him to go slow in the beginning, he agreed. Touching was fine. Kissing was fine. Anything more, and you lost control.

About a month into dating, you met Jungkook at a bar and got tipsy. Three drinks in, you were frantically making out in an alley outside. Jungkook panted, “my place?” against your mouth, and you nodded. The journey back to his place was fast and slow, pausing in every dark place to drag his mouth to yours.

The second his door shut, you found yourself stumbling – into his bedroom, his bed, the confines of his heart. Shoes were discarded with every step, and Jungkook couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. You returned his fervor in spades, nipping his lower lip to watch him smile.

When he fell back on the bed, you saw his pulse quicken. Staring up at you, Jungkook watched your clothing disappear with a gaze so dark, it bordered on onyx. Climbing onto him, you resumed kissing with a newfound reverence. Eyes falling shut, you did your best to stay present.

Each brush of his lips was combustive, each touch of his hands filling you with sharp, pulsing light. And then –

The sink and shower in his bathroom burst on.

Startled, you pulled away and realized it had been you. Your magic had caused it, flooding his bathroom with water. Swearing under his breath, Jungkook scrambled out of bed to hastily turn off both faucets.

You sat there on his bed, heart pounding with fear. By the time he returned, you were already dressed and mortified. Jungkook was all apologies, certain he’d moved too fast, but you assured him he hadn’t. Anything that happened, you were an equal participant – too much maybe, although you didn’t say so out loud.

Lying in bed that night, you stared up at your ceiling. For a moment, it felt as though you were six and under the covers at your old house. Magic was dangerous. You would eventually hurt someone. Dread pooled in your stomach, recognizing the truth. If you couldn’t control your magic around Jungkook, you’d have to end things.

Heartache chased the thought, filling you with so much panic, you nearly drowned. Pushing this aside, you simply resolved to do better. To be better and keep both Jungkook and magic. This was simply another challenge; you owned your magic, not the other way around.

Thus, began the two best and worst months of your life. The best, since you’ve been dating Jungkook and the worst, because at every moment, you’re terrified of hurting him. Walking a line as thin as a razor, you’ve fallen in love while trying your best not to feel.

Until last night, you thought you’d been successful. Life was mostly under control, but then the Pierre debacle took place. Then Jungkook kissed you with such intensity, you forgot who you were and why you’d been holding back. Two long months of restraint and suddenly, you came undone at the seams.

Before long, you were again in his bedroom. Jungkook stripped off his clothes, bare skin pressing to yours with a searing intensity. Pulling you over him, a low hiss escaped while he kissed your throat. Even through his boxers, you could feel how hard Jungkook was. How badly he wanted this; a need you returned.

The thought of him inside you made you frantic. Pushing Jungkook onto his back, you straddled his waist and rocked forward.

Jungkook lay underneath you, his hair a dark halo. Suddenly, you could feel water everywhere. Magic, everywhere – it was in you, around you, in Jungkook’s walls and molecules. Everything felt so utterly fragile, and your magic responded.

Ferocious, it strained at your self-crafted bonds. Realizing how precarious your grasp on control was, your emotions slipped into panic.

You had to leave. Now.

Sensing the change in your body, Jungkook paused.

“I – I’m sorry,” you blurted, scrambling off him. Bending for your pants, you pushed one leg through and hastily zipped. “I need to go.”

Jungkook stared, frozen in place. “I…” Shaking his head, he pushed a hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

Stomach dropping, you roughly shook your head. Part of you ached to correct him but your magic was barely leashed, and you weren’t certain how much longer it’d hold.

Your magic wasn’t something you wanted Jungkook to see.

Frantically throwing on your shirt, you rushed towards his front door. His dog, Bam, whined from the couch and lifted his head as you passed. Yanking open his door, you escaped to the hall and downstairs. You heard Jungkook call after, but he didn’t follow, for which you were grateful.

Remembering his face broke your heart as you entered the subway. You kept your magic at bay until reaching your building, at which point rain swept the city in waves. Soaked through, you got in the elevator and saw Jungkook had texted. Shaking, you responded you’d talk to him tomorrow and turned off your phone.

Rain poured all night and you barely slept. By the time you woke, your mood had gotten worse. Work was torture. Even the lunch shift couldn’t save you, the looming specter of Jungkook impossible to forget. When Pierre showed up around one, you knew you were doomed. His glower could be felt all the way across the restaurant and no matter what you did, you somehow stayed in his way.

With little to no sleep and haunted by last night, the grip on your magic was tentative at best. Your entire shift, it hovered at the edge of your fingers. When Pierre commented you looked tired, the rain outside worsened. When a table of middle-aged men called you ‘girlie,’ their water glasses shook.

It was miraculous nothing happened until the end of your shift. That was the moment Pierre’s friends arrived, seating themselves at the table you gave away last night. One of them laughed as you poured them water, and you managed to push down your snide remark.

Glasses full, you turned around to go and the same one grabbed your waist.

You went still.

For so long, you’ve hidden your magic to protect others. You’ve kept them from hurting and there you were, broken, and no one cared about you. Just like no one cared about your dad, in the end. Teeth gritted, you whirled – and the entire water pitcher dumped itself at him.

At him, not on him.

You didn’t trip. Didn’t throw the water, although either would have been preferrable. Instead, the water leapt from the pitcher to slap the man in the face.

Horrified, you stared as reality sunk in. You had just assaulted a guest – a friend of Pierre’s, at that.

Shocked, the man wiped water down his visage. The entire restaurant fell silent, every eye in the room locked on you. Panic-stricken, you stammered an apology, flung a napkin on the table and fled into the kitchen.

The moment you crashed through the doors, you were hailed a hero. Izumi, your line cook, wistfully recalled the one time she punched a guy who grabbed her ass. Georgina added that once, she spit in the drink of a man who called her a bitch.

Both tactfully avoided the fact that you were an Elemental, which you appreciated. You were starting to feel marginally better – maybe you wouldn’tbe fired, after all – when the door to the kitchen swung open and Pierre stormed through. Seeing his face, your heart sank.

“You!” Spittle flew from his lips as he pointed. “Y/N – pack your things! You’re done here. Fired. You think you can insult my friend, pull some magic bullshit on him, and continue to work here? Fuck that. Get out – now!”

A pin could have been heard in the silence. Coming to your senses, you did exactly as asked and got your things. Pierre hadn’t mentioned pressing charges, and you didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.

Outside, you stood on the sidewalk and stared at the bus stop. Storm clouds brewed above, a visualization of your inner turmoil. Eventually, you turned and trudged down the subway.

Things had reached a point you couldn’t ignore anymore. You were beyond out of control. Emotions surged and strained against your internal walls, threatening everyone you held dear. The city didn’t deserve to be punished, even if no one within it knew of your sacrifice. Pierre’s friends were awful, but you could’ve just as easily lost your temper with someone you loved.

Someone like Jungkook, whom you couldn’t seem to be around without incident.

That was the reason most people feared Elementals. It was selfish of you to put your desires ahead of another person’s safety. The only way to protect someone you loved was to stay away.

Starting with Jungkook. You just wished he didn’t have to get hurt in order for that to happen.

Standing outside his building, you take a deep breath and press the buzzer. You wait for several long moments, wondering if he’s home and then –

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Leaning in, you press 316. “Hey. It’s me. Y/N.”

A weighted pause, and then –

“Come in.”

The door unlocks, and you push it inside. Climbing the steps to his place, your heart starts to pound. The last time you saw Jungkook, you were running away. The last text he sent was, ‘ok,’ in response to your message. If you were Jungkook, you wouldn’t be thrilled to see you.

Coming to a stop outside 316, you lift your hand and knock. A howl responds, followed by the patter of gigantic dog footsteps. Unable to stop your smile, you shake your head at the chaos.

“It’s just me, Bam!” you say, and he stops.

Bam’s howl is replaced with a whine and the sharp thwack-thwack of his tail on the door.

“Bam, out of the way,” Jungkook calls, his voice coming closer. A few seconds later, the door flies open to reveal your boyfriend.

You only catch a glimpse before Bam barrels out, nearly knocking you over. Legs and tail akimbo, he slobbers all over until you bend to pet him. Once satisfied, Bam turns around and trots back inside.

Silence falls between you, and you look up to see Jungkook. He’s dressed casually, sweatpants and a t-shirt bought at a concert you attended. He hasn’t moved aside, blocking you from entering.

Uncertain, you straighten. “Can I come in?”

Slowly, he nods and moves. You walk past him, trying not to focus on the heat of his shoulder. This might be the last time you see Jungkook, so you try to focus on that. Not the prospect of what you’re about to do.

Hearing the door shut, you take a deep breath and turn to face him. “I can’t stay too long,” you admit, digging your nails into the palms of your hands.

Jungkook regards you warily. His expression makes your chest ache, unused to him with such a stern expression. After last night, you suppose it’s earned. You should probably get used to it.

“Y/N.” His jaw works. “What’s going on?”

Deciding honesty is the best policy – up to a point – you force out your next words. “I think we should break up,” you say in a rush.

With a low whine, Bam slinks in the direction of the bedroom. Jungkook glances at him, distracted, before facing forward.

“What do you mean?” His head tilts. “Like, you want to take a break?”

Steeling yourself, you shake your head. “No. As in, I want to break up. Permanently.”

A train passes by the building, rumbling the floorboards underneath. Most people would avoid living in this building for that reason, but Jungkook was overjoyed by the prospect of discounted rent.

He doesn’t seem overjoyed now, though. Instead, he looks stricken.

“Walk me through this,” Jungkook says, walking closer. The set of his mouth has turned stubborn. “I don’t follow. Why are we breaking up again?”

The knot in your chest tightens. You should have known Jungkook wouldn’t make this easy on you. “We’re not good together,” you say, only to correct yourself. “I mean, I’m not good for you. I’m not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

He comes to a stop. “I can wait, Y/N. I don’t mind.”

Reaching for you, Jungkook’s brows crease when you take a step backwards. His hand falls between you, and he stares at the empty space. The crack in your heart widens, made worse by his silence.

“I mind, though,” you force yourself to say. “I can’t ask you to wait for me, Jungkook. That’s not fair to either of us. It’s too much pressure.”

The words make your heart splinter, reaching a point you aren’t sure can be reassembled. Maybe the pieces will simply lodge in your muscle, bruising your insides each time you draw breath.

“I won’t pressure you,” Jungkook says, automatic. His frown deepens. “Tell me what this is really about, Y/N. Is this about sex? It’s fine if we don’t have it.” Stepping closer, he takes your hand and you let him. “I just want you to be honest with me.”

Somewhat manic, you shake your head – and then nod.

Sex is a part of the problem, but it’s not the root cause. Sex with Jungkook is unthinkable. You can barely remain in control when you kiss, let alone allow more. With your past partners, this wasn’t an issue, but your past partners weren’t Jungkook.

Never have you met someone able to scramble your thoughts with a kiss. Whose gaze melted inhibitions and tore down every wall. You have little doubt that with Jungkook, you’d lose full control, and the thought is terrifying. Already, your makeshift barriers are weakened.

Rain splatters against the window, and your stomach lurches.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Jungkook says, returning your attention to him. “What’s this about? I can tell something’s on your mind.”

He takes your other hand, and you realize how close he stands. “Is it work?” Jungkook asks, a crease between brows. “Is there… some reason you can’t quit? You can tell me, Y/N.”

An odd zing of disappointment goes through you. For a moment, you thought Jungkook had guessed your secret, and this could all be avoided. If Jungkook knew what you were and that you lied to him – well, he’d end things for you. Hesitant, you consider revealing that truth but can’t seem to form words. It would devastate you, seeing fear replace love in his eyes.

“Work isn’t the problem,” you say at last. “It’s us, Jungkook. Or – it’s me. I don’t want to be together anymore.”

Disbelief flashes across his expression, and you idly wonder what will happen if Jungkook refuses. Even as you think this though, his expression shifts. Jungkook takes a careful step backwards, dropping your hands entirely.

He’s never been good at hiding emotion. Jungkook is your opposite in that way, revealing every shift of thought and desire. You watch confusion become anger, then bitterness a moment before he turns away. The set of his shoulders is still, staring out the window as yet another train passes.

Restless, he turns to drag a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe you,” he declares. “This is so out of nowhere, Y/N. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m telling you everything,” you say, panic rising. “And this isn’t out of nowhere! I’ve been telling you for months I need to take things slow and this – well, this is the opposite of slow, Jungkook!”

Jungkook stares back at you, heated. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, the tension thick in between you. Eventually, you look away first and pull your bag tighter.

“Right,” you exhale. “Well, I should go –”

Striding forward, Jungkook reaches you to cup your face with both palms. Gently, he lifts your face towards him, and all thoughts cease completely. Gaze searching, his breath fans across your parted lips.

Jungkook’s gaze intensifies. “I don’t believe you,” he murmurs.

Adrenaline zips under your skin, stirring your magic into a deadly storm. Entire body tense, you suppress the urge to fight or flee. So often, you’re the one running but right now, you feel more compelled to fight.

A knife in you twists, knowing you’re a coward. If you were stronger, you could keep Jungkook. No matter how understanding he is, the fact remains that if he stays with you, Jungkook remains in danger. Each passing day only worsens the pain.

His face blurs. With a start of surprise, you realize there are tears on your cheeks. The furrow between Jungkook’s brows deepens, noticing as well.

“You’re not listening,” you blurt. “I can’t see you any longer, Jungkook. It’s in your best interest, I promise – I can’t do this. It’s too much.”

Reaching up, you remove his hands from your face and head for the door.

Jungkook follows close behind. “Which is it, then?” he demands. “You want me to go slowly, or you feel too much?”

Pressure weighs every inch of your skin, demanding you answer. Anything that comes out now will only make things harder. Reaching the door, you feel Jungkook’s hand on your shoulder. Caving, you don’t fight when Jungkook turns you to face him.

He’s too close to you. Too much and too close, his one hand sliding to cup the back of your neck. Slowly, his thumb strokes the elongated line of your throat. You swallow, hard, and his gaze follows the motion.

Jungkook’s gaze flicks to yours. “You keep saying you’re no good for me,” he says, his voice low. “But what if I don’t care? Don’t I get a say in this decision?”

The force of holding in your magic worsens, becoming near impossible. Hastily built walls threaten to collapse, and reality blurs between one moment and the next.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, your hand searching behind you. “I have to go.”

Finding the doorknob, you twist and stumble backwards. Jungkook watches you go, the look on his face physically painful as you turn around. Each second that follows is pure concentration, trying not to break before getting outside.

The ocean is only a few blocks from Jungkook’s apartment.

Reaching the harbor, rain pelts your face in a way that feels punishing. Magic makes your limbs tremble, escaping your body in wisps of fog and rain. The moment you arrive at the harbor, you shatter, collapsing forward to grip your knees with both hands.

Eyes pressed tightly shut, you hear the storm howl. Waves churn the harbor, sloshing over the sidewalk in an attempt to get closer. No tidal waves, you plead in an attempt at reason. No whirlpools, no water spouts.

Your magic listens in this regard, at least. By the time your eyes open, a curtain of rain mingles with tears on your cheeks. Staring out at the ocean, each inch of your body is numb.

Jungkook will never forgive you for this.

The thought banishes all the rest. You can’t say that you blame him. Slowly, you exhale as you lift your gaze. The chasm in your chest widens, becoming something unbreachable. This is all your fault. You wish there was some satisfaction in knowing this, but there isn’t.

Eventually, the rain dulls, and you push yourself upright. Your sneakers squish with every step, the silence all-encompassing as you ride on the subway. Entering the building, you remove your shoes and collapse on your bed, fully clothed. Thankfully, your roommate isn’t home, so you aren’t forced to explain the events of tonight. Seokjin would have wanted to discuss, and you aren’t sure you can without breaking down.

Burrowing your face into the pillows, you manage to cry yourself asleep. Rain doesn’t let up the entire night.

“Tell me again.” Taking a seat at the table, Seokjin spoons yogurt and berries into his mouth. “Why did you have to end things with your boyfriend?”

Cracking open one eye, you glare from where you sit, slumped forward. “You know why, Seokjin,” you grumble. “Not all of us can be air Elementals in perfect control of their magic.”

“You could be, though,” he says, pointing with his spoon. “If you put in like, five seconds of training and embraced your water powers instead of running away whenever things got bad.”

“I am not running.”

“No.” Seokjin lifts a brow. “You’re cowering, which is far less attractive.”

“I’m not cowering, either.” Scowling, you bury your head deeper into your arms. “I’m wallowing. Big difference.”

Scoffing, his spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl. Pushing his chair back to stand, Seokjin heads for the sink and turns on the tap. The water itches a spot deep in your chest, almost taunting.

“I can’t be too hard on you, though,” Seokjin says as he cleans. “You did get fired and dumped in one day – that’s pretty rough.”

“Does it count as being dumped if I did the dumping?”

“I’ll allow it.” He opens the dishwasher. “But only because really, you didn’t want to break up with Jungkook. You’ve just convinced yourself the world is better off without you – something I highly disagree with, by the way, but can’t fault you for feeling. It’s too sad.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, and close your eyes.

Two days have gone by since your decision to end your relationship with Jungkook. It hasn’t been great, to put things mildly. On Monday, you barely left your room and rain poured from the sky. When you did enter the kitchen, the weather person on Channel 9 predicted local flooding.

Seokjin arrived from his business trip that night, took one look at your face and helped stop the storm. You sagged with relief, falling into a fitful round of sleep that only lasted three hours.

Seokjin is one of the few Elementals you know who embraces their power. Both his parents are air Elementals, and he was raised to take over their magical consulting business. Said business does well, leading Seokjin to own a gorgeous, three-bedroom apartment in the middle of the city. He got bored last winter, decided to post for a roommate and here you are. One of the few people in the city willing to room with an Elemental.

