#but I didn’t see a price tag and when the lady rung it up

[lesbianstarlightglimmer]

Dude why’d I pay $40 for a insulated water bottle tf is wrong w me

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Knick Knack Paddy Whack (BAON)

Summary:  As far as Stretch is concerned, there's only one solution when you're addicted to thrift stores. Selling all the crap you bought so you can buy more!

Notes:  Stepping outside of the main storyline for a moment, we'll get back to the aftermath we're all expecting in a moment. 😁

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Stretch was a bonafide thrift-a-holic, he honestly was, and he knew it. It was an important thing to know about yourself, really, because certain problems arose from bad case of oooh-shiny-itis.

Sure, one ceramic zombie hand thrusting up from the dresser to hold his rings and change was an awesome thing to behold, but an entire collection of zombie hands was a tough sell to the person you were living with, especially if that person was Edge. Not that he’d managed to find a collection of zombie hands and if he had, that thrift store would have been on the weekly check list, for sure. But the same premise applied to ‘zombie hand plus an entire horde of other bizarre ceramics surrounding it’.

Stretch wasn’t bitter about the limitations when it came to his collection, nah, he got it. There were certain things you couldn’t ask for from the person you love, and a house filled up with weird tchotchkes that looked like they belonged to the grandmother of the chainsaw massacre family was a step too far. Plus, asking Edge for more space would be unfair. He’d either agree because he didn’t want to tell Stretch no, or he’d say no and feel bad about it. Nah, the set of porcelain dragons playing instruments in a rock band he’d found wasn’t that important, not if it gave Edge a case of the guilts.

Problem was, Stretch really couldn’t resist sometimes. How was he supposed to turn away a wedding painting of Yoda and Kermit the frog? Or a coffee mug with a penguin orgy on it? He couldn’t, that’s how, but his allotted space was filling up in the house proper and soon he’d started to amass quite the collection in his lab, too. It was when the overflow expanded enough to start infringing on his erlenmeyer flasks that he decided he needed a new strategy. Science waited for no one and definitely not anything with the word ‘taxidermy’ included.

That’s when Stretch came up with the plan. Okay, it wasn’t a plan, exactly, more like a flash in the pants of brief inspiration, but hell, he’d been flying by on those his entire life, why stop now?

One of the places he frequented was an antique mall, which was a fancy way of saying one rung on the ladder above actual thrift store, except they rented stalls for people to sell their stuff, so maybe it was more like a glorified garage sale. People carted in their junk for other people to buy and the cashier up front handled all the transactions. Minimal time, minimal effort, that was exactly what he and his kitsch needed, so Stretch went ahead and rented a stall of his own.

The not-exactly-a-plan worked out pretty well. He could buy something at the thrift shop and proudly display it for a while around the house, and then when it came time to replace it with a new find, he’d add it to his stall and whatever money came from it, he donated to the local kid’s charity that the Antique Mall supported. That meant he got in his kicks and joy without looking like a prequel to a Hoarders episode and Edge only had to deal with the octopus tentacle ashtray for a few weeks.

Seriously, it was a win-win all the way around.

A few things did take up permanent residence, of course; he couldn’t give up his zombie hand. But so long as it wasn’t a clown, (clowns were disposed of by Edge immediately and with great prejudice), he was allowed things like his nested Matryoshka dolls of Nicolas Cages for a time.

About once a week he went down to add new things to his stall, mostly during the weekday hours when the buses were on the empty side and he could take up an extra seat with his box of additions. It wasn’t exactly a secret, Andy came along a few times to help, but he never really mentioned it to Edge. Not until today when Stretch realized he’d let things go a little too long and he had some extra boxes to haul down.

Better to take care of it while he was thinking about it, otherwise it tended to turn into an endless cycle of ‘oh, I should do that today’ and him forgetting, but aside from the extra lugging required, it was also Saturday and the bus would be loaded. Hitching a ride would be required, plus a little extra muscle, and his husband was his favorite source for both.

He found Edge in the kitchen, sitting at their temporary table with his laptop and yeah, it was Saturday, time to drag him away from whatever bullshit work he was doing. Stretch put on his best wheedling face and asked, “babe? can you give me a lift today?”

“Of course.” Edge didn’t look up, what a total waste of Stretch’s beguiling charms. His gloved fingertips were soft against the keyboard as he finished whatever he was typing before glancing up at Stretch, and maybe his schmoozing wasn’t entirely wasted; the way Edge closed the lid on his laptop spoke of a guilty conscious for working on his day off. “Where are we going?”

“downtown,” Stretch tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “i need to hit up my junk and disorderly shop.”

That got him a pause, “Your what?”

“heh, you’ll see.” Stretch curled a finger at Edge in a ‘come hither’ motion that his husband didn’t follow, only watched suspiciously. “c’mon, i need you to help me carry some stuff.”

“This ride is starting to sound less like transport and more like a chore.” But Edge followed him to the basement for the boxes, and, surprise surprise, his willingness to help went up a few notches from wary to eager when he figured out what Stretch was doing. Eh, couldn’t blame him. At the top of the pile was a plush frog with the top hat that played ‘hello my baby’ whenever you pushed on its foot, something Red did every single time he walked past it, plus anytime he’d felt like shortcutting in for a quick press. Time to let it damage the sanity of another family.

The boxes were tossed into the trunk of Edge’s car, frog and all, and soon they were on the road, heading downtown. Truth be told, Stretch wasn’t sure what Edge would make of the place. He tolerated thrift stores well enough, but the antique mall was a different kind of beast. An entire building of obscure collections cluttered together into eclectic displays that others were trying to barter and sell.

There were stalls filled with milk crates of old records, shelves and shelves of antique glassware and dishes. Some stalls had vintage clothing, feathery boas mixed in with disco pants and ruffled aprons. Old instruments, rusty farm equipment, strange kitchen gadgets that looked more dangerous than useful, this place had everything and then some.

Plus, the mall had a certain sort of smell, a musty, dusty scent verging on decay that settled into the sinuses and hung around for a while. Stretch thought it was the smell of a life well-lived and he kinda liked it; after years of thrifting, he associated it with finding treasures, but who knew if Edge felt the same. His tastes in smells (heh) ran more to clean and green, not old-timey funk. Could be it reminded him of shower mildew.

Whatever his opinion of the odors, Edge kept it to himself. He helped with the box carrying and checked out Stretch’s stall curiously but didn’t say much. Probably recognized the stuff on the shelves as having once been on a table or Stretch’s nightstand, until the glee wore off and it ended up gathering dust in the basement. He wandered off at some point, heading into the depths of the mall, and left Stretch to restock his meagre wares.

It took longer than he’d expected. Since he’d opened up his stall, not everything Stretch found thrifting found its way into the house proper anymore. Some of it he bought as a straight-to-video option and he was getting pretty good at finding interesting doodads at the thrifty places that might sell better here, location, location, location, that was the ticket.

Stretch always priced his junk reasonably, usually not much more than he’d paid for it. Wasn’t like he needed the money, and besides, Stretch knew himself pretty damn well, therapy did that to a guy. At the end of the day, he knew what this was really about; all an elaborate scheme to satisfy the inner packrat in his soul that struggled sometimes with giving things away.

Bartering had been built in him before he could say the word; in the Underground, he’d gotten damn good at getting deals for what he could scrounge at the dump. This was the same thing, really, just with slightly different stakes. Dinner wasn’t riding on his latest stash of dvds anymore, always a plus, and these days he could simply look at the empty shelves, content in the knowledge that his Smeagol cardboard cutout had found a new home.

Hey, therapy wasn’t the only way to work out a few kinks in your internal lines.

When the last box was emptied, Stretch wandered up to the front desk to give the lady who ran the front register his new inventory list. That was when he heard it.

There was an old piano up front with a sign on it that said, ‘Do not ‘play’ if you cannot play’. Most of the time it sat silently but someone up there was giving it a good try today. The notes were slower, with obvious hesitations as the player searched for the correct keys, but the song was one Stretch knew. Gently melancholy, a match to the cautious playing.

His curiosity piqued, Stretch wandered over to watch and he wasn’t entirely surprised to see Edge sitting on the piano bench, his attention on his hands as he slowly played. It was a tough choice between watching him play and simply listening to the song and Stretch found himself trying to do both. The uncertain skill in hands he knew so well as they coaxed the music free.

When the last note faded, a faint smattering of applause came from the different stalls around them. Stretch waited for it to end before sitting on the bench next to Edge.

Quietly, Stretch said, “i didn’t know you played.”

“I don’t,” Edge said. He smoothed a hand over the keys, not pressing down, simply touching them. “Not really. I can’t read music, but I know a song or two by rote. A friend of mine pushed me to memorize them.”

Welp, Stretch didn’t have to ask what friend, now did he. An old friend back in another world, and people weren’t replaceable even if they wore the same face. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to; Stretch understood in a way only a few people could, and he settled a hand on Edge’s leg, squeezing his knee gently.

“that was really good,” Stretch offered, “you have a good memory, babe.”

“Some of my memories are better than others,” Edge said. The words were more contemplative than sorrowful, and he didn’t look at Stretch, only touched the back of his hand briefly with his gloved fingertips. “You tend to feature in the best ones, love.”

He reached for the keys again and started to play. The song was more confident this time, bright and cheery, with only the occasional missed note. A handful of other people drifted over, some pausing to watch and some moving on, going about their day with a song to carry them along.

Stretch only tapped his toes and listened as Edge played, more than willing to let him go on until he was ready to stop. If Edge wanted to take a brief dive into the past, then the antique mall was a place for it, where memories and times past mingled with the present.

Besides, a new memory to take home was better than any knickknack.

-fin

Note:  The first song Edge was playing was 'Clair de Lune' by Debussy and the second was 'The Entertainer' by Scott Joplin. In case you were wondering. 😁

[theladylovingcrow]

Black Panties and An Angel's Face Pt 1 (Sanny Christmas Fic)

** A Continuation of Silk and Satin, Leather and Lace, but there's no actual sex in this part (sorry horny friends, sorry) **

Author (As known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @theladylovingcrow - writing/art Tumblr, @insannywestan Sanny shipping Tumblr

Fandom: Greta Van Fleet

Pairing: Sam Kiszka/Danny

Length: about 3k

Warnings/tags: lingerie, cross dressing, no smut yet, established relationship, gift giving, Christmas

Summary: Sam had said that he would wear whatever Danny bought him.... would he, really? Fuck, if not them this was about to he a sucky Christmas for the both of them.

Author's notes: I've been busting my ass all morning and last night trying it finish this, because honestly a Christmas fic after Christmas is just kinda... meh. But, alas, I only got the first half, the sort of build up, done. Well, something is better than nothing, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

From @therealswanqueen 's request for me (:

"Oh if you're going to write a continuation of the lingerie fic it would be nice if Danny buys it for Sam ♡♡♡ like if he's out shopping and sees something pretty and thinks 'Sammy would look gorgeous in this' ♡"

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Danny mentally went over the list in his head, arms too full of stuff to actually pull it out of his pocket at the moment. He had gotten the regular shopping out of the way, and was now working his way though the upper level of the mall, searching for Christmas gifts the one day he could get away from those sneaky brothers.

He had already gotten a variety of gag gifts and weird oddities the twins were sure to enjoy at Spencer's, and a new Christmas sweater for Sam; after some deliberation, a matching one for himself, as well. Their mothers were sure to enjoy it.

It was hard to know what exactly to give when they already had most things they could want, but Danny still tried to be thoughtful and give nice things to the people that meant the most to him.

New boots, a watch, and an engraved harmonica for Jake? Check.

A vintage fur coat for Josh? Yep, and surprisingly cheap.

Books for all three Kiszka's? Yes, as well as some parchment, ink, and quills for Joshie - it was one of those random finds that hadn't been on his radar of gift ideas, but as soon as he saw them he knew Josh would love them.

All that was left was Sammy. His best friend (now lover, too) always seemed to be both the easiest and worst to shop for. He was picky, so picky that, even after all these years, Danny could rarely be 100% sure that he'd like his gift.

He went in and out of every store, desperately searching for *something* that Sam didn't already have, and that he would appreciate receiving.

Nothing.

Not a single item that would be a good fit to give his new-ish boyfriend, not even a cool pair of sunglasses to just fill put some space in his gift bag.

Danny sighed, deciding to fuck the mall and go Amazon it in the comfort of their bed. But, just as he was heading towards the exit, something caught his eye.

A blue something - pale, like a robin's egg, but speckled with small, shimmering beads instead of brown splattered spots. It was a lacy bra, hanging several racks in inside of a Victoria's Secret.

Danny stopped and stared at it, considering. Sam had said.... Sam had said that he would wear whatever Danny bought him. It had been nearly two months, and, while they had definitely had sex many, many times since then, none of the lingerie items had made another appearance. Sam hadn't even mentioned it again after that day, instead only shooting Danny the occasional meaningful look that he interpreted as "Well? I'm waiting, it's on you to continue this."

He took two steps forward, but stopped just before entering onto the lighter tiles of the store's entrance. Would Sam actually like this as his Christmas present, instead of other stuff - namely, things he could actually tell their family he got?

Danny turned and was about to walk away, but then spun around for just one last look at the bra. It was so, so pretty, and would look so, so good against Sam's tanned skin; he could envision his lover perfectly in that little blue piece, coyly teasing Danny as he ran his hands over his lacy chest.

He took in a sharp breath and marched into the store, bags of presents banging against his thighs as he rushed over to the rack to closer inspect the bra. Danny set his purchases down on the ground so he could touch it, tentatively reaching out a finger to run over the scalloped trim along one of the cups.

Danny realized that the one he was looking at would never fit Sam, but, luckily, there was a whole row of blue items in different sizes behind it. He flicked through the hangers, eyebrows knitting together at all of the different numbers, letters, prices, and, he realized, slightly different styles and designs.

