#anyway. gonna go sit in the sun + recharge a bit before i start stretch & eat & run to the theatre for the night

[wabblebees]

.

[mzargentum]

The Stormsender’s Daughter | Chapter XXII | In Your Eyes

Chapter XXI | Chapter XXII | Chapter XXIII

Warnings: Light angst.

Word Count: 2,062

The sun was saying goodbye for the night.

The hours blended together.

Galahd had barely said a word since they left the village.

She merely stared toward the direction of the mountain range that was long gone.

Muerlin appeared to be asleep for most of the trip. her head leaned back over the side of the truck bed. Her elbows resting against it as well.

But was only in a light mediation.

Assuming the girl did not feel like speaking after the ordeal they faced, she didn’t find much reason to intervene with her moments of peace.

After a while, the subtle lull of the truck roaming over the gravel roads nearly had Muerlin dozing off.

Realizing this, she stirred herself from slumber, finally speaking to the distant girl desperately trying to stay awake. 

“How long’re you gonna stare at nothing?”

The wizard stretched her limbs. Briefly catching a mere side eye from the girl.

She didn’t respond.

“What? You think Dion and Birdie’s ghost is gonna come eat you or something?”

“I’m sorry, is there a dualhorn nearby or is that you speaking?,” the girl retorted in irritation.

“Nahh, just me,” the wizard casually responded to the insult. “If it was a dualhorn, we’d be in for a fine feast tonight”.

The girl merely rolled her eyes.

“Y’know, it wouldn’t kill you to loosen up a little bit,” Muerlin smirked. “You are free, y’know”.

“What? And leave all the thinking to you?”, the girl scoffed. “No thanks I might as well go back”.

“Wouldn’t that make you gloriously thought out plan just a heaping pile of shit though?”, the wizard chuckled.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?!”, the girl finally turned toward the wizard and snapped.

“This is life or death, you know! We don’t have time to relax. We NEVER have time to relax! We have to remain on our toes at all times or who knows what kind of trouble you could get us into?!”

“Me? Really? Are you sure it’s not the girl screaming her head off right now about to blow our cover?”, the relaxed wizard beamed.

The girl now realizing she’s standing in the back of the truck.

The occupants of the few trucks beside them staring at her in suspicion and annoyance.

With cheeks flushed, she quickly returned to her seat crossing her arms.

“Idiot”, she growled under her breath sending the wizard into a light giggle fit.

“At any rate, it’s not like we can do much until we get to where we’re going”, Muerlin added, “which is where exactly?”

“This particular truck is sent to meet a small cargo vessel by the sea. That vessel will take us to the Kingdom of Lucis”.

“Hm, and how long will it take us to get to the vessel”.

“Some of these trucks make multiple stops despite their tight schedules. Most go back toward the villages within a few weeks time, but since this one goes further the trek will be more extensive”.

“Aaaaaand would it possibly be more effective if we hitched a ride from one of the stops?”

“Not likely because this truck goes such a distance, it makes more stops than everyone else, but this is the only truck that goes toward that vessel so our estimated time of arrival if we follow the precise schedule would be about a month”.

Muerlin blinked.

“...and we have no other option...?”

“Not if you want to be there quickly”.

“Hmm,” Muerlin scrunched up her nose.

“WELL! Not much to do now, but take a load off,” the wizard kicked her feet up and leaned back in the truck bed.

A light smile lifted upon the girl’s face as she shook her head.

Returning her milky gaze toward the dimming beam of light in the distant.

                                            _______________

The truck came to a stop at a small outpost once the sun fully laid itself to rest.

The outpost had a small cafe with a few bedrooms upstairs.

With the help of Birdie’s trusty coin pouch, so graciously swiped the night before her sudden departure, Galahd was able to secure the two of them dinner and a room with a single bed.

Once they finished their meal, the two collapsed onto their bed from utter exhaustion of the hectic past few days.

After a half an hour of resting their bones...

“Galahd...you asleep?,” Muerlin asked quietly.

“No”.

“I was hoping you could help me understand something”.

The former slave lifted her face from the plush bedding to see the wizard staring at the ceiling.

“S.R.,” the wizard started. The child narrowing her gaze. “You used it as a ploy for Dion to assume Birdie was the traitor, but...that can’t possibly be the other reason, can it?”

The girl said nothing.

“I mean...you spent all that time to conduct this plan and...well, it was an awesome plan and kind of scary honestly and then you spent so much time simply just trying to humiliate and ruin Dion rather than just kill him yourself”.

