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bubmyg · 5 years

Text

a coastal cabaret - pjm

pairing: jimin x reader

warnings: very very loosely inspired by the movie footloose, fluff, angst, major character death (prior to the events in which the fic details), death mention, themes of grief and loss, hoseok is the lovable best friend (i based him off willard if you’ve seen the movie lol), probably incorrect boat terminology

word count: 14,761

summary: sometimes an outside perspective is all that’s needed for the tragic events of the past to transform into something beautiful or the one where hoseok can’t dance and jimin is determined to keep the smile on your face.

a/n: six weeks in the making and she’s here...be gentle to me pls (also it’s definitely not necessary to have seen the movie to read this fic!!! i very loosely based the premise off the movie)

There was a tiny boat at the end of the dock, red with white stripes and a fanned awning suspended over the bench seats, five to a row, the sixth where the driver rests. The paint has been ruined over the years and seasons, bubbled in places, chipped in others, stained from the sun until it’s essentially burnt orange while the white becomes a dirty beige. There’s stickers altering the paint too, sponsorships and advertisers that both literally and figuratively keep the boat and business afloat.

A bright yellow sticker for the surf shop up the coast even if the only viable surfing location is over an hour in the next town over. A cartoon shrimp with a speech bubble announcing the new chain seafood restaurant parked up the shore in, to the untrained eye, what looks like a sand dune. A years old logo for the tourist boat company taking the brunt of the aging, missing entire letters, not the same one screen printed on the limited edition t-shirts hanging off the rental barn or proudly pasted to the upgraded yachts parked as the boat’s neighbors.

Upgrades a last ditch effort to save the crippling effects of mass media on the town. The sea water seemed to swallow the efforts along with a few hundred thousand dollars and a few tacky letters pasted on the side of the last family owned boat.

Se Bre ze Bo ts.

Jimin noted the waxed sheen off the bobbing machinery, marveling how such a thing could float when he was led past it, two, three, until there was no room left on the dock (in theory, he could have tested the water proof quality of his new shoes) and he was left with the sad rock of Ang l.

“And last but not least, the chariot,” Hoseok beamed, a wide sweeping move of his hand, palm up, presenting the boat and in the limited interaction Jimin had entertained with the red haired boy, he had every assumption to think he wasn’t being at all sarcastic.

Jimin scuffed his toe into the dock, wary to the creaks that emitted from that boat alone and he mumbled to the tiny school of baby fish that crowded around the supports, “...so that’s it?”

Hoseok laughed, a loud sound in the otherwise serene coastline, clasping a cupped hand over Jimin’s shoulder. “Keep them clean and we shouldn’t have any issues. That’s the extent of your duties. I don’t expect you to take the first group out tomorrow morning or anything, of course—” He tottered onto one foot, leaning into Jimin with a wrinkled dimple pressed into his cheek, “—...now the five o’clock…”

“Scare him off and you can go back to cleaning my baby for me.”

You paid no mind to the men in your path, cruising past their sandal clad feet to make it to your baby, otherwise known to Jimin as the saddest boat tethered to the dock. The bob of your head disappeared when you crossed onto the tiny paths jutting between the boats, a tiny rope in comparison to its tethered object your vice to drag it closer, legs stretching as you stepped and hoisted yourself until you were afloat with it, too.

Hoseok smacked Jimin’s torso, gesturing toward your figure as you hobbled about the front of the boat, collecting the damp rope with you as you went, as if to say are you seeing this? A ludicrous expression saturated in amusement for Hoseok’s friend.

Jimin didn’t have the pleasure of acquaintance.

“Jimin!” He called, an introduction in the way he formulated the words and offered a wave of his hand in greeting while the latter tucked into the pocket of his shorts.

A grunt and then a name, yours he presumed, floated over the side of the boat until your head popped up again, holding entirely more rope in your grasp than before.

“I’m about to do the nightly run,” You lifted your eyebrows, stance firm and even with the elevated stance the boat put you on in perspective to the two figures on the dock. “Are you two coming with?”

Another smack to his torso and Jimin audibly oofed this time, rubbing at the spot Hoseok’s knuckles had struck. “What do you say, new guy?” Hoseok chirped, smile only growing when the newcomer’s stanch gaze flickered to the corner of his eyes, “If not, you’re free to go. I have nothing else to show you—”

Jimin brushed past Hoseok, copying your movements, less gracefully albeit, to hoist himself up onto the side of the boat, dropping down with two feet into the depths of the machine. Hoseok came not long after, a purposeful scramble meant for comedic purposes that you nor Jimin laughed at but he smiled enough for everyone, anyway. You were elbow deep in reeling the anchor in, anyway, your stature giving away some mention between struggle and practiced ease but Jimin’s instinct went with the first, anyway, striding forward with outstretched palms.

“Here, let me help you with that—”

There was a series of mechanical clicks in the same moment, a groaning of the same fashion, all while you’d pulled your labor away from the manual wheel to turn to him with a bemused expression.

Amusement danced in the wave of your irises, the sea flickering in your expression as you nodded, “Thanks anyway.”

Somewhere among Hoseok’s monolog about the best breakfast cafe in the town and the adjustment to being out on the calm evening sea, Jimin found himself focusing on the silhouette of your figure, black outline detached like the clench of your jaw and the rigidity of your first impression. Jimin wasn’t much for those anyway, intrigued by what would commonly be seen as a negative “first”.

He’d been so focused on the mundaneness that was the back and forth of your hands on a series of controls he couldn’t make out beyond a shaded sun screen that he’d missed when you’d idled the boat far off the shore, only jerking to reality when you stepped off the elevated platform with a raised eyebrow in his direction.

The quirk of Jimin’s lips didn’t deter your prolonged stare, and neither did Hoseok’s loud announcement, your gaze only dropping when you plopped into a seat adjacent from him and accepted a condensation ridden can from Hoseok’s outstretched arm. Then it was a double take and scrunched confusion that met your expression, eyeing the logo on the aluminum before setting a glare on the side of Hoseok’s face.

“Where the hell did you get these?”

Hoseok shrugged, already fingernail deep in popping the tab on his beer can and taking a generous swig. He placed his aside, reaching elbow deep in an under seat cooler to present Jimin with one as well, something the younger boy dismissed with a soft smile.

“Up the coast. I have a life outside of saving your ass from the high tide, believe it or not.”

You were still fuming even as you opened it, “And how did you get these on my boat?”

Hoseok winked in Jimin’s direction, “On a whim that you’d be taking the boat out tonight. Like you do every night…”

Your sip was tiny in comparison to the swallow Hoseok had downed, gently placing the can aside, “You could have got us killed, you know that right? What if Namjoon had came down to the dock for a surprise inspection?—”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive but…” Jimin lounged forward in the seat he occupied, elbows pressing into his thighs, “It’s just beer?”

He caught you freeze in his peripheral, stature rigid where it was once relaxed and you coughed, casting your gaze aside to fingers that began to desperately fiddle with each other.

Hoseok answered instead, quipped and short, “There’s an alcohol ban within the town limits.”

An awkward silence passed, one Jimin didn’t challenge in the gentle sway of sea water against the side of the boat, an echoing noise where the same motion lapped onto the shore, a gentle push and pull of sand that mirrored the swirl of questions in his conscious, none of which sounded proper on the press of his tongue to the roof of his mouth so he stayed silent to the waves and scratch of your fingernail against the leather of the seat you perched in.

“So, new guy,” You spoke first, the slump of your stature inconsistent with the volume of your voice and he ignored the slight tremble in the upturn of your lips, “What brings you to this sleepy town?”

“After graduation, I decided to travel,” Jimin swallowed into picking at the hem of his shorts, “The easy answer is I ran out of money so I ended up here.”

Hoseok inquiry was straightforward this time, “What did you study?”

“Dance. Contemporary and modern mostly,” He laughed, unwillfully bitter, “A useless arts degree, I know.”

“Not useless,” You spoke again to the unraveled thread on the sewn edges of the leather seat you perched in.

Hoseok was louder, “Useless here, though.”

Jimin shrugged at the implication, shouldering the sentiment he’d had spoken much worse and with harsher insinuations than a virtual stranger teasing him on a boat in the middle of a coastal sea. Hoseok’s quick tone change from playful back to serious had Jimin quirking an eyebrow.

“I don’t think you understand. You won’t ever be needing that here,” Hoseok flicked his index and middle fingers back and forth so that the friction was audible, “Alcohol ban goes hand in hand with a dance ban.”

Jimin laughed. Genuinely, a loud, single syllable sound that pitched him forward over his knees. He sobered when he straightened to two expressions, one glassier than the other. “Oh, you’re serious?”

“Public, organized dancing,” You supplied, tight lipped to his ignorance, “Public organized events, mostly.”

Softer, Jimin amended this time, “But why?”

You stiffened again, same as before but looser in a sense, one knee coming to curl to your chest as you turned away from him, supporting the lean of your torso into the back of the seat. His lips parted to dismiss his question, say it didn’t matter, but Hoseok jumped in with a short explanation that ran guilt into Jimin’s blood.

“There was an accident a few years ago. On one of the boats,” Hoseok pressed his thumb and index finger into the sides of the can he held, gently popping the aluminum in and out while his chin pressed into his shoulder, “The town council members felt it would be best. Prevention of it ever happening again…”

Jimin swallowed the slew of questions on his tongue perfect for this silence to instead say, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Hoseok seemed to perk up a bit then, “I’m surprised Namjoon didn’t advertise it to you in a neon poster board when you arrived.”

