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gaoau · 3 months

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it's (not) fine (ゼロ ; zero ; cero)

It's fine if you're not here. Either way, i'll always remember you. Hey, kei, say my name. It's not fine if you're not here.

pairing — Baji Keisuke x reader word count — 4.7k note — this is a spin-off of it's so cold. it can be read on its own, but some context might be missing. thanks for reading!

It's fine.

i've convinced myself it is, at least. It's been quite some time since things started changing—since people started leaving. i've grown as used to it as i can so it'd be easier on Mikey. Whether it worked when Ken happened or not, i can't really tell. i think it might have. Seeing how things turned out with South, maybe it didn't. It doesn't really matter—it does, just not quite the way it's supposed to. When things are quiet like this, it feels like Mikey never even killed anyone in the first place. The same way he once killed Tora—though that was erased—and the same way i once killed Manjiro—though that was erased—and the same way he once killed South—though that.

It's quiet in here. Kanto Manji has grown so obnoxiously large that it's hardly quiet around me anymore. Mikey headed out earlier without a word, Haru in tow, and Koko's busy downstairs with an ong—Koko's just busy. i don't know what everyone else is doing. Commando unit, special attack unit, even Kakucho. Bullshit. The only special attack unit i ever cared for was kei and Tora. i like things better when they're like this; quiet and empty and peaceful. i'm not sure when i started to like silence so much.

It's quiet now, but it was never quiet around kei.

My sigh echoes in this emptiness. i've convinced myself it's fine while i try and find something that won't remind me of him. It seems difficult when i keep clinging onto him like this. The cross pendant engraves its shape on my palm the more i tighten my fist around it. i've always loved kei's sense of fashion, but this necklace suddenly seems horrendous. It's hard to believe the moon hanging in the sky is the same one that drifted by when we were together. Photographs are just pieces of paper and memories are nothing but dust, yet it all makes him resurface in my mind.

A big heart and a big smile and a big voice. Although the room is quiet, my head isn't. It plays in a timber gruff and too deep for a kid my age. Then again, it's been two years and he's no longer my age where he left. If anyone can stay young forever, it's definitely kei—in heart and spirit, of course, because physically he's sure to grow and open up that pet shop he's always wanted.

It plays. It's the ghost in the back of my head, playing, "Chifuyu's unhinged!"

The loud sound of his laughter rings through the air, somehow—but unsurprisingly—overpowering his roaring engine. i lean against the backrest and curl my fingers a little more securely around his precious Goki. Even if i have my own bike, kei's always been persuasive enough to make me hitch a ride with him. He's here, right in front of me, and i laugh alongside him. "I heard!" my cackles mimic his, "He's really got your back, huh?"

"That's putting it lightly." And it really is. Chifuyu's been with him for less than i have, but he knows how to make consistent choices. If there's anyone i trust to keep kei safe, it's definitely his new vice-captain. Back then, at least; now that i've stared at his death these many times, i should have known.

So i let my shoulders bounce in glee and amusement. "Better keep my hands off you, then." These little moments, when we're hanging out at the dojo, bare feet padding on the mats, chasing the moon so high in the sky; the blurred line between Toman meetings in the middle of the night and childhood friends bantering. "Or tell him to chill out," i snicker. i doubt Chifuyu would lay a hand on me.

In a fit of sheer stupidity, in typical kei fashion, he cranes his neck back and grins at me over his shoulder. "What, were you thinking 'bout putting me in my place?"

"kei!" i scramble to shake him by the shoulders and slap his attention back forward. "Eyes on the road, dipshit!" i catch a flash of the moon blooming in his fangs before he speeds down the road. And i give up. He lets me have the last word and i think just this is okay, so i let it go. i hold onto him tight until we arrive at Musashi Shrine.

When we park, it's a distance away from the torii gate, as per usual. This is where we part ways, because i don't think there's ever been a time when kei and i crossed to the sacred together. It's always meeting him after he's already far ahead, or not meeting him at all for a decade. i get off his bike and slap his back with enthusiasm. But kei catches me by the sleeve of my uniform before i can leave. He knows i need to—He knows i usually head up to wait for Mikey. He's always been persuasive enough.

Chifuyu's already idling by his own parked bike and kei drags me to chat him up for a little while. In his mind, a minute longer keeps me from sinking. i indulge him. Cracking jokes with these two is never dull; sharing a regular friendly conversation is always so peacefully mundane. It's loud and it's fleeting, but it's welcome. i do wonder what's taking Mikey so long. i haven't seen his Babu, so i'm guessing he's not here yet.

i only manage a wandering glance towards the torii gate before kei's voice pulls me away, "Wanna join us for some burgers after the meeting?" It's the way he says my given name that brings me back from the pressure on my shoulders. It's my name he says. It's not a mess of sounds in the shape of a brand.

"Yeah!" Then Chifuyu chimes in with that nickname Mikey passed onto everyone around me. It doesn't show on my face; it never has. "We should hang out!"

i chuckle at their mirroring beams. It's light-hearted. "Only if you're paying, kei."

Chifuyu again, with that nickname and an honorific far too formal. "That's what I'm here for! I wouldn't make my captains pay, right, Baji-san?"

i glare pointedly at Chifuyu's captain. "kei." My tone is accusatory enough to make him feign ignorance. kei averts his eyes from mine with a cheeky smile, palms and shoulders raised to plead not guilty. There's not a single timeline in which he's guilty. A snort slips, "i'd fuck you up, kei," and i glance at kei's unhinged vice-captain, "but i'd rather not get stri—"

"There you are!" comes Mikey's distinctive voice from behind me. He calls my nickname with familiarity. It can't bother me, not this early on in the game.

i instantly turn towards him. It's weird that i didn't hear his Babu pull up. Not that it matters, really. "Mikey!" i call back to him, beaming, waving for him to come closer before i head to him.

Mikey's looking around as he stops a few feet before me, Ken trailing behind. "Where's your bike?"

"Oh, i came with kei."

His eyes shift to kei for a brief moment, empty. Then he lets out a soft chuckle, his attention back on me, a simper on his lips as he shakes his head. "Dummy… Guess I gotta give you a ride back now."

"Sure." i smile back at him. Then i turn to look at kei and Chifuyu again, and i see the expressions on their faces. It's cute to find Chifuyu's disappointed i'm turning him down, but kei—It's only for a moment. "Ah, i'll—Maybe next time? i'll catch you guys later." i leave them with a small wave, because although kei's always persuasive, it's never enough to tear me away from Mikey permanently.

i feel lighter in my own skin and bones by the time i stand next to Mikey, feeling the ghost of a tug on my sleeve reminding me i'm allowed to exist outside of my self-imposed priorities. We cross the torii gates together; we transition from the mundane to the untouchable. i laugh and i enjoy my time alongside my friends. i don't quite see what kei does, or his reasoning for making me hitch rides that can't stop me. He thinks i won't run away this time, but i've always chosen Mikey over myself.

He knows that. And it's not something he needs to stop. It's fine, after all, it's always been like this. kei knows that.

kei or simply Baji Keisuke. For everyone, Baji—Baji-san, Baji-kun, Baji in admiration and in friendship and in disdain. For me, however, just kei. i never understood why Mikey chose Baji, too. i think about the way i addressed the people surrounding me sometimes. Tora for Kazutora, and Takashi's first name. Never that childish honorific for Ken, and even Pah was Haru before i realized i couldn't handle Haruchiyo's scars in my mind every time i talked to him. Even switching back and forth between Mikey and Manjiro, because i've never known who is who or who exists and who doesn't or who's real and who isn't. i could never curse Takemichi with Takemicchi. Koko—that wasn't a choice, but i think Koko is fine.

And then there was Baji Keisuke. Being with him since childhood, it only made sense i'd refer to him by his first name and so would he for me. Neither of us liked beating around the bush. It only made sense. We were close and it showed in our voices. That's how we grew up. Baji was short-lived, Keisuke sounds like mom when she scolds me, and Edward was stupid the same way Michael is and will always be. kei simply rolled off the tongue nicely.

i found solace in the way kei pronounced my given name—not some low-effort, jumbled, scrambled mess of hiragana that Mikey came up with to brand me like cattle. i chose to call him differently so i'd separate him from Mikey's possessions. Although i wasn't interested in seeing things beyond Mikey, i unconsciously tried to pull away from him by pulling into kei. Sometimes, it felt more like kei was trying to pull Mikey off my shoulders. There was always so much pulling, so much burning at the seams, but never any pushing. All he wanted was for me to wake up and realize, not startle me.

Because that's what kei always has been. His ripped shirts and his stylish choker. The slouch of his shoulders and the sparkle in his eyes. The sound of his loud voice, gruff and too deep for a kid my age, calling out from his bike so i'd hop on faster. Peppy and cheerful, with a big grin and an equally big heart, far too stupid and far too smart for his own good. Careful, watchful, a little too much in the know, and much too little into asking for help.

He knew i could bleed and that i'd give everything up for Mikey to live his life and that i was always ready to die. That's really all that kei's always been; standing tall, but looking small, like a mischievous little thing grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me along. Like he knew no matter how much he pulled, i'd always choose Mikey in the end. For worse, never for better. Like it's fine. For better, never for worse.

Another Toman meeting tonight, with the day growing late and the full moon rising in the sky. It's one of those nights, rare but not impossible, where Mikey is here earlier than me. i cross the torii gates on my own and the silence seems so loud. i'm not really used to things being quiet around me. i've always been surrounded by boisterous people. We're delinquents.

And kei takes pride in that; in his glimmering grin and his extreme volume. "Slow down, will ya?!" comes his distinctive voice from behind me. He calls my name with glee.

i stop without so much as taking another step away from him. It's not only his voice, but also knowing there's no one else but kei to use my given name with care. i wait for him to catch up to me, smiling at him climbing the stairs. "kei, hey."

His hands are attacking my hair before i can duck away. "I told you I'd pick you up. Why didn't you wait for me, dumbass?" Laughter bounces off his every sentence. We take a small break from all this shallow back-and-forth between Toman and our friendship. i exist outside of my chains. i exist with kei.

His assault on my scalp is relentless even after i swat my palms at his face. i scratch his cheek, hissing, "And i told you i have my own bike, dude."

"Then we going for a ride after this?"

"i'm more up for a race, how 'bout that?" i playfully knock my shoulder into his.

Where kei usually knocks me back, tonight he chooses to freeze on his tracks. i look back and down at him, finding his eyes gawking at me in disbelief. i raise a brow as he says, "You're actually free later?" Then i frown. i'm sure, i'm so sure i'll forever remember him and his words, trying to pull me back.

"Yeah?"

"What about Mikey?"

What about Mikey? It's my own naïveté the one that doesn't let me understand. "i… i don't know?" But i'll know soon enough. And kei won't be there for me to hide behind.

"Huh." It's short and he brushes it off his face before he lets on too much. He's always been one to take everything on his back. As if nothing else he'll ever hear could throw him off, kei resumes walking, shrugging his shoulders carefreely. "Since you're always following him, I thought, you know…" he trails off, like he sometimes realizes he actually doesn't know much at all.

i blink a few times to reorient myself. He's already climbing up the stairs in silence ahead of me. Although kei knows me, it seems my choices still elude him. It seems my choices elude me myself. i can't find the words to tell him that even if he's not Manjiro, i still love him to bits. If i can't explain it now, i'll be left all alone. But i don't say anything. i don't know if i can say anything. i hurry to catch up to him.

When he finds me heavy by his side again, kei snickers to himself, "Then I'll beat your ass." My name dances with the sound of his laughter. With the full moon hanging in the sky and shining in his pockets, he flashes me one of his boyish grins. i giggle for a moment before falling quiet in my thoughts once more.

What about Mikey?

i hear the door open and close behind me. kei's necklace makes its way back into my pocket, away from cold, prying eyes that might accuse me of abandonment. Not that i would ever leave Manjiro, but he sees the puzzle pieces in my hands and makes up his own image. He calls that nickname he gifted me, the one written with syllables out of order and chaos in his head.

i turn towards him to find him idly standing by the door. Speaking of silence, i guess it's because of him i've had to grown used to it. With my friends all gone, the loud and boisterous ones that would never shut up—like kei, of course—this quietude has become the norm. Maybe i've always liked silence and peace, but i didn't know any better until now.

"I'm hungry," is all Mikey says.

His eyes find mine. i'm getting tired of everything i'm supposed to call mine. All my friends and my allies and even Mikey. Dark gaze and long hair—like kei, but he's not kei, and kei will eternally remain in my sight, grinning forever, unfading. My friend. i'm sick of trying to find a single thought that will make sense. i sigh, because the choices i've made force me to reach my hands out to Mikey.

It's vague, but i brush his hair off his face, suggesting, "Take-out soba?" i don't dare specify and let him know i've been thinking a little too much.

"I just want dessert."

"Okay."

i have to hold my stare for a little longer than i actually should. Manjiro blurs in and out of sight the more i look at him. He's curiously staring back, probably wondering why i'm taking so long to order ice-cream for the both of us. Of course. i pull my hands away, searching in my pockets for my phone. All i find is a cross pendant. i'm still hungry for yakisoba.

That's the thing—that's always been the thing. Things i didn't want to see or i simply couldn't pay attention to because i was too busy making sure Mikey wouldn't derail. Things kei tried to pry off my back so many times by making me hitch rides i didn't need. Where Mikey unknowingly—or knowingly?—forces me to loosen my grip on my own identity, kei comes to help me wrap my fingers and close my fists tight around it again. It's an offer and it's never imposed; i have my choices when it comes to kei.

And it's fine, because i choose to go back to Manjiro every time. So i order ice-cream and take-out yakisoba.

i stand nearly in shock next to Toman's president. kei came, disrupted the meeting, socked Takemichi, and left while declaring himself an enemy to us—to me. He's leaving. Right now, as Kisaki fixes his glasses to also punch Takemichi, kei is leaving. Right now, as Takashi grumbles to himself, kei is leaving. Right now, as Manjiro does nothing but sulk, kei is leaving.

He's leaving. He's gone.

i stare and stare and stare at the empty spot beside Chifuyu. Right now, as i don't move a single muscle, kei is leaving. It feels like an eternity later when i finally snap out of my own pity party. Mikey's fingers barely brush my wrist in a futile attempt to keep me in place. kei's already left, he doesn't want another one of his friends to abandon him for the enemy. He knows better than that.

i would never leave him. kei would never leave him.

(kei, right now, is leaving.)

i would never betray him. kei would never betray him.

(kei was there when Shin was killed.)

My feet are almost floating down the stairs, skipping steps and struggling not to stumble stupidly until i crash at the torii gates. kei comes into sight, a few feet before crossing back onto the mundane without me. He throws a glance over his shoulder when he hears me catching my breath behind him. It's between choking gasps for air that i manage to call out to him, "kei." Is it in admiration or in friendship or in disdain? It's in my voice. "Why are you doing this?" It's in fear.

"Hah?" he drawls. He turns to face me fully. The moon blooms in his smirk. "I'm bored of playing kids' games."

i take a step closer. "Dude, don't lie to me." Kids' games is all we've been playing—kids' games is all we know how to play. i'll let him lie to anyone else. i don't care if he's a liar or a cheater or a fraud, as long as he doesn't lie to me.

"Since when do you care about anything that isn't Mikey?"

"i don't." It makes me wonder how any of this manages to get under my skin. i don't think i could handle this ending for me to begin. Where do i begin?

"Then fuck off," kei snarls like he hates me, like i'm stupid, "I don't have time for a lap dog like you." The insult doesn't hurt because it's true—even if it really, really is true—it hurts because he's lying to me. It hurts because i keep ignoring all the signs to turn myself around. It hurts because kei is right in front of me, offering me a helping hand for the umpteenth time since we met as kids.

i look at it. It's not there, but i look at it. There's blood on his palm from the other two times i've seen him die. i hesitate when i brush my fingers against his. "kei, how are you doing this?" i force eye contact on him. He questions me loudly. He's a little too smart and a little too stupid. "How can you just turn your back on him? How do i do that?"

"You're lost." There it is; my name, myself, my own person.

i tightly grasp his hand and my righteous identity. Away from the Sanos and their chains. Away from the intoxicating charm that sinks me deeper and deeper into this hole. "Take me with you." i hold onto the ghost of kei's hand and try wiggling myself out of Manjiro's grip.

It flashes across his eyes for a brief moment, because finally, finally all his individual efforts to rip my voice from inside of me and set me free are paying off. All i need to do is let go of Mikey. All kei needs to do is snatch my hand. i see his feet stutter in their own steps and how his fingers twitch by his side and how he's psyching himself up to reach out for me.

And i shrink back. i choose Manjiro again. "No, you're right," i sigh, laughing to myself like i'm not cutting down all the warning signs kei's been leaving for me, "That'll just cause more problems." Now i'll never get to him—not past the torii gates and certainly not past death. "Take care of Tora for me."

kei scans me up and down one last time. i don't know if it's pity, resentment, or even anger the emotion shining in his gaze. He turns his back on me with a single scoff that he has to force out of his throat. Of course i trust him to tear all of my stitches off one by one, of course i trust him to remove this weight off my shoulders. It's Mikey the one i don't trust.

It's fine, really. Even if i didn't have the words back then, kei will forever be here by my side. In spirit and in heart and leaning against the backrest of his Goki. If it has to be like this, i think it's fine. i'll never know more than this and i'll live with it. How differently would things have turned out if i had followed kei out of the shrine? Would Mikey's grip on me have worsened? Or would it have vanished completely? His stance on traitors has never been clear, especially when he ticks back and forth like a metronome with a distorted tempo. Hypotheticals are useless. i can hide behind kei all i want for the rest of my life, but i can't run away from Manjiro.

kei's not here anymore for me to find solace in, though. He hasn't been here for the past two years. It's not like he's gone forever, of course—after all, death is only temporary, so i'm sure at some point, he's bound to come back. He's come back every time. He'll extend his hand out to me and drag me along again in typical kei fashion. He'll make an effort to not have me sink and i'll listen this time. i will listen. i swear i will. He'll let me know when it's all said and done, give me a ride home, raid my fridge even.

It's alright, it's okay, it's fine. i've known it all along. In the middle of fighting, in the middle of a kids' game, things take a turn for the worse and steal the glow of the moon from kei's smile. Things don't make sense. Next to Mikey, it's all chaos, but i'm not next to Mikey in this junkyard, because he's too busy wanting to kill Tora. i fight my own fight against Valhalla members, and i figure that's the difference between me and Manjiro. i don't want to fight my friends; i don't want to fight Tora; i don't want to fight kei.

Breaking Tora won't do any of us any good. It won't bring Shin back, it will put murder in Mikey's hands, and we'll be losing a friend we only just managed to get back. We're here to get kei back, not to push Tora farther away. i watch it all happen, gasping for air and choking on my own bloodied nose. kei collapses, someone—Takemichi? Or is it Chifuyu?—mentions a stab wound, there's blood but it's not inside kei, and Manjiro.

Murder. Murder. Murder. Murder. i've seen this already. Manjiro's killed Tora twice before. kei. kei has died twice before, in timelines Takemichi didn't know about yet. Mikey is bashing Tora's face in with just one of his fists. Honestly, it doesn't really matter. Whatever happens here, Mikey will become a murderer anyway two years from now when he doesn't bother holding back against South.

But kei. Will kei come back?

i mean, of course he will. It's kei, after all. kei knows his weaknesses and his strengths; kei knows death can't be permanent, especially not for him. He'll come back, because he's Baji Keisuke—because he's kei. And i wish i could blame him and tell him he's wrong when he chooses Tora over himself and over Chifuyu and over everyone and over me. He chooses Tora the same way i'm always choosing Mikey, so i should have seen this coming. But he's wrong. But it's his choice. But he's kei, and kei doesn't die—not forever, at least.

i'm far away and on my own and silent as i watch him die. i'm far away but i can hear the way he says my name and how awfully dissonant it rings next to Mikey's when he lists all of our friends. He swears, right there, on his deathbed, that we're all his treasure and he wanted to protect us. He won't always be there for me to hide behind, will he? He wanted to protect me. He—He wanted to—kei wanted to. He wanted to. kei really wanted to.

kei. kei is dead, isn't he?

He died in Chifuyu's arms. The last word out of his mouth was a name and it was not mine. He died. kei died. kei is dead. kei's not here anymore, he's all but the ghost in the back of my head, playing, "Chifuyu's unhinged!" so i can hear him laugh again. Although i've convinced myself it's fine, i'm starting to think it's not. Maybe, just maybe.

i look at Manjiro.

It's not fine.

—あごす (agosu) • 2022

#it's (not) fine #tokyo revengers #tokrev #baji keisuke #baji #baji x reader #baji keisuke x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #angst

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literarygoon · 11 months

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So,

Falling in love is a lot like going insane.

Since I have firsthand experience of what it's like to lose your mind — in both ways — Shakespeare's assertion that "love is merely a madness" resonates like a Chinese gong in my brainspace. If it wasn't so common, I think the idea of devoting yourself to someone lifelong would be viewed as akin to joining a doomsday cult, or maybe getting a full face tattoo. It's like handing over control of a guillotine, climbing into position, then hoping that your partner won't chop off your head.

In a few weeks here we're going to hit the Summer Solstice, which marks four years since I began dating my Filipino octopus. The first picture she took of me was on a rocky beach just down the road from Beacon Hill Park, getting ready to sling a rope of bull kelp that I'd fashioned into a lasso. At the time I liked to imagine myself as a cattle wrangler, ready to snare my desired future into submission. It didn't occur to me until later that my lasso could've just as easily been a noose.

Within three weeks, Kristina and I were living on a remote acreage in the Shuswap and pregnant with our first daughter. I would return sunburned and stinking from my days rafting the Adams River, and we would sit out on the unfinished deck overlooking a rustic property with waist-high grass and weather-beaten structures that looked like they belonged in the wild west. We barely knew each other and found ourselves tasked with shepherding a new soul into the universe. At the time it felt simultaneously like a cosmic joke and a divine blessing, and I knew many people in my life would view our decision as a sort of a kamikaze maneuver. I may have been crazy, but I had a matching cyclone of creative energy sitting next to me, dreaming the world into existence before my very eyes.

When she came to visit me at the Royal Jubilee Hospital months later, in the depths of a manic episode in which I became convinced that the television was sending me custom-designed messages through the closed captioning, I lashed out at her for refusing to admit I'd figured out this sublime secret. I thought my recently departed friend Spencer was still alive, and I wouldn't accept it when she told me he wasn't. Despite my vitriol, she was there pumpkin-bellied and beautiful every day until I gradually returned to my senses.

It was only four months later that we pulled off our haphazard roadside wedding near Mile Zero in Victoria, just a stone's throw from the memorial statue of Terry Fox. She was already in labour, and expected at the hospital later that evening, but we found the time to make things official amidst the paranoia and fear of the newly declared pandemic. We approached our makeshift altar in the grass through a cluster of daffodils, the birth flower for March, while the waves of the Pacific crashed against the rocky beach lining Dallas Road. For a moment I thought I was caught again in a delusion, like all my wishes had culminated in a cinematic scene too deliciously perfect to be real.

As it turned out, my mind wasn't finished wrenching our family around like a Go-Kart tumbling down Rainbow Road, teetering on the edge of the great black oblivion. When my psychotic delusions came on it felt like my brain had grown throbbing tentacles that swirled around us to some subsonic rave beat. She watched me throw a Christmas tree like a javelin across a hotel lobby, grieving the loss of my sister and enraged enough at reality to leave it behind forever. She sat holding my hand while we watched Six Feet Under in the pysch ward, and laid spooning me in bed while the meds slowly brought me around. I'd barrelled deep into the jungle without a guide, and she was the one who came bush-whacking through the ferns to find me.

