#but on the bright side (cries) this art is GORGEOUS

[wikitpowers]

mentally i'm here

this scene was literally the craziest thing in tsc

artist: @aliceduke

colourised by: @rinadragomir

[mazeinthemiroh]

you need a holiday. [final part]

pairing: hongjoong x best friend! reader

genre: friends to lovers, confession, angst, hurt / comfort, romance

word count: 1.3k

warnings: EMOTIONAL, cursing, allusions to mental health issues + insomnia, mentions of alcohol

summary: the final night of the holiday is here, but you both feel as though you are leaving with so much more than when you arrived... [part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4]

author's notes: i may have cried whilst writing this. hope you guys enjoy the final part of the series. thank you so much for all your support on this <3 i'm getting emotional by even concluding this series because i've enjoy writing it so much. hope you guys have enjoyed the journey as much as i did ;-; love yall sm

"You really said that to him?"

There was a glitter in your laugh as you listened intently to Hongjoong's story. There was no way of knowing how long you both sat there, in the bustle of the fancy restaurant by the coast. All you knew was the sun was starting to set, the peripheral of your vision in pink and orange hues.

"Heck yeah I did!" Hongjoong grinned, enjoying your intense eyes on him. You always listened so intently, and he appreciated that. "I wasn't going to let him get away with that. How does he think, slagging off my team? No, I wouldn't let that slide. I don't usually get so angry I promise, but that comment got really under my skin."

You snorted, taking a sip of your wine, before swirling the glass in your hands in a circular motion, not so much to look elegant, but more to give your hands something to do.

"No, I know you. You're a hot-head," you grinned boldly, stifling another laugh as you took another gulp of your drink. What didn't help was Hongjoong's humorous expression of fake shock and horror at your comment.

"You're one to talk!" He guffawed, clutching his own glass of wine, his rings clinking against it. "You got so angry at the taxi driver yesterday, it took you everything in your power not to yell but I could see your eye twitching!"

You rolled your eyes at his comment, but smiled nevertheless, owning his observation and shrugging it off all in one look.

"Whatever," you waved your hand, "we're both as bad as each other."

"Cheers!" He said cheerfully, and you tickled the rim of each other's glasses, the impact making a merry sound of union.

The was then a natural lull in your conversation. The plates of food: finished. A bottle of wine sitting in ice to your side, already half drunken. The waves could be heard, gently crashing on the sand as the sun sunk lower into the sky. The restaurant was still lively for this time of night, but not so lively that you couldn't hear yourself think. It was all quite perfect, really.

It had been harder for you to make too much eye contact with Hongjoong this holiday. Of course, you couldn't exactly avoid it altogether. But you found that when you stared for too long, you'd start feeling like you were falling down a gorgeous chocolate-brown hole that lead to his heart, which made your own flutter ferociously.

So it was a good thing you were avoiding his gaze, instead becoming fascinated by the ocean outstretched to your side. The clouds swirled around the sun like it was waiting to be photographed, or painted by a lesser-known artist on the coast. Maybe this would be the time they would shine, their art appreciated for what it's worth by their mere imitation of nature. Nature was art. You smiled at the scene.

Hongjoong smiled, his eyes never once straying away from you, trailing over your calm face. Your eyes were bright and vibrant, and despite it being late at night, you were still surprisingly full of energy. He would like to think that maybe his company refreshed you. Re-energised you, maybe? Because he noticed that's exactly how you made him feel.

Of course, sleep was lacking in his life and he didn't get enough of it. You insisted that he should get as much as possible on this holiday, but he found that he couldn't. Why would he waste his hours sleeping when he could talk to you? Get to know you more? Understand you in an intimate, important way? No, sleep could wait. These moments were what he lived for now. And he wouldn't take them for granted.

His eyes were staring lovingly, and his dreamy smile pulled at his lips.

"This is nice," he said aloud, his smile never faltering.

You turned to look at him, flustered by his lovelorn gaze. You knew that look all too well... or were you just imagining his own affection for you? You pushed your hope for something more down to your gut, gulping slightly. You weren't going to let yourself get hurt if he was just being friendly.

"Yeah," you replied, voice shaking a bit, before you finished your glass of wine.

The last night of the holiday.

It felt bittersweet. If you thought about it too much, you'd cry. Every day, just being with him. Magical. Everything you had hoped it to be, and so much more. It was all slipping away from you too soon...

"How are you feeling about going back to everything?" You said, eyes never once straying from the condensation on the wine bottle, wondering if you could down the rest of its contents then and there to bury your feelings.

Hongjoong thought about it for a moment, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"I'm okay with it, in some ways," Hongjoong mused, eyes concentrating his gaze in the same place you looked at. "Having a break did me a world of good. You were right. You always are."

You shrugged and grinned, absorbing the compliment humorously. But his face was still serious.

"I needed a holiday, desperately, it's true," he fiddled with one of his rings, "but I realised more about myself than I thought."

"Oh?" You questioned, eyes shifting to his with intrigue.

He nodded, eyes flickering to yours also.

"I'm a romantic, apparently," he starts, breathing out, "and I already feel a loss when I go back. Because I won't be seeing you every day."

Your heart was in your throat, your tongue darting out to lick your dry lips.

There was a moment of silence, before he continued.

"How am I supposed to continue my life without you?" His voice sounded desperate now, his eyes burning holes into yours as you drank in his teary gaze. His bottom lip quivered slightly.

You let him catch his breath, as he choked back what felt like his whole soul. The universe told you to hold his hand, taking it gently in your grasp as your fingers stroked his skin. It felt so natural, comforting him.

"Without me?" You questioned. "Sweetie, you're not getting rid of me any time soon."

He let out a laugh, half-forced. The tears were still glazed over his eyes, threatening to build and spill. He looked away from you and let out a long, shaky sigh.

"It's not going to be the same though. It never will be," he sniffed slightly, clearing his throat, trying to clear his eyes. "And I'm so busy..."

"I'll make time for you," you whispered, "even when you can't make time for me. There's always a way. Never say never."

You sighed, hand grasping his fully now, a firmer, grounding reassurance for him.

"The problem with going on holiday is that you always have to come back home. But what do you do with your life afterwards? Well, that is completely up to you. You could go back to your old ways, work without taking breaks, skip meals, run on 3 hours of sleep. Or you could take away from it... a new perspective on life. A new outlook that, hey, maybe life isn't always shit." You looked into his eyes.

"My life won't be shit if you're in it," Hongjoong's voice suddenly spiked with a new type of assertion. "You are my holiday. I don't need to be in a different country to feel relaxed or content or at peace. I just need you by my side. That's what I have taken from this trip. And that's what I plan on taking back with me."

You blinked at his words, your own words building up from the pure emotion in his voice. You lowered your eyes, your heart feeling like it would beat out of your chest if you made the wrong movements.

Lifting your gaze, you could see how serious he was. Serious and in love. Even in his passionate glare, there was a glimmer of dreaminess, the idealism of romance in his prospects. You're lip twitched. Your grip on his hand tightened, but your thumb gently touched his skin in an almost sensuous manner. He noticed.

"Then make me yours."

taglist: @anyamaris, @xlovehwa, @yeosangsbiceps, @a-wandering-stay, @acciocriativity, @hawaiian-angel, @toolovelyforyou, @saltedplum-squid, @dandycharmer, @baek-at-it-again95, @yeosxxx, @chansburgah, @doggopepper, @darkmentalitystarfish-blog, @dutchessskarma, @jisungxident, @justaprettywriter, @yeosangfairysblog (thanks for all your support guys <3 love you all sm)

[whispersinthedawn]

Fluttering Fireflies 3

It probably said something about Apollo, or at least about Artemis’s understanding of Apollo, that the god’s first action after parting from her was to perch himself in his casual chariot, put on a pair of Hephaestus’s far-seeing, anti-glare, anti-moisture, anti-rocks, heat-detecting sunglasses, and settle in for a glimpse of his newest obsession.

Um.

Attraction.

Person of interest.

Person he wanted to befriend, possibly befriend.

Whatever sounded less creepy.

Or stalkerish.

Cause he wasn’t being a stalker.

He just … waited for the new god to pop his perfectly shaped head out of the water, dialled up his sunglasses until he could peer beneath the waters, and then tracked the god’s path throughout the week.

But he wasn’t creepy! He never followed the god. Apollo remained right where he was, perched in his chariot, and allowed his own perfect vision and Hephaestus’s sunglasses to do all the work.

And he definitely didn’t eavesdrop on the god’s conversations until he heard his own name mentioned, which as everyone knew, was just asking for his attention.

No, no. Apollo drove the Sun chariot around, composed music, created art, listened to prayers, inspired a few mortals, healed some other mortals, guided some lost sailors to shore, and allowed one of his manifestations to laze around doing nothing but reading books and observing the scenery for some much needed mental relaxation.

And then he heard his name.

Being the friendly, charismatic guy he always tried to be (it wasn’t nosiness no matter what Artemis said), Apollo promptly materialised on top of the boat.

“Hello,” he beamed.

A glass broke against his face.

He blinked. People … didn’t generally throw entire glasses at him, no.

“You surprised me!” the beautiful, dangerous god Apollo might have possibly fallen for cried out.

“Not more than you surprised me,” Apollo pointed out genially while brushing fragments of glass off himself.

“What are you doing here anyway?” the other god demanded, narrowing bright green eyes that might have been inherited from Poseidon but sparkled with a vivacity all their own.

“Heard my name,” Apollo said shamelessly. “It sounded urgent.”

The god peered at him suspiciously. “You don’t look like any of my uncles, but who can say with shapeshifting.”

“I’m Apollo,” Apollo interrupted before the guy could start listing all the gods Apollo couldn’t be.

“I just wanted a little less sunshine,” the recipient of Apollo’s attention said without any consideration for who he was talking to.

“And that made you pray to me?” Apollo cried out, trying terribly hard to sound excited.

Something broke on the other side of the boat. Though Apollo supposed the vehicle wasn’t tiny enough to classify as a rowboat. A yacht perhaps? Terribly small in comparison to anything Apollo would own, but then again, he supposed young gods didn’t have centuries of offerings to call upon.

The young god in question heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry for throwing the glass at you,” he apologized with a disarming smile. “I was surprised, but that’s no reason to take it out on you. My only excuse, I suppose, is that I’m on something of a mission.

“What mission?” Apollo asked, bubbles of excitement rising up his oesophagus.

The young god winked. “A little sneaking, a little breaking. Maybe a little theft.”

“I’d love to help,” Apollo enthused.

And didn’t regret it even when he had to stomp out all the noise on the boat, act as a portable lie detector as the gorgeous, vibrant, ruthless god beside him interrogated his way through the boat, and set up a heat haze that threatened to evaporate the Oceanid pretending she hadn’t stuffed a sheaf of papers down her throat.

“Now,” the unrepentant son of Poseidon said. “I hope you know why I’m here. Because if you don’t, then I’m really going to start wondering just how many people you’ve cheated.”

***

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[contrivedcoincidences6]

gracefully, trying to get a fucking grip

Summary: Gale finally makes his move in act 2 but the dark urge struggles to take hold. AO3 link Pairing: Resist fDurge (Nyx)/Gale

Notes: This was inspired by some gorgeous art by @kudzuoath The wild magic surge that happens is #39 on the dnd wild magic surge table I felt like none of bg3’s limited options were as whimsical as I wanted for this.

****

“Shadowheart!” Nyx shouted as one of the ghouls slashed through Gale’s throat and knocked him to the ground. She shot a panicked glance away from the winged Flaming Fist in front of her to try to spot the cleric only to see her standing between Isobel and a ghoul, not even registering the sorcerer’s shout over the chorus of screams that rang throughout the inn. 

Nyx quickly shot off a burning hands spell at Marcus before she misty stepped over to the wizard’s side. Lae’zel took her place in front of Marcus, blocking his path from the rest of the party refusing to let him pass and swinging down on him. Within four swings she had him disarmed, on the ground, and finally dead. 

It wasn’t over, of course, but with the biggest threat out of play, she took a moment to focus on Gale. His face was pale, eyes closed, hand grasping at the gaping wound on his neck. 

She ran a gentle hand over his hair as she poured a healing potion over the wound on his neck before shooting off a quick-spelled magic missile killing the ghoul that stood over them. 

Gale’s eyes opened, they were unfocused but he was alive. 

The final seconds of the battle unfolded around them but Shadowheart did find a moment to send a healing word Gale’s way that fully sealed the flesh of his throat. As the last ghoul was defeated the cries of terror died down into a general horrified silence. They’d spent the battle trapped in Isobel’s room and she shuttered to think of what carnage awaited them on the first floor. 

Most everyone ran from the cleric’s room to go assist the refugees and Harpers but Nyx stayed with her wizard for a minute, feeling the enormity of what they were facing for the first time as she stared at the mutilated former flaming fist that lay across the room. 

A weak cough brought her attention back to Gale who was holding her hand and looking up at her with a look she’d seen from him quite a lot the past couple of months; unmasked longing. He hardly ever tried to hide it, a trait she admired as someone who played all her feelings close to the chest. 

“How are you feeling?” Nyx asked after feeding him another potion and helping him into more of a seated position, though still in her arms. She didn’t feel ready to let go of him just yet and found her fingers tracing the delicate black lines that ran from his eyes down across his cheek. He was warm and alive and watching her with shining eyes.

“Much better thanks to you,” Gale said, a smile on his bruised and bloodied face. 

They were both quiet for a moment which might have been awkward if it wasn’t so charged. 

He broke the silence first, “It’s quite thrilling, to fight off such grim creatures as this region throws at us. Especially being at your side.”

He looked away briefly before continuing with slightly less confidence, “I, um, once read a book that explained in some detail the effect a brush with danger has on one’s desire for… other forms of stimulation.”

Nyx could feel a grin spreading across her face as his eyes finally met hers and he asked, “Have you ever read anything on that subject?” “Read it? I could have written the thing,” she said lightly but felt a pit in her stomach as she remembered the euphoria that usually accompanied her kills. She buried those thoughts though, something she was very good at doing, and focused instead on the handsome wizard.

“I believe you,” he reached up a hand to cup her cheek, “you never look so beautiful as at the end of a stirring battle, your cheeks flushed, gaze bright, muscles glistening…”

Nyx raised an eyebrow at him as her pace picked up a notch.

“Perhaps it’s just the thrill of our near-undead experience talking. But standings at your side through such darkness and disrepair, it only makes me want you more,” his fingers weaved into her hair and she leaned into his palm, closing her eyes for a moment. 

She’d wanted Gale for most of this journey she couldn’t even remember where she’d first felt it, possibly from the moment she’d pulled him from the portal, and until just a couple of days before he’d been beyond her reach. 

But she could have him now, she moved her fingers further along the lines on his face down his neck until her hand was resting over the orb and it began to glow faintly beneath her touch.

Before Nyx could say anything a throat cleared nearby and she looked up to see an aggravated Shadowheart. 

“Jaheira is asking for you, whenever you’re done mooning, of course,” she bit the words out at them but Nyx could hear the humor behind the irritation. The Sharran was gone before Nyx could reply and the two of them shared a laugh at her abrupt exit. 

“Unfortunately this is neither the time nor place to indulge such feelings. So, we must be patient and push all such thoughts aside,” Gale said tiredly as he tried to sit up more fully on his own. As he began to move out of her embrace though he kissed her cheek and added, “For now.”

The kiss was sweet and chaste with a promise of things to come but Nyx wanted more and before he could leave she grabbed his arm and pulled him into a kiss. Two months of pent up passion released between them and Nyx could feel her always tenuous hold on her wild magic slipping as his hands landed on her waist and pulled her body against his, drawing a small moan from her. 

All of the glances between them, the intimate moments cut short for fear of setting off the orb, the nights she’d touched herself and imagined him burst out between them in a wave of wild magic. 

She would suppose later they were lucky she didn’t summon a lava mephit instead, as if it had been choreographed, flowers and moss sprung up at their feet. They hardly noticed the new foliage as they kissed, lost in the moment and in what was to come. 

Nyx’s tongue slid between his lips and with a groan the wizard pulled her even closer. Peaking from beneath his robes the orb glowed brighter than it had a moment ago, its danger stripped by Elminster, she was able to simply enjoy the effect she was having on him. 

The purple glow slowly brought her back to her senses, if they didn’t get a move on Shadowheart would be stomping back in here again any moment. And so with a sigh, she pulled away, laying one more peck on his lips with a grin. 

Swiftly Gale bent down and grabbed a lovely yellow flower that he tucked into her circlet. 

“Tonight?” She asked, her tone was breathy, she couldn’t be bothered to pretend any longer. 

He nodded and cupped her cheek. “Till then.” 

She stayed behind a moment to quietly retrieve the tadpole from Marcus, feeling as disgusted about using them as she had the first time but also unable to deny how much they helped. The room was a mess a far cry from the quaint comfortable quarters they’d entered just a few minutes ago. It felt like the statue of Selûne was watching her as she looted Marus’s corpse and an unbidden fantasy played before her eyes of bludgeoning the cleric to death with it. 

“No,” she whispered to herself, to the urge, “I won’t do it.”

A sense of vertigo took over and the need to kill Isobel became one of the strongest urges she’d ever felt. 

She took some deep breaths and tried to stuff the feeling away again but as she continued to persist her head began to throb, pain worse than a rusty Goblin blade to the gut, she was blinded by it. The memory of the bard surfaced in her mind and a cold dread filled her, they would not linger at the Last Light her control was hanging by a thread. 

Through the pain, Gale’s concerned voice sounded, “Nyx? Can you hear me? Shall I get Shadowheart?” 

Fear gripped her at the thought of him seeing the monster that lived inside of her but the sound of his voice and the feel of his arms holding her up cleared away the worst of the nightmare, Gale had always chased away her darkness.

“Sorry, just vertigo, I’m alright,” Nyx said and gritted her teeth against the headache, “been a while since we’ve eaten.”

Lovely brown eyes watched her with concern but he nodded his head, taking her at her word, and leading her out of the room. 

“Then let’s get you something to eat,” he said with a look of adoration she didn’t deserve. 

Flower and fungi trailed in her wake as she went but when Gale pointed it out with a smile all she could see was a trail of blood and ruin. 

Ignoring the madness creeping in she smiled back, she was such a good liar she’d almost convinced herself.

[d-andilion]

If you're looking for a prompt, can you do something inspired by that vlogger comic?

Congrats and hope you're having a wonderful day ❤️

(part 1/ part 2//)

i really did intend to do something super short but i should have known better than to think i’m capable of that lol 

the art in question is this adorable modern au comic by @zellydoodle, definitely check it out!!

thank you so much for the prompt - enjoy <3

~

The next time Geralt sees his new neighbor, they’re both squeezed into their building’s tiny laundry room, neither of them looking their best. The only clean shirt Geralt had left was the lime green tank top Lambert gave him as a gag for his birthday a few years back and, based on Jaskier’s mismatched pink t-shirt and bright orange shorts, he’s on the last scraps of his own wardrobe. 

Geralt had half a mind to turn around the moment he saw Jaskier loading a machine. Call him a coward, maybe he is, but being in close quarters with the cute guy from next door after the conversation he had with Lambert last week was the last thing he wanted.

‘Conversation’ is probably generous. It was really a string of incomprehensible key-smash texts and laughing emojis on Lambert’s side and pointed refusal to respond on Geralt’s. Somewhere in the middle of it all was a link to a YouTube video from a vlogger with almost a million subscribers. A vlogger who looked very, very familiar.

Geralt didn’t even need to watch it to know what it was about. The title said it all. 

         my neighbor is so hot :(

He did watch it, of course. Jaskier was as cute in his video as he’d been that day in the hall, though admittedly less sweaty. He sat on his floor in front of a wall of fairy lights, surrounded by boxes as he uncorked a bottle of wine.

“Unfortunately, my dears, today’s tale is a doozy,” he said miserably. “If you are prone to second-hand embarrassment, I highly suggest you click away from this video at once.”

One look at the view counter beside the video told Geralt that Jaskier’s followers most certainly did not click away. There were already nearly a million views, and more still rolling in.

“Today,” Jaskier continued, filling his wine glass to the brim as he spoke, “I met the love of my life.”

Geralt would deny it if ever asked, but he may or may not have tugged the neck of his jumper up over his nose to cover his surely bright red cheeks for the rest of the video. Jaskier described their encounter—Geralt coming across him in the hallway, offering to help with his boxes, refusing an invitation inside for pizza with an excuse about meeting someone for dinner.

Jaskier seemed to think Geralt had been making up his dinner plans to get away from his “weird, sweaty neighbor”, but Geralt really did have plans with Eskel that night. Besides, he’d thought Jaskier was only offering to be polite. He hadn’t wanted to impose.

With every passing minute of the video, Geralt’s stomach fluttered with more nervous butterflies. Where he had been berating himself for his usual taciturn one-word responses, Jaskier had been adoring his dry wit. When Geralt had worried about freaking out his new neighbor with yellow eyes and ghostly white hair, Jaskier had been thinking about how “otherworldly handsome” he was. 

And the most unbelievable part of it all was that Jaskier actually thought he was out of Geralt’s league. He lamented at length to his camera as he drained his wine glass that his super hot neighbor was surely weirded out and would never ever speak to him again. 

“I mean, seriously!” Jaskier cried with more than a hint of melodrama. “How am I supposed to marry this stupidly gorgeous buff angel now?”

Since watching the video (and lying face-down on his sofa for twenty minutes), Geralt had made every effort to avoid his neighbor. His brothers harangued him endlessly for it. After all, he had a cute, single guy right next door who was definitely interested. He was basically guaranteed at least a date if he asked. Why wouldn’t he jump at that chance?

But Jaskier was famous. Internet famous, but still. His video had more than two million views last time Geralt checked, and all his pictures on Instagram (yeah, Geralt looked, sue him) had tens of thousands of likes. And if his music was anything to go by, his career was only going up from here.

As Geralt scrolled through page upon page of commenters gushing about how amazing his neighbor was, all he could think about was, how could he fit into that? Sure, Jaskier liked him now as a handsome and helpful stranger, but getting to know him could easily change that. Better let Jaskier live in the fantasy he built up in his head. Let him keep thinking Geralt is interesting and mysterious instead of… well. Him.

The universe evidently had other plans.

Now Jaskier is leaning against his rumbling washing machine, his cheeks turning the same bright rosy color as his shirt. Geralt stands across from him in front of his own machine, stealing glances every now and then between drawn-out inspections of his shoelaces. Neither of them has said a word since their cursory hellos upon Geralt’s arrival. The silence is officially awkward.

Geralt flicks his eyes up for another glance, but this time Jaskier is looking. His eyes are the most perfect shade of blue, like the sky on a clear, clear day. He smiles, a bit nervous.

“So,” Jaskier begins pleasantly at the exact moment that Geralt blurts out, “I saw your video.”

For a split second, Jaskier’s expression is completely blank. Then his blush spreads from his cheeks to his entire face and down his neck, and he throws his head back with a groan, covering his face with both hands.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry, Geralt, you were not supposed to see that.”

“It’s alright,” Geralt says dumbly, unsure what to say, but it seems to be the right thing. Jaskier removes his hands from his face and he’s wincing a little, but at least he’s looking Geralt in the eye.

“It’s really not, but I appreciate you saying that,” he replies with an embarrassed little grin. 

Geralt shrugs. “Always nice to hear you have biceps that could bring a man to tears.”

“Noooooooo,” Jaskier moans, but he’s smiling now. He has a lovely smile. Like sunshine.

They fall into another beat of silence, but this one is more comfortable than before, like all the tension has seeped out of the room.

“So, I suppose a date is out of the question now that I’ve waxed poetic about your muscles in front of the entire internet?” Jaskier asks. He’s clearly trying to keep a casual expression, but something else bleeds through—something hopeful.

Geralt takes a breath to temper his racing heart. It doesn’t work. “I wouldn’t say it’s completely out of the question,” he says.

Jaskier’s perfect blue eyes go wide. “Really?”

Geralt tries a smile. “Is it too late for pizza?”

Jaskier grins ear to ear. “Definitely not too late for pizza.”

~~

send me a prompt!

[welcomingdisaster]

1k || t || canonical character death || ao3

Emeldir sits and sews, watching her daughter wake in the crib across the room. Hiril screws up her eyes for a moment before she opens them, inhales deeply as though she is about to scream. Emeldir sets down her sewing, ready to stand and take her child in her arms, but the scream does not come.

Instead Hiril reaches for the crib decoration hanging over her. She traces the woven pattern with a pudgy hand, transfixed by the way it catches the light and holds it long after the sun has fallen over the horizon. It is of very fine make, golden thread pulled taut to form the shape of the sun. Barahir had cut it free from where it had once been sewn into his own crib, so old every seam of the wood had come undone. But the thread looks new, still, hanging over the new oak crib for their babes to grasp at. Shines bright despite their grubby hands, despite the countless times, now, that it has been gnawed on.

Beren climbs up on the side of his sister’s crib, his feet on the lower rail. He is four, tall for his age but bony as a bird, with a pointed little chin and big brown eyes. He reaches, too, to touch his the little sun, but does not pull it from his sister’s hand. He is kind, her Beren — thoughtful of the little one. She wishes soft times on him each time she bends to kiss the mop of his dark hair, praying to gods that no longer visit this earth. 

“What’s the sewing on it, Mama?” he asks, holding his fingers up to the little golden circle, so that its faint light dances over his fingernails, “looks like there’s sunlight caught up in it.”

Emeldir does not know.

“Maybe there is,” she says, her hands returning to her work, “if you can catch river-water in a bucket, and fire in the fireplace, why not sunlight in thread?”

Beren hums, satisfied. The little sun glints.

In truth it is something much older and stranger than that.

***

Nóm comes to visit him as the sun rises over the horizon, fresh-faced and cheerful, his long blond hair newly done. It cascades around him in gorgeous golden waves, the top layers twisted up in circular braids that much resemble stars, decorated with flowers from the meadows and green leaves.

Balan greets him on the porch of his cabin, exhausted and rather under-groomed himself.

“Ever thou brings me more reason for admiration!” He cries, standing to embrace his friend, and gestures to the sparkling cascade of gold, finely done. “Whenever could thou have done all this, before even the sun has woken?”

“It is simple,” Nóm laughs, kissing each of his cheeks in turn, “my kind do not sleep so often as thy folk, and some not at all. I sat by the firelight to clear my head and comb my hair, and I got quite carried away with it. But I felt thy weariness even before I held thou in my arms, and I am even more certain of it now. What ails thee, my friend?”

“Naught ails me,” Balan says, “I watch Boron, my son’s son, for he is colicky and gives his parents no rest. He does not calm for me. Why, I think all this night he must have been quiet ten minutes put all together!”

It is only then he realizes the baby, cradled yet in his arms, is not crying any longer. He has caught one of Nóm’s braids in his hands when they had embraced, and he stares, wide-eyed and mesmerized, at its looping pattern.

“Forgive me!” Balan cries, reaching to pull it free, “I meant not to let him take thee by thy hair.”

But Nóm only laughs and takes out the hunting-knife on his belt. Balan watches, horrified, as he pulls the braid taut and cuts it. He ties it off at the end with a ribbon, and turns to smile at Balan as though he had not just desecrated a work of art.

“Let him take it, if it calms him,” he says, “it is only hair; more shall grow, and I would do all my power to bring thee some measure of peace.”

“What madness!” Balan cries, and there is something of a hysterical laugh to it. “What gifts, my friend! What value they hold I do not know, and yet I know I shall never have wealth enough to repay it!”

“It is hair,” Nóm repeats, “it shall grow.”

Boron is captivated. Slowly, with the clumsily, he reaches up with his other hand and grabs the other side of the cut braid. Golden light dances in his wide brown eyes, falls upon his cheeks.

“I never asked thee about the light,” Balan realizes, “do all of thy people glow so?”

“Some,” Nóm says, “before any could even imagine the sun, before your people were awake upon this earth, I danced in the first light; the light of Laurelin, the great golden tree of Aman. It is a little of that light I carry, still.”

“Treelight,” Balan says, “before the sun! Sometimes I think thou art quite fond of fairytales, or else of the gullibility of your younger friends!”

Nóm smiles, but his green eyes are distant and old as mountains. Somehow he is only fairer with the braid cut, the tuft of hair sticking up from his head at an odd angle; only more darling for the little imperfection. Balan knows, then, that he shall follow him to the ends of the earth; that should Nóm leave their people Balan shall too.

***

Finrod’s hair tickles his foot.

“Can you hear me?” Beren asks. There is no answer; no breath, no twitch of the hand, only the smell of blood in the air and the drip of it into the grate by the iron bars.

(Sauron is practical. His dungeons are well-equipped with draining systems.)

“Hear me,” Beren says, command in place of question, “hear me! My friend, do not leave me.”

(Drip. Drip. Drip.)