Your voice, softer, broke Jimin’s heart for a reason unknown to him but he decided that anything that saturated your spirit like that was worth protecting from you.

“Nothing you could have done, anyway.”

Jimin felt silly on the seventh day of reckoning with himself, white wires haphazardly tangled in the cradle of his palm while bare feet paced away a trail of already chipped paint on the creaky front porch of his house. He wasn’t a one man festival complete with an organized dance floor. All he had in his fridge was water, refilled from the tap bottles because he hadn’t located a store to buy more, yet.

Instead, he was one man with his favorite playlist and an itch in his muscles that he’d stretched but hadn’t sated.

“It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong,” He told himself a bit too loudly to the tropical overhang of trees on the awning of his porch. He told the cusp of his earbuds next as he shoved them into his ears, still staring hard at the open playlist on his phone screen.

“Fuck it.”

The curl of plump green leaves flicking against the roof of the house acted in accordance to the early morning breeze, one that brought gentle rains up off the sea and doused the concrete in a thin sheen a hue darker than normal but it wasn’t light enough yet to notice, anyway. Jimin turned his motions into more than mental productivity, twisting a cheap broom he’d found in a hall closet like some exotic mixture of a ballroom partner and a baton, cleaning away leaves and crumbs from the eggs he’d downed with a bent fork and the small puddles of water that had curled onto the edges where the awning didn’t protect.

His dance turned inside, a shadow against the one light he left on while his senses guided the rest, a delicate story told against the half open shutters lining the far side of his house, the one that faced his only neighbor. His playlist carried him through the narrative just as the pointed step of his trained art elicited feeling, one that had him smiling by the time he shrugged the thick strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder and all but skipped out onto the broken, cobblestone pathway to mount his bike.

The quiet neighbor watched from their own porch, a fond smile plastered on their lips as Jimin’s figure descended into the rising shadows of dawn, a tear tracking their cheek in some sort of nostalgic longing that roused a smile just as joyful in their sorrow as Jimin’s.

A debate on whether or not to play music through wire earbuds and dance to a beat that was most definitely not open for public gathering seemed silly when it had easily built itself into Jimin’s routine by the third day, never mind the seventh. He shuffled his playlist, a new crescendo carrying him down the length of the dock as he shimmied, stretched, polished his way into preparing the docks for the day ahead. His unsolicited crimes were hidden, boats gone like missing pieces of a Jenga puzzle that were never meant to fall by the time he repented his shift, striding back up the slowly busying dock with his phone and earbuds shoved in the depths of his shorts pocket.

Perhaps he’d pondered over the ridiculous thought that he’d be thrown out of the town for good for dancing on the front porch of the house he, by all intents and purposes, owned by means of a security deposit that drained the last of his funds for a half second too long, but he’d failed to escape up the coast line to his tiny waiting station before someone had creaked gentle footsteps in his peripheral.

Jimin jerked his headphones from his ears, leaving a searing pain in their wake but it was a soft giggle that soothed it, one that belonged to you where you stood a few yards away. The gold nameplate pinned over the embroidered logo of the boat service shop crinkled where your arms folded over your chest, one eyebrow cocked underneath the white visor perched on your forehead.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to arrest you,” You held up two hands as if to prove your point, the soft smile still there on your lips.

He visibly relaxed but continued in his quest to ball the wires in a massive tangle and shove them in the depths of his pocket. He added, anyway, “Sorry.”

“For what? Having fun while you work?” You brushed past him to your boat, “It’s something a few people around here could and should take notice of.”

It was an unspoken dismissal but Jimin froze in place anyway, watching as you climbed aboard, a different set of procedures following your own routine as you busied about the inside of the boat, a different set than he’d witnessed when you’d taken him and Hoseok out on his first week. Week two and he had no greater grasp on you, only after sharing fleeting glances throughout the workday from where he sat and barely moved on the unoccupied area of the beach.

“By the way—” You spoke right when Jimin moved to flee, freezing his muscles and he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, “—I’m sorry that I was so short with you the other night.”

He relaxed into a shrug, “S’alright.”

“It’s not something we, Hoseok or I...expect you to understand,” You seemed to ponder your own words, leaning against the railing of the boat, “After the...accident, the tourism went down drastically. The entire town nearly had to sellout. It was a really scary time.”

“I’m not saying the ‘rules’ aren’t stupid—” You shot him a look, “—because they are. Just...things are finally looking stable again. So it’s hard to want to...change that. I guess.”

“The annual town festival isn’t worth losing everything I have, you know,” You smiled, pushing yourself up off the railing, “Or...you know. Having a beer occasionally. Or having to get approval to have a DJ at weddings. Or literally anything fun.”

You laughed so Jimin laughed too, nodding simply to you. “Understood, it’s okay.”

There’s more to it that you’re not telling me.

“You’re not doing anything wrong, by the way. Dance all you want. Play your music out loud. Bring a radio, if you want—” You winked at you tossed a thick, pleated rope over your shoulder, “—I’ll cover for you if they send Namjoon down here.”

Jimin laughed again, dropping his chin this time. “Well, thank you—” He squinted into the quickly rising sun, “Although I’m not entirely sure they make radios anymore, so that might be a bit difficult to find but...I’m up for the challenge.”

“Perfect,” You hesitated in your step backward on the boat, “I’ll see you later then?”

Later meant on his front porch, knuckles jostling the loose screen door that laid gently over the entrance to the house, never latched just like the heavier inside door was never shut. You were bent at the waist, squinting through the netted black when Jimin slid around the corner of the hallway, frantic confusion turning to amusement when his presence startled you and you nearly dropped the plate held delicately in one hand.

“Hey neighbor,” You greeted, stepping back for him to push open the screen, “Brought a late housewarming gift.”

Jimin cocked an eyebrow, gentle in letting you transfer the plate from your grasp to his. A pile of homemade cookies, stacked in a neat, crumpled pyramid about each other. “Neighbor, huh?”

You gestured for the house, the only one. “Correct, that would be my house…”

“Ah. Why haven’t I seen you until now?”

“We have different schedules, new guy,” You softened when he shot you an apologetic look, “I got off early today. Chance of storms later.”

“You can call me Jimin, you know,” He twisted, placing the plate on the rickety end table plopped between two lawn chairs, faded and unraveled threads dangling sadly from underneath.

“New guy is more fun,” You perked up, taking a seat in one of the lawn chairs before he could offer, “Wait, I’ve got it. Ducky.”

His cheeks pinked as he took a seat adjacent from you, “...Jimin will be just fine.”

You nodded, fingertips plucking into the plastic wrap over the cookies to retrieve one of the crumpled halves. You plopped a sizable bite onto your tongue, lifting an eyebrow, “...alright, ducky.”

Jimin watched you munch down the cookie half, watched you hesitate into grabbing it’s forgotten twin and nibble half of it before he blurted, “Would you, uh…like to stay for dinner?”

You took your time in finishing off the cookie, lawn chair creaking the porch when you turned toward him, ludicrous expression plastered firm to your features, “Hey! That’s not fair. I came over here with treats, I should be cooking you dinner. A...town warming dinner. Is that a thing?”

“Too late, I already asked.”

“Fine,” Begrudgingly, you pushed yourself up off the chair, eyes closing as you held out your wrists, palms up, “Lead me to the food.”

He let you stand there until your eyes opened to regard his sheepish expression, leaning forward to press his elbows into his thighs, “...one problem. I have close to no food.”

“Oh, that’s all that’s wrong?” Your rigid stance relaxed, reaching out to grab his wrist to haul him up, “Come on. I mean...if you think you can keep up with me?”

Jimin didn’t scoff until you were more than a dozen yards ahead of him on a gentle incline, coasting while he was struggling to the rotation on the petals of his bike. “Where are you taking me?” He labored when the ground finally evened out, allowing himself to collapse onto the tiny seat underneath him.

“Farmer’s market,” You slowed to allow him to catch up, grinning at the slight sheen of sweat that had begun to form underneath black fringe, “You know. Fruits and vegetables.”

“Really? I thought it was entirely processed junk food.”

Jimin caught a glimpse of your eye roll before you were tired of humoring him, speeding off to the tune of his amused laughter.

It appeared to be closing time at the miniature farmer’s market, a tiny collection of tents set up on the far side of the coast. A lanky, brown haired man with a crumpled apron tied haphazardly across his front worked at folding up one of the card tables, one that appeared to have previously held woven baskets filled with various colored apples. Those baskets sat in the weird mixture of sand and grass that encompassed the ground farther up from the seaside while a tiny, fluffy dog wove in and out of them, periodically yipping upward at the man who talked back in an equal tone, as if having a casual conversation about the winds gradually picking up over the water.

“Tae!” You left your bike against a tree, jogging up to the startled man while Jimin, wobbling albeit, tried to control the tires of his bike as the terrain changed. He managed to hop off though, being intercepted by the tiny dog rather than you or the ever mysterious Tae.

“Tannie!” A rich baritone scolded yet held no real authoritative power. The dog seemed to think so as well, barely flinching at the call when Jimin crouched, stretching gentle fingers out for the dog to butt his head against.