Since we moved to Duncan in 2021, we've slowly established the nest where we'll shelter our children through their vulnerable years and created one of those routinely scheduled lives I've feared since I was a teenager. Working with a psychiatrist, I've taken the steps necessary to get my consciousness back on a stable plane while watching my black-haired kindred give birth to our second child. The fact that he's as reckless and accident-prone as I am has given me some of the motivation I need to become a non-lunatic capable of keeping him safe. Every day I marvel at these twin manifestations of our love, seeing pieces of our spirits walking around in separate bodies. Calling them a miracle doesn't seem hyperbolic enough. They are my rapture, my salvation.

Which brings me back to my wife, the only person on Earth capable of making me feel all my emotions at once. I didn't anticipate that love would be so intense, that it would require so much self-sacrifice and pain. Falling in love in the Shuswap was no big deal, it was all bathrobes, wild horses and lackadaisical lake paddles, just a non-stop swirl of giddy adventure. Settling into a life of doing dishes, keeping the laundry running and taking hefty loads of diaper-crammed garbage bags to the dump, is a different sort of escapade. Sometimes it feels like the universe is purposefully challenging me, molding me into the sort of person that society trusts to be a parent. And the only thing that motivates me is the bonkers, fairy tale-style love I have for her. It scalds my chest cavity and thrums in my jugular.

At least once a day I marvel at the fact this woman married me, that a derelict human like me could somehow find acceptance and peace in her arms. By now I've witnessed some of her frailties too, and we've grieved in tandem, plumbing the depths of each other's darkness and finding solidarity in our pain. It's not an exaggeration to say that I would run into traffic for her, that I would sacrifice everything about myself just to make her happy. That's where the craziness comes in, because it isn't logical to love someone the way that I love her. It's like scuba diving into the ocean and trying to embrace a thrashing octopus ready to douse you in ink and wrestle you to death with its suckers. Eventually your crushed corpse sinks into the depths, but with a crack-toothed smile on your face.

If you've read this far, then it means you can tolerate my maudlin and histrionic rhetoric. A friend recently encouraged me to "fuck the narrative" and pump some of the raw sewage of real human existence on to my timeline amidst all the carefully curated content meant to prop up the image of my blissfully happy family. To practice radical honesty would mean acknowledging the heartbreak and insanity of marriage, but to celebrate it regardless of that. It doesn't cheapen our love story to say that some days we struggle, and that relationships go through ebbs and flows similar to the ocean beating against the beach. It's a natural rhythm, like a heart beat or a war drum, that drives us onwards even when it feels like the next wave will never come.

The next wave will always come. Trust me.

The Literary Goon

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servin-up-surveys · 1 year

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survey #104

(taken january 22nd; uploading surveys taken while gone)

Have you ever been for a ride in the back of a truck? Yeah, when I was way younger.

Did your grandparents teach you anything? To not be an old-fashioned, holier-than-thou piece of fucking garbage that refuses to change with the times and kiss the feet of an invisible mass murderer in the sky.

What are the longest and shortest romantic relationships you’ve been in? Longest, over 3 1/2 years. I was with Juan less than 24 hours.

Have you ever been obsessive over calories, exercise etc.? I've had multiple phases of this.

What are you listening to? So Rammstein's vocalist has an independent band as well and I sometimes explore his solo work and I'm currently obsessed with "Ich weiß es nicht" and I've just fully accepted chaotic 50-60 y/o men dominate my interests lmfao

How is the weather outside? It's raining. I wish it would just snow already, I really wanna get pretty winter weather pictures this year.

List eight things you like about your best friend. He is extremely patient, absolutely hilarious, a strong listener, the most loyal person I've ever met, very obviously genuinely cares about me, he's a very hard worker that's super dedicated to whatever he sets his mind to, he's very good with animals (especially dogs), and he's super intelligent.

List two favourite colours. Pastel pink and coral.

What was the last book you read? I started Wings of Fire: Talons of Power the other day.

How many best friends do you have? I only feel like I'm being entirely accurate in the sense of what I consider an absolute best friend to be when I answer with Girt, but I know some people will be like "oh he doesn't count" because he's my partner, but whatever. If not him, then it's Mom, buuuut again, I know some won't consider that a valid answer. My closest friends that are just friends and not blood or anything are both Tez and Mazzy, though.

Are you holding back doing or saying anything? Yeah, I guess. Nothing very important, though.

Have you ever been used? Oh I'm sure I have been, in one way or another.

Are you pregnant? Zero chance of that.

Do you want to be? BIG no on that one.

Can you describe your entire family in three words? Complicated, strained, distant.

What’s the first thing you see when you look out your window? Our road and houses across the street.

What’s your favorite fair food? I actually don't know; I've been to so very few and tried barely any food. I do know that I actually don't like funnel cake, though.

What’s something you always wear, even in the shower? Piercings.

How did you feel after your first kiss? There was a whole lotta butterflies and shyness but also tons of happiness and peace and the feeling that I was in the midst of something wonderful. Girl if you only knew lmfao

What’s your state's or country’s minimum wage? $7.25/h 🙃 proven to be properly unlivable here

What was the best thing you ever did for your parents, legal guardians or parental figures? hell if I know honestly

Have you ever worn a suit? No but women in suits is FUCKING HOT

Would you rather make 2D or 3D art? 2D. Sculptures and stuff aren't my thing, at least when it comes to ME making them. I love looking at that kinda stuff, though.

Do you eat candy corn? No, I hate that shit.

Were either of your parents baptized? I can absolutely, positively guarantee my mom was, but idk about Dad.

The last concert that you were at, was there a mosh pit? Nah.

Do you think pepperoni would be good on a meatball sub? I don't even like meatball subs to begin with because the bread gets so damp and gross.

Has anyone killed one of your pets before? Well, yes. Growing up we had cats get hit by cars a lot. I've told the story of our then-neighbors' rottweilers getting loose and going on a cat massacre once too, but I honestly don't blame the owners and haven't for a very, very long time. Those dogs were smart and it wasn't like them getting loose was even a remotely common thing. It was entirely an accident.

Does your bathroom have a theme to it? Neither one does.

Are any rooms in your house themed? Not really. I WANT to redesign mine with more of a nature-y vibe, though.

Is there someone that you have lost respect for recently? My grandmother, who I ALREADY didn't respect at all.

Have you ever edited an article on Wikipedia? No.

Do you remember your first love? I am not AT ALL exaggerating the times I say that I very sincerely doubt that I would forget Jason even if I developed dementia/Alzheimer's. Some patients do remember specific details of their lives and I am fully convinced that would be me with him.

What is something you can never give up (that's not love or family)? The Internet, lmao.

Have you ever waited in line overnight for something? No.

Is there such a thing as being too rich or too poor? Obviously?????????????

Go back to your freshman year; what kind of music were you listening to? Same stuff as now, various forms of metal, but I would also listen to more scream-y stuff.

Do you have an alter ego? Describe them: No.

What is something you think about yourself that nobody agrees with? That I'm incredibly dumb. People who know me, especially family, always love to point out I'm "super smart" (when it comes to book-type knowledge, everyone knows I have terrible common sense) but I very much feel like they just think about how I performed up through high school. I don't know WHAT happened once I started college (my one and only guess is that my trauma genuinely affected my memory and even how I register information), but it did a fantastic job at making me feel appallingly stupid and unable to process new information. It's probably always going to upset me, how much I changed in terms of learning.

What about something people think of you that you don’t agree with? That I handle kids quite well. I always feel like I'm doing or saying the total wrong thing and acting awkwardly, and even seeing evidence that kids DO seem to gravitate towards me doesn't make me believe that I'm actually good with them.

What is your favourite type of video game? Horror, esp psychological-type horror.

Do you sometimes pretend to do things you dont know how to do? No, that sounds like a bad idea.

If you have tattoos, which one that you have was the most painful? I want to say my inner forearm, I think.

Do you have any pets who will bite anyone else out there, besides you? No.

If you died right now, what would be your biggest regret? Never feeling like I found my place in the world.

What do you believe was your greatest achievement? Healing from the breakup. I know it sounds super little and unimpressive, but when you know how desperately I just always wanted to be dead and the psychological damage it all did that I STILL deal with, you'd realize it was a feat of fucking strength and self-love that I frequently forget about.

What have you learned from pain? To cherish every single moment without it and to also have empathy and understanding.

What was the last text or IM you sent? Girt was asking about moving our hangout day to Wednesday, which I told him was fine; he just feels like having the weekend to himself. I wanted to see him, but I'm not actually upset at all; he's allowed to have time with himself, even if I WASN'T okay with it.

What is the simplest way to make you happy? Talk to me about meerkats or Rammstein or Silent Hill and stuff lmao.

When was the last time you had deja vu? Actually when I was writing an RP post yesterday, it was really weird.

Is there something you are always interested in? The main topic of deep interest that has prevailed the longest is meerkats.

Do you like buffet restaurants? I really don't, I find the concept super gross with how people are.

When was the last time you felt like you were starving? Full realism, I've never felt like I was sincerely, truly starving because I never factually have been. Yeah, I exaggerate and sometimes am like "I'm starving" when I mean I'm super hungry, but I'm fully aware I'm actually not. I consider myself an incredibly lucky person to have constant access to some kind of food.

Would you ever dye your hair all the colors of the rainbow? If my hair would actually take it and it wasn't absurdly expensive, fuck yeah.

What has made you laugh lately? I've been watching a lot of Game Grumps lately, and they do very, very easily. More than any other YouTube channel on a consistent basis.

If a Miley Cyrus song was playing in a store, would you leave? Oh, grow up. I'm not leaving a store I went to to get something I need or even just want just because a fucking song comes on.

Have you ever actually discovered someone watching you? No, thank the fucking lord. That would REALLY creep me out.

What would you do if you found an inappropriate picture of yourself online? I would be EXTREMELY freaked out because I've never taken an inappropriate picture of myself and I've never allowed anyone else to either, so someone would've done it in secrecy. I'd also be absolutely fucking humiliated because I hate my body. I'd absolutely try to figure out who got the picture and try my absolute damnedest to get it taken off the Internet.

What do you think of Facebook? I use it to keep tabs on people I care about and also see memes haha, plus other cool or motivational/inspiring stuff, but it DOES sometimes negatively affect me in the sense it makes me feel insanely behind in life.

Would you rather have Junior Mints or Reese’s? Reese's.

Have you ever taken a Polaroid? I'm quite sure I haven't, though I would actually really like to have a Polaroid-type camera. I can absolutely see the aesthetic appeal of them.

When was the last time you felt pressured? This past Friday Emerson wanted to play catch with one of her toys for a little bit, and though I didn't really want to because I was reading a book, I obviously did.

How many times have you broken a bone? Once.

Do you have a preference of chocolate? Milk chocolate with either a peanut butter or caramel interior.

Do you have a favorite author? Nah I really don't.

Do you own anything “designer?” Definitely not. I ain't got that kind of money.

If you had to draw your life, what would it mainly include? A lot of mental illness imagery and also Jason. Mom.

What is your favourite dinosaur? It's always been the spinosaurus. I also really love velociraptors, but their understood anatomy has changed a whole lot. I've found I prefer less feathery dinos. The Jurassic Park iteration of them are more my style.

Have you ever made bread? I personally haven't.

Would your childhood self be disappointed? UH, YEAH.

Has anything ever fallen asleep on you? Yeah, pets, partners, kids. Maybe sisters at some point.

What do you feel about surgeries? Do they worry you? Well, they worry me NOW because I learned sleep apnea (and mine is apparently severe) is a dangerous complicator in surgeries. I've also wondered if my nightmares could be an issue... I also have a considerable fear of anesthesia awareness, but it's not absolutely overwhelming.

Do you have a Tumblr? My Tumblr was (I'm assuming) accidentally terminated over a month ago and I am STILL waiting to hear back from them, even after sending a second report. 🙃 I've been tempted to go back to my old email account (that one was ALSO randomly terminated after a theme edit but was restored), but I really don't want to so am trying to wait. I just don't at all see what in the world I could've done wrong to be fairly banned.

Would you ever consider moving to another country? Realistically I don't think I will. My mom has basically begged us girls to stay together and prioritize our family bond because our extended family ALL live out of state, usually many states away.

Would you like to live in a realm where the zombie apocalypse is possible? How do we know the one we live in now isn't? Zombifying parasites already exist in simpler, smaller organisms; who knows what the future holds. I do remember reading a scientific article about it for some reason just not seeming possible for humans with our current biological knowledge, but. Who knows. BUT ANYWAY, I would DEFINITELY prefer it to not be possible. I will never understand the absolute maniacs that basically fetishize that universe, like bitch you will die within the first couple days like basically everyone else, stop pretending you're a godly badass in the face of a horde of dead humans that are deadset on eating you and accept you're gonna shit your pants like everyone else lmao.

#survey #surveys #random questions #personal questions

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wizkiddx · 3 years

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hiiiii !!! if you are accepting requests at the moment, can i ask something about reader and tom expecting a baby, one day while he’s drunk she sees him flirting with another women and when she confronts him he snaps at her and tells her he’s not ready for this “shit”. So they broke up and broke contact for months, until he shows in her apartment regretting his words and they talk but she suddenly at that moment gets into labor?!? I remember seeing a concept similar in a movie but I would love if you couldn’t bring it to life! Thank you so much in advance, appreciate your work a lot 🧸🤎

right so I loved this so much it has become a multiple parter and im not even going to apologise. so thanku so so much anon for getting me out a little rut!!!

summary: when toms caught out all hope looks lost - probs part 1 of 3 but it could get a bit longer too lol

warnings: serious angst, reference to abortion, cheating, a whole lot of swearing (im British sorry not sorry)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hi babe, just to let you know Yamna’s invited me out for dinner this evening so don’t worry if you get home early and im not back! I love you x”

It was a spur of the moment plan, which was a rarity recently. The past 5 months since you’d found out, you could name barely 5 occasions you’d been out past 8 oclock- trading your heels for fuzzy slippers and dresses for massively oversized tops and joggers. It wasn’t how you had expected to be spending the summer before your 25th birthday but it was now your life. The rooftop bars, the wild nights, the get aways had all sort of been cancelled for… for the rest of your life.

Because an 8 month pregnant belly isn’t something you can ignore.

Sure…. it wasn’t the plan. Not the plan to be pregnant with your boyfriend of only 6 months, who at the time you didn’t even live with. But you were making it work. And now, you were just excited. It was the start of a new story with Tom, and you’d got past the phase of being sad and mourning your youth. Because the little bubba inside of you, she was pretty awesome and you really couldn’t wait to meet her.

So yes, you had been home alone eating ice cream from a tub when Yamna knocked on the door. She’d been one of your best mates for as long as you could remember so when she’d turned up unannounced with mascara smeared under her eyes you’d cancelled your plans of a pathetic alone evening. Her boss had just given her the sack - which was no surprise. He was a backwards tory old git who couldn’t handle the fact Yamna was a woman doing the job better than he could ever dream of.

So yes, you’d suggested going out to the fancy new bar down the road - to celebrate the fact she no longer had to put up with the arsehole. Obviously you couldn’t drink and neither did Yamna, but you go to a bar for the atmosphere - and the selection of mocktails they had was insane.

Your boyfriend Tom was already out, he said he had a meeting and then dinner with some execs he needed to shmoosh. Of course you didn’t mind, but he had been working a lot recently, in order to be able to have the time off when your baby girl arrives.

So after sending a little text and giving Yamna another hug to try and turn the evening from disappointment to celebration you walked out the door with a smile on your face. Maybe you could pretend, just for an evening to not be pregnant and whale-like?

///////////////////////////

The bar was just a 10 minute walk so it wasn’t long before the two of you were soaking up the atmosphere. It was all decorated in a rustic fashion, with old exposed wood and dangling lightbulbs from the ceiling and the drinks were incredible. The type that have dry ice or flames or some other sort of fantastical display of edible decorations. Even Yamna had perked up, especially when a guy from the table across had bought you both a round of drinks.

“I’m just gonna pop to the loo.”

“Do you really need the toilet or do you just want to parade infornt of the fit rich man who keeps looking at you?”

“ Is both an option?” You laughed as Yamna slipped off her stool, winking rather dramatically as she did so. She was unbelievable - but at least this way she wasn’t thinking about her work, or lack thereof, anymore.

Happily you sat scrolling though your phone, seeing that tom had messaged you with an okay, before flicking through instagram.

And that was where the happiness ended.

For in a hurried manner, with a face looking a lot more ghosted than when she left, Yamna took her seat again.

“Are you okay?” Immediately your worry took over, the way she was biting her lip and not meeting your eyes not helping.

“I um yeh-yeh. Just I think I saw Tom.”

“Tom as in my Tom?” Her almost guilty looking nod had your scrunching your eyebrows, why was it such a big deal Tom was inside?

“He didn’t see me I don’t think but er… he just looked pretty close to a girl and I-“

To be honest you stopped listening at that point, heart dropping out the bottom of your chest. Because it made sense, he had been so distant recently and even if you’d been lying to yourself that it were work - this seemed much more likely. Whilst nodding along, pretending to listen to Yamna, instead your attention was solely focused on fiddling with the promise ring he’d got you after the two of you decided to keep the baby. He’d been so committed, so ready for this unexpected news. He’d said he was in for the long haul.

“Y/n?”

“sorry I um… it’s probably just a work colleague he needs to sweet talk. I’ll um-I’ll just go say hello.”

“I’m coming with you.” She spoke astutely, very much forcing herself into the situation.

“No no I’ll… I’ll come back if I need you, just wait here.”

Her face was so grim and destitute, as much as you were pretending it was okay - you knew it wasn’t. Before Yamna could protest further, you slipped off your seat ( clumsily thanks to the elephant belly) and walked with fake confidence back inside.

It took you barely 3 seconds to hone in on Tom, call it mothers intuition. He was on a booth in the corner with 5 others on his table but none of whom you recognised. It was 2 other guys and 3 girls - the six all paired off in mathcingly initimate conversations. Apart from that you payed almost zero attention to the others, attention solely focused on your boyfriend and the girl he had his arm round.

She was everything you weren’t. She was skinny - you, as previously mentioned, looked like you had a beachball stuffed under your top. She was blonde with sleek and perfectly styled waves at the tips of her long her - yours was thrown into a messy bun due to the last minute plans.

Most importantly - right now she was wrapped in Toms arms, whilst you stood alone watching.

God knows what came over you, but with confidence you never normally had you marched up to the table, just waiting at the end. One of the men you didn’t recognised, arrogantly asked you ‘can I help you’ - but you completely disregarded it, eyes solely fixed on Tom. He took a moment more to look away from the leggy girl, but as soon as he did his eyes grew massively wide.

“Y/n I-I-“

“Fancy bumping into you, I thought you were out with work executives?” Frantically casting his gaze across the table, you could see the cogs whirring to try and come up with an explanation.

“No I-I was but then Charlie here came over, we used to be mates at school and-“

“Oh fuck off Tom., I cant deal with this right now.”

You didn’t even have the energy to listen to his clearly fake excuses as to why he’d landed himself in that situation. You also certainly did not have it in you to maintain the strong face, you could feel everything shattering inside of you.

Because it was so blindingly obvious by how he had acted. You’d caught him out and you both knew it.

And it fucking hurt like hell.

So you exited the bar as fast as physically possible, hearing the shouts of both Yamna and Tom behind you. You didn’t know what you needed in that moment - except that neither of them were the answer. Tom though, presumably the faster of the two, managed to catch up - grabbing your arm to make you halt in the road.

There was this moment between the two of you that time almost seemed to freeze. The two of you, in an otherwise pretty empty residential street, at 9:30 at night, in a moment that you would never have again. From your point of view, you saw the slightly bloodshot and bleary eyes, widened with panic and fear. For Tom he saw the floods of tears down your cheeks, which you hadn’t even noticed were freely streaming.

But in that moment there was, at least, the slightest bit of peace. The slightest bit of hope - that he could explain, that he had some ludicrous but valid reason for the situation you had walked in on. Just a smidgen of hope that this were recoverable.

But then he had to open his bloody mouth.

“Y/n I swear nothing-“

“That didn’t look like fucking nothing!”

“It was I swear! We just-“

“Tom this is your one and only chance. I don’t care if your off your face, if you don’t give my a miracle of a reason as to what the fuck THAT was - then I’m gone.”

“Don’t say that Y/n, you don’t mean th-“ He tried to grab your hand which you snatched away, like you had just scalded it on a hot plate. Like he had hurt you.

“I swear to god I’ve never meant anything more. So cut the shit.”

“FIne-fine! Um so we were at the meeting and then on the way out I bumped into George and hes been a good mate of mine for years.” All you did was hum, arms crossed and making sure you had a metre of distance between the two of you.

“So he said god you look like you need a drink and I agreed because its been stressful as hell recently.”

“Oh its been stressful; for YOU has it? I’m so sorry Thomas, has it been hard for you while i’ve been throwing my lungs up with morning sickness? Has it been stressful that I’ve been running on zero hours sleep because she kicks me all bloody night? ” Your words were laced in a posioned sarcasm, to which Tom just stammered to.

“Please just let me.” Given he was supposed to be fighting for you, he sounded pretty darn defeated already.

“I said yes to the drink.” He skipped out the bit that had angered you, to which you rolled your eyes at. “And one turned into two and more and then I don’t know-“

“Your going to have to try a lot harder than that.” You deadpanned, taking a small step further back still.

“I mean it! The girls were all his friends and we were just talking.”

“Just talking? All pressed up and arms round her?”

“Yes!” As indignant as he retorted, it didn’t not make up for what you had seen with your own eyes.

“Your such a bullshitter Tom!”

“God why wont you just listen to me?” He cried, wobbly doing a little 360 on the spot, in what appeared to be exasperation.

“Because your just spouting fucking lies! And you try and blame it all on poor little tommo being stressed which is-“

“I HAVE BEEN! Running round after you! I’m just tired of this shit!!! So kill me, for having one night of freedom!”

Tom was too deep in his angry lecture to take any notice of you. Which is why, once finished, he waitied, breath heavy and nose flaring. He was waiting for you to scream back at him. To give it back. He was too drunk to notice the change in your demeanor.

“I’m tired of this shit.”

It was just reverberating round your head. Again and again and again. He was tired of your relationship and you hadn’t even become parents yet. He was at his wits-end and the baby was still unborn. What the fuck was going to happen when baby arrived? Clearly there was no hope. It was dead. Your relationship was dead with no chance of revival.

Because he’d said it. Your relationship was shit, and nobody can put up with something they hate for that long. Not 18 years. Not while bringing up a child.

So with a new sense of dread and fear and complete and total isolation you uttered three single words before hysterically running away.

“Don’t follow me.”

Not now, not ever.