There is no light in the room, nothing for him to see his friend’s injuries by. Almost nothing; Finrod’s hair glows faintly even in the darkness, casting pale golden light upon his fair, pale face, upon his wide green eyes and the drops of blood on his long, arrow-straight blond eyelashes. It looks as a ray of sunshine caught in the most horrible darkness.

It looks familiar. Comfortable. Beren’s wrists ache where they are bound, and his chest hurts as though his heart has been ripped free from it. His head spins. Finrod’s hair tickles his foot, as though trying to provide one last comfort. Sunlight caught up in thread, he thinks.

He cannot remember where he had heard it.

[shinobusupremecy]

Hello there! What about a Yandere Shinobu with a g/n reader and she constantly makes fun of the reader to make them depend on her and also keeps them locked up in her butterfly estate. And so they have to endure her harsh remarks and constant bullying and making them cry and makes them depend solely on her which gives her some kind of pleasure from being the only one they can rely upon in their moments of sadness? This is just me wondering what this would look like cause I saw a Yandere prompt from somewhere. Also I don’t know if your still on your break but feel free to pause this if your still enjoying your vacation and are not currently available. Also School starting soon for me so that sorta sucks :(

Emotional manipulative yandere Shinobu x gn!reader

TW: Emotional manipulation. Toxic relationship.

A/N: I am on my break yes but I got time on my hands so I can do your request! And sorry to hear that school starts for you soon :(

Art source

What's the matter? Do you not wanna meet your family?" That haunting voice followed by an evil cackle ecohed through the forest, you were out of breath trying not to fall nor slip.

"Please, let me go!" You screamed back

"I had the delight of the night to eat two humans, but one more wouldn't hurt right?" You made the huge mistake of looking back, before you could turn back and look straight ahead you slipped and fell. You face planting onto the dirt.

The demon laughed and lunged, everything felt like it was slowmotion. You covered your face with your arm awaiting the gory sound of teeth sinking down your flesh.

But instead of that sound you heard someone getting stabbed. You looked up at a gorgeous small women stabbing the demon at the side of his neck with her sword.

The girl kicked off the demons body making it hit a tree. She backflipped as she stood in front of you, back turned to you.

"Sorry I took so long, the demon was really fast" Then she turned her head to you, her amethyst eyes staring back at your e/c eyes. "But I guess you were faster since you are alive right now!" She cheered giving you a smile.

You let out a breath before tears pooled out of your eyes.

"T-thank you! Thank you so much! I thought I was gonna die, I don't wanna die. Thank your for saving me!" You sniffled and looked up at Shinobu. Shimmering tear trails on your cheeks.

Something sparked inside Shinobu, she didn’t know what it was but... She needed to see you cry to her like that again.

"Well it is my job to save you from these disgusting demons!" Shinobu said with a bright smile.

"Did you get hurt anywhere?" You shook your head. "Where is your home?"

"I-I have no home to go back to"

Perfect

"I am really sorry to hear that. If you don't have any other place to go then I advice you to go to mine. I have food, water and a room tp spare just for you. That is... If you will come with me" Shinobu said and reached out her hand to you. You were a bit hesitant. Your father always told you to NEVER go with strangers but, what choice do you have?

You took her hand and she helped you raise up.

You couldn't help to cry. This all happened so fast. You went out to buy some new plates for your parents only to see blood on the floor and their ripped clothes. You didn’t have time to take it all in before you heard a cackle and that thing came for you. Teeths and claws so sharp you only hear it in stories to scare kids with.

But then you were saved by a stranger and now you have to live with them.

As you cried you felt the stranger gently pull you in, the kind gesture made you cry even more. Your held back sobs turned into full out cries, you cried on the womans shoulder as she rubbed soothing circles on your back.

Shinobu saw how you cried to her, you were so dependent on her despite not even knowing her name. She wanted more of this.

After a while you looked ahead softly gasping at the huge mansion that was right in front of you. The morning sunlight shining on the mansion beautifully making it look like heaven.

-

"Oh dear Y/N, what a mess you're making" Shinobu said tauntingly, looking down at your messy form. You were helping Aoi with baking and you carried the bag that had flour in it, but you slipped and the flour was all over you. Your clothes, your hair, everything. As if the universe was punishing your failure, Shinobu just so happened to walk in on it.

You felt so embarrassed, your face and your ear lobes were completely red.

Shinobu looked down at you. Like you were lower than her.

"Are you gonna clean yourself up or do you like to get stared down at?" you quickly got up and nearly ran out of there.

You can't believe you managed to mess up so badly. In front of Shinobu too no less!

As you showered you were starting to wonder 'why is she being so mean?'. You only hoped it was temporary and that she had a bad day.

-

You were reaching your breaking point. That woman has done nothing more than to insult you, make fun of you and making you feel like you were worthless.

You have clumsily made mistakes here and there like cursing in front of the triplets, spilling when Aoi is cooking and even spilled water on Shinobu. Even for the most minor things she made the biggest deal out of it, sputing off harsh remarks at you.

There have been so many times were you locked yourself into your own room, crying yourself to sleep.

You were now walking silently to your room after being relentlesly made fun of for falling in the koi pond at the backyard.

As you cried a knock was heard. You became angry, can't they understand that you were upset?

"Go away"

"Is that how you answer when someone knocks on your door? That really is quite rude of you Y/N" Your heart dropped to your toes and your blood ran cold.

Without being consented to Shinobu walked right on in.

"How are you feeling Y/N?"

"W-why do you ask?"

"Well I just wanted to check up on you. Making such a huge fool of yourself surely can't be good for your own mental health" It happened again. Shinobu acts like she cares about you just to then shut down your hopes with mock.

You clenched your fist so hard your knuckles turned white.

"W-why are you treating me this way!? For the past weeks you have done nothing but making me feel like I'm worthless! I have done nothing to you and yet..." You were loss for words as you looked down at the floor. The floor getting stained by your tears.

You looked up at Shinobu only to feel your heart drop deeper. Shinobu didn’t smile anymore and just stared at you.

"I have done nothing to make fun of you?" She repeated your sentance. She sarcastically chuckled before she slowly walked towards you.

"I have done nothing but take care of you. I have made sure you get your food, a nice big room and I have treated you after all your injuries. Have you not heard of the saying" you should not bite the hand that feeds you? "

You didn’t notice you were backing away from her until your back hit the wall.

"You do realize that I am the reason you're living so lavishly right now? Without me you would have nowhere to go. You would be living on the streets. I am right, am I not?"

"Y-yes you are but you are also the only one that-"

"You can rely on and trust" She cuts you off.

"W-what?"

"I am the only one that can truly take care of you. I know what you want, what you need, I know the best. You have no one to turn to except for me. I know you're sad and still mourn over your parents, so please talk to me about it. I can fill the hole in your heart that your parents left behind"

Tears began to pool out of your eyes again, your knees felt weak and you fell to the ground. Shinobu sat down and cupped your cheeks, letting her thumbs wipe away your tears. She gave you a kind pitiful smile.

"You're lost without your parents but that's okay because I'm here, to guide you and lead you to the right path. Do you understand?" You nodded slowly.

"Say it with me. I am lost and I need your guideance"

"I am lost and I need your guidance" You slowly repeated.

"You are the only one I can depend on"

"You are..." You looked up at her and she signaled you to continue. "The only one I can depend on" Shinobu's smile widened.

She hugged you and sighed contently.

"I am so happy you understand" You said nothing and slowly hugged her back.

Maybe Shinobu is the one you need right now.

[luckydog251616]

You in my blurred memories

{Yes, I am back with another fic, this one being angst! Maybe I’ll make something happy in the future? As for now, enjoy this angst~ -Kaveh Also, Tw for vivid descriptions of d3ath, yelling, cursing (?), and swords}

It was seemingly another day of Kaveh not being home. Alhaitham thought nothing of it, not expecting anything strange of it or weird. He was almost never home, it became a nightly occurrence. He would wake up, they would eat breakfast together (and he would listen to his “annoying” rants that he may or may not secretly enjoy), and kiss Alhaitham goodbye, and exit the house. He usually would be back by midnight, only to repeat the process once more. A cycle the both of them grew accustomed to. Sure it was strange, but it was uniquely theirs.

Tonight was different. It was soon midnight, and no sign of Kaveh. He decided to wait longer. 1 am. 2 am. No sign of him yet. Alhaitham grabbed the keys to the house and left. He thought of one place he would be, the tavern. Maybe he’s drunk. He thought. Maybe he had too much to drink and passed out… the thought of him being in such state worried him. It wasn’t until he rounded the corner where he saw a sight he wished to unsee.

“Al…hai…tham” A familiar voice croaked. Blood on the streets, a sword to his stomach. No…no, this is just some nightmare, right? “Kaveh!” Alhaitham cried out. The once stoic mask he wore broke. He dashed to Kaveh’s side. “Who did this to you?!” He asked, his question being answered with shadows.

“YOU BASTARDS” Alhaitham yelled. He saw red, sword now in his hands. “YOU FUCKERS WILL PAY FOR THIS!” He yelled while fighting off the ones who stabbed Kaveh. Bodies now on the floor, Alhaitham’s sword stained with their blood. His attention turned to Kaveh, who seemed to be trying to hang on. “Wait here, I’ll get hel-“ “No, it’s too late” Kaveh interrupted. “Don’t say that Kaveh, it’s not too late! You can be-“ “No. I can’t be saved this time, Alhiatham.” Alhaitham was silenced for a moment before saying “You…you can’t leave me too…Kaveh plea-“ “Do me a favor. Forget me” Kaveh says, before coughing, blood now covering his sleeve. “Kaveh…” Alhaitham says, stunned.

Footsteps were heard approaching. Kaveh took out the sword from his stomach, going to the group of people out for him. “Kaveh, what are you-“ He then froze. There’s no way…Kaveh had a look of determination mixed with a grimace of pain. “If I’m gonna die, I’m dying a hero” Kaveh says with determination. He had no idea what came over him. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or perhaps the drinks he had that night. His vision glowing a bright hue as he fought, Ahaitham watching stunned. “Kaveh…you…you idiot…” He mumbles, watching Kaveh fight off the perpetrators. He knew it was over once he took the sword out. It was like he was signing off his chances of survival.

”Are you proud of me, Haitham?” Kaveh asks, a smile on his face. He looked so proud, having fought them off. He then collapsed, Alhaitham rushing to him, holding his body. His pulse is weak…

Kaveh is dying in my arms he thought, words being hard to make in this situation. Time was running out, and he felt so helpless, his only love now slowly fading out of existence. “Ka-“ “I know…Alhaitham?” Kaveh says, looking directly at Alhaitham’s eyes. “Yes, Kaveh?” Alhaitham answers, his eyes watery, body now shaking, trying his best to keep himself together. Kaveh then spoke his last words “Your eyes…are so…beautiful…the most gorgeous work of art I’ve seen…” And with a smile, he closed his eyes, never to wake up again.

“Kaveh? Please….don’t leave me alone…”

[hibiscusangel15]

Lure

Aye, let me tell ye a tale of the mysterious merfolk and the two foolish mortals that fell for one of the creatures...

Cover art done by @uniformshark​ for @thewhisperingdeep​​ Bleach zine!

Summary: Creatures of myth and legend had no place on a research venture. The subsequent capture of a vicious merman proves Kurosaki Ichigo and Kurosaki Rukia otherwise. Originally written for The Whispering Deep: MerMay zine!

Rating: Teen and Up

Category: Multi, M/F, M/M (GrimmIchiRuki)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Magic and Science, Polyamory, Mutual Pining

Also available on AO3!

Spreading the GrimmIchiRuki agenda, one AU at a time! I came up with the idea for this fic almost as soon as I saw the 'zine open Interest Checks haha. The mods have gone all out for this 'zine and it's utterly gorgeous. Be sure to check out the AO3 collection for even more amazing Bleach and BNHA MerMay fics!

Unearthly cries echoed from the stern of the ship. The Kurosakis hurried along in their pajamas to the top deck. Kurosaki Rukia was used to abrupt calls in the middle of the night, having been an on-call veterinarian once upon a time. Her husband lagged behind her, still struggling to put on his shoes.

Several members of the crew scrambled past them to wake up other researchers. Unintelligible snippets about some kind of beast tangled in the nets floated around the ship. Most were drowned out by the harsh clang of boots against catwalks and the ever-present howls of whatever was on deck.

Once they surfaced, Ichigo nearly barreled into his wife. All the sailors swearing and yelling ahead of them tore his gaze port-side. A writhing blue mass in a mesh net slowly drew higher. The mechanical winch whirred into overdrive as it thrashed even harder in its panic. The creature’s all-black eyes were marked by the glowing blue of its irises. It briefly met his own, not desperate or confused, but brimming with hatred as it scratched out at the net with its claws. It was no use. The reinforced steel fibers would not snap so easily.

Without thinking, Ichigo grabbed his wife’s hand. Rukia too was transfixed as she studied this monster that should not exist. It did not make any of this feel real.

A high-pitched snicker snapped them out of their stupor. Kurotsuchi Mayuri, the Head Researcher for this venture, cracked a wide smile. “How intriguing. When I was first assigned to this project, I assumed they thought I was mad and wanted to ship me off. Now I see I am the only one qualified to study such a fantastical creature.”

The sailors lowered the net into a large tank where it finally let the creature go. Before it jumped back into the ocean, two burly crewmen slammed the top shut. Even from behind the glass, they could hear its furious shriek. It slammed itself against the bulletproof glass over and over again, to no avail. Eventually one of the sailors had to open a hatch and dart it with a tranquilizer to stop it from injuring itself.

It was only then that Ichigo and Rukia inched closer to the tank. After months of catching and tagging nothing but the spare marlin or salmon shark, this bright blue beast of myth seemed almost too good to be true. It was a gorgeous creature up close. Long hair the color of a clear sky, stripes of navy blue and white climbing up the sides of its tail and ending past its webbed hands. Its tail was like that of a shark, strong and covered in jagged fins.

It pushed itself up, baring its teeth the moment it caught Rukia’s eye. After thrashing uselessly one last time, it slumped to the bottom of the tank.

One of Kurotsuchi’s assistants whispered something in her ear. One glance from her, and he knew to let her go.

A quick meeting had been called in the conference room deep in the hull. The place was in an uproar. Other marine biologists argued with the captain of the ship, but apparently, he was just as in the dark about the situation as the rest of them.

Head Researcher Kurotsuchi slammed an ashtray repeatedly on the glossy wooden table to call for order. “Will you all cease this useless prattle? All your voices are grating on my nerves.”

One of the military officers hired onto the project, one Matsumoto Rangiku, slammed her fist down on the table. “Kurotsuchi, how can you act so calm at a time like this?”

“Calm?” he repeated. “I am most certainly not calm. Why, can’t you tell I’m as giddy as a little boy on his birthday.”

His placid expression seemed to say otherwise.

Ichigo finally spoke up. “We signed on to study a new species, not a mythical creature. This isn’t anywhere near any of our areas of expertise.”

Some of the other marine biologists on board echoed his sentiments. Even a few of the soldiers murmured their agreement.

“Why, that’s not true at all, Kurosaki-kun,” a sly voice piped up. He’d been quiet until now, reveling in the chaos from his plush leather chair. “You were all chosen for this job for a reason. In fact, I’d say this creature we caught looks somewhat like a shark. You and your wife study sharks, no?”

The other researchers parted to reveal a silver-haired man in a sharp gray suit. Ichimaru Gin always seemed to be smiling at some hidden joke.

Ichigo frowned. “Yeah, but a merman? The lab was set up to contain regular saltwater fish. I have no idea if trapping it here will have direct effects on its constitution or if the tank is even suited to its needs. Tranquilizing it the way those sailors did was reckless. We don’t know if it had adverse effects on its health or if—”

“As far as I can tell, it’s doing just fine, Ichigo,” a familiar voice said behind him. Kurosaki Rukia stood in the doorway, her trusty assistant hovering behind her with several papers in his arms.

“Rukia,” he breathed. Just having her nearby put him at ease.

“Ah, Kurosaki-kun,” Ichimaru said. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Her eyes lingered on Ichigo before turning back to Ichimaru. “Before I give you my report on its vitals, I think we all would like to know exactly why we were hired for this mission, Ichimaru-san. I was already quite suspicious when we weren’t given the exact details of the new species in question at the start.”

Ichimaru’s grin only grew wider. “Why would you think I know more than any of you? I’m only here to ensure that Hueco Mundo’s business venture doesn’t go astray. It looks like we’ve all gotten in over our heads here.”

Matsumoto sighed. “Gin, enough playing around. What’s going on here?”

Lieutenant Matsumoto Rangiku had always been open about her fraught relationship with Hueco Mundo Pharmaceuticals’ marketing director. Most of the crew hated being anywhere near him at the best of times. Still, it was nice to know that someone could soften his wily nature, if only for a moment.

Ichimaru’s smile fell a bit. “I am telling the truth, you know. All I was told was that if we were lucky enough to find this new species—whatever it was—it would increase the company’s equity exponentially. Nothing more, really.”

For the rest of the crew, this venture was a contract. Just another job.

For Ichimaru Gin, it was practically a paid vacation. He had come under the guise of protecting this potential investment, sure, but he didn’t seem to have anything better to do outside of tormenting the crew.

“What is that thing, anyway?” the captain of the ship finally asked, his voice quivering. He was a broad man who looked like he’d lived through his fair share of storms on the open seas. “A product of pollution the company is trying to cover up? Some weird experiment that escaped?” 

Ichimaru picked this topic up with a renewed glee. “Goodness, you all dove to conspiracy theories quite fast. I’m almost impressed. But tell me, captain, why would Hueco Mundo bother to dump pollution out in the middle of the ocean?”

“Hueco Mundo would have made us sign an NDA form of some kind if that were the case,” Kurotsuchi pointed out. “Besides, I don’t know why you’re all so afraid of this creature. As fellow researchers, surely you’d all jump at the chance to study something new.”

The crew exchanged uneasy glances. None of them really wanted to be associated with Kurotsuchi, either. He fit the mad scientist bill in every way imaginable.

“When we hired you all on for this project, admittedly, I had no idea what sort of creature we were looking for,” Ichimaru said, surveying the startled crew in front of him. “Kurosaki-kun and…Kurosaki-kun, as our resident shark experts, I think it’s best you work with the creature for now.  The rest of the researchers can provide additional support—”

A howl battered its way to the conference room. The tranquilizer should have knocked the creature out for a solid hour or so. The thing had only been out for fifteen minutes.

Without a second thought, Ichigo, Rukia, and their young assistant, Hanatarō, rushed to their lab. Alarms blared from every corner of the room. The creature had ripped the EKG wires from its chest and now thrashed around in the water, hands squeezed tight over its ears. They rushed to turn the screaming machines off. It was no use. The merman continued to slam himself against the glass.

“We need to calm him down or he’s going to kill himself!” Rukia tossed a catchpole to Hanatarō as he flew up the steps. Just as Ichigo began drawing a sedative from a small vial, she pried another catchpole from storage and trailed after Hanatarō.

Undoing the top latches of the tank through the gap in the catwalk could be tricky, but Hanatarō managed to pry them open. When the creature grinned, it was then, too late, Ichigo realized their mistake.

It yanked the catchpole forward and poor Hanatarō fell into the water. For one dreaded moment, both Ichigo and Rukia thought it would tear him to shreds.

It shot out of the tank faster than they could blink. Ichigo was knocked to the ground and the syringe shattered.

The merman’s claws dug deep into his shoulders. He barely had time to wince before its jaw unhinged. An ear-piercing roar split the air.

Ichigo had been face-to-face with plenty of sharks as a marine biologist. Several of the more aggressive species nearly took bites out of him at one point or another.

None of those experiences held a candle to this.

“Ichigo!”

It whirled over to the source of the voice. Rukia stopped in her tracks, not even daring to blink as it shifted over to her.

Ignoring the pain flaring in his shoulders, Ichigo grabbed hold of its tail before the creature could lurch for his wife. The tips of its claws sliced through the edges of his bangs when it swatted back at him.

Rukia snatched up a new syringe, fingers steady from years of practice as she drew out a few milligrams of sedative.

Suddenly, the creature cried out, not in anger but pure anguish. Its gills opened and shut rapidly. It couldn’t breathe.

Ichigo swore under his breath. The moment he brushed its webbed fingers, the creature slapped its tail against his stomach. He stumbled, grasping at the metal table behind him for balance.

Its tail suddenly split down the middle with a sickening crack. Once alien cries began to sound more and more human. As it continued to struggle, two legs broke through the seam in the tail, kicking it away.

All went still.

In the middle of the lab, surrounded by scattered papers and broken glass, laid not a dead merman, but a human. He heaved a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. The jet black receded, leaving only pale blue irises and pupils flitting around.

For all his ferocity, the man was alarmingly beautiful. The former merman reached out for his tail with trembling fingers. It was too far and he was so, so tired. Finally, his head lolled back.

The silence felt so much louder than all the noise that came before.

The rest of the crew had clambered to the lab in time to witness yet another odd miracle—another impossibility made real.

“How fascinating.”

Kurotsuchi, as always, was the first to speak. His mouth twisted into an unsettling grin as he stepped closer to the merman’s fallen form. “It seems the Kurosakis are not the only ones qualified to study this creature, after all.”

                                              * * *

Priorities shifted in a muddled haze. Kurotsuchi’s team wasted no time in fitting the merman into what looked an awful lot like a prison jumpsuit, if only for decency’s sake. His hair was also cut into a choppy, spiky mess.

Frequent reports of the merman’s stubborn refusal to let anyone touch him afterwards reached the Kurosakis. The two-way glass cell prevented the merman from looking out at his captors. Instead, he often huddled in the corner, refusing to even touch the blanket and pillow provided.

“Has he eaten anything yet?” Ichigo asked when he found his wife standing outside the cell. 

Rukia shook her head. “Hanatarō-kun keeps trying. To put it delicately, this merman’s pissed.”

He snorted. His wife hadn’t been this crude when they first met. Call it his bad influence. Her brother would be horrified at her language.

“I would be, too, if I was abducted by a bunch of scientists who took away my skin.”

She didn’t smile. Admittedly, it was a weak attempt at a joke.

“You mind if I try? I’m not sure if he’ll understand me, but I don’t want him to starve himself.”

Rukia patted his arm and stepped back. The cell doors opened with a faint hiss after he input the code: his wife’s birthday.

The former merman immediately scrambled back to the furthest corner of the cell.

“Hey, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

It sounded like a lie despite all his best intentions. Ichigo sat as far from the other man as he could to show he wasn’t a threat.

“My name is Kurosaki Ichigo. Can you understand me?”

The man narrowed his eyes.

“I got you some food,” Ichigo persisted as he pushed the plate forward. “My wife’s assistant told me you haven’t been eating, so…”

After a moment of searching for the right words to say, he took one sliver of sashimi and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s not great, but it’s the best we have. Decent, at least.”

Not poisoned.

The man’s blue eyes flickered down to the plate. Ichigo didn’t dare move for fear even the slightest shift might set him off.

Suddenly, the man darted forward, limp legs dragging behind him. Maybe he wasn’t used to them yet. Maybe he refused to use them.

The man shoveled the sashimi into his mouth. His teeth were relatively normal by human standards. Outside of his particularly sharp canines, anyway.

Ichigo was struck by the harsh scar running along the side of his face. It was faded, almost silver in the fluorescent lights. He couldn’t have gotten that from when he was captured. Then again, they had no idea how fast merpeople healed after an injury.

“G…Grimmjow.”

Ichigo blinked. “Huh?”

The man scowled. “My name.”

“Wait, so you can speak! Where did you learn to talk?”

He made the mistake of leaning in closer. Grimmjow snarled, a low rumble from deep in his chest, before he retreated back to the far corner of the glass cage.

Ichigo continued to sit there uncertainly until Grimmjow muttered, “Where did you put my tail?”

His tail had been a point of contention among everyone for the past few hours. They all argued over how to handle studying it. Kurotsuchi wanted to dissect it right away. Everyone shot the idea down. There was no telling what cutting up the creature’s tail would do to it.

The only thing everyone could agree on was to conduct more research. Mostly by pooling their knowledge of mermaid myths together to merge new fact with previous fiction.

“If you want the truth, we stored it in the saltwater tank. I didn’t want it to dry out.”

The tension fell from Grimmjow’s shoulders a bit. Then he scowled once more, as if to cover it up. “Che, at least you humans did something right. If you destroy my tail, there’s no way I can go back.”

Back where? Are there more of you? Ichigo wanted to ask him. A researcher’s one weakness. It was the only reason the crew was still out here. If one merman could be found, who was to say they couldn’t capture another?

“Why’re you telling me this?” he asked instead.

Grimmjow turned to face the wall. “You’ve got an honest face. Dumb, wide-eyed. Like a tuna.”

“Hey!”

“You won’t tell anyone.”

How could he be so sure? He didn’t even know him.

And yet, there was such an assured confidence in his voice. Ichigo hated that this creature saw right through him.

“I won’t. I promise you.”

Grimmjow snorted. “Like I said.”

                                               * * *

Ichigo then took Grimmjow’s meals to him on a regular basis. He was the only human on-board Grimmjow seemed to tolerate. That was, until Rukia slowly integrated herself into their shared meals.

When it was clear that she too would leave him be, Grimmjow began to speak more to her. Her determination to teach him to walk and her fixing up his hair a bit probably helped her case, too.

He was a lot more crass than either of them thought a merman could be. Apparently, he’d learned curse words from yakuza members that regularly dumped evidence near where he liked to reside. The Kurosakis never asked to hear more about that.

Kurotsuchi and a few other researchers insisted on installing a camera within the cell to garner more information. Both Ichigo and Rukia shut each attempt down swiftly. They’d made precarious progress with the merman as it was. If they broke that tentative trust now, he’d never speak to them again.

The crew grew antsier the longer the ship scoured the same bit of ocean. It had only been a week and a half since they first caught Grimmjow. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that other merpeople, should more exist, exercise caution around human ships.

Kurotsuchi’s impatience got the better of him, and one night, the Kurosakis woke up to the sound of Grimmjow’s screams.

Ichigo tore down the hall to where the tail was stored while Rukia broke off to Grimmjow’s cell. The crew had strapped the writhing tail down to a table. Stark red bloomed through the small incision cut into its middle.

Kurotsuchi brandished a scalpel, more annoyed at the interruption than anything. “Who let you in here? Nemu, I thought I told you to lock the door.”

His daughter bowed. “I apologize, sir.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Kurotsuchi?” Ichigo snapped, stepping forward. “We still don’t understand how merpeople biology works, and you want to cut open his tail?”

“Have you forgotten that we were hired to research this new species?” Kurotsuchi scoffed. “Do you honestly expect me to wait around for another opportunity to arise? Or were you planning to keep your little pet all to yourself?”

Ichigo grit his teeth. “He’s not anyone’s pet. He doesn’t belong to anyone.”

“Yes, well, it appears as though dissection is no longer a viable option. This link between the creature and its tail is most peculiar. Perhaps I can satisfy myself with studying that, for now. But first…”

Kurotsuchi jabbed a syringe into the tail, drawing out a small vial of red blood.

“Ichimaru-san put me and Rukia in charge of studying him,” Ichigo snapped as Kurotsuchi and the rest of his research crew stalked past him. “If you want to get anywhere near him or his tail again, you better ask us for clearance next time.”

An alarmingly wide grin stretched across Kurotsuchi’s face. “Perhaps I’ll take this up to Ichimaru then. If you and your wife refuse to engage in any worthwhile research, why bother calling yourselves scientists at all? I’m sure Hueco Mundo won’t mind if I perform a few experiments on it, were I in charge.”

Ichigo took several shaky breaths in and out. It took everything in him not to punch that smug bastard scientist in the face.

The tail flopped weakly on the metal table. “Sorry, Grimmjow,” he whispered as he hauled it back in its tank.

It sank to the bottom, unmoving once more. Just as Ichigo was about to head out, a bright light within the tank caught his eye. The cut shimmered a vibrant teal, knitting in on itself in a matter of seconds. 

Ichigo pressed his hand to the glass, awestruck. Yet another miracle. What other magic was Grimmjow capable of?

As it turned out, far more than he thought possible. He found Grimmjow cupping Rukia’s face when he entered the lab. His shoulders stiffened, though not out of a childish jealousy.

Grimmjow’s hand glowed with that same teal light from the tank. Faint red scratches along her left cheek faded, scarred, and eventually disappeared altogether. After a moment, he sighed and rested his head against her shoulder. “Sorry. Doing that takes a lot out of me.”

“It’s fine. Thank you,” she said, patting a tentative hand on the top of his head.

Ichigo cleared his throat and Grimmjow stepped back immediately.

“Your tail’s back in its tank. Kurotsuchi won’t touch it again,” he began, looking between them. “What happened here?”