“So? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Like...you wanted to make him sweat and only kind of like...scary psycho people do that instead of just focusing on escaping. I mean, you could’ve just bolted on your own while Birdie was eating chode,” Galahd grimaced at the imagery.

“...but you went out of your way to basically ruin their reputations before they...well...got killed, which is friggin’ terrifying, but then you think of what kind of person is even capable of doing such a thing and honestly, you’d have to be the most scary, evil asshole ever to do something like that,” the girl glared at the rambling wizard.

“...and evil assholes usually like to parade around their success somehow by leaving some sort of clue, but not a stupid easy clue, one where the victim has no idea,” Galahd’s eyebrow raised at the wizard’s dramatized monologuing.

“...one where he starts scratching his head wondering, pining for the secret truth, but alas, he is but unable to crack the code to save himself from the feeble demise of himself and bird whore!!!”

“Is this going anywhere?!,” the agitated girl snapped.

Muerlin halted, turning toward her wide eyed.

“What was I talking about...?”

The girl blinked.

“OH, YEAH! S.R.”

The girl stared blankly.

“As clever as it was for fooling Mr. Sequins, as far as he knew the only people that had any idea about his plan to take me for himself were him and Big Bird. Besides, you said she seemed really bothered by him suddenly changing the plan at the last minute, right?”

“Yeah,” the girl replied, “it was the perfect reason for her to betray him”.

“So, given the circumstances, he would’ve suspected her anyway”, Muerlin rose her eyebrow toward the girl whom was giving a suspicious glare.

“So?”

“So going the extra mile that you did to justify his suspicions wasn’t really necessary unless you had an ulterior motive”.

The girl could see the wizard had practically caught on. Sitting up on the bed criss crossed with her hands in her lap.

“Like what?”

“You wanted him to know who did it”, the wizard smirked playfully as she sat up in the same position, leaning toward the girl.

“You’re S.R., aren’t you?”

Galahd’s eyes narrowed further.

Muerlin rose her eyebrow curiously.

“That’s the stupidest pile of crap I’ve ever heard”.

“HA! I knew it!”, Muerlin threw her arms in the air to stretch before plopping on the pillows with her hands behind her head. Her legs crossed.

“Shut up! You don’t know anything,” the girl griped.

“Whatever you say,” Muerlin grinned. “So, I assume it’s your real name? Which Dion must’ve not known, huh? Which is why he called you Galahd. Since you’re from there, I’d assume that’s where you’re trying to go”.

Unbeknownst to Muerlin, the girl began to shake.

“I take it you’ve got some family you’ve been dying to see after all this time,” the wizard continued.

Galahd’s breath hinged and her glare toward the silver haired maiden could chill the spirit of any daemon.

Muerlin leaned up from her position, a sentimental smile on her face as she reminisced on her time in Tenebrae, the only family she had ever known and had to abandon.

“I’m...sure they’d give anything to see you and they’d be over the moon once they do”.

“WHO EVEN ASKED YOU, ANYWAY?!”

Muerlin turned toward the girl, startled.

“Trying to talk to me like you know everything, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, HUH?!”

She stood on the bed, her body shaking violently.

Muerlin could see the redness appearing in her eyes.

“IN CASE YOU FORGOT, WE’RE NOT FRIENDS!! AND IN CASE YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED, YOU AREN’T RAMUH!! YOU’RE JUST THE INCARNATION OF HIS BRAINDEAD HORNY DAUGHTER THAT ACTUALLY IS THE REASON WHY HER ENTIRE FAMILY AND KINGDOM WENT TO SHIT!!! YOU’RE ONLY EVEN HERE BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO STUPID TO KNOW HOW TO HANDLE YOURSELF IN A FUCKED UP SITUATION!!! WALKING AROUND LIKE EVERYTHING IS JUST PEACHY ALL THE TIME WHEN IT ISN’T!!! YOU DON’T KNOW THE HALF OF IT!!! YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING!!!”

Hoping off the bed, Galahd stormed toward the door to their room.

“And you never fucking will,” she angrily shouted as she slammed the door behind her, leaving Muerlin in the dark.

With a light sigh, Muerlin could only focus on the tears that fell from her eyes as she ranted.

Galahd didn’t even notice until she made her way outside the cafe. Completely ignoring the driver of the their truck as she rushed out.

She cursed herself lightly at the idea that Muerlin could have seen.

The wizard figured it would be best not to follow her. It’s not like she was particularly in the best position to run away so there was no need to worry about that.