“He’s alright,” Jimin soothed his owner quietly, scratching behind the boisterous Pomeranian's ears for a split second before a hand was thrust in the way. Jimin squinted at it, following the line of the exposed forearm up to the smiling eyes of the farmer, geometric smile pasted on the bottom half of his face as he nodded for his hand again.

“Taehyung.”

Jimin shook his hand once, letting the momentum carry him to a standing position that had his knees cracking in protest. “Jimin.”

“Ah, the new guy down at the dock—” Taehyung glanced at you when you snorted, “—you’re renting that empty vacation house of the town’s, right?”

Jimin couldn’t help but think of the nest of spiders he’d found in the bottom drawer of the century old dresser in his room on the second day. Vacation house.

Only then did he realize he was still gripping Taehyung’s hand, something he promptly dropped before coughing, “Uh. Yeah.”

“Neighbors then, huh?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow, fulling looking at you where you were preoccupied fishing through a container of tomatoes.

“He’s supposed to be cooking for me tonight,” You jabbed an accusing finger, tomato, in Jimin’s direction, playful smile still on your lips, “But he has not a singular vegetable in his possession.”

“He’s cooking for you?” Taehyung accused while you bagged a few tomatoes, moving on to the greenery scattered about, “Shouldn’t you be cooking him a housewarming meal? Or like...a town warming meal?”

“We’ve already had this discussion,” Jimin provided softly, “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

Taehyung just laughed, starting out with a hand clasping his shoulder before moving to wrapping his entire arm around Jimin, leaning into him while you continued to gather supplies. “So what’s your story?” He said finally, letting some of his weight off of Jimin.

Jimin shrugged, “Broke college student turned broke graduate decided to travel and ran out of money. Ended up here…”

“What’s your degree in?”

Jimin considered a plethora of things as a masterful lie. One that would avoid a variety of stems in which the conversation could go. He could say something in technology and avoid the useless degree lecture. He could say something in writing and avoid the there’s no dancing here lecture. He could tell the truth and gauge the reaction that was generally more favorable from those who were around his age but still lived in a town that outlawed virtually all organized events on the basis of an elusive ‘accident’.

Instinct made him answer quietly, “Dance. Contemporary mostly.”

An entire other limb, one that grew haphazardly from the trunk of the tree and threaded upward into a ridiculous, jagged shape, came from Taehyung’s mouth, not something that was even in the realm of what Jimin imagined.

“Oh!” Taehyung called your name quietly, clapping his hands together, “Another dancer! That’s what you wanted to do! Contemporary too—”

Jimin’s moment of elation died into a nauseating sickness when your stature had froze much like it had those handful of nights ago, the hand not holding onto a bag of produce reaching out to dig your fingernails deep into the plastic of the table.

When you turned around, Jimin tried gently, “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s because it’s in the past. Wanted, past tense,” You began tying a knot in the plastic bag in your grasp, frantic and jerky in your movements, “Not anymore.”

There was a similar sympathetic smile to Taehyung’s features as there had been one of stone on Hoseok’s, rolling his lips inward as his throat bobbed harshly. “Beautiful, nonetheless. I remember the showcases you used to put on down at the dock.”

“Muscles don’t quite move like that anymore,” You diverted this time with a tight lipped smile, one that didn’t even try to reach your eyes as you finished the knot, “How much do I owe you for this?”

Taehyung dropped it, squinting when the wind picked up in that moment, “You don’t owe me a thing if you help Tannie and I pack up before the storm rolls around.”

Jimin jumped into action to divert his thoughts away from the look you kept casting him, somewhere between regret, fear, and unadulterated sadness.

He’d brushed his teeth three times since you’d descended the rickety steps of his porch to trek the short distance through the drizzling rain to your house yet, somehow, there was still bits of the seasoning fermented in the honey colored salad dressing you’d dollaped en mass over freshly washed lettuce leaves. The tiny black flecks on their own were foul, spreading in the back of his molars where he’d dug one out with the natural lay of his tongue, one that made him stop with rag in hand to grossly spit onto the dock. He smudged it with his shoe, wrist wiping at his lips while the disgust mulling on his facial features lingered, momentary pause causing his conscious to squint up the dock, thoughts scattered into the prior evening.

So it was only fitting that you emerged in that moment, as if an apparition from the misted droplets clinging to the grasses on the shore.

“Ducky! Slacking off?”

Jimin’s first instinct was to scramble because well, kind of, and if his routine was lacking so where you’d already appeared, he was most definitely behind. He jerked a singular headphone out as a first precaution. But the dramaticized mist cleared to reveal your soft smile, chin tucked into the zipper of your jacket as you paused in front of him.

“Always,” He answered anyway, blackened taste of something burnt forgotten where it still festered underneath his tongue.

You scuffed your foot into the dock, balled fists shoving into your jacket pockets. “I had a good time last night, by the way,” Another pass of your foot, toe heel, “You’re not a half bad cook.”

“Thank you. I had a good time too…” It was Jimin’s turn to duck his head, eyeing the frayed threads on the rag he clutched in increasingly white knuckles. His fist didn’t clench because he was lying but rather the bubbling question resting on the tip of his tongue, one he’d suppressed since leaving Taehyung with all his produce neatly packed into the shaded back of his truck right as the rain began.

Kind of like media outlets who focus on one relatively small aspect of a much larger concept simply because it’s inherently negative. Jimin’s question was inherently negative, instead contextually negative based solely on the reaction you’d given Taehyung when he’d brought it up.

And evidently, Jimin was a shitty reporter.

“So you used to dance, huh?” He kept his tone soft, leaving infliction open for you to take. You could deny him. You could dismiss him. He really didn’t care if you ignored him. He just had to get it out. Quieter, he added, “I didn’t know that.”

You laughed, the opposite reaction that Jimin was preparing himself for, and he tracked your eyes as they swept over your feet. “You’d have no reason to know,” A sigh set your shoulders, allowing you to raise your gaze to his, “I quit not long after the...the accident.”

“It just seemed fitting you know,” You shrugged, arms lifting where your fists still sat deep in your pockets, “I mean you know what I’m talking about. Contemporary isn’t exactly the same thing elicited by a few beers and some fluorescent lights.”

Jimin laughed but stayed silent, nodding quietly for you to continue.

“I had a scholarship. To get out of here...that’s what I was going to do after the tourist season ended. But after everything that happened here, from the incident itself—” You swallowed, tilting your head back slightly, “—from that, to the media coverage that made the town nearly desolate, to going into the off season with far less profit than we normally garnered. It didn’t feel right to leave my town like that.”

“I understand,” Jimin murmured.

“No, you don’t,” You laughed again, just as genuine, “You probably think I’m an idiot.”

“Far from it,” He assured.

A lingering silence ensued, one that had you scuffing your opposite foot this time. “Well...that’s my sap story about why I don’t dance any longer, so…”

You trailed off when Jimin extended a hand in your direction. He wiggled his fingers when you gaped, free appendage working at yanking his headphones from his phone, attention focused to navigate to a different playlist while he regarding you with a lopsided smile and one quirked eyebrow.

It was something instrumental that filtered from his phone speakers, a piece he’d done for an assignment in college yet still had stored away in the depths of his music library. It was just eerie enough to curl into the fog that slowly began to lift over the sea, opening up to the heat of the day that began to rouse coastal wildlife into action, singing in crescendo over the melodies.

“You think you’ve still got it?”

It was the first instance that Jimin hadn’t seen you hesitate in the face of something that seemed to scare you, immediate in sliding your palm to his and squeezing.

“We’ll see I guess,” You taunted, gliding closer to him at the pull of his arm, a playful glint shining in dawned irises, “Won’t we?”

Jimin grinned as you began to move at the extent of his forearm, leg curling outward into a purposeful movement that elicited musicality he heard too in the rouse of the music curling outward from his phone in his pocket. You stayed connected until the last possible moment, falling at the contract of your muscles into a turned out squat, gliding in front of him and then straightening on the farthest side, arms connecting into the next movement as something trilled in the music.

It was the same sort of improvisation that carried the remainder of your movements, leaving Jimin in awe of the way your body curled into the melody only for half an eight count more before he was moving with you, twisting in such a way that made his foot slide from the slip on shoes curled on his heels but he took no mind, foot connecting at his knee, torso arching the opposite direction, following the dying crescendo of movement.

You connected your touch to him once more, curling two forearms over the flat of his back where he’d bent at the waist before trailing crawled fingertips up the expanse of his forearm, latching first to his wrist with a beat in the music and then taking his hand on another, harsher, beat. He tugged you closer at the contact, one hand gripping both your hands, the later sliding around your waist to press a stabilizing palm into the small of your back. The lull of your head came, falling away from the beat of the music as you rose to look at him, not quite a smile but bliss nonetheless plastered to the part of your mouth.

Jimin smiled, though.

He deposited one of your hands onto the round of his shoulder, keeping his tight grip on the later as he began to move you in gentle circles to whatever the next song on his playlist was, something slow and with words that he vaguely recognized from popular radio play a few years prior.

“I think you’ve still got it,” Jimin softly encouraged when a laugh caused your gaze to fall away from him, forehead nearly pressing into his shoulder as you gripped harder to his hand.

“Eh,” He saw you smile no matter how you tried to hide it, “You’re not a half bad partner, ducky.”