You don’t care what Seokjin does with his magic, although his laissez-faire attitude can occasionally be unnerving. You’ve lived your entire life with the assumption your existence is dangerous. All you need is a quick Google search to reinforce this fact. But then there’s Seokjin, living his life, seemingly none the worse for the wear.

He discovered your powers about a month into rooming together. Coming back from a trip, Seokjin opened the door to stare, slack-jawed, as plates washed themselves in the sink. Glancing up from your book at the table, you immediately sent two dishes crashing onto the floor.

Seokjin stared at this for a moment, then looked up. “You owe me new plates,” he declared and walked into his bedroom. After a moment, he popped his head out. “Hey – you think if we combined my wind and your water, we could create a waterspout but on land?”

“That’s… a tornado, Seokjin.”

“Right.” He slapped the doorframe once and disappeared. “Well, something to think about!”

Months later, Seokjin still doesn’t understand your avoidance of magic, but respects the decision enough to leave it alone. At least, until something like this happens and he’s again at a loss.

“Listen.”

Turning around, he shuts the dishwasher with his hip.

“Oh, no.” You grimace. “What now?”

Seokjin raises both hands. “Nothing, nothing. Far be it from me to comment on your mistakes. I’m sorry – did I say mistakes? I meant, ‘learned life experience.’ Through mistakes.”

“Was there a question in all that?”

“No question.” Loosely, he gestures. “Just wanted to say you can stay here, rent-free, until you figure this out. You know I’m only taking your money because you insist. I don’t need it. This place is already paid for.”

“Only because you frightened the seller so badly, they cut the price in half.”

“Listen.” Seokjin’s smile turns slightly sinister. “If they were willing to let their ingrained fear of Elementals influence their selling point, that’s on them. Not me.”

“Fair enough,” you sigh and sit back. “But seriously – thank you. This will give me some time to come up with a plan.”

Seokjin nods, tracing the rim of his coffee. Absently, he glances down the hall at the empty third bedroom. “You know…”

“No,” you say, automatic.

His right brow lifts. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to suggest I use this time off to work on my art.”

“Okay.” Seokjin shrugs. “Maybe you did know. But seriously, Y/N – why not?”

Weary, you exhale. “Because every time I try to paint, I get this… block. I can’t explain it. Watercolors used to be the one place I felt comfortable using my magic. Now… I don’t know. I can’t seem to use my magic anywhere. Even my art.”

Seokjin tilts his head, thoughtful. “How long has this been going on?”

“Don’t know – a few months?”

“Not long after you started dating Jungkook.”

Staring at Seokjin, you realize he’s right. That’s exactly around when you began dating Jungkook. The block happened not long after. Thinking about the early days of dating are painful though, and so you choose not to.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you declare with a shake of your head. “Right now, what I need is a job. And to earn money. Preferably in that order.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch. “Let me know if the order changes. I know a guy.”

Before you can consider his offer too seriously, your phone rings on the table. Glancing down, your heart constricts at your mom’s name. It isn’t that you don’t want to talk. It’s that if you do, Jungkook’s name will come up, and you’ll be forced to explain why you two aren’t together. Right now, you’re managing to cope by avoiding the topic. You aren’t sure what will happen if you’re forced to confront it.

Not to mention the very real possibility your mom will be happy. She liked Jungkook, but she always worries whenever someone new enters your life.

Also glancing at your phone, Seokjin scowls. “Don’t answer it,” he says, walking past. “Whenever you talk to your mom, things get even worse.”

Seokjin’s not wrong. Your mom means well – really, she does – but talking to her tends to leave you exhausted. Still, you know from experience it’s better to answer now.

“I know,” you sigh and stand up. “But if I don’t pick up now, she’ll just keep calling. Hey,” you say, pressing answer. “One second, mom.”

Ignoring Seokjin’s sad shake of his head, you scoop up your coffee and head for your bedroom.

Closing the door to your room, you lean backwards. “Hi, mom,” you say, lifting your phone to your ear. “Sorry about that. I was eating breakfast. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” your mom says, and you can practically hear her smile. “Same old, same old. The better question is, how are you? I saw on the weather there’s some flooding by you. Hope you’re alright!”

Grimacing, you move the phone to speaker. You should have known your mom would check in. Reading between the lines of her question, you can hear what she’s really asking. Your mom wants to know if you caused the flooding – an answer which is undeniably yes, but she doesn’t have to know that.

Setting down your half-empty mug, you flop face-first on your bed. Less information tends to be more with your mom. You’re debating what to say when she solves the problem for you.

“I know you haven’t had a slip in years,” she continues. “But if there’s another water Elemental in town, you should try to steer clear of them! Being around them could set you off – that’s what happened to Becky’s nephew, she said.”

Fighting an eye roll, you roll on your back. Becky Mayweather is your mom’s best friend in the entire world and one of your least favorite people. She’s the type to bake cookies, offer a shoulder to cry on – and then promptly turn and gossip to the neighbors about it. She fancies herself an Elemental expert because a few of her friends married them. Funnily enough, neither you nor your mom have met these friends in person.

“Oh?” you ask. “I never noticed.”

“It’s true! You know that I worry, Y/N. All alone in the city with another Elemental for a roommate…”

Annoyance spikes in your stomach. “His name is Seokjin, and I’m an Elemental too, mom. His mom could say the same thing about me.”

Seokjin’s mom could be saying that, but she wouldn’t because Seokjin’s mom and dad are both magic enthusiasts. The few times you met them, they were nothing but kind.

“Oh, Y/N.” Your mom sighs. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Watch your tone,” she says. “I’m only telling the truth. You work hard on controlling your magic. Your roommate, on the other hand, uses his magic willy-nilly. In broad daylight! You two couldn’t be more different.”

Your mom isn’t wrong about that, although not for the reason she thinks. Seokjin does use his magic freely, but you’re the one at risk of hurting others – not him.

“Seokjin is a good guy,” you say tightly. “He’s letting me stay here, rent-free, while I search for another job.”

“Another job?” Her voice pitches. “What happened to the job at that restaurant?”

Cursing yourself for your own stupidity, you close your eyes. “Um… I was let go. Difference of opinions with management.”

“Oh. Well. That’s too bad, Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s probably for the best – you don’t want to be working for someone you don’t respect, right?”

Some of your anger lessens at her genuine sympathy. It’d be easy to paint your mom as the villain but truthfully, she comes from a good place. You know that she loves you; she just doesn’t want to lose you the same way she lost your dad.

Exhaling deeply, you reach to grab a pillow. “I’ve been trying to paint,” you say. “It hasn’t been going well.”

“No?”

You frown at the obvious joy in her voice.

“Yeah,” you admit.

“Well…” Your mom draws the word out. “We always knew art was a risky hobby, Y/N. Painting. With watercolors. Something could easily go wrong and put you in danger.”

“I know, mom.”

“Actually,” she adds, her excitement growing. “Maybe this is a sign. Y/N – what if this means your powers are weakening?”

Your entire body goes still. “What?”

“Yes!” she says, oblivious to the panic in your voice. “You always loved watercolors because they made sense to you, right? Because of your… well, magic. What if a block means your powers are growing weaker? I wonder if other Elementals ever lose touch with their magic. I’ll have to ask Becky.”

Irrational anger surges within, and you hear the faucet in your bathroom turn on. Hastily, you work to turn it back off.

“You don’t need to do that,” you blurt. “I’ll research it myself. Actually, I should get going – I wanted to apply for some jobs this morning.”

“Oh, yes – good call, honey. You go and apply. Let me know if you need help. Becky has connections with the local university. I’m sure someone could help you update your resume – or even apply, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Thanks,” you say, although it absolutely does not. “That’s a nice offer.”

“Have a good day, honey – I love you!”

“Love you, too,” you say before hanging up.

Dropping the phone onto your bed, you hug your pillow tightly. It takes several long minutes to relax, wading your way through an anxious sea of thought. Although your mom means well, conversations with her tend to leave you feeling drained. Since you were young, it’s felt like your mom has an idea of the perfect child, and they aren’t you.

Eventually, you stand to bring your mug to the kitchen. Seokjin is busy making another pot of coffee, the delicious scent wafting overhead.

Passing him by, you eye this warily. “Isn’t that your third pot this morning?”

“And?” Seokjin reaches for his mug. “You’ve had three cups yourself.”

“Touché,” you sigh, collapsing on the couch.

Minutes later, Seokjin enters the living room and hands you a mug.

Staring into the drink, you say, “Thanks.”

Settling onto the sofa, Seokjin examines you over the rim of his coffee. You ignore him, taking a long sip of your drink. A summer breeze wafts through the window, and with a flick of his wrist, Seokjin sends it back out.

A stab of envy goes through you, although you know it’s irrational. Seokjin always makes magic look easy, but you’ve never found it to be so. Maybe when you were younger, before the crippling fear and anxiety had a chance to set in. The only time magic ever felt normal was when you painted and now, you can’t even do that.

Thinking about painting makes you think about Jungkook though, causing the dull thud in your chest to become a sledgehammer. You miss him. Miss the easy way Jungkook made you laugh. How he insisted on constantly touching some part of your body.

Cupping your mug of coffee, you take another sip and sink into the sadness.

“Far be it from me to dole out advice.” Seokjin interrupts your tiny pity party. “But I think you’re going about this the wrong way.”

Too exhausted to argue, you merely exhale. “What’s the right way, then?”

His head tilts. “I don’t know. But I find it weird your block appeared around the same time you started dating Jungkook. You’ve…” Seokjin hesitates, and you recognize his how-do-I-put-this-delicately face. “You’ve given up a lot over the years, Y/N. Maybe this time, you gave up more of yourself than you realized.”

Silently, you wonder whether he’s right. For too long, you’ve gone through the motions of life without really living. Too scared of letting people in, scaring them off, of being yourself. Perhaps giving up Jungkook will be the final straw. The thought doesn’t comfort you, and you have no response.

After a moment, Seokjin turns on the TV. The morning slips by, though you can’t help but think about his earlier comments – could you control your magic if you tried harder? The moment you think this, you instantly banish the thought. You’ve been attempting for months, and nothing has worked.

With this cheery thought, you allow yourself to sink further into melancholy. Only this time, the water rushing overheard isn’t your friend. You aren’t sure it ever was.

Wednesday morning, you leave the apartment in a haze. You thought that by today, things would be better but if anything, the situation seems to be worse.

Missing Jungkook is painful.

It hurts more than you thought, which might sound stupid, but that doesn’t make it any less true. When you and Elliot broke up, it was sad, but you knew it was for the best and that lessened some of the pain. Now though, each beat of your heart prevents the wound from closing. A tentative scab in one second, only to be torn open the next.

Jungkook always sent you good morning texts. Not because he was up before you, but because he went to bed so late, it was only an hour or two before you awoke. His words were the first thing you read in the morning, smiling sleepily at his rambling. Sometimes, Jungkook would include a late-night snack recipe. Always, he’d end with something he liked about you.

His silence is deafening. Something not even your favorite coffee shop can fix, although you try. Standing in line, you aimlessly flip through songs on your phone. Today, you promised Seokjin you’d attend at least two interviews. The first one is in an hour at a sushi restaurant. Before then, you plan to load up on caffeine and organize your thoughts.

When the line moves forward, you flip to your messages. No new texts. Unsurprising, but it rends the scab in your heart anew.

Facing forward, you remove an earbud to order. “Hi,” you say, mustering a smile. “I’ll have an iced americano with rose syrup.��

“Got it.” The barista barely looks up. “That all?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want a receipt?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.” She nods. “That’ll be ready soon at the end of the counter.”

Nodding your thanks, you replace the ear pod. Cranking your music louder, you wait for your coffee and lean against the counter. The coffee shop is tiny, empty for a weekday after the morning rush. Aimless, you glance over the clustered tables.

Your thoughts are on Jungkook before they can be stopped. You wonder what he's doing, what he’s wearing, whether he’s blocked your number yet from his phone.

A talented graphic designer, Jungkook works mostly on commission and on his own time. He does well for himself – enough to afford rent on his own place. Your mutual creative streak was something you had in common. Not your sleeping hours, that’s for sure.

Jungkook usually slept until nine or ten, then went to the gym before he made breakfast. You used to tease him about that, saying he couldn’t call it breakfast if –

Your heart falters. Jungkook must be on your mind since you seem to have hallucinated him here, at the coffee shop. You blink once, and then twice, but the mirage doesn’t fade, and you’re forced to conclude Jungkook is actually here.

Unfolding himself from a chair, he heads in your direction. Panicked, you glance at the counter, then back up. Your coffee hasn’t finished, which means that you’re trapped. Straightening, you do your best to seem natural and are certain you fail. Jungkook doesn’t just look natural, he is so as he approaches. At least, until you notice his hands in his pockets.

Jungkook does this when he’s nervous. Likely, he’s playing with the inside pocket lining. It hurts, knowing him so well, and not being his. When Jungkook comes to a stop, you stand mere inches apart.

“Jungkook,” you say, his name punched from your diaphragm.

He nods. “Hey.”

Uncertain, you glance down at the counter to check for your drink. Still nothing and, looking back, you tilt your head. “What are you doing here?”

Jungkook’s hands go deeper, if possible. “Getting coffee. Is that allowed?”

Your lips press together. “Sure. Theoretically, you can get coffee. What I’m asking though, is why you chose this coffee shop, five blocks away from your place. Usually, you’re not awake before noon.”

His expression is inscrutable. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

The silence between you lengthens, and not in a good way. You know why you’re quiet but can’t tell what Jungkook is thinking. You suppose that it’s possible he woke up early, forgot this was your favorite shop and went on a long walk for coffee – it’s possible, but unlikely.

At last, Jungkook exhales. “Alright, fine. I wanted to see you.”

“Y/N?”

Both of you turn at the sound of your name. Glancing between the two of you, the barista seems to pick up a weird vibe, dropping the cup to hurry away. Grateful for the interruption, you reach for your coffee and attempt to reset.

It’s not fair of Jungkook, corning you like this. You were already forced to end this once – unfair, making you do so again. Breaking up with him once was barely possible; twice is unthinkable.

“Don’t you have anything else to say?”

His voice interrupts your train of thought and, gripping your drink tightly, you turn.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Like, I don’t know.” His brow furrows, frustration obvious. “Anything, Y/N.”

Behind the counter, the barista fills a tea kettle to set this on the stove. You watch it instead of Jungkook, unsure how you’re going to do this again. The pressure of the water boiling is near tangible, mimicking the internal state of your mind.

Biting your tongue, you decide a safe exit is best. Jungkook will get the hint without you being forced to break his heart. Counting backwards from ten, you exhale and attempt to walk past.

“I’m sorry you came all this way,” you say in a murmur.

You’re nearly past Jungkook when you hear a soft swear. Only one more step happens before his hand grips your elbow.

“Y/N, please,” Jungkook breathes, turning you towards him.

Your gaze lifts and you start at his obvious pain. Staring back, Jungkook searches your face for something unspoken. Whatever he seeks, he must find it, since determination enters his.

You tear your gaze away. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jungkook.”

“I want to know if you were serious about breaking up.”

He’s still holding your elbow.

You must notice this at the same time, but neither of you move. Your gaze returns to his, drawn like a magnet and you realize your mistake when you can’t look away. Romeo’s line about Julie being the sun comes to mind, making sudden sense. You orbit around Jungkook, whether you like it or not.

In the background, a tea kettle whistles. “I meant what I said, Jungkook,” you say, forcing yourself to speak first. “I’m not good for you.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “But why,” he demands, frustration seeping through. You can hear in his voice the long nights of desperation, of little sleep in your absence. “I don’t understand what went wrong, Y/N. What did I do?”

A chasm in your chest opens, hating how easily he jumps to self-doubt. Before you can think better of it, you move closer.

“Nothing,” you say, one hand on his arm. “You did nothing wrong, Jungkook. I’m just not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

“But why not?” His gaze sharpens. “Everything was fine between us until Sunday.”

“Everything was not fine.”

Jungkook pauses, then barrels on. “When you say you can’t be in a relationship… what you’re really saying is you can’t be in a relationship with me.”

“With anyone,” you correct, although you aren’t sure that’s the truth.

Your magic has never been this temperamental. Possibly because this is the first time you’ve fallen in love. Dating someone not Jungkook would be safer, but the thought is abhorrent.

If you can’t have Jungkook, you don’t want anyone. That will be your punishment. Jungkook will move on, fall in love, and be happy with another person. Not you. No one else will compare, and if you can’t now, you doubt you’ll move past this crippling fear.

“You keep telling me that,” Jungkook says, growing heated. “But I’m the one you’re breaking up with, so it’s a little bit about me. You need to give me something, Y/N. Is this about your past? I know you don’t like to talk about your childhood, but I want to know.”

A loud buzzing fills your ears, gaze darting around. You haven’t told Jungkook much about your family, not wanting to invite questions about being an Elemental. The thought of him guessing sparks panic again, and the tea kettle on the stove whistles louder.

“People in my past hurt me,” you say in a rush. Magic itches beneath your skin, begging for escape. “That’s part of it, but not all.”

“What’s all, then?”

Frustration seeps past the wall, and several things happen. Your magic lashes out, a loud noise makes you jump, and the tea kettle shatters while hitting the floor. Water sloshes across the tile, steam hissing as the barista jumps back with a yelp.

Startled, you whirl around. One barista turns off the stove, another grabs a towel while a third finds a broom. Luckily, none of them seem injured – the tea kettle missed their skin. Taking a half-step towards them, you force yourself to stop. Although you want to help, that might make you seem guilty.