But sleep was probably not going to happen for either of them tonight and accepting that, Muerlin resigned herself to head back down to the café.

Maybe she’d feel better over a some hot chocolate.

The driver, sitting at the bar, nodded with a kind smile at the girl whom returned with a smile and a light wave.

Once she received her order, Muerlin sat down by the window to watch the stars as she indulged in her soothing beverage.

With a light sigh, she turned her attention to her cup. The moonlight shining over the chocolatey liquid.

“Well, slow start, but...progress is progress”, she reassured herself.

Galahd sitting in a nearby tree gazing at the sky above where she recharge herself.

“Don’t worry...it won’t be much longer now...I promise...I’ll make him pay”.

Eventually the milky eyed girl made her way back to their room, so exhausted she once again ignored the man at the bar, to see Muerlin asleep in the arm chair near the bed.

With a light sigh and a whispered “idiot”, the girl gently placed a spare blanket over the exhausted mystic before getting into bed.

Instantly drifting off to her first good night’s sleep in 2 years.

                                            ______________

“Wait...did you just say the Pythoness?!”

A loud voice gasped in disbelief over a phone.

“Yeah, just hopped on the back of my truck outta nowhere”.

“Holy...this is unreal”.

“Yeah, she’s got some squirt with her with some weird lookin’ eyes. Paid me 300gil to get them outta town”.

“That must be S.R.! The imperials have been mentioning someone with the Pythoness with strange eyes. Apparently she’s murdered two people. I heard the imperials are saying shot a man in the head and fed a woman to a pack of albinogins”.

“You gotta be shittin’ me. And I’ve been carryin’ that nutcase around in my truck?!”

“Yeah, we better report it before something bad happens”.

“Aw, man...I don’t know they look like nice girls”.

“Heh! You call two murderers ‘nice girls’? Seriously?! I’m reporting it now before they kill somebody else”.

“Alright, alright...sheesh”.

“Trust me, by tomorrow, we won’t have to worry about a thing”.

“I hope you’re right...”.

The driver sighed before he returned the cafe phone to its holster, rubbing the back of his neck in uncertainty and shame.

“Hey, mate”, the cafe owner addressed him. “Everythin’ alright?”

“...dunno, friend”, the driver responded, “...but Gods I hope so”.

                                             _____________

Tagging: @digitalkanvas​ @completelyinappropriate​ @aquathemermaidstripper​ @glacian-apocalypse​ @a-new-recipehhh​

[spideycents]

B-Roll // Shawn Mendes - 2: quiet on set

---

TABLE OF CONTENTS

---

The first extras call for The Breakfast Club is posted almost a week after I apply to be a makeup assistant. It's the middle of the night on what is hopefully our second to last day of filming at this camp. The goal is to wrap second team shoots tomorrow night, then we'll be done, but we keep having to pause filming for stupid rain that won't seem to go away.

   During one of the rain breaks, we're at the top of the hill at the onset extras holding under a really large picnic pavilion. Everyone's on their phones or asleep or playing group games to try to stay awake. I'm spacing out and Michael's on twitter when Julie-Anne squeals loudly and shows us the casting call.

   "They're looking for high schoolers!" she says excitedly.

   "Sheet!" Michael sits up quickly and types fervidly on his phone.

   "Are you gonna apply?" Julie-Anne nods at me while she works on her own application.

   I shrug. "Later."

   "Why not now?" Michael questions me like I'm crazy for not jumping to apply instantly. "We've got plenty of time."

   I purse my lips. "I know, but my phone's in my jacket and I don't feel like getting it out right now."

   They both laugh and Julie-Anne says: "Mood!"

   They're quiet for bit while they finish their applications and find other days to apply for. The irony that we only ever get hired as teenagers when we're all in our 20s now. Extra irony that Julie-Anne is the oldest, but she looks younger than both me and Michael. I don't know why, exactly. We assume it's her round cheeks or the freckles, but we're not entirely sure. She claims she found the fountain of youth. I wouldn't be surprised since her whole family looks pretty young. Especially her mom and she's practically the spitting image of her.

"And done," Michael exclaims loudly and drops his phone into his lap. He falls back in his chair, flails his legs out, and let's his head fall back so he's staring at the ceiling, then he lets out a rather obnoxiously loud Dying Puma.

At least 20 heads turn and look in our direction. Julie-Anne and I both giggle wildly, but Michael's head is still tilted back, and his eyes are closed, so he's oblivious to the audience he's gathered.

"I have three left," Julie-Anne grumbles.