?to be continued?

~~~~~~~~~~gahhhh I hope u enjoyed! I also REALLY CANNOT THINK OF A NAME FOR THIS MINISERIES --> if anyone can think of something pls inbox me!!! ~~~~~~~~

tom taglist: @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08 @prancerrparkerr @wildxwidow @Elishi03 @arctic-monkcys @Ownbauer13 @tomhollandlol

#tom x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland angst #tom holland one shot #tomholland #tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland oneshot #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #angsty #pregnant!reader

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oklcmc · 2 years

Text

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀،̲،̲⠀⠀⠀𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 [𝟏𝟖+]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀゛⠀So I’m askin’ God for help，⠀⠀⠀Lord， I’m just a G and I need her，I didn’t treat her the way that she was meant to be treated ‘cause Lord，I did her wrong and she’s gon’ leave!⠀〟

໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝․․⸝⸝꒱ྀིა summary：⠀⠀⠀‘’⠀⠀⠀in which the ultimate mistake of fezco’s life leaves him vexed and instead seeking refuge in a recurring dream with a once responsive illusion of his grandmother.⠀⠀⠀‘’

໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝․․⸝⸝꒱ྀིა word count：6，502

໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝․․⸝⸝꒱ྀིა pairing：fezco ❪conor angus cloud hickey❫ ✕ black!dentistry undergraduate!female oc ❪taylour dominique paige❫

໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝․․⸝⸝꒱ྀིა forewarning：this imagine will contain use of drugs and alcohol，extreme angst，strong language and implicit infidelity. fluff emerges somewhere in the end. read at your own discretion.

໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝․․⸝⸝꒱ྀིა fun-size playlist：i. jagged edge - walked outta heaven，ii. tory lanez - walked out，iii. sg lewis - warm，iv. tory lanez，ashanti - a fool’s tale ❪running back❫，v. omarion - ice box，vi. faith evans，mary j. blige - love don’t live here anymore，vii. toni braxton - talking in his sleep，viii. beyoncé - pray you catch me，x. b2k - sleepin’，xi. frank ocean - if i’m in love，xii. trey songz - made to be together，xiii. frank ocean - got the keys，xiv. justin bieber - runaway love，xv. lucky day - over，xvi. frank ocean - try，xvii. the carters - lovehappy. yes，this is sequenced! ‹𝟹

໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝․․⸝⸝꒱ྀིა author’s note：⠀⠀⠀‘’⠀⠀⠀hello my sweet babies! i wanted to very，very quickly state that fezco’s character in this imagine is going to be sort of complex compared to the kind of light you’re probably used to him being cast in. i wanted it that way to be reminder that no one’s perfect. we all either made or are going to make mistakes in this thing called “life，” and it’s up to us to learn from and mend them just as he’s doing in this.

secondly，don’t be shy on clicking the “follow” action，sharing your critique under my work or by use of my inbox or simply reblogging it! it has been extremely tough，especially as a black author， trying to gain exposure for my craft these past few yrs with my return to this app. i’m not attempting to use this as a crutch either. i know i’m a relatively slow writer or notorious perfectionist，to put into other words，and i’ll always stand on this， but i’m extremely grateful for each and every like，reblog or follow that i’ve gained thus far! i won’t stop ‘til i’ve received my proper recognition. all of this is to say， support a black author today! not just for the month of black history，but year round! thank you so much and happy readings to you all!⠀⠀⠀‘’

East Highland · Late October

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓

⠀⠀⠀𝓣he rather hefty parts and pieces of the Graco Hadley brand 4-in-1 Convertible Crib and Changer being aureoled by the dim light of the shadeless lamp upon the 5-drawer chest on the frigid oak floorboards before him bare striking similarities to just what kind of turmoil brewed within his love life these past three months.

Dismantle.

That was merely ever the terminology that his mind could zero in on as his ocean blue eyes skimmed over the “Storage and Care” portion of the manual. Damn shame heartbreak wasn’t a part of the description. Maybe then he’d have it all together just how he’d envisioned it to be, but he instead sat slouched against the oak footboard of his King size panel bed the very second he allowed the extended piece of paper to slip from his fingertips and sweep off into the shadows of the bedroom by use of the desk fan.

His head tilted back against the footboard before his low eyelids fluttered from the effects of his three-month binge in dark liquor, Xanax and his preferred strain of indica. Normally he’d be the one supplying the addicts, but now he could sense himself progressively morphing into one and not just in an inebriated fashion.

It was evident within his lack of self-dignity, his lack of attentiveness when it came to his circle of close friends and immediate family members and even the negligence of his own former business ventures. If it weren’t revolving around them then he hadn’t really seen a point in entertaining it.

He snatched the half-empty Hennessy V.S. brand of cognac up by it’s glass handle on the floorboards next to him before going to take yet another effortless swig from it. The warm liquid came surging through his glacial system like chiseling away at a block of ice and like any passing day over the course of the past three months, he could finally feel himself come alive again, even if only for a second.

Finally, he had found the courage to move from his place on the hardwood flooring, reaching his free hand back for the perimeter of the footboard and using it in assistance to hoist himself up on his own two. His body swayed with his turn as he faced towards the bed in which his 13-year-old brother, Ashtray had then rested upon.

He had drifted off in the midst of lecturing his only legal guardian and luminary on just what kind of negative impact he bought upon him and those around them in the span of the last three months yet again. If it weren’t about the sales plummeting in their local convenience store or illegal drug distribution due to no one taking him seriously at his age then it was about his best friend, Rue Bennett’s relapse and if it weren’t about that then it were about him being a better support system then he’d ever be due to the fact he’s the only one still allowed to keep in close contact with the mother of his child these days. Ashtray was mainly running this shitshow himself, and what did the expecting father have to say for himself? Nothing.

Though the feelings that Ashtray were vocally expressing to him were probably logical, it had only been flowing through one ear and out the other as he guzzled more liquor. This wasn’t the him that mostly everyone grew to love, but a hallow shell of what was.

Nevertheless, he still found the courtesy to yank his comforter over his resting sibling after an exhausting twenty-hour shift at the convenience store before staggering his way over to his chest of drawers to retrieve his pack of Black & Mild Cigars, Butane torch and the 4D ultrasound photo of him and his baby mother’s 36-week-old offspring that he received through Ashtray. With these items, that including his preferred brand of cognac, he found himself stumbling his way into the only room within the townhome that still seemed forbidden to step into, and that was his Grandmother Kitty’s bedroom.

There was an unexplainable draft whisking the air. Something similar to that of his heart which still hadn’t failed to make the hair on the nape of his neck rise.

The only light being emitted was from the floor lamp crammed into the corner next to her hospital bed. The only sound being generated were from the machines keeping her afloat.

He swore he hated to see her in this vegetableesque state. He wanted someone to converse with this late at night without passing judgement. Someone who would be straight forward with him about his wrongdoings without a tactic following soon after. That someone was Grandma Kitty.

The floorboards croaked with each step he took further inside the rather dim room in order to reach her bedside. One clumsy miscalculated step ended with drops of Hennessy staining the fabric of her quilt and his forest green cable knit sweater as his closed fists sunk into the side of the mattress in which she rests upon in order to prevent further damage.

Sure, the bed had shifted over an inch or two from it’s initial placement, but no harm had truly been done. You could always leave it up to him to be dishing out apologies though.

“I’m sorry, grandma,” He slurred, his chin tucking into his chest as tears whelmed in the brim of his eyes. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry!”

He couldn’t quite comprehend how he reached this breaking point within his life or how it begun even. Things that were ranked at an all-time high in his serotonin were suddenly beginning to plummet rather vastly and now he was left to apologize for things he genuinely had no control over. The spill, coming to his grandmother’s aid a second too late when she collapsed in the bathroom at ten years old and even the events that took place leading up to the breakup with his long-term girlfriend dated back only three months ago. It all hit the fan at once and he had no idea on how to stop the blades from turning this time around. It was time he faced the music.

Feeling less than empowered as a man for finally casting his emotions over his grandmother, he found himself scampering his way to the opposite side of the bedroom where a window resided, leaving behind the 4D ultrasound photograph of his offspring.

The thought of it was nonexistent, even when he went to place all the items left cradled in his arms, that excluding the pack of Black & Mild cigars, on the overbed table responsible for holding his grandmother’s medication before he snatched the rather thick fabric of the drapes of her window back.

Lightning branched across the murky night sky, illuminating the small town of East Highland in it’s hues of purple and blue, a roll of thunder following shortly after it’s initial appearance. Torrential rain commenced, tapping at the rooftop of their townhomes as his tears mirrored that emotion.

“Why so blue, Snowflake?” Her Italian Harlem drawl ran as deep as he last remembered it to bed as an adolescent.

He wasn’t at all startled by this, more so comforted as the overfamiliar sound of her continuously striking her thumb against the wheel of a Zippo brand lighter until it ignited added on to his nostalgia. The blaze guided his gaze in the direction of where an young phantom of Marie O’Neil— Grandma Kitty, if you will— rested. She took the place of her elder vegetableesque equivalent on the hospital bed, one leg propped up even in her typical attire of business casual flare leg pant suits, cotton button-ups and bloody stiletto pumps. Now that was the Marie O’Neil he knew.

The pungent aroma of nicotine laced the air. The smell had always lingered there, no matter how many times he’d attempt to try and smother it with Febreeze brand air freshener. It became another faint memory that he and Ashtray had grown immune to with each passing day.

“I fucked up...” He finally owned up to the reason he was in that position to begin with, his forehead gently falling against the frigid windowpane just as another bolt of lightening split the night sky, this time reflecting against his porcelain skin.

“Okay, so you stuck your dick in someone and thought you wouldn’t end up with a baby,” Marie sputtered on her cigarette in her usual unapologetic demeanor until she went to pull back from it and hunch her shoulders. “Big deal. You know I’ll take care of it for you.”

“No, grandma,” He simply shook his head, recollecting all the outcomes of his grandmother correcting his wrongdoings for him in the past. There was nothing she could say or do that would reverse this. It was his to undo. “This is... It’s so much deeper than that.”

“Intrigue me.”

“Guess who passed their midterm Biochemistry exams?!” Zhané Richardson, better known as “Bébé,” an dentistry undergraduate and expecting mother, busted through the steel doors of her newly purchased luxurious estate. Clad in her muave medical scrubs, the gift of a pink Christian Dior Book Tote she received from her high school sweetheart which was now responsible for keeping her MacBook Air and textbooks, swinging from her forearm alongside her Pandora brand charm bracelet and more vivacity than she assumed she would have after an eight-hour course at only a solid six months.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒⠀⦂⠀* ZHANÉ ⅋ FEZCO’S⠀╱⠀crib.

She posed with amusement, one foot remaining planted on the doormat outside while the other remained planted on the zebra print entrance rug inside as she held on to the door’s handle for support with a goofy smile playing on her full lips, just anticipating her boyfriend or his baby brother’s greeting, but nothing to her dismay.

That’s weird, she thought, sitting upright before going to step further inside and shutting the door behind her. She could’ve sworn she seen his car parked out in the driveway.

“I knew I would! I told you guys I would!” She babbled gloatingly, slipping out her Nike Air Max Plus “Atlanta’s” and neatly placing them aside before going to step down the short set of steps to access the open living room area where she’d carelessly fling her designer bag onto the shrink wrapped love seat alongside the jacket of her scrubs. “Bring out the sparkling wine! It’s time to celebrate! Oh, and sense you guys did help me with my studies, dinner’s on me tonight! No ifs, ands or buts about it, Fez! I think the baby wants ramen.”

Hearing no calculated objections from her partner as she normally would whenever she offered to pay for something, Zhané continued her lap throughout the first floor of the home, thinking she’d come up on a surprise of some sort, but she instead stood in the middle of the custom kitchen with her hands atop of her growing stomach.

This had to have been some type of practical joke being played by the two. It wasn’t often that it happened nowadays, especially with her being pregnant, but she could sense it coming a mile away.

“You’ve got to be kiddin’ me,” She huffed, her irritation becoming more evident as she once again waddled past the family room and formal dining room areas in order to reach the L-shaped staircase that would lead her way to the second floor where the master bedroom was and the straight staircase that would lead her to the lower level where the recreation room was. “Babe?! Ash?! Where are you two?!”

Although the recreation and fitness rooms were often occupied by the two when it came to a friendly competition of billiards going down or even blowing off stem while pumping iron, Zhané’s intuition routed her up the L-shaped staircase on account of the eerie silence that followed shortly after her calling. The house was almost ever this quiet in the evening time which raised her suspicions even more.

Zhané had reached the second level of the house cradling her stomach with merely an ounce of oxygen left in her petite frame to continue further on down the mezzanine leading to the ajar double doors of her bedroom. It seemed as though the more her dark brown feline eyes zeroed in on her destination, the more it’d seem to distance itself away from her.

The sun began to set over East Highland through the foyer windows to the left of her which had only made it easier for Zhané to make out the silhouettes moving in sync through the flickering candlelight striking against the right flush door of her bedroom. Their panting was damn near deafening as she moved with stealth towards the door way, each step she took across the plush carpet left an temporary imprint. Tears whelmed up in the brim of her eyes, her throat tightening around her airway, making it almost impossible to breath as she went to push the doors open to reveal another woman besides herself mounted in her man’s lap, in her brand new bed and all she could bring herself to utter was a single name.

“Fezco...”

“... She’s been gone for three months now, grandma. She cut all physical contact from me completely. I call, text, send gifts and even drop by the school every now and again, but she still rejects me. I mean, I get a few photos and letters through Ash sometimes, but it doesn’t compare to actually havin’ her wit’ me. I’m tired of not being able to come home to hear her voice or being able to kiss her. I feel like a child that’s lost at seven!” Fezco exclaimed, circling the armchair by her bedside before going to fall back in it with a slump.

His grandmother laughed softly, watching her grandson fidget with the carton of Black & Mild cigars he had within his grasp for a bit before he proceeded to open them, slip one out, lazily place it between his chapped lips and politely signal for her to ignite it for him which she obliged to do so.

“Sounds like you’ve been bitten by the love bug, Snowflake,” The cigarette still burned between Marie’s fingertips as she went to pick a piece of lint from her tongue. “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Hell yeah,” He answered without hesitation, smoke escaping his nostrils. “I can’t picture my life without her. This is a woman I’d lay down my life for, her and our unborn child.”

“Well while you sound so confident within yourself, I’m not your fairy godmother. I can’t just wave an magic wand over your head and expect for things to revert back to normal. I very well wish that I could, but Snowflake, this is reality. You’re going to have to get with Zhané face-to-face and tell her how you really feel.”

“How am I suppose to do all that when all she does is pull away?” Fezco sighed out, rubbing his fingertips along his thumping forehead.

“Fezco, if it’s meant to be then she’ll come around and she’ll forgive you.”

With this advice, Marie O’Neil stood up from her spot on the bed and planted a gentle kiss upon her grandson’s aching forehead before making an exit from the bedroom, leaving him alone to relish in that very thought yet again.

The overfamiliar and repetitive buzzing of an silenced iPhone located within the kangaroo pocket of his Karl Kani brand hoodie caused the ginger to peel his heavy eyelids open from a recurring dream.

He sluggishly went to sit upright in the armchair situated at his grandmother’s bedside; briefly rubbing his eyes in closed fists before going to stretch his arms above his head although the ache of being hunched over in an uncomfortable position for such a long period of time was still evident within his lower back. As if that weren’t enough, his head still pounded and his mouth had almost immediately ran dry as a result of his hangover.

He fished through the pocket of his hoodie in order to retrieve the active cellular device. He squinted his watering eyes and batted his full lashes at the beaming screen until they finally focused in on the caller ID.

Bébé.

His heart palpitated and his palms had broke into a cold sweat at the full-screen live photograph of him and his long-term girlfriend sharing an affectionate kiss in the master bathroom of their new home just a few months ago, a photograph he hadn’t seen in several months. He had premediated this very moment so many times before that he ran out of the right words to say once going to accept the incoming call on the last buzz.

“Zhané?! Bébé, I’m here! Everything alright?!” Fezco greeted with panic laced within his drawl.

“Uh, hello! B-Bonjour! Is this... Freshco?” The smart remark he was preparing himself to hear blare through the transmitter from his girlfriend had turned into a masculine voice greeting him in their broken English instead.

“It’s Fezco, man. Who’s this? Why do you have my girl’s phone? Where is she?” Fezco spoke calmly though his nerves were shot to hell as he stood up from his grandmother’s bedside and went to raid the kitchen area for his desert eagle and car keys.

He was never too trustworthy with new people entering Zhané’s life, especially ones he never even met. He was planning to make an example out of what would happen with this one had he stepped out of bound during this conversation that they were holding.

“My apologies. I Pierre, Zhané doula.”

Zhané had been fixated on natural childbirth, midwives and doulas since her first trimester when Fezco gifted her some Pregnancy & Care books from Barnes & Noble alongside that expensive Christian Dior brand tote she used for dental school and charm bracelet to put her mind at ease some when everyone else, including her parents, assumed she was being dense for actually falling through with an unplanned pregnancy with someone of his caliber. “Trailer Park Trash,” is what they’d call him and his baby brother often, but it hadn’t phased him. Not even once. He remained respectful whenever they’d come around and made sure that Zhané hadn’t held a grudge towards them because of it. “You only get one set of parents, Bébé,” Is what he’d say through her fits to get her to actually look at the bigger picture. He never thought she’d actually fall through with it, especially with a male doula, at that.

“I thought only woman do that shit?” Fezco scratched at his buzz cut with the barrel of his gun, trying to make sense of it all until it registered in his mind of who this call was actually pertaining to. “Wait, what’s wrong with Zhané and the baby?!”

“I won’t exactly say anything wrong, but she insist for me not to call parent, so that where you come in. She in labor after you friend, uh, Ruby Bennett? Make unexpected visit at le house? Moi guess she come in handy because she le one who inform me. I must urge you to get here soon as possible, ‘cause... Moi no think she can hold much longer.” His warning was soon followed by a bloodcurdling scream that had Fezco practically yanking the device away from his ear while simultaneously batting his full lashes in disbelief that a sound like that was even capable of emitting from another human being.

“What do you mean ‘Much longer?!’ You couldn’t call me any sooner than this?! You mean to tell me that she’s having it there?!”

“If you mean home then... oui!”

“Alright, man. You just make sure that she doesn’t bring my child into this world without me being present. I’m on the way.”

“I try my best. Hurry, and please drive safe!”

Hearing the overfamiliar beeps of a call ending on his smartphone, Fezco tucked his desert eagle in the waistband of his black pants and his phone and car keys back into the pouch of his hoodie. He treaded to the back of the townhome, this time to wake Ashtray with a few light slaps to his face.

“What, you asshole?!” Ashtray groaned, his slit eyebrows knitting together in irritation while his eyes remained shut.

“Ash,” Fezco rattled his baby brother’s body until witnessing his eyes peel open. “Ash, it’s time. Zhané’s having the baby.”

Echolocation became pivotal at that given moment in Fezco’s life. He became reliant on the continuous swooshing resonating off the high-mast lighting poles planted on either side of the deserted highway and the tires of his Dodge Charger Hellcat gliding against the sleek road, draining in through the parted windows rather than the state of his own subconscious as he pressed his foot on the pedal of the gas to accelerate.

The waxing gibbous moon, the forewarning of a speed limit and even the clouds of smoke cascading from his Black & Mild had only became specks in his tunnel vision. Lucky Daye’s “Over” playing at a low volume over the stereo had set the tone for the night and was drawing him right back into a shameful recollection of his girlfriend once again.

There was no other terminology besides mortified to describe Fezco’s emotions in that moment as he stood in the middle of their master bedroom, surrounded by sealed cardboard boxes in only a pair of boxer briefs as he restrained the love of his life while his fling made a run for it. In all their years of dating had Fezco seen Zhané so upset over a situation and it frightened him, but only because he was oblivious on how to annihilate her temper though it was logical. Selfish as it may sound, this couldn’t be where it ended.

“Let go of me, Fezco!” Zhané shouted through a weep, her legs flailing in midair as her overlay simultaneously went digging into his forearms which were tightly wrapped around her underbust.

“Not until you calm your ass down! You’re not gonna put my child’s life in fuckin’ jeopardy over some petty shit, real talk!” Fezco bellowed.

“You choose now to be fuckin’ concerned about us?!” She sneered through a laugh, still struggling to break past his restraint until she took notice to how he wasn’t budging and finally broke down in his arms. “I promise I’m not going to do anything, Fez, just please let go. I need to catch my breath...” She wept.

Her plead had almost sounded like a double entendre to him as he hesitantly went to turn her loose.

He watched her movements intently as she sat upright from her previous position and went to smooth out the new wrinkles within her uniform before facing him with a soft expression plastered on her face. Even through fresh tears, Fezco thought she was beautiful.

“I never meant to hurt you, Bébé—” His cliché apology was cut short when her hand went flying across his face, ‘causing his head to whirl in a totally different direction. He could sense that one coming.

“Fuck you!” She croaked through clenched teeth, a hard swallow and violent shove following soon after.

“Okay, I deserved that,” He nodded, peering back into her glossy eyes. “Can you at least give me a chance to explain myself?”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t waste my breath. It won’t change the fact that you’re a cheater or the fact that I’m leaving your sorry ass.” Her words were venomous, seeping into his nervous system and turning his body rigid with panic by the second.

She turned her back on him yet again, but not before he went to grab ahold of her wrist.

“Don’t walk out on me, Bébé...” His voice quaked with desperation, causing her to be overcome with stillness. She had almost felt sorry for him until reflecting on the fact that he was in their bed with another woman besides herself not even a few minutes ago.

How pathetic, she thought.

“I said let... Go... Of... Me!” She grimaced, snatching away from him before going to carry out her failed plan from earlier.

Zhané bought the sputnik chandelier and track lighting of the walk-in closet to life by use of a switch before entering with raging fury in search of her Louis Vuitton Virgil Abloh Monogram Mirror keepall with Fezco hot on her trail. Only she’d know he wasn’t going to give up on her that easy.

“Y’know, you can be really self-absorbed sometimes, Zhané.” Fezco stood on the opposite side of the closet’s island, watching as she struggled to grab one of her keepalls from the top cubby though she shouldn’t have been reaching above her head to begin with. He knew just as much as she did, but he wasn’t about to expedite the process of her departing from him by volunteering to help her. He was hoping that his words would do all the damage control needed. He was desperate enough to say anything to get her to stay and work it out.

“As if I don’t have every right to be, Fezco,” She mocked, absentmindedly tossing any item belonging to her inside the open bag. “Spare me the excuses. I think I’ve had enough of those for one night.”

“I just don’t understand why you’d want to throw a good thing away. Everything we worked so hard for. A better life for Ash, a better life for us,” He approached her, reaching for the bag clenched within her hands. “I can’t let you leave like this, Bébé.”

“Then you fuckin’ leave, Fezco!” She shouted, her bottom lip quivering as she shoved the bag into his chest. “I can’t stand the sight of you right about now! You make me sick! Just pack your shit and go!”

“If that’s what it’s going to take to gain your trust back again then so be it.”

“Good! Leave your key on the kitchen counter when you’re through.” With these words exchanged, Zhané exited that closet a woman scorned.

“What’s got you zoned?” Ashtray questioned from the passenger seat, reeling Fezco back in from his flashback.

“Family feud, man,” Fezco drawled, shaking his head. “Just family feud...”