There were footsteps on the dock in the next moment, ones that overpowered the music Jimin had reached to turn down in his pocket, music he now rushed to silence. Instinctively, he held you closer, squinting up the wood path. The footsteps were simultaneously too loud and too quiet to be Hoseok. They were too purposeful as well, slapping and consistent with the sound of flip flops as it grew closer until Jimin finally froze at the familiar face approaching at a ridiculous pace.

You glanced up from Jimin’s shoulder when there was a tripping sound, the front of Namjoon’s flip flop catching on a protruding wood board but it didn’t stall his advancements by much, pausing a safe distance in front of you with two hands perched on his hips.

Namjoon was struggling to find the words for you, attention darting to you where he scuffed the tattered sole of his canvas shoes into the wood, one curled fist in his pocket and then back out, as if he weren’t even aware of Jimin’s presence. Hesitant leg movements brought him a few steps closer, before he said lowly, “You should probably get to work.”

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” You countered, making no movement to budge from Jimin’s hold.

The older man held up two hands, taking an equal step back, “I didn’t say you were, love—”

“Then why did they send you down here?”

Namjoon stared hard now from underneath the cap of the white hat shoved onto messy black tendrils. His free hand joined the latter in the depths of his short pockets, rocking back onto his heels and Jimin could spy the surface of his tongue searching the tops of his molars for a response.

“They didn’t,” He said finally, carefully, like he’d plucked the obvious lie like a piece of corn from between his teeth.

“Joon,” You pushed yourself from Jimin, taking two steps in front of him and he couldn’t see your face any longer but your voice grew softer instead, “You—”

“Please, just...separate. They’ll come down here if you don’t and it’s almost opening time,” Namjoon looked frightened now, a far cry from the assured monologue that had informed Jimin of the basics on the steps of his front porch.

You didn’t turn until Namjoon’s flip flops clacked safely off the deck into the sand pathway, solemn smile not quite meeting your eyes as you shrugged.

“Guess party time is over.”

Jimin watched as you almost robotically moved for the boat, your boat, one foot bobbing in the sea when he called with clenched fists, “Who’s they?”

There was a lack of filter in your voice, blunt as you snorted, “The town officials—” You hoisted yourself fully into the boat, speaking to your work rather than to him, “—the ones who created this whole mess.”

“...they’re watching us?”

You pointed haphazardly over your shoulder, shrugging as you began to curl a rope from out of the water, “Town hall building is up the shore—” A heave in your voice as you dragged the rest of the damp twine into a messy pile underneath your knees, “—you know, so they can watch their biggest source of income fail day in and day out.”

“Or they were just tired of seeing me move around like a dead fish,” You tried to lighten the mood when you turned to him, an easy smile on your lips, “...no one’s seen me do that in years so...it doesn’t surprise me that they got worried.”

Jimin stifled his worried about what? when you waved. “See you later?”

The man just nodded, watching as your smile grew fainter.

“...see you.”

The incident with Namjoon lingered somewhere just on the inside of Jimin’s conscious the longer his work continued through the season, partially because of it’s implications, mostly because of your blunt yet empty words, words he didn’t quite have a grasp on. It was a topic everyone quite literally danced around, draping the unaware stranger like Jimin in a darkness that mirrored that coating the entire town. It was your lipped their biggest source of income that resonated the highest and the easiest with Jimin’s spinning conscious, something he acknowledged yet came to see as fact the longer he stationed himself on the shore throughout the day.

Business was seemingly non existent, your boat trips, specifically designed to take tourists on extensive, historical journeys of the beautiful seasides, full but few and far between from the schedule of potential times hung from the front boat house; Hoseok’s boat trips, designed for fishing, to find the best pockets where men in cheap sun hats purchased from Taehyung’s day time flea market style stalls could take one coveted picture with a giant bass before eventually letting the creature free, barely making the cut to plausibly allow the boat to pull away from its tether.

It was as though all the money went into paying the metaphorical security cameras, the lavish town building up the shore coated in a fine layer of fresh stone, paying the salary of the camera lens’ themselves, the three men Jimin had only garnered fleeting glimpses of as black blurs crossing to and from a small parking lot just outside the grey, hazed building.

Because there certainly weren’t literal security cameras. There were barely rags for Jimin to use to clean that wouldn’t get the surfaces dirtier than they had been before touched by dirty soaked cloth. Maintenance arose daily, a piling list that the contractor repair man, Jeongguk, a lanky, tattooed twenty something fresh from trade school who was rarely seen with a shirt on, could barely handle. This left for various boats out of commission on the worst days, weekends and the dead center of the week when business seemed to grow the highest, when they could justify filling all the time slots and taking out the half dozen fleet of boats at the same time. Turning away the business they so desperately needed because the lack of funding otherwise to maintain what little resources they did have.

Jimin confronted Hoseok about the issue one day while lounging on the shore, Hoseok’s very presence a product of the neverending cycle of a dying industry in the dead center of the day on a Sunday, generally one of their busiest days now desolate with the whir of your engine in the distance the only source of light in the shrinking wallet available to the business.

“It’s been like this for a few years,” Hoseok shrugged, red hair splayed into the grassy patch they sat upon. His eyes fluttered shut, folded hands coming to rest across his forehead, “It’s not as bad as it seems from an outside perspective. We...make ends meet. But nothing more and we can’t afford anything less so…”

“Has anyone proposed an alternate business model?” Jimin cringed when Hoseok’s eyebrow cocked over where his hands shielded his face, “I just mean like...if this isn’t working, why not try something else?”

Hoseok groaned as he moved to sit up, links in his spine audibly cracking as he arched over knees bent in towards his chest. “We know what works,” He said finally, “They know what works.”

“What’s that?”

Hoseok smiled at Jimin from underneath his arm, “Lift the stupid dance ban.”

“Oh—”

The red haired man shook his head, uncurling from himself to correct his posture, arms straight behind him, knees stretching out into the grass, “Let me explain…”

“That was the appeal of our little town. Not the boats and some cool pictures of sea bass. There used to be a thriving festival business. We had a pamphlet made especially for the town, one that detailed all the weekends in which various themed things would be happening down at the shore. People who pay us to use our coastline, basically.”

Hoseok shrugged, “Now no one wants to pay us except like...the elderly to have their fifty year class reunions. And even then, they don’t want to fuck with our policies—” He flattened two dark eyebrows, “—do you know how many restrictions there are for what music can be played out loud in a public setting? At any public gathering? Too many. A whole book too many.”

Jimin started slow, a thought that formulated the same way in the forefront of his conscious and it didn’t pass through any filters as it crawled off his tongue.

“...so why don’t we...throw our own festival?”

Silence.

And then Hoseok laughed, cackled really, returning to his splayed out position on the grass with his limbs starfished outward so far his hair nudged into Jimin’s thigh. The younger watched quietly, letting the implications of his own suggestion soak in and he briefly thought to glance over his shoulder for some sort of microphone attached to the bee buzzing to a pretty pink wildflower vining upward from the loose sand granules.

Hoseok came to, straightened again next to Jimin and he nudged his side with his elbow, nodding simply.

“Okay.”

Jimin started to sputter out an apology, one on a knotted tongue, the words equally tangled in his throat when he was whipping toward the smiling man next to him. His eyebrows met in a single line at the bridge of his nose, unconsciously leaning closer to Hoseok.

“Wait, what? What do you mean okay?”

The older man nudged Jimin again with one curt nod of his chin, “I mean...okay. Let’s do it.”

Jimin blinked, once, twice, four times in the dying silence of Hoseok’s giggles before he admitted quietly, “I didn’t think I’d get this far, honestly—”

“Listen, kid,” Hoseok slung a heavy arm across Jimin’s shoulders, tugging on the smaller man until he was curled against his side, “I don’t know what it is about you...but I like your enthusiasm. And your idea, of course.”

He glanced up from where he’d ducked into Hoseok’s shoulder, cocking an eyebrow, “...so you’re saying?”

Hoseok beamed again, an infectious giggle falling from his lips as he happily clapped at Jimin’s shoulder for a passing moment before springing to a standing position, presenting his palm for Jimin to take. He waited until Jimin had joined him on his feet, lowering his voice a half octave as he brought Jimin in by clasped fists between their chests.

“I’m saying, let’s plan a damn festival.”

Jimin expected Hoseok to take off at a dead sprint up the shore like any other cliche romantic comedy would, hurdling them into a montage of planning that involved highlighter marks etched into the pores of their skin and mountains of rejected flyer options with a dying laptop battery mocking the open document of logistics information, where, when, how the festival would occur.

Instead, Hoseok stood still, eyes frozen on something in the distance and again Jimin jerked to look for a bee and his high tech audio visual equipment when Hoseok provided in a thick monotone.

“One issue.”

Jimin with the bee in mind quipped, “I think there will be a little bit more than one issue but that’s fine, that’s...common knowledge—”

“No, like,” Hoseok’s lips formed a sheepish shape, “With me.”

An endless whir of possibilities stirred so much so that Jimin couldn’t consciously pluck out a few tangible options but among that strangled mess, Jimin certainly didn’t expect Hoseok to utter hoarsely, “I can’t dance.”

“I’m sorry you…” Jimin tried not to show amusement on his features, “You what?”

“I can’t dance.”

“Everyone can dance.”

