#because I managed to get the camera stuck pointing straight down and wander off the side of the map

[tj-crochets]

I just started playing Coral Island! Do any of y'all play? Any advice? So far it took me two in game days before I figured out that there is a map lol (I am not the most skilled at computer games)

[moon-ttokki-x]

HIII MY LOVE

i was just wondering if you could do something with a foreigner!reader, who doesn’t speak korean, with han?? where they have a hard time communicating but they still wanna be together??

(btw if you have anons can i be 🪻??)

hi, love~ this was so cute, really interesting to write . this took a while but it was so worth it hehe . yes you can, my first emoji anon yayy . here you go~~

i want to understand you - (han jisung x female!reader)

pairing: idol!han jisung x female!reader

summary: the language barrier between you and jisung stops your true feelings from being communicated.

genre: angsty but happy ending, idol!au, reader is a stylist, mentions of injuries, blood, cuts, bandages, antiseptics, broken glass, jisung doesn't like being injured, chan's iconic smirk comeback, hints to chanlix and minsung, mentions of wrestling, kissing, nothing too intense i promise

a/n: this is one of my fav fics that i've written tbh . everything in bold + italic is spoken in korean. just a note !

skz masterlist

"How long have you been watching him?" Felix whispers into your ear.

"Huh?"

He smirks, nodding his head towards Jisung, who's currently messing about on set with Minho. "You've been watching him."

You scoff and push him away. "No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have."

Groaning, you brush past Felix and wander past the cameras to the other side of the MV set. It's almost midday; the sun beats down relentlessly on the pavements outside, bathing everything in a bright glow, but inside the warehouse, the lights are dimmed in shades of red, green and white, casting an eerie palette over the broken glass and haphazard items scattered about the dusty floor.

Your eyes wander to one of the camera tripods; 'ESCAPE FILMING' is written on a piece of masking tape and stuck to the side. Your gaze flits to Chan and Hyunjin; both of them are raggedy, slender figures in heavy coats and coarse clothing. They're busy talking to their manager; you duck off to the side and run straight into Felix again.

You groan. "Go away."

"Come on," he murmurs. "Go talk to him."

It's been almost a month since you took the job as a stylist with JYPE; it had been interesting, to say the least. The members took to you immediately, teasing and friendly within a couple of days. You were in awe; they were such professionals you'd been assigned to work around, but one of them had caught your eye.

Jisung.

You feel your cheeks warm as you watch him; Felix is motionless beside you, no doubt smirking, but your heart sinks as you hear the distant lilt of excitable Korean floating over the set to your ears.

"Y/n, go," Felix insists. "Talk to him."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" You whip around to face him. "I don't speak Korean, and he doesn't know enough English to be fluent in a conversation with me."

"He sings in English," Felix points out, adjusting the cuff of his hoodie. His black cap- Chan's cap- sits low on his head.

"That's because he has you and Chan to help him." You groan.

This would be so much easier if the rest of the members weren't here. You wonder what they're here for, anyway; they said they came to support Chan and Hyunjin while they filmed their music video, but you have a sneaking suspicion it was just to get out of an extra dance practice Chan scheduled for the remaining members while he was away. No doubt the maknaes' idea.

You'd fought to stay focused on doing Hyunjin's makeup that same morning; he hadn't missed the way your hand shook around your eyeshadow brush when Jisung had breezed in with a cheerful shout. If Hyunjin had noticed, he hadn't said anything, and the resulting makeup look had thankfully turned out just fine.

"Y/n."

You whip around so fast your neck hurts, and you almost trip over your own feet as you come face-to-face with Jisung. He's dressed casually, as most of the members are; his grey zip hoodie is slightly dusty, loose black jeans showing a peek of startingly white shoes beneath their hems.

His face is bare, void of makeup, and you can see the healthy pink flush on his cheekbones and the tip of his nose. His lashes blink away strands of un-styled, dark hair falling into his face; he sweeps it back effortlessly with two fingers, and his wide eyes fix themselves onto your own, a cheerful grin painting his lips.

You look around wildly for Felix to save you; he's conveniently disappeared into thin air, and you curse inwardly as you're forced to face Jisung once more. There's nowhere to run.

"Hi." Your voice sounds thin and awkward.

"Hi." He replies, an equally awkward but adorable smile curving his mouth further. Even the simple syllable sounds odd and unfamiliar to him, it seems. Tinged with his accent, the sound coming out of his mouth looks like he tasted something unusual; new and curious, but strange.

Foreign.

You stutter, unable to comprise a singular sentence. Even if you were able to at the moment, it's unlikely Jisung will understand. The past few interactions with him have shown you that.

You try anyway. "Did you need something?"

He blinks. Takes apart each word in his mind, turns his cognitive gears, and a dawning sense of confusion appears on his face despite the effort to understand. "Chan-hyung ruined his makeup again. He's busy with his outfit, but he sent me to ask you if you could quickly touch it up for him? If you're not busy..."

You're running, sprinting even, to keep up with Jisung's rapid pace of speaking. Korean tumbles out of his mouth in a smooth waterfall, each word naturally clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle.

For you, though, it's like looking at the completed picture upside down. It just doesn't make sense, and you can't tell what's he's asking by his tone like you have before.

"Chan?" You say, questioning. It was the only word you caught.

He nods once, then faster. "His makeup." He points to his leader, a distance away, who is redoing his belt and pulling on his coarse jacket for the next scene.

Jisung points to Chan again, then to his own face. He points to the crossbody bag across your waist, full of your stylist tools, and mimes swiping a brush across his cheeks.

"Oh," you say. "His makeup?"

Jisung nods frantically. You fight a smile; makeup and snacks are the only English words he seems to understand at the moment. Couldn't say you wouldn't have been the same way.

You nod once to him and awkwardly brush past him to go to Chan.

Jisung watches you go.

Chan turns round as you approach, bowing sheepishly as you pull several brushes and a chrome palette from your bag.

"Sorry for ruining it," he says as he closes his eyes. You chuckle and redo the look with a few simple strokes, and step back to make sure it's neat. You swipe a pinky across his cheekbone to remove any excess. "I saw you and Jisung talking."

You sigh. "Wasn't really talking. More..."

"Confusion?" Chan offers with a smile.

You poke him in the side and he shies away, grinning. "How long were you watching us?"

He shrugs casually, looking away. "The whole time."

You groan, cheeks flushing as he laughs. "I wish I could speak Korean fluently... Learning it takes so long, and there aren't any translating apps I can use on a day-to-day basis."

Chan does look at you then, expression empathetic. "I know it's inconvenient, Y/n, but you're making progress. Just keep at it, and while you and Jisung are both learning each other's languages, it'll become easier to communicate over time."

You look towards Jisung, who's currently reenacting the wrestling scene with Seungmin. Rapid, unfamiliar words tumble from the members' mouths at the speed of light as they laugh and clap, and you smile as Jisung emerges from underneath Seungmin with his dark hair covered in feathers.

You sigh. "I hope so."

Chan sighs, touching your shoulder in reassurance. Looking past you, he gazes fondly over the seven members, unaware of you both watching them, and chuckles. "I thought Hyunjin and I were gonna get this music video filming done fast, but... apparently not."

You smile. "I don't think they were too fond of having to do extra practice while you were away."

Chan rolls his eyes and you laugh as he runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further. There's a yelp from behind you, and Chan whips around, faster than lightning. The members have gone silent.

You're both just in time to see Jisung fall off the mattress. His hand scrapes awkwardly along the floor, where tiny fragments of glass from the stunt filming earlier scatter throughout the dust. A deep red line opens up along his forearm, and Chan swears before dashing to his side.

You come up behind Felix, calling to one of the crew members to find a tissue and water as Chan sits Jisung down properly on the mattress, brushing aside feathers.

"Are you okay?" Chan asks in worry, cradling his member's hand.

Jisung winces as a wet rivulet of blood drops onto the floor. The rest of the boys burst into concerned murmurs, jostling to see. You push past Minho with a pack of tissues, handing them to Chan. Cracking open the top of a water bottle, you dampen the centre of a folded piece of tissue and dab it gently along Jisung's forearm. He groans and attempts to pull away, but his leader holds his arm firmly, murmuring reassurance.

"There's a spare room down one of the warehouse corridors," you say to Chan. "I went there earlier to set my things up. There's a first aid kit in there."

"Is there no one on set with one already?" He says, strained. You bite your lip and look to the crew, who all look away, seemingly distracted.

Chan actually growls then, making you recoil, and mutters something that might have either been a string of expletives or a complaint about crew disorganisation.

You suppose his reaction is justified either way.

Folding the water-damp, bloodied tissue, you tuck it into your pocket and stand up. "I can take him to the room there and clean the cut," you offer. "Might be easier without all the glass around."

Chan nods, holding a hand to Jisung to stand up. "I can come with both of you-"

"No," you say firmly. "Focus on filming with Hyunjin. It's getting late and I know both of you want to be done with it. I'll take care of him."

Chan bites his lip in anxiety, clearly struggling to make the decision between staying on set and going with Jisung, but Hyunjin puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's get the rest of the shots done, Chan-hyung," he says. "Y/n is more than capable of taking care of the injury."

You blink, not understanding, but it seems to be enough to reassure Chan, who nods and turns away. Hyunjin follows him, and the rest of the members meekly disperse behind the cameras, far quieter than before.

You wind between crew members and filming equipment before heading down the main back corridor of the warehouse, where a spare room splits off into four smaller rooms down the way. Heading into the second door on the right, you hold the door open for Jisung before pulling out the first aid kit from a duffel bag.

You point to a chair as he closes the door. The metal of the knob is scarlet as he lets go. "Sit."

He sits and you place the kit on the cabinet, unzipping a pouch and pulling out a bandage, an antiseptic wipe, and another pack of tissues. Trying to ignore your hands shaking as you do so, you feel your cheeks warm as Jisung shuffles on the chair, a muffled disturbance in the sudden stillness of the room.

You're alone with him.

Biting your lip in an all-too-aware consciousness of the situation, you pull a chair to sit next to him, setting down the items on the plastic table. He rests his arm on the surface as you rip open the antiseptic packet, and then pause.

Gingerly, you place a light hand on his wrist and pull his forearm closer to you, beginning to gently swipe the wet wipe across the cut. A faint smell of chemical rises in the air, and Jisung discreetly exhales, making you crack a tiny smile.

His forearm is tense; you can see the stress of the situation, visible in his body language. The wipe clearly stings him, becoming redder by the minute. He lets out a tiny start, obviously fighting to keep quiet.

You can see him beginning to squirm, his bottom lip caught flush between his teeth as he chews on it in distress.

"Jisung," you say softly, pausing the cleaning to give him a break. "It's okay. You're doing well."

He doesn't respond, focused on the wound. Then, taking a deep breath, his wide eyes meet yours and he gives a tiny nod, signalling for you to continue.

You've cleaned about half of the injury's surrounding area; feeling unbelievably bold, you stroke a gentle thumb across the inside of his wrist as you swipe scarlet off his bare skin, attempting to calm him. He relaxes suddenly, and the exhale of a deeply-held breath fans lightly across your face, stirring your hair. It does nothing to cool the tension building between the both of you.

You fumble to stuff the used, damp wipe back into the packet. Jisung's eyes follow you intently; he seems to have recovered from the initial shock of injury.

He watches curiously as you tilt your head to the side, inspecting the cut, before unravelling a length of a clean rolled bandage. You lay it flat on the clean table before unwrapping four sheets of fluffy gauze, laying it on top. You undo the top off of a small tube of ointment.

"What's that?" He says.

There's a clear question in his tone; taking a wild guess, you hold up the tube. He nods.

"This? Ointment. It's to keep the wound moist," you reply. You're not sure why you bothered; he doesn't understand it anyway, and he just nods politely before continuing to gaze at the tube, most likely attempting to piece its use together in his head.

You let out a tiny sigh, almost fuming at the inconvenience of it all. You want to talk to him, understand him. But you keep quiet, clamp it down, and continue to smear the cream gently across the wound edges with a finger.

He's no longer watching the application of the cream, though; his gaze is fixed intently on your face, as if he's trying to see through you to the other side of the room. You know he's watching; you can feel his eyes burning into you, and you bite the inside of your cheek, attempting to keep composure.

"Y/n," he says softly.

You gulp and look up, pausing your ministrations. He tilts his head to the side, a strange look taking over his features. It's no secret to either of you that you can't understand the other; it seemed to you that Jisung was just never as bothered by the language barrier as you were.

Apparently not.

"Thank you for taking care of me," he says simply. Taking a deep breath, he hopes inwardly that you haven't learnt too much Korean yet, and continues to talk. "I wish I could speak more English, enough for us to communicate. I'm sorry I never told you that before. I know it makes you sad."

Silence.

"I don't know what you're saying," you murmur softly, a look of longing and resignation taking over your expression.

"I don't understand you."

You lean one hand under your head. "I wish we could communicate."

"I wish we could talk properly... This is so frustrating."

Sighing and giving up completely, you tap his wrist, and he brings it closer to you so you can wrap the injury. Delicately placing the gauze sheets along the cut, you begin to firmly wrap the bandage around his forearm, taking care not to cut off his circulation in the process. Securing the bandage with a clip, you stand and begin to dispose of the packets and tissues.

Jisung stands too, unsure, like he's waiting for direction. He opens his mouth to say something, but your thoughts are beginning to run away with you, and you speak them aloud before he has a chance to say anything.

"I wonder what things would have been like if we both spoke the same language." You throw the packets in the bin.

Jisung seems to be lost in his own thoughts too. "Maybe I could ask one of my hyungs to teach me English... or Hyunjin! He knows English too! He might be able to help..."

Yet again, the names of one of his members is the only word you can recognise amongst his rapid-fire speech.

"Hyunjin?" You say. "What about him? Did- should I go get him?" You groan in exasperation and throw your hands out, knocking the ointment off the cabinet from where you've just set it down. "What are you asking for?"

"Sorry, I don't know what you're upset about, but maybe I can ask Chan-hyung and Hyunjin for advice on what to do... Unless you've already talked to them..."

"I bet you'd sound so different talking in English," you're beginning to fume, and you feel bad, because none of this is Jisung's fault. He's Korean, he speaks it, so why are you getting so upset about not being able to communicate through the same language?

Both of you are practically talking to yourselves now; Jisung is clearly lost on another planet, seemingly recovered from the injury. You're beginning to feel yourself sink, no longer nervous around him. Now, you just feel a desperate longing.

To talk. Actually talk.

"Changbin-hyung told me that you don't speak much Korean, but maybe I could teach you? Ah, that wouldn't work, because I'd have to teach you in English first..."

You bite your lip. A dangerous thought crosses your conscience; you could just tell him. About how you feel. He might not even know what you're talking about. He probably won't.

Hopefully.

You decide to risk it. Even if he does understand, you can easily play it off as a translating mistake on his part. No worries.

"Jisung," you say cautiously.

He snaps out of his endless train of thought, and locks his gaze with yours. Like a soldier called to attention.

"Y/n," he says cheekily, though you can see his confident demeanour faltering.

"I really want to be able to talk with you," you continue. "Properly. But maybe it's a good thing we can't understand each other. I can say I love you without you understanding... Gosh, Hyunjin would have a field day making fun of us idiots. Not being able to communicate..."

Jisung blinks. Once. Twice. You see the flutter of his lashes, the cogs turning in his head, and then, very hesitantly, he steps closer. Like you're a wild animal he's trying not to spook.

You take a step back. He takes another forward.

So you step back again. Your back hits the cabinet.

Shit.

Jisung cocks his head; he looks exactly like his quokka counterpart. You blink as he frowns suddenly, then presses his hands together, slipping his fingers in a pattern over the newly wrapped bandage on his forearm.

Around and around and around. And then-

"You love Hyunjin?" Even without understanding, his tone is incredulous. Disbelieving.

"What about Hyunjin?" You say in confusion. "Clearly I've done something wrong, as your tone is telling me, but what does he have to do with it?"

Jisung groans, frustrated. "All this time. I was so happy you came to help me... I thought there might have been something between you and me, but you were just being helpful. Hyunjin, of all people."

You huff. "You keep saying 'Hyunjin' and yet, I still have no idea what you're saying."

Jisung scoffs. "Okay, relax! You don't need to keep talking about how much you love him! I get it... Damn, I'm stupid."

"...Well, you stopped saying his name, but I still don't know what you're talking about, Jisung."

"I wish I could understand you, Y/n."

"I wish you loved me."

"I want to know you. I would never let anyone hurt you, ever... But clearly, I'm not fit for it... I can't even put together a sentence in your language. How am I supposed to love you when I can't even do that?"

Your voices are rising at this point, swelling to fit the room. They mix in the air and rain down in shards, sparkling shards of glass that seem to hurt more than Jisung's forearm injury did.

Every glittering remnant makes your eyes sting until you feel a salty wetness coating your cheeks. The frustration is spilling out of you, the unfairness and utter inconvenience of it all drowning you in tumultuous, crashing waves until you are swept under the dark, powerful current, falling and falling and clawing upwards to air, to breathe, to him, but it doesn't work.

"Why can't things just be easy for once?" You cry out at him. He jolts, taken aback. "I just want to love someone, and here you are, yet I can't even tell you that I love you. I love you, Jisung, and you'll never, ever understand, and it's all my fault because I don't know any Korean enough to talk to you."

He's frozen. Pale as a ghost. And then the colour rises so fast to his face that you step forward, afraid that he might collapse or pass out or experience some other type of wildly unexpected medical occurrence that would probably make your current situation even more upsetting than it already is. If that's even possible.

"Me?" He says. His voice is shaky, strained. "You love me? Not Hyunjin?"

"Fuck, Jisung, this has nothing to do with Hyunjin. Forget about him, I'm talking about you. You might as well know since we can't fucking communicate. Do you even know what I just said, or do I just sound like an angry chicken?"

A look of understanding begins to dawn incredibly slowly on his face. He points to himself, in disbelief but still rather unsure about what you're saying. "Me?"

"Yes, you, you absolute idiot. Shit."

Jisung looks at his hands, then points to himself. He cups his hands and shakily rearranges his fingers, making a comical depiction of a heart. "You?"

"That is the most shit heart I've ever seen you make," you huff. You point to yourself, dramatically enunciating as if he was a child unable to understand anything more than the colour of the sky.

"I." You jab a finger repetitively into your chest.

"Love.." You make a heart, bending your index fingers and pushing your hands towards him. Like he could just take your love the way something might take a glass of water offered to them.

"You," you stab a finger in the air again and again, pointing to him. There's no way he's confused now.

He's still standing there, eyebrows raised, confused and in disbelief. Your mind whirrs.

How can I possibly make this any clearer? I don't know what else I'm supposed to do now... Maybe I should just brush it off and give up. The others must be wondering where we are. Hey, I bet Chan and Hyunjin are finally done filming-

Jisung's mouth crashes desperately onto yours.

Your back throbs as it's pressed against the cabinet; his chest bumps yours and your hands fly to his shoulders, clutching him as if you're drowning. A gasp slips out of your mouth before it's swallowed up; Jisung tilts his head and it's all you can do not to let your knees buckle under him.

You can feel his hair tickling your forehead as he gulps in half a breath of air, so soft, so impossibly soft, like pinfeathers under your fingers just as you'd imagined it to be. You tug him back in, gripping the neckline of his hoodie, trying to make him realise, trying to communicate everything you've been saying without saying anything at all.

He doesn't seem to care about the injury on his arm anymore, and one hand moves to cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. He's not just kissing you, he's pouring thousands upon thousands of words into you, words he can't ever hope to tell you and words you won't ever understand.

But you do understand.

He pulls back, gasping. Your foreheads bump clumsily against each other's and he holds you fast, panting.

"Jisung," you gasp.

"Y/n," he replies breathlessly. "I love you. I love you."

You finally have some clue as to what he's saying. "I love you too."

He nods frantically, his nose brushing your cheek as he nuzzles into your neck, so hard it almost hurts. But you can't find it in yourself to care, returning the crushing affection with as much strength as you can muster, fuelled by relief and love and irrevocable joy and Jisung.

The hasty explanation of your feelings all this time evaporates off your tongue, burning into ash. You sweep it into a corner of your mind and dust the rest off Jisung's shoulders.

Chan clears his throat.

Both you and Jisung spring apart as if burned. Chan stands in the doorway, arms crossed as he leans against the frame. There's a delighted smirk painted across his face, the remainder of his dark, raw makeup smudged and faded. There's a feather in his hair, and he regards the two of you with a cool stare.

"So," he says slowly, clearly fighting the urge to tease. He speaks in English and Korean, so that both of you can understand.

Chan adjusts his coarse jacket. "Did you two finally manage to communicate? Did you finally manage to talk properly?"

Jisung grins.

a/n: div by @aquazero

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[gyucore]

to reach a happy ending

pairing: beomgyu x reader

tags: fluff, childhood friends to lovers

word count: 1.6k

warnings: beomgyu swears like once

prompts:

017: "A fairytale with a happy ending always brings a smile to my face."

023: "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

— requested by ⛅ anon! sorry this took so long to make. i hope you like it!! ♡

"Ew, look at this." You hand the dusty old photo album to Beomgyu who's sprawled across the floor by your side.

"Wait—" He stops you, rolling away before letting out a sneeze so loud that it managed to echo off the dusty untouched walls of his old room. The poor guy couldn't help it, his room hadn't been cleaned since he moved out in the middle of high school, and his mom preferred to keep things as they were— dust and all. You wonder if it was simply an excuse to clean one less room.

Beomgyu did say he had dropped in yesterday without notice. You'd think he'd want to spend some quality time with his parents first, but he'd decided to invite you over after spending a single night under this roof. Having heard nothing but radio silence from your best friend in years, you were thrilled to get to see him again. And what better way to shed off the ever present awkwardness in the beginning than to go through old photo albums?

"Okay, show me." Beomgyu rolls back to your side, scooting in closer to rest his head on your lap.

You turn the photo album, pointing at one photo in particular of you and Beomgyu dressed as a knight and damsel in distress— Beomgyu playing the role of the latter. Contrary to the roles, you were pummeling Beomgyu to the ground as if having caught a thief, and Beomgyu was shoving his handkerchief to your face, blocking your eyesight. The context behind the photograph alludes you, but this might just be a case of seven-year-olds doing whatever they want whenever.

"The fuck you mean ew? I look great in that dress!" Frowning, Beomgyu grabs the album to stare longer at his past self's glory.

"Lying to yourself isn't good for you, Gyu." You jokingly disapprove. It was fun seeing his reactions right after.

"Oh, look at these."

Beomgyu points at a photo of you and him on stage, wearing the same costumes as before. You figured it was for a play back in first grade when you two had been classmates. The next series of photos included one of you holding out a sword towards a kid in a cheap dragon costume, one of Beomgyu holding back his tears after tripping over and ripping his dress, and ones of you rushing to Beomgyu and kissing away his tears.

"This takes me back." Beomgyu lights up with a smile, failing to notice the surprise on your face. "Remember when your mom made us believe that kissing any injuries we had would make it go away? I knew you wanted to help me back then but I couldn't stop crying and tell you were it hurt, so you started kissing all over my face hoping it'd go away."

You find yourself laughing at your past self's foolishness. "But did it work?" You ask in between laughs.

"Well," Beomgyu chuckles, getting up from his position on your lap. "I don't think it would've worked if another person had done it. But since it was you— Wait." He takes one last look at the album, letting slip a wheeze before placing it back in its box. "Mom wrote something right below the photo."

"What did she write?" You ask, holding out your hands for Beomgyu to grab.

"A fairy tale with a happy ending always brings a smile to my face." Beomgyu tells you as he helps you up, trying his best to keep a straight face after delivering that line.

The two of you burst into laughter at his mother's words. You knew she'd been fond of fairy tales all her life but the caption was taking you out. Beomgyu was literally crying in the photo yet somehow this, to her, was a happy ending.

You eventually take notice of all the photos plastered around his room, some framed, and some simply stuck to the walls— memories of happier times. Most were of you and him, and in some, just you. He'd shown off the Polaroid camera his mother bought for him in seventh grade, proclaiming he'd only take photos of moments he'd want to keep in his memory forever. It never actually crossed your mind that a lot of them would be of you.

Beomgyu notices your wandering eyes and chuckles, placing an arm around your shoulder. The distance between you shrinks as he holds you closer. And at that moment, you take note of everything that's changed.

He'd gotten taller since the last time you saw him. Gone was the lanky boy you knew, evident in the way his muscles flexed with every small movement you wish you hadn't noticed. Beomgyu had grown his hair out; the thick, wavy locks tucked behind his ears, covering the back of his neck. The deepness of his voice had been a surprise when he greeted you at the door earlier, but you held back from pointing it out.

You feared that if you acknowledged all the changes, you'd be forced to face reality. That things weren't the same anymore, no matter how hard you tried. After all, Beomgyu wasn't the only one who changed. You had quite the few character development arcs yourself, and experiences which Beomgyu remained oblivious of. And somehow despite that, in his presence, you started to feel like your old self again.

Beomgyu's invitation had come as a surprise last night. You thought he'd forgotten about you, what with all the silence these past few years.

Life continued on as it should even without Beomgyu by your side, but you could argue that all the amazing experiences you've had on your own would've been better if he were there to experience it with you. And now here you were in his old room, pretending everything was the same as he'd left it.

You look up at your old friend, wanting to tell him what had been plaguing your thoughts the entire day but find yourself tongue tied when his dark eyes stare back into your own. And you wonder, how many times had it been that you'd stared into each other's eyes just like this? How many times had he pulled you close into his arms all those years? And just how many nights had you spent wondering if your feelings for him had grown into something more?

"I missed you." Beomgyu speaks first, his gaze never faltering.

Hearing his voice, you swear you could've melted right then and there. Part of you had wished he'd tell you those exact words, confirming that it hadn't been just you who'd been wanting to see him all these years.

"I missed you too."

Beomgyu could only smile at your response.

His arm leaves your shoulder— hands slowly finding their way to your own. His hold was gentle as he slowly guided you to face him.

"Don't laugh, but," Beomgyu starts. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

"Love at fir—"

The question throws you off.

"What?"

"I heard you the first time!" You cut him off, wanting so bad to cover your face from the secondhand embarrassment. "I can't believe you just said that. What even happened to you in college?"

"Hey! At least hear me out before you make fun of me." Beomgyu bursts out laughing at your reaction, his thumbs caressing the back of your hands to help you calm down. "Judging from your reaction, I'm guessing your answer is a no. And I honestly felt the same too until a few hours back."

"Okay, you lost me there."

"Shut up. What I'm saying is," Beomgyu squeezes your hands, leaning in closer. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch the last few years. I had a lot of trouble adjusting, and it took a while for me to really get the hang of living alone. I wanted to talk to you as soon as I got there but then I thought that maybe it would've been better for you if I left you to live your own life for a while too."

"Beomgyu.." You squeeze his hands back, sensing the sincerity in his eyes.

Beomgyu shakes his head. "I know this sounds silly and all, but I didn't want you to feel the emptiness I felt when I left. I wanted you to go and make experiences of your own without me."

You frown, refraining to speak until he's done.

"But then I couldn't stop thinking about you. Everywhere I went, I'd think of you and how the place would've been better if we got to hang out there together. Every time I had fun or ate something that tasted good, I wanted you to share the experience with me."

Beomgyu sighs. "Honestly, I thought I could make it through my visit home without seeing you but I passed by your house on my way home yesterday and I just.. I couldn't hold back. And when I saw you for the first time in years at the front of my doorstep.. I knew I had to tell you."

Half of you knew what to expect, and the other half doubted the reality of the situation. But all the doubts instantly melt away as soon as Beomgyu closed the distance between you, pressing your foreheads together.

Face flushed, you stare at him in awe and notice he had his eyes closed shut. "Cute." You thought.

He whispers in a voice so quiet you could barely hear.

"I like you."

You couldn't hold it in any longer, the rush of emotions crashing into you like raging waves against a cliff. The next moment, you find yourself inching closer and closer, face heating up even more as you press your lips against his as a reply.

Beomgyu's eyes widen, body freezing in place. He hadn't exactly expected you to respond so soon, especially not like this. And he couldn't be happier.

You feel Beomgyu returning the kiss, his hands going up to cup your face— his hold gentle. The two of you wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment for as long as life permits, because for once, you could finally see the path to your happily ever after slowly unraveling.

This was just the beginning.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

YEEHAW IT’S MIDNIGHT WHICH MEANS IT’S AUGUST 1ST WHICH MEANS INK DEMONTH SO I CAN FINALLY POST THIS NOW:

1. Pride

Diversity win! There is not a single cishet in the hivemind of ink creatures (To their knowledge) that you slaughter on a daily basis to make yourself beautiful! AKA: Possum has a fuck ton of LBGT+ headcanons regarding the BATIM cast and is happy to use this DeMonth prompt to indulge them. (Set before the loop starts, but after Buddy Boris meets/befriends the lost ones.)

Malice flicked through the channels of her cameras, trying to find more prey in her territory, and stopped when she saw a gathering of the lost and the searching (and exactly one Boris, the most perfect one she had ever seen.) in the Heavenly toy’s lobby, their prophet was brazenly sitting on the side of the waterfall as if he did not fear the ink when he should have.

Her ears steamed with anger as she saw that group, it was far too large for her to deal with on her own and too far away from the Projectionist’s grounds for her to manage to lure him to them. But on the bright side, she could learn some important information from them, after all, with how casually the prophet was sitting and gesturing and how the other freaks in the crowd were responding, this was clearly not one of his normal sermons.

(“I still find it rather funny that almost none of us are straight and that the few straight ones among us are trans, it’s like all this time we thought we were sheep hiding away in wolves’ clothing among wolves, unaware that the “wolves” were simply other sheep in hiding as well!”)