Fezco and Ashtray had both successfully managed to storm the estate they were once allowed to call their “New home,” a quarter past one o’clock in the morning with their hearts in their mouths. To say that they were apprehensive about coming a second too late to the arrival of their daughter or niece was an understatement. To make matters even worse, Rue was right there anticipating theirs.

“I ain’t got time for your shit tonight, Rue! I’m dealing with enough as is. Whatever you’re lookin’ for, you ain’t gon’ find it here.” Fezco had only glanced over at the teenager he called “Family” as they rushed towards the staircase.

Frantic and clad in her usual attire consisting of an oversized graphic T-shirt, wrinkled slacks, solid black crew socks and a pair of tatted Converse. Rue was sweating profusely, her disheveled hair clinging to the pasty flesh of her face and neck while her eyes were damn near sinking into her skull as her lengthy arms hugged at her petite torso tightly.

She was going through drug withdrawals and destroying everything within her path in order to get her next fix. Zhané just so happened to get hit in the crossfire. Never mind the nativity of her own God daughter.

“Listen, Fez, all I need are a couple oxies to get me through the night and I promise, I’ll be out you and Bébé’s hair for good. I’m so sick, Fez! Look at my eyes, Fez! I need something! My mom and Gia have been drivin’ me up a fuckin’ wa—” Rue babbled belligerently, her clammy hands flailing every which way during her speech as Fezco had only halfway listened. She knew he had heard enough when he had turned to face her once reaching the second floor of the house.

“I just said that I don’t have it, Rue! God damn! What are you not getting?!” Fezco shouted, his face softening shortly after as he pointed in the opposite direction than what they all were walking in. “Go home, Rue.”

“Okay...” She whimpered, gripping onto the glass baluster, and it had almost sounded convincing to him. “Make it opiates and we have a deal.”

Damn, was she an hell of an actress.

“Ahh!” Him and Ashtray exhaled deeply before continuing their journey to the open master bedroom at the end of the hall with the addict hot on their trail.

The sporadic bursts of screeches and heavy panting resonating from their destination caused for them to pick up their feet quicker in order to get there.

Fezco, being the first to split the bedroom door, rushed past the crammed powder room and walk-in closet area leading to the master bathroom in the nick of time to witness Zhané hunched over the perimeter of the raised platform Jacuzzi bathtub in only a pink Nike brand sports bra and her usual worn knotless box braids thrown up into a messy bun. Even with the windows cracked open to circulate some type of air and a glass of ice at her side, beads of sweat still formed at her hairline and the curve of her discolored lips all the while her usual bronze complexion had become far more pasty than Rue’s. She had been in active labor for going on five hours now thanks to her and had finally felt the urge to want to push.

“Bébé—” Three months without seeing her and all Fezco wanted to do was comfort her in her time of need, but all of that was halted once an unfamiliar face came into view.

Pierre Louis was an artist and doula deriving from Nice, France whom Zhané had met while doing her monthly grocery shopping at the local Whole Foods Market. Who would’ve thought that a simple lesson on the benefits of consuming dairy while pregnant on the same aisle would draw them this close?

He was model thin, standing at an intimidating 6′0″ with dewy skin, shoulder-length locs, oversized ears and a chiseled jawline, charming smile and bedroom eyes that most would’ve died for! He was the epitome of a work of art. No wonder Zhané dug his vibe so much.

“Freshco, is it?” Pierre inquired, sticking his hand out.

“It’s Fezco, man,” Fezco corrected, grabbing a hold of his hand before giving it a firm shake. “I’m not sure what y’all got going on, but I’m just here to check in on my lady.”

“Oui, of course—”

“Keep that cheating son of a bitch and dope fiend away from me!” Zhané managed to shout through a contraction.

“Woah!” Ashtray gasped from behind Fezco, cocking a slit brow at Zhané‘s new demeanor while Rue’s face twisted in it’s usual animated fashion whenever shit was going left in her life, now being the perfect example.

“That’s not fair, Zhané. That’s my baby just as much as it is yours!” Fezco shouted, attempting to push his way inside the room, but Pierre had stopped him from doing so at the sound of Zhané straining.

“Please! She go through a lot right now! Bébé crowning!” Pierre exclaimed, pushing at Fezco’s solid chest until he was standing on the opposite side of the threshold with his family again. “We no want to cause her anymore stress, so just wait here ‘til I tell you we finish, oki?”

“Whatev—” Fezco was cut short with the door being slammed in and locked in his face. “Want me to call the ambulance?!”

No response.

“I think I’m gonna be sick!” Rue heaved, clutching at her churning stomach yet again.

“Go sit your ass down, Rue!” Fezco bellowed, shoving the small waste basket sitting beneath Zhané’s vanity into her chest before dragging her frail body out into the open space of the bedroom and forcing her down into the zebra print chaise lounge as she began hurling up her guts. He had, had enough of her antics for one night.

He fell back onto the ottoman in front of the chaise with his pounding head falling into his hands while Ashtray fell back onto the neatly made King size bed before whipping out his iPhone.

“Ay, this the same bed you fucked that bitch on?” Ashtray inquired, his eyes remaining glued to the screen of his iPhone.

Fezco kissed his teeth, picking his head up to glare over at his baby brother with animosity.

Really? At a time like this?

“What?!” Ashtray exclaimed with his shoulders hunched.

“And if it was?” Fezco shot back in a monotone cadence.

“Then I don’t want to be lying in it.”

“You already are...”

Though fabricated, Ashtray kissed his teeth and wasted no time standing up from the bed and going to sit in the desk next to it instead.

Bloodcurdling screaming and the occasional encouraging “Push!” emitted from the bathroom often. They adapted to it rather vastly though Fezco would still find the urge to want to go knock and see if everything was copacetic, but then there was Rue, even in her ill state, reminding him that it was best to let Pierre do his job.

Five minutes of impatiently bouncing his legs had turned into ten minutes of pacing the carpet and after an additional and much-needed 15-minute smoke break out on the balcony, Fezco could no longer contain his apprehension.

“Ash, you’re the closest person to Bébé right now besides that fake ass Basquiat in there. Why don’t you make yourself useful and go see what’s happenin’?”

“Man, I ain’t going to look at that shit!” Ash remarked, nonchalantly flicking his wrist in his older brother’s direction as he leaned on the back legs of the hardwood chair that he was situated in. “I got a weak stomach as is. We all better off waiting out here if you ask me.”

Of course, he of all people would say this.

The door to the bathroom creaked open and out walked Pierre, wiping his wet hands off with a hand towel, causing all three of the occupants left in the bedroom to stand at his attention for the report on Zhané they were about to receive.

“Zhané deliver healthy six-pound bébé girl!” Pierre announced, causing them all to verbally rejoice.

“C-Can we see her now?” Fezco asked, clasping his hands together before bringing them up to his pursed lips.

“Oui!” Pierre responded, extending his hand out towards the open bathroom door. “I go make phone call now!”

Prior to giving birth to a healthy six-pound baby girl, Zhané was unfulfilled by all the turmoil that was transpiring within her life. There was Fezco’s affair debacle followed by her snobby parents’ consistency of wanting to see her fail rather than succeed in life and to make make matters worse, her grades in dental school were beginning to slip.

It all came at her so fast that she didn’t know when to slam on breaks until Pierre entered her life with clarity. He was heaven sent, constantly reminding her that this too shall pass, and it had. The sight of her baby girl; petite, red-headed with light eyes and speckles covering her tawny skin from head to toe was most rewarding. The very sight of her drove her to tears. Though what Fezco had done to them was unforgettable, Zhané had no reason to hold animosity towards anyone anymore, not even her own parents. She felt she had a reason to live again.

Seeing Zhané still situated in the tub, admiring her greatest creation of all, Fezco lightly tapped his knuckles against the bathroom door in order to garner her attention before he, Ashtray and Rue entered.

“Hi.” Zhané greeted the trio gutturally, twitching a smile in their direction as tears stained her flushed cheeks.

“Hi.” They all responded in unison, Rue extending a weak wave.

“Are y’all going to continue standing at the door or are you going to come meet her?” She giggled.

They gravitated towards her, some being slower than others, just to get a look at the newest edition of their family.

“You wanna hold her?” Zhané asked, glancing up at Fezco whom had his clammy hands tucked within the front pockets of his pants.

“Oh... N-Nah,” Fezco quickly shook his head, glancing down at his Air Jordans. “I’ll probably drop her.”

“It’s your daughter, Fezco. Don’t be ridiculous,” She nudged her head at the empty platform next to the tub. “Sit.”

Fezco obliged, sitting on the platform before holding his hands out for his daughter’s arrival. It seemed surreal that she was finally here.

Zhané placed the swaddled infant into her father’s arms, adjusting her head into a more comfortable position.

The very moment Fezco laid eyes on the yawning infant was the moment he discovered the true definition of love again. The feeling of wanting to guard someone with your life’s dependency and also get your act together while doing so though you had only met their acquaintance less than a few minutes ago came full circle. He just couldn’t believe they both made something this beautiful.

“You did great, kid. She’s beautiful,” Fezco cast his emotions unapologetically, batting away a few tears, causing them to drip onto the receiving blanket that she was wrapped in. “Just like her momma,” He looked to Zhané who gave him an empathetic smile in return. “Bébé, I’m so—”

“I know, Fez...” The truth of the matter was that Zhané had some apologizing to do herself, but she didn’t want to take this moment away from their child. After all, it was her special day. “Let’s just focus on her for now. She’s going to need that more than any of us.”

Fezco simply nodded in agreement, leaning in to peck her lips to which she hadn’t protested against him doing so though she could distinguish the Black & Milds lingering on his lips. That was yet another discussion for a later time.

“Damn, Bébé, your genes didn’t stand a chance!” Ashtray commented, causing laughter to commence between each and every individual in attendance.

“Oh, hush, Ash!” Zhané giggled, going to adjust the pink cap on the resting infants head, causing her to slightly stir in her sleep. “She needs a name...”

Fezco reflected on the recurring dream he had of his grandmother earlier in the night and took it as a sign.

“We’ll call her Marie... Little Marie O’Neil.”

Zhané understood the gravity of the situation and hadn’t questioned it, but instead embraced it.

“Marie... I think she’ll grow into that one perfectly. I love it, baby.”

They shared one last passionate kiss before the flashes of an ambulance truck in the distance of their estate began to cast in through the open windows of their home. They were finally back at one, only this time with some minor changes to get accustomed to.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀paulo goude as 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐈𝐒

⤷ occupation：artist and zhané’s doula

#┃⠀･｡ﾟ☆⠀〝i just want some dick.〞⠀⠀╱ ⠀⠀꒰⠀𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬╱𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬╱𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬╱𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬╱𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬.#black authors #black writers #poc writers #euphoria #fezco #fezco x oc #fezco x reader #fezco x y/n #fezco x black!oc #fezco x black!reader #angus cloud #taylour paige #angst #fluff

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xx-thedarklord-xx · 3 years

Text

Curiosity Killed Everything

Harry almost didn’t open it.

After the war love letters flooded in, and quite frankly, he was sick of it. Part of him thought it was sweet, but the rest was annoyed. Where were the love letters before? Why wait until after? Obviously it had to do with who he was as a namesake and not personally.

But as he sat at the Gryffindor table, the ripped envelope drew his attention—almost as if the sender hadn’t bothered to care about its appearance. That and it was addressed to ‘idiot’.

Curiosity was the only reason he opened it.

‘I can’t stand you.’

That was it.

Harry frowned as he turned it over, expecting more on the back. Nothing. He re-opened the envelope, trying to see if maybe there was something else included. No, it was empty.

I can’t stand you. Nothing more.

He couldn’t help it, Harry snorted.

Someone took time out of their day to send a hate letter. One so short. It intrigued Harry more than offended him. He was sure a lot of people didn’t like him, but not many were vocal about it.

He should throw it away. What was the point of keeping it? But there was something funny about the whole situation.

Curiosity was the only reason he pocketed the letter.

———————————-

The longer he stayed at Hogwarts the more he realized Ron was right and that he shouldn’t have come back for a final year. Sure, Hermione did, but she liked schoolwork.

Without Ron by his side, Hogwarts was pretty boring.

The sound of hundreds of birds swooping in signaled mail call. A glance up brought in a new ripped envelope and his lips were already twitching.

Well… maybe not as boring as he thought.

With zero patience, Harry ripped open the envelope, barely paying attention to the owl.

‘Do you even own a hairbrush?’

Without realizing it, his hand ran through his hair absentmindedly. He scowled at the note. Of course he did. It was just that it didn’t matter how many times he combed it, his hair had a mind of its own.

He glared at the note, but yet, still didn’t throw it away.

Curiosity was to blame, probably.

—————————

Mail time was beginning to become his favourite part of the day, and Harry wasn’t sure what that said about him. His secret hater amused him.

‘Your glasses are hideous. They were too big for you at eleven and you’ve still yet to grow into them.’

‘Your pension for danger is appalling, but perhaps Karma for making me have to put up with your existence.’

‘Your not as good at magic as people think you are.’

‘Everytime you open your mouth, I lose brain cells.’

For reasons that were definitely not due to curiosity, Harry had kept all of the notes. Weeks of daily insults were kept in a safe space inside his nightstand. He wasn’t sure what he could blame that on, but whatever it was, he wasn’t going to blame himself.

—————————-

‘You look like a cross between doxy droppings and a passable excuse for a human.’

Harry had barely stopped laughing when Hermione sat next to him for breakfast for the first time in weeks.

“What’s got you in a good mood today?”

“Nothing.”

He tried to move the letter away but was too slow. Quick hands snatched it off the table.

“Harry,” Hermione began with pursed lips and an angry merging of her brows. “What is this?”

“I reckon I’ve got a secret admirer,” Harry said, not able to keep a straight face at all.

Hermione arched her brows over the top of the letter. “They think you look like doxy shit.”

“Perhaps admirer was too strong of a word.”

“Some people are so pathetic,” said Hermione as she shook her head and glared at the note. “What a waste of time.”

“Wait,” Harry said far too loudly when it looked like she was going to crumple it. “I want to keep that.”

“Keep it?” Her tone wasn’t quite flabbergasted, but it was close. “Why on Earth would you want to keep it?”

Harry shrugged as he pulled the note from her hands. “I find them charming, kind of.”

“Doxy shit,” Hermione reminded him slowly. “What is charming about that?”

It was hard to explain his thoughts, so Harry didn’t try. He wasn’t sure himself why he kept them. The letters weren’t exactly nice—okay not nice at all—but they were becoming a constant in his daily routine. Whoever sent them had strong opinions, and a lot of it came off as teasing in a way. Or at least familiar. Whoever it was, knew him, and knew him well.

They could be nicer, but the chances of that were pretty slim.

For whatever reason, he liked the notes, rudeness and all.

————————-

The only other thing that brought enjoyment to his days was Potions class. Oh, he still sucked at it, but that was part of the fun.

“Are you even trying?” Snarled Malfoy, who unfortunately was assigned as his partner for the year. “I don’t even know what this is supposed to be.”

“Erm,” Harry peered into the cauldron. “I think it’s a cheering charm.”

“You think,” deadpanned Malfoy. “A cheering charm isn’t supposed to be the consistency of clay.”

Clay. Harry raised a finger to feel it for himself but before he could his hand was slapped away.

“What are you doing?” Huffed Malfoy, eyes wide. “Whatever you made could be dangerous.”

“You do care,” Harry said as he placed a hand on his chest and batted his lashes.

Malfoy looked seconds away from hexing him, and Harry kinda wanted to push him to that point.

“Lose a limb for all I care,” Malfoy said haughtily before storming off to the supply closet. “Not as if having them did anything for you in the first place.”

Harry refused snort, not wanting to give Malfoy the satisfaction. Instead, he focussed on poking the potion. Clay was a pretty accurate descriptor. Whatever it had started out as, it was not a potion anymore.

“You think I could craft something out of this?” Asked Harry when Malfoy returned and began the potion all over again. “I reckon I’ve got some creativity somewhere inside me.”

Malfoy took a deep breath, one that made Harry think he was trying to calm down.

“You know, I truly lose brain cells whenever you speak.”

Harry froze, the familiar words causing his brain to work in overdrive before blanking completely.

No. There’s no way...

When Harry didn’t respond Malfoy looked at him curiously. “Finally, you’ve been rendered speechless. Maybe I can accomplish something today. Not that you’d know what that’s like, Merlin knows how incompetent you are.”

Well, on second thought.

The rest of the lesson passed in a blur, Harry’s mind too distracted to focus on anything else.

Was his secret hater really Malfoy?

It would make sense. Who else insulted him on a daily basis? Why not add it in other forms as well?

But why?

Why bother sending anything at all. It wasn’t like Malfoy ever passed up an opportunity to insult him. And daily? That took dedication.

Was Harry really on Malfoy’s mind like that?

———————

‘You would look a lot better in some decent robes. You have the fashion sense of an old Muggle a breath away from keeling over.’ That one was almost kind. When Harry looked toward the Slytherin table, he was surprised to see Malfoy already staring at him. They locked eyes—briefly—before Malfoy glanced away, cheeks rosy. Huh. That was new. Harry traced the note with his fingers, still unsure why he kept the stupid things. They intrigued him, but was that all that did? Another glance toward Malfoy had him unable to lie to himself. Malfoy intrigued him too, always had. Perhaps it was curiosity’s fault after all.

——————

Draco pushed his vegetables across the plate, mind focused on the pile of Charms homework that he still had to do. Flitwick didn’t have to assign that much, the prick.

It wasn’t until the normal chatter of other students talking disappeared that he realized something was wrong.

When he glanced up, Draco jerked a little at the sight of Potter standing on the other side of the table.

“You lost little Gryffindor?”

Potter rolled his eyes before extending a hand.

Draco took a shaky breath when he realized it was a note, the same size that he sent every morning. With equally shaky fingers, Draco took the parchment and flipped it over.

‘I can’t stand you either.’

There was a tiny smile on Potter’s face that didn’t match the sentiment. But Draco believed him.

“How much?” Draco asked, unable to quash the rising curiosity.

“I’m not sure,” Potter shrugged. “But I imagine we can figure out together.”

That wasn’t a good idea, but Draco’s life was a series of bad ideas.

What could one more hurt?

#Drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #hate notes #Lmaoo

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write-like-wright · 3 years

Note

u asked for requests so im here to comply😳could you maybe do a ”should you date them” with the defense attorneys in the series?? or just generally some other characters?? bc the prosecutor one added like 20 years to my lifespan lmao. hope u have a great day!!

I'm so glad you liked it!!! Here's the sequel, just for you <33

Original post here

Should you date them: Ace Attorney defense lawyers edition

Phoenix Wright

yes, you really should

probably one of the best, if not the best, boyfriends in the series

wanna get married? husband material

wanna have kids? father material

has a tendency to casually adopt children actually, could be an issue at some point

worships you

you know how some guys brag about how they'd die for you?

Nick would unironically die for you

may even come close a few times but I'm pretty sure he's canonically invincible (eating poisoned glass and falling off a burning bridge, who?? tis' but a scratch!)

massive gossip

gets home after an investigation and immediately starts like "you won't believe what I found out about Gumshoe today"

somehow surprisingly mature and good at keeping secrets in spite of everything

has a lot of really cool friends!!! and larry

have you seen those shoulders tho?? mans built like a dorito, smashing through massive wooden doors n stuff

biggest monthly expense is hair gel

claims his hair is natural but you know better

don't be the big spoon, he will poke your eyes out

can somewhat read your mind tho? a bit off-putting but ok

marry him before Edgeworth someone else does

Mia Fey

hell yeah, dude

cool, calm, collected

has literal superpowers

successful business owner at 27!!! unironical #girlboss

went from being a lame rookie to a literal legend with her own practice and an apprentice in, like, three years

she's so smart, I fear her

has the fashion sense of a female character drawn by a cis man... oh, wait

god help whoever tries to hurt you

will literally kick their ass to hell

family-oriented

believes in second chances

took phoenix under her wing after everything, mia has the patience of a saint honestly

drops cool oneliners in everyday speech like a marvel character

curve lovers rejoice

doesn't mind being called dorky nicknames

major wife material

Diego Armando/Godot

I already covered him in my prosecutors list,, literally did not occur to me to split Diego and Godot into two lists

but to sum up, if I had to choose between the two, I'd go for Diego

i like my men like i like my coffee - tall, dark and bitter

^^ eats up pickup lines like those

Apollo Justice

Polly is such a sweet babey boy, please be nice to him

short king

low on confidence, makes up for it by being loud

*voice cracking* HE'S FINE!!!!!!!!!!!!

your neighbours will hate him

such a pushover, will do anything you ask of him

sensitive boy, not afraid to cry

pretends not to be dorky - is very dorky

consumes nerdy media almost exclusively (canonically a Whovian! but Capcom can't say that)

bikes everywhere and is apparently good with a hula hoop

Polly got cake is what I'm saying

have you seen his cool street style clothes?? sk8er boi

very grounded, literally

might play around and hold your hand for comfort

won't come to visit you if you live on a high floor, sorry

cat dad!!! cat pics!!! yes!!!

about 7 different tragic backstories

new secret family member drops every week

stares at you when you speak sometimes

is he jealous of Klavier?? does he have a crush on him??? who knows but it's funny watching them interact

bicon

spends way too much time on his hair

someone please date him, he deserves some love

Athena Cykes

holy childhood trauma batman

been through a lot

total empath

if you're sad, she's sad

can kinda read your mind... why is this such a common thing in AA games?? I like my privacy

super energetic

will drag you to the gym, take you on hikes, practice wrestling moves on you...

you will always be sore but also in the best shape of your life

has minus 25 chill

incapable of keeping secrets from you

her weird goth convict uncle threatens you every once in a while

she promises he means it in a friendly way

loves europop

way too accomplished for her age, everyone in this game is so smart, help

i feel like she'd enjoy theme parks idk

date her, she's baby and she needs some TLC

Kristoph Gavin

he's scary

thinks he's better than you

thinks he's better than everyone

has the audacity to wear white shoes with a blue suit??? are you going to prom????? sir????

obsessed with phoenix wright to an alarming degree

perfectly manicured nails!

the kind of guy who warns you never to go into his basement

nice on the outside but it's all fake

deeply rooted issues even he's unaware of

if you like drillbit hair consider Klavier instead

Ryunosuke Naruhodo

world's biggest baby

secretly a bitch

loves to clown on people

fake it till you make it

has no clue what he's doing most of the time

very determined in spite of that

everyone loves him

so many cool friends

cries at the thought of your bare ankles

physically incapable of walking by a shop and not buying something he doesn't need

"look, i got you a gift!!" "awh, how sweet! ...what is it?" "i don't know, i'll ask Mr Sholmes when he gets home!"

good with his tongue

may be somewhat trapped in the closet

has literally zero chill

remember when he just casually chased armed robbers??

must be a family trait

Iris interrogates you about your intentions with her brother

she has a gun

you have no privacy at his place

Sholmes crashes your dates

his bromance with Kazuma sometimes drops the "b"

becomes ultra cool eventually

hop into that time machine and date Ryu's ass, but be prepared to deal with period-appropriate homoeroticism and misogyny lol

Extra little shout out to Kazuma Asogi for that one time where he was a defense lawyer for, like, an hour and a half and somehow managed to cram 50 of the horniest one-liners in the game in that very limited time. Date him.

#ace attorney #the great ace attorney #gyakuten saiban #dai gyakuten saiban #phoenix wright #mia fey #diego armando #apollo justice #athena cykes #kristoph gavin #ryunosuke naruhodo #is that everyone?#hope you like this kajfkjkanjkang #aa ramblings #headcanons #request

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duskholland · 4 years

Text

The Fame Game (Prologue) | Tom Holland

Summary ↠ There’s just something about Tom Holland that makes your blood boil. He walks around like he owns the world, always with an unhelpful quip or irritating smirk on hand. You can’t stand him, and your feud has burned hard and bright for three years. Everything changes following an explosive evening at the Oscars, when a questionable encounter with the paparazzi lands you in some hot water with PR... fake dating au; enemies to lovers; actor!y/n.

Word count ↠ 4.6k

Warnings ↠ Alcohol, paparazzi, swearing, discussions of misogyny and the corruption of fame, Tom and Y/N are both very petty, dramatic assholes.

A/N ↠ Ahhh it’s here! I was really shocked by how many people responded to the announcement post for the series -- I hope so much that this doesn’t disappoint anyone lol. This series is my baby, and I’m very excited to share it with you all. Before we dive into the fake dating, we must first explore a very critical evening for Tom and Y/N... hahahah. This was a lot of fun to write. Please let me know if you’ve got any thoughts! :D