“No, they can’t. Because I can’t.”

The chaotic scene came later, the montage Jimin had envisioned as the grooves of a DVD shoved into the ancient player tucked away in the closet of his newly acquired home. Hoseok’s arms were colored in at least four different colors of highlighter, hair frayed at the edges of the headband wrapped haphazardly on the high rise of his forehead. Jimin had nearly broke his toe twice in his quest to hurdle a dining room chair to plug in his dying laptop as the spreadsheet he’d worked so meticulously to format hung in the balance of the singular electrical outlet at the far end of the dining room.

They had a date. They had a venue. They had a backup venue. They had a caterer. They had a playlist. They had a playlist that would survive policy inspection, if need be. They had a mock flyer.

They didn’t have a confident Hoseok.

“I don’t know,” He huffed finally, fingers stalling on his laptop keys as he studied Jimin from over the lid, “...will anyone even come? Like, on the off chance that we do get this approved—”

Jimin knew the answer was an ardent no, but he teased nonetheless, “Is this because you think you can’t dance?”

“I know, I can’t dance. That’s beside the point—”

The hollow floorboards underneath the peeling linoleum of Jimin’s kitchen floor croaked in protest when he shoved his chair back, rounding the table to collect Hoseok’s wrist and drag him with him out the front door.

“Where are we going?” Hoseok complained at the extension of Jimin’s digits curled into his skin.

Jimin didn’t answer as he dragged Hoseok up your porch steps and rapped on the loose dangle of your screen door. He waited until you half emerged from the wood door you pulled back, palm on the screen door and clearly confused as he stated, “Hoseok thinks he can’t dance.”

You tried to fight the smile that curled onto each corner of your mouth, addressing your friend first, “You can dance. Everyone can dance—” and then to Jimin’s triumphantly beaming figure, “Why would he need to know how to dance?”

“We’re planning a festival,” Jimin said absently, a grin morphing higher on his features when your expression flattened into slightly horrified confusion.

“You’re what—”

“Oh yeah,” Hoseok stepped up to be shoulder to shoulder with Jimin, squishing his presence into the tiny door frame, “Do you want to help?”

“I have no idea what’s fucking happening,” You blurted finally, lips fished, pupils dilated to the ambiant starlight that curled over the figures stationed in your doorway.

Jimin’s smile turned sympathetic, a gentle hand on your waist guiding you safely away from the rustic contraption of doors at the front of your house. There was a catch in your breath for two reasons, allowing Jimin to lead you to the swing dangling off pillars screwed to the deck. You sat first, a series of concerning creaks following as Jimin took a seat next to you, Hoseok situating himself delicately to the railing circumventing your porch.

“We’re going to try to revive the town,” Jimin started, simply albeit daunting in that stripped down sense.

You blinked, realistic, to some sort of nocturnal worm that had weazled it’s way between the floorboards, “Just the two of you, huh ducky?”

“And you!”

“It’s got to start somewhere,” Jimin curbed Hoseok’s enthusiasm with a gentle palm on your shoulder.

More blinking. A threat of that shriveled up rigidity to your stature that Jimin loathed like the bile that curled onto the back of his tongue. And then it relaxed all at once, like a daunting wave that suddenly cut under itself, the current nothing but a gentle lap over some vague footprints in the sand.

“...so who’s going to cater this thing?” It was a gradual build up in the rise of your cheeks but it was there, shining in Jimin’s direction once it had fully developed and he was unconscious of Hoseok’s happy hollering as his own smile began to stretch across his features.

“We were thinking Taehyung,” Jimin said again in favor of Hoseok who was still violently fist pumping from his perch, “Unless you have another suggestion?”

You shifted, chin plopping onto a palm where fingers curled upward into your chin. The digits patted your lips for a few passing moments before you nodded, muffled a bit by your hand, “Taehyung and maybe one of the restaurants up the coast would be willing to provide. So that their affiliation isn’t biased, you know.”

There was a light ambiance that followed, a continuation of the chatter that had taken place across the lively chaos cluttering Jimin’s rickety kitchen table until Hoseok, silent for the vast majority of the conversation, shifted on the railing enough for a groaning creak that drew two attentions to it.

“We’re forgetting one thing,” The red haired man beamed into the insinuation he knew was going to earn him grief, “I still can’t dance. And what’s a festival organizer who can’t dance? Useless—”

The movement of the swing underneath his toes barely perched on the ground startled Jimin but it was your hand in his that had the air escaping from between his parted lips. He was useless, limp in letting you drag him up as you collected Hoseok in a similar fashion, fingers wrapped around his wrist as your drug the two men down the porch steps.

Your houses resided on the up most part of the main road, leaving the nature beyond virtually untouched to human editing aside from a few decorative flower pots curled outward from a concrete slab out your back door and a singular ceramic frog chipped at it’s right eye that Jimin had found in his own garden. Your, loose term, backyard, was much larger in comparison to his simply because the clearing was larger, more space between curved trunks of tropical trees and centuries old stands by older oaks and maples. The grass was uncut by a few passing weeks, short enough to wade through, long enough to tickle ankles, dotted in various shades of wildflowers that hadn’t been cut by sharp metal blades of machinery. Rounded petals seemed to glow in the crescent moonlight that shaded through the expanse spaces left by soft, flicking leaves.

One white flower glowing a pale blue unintentionally squished under the sole of Jimin’s shoe, resilient in the way it sprung back to half of what it’s stem height had previously been. Jimin couldn’t say the same for the way his conscious was able to recover to the feeling of your hand in his palm to the pointed grip of your fingers at his waist, situating him to a similar position you’d been in all those weeks ago in the fog of the morning dock.

“Dancing is easy,” You were chattering but Jimin was too focused on the color lens that coated the yellow flower itching into the bone at his ankle and how it cast across the adorable determination on your features. The very thing that had him in a trance, your touch, was what broke him out of it, grip jerking him closer so that he was forced to curl a stabilizing hand around the small of your back.

“See,” You continued, dragging Jimin messily to the side and he recovered enough to correct his stumbled step, “Watch us.”

He allowed you to lead, entertaining the newborn deer act for a few moments, purposeful in squishing your toes in one instance and in flopping his stature around in a dramatic circle to prevent you from dipping him. When you were laughing, giggling to the stars that reflected on the scattered petals below your feet, he took miniscule steps to regain your faux control, tensing his muscles, holding you tighter, swinging you to the soundtrack of grasshopper titters.

“Yeah,” Hoseok narrated dryly when Jimin spun you in a series of particularly dizzying circles, stopping only when you collapsed against his chest from fatigue, “Looks extremely simple.”

You exchanged a glance with Jimin, one that made his heart stop to swell within the cavity of his chest underneath your palms placed at the very spot and it was more than the cool evening breeze that made him shiver when you stepped away to offer your hand to Hoseok.

It was a process to get Hoseok to fall in step with a simple slow dance guided by the music off Jimin’s phone tossed carelessly in the grass, squashing your toes and earning playful yelps as you adjusted his position. You beamed at Jimin in each instance, joy directed at the amused man who stood a few feet off with his eyebrows raised and arms folded to his chest.

Hoseok managed to shuffle in consecutive eight counts without breaking one of your smallest appendages with the clumpy sole of his tennis shoes, going as far to attempt a dip that nearly had you crashing backward into the wildflowers, one that had Jimin rushing forward to try to brace you while your laughter just let you carry your slow descent to the grass, two amused men curled over you.

The lesson shifted to basic steps, a jazz square (“Jazz hands?” Hoseok had peered hopefully, long fingers elongated outward as they shook slightly), simple hip rolls which he proved to be quite, in your words, lethal at. He took a liking to a viral dance craze Jimin had the misfortune of seeing on the internet a few times, combining that rigid hip swivel with equally rigid arms, moving back and forth at a speed that had Hoseok exclaiming, “Hey! This is great!”

“Maybe that’s your signature move,” You teased, bumping shoulders with Jimin.

“Really?” Hoseok sped up the movement, red hair bouncing over his eyelashes as he glanced toward Jimin, “What’s yours?”

Jimin tried to stay neutral in tone, “Not the floss—”

He adapted something called the shoot too, something that carried his descent down the dock one morning while Jimin just grinned and prepared music in the muffled confinement of his pocket, letting Hoseok wiggle around him until you appeared, stealing Jimin’s towel and smacking Hoseok’s ass with it, ordering both of you to get to work.

Jimin lent him a spare pair of earbuds, logging him into his Spotify account so that he could navigate through Jimin’s meticulously put together playlists, something that proved to be quite distracting when there were three figures huddled in the dim light of Jimin’s dining room and Hoseok didn’t hear each of your called inquiries until at least the fourth time, too preoccupied with a shimmy neither you nor Jimin had taught him while he mouthed along to the song, notebook pressed to his nose.

“I want to show you something—” proceeded the encapsulation of Jimin’s knee caps with Hoseok’s hands, pulling back with a full featured grin as some vaguely familiar tune began to blare down the otherwise serene coast line. Jimin watched as his older friend added arm movements to his hip swivels, a little bit of unintentional chest too, but most importantly a smile as he executed choreography he’d came up with himself.

He stopped short of the entire routine when they’d spotted Namjoon’s bike descending the trail, instead presenting it to you and Jimin behind the curtains of your living room.