Which one should he choose - what would look best on Sam, and what would fit him? Danny was at a loss. The first bra he had seen and fallen in love with appeared to be the only one of its kind, which was highly disappointing but he knew that often happened when shopping - if you fall in love with something, chances are it's not going to work out. Such was life.

The other bras, though: all were the same pale blue, but some had no beading, some possessed a ridiculous amount of straps, and one was also covered in purple, trailing vines embroidered over the lace, curling over the soft fabric.

"Sir, do you need any help?"

Danny startled, looking over his shoulder at a friendly, understanding looking employee. He nodded sheepishly, nudging aside some of his bags with his foot so he wasn't barricaded in a circle of paper bags.

"Yeah, I'm... I don't know what size to get- yeah," he cut himself off, nearly saying "to get my boyfriend" but realizing that maybe he shouldn't.

It wasn't like Danny was ashamed of being bisexual, but he figured that revealing he was dating a guy and buying him lingerie was not a good idea - not only because she could react weird, but because who knew who could recognize him. He decided it was safest to just pretend to be buying a present for his girlfriend, it was close enough and completely plausible, if only requiring more thought before he spoke.

"Of course! Do you know what size she is?"

He shook his head, looking back at all of the tags. Like every guy, he knew, roughly, that A was small and D was big - stereotypically perfect, though Danny disagreed - but there were also double letters and numbers that were confusing him. He had no frame of reference to know what size the numbers indicated, nor the scope of the sizes. 28 was the smallest he saw, but it still seemed like an awfully big number for Sam's tiny ribcage, and many of the other girls he'd met, too.

"That's all right, this is probably a surprise, huh?" The employee, he saw her name was Stephi, gave him a knowing look and a grin, and Danny nodded again, smiling back.

"Yeah, she... she's been kind of hinting, but this is totally going to be a surprise and I didn't really think to check sizes before I came. She's really small though, very skinny and uh, an A cup, I think. What are the numbers?"

"Oh, the numbers are for band size, it's like the circumference of the of the ribcage. She'd probably be a 28A, that's the smallest we have," Stephi said, sorting through the rack methodically and picking out several of the blue bras as well as a few others from a lower rung. "Do these look like they would fit?"

Danny squinted at them, trying to imagine if they would hang slack on Sam's body or sit snug like they were supposed to.

"I guess, yeah, those look like they'd fit. Though, I've never really seen her wear the shaped ones, she likes softer things. They're called, uh, it has 'bra' in it..."

Really, Danny didn't want to get the shaped ones because he thought they would pop off of Sam's body weird with nothing to fill them, and that looked both unsexy and uncomfortable. He'd heard one of his past girlfriends talk about some bra thing before; it had sounded like a lighter fabric or something, but he just couldn't remember what it was called.

"A brallette? Yes, we have those, here's a few."

She took the shaped bras and set them aside, holding out a few that looked like lacy, cut off tank tops or teddys, soft and thin fabric that would most likely lay flat if nothing was underneath.

Ah, a brallette! Danny swore he was going to pay more attention to what his partner was talking about when it came to stuff like this, be it Sam or another girlfriend - though, he hoped it would only ever be Sam from now on.

Danny looked at the bras she was holding, trying to decide. There was the soft blue one with purple vines crawling up from the band at the bottom, little flowers budding up high over the mesh and lace top and then continuing over the straps. He really liked that one, so he gently took it from her and kind of tucked it under his arm, then continued surveying.

Another was completely pale pink lace, "Millenial Pink" he was pretty sure. His eyes passed over it, going instead for one of similar design but of a rich, deep green color. He grabbed that one too, and decided not to get any of the others Stephi was holding.

He thanked her for her help, figuring he had a good grasp of what bras to get, now.

"No problem! I'm sure she'll love these, let me know if you need anything else, I'll be at the counter."

Stephi turned and started walking away, then came back to him. "Hey, you have a lot of bags, do you want to put them next to the counter while you shop, if you think it'll be awhile? It might make it easier."

Danny grinned at her. "Oh, yes, please, and thank you."

He appreciated how nice she was being to him, even though that was technically her job and she'd probably seen many hapless boyfriends in the store before. Still, it was the busy week before Christmas, and she had taken the time to patiently help him while people were rushing and yelling and making a mess of things all around them. Danny carried his bags over to where she directed and took the metal basket she gave him, turning back to survey the store for anything else that caught his eye.

Over in the left corner, he spotted a table full of colorful pieces of cloth - panties, he realized, looking at the mannequins modeling a few pairs. Danny wandered over to them, stopping briefly to run his hands over another bra but moving on when he realized it wasn't something Sam was likely to wear.

There were so many options! Danny knew that there were many, many styles of women's underwear; he was proud to say that he had seen quite a few of them first hand. Still, the colorful piles were almost making his head hurt, though his heart was beating faster with something that felt like excitement.

He picked up pair after pair, settling on the 10 for $100 deal he saw advertised. It seemed ridiculously expensive for tiny, flimsy pieces of fabric, but it would be so, so worth it when he got to see Sam's sinful hips in these cheeky little triangles.

Danny grabbed one more pair of panties and another bra - a matching, strappy set - and brought everything over to the front of the store, waiting in line with all the other ladies and boyfriends to purchase his secret gifts. He grinned at Stephi as she rung him up, thanking her profusely for the help and adding the pink striped bag to his cache of others.

He made his way past the giggling groups of teenage girls out of the store, pausing to give a few of them a smile when they blushed and pointed at him. He would stop and take pictures if they asked, but otherwise, he was a man on a mission.

Danny couldn't get the image of Sam all dressed up for him those two months ago out of his head; his stockings and garter, the corset, his sweet smile. He wasn't likely to find a corset like that at a commercial mall, but the other stuff - he wanted, he needed, to get the complete outfit.

His next stop, after dropping all the other gifts at the car like he had originally intended, was a high-end 'bohemian' boutique right next to Macy's. Danny pushed open the door, quirking his lips at some indie cover of Jingle Bells playing over the store's speaker.

Danny smiled widely, looking over the store. Florals, paisley, glitter, lace and satin and taffeta, all hung like shimmering, rainbow banners on the walls. He knew what Sam's style was, the only thing he had to do was build the bridge between the lingerie he had gotten and what Sam would wear, normally, and it was - hopefully - going to be an unforgettable gift. He decided to start at the hair clips and work his way around to the mini skirts on the other side.

~~~~

Two hours and nearly two thousand dollars later, he had three full-to-bursting bags of clothing and accessories for Sam. Danny knew he had gone over board, and over budget, but every time he thought he had found the last item he turned around and another was screaming at him, sometimes from an entirely different store, how good it would look on Sam's lithe body. This new idea had shone a new light on the mall where he had previously found nothing of interest to get his lover; now, it was like he couldn't stop the floor of gifts.

He sighed, hands straining to grasp all of the bag handles as he made his way to the parking lot, trying not to knock anyone over with his haul. Now all that was left was wrapping everything up and placing it under the tree, where Sam could receive it in a few days time.

Danny worried his lip in between his teeth as he loaded up the trunk of the car. He was happy with his purchases, but that didn't mean Sammy would like them. He tried to quell any doubt in his head, though; Sam had asked for Danny to buy him more stuff, so he had. Simple.

The only thing he had to worry about was the wrong person opening the presents - which, shit, maybe they shouldn't go under the tree.

~~~~

Jake was smirking, looking back and forth between Danny's red face and his little brother's more self satisfied, but also blushing one.

"So, Sammy, what did you get? Let us see."

Sam shook his head at first, looking like he was being asked to feed his arm to a lion, but then slowly raised his gift out of the mess of tissue paper. It was a top, silver and covered in shimmering fringe all the way down its torso and in lines along the sleeves. Some of the things Danny had gifted Sam toed the line - lacy shirts, crop tops, one skirt, booty shorts (though he already wore those) with the hope that Sam would actually like them, as in making them a part if his every day wardrobe. Dressing up for sex was fun, but Sam's androgyny, even when not sexual, was still incredibly attractive and Danny wanted to encourage it.

Jake whistled. "Dang, Sammy, I might have to "borrow" that from you. But that's not what made you blush, now let us see it. "

"Nuh-uh, no can do Jack-o. Do I demand to see everything your girlfriend gives you?"

"Ooh, so it's that kind of gift!" Josh laughed. He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by shining bits of metallic paper and rainbow wrapping, swaddled in a plush red robe and grinning like the little Christmas elf he was; he had demanded they each open one gift before they did Christmas with the entire Kiszka-Wagner clan like usual.

Danny squirmed in his seat, his face getting even darker. He had gotten Sam some regular things so as not to arouse suspicion, and then saved most of the special items for later that night, privately hoping Sam would try them on and give him a little show. But, he had slipped in one pair of frilly white and black panties to let Sam know what was to come.

Sam adamantly refused to show his brothers anything else in the bag, setting it aside behind his chair and shooting Danny a look that could only be described as sultry. Danny swallowed, dry, and opened his own gift from Sam.

It was a gorgeous silk robe, starting at a light lavender and melting into a deep, inky black at the bottom. There was embroidery along the edges, little flowers and curls trimming the sweeping bell sleeves. Black lace formed a belt along the gathered waist, little silver buttons shining against the darkness.

Danny gasped, softly running his fingers over the fabric, feeling the cool softness and already imagining it against his skin.

Sam leaned over and whispered in his ear, one hand curled around Danny's bicep. "I'll wear anything you get me, but I want you to do the same, at least try it. What do you think?"

Danny turned to Sam, almost at a loss for words. "It's... it's beautiful, Sammy, of course I'll wear it. We'll be matching."

It was incredible how fast Sam was able to take the reins of a situation and flip it - here, Danny had thought that he was indulging his lover's interest, but, apparently, Sam had realized that Danny was just as into it and brought the control back to himself. Danny was putty in his hands, buying what he wanted and following every order, and he always would be, with joy.

"Woah, that's cool. But why'd you get Danny a lacy robe?"

Danny looked up, startled, to see both of the twins leaning over and staring into the box on his lap. He quickly put the top back on and shrugged, not sure how he had forgotten they were there. It was the excitement, he supposed, and the sentimentality of the gift, too, that had distracted him.

Jake shook his head, mumbling "Weirdos," under his breath and going to start gathering up the wrapping paper strewn all over the floor. There was a weird air in the room, one Danny couldn't quite shake. Sam was still sitting way too close to him and giving him looks, not at all helping him get his head back on straight.

"So, anyways, did I mention that I got us matching sweaters? Mom will love them!"

~~~~

To Be Continued

~~~~

@satans-helper

@okietrish

@lazingonsunday

@bigthighsandstupidguys

@karrotkate

@oblvions

@lantern-inthenight

@mountainofthesunn

@ryetheruler

[konohagakurekakashi]

Writing Prompt: Kakashi's discovery and developing obsession with Icha-Icha.

[Writing Prompt @Senjutsunade]

[Part I - An Introduction:]

Branches and twigs swayed with each press of his sandals, birds scattering into the heavens with indignant squawks and twitters once the Shinobi disturbed their resting places with his Shūsen. Kakashi paid the forest inhabitants little mind however, his visible hue locked solely on the trees ahead, whilst his mind still gnawed on the words of the Sannin. The phrase seemed innocent enough, like something you would say to a nosey youth to chase him from your sight so that you could pour over fleshy magazine’s in peace; but Jiraiya-sama wasn’t like that (not with Kakashi) his eyes though dulled by the impressions of three wars, always crinkled in sincerity whenever the sullen boy darkened his doorstep (or in this case, his study window). As such Kakashi had no other option but to take the man’s words at face value--but then where exactly did that leave him? “Hurry up and become a hero worthy of my books…” Kakashi lamented perplexed, the timbre of his question causing a few more feathers to bristle and retreat further within their nooks and crannies.

In all honesty Kakashi was unfamiliar with Jiraiya-sama’s infamous novels, the teen only ever finding time for his beloved fantasy comics whenever he was cooped up within the Chakra Exhaustion Ward. Most of Kakashi’s free time since graduating the Academy was allotted to lengthy missions and training his Ninken, there wasn’t time for much else at the tail-end of yet another war. Still the teen’s lack of information was an annoyance, causing a slight ripple within his Chakra as he skidded to a halt, leafy greens shaking and tumbling towards the undergrowth. He supposed the first order of business would be to scope out and make a list of all of the known characteristics that Jiraiya-sama’s heroes possessed; if anything it would help draw parallels between them and his own qualities and opine just how far-fetched a wish the Sage saddled him with.

The Hatake boy dropped down into the long elms of grass, exchanging the treetops for abandoned alleys and warm-baked roof tiles, until he finally found himself in the bustling market district. Avoiding eye-contact with just about anyone, Kakashi coiled his way around traders’ carts, food vendors and the occasional, sticky palm courtesy of a child resting upon its mother’s hip, until Kakashi split from the throng of loud noises and scents to  make a controlled dash for the corner bookshop. The store itself was cluttered and could do with a good dusting, though the air was cool and dank on his skin after his trek in the Fire Country heat. Side-stepping a few precariously balanced scroll-heaps, Kakashi began to browse the isles, pausing every once in a while if a title caught his attention.

Twenty minutes into his exploration of the little store (and a lung full of dust-mites and musty air later) the teen’s pale fingers finally settled on the binder of a bright orange book. The book was small and wedged tightly between an atlas and the second autobiography of the Fire Daimyō, urging Kakashi to stretch onto the tips of his sandals in order to grip and wriggle the book free. Once unfettered, Kakashi wiped a calloused thumb across its surface, pausing only to contemplate the heading. “Icha Icha Paradise…Huh…That doesn’t sound like a Quest for Heroes, Jiraiya-sama.” Kakashi continued to squint at the badly drawn figures on the jacket, the lady-sprinter looking all the more like Uchiha Mikoto, the longer the teen brooded over the paperback (and decidedly not-cool, action comic). “Ano…you have been in here a while now. Is there anything I can help you with, young man? We have a discount on all ‘Spot the Hokage’ and ‘Wabi Sabi’ books today.”