[Funnily enough, I’d rather be a sheep than a wolf, I think it makes more sense for me to be an animal that’s helpful to others but also easily scared.] The Boris wrote on a typewriter. [Or at least, I wish I had some kind of input on what I am, but I doubt I’d make myself an animal…]

(“Speaking of which...”) The lost one next to the wolf whispered in his ear as she looked over his typing. (“How are you holding up, Buddy?”)

Instead of typing, the wolf drew himself shrugging and put a bunch of question marks around him, then stuck the drawn-on paper in his typewriter and added to it.

[It’s hard to think most of the time, Boris always seems stronger when I’m alone, but I know the Ink demon will find us if I stay with you, this hunger is driving me crazy, and I just wanna go home. But on the bright side, I don’t have to deal with periods, chest pain from binding, or people condescendingly calling me ‘Miss Lewek’ anymore.]

She turned on the sound in that room, watching them like one would watch a Tv drama, but what she heard caught her off guard.

“So as long as we’re being honest about ourselves with each other…” The lost one stood up and pointed accusingly at Sammy. “Were you and Joey and a thing all along before the machine came into the picture!?”

If she was drinking water, she would’ve spat it right back out. Sammy, with Joey?! In the latter’s dreams, maybe! Even a few of the other lost ones looked shocked at the question, the Boris even gasped loud enough for it to be audible.

“Technically yes, but not by choice, mind you.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

What the fuck indeed random lost one. The angel wished that she didn’t hear that, but now that she couldn’t unsee it, at least it made a little bit of sense in hindsight. After all, in her eyes, they were awful enough to deserve each other.

“...Why?”

“It’s just, well... somebody had to keep his eyes from wandering to the lambs- err- younger, more naive, less experienced employees, not children (to my knowledge). And at the time, I really thought that he did at least care about me beyond our work relationships, at least a little bit…  But from what I’ve seen, I believe the only things he had ever truly loved were himself, and the idealized versions he had made of other people. His ‘dream versions’ of them, if you will.”

“And this whole time, I thought he was running off with Susie with all those lunch dates! Or where the three of you all… yaknow, *together* together?”

 “Not knowingly… However I wouldn’t put it past Joey to cheat on people. As for Susie... I did like her, maybe even love her in a way, but I doubt I could ever love her in the way she wanted me to love her, and-or love her carnally. I don’t even think I could fake it like I could for Joey, she was never signing my checks and wasn’t holding that over my head so I’d be too disgusted to even try.”

Malice was almost about to march down there herself and push him into the ink, but she knew this troupe all too well, and knew that sometimes this place worked on story logic, he’s now going to say something that alters the context of that statement enough to not justify her going over there and slam dunking him into the ink.

“Now that I think of it, I don’t think that I’ve ever loved… anyone in that sense. I can’t think of a single person or situation where the idea of doing that is anything other than gross at best. In fact, there was someone who was close to me a long time ago, someone who, while I have long forgotten now, would perhaps even be what one could consider a soulmate. Even then, the mere thought of doing that with them still makes me queasy…” The prophet sighed. “I suppose I am simply meant to remain alone in religious celibacy. A relationship of that kind would interfere too much with my worship anyway.”

"Ahh fahr foehck's sake... I can't believe dat it's dis foehckin stupid..." A more lucid, absolute giant of a searcher in the back of the crowd slapped his forehead.

“It?” Malice repeated curiously. “Huh… maybe it and I had more in common than we thought.”

“You're clearly a sex-repoehlsed asexual, you doehmbass! literally everyahne who's ever been in de dark poehddles at de same time as you figured dis ooeht befahre you ded!” He shouted through cupped hands. “celibate people are people who WANT sex, boeht dahn't poehrsue it fahr variooehs reasahns, dey ARE NAHT people who are desgoehsted wit sex to de point where dey legitimately throw oehp and feel 'ahrreble after doin de nahrmal vanella stoehff! Stahp foehckin foehckin people when you're clearly naht cahmfortable wit it, and you and future partner..s? 'll be 'appier wit yooehr rahmantic poehrsuits!”

The searcher, upon realizing that he had furiously sworn at the Prophet, their leader, the one who does not fear anything within the studio, not even the deepest depths of the dark puddles, and most terrifyingly of all; the former music director, he slinked into a puddle within the crowd in fear of being the target of reawakened ancient wrath. Everybody else looked back and forth to the prophet and back at the searcher who spoke out as they remained in stunned silence, even their eavesdropper was worried for his fate, even if in her case she feared how the show would end rather than his outcome. Surprisingly, and luckily for him, the Prophet broke the tense silence by laughing in that caught-off-guard tone of it.

“While you were rather… crude about it, what you’ve said does make a lot more sense then Joey being so bad at sex that he turned me away from men altogether, even if it is funny to assume that he was.”

“A-aye… and I can't believe dat you wrahte an entire foehckin sahng abooeht it! 'ow ded you naht get fired fahr dat?!”

“Good question, I wish I could remember the answer…”

[Maybe you had blackmail on Drew?] The Boris typed out and handed to Sammy.

“Yeah, maybe because you used to be so close to him, you saw skeletons that Joey would want to keep in the closet” His lost-one friend added.

“Like HIMSELF!” A voice from the back added, making the others in the room burst into laughter.

With the tension in the room gone, the group just went back to talking about either journeys they took to become comfortable with themselves, or the various past relationships that they had, or wished they had or in some peoples’ cases, all three.

Malice continued to watch them bitterly. It was as if they had either forgotten what the outside world was like to people like them or they simply didn’t care, and she wasn’t thinking about the ink that made up their bodies. Part of her envied how freely they had talked about themselves and each other, part of her felt like she had been smacked across the face, and a third part of her felt lonely. All of them seemed so happy telling their stories and building each other up, and here she was hiding away with her own story that she had wished to bury.

However, there was no iron clad law stating that she couldn’t tell them her own story. In fact, maybe if she came out of her own cage, made Sammy understand that big part of why voicing Alice was so important to her, made sure that it understood that as the very first explicitly female character she voiced, that Alice Angel was more than a beloved character to her, that she was a part of her, the biggest symbol of her own femininity, then maybe it would recognize the error of its ways. Maybe it would see how devastating it would be to be shunted aside without notice in favor of someone newer, prettier, ‘more feminine’...

She shut off the camera and thought it over, and she made up her mind. While she still didn’t want to share her story with everyone, Sammy needed to know it. Whether the Prophet liked it or not, she was going to pay it a visit.

[speedypandaweasel]

One Big Adventure - a Wilford Warfstache and Abe story (Non-Ship) (2,914 Words)

Thank you for the request @canceltheact! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

If you would like to submit a request, see the information at the Masterlist and submit through the Q and A!

PSA - THIS IS NOT A SHIP oke, let us begin...

Dazed images fog up the minds of two *very* hungover men as they stagger their way up to the apartment. Abe fumbles his way through the door and over strewn clothes. He continues on and manages to put together the kaleidoscope of scenery that is right in front of him. To his left, a saggy sofa sits and a cheap TV dangerously hangs off the stripping wallpaper by a thread. To his right, a grimy kitchen is on display which even the worst chef in the world wouldn't waste his time in. The other man, however, is blabbering away, slurring his words like a car on an icy motorway. "HA!, I tell *hick* you Abe, I'm so glad I remembered you, you see *hick*, I can't even remember where I put my-" Aaaand he's gone. His body moulds into the cushions that poorly support his droopy frame, and his scuffed platform boots dangle over the side. Abe smiles, slightly soberer than before. Who would have thought that this stock still of a man, whose only aesthetics were the colour beige and veterans, would somehow have a goofy, lighter side to him? All the criminals he's met and caught among the years...

Hold up, has he met anyone? He can't remember any experiences where he HAS met any, so why did he think that? Hm, must be the Tequila talking. Abe hopscotches over the empty Wine and Martini bottles that are decorated across the stained carpet. Damm, William has not been taking care of himself. Mind you, neither has he so he can't really say anything. He arrives into the walk-in kitchen and opens a dusty cupboard. His tired eyes only meet with shot and tumbler glasses.

How much does this Man drink!? Shuffling used plates and greasy cutlery out of the way, he fills a scotch glass with water. Dowsing the liquid felt like heaven. His exhausted physique felt like a body that's been stuck in the desert for a considerable amount of time and didn't know it needed water to survive. Oh, now he feels the headache coming on.

Reader, you know when water tastes funny? It's because your brain hasn't been receiving enough H20 because you've been drinking too many energy drinks. Yeah, that feeling is exactly what Abe is feeling right now. CONTINUING ON!

The scotch glass watches from the draining board whilst the Detective plays the quietest game of the floor is lava, whilst the moustached man is making much more noise. He manages to reach a corridor which he thinks leads towards the bedroom and tiptoes down the tight hall to find a vacant room. On the way, he passes another room. It was Barnum's. His mind was split in two, Does he go in? Or stay out? Through the crack in the door, the catastrophe has indeed spread into his sleeping quarters. A mountain of flamboyant disco clothes gathers dust in front of his Chester draws, the bed's not made and more liquor bottles are having a social gathering on top. Oh William, you may be a murderer, but you need to prioritise yourself. He takes a last look at his passed out flatmate down the hallway, before shutting the guest bedroom door. Grey. It's all he's met with. Much like his exterior. He slips his shoes off and starts to unbutton his off-white shirt. he runs a hand down his chest and over the scar. How the Hell did he survive that? He can't be bothered to go into it right now, he's too tired. He snuggles into bed and does the infamous cold bed dance.

You know the one.

Abe gets out of the tempting bed once more and walks back into the living room. He creeps over to William, the man's mouth catching flies. He carefully takes his enormous shoes off and places them on the floor. Barnum's mismatch socks disappear underneath the blanket. "Night William."

~ A gorgeous smell of Breakfast wanders its way through the apartment and Abe groggily wakes up. His eyes peel open and with a yawn, he trudges through to the living room. Remembering from earlier this morning, he needed to position himself for his dance routine around the non-existent floor. "What are you doing my main man?" Barnum brightly asks, a hearty chuckle accompanies the question. Resided in the pristine kitchen, his big, strong hand holds a Skillet and two China plates are centred on the pebble grey marble island. Abe, however, is currently squatting as though he was playing a game of leapfrog with some imaginary friends. The Detective goes to jump but then is taken back at the sight. The apartment is now spick and span, no more Wine Bottles, no more strewn clothes. The windows are tied wide open and it overlooks the sketchy neighbourhood that they reside in. "How did you do this?" "Do what?" "You know, clean up this quickly?" Barnum checks his watch. It's 7:30 am "Oh well you see, I ironed a nice pair of jeans and found a lovely dandelion coloured shirt. Accompanied by some rainbow braces I think I look quite dashing don't you think so?" "No William, I-I mean the Apartm-AAH!" Abe clings his hand over his head, damm this- "Headache is killing you?" William slides a glass of water over with an Aspirin pill. "And no, I didn't clean the apartment, she did." Wilford looks- wait, why are you looking at me!? "Anywho, we need to get going my slightly hungover companion! But first, breakfast!" Wilford sets a serving plate down of a full English Breakfast: Sausage, an Egg, two cooked Tomatoes, Bacon rashes, Baked Beans and a slice of Buttered Toast. Wow. He didn't know William could cook? The two men got stuck in right away and the TV is turned on. Two bright and very similar faces appear on the screen "Badgers the secret Killer?... And now for the weather, Jim?"

The camera pans to, what they believe, is Jim. Their face resembles a deer in headlights. "I swear, they don't know what they're doing. It's hilarious!" The Detective says with a mouthful of Toast. Barnum laughs, wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes a swig of his Orange juice. "Right! I mean, who is their boss anyway?!" The men eat and laugh their way through their plates talking about what topics they would cover if they were reporters. After a while, they both recline back into their bar stools and the cook starts to tidy up the dirty dishes. "Oh, no, let me do it. It's the least I can do." "You're alright my man, I've got this. Besides, you need to freshen up!" "But whe-'" "First door on your left"

They share a light chuckle. "Thanks Wilford, I really appreciated that," Abe says before going back down the hallway, whilst Wilford rolls his sleeves up and starts to clean the less-silver cutlery.

He smiles. That's the first time he's ever said that to him. "No problem Abe."

~

The passenger door slams shut on the Detective's Vintage SUV and Wiford pulls out a gigantic map from his pocket. This map includes hundreds of paths scrawled with crayons and a hint of Martini can be smelt.

"Are you sure, you know where you're going?" Abe questions. Judging by what that map reads, they are going to get lost very easily.

"Of course I know where I'm going! I am Wilford Motherloving Warftsache after all." A pang of guilt hits the Detective, he genuinely can't remember who he was.

"Ok, Wil, you can drive."

After playing at least 3 rounds of rock paper scissors, or when Wilford won, Abe hesitantly let the murderer drive. God knows where though.

Wilford excitedly thrust the keys into the ignition. He couldn't wait for what the day entailed!

"Careful Willford, you're gonna break the keys!" Abe says through gritted teeth.

"Oh pah-lease! I know how to drive" he retaliates. His brown boot floors the pedal and reverses straight into the iron fence.

"Yep, it's working."

The Detectives face, now pale, grips tighter onto his seatbelt and his feet are glued to the floor. "Wil, of course it's working. Now, step on the ga- nope, that's the brakes Wilford."

Pedestrians quiver in fear as they see a horribly driven brown vehicle screech to a stop and then start again. They have to clamp down on their ears as the monster of a car drives past them down the alleyway, swerving left and right much like the driver's speech the other night.

The SUV survives to the end of the road and dents a stop sign perched, well once, straight on the kerb.

"Will, which route are we taking?" Abe asks as he takes the map from the driver's hands.

"It's the one marked Highway of Life, it's gonna be a good one, trust you me."

"Well, this has got off to a surprising start so why not go for an adventure?" Abe says. He's given up at this point.

~

"LIFE IS A HIIIGHHWWAYY! I WWAAANNNA RRIIDDEE IIT ALLL NIIGGHTT LOOOOONNGG!" The two pop stars start belting out of the car as Wilford drives them to their last stop. Who would have thought that two polar opposites positions of the law would be in the same car together, let alone blasting Disney songs out of the car.

Wilford's hair whips away from his face as the SUV's top winds down.

"LIFE NEEDS A BIT OF MADNESS EH ABE?"

"HELL YEAH IT DOES"

The Afternoon sun blazes down onto their blacked-out sunglasses and the Golden Gate bridge paints a picture for the Detective that prescribes him with a carefree attitude.

Life was his to choose and he was here for it.

~

The SUV turns off the Highway onto Richmond Street. The Afternoon sun glowing dimmer.

Just in time.

Now reader, if you haven't read my WKM Tumblr Song series, then you won't understand this next section.

The SUV passes bountiful shrubberies and picket fences. Cherry Blossom dust drift its way into the car and Wilford starts to tear up.

"You ok Buddy?"

"Yeah, I'm ok." After all his years of interrogation, Abe knows that that answer was a lie. Yet, he didn't want to push it.

The car comes to a halt and is parked underneath a summer coated oak tree.

"Why'd we stop?"

"I want to show you something."

Abe opens the vintage door and steps out. In front of him, wildflowers and grass sway on the cliffs breeze and small pink flowers grow on its edge. Overhead, a sea glistens with sunlight rays and pink and amber hues dust the sky.

Man, this is enough to make a grown man cry.

The cars driver door can be heard shutting and a shadow walks up behind him. An intimate silence roots itself between the two men.

"You may be wondering why I brought you here."

Abe nods, still looking forward, yet intriguingly listening.

The man sighs, "I used to come here all the time as a young lad. We used to have picnics and dance until dawn. We were so free up here. Away from life, away from Duty, and she was away from Him, that was all that mattered. "

His voice breaks.

"But things change, people change and suddenly, I couldn't do that anymore.

That's why I want you to see it."

Wilford wanders over to their spot and picks up one of the pink flowers sprouting through the grass.

"You may have thought of us as the scum of the Earth Detective. But there are two sides to every story."

The Detective joins the Murderer and puts a hand on his shoulder.

Wilford chuckles. The last time he was here, he was completely and utterly alone. He was like- like a freshly born fawn still trying to find his legs into this world that didn't make sense.

But now...but now things are looking a little brighter.

"If there is anything I can do to make it up to you, just name it."

"You can't do anything really, it's just the way this messed up world works."

The two friends sit down in the grass, making fresh new imprints into the cliff edge, next to two fading ones.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure" "How many people have I killed?"

...

That question lingers in the air for an uncomfortably long time. All that can be heard are the lapping of the waves below them and the occasional swallow talking in the trees.

...

"I don- don't know Wilford," Abe breaks the silence, "I should know, but I-I don't.

...

Abe looks at Wilford, his broken and tear-stained eyes manage to glance back before returning to look out at the sunset.

Abe must do something here. But what? He said himself that nothing can be done so what can he do?

He reminisces on the day they were reunited. So much anger, so much confusion. But Wil was so cheerful, not a care in the world!

Now look at him.

And it was all his fault. If only he didn't get involved...

A second flashes by and Abe does something he should have done the second Will did it.

He hugs Him.

...

"I'm sorry Will."

...

Moments cling on for seems like forever and the embrace is broken. The two tear-stained friends look up.

The afternoon sun has now gone beneath the horizon and is replaced with the all too familiar twilight scenery, which glows softly for miles and miles, each star a lantern that has been entrusted with keeping something special.

"There was another reason why I wanted to bring you here."

Wilford wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "Do you see that star, the big one?"

"Yeah" "That's the Evening Star. That Star is the reason why I have hope. And now I want to share that hope with you. I know we got off the wrong foot but since we're in the same boat now, I think it's time I opened up about where I've actually been."

Abe swallows, this man is truly broken, and he can't do anything about it.

"Thank you for trusting me." "We're not done yet. It's your turn!" "What?" "Make a wish." Cautiously, the Detective slowly stands up from his permanent grassy imprint and walks towards the cliff's edge. The man looks around and sees only patches of shrubbery and wildflowers.

And his newfound friend encouraging him to proceed.

He clasps his hands together and wishes hard. His eyes scrunch together as he becomes a child once more as well. His once tight shoulders have finally become relaxed. After so many years of searching for answers, he doesn't need to worry any more.

A single tear is swept away from the Murderers face as he watches on from the patch of grass. He remembers that feeling and the dream he wished for all those years ago. Yet now, his wish is slowly changing.

Granted, he can't remember who he was but bully does he know what he wants to be. And being here for him, at this very moment, is a wonderful way to start it.

Abe's hands fall to his side and he stares out onto the ever stretching view. His feet are glued to the spot and his mind is only fixated on that one goal. Wilford slowly joins his side, already having a hunch on what he dearly wants.

"What did you wish for?" The Murderer asks.

The Detective huckles, "Now if I told you, it wouldn't come true, would it?"

"Very true my friend."

Little did the men know that their newly found wishes were the same.

"Don't you mean, Best Friend?"

CRACK

The heartwarming moment is abruptly stopped by the sky blasting wide open and millions of sounds exploding across the cliff. The light breeze has rapidly sped up into a storm and is propelling thick gusts upon the two.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL NOW!?" Wilford yells at the hole, completely unfazed.

"YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS!?" Abe yells at his Friend.

"OF COURSE I DO, IT'S TIME FOR WORK."

"WORK!? SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A JOB!?"

"WE ALL HAVE A JOB - WE'RE ACTORS! I'LL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING IF WE DON'T GET SPLIT UP."

"IF WE DONT GET SPLIT UP!? WHERE ARE WE GOING!?" "I HAVE NO IDEA! BUT THAT'S THE FUN OF IT! AFTER THREE, WE WALK IN."

"ARE YOU CRAZY WE'RE GONNA FALL!"

"TRUST ME, WE WON'T."

Wilford grabs Abe's hand and he stares at him. Abe stares back, fear-stricken. Finally, he nods.

"TOGETHER?" "TOGETHER."

"ONE"

"TWO"

"THREE!!!!" The two Actors charge straight over the cliff and into the blinding light.

~

Wilford finds himself in some kind of leather chair with neon lights surrounding him. A script in one and his prop gun in his other.

No pants on, no wonder he feels too comfortable.

He scans his scene and sees his co-actor, Kathryn, running her lines on the other side of the room.

A chair sits opposite him and behind that, a red T-30 minutes until showtime sign is displayed for him.

Abe, however, isn't needed on set yet. His adventure hasn't begun.

But both of their characters will have to cross at one point or another, it's just a matter of time. Yet for a fact, no one can edit their Friendship; Their Joint Wish.

Because, as they say, Life is a road that you're travelling on, when there's one day here, and the next day gone.

[palbabor-writes]

Moniker

Hawks Week 2020 - Prompt: Rebirth

Character: Keigo Takami - Hawks

Warnings: Angst, some adult language, the drama of growing up

Word Count: 5433

“They need you to pick a name, Keigo. You’re old enough now and the data has shown that you’re learning how to control your quirk. The advancements we’ve seen in the last few months have been outstanding. The HPSC wants you to start making a name for yourself, publicly. We’re hoping, in six or so years, you’ll be operating on a professional level. 

So, look over those names and pick one. Once you do, you’ll no longer go by Keigo Takami. No, that name will be expunged from the records.”

Why? He’d wanted to ask. Why can’t he keep his name? Does it really matter? What were they going to do with him? Why was he even in this program? 

There were so many questions racing through his mind. But, he just nodded and looked out the window. What good did it do to ask? They weren’t going to tell him anything. This was all just another manipulation. They always tried, so, so hard to let him feel like he had a say in his name, in his life, in anything. 

In reality, he was just their little puppet, floating along on a tight string.

Notes: Part of Hawks Week 2020, Day 7 - Prompt: Rebirth.

This fic, like my Shigaraki exploration, Phantasma is part of a smaller series I’m calling Hopscotch. There’s a ton of kids in the BNHA universe that just need a freaking hug, man. But, all this trauma does give me some nice topics to write about...Not beta edited, so all mistakes are mine, and mine alone.

Moniker mon·i·ker /ˈmänəkər/ noun a name.

Keigo Takami is a ward of the Hero Public Safety Commission. 

He’s been a ward for most of his life. He’s used to the routine: the daily drills, the daily training, the daily lessons, the daily lectures, the daily monotony of it all. 

He’s never alone. 

There’s always a few of them hovering. They, being the agents who are assigned to his daily care and maintenance. They’re like black spots, bleeding out against the clean, crisp linoleum floors. He’s shuttled around like a chess piece. As if he needs a shadow to guide him. He knows this building inside and out. He knows just where to perch if he wants to avoid the cameras and he knows the secrets of at least five or six of his handlers. 

They blurt stuff out around him. People never think kids are listening. Too bad for them, cuz, he’s got enough dirt to take them straight to the top if he wanted to. Not that he wants to. Some of the handlers are nice, but Keigo has learned that sometimes nice is another way to say: manipulative.

So, he imagines that he can flex a little control over them, too. He’s got the information, he’s just not sure who to take it to. He’s never seen the head of the HPSC. They remain an enigma. The leader of this whole thing is the one piece he hasn’t slipped onto the puzzle. No, whoever they are, they’re mysterious. He only knows they exist because he’s seen their hen scratch of a signature on his progress reports and monthly, “how are you doing Keigo,” emails. 

Despite the mystery, the head of the HPSC is the one constant in his life. He can’t say the same of his handlers. Most of the people who surround him shift and change. They’re like a tide.

When he was younger, his father used to take him down to the beach. Keigo was always fascinated by the pull, the drag, of that dark blue water.

Yeah, these handlers of his moved in and out like a tide. Every month it was someone else. One or two might be familiar faces, but they never told him their names. Well, not their real names at least. No, no one ever revealed those. Keigo was accustomed to the secrecy of it all. It was kinda boring. 

But, most days were. 

It was just him and the various adults who were tasked with his lessons or training schedules. It was a never ending circle, a rotation of sameness that made his teeth ache. There were no other kids at the base. No, lucky him, he was the only one selected to receive this special training.

When he was smaller he’d been a little more excited. He’d wander behind the dark suits, clutching his Endeavor figure to his chest, his eyes scanning every room, every person, every crevice. 

You can never be too careful Kei, his father had told him, his golden eyes winking down at him. Always keep your eyes and ears open. 

“It’s a special program, Keigo. Starting today, you need to say goodbye to your name. You’re going to become a very special hero, okay?” 

It was a younger man who had talked with him that afternoon. He can remember looking down at his toy, the plastic heavy, sticking to his clenched arms. Keigo can recall his small voice asking the man two questions: “Can I be like him? Can I be a hero who beats the bad guys?”

At the time, they had felt so, well, important to him. They were all encompassing, vital queries that needed to know the answer to back then. He disliked them now. They were stupid questions. Besides, what self respecting adult takes the word of a six year old seriously? 

He’s eleven now. He’s way past those childish dreams. And, they still hadn’t taken his name from him. Oh, they hinted at it. He’d even caught sight of one of the lists. 

The lists were the long rows and rows of potential hero names for Keigo. Not that he was asked much about any of this. His opinion didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. He’d only managed to see one of the lists a few years ago. His handler hadn’t been expecting him back so fast. 

He wasn’t supposed to use his wings unless he was in the training facility. Little did they know, he’d been practicing. How could he not? He could feel each and every tiny thing with his feathers. It drove him insane. If he was drifting off to sleep he would feel the electricity humming through the walls. When he focused hard enough he could hear the distant conversations happening on the floors above him. 

It was an endless march of noise, emotion, and sensations. He felt like he was overstimulated all the time, his skin too heavy for his bones. He wanted to scream some days: get these off me, I can’t, I-I can’t take it. But, he had to learn how to grapple with his quirk. It was part of him. 

Still, sometimes he wished he was someone, anyone else. 

‘Turn it off’, they said, ‘dampen the urge to reach out with your feathers’. 

Yeah, right. Let them slip into his quirk, see how much they liked the all consuming sensation of it all. It was too much, too intense. Some days it’s a fight to make himself get out of his bed. Everything is just...too close, sometimes. 

He’s just a kid, he wanted to tell them. Like that would grant him a reprieve. No, he already knew what answer they would give him. The HPSC had selected you for a purpose, a reason, Keigo. 

They fed him such vague, well, bullshit. Yeah, he knows he shouldn’t say words like that, whatever. They shouldn’t be doing this, er, whatever it was that they were hoping to achieve with him. But, it’s not like the confirmed acknowledgement of their preposterousness would stop them. No, he’d learned to keep his mouth shut and his eyes open. It was the best way to survive the endless march of days and weeks. He would nod, practice, and then practice a little more in secret. 

It’s his quirk after all. If he could perfect it, maybe they would loosen his leash.  

His wings were still a little stunted. They could grow to longer points, but it took a lot of time and a lot of concentration. It was like his body knew exactly what he could, or could not, in this case, handle. More feathers meant more sensations. More sensations meant less sleep, less control, and, worst of all, less autonomy. There would be more tests, more training, more, more, more. 

Still, he worked at it. It was a double edged sword. He both hated, and loved, the improvements he saw within himself. 

Despite his impeded wing growth, Keigo could flap himself along now. He could even hover in the air for a little while, but his back would protest the strain after forty minutes or so. It hurt to hold himself up. His shoulders just weren't broad enough to maintain his weight. He’d been hoping that eating a little more would help. You know, beef him up a little. 

He’d brought the subject up with one of his handlers, one of the ones he actually knew. The man had nodded, his curly blonde hair bobbing around his ears. And, with that, his food rations were extended. He was also given some other choices too. Some steak, veal, higher protein foods. He’d stubbornly stuck with chicken. He liked the taste. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Keigo took advantage of the larger portions and he gorged himself on the succulent meat. 

Four weeks later, he hadn’t grown much. Maybe what, half a pound? Nah, most of that energy must have been consumed by his quirk. But, the more he ate, the easier it was to focus on it. Meh, still a win, win. At least from the HPSC’s viewpoint. 

He mentioned that there are never any kids around the HPSC training facility, right? 

Adults? You couldn’t swing a dead cat and not hit at least 4 or 5 of them, at any given moment. Keigo didn’t mind. He was used to adults. By nature he was quiet, observant. It was his habit to position himself in the corners of rooms. It let him see anyone and everyone who entered or left. He likes watching. But, he’s done that his whole life. Even before the HPSC picked him up he’d learned how to hone that skill. 

Now, the trainers and handlers were trying to break him of that tic. 

‘You need to curb that Keigo’, they’d say. ‘If you’re going to become a successful hero you can’t just sit in the shadows. We already have plenty of agents who are trained for that. No, you need to be more gregarious. Speak up, talk with people. You’ve been drilled in this skill, now show us what you’ve learned. We want you to be a hero’.

So, he myna birds what they ask. They’ll leave him alone that way. Sure, sure, he’s rewarded with gifts, with praise, with extra free time. But, it’s all so calculated. He can smell their intentions a mile away. He’s seen the books some of them read. They were books with titles like: The Psychology of the Child, The Developing Mind, Playing and Reality. 

If that wasn’t obvious enough, he’d heard some of the conversations they passed as they handed off their shifts, the words lilting back and forth, like secret notes. 

“Ignore his minor tactics. It’s just him responding to the attention. Only praise him when he’s behaving.” Or, “Give Keigo labeled praise. You know, build his self esteem. He’s so quiet, it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. Pack a snack for him. That way when he opens up to you, boom! Treat in hand.”

Do they not realize how much he can hear? God, adults are dumb. Smile and give them what they want, or, say what they most need to hear and they’re eating out of your hand. Meanwhile, as they’re congratulating themselves on a job well done, they had no idea what thoughts were racing behind his golden irises. 

No, Keigo is motivated by other things. One motivation trumps all the others: he wants to get outta this place. Just for a day, heck, he’d take an hour. Keigo is tired of the same walkway, the same lunch hall, the same dreary views of the city. 