   "Bitch." Michael lifts his head and looks at her with super squinty eyes. When his face is as pinched as possible, that's peak judgement. "Gotta get that Verizon."

   She glares at him. He smirks. She sticks her tongue out him. He bends his right arm and twirls his wrist, then opens his hand and juts his chin out slightly. She flips him off. He flips her off too. She looks away. He tilts his head back again.

   It's basically the silent equivalent of an argument that goes:

   "Fine."

   "Fine."

   "Good."

   "Good."

   "Fine!"

   "Fine!"

   Then they both humph loudly and storm off in opposite directions.

   The most Julie-Anne and Michael ever do is stop looking at each other. It's okay anyway, their arguments never mean anything. They can't even jokingly insult each other without feeling bad about it. Michael was just joking once when she was throwing away everyone's trash for them. He told her that while she's at it, she should climb in there too. She actually tilted the trash can and lifted her leg to get in, for the meme, but Michael was already freaking out and apologizing because he felt that that was the meanest thing he's ever said to her. That happened eight months ago and he still brings it up.

   "I really hope we all get booked," Julie-Anne mumbles, but she doesn't look up from her phone. "And I hope we get to work with Shawn."

   "SAME!" Michael super exaggerates the word, turning each letter into its own syllable.

   The switch in language when talking about celebrities after you've worked with them, is so apparent to me. Other fans might say they want to see someone, we talk about working with them and mingling like we're co-workers. When, in reality, the most I've ever said to a principle actor was when I told Alexandra Shipp that I liked her shoes and she told me that costumes picked them out, then she walked away.

***

We wrap second team the next day and as we're pulling off the lot as the sun is rising, Michael plays One Last Time from Hamilton and as happy as I am to see the park get smaller and smaller in the rear-view, it's a little bittersweet.

   Michael leaves to go back home later that evening, after first getting a well deserved, and extended nap on my couch.

   It's a struggle, saying goodbye to him. Even if we don't know when we'll see each other next, the universe somehow finds a way to always bring us together every couple weeks. The longest we've been apart since we met was 23 days, and that was within the first few months of our friendship. Sure, we text and call and facetime and Skype and DM on basically every social media platform possible, all day, every day, but the separation anxiety is still so real. I'd say I have a panic attack about losing him and Julie-Anne every other day or so. It's exhausting.

   I still don't know how to tell them about all this shit in my head. They've given me so many opportunities, so many windows, and I keep not taking them. Being open and vulnerable with anyone is terrifying. I still have to work myself up for a few days, sometimes weeks, before I can tell my mom something and I tell her everything.

   "Sorry Dad."

   He's sitting at the breakfast table, painting with watercolors in one of his sketchbooks. He doesn't look up from his work while he speaks. "What are you sorry for, Rosie?"

   I smile slightly at my dad's nickname for me. He's been calling me Rosie or Rosebud since I was little.

   I wring my hands in my lap. It's a nervous tick I picked up from my mom.

   I shrug and drop my head so my chin is tucked into my neck and I'm staring at my hands. "Everything, I guess."

   Dad laughs lightly. "I'm going to need you to be more specific."

I'm not looking at him directly, but I can see him in my peripherals and he's watching me intently, but with kind eyes. Which is how he usually looks at me lately, unless he's mad, but that almost always fades within minutes. He started looking at me with those gentle eyes a few years ago. Whenever it happens, I feel like I'm six years old again, but not in a condescending way. I feel innocent. I feel cared for. I feel protected, safe. He looks at me like that and I feel like I'm home.

   I mean, I literally am home. I've been home for awhile, but that's beside the point.

   Today's different though. Today I don't deserve to feel warm and fuzzy. I deserve to feel small and weak right now, because that's where I am today. I'm 23 years old, I'm not in school, I'm broke, I'm unemployed, and I'm still living with my parents. I feel about as small as anyone could possibly ever feel.

   I scratch red lines into the back of my left hand. "I don't know." I shrug again. I shrug a lot. When you don't know things, shrugging's what you do, and I don't know anything.

   Dad rinses off his brush, then dries it and sets it down on a paper towel on the table beside his laptop. "Lyla," he sits up straighter and turns toward me. "Are you okay?"

   I don't look at him, but I nod. "I'm okay," I say a little louder than the whispers I've been at. "It's just a weird day."

   "Well, you know can talk to me about anything," he's quieter now too. Somehow our big kitchen now feels cramped. Like it's the middle of the night and we're talking softly so we don't disturb anyone.

   "Maybe later." I push my chair back and get up.

   "Can I give you hug?" Dad asks quietly.