Kakashi sucked in a breath at the cautious voice echoing from over his shoulder, suddenly remembering where he was and what he was doing, afore he turned to press the orange book into the woman’s awaiting hands (all while ignoring the titles of the children’s literature, and the discount they supposedly came with). “Iie…I want this one…” Kakashi drawled, his arms coming up to cross in front of his chest now that he had nothing to occupy his own fingers with. One glance at the cover had the woman spluttering and choking on air; big red blotches erupting and scattering from the skin of her neck toward her jaw and cheekbones. The teen’s eyebrows curved at her rapidly rising flush, wondering for a moment if what the woman had was contagious and if he should call for the assistance of an Iryō-nin or two. Eventually the woman regained her breath, a handkerchief making its appearance to press against the lines of her forehead. “Yare, yare what are you, eleven Wakōdo-kun? Why don’t I rather show you to those books I mentioned earlier, hmm?” Kakashi’s eyebrows pinched further, refusing to budge an inch for those stupid ‘Spot the Hokage’ tomes that babies used to cut their teeth on. “Thirteen--and I want that one, nothing else.” Almost as an afterthought, because surely that was what caused the woman pause, Kakashi added in a remarkably detached drone. “I can pay for it…Obaa-san. I don’t need a discount.” Peering around them with an aggrieved expression, the woman shifted, finger pads pressing into the orange cover as if she was trying to physically restrain herself from kunai-throwing Jiraiya-sama’s work all the way into a Sunagakure excavation site. “I-I’m afraid I can’t sell this to a customer under the age of eighteen, Wakōdo-kun. We have certain laws in the village and it says so right on the cover, see?”

Kakashi trailed an increasingly irked gaze over the illustration of ‘Not-Mikoto-san’, before he opted to loosen his stance to tap (not once, but twice) against the metal of his hitae-ate glinting amongst his wayward tuffs of hair. “Shi--no--bi….” Kakashi spelled out, thoroughly done with the woman’s returning, red blotches and the amount of dust in the air. He wasn’t just a shinobi mind, but a full-fledged Jōnin; the rules avowing that if you held a Shinobi rank and was therefore old enough to take a life, the rule of majority simply didn’t apply to you. The rule hasn’t applied to Kakashi since the callow age of five in fact; still thinking about the rules, being reminded of them (and by a middle-aged civilian) left a bitter taste in the teen’s mouth. He needed to get out of that stuffy isle; he needed to get some air. Since the shopkeeper didn’t start from her stupor and had her eyes still glued to his forehead protector, the teen was forced to quickly exchange Jiyaiya-sama’s work with a few crumpled notes, hoping that it would be enough as he never really /looked/ at the price-tag, before angling around her and out of the door.

Three streets later and a sharp turn into training ground one, Kakashi found that he was finally able to breathe again. With his orange book pressed against his chest, the teen sauntered over to one of the older trees, its thick, bottle-green canopy providing ample shade from the afternoon sun. It wasn’t until he was comfortably nestled with his back against the bark that Kakashi dared to pry the crisp pages apart, lone hue pirouetting along the paragraphs in quick succession. Jiraiya-sama wasn’t a spectacular writer when compared to the likes of one Murasaki Shikibu. Yet the informal sentences made it easy to get lost in the many toils and troubles of the Sannin’s characters. Jiraiya-sama’s writing talent was definitely in weaving persons and creatures into existence that were quirky and well liked and the Hatake was hard-pressed not to compare some of them to his fellow villagers. Jūgao, a gifted artisan’s daughter and the book’s main character, was a spirited, no-nonsense type that was quickly becoming Kakashi’s favourite. Her knack for getting things done, rather than relying on the lone Rōnin warrior her father hired to protect her on her journey to the Daimyo’s castle, reminded Kakashi a bit of Tsunade-sama and the teen had to speculate as to how much of himself Jiraiya wrote into the idealistic (utterly unhelpful) warrior.

All in all it wasn’t until Kakashi reached the middle of chapter three that the abrupt and very anomalous behaviour of the bookstore clerk began to make sense. The adventure though at its peak (with both hero and heroine injured and finding themselves entrapped in an abandoned, carpenter’s shack) began tarrying into a banter contest, until both character’s concluded that talking was no longer necessary when other (much more horrible) things could be done. Kakashi’s own ghostly cheeks started to glow like a wood-burn furnace, mind short-circuiting as he started to skim then skip whole paragraphs. When it became clear that the hero and heroine would not be returning to their quest anytime soon, Kakashi finally found it within himself to snap the book shut, the resounding ’thud’ and uncharacteristic screech of ‘Jiraiya-sensei!’ and ‘Kumoii!’ causing by-passer civilians to drop their dangō in the dirt.

[Part II-A Second Chance:]

Kakashi was fourteen and leaning over the brim of his toilet seat, pale shoulders quaking with each attempt to drag breath into his lungs. His skin was hot and clammy, but he found that he couldn’t stop the trembling within his thighs; because he was cold, so very cold--He might as well be in the middle of Yūkigakure. A cheek pressed against ceramic, vaguely aware of how unsanitary it was and that both Kushina and Minato-sensei would convulse then fuss at how he just couldn’t bring it within him to /care/. His eyes were so heavy, but he would not sleep (he could not sleep) because they weren’t there--none of them were and they never would be again. Despite his reluctance Kakashi must have passed out at some point, because when he jolted to awareness his ears still rung with the chirp of a thousand birds and his bruised knees were still denting tile. He managed to drag himself onto his feet and to the sink to splash water onto his face, his neck, his hands. Though, all the while, he refused to lift his eyes to meet the gaze of his reflection.

Once his skin was red and blistering, the boy finally retreated to the gloom of his kitchen, pointedly ignoring the twisted sheets of his Futōn in favour of some tea. He would not be getting anymore sleep tonight of that much he was certain. Single grey hue tracked the movement of the clouds from his window, whilst he waited for the leaves to steep, the aroma of Matchā and honey causing some of the tension to drain from his form. Kakashi had no mission reports due, was too tired to consider stretching his limbs and practicing his kata and he could not risk attempts at conversation by making his way to the Memorial Stone. The Hatake briefly considered summoning his pack, but having only just returned from that horrendous S-rank, Kakashi wanted them to rest, to recover—not be laden with his disgusting insecurities. With nothing else to do, Kakashi then proceeded to clean, fingers dipping into various drawers, across shelves and pressed into storage scrolls to sort through his minimal amount of earthly possessions.

It was after three cups of tea, a packet of Ramen and two “Trash it” boxes later that Kakashi came across the family of Tsuchigumo spiders hunched within the corner of his desk, needle-thin legs spread out like they paid rent. He did not want to smoke them out, since his apartment was tiny and the smell would linger. Getting his cleaning cloth full of spider bits and fluids was equally unappealing, really, so Kakashi resorted to pilfering his desk drawers for an old issue of the Konoha Times instead. Digits raked across the storage space until they brushed against a paperback, the bright orange of the jacket scarcely enough warning for the freeloaders afore Kakashi squashed them out of existence. Leaning back on his haunches, Kakashi made to inspect his weapon of choice, surprised to find that he still had his copy of Jiraiya-sama’s dirty book. One grey hue danced across the title and the figure of ‘Not-Mikoto-San’ while an almost sardonic twitch of lips pulled a chuckle from his throat. Sure he had often wondered if Jūgao and her Rōnin made it out of that carpenter’s shack-- Kakashi’s ever thinking mind liked completions and up until Make-out Paradise, he has never left a book unfinished, no matter how dull. Despite the sudden onslaught of unsavoury adjectives and err…doing words, Kakashi remembered that the actual plotline was good, or at least interesting enough to make his thirteen year old self plough through three chapters, without a second thought of Shirūken practice. Cue a half-hearted drag and besom of the book against his tatami to remove any and all traces of Tsuchigumo spider guts, before Kakashi settled against the leg of his desk to resume where he once left off.

[Part III-A necessity:]

With the sun beating down his back and three snot-nosed brats peering up at him with what he could only define as condescension, Kakashi was really starting to question his life choices (and the decisions made by their old, honoured Sandaime). Until that inkling of thought Kakashi was certain that he only ever did what was asked of him, when it was asked of him, without any unnecessary questions raised; thus the Copy-nin couldn’t fathom why he would be pulled from the routine of ANBU for this. How did twenty-two year old veterans still get saddled with babysitting duty? Because surely it was that and nothing more, a punishment for skipping out on all of his psych-evaluations and what a punishment it was. The brats were rude, the brown-haired gāki (with Tenzo’s headband and wide, doe-eyes, but absolutely none of his adorably, reserved qualities) practically trampled over his greeting like an ox; before charging at him with sloppy punches and kicks, not a single regard for his actions, environment or teammates shown. When it became clear that their Tāijutsu was sorely lacking and that they wouldn't claim a bell that way, they turned on each other at the drop of a smoke pellet, wishing to physically force each other out of the running, while emphasizing their indifference to their team leader’s objective.

It was cruel to watch them, their bitter taunts and coercions taking him back to a similar bell test not long ago; back when he was just like them, using Rin and Obito for his own objectives and gain. Perhaps if Minato-sensei wasn’t so lenient, perhaps if he failed Kakashi like he should have, both of them (infinitely better shinobi than he could ever hope to be) would still be alive with their own Genin teams. But he didn’t and they weren’t; the loss still managing to congeal Kakashi’s blood and make his fingers shake, fingers now profoundly aware of their utter emptiness. The orange paperback that always managed to ground him and clear his guilt-ridden thoughts was left waiting on his nightstand, so the Jōnin fisted his digits instead, while a dark hue shifted at the brief flicker of Lord Third’s chakra within his periphery. He would not make the same mistakes Minato-sensei did however; he would not pass anyone like them, like him. He did not care what was said, what the council and his Hokage hoped for; Kakashi would not lead anyone else to their deaths. He then cradled the two, chinking bells to his chest as the graduates began their long “saunter of shame” back to the academy and wondered wryly if this was the way Jugaō felt when she refused the dying wish of her artisan father, along with the empty penances of her Rōnin.

[Part IV-A simple pass-time:]

At this point in time Kakashi has spent twenty one years in active service of his village. Sometimes it felt like five life-times and if the silver-haired Jōnin was to be perfectly honest; he never thought that he would live long enough to suffer through his twenty sixth birthday. The ninja lifestyle was a tumultuous storm of loss, loneliness and suffering and Kakashi was never the most restrained soldier; always fighting and living like he anticipated (wanted) it to be his last.  Through the mess of it all the Hatake has only ever had four constants he could fall back on: His Pack, the heat level of Maitō Gai’s ūdon curry, his guilt and Icha Icha. By now the cover was chipped and fading, pages yellowed and soft from being dog-eared through countless battles, training drills and winding missions; but the words still remained the same, Jiraiya-sama’s message clear and resounding. So many years later Kakashi has all but given up on deciphering the toad sage’s cryptic words, long having come to terms with the fact that he was not meant and never would be a hero. Iie, Kakashi was a supporting character (content to serve and aid the actual heroes from the shadows; doing what the heroes could not) the Minakō Shrine-maiden to Jugaō and her Rōnin’s exploits—or perhaps the Sannin really just wanted to shoo him away from his window after all.

Though he had moved passed his initial intent with Jiraiya-sama’s work, the shinobi still enjoyed the orange paperback, the smart-alecky piece of literature gaining more usages with each passing year. Kakashi learned that reading the adult novel in public was not considered conventional, but that in doing so it could be used as a means to keep people at a distance, a barrier without depleting his chakra and a nifty escape from social conventions and interactions (It was no secret that he was never really good at those). Kakashi found that the little novel caught people off-guard, created much needed openings when sparring and riled others up to the point where they would storm off rather than demand the mission report he handed in more than two weeks ago, to be redone and submitted--seeing as the blood of your enemies wasn’t an acceptable toner, nor were the lines “I beat up the badies and took back our scroll—the end” an acceptable account of the mission.

The book and characters grew on him. It became both a habit and a distraction as familiar as the Hidden Leaf’s pine needles and wet earth scent. He was invested in their stories and the outcomes, grasped onto them as he did the stories of his own past and kept both close. The most important utility of Icha Icha Paradise however, was the fact that it provided him with the opportunity to observe his surroundings without anyone being the wiser, to inspect and review and form conclusions. It was something he was doing now, lone hue following the fight between the Samurai and the Daimyō's personal guard, while simultaneously he observed the way an eager arm was throwing bread crusts at a stoic, Uchiha’s face. Said face contorted in irritation, but was no quicker than a blur of petal-pink, a loud banshee call disturbing the peace and quiet, before the Jinchuuriki (and the remainder of his crusts) were drop-kicked into a bale of wheat. “Naruuuuuto! Stop scattering crumbs on my picnic blanket, idiot!” Then on a more timid note “Would you like more tea Sasuke-kun? Kaka-sensei?”