Final nights of preparation came with less anxious staring at completed outlines, typed documents, laminated folder fronts, but more dancing, silly twirls of Jimin’s hands on your waist as your bare feet sank into the couch cushions, Hoseok declaring the coffee table as his stage to show off his increasing footwork skills (watch this turn!), not so technical reviews of desired playlists, or in other words, the ones that most definitely wouldn’t pass through the town council meeting.

“Will any of this pass, you think?”

It was a grossly simplistic way of expressing the worry that stirred in the pits of your stomachs but spoken calmly to Jimin one evening after Hoseok had gone home, leaving your knees curled towards Jimin’s figure on your couch.

“I have no idea,” He tried to smile, a soft encouragement as he shifted toward you, thighs bumping your knees, “You know them better than I do. I’m just the new guy…”

“You’re pretty intuitive, ducky,” You patted his thigh, “Don’t bullshit me. What do you think?”

“I think they’ll say no,” Jimin sucked the end of his tongue between his teeth, afraid his answer was too quick until you laughed, hand still on his leg as you leaned closer.

You didn’t speak until your cheek had subconsciously shifted to his arm, glancing up at him through smiling eyelashes that expressed so much more, just as your expressions always seemed to contradict themselves. You were an open book, intuition told Jimin, and he smiled back in hopes it would amend the sad red lingering around the iris ring.

“Me too,” You looked away from him, one leg stretching out to nudge a particularly battered piece of notebook paper, scrawled over in Hoseok’s messy handwriting and Jimin’s incessant color coding, “I don’t want to get my hopes up it’s just...been so long—”

Jimin shifted to accommodate your figure better, tentative in the hand that slid around the small of your back and when you didn’t react, he cupped your far hip, squeezing your curled figure against his side.

“—it’s been so long since I’ve felt this kind of joy at the prospect of anything,” Your fingertips were just as hesitant in touching his stomach, gradual in expanding to lay your palm just underneath his ribs, “I...I don’t want this feeling to go away.”

He bypassed the urge to kiss your forehead by nudging his nose into your hairline, squeezing you a bit tighter. “There are only two options to what they can say, you know,” When you let out a shuddering sigh, he continued, “Yes or no.”

“Fifty fifty shot,” You muffled from below him.

“Exactly. Worst case scenario, they say no. We ask what we can do, if anything, to alter our plans. We regroup, and try again at the next meeting,” Jimin swallowed, “Best case scenario...they say yes and we’ll throw the best damn party this town has ever seen.”

There was a prolonged silence between your mumbles of acknowledgement, paired with the slump and lull of your stature further into Jimin. “You’re right…” You slurred last, cute in the stars that shined in Jimin’s eyes. He struggled not to jostle you, snatching a quilted throw blanket from where it was neatly folded over the back of your paisley upholstery.

He curled the blanket around your stature, gentle in dragging pillows around you to gently pry himself off of you, laying you into the tiny fort he’d constructed on your couch. He blew out the years old birthday cake scented candle on one of your end tables, flicked off the stereo system in the corner, turned out all the lights aside from the one in the threshold. A last pass by your dozing figure, adjusting the blankets until your slumbering state curled the ends into fists near your face.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Jimin soothed, palm curling down the back of your head to your shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your response was muffled but his heart heard it loud and clear.

“Goodnight, ducky.”

Jimin didn’t realize the crushing weight of your fingers curled around his, knuckles anemic, pressure borderline painful, until he let out a breath when the stocky man at the head of the front podium glanced up. His thumb did gentle work at soothing over the back of your knuckles, releasing some of the tension as you let out a similar breath, gaze set forward on the mayor, a stark black nameplate with gold engraving advertising Moon Jaejin, head of council.

“A festival, huh?” He spoke lowly but the quirk in his eyebrow suggested he was speaking to an elementary student. Condescending.

Your mouth parted but nothing came out, Hoseok’s admission from the other side of you affirming, “Yes, sir. A sort of revival of the seasons end festival that we...used to have.”

Namjoon shifted from his position two chairs down, uncomfortable. The mayor drew out his rhetoric this time, “You’ve spent quite the time planning this, haven’t you?” He glanced up from the purple folder Jimin had meticulously fretted over the entire morning, “In secret, I presume?”

“We’re presenting it to you now,” Jimin challenged, letting you curl a death grip on his fingers this time, “Aren’t we?”

More of the council members shifted this time. One cleared his throat. Moon laughed.

“Ah, so it was your idea then, young man?”

Jimin set his shoulders, “It was. I’d like to continue having a job here, and by the way the season is wrapping up, it’s seeing to it that none of us down at the dock will be employed by next year.”

Nervous tittering. Nail marks crescented into his palm as you shifted forward, crouching over your knees.

“Quite the radical claim for a newcomer,” He seemed to take pride in the way he crumpled the front of the folder as he placed it to the table, effectively crumpling the cover Hoseok had spent hours editing. “Our economy here is doing just fine, particularly after—”

“For you.”

You spoke now, chin lifting as you still hunched into yourself.

“What was that—”

“I said,” You straightened now, letting go of Jimin’s hand to flatten a clammy palm over your thigh, “That for you, the economy is doing just fine. We’re all aware, with the new pool you just had installed.”

Moon lifted his chin higher, a challenge, “What are you suggesting, dear?”

“You must have some idea. You wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

There was another uncomfortable pause in the exchange, silence filled with the ruffling of papers, Namjoon’s pointed cough into the crook of his elbow, Hoseok’s fingernails clacking against the chair he sat in. And for the careful consideration the mayor took of his words, it seemed that they were in preparation to grab his nearest dagger just to slice it through your heart.

“You, dear, of everyone should be resentful of this idea,” He smiled as he lounged into his chair, “What would your late boyfriend think of you suggesting this, hmm? Reimplementing the various vices that led to his death.”

This silence was frightening, devoid of white noise aside from Hoseok moving for you, wide eyes curled like wallpaper around the perimeter of the meeting room and it seemed to drop an octave lower when you stood, shrugging out of Hoseok who reached for you.

“You won’t even say his name,” You quipped and the sentence relayed over again, far less confident before, wavering into something higher pitched and painful, “You won’t even say his name and yet you continue to sensationalize the tragedy to further build the mountain you’ve created for yourself over the rest of us.”

“So continue to run this town into nothing if you want. Once we’re all gone, you’ll be nothing too,” A bitter smile twitched onto your lips, one now coated in a fine layer of tears that tracked in haphazard directions down the surface of your cheeks, “but don’t you dare continue to do it in Yoongi’s name.”

Jimin found himself frozen, numb to the call of your name from Hoseok that you’d ignored, needles pining their way into the clenched nature of his muscles, faced with a shade of grave he’d never imagined to see Hoseok wearing, something that rimmed red around his eyelids too and he blinked away from Jimin’s starkly different gaze to touch the back of his wrist at his eye.

“Gentlemen—”

A silent exchange, a question, who was going to go after you, and when Hoseok didn’t move quick enough, Jimin forced the static and stars from his eyes to flee from the building.

Polished dress shoes unpacked specifically for the occasion became scuffed in a fine layer of dust as he took the winding path at elongated strides until he essentially broke into a run. Darkness didn’t help his any of his already jumbled senses but instinct carried him to the one place he did know, dust curling into the moisture clinging to the wood from the remnants of dusk as the moon began to sigh quietly over the water.

He heard you before he saw you, a horribly muffled sobbing noise deep within the recesses of that tiny boat at the end of the dock. He barely used the ropes and ladders designed for the very thing, uncaring with how the boat rocked with the force in which he propelled himself inside.

You were curled into the seat at the front, a jacket held around your shoulders with a harsh fist while your latter hand was firmly clasped over your nose and lips. Jimin took his trek to you gently compared to his frantic rush from the meeting hall, toeing over each of the bench seats until he made it to the front row, balancing gently on the edge of the tattered and splintered wood.

The ambiance of crashing waves spurred by the sighing moon continued over the sound of your sobs and Jimin’s bated breathing for a dozen or so heartbeats, your raw tone cutting into the sound of receding water away from the shore.

“You didn’t have to come after me, ducky.”

Jimin shared a look with your eyes that cut to the side, trying to smile on one side of his face. “If I didn’t come, Hoseok was going to.”

“Hmm,” You sniffled, straightening a bit to drag the jacket sleeve underneath your nose, “Only one of you doesn’t understand that mess back there, though.”

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“I should have told you a long time ago,” You shrugged, “I’m just as bad as them, if you think about it.”

Jimin’s eyes rolled so far back they could have touched some of the glittering stars in the dark night, “Don’t ever compare yourself to them.”

“I don’t talk about it because it’s hard. They talk only about it because it benefits their stupid—” An unwarranted sob cut you off, ripping your spine forward to cup your palm over your mouth and Jimin surged forward this time, moving closer on his knees to rub at your shoulders.

His soft touches curled own your spine, fingertips brushing soft patterns into the small of your back until the tremors in your shoulders subsided, allowing you to rub at your nose again. He waited until you were looking at him, cry ridden eyes reflecting the angry curl of water around the collection of boats that sat idle in the darkness. Then you smiled, pitiful but there as a short, single syllable laugh escaped, dropping your gaze again.

“I’m a mess.”