I'm glad he doesn't stretch his arms out toward me cause then I feel like I have to hug him or than I look rude.

   "Not right now," I mumble and go up to my room.

   "I love you." His voice echoes up the stairs, filling the hallway. All our doors are closed so it feels like the sound just keeps bouncing back and forth. Even after silence has fallen, I can still hear his voice in my head and my ears ring with regret.

   I lock my door behind me and turn off the lights before climbing onto my bed. I pull my comforter around me and curl up into a ball in the back corner. I have a big bed so seeing all the empty space around me just makes me feel smaller.

   Nothing in particular happened to trigger this sudden onset bout of weirdness, but I guess that's how depression works. Some days are good and others are weird. I don't want to say bad, because they're not really. I just drift through them. I'm probably like this today because I've been non-stop for the past few weeks and now that Michael's gone, I've kind of hit a wall. I just need some introvert time to recharge so I can get all my energy back.

   It's funny to word it in that way.

   Recharging.

   It's like people are batteries and we spend our energy until we're drained so then we have to find a way to get all that energy back. I get my energy back from alone time or caffeine usually, but a good song or a good movie or book also helps, but that's mainly just to make me feel better. Spending time outside or eating a good meal or getting a good night's sleep is also extremely refreshing. But, so is a nice shower or a bath. Honestly, I find energy through lots of things. Even being around my friends or family when we're happy will help. It varies for everyone though, but whatever you have to do it's basically like plugging yourself into a wall until your angry red light turns into a bright, happy green one.

   Speaking of charged.

I unplug my phone and roll over so I'm facing the wall while I unlock it and scroll through my different feeds. I like some random Instagram posts from different celebrities and some wedding photos from someone I knew in college who invited a ton of our friends to their wedding, but didn't say a word about it to me. It's annoying to hear about your friend's engagement through a Facebook post, like everyone else they don't care about.

Yay.

I close Instagram and open Twitter.

My feed has been nothing, but angry political debates since 2016.

I've thrown my two cents into the void, but the only people who follow me are my friends and family and a few random One Direction fans from the good old days in 2012/ People rarely see my posts and I don't want to seek out people and start drama with them or respond to problematic tweets that I see from people I follow. A lot of people get really vicious and evil with their responses and I know I'm not the kind of person who can walk away from that kind of battle unscathed. There's definitely a war raging on the internet and I'll stick to serving as medic rather than a soldier.

I scroll a little farther down Twitter, but there's not a single happy or wholesome thing in sight.

I close Twitter and open Tumblr.

Thank God for memes.

As I'm scrolling, I catch a few South Park posts and DM them to my cousin, Esther, and I spot some Marvel things and share them with Michael, and then Shawn fucking Mendes appears on my dash.

Michael's right. I'm never going to be free of him.

It's a gifset of him lying half-naked on a couch.

It's a nice couch.

I scroll down to find another post about Shawn directly below it and reblogged by the same person too.

This is just one photo, a black and white still on him sitting on a bed. Subject matter aside, I have to admit that's a pretty good shot. The way the light's hitting him, the contrast of the shadows, the general composition...it's just really pleasing to look at.

I heart it and keep scrolling. A few memes and text posts and random quotes on nature photos later and I run into another Shawn post.

Another gifset and this work of art is a collection of moments of Shawn licking his lips.

Lovely.

Leave me alone, Mendes.

I close the app and lock my phone. I push it away and pull my blanket over my head. I lay there in the dark for a little, listening to my breathing and the faint murmur of my dad watching Seth Meyers downstairs.

My phone buzzes once.

An email.

It's probably spam, but I turn over and grab it.

It's from the movie.

I got the job.

I'm going to be working as a makeup assistant on The Breakfast Club remake.

I might have to put makeup on real actors.

I might have to work with Shawn Mendes.

I might have to put makeup on Shawn Mendes.

Oh my god.

—-

It’s cringey, but now it’s public so... *shrugs* Tell me your thoughts in the tags or message me.

[triplekimsquad]

Out of the seven of them, Hoseok and Jimin are usually the ones who wake up the earliest, followed by Seokjin. Namjoon tends to go to bed late, but he's not difficult to wake up. Whereas Taehyung and Jungkook usually stay up well past midnight playing games so they're tough to rouse in the morning. And forget about Yoongi, because he's practically nocturnal, always working on something after everyone's gone to bed. He won't wake up completely until he's got some Americano in his system.