Kakashi hummed in affirmation, lone hue curving into a crescent, whilst his thumb proceeded to flip another page. It was really nice (if he had to be so candid) the gentle breeze, the smell of warmed starch, the happy faces of his favourite ‘Hellions’ as they gazed over the golden fields about them. There was no war to break the scenic spell, no death or disease and Kakashi felt thawed at the edges (almost cautiously at peace) that he could observe such a moment. With the small acknowledgement came the sudden need to clear his throat, pale fingers ghosting against pages, afore they finally snapped the cover closed; only to replace his beloved pages with a warm cup of Matchā. Once Naruto crawled out of the bound grain to slump against his side, whiskered cheeks red and puffed out into a pout; Kakashi’s muscles did the impossible and relaxed further into the checker fabric. “ Sakura-chaaan! It’s not my fault ‘dattebayo! The corps was thinking he was too good to answer me again. If ‘Teme doesn’t use words how do I know if I can have the last sandwich, ’tebayo.”

Kakashi managed to somehow tug his book free from underneath Naruto’s legs with one hand, absently depositing it back into his weapon’s pouch. The Jōnin found that for once his thoughts didn’t linger on what Jugaō would do in retribution to her Rōnin’s betrayal and ineptitude, but focussed instead on the way the team kunoichi was pin-wheeling her fists, declaring that her diet was over and that SHE would be the one to scarf down the last sandwich. Kakashi’s fingers didn’t feel bare of a familiar weight, not when they were pressing his plate (containing the remaining half of his own sandwich) into Naruto’s line of sight. Nor did the Jōnin feel inclined to block out any and all signs of social niceties, not when he glimpsed the 'almost-smile' on Sasuke’s lips at the sight of Naruto’s thankful stream of tears and hiccups. The chances were real that Kakashi either hit his head on an overhanging branch or that he contracted a rare strain of the Bird Flu--but these were things he didn’t want to miss or wish away. Bluntly put, it was character development in real time and for once Kakashi wasn't just a casual observer of the picturesque settings and changes--he was a part of it and for that, as aberrant as it may sound (definitely a symptom of the Bird Flu or Tonsillitis), he was thankful.

*Wakōdo--young boy/young man

[officialcherubcampus]

CHERUB at Christmas

The following events take place on December 24th 2004, in-between Class A and Maximum Security.

1. The Old Neighbourhood

Friday December 24th 2004, 10:37 a.m.

James knew exactly what he’d see as he turned the corner into Holloway Villas: six-storey housing blocks, built around a courtyard, with a vandalised playground in the centre and the stench of rubbish as you walked past the giant steel bins.

The only thing James didn’t recognise was the graffiti. PIG41 was the new spray can supremo on James’ old estate. His bright red tag adorned walls, doors, billboards and even the pavement itself.

“You OK, James?” Bruce asked as the two boys walked side by side.

“Yeah,” James said, swallowing a lump in his throat.

But he wasn’t OK. Memories of the night when his mother died fourteen months earlier still had the power to sting.

Bruce handed James a tissue. “It’s a bit crumpled, but there’s no snot on it.”

“Ta,” James said, feeling a little embarrassed as he took it and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know...I mean...I just remembered the ambulance men carrying my mum out and Lauren holding my wrist. It all came flooding back.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Bruce said. “Nobody’s gonna get over their mum dying in any sort of a hurry.”

The boys headed up a concrete staircase. A bitter gust of wind hit them as they stepped out on to the second-floor balcony. James’ sadness was replaced by nostalgia as he remembered his mum yelling down off the balcony with a finger drumming against the face of her watch.

“Eight o’clock, James. You’ll catch hell if I have to come down there and get you.”

James stopped when he reached the living-room window of his old flat and glanced inside.

“Looks like a young couple moved in,” he said as he peered in. “It’s all been done up. Wood floors and that.”

Bruce nodded. “Looks pretty smart.”

“It does,” James said. “But I wouldn’t have paid two hundred and twenty grand to live there.”

“How much!” Bruce gasped.

James grinned. “Property prices round here are insane. Mum owned the flat and her mortgage was paid off by the life insurance when she died. Me and Lauren get to share the loot when we leave CHERUB.”

“You’re jammy,” Bruce said. “My parents died when I was a baby and they owed three grand on their Barclaycard.”

James stepped away from the window and rang the bell of a flat six doors further along the balcony. He waited half a minute, but there was no answer.

“We came all this way and the geezer’s out,” Bruce spluttered angrily. “I’m gonna kick his arse...”

“Keep your wig on,” James grinned. “This isn’t Alan’s place. My old mate Sam lives here. I was just gonna say hi, but it looks like he’s out. Alan lives in the one up the end; he’ll be waiting for me.”

When the door of Alan’s flat opened, James got engulfed in the arms of a grubby-looking man with a mass of black body hair down his arms and a giant beer gut.

“Hey, Alan,” James grinned, pleased to be reacquainted with a friend, but slightly less pleased at being hugged into a white vest that smelled of three-tins-for-a-pound body spray from Holloway market.

“You look good,” Alan gasped. “Quite a handsome young man now. You’ve got taller and thinned out. Come inside. Where’s the little lady?”

“Lauren couldn’t come. She’s back at our foster home with a stinking cold,” James lied. “This is my mate, Bruce. He’s gonna help me carry all the gear home.”

Alan led them down the hallway. “That’s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing Lauren. I hope being sick doesn’t spoil her Christmas.”

“I reckon she’s over the worst of it,” James said, as the boys stepped into Alan’s living room.

There was no space to sit because the entire room was stacked up with bags of stolen items. Only the tip of the Christmas tree was visible behind a stack of X-Boxes and PS2s.

Alan had been James’ mum’s number two before she died and now he’d taken over her shoplifting racket. James had grown up around the business and wasn’t impressed by what he saw.

“You want to be careful, Alan,” he said, as he spun around looking at the piles of stolen goods. “My mum would never have anything freshly nicked in our flat. If the police see all this lot, they’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”

“I know, I know,” Alan said defensively, sounding like he’d already heard this advice from other quarters. “But you know how mental everything gets at this time of year, James. I’ve got so much coming and going. I’ve got two lock-ups piled with stuff. There’s nowhere else to put it all.”

James nodded. “Mum used to tell everyone to get their orders in early, but it still went mad every Christmas.”

“You boys look half-frozen, would you like a hot drink? All the stuff you ordered is in those three bags over by the door.”

While Alan headed out to make tea, James dragged the bags into the centre of the room to check that everything he’d ordered was there. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Alan, but with the place in a state of chaos he could easily have made a mistake.

Bruce read down the list, “Burnout three, five copies, Gabrielle’s make up, PDA for Kerry, Lauren’s clothes, my extra-large nunchakus, Predator footy boots size six, Dior perfume set for Kerry, FCUK stuff for Bethany, two pairs of ...”

The bags contained most of the stuff James, Bruce and their pals were getting each other for Christmas.

When Alan came back holding two steaming mugs, James had a roll of fifty-pound notes in his hand.

“Half the shop price for this lot comes to five hundred and eighty quid,” James said. “It’s all there.”

Alan snatched the money and started counting it. Every seat in the room was covered in shoplifted goodies, so James and Bruce had to squat down on the carpet with their hot tea.

“So, what are you up to over Christmas?” James asked.

Alan shrugged. “Gonna visit my sister and her ‘orrible offspring, same as always.”

“Cool,” James nodded.

Alan held out three hundred from the money James had just handed him. “There you go boy, split that lot with your sister.”

James waved his hands in front of his face. “Don’t be daft, Alan. I told you I had the money to pay for this stuff when I rang up. I’m not asking for charity.”

Alan smiled. “James, your mother was very good to me over the years. She would have wanted me to look out for Lauren and you.”

“No,” James grinned.

But Alan dropped the money in James’ lap.

Bruce laughed and made a grab for it. “I’ll have it if you don’t want it.”

James reluctantly picked the money off the carpet. “You’re a good geezer, Al,” he grinned. “My nan always said she couldn’t understand how my mum ended up marrying that idiot Ron when you lived just down the balcony.”

Alan burst out laughing. “Old missus Choke, I haven’t thought about her in ages. She was a tough old bird, your grandmother. Didn’t stand any nonsense from anyone.”

James clambered off the carpet and reached out to shake Alan’s hand. “I’m gonna take a piss, then we’d better be going back to cam... erm, our foster home.”

“Oh,” Alan said, sounding a touch disappointed. “You can stay a while if you want. I’ll take you down the shops and get you both McDonalds or something.”

James shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, Alan, but we’ve got a fair journey back and you know how mental the trains get if you leave it till last thing on Christams Eve.”

2. Muddy Pups

12:08

In the main building on CHERUB campus the bell had rung for the end of lessons and the kids were free until the second of January. Some had gone off to the dojo to watch the Christmas Karate tournament, some had gone out to play football, but most kids headed off to their rooms to dump their schoolbooks and change out of CHERUB uniform into normal clothes.

Everyone was in high spirits at the prospect of a week-long break, except for eight kids inside the basic training compound and two others who were serving a punishment over on the far side of campus. Kyle Blueman was being punished for smoking cannabis, Lauren Adams for battering CHERUB’s head training instructor with a spade.

***

Lauren lost her footing as she clambered up the side of the ditch. Her wellington slid down the muddy embankment and she collapsed forward, unable to save herself because she was holding a bundle of branches in her arms. Kyle ploughed through the thirty-centimetre deep sludge and put out his hand.

Lauren could feel cold water trickling inside her waterproof trousers as Kyle hauled her up.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

Lauren was a picture of misery as chunks of mud slid down the front of her waterproof jacket. She gathered up the branches she’d dropped around her feet and began lobbing them up on to the embankment a couple at a time.

“I’m so knackered,” she said, breaking into a yawn before glancing at her watch. “And there’s still five hours to go.”

Kyle pulled his shovel out of the slurry. He scooped up a load of soggy leaves and dropped them into a heavy plastic sack.

“At least we’ve got the next two days off,” he said.

Lauren nodded. “Yeah, but you can forget about enjoying Christmas. I’m just gonna go to bed and sleep. I don’t even care about my presents.”

Kyle felt sorry for Lauren. They’d landed the same punishment, but it was tougher on ten-year-old Lauren than on Kyle, who’d turned fifteen a week earlier.

“I reckon we deserve a break,” Kyle said.

“It’s not one o’clock yet.”

Kyle turned backwards and looked at the section of cleared ditch behind them. “I reckon we’ve done a good morning’s graft, don’t you? I dug out all those leaves, you stripped down all the branches and chopped up that tree trunk.”

Lauren smiled in agreement. “Maybe you’re right. There’s nobody around and we deserve an extra fifteen minutes’ lunch after all that.”

They were in a particularly deep section of ditch, so Kyle clambered up the muddy embankment first, then gave Lauren a hand up so that she didn’t slip over again. The dining hall was over a kilometre away and they wouldn’t have been allowed in without stripping off their overalls and washing, so packed lunch was their only practical option. Lauren slumped down with her back against a tree, pulled off her gloves and wiped her muddy fingers on a damp flannel.

She grabbed a flask filled with hot soup from her backpack, poured soup into the lid and dipped in a hunk of bread. The extra-thick soup was made in the CHERUB kitchens and Lauren was starving. Kyle dunked his soup with a ham and tomato roll as a man’s voice came out of the trees.

“What’s this then, slacking off?”

Ken Crane was the CHERUB groundskeeper supervising Lauren and Kyle’s punishment. Lauren thought about jumping up and pretending to work, but Ken was close by and he was a decent bloke as long as you didn’t muck him about.

��Is it early, Ken?” Kyle said weakly. “My watch must be fast.”

“Must be,” Ken smirked, as he squelched up to the edge of the ditch and looked at what they’d done.

“Not a bad show,” he nodded. “You two make a good little team. I’ll be sorry when your punishments are over.”

Lauren smiled. “We certainly won’t be.”

Ken laughed. “Anyhow, I came over here to tell you both to scoot off.”

Kyle grinned. “You serious?”

“Yep. Take your tools back to the shed and hose the mud off your boots and overalls. I’ll pick up the branches and sacks of leaves with the tractor later on.”

Lauren interrupted. “But Dr McAfferty’s very strict. He said...”

“Do I look concerned about Dr McAfferty? It’s Christmas Eve and I’m telling you to buzz off. Go and have a good Christmas and I’ll see you back here in a few days.”

Lauren chucked away the last of her soup, screwed the lid back on her flask and stood up, grinning.

“Thank you, Mr Crane. Have a good Christmas yourself.”

3. A Final Look

12:40

Ancient memories washed over Marcus Thompson as the taxi wound down the road leading to CHERUB campus’ single entrance.

In particular, he recalled a summer’s day nearly fifty years earlier. Back then he was a newly qualified CHERUB agent, walking along this very stretch of road in plimsolls and cotton shorts, with a couple of young pals for company. They were heading for a nearby lake that was the closest thing CHERUB had to a swimming pool in those days.

Everything, except the twisting outline of the road itself, had changed. The dirt track that got churned into mud every winter had been widened, tarmacked and fitted with street lighting. The small farms that had surrounded campus back then had gradually been bought up. Where Marcus remembered a view over open fields, there was now a ten-metre breeze-block wall, topped with razor wire and CCTV cameras. Every twenty metres there was a yellow warning sign:

          DO NOT ENTER

          Any attempt to climb this wall may be met with deadly force.

          By Order Ministry of Defence.

“Gives me the spooks this road,” the taxi driver said, as he took a sharp bend slightly too fast, pressing Marcus against the car door. “It’s like the X-files, or Area 51, or something. Everyone goes on about it in the pubs and that. I even know a couple of ladies who work in the kitchens, but they never say a word about what goes on inside.”

Marcus allowed himself to smile. Fifty years hadn’t changed some things: the locals still wanted to know what CHERUB campus was all about.

“It’s probably better you don’t know,” Marcus said.

The driver laughed. “You’re probably right, old-timer. I’ll give you lot one thing though, this place is good for business. The run between here and the station is one of my biggest earners.”