Grimmjow looked away. “I scratched her face.”

“It was an accident,” Rukia added, if only to quell her husband’s overprotective nature. “He didn’t mean to do it.”

Ichigo swept a gentle thumb along her smooth cheek. Not even a trace of a wound left. This had to be why Hueco Mundo was searching so hard for merpeople. Whatever methods they used to heal themselves would no doubt be distilled into an overpriced pill and distributed worldwide for profit. They’d cure countless wounds, ailments, and diseases—at the expense of an entire species’ freedom.

Grimmjow scratched the back of his head. The red in his ears was not lost to either of them. “You humans are so fragile. Don’t think for a moment I give a shit about either of you. I only healed her because you stopped those bastards from cutting up my tail.”

Ichigo almost laughed. He never knew merpeople could be such bad liars.

“Thanks, Grimmjow. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Grimmjow was granted limited access to the ship’s cafeteria, the deck, and the library soon after the tail debacle. Apparently, the Kurosakis had argued to give him more privileges. He didn’t appreciate their pity, but he couldn’t deny that getting a better lay of his new prison wasn’t half-bad, either.

Assorted seafood and loud, jovial chatter filled the cafeteria the first time he dared leave his cell. The noise died down as soon as the rest of the crew saw him.

Rukia dragged him to a table in the corner, far from their judgment and unfiltered fear. “Don’t let them get to you. You’ll only give them an excuse to isolate you further.”

Ichigo returned with their food soon after and strategically placed himself in front of Grimmjow. He knew that the others’ stares bothered them. Just like he knew to eat at least one of the sashimi to prove it wasn’t drugged.

They were both so unfailingly kind that it almost distracted him from the other crew members’ wary stares. Almost.

Being on deck wasn’t any better. The ocean, vast and expanding and within arm’s reach, felt like a taunt. Waves crashing along the ship sounded more and more like hissing laughter. He was so close. He could feel the sea below. He could taste it.

And yet, he could barely walk on his own. Swimming without his tail was out of the question. Abandoning it entirely was unthinkable.

The library was the only place that didn’t piss him off. Usually, the three of them were left well enough alone here. Quiet and rarely ventured by the rest of the crew, this soon became a haven where the three of them lounged in relative peace.

The lone book on fairy tales seemed so laughably out-of-place before, back when their voyage was within the realm of normal research. Now it was the only text they had to figure out what Grimmjow could be. Various cultures had their own versions of merpeople myths throughout the centuries. Some were vicious creatures that preyed on human sailors. Others were more vulnerable, often taken advantage of by unrelenting men stealing their lives away from them.

Grimmjow was somewhat amused by the Kurosakis scrambling to figure him out. “Humans are always trying to categorize everything. Like the world can fit into neat, little boxes that tell you exactly what it has in store.”

That didn’t stop Ichigo and Rukia from trying, anyway.

Grimmjow did not appear to be a kappa. As much as he hated humans, he was never very interested in eating them. He didn’t appear to be a siren, either. 

“You think my voice is pretty enough to lure random sailors to me?” A laugh threaded through his voice. “You’ve heard me yell before. Tell me that wouldn’t just steer everyone  away  instead.”

Rukia pouted. “Hey, we’re just going through the process of elimination here. Besides, your human voice isn’t that bad to listen to.”

At this, Ichigo nodded.

Grimmjow’s taunting smile fell. “What?”

Both Ichigo and Rukia exchanged a panicked glance.

“Nothing.”

He never pressed the matter afterwards, though he did eye the two fidgeting when they led him back to his cell-converted-bedroom. Despite their best wishes, the crew didn’t see it fit to grant Grimmjow a more comfortable room.

The silence was the worst part of the night. He had always been able to sense that his tail was nearby, but could never get a proper read on where it was. This ship was too damn big, and the other humans were all too glad to shut him out of anything but their pre-approved activities for him.

Ichigo and Rukia wanted to help him. He saw it in their faces. Saw the regret and remorse. And something else underneath that, too. Something he dared not name.

Grimmjow wiped a weary hand over his face. He couldn’t afford to think about that now. Not about a couple of humans. Not when they saw him as nothing more than a monster to study.

His eyes flickered up to the line of photographs the two had taped to his cell wall. In all but one photo, Grimmjow looked either irritated or surprised. The Kurosakis had done their best to get him to smile—and had succeeded on one occasion.

They stuck this photo proudly just above his air mattress. Ichigo had said something stupid and it made him laugh despite himself. Rukia then snapped a photo to capture the moment.

It embarrassed him, at first, but they were both adamant about him keeping it. He refused to even look at it, just to spite them. Now, though, he noticed the light in Rukia’s eyes when she looked over at him. The sly way Ichigo’s hand had inched over his.

His heart jumped to an uncomfortable rhythm. He always hated humans. Hated their cruelty. Hated their curiosity. Hated that they could never leave anything alone.

Ichigo and Rukia were no different. They let him believe that there could be good humans. They made him believe that they actually cared about him.

And maybe he wanted to believe in goodness. In love.

Maybe he wanted…

Grimmjow tossed the photo to the side and collapsed onto the air mattress, face burning at the thought.

Fuck.

                                                    * * *

Instead of getting ready for the night, Rukia went to take a walk. She had to clear her head, get a gulp of fresh sea air. She’d spent too long down in the hull with only her husband and a mythological creature to keep her company. It was no wonder her thoughts grew delirious. Ridiculous, even.

And yet, she couldn’t get the thought of Grimmjow out of her head.

He was a lot more observant than most of the crew gave him credit for. Maybe he’d already figured it out.

There was no denying it: whether as a merman or regular human, Grimmjow was alluring. It was more than the sharp blue of his hair that caught both Ichigo and Rukia’s eyes. Even without his tail, he moved through the ship with a silky swagger, carving his way through every space with intent.

His biting confidence, his sarcasm, his observant wit…

Well, it was no wonder so many writers were enchanted by merpeople.

Rukia was confident in her marriage. It was not as though her love for her husband had diminished just because someone else caught her eye.

Ichigo felt the same way. She’d seen his eyes follow Grimmjow from over the top of his paperwork, the way he leaned in whenever the merman wanted to speak. He had to know how she felt, too, but they never talked about it.

To bring it up would be to admit it, and what kind of unprofessional scientists would they be to fall for their research subject?

Rukia became so lost in thought that she nearly barreled into one of the soldiers stationed on deck. “Lieutenant Matsumoto,” she said, straightening up. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“Oh, Rukia-chan, no need to be so formal! Please call me Rangiku!” the lieutenant crooned. “You and I haven’t had the chance to hang out much. I’m dying for some girl talk.”

Rukia snapped the chance up immediately. Anything to get her out of her own head. “Would you like a drink?”

“I’d love nothing more!” Without warning, Rangiku looped her arm through hers and practically dragged her to the little bar in the cafeteria.

The sake warmed her a bit, which was a relief because the ship was always cold. Her mind became blissfully numb, her tongue a little looser.

Eventually, Rukia gathered the courage to ask, “Why did you sign up for this mission?”

Rangiku looked out onto the deck beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Gin asked me to.”

When Rukia stiffened, she waved her away. “I know, I know. He can be a handful a lot of the time. But I told him to leave you, your husband, and that merman alone. He’s kept to his word so far, right?”

Reluctant to give him any benefit of the doubt, Rukia offered only a curt nod.

Rangiku leaned back with a lax smile. “I’m glad. That merman seems to get agitated easily. If Gin raised that creature’s hackles, I don’t think he’d escape unscathed.”

“Grimmjow isn’t…I mean, he’s temperamental, but he’s not…”

Dangerous? No, that was a lie. The moment he arrived on the ship, when they’d failed to sedate him, he’d nearly killed Ichigo. When his tail was being dissected, he clawed at her face.

Grimmjow was dangerous. He was also, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner. Of course he’d attack anyone he saw as a threat.

Maybe that extended to both her and Ichigo, too. As much as they enjoyed being around him, there was no telling whether or not he felt even remotely the same.

They weren’t any better than the men from mermaid myth who abducted selkies for their own personal gain. Sure, they had forced the crew into a relative stalemate for a time. Grimmjow might trust them to an extent. None of it would be enough.

“You and your husband spend a lot of time around him. What’s he like?” Rangiku asked, leaning her head against her hand.

Rukia shifted in her seat. “Grimmjow is…admittedly not what we expected. He’s very rude. Not elegant like all the legends say. He has anger issues and he’s always trying to pick a fight.”

“He sounds similar to your husband, actually.”

“They’re both utter fools,” she conceded. “But that doesn’t mean Grimmjow deserves to be prodded or experimented on or used. I’ve studied plenty of fish species before, but what we’re doing is just…insane. He can talk and think and he’s…he’s…”

“Different?” Rangiku offered.

“Yes, but it’s more than that. How are we supposed to justify any of this? If we find more merpeople, what will Hueco Mundo do to them?”

“That’s not something I like to think about. ‘s pretty messed up.”

At this, Rukia stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Rangiku slumped against the bar. “Mmm, I overheard Gin say somethin’ like the higher-ups are getting anxious. They were really getting on his case about it. If we don’t send in any valuable reports or find more merpeople soon, we might have to force that mer-guy to talk to us.”

“By force, do you mean you’re going to…”

“I mean, not me personally. I don’t have the stomach for torture.” Rangiku downed another shot. “I don’t doubt they’d put Kurotsuchi in charge of this project again, though.”

A chill ran down Rukia’s spine. If Kurotsuchi got ahold of Grimmjow again, there was no telling how far he’d go. He had already been willing to dissect his tail without reservation nor permission.

Rukia stood up abruptly. “I…I think I’ll be heading off to bed now, Rangiku-san. Thanks for drinking with me.”

“No problem. I’ve had enough science talk for one night,” Rangiku said, patting her on the back. “We should do this again sometime. Maybe when we’re not shackled to work.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

And she did. A vague plan hatched in her mind, the pieces not quite connecting but nearly there.

When she got back to her room, she found Ichigo reading through that book of fairy tales one more time.

“You’re still up?”

He set the book aside on their nightstand. “Couldn’t sleep. I was…thinking.”

She didn’t need to ask what consumed him. “Rangiku-san told me that if Grimmjow doesn’t tell us about the whereabouts of more merpeople soon, they’re going to turn him over to Kurotsuchi.”

Ichigo scowled. “I’d like to see them try.”

“We need to help him escape.”

And there it was. Not a confession, but another emotion laid bare. Alcohol always dulled her usual common sense.

Ichigo took her hands in his, and it was only then she began to fall apart. “I care about him,” she went on. “I…I want to know more about him, but not like this. Not for the sake of people who will use him. Don’t you?”

Ichigo brushed his lips against her knuckles. “I do. But I care about you, too, Rukia. I don’t want us to lose our jobs.”

She snorted. “We’ll lose more than that if we fail.”

“Your brother can afford the best lawyers to get us off scot-free.”

It sounded more like a plea than a fact. His smile wasn’t all that reassuring, either.

“Using the Kuchiki connections can only get us so far. If we help him, it would be considered a breach of contract. We’d have no case to defend.”

Her husband fiddled with the wedding band on her finger. He’d always been a good man. She could count on that, if nothing else.

Ichigo heaved a heavy sigh. Always one for the dramatics, her husband. She knew he’d follow her anywhere if she asked him to.

“What do you have in mind?”

                                               * * *

The first phase of their plan involved getting to know the crew. Ichigo befriended a few of the soldiers on camera duty under the guise of wanting to install a couple cameras in Grimmjow’s cell. They were easier to fool than he thought.

Getting them drunk wasn’t an issue. They were so bored with their mission that they had nothing else to do but drink. The research was best left to the scientists, they said. No need for them to get involved if they just had the one tightly-bound prisoner.

Rukia got information about the soldier’s nightly patrols from Rangiku and managed to map out their routes. All of it was in place.

Overloading the ship’s electric grid was simple. When Ichigo called for their assistant to bring him and the security crew more drinks, he tripped him and let the drinks splatter over the controls. The monitors blinked off and the rest of the ship’s electricity shut down almost instantly.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Hanatarō sputtered.

The tipsy security team fumbled for their flashlights and barked orders to their fellow soldiers. “Come help me start the generator! We need to reserve enough energy to get this damn ship back to shore for repairs.”

Hanatarō trailed after the soldiers, playing the part of the guilty party to a T. Should any of the soldiers go off-course, he’d alert the Kurosakis as soon as possible.

Rukia would secure the tail and Ichigo would take Grimmjow to the deck. It should have been simple. During lockdown, everyone was supposed to be confined to their rooms.

Rangiku was not supposed to be out tonight.

Rukia froze in place, the tail hefted over her shoulder. There was nothing she could do to plead her case.

Rangiku looked torn. A soldier’s orders were absolute. She had to turn them in, and Rukia had no doubt she would. A couple nights at the bar wasn’t enough time to build up a friendship.

“Go.”

Rukia gawked at her, uncertain if she had heard her right.

“Don’t make me say it again, Rukia-chan.”

Rukia hesitated for only a moment then bowed deep. “Thank you.”

A weary smile broke across Rangiku’s face. “I still expect us to have a girl’s night sometime after all this.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Rukia said with a small smile of her own.

The time window was slim. There was hardly any margin for error here. Even a stray soldier falling behind on their patrols could screw everything up.

The three met up on deck not too long after. Ichigo led Grimmjow by the wrist to their meeting point. It was only when he caught sight of his tail did he realize what was going on.

“Why the hell are you helping me?” he asked, wide-eyed.

Ichigo handed over Grimmjow’s tail. “Look, the last few weeks have been pretty weird…and great, too. But you can’t stay here.”

“It’s not right to keep you here. Hueco Mundo will end up killing you.” Rukia squeezed his arm. “We don’t want to see that happen to you, Grimmjow.”

A startled blush crawled across Grimmjow’s face and he faced the sea. “Che, you’re both so honest. It’s gross.”

Rukia smiled and drew out one last present. “If you ever want to meet up again, I drew a map for you to follow. This place is safe, I promise you that.”

Both men turned to look at the bottle in her hand.

“A message in a bottle? Seriously?” her husband groaned.

“What? It was the only way I could think to keep it dry!”

“Please tell me it doesn’t have your weird rabbit drawings on it,” he said. “Or wait, it’s written in some stupid code, right?”

Rukia elbowed him in the side. “You idiot! I want him to find us again.”

Much to their surprise, Grimmjow started to laugh. “You’re both idiots.”

He stepped forward and planted his lips firmly on Ichigo’s. Rukia made a startled noise in her throat when he did the same to her.

A genuine grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

In a blink, he was gone. Ichigo and Rukia peered into the churning water. The telltale splash rippled across the water.

They did it. Grimmjow was free.

They made it back to their room without any incident whatsoever. Another miracle maybe? Or had this entire trip been one feverish dream?

The crew woke them up for individual interrogations a couple hours later. With no evidence and no camera footage to prove their whereabouts that night, however, they couldn’t be held responsible for Grimmjow’s strange disappearance.

Ichigo had told the drunken soldiers that he’d go to his room right when the power went off, as they ordered, and that’s where they found him and his wife. They had no case. No witnesses came forward.

The merman had simply vanished into the sea without a trace.

The Kurosakis quit the research venture as soon as they hit land. A few other researchers followed suit. The past few weeks were more than any of them ever asked for.

After their ordeal, they definitely needed a vacation. Rukia’s brother’s island would do just nicely.

They spent the day on a pristine white beach, enjoying the cool breeze and their shady picnic. Once sunset floated over the horizon, they walked along the dock to get a better view.

“Do you think he’ll come?” Rukia asked.

“Only one way to find out.”

They waited, sitting at the edge of the dock as the waves roiled underneath them. Suddenly, a blue and white beast launched out of the water just a few feet from the dock. Hope pulled them forward to a new beginning.

Rukia squatted at the edge of the dock. Familiar black eyes surfaced to meet hers. She leaned forth to plant a small kiss to his forehead.

Grimmjow scowled. “See, this is why I hate humans. You’re both so annoying.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes, but Rukia simply laughed.

“Yeah, yeah. We love you, too.”

[fratsweetie]

this was the new york city weekend:

cold and bright on friday and i overslept on account of waking up next to the man i love and cherishing the feeling as if it has not happened hundreds of times before and over lunch i went to bushwick to pick up a chair that didn’t work and the super was drilling in the courtyard so loud it made my room shake and when i logged off i got dressed in my one hundred and one dalmatians overalls, stolen from my sister’s closet, and i went to the whitney solo and i cried at the puerto rican art exhibit thinking about my home languishing so far away and so mad at the white people not understanding and making crass jokes and the tour guide who acted like it is a third world country and everyone is waiting to be saved and i took in the gorgeous gorgeous lights of this beautiful place i live in from the top deck and i walked back to my train and i ran back to my home and changed and met my father and my uncles and my cousin for late late dinner on the upper east side and the old fashioned burned my throat all the way down and my sandwich fell apart in my hands and my dad called me an uber by 11:55 and when i got home the man i love came home too.

then saturday was dreary rainy gray cold all day and it was so hard to get up off the bed but i did and i picked up my laundry and i got us two coffees (cold brew and a double espresso) and two donuts (white frosting and sour cream) and we laughed so hard for hours and watched law and order as if nothing had ever been so enthralling and when we arose at 4pm i began to schlep to manhattan to meet my father and uncles for dinner and i had to stop and buy a hat because my bangs were soaked through and when i found out they were going to a seafood boil restaurant and my allergies precluded me from going there i went to jack’s wife freda like a normie on my own and sat at the dim bar and ate two overpriced eggs and drank two drinks and in the bathroom they played françoise hardy and i went to the met to kill the time and when i was there in the spanish courtyard on the first floor who did i see on the second floor balcony but the man i love and overwhelmed with the joy of coincidence, of finding someone in a city of eight million i was going to let the moment soak in and not say anything and then he yelled my name from above but i was listening to music and i couldn’t hear and two rooms later he sends me a message and when i look up there he is! with his friend and he is wearing the jacket i got him for christmas and he introduces us and his friend is about to leave so he asks me if i want to stay there with him but my father is about to arrive and i have to go and we go to first avenue and get drunk at an old person diner and when i get home the man i love asks if he can come meet me and of course he can.

then magnificent sunday the first real day of spring everyone is in shorts i urge him to leave the bed before his sunday scaries take hold and we plan to get a pre brunch before our actual brunch but both places are full but oh, miracle, we walk to the other end of our neighborhood and we grab an outdoor table at a wonderful restaurant and we sit in the blinding sun and my duck confit is perfectly cooked and we share a cup of coffee because suddenly we are both broke and we walk to his place because he is in too many layers for such a beautiful day and i try to convince him to wear shorts but none of his shoes match and we decide to walk all the way down to prospect park, a beautiful 3 miles in the sunshine, and it feels like everyone is finally out like everyone has awoken from the mild winter and realized life in community is better than any other life and on the steps of the public library life feels so worth living and we sit on a bench and i lay my head on his shoulder and watch the buds on the trees shake and everyone around us bask in joy and i am scared a mole on my leg may be skin cancer and we sit on my (his) jacket on the lawn and listen to whale sounds and start walking back home and i have to lie to a restaurant server to use the bathroom and on the thirty minute ride home i sleep on him and when we are back in our neighborhood we get the first good chinese food we have had in a month and he asks if i will go home with him and watch him play video games and i say no but not because i don’t want to because of course i want to eat up all the time i can possibly get with him i want it forever but because i am being better about not canceling every plan whenever i am presented with the opportunity to be with him and my roommates and i want to watch succession so we do and i eat terrible snacks and i keep falling asleep because i am exhausted from a beautiful weekend and when my head hits my pillow i am out in a second. and it was all so good.

[emilovestheatre]

into the woods (the movie)

i have to start this by saying that i do like this movie! it has gorgeous cinematography and exciting costuming! it’s a nice watch!

however…. 

in comparison to the work of art that is the original stage version,,, it is just simply not as good! the source material of the film is one of my favourite pieces of theatre, so of course i am going to be critical! 

firstly, into the woods is a musical with dark themes and symbolism that deeply reflect the world we live in,,, and it is also absolutely hilarious!! so many of the really funny jokes in the musical, were played straight and seriously in the movie. for example, when rapunzel’s tears cure her prince of his blindness, she jerks forward comically. but in the movie, she dramatically cries and the scene moves on, but its so much heavier than the musical. all of these moments make the movie would make the second half of the movie not feel like its dragging the rest of the show. these moments keep the show from just being dark and dreary. into the woods is so much more than just the serious parts.

secondly, they cut out so many songs!!! all of these cut songs (though some are short songs) add so much to the show!! i understand having to change and adapt it for the screen, with overall movie length, but as an avid lover of the musical, it was disappointing. even if they did have to cut all of those songs for time, i wish they could have saved no more from being cut. no more is such a powerful song. the baker finds (the spirit of??) his father in the woods as he has abandoned the group and his newborn son, just like his father did to him, and convinces him that its wrong and he needs to go back to them. this number is so emotional and cutting it takes away so much. and having james corden cry while the instrumental version of it plays was just a disappointing tease and i wish they just used to song instead.

thirdly, i actually really loved the costumes! all of them! but cinderella’s ball dress. i know it could be to make it easier for anna kendrick to run around the woods in but they do the same running in the musical and the dress is infinitely more gorgeous and dreamy. 

fourthly, i think jack should have been played by a teenager/young man. with jack being played by a child, most of the comedy and his character is gone. this made his mother seem borderline abusive rather than tired of his childish behaviours. the whole point of jack’s character is to be this man-child who needs to grow up (like many other characters), and with him being played by a child, it leaves his character dull. jack in the musical is so hilariously oblivious to the world outside of just him and his cow, but now his character only seems needed for the plot lines to occur. this is not to take away from daniel huttlestone’s incredible talent!

fifthly, the singing! sondheim writes the most complex and beautiful music, full of unexpected intervals, and unusual and difficult timing. and i will be the first to say how hard it is! but i fear that because the actors were so focussed on the actual music and getting each note, it started to sound very rigid. it lost a bit of expression and vulnerability. while i think they all did a great job singing this (VERY) difficult score (though many songs had the keys altered to lower),, i wish they had just a bit more training or something! i also wish they kept ‘your fault’ the original speed, though its hard, with it slowed down, this impressive song becomes, very annoying and i know so many non-theatre people who hate it because of this!

sixthly, into the woods has a comic-like brightness in its set,, on stage that is. this was not carried though. the movie has a consistent misty blue hue to represent the mysteriousness of the woods. but while this darker, deeper, more mysterious side is very apparent in into the woods (the stage musical),,, it has more depth, and its dark themes are presented in a subtler way. a huge part of into the woods is the evolution between acts, from bright fairytale-like to dark and real. i wish the movie had more lighter moments, other than the occasional remark or trying to get laughs through getting hurt (i did not find the prince crashing into the tower that funny,, sorry).

seventhly, one scene that i really loved (possibly even more than the musical) was little red’s song, i know things now. the sequence of her being inside the wolf going down his throat was both fantastical and incredible! it was very theatrical and i loved it! very cleverly done!

eighthly, i wish the narrator was not the baker, and, like the stage production, played by the mysterious man. i understand that while changing mediums (from stage to film) its not as easy to transfer this kind of thing,, but they could have had him narrate from like in front of what the camera was showing (does that make sense, maybe not.). having him played by the mysterious man (and more importantly, NOT the baker) would change the show so much. at the end of the show, there is a beautiful moment where the baker starts telling his son “the story of how it all happened” and it is such an emotional, tender moment. this is the first time he has had to step up and be the father figure in his son’s life that he did not have growing up. his wife is dead, he has no other choice. but with the narration being done by the baker the entire way though, this moment at the end loses its charm.

ninthly, the witch. now listen, i LOVE meryl streep and her interpretation of the witch was like no other. however…. the witch is cheeky, funny, sarcastic, and all around a troublemaker. meryl’s witch is *sometimes* like this, but overall far too scary. but i do not think this was her fault at all,, the direction of this movie was taking it in a darker more literal sense, and in that case, she delivered! the witch can change the entire show. she is the core, she is the driving force, and she is the power in the show. her emotional arc is so significant and her presence is electrifying! into the woods’ witch IS scary, mean, and horrible BUT she is also all of those funny and silly things from before! again, i don’t think this is a meryl streep problem, but more of a general movie thing.

tenthly, the changes to the plot, though necessary with it being a disney movie, makes it sometimes confusing and less impactful. jack’s mother’s death is probably the weirdest. but the changes from rapunzel being squashed by the giant to just running away with her prince, is nowhere near as impactful in terms of the witch’s response. the witch’s “child”, the only person she (seems to) has ever loved, a person she put her entire heart and soul into (which, ended up being overprotective and making rapunzel crazy, so,, you know,, thats not good),, has been crushed right in front of her. this moment, followed by the witch singing her lament, is one of the most heartbreaking in the show,, it makes us (as the audience) sympathise with this person who has cause such terror! this is not the case in the movie. and the bakers wife falling off a cliff???? weird, but i guess needed for disney? i don’t know.

eleventhly, maybe i am biased because i have played the bakers wife myself, but emily blunt as the bakers wife is perfection! she is the perfect mix of determined, kind, morally grey, motherly, stubborn and everything the bakers wife should be! her chemistry and natural connection with james corden as the baker is so beautiful and absolutely one of my favourite parts of the movie! 

to conclude, while this seems heavily negative (and biased towards the musical), i do really like this movie! it did a lot of things right! but you will always be biased to the original you know and love, right? it is rare the movie version of a musical is better or even equal to the musical (other than, in my opinion, chicago)! this is one of my all time favourite shows and i’m glad it got to be shared to a wide demographic of people, even if it was quite the best version in my opinion!

[softykooky]

the habits of a broken heart.

☾ genre : soulmates au, unrequited love, art student!JK, english student!Y/N, angst, fluff, subtle enemies to lovers

☾ pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

☾ summary : jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak. 

alternatively,

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

☾ word count: 26.3k (my biggest one yet!)

☾ author’s note: this took forever oh my gosh! i really hope you like it! it’s my first time writing such a big single piece, and trying a different style. thank you so much for your support, always! please let me know what you think ♡

The first time he had his heart broken, Jeon Jungkook had been 13 years old. He was fresh out of middle school and so ready to face his freshman year with an impressionable mind and plenty of voice cracks to earn him months worth of teasing. You see, at the age of 13, Jungkook wasn’t something to swoon over. He had yet to grow into his ears and Dr. Park assured him that his braces would be off as soon as she could get them. He was a little lanky and a bit too reticent to be considered social. So when a girl in his grade comes up to him, nervous and stuttering, and asks him to go to the heavily romanticized homecoming dance, Jungkook has already come to the conclusion that she might be his soulmate, even if he was far too young to get his mark yet. 

Her name was Mina, and Jungkook is confronted with this memory every time he visits home and his mother makes the family flip through the photo albums dating back to his high school years. He grimaces every time he sees the picture of them together. Him in a pink button-up to match her offensively ugly ruffled taffeta dress. 

Mina broke up with him three months after that picture was taken, through one of her friends no less and in front of his entire gym class. Jungkook couldn’t remember how long he cried for while he felt the pain from his first heartbreak would never go away, regardless of how much time passes. He held onto his mother and sobbed out the agony and humiliation of Mina not wanting to be his girlfriend anymore, and how he had lost his soulmate before he even knew it was her. His mother assured him that without the mark, there was no way to be sure and that there was hope. But back then, all Jungkook could think of was ways to avoid Mina the next day, especially when they sat next to each other in 3rd period biology.  

At 13 years old, Jungkook thought he would never find love again. 

He is 18 when he stands alongside his parents in a pale examination room and awaits his destiny. He’s leaving for college the next day, yet the only thing that’s making him nervous is the mark that will inevitably appear on his wrist in the next few minutes. The same one he would find on his soulmate’s, and Jungkook wonders if there is the possibility of scaring everyone away when the first thing he’ll ask on a date is: can I please see your wrist? 

To say the least, Jungkook is petrified. Because that mark on his wrist is going to serve as a constant reminder of his missing piece, and Jungkook knows he’ll always feel lacking until he finds them. It’s a crescent moon. Small and black and nestled comfortably on his skin. He knows many times the marks don’t have any correlation with the couples, but Jungkook wonders if you are an astrologist. Or an astronaut. Or just had a weird affinity for the moon. He smiles when they congratulate him and can’t stop himself from thinking that he might be in love with you already. Wherever you are. When he leaves for university, he feels less lonely when there is a crescent moon to accompany him. 

Contrary to the beliefs of his 13-year old self, Jungkook does fall in love again. Hard. This time, it was a girl with brown hair and big eyes and a smile so pretty he could see it from across a crowded room. She was a grade below him; a frazzled college freshman with no clue to where her lecture hall was, and he: a sophomore who had a compulsion of changing his major every other month. When he met her, it had been chemical engineering and three weeks before that was film composition. Her name was Yoojung, 18 years old while he was 19.