Already, the guilt within you is rising. You felt your magic overpowering you and chose to stay. If a barista had been hurt, it would’ve been your fault.

Turning back, you find Jungkook staring at the mess. He looks similarly shocked, twisting the knife in your gut. If he knew you caused this, he’d look at you that differently.

“You see?” you blurt, and he glances in your direction. “Everyone around me gets hurt. I can’t hurt you, too, Jungkook.”

Shoving open the door, you’re halfway outside when his words reach your ears.

“That’s the thing, Y/N,” he says softly. “You already have.”

The door shuts behind you, and you almost make it home before starting to cry. The skies open again above the city.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” you mutter, staring through the window.

The slightly dilapidated Ramen-rama tables stare back at you until the owner walks past. Catching you standing there, he motions you on.

Somewhat chagrined, you trudge down the sidewalk. Reaching a playground two blocks away, you collapse on a bench and attempt to be rational. Four different interviews. Spread across two different days. Each one ending the exact same.

One crappy interview, even two, and you’d understand. But four crappy interviews in the same way? Something weird is happening. Each interview, you arrived, greeted the owner, answered a few questions, and were thus informed the position was filled.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t gotten a job. It was that your interviewers seemed nervous, staring hard at your resume and never your face. They seemed relieved when you left, as though you were liable to break something for fun.

“Hey. Did you interview this morning at Ramen-rama?”

Startled, you turn and find a stranger beside you.

You don’t recognize him; certainly you’d remember if you met before. Dressed in a Ramen-rama t-shirt, his dark hair is gathered in a bun on his head. His hair makes your chest ache, since Jungkook used to wear his like that.

“Um, yeah,” you say, yanking yourself from your daydreams.

He smiles and nods. “I thought that was you. Listen – I overheard the manager talking this morning on the phone while I was unloading the truck. I think he was talking about you, so I thought I should tell you what I overheard.”

Concerned, you straighten. “Uh, okay. What was he saying?”

“He was talking to your old boss – Pierre? Apparently, he’s calling around and warning people not to hire you. Said that you stole from him, or something. Not sure if it’s the same story for everyone, or if he’s making up shit up in the moment.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” The guy’s smile turns wry. “I’m assuming none of it’s true. You don’t look like the thieving type, but the boss is running a business, I guess. Can’t be too careful.”

“Right.” You pause, then shake your head. “I didn’t steal, just so you know. A guest was an ass to me, so I dumped water on him – on accident,” you add.

Laughing loudly, the guy clutches his bicycle. “Wow, I’d love to hear that story. Especially the part about it being an accident,” he adds with a wink, sticking out his hand. “I’m Wooyoung.”

“Y/N,” you say as you shake. “So. Pierre is calling people?”

Brow furrowed, Wooyoung pulls back. “Yeah. Sorry I had to tell you like this. Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to know, but figured I should.”

You push yourself to stand. “I do appreciate it. Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.” Sheepish, he glances down the road. “I should actually get back if I don’t want to lose my job. Delivery,” he explains, nodding towards his bike. “Need the extra income.”

“Makes sense,” you say, forcing a smile. “Good luck.”

Wooyoung nods, then pauses in a way that feels familiar. He’s checking you out, you realize after a moment. Although flattering, it’s instantly followed by a rush of guilt. Wooyoung is cute and in another life, you’d say yes, but in every life, it’s hard not to want Jungkook.

Waving goodbye, Wooyoung climbs onto his bike and takes off. You head in the opposite direction, needing to put distance between you and Ramen-rama. If Pierre is shit-talking you across town, you’ll be hard-pressed to find another job at a restaurant. Owners are notoriously clicky and for how many restaurants there are, there are surprisingly few out of the loop.

Maybe you can ask the coffee shop if they’re hiring. Although you should probably avoid work with water for a bit. This drops your mood, your thoughts turning desperate. You’re so deep in an anxiety spiral, you nearly run into an open door on the sidewalk.

Jerking upright, you stare at faded, golden letters. Creative Courage is spelled in looping cursive over a frosted window. Art supplies fill a display case, while the other is clustered with art of all kinds. You spot sculpture, pottery, painting, and sketches before losing count.

Before you can chicken out, you push open the door.

Stepping in, tiny bells chime to announce your arrival. Soft, ambient light fills the space – a shop that’s two-fold, you realize now that you’re inside. The front sells art supplies while in the back stands a classroom. There’s a class in session now, several artists seated on stools before easels.

“Can I help you?” someone asks, stepping into your path.

Blinking, you focus. “Um, no – thank you! I was just looking.”

“Of course!” The woman beams, reaching up to arrange a clip in magenta hair. “That’s what we’re here for. If you do change your mind, let me know – we’ve got art supplies out front, and classes are held daily in back.”

“Classes?”

“Mhm.” Crossing her arms, the woman nods. “Mostly still life and figure drawing, but we’re hoping to add some more soon. Are you an artist?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

Immediately, you stiffen. “No. At least, not right now.”

Her lips twitch. “Not sure it works like that, unfortunately. Who you are can’t come on and off like a jacket. I like that, though,” she admits with a laugh. “Might borrow it the next time the muses aren’t singing.”

You can’t help but grin. “Exactly.”

Her head tilts, surveying you with unnerving intensity. “My name is Taryn. I co-own this place with my partner, Micah. They’re the one teaching right now.”

“Oh,” you say, somewhat wistful. “That’s nice.”

“Thanks.” Her smile widens. “So, what was your preferred medium? You know, ‘back when’ you were an artist.”

You can’t help but laugh when Taryn lifts her hands to use air quotes. Some people have a way of making you feel included in their jokes, and Taryn is one of them. She teases you in a conspiratorial way, letting you know she understands. People often call art a labor of love, which can be true but more often, it’s a complicated tangle of love, pain and frustration.

“Watercolors,” you admit. “And my name is Y/N.”

Her eyes brighten. “We’ve been meaning to add a watercolor class for ages. Some of our regulars have asked, but Micah and I are both hopeless. Potter,” she explains, gesturing at herself. “And Micah prefers charcoal. Sometimes sculpture.”

“Wow,” you say. “Those are very different.”

“You don’t say.” Taryn laughs. “Micah likes to keep things fresh. What about you? Have you ever taught be– hang on,” she blurts, her eyes going wide. “Did you say that your name is Y/N? As in Y/N Y/L/N?”

Your cheeks heat. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Whirling, Taryn hustles through the front room to duck behind a counter. Digging through several drawers, she pulls out a print to hurry back.

“Is this you?” she demands, thrusting this in your face.

Even cross-eyed and close, you recognize your most popular work. A watercolor series on the majesty and destruction of sea storms. Looking at this makes you feel raw, and so you look up.

“Yep,” you admit. “That’s me.”

Pulling back, Taryn looks at the print reverently. “You’re amazing. Micah was trying to do something similar but couldn’t capture the right feeling.”

Shuffling awkwardly, you shrug. You’ve never felt as though your work deserved acclaim, although it’s nice to know the series resonated with others. One of your favorite aspects of art is how it can be intensely personal but once shared, takes on a universal quality. You find it constantly surprising; how many people seem to share the same burdens.

“Seriously.” Taryn shakes her head wryly. “If you ever wanted to teach a class, let me know. We’d be lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you,” you say, stuffing both hands in your pockets.

You hadn’t realized your desperation was obvious. Or possibly Taryn is just incredibly good at reading others. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you stepped foot in the art world. Even before dating Jungkook, you felt your passion lagging. It’s been a long time since you wanted to connect with your inner voice, although merely the act of being here calls the tide in your blood.

Dangerous.

Recognizing this, you reinforce an inner wall. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’m not really looking for something right now.”

Taryn nods. “Sure. If things change though, just let me know – before next week,” she adds. “We try to publish our class schedule on the first of each month.”

“Will do. Thanks, again.”

“Anytime!” Beaming, Taryn spins to restock the next shelf.

Realizing your conversation is finished, you continue down the next aisle. The shop’s materials are superb, and your fingers are itching to reach out and touch. Reaching the front, you notice a quote painted over the register: Creativity takes courage – Henry Matisse.

You stare at this for a while, unsure why it hurts. Courage isn’t something you’ve thought about in a long time. When you were younger, you pushed people away because it was safe, but now you find yourself wondering who was that for – others? Or yourself?

Maybe the reason you keep yourself separate is because you are afraid people might leave you. Like Katrina. Or Elliot. Or even your dad.

Suppressing magic was hard at the start. Everything about it felt counter-intuitive but you reasoned doing the right thing often took effort. This is what you told yourself, anyways. It made said effort more bearable.

When you first began painting, the relief you felt was immense. After so long spent ignoring your emotions, you found a space to be free. Your series about the sea was oddly therapeutic, working through complicated emotions; your love for the ocean, coupled with fear of its wild beauty. Similar clashes within yourself about magic. And always, always, the desire for more.

For a few hours though, those feelings could be a part of you. Magic could be a part of you, so long as you remained in control – and with brush in hand, you were.

Only now does it occur to you that maybe, this wasn’t healthy. Maybe you shouldn’t feel the need to compartmentalize, as though certain pieces of yourself can only exist in certain spaces.

Tearing your gaze from the words, you exit the shop and gently shut the door. Pulling your jacket tighter, you head down the sidewalk and let your thoughts drift. Jungkook only saw you paint once, but the memory is hard to forget.

You had just started dating, barely past the stage of calling him ‘boyfriend.’ The constant influx of emotion was difficult to manage, and after a few weeks, you were exhausted. Most of your time spent without Jungkook was seated before your canvas. After one particularly frustrating session, you set down your paint to stubbornly stare at the canvas.

A throat cleared from behind.

Startled, you spun and found Jungkook standing there. His gaze moved quickly to yours, but you realized he’d been staring at your half-finished work. Normally, you felt panic at the thought of someone seeing a work in progress. That night though, the look on Jungkook’s face eased your concerns. Awe; pure and clear.

Yanking down giant, over-ear headphones, you hastily stood.

Jungkook lurched forward. “No!” he blurted, only to halt. “I mean – you don’t have to cover the painting. I liked it.”

He seemed flustered, which made you slightly flustered, but you took a slow step sideways. Eager, Jungkook’s gaze traversed the canvas.

Eventually, he looked back. “Sorry about that,” Jungkook said and walked closer. Warm hands found your waist. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“How did you get in?” you laughed, burying your face in his chest.

“Seokjin.” He paused. “Did he not say I was here? I texted you a half hour ago, but you didn’t respond. I figured I’d stop by, and Seokjin said to come up.”

Softening, you made a mental note to chastise Seokjin later. Tightening your arms, you lifted your head and smiled.

“So.” Jungkook glanced over your shoulder. “This is you.”

This sent a thrill down your spine. He spoke as though he’d known you before, but only on a surface level and now, he understood. Jungkook knew your art was part of you, as much as your heart or your soul. You had often felt the same, but never said so out loud.

Magic swelled, and you pushed it back down, but it was difficult. When Jungkook bent his head, you forgot to be scared and let yourself feel. The brush of his lips. The tightening of his hands. The current within you, swelling against your highest walls.

Loudly, someone knocked on the door. Breathless, you jerked backwards and found Seokjin in the door.

“Hey.” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Wanted to let you know our dishwasher broke. Flooded the kitchen.” Pointed, Seokjin looked at you. “Everything is all good, but I’m calling a plumber tomorrow. Carry on.”

In a flurry of embarrassment, you abruptly ended the evening and sent Jungkook home.

Remembering how the night ended, you stifle a groan and walk faster. Once more, you couldn’t control your magic and put Jungkook in danger. Hardly the creative courage Henry Matisse imagined.

You always assumed suppressing your magic was the best choice. But the best choice for who? Certainly not for you, who lives isolated, inert and in fear of yourself. Your dad used to call your magic a gift, but it’s been a long time since you felt that way.

This memory brings with it a sharp stab of pain. Since your dad passed, fear has replaced any joy your magic brought. Fear of falling victim to the same fate he did. Of others’ rejection. Of failing to live up to your father’s example.

You have little doubt that if your dad could see you now, he’d be confused by your actions.

You push others away in the name of saving them. Again, you think of Jungkook and for once you allow it. The entire way home, you wish that he’d call.

He doesn’t though and eventually, you stop hoping.

By Friday, the threads keeping your feelings at bay are nearly worn through. Intrusive thoughts push against fragile bonds, threatening the haven you’ve carefully crafted.

With more force than needed, you toss clothing into the washer. Your usual laundromat was closed, forcing you to walk five blocks to the next one. Sweaty from suddenly sweltering temperatures, your arms sore from the hamper, the situation does nothing to improve an already crappy mood.

Wiping your forehead with one arm, you slam the door and press start. The machine whirs to life, laundry tumbling in a way reminiscent of your inner turmoil. Up, you did the right thing by ending it with Jungkook. He’ll swiftly move on and find someone else. Down – but you don’t want him to find someone else. You want him to find you.

Teeth gritted, you turn and grab your hamper from the floor. Placing this on the washer, you wearily tug your cell phone from your pocket. By the time you walked home, you’d have to come back, leaving you with forty minutes to kill. You could read more of the book you just started. Or submit your resume to a couple of restaurants.

After yesterday’s disaster at Ramen-rama though, the interview process has stalled. Instead, you’ve found yourself thinking more about Creative Courage. For a brief moment, you even walked into the third bedroom to paint.

You immediately walked back out again, but merely the act was more than you’ve done in months. The thought of creation brought mostly panic, since it’d involve you being honest. Something you haven’t been with yourself in a while.

Because if you were honest, you know what you’d find. You would regret breaking up with Jungkook. Maybe even find that, deep down, you want to be selfish. You want to keep dating him, even if Jungkook gets hurt in the end.

After all, you saw what loving an Elemental did to your mom.

Putting down your phone, you scan the laundromat and find your gaze catching on the person in the next aisle.

No. No, no, no – absolutely not.

The universe – or whoever’s writing your story – must be cruel and unusual, since standing beside you is Jungkook. You’d recognize his head anywhere. Straightening from his hamper, Jungkook turns to face you and goes still.

Eyes wide, he seems stunned until someone slams shut their dryer. Both of you jump, breaking eye contact and time seems to reset. Pressing start on his machine, Jungkook grabs his gym bag and hoists it over one shoulder. He strides towards the exit, halfway there when you spring into action.

Dashing towards him, you cut him off at the dryers. Footsteps slowing, Jungkook meets your gaze with visible confusion.

“Sorry,” he says, tugging his gym bag behind him. The thick, grey strap of it cuts across his hoodie. “I was just leaving. I can come back later if you want to finish your load.”

Again, he tries to move past you, but something inside of you snaps. You aren’t sure what possesses you, but somehow, find your hand gripping his sleeve.

Startled, Jungkook stares.

Equally swift, you withdraw. “I, uh…”

Head spinning, all your words seem to fly out the window. Nothing about this was planned. You have no idea what to tell Jungkook besides I’m sorry, and even this would be woefully inadequate without explanation. Which you can’t give.

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” you say at last.

A singular brow lifts. “No? You didn’t seem to think that way on Wednesday.”

You suppress a wince, although you try your best to hide it. “I know,” you admit. “It’s just… this is your usual laundromat. I don’t want you to leave because of me. I wouldn’t even be here, expect the one near me is broken and –”

“Got it,” he interrupts, the words tight. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have to be.”

Swallowing hard, you stare down at your shoes. You know you deserve this, but it’s just so hard to see Jungkook hurting. He deserves to be happy, not wasting his energy on hating you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your eyes start to burn, and you squeeze them shut to prevent a reaction. You absolutely cannot cry in front of Jungkook. Not when you’re the one who started this; the very last thing you want him to feel for you is pity.

“Hey.” Something in his tone shifts, and you hear Jungkook step closer. When you open your eyes, he watches you intently. “What’s wrong?”

A tiny fissure within your chest splinters.

Anyone else could have asked those words, and you would have been able to answer. For Jungkook to do so is unthinkable. You’re the one who ruined this. The one who hurt him, who ended this and still, Jungkook is concerned about your well-being.

“I was fired on Sunday,” you say in a rush. “Before I came to see you.”

He blinks only once before his face hardens. “Before you broke up with me, you mean.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, Jungkook glances away. His expression is taut, and you feel a sharp pang of envy. It’s so easy to read Jungkook. You’ve spent so long hiding your emotions, it strikes you as luxurious how easily he feels.

A muscle in his jaw tics. “Y/N,” Jungkook says, turning back. “What are you doing?”

“What… do you mean?”

Fear spikes your heart, wondering if Jungkook has finally pieced the facts together. Maybe he saw more than you realized at the coffee shop. Maybe he finally knows what you are.

“Why are you… torturing me?” he clarifies, a slight rasp to his voice. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You were fired? That sucks, but it doesn’t make this okay. It doesn’t make us okay,” he adds, gesturing to the air between you.

“I – I know,” you stammer, nearly blurting out something you’ll regret.

Like that you’re an Elemental teetering close to the edge. One who can feel every pipe, every spin cycle within the walls of this laundromat. All of them churning, pulsing, begging for your magic to release the water inside.

“You know?” Jungkook stares at you, incredulous. “Again, Y/N – what do you want from me?”

Since you started talking, you’ve moved several steps closer. Another breath, another reach and you’d be in his arms. Glancing down, you notice how quickly Jungkook’s chest rises and falls.

He’s afraid, you realize. Jungkook’s fear isn’t the same one as yours, though. He isn’t afraid that you’ll see him, but rather that you’ll destroy him.

Realizing this, a barrier within you crumbles. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, somewhat desperate.

“You keep saying that.” Determined, he steps closer and somehow, your hand entwines with his to press against his chest. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but you won’t tell me why. Won’t tell me anything, Y/N – you were fired, and this is the first time I’m hearing it.”