The taxi took another bend uncomfortably fast, and when they were round it the metal gates of CHERUB campus were visible. The cab driver pulled up in front of the gate and walked around to the boot to grab Marcus’ suitcase. His elderly passenger was struggling to get out of the car, but turned down an offer of help.

“That’s six-eighty, guv.”

As Marcus fumbled in his wallet, the chairman of CHERUB emerged through a riveted door at the side of the main gate. He spread his arms out wide and the two men hugged.

“My god,” Mac shouted. “Marcus Thompson, I haven’t seen you since...”

Marcus smiled. “I was here for the fortieth reunion, back in eighty-six.”

13:32

Gabrielle O’Brien knocked on the Chairman’s door and got called in immediately.

Dr McAfferty - commonly known as Mac - sat at his fireplace holding a tumbler of whiskey. Gabrielle didn’t recognise the black man sitting opposite. He had a few wisps of grey hair on his head and a can of Heineken in his hand. He turned to Gabrielle and gave her a gap-toothed smile.

“By gum, you’re beautiful,” Marcus grinned, standing as quickly as his frail body would allow and kissing the back of Gabrielle’s hand. “Will you marry me?”

Gabrielle backed off uneasily, sensing that the man was a little drunk. “I think thirteen is a bit young to be getting married.”

“Thirteen, but you’re a giant,” Marcus smiled. “You look at least fifteen. Is it me or are you kids getting bigger these days?”

Mac laughed. “They’re bigger. That’s why they eat so much and grow through so many clothes. I got a letter from the Intelligence Services Procurement department last week. They wanted to know why I’d spent over sixty thousand pounds on footwear over the last year.”

“Sixty grand,” Marcus spluttered, shocked. “In our day we had hob nail boots and white plimsolls that got handed from one kid to the next till the soles wore through.”

“Tell me about it,” Mac grinned. “The combat boots these kids wear for training are a hundred and twenty pounds a throw. And every kid these days has to have designer gear for their casual clothes.”

Gabrielle smiled guiltily. “Well, kids on the outside wear that stuff and we have to blend in when we’re on missions.”

Dr McAfferty nodded. “Gabrielle, Marcus here is one of my oldest and dearest friends. We were both CHERUB agents together back in the nineteen-fifties. He’s been living in Barbados for most of the last twenty years, but he’s caught the nostalgia bug and asked if he could visit us for Christmas. I’m afraid I have some paperwork to finish up before the holidays, so I’d like you to treat Marcus to the grand tour. Show him all our new buildings and facilities. Access all areas, I think we can trust him.”

Gabrielle would have preferred to hang out with her mates, but Marcus seemed a nice enough old bloke and you can’t really say no when the Chairman asks a favour.

As Marcus walked slowly towards the door, Mac whispered in Gabrielle’s ear. “I appreciate this, Gabrielle. Take Marcus round in one of the golf buggies, he’s a very sick man and I’m led to believe that he’s only got a few months to live. He just wants to take a last look at the place where he spent most of his childhood.”

4. GMT+8

16:03 UK time

It was past midnight in Tokyo, but Kerry was jet-lagged and couldn’t get to sleep. She threw back a corner of her bedding and looked at the digital clock on the bedside table: 00:03, Christmas Day.

It was a miserable feeling, being trapped in a hotel room with only a snoring mission controller for company. Kerry’s first big solo mission was a golden opportunity to establish her reputation amongst the elite corps of recently qualified CHERUB agents.

She’d spent weeks polishing up her Japanese language skills, hours reading mission briefings and detailed texts on the Yakuza. She wanted to succeed more than anything else in the world; it was just a shame that she couldn’t have flown out a couple of days later and spent Christmas with her friends on campus.

Kerry closed her eyes again, but quickly realised that she wasn’t even close to feeling sleepy. It might have been dark outside, but as far as her body clock was concerned it was four in the afternoon. She stepped up to the window and opened a tiny crack in the curtains. The room was fourteen storeys up and the streets below glimmered under a mixture of streetlight and neon signs. Flocks of ant-sized people moved along the pavements and the traffic remained solid, even at this early hour of the morning.

If the room had been larger, Kerry might have flicked on the TV or bedside light to read by, but the two single beds were separated by less than half a metre and she didn’t want to disturb her mission controller. Instead, she stepped into the bathroom and pushed the door closed quietly before turning on the light.

The cramped space had a slight disinfectant smell. There was barely enough room between the shower, toilet and sink to take two steps. She sat on the toilet lid and noticed that there was a telephone attached to the wall beside the tissue holder.

***

James had been picked up at the station nearest to campus by mini-bus, along with a bunch of other cherubs who’d managed to wrangle Christmas Eve as a shopping day. He was waiting for the lift up to his sixth-floor room, holding two big bags of presents, when his mobile rang.

He flipped it open. “James Adams, super stud speaking.”

“Super what?” Kerry giggled. “Super idiot more like.”

“How was the flight?”

“Ten hours, economy class. Two days before Christmas, so you can imagine. Heathrow airport was a nuthouse, the plane was packed. It’s already Christmas Day over here. Well, we’re ten minutes into it anyway.”

“I’ve just been down to London with Bruce,” James explained as he stepped into the lift. “I’m holding your present in my hands actually.”

“You know this is a really long mission, James. It’s gonna be at least April before I get to open it.”

“I’ll tell you what it is if you like.”

Kerry thought for a second. “Nah, it’ll be a nice surprise when I get back.”

“I just hope I’m not on a mission when you do. We could end up not seeing each other for yonks.”

The lift doors opened at the sixth floor and James stepped out.

“Well,” Kerry said, “I only rang to wish you a happy Christmas and I bet this call is costing a packet. I’d better go.”

James made a kissing noise. “I wish you were here, Kerry. Christmas is gonna suck without you around.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Kerry said sadly. “Goodbye, James. Tell Gabrielle and everyone else that I wished them a happy Christmas.”

James flipped his phone shut and put the two bags down on the carpet outside his room.

Bruce grinned at James and blew him a kiss. “Bye bye Kerry, smooch,” he grinned, mocking James’ voice. “I miss you sweetie cakes, smoochy, smoochy.”

James tutted as he pulled his room key out of his tracksuit bottoms. “Shut up. Just ‘cos you haven’t got a girlfriend. You’d better help us sort out all this shopping. I’ve got tons of wrapping-up to do.”

As James headed into his room, he heard his name being yelled out from Meryl Spencer’s office at the end of the corridor. He knew it couldn’t be Meryl herself. She was at a TV studio in London.

He realised it was her assistant, Christine.

“James Adams,” Christine repeated angrily. “Get your sorry butt down here right now!”

“Crap,” James muttered to Bruce under his breath.

“Busted,” Bruce giggled.

“Clearly,” James shrugged. “I’m just trying to think what I’ve done.”

He pushed his shopping in the doorway and headed towards the slender woman standing at the end of the corridor.

“Into the office, James,” Christine said tersely.

James headed in, Christine followed. The door clattered shut as she sat down behind Meryl’s desk.

“James, Meryl allowed you to take a Christmas shopping day on the understanding that you were up to date with all of your homework.”

“Yeah,” James nodded. “I am.”

“I had Mr Grwgoski up here looking for you earlier, James. He doesn’t seem to agree with you.”

James looked a little shocked. “Oh.”

“A short essay, written in Russian, on the history of Moscow. I believe it was due to be handed in more than a week ago.”

“Yeah, um...I forgot.”

“James, if I had a pound for every time you’ve conveniently forgotten a homework assignment...”

“Sorry, Chris; but I’ll do it right after Christmas, I swear.”

Christine slowly shook her head. “Oh no, you won’t. You’re going to do it right now.”

“But...”

Christine pointed at a small wooden desk in the corner of her office. It was a really old-fashioned one with an inkwell built in and a place for storing your books underneath.

“James, I took the liberty of going into your room while you were out. I found your Russian books and your pencil case and put them on that desk ready for you to start work.”

“But...”

“No ifs, no buts, James. You’re going to sit at that desk and complete that homework while I’m sitting here watching you.”

“It’s gonna take hours though,” James whined. “It’s Christmas.”

“Then you’d better get a move on. As far as you’re concerned, Christmas doesn’t start until you’ve finished that assignment.”

James reluctantly slumped down at the desk. “So much for the season of goodwill,” he said miserably as he opened his textbook. “Can I at least watch Meryl when she’s on TV later?”

Christine looked at her watch. “James, her show’s not on for another two and a half hours. If you get your act together, you’ll be finished long before then.”

5. Celebrity Madness

18:58

It had been more than five years since Meryl Spencer appeared on television. She’d always had a reclusive streak and rarely made public appearances, even when she was at the pinnacle of her career. She’d told everyone that she’d accepted the offer to appear on the show because it was for charity, but she was also quite flattered that people still remembered her more than six years after retiring from athletics.

Meryl felt self-conscious, sitting behind a neon-lit counter with two other sports personalities for company. She had a buzzer and bank of small screens in front of her. The hot studio lights were pushing up beads of sweat on her neck and a young man leaned in and dabbed them away with a cotton wool ball.

A roar came up from the audience as the warm-up comedian rounded off his spiel.

“Ladies and gentleman, let’s have a big cheer for tonight’s host. England’s all time number one international goal scorer and winner of three premiership titles, Martin Monroe.”

The balding ex-footballer stepped in from stage left in a snappy suit as the audience began cheering. He signed a couple of autographs, before stepping on to the set and taking his seat at the centre of the stage. Meryl heard the director speaking into her earpiece.

“OK people, look happy. Remember, you’re going out live to seven million people so let’s keep it sweet.”

Meryl’s face got another dab with the cotton wool and her glass of water was refilled while the opening titles rolled. The audience went wild as the camera panned in on the host.

“Hello and welcome to this special Christmas charity edition of Sports Quiz. Two teams of three contestants battling it out and, for one night only, every correct answer wins five hundred pounds for charity. Joining our regular team captains Rhys and Susan tonight are four outstanding sports personalities from around the world.”

Meryl stifled a gasp as her face filled up the monitor. Seven million people.

Monroe continued. “Joining us tonight in a rare public appearance, Meryl Spencer.”

The audience broke out into another bout of wild clapping.

“Meryl was the red-hot favourite for a one-hundred-metre gold at the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona but tragically pulled up in her heat. But it all came right in Atlanta in 1996.”

The monitor cut away from Meryl’s face to a scene recorded in the Olympic stadium eight years earlier. A close shot opened out to show a line of muscular women on the starting blocks. The pistol fired and the women sprung up. Meryl was first out of the blocks and continued powering away from the field, passing the finish line ten and a half seconds later, three strides clear of the field.

The commentator’s voice, “The Jamaican simply blew the rest of that field away...”

Meryl had seen footage of her victory thousands of times before, but still looked proud as the director cut back to her face.

“Meryl,” the genial host grinned. “That run still stands as the Olympic record and as the third fastest hundred metres ever run by a woman. A truly phenomenal achievement.”

Meryl nodded. “Thank you, Martin.”

Martin smiled sneakily as the audience clapped. “And we understand you went to Japan and made some TV commercials shortly after your victory?”

Meryl covered her face with her hands and shrieked with nervous laughter. “Oh no, you’re not going to show that.”

Meryl knew they were going to show that, because they’d done it in rehearsals a few hours earlier. She heard the director’s voice in her earpiece.

“That’s a great expression, Meryl. You look really shocked, now give the audience a smile just to make it known that you’re not really upset - that’s perfect.”

***

There were more than a hundred and fifty kids gathered in the CHERUB dining hall watching Meryl Spencer dressed in a chicken suit being fired out of a cannon, while an array of incomprehensible Japanese slogans flashed across the screen.

James was laughing as hard as anyone else. “Oh my god!” he snorted. “I wonder how much they paid her to do that.”

Kyle replied, “Meryl did OK, judging by the gold Rolex and that fancy Mercedes she drives.”

James and Kyle sat around their usual table with Bruce, Callum, Connor, Gabrielle and Marcus Thompson. The sixty-two-year-old had turned down the opportunity to join Mac in the staff dining-room. He’d downed a bottle of red wine while he struggled through a plate of fish and chips, and entertained the kids with anecdotes from the early days of CHERUB.

Marcus told the kids that he enjoyed their company because they made him feel young. The kids didn’t mind because most of the stories were funny and Marcus was happy to dish out dirt on some of CHERUB’s most senior staff.

6. Lessons About Driving and Alcohol...

When Sport Quiz ended, the kids had to clear out of the dining-hall so that the kitchen staff could come in and get set everything up for Christmas dinner the next day.

“What are we gonna do now?” Kyle asked. “Someone upstairs must be having a party or something.”

James shrugged. “I’d better go back to my room, I’ve got loads of presents to wrap.”

Gabrielle spoke. “I’m taking Marcus over to the Junior Block. The little kids are doing a nativity play.”

“I’m up for that,” Bruce nodded. “Remember last year when that little shepherdess fell off the stage?”

Kyle nodded. “I felt sorry for her, but it was hilarious.”

Everyone else decided to go over and see the play.

“Come on, James,” Connor said. “Let’s all stick together, it’s Christmas Eve.”

“I can’t. I’ve got presents to wrap.”

“Who cares?” Kyle said. “They’re all gonna be unwrapped in a few hours anyway.”

James had bought labels and wrapping paper in town the previous weekend, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised the prospect of sitting on his floor with scissors and tape wasn’t going to be nearly as much fun as hanging out with the gang.

“OK,” James nodded. “I’m in. Lauren should be over there anyway and I wouldn’t mind seeing her for a bit.”

Marcus led the way towards the exit.

“To the Batmobile,” the grey-haired man shouted, taking a swig of rum from a hip flask that had appeared from inside his jacket moments after he’d drained the last of the wine.

As they stepped out into the chill air, Gabrielle was alarmed to see Marcus taking up the driver’s seat of the electric golf buggy she’d been using to shuttle him around campus.