 Her soulmate mark is a single star, and even though he knows she is not his soulmate, he can’t help but to think how perfectly their marks complement each other. How they would make a perfect night sky. 

They had met at a frat party, no less, and the combination of cheap booze and bad hiphop music had made her look so incredibly gorgeous under the dim lighting. They had their first kiss in a random person’s living room, highly intoxicated and much too irresponsible and Jungkook had barely even remembered it in the morning until she showed up at his doorstep and invited herself in. Yet it wasn’t too long before he made a perfect space for Yoojung in his life.

 Each day after his physics lecture, he’d go to her dorm and they’d chat over breakfast until she had economics at 10 o’ clock. After she was done, he’d insist that they go get a greasy hamburger at the joint his friends took him to when they got high and, she’d end up dragging them both to the health food restaurant that prided themselves on only using organic. Leave it to Jungkook to find himself a vegan girlfriend. 

Sometimes though, when he looks at Yoojung, his mind drifts to his actual soulmate and a little flower named guilt blooms in his chest. But he is so young and his other half could be anywhere in the world, so Jungkook thinks there is no harm in allowing himself to indulge in a little affection. These days, it wasn’t completely abnormal for soulmates to part ways, and when Yoojung is in his arms, Jungkook likes to think that his soulmate would understand. They would want him to be happy. In the middle of synchronizing their busy student schedules and sneaking in quick kisses through cramming for finals, he had found it unnervingly easy to fall in love with her. 

Deeply and blindly in love. 

Yoojung brought him home to her family on fall breaks and the occasional winter vacation and Jungkook had melded perfectly into their dynamic. The son I never had, her father would tell him over the dinner table while her mother constantly made sure his plate was piled high. Her little sister was visibly in love with him, and would ask Yoojung where he was every time she came home from university, yet avoiding him at all costs when he was there. 

Jungkook’s own family, however, was a different story. To put it delicately, they had liked it more when he came home by himself and left her at school. It had put a strain on their relationship sure, but at the end of the day, Jungkook loved her. A simple love. 

Every day he remembers that their marks do not match. But if this is love and he feels like he is on cloud 9 with every moment they are together, Jungkook begins to doubt if the universe’s will is truly divine and successful. Maybe Yoojung was his soulmate and it did not matter what was on their wrists. 

He loved her intensely, and she did him. She was the first thing on his mind when he woke up and manifested in his dreams when he slept at night. To Jungkook, Yoojung could do no wrong. Like some sort of divine being or angel that the heavens sent just for him, and he found himself thinking maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life beside her. 

But he would come to learn that the higher the climb...the harder the fall. 

Jungkook and Yoojung were together for the better part of 4 years before she cheated on him with a guy that she’d supposedly met a couple weeks ago. When Jungkook screams at her asking why she had been disloyal, Yoojung shows him her wrist. Her single inked star. 

“I found my soulmate, Jungkook. And I love you so much, you know I do. I didn’t know how to tell you so I…”

The rest of her words fade into white noise and all Jungkook can do is look at her and commit every detail to memory as he feels her fade farther away. Her teary and remorseful brown eyes. Her plush lips. The fan of her eyelashes and the mole on the side of her temple. He’ll never get to see her like this again. 

“I was ready to be with you, soulmate or not. I know it’s not fair but I wanted the same from you”, he whispers, falling down on the couch and burying his face in his hands. 

“Soulmates be damned, the universe was wrong. I was so hideously in love with you. How could you not at least tell me when you met him?” Jungkook feels his heart collapsing in on itself with every word of resignation. Of burgeoning acceptance. Yoojung can only mirror his desolate expression and stares down at the star on her skin.

 Jungkook wishes it were a moon. 

“Just go, Yoojung.” 

It would have hurt less if it was only a one night stand with a stranger she did not know the name of. He was in love and spineless enough to move past a one night stand. However, Yoojung had found her soulmate and fallen in love with him. Jungkook had merely acted as a placeholder for the real deal to come along and sweep her off her feet. 

This time he doesn’t cry. Just stares out the window of his living room and wonders what it would be like to disappear altogether. When the door is slammed shut, and he is left to nurse his aching soul, Jungkook apologizes in advance to the person that shares the same mark on their wrist as him. He no longer believes that soulmates exist. 

When Jungkook looks back at his 13 year old self with the innocent construct of what heartbreak feels like, he wants to laugh and maybe slap that stupid boy upside the head. Yoojung had destroyed him. Destroyed the innocent and starry-eyed person that he’s tried so hard to preserve. Destroyed his vulnerability and bright outlook on life and in their place, cultivated walls of rock and steel meant to keep everyone out and him safely tucked inside. In her wake, Yoojung left behind a shell of a man who pushed his emotions so deep he became numb and forgot what it was like to feel. 

So Jungkook does what he always does to push away the hurt. He changes his major; to art history this time. He stacks up bracelets on his wrist to forget the mark of a moon. He scrapes up his rainy day money and treats himself to the most expensive pair of Saint Laurent boots he’s ever worn. He tests the limits of the human liver, and takes advantage of the biceps and jawline he’s acquired since high school to establish a reputation. 

To his friends, Jungkook remained raucous and always down to order infinite rounds of shots until he couldn’t see straight. To those that looked even closer, Jungkook was so completely shattered he didn’t even feel it anymore. 

The second time he had his heart broken, Jungkook was 23. He promised himself he wouldn’t let it happen again. 

◐

“For the last time, Jimin, I’m not going to give you a blowjob so you can pay for my student loans.”

You don’t know how many times you’ve had this conversation with your roommate. Most of the time, it was convenient to have a roommate whose parents were loaded and sent him monthly installments that looked more like small loans than allowances. You knew he just wanted to help. Heck, he probably would be willing to pay them off for you without the promiscuous favor, but you had made it clear to Jimin that you wouldn’t be riding off of his charity. 

“Ugh, Y/N you’re really no fun”, he sighs, falling backwards onto your twin-sized bed and feigning devastation. You reward his melodrama with a giggle, ruffling your hands through his fried hair. Jimin had a knack for changing his hair color as quickly as his mood. 

You look at the bill that’s staring back at you from your computer screen, and it feels like it’s just reached out and punched you in the face. “Hey do you think it’s a common mistake for bank tellers to add a few too many zeroes?” 

“Y/N.” 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m rationalizing as a self-defense mechanism.” Sometimes it was annoying that your roommate had a degree in psychology. Then again, Jimin was making more money than you and your degree in English. 

You sigh deeply and look up at the ceiling in attempts to quell your tears of frustration. And also because it is a plea to whoever is up there controlling your destiny: please I’m begging you. Melt my debt away. 

You and Jimin sit in comfortable silence and he plays with the hem of your worn comforter while you scroll through the emails you have been ignoring in your inbox. You want to smash your head in at all the deadlines. Times like these, there is one thing that brings you comfort and always has since you turned 18. 

The quaint little crescent moon that sits right atop your radius. 

You had a habit of pressing your thumb against it and feeling your pulse against the mark, stupidly wondering if your soulmate’s heartbeat has synched up with your own. If he was out there somewhere, touching his mark and wondering the same about you. He was taking his sweet time, that’s for sure. Jimin sees your nervous tic and sighs again.

“You’re so hopelessly romantic it makes me want to barf, Y/N.” You scowl at his words and chuck a pillow at his unsuspecting face. 

“I don’t understand you, Jimin. Your soulmate is out there and you’re not the slightest bit curious? You don’t want to do anything extra to find them?” Jimin looks at you with a knowing smile.

“That’s exactly it, though. I know they’re my soulmate and I’ll find them when the time is right. So why worry about it? It’s better not to force anything.” His statement is followed up with a grin and his fingers reach out to pinch your cheeks. This was the dynamic of your friendship. He is easy-going and flows like a careless river. You’ve read one too many books to not vie and daydream for the moment you lock eyes with your soulmate. 

Your mom always said that you’ll know just from a look. It’s like getting hit over the head with a ray of sun, she said. Like suddenly their eyes are the only eyes you ever want to look into again. Since then, you’ve dreamt for the day you find someone with that same moon on their wrist. For now though, you had more immediate concerns more along the lines of crippling debt. 

“What do I do, Jimin? Should I be a stripper?” He laughs and the thought makes you groan. You couldn’t even walk in heels, much less try to dance or look like you didn’t have two left feet. Stripper life just wasn’t for you. 

“Hm...I could call in a few favors for you at the office. Get you an internship or secretary position.” 

“Maybe. Too much nepotism. Your father owns the office you work at”, you remind him, and his eyebrows crease further in thought. God, maybe you do have to be a stripper.

“Wait!” Jimin yelps so suddenly you almost fling the computer off your lap. 

“I think I know someone. He’s been looking for a model for his art portfolio or something, and he said he’s willing to pay.” Jimin reaches for his phone and his thumbs type up a storm while you watch from the sideline. 

“I think he mentioned it’s about a month-long project. You’d just have to be on call whenever a stroke of genius arrives.” 

“That sounds great! I’m an amazing model!” you crow, to which Jimin giggles again.

“The several candids I have in my camera roll tell a different story, Y/N.” Naturally, he receives another pillow to the face. But you follow up with a cheery kiss to his cheek as you rejoice in the new opportunity for cash flow by a celebratory dance, which looks more like a wiggle when you remain seated on your bed. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, you chirped, “I owe you one.”

“Hey...I know how you can repay me.”

 When you look towards him, his eyebrows are raised inquisitively and there’s a devilish smirk on his lips.

Jimin gets a third pillow to his face that day. 

◓

Jungkook’s favorite type of arguments to get into is whether Neo-classicism or post-impressionism had the most impact on European art and architecture. Call him a snob, but he loves to prattle on about Degas and Caillebotte until his opponent tires or concedes out of pure exhaustion. Jungkook regards it as a battle strategy: bore your enemy so that they stop fighting. 

He’s in the middle of a heated debate with his classmate from graduate school when he receives a phone call from Park Jimin. Now, Jungkook has no idea how or when Jimin became an installment in his life, or how he’s roped his way into his inner circle. He just remembers waking up one day with a killer hangover and finding that there was a pink-haired stranger lying on his floor. When he tried to shoo him out, the stranger shoved a wad of money in his shirt pocket, muttering “just five more minutes”, and Jungkook was in no position to deny easy cash. Jungkook now considers Jimin one of his close friends. 

“What’s up, Jiminie?” He laughs into the microphone. 

“I told you not to call me that, you brat. I’m older than you.” 

“I’m taller than you.”

“My dick is bigger.”

“I-okay fine you got me there.” He hears Jimin wheeze over the line as he tries to rein himself in to say what he needs to say. 

“In all seriousness, though. I have a proposition for you.” Jimin lilts in a mischievous tone, which makes Jungkook nervous enough to get up from the café table he had been sitting at with his friend and careen to a quieter corner. 

“Shoot.”

“Okay, so you know how you were telling me about your portfolio for the gallery. The one you have to submit by the end of the season? How you needed a model on call 24/7 in case inspiration struck?” 

Jungkook wants him to spit it out because he has been searching high mountains and low valleys for someone that would be willing to be his muse for a month or two. Constantly at his beck and call so he can finish this damn portfolio and get his name out there in the art world. Maybe start debating post-impressionism with the cream of the crop. 

“I think I’ve found someone to do that for you.” Jungkook exhales in relief at his words.

“She’s my roommate and she’s super low on cash and unemployed with a bachelor’s in English literature, so she’s got time to spare.” Perfect. That way, Jungkook can call her whenever he needs to.

“That’s amazing, Jiminie. Can she meet me at the art building tomorrow at noon? We can start right away.” Jungkook breathes through the phone, a small weight coming off his shoulders now that another thing had been accomplished. One less thing he had to worry about on the journey to his goal. Jimin confirms the plans and they exchange pleasantries before Jungkook hangs up as the man on the other line starts screaming about his burning lunch on the stove. 

Jungkook catches sight of the mark on his wrist when he looks down, and quickly rearranges his bracelets so that it is once again covered to his eyes. Out of sight and out of mind. 

The gallery portfolio had been a thorn in his side. It had been months in the making and if he allows himself to reminisce, Jungkook remembers the nights he and Yoojung stayed up until dawn and talked about his blossoming interest in art. How he wanted a space of his own to display his works. Back then, she listened to him with stars in her eyes and basked in the afterglow of post-coital cuddling, promising that she would help him achieve it. 

His heart sinks at the memory of the imprint of her tresses of hair spilling on his bedspread. He burned those sheets the second she left. 

Jungkook represses his intrusive thoughts about Yoojung and wills her to get out of his head. He forces it down until it feels like he’s just dumped ice water over his heart and vomited out any semblance of emotion. He makes his way back to the cafe table with a sly smile that hides the internal ache he’s promised himself to never let anyone suspect of. 

“So what were you saying about Renoir’s Moulin de la Galette?”

◑

The art building is situated besides a library, with a bakery flanking its left. Two years spent at the university, and you’ve never once stepped foot there. Maybe it was the daunting abstract sculpture on the front lawn or the prejudices you held against annoying art snobs on their high horses, but you often found yourself subconsciously avoiding the space in intimidation. 

“Okay, Y/N, you’re going to do this so you can pay off your loans”, you whisper under your breath, words meant for your ears and no one else’s. “And if he asks you to pose nude, you run the opposite direction.” 

It was easy to get lost in the building. For art students that know how to draw, they really took advantage of abstractionism to make the most confusing map you had ever seen in your life. Luckily, with some direction from the vapid front desk secretary and some intuition, you were able to to find room 62B. You don’t think you’ll be able to forget the number 62B if you tried, Jimin had screamed it to you so many times as you left the apartment. 

The door soundlessly opens with a nudge of your hand and you stick your head inside.

“You know when Jimin told me he found me a model, he didn’t mention her lack of punctuality.” His voice is calm and subdued with no lingering annoyance, even if his words are uncourteous. You whip around to him and the first sight you see of Jeon Jungkook is merely a tuft of brown hair behind a vast canvas. And some expensive looking leather boots that anchor his feet to the ground. 

You clear your throat and approach with an outstretched hand and the shiniest smile you can muster. 

“I’m Y/N. Jimin’s roommate. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You can call me Jungkook.”

It is when he steps out from behind the canvas that you finally understand what your mother meant when she said meeting your soulmate feels like getting hit over the head with a ray of sunshine. You can’t describe it any other way, but that’s exactly what it feels like. Like the air becomes so sweet in your lungs it turns to viscous honey. Like suddenly the person standing in front of you is Valentine, encapsulated. 

You know he feels it too, yet you don’t know why he forces himself to remain blasé, and if you hadn’t seen his widened eyes and heard the gasp from his lips you would have never suspected anything at all. Stranger courtesy is abandoned and you forcefully grab his wrist, turning it over to find his mark while pulling up your sleeve to reveal your own. 

A little black crescent moon.

Right on the pulse point.

Just like your’s. 

When you finally muster up the nerve to look into his eyes again, you wonder if it is healthy for the human heart to beat so fast and so thunderously it feels ready to jump out of your chest. Jungkook, however, still wears that same expression on his face. Flat and cold, not even a glimmer in his eyes. He stares at you disinterested and wrenches his wrist from your grasp. 

“Wait, Jungkook...aren’t you….”, you sputter through a desperate smile, “aren’t you happy?” He stays silent and trains his attention on the canvas in front of him, but you can see the conflict that swirls in his iris. 

“I’ve been looking for you for so long! And I’ve finally found you. In the art building no less, just my luck that-”

“Y/N, I don’t know what you expect from me but I’m not looking for anything right now.” 

There were no objectively ugly words. But you think the ones that have just spewed from Jungkook’s lips come pretty close. They stoke a fire in your chest.

“What do you mean? We’re soulmates”, you faltered, sinking deeper into confusion as you stare at the unaffected man in front of you, whose only concern is the conglomerate of paint on his palette. 

Jungkook sighs monotonously. Almost as if he had better things to do than be here.

“It’s only a mark on your wrist. And we just happen to have the same one. Amazing that you still think somehow one single person was made entirely just for you.” His words are bored and he doesn’t even have the decency to look you in the eye when he speaks. You think you might want to punch him if you weren’t so speechless.

“Look”, he sighs as if you were inconveniencing him, “I’m not going to sugarcoat it and tell you that I’m the one you’ve been looking for this whole time. We have the same mark, but...I’m not the guy you want.”

“B-But...I’m your soulmate. We-we’re made for each other.”

Jungkook scoffs harshly, and you want to sink into the ground. “That’s just a silly myth.” 

“So you don’t...believe in soulmates?” The words felt wrong to say when all your life, finding your soulmate felt like the ribbon at the end of the finish line. But here he was now, and you felt so small under his gaze. Like you weren’t meant to be there and standing in the same room with him was a concoction for heartbreak.

“No.”

Jungkook’s syllable pangs in your ear, and you think it might be your least favorite sound. Then you leave. And if it was hard for you to meet your soulmate - the person who you’re destined to be with - who doesn’t believe in you, then walking away from him was a different cross to bear. 

You take the bus home and ignore the glare of strangers when you burst into tears at a red light, and cry the rest of the way back. Your mother hadn’t described this. She prosed on and on about the feeling one gets after finding a soulmate but never mentioned to you how it feels when you find out they want nothing to do with you. What do you do when you realize the person you’ve been chasing for forever has been trying to run away at the same time? 

Jimin holds you together that night on your bedroom floor, while you break apart and scratch at the moon on your wrist until your skin breaks. He listens to the words you sputter; as much as he can decipher when they are drowned out by the painful sound of your sobbing. Jungkook’s beliefs bleed into your consciousness. Perhaps he is right and perhaps there is no such thing as true soulmates, and the marks are obsolete. 

However, when you fall asleep in your friend’s arms from the physical fatigue of violent crying and the sheer mental exhaustion of meeting Jeon Jungkook, your mind comes to a more painful conclusion. 

A more truthful conclusion.

Your soulmate only needed to meet you to decide that he did not want you.

◒

Jungkook doesn’t believe in soulmates. He thinks they’re a stupid coy to give people false hope. An illusion to feign happiness and to take Yoojung away from someone she genuinely loved. Though in the hours of the night, when he is by himself and the bed feels too big for one body, Jungkook wonders if there is truly a reason why someone has an identical moon on their wrist. But he is still so broken and unhealed from the wounds Yoojung left behind.

 So instead of soulmates, he thinks about what she must be doing. If she’s eating well. If she’s moved in with her own soulmate and if they’re happy together. Jungkook is an involuntary masochist and he pays for it with every pillowcase that becomes stained with his tears. 

He sighs out an expletive after downing a shot of whiskey, relishing in the familiar burn as it slides down his throat. Alcohol doesn’t seem to be working efficiently, though. He’s only barely tipsy after years in college building tolerance, and he can still see your face each time he blinks. Like you are imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Jungkook wonders why Jimin had cancelled on the group tonight. 

There is a little devil called remorse and it stands atop his shoulder, unseen by everyone but him, and Jungkook decides he will get rid of it by calling another round of shots. From his seat in the dirty booth, he can see Min Yoongi and his soulmate practically dry humping on the dance floor. If anyone asks him if he ever gets jealous seeing soulmates happy and in love, he’ll laugh in their face and tell them he pities people like that. People that are so blinded by the system. But loneliness is a stern mistress and it makes him think of you. How lovely the moon looks on your wrist. How your hand felt so warm when it caressed against his skin. 

He tips his head back again. Vodka this time.

“Dude, are you okay?” 

To his right comes Kim Taehyung, designated driver extraordinaire, and he looks at Jungkook with friendly concern laced with amusement. Jungkook nods contentedly. 

“Soulmates are so bullshit, Tae”, he snickers, fingers tracing the rim of the shot glass and smirk on his face to mask the bitterness of both the alcohol and his heart. Taehyung spares a knowing glance, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder with the weight of knowledge of Jungkook’s past. 

The night is young and so is he. He drinks until he can no longer taste the liquor and forgets altogether about what had happened only a couple of hours before. Until the crescent mark on his skin just looks like a shapeless black blob, and it makes him smile. He thinks he likes it better that way. 

Taehyung drops him home and personally tucks him into bed while he is still in jeans and his shirt smells like the bar. His sleep is dreamless that night. When the morning comes and his friends tease him about how he begged Taehyung not to leave, Jungkook will laugh and blame the alcohol for his foggy memory. He won’t tell them that he does remember, and that he was only grasping at any warm body to soothe his aching loneliness.

◐

Usually when he first opens his eyes in the morning, Jungkook is thinking about the next class he has to attend and if he is late (which is usually most of the time). This morning, albeit morbidly hungover, Jungkook thinks of the apple strudels they sell at the bakery next to the art building. Mrs. Kim always gets the pastry to filling ratio just right. But when he opens the door with a jubilant smile on his face and the scent of baked goods already in his nostrils, Jungkook has a feeling apple strudels will have to wait. 

There you are. In all your messy-haired glory, huffing like a caged bull in the doorway of his apartment, fiery gaze directed completely at him and all he can think to say is:

“How do you know where I live?” Jungkook schools his face expressionless in your presence. He hopes this will discourage you, but it only makes you angrier. 

“Park Jimin”, you snarl. 

Of fucking course, it’s always Park Jimin. Jimin who drunkenly sleeps in his bedroom and now Jimin who is leaking his address to any stranger.

“Um”, Jungkook stammers and takes a step back, “what are you doing here? Didn’t I get my point through yesterday?” He can see the statement catching you off guard, and the fury in your eyes dwindles to dejection. Only for a millisecond though, before you are aiming your wrath at him once again. 

You take a deep breath. “What is wrong with you?” 

Jungkook can think of a lot of answers to that query. He opts to interpret it as a rhetorical question and keep his mouth shut. 

“You just...found your soulmate! I’m your soulmate! And you don’t even want to get to know me? At all?”, you scream exasperatedly. Jungkook catches the gaze of a middle aged lady who is not-so-discreetly staring at the two of you, and pulls you inside his apartment by your arm. If you weren’t so frustrated, you would have been flustered at the physical contact. 

“Listen. Soulmates don’t end up together all the time. I’ve told you I’m not really interested in anything right now and it’s not a priority”, he takes a breath through his passionate monologue, “and I’m sorry that that’s not something you expected, but I….don’t want a soulmate.”

Maybe...he just doesn’t want you. 

When he says them out loud to a living breathing person, Jungkook realizes how cruel it sounds. He can see it in the way your eyes have become glossy under his living room lights and the way you shrink into yourself as self-defense against his blows. He rationalizes that he’d rather tell you the truth than lie to you now, only to hurt you later. Really, he’s doing you a kindness. Right?

You turn your back to him to gather your thoughts, and wipe the tears that you refuse to let him see. The salty drops sting the raw skin of your wrist after last night, and you are brutally reminded of the current reality. His brutal honesty makes you want to abandon all hope, but you were a woman with a plan. You came here for a reason, not to just lose your temper in your soulmate’s apartment and tell him what you really thought about him.

“I have a proposition for you”, you asserted calmly, staring Jungkook in the eye as he remains unbothered. 

“Now I reckon something’s happened to you to make you lose all your faith in soulmates, so I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Your eyebrows furrow when you speak focusedly.

“We don’t have to be together. That’s your will. But…”, you hesitate, pushing past the uncertainty and fear of another rejection from Jungkook, “will you let me at least try? You don’t have to promise anything. Can we just start as friends?” 

Naturally, Jungkook wants to shoot down your offer, kick you out of his apartment, and pretend like he never met anyone by the name of Y/N. Call it divine intervention but when he looks at you, pleading for any semblance of connection, he feels a tug at his heart strings. So Jungkook makes another promise to himself. He would let you “try”, whatever that entails. But there was no virtual possibility of letting you any closer than necessary. 

You both stand in contemplative silence before he lets out a resigned sigh. “On one condition”, he responds slowly, but there is already a premature grin growing on your face and you don’t think you could stop it even if you tried.

“You still have to be my model for the art portfolio.”

You agree before he even gets to take another breath. 

“Deal.” 

When you finally make your way out of Jungkook’s apartment, parting ways with an awkward number exchange and a ‘see you later’, there is a simultaneous feeling of hope and desolation. The optimism for Jungkook combines with the insecurity that perhaps you, just as you are, is not nearly enough to make someone fall in love. Especially someone who disregards their soul connection to you. 

You walk back to your apartment with a heavy heart that warms with embers of determination. Jeon Jungkook was an enigma. A Bastille fortress of self-defense mechanisms and destructive tendencies, and you know that there is unresolved pain. Call it a soulmate instinct or something, but you see it in his eyes. You see it in the way his face begs to show emotion but his mind refuses to acknowledge. 

You know Jungkook is not obligated to accept you after the dust settles, much less fall in love with you. Under the peach blossoms of the campus sidewalk, you make a promise anyway.  To yourself and to your soulmate and the silly little mark on the inside of your wrist. Even if he does not love you, you vow to help Jungkook learn to love himself.

◓

When you are harshly woken up at 5:30 in the morning, the last person you expected to be blowing up your phone was Jeon Jungkook. If it weren’t for the pure exhaustion seeping through your bones, you would have been excited about your soulmate calling you. Alas, slumber was your soulmate now. Jungkook would have to step down. 

On the other side of the paper thin wall, Jimin is frustratedly banging from his room, your ringtone reverberating throughout the entire apartment. You pick up his call without even opening your eyes.

“Hello?” 

“Y/N I need you to come to my apartment as soon as you can.” There is no sleepiness in his voice. Just clean and cold like it always is and he has hung up before you get the chance to scold him for waking you up at this unholy hour. You’re about to give him a piece of your mind but you remember he is paying you very handsomely for your efforts, and reluctantly drag yourself out of bed to call an uber. Thank god he doesn’t live too far away otherwise you’ll stick a foot through his canvas for the transportation bill. 

The front of Jungkook’s apartment door is strangely therapeutic, and you find yourself falling asleep standing up after you’ve rung the doorbell. Either time passes too slowly when you are sleep-drunk or Jungkook moves to get the door as quickly as your grandfather does. Whatever the case, you are about to pass out on his doorstep if he doesn’t come soon.

“Y/N, why are you just standing there? The door has been open.” 

“Jungkook. Why are you making me do this so early?”, you yawn, pushing inside the apartment. 

Jungkook takes in your discombobulated appearance, and almost wants to laugh. You were still in your pajamas, and the bun on your head now looked more like a heaping blob that drooped down your temple. It was obvious that you had just rolled out of bed and he almost feels bad for disturbing your sleep, but he does not decide when his strokes of inspiration spontaneously appear. 

The living room is bombarded with Jungkook’s art supplies and stray canvases, and you take note of the clay sculpting table that blends in as furniture next to his kitchen. You plop yourself down on the stool across from Jungkook’s easel, eyes still half closed and impossibly tired.

 In this moment, Jungkook wipes the fact that you are his soulmate from his mind. He needs to do the portfolio. That is all he’s keeping you around for, and the only reason he agreed to your plan was so that you would remain his art model. 

In the silence of his makeshift art studio, Jungkook paints whatever comes to his mind, referencing your figure on the stool for the curves he can never get right without a model and need for a human presence to translate onto his canvas. You become more lucid as time goes by and the sun starts to rise from outside his window, sitting up straighter and paying more attention to his concentrated face as Jungkook pours himself into his creation. 

Looking at him in this light, you realize that he is beautiful. And not just because he’s your soulmate. Jungkook’s hair is scruffy and stubbled, undereyes sporting impressive dark circles. But the way he caresses the paintbrush and the way his body moves to the beat of the painting is poetic. He glances at you sporadically, eyes darting to and fro to capture as much as he can before the creativity burns out. He is beautiful and it makes your heart ache to know that he does not want you. In spite of the bond the universe has created. 

You wonder if in his focused hazed, he notices the new glaze across your eyes and the silent sound of your soul calling out for his. You wipe away the first dripping tear as quickly as it came. You know Jungkook sees, but does not bat an eye and you can’t tell if you’d rather prefer him to acknowledge it. 

It’s 8:00am when he puts the paintbrush down, takes a step back, and surveys his work. His eyes trail over each organic line and areas where he decided to use burnishing instead of cross hatching. It’s far from perfect, but it’s enough. 

“Okay. You’re free to go”, he announces, plucking the painting off the easel and resting it against the wall, hidden from your eyes. 

“W-What? That’s it?”, you sigh disappointedly, “you’re not even going to let me see it?” Jungkook shrugs. His detachedness makes you want to rip your hair out and sob into your pillow at the same time. You don’t understand how a person could be so unfazed. 

“S’not ready for debut. Thanks for showing up, though.” He doesn’t spare you another glance. Just goes back to cleaning his brushes and dumping out the glasses of murky paint water. You ignore the twinge of hurt in your chest and slide off the stool. 