It’s springtime in Japan and Keigo can make his feathers molt. It’s a newer skill, one he’s withholding from his handlers for the time being. Maybe if he feigns a cough, he can pretend to be sick? He’s gotten pretty good at acting now. That was another one of his classes. It was like a, how to deceive someone 101. Actually, it was prolly called something like ‘Espionage for Tots’. 

It was fun. He liked the smiles and serious faces he was asked to make. They should have slapped a big: “please, Keigo, don’t use these skills to deceive us” disclaimer on the door. He liked the guy that taught it, too. He was a short, unassuming man, but he would genuinely grin at Keigo each time he walked through the door for his session. Oh, wait. Was that just an act? He’d have to ask him. Boy, he’s good if it was. He needs to shore up his own skills…

He could always pretend that an imaginary sick day was part of the lesson. Look! My poor feathers, they’re molting, how sad. Also, cough, cough, I feel ill. No, ill is a bad choice of words. Ahem, I mean, I don’t feel so good. Can I lay down? Maybe prop open my window, for the fresh air. Oh no! I accidentally swooped out. Cough, cough.  

Keigo isn’t even sure what he’d do with himself if he could manage to sneak out. It’s not like he’s not noticeable. He’s sporting at least 7 feet of ruby red plumage now. Well, if he’s gonna plan an escape, he might as well do it-

“Keigo,” it’s a sharp voice, and it startles him out of his musings. It belongs to one of the head handlers. Kaori? Yeah, that’s her name. Eh, the one she’d given him at least. She’s nice enough, a little rough around the edges at times, but she’s fair. Maybe, oh, maybe he can ask her about-

“Are you listening, Keigo? We need to go. The provost was expecting us over an hour ago. Where have you been? Mai couldn’t find you so she asked me to look for you.”

“I was up there.” Keigo points, his chin lifting to follow his movement, wings fluttering against his back. Despite her tone, Kaori doesn’t seem too upset. Her heartbeat is normal. But, that didn’t mean much around here.

“Up there?” Kaori’s tone is faint and a little awed. She turns her violet gaze to his, pursing her lips into a thin line. “Since when?”

“It’s been, ah, three months and sixteen days since I first made it to that perch. They didn’t like that I went so far. Eiichi said he was going to document it though. I mean, it ain’t too far. Guess I can go for a lower spot next time. I just like that I can see more up there, it makes it-”

“No, no. It’s fine Keigo. Don’t say “ain’t,” it’s slang. I suppose it has been awhile since I’ve seen you. How old are you now? Ten?”

“Eleven,” Keigo replies, his back straightening, wings arching beside his head.

“Mmm, eleven. Gosh, you’re growing up fast,” Kaori’s reply is sharp, practiced. Keigo rolls his eyes. She wanted to spark a reaction out of him. See if he’ll puff up with joy or grow sullen with her mistake of thinking he’s younger than he is. It’s easier to assign him extra training than really deal with him. At least, that’s what some of his handlers seemed to think. 

“Have you seen the news?” Kaori asks, violet eyes resting on his amber ones. “There’s a mission coming up. Endeavor’s agency is taking it on.”

Keigo feels his wings lifting again, but he quickly suppresses the motion, his shoulders hunching forward. He never, ever, wanted to seem too eager. Not when they’d primed him for such an obvious tell. It’s not like they didn’t know what heroes he admired. 

Yeah, Keigo had seen the news. He was permitted two hours of television each day. Most blocks were taken up with watching the latest developments. Sometimes he would shift the channel to a cartoon, but the television time would be lessened if he watched nonsense for too long. No, the tv was for educational purposes only, not for leisure or fun. He’d heard that line enough to have it memorized. 

“What about it?” Keigo asks, falling into step with Kaori. She’s taking the long way back to his next lesson. Clearly, she’s wanting to glean something from him. 

“Well, I was thinking it might be beneficial for you to observe the mission.”

“What, like on CCTV or something?”

“No. In person. We would need to fit into the crowd, but this mission has been widely publicized, it’s a miracle the villain’s haven’t heard about it.”

“That, or they want the fight.”

Kaori laughs. “Very good, excellent observation. You’ve improved Keigo. Consider this a set date. I will personally escort you to the mission viewing point. At the end of the exercise, I would like to hear your opinion on the matter.”

Keigo bites his tongue. 

It’s too slick again, too obvious. The mission Kaori mentioned fits the profile of a raid, not the everyday, run of the mill, villain sting. Endeavor’s agency had been squaring up with the lower level fighting rings for months now. This was just another day for him. The number two hero promised to clean up crime and he was following through with that assertion. 

So, why take him to see it now? Why did it matter if Keigo saw it in person? The data and video would be uploaded the next day to the HPSC database, he could just watch it and take notes then. 

Why is she doing this?

Keigo chances a glance at her face. She’s pale, stern and stoic above him. Her heels click on the tiles and her back is ramrod straight. A few feathers bristle, feeling, listening, nah, her pulse is steady too. It’s hopeless. Maybe this is the challenge? Something to test him, to try and see if he can get a read on the unreadable?

“What’s the point of me going? What good does it do? My data sheets haven’t slipped enough to call for anything like this.”

“Don’t be so critical of everything Keigo,” Kaori scolds him, her purple eyes lingering on his spreading plumage. “It’s not a test, it’s not a drill. I just...I can remember what it was like to be a teenager and be trapped doing something I didn’t want to do.”

Again, Keigo is silent after her declaration. He’s not really sure how to answer. Pragmatic, logical, even angry responses, he’s used to those. This? What is this? Some kinda misplaced empathy? He never would have placed an empathetic bone in Kaori’s body before today. 

They pause at the provost’s doorway and Kaori places an arm on his shoulder, demanding his attention with her strong grip. 

“Let me know by tomorrow.” 

And, with that, she’s gone, pacing down the long hallway, her heels tapping a sharp tattoo against the flooring. Keigo narrows his eyes, avian pupils dilating, focusing. Sure, maybe it was just an opportunity, a chance for him to get out of the headquarters for a while, but there’s always a catch. 

******

The email comes a few hours later. 

Keigo is sprawled across his bed, his wings tucked safely along his shoulders as he flips through his textbook. He lifts his head from his pillow and sighs heavily at the familiar chime from his computer. It’s either more geometry problems or it’ll have something to do with what Kaori was discussing: The Endeavor mission.

His wings shift and rustle as he stands. He’s agitated, on edge. He dislikes being maneuvered into a corner. No matter what the email is over, he’ll feel obligated to say yes. Even if it’s by default. 

Keigo steps up to his computer, his long fingers racing over the keypad, typing in his encrypted password. As he waits for the screen to load, his eyes fall to the battered figurine beside his monitor. 

It’s the Endeavor toy. He’s kept it all these years, safe and sound, in each bedroom he’s moved to. The flames are dull and his bright blue uniform is more mottled than cobalt, but it’s still a tiny piece of his other life. 

His father had given it to him. It was years ago. He hadn’t thought he was going to get anything for his birthday, but then, his father had flown in, his own plumage glimmering against the dying sunlight and presented four year old Keigo with the toy. He had clutched it to him, his eyes shining and bright. 

“Dad! Ah, how did you know?” 

His father had beamed at him, his eyes softening at the sight of his son’s genuine smile. Keigo didn’t smile a lot back then. Their life was too tumultuous, too chaotic. There was too much at stake. His father had gathered him up and pressed the button that activated the toy’s internal voice box. Keigo had squealed with delight and wrapped his arms around his father’s neck. 

Now, Keigo traces a single finger along the top of the Endeavor’s head, running along the dimmed flames. He’s seen a decent amount of coverage on the number two hero lately. He’d even gone as far as studying his moves. Not that it mattered. His quirk would never be a match for the flame heroes skills. But, he had to admire the guy. 

He was constantly overshadowed, outranked and outclassed by All Might. Still, Endeavor pushed forward. He’s the only one who really tried to overtake the number one hero. It was both impressive and, well, kinda pathetic, desperate even. All the same, Keigo kept hunting for news of the number two. Once you have a favorite, Keigo reasoned, you tend to stick with them. 

Tearing his eyes away from the little figurine, Keigo clicks on the new email. He blinks a few times, even rubs his eyes. No, no way. He spreads his fingers along the computer’s trackpad, enhancing the words. Yeah, no, it’s really there. 

It’s the list. 

Remember? The one with all the HPSC’s approved names for him? 

It’s, well, it’s even more anticlimactic than he was expecting. Damn, it’s over three pages of the most asinine, inane bullshit. Two bad words, oh no, and in one sentence. In his defense, this crap deserved a whole string of curse words.  

There are names like: REDWING, Darkbird, Vulture, WINGMAN, Canary, Condor, RED Condor, Northwind, Zauriel, Red jay, WING. God, it’s just page after page of trash. Whomever they paid to create this, well, they needed a new day job. Might as well just call him: BIRDBOY or something. Sighing, Keigo clicks out of the email, his plumage lifting and lowering, feathers rustling again, perturbed. Yeah, he’s got wings. So what? That’s not all he is.  

Keigo is about to pace back to his bed when another email chimes in. Groaning, he doesn’t even look at the sender before opening it. Oh.

It’s from Kaori and the head of the HPSC. They were wanting to confirm the viewing of the Endeavor mission. Both felt that it was a good use of Keigo’s time and the HPSC’s resources. They just need his answer.

Funny, Keigo thinks, tapping a quick reply, they always like to pretend that he has a say in things. 

******

He’s never been a tall kid. He’s not sure if it’s his quirk or something genealogical. Quirk makes the most sense. It’s hard enough to lug his own tiny body around, he can’t even imagine trying to pull someone like Endeavor into the air. 

Keigo’s seen the number two plenty of times. God, hundreds and hundreds of times, really. But, he’s not prepared for the hulk of a man that is standing before him. Enji Todoroki, that’s his real name. Most heroes don’t hide their civilian names. No, they’re all listed in the databases of the HPSC and open for public scrutiny. Keigo shifts on the balls of his feet, his toes tapping against the pavement. Apparently, that’s not going to be an option for him.

Kaori had sat, prim and proper, next to him in the long black car as they drove to the mission site. Her violet eyes were dull flints of purple as she relayed the news: 

“They need you to pick a name, Keigo. You’re old enough now and the data has shown that you’re learning how to control your quirk. The advancements we’ve seen in the last few months have been outstanding. The HPSC wants you to start making a name for yourself, publicly. We’re hoping, in six or so years, you’ll be operating on a professional level. 

So, look over those names and pick one. Once you do, you’ll no longer go by Keigo Takami. No, that name will be expunged from the records.”

Why? He’d wanted to ask. Why can’t he keep his name? Does it really matter? What were they going to do with him? Why was he even in this program? There were so many questions racing through his mind. But, he just nodded and looked out the window. 

What good did it do to ask? They weren’t going to tell him anything. This was all just another manipulation. They always tried, so, so hard to let him feel like he had a say in his name, in his life, in anything. In reality, he was just their little puppet, floating along on a tight string. 

Keigo looked over the police tape to Endeavor again. Even the number two hero got to keep his name. What makes Keigo so different?

“They’ll be rushing the entrance soon,” Kaori says, her arms crossed, her pressed suit dark against the bright sunlight. “You might be able to see it a little better if you move to the other end of the street.” 

Keigo looks up at her, his eyes impassive. Kaori, sensing his gaze, blinks down at him. “Don’t go far. Consider this a small reward for good behavior. I know what I told you in the car can’t have been easy to hear. Don’t make me regret giving you a little more freedom.” 

For a long moment, Keigo is still. 

He wants to dash off. He’s never done that. It would be nice to place a little distance between him and his handler. Plus, he’s outside. It’s a beautiful day, just puffy clouds and the fresh, clean smell of springtime. Well, and the hustle and bustle of the raid that is unfolding across the street. He looks up at Kaori and her violet eyes lift away from him. She shakes her head and a small smile creeps across her lips. 

“Go on, you better hurry. Endeavor’s about to enter the building.”

It’s all the prodding he needs. Like a shot, Keigo is dashing through the crowd. A few people clamor around him, their voices distant, complaints and admonishments ringing over his golden head. He rounds the street corner and his wings lift, testing the air, trying to tug him into the skies. 

Amber eyes flash as he looks for the perfect spot. Ah-ha! There’s a low, tiled roof across the street. If he can get up to the second story he should be able to see into the back of the compound Endeavor is conducting the raid on.

His back aches, muscles tired and straining, but he ignores the sting. His wings lap against the warm air and, just like that, he’s landing on the roof, his sneakers bright against the dark tile. Keigo turns back to the compound. Yes! Perfect! He can see everything. His wings settle along his shoulders, still lifted as he crouches down, the plumage vibrating, listening.

Keigo can hear some of the transmission between the heroes. Their radios are switched up and the static sound makes his nose wrinkle. It feels fuzzy, almost like he’s stepped on a live wire. Apparently, Endeavor is about to move into the exposed courtyard and Keigo sits up straighter, his wings spreading, cupping under the low wind. He’s so focused on catching sight of the number two that he doesn’t hear the warning cry.

No, he only notices the danger when it’s too late.

His feathers bristle, arching, quivering, reacting as a set of talons rips into his delicate plumage. His wings throb. It stings and he feels the anger, the rage that is coursing through the culprit that’s attacking him. Their screams make his ears ache and he rolls away, his hands instinctively covering his head, protecting himself from the sudden onslaught. His golden eyes are narrowed and searching. What the hell-

The pieces fit into place when he sees her. 

It’s a hawk. She’s already taken to the skies, her dark wings wheeling her back to the roof. She lifts upward, the strong winds carrying her high, against the clouds. Then, she’s diving, her feathers bracing along her sides, propelling her at a terrifying speed. 

She’s headed straight for him. 

Keigo, unthinkingly, rolls out of the way, his own wings flaring open and flapping him a good ten feet or so, hopefully placing him out of range. The hawk pulls up, another scream echoing across the sky. She wheels around, her sharp beak and eyes trained on him. Keigo’s foot slips against the uneven surface of the roof and he bites his lip, his ankle twisting painfully. 

“Hey! Keigo! Oh, there you are. Come on! The raid is wrapping up, we need to get back.”

Kaori’s voice shudders up his spine, his oversensitive wings making her sound like a foghorn. Wait. The raid is over? He whirls back to the compound, his eyes scanning, flashing in his agitation. 

No. No, no, no. 

She’s right. Endeavor and his sidekicks are already back at the front of the building, he can’t even see them clearly from here. He’s missed his chance. Damn it. 

It’s not fair, he thinks, a misting of tears clouding his sight. He’d been so close. And now? Now, he’s gotta go back to that stupid building. Now, they’re going to take away his name and force him to do even more training. Who knows when he’ll get out again. It’s just, it’s not freaking fair.

Keigo wipes his arm against his eyes, pulling the moisture across his sleeve. He can’t let Kaori see him cry. He hasn’t cried in years. He’s not going to give them the satisfaction of knowing that he still...wait...what’s that?

Across the rooftop, close to where his original perch was, is a nest. It looks clumsy, like it might fall off into open space at any moment. It’s held together with a spattering of twigs and sticks, but there’s movement. Keigo lowers his arm, his wings lifting again, feeling. There’s one...no...there’s two chicks inside. They feel soft. Their heartbeats are fluttering, like a butterfly’s wing.  

He looks down at Kaori. She’s standing on the street corner, shielding her eyes from the sun as she peers up at him. Keigo lifts his hand so she can see, one finger raised, silently asking her for a little more time. Kaori groans, he can hear her exhale from here, and nods, lowering her gaze, one hand propped on her jutted hip.

“Be quick about it, Keigo.” 

He lets his wings bevel over his shoulders and he hops, carefully, slowly, across the tiles. As he gets closer, two pairs of yellow eyes peer at him, half hidden in the tangle of twigs. He grins and leans up, wanting to look a little…

The hawk, quick as lightning clatters in front of the nest, shielding her chicks from his curious observation. Her wings flare at his proximity, her beak open, sharp. She clicks a warning, her feathers spreading. Keigo mimics her display, his own wings fanning out and the hawk tilts her head, surprised. Her eyes blink, the dark orange shifting from agitated to quizzical. Slowly, her wings lower, draping along her back. Talons shift against the tiles and she chirps at him. It’s a different sound, less challenging. It's almost like a question.

Keigo lifts one of his hands, his fingers balled into a fist and gingerly extends his arm, his shoes sliding closer. She lifts her wings and glides a little nearer, her head still tilted in that exaggerated way. She chirps at him again and lowers her head. If he reaches out a little further he could stroke a finger down her feathers. Just a bit…

“Keigo!” 

The sound of his name startles him and the hawk. She yanks from his touch and launches herself back into the skies. Keigo watches her, fascinated by the ease, the grace that she moves with. As he’s admiring her fluidity, a single feather flutters to his feet. He almost misses it. The wind starts to catch it, pulling it away, but he snatches it up, his fingers careful to not crush the barbs. 

“Keigo, I’m not going to ask again...”

He uses his wings to help him down the side of the building. The verdant plumage is swelling, arching behind him. It feels different. Keigo lowers them against his back, mirroring the way the hawk had draped them, the feathers close to his skin. It helps. They don’t feel like something that he’s untethered from when he holds them like that. He’s still basking in his discovery when Kaori steps toward him, one brow arched.

“You know better than that, Keigo. Didn’t I ask you to not make me regret giving you a little more freedom? Come on, we’re overdue. What’s that in your hand?”

“Nothing,” Keigo replies, tucking the hawk’s feather into his jean pocket. She was so pretty, fierce and quick.

“You put any thought into any of the names on the lists? We were thinking your hero name should be-”

“Hawks,” Keigo replies, his wings stretching behind him, shimmering in the bright sunlight. “I wanna be called Hawks.”

Notes: bb Keigo is too cute, I couldn’t resist.

Tags: @hawksweek2020​, @spicy-skull, 

[writeofmind]

traitor!!

Genre: fluff!

Pairing: Rosé x Reader

Type: Scenario

@vagabondalchemist: Hello! I just found your blog. Ehee! Can I request for a jealous gf!rosé where reader visited their dorm and promised some quality hang-out and cuddle time with chaeng but unintentionally ignores her because of lisa ( cockblocking lol XD ) and her four cats. Thank you in advance, author-nim! :)

A/N: I completely see this happening bc Lisa just seems like such a fun person that you’d get distracted, and rosé would absolutely hate it LOL. enjoy!

-

rosé💓: You’re still coming over, right? 🥺

You glanced over at your phone that rested on your desk, laughing at the message that popped up on your phone. That was the third time she’s asked in the span of 2 hours.

you: yes, chae. 😂 i promise i’ll be there right after work!

rosé💓: okay. sorry i keep asking, i just miss you 🥺🥺

A smile crossed your face. You loved that even after being together for a while, Rosé was still just as loving as she was when you first began dating.

you: don’t be sorry baby, i miss you too!! i’ll see you in a bit :)

rosé💓: and you promise we’ll have our cuddle time?? last time, we both fell asleep and didn’t even watch the show!

you: hey, you fell asleep first! i promise, we will. lol, i’ll see you soon, chae <3

Locking your phone and putting it away, you continued working, now with a little bounce in your step from the excitement of seeing your girlfriend later.

-

When you pulled up to your girlfriend’s dorm, you were sure that she was peeking out of the window waiting for you because she hardly let you get out of the car before bursting out the front door, running to jump into a hug.

“Jesus, Chae!” you laughed as she wrapped her arms and legs around your body, “You scared me!”

Rosé only let out excited squeals that sounded oddly similar to a dolphin. You squeezed her back, all while carrying the giant baby back through the front door where the rest of her members sat in front of the T.V.

“Hey, y/n!” Lisa called out.

“Liiiissssaaaaaa!” You jumped (still holding Rosé, mind you), and the two of you began high fiving and slapping each other as if you haven’t seen each other in months.

Jennie and Jisoo were already rolling their eyes and laughing at you two. They called out and waved to you as well, and you went over to hug them when Rosé finally climbed down from you.

“Rosie has not stopped talking about you coming over tonight,” Jennie pointed to your girlfriend, who blushed, “she’s literally so excited.”

You laughed and kissed the back of Rosé’s hand as you sat back on the couch. “I can only imagine. She was texting me all day, too. But I can’t blame her, I was excited too!”

“We’ll let you guys use the T.V, so we’ll talk later!” Jisoo waved and grabbed her snacks that laid across the table, “We made food earlier, y/n, so eat if you haven’t yet.”

You thanked the girls as they all left the living room and went into their rooms. Now, you turned to Rosé with a wide smile, seeing her already staring at you with stars in her eyes. 

“Hi, baby,” you laughed, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too!” She jumped back into your arms again, “I’m so glad I get to see you today.”

Rosé happily put on a movie for the two of you, and as you guys cuddled and planted soft kisses on each other’s foreheads, she hummed. You guys haven’t seen each other in a couple weeks due to her prepping for the girl’s comeback, and she seemed like she needed a break from the cameras and the work.

“You look so pretty in your teasers, babe,” you pinched her cheeks, “I almost couldn’t tell it was you, you looked so scary!”

Rosé giggled in your hands, and you swore you could’ve turned to putty in that moment. She burrowed herself into your neck, sighing contently at just you being there with her. Just as you turned to look at her, you both leaned in, and—

“Yo! Y/n! Chaeyoung!” Lisa suddenly came bolting from her room with her cat hanging from her hands, “Do you see this?!”

Rosé jumped out of your hold (leaving you with half-puckered lips) and looked at Lisa in surprise. “What’s wrong!?”

“Look! Does Leo seem fat to you?”

You stared at Lisa in disbelief before doubling over in laughter. She stood there with Leo dangling from her hold, looking a little irritated as she did so.

“Lisa, no. What makes you say that?” Rosé raised an eyebrow at the younger girl.

Lisa huffed. “Literally everyone keeps saying he looks fat. He doesn’t, right?”

Leo wiggled out of Lisa’s grasp and hopped along the floor until he landed in your lap. You smiled at him and began to scratch behind his ears, chuckling at his purrs. “No, I don’t think he looks fat. It’s just his fur.” You poked around Leo’s stomach, “I’m sure people just say that because they know you’ll reply to them.”

Lisa groaned and walked over to where you and Rosé were. “Ugh, I guess so. I wish they wouldn’t.”

Before you knew it, three other cats managed to bolt their way out of Lisa’s room and right over to the living room.

“Lisa, your cats!!” Rosé laughed and pointed at them jumping around the couches, “Your door!”

“Oops! Sorry, guys!”

You laughed as the cats climbed all around you. “It’s fine, Lis, they seem like they haven’t had space to run around all day,” you scratched Luca’s chin (who was now on your shoulder). You didn’t catch Rosé’s squinted eyes at the side of your head.

“Yeah, they’ve pretty much been inside my room all day. I haven’t gone anywhere, really,” Lisa sat on the couch now, sandwiching Rosé in the middle, and let her cat settle on her lap. Rosé’s eyes squinted even more, unknown to the two of you on her side.

Before long, you and Lisa were going on and on about some new video game that was in the works for release, all while Rosé sat back on the couch with crossed arms. You and Lisa were always able to go on such long and meaningless rants, and the girls were pretty sure that’s why you got along so well.

A couple hours passed and the movie continued to play, forgotten in the background. When you leaned forward to ask Lisa something regarding her piercings for the comeback, you could feel an icy glare at the back of your head.

You didn’t dare turn around, terrified at what you might see. Instead, you let your eyes slowly follow the glare, until you met eyes with your girlfriend, who looked eerily similar to an overpowered anime villain. The pure look of irritation on her face sent chills down your spine, and was that a black cloud surrounding her?! You let your eyes wander slowly back to Lisa, who was still happily chatting and playing with her cats.

You sat frozen in your spot but still nodded along and carried on you and Lisa’s conversation, all until Lisa’s phone began to ring in her room.

“Oh, sorry guys, I’ll go answer that. I didn’t mean to hold you up!” Lisa stood and began herding her cats to her room, “I’ll leave you two now. Have fun!” She waved and gave a warm smile. You waved her off and sat straight up on the couch.

When you turned to look at your girlfriend, her eyes were glued to you, eyebrows furrowed and arms and legs crossed. You gave her a weak smile and moved closer to her.

“Heyyy, babe...” You reached out for her but was only met with the same cold eyes.

“Don’t touch me.” Rosé turned her head from you and stuck her head up. Guilt suddenly overcame you, and you shrunk into the cushions.

“Sorry, baby,” you pleaded and scooted closer (she scooted further away), “I didn’t even realize we talk so much...”

Rosé raised an eyebrow at you. You could already hear her voice: “How could you not realize??” You felt tiny under her gaze, and felt yourself shrinking into a tiny ball of shame.

“You’re a TRAITOR.” Rosé huffed, turned her entire body away from you (a sign that she was REALLY angry), and only gave you small glances over her shoulder.

“Noooooo!” You threw your hands up in defeat and wrapped your arms around her to pull her into your lap, “I’m soooorrryyyy!”

Rosé struggled to get out of your grasp, but you squeezed her tightly and tried your best to hide your laughter, though you were pretty sure you heard a giggle come from her.

“I’m so sorry baby! Look, it’s not that late, we can start the movie over, or watch another one,” you tried to bargain with her to calm her nerves, “I’ll even go out and get us more snacks—”

“NO.”

The absolute power in her voice stopped you in your tracks. Oh god, she was about to rip into you—

“All I want is to spend time and cuddle with you.” Hands were suddenly cupping and squeezing your cheeks together, “Just spend time with me now.”

Looking at your girlfriend, you could see that she wasn’t even angry at all. She gave you a mischievous smile that told you everything you needed to know; you just played right into her little ploy to get your attention back.

“Oh, you’re sneaky.” You raised an eyebrow at her, earning a small laugh in return. You leaned in to give her a quick kiss.

“Tell you what,” you began, Rosé humming against your lips and wrapping her arms around your neck, “I spend the night tonight, and tomorrow, we can go on a date and do whatever you want. How’s that?”

Rosé gave you a huge smile, pulling you back in for a kiss. “Fine. Sounds good to me.”

[alpacaparkaseok]

Happy Holidays - BTS Style

9. “Are you crying?”

16. “Wow. Are you always this...attractive?”

17. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Pairing: Jin x soulmate (based off of my series 7 Secrets)

The sounds of sizzling pans and dishes clacking are what tip off Kyung-soon to the whereabouts of her soulmate. Immediately upon entering the apartment, she kicks off her shoes and makes sure to place them tidily on the shoe rack after a pointed look from Hoseok. 

Heading toward the kitchen, a gentle smile lights up her features as Jin and Jimin are bustling about the kitchen, Jungkook sitting at the island and watching them. 

“Is this enough?” Jimin asks, holding up a cutting board filled with chopped onion. Jin sees his soulmate and holds out his hand to her while assessing the vegetable. 

“Here, I’ll finish it up. Would you take care of that?” Jin points to the stove and whatever is cooking on it. Jimin doesn’t ask any questions, just smiling in greeting to Kyung-soon before beginning to work over the stove.

Jin begins chopping more onion, so Kyung-soon settles down at the island beside Jungkook. 

“How’s it going?” Jungkook asks her. Kyung-soon smiles at the younger boy. 

“Pretty good. How are you?” 

Jungkook shrugs. “Great, just waiting for Seohyun to let my soulmate go.” 

Jin laughs evilly. “Is she making her play ping pong with her again?” Jungkook nods, obvious annoyance on his face. Kyung-soon shoots Jin a glare.

“You know that’s all your fault, right?”

“I know.”

“When is your rematch? This all needs to end already. Between ping pong and studying, I never get to see her anymore.”

Jungkook must immediately regret his choice of words, because both Jin and Jimin take the opportunity to tease him. 

“Ooh, poor Jungkookie,” Jin whines. Jimin laughs beside him.

“Why don’t you just go over there if you miss her so much? Quit pouting and do something about it.” Jimin says. 

Jungkook’s eyes go wide. “I don’t want to be stuck there playing ping pong all night! Seohyun nearly killed me the last time!” 

As if appearing upon hearing his soulmate’s name, Yoongi wanders in. “What’s going on?”

“Oh!” Now Jungkook smiles. “Hyung, let’s go play ping pong.”

Yoongi doesn’t need much convincing, heading straight out. The three that remain in the kitchen snicker; Yoongi can never deny a game of ping pong with his soulmate. This will lead to the perfect opportunity for Jungkook to steal Minsuh away.

This exact same scenario happens almost every day.

Jin is busy chopping up the leftover onion, shoulders tense as he carefully moves from one end to the other. Something about his posture and concentration has Kyung-soon sliding off her chair and wandering over to him. 

Leaning up against the counter, she takes a long look at her soulmate, eyes practically glowing. 

“Wow. Are you always this...attractive?”

Jimin bursts out laughing at Kyung-soon’s question, Jin going bright red. He continues focusing on the task at hand, heart pounding in his chest. 

“What kind of silly question is that.” Jin grinds out, refusing to look at Kyung-soon. She continues looking at him, enjoying the view until she asks another question.

“Are you crying?”

Jimin stops where he’s standing over the stove to peek over at his Hyung. “He’s totally crying.”

“Yah!” Jin laughs, dropping the onion into the pan. It starts sizzling as soon as it touches the hot metal, the smell filling the room. 

“I’ve got it from here,” Jimin reassures. “Go get your emotions under control.”

“My emotions - it’s just the onion!” Jin shrieks, looking appalled. He turns to his soulmate for support but she’s fighting to keep a straight face. 

“C’mon Jin,” she mumbles, pushing him along. “You’re clearly upset, let’s take a breather.”

Jin continues to yell in indignation, alerting the entire household to his emotional state. Kyung-soon manages to push him out onto the balcony, the cold air hitting the two of them and taking their breath away. 

Gaping down at her soulmate, Jin glares before pulling her into his arms to keep her warm. “Why are we outside? You know there’s an entire heated house right here?”