“Marcus,” she said sternly. “I don’t think you’re in any fit state...”

Marcus broke into a big grin. “Hogwash, girl,” he grinned. “I’ve been driving all my life and I’ve not had so much as a scrape. Come on, kids, climb aboard. Next stop the junior block. Have your fares ready to pay the conductor.”

“Shotgun,” James shouted, as he dived into the front passenger seat of the little buggy. Kyle, Bruce and Callum crammed themselves into the back, while Connor and Shakeel had to perch on the small cargo shelf with their legs dangling over the rear of the vehicle.

Gabrielle placed a firm hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “Mr Thompson, I really don’t think you should be driving.”

Marcus shot her a mischievous grin. “I don’t want to marry you any more, Gabrielle O’Brien. You’re starting to sound just like all of my ex-wives.”

Marcus hit the accelerator and the overloaded buggy began whirring away without her.

“Frankly, I’d rather walk,” Gabrielle shouted bitterly after them. She was angry at the way Marcus had treated her after she’d spent half the day chaperoning him around campus.

The little buggies were good for thirty kilometres an hour, but not with seven passengers aboard. Marcus lurched the steering wheel sharply to the right as the buggy edged off the gravel path on to the grass verge.

“Watch it, dude,” James yelled.

“I can hardly see where I’m going,” Marcus said, as he pulled back on to the path and began picking up speed.

“It might help if you turned the headlamps on,” James said. “The switch is on your right, below the steering wheel.”

Much to James’ alarm, Marcus took his eyes off the road and began looking for the switch. All six passengers simultaneously realised that Gabrielle had been right about their elderly pilot being in no state to drive.

James grabbed the steering wheel as the vehicle lurched off the road. Marcus flipped the headlamps on in time for James to see that they were going way too fast to make it around a sharp bend less than twenty metres in front of them.

“Oh my god,” James shouted, wrapping his arms over his face as Marcus hit the brake pedal.

The braking did little to stop them careering off the path into one of the combed gravel beds at the front of the Dojo. There was a horrific grinding noise as the buggy ploughed into the loose stones, sending them firing off in all directions.

The battery cut out and the headlamps failed as the buggy nudged a low wall and ground to a halt. James heard the flying gravel settle and breathed a mouthful of dust as they were plunged back into darkness.

“Is everybody OK?” he gasped.

“I think we’re gonna live,” Kyle said dryly, as he clambered out the side of the buggy. “Just.”

Bruce and Connor had both fallen off the back when the buggy as it juddered over the gravel, but it only seemed to be pride that was hurt as they dusted themselves down.

Marcus Thompson began to giggle drunkenly. “You think I should have let young Gabrielle drive after all?”

Kyle whispered in James’ ear, “If I didn’t know the old soak was already dying, I’d kill him.”

7. Goodnight Sweetheart

By the time they’d hauled the golf buggy out of the gravel and reset the fuses to make it run again, James and his friends had missed Mary and Joseph setting off for Bethlehem and the little baby Jesus was dilated to seven centimetres. All the seats were gone, so they had to stand up at the back of the hall..

“I can see the head,” a seven-year-old Joseph squawked from the gloomily lit stage at the front of the hall.

Mary yelled out in pain as an attentive shepherd mopped her brow.

“Come on, Mary, put your back into it.”

“I can see it,” Joseph screamed as he grabbed a plastic doll off the floor and launched it high above his head. “It’s a boy.”

“We’re going to call it Jesus,” Mary said.

James went up on tiptoes and tried to spot Lauren in the darkened hall. He whispered to Kyle, “Can you see my sister anywhere?”

Kyle looked at his watch, “It’s gone nine and she looked pretty beat when we finished digging. Maybe she went to bed early.”

James nodded. “I’ll go check out her room.”

He crept out of the hall and passed down a deserted corridor. He knocked gently before sticking his head inside the door. The room was dark, but he could make out Lauren’s outline rising and falling beneath her duvet. One arm dangled over the side of the bed and her fingertips touched the floor.

James stepped inside and stood watching his sister for a moment. He felt sorry for her, knowing that she faced five more weeks of digging, followed by the horrors of basic training. He wished there was a way he could take some of the burden off his sister, but he knew that the only thing he could do right now was let her sleep.

“Goodnight, sis,” James whispered as he backed out of the room.

At least he knew Lauren would be happy in the morning when she saw what he’d got her for Christmas.

[mkay-gay]

Nothing bad can ever happen again, my love

"Nooo!"

The car smashed right into Kyungsoo's childhood friend and he never saw him again. Poor Kai didn't deserve this... Neither did Kyungsoo, he cried himself to sleep every night for months. Until he moved away, then the memories of his first love slowly disappeared.

* Present time*

I have been working in this shop for so many years now, i can't even count. It's a quaint little coffee shop on the corner of a busy street and has minimal decoration inside. I'm a waiter and a coffee chef if we have low staff. I've lived here in Seoul since i was hit by a moving truck and my local hospital couldn't help so, i was sent to Seoul and after my treatment my family really liked it there so we stayed. I was never particularly sad to leave, i didn't remember most of my childhood because of the severe blow to the head i suffered back in my home town. However, just recently, an older man came into the coffee shop, he must've been just a bit older than my parents, and when he read my name tag, he cried. "I must be dreaming!" He said to me. Then he simply laughed as he ordered his coffee, one americano as i recall. He smiled as i brought it to his table and continued to smile when he paid for his drink. If i didn't find the man oddly familiar, it would've been creepy.

Anyway. Today was the day after that and the same man came again, this time with another, younger, man who resembled his elder. His son i assume. The son looked somewhat sad despite his father next to him looking excited as he spoke.

As they got to the counter the man from yesterday looked at me with joy as he placed his arm around the son's shoulders. "Look! See! It's Jongin, Kyungsoo! You see!" He said. Kyungsoo, i suppose, read my tag also and said, "You're right dad, it is." In a monotone voice, still with a small but kind of sad smile on his face.

Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo... I've heard that name I'm sure of it... Where though?

"Jongin," i looked up at him, "you remember my son, don't you?" Kyungsoo looked at me with hopeful eyes as they both awaited my reply. "Um. Maybe. I can't really remember..." Both their faces visibly dropped and Kyungsoo looked as if he was about to cry. "I'm going now." Kyungsoo said as he hung his head and began to walk away. "Wait, don't go yet," the father looked at me again, "Kai." Thats all he said and with that obe word my eyes widened and my head started to hurt as a wave of memories hit my like a rock. I breathed heavily as i locked eyes with Kyungsoo. His big beautiful eyes. I never realised how much i missed him and cared about until the moment i remembered everything. I continued looking at Kyungsoo as tears escaped my eyes, i walked around the counter and engulfed the smaller male in my arms as i cried and said, "i love you."

Kyungsoo lightly pushed me away as he looked at me with a shocked expression, "I've waited far to many years to hear that, Kai!" Right infront of everyone in the coffee shop he crashed his soft lips into mine and stayed there as i kissed him back. I want to stay like this forever.

My parents who owned and worked at this coffee shop came out of the kitchen as i kissed Kyungsoo and said i could leave early to stay with my 'handsome prince charming', as they had called him, if i wanted to. So naturally i spent the day with my lover. We went to a theme park and the cinema before getting dinner and walking home. It was the best day of my life! And hopefully his too.

* D.O pov*

After that day, me and Kai made it official and constantly spoke. Ugh i love him so much. It's actually been a month since we began dating in January and it just happens that tomorrow is valentines day! And you best believe I'm getting my man some over priced heart chocolates and flowers that smell nice. In the flower shop i was mentally debating what flowers to get my one true love and decided on roses because i remembered that, when we were children, those were his favorite. I paid for the flowers and set of to Thornton's to get some valentine chocolate.

The shop was packed with people looking for the same thing as me and for once it was good to be short as i could easily weave my way through the crowd to get to the chocolate Kai likes. Now because I'm an amazing boyfriend, i had to go the extra mile and get a personalised message on the heart shaped chocolate. "Can you get it to say i love you so much but don't you dare leave me again." The lady at the counter complied and wrote it on my chocolate before wrapping it for me and putting it in a bag.

I got home, put the flowers in some water so they don't die and went to sleep, highly anticipating tomorrow.

* Tomorrow morning*

I headed to Kai's house to give him his presents and hopefully take him on a date.

I rang his doorbell and waited for an answer.

Nothing.

I rung it again.

Still nothing.

Maybe the doorbell doesnt work. So I'll knock the door.

Nothing.

I was worried so i pounded harder on the door.

No reply.

He hasn't moved again has he. Please dear god no!

Then i saw his parent's car park up outside the house. I couldn't help but smile when i thought of Kai coming out of the car with presents for me as he ran up and kissed me. But he didn't. Instead his parents got out and they were crying. Alot. My smile dropped. What had happened, Kai can't of got hurt. We only just met up again after more than 10 years of being apart.

His mum walked up to me and handed me a slip of paper. A doctor's report?

It read: "Kim Jongin sadly left this world on February 12th at 16:05, he was hit buy a large truck and due to previous head trauma, could not be saved. Kai was found with a bouquet of flowers on him and a valentines card in his pocket. He will be missed by all his family and friends dearly."

I fell to the floor, letting the presents drop with me, as i cried and screamed at the loss of my lover.

* 3rd person pov*

Kai had died a heart breaking death, dieing happy, with Kyungsoo on his mind. Oh how he loved him...

[onceabluemoonwrites]

Climbing Scales (Falling Down)

Title: Climbing Scales (Falling Down) Author: OnceABlueMoon Rating: T Pairing: Bluebell/Kozato Mami/Yuni

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of murder

Summary: ‘’I grant miracles, but I cannot return any person from the death, for it is not my realm.’’

Oh.

Bluebell looks up.

Yuni-no-mikoto bites her lip. ‘’But I can help you find the one who is able to grant your wish. The thing is, I am certain this miracle will not be performed without a price.’’

Disclaimer: I don’t own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

FF.net | AO3 | My other entries: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

My fic master list here.

Written for the @khrrarepairweek Day 5 - Rain Day: Mythology AU | Handcuffs

The western temple is not a dark place, but it feels like it. The white walls shine with the power of the Goddess, the same colour as her robes. The windows, large and bright, are like eyes staring into the woods, keeping watch. The trees rustle as Bluebell takes in the red roof tiles, and the daunting, twisted iron spires.

She takes a deep breath, and treads the muddy path towards it, her naked feet digging into the earth below. She needs the reminder.

Mami is with her, even if only in spirit.

Some would call her stupid. Some did call her stupid. But Zakuro is not the one who Bluebell answers to. He can scoff all he wants, but Bluebell has gotten herself out of the hole seeing the bottom of her empty wine glass. She has gotten up, has begun walking. Even Byakuran, who Bluebell does answer to, could not have stopped her.

He didn’t even try, though. That was a good thing. A good thing she clutches to her chest right along with the last sliver of hope she has left.

The Goddess is the answer. She must be.

She curls her hand around the doorknob, the wood of the stairs creaking below her. She inhales, exhales, and pushes the doorknob down.

Time to ring the bell. Time to make a wish. Time to ask for a miracle.

For Yuni, time is not the ticking of the clock. She does not notice the time that goes by, as her worshippers do, does not measure the days, does not watch the sand trickle through the hourglass. She floats in the darkness, or perhaps in such blinding light that her eyes cannot see anymore. She sleeps, yet she is awake, for her consciousness, her power, remains in her every stronghold, her every miracle given.

She sleeps like a flower, hidden away in the sky instead of the earth, waiting for winter to pass her by. Waiting for someone to ring the bell.

Prayers are the nectar to the gods, the thing that sustains her when no nectar passes her lips, but it is only when they enter her temple that her true power comes into play.

The bell is the key.

It wakes her once again.

When the Goddess opens her eyes, Bluebell cannot help but gasp. She drops the rope with which she rung the bell, the sound still echoing in her ears. She kneels before the altar, averting her eyes from the Goddess in all her glory.

The stone floor is cold against her legs and her heart goes a mile an hour as the Goddess slowly stands.

There is a hand in her hair, carefully sliding the cyan curtains aside.

‘’Please don’t hide,’’ the Goddess says, her eyes as blue as the heavens she rules, ‘’Stand, and meet me.’’

As an equal, are words that do not leave her lips, and it confuses Bluebell. Whyever would a Goddess want to meet a mere mortal like her as an equal?

She not- for the only equal the Goddess has is the God.

‘’I am Yuni, she who rules over the Above, the incarnation of the fleeting wind. Why did you call me?’’ The Goddess cocks her head, bangs falling sideways with the movement. They caress her lily cheeks, inky strands deep blue upon closer inspection.

There is something inhuman about the way her neck bends. It should look human, but does not, just a few degrees off, and a shiver works it way up Bluebell’s spine.

The Goddess extends her hand. Bluebell swallows thickly, hands fisting her skirt in her lap. Clench. Unclench.

The temptation is too great. She takes the Goddess’ hand and stands.

Straightening, she feels like she takes the first breath of her life. It is shuddering, it is loud, and the quiet around her is deafening, for this breath is not accompanied by a scream, though it feels like it should be. For all first breaths are followed by screeches, and silence? Silence means death.

How appropriate, considering her request.

‘’I… My love died, and I wish to retrieve her from the death.’’

Yuni-no-Mikoto rocks from side to side. ‘’I grant miracles.’’

Bluebell’s heart jumps in her chest. Mami! She can get Mami back! The moment is here, everything will be all right. She surges forward, arms opened. But Yuni raises a hand to stop her, and Bluebell remembers who she is about to embrace. She stumbles in her aborted movement.