“Okay, fine. Now it’s my turn. Would you like to go have some breakfast?”, you smile expectantly to Jungkook, who stares at you with an indifferent gaze. His first instinct is to make up a half-assed excuse to get out of this, eager to detach himself from you as much as possible and avoid any more interaction. However, he was insanely hungry, and the glimmer in your eye just looks so hopeful even Jungkook couldn’t bear to shoot you down.

He sighs with resignation. A little breakfast couldn’t hurt, and he wasn’t going with you necessarily. You were just...going to the same cafe in the same direction as him and likely sitting at the same table. Yeah, that’s it. 

“Hurry up, I’m hungry.” 

“Wait...actually?”

You blinked in shock at his lack of resistance. 

“Yes. Now come on. I know a place with really great apple strudels.”

You weren’t aware that by ‘breakfast’, Jungkook actually meant sitting in complete silence and wolfing down food like your life depends on it. You want to be grossed out when he inhales 3 apple strudels in less than 10 minutes, crumbs flaking on his shirt without a care in the world. Yet you just feel endeared. The sight makes you smile. And maybe if Jungkook did not detest you, you would have leaned over and kissed the cinnamon sugar right off his lips. 

“So….”, you sip on a sweet coffee, “Jimin told me you’re going for a masters in art history?” 

Jungkook nods halfway through a bite of his pastry. “Yup.” 

“Is it something you’re really passionate about?” you inquire, desperately wanting the conversation to delve into something that wasn’t so surface level.

“Uh huh.”

“What are some other things you’re interested in besides art?”

“Totally.” 

Jungkook is completely clueless. He only spares glances to the windows and occasional looks to his oh so precious breakfast treats. You want to slap him and be angry, but you only sigh. It shouldn’t be so hard to talk to your soulmate, yet it felt like trying to pull teeth when he was so completely disinterested in you. You wonder if this is worth it.

You look up at him from your steaming cappuccino cup and use your wildcard. 

“In my opinion, Botticelli’s Birth of Venus did little for the Italian Renaissance movement.” 

Your statement almost has Jungkook falling backwards in his chair and choking on a piece of fruit filling, eyes growing as wide as saucers when he finally processes what you just said. A flaming insult to the entire art historian community. 

“What do you know about Botticelli?”, he sneers, and you internally celebrate for this is the most emotion Jungkook has shown since meeting you. 

“I know that his work supposedly epitomizes the spirit of the Renaissance”, you swirl the coffee in your cup nonchalantly, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “But if you ask me, Bellini’s San Giobbe Altarpiece did much more to encapsulate the values of 15th century Italy.” 

Jungkook’s speechless expression is one that you want to take a snapshot of and frame it to your wall. It is glorious, and arguably more artful to you than Botticelli himself. So what, you had conveniently forgot to mention to him about the class you took junior year of college, with a professor that made you engrave the fundamentals of Italian painting in your brain. It’s so much more gratifying to see him stunned silent. 

Across the table from you, Jungkook feels a warm smile itching to display itself. Before it can appear, he disguises it as a cold smirk. He feels something akin to a butterfly at the pit of his stomach, but blames it on indigestion and the inhuman pace at which he devoured his breakfast. Yeah that must be it. There was no way he was feeling butterflies. 

He cracks his knuckles, raises his cup to gulp down a lukewarm green tea, and rests his elbows on the table separating the both of you.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me your thoughts on the influences of neo-classicism in the 18th century?” 

◑

“No, Y/N, turn to your left a little”, Jungkook frustratedly sighs behind the camera lens.

“Your left or my left?”

He pauses. “....left.” 

To any outside eye, you and Jungkook look like two buffoons trying to take pictures on what might possibly be the windiest day of the season, under the peach blossom trees. Jungkook had called you earlier that day and stressed about how he needed mixed media in his beloved portfolio, and photographs were the next topic of interest. Though you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just set out a fruit bowl on his windowsill and call it still life photography.

Jungkook stares down at his camera, dissatisfaction clear on his face. You almost want to apologize for your abhorrent modeling skills but hey, he was the one that chose you. 

“Hmm...try staring at that boat in the distance”, he dictates, standing beside you and aiming the lens at your side profile. You do as he asks, but don’t hear the shutter of the camera. Jungkook sighs again and leans forward, so close you could feel his warm breath hitting your skin. You hope he doesn’t notice the beet blush on your cheeks.

Jungkook’s hands meet your chin when he uses it to slightly tilt your face downwards. He positions you in the way that he wants you to pose and you finally understand why photography is considered an art. Because it’s almost as if Jungkook is molding you like clay, to get the silhouette he wants to capture with his camera lens. The day is brisk, but his skin on your’s lights you on fire. 

“Okay, that’s…..that’s perfect”, Jungkook breathes, hurriedly picking up the camera that had been hanging onto his neck by the strap and angling it. At the moment his index finger presses down on the button, there is a gust of wind that surrounds the both of you.

The breeze loosens a strand of your hair and it falls into your eyes. You let your eyes drift close for a second, smiling into the cold air that tingles on your skin. Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat and he thanks the skies for the howling wind so you wouldn’t be able to hear his thumping heartbeat. But surely it’s only because it’s cold. And absolutely nothing else. Jungkook coughs inconspicuously to snap himself out of his trance, sighing in relief when he realizes your eyes are still closed and that you hadn’t noticed his internal struggle. 

He drags you to a bridge next and makes you lay on the cold wood to which you vehemently object before you remember that he’s paying you and that you want him to fall in love with you, not dislike you more than he already does. After the bridge, Jungkook makes you kneel beside the park pond and dip your hand in the icy water and you find yourself wanting to do the same thing to his precious camera. 

Before the two of you have realized, the sun sets into the horizon and tinges the sky in a combination of purples and pinks that Jungkook himself has a hard time replicating on canvas. He aims his lens at the clouds and takes a picture that he knows won’t make it into his gallery. He just felt the need to have something to remember this day by. For no reason in particular…

A buzzing coming from your coat pocket alerts you both of the time that has passed and how the sky has considerably darkened since you began the session. When you fish your phone out, Jimin’s contact photo is staring back at you while the marimba ringtone continues playing. You put the phone on speaker.

“Hey Jiminie”, you smile and Jungkook catches a glance of it. And the discomfort in his chest is definitely, 100%, not jealousy. Not at all.

“I told you not to call me that! What is with you younger people and your disrespect for the elderly?” The corner of Jungkook’s lips twitch into a subtle smile at the similarity of your’s and his conversations with Jimin. 

“Okay, okay, grandpa. What’s up?”

“Can you come home ASAP? I may or may not have broken the stove trying to make soup.” 

The redundancy of his confession makes you sigh, as Park Jimin desecrating your shared kitchen space was not a rare occurrence by any means. 

“I’ll be right there”, you chided through the line, “please do not cook anything else before I arrive.” 

“Thanks Y/N-ie, you’re the best!” Jimin’s voice is far too cheery and you make a mental note to nag him a little extra when you get home. The phone call is ended promptly and you turn around to Jungkook, eyes widening in surprise when he has already packed up all his photography gear. The sky had turned dark and the streetlights had been turned on to illuminate the park. If you had craned your neck upwards, you would have noticed the stars that awoke again to shine down upon the city. But you didn’t. You only saw the stars that were twinkling in Jungkook’s eyes. 

“Uh”, he stammers, “I’ll walk you home. It’s late.” 

“Oh! Uh...Thanks.” Though he was still cold and indifferent, your heart jumped in elation. Perhaps this could be considered baby steps. 

The trip home is quiet, only the sounds of your tandem footsteps on pavement and the rustle of a breeze through tree leaves fill the space of silence. But the quiet is not uncomfortable. Just a bit awkward as you two try to figure out how to be around one another. Jungkook’s hands are shoved in his pockets and your fingers itch to intertwine themselves around his own. To press your soulmate marks together and feel them calling out to each other. But you and Jungkook are anything but normal soulmates. For you are already head over heels in love with him and he is adamant on not sparing you a crumb of affection. 

To your disdain, the apartment was closer than you thought and the short walk with Jungkook ended before it really even began. You could practically hear Jimin’s impatience emanating from the third story of the building. 

“So I’ll see you later?”, you smile meekly. Jungkook readjusts the strap of his camera bag before nodding. He is walking away before you turn around to enter the apartment building and even though it was something small and mundane, you wished he would have waited to see you get in safely. You make your way inside, more downcast than you had been before.

You don’t see when Jungkook turns around. You don’t feel the reassurance that washes over him when the door shuts safely behind you. 

That night, Jungkook is reminded far too much of Yoojung. When he goes to make his usual chamomile, he finds her mug at the very back of the tea cabinet. She must have forgotten it when she packed up her stuff. When he spoons in the sugar, he remembers how Yoojung drinks her tea with honey instead. And when he feels himself start to fall apart, he remembers how Yoojung is not there to keep him together. 

Jungkook pushes away his pain, abandons the lukewarm mug of tea, and opts for an early bedtime to sleep away the ache. The camera sitting on his nightstand, though, beckons him to look over the photos you both had taken that afternoon. 

In the moment, he had been dissatisfied with the pictures, always thinking there must be a better angle or a better position you could shift into. However when he looks down at his camera now, in the quiet and solemnity of his bedroom, Jungkook can’t help but to think they are absolutely perfect. 

He doesn’t know whether to credit his own artistic skill or you; for breathing life into his photographs. It’s the lines of your hands, the slope of your nose, and the stray strands of your hair that makes his pictures more human. 

The ones he ends up picking though, are not perfectly  staged and not the ones where he made you change the position of your stance for 10 minutes. No, the best pictures were the ones he took without you noticing. When you had just been enjoying the cool breeze or admiring the beauty of peach blossom season. When you point out a cool looking bird and when you stared annoyedly past the cameras lens (at him no doubt). 

Yoojung is gone from his mind for just a tiny fleeting moment. For little reason at all, Jungkook finds himself smiling. And there is only the company of the moon to see it. 

◒

 It is ten o’ clock in the morning and Jungkook comes to a realization that in the couple weeks since he has met you, he has sighed more times than he has in the past 23 years of life. Jungkook sighs when you text him first thing in the morning about the dream you had the night before and describe it in painfully vivid details. He leaves them unanswered. Sometimes he wished you would just email him the google document instead. He sighs when you fidget in your seat when he’s trying to paint and keep focus, but you are only interested in asking him the snacks he has in his fridge or when he’s going to finish. He sighs when you and Jimin collectively trash his art studio by spamming his $1,000 camera with ugly face pictures and sword fighting with his sable paint brushes. Jungkook often has a hard time believing that both of you are in graduate school. 

Today, he sighs when you bombard into room 62B of the art building; what is supposed to be Jungkook’s completely zen and peaceful creative space. You are tiptoeing around him as you always do, scared that you’ll do something to set him off and your soulmate will disown you for good. He glances at you once, eyes quickly darting back to the sculpture he is molding on the clay table and saying nothing. 

“There’s a new cafe that just opened right across from the apple strudel place”, you gulp tensely. “I was gonna go check out the competition.” Your words seem deaf to Jungkook’s ear and he only furrows his eyebrows, fingers fussing over the mass of clay. There was just something he couldn’t get right. He didn’t know what it was. 

Jungkook pushes away the sculpture frustratedly, wipes his hands on his apron, and finally looks at you. Maybe he did need a break and come back to it with fresh eyes. That’s all it was, though. A break. He wasn’t going because you asked him to. 

“They better have blonde roast otherwise you’ll be compensating me for my time.” Jungkook is as ruthless and blunt as ever and you decide to look past it as you always do. Him agreeing to go with you was a mini success. 

“Welcome in! You’ve stopped by at the perfect time. The strawberry scones have just been taken out of the oven!” The cafe employee is far too enthusiastic for receiving minimum wage and greeting grumpy people off the streets who just want to be caffeinated. His name tag reads Jung Hoseok. 

“Oh, strawberry is my favorite”, you whisper, the statement only meant for your ears but Jungkook picks up on it anyway. He declines to tell you that strawberry is his favorite as well. Hoseok’s eyes light up when you and Jungkook approach the entrance, like he finally succeeded at luring a customer. 

The cafe isn’t anything special. A bit more modern compared to the one across the street and you think you prefer the latter because this new one doesn’t have the owner’s handsome son standing at the cash register. He may not be your soulmate, but even you had to admit Kim Seokjin was a beautiful man if there ever was one. However, this cafe is warm and has ceiling length windows that let in an obscene amount of sunlight. Jungkook makes a mental note to try some pictures here in the future. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes in his pocket and you are already leaving him behind in the dust, walking straight to the counter and peering up at the menu deep in thought. You turn around to see that he is immersed in mysterious conversation, and take it upon yourself to order him a drink. 

“I’ll have a matcha latte. And uh…”, you decide, trailing off as you wonder what kind of drink Jungkook would enjoy. “And an iced vanilla mocha latte, extra whipped cream, extra chocolate syrup. Do you guys have rainbow sprinkles?” 

A little sugar never hurt anyone. Especially someone so often bitter like your one and only soulmate. 

When Jungkook hangs up and makes his way to the corner table where you are situated, the sight of the concoction on the table is enough to give him an instant cavity. You hide your smile behind the mug of matcha. He grumbles and sits down swiftly, sticking the straw past his lips in defiance and you can only watch expectantly. 

“Well…do you like it?” 

This is when Jungkook realizes you didn’t order this to spite him. You just had completely zero idea what he liked and disliked and chose the first thing you thought was best. As cold as he is, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that when he drinks coffee, he likes it black. No cream, no sugar, and the darkest roast with the most caffeine to push him through those nights spent in front of a canvas or over a clay table. 

Jungkook fights to keep steady from the ambush of sugar and wills himself to swallow it down. There is sticky chocolate syrup on his hands and it feels cosmically more uncomfortable than paint. But Jungkook manages to look up at you and nod, to which you reward with a smile. 

“I knew you would like it”, you say smugly, giving yourself a mental pat on the back. “You look like you have a giant sweet tooth.” There is a mellow giggle that follows your statement. Jungkook feels a flutter at the bottom of his stomach, and convinces himself it’s only because it sounds so much like Yoojung. He catches sight of the moon on your wrist, and pushes the feeling away even farther. 

The two of you spend the rest of the midday there, tucked away in a corner of a cafe and losing track of time as you always do. Jungkook finds himself forgetting about the mountains of work he has to do to finish his art gallery portfolio, and the unfinished sculpture back at the studio that’s just not right. 

Today, he allows himself to enjoy your presence and get to know you more. Your favorite color is yellow. You had a dog named Benny when you were a child. You detest beer with a passion, but enjoy a nightly glass of pinot grigio. Jungkook barely notices when the entire cup of coffee has disappeared. Every last rainbow sprinkle.

On second thought, he feels that maybe there was something sweeter than his unexpectedly delicious iced vanilla mocha latte with extra whipped cream. Maybe that something was sitting right across from him, rambling about the fundamentals of English literature with unexplained vigor. 

Jungkook’s soul feels lighter when he goes to bed that night. And when he finally succumbs to Morpheus, his last lucid thought is of you; sun beams coming from the large cafe windows that comb through your hair. He looks at you through his mind’s eye and all he can see is the potential heartbreak you have the power to put him through. The fan of your eyelashes. The curve of your smile. The plush of your lips. All he can see is Yoojung as she crushes his soul in her bare hands. 

Yet in the midst of his internal conflict, Jungkook’s subconscious allows him to fall in love with you a little bit. Perhaps not love just yet, but affection. Like a toe dip in uncharted waters or sticking his finger in a bowl of creamy cake batter just for a taste. The walls he has built are still there, strong as ever, but perhaps a couple bricks look a bit askew. He doesn’t know, but his soul calls out to your’s through the fortress.

◐

“Y/N I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“Oh hush, just close your eyes and point where your heart tells you to.”

In the lobby of a train station, facing a map and an ETA board is where you and Jungkook will be embarking on your next “date but not really because you don’t believe in soulmates so let’s just hang out”. It had taken a good two hours of nagging and whining on your part to convince him to abandon his portfolio for just a little bit to go an outing. Now standing here, with you excitedly bouncing next to him and a mystery destination, Jungkook feels something akin to utter regret. 

“What if I choose somewhere that’s a thousand miles away? Or just in the middle of nowhere?”, Jungkook groans, still putting up an unbothered and cold front. 

“Well then we will go somewhere that’s a thousand miles away or in the middle of nowhere”, you quipped back at him. Jungkook had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one. 

He reluctantly places a hand over his eyes, sighing with resignation before pointing to a random spot on the map. There is a giggle that sounds to his left and Jungkook finds himself wanting to hear more. 

“Wonderful choice”, you smiled, “couldn’t have picked it better myself.” 

Jungkook peeked his eyes open one at a time, scared of seeing what his intuition has chosen for your guys’ spontaneous destination. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that his fingers landed on a town on the outskirts of the city, 20 minutes away from the university. He silently thanks the universe for not sabotaging his wallet and time. 

“We’re never doing this again, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks as you are in front of him, skipping happily to the front desk to buy two train tickets. 

“Wasn’t it fun, though? The thrill?”, you chuckle at his demeanor, to which he only shakes his head vehemently. You note the newest thing you’ve just learned about Jungkook: he has an aversion to uncertainty and spontaneity. 

The train ride was as brief as it was uneventful. You spent the time rambling to Jungkook about all the quips and quirks about yourself and he only listened. Though he kept quiet, his face was free of any annoyance or indication that you were speaking too much. Jungkook only stared at you and unknowing to you, he soaked in every bit of information like a sponge. If anyone asked, he could tell them what foods you were allergic to, what colors wash you out, and what vegetables you hated the most. 

“Wow you didn’t have to pick somewhere so far away, Jungkook.” You muse as the two of you step out of the train car. So far away in fact, that if you were to crane your head up enough, you would be able to see the university from a distance. 

“Hey, you were the one who made me choose”, Jungkook spares a rare smile, “Would you rather we have shelled out our wallets to go on an 18-hour train ride?”

“Okay, fair point.”

The city was as abundant as it was big, and the both of you walked aimlessly from avenue to avenue, stopping occasionally whenever you see a dog you just can’t help but to pet or whenever Jungkook complained about his sore feet. As cold and indifferent as Jungkook made himself out to be, you’ve quickly come to realize that he’s actually a big baby. He still hasn’t let you in or even lowered his walls by a tiny centimeter, but you like to think that even agreeing to go anywhere with you could be considered significant progress.

Jungkook doesn’t notice the pounding of his heart whenever his hands graze against your’s, walking side by side so close he can feel the heat emanating through your coat. He doesn’t notice the peace he feels, just the synchronicity of his feet as he places them on the pavement. 

The fraught wind that blows straight at Jungkook’s face prompts him to look up from where his eyes were cast on the ground. He almost staggers at how strong it is, but finds himself weak in the knees for a completely different reason.

Of course.

Of all the days, of all the times, of all the people in this entire city.

Of course she had to be the one that was currently staring at him from across the intersection. 

The red light seems to go on forever. Either that or time has just spontaneously frozen, Jungkook can’t tell. But his eyes are fixed on hers and his feet bolster him to the concrete when all he wants to do is sprint the other way and forget he ever saw this ghost from the past. 

Yoojung looks as beautiful as the day she left him. 

She’s gained some weight and her cheeks have filled out, but it looks healthy on her now (Jungkook always chided her for forgetting to eat). She stares at him with a combination of shock and guilt and something he wants to overthink into affection but he won’t give himself that satisfaction anymore. She dyed her hair. Light brown looks good on her. 

She looks...happy. As happy as anyone can look when they’re rushing through thick crowds of a city, traffic horns blaring like a dilapidated symphony. 

In the heat of it all, it’s impossible for you not to notice Jungkook’s sudden change in demeanor or the way he has suddenly stopped breathing. When you follow his gaze, there is a girl on the other side of the street that shares the same starstruck expression and even from the outside looking in, you can feel the weight of something painful in his eyes. In her stature. 

When the lights turn green, the throngs of city dwellers migrate across and you stay beside Jungkook when he doesn’t move a muscle. Not even a finger twitch. But she does. And he can only fight to keep the ache away when Yoojung gets closer with every millisecond. Until she is standing right in front of him and he can smell her familiar vanilla perfume. 

“Jungkook”, she speaks, apprehension in her voice. “It’s been a while...how are you?” 

Yoojung only spares you a side glance while keeping attention on Jungkook and you only grow more curious as to who this strange woman is. 

He wants to speak so badly but his tongue remains frozen. He turns to you with flabbergast in his eyes and shakes his head to snap out of the daze of confusion. Of seeing the love of his life again. Or who he thought was the love of his life. 

“Could you give us a minute, Y/N?” 

You didn’t know why but the words that came from his lips made you feel disappointed. Perhaps you were just stupid for thinking he would introduce you. Tell her that you’re his soulmate and scream it at the top of his lungs with sheer pride. But your imagination has hurt you countless times and you had a feeling this one wouldn’t be the last. You manage a curt nod and push away the twinge in your heart. There was a boundary between you and Jungkook and today was not the day to cross it and introduce yourself as his soulmate to any random stranger. 

Once you are out of vicinity and have found solace in a bookstore 10 feet away, Jungkook allows himself to breathe in Yoojung’s presence. 

“I didn’t know if you were still in the city”, he falters, voice coming out quieter than he would have liked it to. But what was he supposed to sound like confronting the supposed love of his life. 

“I never left, Jungkook...my entire life is here.” She sighs, smiling lightly with eyes seeping with guilt. 

He scoffs. “I don’t know Yoojung, you seem to leave behind important things pretty easily.” Jungkook feels himself getting angrier and resentful by the second, and though he knows it is unfair of him, Yoojung’s mere presence brings back all the wounds he never truly healed from. 

Granted, on a concrete sidewalk next to a traffic light pole was not the best place to have a heart to heart about failed relationships. But when has the universe ever given Jungkook the best things in life. He is devastatingly cynical for someone who dedicates his career to art. 

Yoojung wears a frown on her face, but there is no vindictiveness there. Just an overwhelming sense of remorse that Jungkook communicates as pity. 

“I don’t know how else to say that I’m sorry”, she sighs, eyes falling to the ground. Jungkook wishes it would just open up and swallow him whole. 

“Then don’t say anything.” He turns to walk away.

“Wait! Jungkook can we...can’t we catch up or something? For a couple minutes?” Yoojung is visibly desperate, and her hands are outstretched as if wanting to touch him but keeping herself from overstepping the line. 

Jungkook glances through the window of the bookstore, and you are situated on a chair, already nose deep in a hefty book. He wants to smile and tease you for being such a nerd, but the weight of Yoojung’s presence makes him reinforce those walls of indifference tenfold. 

He exhales frustration and inhales temptation, looking back into Yoojung’s familiar eyes and nodding. Jungkook walks to a nearby bench and sits down with no words exchanged, looking forward coldly even when he feels her warmth next to him. A couple months ago, Jungkook would have set all his canvases on fire to feel her beside him again. Now, he’s not so sure.

“So…”, she starts, “who’s that cute girl you were with?” 

“No one.” He shoots out a little too soon with no hesitation. Yoojung gulps.

“You know Jungkook, it’s okay to find someone. I-I know I hurt you, but I’m glad if you’ve found someone who doesn’t.” Jungkook doesn’t say anything so she continues.

“I’m really happy for-”

“I never really forgave you Yoojung.” He stares blankly at the passersby and tries to ignore the ache in his bones. The one that’s been there the day she left and took a piece of his heart with her. 

“And I don’t want to blame you for my decisions but I want you to know that I push away a lot of people because of you. People that don’t deserve it.” From the corner of his eye, he can see her nod solemnly to his words and fidget with her hands in her lap. Part of him feels guilty for unloading on Yoojung. Part of him feels like maybe he deserves to. 

“What you did was really shitty. Astronomically fucking shitty. And I’ve spent the past eternity hating you and maybe I still do, but…”, Jungkook takes a deep breath, “I want to forgive you now. If not fully, then partially. I hope you can understand that.” He finally tilts his head to look at her and though the smile on her face is as beautiful as he remembers it to be, Jungkook no longer feels the longing. No longer feels the sting that he usually does when his thoughts take him back to the years they spent together. 

Jungkook doesn’t want to call it closure, not yet anyway. Sitting here on the bench, he still wants to scream and yell and tell Yoojung of all the nights he’s spent alone since she left. He still wants to drag her back and wonder if she could love him again like she used to. 

But he doesn’t. He listens when she tells him about her new job and her new apartment right by the lakeside. They share snippets of their separate lives. Just deep enough to rekindle something warm but shallow enough to not invite anything else in. 

When he walks away from the bench and into the bookstore, Jungkook stills feels the walls that he has built around himself. He is still scared of opening up and being vulnerable but the anger held for Yoojung for so long is no longer a raging fire. More so a wickering flame. 

When he spots you, though, he remembers why he built those walls in the first place. He remembers how easy it used to be for him to climb a high peak and fall to his demise. Your eyes widen when you catch sight of him, lips curling into a wide smile and clear excitement in your expression. The book in your hands is tossed aside and tunnel vision reserved for him and him only. Something blooms in his chest and he can’t remember the last time someone’s been so elated to just simply see him...aside from his dog. Jungkook reminds himself to act uncaring. If he pretends long enough, he’ll start to believe it himself. 

◓

The train ride home feels longer than the one there. The minutes drag by and perhaps it is because of your drooping eyes or the way Jungkook is looking at you with a different tenderness than he has been before. His stare is not harsh. It’s soft and sweet, but subtle enough for you to wonder if you are just imagining it. The night has always been unforgiving and cold even in the spring, but perhaps all that’s needed to breathe some warmth, is a 15 minute train ride and a wrist with a crescent moon.

Yet every time you become more smitten with Jungkook, there is a harsh reminder that follows you everywhere like a designated storm cloud. 

Jungkook does not love you. And you are trying and you will continue to try but his eyes tell you something he is too courteous to say. You see it now as he sits across from you and admires the skyline from the window. It makes you wonder if it is soulmates he doesn’t believe in, or if it is just you that he can’t bring himself to accept. With every cold glance and wall that he puts up, you start to convince yourself that it is the latter.

“We’re here, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks quietly, interrupting your drifting thoughts. He turns around and leaves the train car with hands tucked in his coat pocket. Did you expect him to escort you out and hold your hand? Of course not. But you were tired of Jungkook being so indifferent to your existence. 

You follow him glumly out the doors that slide close after you step through. Then it zips off again and you wonder where it would have taken you if you just stayed in your seat. If Jungkook would have even noticed that you hadn’t followed him when he left. 

You sigh into the night air and wish it was winter so that your breath could be visible as a white cloud. Maybe then Jungkook would notice that you were a living being beside him. 

“Who was that girl that we met back there?”, you murmur hesitantly. Jungkook nearly chokes on air. 

“No one”, he responds curtly, effectively cutting off the conversation then and there. It makes your heart sink. She must be important and all you want to do is know every single detail about their relationship, but the look in his eyes warn you to not pry. 

You don’t think you can forget the way Jungkook looked at her from across the street. Like he had been lost this whole time and she was the North star. You saw the way his eyes twinkled in the midday sun and sparkled even more when she came closer. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to have that effect on him. 

“Hey, next time you should pick a place you and I both do not live in”, you giggle, nudging his shoulder with your own. It makes him smile and even though your heart feels heavy in your chest, Jungkook looks so beautiful when he smiles. 

The two pair of feet subconsciously carry you both to the front door of your apartment building and the scene is too familiar from the last time. You expect him to turn around and whisper a hushed goodnight under his breath, and you’ll have to watch the back of his head disappear down the street. But he doesn’t. Just stands across from you quietly and waits for you to say something. So you do. 

“Jungkook, I’m sorry if I brought up something you didn’t want to remember. I don’t really know your story but it seems you two have a lot of history.” You want to tell him how hard it is for you to be his soulmate when he is so clearly vying for the warmth of someone else. Someone who didn’t have a crescent moon on her wrist. 

“I know you’ll tell me whenever you’re ready, and if that’s never then I’ll keep waiting until forever. But I’m here if you want to talk or unload and I already know I can help because…” you fidget with your hands and look around nervously. 

“Well, because I’m your soulmate.” 

When you say it loud and explicitly, Jungkook thought the statement would have made him recoil. But it doesn’t. It just seeps through his consciousness and feels warm when he thinks about the weight of those words. You are his soulmate, regardless of if he believes in such a thing or not. You carry the same mark as he does on your wrist and somehow, by some intangible factor, the universe had decided that you were created for him and he for you. 

And when he looks at you. Really looks at you. When Jungkook processes your sincere words and how you manage to deal with his insurmountable boundaries even when you barely know him…

Jungkook has never wanted to kiss you more. 

So he does. 