(Tom’s in the FFH premiere outfit because I’m still in love with that fit, and the jury’s out for whether or not the actual Tom needs glasses to see; this version of him just uses them as a fashion statement lmao)

((The biggest thank you ever to V, mischiefandi, for being this series’ no.1 supporter and proofing this -- love you mate))

Series masterpost

ZERO: The Oscars (Y)

The atmosphere at Vanity Fair’s Oscars after-party is electric.

The soft boom of the latest pop tunes seeps into the air, mixing with the warm lights and the sounds of clinking champagne flutes. The room holds Hollywood’s best, and it seems no matter which direction you tilt your head, your eyes find themselves settling over a familiar face. You’re walking amongst legends tonight, and as you throw back your third glass of champagne of the evening, you let a small smile unfurl across your lips.

It isn’t your first time attending the Oscars, but it is the first time you haven’t felt utterly out of your depth surrounded by people of this calibre. When you’d first started in the acting industry, you’d found it incredibly unsettling to enter a room full of Oscar-winners. Even now you remember how your hands had felt slick with sweat as you’d nervously been introduced to Meryl Streep and Viola Davis, and how you’d felt imposter syndrome on a scale you’d never imagined possible. Time and experience have brought you many things, but most importantly, they have gifted you confidence. You’re 24 now, and the string of achievements and nominations tied to your belt is so impressive that they deem you no longer an outsider at the Oscars; instead, it’s as if you’ve been accepted into the fold.

But for all the enjoyment of the lavish after-party, you can’t stop your mood from plummeting. It’s all fun and games until your eyes sweep the room and settle on a smirking figure standing in the corner:

Tom Holland.

Just the sight of him makes your nostrils flare.

You think it must be true what they say: once you start to dislike someone, it’s as if every single thing they do irritates you. This is how you feel with Tom. Even the smallest, most insignificant details about him somehow manage to annoy you. You cannot stand the smell of his hair gel, and you detest the way he stubbornly refuses to mend his phone screen. Your teeth grit together every time you see that smug smirking grin hanging from his lips, and you get worked up by the way he always seems to swagger around as if he owns the room. The grievances fall into several categories: his aesthetic choices, his generally smug demeanour, and his irritating personality, and it all fosters your deep, unyielding disapproval of the man.

Tom infuriates you beyond belief - beyond words. And he’s standing across the room right now, staring at you over the rim of his wine glass with a teasing smirk hanging from his stupid lips.

You try to ignore him at first. You lick your lips and return your attention to a conversation with some of your co-stars. You know better than to try and approach anyone else tonight. Your reputation, as your PR team likes to put it, is ‘fragile’ at the moment. A string of uncomplimentary ex-lovers and a few disgruntled directors have shattered your pristine public image, making you regarded as both a rising talent and loose cannon by the media. There’s been a common trend recently of news outlets dragging your name through the mud, and the desperate words of PR as they’d begged you not to cause a scene tonight drift through your mind as you contemplate wandering over to Tom.

You know it isn’t in your best interests to engage with the man - no matter the occasion, your conversations always end explosively - but Tom is just standing there, staring at you persistently, and you just can’t help it.

Your tongue flicks out across your lower lip as you feel his hot gaze trailing around your made-up cheek. His eyes are intense - holding power over you, to the point where you have you excuse yourself from your conversation. An exasperated sigh slips past your lips as you turn around, preparing yourself for your encounter. Your stare finds him, and it follows Tom as he strides across the party towards you, one hand hanging easily from his trouser pocket as the other clasps an intricately engraved wine glass.

The frown on your lips deepens the nearer Tom gets, and as more details of his figure draw into focus. He’s got his chestnut waves slicked back tonight, with a few stray strands hanging out across his forehead. It makes him look dishevelled, but in a devilishly handsome sort of way - which makes sense, given you’re reasonably sure he must have some kind of relationship with Lucifer himself. Stretched across the wide expanse of his shoulders is a deep burgundy suit, and it cages him in tightly, leaving little to the imagination. Your lips curl into a poisonous grimace as your eyes finally fall on the glasses perched on his nose; you’re sure Tom doesn’t even need glasses, and it riles you up to see him parading the frames as a fashion statement.

But perhaps the thing about his ensemble that annoys you the most is the fact that you can’t look away. No matter how hard you beg yourself, you can’t drag your gaze away from Tom’s swagger, or the tight hold he has on the stem of the glass, or the way his eyes dance with a dark, mischievous glint as he falls to a stop in front of you. Tom is many things to you, but it’s undeniable that you find him attractive, and that fact often keeps you seething well into the early hours of the morning.

“Y/N,” Tom greets, his voice dripping charm. “Lovely to see you again.” His thin pink lips twist up into a smirk, and you find yourself clenching your fingers into fists around the tender stem of your champagne flute.

“Tom.” You step forwards, and your lips catch at his cheek as you press a firm, unwavering greeting to his face. You feel his warm hand slip from his pocket, and it grazes across your hip as Tom holds you closer. “You look to be enjoying yourself.”

When you pull back, you linger near him, allowing Tom to return the gesture by pressing his hot mouth to your cheek. He smells of rich, overpowering cologne, and you scrunch your nose up as his lips burn against your skin.

“It’s quite the party tonight,” he returns, stepping back. Tom’s beady little brown eyes run across your figure, taking in the long designer gown and the decadent sparkly necklace hanging from your neck. He graces you with an approving nod. “Are you having a nice time?”

“I was.” You pause to take a long sip of champagne, finding comfort in the way the bubbles pop against your tongue. You hope the alcohol will help to take the edge off the way your heart has started to pound against your ribs. “It’s a shame you had to come over here and ruin my mood.”

“Couldn’t help but notice you were staring at me, love,” he says, “Thought maybe you had something you’d like to say to me.”

You feel a hot spike of irritation as his lips curve effortlessly around the word love. Tom has always been a fan of pet names. The ease in which they roll from his tongue in that smooth, accented voice never fails to charm the room, and though you like to think you’re immune to his allure, you can feel the word spinning around your head like a broken record.

“Not really,” you return coolly, maintaining your composure with the poise and precision of a seasoned actress. You even manage to flash him an apologetic smile. “No big award for you tonight, though? Must be heartbreaking.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “Are you really still caught up on the BAFTA?” He asks, his voice lower and harder.

The mood between you dips, and instinctively you find yourself moving away into a quieter corner of the room. As you drift away from the hordes of celebrities guzzling champagne, it’s as if the facade between you breaks down. Your smirk becomes harder, your eyes less forgiving - and in return, Tom’s smile sours into a grimace, and he holds himself straighter. The masks you wear come off, leaving you both bare and exposed.

“No,” you respond darkly. You’re tucked away in the corner of the party, with your back almost against the wall as Tom lingers in front of you. Both of you have discarded your drinks glasses. “I couldn’t care less that you won the BAFTA, Tom. If the jury decided you were worthy, then you were worthy. I would have to be very unreasonable to disagree with the committee.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Y/N.” Tom tilts his head to the side, flashing the tips of his shiny white teeth as his mouth loosens into a wild smile.

“Fine.” You give him an excessive sigh, and you let your eyes drift towards his mouth. “I don’t buy it, Tom.”

Tom’s suit jacket breaks out into wrinkles as he crosses his arms across his chest. “You don’t buy what?”

“This act.”

Tom almost rolls his eyes again. “And which act are you referring to, Y/N?”

“The Mr Nice Guy Act, Thomas.” The way he flexes his jaw makes you lean nearer and smirk. “Everyone here thinks you’re such a wonderful man, but I see right through it.”

It’s hard to know precisely when your feelings towards Tom became so hostile, but you like to pinpoint the night of the BAFTAs in 2017 as the day you surpassed the point of no return. You were younger then - both of you - and things quickly got out of hand. You know Tom likes to pinpoint your ‘jealousy’ following his win and your snub at the awards show as the catalyst for your tumultuous relationship, but both of you know that night was the product of several cumulative events.

Your best friend had worked with Tom’s mate Harrison, all those years ago in 2016. You knew Harrison through her, and you got on well enough with him, so when the BAFTA academy had nominated both you and Tom as contenders for Rising Star, Harrison had orchestrated an exchange of phone numbers. However, given your packed schedule and press engagements, you had failed to respond to all of Tom’s attempts to contact you.

One thing led to another. Tom assumed you were dodging his texts and started bad-mouthing you to Harrison. Word travelled to you that this guy - the competition - was throwing shade to your name, and so you might have made a few choice remarks about him on Ellen and suggested that Tobey Maguire was the best Spider-Man. Whatever. It was all so petty and childish, and it’d escalated to boiling point on the night of the BAFTAs when Tom hadn’t been able to shut up and thrust his win right into your face - quite literally. You can still remember the way he’d clutched the trophy as he’d shown it off in all its grandeur.

Ever since then, your relationship has been poisonous. A case of miscommunication and petty jealousy turned hostile, and now you’re in far too deep to even think about mending the fractured dynamic.

“I am a nice guy,” Tom tells you. His eyes skim across your face, and you don’t miss the way they drag across the curve of your lower lip.

“As if.” You ponder which anecdote you should fall back on to prove your point, and it takes a while to select one: the pool of Tom’s past mistakes and moves against you is vast and wide. “Would a nice guy conveniently forget to invite me to Harrison’s birthday party?”

Tom winces, and something almost like regret flickers out across his face before he meets your eyes and hardens up his gaze. “I’ve already told you that was a case of miscommunication,” he says slowly, patronising. “I doubt you would have enjoyed it anyway, Y/N. Wasn’t exactly your type of party.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Your hand finds your waist, gripping firmly at your flesh to stop your fingers from shaking. The way Tom looks at you so intensely makes you feel strung-out and bare, and it’s almost as if he can see straight through you.

“It was a small, intimate gathering. From what I’ve been hearing, you’re a fan of the larger, more explosive parties, aren’t you?”

You could throttle him. You could really, truly throttle him. You know with certainty that Tom’s referring to the latest smear the media had run against you, which had placed you at an illegal rave in Downtown LA and cost you a role in a film you were passionate about.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the tabloids, Tom.”

“Maybe not.” Tom’s closer to you now. You find your back brushing up against the wall as he steps nearer yet again, his shiny leather shoes sparkling beneath the light curving out from the chandeliers. “I’d like to think I know you quite well, though, Y/N. We have known each other for several years.”

“I’d use the word ‘known’ very loosely if I were you. I think it’s more like, ‘been plagued by’, but you do you, Tom.”

He laughs, and this time the noise is lighter. You feel a little woozy from the champagne - or maybe it’s his cologne - and you let your hand wander up to rest on the top of Tom’s suit. You drag your fingers across the smooth material, marvelling at how soft the designer garb is to touch.

“Do you like my suit?” Tom asks, his voice lower than before. There’s a strange charge to the air between you, and you find yourself nodding.

“I disagree with the glasses, but your suit is decent. I have to admit that this colour looks flattering on you.” The bold burgundy tones bring out the warmth in his eyes, even if the stupid thin frames of his glasses obscure them. You watch as his pupils widen and feel the warmth of Tom’s breath as he inches in closer.

“Thanks,” he says. Tom’s hand winds around your waist. “Your dress is very nice.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly feeling dry. You briefly wish that you had another glass of champagne to keep you occupied because you find your other hand joining the first and finding purchase on Tom’s shoulder. He’s very close to you, and there’s nowhere left to move because you’d backed up against the wall. Fleetingly you wonder what it must look like, to be hidden away at the back of the party and caged in like this, but you decide that the flurry of heated emotions passing through his eyes and the way his thumb pads over your waist is worth it.

Neither of you says a word, but you watch through wide eyes as Tom’s gaze flickers out across your lower lip. He inches in closer, almost painfully slowly, his demeanour radiating a shaky confidence as he tilts the angle of his head. You watch the hard lines of his mouth dissolve, and his smirk melts away into something like a smile as his eyes flutter shut. Now Tom is very close - so, so close - and the gap between your mouths narrows by the second.

He’s going to kiss you. You know he’s going to kiss you. Why is he going to kiss you? Why are you going to let him kiss you-

“Y/N! Hey, congrats on the film. I saw it last week with my wife, and she loved it-”

Tom springs back. You gasp a short breath of air as your eyes widen, and the film of scattered emotions that had temporarily disarmed you shatters. Tom’s cheeks are bright red, and he doesn’t seem to know where to look or what to do as he jams his hands into his trouser pockets and stares at the floor.

“-Oh, sorry, was I interrupting something?”

Your throat tickles as you shake your head, looking up to see Mark Ruffalo standing there, his expression relaxed but growing in confusion as he drinks in the awkward tension rippling between you and Tom.

“No,” you say immediately, a bite to your voice. You refuse to look at Tom. “You weren’t interrupting anything.”

Mark releases a breath of relief and launches back into his speech, complimenting you profusely on your performance. You become distracted as you listen to him, but not enough to forget about the way Tom had leaned closer and brushed his thumb across your side almost gently. After a few moments of conversation, you can’t stop yourself from glancing over towards Tom, only to notice that he’s slunk away elsewhere. His absence makes your heart twist.

Another hour slips away, and you find yourself returning to the Moët for release. You can feel your composure gliding away from you with each fateful sip. Tom seems to have vanished, and you find yourself questioning if he’s so embarrassed by your moment in the corner that he had to leave. You wonder if that would be better than him staying.

But eventually, your eyes seek him out, as they always seem to do. And you catch him chatting with a woman, his arm around her shoulders and his lips brushed against her ear. Tom seems to feel your gaze on him, and his deep brown eyes meet with yours. He raises his eyebrows and whispers something into the woman’s ear that makes her laugh, and it sends something whipping down your spine.

It isn’t just jealousy - it goes deeper than that. It’s the realisation that you could never get away with this behaviour. You know that if the roles were reversed and it was you who had been seen getting close to two men in one night, you would be assigned a whole host of derogatory names. The double standards that exist in this artificial world of cameras and headlines make you feel sick to your stomach. You are not jealous of the woman beneath Tom’s arm, though you will admit it makes you feel uneasy - it’s the hypocrisy of it all that makes you seethe.

“Excuse me,” you mutter to no one in particular. Tom’s eyes slip away from yours as you put down your empty glass and turn, heading in the direction of an exit. You wander the vast, glittering ballroom for a few moments before spying a door embedded in the back wall that leads out into a dark alleyway.

When you step out onto the street, the cold February air seems to bring your tipsiness to the forefront of your mind. You giggle softly to yourself and wrap your arms around your chest, your fingers rubbing rapid fiery circles across your exposed flesh as you try to drum up a heat.

You lean back against the wall and stare up at the vacant sky. LA is too polluted to see the stars, but you like to imagine they’re staring down back at you. In the distance, you can hear the sounds of laughter coming out from the hall, and out at the end of the alley you can see the street, cloaked in dark paparazzi vans and dim amber street-lamps, but tucked away up here alone, you feel at peace.

“Cinderella runs away from the ball, yet again.”

You scowl. Your eyes move away from the dark blanket of clouds to see Tom. He’s ditched the glasses, but you can see the legs sticking out from the pocket sewn to the top of his suit.

“Joined by her ugly pumpkin.” You screw up your nose at your own words, cursing your fizzled mind for messing up the tale. “That’s not right, is it?”

Tom approaches you, his cheeks full of a rosy tipsiness. “Dunno,” he murmurs. “Think I like it better than being called your ugly sister, though.”

“Ew.”

You share a loud, unruly laugh with Tom, your voices mixing almost melodically. When you sigh, you lean further against the wall.

“I hate it in there,” you find yourself admitting. “So many people were talking about me behind my back. It’s like they think I can’t tell that they’ve just been discussing me when I walk over and the conversation falls silent.” You slot your fingers together and play around with your thumbs. “Everything is so fake. It’s like a game to them.”

A cool breeze floats down the alley, and you find yourself shivering.

“It is a game,” Tom says slowly, all whilst slipping off his suit jacket. He holds it out to you, raising an eyebrow when you shake your head. “It’s cold, Y/N. I know you’re stubborn, but neither of us wants you to freeze out here.”

The mood between you feels tender, and you let yourself accept his warm jacket. You throw it across your shoulders and feel the warm embrace of his suit, and the husky traces of cologne nestled to the fabric, but Tom’s looking at you with an intense gaze, and the sight of his golden browns draws you back to the scenes from inside the party.

“Saw you chatting with a woman inside,” you say, words a little sharper. “Trying to see how many times you have to try it on before someone bites?”

Tom flinches. The air fills with the sound of him clicking his tongue as he rubs his hands together. “You are so fucking petty, Y/N.”

You raise an eyebrow, responding to his clipped voice with surprise. “Hit a nerve, have I?”

He groans softly. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I shouldn’t swear at you. You just get under my bloody skin.”

You shrug. “You’ve said worse.”

“So have you.”

“Only because you deserve it.”

Tom’s bearing in on you again, but this time you feel more at ease. The scent of his cologne mixes with the sweet champagne that lays fresh across your palette, and it makes you feel delirious. You can’t stop yourself from reaching up and draping your hands across his shoulders, bringing him nearer.

“You drive me crazy,” Tom admits. His voice is husky, his eyes dark and intense. In the slight breeze, strands of his hair waft across his forehead.

“I can’t stand you,” you return. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as his hands dig into your waist. The rough render on the building behind you digs into your back as you loop your arms around Tom’s neck and bring him in closer.

“Neither can I, darling.”

It’s like magnetism - some sort of invisible force pulling you in before you can even fathom it. One moment you’re staring at Tom, scepticism in your eyes and anxiety thick in your chest, the next he’s surged forwards and captured your lips in a messy, sensational kiss. You gasp into his mouth, and your fingers tighten against the short hair at the nape of his neck as you kiss him back harshly. Your noses bump and your teeth collide as Tom grabs at your sides with fervour, and having him clutching at you is so hot that it takes your breath away. The kiss is messy and hurried, and it seems to melt down all the built-up tension and frustration you’ve been nurturing for years. It makes your head hurt, and all you can focus on is how crazy it is that you are kissing Tom Holland - and, horrifyingly, how much you don’t seem to hate it.

It comes crashing down when there’s a round of flashes, and you hear the telltale sound of paparazzi photographs.

“Shit!” You push Tom away from you immediately, your breath hitching as your head snaps down to the end of the alley. Unbeknownst to either of you, you’ve been spotted by the men with those large, invasive lenses. The flashes continue, and you turn away, your actions almost in slow motion as you feel a wave of nausea travel across your chest.

“Y/N!”

“Tom, Tom!”

“Are you dating?”

“Having a bit of fun tonight, Y/N?”

A chorus of cataclysmic yells come racing down the alley and the howls of the paparazzi mix with the loud sound of camera shutters.

“Fuck.” Tom grabs your arm, and he pulls you away from them, bringing you both back into the party. There’s a tightness in your chest as you gasp for breath, walking in dizzying strides as you card your fingers through your hair anxiously.

“No, no, no,” you mutter to yourself. You can hear the calls of the paparazzi ringing in your ears, and you dig your fingers into your temples for relief as you snap your head to glare at Tom. “Why did you just kiss me? What’s wrong with you?”

Tom looks pale, and his eyes are round with shock, but he still manages to stare at you incredulously. “You kissed me too?”

You bury your head in your hands. “This is it - this is the last straw. They’re going to have a field day with this.” You peek out at Tom through gaps in your fingers, laughing humourlessly. Your chest burns as you take in his disarmed expression and his deep chocolate eyes. “This is the end.”

“It… It was just one kiss.”

You shake your head furiously. “They’ll run with it. They’ll make a spectacle of us.” Your nails dig into the soft palms of your hands. “You are such an asshole.”

Tom’s mouth, a little red and puffy, twists into something of a snarl. “You kissed me! Why is this my fault?”

“It’s always your fault.” You pause and shake your head. You can’t help but fall back on the naive thought that this truly is all Tom’s fault. You’d been fine before him. You’d been looking into the starless sky. You’d been at peace. He’d just had to waltz on out and trick you into his lips. “Well, I hope you enjoy the end of your career.”

He raises a thin eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ve been associated with me, which is the equivalent of getting a big black line scored right across your name.” You reach up and jerk his jacket from your shoulders, and roughly shove it back into Tom’s hands.

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“Really?” Your gaze hardens. “This is all just a game, Tom, don’t you see? We don’t get to decide who stays on top.” You laugh humourlessly, your tongue tasting sourly of champagne. “We have fucked up.”

Tom sets his jaw. One by one, he stuffs his arms through his suit jacket and tugs it back around his body, sinking into it forcibly. He pulls his glasses from the pocket and places them back on the bridge of his nose, balancing them crookedly.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Tom remarks, his voice cold and sharp. You briefly wonder if he understands the magnitude of the situation, and as he sweeps away without so much as a kiss on the cheek goodbye, you realise he probably does.

Without yet wholly understanding it, one drunken kiss has sealed your fate. As you stand there, twiddling with your thumbs in the back corner of the Vanity Fair party, your mind races. You know with absolute certainty that things will never be the same again, but not even your wildest dreams could compare to what is about to come.

buckle up bc I’m about to take us on a ride and a half. may as well have ended this with an ellipsis lmao.

↠ next part

any thoughts?! I am actually dying to know what you’re thinking lmao!! my askbox is open :D

taglist can be found in the series masterpost, which is the pinned post at the top of my blog

masterlist linked in my description

#tom holland #Tom Holland x reader #Tom Holland x y/n #Tom Holland imagine #Tom Holland series #Tom Holland fic #tfg #y/n #y/n use #self insert #self-insert #my writing

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mypersonmyg · 3 years

Text

Tebori Tapioca | JJK

**beautiful banner made by @monvante <3

pairing: Jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, love at first sight, tattoo au, tea shop au

wc: 15k

warnings: language, slow burn???

summary: a shining beacon in a sea of monotony OR you just might believe in love at first sight

a/n: hi friends, umm so yea this is a fic i’ve been cooking up for a while and as seems to happen with most of my fics there’s definitely room for more but i didn’t wanna go overboard because the last time i did no one read womp womp...

ANYWHO there’s still very much room for this universe to grow whether it be drabbles, smaller oneshots or whatever so if you have requests pls send them !! for this au or any others

honorary tag: @gukssunshine

masterlist

Sunlight filters through an open storefront, natural light shading the room in incandescent glow, the honk of horns just overstating the chirp of the birds perched in overarching trees that line the street. Lights are still lit, strung throughout branches despite the hour slowly inching toward noon.

Your pencil taps a worn pad, the hundredth rotation of the dormant rectangle of sheets providing no more inspiration than ninety-nine and below. You shove the contents along a desk littered in your crumpled defeat, legs kicking to the wooden surface with comforting intent.

It’s not unusual, the stray of your eyes to the shop just a few buildings from the florist decorating the opposing side of the street. A work in progress, a work almost in completion. It’s become a game, the guessing of its contents, the colorful display before it’s displayed intriguing to many passersby. You’re close to pondering a new theory when Jimin interrupts with his entrance from the back, reciting safety to Namjoon’s latest masterpiece.

He whistles an impressive tune following the departure of a satisfied client, rounding his occupied desk and knocking your feet from his cluttered surface. You don’t have time for the countered glare of offense before his words are zeroed in as if he’s been waiting to direct them long before now when your guard is readily disarmed. “You have an office for a reason, why do you always have to sit at my desk.”