It is not her place to do something as forward as embracing the Goddess. She averts her eyes, gripping her elbow as if it will give her the reassurance she so seeks.

‘’I grant miracles, but I cannot return any person from the death, for it is not my realm.’’

Oh.

Bluebell looks up.

Yuni-no-mikoto bites her lip. ‘’But I can help you find the one who is able to grant your wish. The thing is, I am certain this miracle will not be performed without a price.’’

Bluebell throws her head back and laughs, vibrations shaking her entire body, resounding through the temple. A price! How ridiculous!

As the laughter dies away, she looks Yuni-no-Mikoto straight in the eye, piercing as the gaze of a mortal is only when deadly serious. ‘’My lady, there is not a single price I am not prepared to pay for Mami’s life, and that is the truth.’’

Yuni-no-Mikoto inclines her head. Then she whispers, so softly Bluebell has to lean in to hear, for some secrets should be spoken as quietly as possible, so not even the wind, not even the sun, not even the walls will hear.

‘’A thousand miles from here, in the deepest, darkest part of the woods, there is a well. You must go down it, but drown you will not. There, far beyond six feet under, there’s a room where the light won’t reach you. That is where he resides; The Lord of the Underworld, Enma.’’

A shudder works its way down Bluebell’s spine. Even speaking his name is taboo in some parts, and it feels so terribly cold, like frigid fingers gliding along her neck, tainting the warm skin with their ice. Attempting to pull her under.

Yuni reaches up and tucks a lock of blue hair behind Bluebell’s ear, leaning in so close that Bluebell can see the faded freckles upon her nose. ‘’And there, beside his throne, Mami’s soul is seated, on the ground, leaning her back against the throne.’’

Bluebell blinks, and the spell is broken. Yuni-no-Mikoto closes her eyes, the vision fading before her eyes. She rubs her eyes, and slumps against Bluebell, all power suddenly leaving her body.

‘’I’m sorry. I do not often occupy living flesh, it will take some time before I am accustomed to it again. I must rest for a bit, before we leave.’’

‘’We?’’ Bluebell’s eyes widen.

Yuni-no-Mikoto gives her a tired smile. ‘’I will not let you go out to wander about alone, sweet. Accompany you, I will, until your miracle has been granted.’’

Bluebell beams at her.

Mami will be all right after all, and for the first time in a while, Bluebell’s heart sings of hope.

They travel through the mountains, they travel through the valleys, they travel through the plains, both those of grass, and those of wheat. They travel past villages, but never do they enter, for Yuni-no-Mikoto is like the wind, and, perhaps, not as human-loving as she often seems.

She is lovely, though, Bluebell knows. Yuni-no-Mikoto is inhuman, but one…. No, acclimatizing is not the right word. But Bluebell does not know what else to call this, for she startles less every time she catches the Goddess glowing softly in the dark in the corner of her eye.

‘’Do you not sleep?’’ she asks one night.

Yuni-no-Mikoto shakes her head. ‘’I do not, sweet, for I have slept so very long, my sleep-weary bones can take no more of it. I so rarely get to be flesh- I must enjoy it while I can.’’

The flames flicker between them, keeping the darkness in the clearing at bay. Bluebell stares into the flames, watches them dance. What an idea. ‘’What is it like, the Goddess Sleep?’’

Yuni-no-Mikoto reaches into the flames. Bluebell yelps in alarm, but Yuni-no-Mikoto only blinks at her, retracting her hand. Her fingers are curled around a small flame, dancing on in her palm as if it is a hearth.

‘’It is like the moment between sleep and wakefulness, I suppose. That moment reality bleeds into dreams, when you drift away, and your body is so very heavy that you end up forgetting all about it. I shrug it off, my human form, like it is nothing more than a cloak. Sensations, the way you feel them, leave me, and I turn into the wind, into life, into the very energy in the air around you. I am there, yet I am not, for I am tired, and I sleep… A warm summer breeze, I become, and I float past your window at night, during the twilight hours. Making sure the children are in bed, watching lovers reunite after a long day of work, caress the elderly reminiscing on the porch.  

I am formless, and I love.’’

It takes Bluebell’s breath away.

Quietly, as if not to disturb the children she just tucked in, Yuni-no-Mikoto raises her hand, and softly blows, the wind carrying away the fire in sparks. They fly towards Bluebell, whose eyes are wide with wonder as the sparks die just an inch before her face.

There is something beautiful in the death of fire.

The next day, they reach the woods. They walk until the trees stand closer together. They walk until the canopy lets little light filter through. They walk until there is no light left, and they must lit their lantern before ghosting past the giant trees, so large that even when Bluebell cranes her neck, she cannot see the tops.

Then? Then they go deeper still.

This is where they find the well, wedged in-between two sequoia trees. The roots are thick, coiling around the stone of the well like the tentacles of a giant, possessive beast.

Bluebell swallows as she stares down into the well, the depths endless, and deep. She takes a deep breath, and swings her legs over the edge. She turns to look over her shoulder, at Yuni-no-Mikoto. ‘’Are you coming, my Lady?’’

Yuni shakes her head, hands clenched around the lantern in her hands. The light colours her white clothing a warm yellow. ‘’I cannot join you down there. I am a Goddess of Life- someday, I must die, and then I will fade into the underworld just as any other, but before that, I may not encroach on Enma’s realm.’’

Bluebell nervously tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, sweat beading on her brow. She cannot wait. In the underworld, more than six feet under, Mami is waiting for her. She knows it. Yuni-no-Mikoto has seen it, and Bluebell will not make her love wait any longer.

‘’Please wait for me,’’ she says.

‘’I will,’’ Yuni-no-Mikoto answers.

Bluebell jumps.

The light of the lantern above faded all too quickly, and while the air rushed by her the first few minutes, she lands as softly as a leaf gently drifting down to the ground. It is too dark to see a thing, so she crawls over the floor, patting the air behind her until she finds a wall to follow. Blind, she feels her way to a door opening. Carefully, she crouches down and touches the ground. Before her is a staircase, and she knows what it leads to. It leads down, though, and she is deadly afraid of falling. What if she slips? The very possibility grabs her by the throat. She can’t break a leg here, or she’ll be down here forever, helpless, until she’ll be dead herself. So she stays seated and descends the stairs that way.

She stumbles when the floor suddenly levels out. She squints into the darkness, sprawled over the floor. A soft glow begins to spread, and with a gasp, she realizes it comes from her. Her limbs, her hair, her very body is phosphorescent, emitting a blue glow illuminating the room.

It is only her refusal to show fear that stops her from taking a step back when she finally notices him. Lord Enma, seated on his throne. The room they’re in is not a throne room, like she expected. There are no high ceilings, no grand halls, only a claustrophobically small room with rammed earth walls. The only object in it is a throne of marble. There are no embellishments, it is simply a vertical slab of stone with a smaller rectangle removed from the front to create a seat. It is white as bone, indistinguishable from the Death God’s own pale, stone-like skin. He looks like a statue, seated there, unmoving. His eyes are rubies, glinting in the blue glow of Bluebell’s soul.

Bluebell shivers. He sat in total and complete darkness before she came here, in this chamber only lighted by the souls of the living.

And there sitting on the ground, leaning against the side of Lord Enma’s throne, is Mami’s ghostly spectre. Just as Yuni-no-Mikoto had seen.

‘’Mami!’’ Bluebell runs towards her, but Mami does not look up from the ground. She seems to be talking, but Bluebell cannot hear her voice and- why is Mami not reacting?

She squats, reaching for her, but her hand goes right through. It’s like she just put her hand through ice water, so cold she has to cradle it against her chest.

‘’Cease your foolish attempts, mortal.’’ Lord Enma’s voice sounds like gravel. ‘’She is not aware of your presence.’’

Bluebell’s head snaps up, eyes widening. ‘’What?!’’

This time she sees it happen. Lord Enma moves not a single muscle, yet his mouth opens. Yet he speaks. ‘’The dead cannot reach the living, nor can the living reach the dead. I’d tell you to come back on All Hallow’s Eve, for then the barrier between worlds is the thinnest. But when in the stronghold of death…’’

The implication is clear. Bluebell would not be able to leave. Besides- ‘’I do not wish to talk to Mami, I wish to return her to life.’’

She straightens her spine and tosses her hair back, then winces. Perhaps, that was not such a great idea. Flinging her hair back tends to look terribly arrogant, and it simply does not do to be haughty in front of a god. Not to mention, certainly not before the God of Death.

All Lord Enma does, however, is shaking his head. It’s too slow, like he has not moved in so very long, but too smooth for that to be the case. …Or, perhaps, too smooth to be human at all.

Bluebell digs her nails into her palm. She must stay calm.

‘’Dig up the bones, but leave the soul alone.’’

…What?

Bluebell’s jaw clenches. She has not gotten this far to get this nonsense for an answer! Yuni-no-Mikoto said it was possible, so it must be. She knows it is within Lord Enma’s power. The only thing that rests is convincing him to use it for her sake.

The anger, white-hot, still moves through her, but Bluebell kneels anyway. Head touching the ground, she breathes in. The dust from the ground works its way into her nose and she fights a sneeze. God damn it all. She has to do this. She has to do this- for Mami! For herself.

So she pushes the anger down, and begs on her knees like she has never done before. ‘’Please, bring my love to life!’’

Enma laughs, hollow as his heart must be, if he lets her cry out like this and still refuses her. ‘’You would not pay the price.’’

She grabs his foot. She cannot believe she is doing this but- she kisses his feet.

This is her, the most prideful creature of the whole Western lands, kissing not only his feet, but also the ground he walks on. She feels sick, but Mami is within her sight, and she will not let go. Not ever.

‘’I beg of you, let Mami live!’’

Enma is silent for a second. Bluebell opens her mouth, but he raises a hand to stop her. ‘’Thrice now you have asked. Hear my price, and tell me, will you pay it?’’ his hand trails over the side of his throne, caressing the stone in a gesture that would have been nervous, had he been human.

But he was not, so surely, doubt it could not be. An intimidation tactic- that must be it, even if it were a failed one.

…Did gods fail? Bluebell had no clue.

‘’I will.’’ Her voice does not quiver.

Ruby eyes glint in blue light. ‘’I wish to meet my lover.’’

Bluebell frowns. ‘’Your lover, my lord?’’

‘’The Sky God, living one.’’

Something inside of Bluebell twists, her throat swelling up. The God belongs to the Goddess- for such adultery as this to take place… It is all she can do not to throw up.

By the gods, Yuni sent her here. Yuni does not know.

She chokes the sour taste in her mouth back. Mami needs her. No, Bluebell needs Mami, don’t fool yourself, girl. You’re selfish, and you want her more than anything.

‘’I’ll do it.’’ She’ll betray Yuni for Mami’s life.

She leaves with Mami’s hand in hers, her ghost becoming more corporal with every step they take up the stairs, but nothing stops her from feeling sick.

Yuni levitates them from the well, and Mami throws her arms around Bluebell. A sound kiss, a sweet laugh, but over her shoulder Bluebell sees Yuni smile. Her own happiness wilts and dies. Her stomach has sunken to somewhere between her ankles, and all she can feel is the stones of guilt in it.

Mami’s return is not all that it seems. The way back to Yuni’s temple is not just filled with joy. Next to the stone of guilt within her stomach, Bluebell sleeps with her head against Mami’s chest, just so she can feel it move up and down as she sleeps. She is deathly afraid of waking up and finding Mami breathless. Her heartbeat is a bonus, but is but so faint it scares her witless.

Bluebell wakes to their murmuring voices over charcoal left by the campfire and the chirping of birds overhead.  

‘’I am the last incarnation of the Goddess. After me, the feminine divine will dissolve into all women.’’

…What? Bluebell barely encompasses what that might mean, half asleep as she is. Rubbing her eyes, she hears Mami speak up, her voice reverberating against her. ‘’Huh? But the god-‘’

‘’Is not my lover. His previous incarnations might have been, for before me came Aria, who loved Gamma, and before her came Luce, who loved Reborn, but Tsunayoshi… Tsunayoshi has never once been anything else than a brother to me. He has fallen for the Earth God, you must know.’’

Mami startles, and sits up, dragging Bluebell with her. ‘’My lord Enma?!’’

…Yuni knew? Bluebell cannot believe it, as she squints through the bright morning light to see the face of the Goddess she follows. But the crisp morning air gives no answer, but for Yuni to nod decisively.

‘’Yes, Enma. The very one that was kind enough to release you. Once Tsuna dies, he will remain in Enma’s embrace forever. Currently, I am what separates them, for Sky and Earth cannot meet as long as Air exists.’’

Bluebell just sits there, shell-shocked. Neither of the other women notices, though, too absorbed by their conversation.

Mami cocks her head, frowning. ‘’So there will be no God anymore either? I mean, I am happy for my Lord, but…’’

Yuni laughs. ‘’Oh, darling, there will always be a God! While the Goddesses are birthed by the previous Goddess, the Gods have always come from the Great Beyond. They are born in the heart of a star, so bright the world can barely witness their existence. It is like looking into the sun! I suppose that this time, if the world wants a Goddess, she will just have to come from the Great Beyond also. Or who knows, perhaps all the women of the world will carry a little piece of divinity within them, birthing their own sacred children. Granting their own miracles.’’

Mami’s posture softens, her hands folded in her lap. ‘’That sounds wonderful,’’ she says, with a small smile playing around her lips, ‘’But let us not imagine a world where you have joined the underworld, alright? The thought of you dead upsets me.’’

Yuni grants her a smile so bright and sweet and beaming that Bluebell can almost feel Mami’s heartbeat speeding up. They start breakfast.

Their words ring through her head the entire morning.

‘’Currently, I am what separates them, for Sky and Earth cannot meet as long as Air exists.’’