Your lips taste like mint chewing gum and the ghost of words you wish to tell him but can’t. He feels you stiffen until you completely melt in his hold, and Jungkook cradles your face with both his hands, pulling you closer to him until there is no barrier between you but the clothes on your back and the emotional distance. You feel so far away even when you’re this near. Was it a trick of your imagination when you felt the moon on your wrist tingling? 

It doesn’t last as long as you would’ve liked it to. Jungkook yanks his hands from you like your skin scalded him and takes several steps back. His chest rises up and down violently when his breath comes out ragged, posture stiffening as the gravity of what just happened finally absorbs. You’re there, he knows you’re there and standing in front of him. So why is it he can only see Yoojung. Yoojung and the star on her wrist and apologies on her lips. Yoojung and the tears in her eyes when she walks away. 

You can only stare confusedly when his body goes rigid, and a sudden coldness envelops you both. 

And in the haze of post-embrace, like any two normal lovers, you catch something in his eyes that sets a heavy feeling in your stomach. Before you can confirm if it’s just a trick of the light, Jungkook is already running in the opposite direction and you can only see a shadow of sullen love that follows him. He is gone and you are standing alone, wondering how moonlight could feel so cold even on a spring night. 

You don’t get any sleep that night. Every time you close your eyes, there is only the sight of Jungkook’s disgust and regret to lull you to dreams. 

20 minutes away from your apartment, there is a boy who doesn’t sleep either. He won’t text or call to tell you that he can’t shake off the feeling of your skin on his and your breath fanning his cheek. He won’t admit to himself that tonight, when he looked at you, he felt the possibility of falling in love. He won’t tell you that the moon on his skin longs to be traced by your hands. No, he just shares those secrets with his pillow as its linen soaks up his tears. 

In the midst of it all, there is one verdict that becomes clear to him.

Jungkook wishes he had never told Jimin he needed a muse.

◑

The next three weeks is dedicated to trying to get in touch with your soulmate. Through the whirlwinds of utter confusion and desperation, you try texting, calling, emailing, even showing up at his art studio and apartment to no avail. It seemed he had a talent for avoiding soulmates. 

It hurt, to say the least. That he left you high and dry after giving you the most intense

kiss of your life and doesn’t even have the decency to let you know he’s alive. The feeling of his lips still burns on your skin and you wonder if you are a complete fool for being so smitten with a person who, quite possibly, hasn’t spared you a single thought after that night. You just want - no you just need some clarity. 

Jungkook makes you wait another week before replying. 

It is an impossibly sunny day when you wake up. Your neck is stiff from sleeping like a contortionist and your heart aches even more than your muscles with every passing morning with radio silence from your soulmate. You want to call him and tell him you’re sorry. That you’ll forget anything ever happened. It hurts to even think about it, but for Jungkook, you would go through a little more pain so he would let you into his life. 

Outside the hall, Jimin is singing along to a familiar melody of a song you don’t know the name of and judging by the aroma that wafts through the cracks of your door, he has successfully made a pot of coffee. He has been an anchor throughout this whole thing, and sometimes you make a secret wish to the stars that Jimin had been the one with a crescent moon on his wrist instead. Perhaps that way, you wouldn’t have to go through the agony of chasing love that is constantly sprinting away from you. 

Your phone lays on the bedside table and buzzes innocently to start the morning. When you reach over and scroll through notifications routinely, there is a name there that makes your heart pang. Makes you want to throw up and celebrate at the same time. A text from Jungkook. Your fingers shake as you open it. 

I no longer need a model for the portfolio. Thank you for your involvement. Compensation will be provided promptly. 

The day you met him, you already knew that Jungkook was cold. He never dawdled around a painful truth or toed the line between bluntness and sparing feelings. Jungkook spoke his mind, collateral damage be damned. But this is a different type of cold. This one feels more like dry ice on warm skin. Like the numbing chill of a fading hope. Like winter’s first snowfall when autumn had promised you it would forever stay. 

Phone in your hand and tears threatening to drip down your cheeks, you wish you would have waited a bit more before opening his text. Perhaps that way you could have spent the rest of your morning basking in the spring sun, drinking Jimin’s inevitably bad coffee, having hope that Jeon Jungkook would grow to care for you. Perhaps if you hadn’t opened it so soon, your soulmate would still seem in reach. 

Jimin’s mug nearly drops out of his hand when the door of your bedroom is slammed open. He flings it to the side when he notices your red-rimmed eyes and the shaking hands that clutch onto a cellphone. You scream and sob at the universe, at anyone, asking why it was you that had to experience the chaos of longing. Jimin was there to hold you, as he always is, and helplessly listen to the sound of your heart breaking once again by the hands of Jungkook.

◒

Room 62B of the art building is a place you hope to never have to visit again. Though it’s walls contain memories of you and Jungkook, and the evenings navigating his gallery portfolio along with your convoluted relationship, the wallpaper bleeds with a longing ache. A yearning pain. And if those walls could talk, you don’t think you would want them to say anything at all. They would only murmur what you are slowly accepting to be true.

Jungkook, your soulmate, wants nothing to do with you. 

When you hesitantly rap on the door with a fisted hand, the sound of him rustling from inside makes you want to run the opposite direction. It opens before you get the chance to change your mind and the sight of him nearly takes your breath away. He is beautiful as he always is, hair ruffled and mussed from undoubtedly running his hands through it compulsively. His lips are pink from biting on them and the dark circles under his eyes tells you of the dreams he has deprived himself of. 

Jungkook is painfully gorgeous and painfully not yours. 

“Y/N...I sent you a text earlier.” His voice is saccharine but the words taste so bitter. 

“I know. I read it”, you murmur, shrinking in on yourself. 

“I....Can we talk, Jungkook?” 

His eyes dart around nervously at your question, chewing on his bottom lip and tapping the toe of his shoe as if he was impatient and you were bothering him. And you have known that simply being around Jungkook hurts but the light at the end of the tunnel only continues dwindling. 

You understand why he is acting so restless when your gaze drifts past him and into the room. There is a girl perched on a stool, across from a canvas and easel that you know awfully well. You don’t recognize her but it’s only in your nature to begin comparing every aspect of yourself to this stranger. She sits on her hands and swings her legs back and forth, head in the clouds and eyes trailing the ceiling. She isn’t aware of the weight of her presence in the studio, nor the turmoil she has brought to you, who is standing just outside the door. 

The oxygen in the hallway thins and the breath you’ve been waiting to release since knocking catches in your throat. Coming here, you prepared yourself for a long and inevitably heart-wrenching talk with your soulmate. But you hadn’t prepared for the possibility that he had replaced you overnight. 

The only thought that blares through your mind is that this is your fault. For letting yourself think you were worth more to Jeon Jungkook than any other stranger. You can no longer find it in yourself to be angry at him. Just yourself. 

“You…”, you gulp down a whimper, “you replaced me.” 

Jungkook follows your vacant stare past him and sighs, realizing you had most likely deducted what this scene looked like. You would be right. Between the weeks of trying to understand what you were to him and the impending due date of the portfolio, Jungkook was sure the best way to move past this confusion was to just speed full steam ahead. That meant finding another muse. You were no longer an option.

You only stare down at the floor, but Jungkook begins speaking anyway. 

“Y/N, I…I’m sorry.” You scoff at his words, feigning anger when inside, you truly didn’t know if you could piece yourself back together this time. 

“Look, Y/N. It’s not you. It’s just that…”, he breathes deep, not knowing why it was so hard to say. “I’ve stopped believing soulmates were truly a thing a long time ago. I’m sorry.” 

It’s not the first time you’ve heard these words but it doesn’t mean they hurt any less.

“I didn’t want to initiate anything, Y/N, but you did and I let you and that was my fault to let anything start. I shouldn’t have when I knew nothing would come of it.”

It was a fault to him. It never should have happened. 

“So you just thought you would kiss me and decide that I meant nothing to you afterwards?”

“It was a mistake.” It was painful to think it but when you hear Jungkook say it, you experience a new kind of ache. A humorless chuckle bubbles past your throat.

 “I really thought you would grow to love me. Now I know it’s not your fault that I’m a complete fool. To fall head over heels for my soulmate who wishes he had never even met me. Much less share a mark.” 

You can see Jungkook’s eyes widen at your confession, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It was the truth. He deserved to hear it. 

“You shouldn’t. You can’t.” He reaches up to pull at his hair frustratedly.

“Can’t what, Jungkook? Love you? You think I want to be in love with someone who wishes I didn’t exist?” You hate your voice for breaking, but its impossibly painful when he does nothing to deny your statement. 

“What do you want me to say, Y/N? What can I say to make this better?”

Try: I love you too.

“I don’t need you to say anything you don’t mean, Jungkook.” 

“Then shouldn’t you leave?”

Jeon Jungkook is cruel even when he doesn’t mean to be. There is oblivion in his gaze, and his question is one of genuine curiosity. But it still stabs you exactly where your heart is most tender. Yes, I should have left. 

“I guess I thought you were worth the pain, Jungkook. When you pushed me away and wanted nothing to do with me, I thought you were worth hurting for just to try a little more. Worth the uncertainty of being around you but never getting to actually be with you”, you numbly mutter, uncaring about the rivulets of tears down your face. Not like it wasn’t something he’s never seen before. There is more to come on the tip of your tongue, and Jungkook stays quiet to let you speak. There is conflict in his vision, but you don’t want to give yourself the false hope that he cares for you. 

Look where that has gotten you before. 

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

Saying the words are revelation for you as much as it is for him. All this time, you’ve been running away from the truth in the pursuit of your soulmate. You hadn’t realized that the chase led you astray. 

“And I know that loving me is not easy. I’m…”, you force the words out so he can at least hear your turmoil by his hands. “I’m never really good enough for anyone. Why did I expect that I would be good enough for you?” 

Jungkook’s expression crumples into a frown. “Y/N, no, that’s not what I mean-”

“You don’t have to tell me what you mean, Jungkook. I meet you and the first thing you say is that you don’t believe in such a thing. I try to get close to you and all you know to do is push me away. And I try so hard to be enough but how can I when Yoojung still has your heart? So you don’t have to say it. I know what you mean.” You’ve stopped crying but the ache relents, and you can only look desperately at the boy who’s slipping from your grasp with every passing second. 

“I’m sorry.” The message is redundant.

“I can’t…” Rip off the bandaid. 

“I just can’t love you.”

The words make their way past his lips before he can stop them, and they shoot through your core ruthlessly. A sharpened dagger to soft flesh. It manifests itself in a physical pain that reverberates across your chest, and when the last strength left in you is used to stare at Jungkook through a pained and teary gaze, you are deaf to everything but those four words.

I can’t love you.

I can’t love you. 

I can’t love you. 

You’re not sure what he is sorry for at this point. If Jungkook is apologizing for not loving you, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry for entertaining the possibility, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry that you are the one with a crescent moon on your wrist, well...you don’t blame him either. All your life you cherished it like some kind of gift from the universe. Now, nursing your crumbling soul in front of Jungkook, you wish it had never appeared in the first place. 

You shake your head, tucking your lip in between your teeth to stop the sob in your chest from escaping. Through the crack of the door Jungkook hadn’t shut fully, the girl was still there, patiently sitting where you were supposed to and making herself scarce after inevitably hearing you bare your heart to a boy who had no interest in it. 

Humiliation goes hand in hand with heartbreak, and the embarrassment that comes with confessing your love and insecurity urges your feet to run home. But even you cannot deprive yourself of looking at him one more time. 

His wavy head of hair. The scar on his cheekbone that makes him look even more beautiful, if that were possible. The gloss in his dark brown eyes, and the way he looks at you through stone cold walls. You commit it to memory, however painful, before you walk out of his life. 

“Be happy, Jungkook.” 

You truly mean it. 

◐

 The sound of your footsteps getting farther away from him is a sound Jungkook thinks he’ll remember for a long time. It almost prompts him to run after you, cradle you to his chest, and profess how sorry he is again and again until you can truly feel the sincerity. But he doesn’t. Only remains behind the self-procured walls and watches when your figure disappears down the hallway. 

Cold. Unbothered. Indifferent. That’s what he had always told himself when it came to you. But the hallway feels so lonely and the ghost of your presence feels even lonelier, and Jungkook wonders if he had been wrong. 

He walks back into the studio, permanent frown on his face and shoulders hunched over in stress. The paintbrush feels like a stranger rather than an extension of his arm, as it always does, but Jungkook begins painting anyway. Looking at the girl in front of him, he is reminded of the look on your face when you realized he had replaced you completely in the span of three weeks, without even giving you a notice. Her presence in his art studio suddenly feels entirely suffocating. 

“Mina, Get out.” 

“What?”

“Get out of my studio. I don’t need you as a model, anymore. Thanks.” His voice cut through the tension of the room, like a hot knife to butter. He recognizes it as the voice he always forces himself to use around you, and grows even more aggravated. 

The girl scoffs annoyedly, snatching her handbag from the floor and rushing out of the room. Obviously she had thought something more was to come from Jungkook’s art arrangement. He made sure to let her know that was not the case. 

There is a gnawing in his chest. Deep and subtle, but it becomes more prominent as the window view from his studio turns from blue to black. He ponders about spending the night in here, instead of going home to his bedroom where he is forced to consult with the agony of solitude. On top of everything today, Jungkook doesn’t think he can handle that. 

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the pain in your face when he tells you that he can’t love you and he hears the shaking in your voice when you tell him the things that weighed on your soul. He thought the word “wither” was only reserved for flowers. Jungkook didn’t realize a person could wither until he saw it right in front of him. 

In truth, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he could love you or not. And to Jungkook, that was already a feat in itself. He’s spent so many months convincing himself that his emotional fortress was impregnable. So many nights over whiskey bottles telling himself that love was only for fools and pretenders. To be uncertain about love, now, well...that’s something he is not yet ready to admit to himself. Much less admit to you. But letting you any closer was a fatal game. 

Being uncertain about love means being uncertain about getting hurt. Jungkook has a feeling he wouldn’t make it out in one piece if his heart fell into wrong hands. 

He does end up returning to his apartment that night. But the walk feels far too long and the air feels far too frigid, or perhaps is it because he can’t hear the tread of your footsteps beside him? 

Whatever the reason, tonight feels more lonely.

The stars tell him it’s because he does not like the person he’s alone with. 

Back in room 62B, there is an abandoned painting on a rickety easel. He hadn’t even had the will to wash out his paintbrush, and he’s sure he’ll pay for it the next day. Looking at the piece now, his professor would tell him that there’s too many colors. Too much contrast and nearly not enough depth in his strokes. But what was he to do when he had kicked out his new model and couldn’t get the image of your visible heartbreak out of his brain? 

A familiar wrist with a quaint crescent moon sits on the canvas, and he sure as hell didn’t use Mina as the inspiration. Jungkook reminds himself to throw out the painting tomorrow morning. 

◓

The grease on Jimin’s skillet pan is always so hard to clean. The dish soap never truly cuts through the oil, and no matter how much you rinse it over with scalding water, it still feels soiled. On a normal day, it wouldn’t frustrate you so much. Today, a month-and-a-half after your soulmate made it clear to you that you had no place in his life, you want to throw the pan out the window and cry on the kitchen floor until it collapses with the weight of your tears. 

You settle for throwing down the sponge and making Jimin wash his own dishes.

The phone-that you usually now tend to ignore-buzzes on the counter, and you groan at your complete lack of desire to answer it. But the screen lights up with your roommate’s name and you hit the green button. 

“Y/N! How are you feeling, lovebug?” Jimin’s cheerful tone on speakerphone makes you want to cry. You can only imagine how terrible it is for him to be your roommate when all you know how to do now is mope and cry about a boy who probably hasn’t thought about you since. But he’s been holding you through all your breakdowns, and even sets up the air mattress on the floor of your bedroom when some nights are a little bit harder than most. 

“I’ve had better days”, you glare at the pan in the sink. “What’s up?’

“So I have a friend…”

“Jimin, no.” 

He sighs over the phone understandingly, but still not satisfied. “I know it’s only been a month Y/N, but it doesn’t have to be anything. He’s not looking for anything serious either. But maybe it would be good for you to take your mind off things.” 

It’s been a month. Four weeks. Roughly 31 days, and you still remember every word he said to you in the hallway of the art building. Every pause and quiver of his breath, and the way he looked so completely indifferent to your pain. Was one month enough for you to let go even after finding out Jungkook never planned to hold on in the first place?

“Look, you don’t have to decide now. I’m sorry for pushing you if you’re not ready.” His mumbling is apologetic and it makes you realize that Jimin genuinely means well. Maybe you weren’t ready to move on from Jungkook yet. Maybe you never will be. He was your damn soulmate, after all. But maybe a distraction couldn’t hurt.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it.” 

You can practically feel him smiling like an idiot over the phone. “Really?!” You sigh into the speaker and Jimin knows better to continue talking before you change your mind.

“His name is Namjoon, he works with me at the office. Super cute. Super hot. Super smart. Checks all your boxes!”, he rambles on about the nitty gritty details and though a part you is proud that you’re making the decision to move on with life, you can’t help but to realize that no one will ever be able to “check all your boxes”.

Not if they’re not Jungkook. 

“He sounds great, Jimin.” Anyone can tell your happiness is disingenuous, even through the phone. Jimin tells you that he had already planned a date (without your knowledge), and sends you on your way with a quick goodbye when his taxi arrives. The silence of the apartment after the conversation leaves you feeling even more weighted, but hopeful for the possibility of a distraction. You had a feeling you won’t be able to forget the likes of Jeon Jungkook if you tried. But, if only for a night, you were to forget the pain of loving him, you’ll take that chance. 

◑

“What do you mean they all ‘feel the same’?” Jungkook is exasperated. He had drafted a complete version of his portfolio, working through the nights by the sweat of his brow. Now his professor was telling him that all his pieces felt the same and Jungkook thinks he might commit arson to the art studio.

Professor Sejin sighs contemplatively, taking off his glasses and throwing them on the table, all too familiar with Jungkook’s periodic art tantrums. 

“I mean that your pieces lack any variegation. The portfolio is well done and coherent, but the completed package is one-noted. It’s consistent. But too much so.”

Professor Sejin’s words make him fall back into the chair dejectedly, shoulders slumped and disappointment in his eyes at the critique of his art. Though it is hard to hear, Jungkook always welcomes productive criticism. The older man sympathizes with his downcast eyes and the visible stress on his back. 

“Look, Jungkook”, he affirms sincerely, “you just need to find some dynamic. Something to make people know that you can do more than one tone of art.” It’s obvious that the professor has a soft spot for the boy in front of him, who looks like his entire world is collapsing. The portfolio folder is handed back to him and Jungkook has the urge to burn it and not hear the word “gallery” again in the next decade. 

“I have faith in you. You’ll figure out what it is that you’re missing.” The smile on the man’s face is congenial. Genuine. And even though he has an ambitious amount of work to do, Jungkook finds the will to nod, haul himself off the office chair, and begin the trek back to his studio. 

The pinnacle of spring is approaching and the sun shines brighter with each morning. Not that he would know or care. He’s spent the last month locking himself inside, dedicating every fluid ounce of energy towards completing his project. It’s been surprisingly easier, and Jungkook finds himself finishing paintings, sketches, and sculptures with ease. Like untapped inspiration had revealed itself to him suddenly. Yet it still wasn’t enough...at least not according to Professor Sejin. 

Headphones drown out the cacophony of hustlers and bustlers with the laughter of children as accompaniment. He doesn’t allow himself to enjoy the music of the city. Not anymore. It gives him too much space to think, and Jungkook has a feeling that’s not good for anyone and definitely not good for him. 

The sight of a familiar bakery with particularly delicious apple strudels is enough to stop him in his rush, feet winding down until he is standing outside, staring at the door and wondering if he could go in without being reminded of you. Well, it might be too late for that anyhow, but further signs of protest are halted when he hears his growling stomach. 

Jungkook had morbidly underestimated your presence in the memory of his favorite cafe. You are everywhere. He sees your smiling face when he looks up at the chalkboard menu, soul vying for you to be next to him and excitedly choosing a new fru-fru drink that would undoubtedly have excessive sugar. He hears your giggles ruminating through the cafe while the other patrons only hear the music over loudspeaker. He practically feels you near, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s better this way. No one gets hurt this way. 

Jungkook plops himself at a corner table and buries his face in his hands, fingertips soothing over his pulsing eyebags and wrinkles he’s gotten from sleep deprivation. He desperately needs an espresso shot. Or five. 

“Hey…”, a voice makes him snap his head up. Jungkook recognizes the stranger as the owner’s son, who always stands guard at the cash register. The tag on his lapel reads Kim Seokjin, and Jungkook has a distant memory of you gushing over how nice Seokjin’s hair was. He had acted unbothered back then, but Jungkook would die before telling a soul that he was annoyed and jealous when you thought the cashier was cute. 

“Jungkook, right?”. He has a kind smile and a natural air of invitation. Jungkook nods. 

“I’ve seen you around a lot. Where’s that girl you always come here with?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business”, he nearly hisses, antsy at the mere mention of you. He instantly regrets it though. Seokjin looks like he’s been cornered with a blunt weapon, and it makes Jungkook sigh at his own asshole-ishness. 

“I’m sorry”, he mumbles, “just not a good day. At all.” 

There is a pause and hesitation before the boy speaks. “Do you...wanna talk about it?” Seokjin’s question is met with silence. 

There is a predictability about Jeon Jungkook. He doesn’t open himself up to anyone. He pretends that he doesn’t have problems so well, people start to become convinced. He avoids new connections like it’s the plague. But there is something so idiosyncratic about Kim Seokjin that makes him want to talk. Makes him want to trust a complete stranger. 

So Jungkook nods, depositing his black backpack besides him and lets himself breathe deep. 

“Her name is Y/N….”

In the lukewarm air of the café, Jungkook tells Seokjin about you. About the tiny crescent moon on your wrist that identically matches his - even unwraps his cloth to show it - and how he pushed you away hard enough to put an ocean’s worth of distance between the two of you. He tells Seokjin about Yoojung and the stars on her skin that have been plaguing him since the day she left. He tells him about that damn portfolio that refuses to be finished; one that he apparently has to start over because Professor goddamn Sejin says it's too boring. He allows himself to unload, and wow is it easier to breathe when you talk about your feelings. Jungkook reminds himself to do that more often. 

The “conversation�� seems to stretch for hours (if a conversation can be considered one person unleashing all their hidden baggage on the other while they sit in silence). Jin listens intently through the entire ordeal, offering occasional nods and encouragement for him to continue. When Jungkook finally finishes with a deep breath, falling back on the chair looking completely worn out, Jin fixes him with a hot tea before speaking.

“The portfolio is important to you, Jungkook. If it’s important to you, you’ll find a way. Something tells me that you’re not one to give up so easily”, he quips with a playful lilt in his voice. Jin’s genuine faith in him makes Jungkook believe in himself.

“And as for Yoojung, well, I can’t speak on your pain. You are the only one that narrates your experiences but as much as she seems like a villain in your story, perhaps she has opened a door.” Jungkook thinks his voice sounds far too wise to be coming from a guy in his 20’s.

“Would you have known how to nurse a broken heart had it not been for her? I’m sorry she did that to you, Jungkook, but..Yoojung is your past. And I see so much in your future.” 

Jungkook only stares into the abyss of his tea cup. The reflection that stares back is someone he desperately wants to learn to love. When he looks up again, there is a sad glimmer in Seokjin’s gaze. Something so despondent that he feels second-hand pain. 

Jin pulls up the sleeve of his knit sweater. On his wrist sits a faded marigold, so blanched it almost blends in with his skin and makes him wonder if it will just disappear one day. Jungkook feels his blood run cold.

“It’s been two years since she died”, he stares solemnly at his skin, “I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about her.” 

Jungkook’s thought about his soulmate mark disappearing before. Even hoped and prayed for it the days after Yoojung left. But now, when he sees it up close on Seokjin’s wrist, Jungkook doesn’t want to wish that loneliness upon anyone. 

“She was so damn...persistent”, Jin laughs, fondness dripping in every word. “Like your Y/N in that way, I suppose. She had a goal and was hell-bent on achieving it. She was so kind and strong and much more of a badass than I could ever be. I loved that about her.” There is sorrow in his voice when he uses the past tense, and Jungkook feels even worse for pouring his heart out about his very alive soulmate. 

“She was studying to be a doctor, you know? Ironic that even the best doctors couldn’t have saved her in the end.” His sentence trails off and he loses focus gazing out the window, fidgeting with the ring on his left hand with a faraway look in his eyes. 

“I don’t mean to ramble about my dead soulmate for no reason, Jungkook. And I’m in no position to tell you what you should or should not do regarding Y/N. But if I could restart this life with my soulmate, there wouldn’t be one second I would waste not at her side.” Jin’s tone is not accusatory or convicting. Just honest.

“It’s normal to be scared and apprehensive. Hell, I would be more concerned if you weren’t going into it with a shit ton of skepticism. I was terrified. Yet out of the billions of people that could’ve had my mark on their wrist, just knowing that she was that one was enough for me to love her.”

The cup of tea has long gone cold. Jungkook only manages to stare at the mahogany table, thoughts too heavy to voice aloud, so Jin continues. 

“I think I would give anything to know that such a person still exists for me. Someone out there that was chosen by an unknown, cosmic force for an unexplainable reason just for me. To see a mark that matches my own. Well…”, Jin breathes deeply, tears welling in his eyes but not falling, “I think that must be the most wonderful thing in the entire world.”

◒

Seokjin’s words stick with him long after he has departed from the café. Long after the tea has settled in his stomach along with the weight of what a soulmate means to this stranger whose life story he has learned in the course of an evening. 

Even so, Jungkook’s not sure what he should feel. The fear of vulnerability still feels like a designated thundercloud above his head, and the thought of letting you past his walls makes Jungkook want to run the other way.

At the same time, the trepidation doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. It’s still there, and he can’t pinpoint exactly what happened but when he sees your smiling face behind his eyelids, Jungkook doesn’t feel scared. When he focuses on what you look like under sunlight, or your eyes staring at him through a camera lens, there is no fear of the broken heart you could leave him with. Just something warm. Something that feels an awful lot like...love?

 But what does Jungkook know about such things? 

He shrugs it off his shoulders, and readies himself for a night of inevitably restless sleep. He blames it on the impending due date of his beloved portfolio, but really, it is you. You and your insistence on trying every single coffee shop in the city. You and your convoluted idea of a date; letting your partner choose the location with their eyes closed. You and…

Just everything about you. 

He falls asleep well into 4am. The thin strap of cloth sits on his bedside table. Even if it is only for the night sky to see, Jungkook lets his soulmate mark breathe. 

◐

It’s been so long since you’ve dressed up or cleaned up to go out anywhere, the reflection that stares back feels like a stranger. You’ve opted for a bold red lip, meticulously applying your makeup so that even the wing of your eyeliner was sharp enough to kill. Jimin forced you to curl your hair too, of course. The girl in the mirror looks beautiful. You know that she is beautiful.

So why is it that you can only see the face that is not enough for Jeon Jungkook? A person that he is unable to love. No, not even foundation can cover the face of longing.

“Y/N”, Jimin sing-songs, “hurry! You don’t wanna be late do you?” No, you don’t want to be late. You want to not go. Maybe retreat to your bedroom and cry the night away again. But you won’t tell him that when he is so clearly ecstatic that you’re spending a night out for the first time in months. 

The restaurant looks like it is entirely out of your budget. Well, you reckon any restaurant is out of your budget with all the debt that looms overhead and your painfully apparent unemployment. Waiting for Namjoon is less than exhilarating, and you spend the time fiddling with your bracelet that conveniently covers the crescent moon. These days, you can’t bear to look at it anymore. Your eyes are glued to the little mark, before a voice sounds from across the table.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was insane. You must be Y/N, nice to meet you.” You weren’t sure what you expected Kim Namjoon to look like but were pleasantly surprised. Namjoon looks like he takes care of himself, neat and clean and sporting a very shiny watch that looks like 4 months’ worth of rent. 

“And you must be Namjoon. Likewise.” 

When he pulls out the chair to sit down, you can’t help but to notice the cloud on his wrist. It was smaller than yours but you had no doubt it felt just as heavy. If Namjoon felt your gaze on his skin, he did nothing to show it. 

“Hey, I know I just got here but…”, he sighs and takes a look around the room, “do you wanna get out of here? Find the cheapest and greasiest food we can?” His request makes you smile, and you grab the purse that rested on the table. 

“Namjoon, I think that’s the best idea you’ve had yet.” 

You and Namjoon manage to find a diner that wasn’t far from the fancy restaurant, and you thank the skies that you didn’t have to pay $50 for a salad tonight. Just some pocket change for quite possibly the best and oiliest hamburger you’ve ever had. 