“It’s a nice view.”

“I’ll admit that my delicate features leave nothing to the imagination, but I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” His words are emphasized by his hand’s routine swipe, piles of paper tumbling to the can beside him in rapid succession. Your eyes roll, Jimin’s fingers already beginning to type away on his desktop while your pupils track the delicate arch of his digits and your ears listen to the satisfying click of keys. The consideration of locking yourself away in your office trapezes along the wide expanse of your mind, but before it’s made up Jimin is speaking again, this time with an air of factual superiority. “A tea shop.”

“Hmm?”

“The shop down the street, it’s a tea shop.”

“You sound pretty confident,” You hum, eyes darting to the window, turquoise staring back in the fashion of awnings and fresh paint bordering a wooden frame. The sleeves of your sweater bite at your wrist in comforting fuzz, a slight itch along the skin to pull you from quaint interest. “What makes you so sure?”

“Just a feeling, it’s got that certain ambiance, you know?” Jimin’s hands wave with the impression of the ambiance so to speak, his eyes squinted in that way you so adore. The thought crosses your mind on many occasions, to compliment his subtle beauty, but the knowledge of his playfully arrogant counter always draws you from speech.

“Or because we ran into the owner on our way in this morning,” Namjoon chirps in kind, strolling to the lobby, his own pad in hand. He neatly tosses it to the desk, fingers skimming through unkempt hair. “Nice guy, said he might drop in for a consultation sometime.”

“Consultation? Sounds big,” You muse, hand finding your abandoned pencil to drag faint strokes along your page, though even the slight draw brings grimace to your features, dulled in the shadow of your palm pressed to your forehead, easily nudging wisps of loose hair. Namjoon shrugs, a non-committal range of motion, his neck craning over your shoulder to sneak a peek at your lack of a work of art.

He doesn’t speak on it, simply taking in the unfinished strokes, presumably in an attempt to reassure you in the midst of inspiration long lost. You're prepared to assure him that there’s no need for forced encouragement, but he moves on, collapsing onto near plush without a word.

“Says he’s been thinking about it for a while so I told him we could help him out. He also invited us to his opening, said he'd save some tea for us if we’re busy.” Lips pull back, dimples accenting Namjoon’s heavy cheeks.

You’re unsurprised by his amicable tale, recalling your fresh steps into this very shop just a few years prior. Your body was bare of ink and your arms bore only a flimsy book with hopeful sketches. He’d taken in your wide eyed glance and the disappearance of your bottom lip to the gnawing confines of your teeth. His towering height and newly trimmed hair taunting you within the daunting shadow that filled your frame through the doorway.

You chuckle at past memories, wondering how you could ever fear the gentle giant, his lips pulling into ready grin as he showed you to the very desk before you now.

“What’s so funny?” Namjoon calls to you, Jimin halting in his current endeavor to glance the smirk stretching your cheek.

“Nothing, just thinking. Was that your last client for the day?” You grab for the sign-in ledger, finger trailing the thick page, pinky tugging at the pulled edge of a worn corner. Your smirk flips to a frown poorly withheld, the page filled with Namjoon only reminding you that your own supplies need only be sanitized to prevent the collection of dust.

“Yeah, I figured we’d just close shop early today.” Jimin swipes the ledger with a tisk in your direction, not blind to silent thoughts.

“It’s noon, what if someone wants a walk-in?” Your gaze slides to the clock, hands ticking slowly along the round wall piece. It’s not unreasonable to assume someone will come in seeking art of the bodily variety, and your hands itch to prove your worth, even if it lies within an album long binded.

“Then I’m sure they’ll still want it tomorrow.” Namjoon shrugs, his hands folding over his chest forcing the bulge of recently buffed arms. You almost make a joke about the possible tear of the t-shirt hugging his frame, but refrain out of refusal to partake in the pursuance of sure to follow antics. “Besides, it’ll give you more time to work on that.”

You follow the tilt of Namjoon’s hair, long grown out from his routine refusal to take time from his day to get a trim. You often joke that he’ll be gallivanting with a tail soon enough, his thick locks nearly shoulder length as it stands. He often finds himself shaking it from his peripheral with the wrong angling of his head. He motions to your barely done sketch, the page glaring at you with a mocking disgust.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.” You drip sarcasm, pad tossed to your bag and jacket jerked to waiting arms.

~*~

Off-white trim borders the wall of a shop nearly complete, Jeongguk checks and double checks a list stored in the confines of his mental. Aside from constant fear of the opening of doors without the steady flood of patrons he’s eager for business, hard work finally paying its due.

He’s only in for the morning, the steady tick of his wrist a reminder to snap from his obsessive habit, sure that he’ll receive word from Taehyung that he's on his way to drag him from the building. His grin rivals the glare of the sun as his eyes travel a building come together. His hand falls to his arm in dramatic pinch to ensure that his eyes aren’t filled with hopeful deceit.

It fits, he thinks, stepping out onto the walk, key slotting into the door to ensure security. His shop melds perfectly with the heavily lined street, animated tapioca unfinished in the window somehow making sense with the neighboring extravagance of bloom at the near florist and the samples of ink from the tattoo shop across the way. Even the simple thrift shop with it’s objects of interest decorating the window compliments his simple display.

Opportunity hasn’t struck to visit his new neighbors, though he did stumble into a chunk of the owners of one of the shops. He found surprise in the ease with which conversation flowed, his mouth like the babble of a brooke despite the nerves that skipped like pebbles in his stomach and his heart that beat a million miles a minute following their friendly departure.

In his stupor he nearly misses the float of voices a ways down the quietly milling street, but the recognition of a melodic tone draws his gaze.

“I’ll take you for ice cream.” Jeongguk recognizes the voice that seeks to entice as Jimin, though he doesn’t recognize you.

“I’m not a child you know.” Your statement is grumbled, the words echoing that of a childlike pout. Jeongguk can see the movement of your arms as they reach to a playful shove, the rhythmic shift of Jimin’s feet looking routine even from a distance. You choose not to acknowledge Jimin’s coo, his fingers poking at your protruding cheek as if to say Oh but aren’t you?

Jeongguk watches with interest and the initiative to work up the courage to bring acknowledgement to his presence and perhaps introduction to who he expects is the other third of the tattoo shop. You and Jimin are too caught in bickering to notice the figure just feet away, your fingers pinching Jimin’s nose with a countering taunt.

“Can’t I just treat you to a nice frozen treat? I don’t recall that being a crime, but please enlighten me.” You pinch the bridge of your own nose, the scent of freshly packed soil wafting from neatly situated pots.

You spot the poke of pink from one of the tall and timid plants, though you imagine the fragile nature is only by way of visual, Yoongi always diligent with his seedling evolved friends. You make note to beg him to allow the purchase of a precarious plant, an act of teasing to stem from your track record, the memory of shriveled begonias bringing even your shoulders to lift in cringe.

“Are you still talking?” Your gaze shifts back to Jimin, his flow not conscious to your unconscious senses.

“So rude, you should be thanking me for the extra time off.”

“As if I need more time off, but fine, I suppose I can let you treat me as an apology for your ratty transgressions.” You tut. Were your ears peaked and footing less strayed you would’ve noted the distant chuckle of Jeongguk, still standing dormant outside of a dimmed shop.

His thoughts of hurried introduction came to halt with his notice of you. Your voice held a playful jab when you spoke, Jimin’s reactions only animated enough to draw slight attention from your raised tone. Despite your fussing dialogue, your posture was slouched just a tad and your hands fisted into snug jacket sleeves to mimic paws. Jeongguk decides he’d be hard pressed not to be endeared by you in the slightest.

“Wow, I thought I was gonna have to come here and drag you out by the ears.” Hands clap Jeongguk’s shoulders, Taehyung rounding his frame, grin gentle as he regards with relief. “I swear you’d probably live here if I didn’t keep you at bay. What are you--oh she’s pretty.”

The two watch your retreat, your hand easily clasping Jimin's, the swing of connected wrists appearing natural with your stride through the afternoon chill. Jeongguk ignores the flare of his cheeks at the notion of exposure, thankful that Taehyung doesn’t make a show of his ogling.

“Yeah, looks like she’s taken though...you wanna get ice cream?” Taehyung scrunches his nose, wind kissed cheeks held between gloved palms. His scoff is inward, Jeongguk’s suggestion appearing nothing short of ridiculous as the two are swept by a wind that’s particularly biting. While Taehyung shivers, Jeongguk doesn’t appear to mind, hands shoved in his pockets, heels rocking along cracked concrete.

“Do I look like I want to get ice cream? It’s freezing out here and not everyone radiates the warmth of a furnace.”

“Well unlike you, not everyone is so dramatic.”

“Whatever, just get some when we get home.” Taehyung lightly shoves, legs turning in the direction of his car, parked on asphalt, freshly coated by summer’s end.

Jeongguk stares after the winded trail of a billowing pea, your bobbing figure rounding a corner and straying from widened eyes. He sucks through clenched teeth, opportunities knock having been missed at the hands of Taehyung. The clench of fists in pockets goes unnoticed as he rounds on planted heels and makes his way to the car, Taehyung happily staring from the passenger seat waiting with a grin dripping sincerity.

“You definitely owe me for this.”

~*~

You twitch along with the consistent drip of a leaky faucet, the tap of digits on worn ceramic offering a release to limbs without proper use. The biting chill in your toes is only minutely cured by the pilling of four blankets, barely thick enough to rival the wool knit socks Hoseok gifted you last christmas.

You find pause in the sun setting from the window, dim lighting pouring through weak curtains. Your tongue prods at the confines of your mouth, frosted by forced treat and abandoned with the recommendation of a mug of hot cocoa which now rests lukewarm in your clenching palms.

You force your mind to yield, racing in a direction opposite the self destructive course that usually remains dormant until you lay to rest for the evening. Hands numbed by the interference of a numbing chill met with the warmth of a mostly empty mug nearly spilling when your right palm jumps in the direction of your phone, perched on an end table composed of chipping wood and stains too set to resemble anything but a dark pool, a picture puddle fit for galoshes in adolescence.

You wonder if Yoongi’s taken his plants in, the set of cold not nearly the condition for any pending life surely. Though you quickly pull back, recalling a conversation following another mishap, your plant lying limp before the attentive florist, his cheeks rosy from the heat lamps and the temperature set to ensure maximum growth year round. It was with passion that he waxed about the difference between certain plants and the amazing circumstances of their survival.

It was with half amused grin, your head lopsided along the freshly painted door frame that he assured you that if a plant can survive the harsh conditions of the season of cool there was surely one meant to survive you.

You glance to the succulent placed on the sill overlooking your sink. You had been indignant at Yoongi’s insistence that you take it, almost begging that he give you one of the smiling pink numbers reflecting in the window rather than the less impressive green poking from the dirt of a tiny hand painted pot. Yoongi’s reaction was much the same, innocence painting his rose blushed cheeks as he explained the beauty of every plant, sure to continue on until you gently removed the pot from his fingers.

Now the once shy note of green was large enough to cover your palm, a bright spot in the dark of your apartment, falling apart at the hands of purposeful ignorance from an absent landlord.

A sharp tap against your front door draws your gaze, pointed as if to break the barrier of solid wood. You don’t notice the spill of your drink until warmth slips through your sweater, arm jerk sending the mug careening to shatter. The pieces decorate the floor with a colorful tap to pair with the running of dark liquid along the hardwood.

“Shit.” Words muttered in haste, one of many blankets piled in swaddle is heaved to the floor, your legs lifting you from the chair and gently to clothed knees. Cocooning the glass in the thick material you stand to full height when another tap draws you. Your hands tug at your sweater, the seep of the liquid already beginning to set in and your skin grows irritated from the unwanted intrusion. “Coming!”

You glance to the spot where chocolate dances along the edges of your braided rug, the centerpiece itching to soak up what it can manage of the chocolatey drink, already dreading the work of scrubbing to prevent permanent damage. Making your way to the door your feet stride in a half walk half slide along hardwood, tripping up due to the soiled bits of fabric sticking to your feet and resisting a usually easy trek along the hardwood. The pull of the door is a surprise, an unfamiliar face staring back at you with a geometrically flattering smile.

“Hello…” Your words are drawn and rasped, a mixture of the lack of dialogue and settling curiosity.

“Hi, I’m Taehyung.” There’s no deterrence from Taehyung at your lack of reciprocated enthusiasm, just the shake of locks, shaggy and shielding his eyes that appear to glisten in the flicker of the hall lights. His eyes brighten in recognition, though you can’t seem to separate his stare from the reflection of his shocking irises and simply accept his hand as it slowly extends.

“Y/n. Is there something I can help you with?” You attempt a glance around his ever present frame in hope for an explanation, but the notion is non-existent so you wait as he gathers his own. You don’t miss the wandering of his eyes to the open of your apartment but don’t call him on it, an entrance composed of nothing more than a table and a crooked portrait gifted by Jin. You can hear his distant cackles as he positioned it just perfectly before the door.

“Actually I was gonna ask you how to work the heat in this place, but you look about as warm as me so…” He shifts on his heels unsure, taking in your heavily bundled appearance.

You tug once more at your stained sweater, your face heating with recollection of the soiled garment still clinging to you, now with more fervor from the added moisture. Your thick socks are layered over a pair only slightly less so and your legs appear heavily padded under two pairs of dense sweats. “You must be new here.”

Taehyung shrugs, half a step taken in retreat. He tilts his head just so, gesturing to the vacant hall, a door half ajar allowing the flood of light to illuminate the peel of ancient wallpaper. Not for the first time you wish you’d taken Jimin up on his spare room. “Yeah, just officially moved in today. We’re down the hall, heard the apartment’s been vacant for a while and it seemed nice enough.”

“But no one told you that the heat only works correctly on a good day, sounds about right.”

“And our shower--”

“Leaks?” You finish, the distant drip from your kitchen just audible over your speech. Your thumb pushes against the bow of your pursed lips, teeth grabbing hold of roughened skin whilst you watch the turn of cogs tumbling before you.

“Yeah...should I call the landlord?” His brows knit at your nonchalance, thumb jerking to his apartment. You almost chuckle, covering your outburst with a quick tilt of your head. The simplicity of the suggestion seems only to add to the hilarity of the situation.

“Sure, but I’d recommend investing in a space heater and keeping a couple of tools handy. I’m not wearing four layers to make a fashion statement.” Your fingers drum along the frame of your door, the gentle tap carrying between you in soft silence. “Well...welcome to the building and sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Guess someone had to be,” His throat clears in chuckle, hand tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, the strings hanging lopsided where his hood lay half scrunched at the base of his neck. His thumb lifts to trace the corner of his mouth, shifted in that same grin that greeted you minutes prior, though this time your return is swift and without the same haze that accompanied his unfamiliar presence. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Taehyung turns on his heel at the pace of the gears turning in his brain, swift stride carrying him back to his door, yours clicking shut along the shells of his ears. He pushes into his residence, door squeaking on hinges as it closes in his wake. Straight for the living room he makes haste with lengthy stride, spotting Jeongguk who swallows the couch with his body, spread as much as the lengthened cushion will allow. He peeks from his curtain of hair, dangling at the angle of his head, blinking with the poke of a follicle gently prodding his pupil.

“So?” He pushes up to a sit, nearly knocking his phone from the arm where it’s perched without care. His shoulders shake from the mix of cold and anticipation, mistaking the grin that Taehyung sports as a triumphant mission.

“Oh this place is spectacularly shitty, my friend. Looks like we’ll be snuggling like penguins if we wanna get warm tonight.” As if to punctuate his vivid explanation, Taehyung slides dangerously close to where Jeongguk remains sitting, legs brushing as he sinks into the already heated seat.

Jeongguk nudges to the sharp of Taehyung’s shoulder, encouraging him further inward with a defeated groan. He’s sure he catches the scent of something similar to carpet that’s been left to mildew, but he attributes it to imagination. Somehow this very apartment seemed a saving grace just a month ago. “I knew we should’ve splurged on that loft. Why are you smiling?”

“Hm, so that girl that you were staring at earlier, you know her?” Taehyung doesn’t shy from his urge to throw himself over Jeongguk’s lap, ignoring the squint scrutiny from above. He pokes at the underside of Jeongguk’s chin, teasing a reaction from him, grimace evident from the suction of his cheeks.

“Not exactly, I know the guy she was with though. They own the tattoo shop, why?” Taehyung braces his head with one hand, the other grabbing hold of the string dangling from his clothes, rolling the aglet between agile fingers. He ponders the thought of revealing that just beyond moth eaten wallpaper and the cracks of a concrete hall you await just a few doors down.

“Just a question. You didn’t think I would just leave it, did you?” Jeongguk’s nose scrunches because he did in fact find that avenue favorable among the chosen. Taehyung pats his muscled thigh with a patronizing shake of the head, hair already tangling with the push of his heavy skull to Jeongguk’s tough jeans.

“So what, she’s cute, not like I know anything about her. I’m more concerned with making it through the night without contracting pneumonia or risking the complete freeze of my limbs.”

The two seem to scoot closer at the thought, Taehyung now pushed against Jeongguk’s abdomen. They paint quite a picture on their second hand furniture, couch in need of stitching at the seams and the questionable stain that inhabited it upon arrival nipping at the press of Taehyung’s socked feet into the cushion.

Fatigue abandoned the task of unloading boxes that litter the expanse of open flooring and leftover furniture. Their energy fueled endeavor long forgotten along with the memory of comforting warmth. They both ponder the idea of retreating to respective rooms, but find it would be a miracle if they could manage to pull themselves from half comfort, abandoning the hope of body heat against the chill of the shared space.

Audible groan travels the four walls when a gentle fist beats against the door. Taehyung shoves at Jeongguk’s shoulder, a silent appeal to the younger to make sacrifice and leave their cocooned warmth. Jeongguk won’t be swayed, his arms easily finding the weight of Taehyung’s side and nudging enough to send him careening to the floor with a resounding thud.

Grumbles and groans of the incoherent leave Taehyung’s mouth, amused giggles falling from Jeongguk whose legs are now pulled to drink in the heat left behind. Taehyung stops for a moment, thinking that his timely trek was wasted, opposing party’s fist meeting wood no more. He gently opens the door, head ducking around the corner, foot stepping out only to stub into something surely placed for such an occasion as his physical reckoning.

He foregoes subtly, mouth unhinging and curses falling akin to rocks from a cliff side, the echo bouncing against concrete and soaking into the slips and edges of the silent walls. Jeongguk ambles around the corner with concern etched features, the draw of his eyes landing on his roommate, leg at an angle and clutched whilst he leans against the doorframe.

Jeongguk squeezes past, kneeling to pluck the sticky posted from the top of what appears to be a space heater. His eyes scan the crisp note, glancing down the hall with the knowledge that the perpetrator is surely long gone. “Dude, you good?”

“Stubbed my fucking toe,” Taehyung strains. Jeongguk let’s him sulk, hiding a purposeful grin from the dramatist leaning over him. “What is that anyways.”

“Space heater.” He passes the note, Taehyung scans it quickly with a hum. He doesn’t miss the look he’s receiving from Jeongguk, aware of the name scribbled along the tiny parchment. “Was nice of them. What did you say anyways?”

“Nothing really, guess I’m just a natural charmer.”

~*~

“Will you tell her that she should just move in with me like I suggested in the first place?” Jimin snags on the thick of Namjoon’s t-shirt, pulling him from his task, resituating his glasses along his face rather than the slide to the tip of his nose that seemed a regular occurance. You choose to ignore the commotion, back to sweeping dust and scattered leaves from the entrance of the shop.

Your living situation, less than ideal, often leads you to Jimin’s door, his spare room rather drenched in your deposited belongings. It’s his futile mission to persuade you to trade up from your desolate one bedroom with it’s desperate calling for tlc and take permanent residence in his humble abode just uptown.

It’s foolish not to consider, but you always find the scrape of your teeth roughening the budded surface of your tongue when he turns to you with his grin of sweet saccharine nearly once a week. You don’t know what it is about the cracks that seem to shimmy further up the walls with each passing minute or the breaks in the tile that beg an earthquake decades off, but you aren’t quite ready to part with it.

“If you want me to stop coming over just say so,” You huff, fully aware that’s not the case but sure it’ll throw Jimin for a curve with enough distance to keep him at bay.

He sputters, releasing Namjoon with a gentle shove, “That’s not it and you know it! I just don’t see why you stay there, it’s so...broken.”

“I’ll have you know that I-”

“Have lived there since you came here blah blah blah, we know. Oh hey, a customer! Would you look at that,” Jimin’s over enthused response following a set of feet flooding through draws your next words to thin air, replaced with a well meaning grin. His perked posture slumps when he realizes that it is not in fact a patron looking to empty their wallet. “Oh, it’s just Hobi-hyung.”

“Thanks for the sunshine,” Hoseok counters, elbows covered with a patched overcoat resting along the edge of Jimin’s desk. Though his words hold a tinge of sarcasm, he’s all smiles as he regards you. Much like Namjoon he sports his frames today, wide and rectangular perched along the bridge of his nose. From the opening of his coat you smirk at the peak of a bright yellow sweater, an animation practically dancing along the expanse of his chest.

“Guess it’s a good thing that’s your job,” Namjoon pats him on his way to his office, returning with a box overflowing with garments and books. It’s not unusual that the two of them exchange goods, Hoseok’s thrift always looking for ways to fill the shelf.

It surprised you in the beginning, the flow of people who seemed to always leave his shop holding something to their chest like it was the world stuffed into a novelty bag. That was before Hoseok insisted that you visit yourself, sure you’d find something of interest. He wasn’t perturbed by skepticism, it only seemed to fuel the glint of a thousand galaxies that flared in his concentrated stare.

You’d ambled the lot for a good thirty minutes, fingers gliding along shelves so sturdy it came as a shock that he installed them himself, the wiggle of his elongated fingers when you recited the thought still fresh. It was the belief of Hoseok, in his own words, that there was a magic in places like his. A magnetic pull that would lead you to just the thing you need, often times things he himself didn’t even know he possessed.

“The rest is all in good fun,” He’d finished with that smile that rivaled the shine of the largest star glistening from above.

Your magic was nestled in the thick of it all, buried beneath someone else’s waiting fortune. It was the far corner that drew you, something about it just a shade darker than the rest of the large room. You’re unsure what possessed you, ignoring the insistence of magic cycling through the heavy air conditioning as you pillage through a pile of neatly folded quilts and the random placement of a busted stereo.

“Find something?” Hoseok appeared, head resting just over your shoulder. Your crouch betrayed you and were it not for quick reflexes and a helping hand the bust of your ass was sure to find the floor. Hoseok stood with a pool of change shaking in his palm and his neat smile waiting for you to putter around with your find.

“It’s just a necklace, nothing special.”

“Still, take it, you never know.” He was insistent that you leave with the silver chain, an onyx pendant dangling from the end and even more so that, rather than pay him, you admit that there’s something in the air. You agreed, but your reluctance was only truly squashed when you found yourself adorning the necklace more than your usual jewelry reserved for occasion.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the tea shop opening up?” Hoseok plants himself on Jimin’s desk, ignoring the playful glare burning a hole in his side. Namjoon rests the box on the ground next to him with a grunt, clear on Hoseok’s intention to linger as long as time will allow rather than collecting his treasure and hurrying back to his own place of work.

“Jimin and I met the owner yesterday, he seems like a really nice guy.” Namjoon fills before Jimin has the chance to allow his jaw to unhinge, no doubt planning to flaunt his basic knowledge like privileged information.

“That’s nice. Rumor has it he specializes in boba.” You would chuckle were it not for the wild look in Hoseok’s eyes, his hands painting imaginary rainbow before slotting through the pockets of his coat. His feet steadily tap tap against the tile, the gentle nod of his head not at all unusual but nonetheless intriguing. “It’ll be so nice not having to drive a town over just to have a nice tapioca pearl.”