“I couldn’t tell you!” you blurt. “I can’t explain it, Jungkook, but I couldn’t tell you when it happened.”

His gaze sharpens. “Then, yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe we are better off broken up.”

Releasing you, Jungkook brushes past you and heads for the exit. You stare blankly at the wall before you, your whole world caving in as your head starts to spin. Magic seeps beyond your fractured walls, flooding your veins in desperate search for an exit.

“That’s not true,” you protest, spinning around. “I’ve told you more than anyone else in my life, Jungkook. I’ve let you in in ways no one else has.”

Jungkook stiffens at the door, his entire body taut. For a single, long moment, it seems as though he might reconsider but the longer you stand there, the more you watch the fight drain from the lines of his shoulders.

“I don’t doubt that’s true,” he says, hand hovering above the doorknob. “But that’s not the same as letting me in.”

He starts to go.

Everything around you becomes white noise.

When you were ten, you passed a famous dam on one of your cross-country moves. Your mom took you to see it, swinging your hand while entering the viewing platform.

The moment you saw it, you went wholly still. Trillions of gallons of water, trapped behind concrete, constantly pushing but unable to break. It felt like your magic. Raw, untamed power contained by a solid wall. You stared for longer than any other visitor, until your mom pulled your arm and said you should leave.

The entire way to the car, your mom was silent and once you were buckled in, she twisted around to see you. “Listen to me, Y/N,” she said, her voice serious. “That dam will only work if the wall holds. If the wall breaks, do you know what happens?”

Silent, you shook your head.

“The water will flood the whole valley. Everyone in its path, all the forest – they’d be gone. The wall can’t break, or bad things happen. Do you understand me?”

Solemn, you nodded because even then, you understood. Although your magical dam was intangible, it held equal importance. You had to hold in the magic, otherwise bad things would happen. So long as the wall was in place, you were safe.

Now though, you squeeze your eyes tightly as the wall starts to crumble.

Emotions break with the force of a tidal wave, racing ahead and drowning all in its path. Memories you thought were long buried continue to rise, crushing you further. Your walls are destroyed in a matter of seconds.

You remember your dad, kissing you on the head before leaving the house. Katrina’s stricken expression when the door shut in her face. Jungkook, asking you what he’d done wrong again.

Each memory drags you under, and you shudder against the onslaught. It takes everything you have to remain standing while your restraint dissolves.

Hands grip your arms.

Surprised, your eyes fly open to find Jungkook before you. His neck muscles strain, yelling to be heard over thundering water. You try your best to focus, to rein your magic back in – only to realize with horror, it might be too late.

The laundromat around you is in chaos. Several ceiling pipes have burst, water crashing down in torrents of water. Already, waves lap at your ankles. Noise filters back in, flickering before solidifying to something substantial.

People are screaming, abandoning their hampers in an attempt to get out. The door has stuck though, unable to open under the onslaught of water. Jungkook yells again, and this time you hear him.

“Are you okay?” he bellows, close to your face.

You stare upward, stupefied. Another pipe bursts, and you think that was you, but it’s hard to be sure. Hard to understand which parts are in control and which parts are not. What particular emotion is holding the reins at any moment.

Determination replaces fear in his face, and Jungkook bends before you have time to blink. In an instant, you’re tossed over his shoulder. A yelp escapes, upside-down but he’s already wading through the aisle of washers.

Jungkook shouts at people to move, but no one is listening. After a moment, you feel him exhale and surge forward. Although you can’t see, the people seem to be moving, so Jungkook must appear confident.

Grasping the door, he pulls on it, hard. Nothing happens. Exhaling, Jungkook grips your waist tighter and mutters, “Hold on.”

You don’t have time to ask why, since he yanks harder and the entire frame shudders. Jungkook does this again and another pipe bursts, drawing your gaze. By the time you look back, the door has budged an inch and water is pouring out. With a final wrench, Jungkook yanks open the door.

People shove past him, rushing into the street with the tide of water. Spinning around, Jungkook shields you with his frame from the wet crush of bodies. His grip never wavers, feet anchored to the ground as though they’ve rocks themselves.

With each breath, your pulse slows until finally, you locate the faint threads of magic. Before, you felt too much at once. The crush was overwhelming but now, you manage to breach the surface. For the first time, you see your panic influencing the tide.

Realizing this, you reach inward and try to – turn. With great effort, you identify the source of your power and disconnect. Water in the ceiling slows to a trickle, and then, nothing.

Exhaling against your neck, Jungkook’s hand moves lower.

You can’t help but shiver. “Jungkook?” you murmur into his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Could you… you know, set me down?”

“Oh.”

Somewhat sheepish, Jungkook lowers you to face him. He doesn’t step away, and neither do you. If this is the last time you see him, you want to be selfish and make it as long as possible.

He stares back at you, waterdrops caught between his lashes. In the background, water continues to drip from a pipe. The soft plink-plink echoes the thud of your heart.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Jungkook’s hands remain on your waist, his touch scrambling all semblance of sanity. You aren’t sure how to answer without being honest.

Truthfully, you’re not okay.

An okay person wouldn’t break up with their boyfriend and then, six days later throw themselves in their path. An okay person wouldn’t be hiding their magic, they wouldn’t be lying to the person they love and most of all, wouldn’t continue to place that same person in danger.

Silent, you survey the aftermath of your outburst. Deep down, your magic itches in response to your panic. Seeping outward, it seeks to mold to the fear, but you manage to stop it. Something about the wall being gone makes your power less alien. No longer an unknown variable, but a constant.

“No,” you exhale. Steeling yourself, you take a step backwards. “No, Jungkook, I’m not okay. I… this is exactly why you should stay away from me. Bad things happen, and I can’t control them. I’m so sorry.”

Again, you brace yourself for his anger, but it never comes. Jungkook is unusually quiet, head cocked to one side. He sees right through you, a sensation unnerving enough that you drop your gaze.

“I should go,” you repeat, stepping around him. Reaching your washer, you hastily unload your soggy clothing. “I have to go.”

Jungkook says nothing, although you feel his gaze on the back of your head. Hefting your hamper, you slam the door shut, and turn. The water level at your ankles has dropped, no more than a centimeter remaining in the room.

Sirens wail in the distance, likely on their way to investigate. Your stomach lurches, recognizing the cost of your magic. As soon as possible, you should reach out to Seokjin. His company might be able to cover the damage if the laundromat can’t.

Nearing the exit, you look anywhere but at Jungkook’s face. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, unsure what else to say. “Really, I am.”

Again, he lets you move past. Water rushes out when you open the door, seeking the street, then the gutter. Hurrying past, you can’t shake the feeling something has changed.

Not only with you and Jungkook, but with you and your magic. Silent, you prod the place deep within from which your magic stems. You’re used to a wall, feeling closed off but now, it seems your mom was right.

Once shattered, the dam can’t be rebuilt.

A weightlessness accompanies this that you didn’t anticipate. Despite the terror of your outburst, there was a moment near the end when you stopped it. When you felt what was wrong and controlled your outburst of magic. You haven’t done that before.

The thought is followed by regret, remembering Jungkook. When you broke up, it was supposed to save him. Instead, you’ve only put him – and yourself – in greater danger. Maybe because you’ve continued to see him. Everything would be fine if you moved or kept your distance.

But then, another part of you wonders if you were wrong from the start. Maybe instead of providing distance, you should have come closer. Should have allowed Jungkook to decide whether he wanted to stay. After all, today, he experienced the worst of your powers, and he didn’t run. If anything, he moved closer.

Suddenly exhausted, you hail a cab. The driver grumbles at your wet clothes but allows you inside, and you tip him extra upon reaching your place. What you should do is find another laundromat and finish your load, but there’s an itch in your fingers you haven’t felt in some time.

Dropping your hamper at the door, you shutter yourself within the third bedroom. Not allowing yourself to second-guess, you sit down at your easel and pick up a brush.

For the first time in a long time, you allow the magic to flow. You paint.

Author’s Note: thank you for reading so far! Continued in Part II, here.

#bangtanarmynet #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts au #bts fic #jungkook au #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction

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0-shutdown-0 · 7 months ago

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Hi! I wanted to create a collaboration of notes I had on Steb and his contribution to the plot of Arcane, also posted this on reddit, so here is everything from stuff I saw to things I hypothesized -

This is Steb:

You can look on his little fandom wiki tag for stuff that I don't touch BUT ESSENTIALLY

1 He appears in episode 1 as the silent officer who pokes Loris while Maddie talks to Vi. And from what I get from the conversation is that Steb had to have worked on the force long enough to be given Maddie as a junior officer that shadows him. An interesting combo considering he turned out to be reserved care and Maddie ended up being false cheer.

2 He's well trained in close combat and seems to prefer it on multiple occasions.

At the very beginning he holds a collapsible baton that seems to be geared more into disarming people or incapacitating them. During the attack on the memorial where he's not only the first to act but later when he reunites with Maddie and their surrounded by Shimmer mutants she seems to have given him a blade that Steb wasted no time in stabbing into the closest mutant. And it develops into him using dual single hand batons when he's enlisted on the strike team.

(We later see all mutants have spears in their head so I can't tell if he killed or not. But I do think he accidently killed the man that shot the flare because there was blood coming out, the mouth was parted open, and both Mel and Steb looked shocked.)

It isn't until episode 9 during the finale we see him shooting a gun that I think it resembles his decision that now he really doesn't have a choice other than to kill the enemy and save the platoon he was given to command (NOTE: I believe everyone he was given to command all ended up surviving) or die trying to knock people out and reduce casualties. I find it interesting especially since he's a medic in addition to being an enforcer.

3 HE IS SO AWARE OF EVERY LITTLE THING

Complete distrust to the Noxus when they arrive? Check. Wide eyed and stunned at Maddie and Caitlyn's decision to join the Noxus then literally checks out like Loris for a long while? Check. He's literally the person to see everything go down and just decides to assumably remove himself from the equation for the next few episodes before being called upon again AND I WISH I KNEW WHERE HE WENT (which has now led to me writing a fic but anyways)

4 Interesting things that I need to point out

-In the end of episode 1 where the strike team is introduced, Steb is the only one to not get a Hextech upgrade to his weaponry,

I assume this is from some type of moral code he continues to have where he refuses extreme force. Additionally, and its probably a stretch, the screen glitches over Maddie and Loris but focuses on him symbolizing he's the only one out of the three of them to live.

-His ears and his little cheek fin frills respond to EVERYTHING. Kind of reminding me of a fish's lateral line when it responds to vibrations in the water and stuff but anyways-

Considering he's some type of Vastya fishfolk, or half of cuz he has eyebrows and hair, it's interesting. I saw someone comment that the fishfolk had a connection to the Arcane and it's magic AND THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO COOL TO EXPAND ON BECAUSE IT MAKES SENSE. That could have been the reason why he averted to using Hextech advancements. And the more in tune senses helping him stay alive.

As well as explain why he was the first to act like in E1 and E3 when the strike team meets Heenox.

- Speaking of E3, you can literally see him not even look up at the murder dolls which includes everyone's death or injury but his coming true. And when he does treat Heenox not only does he see the effects of the Grey but when Caitlyn loads her gun to shoot the man Steb is turning to Vi like a "Get your woman???"

He seemed to loose trust in Caitlyn there, as I noted he was the only one to look back when their group split as Vi and Caitlyn went off to face Jinx alone.

I can one hundred percent imagine Steb getting angry as a medic when he realizes he was kept in the dark about the use of the Grey as well, because he's not only the one who has to treat it but also has to live with the realization they did more harm to innocents and Jinx was in the right for rerouting all the vents they opened to release it.

- It appears that he is selectively mute, I assume that is has something to do with his biology since Jericho, the street vendor showed in S1 and later in S2, doesn't speak either but is seen being able to laugh and yell just like Steb. Personally think Steb doesn't speak much because its hard to do/hurts.

Which would have been so interesting to have been explored or at least acknowledged because it would have hit so much harder when in E9 we presumably hear him shout for his unit to get up and move when his leadership was needed most.

-Maddie's betrayal had to have hurt so bad for him. She was his shadow, the one he was suppose to teach and in the end her ambition for power took hold of her and was the reason for her end. And for him to be someone so observant and careful and let that go right past him must have killed a part of him because he probably excused some of her behaviors. Like how Maddie had called Vi "one of the good ones" when referencing her origin from the Undercity. OR even when they were leaving and when Steb motioned for her to follow him Maddie only went when she heard another officer in the distance call for her.

It definitely could have been expanded on if the Arcane team was given a bigger budget for him to sign and Maddie to mistranslate or even ignore his authority because of his disability. Like, she cares for him but not enough to respect him.

I feel like when Caitlyn woke up to see Steb sitting there that pain was shown heavily but not enough.

Anyways!

If you made it to the end of my rant, yay, this is all the deep diving I'm using for a fic and I hope it helps, if you have any thoughts to add please do!

#arcane #steb arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane s2

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ryuu242 · 1 month ago

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[Spoiler] Ryoshu related stuff from canto 8

New NPC from the Thumbs

and his rank is a Capo which is higher than a Soldato, lower than a Sottocapo, as we know from Ruina, the highest rank of The Thumbs is a Capo dei capi

We got "Spider's House" being mentioned for the first time. According to my memories Ryuunosuke Akutagawa have a short story named: The Spider's Thread (蜘蛛の糸 Kumo no Ito) is a 1918 short story, and Ryoshu herself have all the Spider egos up until now. You guys can read the summaries of it on the wiki

As Lei Heng claim, he seem to be and probably Ryoshu's mentor. He seem to teach her so well that Dante can't even feel pain while rewind the clock on Hong Lu's split body that being cut in half by her during part 1 of Canto 8

Her baby got mentioned

Most importantly, her true name revealed by Lei Heng, as Yoshihide

and WHAT? talk about HER DADDIES???? not just one but multiples of dad?? (no wonder she love dad jokes) this gave me and my gf thought of something like

She being adopted(??) raised (??) by 5 leader of the Five Fingers yet refuse to take the throne and run away from all five of them or something, if anyone remember i once say

"Yoshihide is a peculiar, arrogant, and conceited painter who looks down on all rules and traditions. He’s someone who cast away his Five Constants " on my previous post about Ryoshu and the book version of Yoshihide (click to read again)

#limbus company #ryoshu lcb

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max-of-progress · 2 months ago

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Ok so this post got me thinking about Zaundads and Jayvik parallels again

because who doesn't love a ship where the characters tried to brutally kill each other with their bare hands at least once?

Also,, I'm just now noticing how Viktor's mask thing is cracked on the opposite side of where Silco's scar is and the crack is very much in the same shape. That's probably pure coincidence but STILL.

Also that look of fear Viktor has,, and also Silco's rat-ass face staring back at Vander when Vander first grabs him by the throat....yeah,,,

Anyways, people always love saying how Vi and Jinx parallel Vander and Silco, and they use that to "defend" their claims about Vanco/Zaundads being incest since they mirror actual siblings (which is ridiculous) but when you like ACTUALLY use your brain and think about it, Zaundads moreso parallel Jayvik than anything.

Some ramblings under the cut-

The argument for Vi and Jinx with Zaundads is all taken from those two scenes (you know the ones) that are so blatantly meant to parallel each other. But that's about where the similarities end.

Sure, they also go their separate ways despite being close at one point, but with the sisters, it wasn't by choice!! With Vi, how she reacted was an accident! It was an in-the-moment sort of thing, the mistake of a child who had just undergone a whole ordeal of trauma.

Meanwhile with Vander and Silco, Vander was out to kill Silco. Maybe on the bridge it was an in-the-moment reaction he had to Felicia and Connol's deaths but that man had a knife. He had a weapon he could have EASILY used to finish the job, and instead he chose to use his bare hands. Instead, he chose to violently drown Silco, and when Silco got away, Vander tried to do it again. He wasn't done. There was no quick realization of what he'd done like what Vi had when Jinx's nose started to bleed.

Then in the Cannery, it's not in the moment. They want to kill each other. I think that was pretty obvious, and for good reason too. Vander for self-defense, to protect his kids, Silco for revenge and maybe even some peace of mind, but I digress.

Then there's the split, which is arguably another parallel for the two of them. They go their separate ways, become enemies, yadada.

That happens with Jayvik too! And their separation more closely parallels Zaundad's one than the sister's.

With Jayvik and Zaundads, their wants and dreams conflicted with each other. They separated and went their own ways to pursue their own dreams once their shared visions didn't align with each other's anymore. On top of that, this separation happens after Viktor and Silco realize they can't trust their partner anymore. Vander because he tried to fucking kill Silco and Jayce because he broke his promise to Viktor and revived him with the Hexcore. Then when they cross paths again after that fall out, they try to kill each other (once more in the case of Zaundads, lol).

The only reason why Vi and Jinx diverted paths is because Vi was kidnapped, arrested, and taken into Stillwater! She was taken away from Jinx not by choice! The others chose to walk away from each other. Sure, Vi was leaving to go, but she was ready to go back the minute she saw Jinx in danger, but she couldn't. Their situations drew them apart, outside forces not within their control separated them, but they didn't leave each other by choice like Viktor and Jayce, and Silco and Vander.