Kyung-soon nuzzles in deeper to her soulmate’s chest, not minding the cold as long as she’s in Jin’s arms. “I know.”

Jin doesn’t ask any further questions, instead opting to sit in the quiet that the snow offers. Everything is so much quieter out here, and despite the winter air it’s not unbearably cold. 

A few stray snowflakes are drifting to the ground as Jin focuses on the distant lights from the city nearly hidden beyond the trees. It’s only when Kyung-soon’s grip tightens and she lets out a long sigh that Jin speaks again.

“What’s wrong?”

Kyung-soon isn’t often upset, in fact she prides herself on usually being the most level-headed person she knows. Yet on the occasion that something is wrong, her soulmate has never not picked up on it. 

It’s almost like Jin was made for her.

It takes her a moment to speak up, but Jin never pushes her. Instead he opts to hold her even tighter, lightly drawing stars on her back while he waits. 

He’s just completed his seventh star when Kyung-soon starts to speak. Her voice is delicate as she talks about what happened earlier that day.

She had a client today, interested in buying a large property on the edge of Seoul. Jin had heard about this client before; closing this sale would mean a lot for Kyung-soon and her career as one of the most elite realtors in Seoul. 

Apparently the client had brought his daughters along with him to view the property. Not uncommon, and she hadn’t thought much about it at first. That was, until the client was hovering his pen over the contract and promising to sign under one condition.

“He wanted you to leave me?” Jin asks, disbelief obvious in his tone. 

Kyung-soon nods slowly against his chest. “Yes. He told me that he’d pay double for the property if I left you and gave his daughters your personal information.”

While Jin always expects people to be unsupportive of the fact that they have soulmates, he never ceases to be disgusted with the lengths some people will go to in order to separate them. 

“I’m assuming you didn’t listen to him.”

“Of course not.”

Jin pulls back, tilting her chin up enough to look at his soulmate in the eyes. Those eyes, imbued with some inner light, always manage to take his breath away. 

“But you lost the sale.”

Again, Kyung-soon nods. 

Jin sighs, his eyes roving over her face as he wrestles with the anger growing inside him. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Kyung-soon’s eyes grow wide as she panics at his words. “What do you mean?!” 

“Come here,” Jin doesn’t bother to explain as he tugs his soulmate inside and heads straight up to his room. Namjoon and Beth look at them quizzically as they march past them, but don’t bother to say anything. 

Once in Jin’s room, he sets about opening up his laptop and pulling up a program. 

“Jin, what’s going on?” Kyung-soon asks, still panicking. 

Jin turns around, breathing heavily with barely contained anger. “First, I love you.”

Kyung-soon blinks up at him. “I love you too...?”

“Second, I need you to just trust me for a second. I know you’ll be a little angry, say that I’m being overprotective...but this can’t go on like this. People need to be put in their place.”

Eyes growing wide, Kyung-soon fumbles to stop Jin once she sees that he’s pulled up the v-live app. “Jin, wait. Whatever you say on here you can’t take back-”

“Don’t worry, Soon-ah.” Jin holds up a notecard that was sitting on his desk. “I’ve been planning this for a while. I won’t say anything that bad.”

Hesitantly sitting beside Jin, Kyung-soon watches in horror as Jin turns the camera on. He passes her the notecard so she can look at what he’s written down, chewing her lip as tears prick at her eyes. 

The two of them are silent as the viewers roll in at lightning speed, Kyung-soon heart rate picking up with each new viewer. 

Jin is tense beside her, and Kyung-soon reaches down to grab his hand. She begins to trace stars on the back of his hand, watching as he waits to hit a certain number of viewers before starting.

She’s just finished tracing the seventh star when Jin begins to speak. 

“Hello everyone, Jin here. I hope you’re doing well. I just had a couple of things I wanted to say. Also, yes, I’ll probably get into trouble with Bighit, but what else is new?”

He winks at the camera, Kyung-soon raising her eyebrows at him with an expression of long-suffering. Leaning forward, Jin stares down the camera for a long moment before beginning with the first item on his little list.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

@taylorroe3​

[tj-crochets]

Hey y’all! I tried Slime Rancher for the first time, and I am enjoying it! Unfortunately, it makes me super nauseous, and I get so focused on the game I don’t really notice until I stop playing. It’s a bummer because I am normally really REALLY bad at any first person shooter type games* and I’m not bad at this? I mean, I know it’s not, but it kinda is? But wherever I point the camera is now forward, and that works way better for me. Also, I like the premise I guess all this is a lead up to me asking if I should try to make the slime plushie from the “inside the cabin or whatever” screen *by bad I mean last time I played one I got the camera stuck looking straight down and managed to wander off the edge of the map. It’s not that I’m bad at aiming; when I am not trying to move at the same time, I’m actually pretty good! It’s just the whole rest of it I’m terrible at lol

[colonel-insomniac]

A Toast, Because I’m Mr. Loverman

@my-blood-is-maple-syrup was the one to suggest this so thank them for my break in the deaths of these characters :D. ANYWAYS happy pride month :3

“I’m headed straight for the floor…” 

Pon felt like the world was spinning. Everything moved too fast, and when did he get outside? The world was a blur, and nothing made sense anyways, so why bother trying to make sense of it now? He could spin and spin and spin and maybe it still wouldn’t be enough, they might demand more spinning from him still. 

Who ‘they’ were, he wasn’t entirely sure, and didn’t know if he could be bothered enough to figure that one out. The world like this was dizzying, clusters of light in the dark glittering like stones on a dark dress, and boy did it remind him of home. Or, what had been his home. He supposed Earth was that now. 

Sometimes, Pon felt like maybe he missed Azurelle, missed his mom the most. If he could go back for just a moment to talk to her, he didn’t know what he’d say besides how much he wished she could join them. 

“The alcohol’s served its tour…”

But, this was a wedding, and therefore was not the place to dwell over sad thoughts and he came to a standstill, the world slowly catching up. Trying to focus on the happy couple happily chatting with guests. Kai and Ezra really compliment each other so well, and Pon’s not at all jealous of either of them. He feels that if that love were to ever come to him, it would happen on its own terms, and until then, he really should just be content with who he has in his life right now. Sometimes, though, he caught himself daydreaming of the day when he found the right person. 

If anyone thought that Ezra looked happy, one look at Kai would challenge that thought. Pon’s best friend looked about ready to burst from happiness, eyes glancing to Ezra where they stayed. Pon kind of wished he had a camera on him, so he could capture the soft smile playing on Kai’s face and the look of adoration lingering in his eyes. 

“And it's headed straight for my skin, leaving me daft and dim...”

Pon remembers Ezra coming to him, confiding in him on how much he wanted to propose to Kai. They’d been going steady for three years, and it was obvious to anyone who saw them interact that they were undeniably in love, that they were each others other half. Romantically, of course. Pon would forever be Kai’s platonic other half. 

Pon had to play nonchalant as he did some investigating on Ezra’s behalf, but the thought of how happy Kai would be was almost enough to crack him. Almost, Pon knows how to keep a secret. 

Like every couple, they had fought a couple times, but they never found themselves able to stay mad at one another, and often they’d start apologizing to each other so often that Pon stepped in and graciously accepted their apologies for putting them through this. 

And at some point during the investigation for Ezra, Kai had confided in Pon too, but unlike Ezra, Kai was worried. He remembered the concerned look on his friends face, as he told Pon that Ezra had been withdrawn from Kai for a couple days. It had looked like worrying over Ezra was eating Kai alive. 

Pon knew exactly why Ezra was acting like that, but could understand exactly why Kai was so worried. Both knew that their Earth born friend still had trouble sleeping most nights, and that on the ones he was able to sleep on, often woke up with a racing heart, panic in his throat, and an incessant need to check in on Kai and Pon. He usually didn’t go back to bed after those nights, and was typically withdrawn for quite some time, almost always sitting on the balcony and staring out into the distance. 

“I've got this shake in my legs, shaking the thoughts from my head…”

So when Kai was grabbing them drinks, Pon quickly texted Ezra a message conveying the general information on Kai’s thoughts. Ezra had responded reminding Pon he just needed to know what ring to get, and then he was ready to set the reservation. He had added that he would call Kai; and true to his word, Pon then saw Kai pull his own phone out of his pocket and glance at the caller ID before accepting the call. 

By the time Kai had exited the store, Pon could tell his mood had lifted considerably, a small smile playing on his friends face. 

They wandered aimlessly around the mall, though Pon did eventually manage to direct Kai to a jewelry store by placing his friend in front of the mirrors. Fate did its thing, and sure enough he was walking in, peering over the selection. Pon prodded Kai, asking questions nonchalantly to guage what style Kai was into. 

“But who put these waves in the door, I crack and out I pour…”

It seemed that Kai was into silver more than gold, and a little simpler in design than some of the flashy ones. Pon made sure to snap some pictures of the rings pointed out, sending them to Ezra. That night, Ezra had returned from “somewhere,” and pulled Pon into his room, tossing him a small bag. 

The box was covered with soft crushed black velvet, and pressing a small button released the lid from the base. Under the soft lights of the room, the ring glittered slightly. It was a simple silver and onyx band, blood red rubies accenting the small heart designed on the ring. Gorgeous, that was the only word to describe the propped ring. 

Pon nodded, closing the lid with a quit snap, and tossed it to Ezra, “He’s gonna love that, good job.” Ezra returned the nod, placing the box in the top drawer of his dresser before exiting the room. 

Pon followed, almost missing the way Ezra gently brushed the hair off Kai’s face as his best friend napped on the couch. 

Of course Pon was invited the night of the proposal. It was to some upscale restaurant, something Ezra had saved for. Kai of course had had questions, all of which Ezra just laughed and ensured that he just wanted to splurge for this at least once. He’d insisted that Kai was worth saving the money up for, to which Kai blushed in response and Pon stuck a finger in his mouth to mimc gagging. 

The restaurant was dim, and the food was nice. Pon had surveyed the layout several times just to take in everything. He found that sometimes with restaurants, they tried to imitate dim light effortlessly, but there was always something artificial about them. He turned his attention back to the happy couple, where Kai was laughing about something Ezra said that Pon had missed. However, Pon didn’t miss the look on Ezra’s face, stupidly in love. By the time they’d finished the meal, Pon could tell Ezra was getting restless, fiddling with the box in his pocket. 

He’d glanced at Pon, who nodded before casting his gaze at his best friend, talking about some story or another. Ezra patiently waited for Kai to finish before standing and hitting the edge of his cup with a fork. Those in the vicinity turned to give their attention, and those further back had followed suit. 

“I'm Mr. Loverman, and I miss my lover, man. I'm Mr. Loverman, oh, and I miss my lover…” 

“I’m not all that great with words,” He began, eyes shifting from person to person. “But for these past three years, I have found myself falling deeply in love with this man.” The patrons blinked at Pon, who shook his head and jerked a thumb Kai’s way. 

“He knows how to comfort me, and he knows me better than I think anyone ever has. I’d like to say that I know him the same way, but I know I’m not the perfect guy, and if you asked me, I would dare say he deserves better.” Kai frowned, confused. “But, I do know that I love him so much, and I know he loves me just the same way.” Pon watched as Ezra extended a hand to Kai, who took it and allowed himself to be pulled up. 

Kai looked confused, but the moment Ezra started getting down on one knee, he gasped, hands flying to his mouth. He looked at Pon, who was barely able to contain the grin forcing its way up, and Kai narrowed his eyes at him before turning back to listen as Ezra finally ended his long, tiring speech professing his undying love to Kai with “Will you marry me?” Kai, who was thoroughly crying now, nodded before throwing himself to Ezra. They were both lucky in Pon’s opinion, Ezra was able to stay steady enough so neither of them fell to the restaurant floor as the patrons cheered. There was no telling what germs were there.

“The ways in which you talk to me have me wishin' I were gone, the ways that you say my name, have me runnin' on and on…”

Of course, Pon was there for the wedding planning, that’s why it turned out looking as good as it did. But, that was just his own opinion, Ezra and Kai might have said otherwise. And so now, here they were. It was nighttime, they’d been married by someone who’s qualifications were a little gray, but he was a funky man, so it was alright. 

Currently, the funky dude in question was dominating the dance floor, getting the attention of everyone in the room. Besides Pon, who was still closely watching Kai and Ezra. Had he been honest with himself, he might mention being scared of what comes next. From the very moment Ezra relayed the desire to propose to Kai, Pon had been unable to quit thinking about what was to come. 

He didn’t want it to seem like he wasn’t happy for the duo, because he really was. Pon genuinely though they were each others soulmate, he supposes he was just afraid of being lonely. In truth, he felt like he had a hard time making friends, and being open. Sometimes it was just hard to do. 

“Oh, I'm cramping up, I'm cramping up, but you're cracking up, you're cracking up…”

Was he worried over nothing? He knows they won’t forget him, or at least he thinks they won’t forget him. Speaking of, they looked at each other as a different song played, and Pon watched as they joined together to dance slowly. He watched as they swayed together, and didn’t miss how Kai started blushing in embarrassment, or how Ezra then said something or another that got Kai to focus only on that moment. His ability to do that for Kai was amazing to Pon, and a large reason why he was able to trust Ezra to not hurt his best friend.

Now that he thought of it, the world had stopped spinning when the couple did. That was an intriguing piece of information for Pon to think over. Was there a correlation, or was the connection only in his head? Maybe he’d had too much of whatever it was that he drunk. 

An idea popped into his head at that, and he knew just the perfect thing for it, too. But he would wait until they finished their dance to set his plan in motion. It was a simple one, really. He was going to do his best to embarrass the newlyweds. After all, was it a wedding if people didn’t have something to talk about afterwards?

Exactly, so he patiently waited, winking when he made eye contact with Kai. His friend opted to playfully glare at him and stick his tongue out at Pon. Several guests turned to see what was happening, a few of them laughing when they realized it was just towards Pon. 

“I'm Mr. Loverman, and I miss my lover, man; I'm Mr. Loverman, oh, and I miss my lover…”

But soon enough, the song ended, and Pon gestured at the DJ to stop for a moment, taking a microphone after getting a nod of approval from said DJ. He winks at the gaping couple, nervous but determined. The point wasn’t to sound good and it looked like both Kai and Ezra knew this. 

He turned back around, forgetting that he hadn’t yet told the DJ what song he was looking for. When he got a thumbs up from said person, he spun back around. The song immediately launched into a verse, which, when Pon had initially heard the music, intrigued him. Usually, music began with an instrumentals, so if Pon wanted to sit here and analyze this particularly interesting piece, he absolutely could. 

Flinging an arm out, he purposefully sang off-key, watching as everyone cringed at the awkward sound resulting. 

“I’ve shattered now, I’m spilling out upon this linoleum ground…” 

For his own sake, and the sake of retaining the ability to go on, he was able to block out the thought of everyone looking at him and instead pretended he was goofing around with Kai and Ezra. He’d done it often enough that it was easy to achieve. 

He also forced his thoughts on loneliness out of his mind. This was supposed to be a light-hearted and funny ordeal. There should be no space for that in his head anyways. He switched the hand he was holding the microphone in, shimmying around, preparing for the dramatic ending he had planned. 

“I’m reeling in my brain again before it can get back to you. Oh what am I supposed to do without you?”

He finished the song, bowing when everyone began to clap. “Thank you all, I’ll be here all night.” He got a few chuckles out of that and hopped off the stage after handing the mic back. 

“Pon,” Kai began, “Why would you do that?!” He placed his hands over his face in faux embarrassment. 

“Did you not get it the first time? Must I go sing the song again?” Pon jabbed a thumb in reference to the booth, taking a step backward, towards it. 

Kai shook his head immediately. “No, no, I get it.” Ezra laughed, covering his mouth. 

“You guys are such clowns.” 

“I'm Mr. Loverman, and I miss my lover, man…”

Kai turned and when he made eye contact with Ezra, Pon knew he was about to be subjected to more romantic gestures. Sickening, truly. 

He waited until they started to kiss and made a loud gagging noise, sticking a finger in his throat to emphasize his disgust. “And you guys are nasty dorks.” 

Kai stuck his tongue out at Pon, and Ezra rolled his eyes at his statement. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you someone here. Consider it an apology for being disgusting, oh great Pon.” Kai grabbed a hold of Ezra’s hand and used his other to pretend to scan the room, and Ezra tapped his chin thoughtfully. 

“You won’t find anyone.” And of course at that moment, Ezra’s face brightened and an evil grin took over his face. 

“Over there! Hey, you!!” Across the ballroom, a tall, dark, and handsome (anchovy) man turned, pointing at himself. Ezra nodded, and waved him over. 

Pon ducked and tried to scuttle away, but the Iron Grip of Kai’s hand latched onto his arm. For such a short dude he had incredible strength, and it doesn’t show. Darn Kai. 

“I'm Mr. Loverman, oh, and I miss my lover…”

The guy was sweet, and they wound up talking on the balcony for a couple hours. Unbeknownst to Pon, Kai and Ezra poked their heads out to check in on them, the guy catching their eyes and nodding ever so slightly at them. Several times Ezra had to cover Kai’s mouth with his hand to stifle his now-husband’s giggles. 

[kimjoongs]

—ateez college au series [cs]

i imagine san to be a photography major

he has a very creative eye and looks at the world through a different kind of lens than everyone else

he’s been interested in photography ever since he middle school when he went to a photography exhibit on a field trip

san is a very expressive person and he wanted to somehow transfer his emotions into something tangible

and what better way to do that than through photography?

san has two cameras: film and digital

in high school, he didn’t have enough money to buy a professional camera so he just stuck to his phone camera

but when he got a job and collected enough money, he went and bought his first camera, the film one

you best bet san treasured it more than anything

he tried his best not to use it as much because there’s only a limited number of film and buying more was e x p e n s i v e

but when san graduated high school his parents gifted him with a digital camera too

wherever san goes, he’s always taking pictures, whether it’s on his phone or cameras

he usually uses his film camera for more personal things, like pictures of his family, friends, or places that are important to him, and he either hangs them up in his apartment or turn them in for assignments

and he uses his digital camera for editing purposes, like double exposure or halftones

his roommate, wooyoung, serves as his personal model from time to time

“hey wooyoung stand by that tree for a sec, i wanna get a picture” “omg wooyoung wait sit still, the lighting is so good here” “WOOYOUNG GET YOUR ASS OUTSIDE IT’S GOLDEN HOUR”

wooyoung is annoyed bc of this sometimes, but as soon as he takes one look at his roommate eagerly bouncing on the tips of his toes, camera clutched in his hands, he can’t bring himself to be upset about it

also the one time san submitted a photo of wooyoung for an assignment he received a perfect score on it so—

one time wooyoung asked san if he ever modeled for his own photos, and san said he’d much rather be behind the camera than in front of it

except for the photos his parents made him take when he was a kid, san never really liked having his picture taken

he always felt more comfortable taking someone else’s

oh and also because san doesn’t let a n y o n e touch his cameras, not even wooyoung

there was a time where wooyoung offered to take san’s photo for him and he practically leaped away when wooyoung reached for his camera

everyone in the fine arts building knows who san is because he’s always running around taking pictures

their campus always has a bunch of stray cats wandering around, and if photography wasn’t san’s weakness, then it was cats

“omg wooyoung look there’s a cat i need to take a picture of it—” “san you’ve already taken twenty pictures of the same cat, let’s go before we’re late to class”

san is also such a friendly and gentle soul, so it wasn’t hard for him to charm all of his professors

one professor in particular became really fond of san because he reminds him of himself when he was younger

he became sort of a father figure to san and even offered to give san tips on how to take better photos

he also gave san permission to go into the darkroom after class hours or on the weekends should he need them

you can imagine how much san took advantage of that (in a good way ofc)

if san wasn’t running around taking pictures, then he was probably in the darkroom developing them

for a few months, san was pretty much the only person who used the darkroom after hours, so he never really bothered knocking on the door before entering

but the one time he didn’t, he almost ran into someone on the way in

at the sight of someone else in the darkroom, san let out the loudest shriek, jumping backwards and hitting the door

you flinched at san’s shriek and stumbled backwards, catching yourself by grabbing onto the edge of a table

for a minute, the two of you just stared at each other, still in shock

san snapped out of it first

“oh my gosh, i am so sorry. i didn’t mean to scare you. i thought no one else was in here, ahh so sorry i should’ve knocked”

your heart rate finally went down to normal, and you straightened yourself up, giving the sheepish boy in front of you a gentle smile

“no it’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

san practically sighed in relief when he saw that you weren’t mad at him “well, now that we’ve officially scared the crap out of each other—” he stuck his hand out, flashing you a dimpled smile “i’m san, it’s nice to meet you”

your lips quirked up and you took his hand in yours, shaking it firmly “i’m y/n, it’s nice to meet you too”

and that was how san, a photography major, met you, also a photography major

apparently the two of you had managed to charm the same professor, and he gave the both of you access to the darkroom

you found out that san lived in the same apartment building as you, you being on the 3rd floor and him on the 2nd

the two you became fast friends due to your shared love photography

during visitation hours, you’ll either be in his apartment or he’ll be in yours

wooyoung, who isn’t a photography major, sometimes looks at the two you with the most confused expression because you guys will start firing off, using terminology that he doesn’t understand

sometimes if it gets too much, he’ll call yeosang and beg him to get him out of there

one time when you came over, you noticed the wall above san’s desk was practically covered in pictures

most of it was of people whom you assumed were san’s family, but you noticed wooyoung in a few of them, and then there were 6 other boys pictured too whom you weren’t quite familiar with

“hey san, are these friends of yours?” you asked

san looked up to where you were pointing, and his expression immediately softened

“yeah, that’s the gang. i use that wall to hang pictures of the people who are important to me”

your eyes widened, you weren’t expecting san to share that personal piece of info with you, but it made your heart warm nonetheless

“you’re such a sap san,” you teased, poking him in the arm

he rolled his eyes at you playfully, shoving your shoulder gently “shut up and get back to editing your photos”

for the next few months, your friendship with san grew tenfold

the two of you would often meet up after class just to hang out or grab some food

you both began to value the other’s opinion and would sometimes email or show each other photos you each took, asking what the other thought of it

you thought that having another person aside from a professor view your work, especially someone as passionate as san, made you improve

san always gave you his honest opinion, even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but you were grateful nonetheless

one day, san was given a project by one his professors to photograph the same person or object for a whole month

and usually san would go and ask wooyoung, but he decided to change it up this time

so one day when the two of you were having lunch, san turned to look at you, his face set in a serious expression

“y/n, i have a very, very important question to ask you”

you raised your eyebrow at him, not used to seeing san’s face so serious

“what is it?” you asked, sitting up straight

“so i have a major assignment for class where i need to take pictures of the same person or object for an entire month, and i was wondering...if you wouldn’t mind being that person?”

your eyes widened, and san took this as a bad sign because his face immediately went from being serious to panicked “of course i’m not going to force you if you don’t want to!” 

san looked up at you, patiently waiting for your response

it’s not that you didn’t want to, it’s just... “why me?” you asked

one corner of san’s lips quirked upwards, making his dimple appear

“why not?” he replied

“i’ve just...i’ve never really modeled for someone else’s pictures before,” you said sheepishly

san waved a hand at you “you don’t have to worry about that. trust me, i’ll make you look absolutely breathtaking” he flashed you a playful wink, and you rolled your eyes

“okay fine, i’ll do it”

and for the next two weeks, san has been snapping pictures of you left and right

most of the pictures he took were candid pictures, which you didn’t mind...until he took a picture of you eating your sandwich mid-bite

“san delete that right now!”

“nah y/n, i’m putting this in the blackmail folder”

“CHOI SAN”

tbh you thought being san’s model would feel awkward, but he actually made you feel super comfortable

he would always tell you that you were doing great, giving you a thumbs up after every picture that was taken

you enjoyed having san be your hype man, he made you feel really confident in yourself

during one of your sessions, san wanted to get a few posed pictures instead of candid, so he took you to one of the open fields on campus

it was the middle of autumn so the trees were a beautiful shade of bright oranges, maroons, and vivid yellows

san told you to stand underneath one of the trees

“okay so for this one, i want you to look away from the camera, and i’ll snap a couple photos, yeah?”

you nodded your head and proceeded to pose against the tree, eyes focusing on anything except the camera

meanwhile, san was moving back and forth and side to side, trying to capture multiple angles, some close up and some farther away

“alright y/n, for these next ones i want you to stare directly in the camera. you can choose whether to smile or not, okay?”

san readied himself, placing the viewfinder over his right eye

through it he could see you, still posing nearby the tree

however, san’s many years of experience with photography wasn’t enough to prepare him for what was to happen next

because as soon as your eyes made contact with the camera, there was a soft gust of wind, soft enough to carry a few fallen leaves and have them float around you

caught off guard by the sudden flurry of leaves, a quiet gasp left your lips, and then your eyes scrunched together as you let out the softest giggle

and then click

san’s finger froze on the shutter button, his mouth gaping slightly

he slowly lowered the camera from his face, eyes glazed over and mouth still open

you hadn’t noticed him take the picture, too focused on playing with the leaves flying around you

san tore his eyes away from you for just a moment, glancing down at his camera to check the picture he just took

what he saw made him choke on his breath

because there you were

he captured the picture at the exact moment you had burst into a bout of giggles, the multi-colored leaves were blurred near the edges, framing your face perfectly

the sun hit the surface of your skin perfectly, highlighting your features

your eyes were scrunched shut and your lips were quirked up, displaying the most perfect smile

for the first time in his, choi san was rendered...speechless

he had never seen something so...so...beautiful

“san?” your voice knocked him out of his stupor, and he whipped his head up to look at you, only to be rendered speechless again

you were staring at him with the softest of gazes, a gentle, serene smile on your lips

“how’d the picture look?” you asked curiously

san didn’t say anything, but his mind was racing with a billion thoughts

his lack of a response made you nervous, and you frowned “did...did it not turn out well? was it because i wasn’t looking? i’m sorry i can take it again if—”

“no!” san interrupted, standing up quickly

“no y/n, it was...it was perfect,” he breathed out

the look on his face and the tone of his voice were enough to make your cheeks flush a deep, deep red

you’ve never seen or heard san sound like that

it almost seemed like he was...he was...