“You know they sell those, you could make your own.” Your words are all but lost on the eccentric businessman, his tactic to avoid information displeasing to his interests taking full effect. His body angles, half hiding a chuckling Jimin from your view. Sliding the broom to the near closet, not unaware of leaves sadly crumpled against the tile from Hoseok’s timely entrance, but not bothered enough to scoop them into the waiting bin, you make haste to your office slipping between the door slightly ajar. “Right. Well I’m gonna go try to get some work done.”

You release a stuttered breath upon the gentle click of your door, mumbled dialogue just barely pushing through the thick wood. Air puffs your cheeks in half contemplation, silence stealing the inspiration that seemed to dance before you, brain now only half awake as time seems to dwindle at the speed of sound. Instead of the reach for a waiting pad and the scatter of ballpoint colors staring from your desk unused and impatient, you grab for a volume that seems to scream from the near bookshelf.

It begs the recollection of time well spent, a pang in your chest follows a rushing to the surface as if air tearing from lungs lacking capacity. Your full weight collapses to your chair, recently upgraded at Namjoon’s insistence that nursing the squeaky four wheeler that threatened to collapse with the wrong release of breath violated his own moral codes before the hushed mumble about legal repercussions. You aren’t complaining, the upgrade makes you feel like a permanent staple, especially when your mind is convinced that layoff is imminent.

Your fingers trace the smooth cover of hardback, reckoning with the ache to feel the crisp of unturned pages and avoid the buildup that follows suit. It’s the not knowing that tugs at the precipice of your flowing mind, wishing for diagnosis from a stagnant flow of a previous gold mine.

Your ears peak at the surge of voices layering the lobby, though your mind squashes the urge for a slip back into the throw of pleasant chatter. You draw a drawer, fishing for half tangled buds, slipping them into your heightened canals to drown with the sounds of your latest fix.

~*~

The lift of Jeongguk’s gaze as heavy feet carry him past the fluorescent sign of Uhgood Tattoo and through the ringing entrance is subtle enough as doe eyes scan the lengthy space for a feminine form. He’s met with null, but the snag of his pupils on a wall of intricacy almost distracts from the loiter of men staring straight for him and Taehyung who is decidedly less preoccupied.

“Jeongguk, nice to see you again!” Namjoon booms over every voice in the room. His arms are half open in eager acceptance and Jeongguk leads Taehyung to the settled group, one last sweep still leaving him wanting for an introduction or a glimpse at best. “We were actually just talking about you.”

“About me?” His tone toes between surprise and unease, lips puckering in the shape of ‘oh’ and steps stuttering against the crunch of leaves slipping along linoleum.

“Yeah, Hoseok here was just saying how excited he is that you moved in. He owns the thrift shop just across from you.”

Hoseok doesn’t need much introduction before he’s centered in front of Jeongguk, smile glinting and hands reaching for the younger man with much fervor. Jeongguk would find the proximity daunting were it not for the friendly face reflecting in his widened irises. His chest rumbles, glad to place a face to bright signs and eccentric displays.

“Nice to meet you, we’re all glad to have a new face on our little strip. I’m especially glad to have an excuse to save myself from Jin’s questionable experiments in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s hand has yet to stop its steady shake of Jeongguk’s, too caught in words, leaving his mind’s body on its own. “Feel free to drop by my shop anytime, I love seeing new faces. Plus-”

“Here we go…” Jimin cuts, feigned exasperation coating his pitched tone before he excuses himself to the back of the shop. His exit isn’t swift enough to hide the exasperation of the puff of air that gaps his lips.

“There’s a special kind of magic in a shop like mine and because you just moved in the first trinket is on the house!”

“Oh magic? Taehyung’s really into that stuff, we’ll stop in sometime.” He gestures to his friend whose hands are shoved to the thick of his sweatshirt, lips pushed inward with the suck of his cheeks. “This is him by the way, Taehyung, he’s my partner of sorts at the cafe and my roommate.”

“Yeah, though the last one is questionable at the moment. Nice to meet you guys, this place is sweet! Do you do piercings by any chance?” As if by pure luck Jimin’s stepping back into the room, his eyes set ablaze with passion by the innocent inquiry.

“Piercings are my specialty actually, I can pierce any and everything!” His hands clasp to Taehyung’s shoulder, glad for excitement out of the realm of files and spreadsheets. Taehyung, surprised by the eager response, can only seem to nod along to the spew that falls from Jimin’s lips that near miles per minute. “Are you interested? I’d be happy to show you our collection.”

“This could take a while,” Jeongguk is startled by the presence of Namjoon somehow closer than before. Jimin is still spouting about his work to his potential client, Jeongguk takes in Taehyung’s features in search of a signal for help, but only finds him painted with interest and intrigue at the bundle of knowledge that is Park Jimin. Namjoon gestures to a hall along the far wall, a couple of paintings half crooked beckoning them forth. “We can talk about those tattoos if you’re interested?”

The buzz that surges in the cavity of his chest is answer enough, companied with the vigorous nod of his head, curls bouncing against the frame of his cheeks. “That would be great!”

Namjoon easily falls into the roll of guide, leading the two down the hall and past a couple of doors tightly sealed. The walls are a dark shade, set aglow by the heat of fixtures hanging overhead. Even in the dim setting, Jeongguk finds his head swiveling in every direction, thirsting to take in every inch of the place. In his haste he nearly trips over a section of flooring slightly raised, likely the result of settled foundation over many years. He decides rather quickly in favor of the building, the character of the interior clashing rather nicely with the updated signage on the outside.

‘We’ve got a few different stations for working,” Namjoon speaks up, drawing Jeongguk’s attention back. “We do them in the section off the side of the lobby if the customer is comfortable and it’s nothing major, but we also have private rooms that we as the artists like to use depending on the project.”

“That’s what these rooms are?” Jeongguk reaches with a pointed finger, tracing the expanse of the wooden frame, chipped and roughened, to a closed door. Rather than plaquing to decipher between the various enclosures there are framed sketches posted outside of each, nothing a newcomer like himself could pick up on, clearly contributed by the owners.

“For the most part, there’s my office and Y/n’s, and a storage closet but this is where the magic happens.” Namjoon allows Jeongguk a path to his office, door shutting in their wake with a dull thud.

It’s less decorated than Jeongguk was expecting, the barely bare walls outside of the office building up the anticipation of the canvas that must be spread within. Instead there’s nothing put bright white, almost blinding compared to what he’s seen so far. There are a few framed photos of Jimin, himself, and you; all smiling in various scenarios of glee. Other than the placement of a decently sized shelf in the corner and the desk perched along the adjacent wall this office gives no indication of Namjoon’ s labyrinthine line of work.

Even so, Namjoon appears highly intimidating as he takes a seat at his desk, gesturing Jeongguk to the comfortable chair across. Jeongguk is well aware that he doesn’t mean to give the impression of a boss, straight backed and fingers laced over mahogany, but that doesn’t make it any less so.

“So!” Namjoon speaks with triumph, his gauntlet the toss of the pen that had previously dangled from the fold of pierced ears. “You have any idea what you’re looking for in the ink department? I figure we can start with graphics and then discuss placement to see who the best fit would be for you.”

“Best fit?” Jeongguk leans forward, boots squeaking obscenely on the tile beneath. His cheeks flush at lack of knowledge, feeling as if the words spewed were foreign when in reality it was a jolt sent to the creases of his spine and straight to the red soaked appendage in his upper chest. While he’s entered this room with the assumption that Namjoon would be his sole artist, there lay a chance that the two of you will come face to face.

“Yeah, Y/n and I are both good at what we do but of course we both have our specialties. So we like to decide our clients that way sometimes.” Namjoon’s explanation leaves him none the wiser to hidden meanings and the hopeful perk of Jeongguk’s shoulders.

“Oh. I haven’t met Y/n yet,” He wonders if you rest behind one of the many doors leading to this one, sketching away on what he’s sure can only be a masterpiece. “Is she around?”

“Yeah...I don’t wanna disturb her though. Maybe she’ll be in the lobby when we’re finished here.” Namjoon’s words are sincere though his eyes seem to drift far off, their target the window over Jeongguk’s shoulder, shadowed by the growth of a large tree, branches dwarfing the ground outside. His trance is but a moment, focusing once more on the man before him. “What did you have in mind for your tattoo?”

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you guys use the tebori method here? I know it’s more widely used in japan, but I don’t really see myself heading over there anytime soon.” This shop isn’t the first that Jeongguk has scoped in hope of an artist with an extra element of technique, the buildup for disappointment resting in a rehearsed expression. He watches the myriad of expressions that Namjoon cycles through, almost as if the answer rests against the tip of his tongue, but he’s unsure if it’s the correct one. “It’s totally fine if—”

“We do.” He speaks without much expression save for the way his spine seems to cave inward as he continues to think. Jeongguk isn’t sure whether he should continue speaking, choosing instead to study the tilt of a pen on the desk, threatening to roll to the floor if it dances any longer at the edge of the surface. His nerves itch to grab for the object for some form of reprieve, afraid that the pending clatter will disturb Namjoon’s steady concentration and perhaps the calm mask that he appears to be sporting.

His head tilts a tad, curls falling over one pupil, the other spying Namjoon as if zeroing in on a target, nearly scrutinizing the pensive thinking with his galaxy gaze. He can see that just past the roof of Namjoon’s head there lies a single divot in the wall, nearly tricking the bump of accidental furniture, but Jeongguk’s own fist clenches in recognition, thumb tracing the jag of his knuckles.

“Y/n is the only person here that can tattoo with that particular technique, she’s amazing at it really, I’m just not sure if she’ll be up for it right now.” Namjoon’s words seem to pain him to utter, a strained longing in his voice that’s indecipherable without context. Jeongguk only nods along, curiosity curbed by his unyielding sense of etiquette in a situation that doesn’t wholly concern him. His feet are already pressing against the flooring, prepared to push to his feet and exchange pleasantries and assurance of no hard feelings, but Namjoon doesn’t seem quite through, leaving Jeongguk’s position to an awkward one hanging from the edge of his seat. “I don’t wanna speak for her though, so maybe you two can talk.”

“Okay, should I set up an appointment?”

“No, I think I heard her leave her office, she’ll probably be in the lobby. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you now.” Namjoon’s mouth is once again split in dimpled grin, leaving Jeongguk’s head to a spinning akin to a child’s top. He’s led from the room, paying extra attention to the hall, ears itching to pick up a tone much higher than those in the lobby he left only a short time ago.

Contrary to Namjoon’s inference, the lobby is emptier than when they left, Jimin and Taehyung the only ones left milling about. Their speech mimics old friends, Jimin poking at Taehyung with the smile of someone who knows something that no one else does, Taehyung simply replying in kind with half grin.

“I thought I heard, Y/n.” Namjoon directs his voice at Jimin, fingers tapping the surface of his desk whilst his eyes take inventory of the shop. Jeongguk wonders if he thinks you’re hiding behind one of the plants situated in the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to catch them off guard.

“Mm, she left. But not before this one got his flirt on,” Jimin’s elbow catches Taehyung’s rib with a sharp jab coloring his words. Taehyung doesn’t allow this to phase him, standing to his feet with a shrug of nonchalance.

“Not flirting, we just happen to know each other. You done here?” He aims at Jeongguk stepping with purpose toward the door. Neither makes eye contact, the subject of interest not particularly left to the category of unmentionable, but leaving them both awkward and stiff.

“Uh, I think so.” Jeongguk slants so that Namjoon is well in his sights, already typing vigorously on his phone screen. “Should I schedule something or…?”

“Don’t worry about it, I have your number so I’ll just have Y/n give you a call to see when you guys meet.”

Jeongguk stands a moment longer, his toes tapping to the leather roof of boots so chunky they seem to swallow him from toe to ankle, the footwear attempting to take from his lengthy form and failing miserably. He turns mid-step when Taehyung slaps lightly at the sleeve of his jacket, urging him to step beyond the threshold. He lifts his arm to half wave, mumbling pleasantries, barely audible of the steps that echo in his ears with each pace onto the desolate sidewalk.

Jeongguk heads toward his own shop, missing the realization of the lack of paired steps with his own. Several paces behind him, a subtle guilt dressing the plains of his cheeks, Taehyung tugs at the wear of half chapped lips, wondering if the broach of a hazy subject is necessary. He catches Jeongguk easily with a jog, nearly stilling him mid-stride but saved from the extra physicality by the passing of a car.

“You know...Jimin was just joking.” Jeongguk’s brows lift, clearly only just catching sight of his constant companion, his own thoughts carrying him along the street without a wayward glance. His eyes widen, unsure of Taehyung’s intentions or the direction of the current topic. “About Y/n, I mean. I don’t really know her and we don’t flirt.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s just—look I know you saw her the other day and I’m willing to bet the only reason you haven’t mentioned that you’re intrigued is because you thought she was dating Jimin.” Taehyung treads, careful to avoid the gaze of reddened cheeks, Jeongguk’s hand raising to a nudge at his soft lobe, the other clenching and unclenching in denim blue, nails scratching the rough of fabric with each clasp. “Well clearly they’re not dating, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did like her is all I’m saying.”

“Like I said, I don’t really know her. I think she’s cute, from a distance anyways, but I don’t think that’s any reason for a declaration.” The gentle tick of the crosswalk draws Jeongguk's attention on the present path to the opposing side of the street, ignoring the gentle tick of his chest.

A shining beacon in a sea of monotony. The words that filtered like a mantra, dressing the walls of his clogged brain, overflowing from files and dancing with the fires in tipped bins. Taehyung’s words extinguish the licking flames, if only momentarily, with meticulous reassurance.

A pocket of vibration, dark and clinging to his chilled skin, is notification for incoming correspondence. His steps skip, tripping along asphalt, saved only by the subtle grasp of a steady hand. His thanks are dropped without hesitation, hand slipping from fabric confines with the heavily encased lifeline pulsing with power.

From: Unknown [ 2:25pm]~is this jeongguk? namjoon gave me your number, said you need a consult?

From: Me[ 2:26pm]~yea...this is y/n im guessing?

His eyes pierce the screen, undressing the words with precision, ensuring he doesn’t make a fool in reply. He wasn’t prepared for the quick interception of the conversation he’s still processing, inner workings too focused on what’s straight ahead, not minutely prepared for Namjoon's speedy deliverance.

From: Unknown [ 2:30pm]~ding ding ding. im pretty much free whenever, so let me know what works with you and we can meet to discuss what you need and whether im the person for the job

From: Me[ 2:33pm]~ how about tomorrow around this time?

From: Unknown [ 2:34pm]~ cool. let’s meet at the park around the corner

And now, he waits.

~*~

The first thing you noticed was his approach, a confidence in his stride yet eyes that tried and failed to hide the glisten of steady orbs and the kiss of wind landing atop the surprising density of his cheeks like the piling of new snow. Your legs were crossed at the ankle, bare skin grazed by the cool of grass half dried by the desert chill, hands gripping the accumulation of sleeve inched to the open of your palm whilst your lips curved in mimic at the pout of his own, unintentional but perfectly protruding with the tracking of your steady tilt.

If one were to ask about the slight tremor in your hand or the subtle inch across inches between, you would fail to mention the metaphorical personality of your pulsing appendage and the ooz of liquid red abandoning the organ overflowed to trace the expanse of veins humming with the melodic string of laughter yet to abandon the space since he first spoke. You were immediately taken with soft speech and stolen glances, the professional tossed aside when you asked him to meet you, altogether forgotten when he said hello.

The pulsing was stunned only momentarily when he withdrew, hand disappearing into deep pockets to pose leather-bound pages and the hesitant stretch of muscles, the quick twitch of his neck the line of a rod, drawing you forward with each gentle reel of innocence. Now you sit, tangled in silent adoration, dripping admiration for the collaged pages, soaked in brilliance.

“These are yours?” You stroke the page with the ease of your pointer, his head tilting, hair framing, whilst he nods in a lopsided grin. You don’t notice the glue to your cheek, his eyes steady studying you while you study the glide of his hand with jet black against the white page.

He wonders if you catch the nerves, the steady vibration of his unsteady palms, gentle leap of muscled thigh and the brush of your leg with each accidental inch closer. The proximity did him in, your face from a distance only a picture on a page, face to face giving him the overwhelming sensation of the walk through a gallery filled with seven wonders, their spectacle meaningless without the promise of you.

He pretended for a moment, between laughter and brushes of innocence that he’s known you a lifetime, the thought only pulling at his metaphorical strings because he wishes he had. Your voices echo is sure to leave him wide eyed and ceiling bound for nights to come, imagining the galaxy as you, white expanse the only thing keeping from the grip he so wishes he could establish on the slip of your time here.

He knows it’s insanity, thoughts that won’t leave him be, the closeness driving him further to the edge. It’s the reason for his transition to the journal, the reason you’re perched in the grass with the whipping wind and dead leaves skirting around you.

“It’s just some ideas I have, I jot them down so I don’t forget. I was hoping we could work on them, flesh them a bit more…” Your gaze leaves the page, magic dwindling a sum, aghast at the audacity in his words. You withdraw, clenching fists to rationalize the wait for rejection on your behalf.

“Why me? I mean, you’ve seen Namjoon’s work, he’s great.”

“He said that you’re skilled in the tebori method. I’d like them to be done in that style and not many people can. Plus, I’ve seen your work too, it’s just as amazing.” Jeongguk notes the deflation, not unaware of Namjoon’s warning. He’s tempted to pry, but reverses hoping to stumble upon neutral territory, already missing the strain of your muscles in smile. “But obviously it’s only if you’re comfortable. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“You’re not, I just...can I think about it? I know that’s so incredibly unprofessional of me but—”

“Take as long as you need.” Jeongguk decides immediately he doesn’t need an explanation, that your rumination is the promise of another rendezvous, high hopes lifting him over the horizon of the midday sun, skin aching for the glow of golden hour.

You already know you’ll say yes, outright rejection never an option, the flicker of expression alight in your left receptacle more than reason to feel him once more. The physical is through the page, but the metaphorical is the connection of souls, the cliché of one person and the hope of renewed ardor.

“I promise I won’t be long…” The words hang, heavy in the air between and with more meaning than your intent. You’re led away by the weight of obligation, required assistance from Jimin to cover the desk, legs like infant limbs after an hour unmoving.

Jeongguk follows suit, still chewing the words before spewing his own right back. The same weight and familiarity in his soft deliverance.

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, you climb.

~*~

“How was your date?” Jimin is already setting up his station, eyes not sparing a glance, concentration wholly reserved. His vibration is palpable, though you don’t immediately notice, the feeling still finding stringed limbs when you reach your seat behind the desk.

“I was meeting a client,” You speak hollow and unconvincing, the magic coursing through your veins begging to differ. Wonder is silent, eyes latching to the single eye muraled to the wall, imagining it to glisten like Sirius reflecting in the night sky, musing how one day could build a coherency of such magnetism yet still be held at arm’s length.

“Oh really? It’s just that, I never meet my clients at the park...” His voice is a hum, settling an array of options for the post pierce browse. “—it’s certainly a bonus that said client is very handsome and already seems pretty interested.”

“You’ve never even seen us in the same room, I just met him today.”

“Whatever. I assume he’ll be coming around a lot more.”

Your fingers grasp the nearest instrument, ballpoint clicking in time with the tap of your toe against the leg of the chair. “I don’t know if I’m gonna agree. I don’t want him to be disappointed in the result.”

“I know you think you’re old news, but the fact that you didn’t say no is reason enough. There’s clearly a part of you that wants to, so why not take the plunge?”

“I can’t say yes just because I feel some strange attraction to him. That would be inappropriate,” Your mind barely registers the entrance of figure three, a client you presume, the sign-in ledger already halfway across the desk when Jimin speaks again.

“So you are attracted to him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did,” Your pen clatters, nimble fingers swooping it in your absence, Taehyung’s smirk a playful gleam to counter your startled posture. He greets Jimin as an old friend, the two waiting for you to catch up, the slouch of your spine and the configuration of the scene pulling you back into the current take.

“You’re the one getting a piercing?” Wheels push the foundation, abandoning the desk in favor of the plush leather Taehyung has already sunken into. You believe he feels at home, the decorative jewelry already hanging from his lobes the badge of a pierced veteran.

“Yeah, I figure it’s time to expand my collection.” His hand brushes the lengthy edges of his dark locks, leaving ample space for Jimin to reach his target, the depth of his gaze landing on your arch over the chair’s arm. “I’m assuming your meeting went well?”

“What do you know about my meeting?”

“Why do you think I was here yesterday? The piercing was just a bonus,” He pokes at the tray beside him, the light smack of Jimin’s hand drawing him back to the confines of his lounge. You try to connect dots lost in the fray of day to day. Taehyung is not entirely new to you though still unfamiliar, but you don’t recall the mention of Jeongguk during his earlier visits.

“So you guys know each other then?” Your disbelief finds Jimin, his hand’s busied with extra sanitation and his lips focusing hard to keep his face straight. “I’m assuming I’m simply the last to know, okay then.”

“It’s just circumstance really, I’m the one who came to your door, you were in your office when we came here yesterday and he was in Namjoon’s office when you came out. I promise he wasn’t avoiding you, quite the opposite actually.” You’re too intrigued for embarrassment, your attention handed tenfold to Taehyung, his head slightly tilted while Jimin readies to pierce him.

As of late the stench of disinfectant would trigger a memory you were fighting hard to shield from the surface, but the idea of not knowing more of Taehyung drives it from your mind, currently on one track and unwavered by anything that’s not Jeongguk. Even so, there’s a haze, or perhaps the attempt of common sense forcing you to look past the filter of brights to truly grasp reality.

“We’d never met before today, how could he possibly be looking for me?”

“We actually saw you a few days ago, before you and I officially met. You and Jimin were leaving the shop and he seemed pretty distracted by you, but he thought you two were dating.” Your laughter emits in breathy sighs, muddled by the fluttering in your abdomen, Jimin’s lips smug, shoulders rounded.

“Easy mistake, we’d make a cute couple.” It would be a fib to deny that it’s the first time it’s been thought that you and Jimin were more than friends. His neighbors foolishly believe your late nights are spent anywhere save for the couch, silver screen glaring back at your glued lids.

You watch Jimin work, ignoring the bore of Taehyung’s eyes, his focal point to ignore the sharp sting of the needle. He barely flinches, your own body lurching in slight when the needle meets puffed skin. His hand clasps your wrist, pulling you closer, examining the bare skin in earnest.

“You don’t have any tattoos...none that I can see at least.” He notices, jumping to your eyes and back to your arm. He leans forward when Jimin steps away, gathering his studded collection of earrings, reflecting with golds and silver. “That’s pretty interesting considering you give them to other people for a living.”

“Astute observation. I do not have any tattoos visible or otherwise.” Taehyung kisses his teeth, easily opting for a pair reminiscent of chains. You look for judgement, but there’s none in his study of the colorful space, just a curiosity he’s not sure he should breach. “I’ve always wanted one, but I was too scared. Ridiculous but true.”

“Scared of needles?”

“At first maybe. Scared of the permanence of it all. It feels like such a big responsibility, to me at least, to decide what to get tattooed and I’ve never gotten to a point where I could just do it.” You think back to pages bound by leather with frightening immediacy, the conviction with which the they screamed at you almost haunting if not for the beauty of it. Chilling in the details of sketches, moments in time grasped so eloquently. A part of you is certainly jealous, but the other part is so irrevocably drawn to depth and desire. “Hey, Taehyung, is Jeongguk still at his shop by chance?”

“Actually I’m supposed to be meeting him for ice cream after this so he might already be there.” He pulls his device from his jacket, squinting at the screen, thumb gliding in swiftness. “You guys should come!”

“Oh we don’t wanna—”