By conversation that happens through mouthfuls of food and faces smeared with milkshake residue, you come to learn that Namjoon is an unsurprisingly nice guy. He studies poetry, but is working as a secretary at an office, hence his connection to Jimin. He loves to garden and talks about his bonsai plants to you like they’re his kids, even pulling up pictures on his phone and gazing down at them fondly. It makes you smile. He plays the piano, and likes to take long bike rides when the weather permits. 

It’s nice to have someone reciprocate your effort. It’s something you haven’t experienced in a long time, all credit to one Jeon Jungkook. Namjoon is warm in all the corners where Jungkook is cold. 

In a word, he is pretty damn perfect. And if he had a crescent moon on his wrist, you probably wouldn’t bat an eye or have a lick of doubt in the universe. He encompasses everything you want, so alike you in so many aspects it makes you wary. If Namjoon had your matching soulmate mark, you would already be in love with him. 

But he doesn’t. And that thought alone keeps you from feeling anything but platonicity. He is not Jungkook. You don’t think anyone can make you feel the way Jungkook does. You want to curse the stars for making this so. 

It’s well into the night, and you both remain planted in the diner booth, chatting and chuckling over a plate of french fries. It’s when you drift off while he’s talking about his latest attempt at focaccia that Namjoon sighs and sits back in the seat. 

“What?”, you confusedly ask after he suddenly stops speaking.

He smiles. Stays silent for a couple seconds. Then speaks. 

“So what did your soulmate do to you?”

His question catches you off guard and you can only stare at him, frown on your face and words lost on your tongue. 

“You’ve been staring into space every 5 minutes this whole night, and fidgeting with your bracelet so much I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen off”, he explains, tenderness and sympathy in his tone. 

“Every time I speak, you have this sad look in your eyes and I have a feeling you’re imagining someone else’s face, Y/N. I’ve enjoyed talking to you...a lot. But I can tell you want to be somewhere else so”, Namjoon places his elbows on the table and gazes at you endearingly, “tell me about your soulmate.” 

You stare at Namjoon through shocked eyes, glistening with the onset of tears that you manage to keep from escaping. Gosh, you were pathetic. Already wanting to cry at the mere mention of him. Or maybe the fact that someone could see through your facade. You take a deep breath. 

“His name is Jeon Jungkook.” Your voice quivers, and Namjoon continues listening intently. You are reluctant to continue because you know that once this conversation begins, there is a chance you might have to confront yourself again with the pain of loving someone who doesn’t want love. You internally apologize to Namjoon in advance, for you might cry on this first date. 

“I…I’m completely head over heels in love with him  but after everything, I’m not sure I have the slightest clue what love is. Because what sane person can fall in love with a person who has made it clear that that love wouldn’t be reciprocated from the get go?”

You fiddle with the plastic straw in your milkshake, searching for the courage to go on and tell him about every thought that you have denied yourself the satisfaction of verbalizing. 

“He loves apple strudels, you know. Eats them every time like they’re the last apple strudels he’ll ever have and he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching”, you chuckle, gaze drifting off to space. There is a fondness in your eyes as you speak, and Namjoon does not miss it. 

“He’s as punctual as the day is long. One time I was late to a photoshoot and he almost made me cry lecturing me about the importance of being on time. But now I’m never late.” 

The memory makes you, as well as Namjoon, smile. 

“He paints like his life depends on it, and he’ll get oil paint on his face without noticing and sometimes I just want to reach out and wipe it off. But I think he’d murder me on the spot.”

“How come?”, Namjoon offers his first words in the midst of your monologue. You’re not sure what to say next. 

“Well...I think Jeon Jungkook might be the coldest person I’ve ever met”, you dejectedly sigh. Reality tastes bitter even with remnants of whipped cream on your lips. 

“Every time I was around him, it felt like I was willingly breaking my own heart just for the chance to know that he was next to me. That in this entire world of billions of people, the one with the same moon on their wrist was next to me. And...I guess I didn’t really need him to love me yet”, your gaze locks onto Namjoon and you find he is already staring at you with utmost curiosity and subtle pity. 

“Jungkook alone was enough. I just wish he could have felt the same about me.” 

Perhaps the reason why the truth is so painful to speak is because people have a tendency to run from it. Then when it catches up to you, it’s a harsh trip and fall to the rocky ground. There is no cushion when you land. 

Namjoon doesn’t offer advice. Doesn’t dish his own experiences to relate to your own or even make any comments from his perspective. He just sits and listens in silence, but it doesn’t feel like he is disregarding you. No, his eyes tell you that he soaks in every word. You hope you’ll get the chance to do the same for him...if he ever decides to share his story with you. 

The two of you leave the diner with a prospective to be friends, and no plans of a future second date. You had a strong feeling that spending the entire evening talking about your unrequited soulmate love had something to do with that. Nevertheless, though Namjoon didn’t work out as a distraction, you were glad to have met him. It made you realize something.

Even if Jimin thought you were ready to move on. Even if you thought you were ready to forget. It might be a lifetime before you finally let go of that boy.

◓

The morning reeks of rain and dew, humidity nearly clawing its way through his window and turning his apartment into a swamp. When he wakes up, it is not to his blaring alarm clock, but the uncomfortable sensation of a sweaty shirt sticking to his back. Jungkook groans, already tired of this day. It seems hopeless from the beginning. 

As much as he wanted to stay home and crank up the air conditioner so much that his landlord would come running, Professor Sejin’s voice reverberates through his eardrums.

You art is too one-noted, Jungkook.

Be better, Jungkook.

You’re talentless and will never succeed, Jungkook. 

Of course, these are not Professor Sejin’s verbatim, more so Jungkook’s own mind that twists his teacher’s constructive criticism into something else. He is a master at feeding his insecurity.

Jungkook chugs down a lukewarm cup of black coffee, and his stomach growls for something with a little more sugar and maybe a dash of rainbow colored sprinkles. He guesses he has you to thank for that. The art studio is always a daily destination, and this day is no different. Jungkook has a plan to dedicate himself to fixing his portfolio and maybe finish that clay piece he never got around to. 

The studio is too cold for his liking; Jungkook can’t remember how many times he has begged the superintendent to lower the AC. The cold he can deal with. The loneliness, however, is a different story. Jungkook is always alone. Alone when he’s in his apartment. Alone when he’s in class. Alone when he’s in the art room. These days, aloneness feels more haunting when he knows he had the option to escape it, but chose to stay. A part of him is ready to admit that it’s because of you. 

Jungkook hums a random melody that had been stuck in his head since the morning, fingers gliding over the slick sculpting clay. The days are easier now. He doesn’t think about you so much when the sun is out and there is the bustling of the busy city to distract him. The nights, however, are just as difficult as they have been. Jungkook’s last drifting thought is of you, and your face torturously carries over to each dream. Like his entire being misses you but he refuses to accept it. 

He takes a deep sigh in relief once the sculpture feels finished. Professor Sejin wanted something more dynamic, so there: his very own realist clay piece drawing inspiration from Praxiteles’ sculpture of Aphrodite. He sits back in pride, admiring his own handiwork and giving himself a mental pat on the back. It looks great. Perfect even. It looks….

It looks like you. 

Jungkook pales at the realization as the clay face stares back at him. No, this was supposed to be Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love, inspired by the ancient Greek artist that sculpted her. Then why does she have your nose? Those eyes are definitely your’s and even those cheeks are identical. Jungkook hadn’t even realized that in the rhythm of his art, he got lost and accidentally sculpted your face instead. 

He walks away from the clay table and hurriedly yanks off the soiled apron around his waist, confusion swimming in every cell of his body. How had he just...made a sculpture of you? With no knowledge that he was doing it?

Jungkook leans with his back against the sink, staring down at the floor with furrowed brows and a thundering heart. With a sudden epiphany, Jungkook leaps from his position and pulls out all the canvases, printed photographs, graphite drawings, and clay pieces he’s made for the past few months. Everything he can grab in the small studio space. 

It is then that he comes to the daunting realization:

Holy shit.

Professor Sejin was right.

 Everything feels the same. His whole portfolio has one note and no dynamic or diversity because...well, because all of his pieces are of you. Not you, necessarily, but your breath has come alive on his art in some way, shape, or form. 

The multimedia painting he made two weeks ago using polystyrene sheets was supposed to mimic sunlight through a stained glass window, but Jungkook hadn’t even noticed he'd drawn the window of the café you dragged him to on its opening day. And the colors of the glass is just the twinkle of your eyes when they stare back into his. 

The photoset he spent hours taking around the city, after taking a 15 minute train ride, were just repeats of all the places you two went to that one day. The book store. The park. The streetlight where Yoojung stopped him. He hadn’t even realized he only saved the photos associated with a subconscious memory of you. 

Jungkook can’t explain it, but he feels you in every single picture. Every piece of art that his hands have manifested since you walked into his life, stupid smile on your face and that little moon on your wrist. He feels it...and call it artist’s intuition or something but perhaps that’s why Professor Sejin could feel it too. 

Even though he stopped making you his muse months ago, you are still the root of inspiration for whatever he’s produced since. And if that’s not enough to finally tell him what he needs to hear. Finally make him realize that he’s fallen in love with you without even knowing it, the universe doesn’t know what will. 

The minutes it has been since he realized your place in his life melts like slow dripping honey, feeling like an eternity when it is mere moments. Jungkook regains his focus in the haze. He knows what you mean to him now, but there was something he had to fo first. 

He swipes all his paintbrushes and palette knives to the side, sweat on his brow as he furiously rearranges his portfolio. He takes out the pictures of Mina - no one would miss them anyway - and trashes all the photos he took before he met you. He only uses the art he’s created post-Y/N and tucks them in the manila folder so rapidly, there’s paper cuts on his fingers. But he doesn’t feel them. Jungkook has only one objective. 

He snaps a picture of the new clay sculpture he’s just finished. The photo goes into the portfolio with the name ‘Aphrodite’, but Jungkook knows better about whose face that truly belongs to. Not that anyone would bat an eye. He thinks you are as beautiful as the goddess herself. 

The trip to Professor Sejin’s office is short, unsurprising though, since Jungkook sprints the whole way there. When he arrives, and the professor can only stare as he’s bent over and huffing violently trying to catch his breath, Jungkook reminds himself to spend less time at the studio and more time on the cardio. 

He throws the portfolio onto the man’s desk unceremoniously, nearly collapsing on the chair across from him and not ready to speak yet. Professor Sejin confusedly rifles through the folder quickly, too quickly, and sighs, ready to offer Jungkook yet the same critique again. 

He opens his mouth, but Jungkook cuts him off. 

“Before you say anything…”, he gulps, finally ready to admit the truth to himself. 

“I want you to know that I’ve met my soulmate, a-and there’s a reason why you feel that my portfolio is all the same. There’s a reason why you feel it’s all one-noted or that there’s no progression.” Jungkook takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and you are there behind his lids. 

“It’s because she sowed the seeds for all of them. Everything. Those paintings and photos and sculptures are just symptoms of what I’ve been feeling this whole time after meeting her. She’s practically the artist, not me.” Professor Sejin stays silent at his monologue, gaze unreadable but eyes sharp and trained solely on Jungkook. 

“Maybe...Maybe art doesn’t need to be super variegated all the time. Maybe it’s supposed to be a cohesive unit and the pieces should string to each other. Maybe paintings should have a relationship to photos and them, to sculptures. Maybe you’re just...wrong.” 

He is exasperated and passion flows out of him through every pore. Jungkook looks expectantly at his professor, who has the open folder in his hand and still in the process of taking in his words. When the adrenaline starts to fade, he realizes that he just dissed his venerable teacher. 

“With all due respect…”, he coughs, “sir.” 

Professor Sejin lets Jungkook spend the next couple minutes in complete torturous silence so that he can finish reviewing his portfolio. The tension is cut with the sound of the man’s hands slapping together as he closes the folder. Jungkook prepares himself for a stern lecture.

However, when he looks up, there is a smile on the man’s face. There’s no malice there, or even disdain. He pulls off his glasses, sets them on the table, and sits back in the office chair, arms folded over his chest. Jungkook can feel his heart threatening to pound past his rib cage. 

“Jungkook…”, Professor Sejin declares, “I think you’ve got a contender for the gallery spot.” 

◑

If someone had asked you what Jeon Jungkook meant to you, you would look them in the eye and tell them that he meant nothing. Because it’s easier to pretend that someone does not mean anything to you after they pretend that you do not exist. That the universe had not given you both matching marks and deemed that your souls were meant for each other. Jeon Jungkook is a stranger to you. One that you wanted so badly to love. But you’ve come to learn that no matter how hard you try; you can’t love someone who doesn’t want to love at all.

So the days trickle by as they usually do. Painstakingly slow and viscous with memories of a boy named Jeon Jungkook and the way he has hurt you enough to last a little bit over forever. 

“I understand why you don’t want to go, Y/N. But aren’t you the least bit curious? Especially after that fancy invitation in the mail?” Jimin’s query is innocent. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your blood boil. 

“I don’t know...the thought of going to my soulmate’s grand art gallery when the last time we spoke, he told me he can’t love me, just doesn’t seem appealing Jimin”, you snark, burying your face into the bowl of cereal you are now spooning far too aggressively. 

“But...it’s been months. And he wouldn’t have sent you an invitation if he didn’t want you to come.” 

This conversation has happened too frequently since that red envelope arrived at your apartment. You cried your eyes out when you opened it, both out of pride for Jungkook and the fact that no matter what you did, the universe found a way to keep you from moving on. 

A sigh heaves through your chest, and the cereal is abandoned by your loss of appetite. “I’m not going to show up there and have him tell me again all of the reasons he can’t be with me. I barely survived it last time.” 

“But what if, Y/N?”

There is a glimmer in Jimin’s eye and he radiates so much hopefulness for you, you can’t help but to feel it too. 

“Isn’t the what if already enough? You used to tell me that Jungkook was worth anything. Isn’t he worth the risk this time too?”

You don’t have anything else to say after that because as much as you hate to admit, perhaps Jimin is right. Jungkook is worth going through anything for, even if he wants to stay as far away as possible. Call it a fluke in the postal system that the invitation to his gallery landed on your doorstep, but can you allow yourself to read between the lines and dare say that he sent it himself? Can you put yourself through such a perilous thing like optimism?

Jungkook has left you battered and broken for the past months. But you would give your heart to him to break all over again if he asked. 

◒

To say that you did not fit in with those dawdling around the art gallery was a gross understatement. You didn’t just not fit in. Your entire presence and aura defied every expectation, and suddenly, watching the upper echelon of the city mingle with champagne and gaze critically at Jungkook’s art, makes every breath feel like an insecurity. 

The boy in question was nowhere in sight, and you now regret not dragging Jimin with you. The invitation had specifically prohibited plus one’s, and though Jimin whined to no end about his hurt feelings and emptily promised never to talk to Jungkook again, you managed to keep him home. Now, you wish you were back at the apartment with him.

The pieces were, in short, completely breathtaking (to no surprise, of course, this was Jungkook you were talking about). Though you knew he always held doubt in himself, in the short time he allowed you to be in his life, you had never once thought he was anything less than spectacular. Yet you could not allow yourself to completely enjoy them. Each brushstroke and paint color you remember from his palettes, or the filters on the photos that you helped him with, was agonizing to look at. 

You are standing in front of a canvas titled “Windowlight” when a man comes up beside you. He nurses a flute of bubbly champagne and makes no move to gain eye contact. Unknown to you, Professor Sejin knows exactly who you are. He’s seen your face in his student’s portfolio one too many times. 

“Artful use of mixed media, isn’t it?”, he mutters.

“I suppose so.” 

“He’s quite the prodigy. Have you met him yet? I’m sure he’s lurking around somewhere.” The man takes a sip from his glass, smirk on his lips hidden from your eyes that still blankly stare ahead.

“Yes. He’s a...friend.” We share a soulmate mark. He hates my guts. 

He hums a sound of affirmation and you ignore the weird feeling it leaves in your stomach; one that tells you this stranger sees right through you. 

“Ah, how rude of me. Professor Sejin. Arts director and senior advisor.” He spares you a brief glance, but you make no move to shake his hand or pretend to be courteous. You don’t have the energy for it tonight. Just being in this building, surrounded by everything Jungkook has touched, makes you want to collapse into yourself. 

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” He speaks nonchalantly, and you almost miss the fact that you never told him your name. Your brows crease in confusion and you are ready to turn and interrogate the stranger, but he is already walking away, gliding smoothly across the gallery. Before he gets too far, though, Sejin cranes his neck and makes eye contact. 

“Oh, and be sure to visit the one called ‘Moon’. It’s upstairs, next to the Aphrodite sculpture on the second level exhibit”, he entreats, a suspicious lilt in his voice.

“Something tells me you’ll appreciate its…sincerity.”

Honestly, you’re not sure what you expected when you came to Jungkook’s art gallery tonight. But to be approached by a stranger who already knows your name, who dubiously instructs you to seek out a mystery art piece, was not on the list of expectations. Still...Professor Sejin’s words made you curious. 

Through the night, your eyes subconsciously seek out that familiar head of fluffy brown hair and a tall gait that always seems to stick out, even in a large crowd. It was as if Jungkook versed himself in complete camouflage, so much so that you began to doubt that he was even in the building.  

The traipse through the gallery is done in silence and solitude, and you tune out the sounds of popping champagne and raucous laughter coming from the second floor, as the patrons undoubtedly banter over which piece to auction off. You hope he keeps them. You’ve never seen someone appreciate art the way that Jungkook does. 

You catch sight of a few pieces that you recognize, ones that you remember him showing you when he had finished. You always excitedly told him every single one was a masterpiece, and Jungkook only rolled his eyes and made minimal effort at hiding the blush on his cheeks. Your steps falter when you come across a set of photographs in black and white, set in consecutive frames next to each other and it feels so warm despite the lack of color. Jungkook just had that special talent when it came to photography. 

It’s the bookstore. In the city during the impromptu train ride you had coerced him to take. Your heart catches in your throat as you recognize all the other ones immediately because well...you’ve been to all those spots. A familiar pressure builds in the back of your eyes, and you swallow down a whimper of pain. 

The urge to leave becomes too strong. But not strong enough to quell the slow burn of curiosity from Professor Sejin. There is a chance that you might not run into Jungkook at all tonight with the vast space and people bumbling through the corridors. It hurts to think that you might never see him again at all, but you’ll allow yourself another indulgence. Something is calling you. 

Moon. He titled it Moon? You grip onto your wrist reflexively and run your thumb over the mark, like you did when you were younger and still had hope for soulmates. The pulsepoint there beats under your finger and lets you know how alive you are. Compels you to give into your curiosity, even if it might decimate your already crumbling heart. The stairs that lead up to the second floor are short, but the trek feels like it knocks the wind out of you, or perhaps that was just the anticipation of what was waiting for you on the other side.

You were right to be scared. Because right in the smack dab center of the circular room is where you see it, and your gasp is one that can be heard from each wall and corner. 

A painting of you. A portrait from the waist up, with oil paint and so much detail, Jungkook has even managed to line the shallow wrinkles by your eyes when you smile. You have never considered yourself beautiful in any sense but the way he has captured you on canvas starts to make you believe that you truly are. You feel Jungkook in each streak of the brushstroke where he hadn’t spread the color evenly. It is as if the painting is alive, and though you are staring at yourself, it doesn’t feel like the way it does in the mirror. Doesn’t feel like a reflection. 

No, this feels like looking through Jungkook’s eyes. It is what he sees in you, rather than what you see in yourself. And what he sees is beautiful. Through the haze of shock and confusion as to why he chose this as the centerpiece, you don’t notice the warm presence that lurks behind you. The one that has watched your every move since you walked into this building. 

“Yeah, that’s my favorite one too.” 

You whip your head around so quick it nearly gives you whiplash, but the sight of him is the nail in the coffin. Jungkook is cleaned up in a black suit, and an unfamiliar smile on his lips he rarely lets you see. A genuine one that he’s tried to hide so many times but now that it’s clear and up close, you resent him for keeping it from you. 

Jungkook is just as gorgeous as the day you lost him. 

But looking at him hurts. You don’t know why you’re even here, and why he sent the invitation, or why he was standing in front of you now and there is not a sliver of antipathy in his eyes. You don’t know why your face is plastered in the center of the gallery. Most of all, you don’t know why you are still weak in the knees for Jeon Jungkook. 

“Although, I have to say, it was a close race between this one and the pictures I made you take at the lake, when you nearly dunked me in the river because it was so cold”, he breathily laughs but you aren’t able to get through the shock just yet. If Jungkook notices your starstruck state, he doesn’t let it affect him. 

“And I definitely have to give some credit to the one I painted after you told me about your dream”, Jungkook prattles on, “where you were a mermaid who planted peaches under the sea, remember? That’s an honorable mention.” 

These memories make you want to smile but in this moment, the best you can do is try to hold yourself together when your eyes begin to warm with tears. Jungkook stays silent when you do. He notices you haven’t said a word and your gaze refuses to meet his. 

“Why are you doing this, Jungkook?”, you curse yourself when your voice cracks. “Why are you telling me these things? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” Jungkook’s smile drops off his face, and for once, you can see your own pain reflected in his eyes. 

He takes a deep breath, hands hanging limply at his side that itch to wrap themselves around yours. To feel your skin. Feel your mark. 

“I…”, he hesitates in his words, “I remember that day every night when I go to sleep, Y/N. Every time I shut my eyes, I just see your face when I told you I can’t love you, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt such aching before. Not even when she left me.” Jungkook’s voice is tinted with desperation but it just makes your walls rise higher. 

He’s lying to you. Your tongue wants to protest, but he continues. 

“I see you in everything”, Jungkook breathes out, like he is also admitting it to himself. 

“The paintbrushes I can never put down to the black coffee I force myself to drink nowadays because the ones I actually like, the ones with too much whipped cream and vanilla syrup, just reminds me of you.” His brows are knitted, and his feet vie to step closer to your quivering form. But you look like a caged animal about to bolt at any moment. 

“And when I’m reminded of you, I am reminded of…”, he gulps down the fear, “I’m reminded of how I am utterly in love with someone who deserves so much more than what I have put them through.”

The blood that runs through your veins drops to subzero temperatures, and you swear in the split millisecond that you have absorbed what he’s just said, your heart ceases its beating. The world stops turning, and the waves still for a brief moment. You can’t find any words just yet, but Jungkook can see straight through you and your stupefied expression. 

“Y-you’re lying to me, Jungkook. Stop lying.” 

“I’m not lying, please…” Jungkook knows he’s losing you by the second, but he’s promised you he would persist. He just wants you to listen. Wants you to feel how sorry he is, and how his soul screams to be next to your’s. 

“I can’t explain how it happened. Like it was an epiphany. Like someone has been screaming at me and I had been ignoring them, and that someone was my own heart.” Jungkook doesn’t stumble over his words once. He does not stutter because it is the plain white truth. 

“Stop, Jungkook.”

“It’s been knocking on the door of my chest and when I finally let it in, it just yells and shouts ‘oh my god, you’re in love’ and then I realized oh my god, i’m in love. In between painting you and convincing myself that soulmates meant nothing to me, I’ve completely and unquestionably fallen in love with you, Y/N.” 

Jungkook can’t decipher the look on your face. Something between the lines of disbelief and heartbreak, and it makes him want to split at the seams at the pain he’s put you through. How he’s convinced you you’re impossible to love. He vows to make it right again.

“Jungkook-”

“And you’re wrong, you know. You’re not hard to love. Hell, I was dead set on never loving again and you managed to make me so smitten, I can’t paint or draw a damn thing without including some aspect of you in it.” Jungkook steps back and gestures to all the canvases and photos that hang on the wall. 

“Take a look around, Y/N. It’s all you. Every piece.” Once he says it, you finally notice Every piece of art in this room can be traced to you, or a memory you two share. It’s so clear, you don’t know how you missed it before. You feel yourself in the art Jungkook has poured his soul into. Instead of making you feel elated, these words that you’ve been waiting your entire life to hear just ignites the sting. 

“Just stop. Please.” It is only a weak whisper through your lips, and he ignores it. 

“If you can’t forgive me, I get it Y/N. I can’t forgive myself either. But can you just know that you are enough. You are more than what I deserve. And I know you told me to be happy, but there is no way I can possibly do that without you.” 

When your gaze falls to the floor, you notice that his wrist is clean of any bracelets or watches. Come to think of it, this is one of the first times you are seeing it clear and in the flesh. Jungkook doesn’t tell you, but nowadays, he doesn’t allow anything to impede on the sight of the crescent moon.

When your guard is down and you are distracted, he finds the perfect time to finally reach forward and take your hand in his. His touch is gentle when it wraps around your wrist, tugging off the ribbon that circled it, and revealing the matching mark. Your pulse jumps under his fingers, and skips a beat when he runs a thumb over the moon. You are already melting with such simple contact, and you almost allow yourself to succumb. Almost.

It’s as if suddenly his skin was scalding, and you snatch your wrist from his grasp at lightning speed. The tears that have strayed down your face are wiped away as quickly as they came. The surprise on his face is missed by your eyes because before he can comprehend what is happening, you are bolting down the staircase and out the glass doors of the gallery. No, you cannot forgive him yet. What would you do if he hurt you again? You don’t think you would survive. 

You ignore the pain of seeing his art pieces as you run, now that you know you are the muse behind them all. The only noise is the sound of blood rushing in your ears, and you are oblivious to the racket of Jungkook’s shoes clapping against marble flooring as he chases after you, expertly dodging the other patrons and butlers holding trays of champagne. 

And Jungkook? Well, he is oblivious to the complete turmoil that runs through your every nerve. He only sees your back, and not the way you bite your lip painfully to keep the sobs from escaping. Not the way your pain is exhibited clear as day in the crease of your eyebrow and the wrinkle of your nose. 

The air outside is so cold it bites at your nostrils, but makes it easier to breathe. The wind calms the thundering heart in your chest.

He must be lying. There was no way he had a change of heart now, not when he was so rooted in his belief before. There is no virtual possibility, on any plane of existence, on any dimension where Jeon Jungkook has fallen in love with you. 

Right?

The hand that circles around your wrist tightly to keep you from getting any farther tells you that you are wrong. He did come after you. Jungkook’s strength forces you to stop running, but you can’t find the courage to turn around and face him just yet. But you don’t make an effort to pull away, and he takes it as progress.

“You can run if you want, Y/N. You can walk away from me and from us, but don’t doubt that I’ll always be chasing after you. For as long as it takes.” He is panting and speaking through heavy breaths, but you hear him. Loud and clear. 

“I won’t let you leave again. Not like last time.”

There is no malice. No coldness, and for the first time since you’ve met him, his words feel like warm honey instead of monotone ice. He is utterly distraught when you turn around slowly, hesitant like you’re afraid he will break your heart right then and there. 

His heart shatters at the wetness at your waterline, and the way you look up at him; completely vulnerable and scared. 

“Do you promise?” 

There is a lot of weight in your three-word question. It’s not as innocent as meets the eye, and Jungkook knows it. He feels it. When you ask him if he promises, it is an invitation back to you. You are offering him your heart, which he has already broken and bruised, and trusting him to be careful with it this time around. Jungkook already knows he loves you. And if you let him, he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure this promise remains unbroken. 

“I promise.” 

It’s a commitment. One he used to be terrified of making, but it seems so easy when it’s for you. 

And when you fly forward to wrap your arms around him, Jungkook feels like home. Like the stars twinkle a little brighter and the earth stops spinning for a mere second, just for the two of you. You feel him squeeze you closer, just as tightly, and Jungkook wants to kick himself for depriving you both of a simple thing called love. 

You are here, souls and now bodies intertwined, and Jungkook lets the pain of past hurt fall away. Pain is so miniscule when you are by his side. When you pull back, Jungkook frowns at your red-rimmed eyes, and the tears that still persist. He wipes it away oh so softly, as if you were delicate clay and he, a sculptor. 

“Please don’t cry anymore, princess, it breaks my heart. I’m so sorry.” It is the softest, most sugary tone you’ve ever heard out of him. But hearing affection from his lips makes you feel that perhaps all of this sorrow, this longing, has been worth it. He has been worth it. He always has. 

“I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook’s words are almost as beautiful as he is. 

His lips are familiar when you lean forward and kiss him. Yet they are different. This time, the hands on your waist hold you a bit more carefully, even closer if that were possible. You can feel his thudding heart as it beats against your own, learning to match rhythms with each other, and Jungkook cradles your face in his hand like you are the only artwork he has truly been proud of. 

And it’s true. All the canvases and paints and camera film seem wasted now. Nothing he ever makes will be quite as alluring as the art he holds in his arms in this moment. 

“I love you too, you goddamn idiot.”

You meant it all those months ago, and you mean it now. If Jeon Jungkook was the sun, you would gladly change your name to Icarus. If Jeon Jungkook was the moon, then you are the tides that he pushes and pulls. If Jeon Jungkook belonged to you, well...you don’t have to imagine that anymore. He is your’s, as you are his. 