Anyways, further parallels to the two pairs off the top of my head:

- Jayvik and Zaundads both started out having dreams of making their worlds a better place. - A breakage of trust and a divergence in those dreams causes them to separate - They try to kill each other on multiple occasions - After their paths diverge from each other, Silco/Viktor give Vander/Jayce a chance to join them on their "shared dream" once more - but they refuse - "In all timelines" - Jayvik always meeting and Zaundads being together in the AU, where everything is right in the world - Called each other "brothers" at one point - Viktor and Silco being all high and mighty about not having sentiments or anything, building walls around them - yet Viktor still has Jayce's blanket and Silco still has Vander's knife (plus the photo of him, Vander, and Felicia and the "Our Love" vinyl) - Jayce and Vander being major factors in Viktor and Silco's becoming of the monster that they are - their choices and broken promises leading Viktor and Silco down their paths and causing more problems along the way - Idk how to explain it but they just bring out the best and the worst out of each other - It's big hunk puppy dog x Zaunite twink shimmer user essentially

I'll never get over someone saying that Jayvik is Zaundads, but if Zaundads had chosen each other instead of their dreams.

I think about that every now and then and just burst into tears.

Jayvik broke the cycle. AU Zaundads broke that cycle too.

Idk,, just,, toxic doomed yaoi hits different. I get why people say that the sisters parallel Zaundads, yeah, I see it, but they share so much with Jayvik instead. That and I hate that it's used as an argument to why Zaundads is incest. :/ Like,, c'mon now.

#save me jayvik and zaundads parallels save me #they make me lose my mind #jayvik #zaundads #vanco #silco arcane #vander arcane #jayce talis #viktor arcane #idk feel free to add more parallels #those are what i could think of off the top of my head

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incorrect-alienromulus-quotes · 3 months ago

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Stuck together

Pairings: Bjorn Alien Romulus x Female!reader

A/N: I've got Spike Fearn fever y'all. I wasn't going to post this but here we are. I had the idea a while back but only started writing it while I was ovulating this week. It's pretty long but I didn't feel like trying to split it into multiple parts and I did my best to proofread it. Might do a 2nd part to continue because of the way I ended this one but who knows :)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, Accidental pregnancy, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers to parents??, mentions of sex, smut, language.

It wasn’t a secret that you and Bjorn weren’t fans of each other. You thought he was a smartass the second he opened his mouth when Tyler had introduced you to everyone. Of course that was many years ago. Overtime the two of you warmed up to each other well enough but the rest of the group had witnessed the two of you go for blood over late night drinks around the fire or during casual hang outs in the trailer.

You didn't hate him all the time, but he had this ability to get under your skin like no one else you'd known in the colony. But there was something that seemed to draw you to him especially when you’d been drinking. What started as heated arguments around the fire turned into steamy late night hookups in his trailer.

The first time you'd thought it was just a moment of drunken confusion and frustration but by the third or fourth time you'd decided it was pure sexual tension. It was clear that neither of you hated the time you were spending together so in the privacy of his trailer you made two rules: No one can find out and no feelings; just sex.

The two of you had been hooking up on and off for about five months when you came to the horrifying realization that you were pregnant after you’d stolen a test from the market.

In the days that followed you avoided everyone. You’d tried to figure out a way to get rid of it but by the time you’d found out you’d been too far along for anything to work aside from killing yourself, which did cross your mind during a particularly weak moment. You refused to go to medical, they wouldn’t do anything. They wanted the people to procreate, keep Jackson Star “thriving”. You’d fallen into a depression coming up with excuses that you couldn’t hang out with the group or work your scheduled shifts, not being able to bring yourself to face them or even leave the comfort of your trailer.

You hated yourself.

And hated Bjorn even more.

Days had passed after you'd locked yourself away from the colony. One by one familiar voices had come from the other side of the locked door pleading for you to let them in. You refused even when Tyler threatened to break it down.

That's when you came up with the excuse of being sick with a virus and not wanting to infect them. It worked but they still tried to convince you let them in to take care of you. Eventually they gave up when they realized you weren’t letting them in. But it didn’t stop Tyler from calling you everyday, given it was the only way you’d speak to him. It was easier than seeing him in person and it provided him some peace of mind.

About two weeks had passed when you found yourself with debilitating morning sickness that kept you on the bathroom floor. You hadn’t been able to keep anything down in days and received several calls regarding your rent being late and missing work.

It was nearly 2 am when an incessant banging came from the other side of the door. You were exhausted but awake, sitting next to the toilet on the floor and holding your throbbing head in your hands. You hadn’t heard the loud sound at first, too busy being locked inside your head. But after a couple minutes when it didn't go away you managed to lift yourself from the floor and make your way to the door. At this point you kinda hoped it was Tyler or Kay, someone to help you.

Instead in the doorway stood the familiar silhouette of the last person you wanted to see, illuminated by the flood lights and ships behind him.

"Tyler wasn't kiddin' ya do look like shit"

You knew you were in rough shape. You hadn't been able to stand long enough to shower after being nauseous for days and you wore the same shirt and shorts for the past week. You clutched the side of door for support while you watched him. "What do you want?"

He'd tried reaching out the same way the others had, secretly sending private messages but you never responded to him. You planned on not telling him at all, avoiding him as long as you could. You thought it would be best to come up with some lie about a different guy knocking you up.

“I thought you might be dead" He joked, taking in your disheveled appearance as you stared back at him. He had stubble on his chin and the same dark hoodie that he always wore. "You don't look good"

"Thanks, captain obvious" You mutter, using what little energy you could to push the door shut and shut him out.

He'd stuck his boot between the door and the frame at the last second, preventing it from closing, and pushed it back opened carefully, tilting his head at you, "What's goin' on with you?"

"Nothing, Bjorn–I’m really not in the mood—”

You cut yourself off, throwing your hand over your mouth and rushing to the bathroom. You'd made it in time to vomit up the small amount of water you'd drank only minutes before Bjorn had come knocking on the door.

You’re head was spinning as you heard the door close. You squeezed your eyes shut hoping that he left until you hear footsteps walking toward the bathroom.

"How long have you been like this?" His voice echoes in the room as he stands awkwardly in the doorway, watching you doubled over above the toilet.

“Couple of days” You managed to say before dry heaving over the toilet.

He cleared his throat awkwardly from where he stood. “Uh- what was the last thing you ate?"

You sat back against the bathtub beside the toilet and shook the cup of water at him slightly, hoping he understood that you had only managed water. You couldn't remember the last time you'd actually eaten.

“You need to see a doctor"

"No"

"What do you mean no—"

“—I’m not going to a doctor” You interrupted, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and staring at the floor where he stood with his muddy shoes. “I’m fine”

“Ok, well you’re not fine, look– you’re sick with somethin’ and if–"

"Stop” You snap, smoothing your hair down and shutting your eyes.

"No you stop" Bjorn argues, taking a step further into the bathroom. "Do you know how worried everyone’s been? For fucks sake, if Tyler knew you were like this then he would be livid”

“Please” Your voice is raw against your dry throat, “Just leave”

Bjorn scoffs and nods mockingly, running his hand over his face. "Alright, listen I'm not fighting with you, get your ass up"

He takes two big steps and kneels down in front of you, reaching out his hands to help you up, "Let’s go-"

"Don't touch me" You visibly flinch at his touch and push him hard in the chest with what little strength you had left. He loses his balance and falls on his ass in a heap. "I don't need anything from anyone, especially you, so just leave me the fuck alone”

His eyes are wide, flaring with anger and staring at you, surprised at your sudden outburst. "What the fuck is wrong with you? For fucks sake, I'm just tryin’ to help—"

“Trying to help, huh?" A dry laugh leaves your sore throat. Your body is overcome with a rage. You want to reach over and slap him but instead you take a breath and look toward the small trashcan in the bathroom.

Before you can stop yourself, you are reaching over and rummaging through it tossing the snot-soaked tissues out before you see it nestled in the bottom of the bin. Your fingers grasp the hard plastic and launch the stick at his chest before you can think. He manages to catch it before it falls to the ground.

“The fuck is this?" He asks, staring at it as he flips it between his slender fingers.

“I know you're not that stupid"

His face changes the moment he realizes. The look in his eyes falters and a silence falls over the room. Regret washes over you, the same regret for all the things you did with him to get you to this moment. You’d spent the last couple of days wondering what it would be like to tell him or how he would react if you'd decided to tell him. Now you felt feel like throwing up again.

"It's yours"

You don’t know why you clarified it; he knew that you hadn’t been seeing anyone. You rarely spoke to anyone outside of the group.

After several minutes pass you watch him set the test down on the floor next to him as he scoots back until he makes contact with the open door against the wall. He leans his head back and runs a hand over his face.

It was the quietest you had ever seen him.

"I wasn't going to tell you but I-well” The tremble in your voice betrays you and the sound of your own heartbeat pounds in your ears, “Listen— I don't expect anything from you"

He looks over to you then, his blue eyes are blank and the expression on his face is unreadable. You felt hot tears burning your cheeks and knew that the guard you’d been keeping up was crumbling down around you.

"C'here" He says barely above a whisper as he shifts on the floor, extending his legs and gesturing toward you. Your body moves on autopilot crawling over to him and immediately tucking your head into his shoulder. His arm comes around your body, holding you tight in place against him.

“I tried to get rid of it” You admit, body shaking as you cried harder. You didn’t bother trying to compose yourself not after you had spent countless nights crying alone in the dark. “— It’s too late, I’m stuck”

He swallowed hard and opened his mouth to speak before closing it again, like he was unsure of what to say. After a minute passed you heard his voice in your ears, "It’s okay"

It wasn’t okay. And it would never be okay. But you didn't say that, instead you moved from his shoulder, seeing the dark wet stains you’d left and lowered yourself so you could lay your head on his lap. You adjusted slightly on the cold tile, turning to face toward his stomach and curling your legs into a fetal position.

He stiffened under you. The two of you had never been close in an emotional sense. But after a minute passed, you felt his hand come down to carefully push away the hair that was sticking to your wet face.

You'd managed to calm down enough to speak again as the sound of the trailer humming took up the space between the two of you.

“It’s a death sentence, ya know” You sniffled, voice echoing in the room as you clutched the material at the bottom of his hoodie.

He didn't correct you, he knew exactly what you meant. By having a baby you would be contributing to the cycle of the colony. You were their slaves and now you would be growing their future slave. You’d never reach your quota, never leave. You would have to watch your baby be raised on a planet that had no sun, no fresh air, no hope. You’d die here.

His hand moved to rub up and down your exposed arm, an attempt at soothing you. You would never admit to him, but it was working. You felt better with him being there. You hated telling him but it felt better knowing you weren't the only one carrying this burden.

He didn't speak again as your heavy eye lids closed and you listened to his breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his stomach.

You didn't need him to say anything else, not when there wasn't anything that could be said to fix this mess.

A couple more weeks had passed when you started to feel like yourself again. You were eating normal and trying to work up the courage to see your friends. You'd successfully managed to avoid them as you started back on your shifts, knowing the longer you took off the more your quota would be raised.

You hadn't seen Bjorn since the night you confessed the situation to him. He had stayed with you until you had fallen asleep but when you woke up, he was gone. He had given you a pillow and blanket from the couch and left a can of soup with a spoon on the floor next to you. The first couple of days you figured he needed space but then the days continued to tick by and there was no contact from him. You knew this would happen.

Apparently it wasn't just you he was avoiding. Tyler had called a couple of days ago and asked if you'd seen or heard from him. He said he hadn’t seen him and he wasn’t responding to any messages. He hadn’t been at any of his shifts in the mines. Tyler was worried, he always was. He was the oldest of the group of friends and felt like he needed to protect everyone. He mentioned that he thought he might be shacked up with some girl or locked up in the company jail.

You were just glad that he hadn't told Tyler or the others about your situation, otherwise they would've been banging down your door.

You still weren’t ready to face them so your new lie was that you were working double shifts and overtime to make up for the time you had been sick and unable to work, which wasn't necessarily a lie. Tyler understood but he didn’t like it, worried you would work yourself to death. Every time you spoke on the phone with him you felt the overwhelming need to tell him but you just weren’t ready. You knew he’d be disappointed.

You carried on with life the next couple of days with your mundane schedule. It was another late night. You’d just gotten off a shift in the mines and showered when a banging sounded. You'd thought it was the thunder from the storm outside by the sound of the rain that was pounding on the metal roof but after a minute the banging came again.

You walked to the door, moving your towel dried hair off your shoulder, “Who is it?”

“Open up” The familiar accent replied and you rested your forehead against the door, debating if you should or not.

You hesitantly turned the lock seeing Bjorn standing on the other side soaking wet with the rain splashing in the puddles around him.

"What are you doing here?" You say opening the door more, standing just inside the doorframe to avoid getting wet.

His mouth opens but snaps close as he stares. He looks around, with an expression you can’t place.

"Bjorn, go home" You dismiss rolling your eyes. Your hand was already on the door, moving to close it. You'd accepted the fact that this was happening with or without him; and at this point you'd rather it be without “You're drunk”

"I ain't drunk" His voice comes out in a sudden shout and he takes a couple big steps to stand on the metal steps of your trailer. Water was dripping from his hair and running down his face.

"Then what," Your voice raises, and you don't realize that you stepped out from the door frame until you feel the water dripping on the skin of your arms. "What the fuck do you want?"

He runs a hand over his face, an attempt to gather his thoughts or to rid it of water droplets, you weren't sure. After a couple seconds he sighs, "I just wanna talk"

"Oh you wanna talk huh?" You laugh even though there was nothing even remotely funny about this situation. In a flash, you are stepping closer to him and shoving at his chest. "What could you possibly want to talk about?"

He stumbles back on the steps but comes right back, even when you shove him again.

"Are we doing this?" He asks suddenly, capturing your hands before you can shove him a third time. It catches you off guard. There's a sound of thundering in the distance and it makes your head turn, bringing you back to the moment. He's standing closer to you now, close enough that you can smell the scent of the rain mixed with his sweat. His blue eyes are scanning over your face.

"What are you talking about?" You were growing more annoyed by the second.

"Are we doing this?" He repeats, fingers still clasped around your wrists. Then he blinks realizing he wasn't making much sense, "For the baby"

You ripped your hands away from him and spun on your feet. Your bare feet stomped up the two metal steps and back through the door, slamming it behind you without bothering to turn around. He was hot on your heels, managing to stop the door before it shut and now dripping water on the floor of the trailer.

"It's a simple question" He pleads, slamming the door shut behind him as you hear it connect with a bang you turn to face him.

"A simple question" You mock throwing your hands up in the air. "I don't want anything from you"

A silence falls over the trailer and you are fighting with everything in you to hold back the tears that were brimming. You could never fight without crying, didn't matter who it was. You were far too passionate of a person to control emotions in an argument, especially with Bjorn.

"You don't mean that" Bjorn responds quickly. He opens his mouth again but before he can speak you cut him off, crossing the room to stand right in front of him.

"I do, I really do” You sigh, “I’m done with your shit”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“I told you and you left. You disappeared for two weeks and then wanna show up and talk about it” You growl, jabbing your finger into his chest with each word. “So how about you do what you do best and fuck off because I don’t need you"

"No" He raises his voice again, the same way he did outside. He easily towers over you but that doesn't scare you. You were one of the few people in his life that could go toe to toe with him, aside from Tyler.

"I don't know what you want from me!" You shout, feeling tears sting your eyes and slide down your already rain-soaked cheeks. "I should have never of told you”

"No—I had a right to know! You should have told me as soon as you found out—"

"I’m glad I didn’t, because I knew you would do this. I knew you would act this way! You went and fucked off and got drunk or whatever you fuckin’ do. It's been weeks Bjorn!" You shouted at him, shoving his chest again. "This was a mistake”

You took a breath and before he could respond you added, “There isn't a single part of you that's ready for this"

"You don't get to decide that" He yells back, turning and walking several feet away from you in the living room. He takes a hard breath and turns back to you, voice slightly calmer, "Look I guess I fucked up but I needed to think—“

"You always fuck everything up" You accuse, laughing with a venom you didn’t know you possessed.

He digests what you say, turning his head to look at anything in the room but you, his jaw twitching.

"Leave" You choke out, walking away from him and heading down the small hall that led to your bedroom.

"Me? I fuck everything up?" There’s a couple beats of silence before he calls after you with a cynical chuckle. "Do you actually believe the shit that comes outta your mouth?"

You're almost to your room when you spin back around to look at him. He's followed you and stands just a couple feet away in the narrow space of the hall.

"Yes!" You scream throwing your hands up again. "We should have never of been fuckin' around in the first place and we wouldn't be in this mess"

"No shit. You aren't innocent in this either ya know, you wanna act all hard, but guess what" Bjorn growls as he points an accusatory finger at you, "I see right fuckin' through you, you're just as scared”

"I am scared" You admit, screaming as you push at him again. He only stands there and takes it, absorbing your hits like they are nothing. "I'm scared and I’m so fuckin' angry"

"So am I" He screams back.

You could've heard a pin drop at the sudden silence that came. He lets out a defeated breath and stands with his back against the wall. After a minute he slides down it and sits on the floor.

His words sit in your chest. A part of you wanted to lash out at him, to shove all the pain back at him with full force, but there was something under the surface, the jarring look in his eyes, the way he seemed like he wanted to crawl into himself.

It tugged at your heart in a way you never thought it could. The sudden realization that he felt the same as you did.

Your gaze softens as you watch him. Your cheeks are still hot but you start to feel the anger leave your body. After a minute, you follow suit backing up against the wall opposite of him and sliding down to the floor.

The hall was skinny, and his long legs were outstretched in front of him, his shoes touching the wall beside you. Your legs weren’t nearly as long, your bare feet stopping by his thigh.

"I don't want to fight with you" You admit quietly, staring at the blank wall beside his head.

He lifts his head to look at you, “I don’t wanna fight with you either”

He nudges his leg against yours softly, in an effort to clear the tension in the air, "The damage is already done"

"Yeah" You let out a quiet laugh, this time there is no malice behind it, "A lot of damage a couple months can do, huh?"