“o-oh, do you mind if i see it then?” you asked, taking a small step towards him

san had allowed you to see the pictures, and you were amazed at how well they turned out

you turned to san and gave him a playful smile “wow, you were right. you did make me look ‘absolutely breathtaking’”

you were expecting san to scoff or say smth along the lines of “i told you so”

but he didn’t

instead he looked at you with the most sincere expression on his face, and he said “no, you did that on your own”

the sky was beginning to darken, so the two of you decided to head back to your apartments, bidding each other goodbye at the elevator

as soon as san reached his apartment, he practically shoved the door open and ran inside, scaring the shit out of poor wooyoung who was watching a movie in the living room

san didn’t even bother sending his roommate a greeting, opting to flee to his own room instead and slamming the door shut

he immediately whipped out his camera, took out the memory card, and inserted it into his laptop

the pictures he took of you earlier popped up on the screen, and san’s eyes immediately scanned for the one he wanted

once he found it, he enlarged the photo and, for the third time that day, choi san was rendered speechless

his chest began to hurt, and he reached up, clutching at the fabric of his sweater right above his heart

now...san had always had an inkling in his mind that he may have the tiniest crush on you

but he always waved it off, claiming that he just really liked you as a friend

but after what happened today, he can finally confirm it

choi san liked you

and they weren’t the trivial kind, the ones that lasted for only a moment and left soon after

no, these feelings burned with longing

but unlike most people, those who chose to deny their feelings and keep it to themselves, san was the complete opposite

he wasn’t the type to shy away from something, or in this case someone, who made him feel such strong emotions

he was going to do something about it...and he knew exactly how to do it

for the remaining weeks left in the month, san still took pictures of you for the assignment

but it was different this time

instead of his usual loud exclamations he used to hype you up, it was replaced with the fond smiles and eyes practically dripping with adoration

you didn’t know how to feel about this new development, but that didn’t mean you didn’t like it

it was nearing the end of the month, which meant that san’s project was reaching its end too

the two of you were having lunch together, just chatting about random things, when san suddenly pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket, handing it to you

“what’s this?” you asked, taking the slip of paper and reading it

“it’s an invitation. my class is putting on an exhibit to showcase the photos we’ve taken the past month, but it’s a private event so only people who were given invitations are allowed in.” san leaned forward, gazing at you with a soft twinkle in his eye

“will you go?” he asked

you nodded, smiling “of course, i’ve been waiting to see how the pictures turned out!”

san laughed at your enthusiasm, but he could feel the pounding of his heart going a mile a minute

a few days later was when the exhibition took place, and you arrived at the gallery, decked out in the fanciest clothes you could find

after the guard checked over your invitation, you walked inside and was surprised at the sheer number of people who were present

you looked around, searching for the familiar dimpled smile you’ve grown very fond of

“well, well, well look who finally showed up” 

your face broke out into a smile when you saw wooyoung walk up to, dressed in a fitted button up with black slacks

“damn woo, first time seeing you in something other than a hoodie and sweats,” you teased,

wooyoung rolled his eyes in response, but he held out his hand for you

“come on, sannie is waiting for you”

you happily placed your hand in his, eager to see san’s display, and wooyoung couldn’t help but chuckle at your enthusiasm

he led you around the exhibit, carefully maneuvering around the large clumps of people until he finally stopped at a door

wooyoung opened it and gently tugged on your arm, moving your body in front of his

you looked over your shoulder at him, confusion written all over your face “wooyoung what are you—”

but before you could finish your sentence, wooyoung shoved you the rest of the way in the room, flashing you a wink before closing the door, leaving you standing in the darkness

“wha—jung wooyoung!” you reached for the doorknob, about to yank the door open

when the lights in the room suddenly switched on

you gasped, stepping back from the door and whipping your body around

what you saw made you freeze

because displayed on the walls of the room were blown up pictures of you

some were candid, and some were posed

it took you a second, but then you realized: these were the pictures san took of your for his project

you carefully walked towards one of the pictures posted on the wall

you remembered when it was taken; it was when you and san went to a cat cafe near the school

you were sitting at one of the tables, playing with a cat that decided to jump up on your lap

san thought it would be the perfect opportunity to snap a picture of that moment, and so he did

as you walked around, the memories of the past month with san started coming back to you

once you reached the middle of the room, you noticed a picture that was significantly larger than the rest

you let out a soft gasp

it was the picture san took of you in front of the tree a few weeks ago

you could hardly believe that the person in the photo was you

“which one’s your favorite?”

jumping at the sound of an oh so familiar voice, you peered over your shoulder only to see san leaning against one of the walls

he was decked out in an outfit similar to wooyoung’s, with his hair slicked back

needless to say...he looked amazing

you breathed out a laugh, fully turning around to look at him “it’s hard to choose. i just look amazing in every single one”

san’s smirk softened into a smile, and he pushed himself off the wall, making his way towards you

“which one’s your favorite sannie?” you asked

san bit his lip, cocking his head to the side

“hmm...i’d have to say all of them”

you giggled “is that so? why do you say that?”

san glanced over at you, and you almost choked on your breath at the look on his face

it was the same look he always gave you from behind the camera: pure, pure, pure adoration

you’d be lying if you said your heart wasn’t racing a mile a minute

san reached over, taking your hand in his and locking your fingers together

your eyes widened

san took a small step towards you, internally sighing with relief when you didn’t back away

you just stood there, waiting to see what he was about to do next

“they’re all my favorite because....” another step closer “...because you’re in them”

and that was the exact moment your heart stopped

san chuckled softly at your frozen state, and he brought your joined hands up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the top of yours

you swore your legs were about to give up

“people are about to come in any second now to see my display, but if you’re willing to wait for me until after, then i have something really important to tell you,” san said

you were at a loss for words, your mind stuck trying to process everything that just happened in a span of two minutes

just as san let go of your hand, the door to the room opened and wooyoung’s head popped in

“hey san, are you ready? people are waiting”

flashing you one more smile, san swiftly turned on his heel and nodded, gesturing for wooyoung to let people in

as soon as the crowd started filtering into the room, you were broken out of your frozen state by wooyoung gently pulling you to the other side of the room

and for the rest of the night, you stood in the back corner with wooyoung, quietly watching san walk around and the room and chatting with the people as they observed his work

you admit you were kind of embarrassed at the amount of people who were just staring at your pictures posted on the wall

wooyoung would notice and he’d tease you about it

after a while, the exhibition finally came to an end

wooyoung had left a few minutes earlier, which left only you and san in the room

as san made his way over to you, you averted your eyes to the ground, suddenly feeling awkward

but then you saw san extend his hand out towards you

“let’s talk outside,” he said softly, quietly encouraging you when you were hesitant to take his hand

once the two of you were outside, san led you to a nearby bench

despite his confidence from earlier, you could tell san was nervous now, from the way he was biting his lip and fiddling with your hand, which he was still holding

you waited patiently for him to speak, choosing to ignore the way your heart was about to explode inside your chest

after a few moments, san took a deep breath and looked directly into your eyes

“y/n...you know how much our friendship means to me right? when you and i first became friends, i was so happy to have finally met someone who shares the same love and passion for photography as i do. i truly enjoyed every moment we hung out together, and i especially enjoyed having you as my model for my project...”

he squeezed your hand, and you squeezed his back, urging him to continue

“and during the entire month where we spent every single day together, it made me realize that...i wanted us to be something more than...more than just friends. so what i’m trying to say is, i really really like you y/n, and i was wondering if we could give ‘us’ a try?”

it was completely silent for a few moments, but as san gazed at you with the most hopeful look on his face, and you couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh

you honestly didn’t know what you were feeling, all you knew was that it was warm and comforting and that the only person who could make you feel that way was...san

“choi san, you are just as expressive with your words as you are with your photos,” you laughed, and you swore you’ve never seen him smile so big

“s-so does that mean...?” he trailed off

you smiled back at him, squeezing his hand once more “yes san, i am willing to give us a try”

now let’s just say, being in a relationship with choi san was so...refreshing

in the beginning of, you were kind of worried that things were going to change between the two of you

but when you saw san the next day, he greeted you with his usual sunshiney smile and that’s when you knew things were only going to get better from that point on

san is normally very touchy, but now that the two of you were dating, he became extra touchy

whenever the two of you are together, he’ll always have an arm around your shoulder or waist, or he’ll be holding your hand

he just feels more at ease if he’s holding onto some part of you

but of course he’d stop if you told him you were uncomfortable

also san would take a picture of you every chance he could get

the camera roll in his phone would just be pictures of you

he even made his own folder with just your pictures but would he ever tell you??? psshh no

one time wooyoung caught a glimpse of it and he snatched the phone out of san’s hand so quick, yelling that he was going to show you

when you came by their apartment that day, you walked in on the two of them in the middle of a wrestling match

wooyoung managed to toss the phone to you, and you caught it, checking to see what the two of them were fighting about

once you saw what it was, you blushed so hard and san groaned in defeat, rolling off of wooyoung and onto the floor

as you scrolled through the folder, you started to pout

“saaaan some of these are so ugly why do you still have them?”

your boyfriend whipped his head up so fast, and he had the most offended look on his face

“excuse me?? are you doubting my photography skills?”

you shoved the phone in his face “san this is literally a blurry picture of me mid-sneeze how could this possibly look good?”

but what he doesnt know is that you also have your own folder on your phone with just pictures of him in it

omg when the professor found out that the two of you were dating, the hugest grin broke out on his face and he was just oh so happy his two favorite students were together

when you and san are in the darkroom together, he’ll sometimes walk up behind you and just wrap his arms around you while you were developing your pictures

you’d always complain, claiming that he was distracting you, but tbh you secretly enjoyed it

you and san haven’t had your first kiss with each other yet, and that was because you were both too hesitant to be the one to make the move first

until one night

san had invited you to his apartment for a movie marathon since wooyoung was spending the night at yeosang’s

whilst san was getting the tv set up, you were sitting on the chair at his desk, mindlessly just looking around

you’ve been in san’s room countless times at this point, and pretty much everything looked the same since the last time you’ve been in there

but when you looked up at the wall above his desk, the same wall where san hung up a bunch of pictures of his friends and family, you noticed that there was an extra picture right in the center

your heart skipped a beat when you realized that it was the same picture san took months ago, the one where you were standing underneath the tree

you remembered what san had told you the first time you asked about the wall: “i use that wall to hang pictures of the people who are important to me”

san was too busy fidgeting with the tv to notice the look of pure joy on your face

“okay everything’s set up,” he turned towards you “y/n what movie do you wanna—mmph!”

san’s question was cut off by you throwing yourself into his arms and slamming your lips into yours

he staggered backwards, caught off guard

san was frozen for a few seconds, but then he relaxed and began to kiss you back

it was your first kiss with him and vice versa, and you could practically feel your heart getting ready to burst

when the two of you pulled away, san leaned his forehead against yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips

“not that i’m complaining, but what was that for?”

you smiled at him “i’m just happy that i’m worthy enough to be put on your wall”

san’s face dawned with realization and he let out a breathy chuckle, tugging you closer to him and wrapping you up in a hug

“you were always worthy enough, it just took me stupidly long to realize it”

oh yeah san loves that picture of you so much that he made it his lockscreen and wooyoung wouldn’t stop teasing him about it for weeks

ofc you made him your lockscreen too

now don’t get me wrong, san is the absolute best hype man you could ever ask for

but sometimes a hype man needs their own hype man

so on days where san isn’t feeling like his usual cheerful self, you step up

now you’re the one feeding him compliments and giving him the warmest hugs

and when that doesn’t work, one of san’s weaknesses is kisses so you’ll cup his face in your hands and just plant the tiniest kisses on his cheeks, nose, chin, forehead, and eyes

it usually gets him in a giddy mood and he’ll eventually start giggling halfway through

when you see him crack that first smile, you get all excited and he just stares at you with the fondest expression on his face

san also likes it when you play with his hair, so he’ll lay his head on your lap and that’s when you know to just weave your fingers through his dark strands, occasionally massaging his scalp

you laugh because san reminds you of a cat whenever he lays on you

speaking of cats, the two of you practically adopted all of the cats that wander around campus

the two of you are honestly just so domestic and soft, everyone at your university practically melts when they see the two of you walking around holding hands

overall just a wholesome wholesome relationship

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

two years too late, chapter e i g h t

A gust of wind blew the door shut behind you, Alyssa pulled the hat off of her head and let out a groan. “Officially ready for spring,” she laughed. 

You rolled your eyes, with mid-January upon you, spring still felt like a far fetched dream--one with sunshine and flowers and maybe more kissing than winter. 

The Chelsea Market was always a fun Sunday afternoon adventure, but only if you stopped for a snack and felt up for handling the crowds of people, scarves wrapped around necks to shield from the winter air outside. 

You trailed behind Alyssa at first, meandering around the booths, glittering gold jewelry and beautiful pottery lined the counters, smiles from the hopeful merchants. 

“This is cute,” you cooed, picking up a signet ring and inspecting it closely. 

“Maybe your boyfriend will buy it for you,” she elbowed you in the side, her eyebrows raised in suggestion. 

“You’re so obnoxious,” you laughed, brushing her comment off like snow on your boots. “And uninformed, clearly.”

Alyssa had been bugging you about it for a while. Ever since he slept over, she’d been coming up with questions that only made you more nervous. You were not about to bother Harry with a conversation about labels or logistics. Instead, you felt rather content with just ignoring all of that and hoping for the best. After all, your important conversations track record didn’t look so good. 

“Oh come on, it’s not like he’s seeing anyone else.”

“You don’t know that,” you said casually, as if the thought didn’t make your stomach churn or your heart ache. 

“He spends most evenings in our apartment and a lot of his days in fittings or tour meetings or doing whatever he does. I don’t think he’s seeing anyone but you.”

You bit your tongue, not because you didn’t agree, but because you hoped she was right. The room was filled with other people hiding from the cold on the West Side, wandering around and inspecting tiny treasures. 

A tap on your shoulder. “Hi, sorry to bother you, uh--are you Y/N L/N?”

Your eyes pulled up from the necklaces you now held between your fingers, Alyssa’s head whipped around to inspect the source of the question. 

You didn’t get recognized often. While internet fame was something you dabbled in, your personal life was pretty untouched, meaning a trip to Chelsea Market wasn’t exactly the time you’d planned on seeing someone who read your stories. Hence the lack of make up and greasy hair up in a bun.

“Hi, yeah, how are you?” You stuck a hand out for her to shake excitedly, a beanie pulled over her head hid what seemed to be blonde curls. 

“I’m good, I don’t mean to interrupt, I just, uh, I follow you on _The Scoop _and online.”

“Oh thank you, thanks so much! What’s your name?”

“Courtney,” she smiled. “Nice to meet you. Could I get a picture?”

She shoved her phone over to Alyssa, who hid her surprise well when she held the camera up in front of you. 

“Say cheese,” she said, her tone rather flat and a forced smile on her face.

“Thanks so much,” Courtney looked over the photo quickly, shoving it back in her pocket when she deemed it was acceptable. “Nice to meet you, have a good one!”

She left as quickly as she’d shown up, Alyssa’s eyebrows arched when you turned to look at her. “Don’t get famous,” she shook her head. “That would be so annoying to have to deal with all the time.”

“She was nice,” you laughed, turning back to the jewelry. “At least she wasn’t awkward.”

“She was awkward,” Alyssa stared at you, her face contorted in a way that let you know she thought you’d lost it. “What about that wasn’t awkward?”

“Okay, you’re the one who rubbed your body all over that Spotify couch because you thought Harry sat there. You can’t judge her for wanting a photo or to say hi.”

“I was young and stupid,” she narrowed her eyes at you, brushing hair behind her ear when she moved to the next vendor: succulents and mason jars. 

“Right,” you rolled your eyes at her. “Speaking of, though--”

She looked back at you, her eyes expectant as you picked up a potted plant to look at the price. Fourteen dollars for a cactus? Nevermind.

“I, uh--I have a new assignment at work.”

“Yeah?” Her expression shifted, excitement in her eyes. “What is it?”

“An interview.”

“Of a person?”

“No of a plant,” you held the tiny cactus in her face. She shoved it away and made a face. “Yes a person.”

“Who?”

You looked around, thankful for the buzzing around you of people in coats and hats. “With him.”

“With Harry?” Her jaw dropped and she seemed to freeze in front of you when you nodded. “Uh--I know I don’t get the whole journalism thing but that seems, like, wrong...wasn’t the whole point of keeping it a secret so you didn’t get fired? How the hell are you going to manage that now?”

“I don’t really know,” you said honestly, putting the cactus back. Her eyes grew rounder at your quiet words. “But it gives me time to figure it out!”

She pulled you away from the vendor, her voice a whisper. “Does Carly know?”

“No! Whitney gave me the assignment last week--I haven’t, I don’t even really know how it’s gonna work yet.”

“Jesus, Y/N--this feels fucking risky.”

“Okay, thank you for the moral support.” 

You pulled your arm out of her grasp and threw your attention towards the handmade soaps at the next booth. 

“I’m sorry, I just,” she let out a sigh. “This is a big change.”

“I know,” you said. “He made a good point though: it would explain the photos of us. We can just brush it off that way, y’know? Say I’ve been with him for work, interview comes out, photos make sense, it all blows over.”

She tilted her head to the side, her bottom lip between her teeth in thought. “You better hope.”

You didn’t necessarily believe it would blow over, but saying it would seemed better than admitting this was getting out of hand. Like a web that was spun and now trapped you, your relationship with Harry and the ties to work felt like they were growing by the second. “Yeah, well, going to dinner with him tonight.”

“Dinner, like, out?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, a few steps forward, another booth, this one with lotion. “Somewhere uptown.”

“Jesus, I thought dating him was bad enough but now you’re going to be seen with him and you have to recognize how that is going to change things!” She was more animated now, her emotion elevated as the words tumbled out of her mouth.

You turned to look at her, straight faced and calm. “We’re not dating.”

“Right. Okay.”

“We’re just hanging out,” you whined a bit when she turned away from you, her hands now on a book as she flipped it over to read the back cover. 

“And making out,” she replied coolly, a lift of her eyebrows in challenge. 

“That too.”

She smirked at you from the corner of her eye, a reminder that while she loved you and wanted you to be happy, she also wanted this relationship to work out, for fear of what would happen if it didn’t.

**

He hadn’t given you any guidance on what to wear. Nice, he’d said, the chef was a friend of a friend, plenty of celebrities went and hopefully it wouldn’t cause much of a scene for him to be there. You only hoped that the black dress buried in Alyssa’s closet was good enough. 

So when you walked in to find a table in the back for two, far enough away from any other diners in the restaurant, a wave of relief washed over you and the emerald earrings that used to be your mothers. 

“Good?” He asked, pulling out your chair before you sat. 

“Yeah,” a nod. “Should be fine.”

“S’nice to actually, y’know, be out.”

More nodding, the nervous kind, when a waiter appeared with a drink menu and a napkin over his wrist--like they did in movies. You weren’t nervous to be with him, it was more just a nervousness that seemed to spike when you realized the way people looked at him in public, the wandering gazes and excited smiles. And maybe it was the fact that you were bare-legged in a wintry New York, the leather of Roger’s backseat cold against your legs when you had climbed in. 

But it was fine--glasses of wine were delivered to the table and you heard about the specials, wowed by the art on the walls and the dim lighting that made the room feel even more private. 

“You don’t think it’s too romantic for a work thing, right?”

You looked up from the menu. “Huh?”

He set his wine glass down, looking around the room. “The place--I mean, you think people will believe that we’re here to talk business?”

“Are we here to talk business?” You laughed at the look on his face, a goofy expression that reminded you of being kids, sitting across the table from him at Annie’s over a good fry up. 

“I mean, figured I owed you a proper date,” he laughed, the words lodging between your lungs and setting up shop, a trickle of anxiety like a leaky faucet.

“Doesn’t have to be a date,” you said quickly. “S’work, really, right?”

He cleared his throat, an awkward beat passed when you sipped your wine. A date would be nice. It wasn’t like you didn’t want it to be one. But the harsh reality of Harry leaving for tour in a few months seemed to loom overhead like a storm cloud on a summer afternoon--inevitable and threatening.

And besides, avoiding a label would make that break much cleaner, void of rubble or ramifications. 

“So, how does this work?”

“Well,” you shifted on your seat, thankful for a change in topic. “We have to talk about the direction.”

“The band?”

“No, the direction of the story,” you laughed. “I’m interviewing you. So what? What do we want to share that makes this different from all the others?”

“Oh,” a huff of air escaped his nose through a laugh before he let his eyebrows sink low in thought. “I dunno, where do you see it going?”

You hummed, eyes wandering from one portrait on the wall to another. He ran a hand through his hair but then set his elbows on the table, his gaze on you as he leaned in.

“Whitney said something about how I wouldn’t be impressed by fame--so I guess I have to take it in the direction of bringing you down to earth.”

“You don’t have to bring me down to earth, Smalls,” he twisted his face into a scowl, pretending to be offended when his fingers twisted around the stem of his glass. “M’already down here!”

“I think it’d be fun to do a piece that shows you as you.”

“What do you mean?”

A shrug of your shoulders. “The kid that I’ve known for ages--not just the funky pants and the hair.”

A gasp, “they’re fun!”

“They are fun,” you laughed, “but they’re not all of you.”

“So you want to show what’s underneath the pants,” he wiggled his eyebrows, lifting his glass to his lips and leaning back in his seat.

“No--what? You know what I mean,” you rolled your eyes, letting a sip of wine wash away the blush on your cheeks.

“Sure, sure,” he teased. “I mean, you’ve seen it, so.”

“Harry,” you leaned forward. “That’s a good example of the things you can’t say in public with me.”

“Right. This is strictly a professional relationship,” he gained composure, raising his voice so people around you could hear his declaration if they happened to be listening. He was cut off by a server, one who memorized your orders and kept the wine bottles coming. 

So you didn’t talk too much work--you mostly talked about Alyssa and Carly and listened to him detail his meetings and his ideas for the upcoming leg of tour. New cover songs, bigger venues. Just as many fun outfits. His eyes crinkled by the sides when you asked if he was excited, but his smile faded suddenly.

“Listen, I’ll be--I know it’s not ideal for me to leave--”

“S’fine,” you said, finishing off what was left in your glass, hoping the final sip would numb the ache in your chest at his words. “You’re going to have so much fun!”

“Right but we just--”

“The interview will be done by then,” you cut him off, as if his hesitation was about the story, not everything written between the lines.

“Smalls, I don’t mean that.”

“Oh.”

The waiter came and lifted the bottle off the table, pouring the last of it into your glass. Harry watched you, his eyes unreadable once you were left alone in the dim light, a candle flickered between you.

What did he expect from you? A confession of your love and a teary admission that you didn’t want him to go on tour? Work was work, you’d been left behind far too many times to not know the empty feeling by heart. 

“It’s still fine--we don’t have to like, have that conversation of what it means when you leave and what it means now.”

“We don’t?”

“No.”

Didn’t that conversation scare guys away? Didn’t it feel needy and overwhelming--especially when one of you was an international celebrity who probably didn’t need any strings attached? You weren’t about to be the small town girl with a big dream, you’d been her once before, she was a person you didn’t care to know. 

Maybe you were jumping to conclusions. Your heart beat slowed when he let out a sigh. 

“Back to my place? Watch a movie?”

You nodded, you’d been hoping he’d invite you. 

**

You stumbled in behind him, eager to kick your heels off once you grabbed hold of the wall. They clattered against the hardwood floor and he let out a laugh. “That bad?”

“Terrible.”

“Want socks?”

“Sure,” you dropped your purse on the floor and padded over to the couch, hoping if you got to the remote first, you’d be able to pick whatever film you’d pretend to watch.

“TV’s better in the bedroom for a movie,” he said casually, his voice disappearing down the hall as he walked to--you assumed--fetch the socks. You looked around the empty living room, the leftover pasta from his dinner in a paper bag on the counter. 

Celebrities bring home leftovers too, you thought. Good for the story. 

You stood up and ventured down the hall--you’d caught a glimpse of his bedroom before, only bits that were illuminated from the moon that shone through the window. This time, he flipped the lights on and walked over to a dresser.

“Do you keep clothes here even when you’re not?”

“Eh,” he shrugged, his voice high as he pushed a few pairs aside. “Basics. Socks, underwear, some work out stuff.” He tossed you a pair and turned to look at you, leaning against the edge of his bed. 

A mirror on the wall above, a telly that came down from the ceiling. Crown moulding and a beige carpet laid on top of the same wood that spilled in from the hallway. His bedroom was at least the size of your living room and kitchen combined. Big enough that a beautiful navy armchair sat in the corner, a throw blanket splashed over the side. 

“What’s your favorite thing about New York? Aside from that Thai place?”

He walked over to another armoire, one that stared back at the king-sized bed. He lifted a remote and pressed a few buttons, the TV lowered from a slot in the ceiling. “Who’s asking? Y/N the journalist or Y/N the girl in my socks?”

“We’re the same person,” you laughed, hoisting yourself up on top of the comforter, a stark white that smelled like traces of lavender and tuberose. 

He rounded the corner of the mattress, propping a pillow behind him when he climbed on, too. He kicked his shoes off, a floral patterned shirt was already unbuttoned low enough to expose flecks of black ink on his chest. 

“Roof deck upstairs is nice. Don’t go up there too much.”

You laughed, leaning over to shove him a bit. “Seriously. A restaurant, a super cool studio? New York must be filled with celebrity hot spots.”

He turned his head to look at you. “You want an exact location?”

“Sure.”

His fingers traipsed up to his lips, tugging at the lower one like you’d seen so many times. He let out a hum, a soft one that seemed to echo off the sheets. “Your living room.”

“My living room?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, his eyes flickered over to you.

“I can’t write that in the story.”

He laughed. “So that was Journalist Y/N asking.” A poke to your stomach before you retreated.

You rolled your eyes, leaning your head back on a pillow to stare up at the ceiling. “What do you wish people knew about your time in the band?”

He crossed his arms, another stoic stare into the distance. “I loved it, honestly. I think in the years since it’s been over there’s been a lot of talk about the things that were hard. But, it was still a lot of fun--despite all of the shit that came along with it.”

You looked up at him, he looked down at you. “Sounds like a robotic answer if I’ve ever heard one.”

“It’s true!” he laughed, his lips quirking up to a smile. “Meant every word of it.”

“I know you did.”

He scooted down on the bed, until he was laid beside you, your eyes on him and his on the ceiling. When he looked over at you, he smiled, his lips pulled up before he leaned in and kissed you, a hand on your waist.

You’d thought about having sex with Harry more times than you could count--not in a weird way,  just in that teenage crush turned celebrity way. By the time the fire of your teenage crush was put out, pictures of him were sprinkled over the internet, inescapable and hard to ignore. And then you had to listen to other people talk about wanting to have sex with him.

You never imagined it to be so comfortable, a laugh when he nearly elbowed you in the face, a giggle when a book fell off the nightstand.

You didn’t think it would feel so natural to lie on his chest and stare out the window in his bedroom, watching the sky spread towards Brooklyn. But it was better than you imagined. Real, tangible, and still slightly unbelievable. 

So instead of focusing on the voice in your head that felt like all of this was destined to crash and burn, you let him kiss your shoulder in the shower that night, beads of water dripping towards the drain like the anxiety you tried to ignore.

**

Carly seemed content with doodling flowers on the side of the staff meeting agenda sheet. You watched as her pen looped around the petals, down towards the stubby grass, back up towards  the sun she’d scribbled on the edge of the margin. 

Whitney was nodding continuously as Gabrielle explained the new lead she had on a long-standing project. All you could think about was your terribly unethical behavior.

It hadn’t really hit you at first. Not in the shower, not when you changed into a pair of his sweatpants. It didn’t even sink in when you ate breakfast in his kitchen and climbed into the backseat, Roger behind the wheel to drop you off at the office. 

It didn’t even begin to take form until long after you’d texted Alyssa and given some details--more over dinner tonight, you promised.

So maybe what did it was when you walked into the meeting to see a line of text on the agenda that made everything feel more real. 

Digital Department Updates: topics, stories, interviews, etc.  

Whitney loved to have the writers go around and share whatever new, exciting things they were working on. And while it normally felt like a good time to humble brag about fan mail or well-received stories, today it felt more like a set up. 

Carly had no idea about the interview and now, as of last night, you were officially sleeping with someone you were writing about. That added a whole new layer of nervous sweat to your forehead. So when Gabrielle finished her update and shifted slightly to offer you a smile, it took prompting from Whitney to make you talk.

“Y/N,” she smiled, “why don’t you let everyone know what you’re gearing up to work on.”

You smiled at her, wide eyes when you realized she wanted you to break the news to Carly. Right here, in front of everyone. Maybe it was your own fault. Maybe she assumed you’d already told her--after all, Whitney was missing a huge piece of context.

Sure, if Harry wasn’t someone you’d grown up with, wasn’t someone you had feelings for, and wasn’t someone you were now sleeping with, you’d probably have already told Carly that you  got a once-in-a-lifetime assignment. 

But the whole ethics mumbo jumbo seemed to blur some lines and make that conversation a bit more difficult. You let out a quiet laugh, wishing you could disappear into your sweater or melt into the floor. 

“Yeah,” you looked around the table, all eyes on you as you adjusted in your chair. “Lists are going well--great one the other day about obnoxious New Year’s resolutions.”

A few smiles from coworkers, you looked down the line of those who sat across from you, willing them to ask a question or change the subject--even someone suddenly having a heart attack felt like an unfortunate, yet welcomed, distraction.

“Great--big interview coming up, though, right?”

Your chest deflated a bit, Whitney’s excitement for you was pure and encouraging. She wanted to help you grow as a journalist and she was putting enormous faith in you by giving you this assignment. You only wished she’d entrusted you with a celebrity that wasn’t the one you were sleeping with. 

“Yes, yeah. I’m uh, I’m doing a story with Harry Styles.”

A few quiet gasps, Gabrielle seemed excited and Rachel--one of the interns--had eyes as wide as swimming pools. Carly’s head turned slowly, her gaze pulled up from the doodles on her paper to land on your face, her expression somewhat glazed over. 

“Huge!” Whitney smiled. “It’s going to be great! You’ve been in contact with his team? Someone reached out like his publicist said they would?”

“Yep,” you nodded, “was planning to fill you in this week in our one-on-one.”

“Great, can’t wait to hear about it,” she clapped her hands together. “Anything else?”

“No,” you shook your head. “S’all.”

You turned to look at Carly partly out of fear and guilt, but also because it was her turn to give the staff an update on her recent projects. She looked at you, her eyes unimpressed and her expression unreadable. 

“Right--me,” she parted her lips to speak and then shrugged her shoulders. “Not much is new. Wrote a story about Camila Cabello and she tweeted about it. That was cool.”

Carly seemed to look anywhere but at you--her eyes scanned the rest of your coworkers, down the line to Whitney at the head of the table. “Amazing, yeah. Any exciting things coming up?”

She pursed her lips, a thin line of disappointment. “Nope--nothing.”

“Well more will come,” Whitney smiled, her words an attempt at reassuring your friend. 

You could feel the resentment emanating off of her for the rest of the meeting--but it was especially obvious when you walked out behind her. Once you were far enough away from the conference room and the rest of the staff, you cleared your throat. “I think we should talk.”

“Good idea,” she turned around, her eyes narrowed. “Care to explain?”

“I was going to tell you!” You crossed your arms quickly, looking around to watch as people settled back into their cubicles. “I didn’t know she was going to put me on the spot like that. I would have preferred to tell you not in front of everyone else.”

“Well too late,” she shrugged. “Does she know? Is that why you’re doing a story on him?”

“No,” you tugged at her arm, pulling her back towards your desk and away from a marketing woman who passed by. “She has no clue--which is shitty, I know. I guess his team wanted to do some interview with a different outlet, she brought it up maybe a week ago.”

“And you’re doing it?”

A nod. She turned a corner around someone’s desk, you kept following her. 

“And you didn’t tell her that you grew up with him?”

“No! Carly, this is huge for me, okay? I know it’s fucked up and I know I’m a terrible person but she offered it to me and I couldn’t pass it up. You know I asked her for more news before Christmas.”

“I know,” she let out a sigh, slowing when she reached your cubicle. “I just--I don’t know, I kinda thought she would have asked me to do it knowing how much I like him.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, deciding to keep Whitney’s comment about professionalism to yourself. “I think she just wanted to throw me a bone and, besides, she figured I didn’t know much about him and I think she thought that would lend itself to a different take.”

She was quiet, watching as you went to sit at your desk. She leaned on the edge of your cube, another sigh escaping her mouth, she rolled her eyes back in her head as if she was about to become a puddle on the floor.

“Are you mad?”

She shrugged, made a face, and then laughed a little. “I’m jealous--I wish I had found out some other way than that. And I do think it’s kind of fucked up that you’re doing it. I mean, aren’t we supposed to be unbiased as journalists?”

You offered a challenging smirk. “And all of your stories about him have been unbiased?” 

“Being a fan is different than being a friend,” she wrinkled her nose at you.

You shushed her, waving a hand to calm her down. “Listen, I know. Maybe--I dunno--maybe you can come with me when I interview him one time and I’ll tell Whitney that you were a big help and,” you paused, unsure of where you were going with it. “You can help keep me unbiased.”

She laughed a little, her head tilting to the side. “You’d let me tag along again? I wasn’t too annoying the first time?”