Jimin shook his head, fingertips never ceasing. His chin dropped searching for your gaze until you managed to maintain it for a few passing, deep breaths. Then, gently, he encouraged, “Tell me about Yoongi.”

You froze but unlike previously, you began to speak almost immediately, rigid into the genuinely joyful laughter that followed. “He was everything good in the world. Seriously,” Another laugh, one that punctuated the pick of your finger into your nail bed, “Like...litters of puppies and sweet vanilla candles and fresh baked cookies. But...as a person.”

“We had been dating for three years. We were going to get out of here. Same university. Dance for me, music for Yoongi,” You laughed again, making eye contact with him now, “Dancing wasn’t really his thing. He could do it, he was great at it but he preferred the music thing. Which worked perfectly, if you think about it.”

“We were going to leave after the season ended. Work one last summer just to save up a little extra,” Jimin saw the tears well before you scrunched your eyes shut, “Wish I would have just listened to him and left early.”

A moment to collect yourself. “Anyway, it was a great season for us. Yoongi had just gotten his hands on one of the newer boats. Believe it or not, we used to have nice tourist yachts that were equipped to travel miles down the coast. A whole fleet of them,” You affectionately plucked at the worn leather you sat on, “This was his old boat.”

“He had a particularly rowdy group one evening. Not anything out of the ordinary, definitely not something him and the staff on board couldn’t handle but a distraction when there was a horrible storm approaching,” You sucked in a breath, chest expanding where Jimin’s fingers had traveled back up, still rubbing soft patterns into your jacket, “You can...uhm. You can imagine what happened…”

“They blamed it on the party that was happening on the boat. Said that if we just took people on boat rides for an hour or so, none of that would have ever happened. That the dancing and the alcohol and the atmosphere cultivated here in our little town was to blame. He wouldn’t have been as distracted without all of it and he certainly wouldn’t have been out that late...”

“Press got ahold of the story, took things out of context, didn’t have all the information. The town became deserted for more reasons than just the ridiculous executive order the mayor signed the night of Yoongi’s funeral—” You grit your teeth, “—like he deserved some sort of reward while Yoongi was—”

Jimin wrapped an arm around you then, tugging until you placed your cheek on his shoulder. His knees burned but nothing like the pelt of his heart against his ribcage.

“That’s why I couldn’t leave. It didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right. I didn’t want to listen to music. I didn’t want to dance. I didn’t want to look at the dock. I just wanted my Yoongi back…”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

His hand now rubbed up and down your arm, giving into the urge to press his lips against your hairline, letting softer sobs emit out of you now until the pass of his fingers to the jacket still clutched to your person was in time with your attempt at controlling your breathing.

“I think you would have been friends,” You said suddenly, tears shining when you peeled your cheek off his shoulder to look up at him, “...and I’m really glad you came here.”

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed, but you cut him off with a gentle finger to his lips. “I’m really glad you’re here for a lot of reasons, but that specifically. Hoseok’s my friend but Yoongi was his best friend,” You smiled sadly, “He’s just been kind of lost for a while. It’s...refreshing to see him like this again. A little bit of me feels normal seeing Hoseok be normal.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I’m still going to,” Your fingertip traced from his plump bottom lip to follow the line of his flushed cheekbone, “Thank you, ducky.”

“If anything, you’ve made the whole town think again. No one has played music out loud from their front porch in years. No one has danced on the dock in years,” You blinked suddenly, “But like fuck them. You’ve made me realize a lot too.”

“Stupid little things, like bike riding is fun and viral dance trends are cheesy but most importantly—” You inhaled through your nose, “—Yoongi would fucking hate everything about what they’ve done to our town.”

“You know what he’d love, though?”

Jimin shook his head, gentle in holding your waist.

You grinned, genuine through the tears that wreaked havoc on your features as you cupped both Jimin’s cheeks, jacket slumping off your shoulders a bit as you nodded once, a curt pout on your lips.

“A secret festival that oozes in...how would he put this,” A loud laugh, a sound Jimin hadn’t earned the pleasure of hearing before, “fuck the system.”

“Taehyung!”

The farmer nearly dropped the neat pyramid of tomatoes curled into his chest when you hissed his name at an elevated whisper, high steps picking your way up to one of his tents. He deposited the tomatoes first, an ungraceful roll of the produce into a nearby bin before he braced his hands on the card table, leaning over it to repeat in the exact same whisper scream, “What?”

You stripped one lapel of your jacket back to snatch a stack of the paperclipped, neatly cut flyers. One glance over your right shoulder, a prolonged glance over your left, and then you were shoving the stack of papers to Taehyung. “Take these.”

Jimin approached then, gentle in the index finger he prodded against the side of your head. “Subtle.”

Taehyung began speaking as you whipped around to glare at Jimin, “Oh? I thought this wasn’t happening—”

“It’s not supposed to.” “You can’t tell anyone,” You added, “Just...add these into bags of tourists. And the occasional trustworthy local, I guess. Just not Namjoon. Obviously.”

He pocketed the flyers into the front pouch of his forest green apron, hidden from view. “So...then this means you’ll need my catering?”

“You’re invited as a guest first. If you’d like to take a night off and come party with us, we’ll find something us. We already had a few ideas—”

“Who says I can’t serve food and party?” Taehyung beamed, lips all geometric edges as he cupped his hands over his lips, “I’ll be there. And your secret is safe with me.”

The look the broad man that stood before Jimin cast made his joints freeze in his pocket, name tag not blurred by the yellow lensed glasses perched on the edge of Jimin’s nose as he began to stutter over nothing in particular.

Seokjin.

“Uhh…”

“Forgive my friend,” You touched Jimin’s elbow, reaching past him to snag the stack of flyers out of his jacket to slap them down on the counter. Jimin warily regarded the reaction, watching at Seokjin’s eyes traveled down to where your palm still covered the majority of the cover art.

“We need a favor,” Hoseok added from Jimin’s opposite side, unabashed in slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Can you help us out, Jinnie?”

Seokjin’s expression remained stoic for a fraction longer before he was breaking into a series of wheezing giggles, bending at the waist to make his tie escape from his suit jacket and dangle to the floor below. He came to seconds later, holding a hand in Jimin’s direction.

“Of course, Hobi,” He beamed once Jimin deemed it safe to accept the handshake, giving one firm squeeze, “What can I do for you guys?”

“Can you hand these out to your guests?”

The suit clad man’s lips pursed into bloomed tulip as he fiddled with the clip on the stack, lifting one paper up to his eyes to squint at the font. Realization hit after a second and he nodded, “Oh? So we are having the festival?”

“Secretly,” You nudged the flyers a little bit until Seokjin got the hint and peeled them off the top part of the hotel counter to place them down near his desktop computer, “We want you to hand these out to guests.”

“Of course,” Another bellowing laughter, full of sweet eye crescents and a gentle shape to his mouth, “...I can’t give one to Mayor Moon, right?”

Hoseok moved to snatch the flyers back when Seokjin swatted at his hand, shaking his head with that same smile on his features, “I’m joking, I’m joking. I can even give you access to our valet services here, if you like. To get people down the shore, you know...”

“This is ridiculous,” Hoseok grunted when you placed two hands on his shoulder blades and pushed, “They’re going to catch us. The whole thing is going to be ruined!”

You sighed, glancing at Jimin, “Think you can self teach yourself to drive a boat in five minutes?”

He beamed, “I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Hobi,” You rolled onto your toes, squishing his cheeks between your thumb and index fingers until his panicked ramblings ceased, “They’re all out of town until the morning. Namjoon is with them. No one’s going to notice. We’re only taking two boats. We’ll move the rest around so it looks like nothing is missing.”

“Will that work?”

“You spent hours photoshopping a party hat onto a boat,” You tweaked the pliable skin of his cheeks once more, “Do you really want to go back on the boat rides promised on the flyer?”

Miserable, Hoseok moaned, “No.”

“Good. Take Jimin and let’s get this show on the road or else someone is going to catch us.”

All traces of whiny Hoseok were gone when the pair stood on the deck of the singular yacht the boat service still owned in front of an entire panel of controls that looked entirely too daunting for Jimin to even begin to comprehend. Hoseok, on the other hand, seemed like a kid in a candy store, some sort of high pitched giggle leaving his lips as he clapped his hands, turning to a series of switches and dials as the boat began to revv to life underneath them.

“I haven’t done anything with these in years—”

A third voice cut him off, followed by the soft whir of something through water as your boat began to poke by in front of them. “Are the two of you coming anytime soon or are you going to let it get daytime?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes, a good natured gesture as he fiddled a bit more before the boat finally began to move. “Pretty cool though…” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he turned to Jimin, “Right?”

Jimin nodded, tossing his arm around his friend’s shoulders, “So cool, Hobi.”

They’d chosen the area around an abandoned dock just outside of the town limits, beach area sufficient after a little tender love and care from the help of Jeongguk and the bed of his work truck, secret for the premise but technicalities making it so the town council members would have no grounds to shut it down. Taehyung provided the tents complete with various colored fairy lights and other lighting contraptions that Jimin couldn’t quite pinpoint the names of. Seokjin provided the transportation in the form of various high school aged children and golf carts, ones that were ordered to take the route down by the beach so that the ride was enjoyable in itself.