 To be honest, Hoseok likes mornings the best. It's during the afternoon where he sometimes finds himself feeling languid, energy declining. But during the mornings, he's typically cheery, as if the rising sun's personally bolstered his energy and enthusiasm.

 Mornings are his also favorite time to go to the dance studio. Either then or late at night—but they're usually stuck in dance practice late into the night anyway so he doesn't get too much time to himself during those times. But in the morning, the studio is empty, quiet, and often times Hoseok likes to go there to refresh, to recharge, to clear his mind and prepare for a busy day. He doesn't always have to achieve this by dancing. Sometimes, he simply sits there with his eyes closed, listening to music, letting his thoughts escape him. Other times, he catches up on his friends' activities and that helps renew his spirits and determination.

 That's exactly what he'd been doing this morning, watching B.A.P.'s latest live performance and silently cheering for Junhong and his members on their success.

 When Hoseok comes back to the dorm, Seokjin's wake and making coffee in the kitchen. "Oh good, you're here," Seokjin says as a way of greeting, busy pulling out mugs out of a cupboard.

 Hoseok scoffs, feigning bitterness. "Good morning to you too." He kicks his shoes off by the entrance, hiking his bag up his shoulder as it starts to slip. 

 "Hi, sorry, good morning," Seokjin backtracks, actually turning around to face Hoseok. Already dressed in a plain shirt and dark jeans, he looks out together—apart from the stressed wrinkles in his forehead. He picks up one of the cups, softly blowing at the coffee, and leans against the counter, sighing.

 It's not even 6am and Kim Seokjin is sighing like he just spent eight hours dealing with restless kindergarteners.

 "You okay?" Hoseok asks, concerned as always.

 "Fine, fine," Seokjin assures him, waving a dismissive hand at Hoseok’s worries. He takes a sip of his coffee and it seems to calm him down. "Just woke up late," he explains, "And we still have to get the others outta bed and be outta the house in half an hour and you know how Jungkook's gonna need to take a twenty minute shower and Namjoon's gonna spend ten minutes working on his hair and—"

 "Jesus, hyung, breathe, shit." Hoseok rushes over to him and puts a hand on his back, gently rubbing him there and hoping the action is placating.

 "Sorry," Seokjin apologizes again, "It's been a rough morning." 

 "No need to apologize," Hoseok tells him. "How 'bout we split the burden? I get Taehyung and Jimin, and you get Namjoon and Jungkook?"

 Seokjin sighs again, but this time it's more relieved. "Yeah, that sounds good. Thank you."

 "Of course, hyung." They've got a plan, but Hoseok can't just leave without seeing Seokjin smile. At least a little. So he sticks his hand out, forefinger and middle finger pressed together while the others are tucked underneath his palm, and looks up at Seokjin expectantly.

 Seokjin glances down at Hoseok's hand and then back at Hoseok's face, confused for a moment before it clicks and he's chuckling. "Aish, really now?" But his lips are stretched into a grin so Hoseok doesn't think he's really complaining.

 "Yes really, come on."

 There's some eye rolling, but Seokjin complies, placing his two fingers on top of Hoseok's and together they do their 'Bang-Bangtan,' chant. It might be a silly thing to do without the other members and especially since they're not going out on stage to perform, but it brings a smile to Seokjin's face and that's what Hoseok needs to see before they split up.

 "Alright, see you in a bit," he tells Seokjin, heading towards the room he shares with Jimin and Taehyung.

 He's just about to reach for the doorknob when the door swings open and out steps Jimin, clothed already. "Oh, hey hyung."

 "Hey Jimin-ah." Hoseok smiles at him, glad to see a familiar face that's not entirely stressed yet. "Seokjin hyung says we have to leave soon, so try to get ready quickly. He's already made us some coffee."

 "Ah, really?" Jimin's wide eyes are innocent as they are adorable.

 "Yeah, help yourself. Just make sure to leave some for Yoongi hyung."

 Jimin snickers and shakes his head fondly. They're all familiar with Yoongi's need for caffeine.

 Well, speaking of Yoongi... "Um, actually, you wouldn't mind waking up him, would you? Seokjin hyung headed for Jungkook and Namjoon's room and I've got Taehyung."

 "Yeah, no problem, hyung," Jimin agrees easily, eager to help and please. "Just let me brush my teeth really quick."

 "No rush," Hoseok tells him amiably—except that's a bit contradictory considering he told Jimin to get ready quickly not even a minute ago, but whatever. Semantics and all that.

 He shakes away his thoughts and steps into their room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. It's early in the morning so that sun's just starting to peek through the windows, bathing the room with light and warmth. It's no wonder why someone wouldn't want to leave such a peaceful atmosphere. 