“Annoying? I was prepared for you to be intolerable--and you were pretty put together, surprisingly.”

She pushed some hair over her shoulder, a metaphorical pat on the back. “I was pretty cool, wasn’t I?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you first.”

“S’alright,” she shrugged. “But I wouldn’t hate being invited. I can ask him more questions and it’ll be work!”

“How exciting!” You teased.

“Hey, not all of us know everything there is to know about him.”

“You probably know more than I do.”

“Do you know that he eats his meals one food group at a time?”

You blinked a few times, “what? No--I’ve never noticed.”

“Huh,” she pulled her head back in surprise. “Maybe I know too much.”

**

You’d gotten a text from Harry that afternoon--an invitation to dinner at his apartment. 

Harry S (3:21pm): Just us. I’ll cook.

The sky was dark when you left work and the subway wasn’t nearly as comfortable as Roger’s leather backseat--but rides to work didn’t seem like something you should get used to. 

The doorman at Harry’s building opened the door for you with a smile, the security at the front desk handed you a post-it note with his handwriting on it. 

952347 - xx  H

You headed for the lift, only realizing what it was when you saw the keypad above the other buttons. You pushed the button for his floor, typed in the string of numbers, and watched as the light above turned green. 

He gave you the access code to his flat. 

You didn’t think much of it, not until he greeted you off the lift with a kiss, the scent of dinner wafting over from the kitchen. He had a glass of wine poured on the counter--his was over by the stove.

“How was work?”

“Fine--I told Carly about us.”

“About us?”

You clarified, immediately regretting your choice of words. “About me interviewing you.” 

“Oh,” he nodded, heading back to the stove to look at whatever was sizzling in the pan.

You shrugged out of your coat and hung it by the lift. “She took it fine. What are you making?” A change of topic felt necessary.

“She was fine? Really?” He stuck a spatula into the frying pan, pushing something around over heat. 

“I told her maybe she could tag along to one of our meetings.”

“Meetings? S’kind of hot.” He looked at you over his shoulder, his eyebrows shot North as if he was still in middle school. 

You leaned against the island now, your glass of wine in hand as he snickered to himself. It didn’t feel totally necessary to have the conversation--you know, the one post-sex where you  derive some sort of meaning from whatever just occurred. 

So you didn’t--you sat at the island and told him about your day, the way Whitney put you on the spot and the way Carly seemed more relaxed than you expected. He asked about the items on your desk. Stellotape? Pictures? A phone?

You told him more about Whitney, about the way she totally intimidated you at first and how one day you dreamed of having an office like hers. He smiled at you over plates of honey roasted chicken, you offered to do the dishes after.

And once you were sat on the couch, the news on as if you were just ordinary people, your phone buzzed with a FaceTime call from Jessie. 

“Why’s she calling?” You looked at him quickly, your heartbeat rising when he pulled his head back. 

“I don’t know--have you talked to her lately?”

“No--and it’s late there.”

You slid a thumb across the screen, a smile when you saw that she was laying in bed. “Hi, Jess--how are you?”

“Can’t sleep. Where are you?” She squinted at the new light from her screen, a yawn escaped her lips. 

You moved the phone to show Harry quickly. “At Harry’s. Just had dinner.”

“Oh,” she said. “Hi Harry.”

“Hi Jessie,” he leaned towards your shoulder and offered a grin. “What’s wrong?”

She let out a dramatic sigh. “Insomnia strikes again. What are you two doing, anyway?”

“Just hanging out,” you said, your tone so casual it almost sounded suspicious, even to you.

“Yeah?” She smiled a bit, the look on her face told you she was about to say something you wouldn’t like. “You should have a monopoly rematch.”

“I didn’t cheat!” Harry said quickly, a frown crossed his face when you looked up at him. 

His words immediately brought Jessie’s energy level up, she rolled her eyes and let out a sharp laugh. “Bullshit, Harry! You’ve always been rubbish at board games--there’s no way you beat all of us!”

“Maybe you just suck at buying property,” he said, his tone serious and his face still twisted--he threw in her full name for shock-value, “Jessica.”

“Okay--anyway--Jessie, maybe a good cuppa and a book?”

Another groan, she sighed and sunk deeper into her pillow. “I dunno--maybe.” She told you about a date she went on, a nice kid, good job. She reminded you that Adam’s birthday was in a week, only a few days before Harry’s. 

Soon enough she bid farewell, yawning into the camera and promising she’d catch up with you soon. You knew what it meant: you have to tell me why you’re hanging out with Harry. 

When you hung up the phone the room was quiet. The telly was on mute and Harry seemed to let out a yawn himself, a smile when you locked eyed. 

“You didn’t tell her anything, right?”

“No--did you?”

He shook his head. 

“Best to keep it to ourselves,” the words felt somewhere between a statement and a question, both woven together to fall out of your mouth and settle on the couch between you. 

You hoped for some type of signal from him, but he was quiet. “Are you okay with last night?”

He turned to look at you, anxiety crossed his face. “Yeah--I--are you?”

“Yeah--I just, kind of, y’know, takes it to the next level.” Your words felt clunky and articulate.

He let out a small laugh before he let his arm rest on the back of the leather sofa. “I guess so--is that bad?”

“No, s’not, I just--I don’t want you to feel like you have to, I dunno, be nice to me.”

“Smalls, have I ever not been nice to you?”

It was your turn now to lift your brows, a challenging look in his direction as you adjusted beside him.

“Never mind,” he laughed. 

“I just mean--we don’t have to, y’know, make a big deal of it.”

A nod. “You don’t want to make a big deal of it,” his tone mirrored yours, not a question, not a statement, somewhere in the middle. 

“Nothing to overthink, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Maybe you said it more for yourself and less for him. For the knot in your stomach or the rush in your veins. For the girl who was fifteen and wishing he’d come home, the girl who knew he wouldn’t. Nothing to overthink. 

You repeated it to yourself on the way home, the uber you insisted on calling when you wondered if Roger had a family. If you were going to ride around in the back of his car, you figured it’d be best to learn that sort of thing. 

Nothing to overthink. 

You said it four times to Alyssa when she caught you in the doorway, trying to sneak in without a sound, knowing you bailed on a roommate dinner date. She had sleepy eyes, but she didn’t seem mad. 

Her eyes closed as she laid on your bed_. You pulled on sweatpants._

I can’t believe you slept with him, she said.

I can, you told her. 

Nothing to overthink.

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[danetobelieve]

The Case Of The Invisible Man || Agatha and Winston

When: late september Who: @detective-keen & @danetobelieve Where: WCPD Summary: Winston and Agatha work on a confusing break in together. Warnings: n/a

The smell of cold Luigi’s Pizzas wafted up into Winston’s nose as their slender fingers reached beneath the lenses of their spectacles and rubbed their eyes. Reaching out, Winston collected the mug of semi warm coffee from their desk and watched the triple speed CCTV footage roll by. They were working a homicide case with Agatha. Which was good. Out of so many of their colleagues, Agatha was a safe person to work with. She didn’t have anything to do with the supernatural, not as far as Winston could tell. Not to mention that she  was really good at their job and generally just pretty excellent company. Yawning, Winston grabbed a piece of pizza and was about to bite into it when they spotted something on the screen and paused, squinting at it. “Am I imagining things or does that guy kind of look like our perp?” Winston wasn’t convinced all of a sudden. They were pretty sure that their perp wasn’t blonde. “I think if I have to look at these screens for any longer I might put my face through them.” 

An obnoxiously loud yawn followed Winston’s. The detective grimaced as she pictured her mother frowning about it. Agatha remembered, ever since she was a kid, her mom being hellbent on having her daughter and husband follow some rules of etiquette, and she and her father completely ignoring most of those rules, much to her great displeasure. “Mmmh?” She stretched her arms above her head, glancing at them, then at the screen. “You need new glasses, dude” she had to admit that they kinda looked similar to the perp, but was she really going to miss an opportunity to mess with Winston? She reached over to grab pizza, unpausing the video in the process. Which would be when a particularly ugly dressed person showed up on camera. “Wow Winston, you could have told me you were on the tape,” cackling, she grimaced at the taste of cold pizza. Ugh. Ew. “Or is this what you meant by putting your face through the screen?”

Doing their best to keep a straight face, Winston failed pretty fundamentally. With coffee dribbling out of their nose, Winston had to reach for a tissue. They’d laughed so hard at Agatha’s jest that they had all but ejected the coffee from their nose all over the desk surface. Quickly cleaning up their mess and wiping their face clear of coffee, Winston grinned. “Hey, I had my prescription checked like a year ago and it was fine, I don’t know about you but I don’t make enough to constantly be checking my glasses and making sure they’re perfect.” They were joking, well, not really, they weren’t exactly paid much at all. “Hey, I know that I have a bad sense of fashion, but even I’m not THAT bad.” Winston flicked the speed of the tape up by another notch and watched several people file past the camera, still nothing. They had hours of footage to work through from multiple vantage points, but they’d also been doing this for a while and it was getting tedious. “Had I known that I was going to be judged for my poor decisions in dress sense then I would’ve maybe made more of an effort to look less sloppy, but we can’t all dress as well as you can Nancy Drew.” 

“Dude, nooooo,” Agatha moved away her things to make sure they wouldn’t get coffee-d courtesy of Winston. “I mean, that’s on me for being so hilarious,” she held her palm to her chest, and with a shit-eating grin on her face, she said : “my bad.” Agatha reached for napkins next, and helped them clean up the desk, shaking her head as Winston  spoke of their salary. She couldn’t hold back her grimace as she tried to imagine what this station could be paying them. “Clearly whoever decides your paycheck never saw what happened when Dennis Nedry didn’t get paid enough : people died.” Okay, they were eaten by dinosaurs, but Agatha was pretty sure that any IT worker could hurt a lot with just a computer. She doubted that someone sweet like Winston would ever do that, but she was convinced that if they wanted to, they could. Her eyes were on the video, but her mind was elsewhere. She hated being stuck here staring at a screen, even if it was part of the job. “Why thank you. Just to be clear I was not comparing you to Dennis Nedry, you’re more like Q, or that guy from WatchDogs, what was his name again?” She brushed a wrinkle off her pantsuits and blew a raspberry. “Uuuuuuuuugh. Come on.”

“Hey hey hey, if you’re going to say funny shit then I’m going to shoot coffee out of my nose, I don’t make the rules I just play the game.” Winston couldn’t help their grin as they wiped the dribble of coffee from their nose. “That is definitely on you, definitely your bad.” Winston loved working with Agatha, she was one of the few people in the station who seemed to actually get them and she was good at her job. “It’s fine, I’ve only just started, we’ll see if I still think it’s fine later on, but for now, it’s fine. Luckily I don’t have any evil plans to take dinosaur embryos illegally but you never know, if I find some I might change my mind.”  Pausing for a moment, Winston thought back to their days playing Watchdogs and grinned. “Do you mean Raymond Kenney?” they asked curiously. “I don’t know if I truly have the hair to rival Raymond but I appreciate the comparison. I do like to think of myself as a literal Doctor Who, just general all around genius but that’s a comparison I would happily take.” 

 “You know what’s worse than coffee? Coca Cola. You don’t want to snort that out of your nose, it’s the worst,” she advised. Clearly, this was something she had to learn the hard way, but she was not about to give those juicy details. Agatha cleared her throat and put down the cold slice of pizza. “Speaking of frozen embryos, I think I have some ice cream in the freezer here?” Obviously she was not dumb enough to leave a tub of Ben&Jerry’s in the precinct’s fridge looking like one, and when she came back with the thing in her hand, it was stored in a tomato stained Tupperware marked “Codfish brandade.” Handing a spoon to Winston, she sat down in her chair and slumped a little, getting comfortable. “YES, him. And you know, I’m sure you could get the same hair with a little bit of perseverance,” she smiled as Winston mentioned the Doctor. “Can I please be your companion? They are always nicely dressed. Check. And they work well with them. Check. We get in the Tardis, and arrest this douchebag right as he walks out of the store. Deal?” 

“Coca cola or cocaine?” Winston asked with a grin. Of course they were joking. Winston was not a hardcore party person and they definitely weren’t into drugs. Working in law enforcement meant that it was pretty hard to be into drugs. “I don’t really want to be snorting anything in or out of my nose.” Grinning Winston took a spoon off of Agatha and scooped up as much ice cream as they could, stuffing it directly into their mouth as they watched the footage trawl by before their eyes. “You can definitely be my companion because I’m pretty convinced that most of the time it is the companions that do all of the hard work. Besides you are very well dressed most of the time and you’ve got a good work ethic. I think if anything I’m maybe not the one who is qualified to be a timelord, I haven’t got the whole travelling in time thing down at all. But, I’ll get there.” Winston wished that they could travel in time. There was already a lot that they would change. “So, deal.” They scrolled through the footage, pausing and squinting at the screen. “For real though, does that guy not look a little …” Winston didn’t have a better word for it, “... weird?” The cameras opposite Miriam’s shop might well have picked up on something. 

“I’m gonna pretend I did not hear this,” Agatha jokingly glared at them, but her smile couldn’t stay away for that long. “You… drug… person… you,” yes, linguistics were her passion. “Me neither. Preach. Noses are for smelling pretty flowers and burritos,” she agreed, picking some ice cream from the tupperware as well. Falling silent, Agatha simply listened to Winston as they spoke of Doctor Who. “The Doctor would be nothing without their dear companions, let’s be real,” pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she grinned as Winston explained that he would eventually manage to time travel. “I’m sure you will. And when you do, we’re paying Amelia Eahart a visit. She was too cool for us all,” her cheerful demeanor vanished, however, the moment they spotted a strange man wandering past Myriam’s shop. “That guy is… well weird, but…” What the fuck was he doing? Either he was drunk, either he was searching for evidence that the place was empty. “... What the hell?”

Giggling, Winston had to admit that they were glad they were getting to work with Agatha on this. They didn’t love all of their colleagues. “... please continue to pretend you didn’t hear anything because of course there is nothing for you to have heard, there’s no way I’d ever do drugs working here, I don’t think that I could deal with the look of disappointment in the Sarge’s eyes.” Grinning once more, Winston’s eyes darted back to the bank of monitors that they were sat in front of. “Nothing at all and I don’t think that I would get very far into this investigation without my own faithful companion.” Winston’s eyes moved to the guy moving past Miriam’s store, he seemed to be peering inside and then a second later he disappeared. Winston blinked a few times and rewound the tape, watching it over and over as the man seemingly vanished. Winston had seen Marley do that before, when the cultists had been a problem. “Surely he can’t have disappeared,” Winston wasn’t sure how much of this Agatha would believe, she wasn’t exactly the most open minded in regards to the supernatural. 

“Oooooh, so you would do drugs if you worked elsewhere, is what you’re saying?” Was she always this nitpicky, or was this something she picked up from interrogating perps? Who knew. She did have a history of being a pain in the ass when she wanted to, either way. “Only a monster could deal with that kind of look,” she agreed. Of course she would agree. Agatha spent a lot of time making sure her case files were perfect, her solved case percentage never too low, and her global appearance spotless. “I don’t know. I’m sure you could be a great addition to the detective team if you wanted to,” and went to the Police academy, which she doubted would be their jam. “Either way I’m glad you work with us pumpkin,” she smiled brightly at them, smooching them on the shoulder. All that wholesomeness was gone however, as she watched the guy appear and vanish again with each rewind. “What the actual fuck.” She checked the timer and frowned. It did not look like it had been cut, but she did not trust that. “Someone tampered with the camera,” she sighed. They were not looking for one guy, but two. “Someone tampered with the camera,” she repeated, in disbelief. Ughhhh, just when things were getting easier. “Anyway, let’s ID that motherfucker, then we can find whoever’s making the camera flick like that.”

“Oh 100%, if it hadn’t always been my dream to fix all the cases that you worked by working out how the technology is implicated in their murder then I would be a drug lord, snorting massive piles of weed and smoking cocaine cigarettes, that’s how it works right? You chew on Meth?” Winston was obviously joking. They were a stickler for the rules and they weren’t about to start doing a multitude of chemicals that could fundamentally alter their perception of reality. At least not willingly. Besides, Agatha didn’t need Winston’s help solving cases. She was very capable. “I- working in the field isn’t something that I’ve ever wanted to do and besides, I’m good with technology, I feel like I can do more from behind the keyboard then behind the wheel of a patrol car or behind the handle of a glock.” Winston wasn’t about to point out that there was literally no way that the footage could’ve been looped or anything like that, it wouldn’t help. Something that they had learned in their time working with the WCPD was that there was some people who were intent and determined to believe that things didn’t exist, even when they clearly did. It was like the opposite of religion. “I mean, maybe someone tampered with the camera but we can definitely run facial recognition on him.” Winston began the process, “hopefully he’s in some databases somewhere.” 

Cackling, Agatha managed to shake her head left and right at Winston’s obvious nonsense. “Alright, we finish this and then we can smoke coke,” although considering what they had just seen, it would probably not be for a little while. She nodded as Winston explained that they did not plan to actually work as a police officer, and that was absolutely fine by her. That life was not meant for a lot of people. “It’s good to know your strengths and what you really want in life,” she gave him a small smile, even though what she was seeing didn’t make her one bit happy. “I hope he is, because we did not find one single fingerprint in there,” which suggested that this fella knew what he was doing. Now only time would tell if he was robbing Ms.Flemming for personal reasons. The facial recognition software could take time however, and it was not long before she started to sing and chant : “Winston, catching the bad guys, Winston, justice for the good guys,” in loop. Clearly, she would never be a rapper, and maybe that was a good thing. 

“Oh Aggie you’re too good to me, I’m going to smoke a whole bottle!” Winston grinned at their tomfoolery, it was good to be able to work casually with someone, refreshing compared to some of the boomers that worked in this station. Not to mention all of the weirdos too. “I mean, it’s possible that he could just be wearing gloves that the cameras aren’t sensitive enough to pick up, you can see that everything here is kind of grainy, I don’t think the resolution is all that good…” Winston wondered what this guy could be. There were a dozen things that could’ve done this. Glamours, charms, magic spells and god knows what else Winston had yet to come across. As the facial recognition search began to tick through, Winston wondered if there was something else going on here. Had Miriam upset someone that she shouldn’t have? Honestly, Winston was more concerned for the person they were trying to catch than Miriam, they were very aware of what she was capable of. “Don’t quit your day job Aggie.” Winston was about to make another hurtful comment when the database pinged. 

“A whole bottle? That’s going to cost us so much,” Agatha gasped, dramatically putting her hand to her chest. “A whole bottle, Winston, you are the most criminal. The criminalest,” she started laughing again. How they managed to get work done despite this, she did not understand, but they did get work done, and it was a lot more fun than having to work with some people. Yes, she did mean the critics. “I mean, we’re lucky we even have footage. What I don’t understand is…” She blew a raspberry, obviously exasperated. “If he vanished like that, then he knew about the camera, and looped it before it could let us see him get in the shop. But why not loop it before he even appears on tape?” And who could mess with an ATMs camera like that? Not a lot of people. Now she was not expecting a lot from the database. “Oh piss off…” She trailed off, having heard the familiar ping. Let us be lucky, she thought to herself. “Huh? Not the guy’s first theft,” she crossed her arms over her chest for a second, uncrossing them to get a better look at the file. This was odd. The database recognized this guy, but it looked like all records of his wrong doings had been erased. “Oh, fuck me,” she hit her desk with her palm, and took a deep, long breath. “Fuck,” she whispered. Well now, her best bet was to call the station who was the first to arrest that guy.

Grinning gently, Winston chuckled gently and turned back to their work. They couldn’t keep contributing to this joke and getting work done because if they did then they would be here all night. “Maybe you’re right, maybe only half a bottle.” Adjusting their glasses a little, Winston blinked a few times and tried to think of a way that could be explainable in Agatha’s head. They weren’t about to try and suggest the supernatural to her now. That wouldn’t help, but it might be worth letting Miriam or someone else in the know … well know that this wasn’t completely mundane. “I guess it could just be a glitch, that sometimes happens with old hardware that has been in place for too long, it starts a feedback loop where it draws previous data into the footage, but I wouldn’t have thought that this ATM camera would struggle from that.” Scratching their chin thoughtfully, Winston sighed. “If they knew about all of this and they did all of this, and that is a very very very big IF, then it just means that they want us to be seeing this and they want us to know about this, which doesn’t seem to make any sense either. This was a dead end with Agatha here. Winston wasn’t sure how they could truly investigate this “I guess if this isn’t his first theft then maybe he would have some experience of how he could do this, is there any information about what his previous MO’s have looked like or what he’s doing or why he’s doing it?” But then it became clear that there was no information on it. “I can try and go through the logs and work out why the database has been wiped, or if it is just blocked from our clearance level and access, but it’s going to take me some time to work it all out.” 

Leaning on her hand, Agatha shook her head and sighed. “That makes sense, I suppose,” yawning, she looked at her watch and blew a raspberry again. It was getting late, and while she enjoyed company, they probably wanted to get back home as much as she did, although she didn’t doubt that Winston could do some of their magic and surprise her too. “But why?” She rubbed at the back of her neck, feeling a headache coming : the more she thought about this, the less she felt like she was getting closer to the end of the case. “Maybe she knows that guy,” pursing her lips, she zoomed in as best as she could on the recorded footage and printed that picture along with the joke that was this guy’s criminal record file. Maybe she could visit the shop owner and see if she knew whoever was on that video. “I don’t know, it feels like he’s taunting someone,” either he was taunting the police, or he was taunting Myriam. Either way, there was a good reason he allowed himself to be seen. “I’ll pay her a visit,” wouldn’t be going home quite yet. “Do you mind doing… your thing while I’m gone? If you want to wait until I’m back for her shop that’s fine too.” She would hate for them to stay here and have Myriam tell her all she needed to know about this guy after all. It didn’t sound fair, at all.

“I don’t know why yet, but we’ll work it out. There’s always an answer, you just have to dig deep enough to find it.” It was late and Winston was ready to leave. They assumed that the same could be said for Agatha. After all they had been working for a while and the sweet embrace of their bed was beckoning them. But they knew that sometimes work simply had to come first and they would always prioritise their job. “I think that you should definitely pay her a visit, and I can definitely keep working on this while you’re gone.” Without Agatha here Winston was sure that they could find some spell that would help them get more information on this Mara and where he was from. Maybe they could check with some of the more in the loop members of the team to see if they had come across anything or they could access some information that had been wiped. Nothing that had been on a hard drive was actually permanently gone. Winston knew that as well as any other computer geek, the only difference was that Winston had a whole other way to get things off of hard drives. “Hopefully I will have something when you're back.” 

[artificialqueens]

Girl on Fire (Ninex) - Ashley

A/N: Nina finally starts to believe she is more than just a sidekick in other people’s fairy tales. Only her dream night is cut short when she is dragged away by her drunk best friend as soon as the clock strikes one-thirty. Monet is sick of pining after her straight best friend and thinks she’s finally found someone who steals her heart away. However, she doesn’t have any idea what her name is. (10k words)

Here goes my submission for the Black Girl Magic challenge, I had so much fun writing this and hope you guys enjoy - think of it as Cinderella in 2020. It is set in the same universe as Got My Number (Branjie fic) however you do not have to have read that to read this. Would love any comments/feedback/concrit anyone has and if anyone would just like to chat my sideblog is @artificialashley. Big thanks to Meggie for betaing this like a legend <3 Hope everyone is as well and as safe as they can be in these current times xoxo

It was safe to say that Nina had been placing her friends’ needs above her own for a long time. She didn’t know when it had started; be it the time she let Brooke swap roles with her last-minute before their drama exam in school, or every time she’d acted as a false alibi for Yvie during her secret rendezvous with a private school girl from the other side of the town, but it had been happening for a while.

This wasn’t something she felt guilty about, not something she would change for the world. Only every now and again the tiniest part of her brain wondered why she couldn’t be the one to have the Disney princess storyline, why she was always stuck as the bumbling sidekick, there to push forward someone else’s narrative. That was how she usually ended off feeling on nights out.

With Brooke sloppily dancing with a boy to her right and Yvie’s mind clearly elsewhere, Nina figured she might as well accept that this night wouldn’t be spent exactly how she’d pictured and try to enjoy it nonetheless.

“I’m gonna get another drink, you want anything?”

“I’m alright.” Yvie nodded, clearly distracted. “I might head back soon, anyway.”

Looking back to Brooke and the boy, a lilt of panic rose in Nina’s body. She knew her friend was a grown girl who could look after herself. But that didn’t falsify the universally acknowledged fact that when Brooke Lynn Hytes began to toss her hair and sway her hips, no one was safe. “Wait ‘til I’m back, though?”

“Of course,” Yvie responded, adding a thumbs up for good measure.

With that Nina made her way to the bar, trying her hardest to be speedy whilst still polite, something that was almost a kamikaze mission on nights like that. Despite her taller and broader frame, she’d always struggled to worm her way to the front of the bar, scared of hurting anyone near her and trying her best to remain patient.

Her foot tapping against the floor without thought, a wave of relief washed over her when a bartender beelined her way.

“A single vodka lemonade please,” she smiled to the man, holding the exact amount of change in her hand ready.

To her surprise, she heard a laugh to her left. A deep throaty laugh, the kind that required someone’s head to fall back to escape.

That’s when she saw her.

Monet.

“Make that a double,” the girl’s voice flanked down the bartender, smooth like honey. “With Red Bull. None of that lemonade bullshit. And one for me too.”

It wasn’t a secret that Nina had had a crush on the girl for a while. Or at least not to her friends.

It had started in year 13, when their sixth form decided to make some promotions, placing posters on the front gates, on roundabouts and even on buses around the town - Monet’s bright smile and warm brown eyes adorning every single one.

“Doesn’t Bob’s sister look just like her?” Yvie pointed at the poster as they made their way out the gates, on route for their daily meal deal.

“I know right!” Brooke added. “They could be twins.”

But Nina didn’t really agree, stopping in her tracks. “Look at her eyes, they’re much bigger than Bob’s. And her cheekbones, Bob’s face is more round. Look at her lips…” She trailed off for a moment. “She’s beautiful.”

Brooke and Yvie turned their heads to face her in synchronisation, realising the same thought.

“I’m not saying Bob isn’t pretty,” Nina panicked, afraid that she had been rude about the kind and bubbly girl that everyone in her year adored. “I just meant—”

“We know what you meant.” Yvie grinned with every muscle in her face.

“Nina and Monet, sitting in a tree—” Brooke started to sing and wave her arms in the air, only to be interrupted mid-stride after being swatted with a plastic folder full of literature coursework.

“We don’t even know her!” Nina turned to them, a blush starting to seep through her pale cheeks. “You can’t fancy someone you don’t know.”

She didn’t need Brooke or Yvie to tell her that wasn’t true.

“Oh,” Nina turned to face her, lost for words being an understatement to how she felt.

“Sorry,” Monet laughed, looking her up and down in a way that made Nina’s body tremble. “I wasn’t going to let a girl stand and wait anxiously for so long to order a single vodka lemonade, not on my watch.”

Before Nina could think of how to respond, the bartender had returned with their drinks, Monet handing him over a note and taking them, sliding one in Nina’s direction.

Nina found herself in awe almost of the other girl’s confidence.

“Thank you,” she managed to muster after taking a sip, the sweet tang of the drink giving her a shock, her hand automatically raising to her mouth.

“Oh,” Monet tilted her head and pointed a finger. “You’re one of them.”

“One of who?” Nina looked around confused, paranoia racing through her veins, only dissolving once she felt Monet’s hand touch her arm. Nina wondered if maybe a flame burned inside Monet’s ribcage where her heart should have been, heat radiating from the girl’s hands and eyes, from the entirety of her curvy frame.

“One of those pretty girls who just stands with a drink and doesn’t dance. The boring ones.”

And for a moment Nina forgot about it all. She forgot about how drunk Brooke was across the dancefloor, she forgot about how distracted Yvie had been acting. She forgot about her worries, her nerves, her usual hesitation. She forgot there were other people on the planet as she watched the girl she had crushed on for the longest time light up the night around them.

“I think you’re wrong,” Nina spoke softly, finishing the rest of her drink in record time.

She didn’t know if her heart was beating fast because of the girl or the drink. But either way, it was telling her that if she didn’t let those arms hold her it would jump right out of her chest and onto the sticky floor below.

And so she did, swaying to the music in time with Monet, letting the girl’s hands wander around her waist.

“Can I touch your hair?” Nina whispered, almost too quiet for Monet to hear.

Suddenly, she remembered seeing the girl eating on the grass once when the sun was out and shining. How she’d watched as her friend attempted a cartwheel and failed, Monet throwing her head back with laughter, her curls dropping down and almost touching the grass below them.

Monet nodded in response, Nina slowly and gently running her hands through the locks, smooth against her skin.

That’s when she felt Monet’s body inch in closer to her own, Nina seeing the purple sparkle on her eyelids briefly before shutting her own and leaning forwards.

She could feel the flame inside Monet make its way into her own body too, burning the whole floor that surrounded them. One word, one name running circles around her brain. Her lips felt familiar like Nina was simply coming home from a trip away. They moved together just perfectly, an equal balance of pressure back and forth.

Nina’s eyes opened for a second as she watched Monet pull away, a big, bright, and beautiful grin plastered on her face. Before she could take it in anymore she was pulled back into the fire, immersed in its embers, the outside world fading away to ash and dust around her.

Maybe she was more than the sidekick for one night.

That was until someone called the emergency services and the fire was extinguished.

That someone being Brooke Lynn Hytes.

She didn’t process it at first, the voice that was crying out being filtered out of her thoughts to focus on anything and everything Monet. But when she heard it again, Nina couldn’t help but double-take.

“You can’t kick me out! I’ve been coming here since I was fifteen, you nonces!”