The corners of his mouth twitch at the comment. He takes a breath, flexing his hands on his rain soaked jeans. “We have to figure something out"

You nod, taking your lip between your teeth and chewing at it nervously. You could feel the damp material of his jeans pressing into the side of your leg.

"So, we’re doing this?" He asks the same question as before, except now you feel more hopeful.

You nod again, watching in confusion as he holds his hand out across to you. "What is this a business deal?"

He chuckles, rolling his head on the wall behind him before looking back at you with a goofy smile. "More like a truce"

You ponder for a minute, looking at the tattooed hand in front of you before you lean forward and slide your hand into it. He squeezes your hand reassuringly before moving it in a firm shake.

Not long after that night, he'd offered for you to move in with him. He knew you were behind on your rent and soon they would evict you. You refused even when he makes the argument that he has extra room after his mom had died. But when a synthetic comes to your door and explains that you had two options; Take out a loan in the form of additional quota or move out, you decided to take him up on the offer.

Bjorn sleeps on the couch, giving you what used to be his mom’s room. His mother had died two cycles ago and he had moved into her room once he came to terms with her not coming back. You felt guilty but he assured you that he had always preferred the couch. You assured him that this was just a temporary setup until you managed to get back on your feet.

The first couple weeks living with him were awkward, especially sleeping in the bed where you had conceived the baby during one of your many drunken hookups. Even when the two of you were hooking up you'd never actually slept over at his place, usually doing the deed and then leaving afterward.

He helped you move the last of your things into his trailer and you turned your keys in to the company. It was hard, the last piece of your old life and memories that you shared with your family now gone.

You continue to work in the mines even when Bjorn makes it clear that he doesn't like it. He'd rather you not work down there in your condition, but you didn't care. You refused to put the burden of yourself and the baby on him completely. You made it clear that you would work until you weren’t physically able to anymore.

After a month passes you go back to normal hanging out with the others as if nothing had changed. You knew you couldn't avoid them forever so the two of you decide to keep this secret for as long as possible. You hated lying to them, but you weren't ready to share the news. You both knew it would come with questions that you weren't ready to answer.

Of course, they found it strange that the two of you were living together after previously not being able to be in the same room without arguing, but they never said much about it after they heard you'd been evicted from your trailer. It was logical considering Bjorn had the extra room. They hadn’t noticed when you opted for soda rather than beer or when the bickering between you and Bjorn seemed to stop completely.

You felt more comfortable living together as time went on, falling into a routine. You both worked your required hours in the mines, and you noticed that Bjorn had picked up extra shifts a couple of times during the week, even though you'd asked him not to. The last thing you wanted was for him to work himself to death. Of course, he didn't listen.

With the extra hours wearing on him, he'd been going and drinking to wind down after work. You didn't blame him, you'd done the same thing, back when you could. It was one of the things that took the edge off of this life.

Most nights he would stumble in drunk and rummage through the kitchen for food and then he would pass out on his couch. He never bothered you. But he also never asked about the baby. It didn't bother you much. That is until one night when you were about 3 months pregnant.

You had been particularly irritable as you lie awake in the bed waiting to hear the door open and close. It was late and the fourth night this week that he’d been out.

When he finally came through the door your data watch read 2AM. You heard his footsteps toward the kitchen and decided to get out of bed and follow the noise.

He had the lights on, and the cabinets open with his back to you. His back muscles flexed under his thin shirt as he reached inside, pushing the food aside looking for something to eat.

"Have a good night?"

He jumps at the sound of your voice, spinning around to see you standing in the low light.

"Fuck, you scared me" He laughed turning back to the cabinet and shutting it louder than intended. He paused, realizing how loud he was being, "Shit, did I wake you up?"

"Couldn't sleep" You sighed, moving to lean against the counter near him and cross your arms over your chest. "I was wondering where you were. Thought you went AWOL again"

You didn't really. But the memory of him disappearing after telling him about the baby always lingered in your head. You always wondered how close he was to vanishing again.

His blue eyes watched you from where he stood. He shrugged, ignoring your comment, "You should get some sleep"

He moved to walk past you but you catch his arm with your cold hand. He stops in his tracks, looking at it on his skin and then meeting your eyes. The hum of the small fridge filled the room and the faulty light flickered slightly from above, the way it always did.

“I know it’s not none of my business, but–“ You sigh nervously, not wanting to come across as if you cared, "Is this how it's always going to be?"

"What?" He asks with a sigh. He was tired, you could see it on his face.

"I dunno, not knowing where you are or what's going on in your head" You say quietly, adding, “You keeping me at arm's length"

"I've had a long day—"

"Yeah, I know. But I didn't ask you to pick up the extra shifts. I didn't ask you to move in here" You still held his arm, "If I could go out and drink this away, trust me I would"

Bjorn's jaw clenches, and you can see the internal struggle playing out on his face. "Y/n, I’m trying my best here, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing" He finally says, his voice quiet.

"I know you are" You drop your hand from his arm, bringing it back to your lap and looking down at it. "I don’t know what to do either. All I know is this is never going to work if we can’t communicate. You're the only person I have right now, the only one who knows what's going on and I still feel alone"

He glances at your stomach, then at your lips, “I’m sorry”

“I’m not trying to take over your life, I just want to fit into it better, something that feels normal, I guess” You ramble, feeling embarrassed for confronting him, sounding like a lonely wife.

"I'm sorry" He says again as he draws closer to you, arms coming on either side of the counter behind you, caging you in. He's close enough now that you can smell the alcohol on his breath. You look up at him as he leans in agonizingly slow, making your breath hitch in your throat, before whispering, "We should go back to what we know"

His lips barely press against yours before you are moving your hands to his neck and pulling him into you. The familiar feel of his lips makes your knees weak. He doesn't push you, letting you take the lead, giving you the chance to stop it. But you don’t stop it.

His hands fall to your hips, squeezing them slightly before he lifts you onto the counter with ease. The cold surface against the warmth of your thighs made you gasp. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue over your lip before gaining access. He tasted of liquor as he explored your mouth. You instinctively spread your legs as he moved to stand between them, the rough fabric of his jeans dragging against your inner thighs and making you moan against his mouth. You felt him smirk against you.

This was the one thing you two had always been good at. The only time you truly had chemistry and listened to each other. It'd been so long since you had last had him like this, after finding out about the accident you both vowed it was all a mistake that would not happen again. But here you were.

But it felt natural and intoxicating and you loved it. The way his lips molded perfectly against yours and his fingers knew just what to do. But he was drunk. And this is how you'd gotten into this mess in the first place. If you wanted this to work then the best thing to do would be to keep sexual feelings out of it.

As much as you didn't want to you turned your head, breaking the seal of his lips against yours and putting a firm hand against his chest. He hadn’t noticed, moving to your neck as he pushed the hair out of the way, kissing along the skin there. You're eyes rolled back, loving the way he felt on your skin.

"If we want this co-parenting thing to work then we can't do this" You choked out, moving your hands to his waist, pushing him away slightly.

"We always get along better after we do this" He mumbled against your neck, sending chills down your body. He was nibbling softly at the skin there, sliding his tongue over it afterwards.

"We can't risk this messing things up between us" You said, hands still on his waist urging you to pull him back against you. "If we truly want what's best for this baby then we can't"

You knew at the end of the day the attraction you felt for each other was just hormones. You knew he didn’t love you, it was part of the reason you two had hid your hookups in the first place. Neither of you wanted anything serious with each other, it would never work. You had a hard time imagining him as a father, much less a steady boyfriend.

He dropped his forehead to your shoulder and sighed. His breath fanned over your now wet skin, leaving goosebumps.

Finally he takes a deep breath and stands up straight, his lips red and slightly swollen, eyes searching yours. With your place on the counter you were easily his same height, able to look directly at him.

“We’ve never been friends” You say, reaching out to fix a piece of hair that was sticking to his forehead, “I think it’s time we try”

At 3 months pregnant you started experiencing cravings for foods that you normally would have avoided in the market which was located in the main part of the colony. You were walking with Kay finding items for dinners for the coming week. Normally you’d stick to regular vegetables that farming had collected and the rations of canned meat or noodles that the company would provide but you found your mouth watering when the two of you walked pass an older woman selling jars of pickles.

Once you’d tasted one of her samples you were hooked. Kay only laughed at you as you opened the jar and ate some more as you walked back to the trailers. By the end of the day the jar was empty. Later that day while Bjorn was playing a video game you told him about the pickles and how good they were. You often yapped his ear off about random things while cooking dinner, you never thought he really listened until the next day after his shift he walked through the door holding four jars of the pickles.

It was in this same month that you invited Bjorn to sleep in the bedroom with you. You’d felt bad watching the way he moved after waking up, knowing it was hard on his body after working so many shifts in the mines.

He had refused at first, assuring you he was fine on the couch until one night you woke up from a nightmare in the dark room. You couldn't remember what the dream was but you remembered how it made you feel. Scared and alone.

So you crawled out of the bed and walked down the hall and straight to the couch where Bjorn was laying on his side with the thin blanket over his chest.

You knelt next to him, shaking his shoulder carefully. When he showed no signs of waking up you shook him harder.

He jumped up, gasping for air at the sudden force that pulled him out of sleep.

"What is it?" He breathed, looking around and moving to sit up on the couch, "Are you okay?"

"No, well yes, I'm okay" You said quietly, picking at the fabric of the couch, "It's stupid, I'm sorry for waking you up"

You stood to walk away but felt Bjorn's hand catch your wrist and give it a light tug. "What's wrong?"

You pushed your hair out of your face and sighed, "Can you please sleep in the bed, just for tonight?"

He nodded sleepily, letting go of your wrist and running his hand of over his face before standing and grabbing his pillow. "Let's go"

He followed you to the room and watched as you crawled in, moving your pillow and making room for him. He yawned, "What side do you want?"

"I sleep better against the wall" You whispered, moving to the side by the wall and laying down. You watched him walk to the side of the bed, tossing his pillow down before climbing on to the mattress. The bed shifted under his weight and you adjusted slightly, giving him some of the blanket.

"You good?" He asked once he got comfortable facing towards the roof of the trailer.

"Yeah" You whispered, already feeling more relaxed.

You were glad to find that he was still in the bed when you woke up to his data watch beeping. He groaned, slapping his wrist to stop the sound.

He rubbed at his eyes before looking over to you, finding you awake and staring at him with the blanket tucked under your chin.

"You're feet are freezing" He mumbled, his voice and accent was thicker than usual, something you'd never heard.

You were confused until you felt movement under the blanket and realized just how close you were to him. You'd managed to wiggle your feet right next to his legs.

"Shit, sorry" You rushed, moving your feet away from him under the blanket.

"Man, I'm glad I never let you stay over after we, well - you know" He joked, stretching his arms out in front of him. "Cold feet on my legs first thing in the morning is not pleasant"

You laughed at him, pushing the messy hair out of your eyes. "And I would've gotten woken up by that damn watch"

He made a sound, eyes closing again. You sat in a comfortable silence, slowly waking up more and more.

"So what happened last night?" He asked, opening his eyes again and looking over at you.

"Nothing" You replied, turning toward him in the bed and rubbing your eyes.

"Bullshit" He countered.

It was your turn to yawn, as you sit up in the bed and leaned against the wall to look at him, "I haven't been sleeping too much, been having some nightmares and I thought it would help"

"Did it?" He asked looking over at you from his pillow.

You nodded awkwardly at him, nibbling on your bottom lip.

“What are the nightmares about?” His gravely voice and accent making you wish you’d woken up next to him back when you were hooking up.

“The baby” You said, placing a hand on your stomach under the blanket.

He nodded, getting out of bed and stretching again once he was fully upright. “Well if it makes you more comfortable I'll sleep in here whenever you want"

“It’s not weird?” You ask, feeling like you might have overstepped.

“After all the things we’ve done, nothings weird” He laughs, giving you a funny look, “Besides the couch was killing my back"

"I fucking knew it!”

At 4 months pregnant you stopped working in the mines, finally taking Bjorn's offer after your body started to ache after long days. He made sure you had everything you needed. You would eat meals together when he wasn’t working, and you’d actually started to enjoy watching him play his video games on the couch.

The belly starts to become more noticeable. You were fairly thin due to the malnourishment from the colony, so it took some time for the bump to take form. It was just big enough that when you wore a tight fitting old t shirt it would ride halfway up. Around the group you wore baggy hoodies and often sat with your arms crossed over your stomach.

Bjorn had been sat on the counter of the kitchen one day, eating pasta you’d made when you felt him staring at you. You’d been standing in front of the sink rinsing the soapy dishes.

“What’re you staring at?” You hummed.

"Nothin'" He says, through a mouthful of food.

Most days you stayed in comfy clothes. Since you weren't able to work you hung around his trailer, watching old movies traded from other colony's of actors long since dead or trying Bjorns video games. You weren’t very good but it was still something to entertain you. You never really saw the point in getting fully dressed, opting for your pajamas which consisted of a small, worn out Weyland-Yutani shirt and sleep shorts.

You tried to return back to the dishes but felt his burning gaze on you again. You put the rag down on the counter and turned toward him, "Seriously what are you staring at?"

“Your belly” He admitted, motioning to your shirt that had, for the hundredth time, rode up above your belly button. “It’s cute”

“It’s not cute” You groaned, pulling the shirt down over the protruding bump.

His eyes flicked from your eyes back to the belly, “I think it is”

“No, it’s not” You huffed, blowing a piece if hair that had fallen from your braid out of your face, “I knew a girl who got pregnant and by the time 9 months rolled around her belly was the size of a whale”

By this time he had finished his food and sat the small bowl beside him in the counter, tapping his fingers absentmindedly as you spoke. He rolled his eyes at you playfully, “Fuck off, you're lying"

"I swear," You proclaimed, turning to the side and holding your hands out far and curving them as if a form of measurement, "Like this big"

His eyes widened in amusement as he watched you exaggerate a huge stomach that even he knew was impossible. As you did your shirt slid back up over your belly and you tugged it down again. "I’ll be running out of clothes that fit soon”

His laugh rang through the small trailer and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too much. It wasn't often that the two of you joked around. He was always tired from work and you were always grumpy from growing a human. There was a peace that settled inside of you as the sound hit your ears and you watched his shoulders bounce.

"I think it will still be cute" Bjorn said after his laughing settled. "No matter how big it gets"

"Oh, fuck off," You whined, grabbing the rag from the counter and turning back to finish the dishes. "You're just saying that to be nice"

"Maybe" He teased, sliding off the counter and gathering his dirty dishes from beside him. He moved to stand beside you, rinsing them and taking the rag from you to clean them himself. When he finished, he leaned close to you, so close that you could feel his lips ghost over your ear, "Or maybe I mean it"

The sensation made you shiver, especially considering the two of you had been keeping your distance ever since you'd agreed to be friends. You laughed lightheartedly and pushed him away, "Knock that off"

"I ain't doing anything" He held his hands up in surrender, but his smirk said otherwise. He moved toward the couch and switched on his game, "Anyways, you're welcome to wear my shirts if you want"

"Oh, no that's okay-"

"I don't mind" He insisted, "It might be more comfortable"

"Thanks" You smiled, even though he was no longer facing you, trying your best to ignore blush creeping onto your cheeks.

You moved to sit at the small table beside the kitchen and prop your feet up, watching as Bjorn played his game and flipping through an old book that had been his mothers.

You felt a strange sensation in your abdomen. It startled you but you felt little movements before. You lifted the shirt up and placed your palm on the spot, rubbing your thumb along the skin. "Was that you little one?"

Before you could get the words out you felt a sharp kick on the other side of your belly and squealed out. When Bjorn heard you, he jumped up and nearly fell over the back of the couch to get to you.

“What is it?" He asked frantically in front of you as you held the spot on your stomach where you felt the kick.

You felt another kick closer to your belly button and you jumped again. Instead of answering him you took his hand and rested his palm against your stomach, moving it slowly like a radar.

“What is going on—"

“Shut up” You shushed him, focusing hard so he could feel the kicks. You felt the baby move and then another kick right at Bjorns hand. His eyes grew wide. "You feel that?"

“What the fuck?” He was whispering despite being so close in the quiet trailer, “Have they done that yet?”

You shook your head, feeling another kick under his hand, which you held firmly in place.

“Not like this" You found yourself whispering back, "Maybe they like your voice”

His eyes grew, a glint shining in them that you'd never seen in him, similar to a kid who received a present, “You think?”

“There they go again” You laugh softly at him again, this time giving his hand on your stomach a squeeze, “They must wanna kick your ass like I do"

"For fucks sake, I can't believe there's someone in there" He whispered looking up at you. You were glad he was there to experience the moment with you.

You smiled at him, realizing that you were still holding his hand and letting go of it.

Later that night as you both lay in bed you can't seem to shut off your brain long enough to fall asleep.

“We have to get out of here" You whisper, facing the wall with your back to him, knowing he wasn't yet asleep by the way he was breathing.

There was a beat of silence before you heard him sigh, “Okay"

"I'm serious" You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, turning to face him in the bed. "I won't let my baby grow up here."

You felt the bed shift again, feeling him come closer to you. His arm moved under the blanket, inching over and lifting you shirt so he could rub your belly. He moved his thumb along the skin. “Don’t stress it’s not good for the baby”

"This place isn't good for the baby" You choked out. He heard your voice start to shake and breathing erratic. He moved his hand from your belly to the side of your head, pushing the hair back behind your ear and letting his thumb caress of your cheek.