“I’m in, I’ve been craving a good scoop,” Jimin leaves no room for disagreement, his limbs already at full speed to hurry cleaning his station. “We don’t have any clients and Namjoon is out of town for the day, so I think we’re good to close up. Plus, you can tell Jeongguk you’ll take him on.”

“I never said I would,” You slide back into your jacket, tucking your limbs into the sleeves. The sky has darkened significantly since the dusting of rays that splashed your skin as you sprawled the grass barely an hour earlier.

“You never said you wouldn’t.” The two are like stooges, already mastering the collaborative effort to challenge you.

“Have fun with your ice cream, I’m, hopefully, going home to a heated apartment.”

~*~

Jin has been talking to Jeongguk since he entered, the recognition of the new young entrepreneur on the strip catching his attention without pause. He’s a nice guy, his energy something Jeongguk would appreciate on any given day, but he was hoping for a moment of collection before Taehyung arrived.

He’s stuck on a blur, the low heat of his skin and the canals of his ears, yearning for the vibration of laughter and soft words spoken beneath the breeze. It was easy and good, an hour lost, an hour found. He would’ve laid there in the grass for hours after your departure were in not for the chill that crept in so easily without you beside him.

He wonders if it was a mutual feeling or if your reaction was just polite, a business tactic. No. Not you, you’re not the type to pretend, he knows even if he doesn’t know. Your sincerity was like a sickness, spilling from your every crevice, pouring out with your every phrase. He’s sure even you don’t notice the significant way you carry yourself, impossible to turn away from.

“Hey, Jin, talking Jeongguk’s ear off I see.” Jeongguk breaks his stare from where it concentrated on the ink already eating his skin, Jimin standing over the booth with Taehyung chuckling beside him. “Maybe give him a break and take out order?”

“There’s a counter, Park Jimin, and—” Jin squints in the direction of the counter, a small line waiting for their treats of the frozen variety, though not many people are keen for the cold in the midst of winter. “—yup there’s definitely someone up there waiting just for you.”

“Ha ha, leave him alone, Jin, his mind is already occupied plenty.” Jin slides from the booth, Jimin immediately taking his place, Taehyung sliding in after him.

Jin feigns reluctance when Jimin recites his order, all around friendlier when Jeongguk and Taehyung do the same. Jimin turns his attention to the other side of the booth when Jin sidles off, already choosing his next target. “Where’s your head at?”

“Hm?”

“We just talked to Y/n, I hear your meeting went well, prospects are high. She seems interested,” Taehyung’s speech is backed with encouragement, Jeongguk’s lip quivering, but winning the fight against his impending smile, intent on not giving himself away too quickly.

“She said she’d think about it and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He thinks of your promise, the thoughts skirting past the surface for a sign, a signal that the more he feels is exactly the meaning behind your words. His rang true, he would wait and be content. He would be prepared to have you work as his artist and end things there, but the weight in his pocket and the recollection of your eyes doubled in size leaves room for the want of more.

“She seemed impressed with you,” Jimin adds, chin rested in his palm, reading for reaction. “The fact that she’s considering is a really good sign. For her and for you.”

“It all just felt really natural,” The two watch as Jeongguk’s eyes glaze over just thinking about the exchange. “Almost like we…”

He trails, face heating, his thoughts almost betraying him. He’s relieved when a server comes bearing dishes, thanking them aloud with pleasantry and inwardly for saving him from himself. The relief is short lived when two sets of eyes beam at him like he’s an amusement, waiting for him to continue.

“Almost like you…”

“Nothing, it’s really stupid. She’s really great, I’ll be lucky if she decides that I’m worth it.” He covers lamely, shoving his spoon past his lips, letting creamy vanilla coat his tongue and ease his mind.

“Trust me,” Jimin mumbles, swallowing his own hefty scoop. “She decided that the moment you sat down.”

~*~

It’s unclear what brought you to this stool some nights later, half buzzed and wondering if you’ll have to call Jimin to drag you home. Your mind hasn’t completely fogged, liquor light with mercy, heavy consequences no doubt pending for the morning to come. A break, you’d decided, hands and knees stained with product, trying in vain to work the stain from your carpet, the smudge faint but not enough to miss your eye.

The crowd is surprising, though you wouldn’t know as you don’t often go to the place with the metaphorical bad stuff, your own brand of lunacy dancing in boxes lacing your cabinetry. You recall the draw of drinks from mugs and Jimin off-key when you’re sliding more bills than you prefer across the counter. Moving is without appeal, head to the counter the way to go.

“Hey, you okay?” The voice is familiar, worth the work to lift your head. Jeongguk looks down at you, his hand placed to the bar, eyes wide with concern.

His own stumbling through the door of the room with the dim lighting and the absurd amount of sports playing in every corner was boredom. Taehyung had plans and he was left alone to the drone of the television, the shop in need of a break from him. The dishes already glistening from his tenth wash despite the lack of use. A spot of dust enough to send him into a frenzy. From Jimin the name of the dive was briefly mentioned, in relation to what he couldn’t say, the topic never picking his brain from the moment it was first spoken.

Now he’s glad he wasn’t a horrible companion, the sight of you hunched over reason enough for his half listen. He notes your solitude immediately, drawn to the side of the bar rather than the thick of it all, two glasses empty before you.

“Jeongguk!” Your tone is uneven, eyes looking watered under the lights, your smile brightening in his eyes. He can’t help but to return, lowering into the stool so your faces are level. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I just got here actually and I saw you so…”

“You came for me?” If you were less influenced the words would have remained nothing more than a thought, passing in a sea of others you could never muster courage to speak. Though you’re not sure that a post buzz reflection will make you wish they were any less materialized, the way his features soften like a fertilization for the growth of your thudding heart.

“I—yeah, I came for you. Are you ready to head home?”

“You don’t know where I live,” You say the words, knowing you’ll go anywhere with him even if he doesn’t. You let him guide you from your stool, his touch soft, never too much.

“You know, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

~*~

He lingers outside of your door, adoring the small struggle you have with lock and key, about to lend a hand when your triumph catches him, arms lifting over your head, turning to him with a smile. “Come on!”

“You want me to come in?” Taehyung will be home soon and he has no way of explaining that he’s at your place that doesn’t involve some teasing on his best friend’s end of it, though it doesn’t matter when you latch on to the sleeve of his jacket and pull him past the threshold.

The biggest difference between your place and theirs is the lived-in aspect. He would say that it’s cute, but it’s too simple a word. It seems you prefer mood lighting, the flip of a switch igniting fairies strung to the base of the ceiling. It suits you, who’s already stumbling toward the kitchen expecting that Jeongguk is hot on your trail. The décor is simple, a few paintings on the wall, rugs and cozy furniture.

“I’m sorry if it’s cold in here, it’s always kind of cold in here,” You mutter, grabbing two mugs and giving life to your kettle. Jeongguk recalls that you were no longer in possession of your space heater, taken by Taehyung and himself and still unreturned. He debates running over to grab it, but your hand once more on his wrist, drags him to the sofa erasing the thought of walking out of that door. “Thanks for bringing me home, I promise I’m not that wasted. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous! Not because you were drinking anyways…”

“So you are nervous...why?”

“You make me nervous...in a good way!” He’s quick to regroup, noting the fall of your features, hating that it’s because of him. “It’s completely insane, but from the moment I saw you I…”

“Me too.” Jeongguk’s previously averted gaze rushes to meet you, already staring back. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, confident that what you feel is what he feels. Confident that it doesn’t matter how insane it may sound. “It’s so crazy, but when I saw you yesterday something just clicked and I thought maybe it’s because you’re ridiculously attractive but then we talked and it was so natural.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” He takes a chance, hand sliding to yours, resting against your thigh. Your fingers tangle without stutter, the position meant to be, so full of warmth and understanding. “I saw you with Jimin a few days ago, I couldn't stop staring."

So long is spent staring, enjoying each other and the mutual affection that's like an aura engulfing you.

"Where exactly do we go from here?” Jeongguk tugs at his bottom lip, another quality that fills you with warmth.

“Why are you opening a tea shop?”

“What?”

“We’re practically strangers, I don’t even know your last name actually. So, if there’s some weird predestined love at first sight phenomenon going on here, I’d like to know everything about you before we proceed.” You click, smile a contagious thing, one that Jeongguk would be remiss not to embrace wholeheartedly. “So why a tea shop?”

“Well first, my last name is Jeon—”

“Jeon Jeongguk…” He watches you test the words against your tongue. “Cute. You’re cute.”

“Anyways,” He blushes. “I’ve always loved making tea. I learned it at a young age and then I started experimenting and decided that this is what I wanna do. I figured focusing on boba would draw more people in, but I also wanna expand on what I already know.”

“Well if anything, Hoseok will be there at least twice a day.”

“What about you?”

“I think I can make time, though you are really out of the way I might not be able to swing it.”

“I’ll pick you up, or better yet I can just bring it right to you,” He offers, amused but truthful. “No, but I mean how did you get into tattooing, and how did you learn tebori?”

“Ah…” Your eyes find one of the frames hanging nearest the window, a landscape that Jeongguk can barely make out aside from the distance of neon. “Well, I was studying abroad actually, in Japan. I was an art history major and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do so I thought getting away would help me figure it out.”

You think often about the day when your current occupation seemed so foreign, your adolescence always filled with imaginings of galleries under curation, days filled with frames and packed schedules.

“One of my classmates convinced me to go out with her one night because she wanted a tattoo and I wanted one too, so I didn’t really see why I shouldn’t go. She got hers first, a flower I think, and while I was watching the artist I was just blown away by the technique.”

“Tebori?”

“Mmhm, of course I’d seen the regular ink and needle, but this just seemed to me something on a deeper level and I fell in love with it. It’s probably the most insane thing I’ve done to date, but I finished my degree abroad and stayed in Japan to learn and now I’m here.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“It just felt like it was time...sometimes I wish I hadn’t or that I could go back to visit. Like it’ll remind me what it felt like in the beginning, make me feel like less of a failure. I'd actually get my tattoo.”

“You’re not a failure, we just have patches sometimes. You’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it out.” The steam of the kettle startles from the moment you're quick to exit to the stove, mulling words and recovering from the embarrassment of exposure over the steaming water. “You know, I don’t have tea so I hope hot chocolate is okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Jeongguk accepts his mug and the packet of mix, stirring it in time with his breathing. He’s left to the obvious blushing of his cheeks, musing his circumstance, sharing a drink with the perfect anomaly. He’s ignored the constant stream of vibration from his pocket, no interest in removing himself from the cozy bubble. “So this place is pretty shitty, I would know and I’ve only lived here about a week. Why do you stay here?”

“You live here? Wait...you and Taehyung are roommates, duh sorry. I’m still trying to catch up.”

“Yeah, thanks for the space heater by the way. I’m pretty sure I would’ve given in the first night if I had to sleep in the cold.”

“Ha! No worries, sometimes I do give in and I stay over at Jimin’s place. But I’m just not ready to let this place go yet, I guess. It’s not great, but change is hard and I’ve been here for so long.”

You're close along the counter, space invaded without invitation, gravitation controlling your every step. The rest of the night follows suit, closeness and appeal. You enjoy words and laughter, ignoring the possibility of the responsibility the next day alludes.

Somehow you find yourselves in your bed, faces close and bodies tucked beneath the thick duvet. You're glad the heat isn’t working tonight, Jeongguk wrapped around you like a boa, slowly falling into the depths of unconsciousness, the conversation lulling with each random topic. Your throat is strained from laughter and your brain is filled with more than it thought possible.

Inches are now centimeters and you’re snails inching toward the finish, certain but uncertain if the light of day will change the result of your exchange.

The morning following you wake much the same as you slept, tangled, breaths mingling between. Jeongguk is still snoring, blissfully unaware of the authoritative knock echoing from your front door. Hands pushing at your eyes, feet tingling against the cold flooring, you swing the door with an annoyance you’re prepared to unleash before you’re met with Taehyung.

His eyes are half frantic, neck craning to see around you.

“Taehyung?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jeongguk? I’ve been trying to reach him since last night and he’s not answering.”

“O-oh...um he’s here, let me get him,” You mumble, allowing Taehyung, his eyes softening and features squinted, to step inside. You leave him standing in the living room, ignoring the knowing smirk, head bowed as you step into your bedroom.

You regret the gentle shove of his shoulders, and the hushed “wake up” that slowly but surely draws Jeongguk from his sleep. He looked peaceful, full of youth with his eyes stapled and breath steady rising and falling. His eyes are puffy when he raises, confusion laced features recalling that he wasn’t in his own home.

His arm extends, patting your side of the bed, unaware that you were the reason for premature awakening. “Hey sleepy head.”

“What are you doing up?” He finds your hand, grabbing hold in an attempt to pull you back to bed. Though you would be more than willing, Taehyung is sure to have heaps to say already, no reason to add fuel to the fire already blazing in his pupils.

“Taehyung is here,” That catches his attention, eyes darting to the door half open. “He said he’s been trying to reach you. He’s waiting in the living room, I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to know you’re here, I panicked.”

“No it’s fine,” He assures, sliding from the bed, the same chill that ate you catching him with bare feet. You follow him back out to Taehyung, who’s taken it upon himself to peruse the space, currently examining the coffee table with it’s day old mugs. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.”

Looking between the two of you, your hand finding habit at Jeongguk’s shoulder, he shrugs. “No biggie, just thought you might be in a ditch or something. Turns out I was very wrong, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’ll just come with you, I should probably shower and change. I’ve got some stuff to take care of before the opening. I can’t believe it’s only a couple months away.” You drop your hand, leaving him to it, an awkward and unsure feeling settling in your stomach. It’s clear that Jeongguk is a bit embarrassed, not that you’re own emotions haven’t caused the sting of a heat in your cheeks. You wait for him to follow Taehyung, who’s already waved goodbye, hands in his pockets as he stalks away.

Jeongguk isn’t so quick, turning to your ground bound pupils, fingers drifting to the trace of your jaw and nudging you to greet him. You’re taken by the lack of hesitation when his lips meet yours in kiss, short and sweet, altogether unexpected. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” You coo, fingers brushing his cheek gingerly, rewarded with one more peck before Taehyung is groaning in the hallway, effectively tearing Jeongguk from you to catch up.

~*~

You’re warm, for the first time in a long time you’re warm, from your chest to your veins, head and toes, and it’s all because of Jeon Jeongguk. His departure wasn’t the last of him, the next few months full of meetings planned and spontaneous, your phone alight with too many notifications, every one taken in with the same adoring smile and your own obsessed response.

You would stop by Hoseok’s blessing him with a coffee, happily listening to his rambling about the horrendous new flavor Jin had him and Yoongi test the other night. Across the street you could just see Jeongguk through the window, lips pulled in concentration, pen scribbling on the pad in front of him. Though it was cute, you couldn’t help but to attempt to cheer him up, his eyes immediately finding you after he’s read the little note sent to his phone.

You would be sick with yourself if you were the one to witness the affection radiating from your expanse, but you couldn’t care less how many times Jimin fake gags or the small lecture you endure when Yoongi delivers flowers later in the day. You hold on to the feeling and you hope that it feels like this all the time.

“What are you working on?” Namjoon steps into your office, no other reason than his own boredom swallowing him whole, much like the cushions when he collapses into your sofa.

“Just some of Jeongguk’s sketches…” You noticed rather quickly the familiar book resting on your bedside table after your first night together, no doubt placed by Jeongguk before sleep could find him. You spent the morning getting to know his art better, so you could try to make it exactly what he wanted. You only just got around to transferring the sketches to your own notebook, hoping to have something to show him at his opening.

“He’s really good for you. I haven’t seen you this eager about sketching in a while.”

“You think so?”

“What, you don’t?”

“No, I just...I don’t want you to think I’m completely insane for jumping into this so suddenly. I mean, I think it’s insane that I could be so completely sure about someone so quickly and I think the world of you, so I don’t want you to be disappointed…”

He laughs, whole hearted laughter fills your office and you’re not positive how you should respond. Your hands are unsteady on your pen, ready for him to completely crush your soul, back to the same girl standing in his doorway all those years ago.

“Honestly, you give me way too much credit.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night that you showed up, I was wondering how I was even gonna keep this place open. The building wasn’t the most friendly looking, most people walked right past, the outside giving them the impression that the inside was just as decrepit,” He sighs, head supported by the arm of the chair, eyes holding the ceiling in place. “When you showed up I was seconds away from telling you to get lost, then you handed me your sketches and you looked so hopeful. You were my last chance, so really I should be thanking you for being so spontaneous, especially if it means you’re happy.”

“Wow, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I didn’t want to put more pressure than you already put on yourself. Plus, it doesn’t really matter now, does it? We’re doing pretty good, and that’s what’s important.”

The revelation is a motivation, your grip on the pencil tightening, strokes light and even on the page. Namjoon doesn’t say much more, silent inspiration while he falls into slumber, the only reason he ever finds himself meandering into your space.

“Knock knock,” Jeongguk peers around the corner, your finer flying to your lips, the other gesturing toward Namjoon, dozing peacefully. “Sorry, does he do that a lot?”

“Oh yeah, he pretends he wants to know what I’m up to then he’s out like a light before I’ve finished speaking.”

“I’ll have to try it sometime—”

“Watch it,” You warn playfully, sneakily closing your notebook so he can’t see. “What’s up? I figured you would be too busy filling orders for little ole me.”

“Never, and I want you to try this! I was thinking I could add it to the special menu. I know everyone is into the whole lemonade with boba thing which we do offer but I was trying to make a tea that’s more on the fruity side than the tea side because I know some people are put off by the tea taste, ya know?” He watches you uncomfortably closely, your face trained to be as neutral as possible while flavors explode, traveling to opposing ends of your mouth, battling it out, but ultimately left with no winner.

“You know, I appreciate the thought and I’m sure if you work on it some more it’ll be perfect but…”

“It’s disgusting.” He finishes for you sighing in defeat, collapsing in the chair across from you.

“No!” You round the desk, his arms ready to accept your slide into his lap. “It’s not disgusting, it’s just...not quite blended yet.”

He takes the to-go cup, sipping his own concoction. You wonder if he tried it at all before running over here, his habit of trusting your initial judgement extremely endearing, but unnecessary. It stems only from your admittance that you weren’t the biggest tea drinker and that you’re one of those lemonade with the boba people. His mission became clear, he couldn’t stand to see you walk into his shop knowing that you’ll be leaving with sugared lemons squeezed into juice. He has to make you the perfect tea if it’s the last thing he does.

He was set on making it for the opening, but to no avail, the sign flipped, his employees brewing away, his drop here only partially out of the necessity for his favorite taste tester. “It’s disgusting,” He decides immediately, fighting the urge to spit it back into the cup. “You have to stop being so nice to me, it’s cute, but I want you to yell at me like you yell at Jimin.”

“I don’t yell at Jimin!”

“You yell at Jimin all the time, lovingly, but there are voices raised.” Namjoon rubs at his eyes, tugging at the shirt riding at his abdomen. “We goin for tea or what? I swear people are gonna think we’re out of business with how often we close early.”

"Yeah, can you just give us a minute?" You try your best to be discrete, nodding toward the notebook on your desk.

"Yeah...Jimin and I will just meet you there." He leaves you, door clicking in his wake and you turn to Jeongguk with a ready grin, eyes wide with excitement.

"Is this one of those things where I should knock everything off of your desk? If so I'm down, but this is a weird time…"

"No! I have a surprise for you." You pull his journal from it's position beneath the stacks of paper on your desk. "You left this at my place your first night over."

"I've been looking for this! I was embarrassed to tell you I lost it, but it turns out you're a klepto." He teases, taking hold of the pages. "So you decided to hold it hostage?"

"I wasn't holding it hostage, I was working on…" You lift your sketchbook, flipping to the appropriate page. "These."

They aren't complete, but you want his first impression and suddenly you understand the tea thing. It's a radically different medium, your shared art actually pending ink on his body, but you don't want to go too far only to disappoint. He leans against the desk, not speaking, just staring, expressionless.

"If you don't like them we can talk about what you want changed, I just tried to make something I thought would fit what you've already got going."

He finally looks up, eyes glistening, your stomach doing flips. You're too afraid to ask what he's thinking, so you continue to wait, hoping he'll speak up soon and that you didn't insult him with your vision.

"I love them."

"Really? You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings, it's your body you know."

"Really, you're amazing. This is better than I could've hoped and I can't wait until it's permanent." His words are firm with sincerity, notebook laid to the side in favor of pulling you into his arms. "How am I supposed to compete? I can't even make tea for you."

"Relax, your tea is perfectly fine! I just enjoy the occasional lemonade. Come on, we'll go to the shop, you can make me whatever you want and I'll love it."

"Deal, but...I-we have a surprise for you as well."

"For me?"

"Yeah, I was talking with the guys the other day, we were talking about you..."

"You and the guys? This should be good."

"It is, I promise." He produces an envelope from his pocket, no scrawl on the outside, more mystery than you're ready for. “I was thinking about what you said that first night, about wanting to remember what it was like in the beginning.”

“What did you do?” You tear into the envelope, fingers moving so slowly you fear the skin will catch in the thin edges. What you pull is far from what you imagined, a ticket printed blue for a week’s time. Jeongguk stares at you expectantly, waiting for some form of reaction, but you’re not sure what to say. “This is a plane ticket…”

“Yeah, to Japan. We want you to go back and we knew you wouldn’t do it unless we planned it for you.”

“You guys didn’t have to.”

“We wanted to, I wanted to. The way your eyes lit up talking about that time in your life, I would do anything to give that to you again. So we want you to go to Japan, do something for you.” His lips land on your forehead, breathing you in while you process the unexpected gift. It’s more than you could ever imagine, but there’s a single string, dangling with uncertainty. You figure the only way to eliminate it is to pull full force, risk sounding ridiculous.

“What about you?” Jeongguk’s face scrunches in confusion, the inquiry the last thing he expected. His thoughts were far from himself, not naive enough to think his mind would be focused anywhere but you while you’re gone, but never thinking it would be a reason you’re unsure about going. “I don’t mean to sound stupid, but I’d miss you too much.”

“You can call me everyday, any time of day. I’ll be there, you don’t have to worry about me not being here waiting for you.”

“Or...you could come?”

“Oh, you want me to? I figured you’d want to do your own thing, not have me weighing you down.” Your arms find his waist, head resting against his chest, giggling at the prospect of Jeongguk being anything more than a comforting presence.

“Of course I want you to, I wanna show you everything.”

“I’ll have to figure things out with the shop, but—”

“Oh, wow I’m so selfish. Of course you can’t just drop everything to come with me, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” You shake your head, silently scolding your inconsideration. Jeongguk grabs hold of your shoulders, stopping you mid step, hand halfway to smack your forehead.

“I would love to come, I just have to talk to Taehyung about it. I’m sure he wouldn't mind taking on a little more responsibility. Actually he’ll probably pack my bags for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll probably have to catch a later flight, just to get things taken care of.” He thinks aloud.

“I think I can manage a few days on my own.”

“I promise I won’t be long.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, we smile.

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