Nina’s jaw dropped in horror as she saw her best friend being carried by two bouncers who’s heads almost touched the ceiling. Silently cursing at Yvie, she looked back and Monet, the red lipstick that was previously the definition of precision now smeared around her lips like a crime scene.

“I have to go.”

“Oh. Okay.” Monet frowned at her. “Can I get you on Snap? My phone’s dead, though. I’ll add you back as soon as I’m home.”

“Yeah,” Nina grinned, her mind taken away from her mess of a best friend for a split second to bask in what was happening. Only for her joy to plummet when she reached into her bag and pulled out an assortment of eyeliners and lip glosses instead of her phone. Her mind flashed back a few hours before when Brooke was only at her happy-drunk stage and had insisted on taking some cute photos of them on Nina’s phone (having the best camera, of course), realising that her phone was, in fact, being carried out of the club in Brooke’s pocket as she spoke.

“Shit,” she looked back and forth between her bag and Monet as if it would appear by magic if she wished hard enough. Knowing she needed to hurry to her friend, she quickly grabbed Monet’s wrist and began scribbling across it with her eyeliner, giving her hand a quick squeeze before running off in the opposite direction to find Brooke.

She could have sworn her lips were still tingling by the time she’d caught up.

“Nina!” Brooke cried from her seat in the smoking area, throwing her hands in the air to hug her best friend, only for them to flop back down dead-weight at her sides when they didn’t reach.

“Please can you get her out of here?” The bouncers turned to face Nina, leaving her petrified like a school kid who’d been caught skipping lessons.

Nina’s motherly side came to fruition as she tried to convince Brooke to come home with her, secretly thinking about how long she could make fun of her for being in this state. She decided on at least until the Easter holidays were over, all the way up until Summer at a push.

Eventually, the light at the end of the tunnel began to emerge; Nina managing to convince Brooke to make her way home. The only problem was that she didn’t want to do so with Nina.

“You’re not coming with me, I want you to go in there and get yourself a shag. I know you fancy Bob’s sister. Do it for me, Nina, I’m living through you!”

Her cheeks turning a brighter red than the lipstick that was smothered around her mouth (Monet’s lipstick smothered around her mouth), Nina found herself both mortified and joyed at her friend’s words, a part of her bursting with excitement at the fact she’d finally managed to kiss the girl that always caught her eye but also embarrassed at Brooke’s choice of crude words and inability to lower the volume of her voice.

“I’m coming with you, just let me find Yvie.”

“Nooooooo.” Brooke protested as if she were being asked to go home with a criminal trying to kidnap her rather than her best friend of ten years.

That was when a gravelly voice appeared next to her, a familiar voice she had spent years trying to imitate, never fully being able to capture just how unique it was.

Oh, how she had missed spending time with Vanessa.

Nina had never been one to pick sides, always wanting to be friends with everyone as best as she could be, but it seemed that had been impossible since the infamous breakup plagued their group earlier that year. She understood why Vanessa had cut her and Yvie out of her life, knowing that they would only be a constant reminder of the past but she couldn’t help but long that their group of six was just that again. And seeing the way Vanessa was looking at Brooke gave her a sneaking suspicion that she was not alone in those thoughts.

Content that Vanessa would be able to talk sense into Brooke ten times better than she would, Nina retrieved her phone and checked the time. The club didn’t close for another thirty minutes. Her heart almost skipped a beat and she realised she had a whole thirty minutes to feel Monet’s hands around her waist, their lips pressed together with varying pressure, releasing waves of latent heat into the disco lights above.

Only in the sea of heads bopping to the music, one set of dark curls was nowhere to be seen.

***

“So tonight’s not the night then?” Monet felt Anthony speak close to her ear, his gaze cast to Monique, who they could hear giggling as she attempted to re-tie the back of Asia’s bodysuit, her drunk coordination and false nails making the tying of a bow as hard as neuroscience for her.

“No night is the night.” Monet rolled her eyes at her friend.

As much as she loved him and admired his ability to want to address issues head-on, she had to admit that he was sometimes just a pain in the arse. And a shit-stirrer. He was also a really big shit-stirrer.

“Whatever you say.” He held his hand up in defence, grabbing Monet’s wrist and dragging her over to the other half of their foursome.

Only her attempt to get lost in the music failed as soon as Monique grabbed her hands, twirling her around and playing like they usually did.

Growing up in Britain to a Caribbean family, Monet had fought hard to fight off the bad stereotypes and embrace the good ones that came her way. She had never thought the one that would plague her the most would be pining after her straight best friend, yet here she was, dreading the moment that the repetitive playlist would remix into Flo Rida’s Low and she’d have to let the stunning girl touch her as if it was no big deal at all.

She decided it might just be better after all if she went to the bar once the familiar beat began to play, figuring that alcohol would work as a good enough distraction.

Only once she arrived there, she found one that was much, much more promising.

It annoyed her at first, the incessant tapping of the girl’s shoe so loud she could hear it in the busy club. But then she looked at the legs attached to the tapping feet and the torso attached to those legs and the face attached to the torso and Monet suddenly felt much more forgiving.

She seemed the opposite of Monique, her body thick and her skin pale. Her mannerisms showed a shy, reserved girl, unlike the one that turned everything into a production, unlike the girl she had found herself longing to kiss for months on end.

Monet would have given her the world and more. But she instead settled for a drink.

The perfect distraction.

It wasn’t until they began to dance that Monet realised how different she was to her hookups of the past, finding something endearing in her nervous nature. Normally she’d find herself cringing at someone’s bad dancing, but the way the girl stomped only made Monet want to pull her in closer, seeing something in the girl’s smile that made her feel like she’d known her a lifetime. Never on a night out had she felt so invested, so unaware of her surroundings, unaware of Monique.

Usually, kisses in the club were sloppy, too much tongue and touching. This time was different, the girl asking politely if she could touch Monet’s hair (Monet wanted to tell her she could pull it as much as she liked but refrained with fear or sounding too eager). Her lips were soft and gentle; Monet may have just let a small moan escape from her mouth after they parted, unable to stop grinning once she pulled away. The usual fire of confidence that burned inside of her was dancing all over, going crazy over the dirty blonde and her blue jumpsuit, the sequins dazzling in the light of the disco.

She tasted of hope and Red Bull.

That taste still lingering once the girl had pulled away, scanning the room in a panic and turning back to Monet. She wasn’t a mind reader but she knew something was wrong.

“I have to go.”

The words pierced her skin like an arrow, shot from the closest range. Monet should have been okay, she knew it was unrealistic to think that the girl would invite her back and she’d spend the entire night in her arms. Yet all she wanted was to wake up in a big four-poster perfectly entwined with her body. Generally, Monet thought of herself as a rather chill person, not letting much get under her skin, but the thought of leaving without this girl’s Snapchat made her stomach tighten just enough.

She watched as she pulled out her eyeliner and scribbled, unable to read the scrawl properly in the darkness of the club, knowing she’d have to wait until she was home to read it properly.

Monet could still feel where the girl had squeezed her hand minutes later, standing alone for a moment to take it all in before starting a mission to find her friends.

It didn’t take long. Within thirty seconds of looking she could already see them, their own circle formed in a less busy area of the dancefloor, Asia pretending to make it rain whilst Monique and Anthony took turns in the middle, splitting and kicking to the pop track playing as though they were in a fight for their lives.

She wouldn’t change her crazy group of friends for the world.

“Hey girl,” Monet placed her hands on Asia’s shoulders, unable to keep the ‘I’ve just pulled a really fit girl’ grin off her face.

“She returns!” Monique screamed over the music, still focused on dancing and managing not to miss a beat. “You look like you’ve had fun.”

It was rare that Monet spoke to Monique about any hookups, keeping that part of her life a separate entity in their friendship, shutting her friend down whenever she asked any questions about it. In her home there was a fine line between what was discussed and what was not, Monet sometimes struggling to remove that division when she hung out with her friends, afraid that she’d only open the box and release more creatures than intended. Afraid Monique would realise how she truly felt.

Only this time it was different; maybe she was still reeling from the kiss or maybe it was the vodka, but she had no problem telling her friends about the amazing girl she had just met, or as well as she could do given that they were in the middle of a dance to the death.

“Hey, Monique, why don’t you just do a cartwheel?” Anthony shouted to her, causing an eruption of laughter on Asia’s face and a contrasting one on Monique’s that only meant trouble.

“Do not encourage her!” Monet turned to her two friends trying to keep a straight face, montages of all of Monique’s previous failed attempts flashing through her head. She pointed at her and raised her voice: “You cannot do a cartwheel.”

“But who said?”

“Jesus,” Monet shouted over the music, causing yet another eruption of Asia-laughter before the disaster struck.

It started off stronger than most of Monique’s previous attempts. Her hands touched the ground. Her legs went above them. Everyone managed to move away fast enough (this being the reason for failure for fifty perfect of said previous attempts). But it didn’t stay that way. Monet watched almost in slow motion as her arm buckled underneath her, bending in a way that arms shouldn’t bend, hearing Monique cry out in pain.

A cry of pain she could still hear hours later in their local accident and emergency, surrounded by bloody knees and gurning jaws, waiting impatiently for the imbecile she called her best friend to be released.

Normally people would wait until the next day to tell their friend’s “I told you so” in situations like this, but Monet wasn’t that humble, making sure to say it at least six times in the ambulance journey, then another seven to Asia and Anthony once they arrived in their Uber.

“But you have to admit I was winning the battle.” Anthony sat up on the waiting room chair and looked back and forth between the two girls. “She didn’t even know the words.”

Giving him a slap on the wrist, Asia’s motherly side came out, her nose scrunching in annoyance. “That is the last thing on my mind right now!”

“Monet?” He raised an eyebrow to her, avoiding Asia’s stern look.

“I don’t know, mate. I didn’t really see the entire thing, you know. Would be biased to judge from those ten seconds of failure.”

Monet immediately prepared for an ambush based on the looks on each of her friend’s faces.

And ambushed she was, the pair of them forgetting their circumstances for a moment to ask Monet one hundred and one questions about her hookup. Only looking down at her hand to see a messy smudge of eyeliner instead of a name, Monet realised she couldn’t have given them valid answers even if she wanted to.

It would be her to find a girl so intriguing, a girl who made her want to dance all night and lose her the second the clock struck one-thirty. Her only glass slipper of hope turned utterly unreadable during the heat of their panicked ambulance journey.

Sensing upset in her face, Anthony grabbed Monet’s hand tightly. “Do I need to fight someone?”

But before Monet could begin to explain that her hookup needed finding rather than fighting, they were saved by a familiar cry.

“What do we think?” Monique began to shimmy towards the girls, her arm wrapped tightly in a cast, gaining the attention of every soul in the room (or at least the ones who were fully conscious).

Monet knew she should have been concerned, her friend could have been seriously hurt, but something about Monique’s grin as she danced towards them made her beam instead.

“Tens. Tens. Tens across the board!” She yelled as her friend pranced, resulting in the filthiest look from the receptionist, letting them know it was their time to leave.

“McDonald’s?” Monique looked back and forth between her friends once they had left the front doors, clearly unbothered by their haphazard appearances and the fact she had broken a bone.

The rest of the group didn’t even have to answer her question, simply beginning to walk in that direction without discussion, laughing like they had no cares in the world.

Only as the hours tipped on towards dawn and Monique reached out to hold Monet’s hand, it burned red hot where a pretty girl’s Snapchat username has been written. A face embedded into her brain that wouldn’t disappear no matter how hard she tried, a mystery left waiting for her to solve.

***

“Rise and shine!” Nina sang to her best friend, earning only a grunt in response.

“Why are you here so early?” Brooke winced at the sunlight seeping from her window, putting her hand to her throat and grabbing a glass of what she assumed to be water from the nightstand.

Nina guessed by the look on her face after taking a swig that it certainly was not water.

“Because I didn’t want to miss breakfast!” Nina pulled a greasy brown bag from her backpack and waved it in Brooke’s face, who perked up as if by magic. “You should be grateful, I had a right hassle getting this! I nearly ran over some drunk girl with a broken arm just running through the drive-through away from her friends.”

“I’m eternally grateful.” Brooke budged along and patted a spot for Nina to lie next to her.

As much as she hated the drama of nights out and the pounding headache that stopped her productivity the next day, Nina had really missed hungover food and gossip sessions with her friends. It just wasn’t the same without them at Uni.

“So?” Nina looked at her friend, ready and eager to hear what had happened with Vanessa, taking a sip of her drink in anticipation.

“So…” Brooke trailed in response, raising an eyebrow to her friend.

“Did you and Vanjie talk?” Nina couldn’t wait any longer for Brooke to start, spitting her sentence out in one breath.

“Yes.” Brooke looked at her with a gaze Nina had never quite seen before, despite their years of early mornings and late nights of spilling secrets and stories. “But that can wait. What can’t wait is the fact that you managed to pull the girl you’ve had a crush on for ages. Let’s talk about that!”

“Oh. That was nothing.”

Nina was telling the truth. Or at least she was if nothing meant the best kiss of her life. If nothing meant that she could still smell Monet’s perfume when she was getting her breakfast that morning. If nothing meant that she went to bed grinning from ear to ear, the image of the girl pulling her closer a carousel running circles through her head. If nothing meant that every step she’d taken on her way home last night felt as if it were on air rather than the pavement. If nothing meant that she had finally felt like the protagonist of her movie, being granted a night of magic by some special force in the world.

“Nothing? Did you at least get her Snap?”

“Na.” Nina brushed her off.

It wasn’t a lie. Technically she hadn’t gotten Monet’s username - she’d given Monet hers. Yet when she woke up that morning she didn’t have any new requests. She’d be lying for real if she said her heart hadn’t plummeted. It was normal. It happened all the time. That’s what she always told Yvie whenever she was ghosted. Only Nina couldn’t stop the horrible feeling of a knife twisting into her heart that came whenever she checked her phone and saw no notification. She knew it was silly, that it was just a dumb kiss in the club, but she couldn’t help but feel stupid; like she’d been some sort of fool for believing something special had happened to her, a fool for thinking that confident girls like Monet who breathed fire would want to chat to awkward ones like herself who let themselves drown in rain.

“Well, you can just follow her on Insta then. I mean you stalk her enough anyway it’s about time.” Brooke pulled her phone to her face and started to type, a flurry of panic running up Nina’s spine.

She knew that there would be no follow back.

“It’s fine!” Nina raised her voice almost too much, her friend flinching slightly at the volume. “Honestly Brooke, I just want to forget it.”

Nina knew she couldn’t forget it if she tried. She couldn’t forget it if she paid for someone to erase her memories like they did in the films. She couldn’t forget it if she was hit on the head a dozen times.

She wondered if Monet even remembered it at all. Or had she just decided not to think about it, having probably done it many times before, something normal to her. Nina didn’t know which of these options would be worse. She guessed she would never find out.

“I’ll let it go if you give me the last bite of your bagel,” Brooke teased and Nina obliged (having lost her appetite to the wonderful diet technique known as anxiety anyways).

“Have you heard from Yvie then?” Nina asked, trying her best to change the conversation, to think of anything but Monet.

Monet and her kisses.

Monet and her voice.

Monet and her mouth.

She wasn’t very good at this.

“She texted me this morning,” Brooke responded. “Said she was sorry she left. She went for a wee and ran into Ja’mie—apparently, we were gone by the time she got back.”

“Fair enough,” Nina smiled, knowing that she too was responsible for Brooke being left alone. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Brooke thrust her phone into Nina’s hands (who didn’t want to begin to question why it was sticky). “You can repay me by helping me type a text to Vanjie. How do you say ‘Thanks for looking after me in my drunken state, let’s all go for food like old times sake then make up and have babies together someday’ without sounding too eager?”

Nina laughed at her friend and began to type into her notes, grateful that her A-Level in English Language had not gone entirely to waste.

If only she could use it to express her own feelings about a certain dark-haired beauty instead of those belonging to her best friend.

***

“Get up! You’re doing my shift tonight.” Monet’s eyes opened to the feeling of a pen smacking against her face, her older sister stood menacingly with another one in her hand, ready to be launched at any second.

“Erm, who says?” She sat up and looked at the time.

There was nothing like waking up past midday to really motivate her to work.

“I said when I picked you and your friends up from McDonald’s at eight in the morning. Or do you want me to tell Dad you spent the night in A&E?”

“Fuck,“ Monet thought to herself. Or maybe said aloud. She couldn’t really tell, too caught up in images of the night (or morning) before flashing through her brain. The memory of a still drunk Monique calling Bob and demanding she take them home from McDonald’s, running away from the rest of the group and into the busy drive-through when they tried to stop her. Sometimes it scared Monet how averse to danger her friend was, having willingly run in front of a beeping car despite her freshly broken arm just so she could beg Bob to save them a fifteen-minute walk.

“Guess I’m doing your shift.”

Monet didn’t really mind that much, she liked working in her parent’s restaurant, finding joy in being able to chat to customers, recommending food and talking all things Caribbean. A big part of her thanked the job for her social skills, making her outgoing and confident when others in her year often struggled to speak to people. Yes, she often wished she’d gone to University like some of her friends, longing to bask in that fantasy of late-night shopping trips and early morning study dates. But she knew it wasn’t really her style, figuring she’d go full time at the restaurant until she found her true calling. Everyone liked to act like there were these big time limits on when everything had to be done but Monet knew they didn’t really exist.

Besides, her job meant she always had enough money to buy vodka Red Bulls for handsome ladies in the club, one particular handsome lady coming to mind.

The smudge was still on her hand.

Some would probably tell her it was fate, that she lost it for a reason. That they wouldn’t have worked out.

But Monet didn’t believe in all of that stuff. Monet was a fighter of fate instead.

Whipping out her phone, she Facetimed her best friend, eager for help on her mission. She thought for a second that she should have called Anthony instead; after all, his eagle eyes knew the most about Monet’s love life. But a part of her just wanted Monique by her side, knowing that she’d never get over her feelings if she continued to isolate that part of her life.

“Hey, girl.” She answered on the second ring.

Normally Monet would have spent a moment or two thinking about how gorgeous her hair looked wet and slicked back or how perfect the purple of her dressing gown complimented her skin, how it hung on her body just right.

Only now her mind was overwhelmed with other thoughts.

“Do you know what page the club photos get posted on, from last night?” Monet asked her friend after a short while of broken arm-related discussion.

“Yeah, I’ll send you the link - but don’t be tagging me in any where I look a mess.”

“Thanks.” Monet flicked through the photographs, examining each one for a bundle of dirty blonde hair or sparkle of blue sequins. “I’m actually trying to find the girl I got with. Gonna see if she’s been tagged, yanno.”

“Oh.”

Monet stopped scrolling, letting the silence linger for a moment before speaking. “Oh?”

“Nothing,” Monique brushed off. “Just seems a bit extra, is all.”

“I just want to find her. Do you think I should post it on the Uni confessions page in case she goes there? Or what if I tweet it? Maybe a tweet is safer.”

“I swear you’ve never been this bothered about a pull before,” Monique laughed through the phone. A laugh Monet knew to be fake.

‘Because I normally want them to be you,’ Monet thought to herself but didn’t dare say out loud. Only not once during the kiss the night before had her mind strayed back to her best friend like it usually did. She didn’t know if that would ever find a girl to make her feel that way again, she wasn’t throwing it away.

“This one’s different, I’m confident about it.”

“Okay,” Monique smiled on the screen, raising her hands in the air in surrender. “But remember you were confident in GCSE textiles when you tried to make a children’s dress from sponges for our coursework. Doesn’t always mean you’re right.”

“Don’t bring that into this!” Monet gasped, the attack on her garment cutting deep almost like an attack on her entire being, earning a chuckle from her best friend. “Imma get going, gotta shower and go to the shops before my shift but I think I’m gonna tweet it. Who knows, might see her again when we go out on Monday!”

“Monday? Bitch, I’ve got a broken arm.”

“You can still wiggle.” Monet winked at her friend before bidding farewell and hanging up the call.

She may not have had a glass slipper to try on every girl in town but she did have all the power of social media on her side, and that would simply have to do.

***

Looking around at the other girls as they made their way through the town centre, Nina couldn’t help but feel utterly ecstatic.

Things had been awkward at first - the lack of contact since the Brooke and Vanessa break up was a huge elephant in the room that no one wanted to address. However, as time passed the awkwardness began to melt more and more, Nina was excited to learn anything and everything she had missed out on whilst the girls were away at Uni.

“It’s just down here I think.” Brooke squinted at her phone and pointed to one of the streets.

“I thought we were going to the Lebanese,” Akeria stated from Vanessa’s side, earning a jab in the ribs.

“Scarlet doesn’t like it.” Yvie turned to face her. “Besides this place is really nice, I don’t know why we’ve all never been.”

“Probably because we don’t have the same taste buds as your highness!” Silky laughed, Brooke muttering some sort of private school girl gag under her breath too.

“You better not go on like that when she gets there!” Yvie shot daggers to the pair with her eyes, only making them chuckle even more. "If one of you even thinks about calling her that nickname you will be drop kicked.”

It was safe to say Nina had missed their shenanigans, a part of her wishing she could rewind time back to when they went for food like this every other week.

She’d missed Silky’s snide comments and Vanessa’s grunting laugh. She’d missed the way that Brooke and Akeria both clapped when they got excited. And the way Yvie tried to act all cool and hard in front of Scarlet but ended off turning into a soppy puppy everything she smiled anyway.

It was safe to say she was grateful to Brooke for organising their meal and catch-up. Not only was Nina getting to see the friends she had missed so much but she was also being distracted from refreshing her phone every five minutes, constantly disappointed when waiting to see if a certain someone had changed their mind and added her on Snapchat.

“Well, I’m excited to try something new!” Nina smiled at her friend, pretending not to be extremely anxious at the fact she couldn’t find a menu online so didn’t already know what she was going to order.

In fact, she still didn’t know what to order thirty minutes later once Scarlet had finally arrived, a round of drinks having already been devoured by the group, the range in the menu making her foot dance nervously on the floor below them.

“You guys ready to order your food?”

Nina didn’t dare turn around, the discernable voice ringing behind her.

The voice she’d let whisper sweet nothing in her ears less than twenty-four hours earlier.

The voice she thought she would never hear again.

She looked aside to Brooke, a devilish grin on her face, clearly proud of her work as Fairy Godmother.

Nina wasn’t so proud.

Her leg began to shake more, placing her own hand on it to try and calm down.

She didn’t do hookups, they weren’t the norm for her. She wasn’t used to just kissing someone in a club, giving them every part of her and more than acting like it was nothing afterwards. She didn’t understand how people just threw themselves all in and then decided it was nothing. There Monet was, most likely thinking that the whole thing meant nothing when it was filling the entirety of Nina’s brain. She was drowning in it.

It was like watching a gruesome video, Nina knew it would only end in tears on her behalf but couldn’t help but take a peek.

Only Monet looked anything but gruesome. Her hair slicked back into a ponytail, her face fresh, the end of the pen meeting her mouth as she took a break from writing.

Never in her life had Nina felt any inclination to be an artist yet suddenly she wanted to paint a portrait of the girl right there, her apron slightly stained and her hand showing the remnants of a stamp that hadn’t quite washed away.

Her hand that Nina had written on.

If Nina was drowning then Monet was on fire.

“What about you, Cinderella?”

It took Nina a moment along with an elbow from her right to realise Monet was speaking to her, just gawking at her like a kid in a sweet shop (Monet was probably a sherbet lemon, bright and fizzy right next to the till. She was more of a chocolate mouse, hiding on a shelf lower down).

‘Just ask what she recommends,’ Nina thought to herself, only the words never came out, her mouth opening and closing like a puppet she couldn’t control.

Brooke went to speak for her but Monet was too fast, a superhero reading Nina’s mind and saving her from the burning building. “My favourite is the jerk chicken, with lots of gravy.”

“Perfect.” She managed half a smile, wishing Monet would speak for her more often. Wishing she’d speak for everyone in the world with her voice so lovely.

Nina felt Monet’s hand leave her shoulder as she walked away.

She hadn’t even felt her place it.

“Well, isn’t that a weird coincidence.” Yvie sipped from her straw and looked up at Nina despite the utter lack of liquid left in her glass.

“Seriously? I told you I wanted to forget it.“ She turned to face Brooke, giving the best attempt at whisper-shouting as she could.

“I know, I’m sorry, but if I told you you wouldn’t have come. You’ve fancied her for so long I wasn’t gonna let you just let it go.”

“Did you ever think that I can make my own decisions, Brooke? You don’t have to dictate my life all the time. I look like such a freak now!”

“Hey,” Vanessa chirped in from the other side of the table. “Nina, she was just trying to help. I saw this thing on Twitter—”

“Scarlet, do you like Lebanese food?” Nina shouted over, interrupting Vanessa’s plea.

“Oh of course,” the girl responded, clearly unaware of the tension in the air. “My family visited the Zahriyeh beach resort last year and the food was to die for!”

“I’m going to the loo.” Nina stood up abruptly, almost knocking her chair over in the process. “Please don’t follow me.”

Making her way into the bathroom, Nina stared at herself in the mirror.

She knew her friends only wanted what was best for her, that she shouldn’t have snapped at Brooke. She just kept reliving her awkward conversation, kept thinking about the add that never came through her phone and wished they would have left it be.

It was okay for Brooke, who had Vanessa and everyone else in their old sixth form falling around her. Or Yvie who had the quickest wit, unapologetically herself every minute of every day. They were the type of girls who people fawned over, who girls like Monet wanted to speak to. Not Nina West who couldn’t say the word “chicken” without having an aneurysm.

Trying her hardest not to cry, she almost jumped out of her skin when the door opened, expecting an apologetic Brooke with her puppy dog eyes to walk through.

How wrong she was.

“Oh, sorry.” Nina looked around and made her way towards the door.

“For using the bathroom?” Monet smiled at her, Nina left unable to think of a response other than the word sorry again. “About the other night—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nina blurted, the fear of rejection injected into her bloodstream. She couldn’t bring herself to hear it, to hear Monet tell her that it was nothing or spurt some lie about losing her username. So she decided she’d do it herself, trying her very hardest to seem nonchalant. “We were both drunk, it was stupid.”

“Yeah.” Monet looked down at the floor. “No biggie.”

Nina missed her smile already.

Breaking a silence that felt like a lifetime, Nina released a breath. “I better go. Wouldn’t want to miss my jerk chicken.”

“Couldn’t have that.” She heard Monet’s voice tail off as she made her way back to the table, reliving their conversation for the entire meal - her mind lost in an alternate universe where the night before was the start of a new journey, rather than the remnants of one that never took flight.

Nina realised then how easier things were as the sidekick.

The sidekick never had their heart broken.

***

Monet was ready to take everything she had previously thought about fate and throw it out of the window when she realised the mystery girl from the night before was sitting in the restaurant, sipping happily on a strawberry daiquiri.

Monet had never wanted to physically be a cocktail before in her life but that didn’t stop her from wishing it at that moment.

Asking their head waiter to give her the order instead, she counted down the seconds until their last friend arrived and she could go ask what food they wanted, slipping into her natural confidence and flirtiness, ready to have a daylight conversation with the girl from her late-night memories.

She was nervous again, awkward. Monet wanted to tell her to breathe and shake it off, settling instead for placing a hand on her shoulder whilst she decided what to order.

Normally when asked for suggestions, Monet told the customer whatever was easiest to make, or whatever was going to waste, never her real suggestion.

She gave it this time without prompt.

It was probably wrong to follow her into the bathroom but a part of her just couldn’t handle the anxious look on her face and wanted to tell her everything was okay.

Monet was never one to shy away for what she wanted, overly-excited that she had found the one that got away, thinking of how much the girl would laugh when she told her about her night, how she lost her username thanks to her stupid best friend’s gymnastics related delusions of grandeur.

Only she never got the chance.

“Don’t worry about it. We were both drunk, it was stupid.”

Monet knew she shouldn’t have been upset, it was the type of thing she’d said to many girls before herself. But a small part of her just wanted to crawl up in a ball and cry thinking of how wrong she’d been, of how badly she’d read their moment of passion.

Monique was right. She couldn’t wait to hear her ‘I told you so.’ Monet guessed things hadn’t changed at all, those few words throwing her back in the cycle she was in before. Maybe fate was a part of it after all, maybe this was simply the role she was dealt, no arguments, no compromises.

“Enjoying the shift?” Bob called on her way out, grabbing some tofu from the bench and shoving it in her mouth.

“Something like that,” Monet sighed, checking the clock to see how much longer she would be hiding in the back kitchen until she was free.

“Not like you to be in a mood.” Her sister looked her up and down, clearly sensing a change in disposition from her usually annoyingly vibrant personality. “You better put a smile on cause I know those girls out there, I reckon they’ll tip you if you’re nice. They went to sixth form, used to host a lot of house parties.”

Monet was taken back for a second, laughing to herself at the thought that the girl she’d spent all day trying to find not only went to her old school but also knew her sister. She was starting to wish she’d looked beyond the three pillars of her best friends at sixth form and branched out that tad more, maybe things would be a lot different.

“Do you know the blonde one?”

“Brooke Lynn?” Bob asked.

Monet didn’t know how, but she knew that wasn’t right.

“No the other one. With the dumb smile.”

“Oh.” Bob realised. “Nina West. She was always real sweet, looking after her friends and cleaning up everywhere at parties. Awful fashion sense though, good god!”

Nina.

Nina.

Nina.

She could have said it again and again until it no longer felt like a name.

“Well, I’ll see you later.” Bob snapped her out of her daydream. “You out again tonight?”

“Nah,” she sighed. “Monday.”

All Monet wanted to do was get drunk and forget all about Nina and Monique and the thoughts in her head, desperate for the next forty-eight hours to whizz past her like lightning.

Only that didn’t really happen, Monet instead spending the entire time holed up in her room, letting the hours drag by until it was time to hit the club with her friends.