“I know” He said quietly, “I’m going to figure something out. The two of you are my responsibility now, I’ll keep you both safe”

“I need you to promise that we will get out of here, all of us"

His hand moved from you cheek, pulling you into his chest. You nuzzled up against him, breathing in his scent and listening to his heartbeat. "I promise"

Around 5 months pregnant Tyler had clocked your dirty little secret. The group was all gathered around the small fire pit drinking, the way they often did after a long hard week of working. He’d had suspicions that maybe something had happened between you and Bjorn but never asked until Navarro waved some of her homemade moonshine in your face and Bjorn nearly knocked it out of her hand.

It was a weird moment and everyone stared at Bjorn. Navarro laughed it off being slightly drunk. You knew she was just messing around and she wouldn’t actually make you drink the moonshine but it was a knee jerk reaction from Bjorn. The outburst confirmed Tyler’s suspicions.

“You’re pregnant” He accused from across the fire with his arm draped over Rains shoulder as he took a sip of his beer.

The conversation stopped altogether and everyone looked between you and Tyler. You froze, feeling all the color leave your face. You felt like a deer in headlights. You looked around nervously at the others but didn’t deny his accusation. You didn’t want to lie to them anymore.

“And I take it you’re the dad?” Tyler asked changing his tone slightly as he looked up at Bjorn who stood near you.

You had to laugh at the silence from the otherwise loud group. The fire crackled as Bjorn stepped forward and threw a piece of wood into it. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well you haven’t drank a drop of alcohol in months” He spoke confidently as he stood from his spot and walked around the pit, “and you’ve never been a fan of Bjorn until recently”

“Fuck off” Bjorn laughed nervously as Tyler approached him. You could tell by his face that he wasn’t sure what Tyler was going to do. He flinched when Tyler slapped him on the back, anticipating a punch but instead he was pulling him into a half hug.

“Wait seriously, you’re gonna have a baby?” Kay asked, eyes wide. She was bouncing in her seat and when you nodded, she had nearly tackled you in a hug. You giggled as she squeezed you, breathing into her mess of curls. Behind her you watched Tyler hit Bjorn playfully in the side before letting him go.

You could tell Tyler was disappointed but there was a genuine smile on his lips that put you at ease.

“She needs to breathe” Bjorn joked seeing how tightly Kay was squeezing against your stomach.

“Ah I’m sorry!" Kay jumped back, letting you go. She moved her hands to your stomach carefully and smiled at you, "How far along are you?"

"Five months"

Kay squealed, moving to stand next to Rain, Navarro and Andy who came closer to the group.

"I knew you weren't sick" Tyler chuckled, moving to pull you into a bear hug.

You sniffled against his shoulder, “I’m sorry, I didn't wanna lie to you but I wasn't ready to tell you guys"

“Oh y/n, don’t be silly” You heard his laugh rumble in his chest and his voice against your ear, “If you need anything you know we’ve got you”

"I know" You said into his shoulder, squeezing your arms around him. "What do you think?"

You relaxed into the hug, feeling his hand rub your back soothingly. You and Tyler had always been close. Your older brother, Sam and him had been friends since you were a kid. You were only three years younger than the two of them and they let you follow them around like a lost puppy. You'd met Kay when Sam would bring you along to Tyler's trailer. After your brother died, he'd continued to watch out for you, eventually introducing you to the rest of the group.

He knew you were asking about Bjorn. How he was responsible for this. How he felt knowing the two of you had been sneaking around behind all of their backs.

"Well," He sighed, pulling back from the hug and putting his hands on your shoulders to get a good look at you, "I haven't decided if I'm going to throttle him or not"

"I vote not" Bjorn said from behind him, taking a sip of his beer.

Tyler rolled his eyes, turning around and grabbing his cousin by the back of his neck playfully, pushing him toward the cooler on the other side of the fire.

Your nerves settled for what felt like the first time in months. With each hug you felt more relaxed, like a weight was lifted from your shoulders. No more lies.

After the excitement and initial shock worn off you found yourself back around the fire, the girls sitting around you.

“I’d never think you two would be—uh involved” Rain joked once the from beside you, taking a sip of her beer. “Are you guys like—“

“Just friends” You interrupted quickly, pulling at the sleeves of your coat so they covered your hands. You felt like you were being short with them so you added, "It was just a one time thing"

That was a lie, but it hurt no one. You really didn't want to explain how you'd managed to keep your hook ups a secret for months before becoming pregnant with his child.

“How do you feel?” Navarro asked from where she was squatted on a small bucket, closer to the fire. She'd sobered up after hearing the news.

“Uh scared shitless” You admitted with a lighthearted laugh. The girls laughed in response but then you added, "By the time I found out it was too late to get rid of it so it took a lot to come to terms with it, still kinda hate myself"

The laughing died down and you felt Kay lean her head on your shoulder and Rain rub your back the same way Tyler had. You immediately regretted bringing down the mood. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that"

"No," Navarro spoke up as she leaned forward to put her hand on your knee. "You have every right to feel that way"

You smiled at them. At your people. You felt a pang in your heart like you could feel the love radiating from them.

Andy must've picked up on the change in demeanor because he sat up straighter and looked at you from beside Rain. "How did the picture frame end up in jail?"

You smiled, leaning so you could look at him. He blinked at you waiting for you to respond, "I dunno, how?"

"It was framed!" Andy smiled, stuttering slightly and fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

"That was a good one Andy" You giggled. "You'll have to learn some jokes about pregnancy or babies or something"

"I will!" He smiled.

"Please don't encourage him" Rain laughed, nudging her brother.

The girls occupied themselves with ideas about clothes that Kay could make and things the baby would need but you found yourself zoning out and staring across the fire at Bjorn. You couldn’t hear what he was saying but you could see the smile on his lips as he spoke to Tyler. You wondered if he felt as relieved as you did.

Later that night as the two of you walked back to his trailer you sighed contentedly. His arm brushed against you as you walked. "Well at least the cats outta the bag"

He blew the smoke from his cigarette away from you, "Yeah, I really thought Tyler was gonna come after me"

You had to laugh, "It wouldn't have surprised me"

A group of miners passed the two of you, headed back from the looks of the soot and dirt on their face. Some of them coughed and limped by. You felt sick. A harsh reminder of what you would be bringing this baby into.

The rest of the walk was quiet. When you made it inside and kicked your shoes off you sat on the couch. You couldn't kick the feeling of disgust and anger inside. The thought that lingered in the back of your mind since you saw the positive test result.

"Do you wanna get a shower first?" Bjorn asked from behind the couch, looking in the kitchen for something to eat most likely.

When you didn't respond he came around from the back of the couch and looked over your face. "Hey what's with you?"

When you opened your mouth to speak, you started to cry.

"I thought you were glad they know?" He asked, sitting on the small table in from of the couch.

"I am" You sniffled, wiping the tears from your cheeks hurriedly.

"Okay" He said slowly, trying to piece together the issue. After a minute he stood disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned he had a jar of pickles in his hand. He opened it easily, holding it out to you. "Will this help?"

You took the jar from him, fishing out a pickle and taking a bite of it. You sniffled again, managing a smile and nodding curtly. After a couple bites you had stopped crying.

"You good?" He asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, looking at you. “Because I don’t have any other pregnancy craving snacks here”

"Yeah" You sigh, handing the jar back to him and sucking the juice off your fingers, "It's just that—well telling everyone, it makes it real"

"I know" Bjorn nods, glancing down at his hands for a moment before flicking his blue eyes back to you. "I'll miss it being our little secret"

You nodded, agreeing with him but surprised at his confession.

At six months pregnant you were getting ready for bed, feeling extraordinary, lonely. Your belly started growing bigger and despite trying to remain positive about the situation you found yourself becoming depressed knowing in only a few short months that baby would be born, no longer protected by your body.

You had just shut the light off when you heard Bjorn come through the door, setting his key on the table and sitting down at the table. You walked down the hall and leaned against the wall, watching as he unlaced his boots and tossed them toward the door.

He had soot all over his face and arms, looking exhausted. When he saw you staring at him he gave you a puzzled look, "You good?"

"Uh huh" You rested a hand on your stomach, clearing your suddenly dry throat at the sight of him pulling his work shirt over his head. The tattoos that he had accumulated over the years were sprinkled over his pale skin. "Do you—uh want something to eat?"

He stood from the chair, with his shirt in hand as he peeled the bandana from his forehead over his hair. The motion pushed his hair back in a way that reminded you how dry your throat was. You passed him quickly headed for a water in an attempt to stop staring.

“No thanks” He yawned, stretching his arms over his head as you turned around to his back muscles flex, you nearly choked. "I think I'm just gonna get a shower and go to sleep"

You nodded, not trusting your voice. He stepped beside you filling a cup with water and taking a drink as well. When he leaned next to you your body went stiff.

He brought the cup to his lips, staring at you over the rim, before wiping his lips, "You sure you're okay?"

"Yep" You said quickly, setting your cup down and walking back to the room. "Uh, have a good shower"

You sat on the edge of the bed, feeling like a feral animal as you heard the shower turn on through the paper thin walls. You grabbed a pillow and groaned into it. After all these months with him you’d finally created a friendship, one that you were confident would benefit the baby. Why were you suddenly wanting to throw caution to the wind. You forced yourself to lay down, forcing any stray thoughts out of your brain. Not long after you heard him as he shuffled around in the dark before the mattress shifted and he slide under the covers next to you.

He didn’t say anything as he settled into a comfortable position, careful not to bother you. After a minute he felt you move in the bed and knew you were still awake.

"Did something happen today?" He asked, staring up at the ceiling, "You aren't acting like yourself"

"Nothing happened" You reply honestly.

He moved in the bed again, this time so he was facing you, propped up on his elbows. “Then what's with you?"

“Nothing” You said quicker than you should’ve.

“You know I’ve learned quite a bit about you these last couple months” His features were dimly lit of the lights that stayed on outside of the trailer blinds, producing an orange glow no matter the time of day. “One of those being that you’re a shit lair”

You shook your head at him, “I’ve always been shit at lying, you should’ve known that well before this mess”

He glanced over as the orange light flickers from the window, a truck passing down the road.

“What else have you learned about me?” You asked quietly, carefully moving to your side. As the belly grows it gets harder and harder to lay comfortably but you wanted to look at him.

He adjusted on the pillow, tucking it under his chest, “I learned that you suck at video games”

“You got me there” You smiled, nodding once. “What else?”

“You talk in your sleep”

You gasped at him, “I do not”

“I promise you do” He smirked.

“What do I say?” You urged, smacking at his arm.

“I’m not at liberty to say” He glanced at your lips for a second before looking back at your eyes, “But let’s just say I’ve heard my name come up once or twice and —”

“Oh for fucks sake” You whined smacking him again, before hiding your face behind your hand, “Please shut up”

“Don’t be embarrassed” He mused, reaching over and pulling your hand out of your face so he could look at you, “I like it”

Your heart nearly skipped a beat. He moved his hand from yours and pulling it back to where he was propped up and staring at you.

“And you scrunch your nose when you’re focusing” The sound another truck passed by accompanied by the flickering light as it passed. The orange glow flickered over his features again. He reached out and poked your nose softly. “You’re doing it now”

You knew he was onto you, that there was something you weren’t telling him. Something you’d been keeping locked way down for the sake of keeping normalcy with him. But it was bubbling up and you weren’t sure you could stop it.

“I wanna do something, but I’m worried it’ll mess things up” You say quietly, your eyes jump all over his face, trying to read his expression in the lowlight.

“You think too much” Bjorn leaned forward slowly, closing the small distance between you. Your mind raced as he moved slow enough like he was giving you a chance to stop it. But you didn’t want it to stop. “Just do it”

He lingered there, just barely touching your lips, like he was waiting for you to stop him. And when you didn’t, he closed the distance.

His lips were soft and gently, something you’d yet to experience with him. All the drunken kisses you’d experienced with him were messy and hard. But now he held back, allowing you to dictate how far this would go. But just like in the kitchen before you were grabbing his neck and pulling him closer to you, the delicate kiss turning into a feverish one.

He pulled back to speak but you were tugging him back into the kiss, slipping your tongue over his bottom lip. He’d turned his head to the side allowing better access to the both of you as your tongue tangled with each other.

His hand came to your cheek, caressing it and using it to hold you in place against him. You sighed against his lips, earning a chuckle to rattle in his throat. He moved on the bed closer to you. His hand left your cheek, traveling down toward your breast where he gave it a small squeeze but when you hissed out he pulled back immediately.

“S’okay, they’re just sore” You said distracted and trying to pull him back for a kiss.

“Are you sure?” He asked, holding back to fully look at you.

“Mhm” You hummed, as he propped himself on an elbow, allowing you to pull him back into the kiss.

Your mind was racing. The two of you had done well with keeping things platonic but you needed him in this moment. He left your lips, kissing down your jaw and leaving marks on your exposed neck.

“I want you” You said breathlessly, feeling the natural pull he had about him.

“I thought you wanted to be friends” He teased, trailing his tongue over the sensitive spot he had caused.

“I know what I said” You whined as he nibbled at your collar bone.

He pulled back, looking at you through his long, pretty lashes, “We can’t”

You sighed throwing your head back into the pillows. “You’re right—I’m sorry, I knew this was a bad idea, how could you want to when I look like this anyways— we were doing good as friends and I just went and blew everything up I shoul—“

“Please shut up” He says with a chuckle, leaning back down and pressing a kiss to your lips. “Trust me, I want to, I really want to but I don’t want to risk it—because of the baby”

You turn your head, looking over at the wall, feeling embarrassed. “I just ruined everything”

“Nothing is ruined” He says softly, turning your head back to face him, “Hey—nothing is ruined”

“I shouldn’t have assumed that you would even want to, after all the work we’ve done and the way that I look” You mumbled, lip quivering as you spoke.

“For the record, I have never not been attracted to you” Bjorn laughed lightheartedly trying to make you feel better, “I thought you were hot when we were 13 and Tyler introduced us and I think you’re hot now”

You wiped at a tear that managed to slip out, “You’re just being nice”

“I know you feel that against your leg” He deadpanned, referring to his excitement under the sheets. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted you more”

“Really?” You mumbled, feeling self conscious.

“Yes really” He admits sweetly, brushing his fingertips through your hair. “Knowing you’re carrying my baby—well it does something to me, that I didn’t expect. I’ve just been holding back because I thought you didn’t want it”

You blush up at him, attempting to hide your face in your hands, but before you can he grabs them, leaning forward and kissing you again.

“We can’t do the big stuff, I don’t wanna hurt the baby but—” He said carefully, drumming his fingertips along your skin as they glided under the blanket, “But I can still make you feel good”

His fingers stopped at the waistband of your panties, dancing along the fabric that was already moist. He made a sound with his tongue as he watched your eyes roll back before fluttering closed.

He applied pressure as he moved his fingers in a circular motion against the fabric, earning a whimper from your lips. “Already so wet for me”

“Oh shit” You breathed out as he pushed the fabric aside and slipped his fingers along your wet lips. They glided easily with how slick you were and you nearly lost it at that.

“Oh you needed this huh?” He said quietly focusing on the rise and fall of your chest.

His slowly slid his finger inside of you, watching with his mouth agape as you took it, before adding a second finger.

“Fucks sake” He breathed as he pumped his fingers slowly, feeling you clench around his fingers. He pressed against you again, catching your lips against his and kissing you against the rhythm of his fingers. Even before he had always managed to multitask like this.

You bucked your hips slightly, in an effort to keep him going and get to that sweet spot. He was biting at your bottom lip and pulling it slightly causing you to moan as his thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

“Is this why you’ve been so grumpy lately?” He mumbled against your mouth, still moving his fingers in and out of you, picking up the pace.

“Shut up” You moaned again, breathing erratically as he touched you.

He left a sloppy trail from your mouth down your jaw line and landing on your neck again, “Next time just ask me”

You could hardly focus on what he was saying as he moved in the bed and under the sheets, careful if your belly and positioning himself between your legs. Without skipping a beat he replaced his fingers with his mouth.

You nearly screamed at the sensation, clutching the sheets in fistfuls around you. You were more sensitive than ever and the second his tongue made contact with your center you were squealing. His hands came around your thighs holding them apart as you squirmed from sheer pleasure. You wanted this to last forever but when he slid his fingers back in while he sucked on your sensitive spot you were done for.

You yelled out his name as you felt complete bliss wash over you. Your body twitching as his tongue continued to suck and clean the area, nearly causing a second orgasm.

When he appeared from under the blankets his hair was disheveled and his lips wet. He moved carefully around your belly before laying down next to you again. “That has to be a new record”

You reached up and laced your fingers through his hair, pulling him toward you and kissing him softly. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he swirled it in your mouth. You felt drunk with pleasure.

Your hand fell against his chest and slowly made its way down until he stopped you right at the waistband of his boxers. “You don’t have to”

It was your turn to shut him up, pressing your lips back to him and moving your hand between his boxers and skin. Immediately you felt him, just as aroused as you were.

He bit back a moan as your finger brushed against his tip, dripping with pre-cum. You worked your hand around him, making sure it was wet enough before pumping him.

“Oh fuck” He whined, “Fuck, fuck”

“I guess I’m not the only one who needed this” You whispered against his ear, sucking on his ear lobe.

His breathing became erratic as you pumped him faster until he erupted in his boxers. He sighed, running his hand over his face and through his hair as his eyes rolled back.

You’re pumping slowed, feeling him all over your hand as you pulled it out of his boxers and up to your mouth, licking the sticky substance from your fingers.

“Shit” He whined, pulling you back in to kiss him after you sucked your fingers clean. The kiss was lazy and sloppy, the two of you now feeling spent. “I guess we both needed that”

When he fell back against the pillow next to you, you both stared at the ceiling, breathing syncing up. “We can still be friends and help each other out”

“Yeah” He breathed. “What kind of parents would we be if we didn’t help each other out”

“Exactly” You agreed, holding your hand out to him for a high five.