Old habits die hard, but they are not immortal. They wax and wane, and remind you that in the cosmic vastness of things, you are only human. Humans whose hearts beat in tandem and souls made to complete the other. Humans with identical crescent moons, lost but now found.

Old habits die hard. But you have learned to fix those of a broken heart. 

☾

[iibonniee]

Sweetheart (Jason Todd)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1k

When you steal someone’s heart it always feels like you’ve completed something. That a piece of you was now filled and no longer empty. When Jason stole your heart, well he finally understood what it was like to feel whole. His world, the once dark and shitty one had now been lighter all because of you. He should thank his older brother, but Jason could never give him the satisfaction.

Jason couldn’t help but sigh like an idiot on cloud nine as he watched you clean up the mess you had made. You, Y/N, had been the best damn thing to come into his life. This thing of sunshine and sweetness, but you knew how to control it. He caught your eye as you smiled waving towards him. A small blush crept onto his face as he turned away and back towards the tv. Your feet were too silent the only indication you were behind him were your hands beginning to massage his shoulders.

“Hey, handsome.” You whispered, kissing his cheek. He glanced towards his left to see your face, a smile so damn bright and genuine he could’ve sworn his heart did a backflip. “Is that spot taken? It looks rather lonely.”

Jason couldn’t help but laugh at your sentence. Instead of an answer, he gestured towards the seat watching as you gleamed at him before running around with something behind your back. Jason raised a brow, but you wouldn’t let him have it just yet.

“Whatcha got gorgeous?” The sweet nickname caused a blush to rush to your face this time. You giggled slightly, giving him slight puppy eyes.

“Promise you won’t judge?”

“I’ve never judged you,” He paused, giving you a gentle smile. “And I won’t start today.”

The small glint in your eye told Jason his words reached you well. Your hands came from behind your back showing a small box that seemed to be holding a thing of cards. The front had beautifully crafted words and snippets of art.

“Ok before you go and ask any questions let me explain.” A laugh escaped your lips as you handed the box to him. “For 50 days I want you to take one and read it out loud. I have written 50 reasons why I love you.” You watched as the confusion on his face was quickly changed to what you could assume was happiness.

“You’re such a dork, you know that?” He didn’t allow you a chance to respond as he tackled you with his fingers going to work on your sides. A loud bellowing laugh came from you. One so loud his neighbors might pound on his door and demand him to be quiet, but it was one he cherished so much and thought about often when he was in a dark situation.

“Jay! Stop!” You cried attempting to draw his hands away with little success. This man was just as strong as his brother. You’d make sure to yell at Dick for telling Jason about your biggest secret. “I-I can’t breathe! I’m gonna die.”

“No dying.” His fingers stopped, one hand resting on your waist as the other cupped your cheek. He listened as your laughter died down, the only thing remaining was a smile. “How do your cheeks not hurt? You smile so much.”

“Want me to never smile again, Todd?”

“If you stopped smiling, I might as well stop breathing.” He uttered as he kissed your nose, feeling it scrunch up beneath his lips. He chuckled softly, replacing his lips with his own nose.

“Now now,” He heard you tsk feeling your hands run through his hair. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

He hummed, finally pressing his own lips to yours. It was a soft kiss. One filled with so much love he swore everyone in the apartment building could feel their affection.

“Jay, I gotta start heading home.” That sentence had him groaning.

“Can’t you stay for the night?”

“No Jay.” Lightly pushing him off he complied with a grunt moving to stand with you. “I’ve stayed for the past 3 nights. I need to go home every once in a while.”

“Weeelll why not move in with me?” This caused you to turn to him with a brow as you shrugged your jacket on. “I mean we’ve been together for a good bit of time, you practically live here, and I wouldn’t have to worry about you being home alone.”

You smiled softly at your boyfriend. Who would’ve known under all of that hard exterior laid a man so soft. You knew he only allowed certain people to see it. Maybe just you if anything.

“Would it be Jason or Red Hood?” You winked as you kissed his now red cheek. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

Jason watched as you left now holding a soft frown. He waited a minute before he ran towards his room. There was no way in hell he was letting her walk home alone in Gotham. He quickly found his gear and he swore he never changed so fast. He knew the speech you’d give him if you caught him. It was one he had grown all too familiar with but he couldn’t help but feel like a terrible boyfriend if he let you out this late alone.

The chilly Gotham air seeped through Jason’s uniform. He shuttered using his grappling hook to swing to the next building.

‘No sign of Y/N.’ He bit his lip remembering the exact route you always took. His attention was quickly brought to a man grunting. He ran towards the edge of a building, his blood turning to ice as he saw you ducking the man’s punch following up with your own. He was so interested in the way you took care of him. His heart for a moment almost stopped when he saw another man run towards you wielding a knife. He swung it viciously hoping to get a hit, but with one well-timed block, you had somehow managed to incapacitate him.

“I know you’re out there Red Hood.”

Shit.

[punkassbookjockey26]

Story Time - Rowaelin Month, Day 4

Some fluff for ya on Day 4! 

Ratings: None, Warnings: None

Prompt: Libraries/Librarian

-----------------------------------------------------

Wednesdays at Orynth Public Library were Aelin’s favorite day of the week.

She finished setting up for her first Story Time class of the day, pushing back the hair that had fallen in her face, and surveyed her area. The room itself was bright and colorful, a wide array of posters for numbers and letters adorned the walls. Large, vibrant orbs hung from the ceiling with matching labels with the color names in both Common and the Old Language. She laid her books on the table at the front, a small felt easel to the side, and a stuffed cat out of view. All she needed was the children.

No sooner than she had thought it, the door opened and several of her regular kids toddled in, all happy smiles and giggles as they raced up to her to give her big hugs around her legs. Her face brightened significantly, kneeling in front of them to listen as they chattered on about everything and nothing at the same time. Her heart filled to burst with the love she had for these tiny, adorable babies.

They were hers, even if not by blood, but by experience. Aelin hadn’t been so lucky to have any kids of her own, so every Wednesday, she pretended that she had a whole class of them.

“Alright, everyone, let’s get seated. We’ll start class in just a minute.” Her smile was wide as many of the kids ran back to their parents, their laughter filling the small room with such joy. Story Time was the reason why Wednesday was Aelin’s favorite day. Sure, she loved her after-school kids that stopped by for arts and crafts or the book club she started, but there was something so utterly heart-warming and magical about seeing a class full of toddlers engage in a love for reading.

The door at the back of the class creaked open, and Aelin turned her head towards the newcomer. A small head of wild brown curls peeked in with wide, tentative green eyes meeting hers. The head disappeared as quickly, the door sliding shut. Aelin smiled to herself. It wasn’t the first time a shy child had come to Story Time, and it wouldn’t be the last. She just waited patiently for the entrance to open once more.

Sure enough, within a few seconds, the door opened again; this time, that same head of curls was clinging desperately to a towering man, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Aelin paused for a second, her grin falling just slightly as she took in the sight before her.

The man was gorgeous. He had to be several inches taller than her, a feat seeing as she was pushing six feet herself. He was wearing a tight t-shirt that clung snugly to his torso, with jeans that had probably seen better days, and his silvery blonde hair was disheveled as if he had spent the better part of the morning running his hands through it. A tattoo snaked down his muscled arm, covering the tan skin in dark words that Aelin couldn’t make out.

But her frown deepened when she noticed how absolutely lost he looked, staring at the class filled with moms and rambunctious toddlers. It wasn’t often that Aelin had a man in one of her classes, and even then, it usually was with a partner. This man had arrived alone, except for the tiny toddler hanging from him with a vice-like grip, burying her face in his neck. The little girl turned her head to look at Aelin, her eyes peeking out through the mess of curls. Aelin smiled at her, waving slightly, and she quickly buried her face back into her companion’s neck with a slight whimper. The man sighed, clutching her a bit tighter to him.

Aelin felt her heart squeeze. It had been a long time since she had a child this shy in her class. She strived to make Story Time a safe and engaging place for children, but it wasn’t easy when those children were adamantly against being in the room. Even now, as the man tried to sit on the floor, Aelin could hear the girl’s cries at being separated from him. Hushed tones followed when he tried to disentangle himself from her grip, but she clung on even tighter, refusing to sit in his lap. Aelin watched him wrap his arms around the girl, running his fingers through her hair to soothe her. It was heartbreaking to see, even worse that she wasn’t sure how to help.

That lost look returned to his face, even as he consoled the tiny child in his arms, and Aelin felt the urge to go back and help him. However, a quick glance at the clock told her that class was about to start, and as much as she wanted to reach out, it would have to wait. She needed to do her job first.

She just hoped that both of them would be able to survive the next half hour.

----

“Alright, class, now that we’re awake and we’ve gotten our wiggles out-” a chorus of silly giggles rang out, making her pause to smile, “-who’s ready for a story?” Aelin received celebratory cheers in response as she turned back to her table. She picked up the book she set out and turned back to the class.

“Today, we’re going to read about a little crab who learns to face his fears when he leaves home for the first time. Can you show me what being scared looks like?”

Not surprisingly, the children contorted their faces into wide-eyed, shock-filled visages that had Aelin biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. A few of the kids were even adding whimpers or false cries to add to the effect. “Good job, everyone. Those are some scared-looking faces I see!”

Aelin smiled warmly, her eyes darting over the group of kids before her. It had been a good class so far. No one had any outbursts, and they were listening well, which was a challenge for her toddlers most of the time. But every so often, Aelin would find her eyes drifting towards the back of the room, landing on her two newest attendees. The girl had finally released the stranglehold she had on the man’s neck and faced towards the front, her bright green eyes tentative yet inquisitive.

Aelin counted it as a win. It could have gone either way, based on how the child reacted when she arrived. However, Aelin prided herself on her ability to engage children in ways that eluded most parents, and she was grateful to see that she still was able to reach even the most unwilling of children.

Opening the book, Aelin began to read to the class, her voice rising and falling as she told the story of the little crab facing the big world outside his home for the first time. She hadn’t realized how perfect the book would be for that girl when she selected it, but she couldn’t help but be grateful for the serendipity. While most of the message would be lost on her under-five crowd, Aelin hoped that it might put her tiny friend at ease.

Even still, it surprised her when she felt a sharp tug at her jeans about halfway through the reading, and she looked down to see a wild head of chocolate curls and those curious green eyes focused on her. 

It wasn’t unusual for children to get close to her during Story Time. They wanted to touch the books or the puppets she used or climb on her to monopolize the attention that she doled out willingly. But Aelin would not have bet on that little girl leaving the comfort of her companion’s arms to come to the front of the room. But she had a job to do, and as much as she wanted to turn her attention solely on the brave little girl, she had to finish the story.

“Alright, sweetheart, can you go sit back down?” Aelin asked, rubbing the girl’s back affectionately. She turned back to the story to continue but paused again when she felt another tug on her clothes, followed by a tiny whimper.

The child reached her hands up to the air, wordlessly asking Aelin to lift her up and into her lap. Aelin looked towards the back of the room and caught the eye of her guardian. He looked utterly shocked at his daughter’s position and moved to get up off the floor. Aelin just shook her head slightly and reached down to pick her up.

“Okay, you can sit with me for now.” The little girl burrowed herself into Aelin’s lap, her tiny fists wrapping into her cardigan and her small head leaning against Aelin’s shoulder. Aelin went about reading the story to the rest of the group, completely at ease with the small girl in her arms. It was unusual, mostly because she didn’t typically allow children to sit with her during Story Time. It was vital for them to learn how to follow instructions, and that included sitting quietly on the floor. But, there was something about this child, and the man she was with that had Aelin bending all kinds of rules.

The girl clung to her for the rest of class. When they sat, she crawled right back in Aelin’s lap. When they stood, she insisted on holding Aelin’s hand. Even when they moved, she refused to interact with the other children, staying as close to Aelin as possible. Aelin should have told her to sit back with her guardian or at least sit with the other kids on the floor, but there was something timid in the girl’s expression that made her pause. And she wasn’t going to begrudge this child a good first-time experience simply because she wanted to enforce some arbitrary rules.

At the end of class, Aelin scooped the girl up in her arms, holding her tightly even as she said goodbye to the other kids and parents. When only a few stragglers were left in the room, Aelin walked towards the man in the back.

“I believe this one belongs to you,” Aelin said, untangling herself from the toddler and handing her back to the man. He still looked a bit shaken at how calmly his daughter reacted to being held by a stranger, but he quickly brushed the look away and replaced it with a shy smile, his free hand raking through his silvery hair.

“Yeah…I’m sorry about that. She’s not usually this clingy.”

“No worries,” Aelin said, smiling. “I’m used to it. Is she your daughter?”

“Yeah, she is,” the man said, fondly, smiling at his daughter, who had curled her arms around his neck. “This is my Millie.”

“She’s beautiful,” Aelin cooed, poking the toddler’s belly to evoke a toothy grin “I haven’t seen you around before. Is it your first time here?”

“Yeah. We just moved here, and I figured she could use some socializing with kids her age,” the man said, nodding. He set Millie on the ground, and she immediately wrapped her arms around his leg, pulling herself as close to him as possible.

“No better place than the library, in my opinion,” Aelin chuckled. “I do these Story Time classes a few times a week, so feel free to drop in anytime.”

“Thank you for that. She seemed to have a good time today, so we’ll definitely be back.” He smiled at her, and for the first time since he arrived, Aelin had a moment to appreciate his handsomeness.  Up close, she could tell that his tattoo was written in the Old Language, although she didn’t know enough of it to make it out. He had the same green eyes that his daughter had, a deep pine that reminded her of the trees in Oakwald. And when he smiled, she felt a strange flutter in her chest.

Aelin snapped from her perusal of him when he reached down to grab ahold of Millie’s hand, and she took it reluctantly, her tiny head swiveling to look up at Aelin. “Alright, Mills, say bye-bye.”

At that, Millie launched herself towards Aelin’s legs with a big “No!” Aelin stumbled from the force of the collision and looked down to find a wide pair of tearful green eyes staring back up at her.

“Well, she certainly likes you,” her father said with a laugh.

Aelin smiled at him, her hand absent-mindedly running through Millie’s curls. “It’s what I do best.”

He reached down to scoop Millie back up into his arms, her tiny hands reaching out for Aelin. The librarian ached to reach for her and console her, but she relented. Millie whined a bit as her father walked her toward the door, her little head popping over his shoulder to look at Aelin before she left. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Aelin promised the little girl, offering a sweet wave with an even sweeter smile. Remembering her manners, Aelin called again just before they walked out of her classroom.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name!”

The man turned and looked at her, offering a wide grin that Aelin swore made her heart skip a beat. “It’s Rowan.” Aelin tried not to pick favorites, but she just might have a new one.

------------------------------------------------------

Tag List:

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[lovelyghostlyharmony]

Yandere! Taehyung x reader

Taehyung liked you. Taehyung really liked you. That was why he had chosen you, wasn’t it? Because you were easy on the eyes and you had a head on your shoulders. Your heart was pure — at least, pure enough for him — and the sex between the two of you was great. The synergy was there. Personal chemistry was present. The only thing was that you were the first woman he had ever really liked this much.

This was his first real, committed relationship. He didn’t feel constrained or held down by your demand for exclusivity. On the contrary, it scared him how okay he was with it. To give up his freedom like that for an average girl like you? He would have laughed in anyone else’s face and told them to take a hike. Not you, though. And that fucking scared him.

Three months. It had taken you three months to burrow your way into his heart. You were some sort of witch. Perhaps you were a seductress. Yeah, that had to be it. There couldn’t be any other reason for his sudden, obsessive thoughts and overprotective behavior.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Tae, that’s my brother.”

“Didn’t like how he looked at you.”

“…did you miss the part where I said he’s my brother?!”

Who gave a fuck if a man was related to you? That wouldn’t stop him from making a move if he wanted to. There were some sick fucks in this world. Didn’t you understand that? Didn’t you understand that he was just trying to keep you safe and his?

But no, you couldn’t simply listen to him. You were independent. He had once liked that about you. Now, however, it pissed him off. It got in the way of you being the submissive woman he needed you to be. It needed to be squished.

Unbeknownst to you, there was a darkness lurking within your boyfriend. Sure, he could be mean, and sure, he pulled some tricks that bordered on abusive, but those things were child’s play compared to what truly lied below the surface. He could be far, far worse than he was. All it took was your love and attention to sow the seeds of darkness. You had made him comfortable enough to expose his genuine traits. If he was being honest with himself, this was your fault. If you hadn’t told him you would love him regardless of how much he changed during his work, then maybe he would have been able to help himself.

You stupid fucking girl. You should have never tempted a man like him with vows as impure as that. Had you thought him to be so noble that he would overlook your words and do the socially acceptable thing? No — you had to know that saying such a thing would serve to tempt a monster like him.

The game started with little quips here and there; nothing major. During a small argument, he had called you an ugly bitch beneath his breath. Of course, he had apologized after you had caught it and started crying. Although, that’s when he had first realized how insecure you were. Your appearance, your intelligence, the way you spoke, your personality traits — they were all free game. You didn’t like yourself as much as you let on. He would expose this gradually, and by the time you finally realized what he was doing, you wouldn’t be able to leave. You would think you were worthless. You would think you were nothing. You would be stuck with him, the sole one who could ever love a pathetic sack of crap like you.

Taehyung knew how much you would suffer through this process, but how else was he supposed to secure you at his side? You were beautiful and capable and bright and and and— God, you were his everything. In such a short amount of time, you were his everything. That was why he couldn’t risk you leaving.

He made it a goal to make you feel like utter garbage at every twist and turn. One day, he would no longer need to do this, but until that day came, he would just have to suck it up and be the villain.

The next technique he tested out was backhanded remarks beyond an argument setting. He would never forget how fast your head had snapped around to stare at him, eyes hurt and facial expression confused. You had been perplexed as to what had warranted him to say a thing like that. He had maintained his composure, however, and merely raised a brow. He had treated the circumstance like your reaction had been the odd thing about it all — not what he had said.

“I said your fuckin’ hair was nice!” He had snapped, rolling his eyes at your audacity.

You had whispered meekly, “you said it would be nice… if I bothered to get it trimmed every once in a while.”

To which he had shrugged callously. “Want me to make you an appointment somewhere? I know a guy that can work with anythin’.”

Much to his shock, you had asked him for the number of his stylist a few days following this event. You had even admitted that he had been right to say that your hair didn’t look the best. And that’s when Taehyung knew that you responded best to emotional conditioning in this horrendous art form.

So, when you tried to exit the house a few weeks later, he amped it up a bit. You were getting weaker by the day. Sometimes, you wouldn’t even want to look at yourself in the mirror. He’d had the pleasure of witnessing the grimaces you made when you were brushing your teeth in the morning; you didn’t even think you were sub-par anymore.

Why? Because in his eyes, you could always be better.

Much better.

You came into the kitchen with a slight bounce in your step. Taehyung didn’t even have to look up from his paperwork to know that you had done yourself up nice tonight because you thought you were going to an office party. Keyword: thought. The only thing that was going anywhere tonight was the rest of your self-esteem. Once that was gone, he could focus on your singularity. He couldn’t have you thinking you could exist without him, just as much as he couldn’t have you thinking you were anything without him.

“Okay, hun, I think I’m gonna head out,” you said softly, your voice low and your eyes cast to the ground.

You were acting exactly as he had taught you. Those who were lesser than him didn’t get the privilege of viewing him, in all his glory. He hadn’t assumed that this behavior would extend beyond the bedroom, but fuck, was he glad it had.

“What’s with all that dumbass makeup?” He grunted with a frown. “Look like a fuckin’ clown.”

Your face shrunk. Sheepishly, you turned to look at yourself in the nearby wall mirror. You didn’t think it was too much at the time you had applied it. It was a bit of eyeliner and mascara. You had covered a few of your blemishes and bruises with foundation, too, but he couldn’t have known that. Taehyung didn’t take an interest in your makeup. It was because of this that you valued his opinion so much. If he could see a flaw in what you had applied, it was probably more accurate than what you saw.

You were biased; he had helped you realize this.

“Do I?” You questioned absently.

He finally afforded you with a cold glare when you turned around to face him. The disappointed expression on your face revealed it all; you were doubting yourself yet again. You were waiting for him to give you the validation you needed but didn’t quite deserve. Self-esteem wasn’t free, though; you had to earn that shit. Hadn’t he taught you anything?

“C'mere,” he demanded, eyes twinkling with excitement he didn’t even bother trying to mask. “Sit on my lap, stupid woman.”

You trudged over to where he was situated at the kitchen table, pouting gently. You plopped down atop his lap. You didn’t like how he flinched upon impact.

“Fuck, you gainin’ weight or some shit?” He hissed, flexing his thighs beneath your ass. “Almost made my damn legs buckle.”

It was false, of course. You had gained no more weight than when you had first met him. Nonetheless, you didn’t need to know that. You only needed to feel insecure. You only needed to listen to what he said.

“Oh no,” you whispered, voice akin to the soft squeaking of a field mouse. “I haven’t weighed myself in a while.”

“No fuckin’ shit,” your boyfriend murmured.

Tears were welling up in your depressed orbs, and Taehyung thought you were gorgeous. He embraced you, holding you firmly to his chest. Time to swoop in with that validation before the sobbing began. He hated it when you cried like a little bitch. He couldn’t deny the rush of power it gave him, though.

“Hey, you know that crap doesn’t matter to me,” he muttered, brushing away your watery streams with rough fingers. “Love your ass no matter what.” But he had to top it off with an insult, of course. “Would be nice if your tits were bigger though. Remember my ex? She had some fucking knockers.”

Couldn’t have you getting a big head when he had you where he wanted you.

Masterlist

Yandere masterlist

@mwitsmejk

[teaandatale]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @geekynerddemon who so lovingly wished for me to finish Layer on Layer. And though I haven’t been able to do so, I thought I would whet your appetite with a preview of Part 1 of my 2 Part Epilogue.

Please note this is a rough draft & subject to thorough revisions when I get the writing muse under control again.

Layer on Layer: Epilogue- PART ONE

“You see one painting, I see another, […] it’ll never strike anybody the same way and the great majority of people it’ll never strike in any deep way at all but—a really great painting is fluid enough to work its way into the mind and heart through all kinds of different angles, in ways that are unique and very particular. Yours, yours. I was painted for you.” ― Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

Despite the scorching heat radiating from the sudden summer outside, Steve had turned the AC off while the sun blazed in through the windows of the loft’s living room where he’d been painting. He had his music turned up and he was humming as he worked.

Peggy had given him the custom made easel, sturdy, adjustable, gorgeous, no doubt pricey, as a gift. He’d been painting so much that Peggy had deemed it necessary he have an easel at her place, a designated space to work since he spent so much time there anyway. She had claimed is a selfish gift after he voiced concern about her being too generous, assuring him she looked forward to watching him paint from the comfort of her couch. And she often did, taking breaks from her work by watching him mix colors and paint broad strokes.

The first thing he had painted at his new easel was for her, another detailed flower arrangement, just for her.

After unveiling the final product of Ana’s anniversary painting, which reportedly made Ana cry, happy tears Jarvis assured, she had given Steve a tremendous hug and after their double date dinner, they discussed art for a long time, their significant others at their sides sipping tea opting to discuss the dessert spread instead. He’d been so happy and warm to sit there among her friends, her make-shift family, accepting and open to him. How he could possibly love Peggy more he didn’t fully understand other than that he was learning he did it with every passing day.

Not long after that, Peggy started suggesting dates at more art museums and galleries. She watched him paint and encouraged him to do it more broadly. To show his work. To do more commissions. He wasn’t sure about all that, but he did start to paint more and more. He’d started even transferring images out of his therapy journal into oils. He’d done several, even brought one in to show his art therapy group. They encouraged him to make a series, to show his stories on canvas.

Steve swirls his paintbrush into his yellows, ochres melding with browns.

He’s deep in concentration getting her warm brown eyes just right, the right shade, the touch of a knowing glimmer in them. He remembers the first time they locked eyes, across her bedroom, just down the hall from where he stood right then.

He’s so deep in concentration, he doesn’t think twice at the sound of the front door opening and then when he hears footsteps approaching.

“Hey Peg, aren’t you late?” he asks distractedly without looking up.

“She sure is,” a voice that’s not Peggy’s startles him. He nearly drops his palette, tipping it over and paint gets on his bare chest.

He looks up and sees Angie.

“Sorry!” she cries out, and he notices she’s not looking at his face when he sets the palette down, trying to wipe at the pint on his skin. “Wow. This is a look. Go English!”

Steve blushes, grabbing his rag and using it as a make-shift cover for at least part of his bare torso.

“I thought you two were meeting at your hotel for drinks,” Steve said, reaching over to the couch for his shirt. Angie is still staring when he slips it on.

“We were but she was running late. And so when she didn’t show I thought I’d see if we got our wires crossed and see if she was here. Sorry for scaring you. I still had my key, and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m sure Peggy just got caught up or stuck in traffic. You know how her work is.”

Angie nodded. “Yeah, she’s always going at a hundred miles a minute.” She stepped further into the room until she was right in front of the canvas. “You’re painting Peggy! You’ve been painting a perfect portrait of her half-naked looking like a Greek God. Unreal.”

Steve blushed further. “It’s hot in here but I prefer the breeze and the sunlight filtering in while painting so I turned the air conditioning off.”

“Oh don’t apologize, Steve. This has been the best surprise to walk into. I can’t imagine how Peg handles coming home to this every day.”

“We’re not living together.”

The yet goes without saying.

She giggled. “Yeah and when’s the last time you were at your place?”

“This morning,” he said defensively.

She just smirked and continue to devolve into giggles.

“You’re an amazing artist. That looks just like Peggy, down to that spark in her eye. I might need to hire you to paint me.”

He laughed. “Free of charge Angie. Friends and family plan.”

She grinned. “You’re as sweet as a button, you know that?”

“Can I get you something? Water?” he asked, already headed into the kitchen.

“Water’s good.”

They say down in the living room together chatting.

“How was your flight? Did you have press today?”

“Yup. Did a few of the morning shows. I have a late-night show appearance tomorrow afternoon that I’m pretty excited about. I can’t believe they’re having me on it!”

“We’ll have to record it. Peggy and I have been watching every episode by the way. But we’re a few behind because I have to wait and watch them with her. But you’re our favorite!”

“Aw, shucks. I cannot believe you got Peggy watching network TV.”

He laughed. “No I got her to use Netflix. You got her into network TV. She says you’re the most believable, though she always figures out the plot twists before I do. Are you giving her spoilers?”

“No way! And give away the impact of my performances before she sees them? That’s definitely all English. How’s she been? Super busy?”

“A little, but less so recently. She had a busy few weeks before her conference with the EU but she’s been keeping a regular schedule lately, coming home for dinner most nights.”

“Guess I just got unlucky with my timing,” Angie replied. “But I’m glad Peggy’s been taking some time for herself.”

Steve nodded. He’d seen Peggy in all sorts of ranges of stress in the last ten months. He’d been so glad that she’d been taking more personal time off, delegating, taking care of her well-being, seeking out his support when she needed it. Of course she was a busy woman. That was a given. But she always tried to make time. She always took the effort to stay present when they spent quality time together.

She’d gone out of her way to support his painting. They’d spent so many evenings out, sipping wine and swinging by the latest “hot” opening only for Peggy to proclaim that his work was much better, more moving, worthy of his own showing.

He still wasn’t all too sure about the whole artist career, but he loved how supportive she had been. How much she cared. How much she believe in him. It was nice to know if nothing else, he had a fan in Peggy.

“I’ve been trying to make sure she’s been taking care of herself better.”

“Good. I already know how good you are to her. She’s always happy to talk about you. I wouldn’t have believed it before actually meeting you.”

He shrugs off the compliment, after all he didn’t want the praise for just being there for someone he loved. Besides she deserved it and more.

“Maybe she’s got held up in a meeting. I’m sure she remembers our reservation,” Steve said after another fifteen minutes without hearing from her. “I’ll try to call her again.”

He didn’t catch her, but he did leave her a message reminding her of their reservation and that he and Angie would meet her there. Steve changed quickly in Peggy’s room and then the two of them hailed a cab. Angie filled him in on some L.A. gossip and some stories of her cast mates. He liked how bright and bubbly Angie was. He liked hearing stories of how she and Peggy became friends. How Peggy had always believed in Angie becoming an actress, and how the two always had each other’s backs. He liked knowing there were people apart from himself that cared so much for her.

They were early for their reservation, opting for the bar while they continued to swap stories. He checked his phone once they were seated but there were no messages. Angie convinced him to split an appetizer as she was starving and he hadn’t eaten since lunch.

“Must be some hell of a meeting English is stuck in for her to respond to my texts for like five hours.”

Steve hummed, checking his phone.

“Wait. What did you say? You haven’t heard from her in that long?”