There are two choices only, now, to reunite Lord Enma and his lover, and they appear before Bluebell like an enormous mountain, a task impossible. A rock too large to swallow.

Either Bluebell would assassinate Tsunayoshi-no-mikoto, so he would embrace lord Enma in death, or Yuni would have to perish by Bluebell’s hand so they could meet in life.

The crushing weight of the task bears down on her, heavier than any boulder or mountain could ever be, the stone crunching as it forces her down to the earth. Still, the choice is no real choice at all.

Yuni has been kind to her, and somewhere, Bluebell knows that her heart does not just beat for Mami anymore. She cannot kill Yuni- it would be akin to killing herself. She has to take up the sword and slay… and slay God.

[dreaming-as-we-run]

Dates ; Part One

J-Hope x Reader

Genre: Fluff / Angst 

Series: Dates

Author: Ki

Word count: 2,831

A/N: So, I originally started this one-shot in March of 2016. Yet, as time passed I struggled to figure out a correct plot line until March of 2017. I was going to post it all in one part but considering the first half I have written so long,in fact it is the longest thing I've written in awhile. I hope you all enjoy and look forward to the next and final part, which will be out soon.

March 10th - 3 Years Ago

“Miss y/n, please pick any seat you wish.” Your new advisory teacher instructed from her desk, where she shuffled papers of various colors. Skimming the classroom, you spotted an empty seat near the back and quickly rushed over to it, avoiding the stares of your new classmates. You slowly slid down into the seat, attempting to become comfortable in the rock hard chair.

It was your first day attending this school after your recent move, and you weren’t exactly thrilled with the idea. Switching schools one year away from graduating wasn’t quite the ideal situation for you, no matter how much your parents tried to convince you otherwise.

“Hey,” Someone’s voice rang besides you, accompanied by a poke to the arm. You turned your head to see a young male smiling at you. “do you have a pencil I can borrow?” He asked, his eyes lingering over to the clock at the front of the room. There was still a few minutes before the first class officially started. You nodded and leaned down to the bag you had placed on the floor, unzipping the compartment where you had placed your pens and pencils.

After finding a sharpened one, you zipped the bag back up and handed it to the male. He graciously took the writing utensil and placed it on his desk, but turned to face you once again.

“Thanks. Are you new? I’ve never seen you before.”

“Yeah, today’s my first day.” You replied quite timidly.

“Oh, cool. What’s your next class?” He suddenly asked, causing you to take out your schedule and handing it to him. The young male seemed to look it over for a few minutes before handing it back to you. “My next class is next to yours, want me to walk you there when this period is over?” You felt a piece of your shell chip off, thanks to his radiating smile.

“Are you sure? Isn’t it like...taboo to be seen with the new kid or something?” The boy only seemed to laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“I think I’ll take my chances with that one.”

May 3rd - 3 Years Ago

“Hoseok, will you please hurry up?” You called, stopping abruptly before spinning on your heel to see him trying to type on his phone and walk at the same time.

“Y/n, I’m not as young as you. You have that youthful energy and speed.” Your eyes instantly rolled at his comment.

“You’re barely a year older than me and get that phone out of your face before you fall!” The male only held a finger out, trying to communicate that he needed one more minute.

“Let me just finish this level.” A low groan of frustration escaped your lips as you turned around and kept walking. Hoseok must have noticed, because he quickly stuffed the phone into his back pocket and jogged up to your side. There was a short pause before he spoke up once again.

“So, I was thinking...do you want to hang out this weekend?” The two of you had only known each other for a few months, but you already considered Hoseok a close friend. Ever since he had offered to help you out around school, the two of you had been inseparable. Shortly after meeting him, you realized that you both lived in the same neighborhood and he turned into your walking partner for both going to school and returning home. This only made you bond more with the older male, allowing you to open up more and be your true self around him. Despite all of this, you still have not done anything together besides school related things.

“Hm, let me think.” You hummed, delaying your answer in order to provide payback for his annoyingness earlier.

“It’s not like you’ll be doing anything this weekend, anyway.”

“Just for that, nope. Sorry, I can’t.”

“I was kidding, y/n.” He pouted.

“Alright, alright. Yeah, we can hang out this weekend.”

July 21st - 3 Years Ago

You lowered your pencil onto the paper in front of you, jotting down some notes. You were just about to flip to the next page of the textbook when your phone suddenly went off, playing your favorite song. You quickly picked up the ringing phone, not bothering to check the caller ID before pressing it to your ear.

“Hey, know what we should do tonight? Go out. Be ready in ten minutes.” Hoseok’s voice hummed.

“Sorry to burst you bubble, but I probably shouldn’t.” You awaited his response for a few seconds, yet received none. “Hoseok?” Your eyebrows scrunched together as you lowered the phone down and checked the screen, only to find Hoseok already ended the call. You immediately threw your head back and let a sigh escape your lips.

  You stood up from your bed, walking over to your closet and picking out an outfit to wear for this surprise outing. Normally, you would at least try to convince Hoseok to let you stay home and work, but him not letting you even speak inclined that the boy was determined and would bring you out of your apartment one way or another, even if that meant physically picking you up to do so.

A few minutes passed by after you got dressed when the doorbell of your apartment rung. Usually, by the time you could even get down the hall, your mother would allow Hoseok inside and you would find him lounging on your couch when you entered the family room but today, your parents were not home and thus, leaving you to answer the door. You slipped on your favorite pair of sneakers before jogging over to the entrance way, opening to door to reveal Hoseok standing there with his hands jammed into his pockets.

“Ready?” He asked, a smile slipping onto his face. You nodded and stepped out of the doorway, making sure it was locked before the two of you headed towards the stairs of the apartment building.

“My plans for today were to study until I drop, but I guess this works too.”

“Studying? Isn’t it, oh I don’t know...break?” You rolled your eyes at Hoseok’s comment as the two of you began walking down the steps.

“My parents enlisted me into a cram school.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” There was a pause for a few moments, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of Hoseok’s feet, along with yours, squeaking the wooden steps underneath of you.

“How long have you been studying before I called?” You took a second to think before answering.

“About three to four hours.”

“Well, it’s good that I bugged you. Now, you get to get your blood flowing after sitting down for so long.”

“Riiight.” You laughed, making it to the base of the steps and pushing open the heavy door, exiting into the outside world.

Three hours later, Hoseok and you stumbled upon a small clothing shop. The faint smell of vanilla drifted through the air and the sound of a bell could be heard as you pushed open the door.

    “Oh, cool. Bomber jackets!” Hoseok mused, making his way to the rack which contained jackets in a large array of colors.

     As Hoseok gawked over an army green embroidered bomber jacket with entertaining dragons, you moved towards the back of the shop.

One thing that happened to catch your eye was a (favorite color) hat with a pattern that suited your style. You walked over and casually picked up the hat, flipping it over and checking the tag. If you would have brought money with you, you would be able to afford the hat easily.

“What are you looking at?” The sound of Hoseok’s voice made you jump slightly, but the older male only laughed at your reaction.

“Just this hat.” You replied after calming yourself down. He took the hat from your hands and seemed to study it momentarily. Wordlessly, he took the hat and set it onto your head.

“It looks cute on you.” Your body instantly turned to him, wondering why he would say that. It was rare in your relationship to compliment each other. Hoseok either didn’t see the expression on your face or chose to simply ignore it, since he continued on with conversation. “Are you going to buy it?” You reached up and pulled the object off your head, rubbing circles into the soft bill of the snapback.

“I would, but I didn’t break money with me.”

“Well, looks like I’m buying it for you.” He chuckled, snatching the hat from your hand and holding it with the bomber jacket he planned to get. By the time you had processed his words, he was already halfway towards the counter. You rushed up next to him, the top of your ears starting to conduct heat.

“Oppa, you don’t have to do that for me.” You words came out flustered and jumbled, but Hoseok managed to understand what you had said.

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled before a chuckle escaped his lips. “Did you just call me oppa?” After he said this, the heat on your ears only spreaded to the rest of your face. You didn’t have time to deny it, because this is when the two of you reached the front desk.

“How can I help you?” The elderly lady behind the cash register smiled sweetly after you did the proper greetings. Hoseok smiled back and placed the two items on the desk.

“I would like to buy this jacket and hat, please.” The woman, whose nametag read Park Nami, nodded and began to ring up the items. While she was doing this, her dark brown eyes caught your (eye color) ones and managed to catch your blushing face.

“Ah, is this a present for you girlfriend?” She asked, her attention flickering to Hoseok. You wanted to protest against the concept, but Hoseok nodded before you could.

“Oh, how much I enjoy young love.” Park Nani chuckled, bagging up the two items before telling Hoseok the price. Hoseok paid the correct amount of money and said his goodbyes to the elderly lady, slipping the hand that wasn’t holding the bag into your hand and leading you out of the store. His hand was larger than yours and fit comfortable in your own.

Once the chilly Gwangju air hit your skin, Hoseok let go of your hand. Your stomach lurched at this action, the ghost of his touch still lingering.

“What was that about?” You asked, trying to stabilize your voice so he couldn’t tell how much those small actions affected you.

“I thought it would be easier to act like we were dating than explaining to the woman we weren’t dating. You know if we said we weren’t dating, we would be there for forever trying to explain why we weren’t dating.” Hoseok hummed.

“I am so done with you, Jung Hoseok.” You sighed, trying to fight the sudden pang of pain that coursed through your chest. When Hoseok’s hand took ahold of yours in the shop, you could practically feel the sparks ignite under your skin. Half of you were relieved this one of Hoseok’s stupid little schemes, but the other half wished his hand grazed yours with the soul intention of never letting go.

“Wha? Is this how you’re going to treat your boyfriend?” He placed a hand over his heart and pouted in your direction.

“You’re not my boyfriend.” But I wish you were.

“Did we just break up?” He dramatically gasped.

“We can’t break up if we were never together, pabo.”

September 18th - 3 Years Ago  

After the incident in the small shop, your stomach filled with butterflies whenever you saw Hoseok. Which, was basically every day. You found yourself taking in more of his features when he talked to you and every time he smiled, you felt like your heart had exploded. Today was no different.

It was calm Saturday evening and you had met Hoseok in one of your favorite ice cream parlors. For the first time in weeks, you weren’t paying attention to a single thing Hoseok was saying and were lost in your thoughts.

“Hello? Earth to y/n.” You jumped when he waved his hand frantically in front of your face.

“Hm?” You snapped out of your trance like state and looked at him in a sheepish manner.

“Are you okay?” He asked, worry etched into his features. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you pondered whether or not to finally confront him about your feelings. It was eating you alive and you honestly could not take it for much longer. You had to get this off of your chest.

“Can we talk about something?” The playful glint that usually rested in his eye disappeared and he folded his hands together.

“What’s up?” Well, too late to back out now.

“Remember a few months ago when you brought me away from my studies to walk around town?” You picked up the spoon residing in your ice cream bowl and swished around the (favorite flavour) ice cream that it contained.

“Yeah, we ended up going to that small shop near the museum.” Hoseok recalled, causing multiple images of that night to reply in your mind.

“You took my hand and escorted me out of the store after convincing the lady that we were a couple. Something kind of sparked in me that day, and I honestly haven’t been able to look at you the same way. I need to say this before anything else happens.” You dropped your eyes to the table, not being able to look Hoseok in the eye. “I really like you, Hoseok.” A moment of silence crossed between the two of you before you heard Hoseok’s voice.

      “Y/n-ah, look at me.” You hesitantly raised your head to see him with a small smile on his face. “I really like you too.” You sat there, confusion evident on your face. “I was going to ask you out that night but panicked and made up that stupid lie about how the lady would question us. After that, I just put on a goofy smile and prayed you didn't notice what I was doing.” You sat there for a few seconds, mouth agape and attempting to piece together the information he was giving you. Eventually, a smile crossed your features.

“I’m just going to quit while I’m ahead.”

“Good idea.”

April 14th - 2 Years Ago

Things had been going pretty well in your relationship with Jung Hoseok. While you were continuing your studies and preparing for college, Hoseok had decided to pursue a career in dancing and rapping. He had done the two things previously as a hobby, but he decided to take it to the next step.

    Currently, the two of you were in Hoseok’s makeshift dance studio, his elder sister's old room, as he practiced for his BigHit Entertainment audition. While he danced, you formed a crescent of books before you to study.

    You were two pages of vocabulary notes into your anatomy studies when you heard Hoseok frustratedly groan and pause the music. You looked up to see him raking his hands through his hair, walking in small circles.

     “I think we should booth take a break.” You announced, clearing enough room for your boyfriend to join you on the floor. Hoseok seemed to ponder the proposition for a moment before plopping onto the ground, placing his head into your lap and laying down.

      “Nothing i'm doing seems right. I'm so not going to get in.” The young boy heavily sighed. You rubbed your thumb gently over his forehead before playing with his hair.

       “If you keep thinking like that you won't. Babe, listen to me, you are the best dancer I know. You're going to get accepted.”

       “Well, what if I don't.” Your (eye color) eyes met his brown one, lingering for a second and found a hint of sadness resided there.

     “Then BigHit made a big mistake.” You responded, a smile coming onto your face. Hoseok looked up at you, staring for a few seconds before nodding with determination. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his, giving him a soft peck. After leaning back up, his attention turned to one of the many textbooks scattered across the floor.

    “How can you even understand this stuff?” His eyebrows scrunched upon reading the many terms listed on the page. You chuckled, gesturing to the notebook sitting next to the resource material.

“Notes. Lots and lots of personal notes.”

    “Nerd.” A smile slipped onto his face once he said this, looking at you with something that only could be described as pure love.

 “I take offense to that, y’know.” You chuckled.

“But you’re my nerd.” Hoseok quickly added, wrapping his arms around you in a hug and kissing the top of your head.