He snorted, but lifted his hand and clapped it against yours.

About a week after your moment with Bjorn you went to medical. Bjorn and the others had talked you into getting a scan for the baby's sake. They had a point, as much as you hated the company, it would be reassuring to know if the baby was growing correctly and was healthy. You went by yourself, not wanting them to know who the father was. You didn't want him to be held finically accountable in the eyes of the company. It was easier to say you weren't sure who the father was.

You let them ask a million questions as they slid a cold jelly across your bare stomach. The nurse moved a machine over the bump as you watched the screen.

"Are you sure there's a baby in there?" The synthetic nurse had joked, noticing the tenseness of your body and your hands closed in fists at your sides.

Suddenly, they moved it to the side and a body appeared. They pointed out the head and feet. But you could barely hear them, too busy watching the baby, your baby, move inside of you on the screen.

"Would you like to hear the heartbeat?"

You nodded at them, not trusting your voice with the sheer emotion you were feeling. The nurse hit a switch on the machine and the sound of thumping filled the small room.

"Strong heartbeat, that's always a good sign" The nurse said happily, typing into the screen. "You're five months on the dot which means we can find out the gender if you would like"

You breathed out, blinking away the tears that began to gather in your eyelashes as you listened to the heartbeat.

"Miss, did you hear me?" The synthetic's voice questioned.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Would you like to know the gender?" They repeated.

"Oh uh-" You whispered, moving your hand on your arm. You wanted to know, but a part of you wanted to keep something sacred, especially since Bjorn wasn't there. It didn't feel right finding out this way, "No, I don't wanna know"

By the end of the appointment, they handed you a printed photo still from the video of the ultrasound. It showed the outline of the baby perfectly.

When you presented the photo to Bjorn later that day, he traced the outline of the baby with his finger as you pointed out the arms and legs, even the little toes forming. He was in awe, still staring at it even after you had made dinner.

"I told them we didn't want to know the gender," You said from the kitchen behind him. "Thought it would be a nice surprise"

"I'm with you, whatever you want" He said, still staring at the picture.

After a couple minutes you came to stand behind the back of the couch, looking over his shoulder at the picture, "Pretty crazy huh?"

“Crazy, terrifying, exciting” He said tossing his left and right as he listed the words, “All of the above”

You sat next to him, resting your head on his shoulder and rubbing your belly. “I think I could be a good mother”

“There’s no think about it” Bjorn said moving his arm around your shoulder so you could sit comfortably, “You will”

“What if we can’t get out of here? What if they end up just like us?” You wonder pointing your finger at the small face on the picture.

“I made you a promise” He said kissing your temple, “I’m going to get us all out of here”

You relaxed at his gesture. Although the two of you had not been intimate since that night in the bed, you felt like your bond had grown. You trusted him. You believed him.

Later that day the group came for dinner and Bjorn showed of the picture like a prize before pinning it up in the living room.

At 7 months pregnant you’d been lying in bed tossing and turning, unable to sleep when you’d made your way to the main room of the trailer. Despite the late hours Bjorn had been up, a beer sitting on the table in front of him and an old movie playing on the tv. He opted for spending time out there when he was wired from work instead of keeping you up in the bedroom.

He didn’t notice you until your bare feet padded over to the side of the couch.

“Shit, did I wake you?” He was startled, sitting up on the couch and reaching for the remote to turn it down.

“No, not you” You took your free hand and rubbed at your belly under one of his shirts, “He’s been keeping me up”

“He?” Bjorn had questioned, looking at your stomach.

"Yeah" You moved to sit on the couch beside him, your back killing you. “I dunno, I just don’t wanna keep calling them it. '

“What do you want it to be?” He asked, turning to look at you. The lights from the small screen that played the movie lit up the dark room, casting funny shadows on his face.

“What do you want it to be?” You countered, propping your feet on the small table in front of the couch.

"Uh" He took his thumb and ran it over his bottom lip, absentmindedly biting at his nail, “I haven’t really thought about it”

You could tell her was unsure of himself when it came to the baby when you did try to speak about it so you spoke up again, “At first I was thinking it was a she but after tonight I'm thinking he"

"Why?" He asked, looking over your features while you spoke.

"Because right now he's being a pain in my ass like his daddy” You laughed, meeting his gaze.

Daddy. It was the first time you’d referred to him like that. You’d thought you might’ve made him uncomfortable or overstepped as he stood from the couch and walked into the kitchen. When he returned, he had a worn-out teddy bear, it was small and brown, tattered in some spots. He held it out to you as he sat back down.

“I- uh found this where my mom used to stash things she didn't want the company to get their hands on, it was mine when I was a baby. I know it’s sorta tore up and old—“

You took it from his hand, holding the stuffed toy next to your belly, “It’s perfect, he or she will love it”

He smiled at you, staring down at his hand on his lap.

“You hear that, daddy got you a present” You spoke to your belly, holding the bear in one hand and tapping your finger along the fabric of your shirt.

"What are you doing?" He adjusted on the cushion next to you, watching you.

"I read in a booklet that the nurse gave me that you should talk to them, it helps with bonding and calming them or something" You explained, gathering your hair in a low ponytail so it was out of your face.

"I didn't know that" He said quietly, picking at his lips with his fingers as he watched you speak to the unborn baby in a soft, cheery voice.

“Of course you wanna sleep now” You say, tapping your finger along your belly again. "Are you tired after kicking me for hours?"

A minute passed and you sighed, leaning back into the couch and glancing over at him, "You try"

“Nah, I'm good” He said nervously.

"Don't be scared" You encouraged, pulling your shirt up and over the belly and gathering the fabric under your boobs. Your underwear was exposed but you weren't embarrassed after the relationship you and Bjorn once had. "Just talk like we are now"

He nodded as he moved on the couch, leaning over and propping himself up so his face was closer to your stomach. He hesitantly spread the palm of his hand flat against your skin.

“Hey, can you hear me?” He spoke directly to your belly, his breath tickling your skin. “Uh, this is your daddy"

After a minute of no reaction, the skin next to where he spoke stretched slightly, “Oh did you see that?” He asked excitedly, his eyes lit up.

“I think that’s a hand” You whispered, eyes fixated on him as he spoke and the joy on his face when he got a reaction from the baby.

"Have you been keeping mommy awake?" Bjorn rubbed your belly absentmindedly as he spoke, leaving goosebumps on your skin. "You know she gets grumpy when she doesn't get enough sleep"

You laughed at that, the vibration shaking your belly slightly. Another movement occurred against your skin and his eyes gleamed.

“I told you he likes the sound of your voice” You said, matter-of-factly.

Another kick came and his eyes stared up at you, "Or he just likes the sound of his mommy's laugh"

Your heart fluttered. You had to force yourself to look away, breaking the tension with a quiet cough.

He continued to tap on the belly, feeling the little extremities through the skin. His touch relaxed you indirectly and as he spoke softly you felt your eyelids getting heavy.

Before you let sleep take you, you hear his hushed voice whisper, "I can’t wait to meet you”

You felt like a whale as you waddled your way to Tyler and Kay’s trailer with Bjorn by your side. The girls wanted to throw you a little party for the baby as you got closer to the end of your pregnancy. You’d begged them not to but they were too excited and you couldn’t say no, not when they already loved this baby so much.

When you arrived Tyler and Bjorn opted for a cigarette outside, letting the girls and Andy have their time with you.

In the few months that Kay known about the baby she had managed to make a plethora of baby clothes, most being gender neutral due to the fact that there was hardly any pink or girly fabrics in the colony.

You had to admit the clothes she had made were precious. They were tiny little jumpers with little shapes stitched into them in an effort to make them more personalized. She’d even made a blanket with little silk detailing on the edges.

“How did you find this material?” You’d asked holding the blanket against your chest.

“Believe it or not I found it at the market” She smiled, big doe eyes sparkling the way they always seemed to, “They cost a pretty penny but it’s worth it for this little one”

She had reached over and placed her hand on your belly, smiling up at you. You pulled her into a hug, as best as you could with your enlarged stomach.

Rain had gifted you a book of nursery rhymes and short stories that you could read to the baby, something she said her mother used to read to her.

Navarro had made something that resembled bassinet. You’d only seen them in old movies, never being around anyone who had a baby. It was fashioned out of a wooden material with handles, on the inside there was a cushion to act as a mattress.

“This way you have something for them to sleep in” She had said from the window of the trailer near where everyone sat. She had always been nonchalant about everything. “Well—until they out grow it, then I can make you a new one”

You thanked everyone a million times. Your heart feeling so full as you looked at the things your friends had took the time do get or make. So much love that you felt you didn’t deserve.

"I've been working on some jokes y/n" Andy said excitedly, "Do-do you want to hear one-e?"

You nodded, leaning forward to get a look at him while he spoke.

“How did the baby know it was time to be born?"

"I dunno, how?"

"It ran out of womb—“ Andy spoke from the floor where he sat crossed legged, reading the book Rain had gotten for you, “Get it womb like room”

“That was really great, Andy” You laughed, but it turned into a sniffle, which turned into a cry. Your heartbeat quickened and your head started to spin. As your eyes welled up with tears and you buried your face in the homemade blanket. "This is all really great"

Your shoulder shook and suddenly you were sobbing into the material. Bjorn and Tyler walked in as everyone sat quietly around you, watching you but not sure what to do, considering you had just been fine.

“Hey— hey what’s going on in here?” Tyler’s voice asks and you suddenly feel Kay move from her spot beside you and someone else sit down. “Is she okay? Is the baby okay?”

You feel Bjorn beside you without having to look. You’d been able to sense his presence now, something about it calmed you down. He moves your hands down from your face and moves your chin to look at him. “What’s going on?”

You sniffle, trying to calm down but when you saw him it made you cry more, burying your face against his shoulder.

“What can I do?” Tyler asked Bjorn frantically, hating to see you upset. “What’s going on?”

“She’s okay” Bjorn reassured, smoothing his hand against the back of your head, soothing you as best as he could. “Can you get her a water?”

After a couple of minutes of Bjorn rubbing circles on your back you sit up. Your face is red from crying and you feel embarrassed as they all stare at you. Tyler is crouched on the floor near Andy, holding out a cup of water. You take it from him, taking a couple sips feeling Bjorn’s hand still on your back.

“I’m sorry” You said quietly at the friends who surrounded you, all sharing the same solemn expressions. "I-I think just got overwhelmed or something-"

“Don’t be sorry” Rain responded putting her hand on your knee. "We didn't mean to upset you or anything-"

"No, no, it's nothing you guys did, you've made me feel so happy knowing this baby will know what it's like to be loved" You smiled, urging yourself not to cry again. "I just- the closer it gets the more I worry about the world they'll grow up in"

You didn’t have to explain why you felt that way. They understood. Afterall every person in the room was an orphan. It was the way of the colony. You didn't want that for your baby.

You didn’t realize but you were leaning into Bjorn’s side until he shifted slightly beside you. In recent weeks when you found yourself attached to him, you'd not yet decided if it was because of the night you shared or his ability to ground you when you got nervous.

“I just wish there was a way off this colony that didn't require being granted travel permits that the company will never give us” You say, trying to laugh half heartedly to ease the awkward tension.

You looked around watching as everyone nodded. It was something you'd all talked about forever. You'd heard stories of people getting travel permits and leaving but they were few and far between. Bedtime stories your parents had told you growing up. The idea of hope and freedom.

Your eyes landed on Tyler how rubbed Rains thigh absentmindedly, staring off, deep in thought.

“So, uh- have you guys thought of names yet?” Kay asked once you had leaned back against the couch with Bjorn nestled beside you. He kept his arm around your shoulder helping you to relax.

“Not really” You said, looking up to Bjorn, “Well—I guess not at all”

“I’m sure no one will mind if you name it Tyler” Tyler says from his spot, sipping on a beer, Rain was curled up next to him on the floor, and smacked at his chest when he spoke, “Ouch, what— Tyler is a strong name, could be a girl or a boy name-”

“Speaking of,” Navarro interrupted from her perch as she chewed on a piece of candy, “Do you guys think it’s a boy or girl?”

“Boy” Bjorn answered, tilting his head back to look at her. “Well that’s what y/n always says at least when it’s being little menace making her sick or kicking her” Bjorn added.

“I only refer to it as he when he’s being ornery” You laughed, resting your cup of water on your belly. “But I dunno”

“I hope it’s a girl” Bjorn suddenly says, taking a sip of his beer and then resting it on his knee. It took you by surprise. He’d never mentioned much about a preferred gender.

Kay looked between the two of you, smiling big again, “A little girl would be precious”

“Really” You asked still in shock, looking up at him from his side. “I didn’t know that”

“That’s what I’ve been picturing,” He nodded, chewing at his lip and glancing down at your belly, “A little girl bouncing around”

“Well regardless if it’s anything like my cousin here you’re gonna be in for it” Tyler laughed.

“Good thing we’ve got all of you to help us” You say, looking around the room and smiling at them. A melancholy feeling had taken over your happy mood.

At 8 months pregnant you were miserable. Your feet were swollen, and your stomach was so big you could hardly sleep at all. Most nights you left the bed to Bjorn, finding that sleeping straight up on the couch was the closest you would get to a full night of rest. You waddled everywhere you went and was always out of breath.

Bjorn had finished his shift in the mines and came into the trailer to find you sitting on the couch, balancing a plate on your belly with your feet propped up. You'd been playing one of his games, something you'd grown to be good at, considering there wasn't much else to do.

He had showered and plopped down on the couch next to you. "Are you hungry?"

"No, thanks"

"Are you sure? What did you eat today?"

"Enough" You sighed focusing on the game, moving the controller as you shot at a spaceship. "It's all I do all day now"

"What's your problem?" He asks suddenly, taking a sip of his beer and looking at you.

"What?" You asked, biting your lip as you shot again, "I'm fine"

"You're obviously not"

"What are you talking about?"

"Whatever" He huffed, standing from the couch and moving to the kitchen.

"Bjorn what the fuck is your problem?"

"What? I'm communicating, you said we should communicate. I'm asking what your problem is, that's communication"

"Whatever" You groan tossing the controller down on the small table and standing from the couch, holding your lower belly as you did.

"Do you not want me to check on you? Make sure you are eating enough for my baby?"

"No, you can check on me" You plead as you waddle into the kitchen, watching as he opens cabinets and shuts them hard.

"Well, I just did and now you're mad"

"You asked if what I ate today and I answered" You defended, watching as he opened the cabinets and began to make himself noodles.

"You might as well of told me to fuck off" He laughed, turning his back to you as he messed with the stove.

"Oh my fuck" You shout, slamming your hand on the counter near him. "What is this about?"

"Just say you're mad at me" He demands turning around to face you as the water begins to boil in the pot next to him.

"I'm not mad, you're picking a fight for no reason!"

"What are you talking about?!" He shouts.

"You're on edge or something and you're taking it out on me" You shout back, "Did something happen in the mines?"

"Great, so you're mad and now it's my fault?" He asks, turning and holding his arms out dramatically.

"I'm not mad at you" You scream at him, leaving to walk to the bedroom. Halfway down the hall you hear his snarky voice.

"Could've fooled me"

"Ok" You shout again, coming back into the kitchen, holding your stomach with both hands now, "We need to talk about whatever is going on with you"

"I don't need to talk about anything"

"Really? Because you're acting like a fuckin' child right now" You yell, watching as he slams the fridge door closed after grabbing another beer. You took a breath, feeling the baby kick and thought for a moment before adding, "What happened with Tyler?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Before you left today you told me about the message Tyler left, he wanted to see you after your shift, he said it was important" You recounted, "You see him and then come home like this, so what happened?"

"Nothing" He said, a tone in his voice that you hadn't heard for many months now.

"Really? Because I can call him up right now and ask him myself" You threaten, walking closer to him and taking the beer from his hand. When he stood against the counter, staring at the boiling water you laughed extremely annoyed at this situation.

You left the kitchen, grabbing your data watch from the couch and calling him. It rang for a minute but there was no answer. Tyler always answered you when you called.

"I'll just go over to his trailer and ask him, I'm not playing this game with you guys" You slipped on your boots, not bothering to tie them as you headed toward the door. "Someone is going to tell me what the fuck is going on"

You open the door to the dark sky outside but before you can open it fully to leave Bjorn's hand comes up and pushes it shut. "Sit down"

"No, not until you tell me what is going on with you and what Tyler said to you" You argue, jerking the door against his weight.

After a minute he sighs, "He found a way out"

"A way out?" You let go of the handle of the door, backing up and sitting down on the couch. "What are you talking about?"

He came to sit on the table in front of the couch so he was able to touch your knees. You rubbed your belly as he spoke.

"He found a way out of here, one that doesn't require a travel permit" Bjorn was speaking slowly, not nearly as much excitement as you thought he would have in a situation like this. "There's a ship floating above us, he saw it on the scanners. It has enough cryo pods for everyone. We could get out of this system completely"

You nodded, not wanting to interrupt him.

"We have a small window to hijack it and take the cryo pods and get out before they realize what we are doing" He explained. "We could do it, he and Andy and me"

He dropped his head, hanging it low as he sighed, looking like he was trying to find the right words to say.

"Bjorn, what's wrong?" You asked quietly, reaching out and squeezing his hand, "This sounds like a great plan, our way out just like we planned. Our baby could see the sun, breathe clean air-"

"By the time it's close enough for the Corbelan to reach it, the baby would be here" His voice was shaking and you didn't realize he was crying until he looked back at you, blue eyes wet, "It's too risky to put a newborn in cryo-sleep.

can't

leave with them"

***********

disclaimer: I have no idea if babies can be put in cryo sleep but for the sake of this fic, we are gonna say no lol

Thanks for reading if you made it this far :)))

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