She wrongly thought that with every drink the name would slip out of her mind that little bit more, only it slapped her across the face every time she swallowed instead.

Maybe it was because she’d made the mistake of searching her.

She wasn’t hard to find once Monet knew her name, coming up immediately with twenty-seven mutual friends. Scrolling through picture after picture of the girl laughing with her friends, something pained Monet in knowing she could no longer send a request. That her feelings were unreciprocated. She’d told the girl that their hookup was “no biggie” but there she was thinking about the photo she’d seen of her standing on the bridge in town and how she wished she could hold her waist while she stood there.

Monet had a strong love-hate relationship with the internet.

One more shot and there she was again.

Nina West, as vivid as a photograph in her mind, her foot tapping against the floor, her eyes a scene of bewilderment.

She danced to a song she knew and then again to the next until they were all blurring into one and she couldn’t figure out what the words were anymore.

Another shot.

She could see Nina leaving some coins on the table before she left the restaurant, her body something that could inspire poetry.

Just one more wouldn’t hurt.

“You wanna go for a walk?” She heard Monique whisper in her ear, snapping her back to the reality her brain was running from.

She didn’t have to say yes.

The breeze was bitter against Monet’s face as they left the club; Monique wrapped a jacket around her body for warmth.

“What about the others?” She turned back and stopped, feeling her friend’s arm link into her own despite it being her only mobile one.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about them.”

They walked for a while before stopping at a spot by the river, the moon glistening in the water.

Monet watched it flow in silence.

Normally she’d have been scared by the rustling in the trees or the darkness of the night’s sky but those fears were lost in the moment.

“Are you really this upset about a girl you’ve known for a few days?” Monique’s eyes shone in the dark, pools of chocolate around her pupils. They kept Monet grounded. “She’s not even that pretty.”

Monet thought she couldn’t have been more wrong if she tried.

“You don’t get it.”

“But I really want to.”

“It felt different, Monique. I never feel like that, I never get like this. It’s fucked me up. I’ve only ever thought anything like that about…” Monet stopped to swallow, deciding she shouldn’t carry her sentence on anyway.

“About me?” Monique whispered, holding her hand out to her friend, her glittery nails scraping the surface of the other girl’s skin.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me.” Monet pushed her hand away. “I don’t know, I just thought this was something telling me that things were gonna change. I was wrong, too confident. Like the sponge dress, remember.”

“They still can change,” Monique responded.

Her hand moved to the back of Monet’s head, falling down her hair.

She was hesitant at first, moving towards her friend, slow and steady.

Monet’s breath hitched just before their lips touched.

And then everything started to blur.

Lost in the moment, Monet felt Monique’s free arm move down her back, her own hands gripping tightly onto the hem of her top.

It was happening. She’d reached the pot of gold at the end of her rainbow.

Only the coins weren’t shining as brightly as they did in the fairy tales.

This is what she’d imagined for years, what she fell asleep thinking about.

So why did it feel so wrong?

Every movement flashed by in a second; Monet wasn’t feeling them.

She wasn’t feeling anything.

Then the image of highly arched eyebrows and dusty blue eyes made their way into her head.

Monet didn’t have to say it, feeling her friend pull away in the darkness.

“She’s got you bad, hasn’t she.”

“I know you’re just trying to make me feel better.” Monet ignored what she said about Nina. Their friendship was more important. “I know that you wanted to do that because you thought it’s what I wanted. And I did, by the way, think I wanted it. But I don’t. And even if I did, I don’t need you to make me feel better that way. I just need you to be my best friend.”

“I am,” Monique responded, her voice fighting against a brittle sound. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I’m always happy.” Monet smiled. It was weird how things seemed to make more sense rather than less when she was drunk. “I don’t need a girl. Granted, it’d be a nice bonus, but it doesn’t matter if I’ve got my best friends.”

Monique hugged her like she only had seconds to live.

Yes, Monet wanted Nina. She wanted her more badly than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

But she needed her friends.

“Let’s get you home and never speak of this again, then.” Monique smiled, holding out her hand yet again.

“Agreed.” Monet clasped it around her own, her balance still off-kilter from all the drinking.

At least she didn’t have any shifts to cover the next day.

“Except when you admitted you were wrong about your sponge dress.” Monique grinned. “That, I will never let go.”

***

Nina had just about managed to ignore Brooke and Yvie’s texts about their meal turned ambush. Of course, it was difficult, she’d even written some stuff in her notes that she wanted to chat to them about once she wasn’t mad, having started typing to Yvie about a question on Pointless before remembering she was supposed to be shunning her.

Except Brooke knew her weakness.

Nina could never hold her poker face against a smirking Vanessa Mateo.

“You’re here before me.” Nina stood in awe at Vanessa, a half-drunken hot chocolate and a plate of cookies in front of her.

When they went to Dublin for a long weekend before everyone moved away, Vanessa had slept through her alarm and nearly missed the flight, spending the entire trip borrowing belongings she’d forgotten from the rest of the girls.

She’d be late to her own funeral.

“Of course I am. Didn’t want to miss out on any of my quality Nina West time.” She grinned and pushed the plate across the table, motioning for Nina to take a seat.  

Nina loved how easy things always were with Vanessa, finding admiration in the way she never complexified her emotions.

It seemed odd at first when Brooke fell for her. She remembered being told about the night they met, going into every detail about how intense and annoying Vanessa had been as they searched for her phone. It always made Nina chuckle remembering how casually Brooke had added “and then I kissed her” to the end of her thirty-minute rant about the girl.

She’d always pictured Brooke with someone who shared some of her qualities, a little cynical, a little stubborn, surprised that she’d date someone so full of energy. But the first time she saw them together she knew that Vanessa was her perfect complement.

It just made sense.

“So, are you gonna tell me why Brooke Lynn really sent you here?” Nina asked after twenty minutes of Vanessa’s intricate questions about her degree.

“She didn’t ask me.” Vanessa held her hands up and pouted her lip. “I know why you’re mad, we shouldn’t have meddled. I just thought I’d show you this.”

Nina didn’t know what she expected to see on Vanessa’s phone but it certainly wasn’t a tweet from Monet, dated the day of the meal.

“This is an urgent PSA: To the girl with the pretty eyes and sparkly jumpsuit I got with last night, I’m sorry I lost your snap. Hit me up so I can buy you another vodka Red Bull and put your dancing to test again x.”

Nina was glad Vanessa was there to pick her jaw off the floor and attach it back to her face for her.

“I saw it that day and showed Brooke. I honestly thought it was the right thing to do.” Vanessa held a hand out to her, warm and honest.

“No, no. It was.” Nina read the tweet for what might have been the fiftieth time since she’d seen it. If she wasn’t so shocked she probably would have signed herself up for the Guinness World Record for fastest reading. “I fucked it.”

“You can always pop up now?” Vanessa suggested.

“I can’t. I was so rude Vanjie, I read it all wrong.”

“So make it right.”

Nina grabbed her own phone for a second before placing it back on the table. “If I was her I’d ignore me.”

Maybe the fairy tales just happened to the princesses because they took chances, they didn’t let fear get in the way. They never told the prince that their feelings were nothing, a mistake. They were unashamed of how they felt and never afraid that it wasn’t returned.

Maybe that’s why Nina had always been the sidekick.

“Well, you don’t know you well enough then ‘cause the Nina I know wouldn’t ignore someone.”

She hated when Vanessa was right.

“Either way, I should probably go talk to Brooke and Yvie. I feel so bad!”

“Don’t change the subject,” Vanessa caught her out. “I think they understand. Besides, those two are gonna be there for you to message and kiki with as much as you like for the rest of your life. Do you really wanna go back after Easter and let this girl forget about you?”

Maybe it was Vanessa who should go for some sort of world record instead. Nina would have put money on a successful career for her in motivational speaking.

Cinderella wouldn’t have even made it to the ball had the fairy godmother not given her a gown and slippers.

All that Nina needed was to borrow her friend’s confidence for a night.

“I guess a message wouldn’t hurt.” Nina pulled out her phone and opened her notes, ready to type.

“As long as it’s not seven pages long like the ones you help Brooke write to me!” Vanessa leaned over and squinted at the phone.

“You know I do that?”

“You might as well wax seal them with your initials, bitch. Sometimes I’d rather she just trusted herself though. Like I’d rather have her tell me ‘Vanjie, I’m a dick but I love you’ full stop than all that poetry bullshit. I don’t know why she thinks she needs to sound all like you.”

Nina chuckled to herself for a moment, thinking of all the times Brooke had handed her a written message to Vanessa and told her to make it “more meaningful.”

She’d always envied Brooke in many ways. But she never really stopped to think that Brooke might have just envied her too.

“Noted.”

A notification flashed on Nina’s screen, her fingers automatically pushing it away so she could carry on drafting her succinct message.

“Wait, who was that?” Vanjie tapped the screen with an acrylic.

Pulling down the notifications bar, Nina’s face scrunched for a moment as she processed what she saw, looking up and making eye contact with Vanessa when she read the message.

Maybe they’d have to call Brooke to pick both of their jaws up from the floor at that point.

***

“The trailers are gonna start in a minute! Where you at??? x” Monet sent her third passive-aggressive text to her friend in a row.

She cursed under her breath, figuring it would be her best friend to convince her to get dolled up to go see a movie and then be late. She’d even begged Monet to walk further to the hipster cinema where you rented a sofa instead of seats - Monet having the entire one to herself for the time being.

“They’re on for twenty mins anyways. Whereabouts you sitting so I don’t have to scramble in the dark? xoxoxo”

Hearing a tut from behind her, Monet replied quickly with her location before putting her phone back in the pocket.

Normally she’d feel weird about being at the cinema with just Monique, sharing a sofa together in the most classic of date settings. Only now she didn’t, something about their kiss wiping away her feelings, picking up that “what if” she’d always had and sending it away down the river they had laid by.

Maybe it would make their friendship that tad stronger.

Just not strong enough for Monet to deal with being abandoned in a cinema. That would need a lot of forgiveness and grovelling.

A glimmer of hope dazzled before her when she heard the door close, making out a figure coming her way before realising it wasn’t Monique.

At least she wouldn’t have to share her nachos.

“Sorry, this seat’s taken,” she called out as the girl made a beeline for her sofa.

“I know.”

Monet could make out the blue of her eyes in the dark room, the cream jumper she wore complementing them perfectly.

This time it was her struggling to find the words as Nina perched her body onto the sofa, her knees tight together, arms smoothing her skirt and hugging her knees.

“I saw your tweet,” she whispered, looking straight ahead at the screen rather than at Monet.

“I thought you thought it was nothing, you were just drunk.” Monet didn’t even try to pretend she was looking at the screen too.

Her heart was racing. Her entire body on fire.

“I spoke to your friend too, she told me you’d be here.”

“Oh.” The frames began to merge together in Monet’s mind.

“I was just nervous to say it before. But that feeling you had, I felt it too.”

Monet placed a hand on the girl’s knee, noticing how her foot was starting to bounce.

She never wanted to take it away.

“I-” Monet started her sentencing only to be shushed from behind.

“We have to be quiet,” Nina whispered.

Monet moved towards her, their lips centimetres apart.

She looked at Nina and could have sworn she saw the flame that was burning in her chest in the girl’s eyes too, lighting up the darkness around them.

“Well, let’s stop talking then.”

[kauladoeswriting]

Life Will Change, Prologue

What you see here is possibly my weirdest passion project, and frankly I’m  a little terrified to share it. But what the hell, I might as well get it over with. If I keep tweaking it it’ll never get posted. No beta we die like men. Yell at me if there’s any weird continuity errors.

While knowledge of neither series is necessarily needed, it will probably make it more enjoyable. Fandom: Rockman.EXE/Persona 5 Fusion Wordcount: 1764

AO3

Next Chapter

November 18th, 2016

After School...

"After him!" 

 The night sky glittered through the windows as Joker ran by, moving along the sills of the window with grace born in practice and time. 

 "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were intentionally leading them on," Nurse commented in his ear. 

 "Psh, nah. You know how no nonsense he is! He wouldn't do that!" Ribbon responded. Despite her words, her tone revealed she was as joking as Nurse.

 "He's going to get caught if he doesn't stop," Rock scolded. "There's an air vent to your left, Joker. Take it."

 "Lighten up, Rock!" crooned Light. "You and Nurse worry way too much!"

 "Worry? You misunderstand me, Light. Joker's just an idiot." They could almost imagine Nurse tapping her foot without even seeing it.

 "I think none of you are taking this with appropriate seriousness." Soldier jumped in. "The only ones even trying seem to be myself, Rock, and Popup." No one could see Soldier, as he was off by himself, but they could hear his frown loudly over the comms.

 "Because we should act like a dog?" Light asked, immediately followed by a yelp as someone smacked him. If Joker had to guess, it was Ribbon or Popup.

 "How about you're all a distraction and really need to be quiet?" Joker asked, grinning all the same. He had taken Rock's advice, pulling himself up into the vents and let himself out into maintenance hallways, avoiding the guards chasing him for now.

With a quick look around to make sure he really alone, he crept down the hallway, leaping from shadow to shadow. He ducked behind a plush chair as a pair of guards ran by, hoping to catch any one of the nine thieves currently running about the building. They ran by the leader, but of course, they didn’t notice him.

 They never did. 

 Climbing through the building had led Joker to the upper floors. Okay, going up made things a little tougher, but he had accepted that escaping from down below was hopeless on foot. “HALT!”

 Oh, wonderful. He was found again. How were they tracking him so fast, exactly?

“There’s no way around! Joker, you’ll have to fight your way through!” Rock’s voice echoed in his ear, the navigator trying his hardest to manage all of the escapes at once. (He really didn’t envy the navigator’s job.)

 Drawing his sword from his sheath, he took a wide slash, striking both of the blob like security guards and causing them to dissolve. In a moment, they were more solid demons, something he could actually fight. Have to finish this quickly!     Joker grabbed his mask, summing a figure with long flowing hair next to him. “Let’s do this in one shot.” The figure readied it’s blade, wreathed in dark energy.

“EIGAON!” The swordsman next to him drew his sword back, and then in one fluid movement, tore straight through the opposing shadow. Not waiting a moment longer, Joker drove his sword straight through the chest of the shadow’s friend, drawing his pistol quickly and shooting it for good measure.

 “And that’s that.” He said, pleased, tucking his weapons back into their respective holsters. “Good one Joker! Now get going!” Rock encouraged. 

 “Watching him fight is fun, can we look for more things to- OW! Will you stop that?” Light complained, more shuffling as he evidently swung back this time. “Are you trying to get us in trouble?” Ribbon asked.

 Shaking his head, Joker took off down the hall way, continuing his hunt for a safe way out. Whatever map he was using, apparently Rock was unable to give him more useful directions.

 He was at the top of the building now, looking for a way out when the guards found him a second time. He could fight his way out, or he could do the fun thing…. How much did he feel like channeling Light?

 With guards on both sides, and a 5 on 1 match seeming unlikely, even with his skill and variety, Joker decided that channeling Light was in fact the best option here. Pivoting on his heel, Joker faced the huge window directly to his left, and with a few steps back, launched himself straight into it, guarding his face with his arms. For the briefest of seconds, Joker let himself fly through the air, before shifting to head down and land on his feet. For a precious few seconds, Joker thought he might have actually made it outside safely, and that he’d escape from the building unharmed. 

 And then all at once, the world in front of him lit up with the spotlights of SWAT officers. Oh. Oh hell. Pivoting on his heel, Joker jumped up to grab the fire escape ladder, encouraged by the chanting of his teammates in his ears. He climbed as quickly as he could.

 In the back of his mind, he could feel everyone yelling at him, warning of incoming danger. Not just his teammates either. Officers greeted him at the top of the ladder. Even though he knew they were coming, Joker couldn’t help looking surprised. Even more so, when they stomped on his hands, forcing him to let go and sending him spiraling back to the ground.

 This time, Joker wasn’t able to control his plummet.

The following was a flurry of motion and noise, as his comm link was torn away and he lost contact with his teammates, amid their worried commentary. “So young, huh?” Commented one officer, grabbing Joker’s face and roughly examining it, as if to get an idea who he was behind his mask. “To think that an actual kid has been committing this string of crimes…” Joker hoped the glare came across the way he wanted it to. With his arms pinned with an adult’s full bodyweight to his back, there’s not much else he can do. “You were sold out, you know.” Another officer, this one far more arrogant sounding, knelt down next to Joker. “You can thank your teammates for this.”

And then Joker’s world went dark.

 ========

When Joker came to, it was not to the same beautiful building he had fallen asleep in. Rather, it was in a concrete room he had never seen before, with two officers staring him down. He blinked slowly, trying to process the world around him.

 His face was bare. His mask was missing. And looking down revealed that he wasn’t wearing a a tuxedo of any kind, or any kind of weapons; just his day clothes. 

 “Assault, Murder, Grand Larceny, Obstruction of Justice, Property Damage, and more.” The officer was reading his charges. “Quite an impressive rap list for someone who is like, 17 years old?” He asks. Joker glared, not willing to respond to them. If they expect him to cooperate with them, they had another thing coming.

 Apparently, the officer with the clipboard had the same idea. “Now, kid. You can make this easy, or you can make it hard. We have a confession prepped for you. All you have to do is sign.” Still not willing to open his mouth, Joker shook his head no, trying as much to shake the worry of his teammate’s safety as he is  trying to push away the orders of the officer. He needed to hold his ground. They knew the plan, he had to trust they carried it out.

 The officer didn’t agree with Joker’s vow of silence, shoved the chair over, throwing the teen to the ground. “Think you can be a real smart guy, eh? We’ll get your name, one way or another, kid.”

 Blue eyes wandered to the camera in the back corner, behind the officer. The officer turned to see what Joker was looking at, and then laughed. “Are you hoping for the camera to save you kid? That someone will see this and come to your rescue? Let me burst your bubble; They don’t come to save criminals like you.” The clipboard is roughly shoved in Joker’s face again, as someone realized they should probably release his hands if they expected him to write. “Don’t even think about lying kid. You’ll just be caught immediately.” He chuckled, as if it were funny. “Not that you could anyways.” Deciding to cooperate to avoid another harsh hit like that, even though he was confused by the statement, Joker raised his hand to write his name on the clip board.  

Ijuuin Enzan

The officers looked at the name for a moment. “Isn’t it that kid of that CEO…?” Asked one. 

“The one who got in trouble over assaulting a politician?” The other officer confirmed it with a nod.

“You’re going away for a long time kid.” The one that had shoved the clipboard in his face kicked him again, almost completely for ‘good measure’ at this point.

And then he was alone.

=======

Enzan finally climbs to his feet and at least rights hs chair. He was stuck in this room for the foreseeable future. He was waiting for a certain someone, but that person had to actually show up… and a part of him couldn’t help but worry that all their planning was for naught.

Those worries were assuaged when a woman with her hair in a ponytail, wearing a clean pink suit with a blue tie. If anyone could make that look professional… “Ijuuin-kun. I apologize, but we’ll need to make this as quick as you can manage.” She got right to work, setting the folder in her arms down and spreading them across the table. “I have had some time bought for me by my superior, but unfortunately they seem insistent you don’t get a fair shot.” Enzan couldn’t say he was surprised. With a rap sheet like his, he can’t imagine anyone wanted to see him walk free. If only they knew….

“We have been told...things about how you committed your crimes.” Manabe began slowly. “However, the explanations are… spotty at best.” 

Enzan nodded. They sounded unbelievable to him even know, and he had been at this for the better part of a year.

“They say you steal hearts, and fittingly, all those your target have make a complete 180 in their behavior. Ijuuin-kun, I need you to tell me everything so I can make an effective defense. I know their… methods, may make talking a little hard, but I need you to try.” Her nose crinkled a little bit at the comment. “You have to try.” “From the beginning?” Enzan spoke finally.

“From the beginning.” Manabe agreed.

“Well. It started in early April ...”

[castielslostwings]

All I Want For Christmas (Are Earplugs)

Ficlet: 3k of fluffy, explicit (at the end) Christmas-y DeanCas. 

The challenge: "Write something about Cas being stuck in the gas n sip where "All I Want For Christmas is You" plays on an endless loop for 3 months until he's nearly homicidal 😂 ...and then dean shows up and they bang in the storeroom while it's playing and the song is still awful and plays every 45 minutes but at least Cas has a positive memory to associate with it now!"

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21656614

Or check out this excerpt (cut because Tumblr will eat my smut):

Corporate doesn’t even hold off until Thanksgiving is over to move onto Christmas, not anymore. In the age of instant gratification and having everything a person could possibly want only a finger swipe away, waiting until after Thanksgiving to break out the Christmas theming would render it all relatively pointless. Thus, the day after Halloween, that’s when it starts these days. Castiel doesn’t get it, not really, especially considering the Gas’n’Sip is, well, a gas station. No one is looking to their shelves for holiday sales and the opportunity to grab this season’s hottest items before they sell out. Not unless one considers snack cakes and travel-sized tubes of toothpaste to be the perfect holiday gifts. Not that Castiel’s judging.

It’s just that those realities make the auditory horror Castiel’s subjected to for nearly three months straight all the more baffling. Why he has to suffer so the Gas’n’Sip can claw uselessly at retail relevance is beyond his understanding. It’s not as if they’re succeeding. That little “Last Minute Gifts!” display doesn’t get any sort of play at all until the twenty-third, and even then people have to grimace their way through choosing between cheap shower product sets and crappy mugs with teddy bears holding chocolates stuffed inside them. By November first, Castiel’s already practicing the most tactful ways to interrupt those poor procrastinating saps and suggest simply buying lottery scratch-off tickets.

The thing is, the decorations aren’t so bad. A little tinsel here, a few red glittery signs there, couple of candy-filled endcaps with Santa theming, whatever. Even the little Christmas tree that sits next to the register and Castiel can’t stop knocking into with his elbow every time he goes to make change is more festive than frustrating. None of those things are particularly bothersome at all. In fact, Castiel barely even notices them (aside from diving to catch the tree and keep it from crashing to the ground every ten minutes). And the twinkling, color-changing string lights that Castiel spent the better part of a day stapling around the top of the store, along the windows, and over the register are actually fairly enjoyable to look at. So much so that he strung a set around the shelves of the storeroom for when he’s stuck back there organizing or doing inventory. Very cheery.

But the songs. The songs are the worst. Well, no, that’s not exactly it either. The holiday songs on the corporate-provided CD that loops endlessly on a forty-five minute spiral in the background definitely still play in Castiel’s head long after he’s dumped the coffee, turned out the lights, and locked the gas station doors. They infiltrate his quiet moments in the evening after he’s returned home, dance across his mind obnoxiously when he should be enjoying his free time away. It’s only the beginning of December and already Castiel’s starting to lose his mind. Last night, full of a spectacular dinner and tucked warm and snug in bed with Dean squirming underneath him, Castiel was screwed out of an actual orgasm by the painfully catchy crooning of Mariah Carey relentlessly belting out those high notes in his head.

Because really, at the end of the day, it’s not all the holiday songs, it’s that holiday song. The bane of retail workers everywhere, Castiel’s sure of it, “All I Want For Christmas Is You” is single-handedly making his holiday season as un-merry as it could possibly get. A grating earworm that’s starting to feel more “nails on a chalkboard” than singing at all, Castiel’s forced to enjoy it on a repeat cycle every forty-two-point-five minutes of every single workday. And now, it’s messing with his off-time, his intimate evenings with Dean, those relax and reset moments that Castiel counts on to get him through the next day and the one after that. Retail is hard enough on a regular old Tuesday, never mind during the holiday season when everyone’s so desperate to squeeze in as much merriment as possible that they���re willing to steamroll right over people like Castiel to do it.

Most of the time, Castiel doesn’t mind being a faceless cog in the machine, hell, he enjoys it some days. There’s a quiet dignity in his job, in providing food and fuel for weary travelers just trying to get from Point A to Point B. Keeping the coffee pot full, the hot dogs warm, the cigarette cartons stacked. Perhaps other people might look down on him for being satisfied with that type of work, that type of life, but Castiel has no interest in what other people think of him. Well, anyone besides Dean, of course. And Dean loves him, is proud of him, and that’s more than enough to make his days, every single one of them, merry and bright.

So it would be Castiel’s preference that he subsists through the rest of the Christmas season without murdering the one man who makes his existence tolerable, and that fucking song is beginning to threaten that theoretically simple wish.

Today, for instance, it’s four in the afternoon and Castiel is working a double. Which means that since the Gas’n’Sip opened its doors at six AM, Mariah Carey’s syrupy-sweet caroling has set his teeth on edge going on fourteen times. Fourteen. Chinese water torture would be kinder. Two hours and two more rounds of the nightmare in G Major later, Castiel texts Nora, his manager, and begs her to let him change the music. “ Just for the today, just for the rest of my shift”, he pleads, even going so far as to say he’ll tune the radio to their local Christmas music station.

Nora sends back, “ LOL, Castiel you’re so funny”, and Castiel dies a little bit inside. Business is slow and the lackluster trickle of customers comes to a stop completely around ten PM, leaving an entire hour for Castiel to count down the minutes to the next time that awful song is going to play without any kind of distraction. When the bells tied to the doors finally jingle signaling a customer around ten forty-five, relief doesn’t even come close to what Castiel feels. That doubles when the face that appears across his countertop is Dean’s.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says warmly, and he’s not exaggerating when he thinks he may never have been happier to see the man. Although, it’s never unpleasant to see Dean.

“I'll have some beef jerky and a pack of menthols,” Dean replies cheekily, leaning across the counter for a kiss which Castiel gladly provides. Not the menthols, though.

“Funny,” he murmurs and then sighs heavily. “Dean, I’m going to lose my mind if I have to put up with this—” Castiel jams his finger in the direction of the ceiling speaker above his head, “ Horror show for another three weeks.”

Dean looks up from where he’s fingering the different flavors of Bubble Yum and slides a pack across the smooth surface, reaching for his wallet to pay. Castiel waves him off, grabs a couple of singles from his own pocket and runs the transaction absently. “It can’t be that bad,” Dean says and Castiel’s fingers halt mid-button-push.

“My ears feel like they’re bleeding, Dean,” he protests with a glare. “Every forty-two-point-five minutes exactly it comes on and I’m in hell.” Clocking Dean’s badly-suppressed smirk, Castiel works his jaw and folds his arms across his chest. “Perhaps I’ll call Bobby and offer him a free month of advertising in the Gas’n’Sip window. All he’ll have to do is play a particular CD on repeat in the auto-repair bay from tomorrow until Christmas.” Satisfied with the way Dean’s face pales and the smirk disappears, Castiel feels absolutely no need to remind him that approving free advertising isn’t remotely in his job description. Honestly, if Dean can’t figure that out from the knowledge that he isn’t so much as allowed to change the store’s chosen music, that’s on him.

“Don’t mess with my classic rock, Cas,” Dean warns him. “Some shit is sacred, you know.” Annoyed again, Castiel raises his hands and gestures around him emphatically. “Alright, alright,” Dean relents. “I see your point, it sucks.” Sucking his lip distractedly in between his teeth, Dean glances around the store. “So, where are your security cameras at?”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel points to several different corners and just above his head behind the register. “There, there, there, and there. Don’t you think if I could have moved them, I would have? Changing their direction sends a notification straight to Nora’s phone.”

“That’s not what I—what about the storeroom? There any cameras there?”

Castiel narrows his eyes and regards Dean curiously. “No… There was one, but it broke weeks ago and Corporate hasn’t yet responded to Nora’s service request.” With a mild hum and another glance around that includes a sweep of the deserted parking lot outside, Dean wanders over to the doors and locks them. “Dean?” Castiel doesn’t protest, just watches as Dean flips the sign that says, “Back in 5 minutes!” Castiel rarely uses it himself, but every so often nature calls and the store has to be locked in the meantime. It’s interesting that Dean remembers that.

“C’mon,” is all Dean says on his pass back through the store, reaching out to grab Castiel’s arm and tug him out from his little alcove and across the floor to the storeroom.

“Dean, what—”

“How long until that song plays again?” Dean asks as he pulls Castiel inside and shuts the door behind them.

Checking his watch, Castiel does some quick mental math as well as cocks his head to listen for whatever song is playing now. “It’s next,” he groans, but Dean just grins.

“Awesome timing,” he replies, grabbing Castiel’s waist and manhandling him around until his back is up against some stable-looking shelving. “We’re gonna play a game, alright?” Dean’s bright green eyes are sparkling and shining and Castiel definitely knows that face. He also knows he should stop him, should tell Dean no to whatever mischievous thing he’s plotting, but it is only minutes to closing time and hell, Castiel’s day has been pure, undiluted shit.

“What sort of game?” Castiel asks, unable to keep the note of amusement out of his voice as he watches Dean’s eyes dart down to his own lips. Without answering, Dean leans in, kisses Castiel’s bottom lip and then his top, pulls back just far enough to look down and slot their groins together in a way that won’t have anyone’s belts causing unwanted, painful havoc. Then he’s back, tongue poking at the seam of Castiel’s mouth, and despite everything, Castiel recognizes that this is Dean asking for permission. If he really doesn’t want to do this, in his store or at all, he need only close his mouth.

As much as he appreciates the asking, though, Castiel knew what he was getting into when he stepped inside the storeroom. Dean has a bit of an exhibitionist side, and this isn’t their first rodeo in a semi-public space. Though the likelihood of being walked in on is extremely low, there’s still a bit of a thrill Castiel gets over doing something naughty, and maybe he’s more into it than he lets on. The whole concept has him hardening up nicely and Dean’s grinding isn’t hurting either, but just as they’re setting a pretty nice pace, the first notes of The Song come on.

Growling into Dean’s mouth, Castiel reluctantly pushes him back. “I can’t,” he says, frustrated. “I don’t want to associate having sex with you with this demonic lullaby.”

Read the rest on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21656614