 Hoseok's finds Taehyung sprawled across his—Hoseok's—bed, one arm thrown over the extra pillow and hugging it close to his chest. The sheets are twisted between his legs, one foot poking out from under the covers.

 It's a sight Hoseok has seen before—and yet he still can't help but find it endearing.

 He moves further into the room, a soft smiling slowly spreading across his lips as he puts one knee on the bed and bends down, hovering over Taehyung. This close up, he can see the pillow creases on Taehyung's face and the small spot of smudged eyeshadow Taehyung must've forgot to wipe off last night. His eyelashes are long, it's not an unknown fact, but Hoseok allows himself a moment to admire them, the way they rest against Taehyung's cheeks, so soft. 

 It's subconscious almost (he doesn't even realizing he's doing it) how he lifts his hand up and gently sweeps his thumbs over Taehyung's closed eyelid. His hand sort of ends up resting against Taehyung's cheek, while his thumb brushes away the tips of Taehyung's hair that fall past his eyebrows. Before Hoseok knows it, he's sitting down beside Taehyung, one arm thrown over Taehyung's chest while he cradles Taehyung's face in both of his hands, caressing Taehyung's closed eyelids, the high arch of his cheek bones.

 Taehyung awakes slowly, blinking, brown eyes squinting at the morning light. He twists in Hoseok's hold, pursing his lips as he rolls fully onto his back and brings the pillow he's hugging along with him.

 Christ, he's so adorable. Hoseok's chest tightens watching him.

 Hoseok's hands move upward on their own accord, carding through Taehyung's hair and pushing it off his forehead gently. The smile that creeps across Taehyung's face isn't his signature boxy grin—but it's close. His eyes scrunch up for a moment, chest rising as he holds in a breath. Hoseok feels it when Taehyung lets out a sigh. Somehow it warms his heart even more. 

 "Morning," Taehyung murmurs, voice groggy. He smacks his lips and peers up at Hoseok, still half-asleep. 

 Hoseok chuckles softly and smoothes out Taehyung's hair once again, something akin to an enamored smile on his face as he looks down his dongsaeng. "Time to get up, Tae."

 Taehyung groans and tries to cover his face with the pillow on his arms. "Five more minutes," he mumbles, eyes squeezed shut as if it'll magically make him disappear and help avoid the inevitable. 

 "Come on," Hoseok urges gently, moving the pillow aside so he can see Taehyung's face properly. "We've got a busy schedule today." He meets Taehyung's eyes, feels something twist inside his chest at the hopeful pout Taehyung sends him. "Aish," he says under his breath, rolling his eyes—though it comes out fondly despite his attempt at being annoyed. "Yah, that doesn't work on me anymore. I've become immune to that face." It's a bluff really. Five years later and Hoseok's heart still melts a little at Taehyung's imploring expression.

 "Kiss me then," Taehyung says, turning his face and presenting his profile to Hoseok. He taps his cheek twice with his index finger, (still pouting—god it's adorable), "Gimme a kiss and I'll get up."

 Hoseok huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes again, and pretends to be annoyed for a moment, pretends to think about it, but there's no denying he's a sucker for cuteness and affection. When he leans down, he makes sure to wet his lips before smacking a loud, slobbery kiss to Taehyung check.

 "Ugh, hyung!" Taehyung instantly moans in disgust, squirming underneath him and wiping the cheek Hoseok just kissed. He looks so offended Hoseok can't help but laugh at the affronted expression on his face.

 "Come on." Hoseok pats Taehyung's hip, moving to get up himself. "I fulfilled my part, now you have to carry out yours. Get up."

 Taehyung groans once again, but he finally pulls the pillow he was hugging away from his body. "If I'd known you'd kiss me like that, I wouldn't have made that bargain." He furrows his eyebrows, mouth downturned into a scowl, looking grossed out again. "Christ," he mutters, "Not only do you look like a horse, but you kiss like one."

 "Yah!" Hoseok squawks, jumping on Taehyung for the remark. He almost feels a tiny bit of remorse for possibly hurting Taehyung by suddenly dropping on top of him, but then he sees the shit-eating grin on Taehyung's face and any bit of sympathy flies out the window. "You little shit," he grumbles, retaliating in the only way he knows: tickling. He goes for Taehyung's armpits first, making him wriggle and laugh.

 "Stop!" Taehyung giggles, trying to kick out at Hoseok and jostle him, but Hoseok's straddling Taehyung's thighs, barely giving him any leverage. "Hyung, s-s-stop!"

 "Take it back," Hoseok tells him, digging his fingers into Taehyung's ribs and sides. "Take it back!"

 "Okay—okay!" Taehyung wheezes and Hoseok ceases his onslaught, hands falling to Taehyung's waist. "I'm sorry," Taehyung begins, pausing to catch his breath. His hair's disheveled, face is flushed, eyes are watering, but—to no one someone's surprise—Hoseok finds him cute as always. "I'm sorry for ever saying you kiss like a horse."

 Hoseok lets out a quiet hmph and crosses his arms across his chest, pursing his lips into a smug pout, looking triumphant seating on Taehyung's lap. 

 "... Even if you do look like one."

 That conniving dipshit.

 There's a second where neither of them move. Hoseok stares down at Taehyung, gaping at Taehyung's smirk. And then he moves with lightning speed, hands snatching at Taehyung's neck, but Taehyung's faster, grabbing both of Hoseok's wrists before they can reach him.

 "Fucker," Hoseok hisses, struggling in Taehyung's grip. His hands are hovering just above Taehyung's collarbone and he wiggles his fingers to see if he can at least scratch him with a fingernail or something, but Taehyung bits down on his lip and pushes against Hoseok, not letting Hoseok's fingers even ghost his skin. The unexpectedness of it makes Hoseok's breath hitch in his throat. Shit, when did his dongsaeng get this strong? Fidgeting, he grunts and Taehyung just continues to sneer at him. "Yah, you're disrespecting your hyung. Have you no shame?"

 As soon as he says it, he realizes how rhetorical it sounds, because he's taking about Taehyung, the epitome of carefreeness. Like, the guy got lost in Sweden and while everyone was worried to their stomachs about him, he was content walking around and enjoying the scenery surrounding him.

 Sometimes Hoseok thinks Taehyung's lighthearted spirit is something someone could fall in love with.

 Snickering, Taehyung blows a raspberry at Hoseok, head lolled to the side. "Nope."

 Oh that is it.

 Hoseok lets out a battle cry and jabs his knees into Taehyung's sides, hard. Taehyung doesn't see the hit coming and gasps, loosens his grasp on Hoseok's wrist enough for Hoseok to break free, grabbing for him. After that it's a blur of hands and feet as they try to one-up the other, grabbing wherever they can, kicking at one another, and rolling around in the bed

 "What is going on in here?!"

 Hoseok and Taehyung freeze at the booming sound of Seokjin's voice, but don't break away. Hoseok finds himself on his side, pinned under Taehyung's larger frame with Taehyung's leg curled around his. He's got Taehyung in a headlock, buts he slackens his grip when he notices Seokjin standing in the doorway, looking unimpressed with his arms crossed across his chest.

 "I told you to wake him up twenty minutes ago," Seokjin says, "Stop roughhousing and get up. C'mon, we have to leave soon."

 Hoseok knows Seokjin isn't really mad and that on another occasion he'd probably jump in on the playful brawl—but he's right. They do have a busy day ahead of them and need to get ready. 

 "Okay, hyung," Hoseok mumbles, feeling a little guilty for not being able to accomplish the task handed over to him in a timely manner.

 When Seokjin walks out of the room, Hoseok lets go of Taehyung and slumps against the bed, sighing. Taehyung curls up next to him, head on Hoseok's chest, fingers idly tracing patterns on Hoseok's shirt. It's quiet in the room while they both catch their breath, and Hoseok drags his hand to Taehyung's hair, muscle memory, stroking the back of Taehyung’s head softly.

 "Better get up before manager-nim comes for us," Hoseok whispers. 

 Taehyung lifts up his head, a soft smile gracing his features. Unsurprisingly, he seems to be on a different wave length because he says, "I'm your favorite dongsaeng, right?"

 It's a bit out of nowhere and the impulsiveness of it makes Hoseok chuckle, but there's no refuting Taehyung's claim, because Hoseok can't lie to himself, and there's no point ignoring Taehyung either, because he seems genuinely curious and Hoseok would feel bad laughing it off. 

 "Of course," Hoseok tells him, looking up at him and caressing his feathery hair.

 The familiar, easy gaze Taehyung gives him makes Hoseok feel mushy, lovesick. He's grown too comfortable of Taehyung's affections, and he's starting to wonder if that's a blessing or a curse.

 He pulls Taehyung's head back against his chest, arms winding around Taehyung's neck and keeping him close, cozy. Like home.

 "Of course you're my favorite, Taehyungie."