Food had its own designated area, homemade from Taehyung’s garden recipes, a dance floor in another area sectioned off by multicolored streamers and party decorations Hoseok had raided his attic for. Music, certainly not approved by the town ordinance, played from speakers attached to Jimin’s laptop hidden underneath a black sheet, playlist set to shuffle different on each loop. Jimin had polished the boats after they’d successfully moved them, available until the hour that darkness would completely envelope the coast, leaving them available to take food and drinks and dancing to someplace other than the wooden panels pressed deep into the sand.

You stood shoulder to shoulder with him as cool winds curled off the early evening waves, just at the entrance to the event. Taehyung had just declared The Coastal Cabaret open for business, lifting lids of expensive cooking contraptions that sent piles of steam billowing into the corners of the light lined tents, yet Seokjin was the only one who lingered around with a glass of champagne tucked delicately between his fingers.

“Do you think anyone will come?” You spoke finally, words wisped into the wind.

“I hope so.”

Taehyung called after ten minutes that the food was definitely edible, earning the attention of Seokjin who could be heard uttering ridiculous moans of approval with each new thing the farmer thrust toward him on a decoration paper plate.

“This was stupid,” You concluded twenty minutes in when the breeze had picked more clouds over, rushing the night faster than first intended. “We shouldn’t have—”

There was a chatter, a voice that didn’t belong to either of the figures already tailored to the party. Some crunching, the sound of a soft engine, and then a loud hollering could be heard as Jeongguk steered the first golf cart into a makeshift parking space in the grass.

“Here you go, have a wonderful time,” The younger man cheered, long curls stuck to his cheeks as he beamed at you and Jimin, offering a thumbs up over the steering wheel, “I bring you guests! And there’s plenty more where that came from so I have to go—”

It was an elderly couple, not unfamiliar to Jimin. He’d seen them around town, at the convenience store on the far corner from his house, roaming the shore hand in hand while he was doing his nightly closing duties at the dock. The woman touched his arm when she grew close enough, startling him out of his recognition as she softened, “We’re awful glad you arranged this, darling.”

“Oh it wasn’t just me. Hoseok and—”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand, shaking your head as you absently pointed toward the spot Jeongguk had just been before leading the couple down to the tents, explaining all the way what they had to offer. At the end of your point came Hoseok in the second golf cart, a group of teenagers this time that bolted from their seats the second the machine came to a stop, bypassing any sort of explanation as they went straight for the neon lights flashing to the dance floor.

It continued like that for what seemed like hours, golf carts guiding people in, others parking their cars in messy rows just off the street to walk their way down to the coast. The unfamiliar face was few and far between, the majority of the festival goers residents of the town. The boats barely left their place at the dock on the far end of the happenings, people too preoccupied with the music and the dance and the atmosphere they’d been deprived of for what seemed like far longer than a handful of years.

Jimin found you at the corner of the dance floor, stance wide as you watched people crowd the small area without a care to who they were near, taking the part off into the sand where the music could still be coherent enough to make out some sort of body movement to. He touched your shoulder in greeting, coming to copy your stance.

“Awesome, isn’t it?” He mused, fondly watching as Hoseok slithered his way to the middle and returning with a toddler in hand, hoisting her up so that her pigtails bounced and her laughter rang in time with the beats of the music.

You nodded, awestruck in the moment but that snapped when there was a figure in your peripheral, slinking in steps, stumbling more like, in trying to be stealth but hopelessly failing. Hoseok turned with you, eyes widening as Namjoon approached with a sheepish smile.

He took both hands from the pockets of his jacket, holding them in solace to the protective step Jimin subconsciously shifted in front of you.

“Did they send you down here?” You questioned anyway, negating the step Jimin had taken by moving around him.

“Yes,” Namjoon answered truthfully, but rushed to amend when your gaze flattened, “but not for the reason you think!”

“What do I think, Joon?”

The taller man shifted from foot to sandal clad foot, fists curled back into his pockets. A smile graced his features, all dimples indented into his cheeks when he chuckled. “They told me to come have fun with you guys,” Bewildered, he continued to laugh, the sound growing in comical value, “Can you believe it?”

“No, I can’t—”

You placed a palm on Jimin’s chest, soft again in a way he’d previously heard you speak to Namjoon. “Go have fun, Joon,” You nodded when he made curious eye contact with you, “You deserve it.”

It wasn’t until Namjoon had vanished into the mass of bodies that you whipped around, searching for Jimin’s hand. When you retrieved it, you tugged, an answer to your question, “Want to go somewhere?”

Somewhere turned out to be the boat, the boat, clambering aboard a bit harder on the unkempt sway of the abandoned dock but you made it with Jimin’s support on your waist, your hands turning to offer him a similar service until you were both safely inside. You paused halfway to clambering to the front, where the space was certainly much bigger to maneuver, legs caught between the rows of benches.

You blurted, “Do you want to dance?”

He obliged, swaying you in a simple circle about yourselves that was complete with a few pained knocks of your legs against the benches but it didn’t much matter in the ambiance and you adjusted quickly. Your music became the white noise of the party happening down on the beach, high hats in the music punctuated by the sounds of laughter, accents the call of Taehyung to whoever was coming to retrieve a snack, a crescendo the whir of golf carts continuing to drag in late strays, eight counts of a part of your heart that slowly began to heal within itself, emitting such an intense beam that Jimin could feel it radiating off of you the tighter he held you.

“You’re the best thing to happen to this town in a while,” Your voice curled across Jimin’s neck, eliciting goosebumps up into the short hairs at his nape, “You know that right, ducky?”

“It was all you. I didn’t—”

“Park Jimin,” The way you quipped his full name had him startling to your gaze, finding a fond smile creeping onto your teeth just underneath tears that seemed to have already existed, “Do you know how to take a compliment?”

Softly, he answered, “Not really.”

“You have helped me though. Immensely,” Assured, you nodded, “All of us.”

Bashfully, he shrugged, pink to his cheeks harsher in the low lighting off the battery powered fairy lights Hoseok had spent hours weaving through the railing of the boat.

“Sometimes we all need a little push.”

You cocked your head, deciding albeit reluctantly, “Something like that.”

Jimin grinned. “By the way—” He began to fumble at the back pocket of his jeans, “—what music do you want?”

You shook your head, making grabby hands at him until he took you back into his embrace, holding you close as you mumbled into his chest, “Don’t want any music...

“...I just want to dance.”

#bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts fluff #jimin imagine #jimin imagines #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #fic: a coastal cabaret #oh my god okay im going to go hide for a little bit now ajfkdjsafldk #pls tell me your thoughts i've!! never done something like this before ajfkdsjafl #when i say edited that's a loose term so im sure there's typos im sorry

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theasstour · 5 years

Photo

0101. Presto.

Monday, 22 September 2014

Word count: 11.5k

NB: explicit language, alcohol, slight sexual content, anxiety disorder

A/N: i don’t think i can stress this enough, but i’m so fucking excited for this one. each chapter is inspired by a symphony, solo, or quartet, and all of those you can find in a playlist if you click ‘chapter soundtrack’ on the fic page and here! each week i’ll be adding the symphony, solo, or quartet right before posting the chapter so keep an eye out, brothers. anyway, ENJOY THE FIRST CHAPTER OF A NEW AND LONG JOURNEY!! ILY AND PLS COME FREAK WITH ME ONCE YOU’RE DONE READING💞💞💞💞

thank you to @emotionally-imbruised @alwaysjacked-up and wifey @hsliveuntour for beta reading! ilysm

When change occurred, Y/N could feel it in the very pit of her stomach. The kind of feeling that would leave her trembling for no apparent reason, her whole body occasionally moving with a shiver, and leave her mouth dried up. As the farm she had lived on her whole life disappeared from view, it finally dawned on Y/N that she was leaving her old house, her old life, her old self, behind. Going away to university was something she had always wanted to do, but now that the day was here, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to leave Hawkley after all. Her whole life, Y/N had lived in Hawkley, Hampshire with her dad - George -, mum – Allison -, and little bother – Edward – and she knew no other life but the one in her little village, on her small family farm, surrounded by the best people the world had to offer.

Y/N had grown up among empty fields filled with possibilities and lush pine trees, the sort that would eventually be sold off as Christmas trees as November rolled around. George Picot was known for his Christmas trees, and all her life Y/N had helped cutting trees, sowing them, measuring them, and anything else her dad needed her help for. On a huge field outside their stone cottage were rows upon rows of pine trees, some having just been sown, others having stood there for years and ready to be shipped off to Christmas tree sellers across Hampshire. Walking among the trees, knowing that they would bring hundreds of families happiness, made everything inside Y/N sing with bliss. Y/N had set her mind on taking over the family business of planting and selling Christmas trees, their potatoes and other vegetables, as well as milk from their cows, because it was all Y/N had known her whole life. This was safe. Hawkley and the Picot Farm was safe.

But then one day, Y/N had picked up a violin at Music class at school when she was 12, and all she had known and loved before didn’t stand a chance. The violin, its four strings, and the bow suddenly became the loves of Y/N’s life. For seven years she had played the violin, not a single day passing by without feeling the wood and strings of it underneath her fingertips. She had known then, without a shadow of a doubt, that she wanted nothing but to play and create music for the rest of her life, with her violin under her chin and happiness laced around her heart.

“Next time you’ll see the Farm, it’ll be Christmas!” Edward exclaimed, smiling at Y/N as he did so.

Y/N smiled back at her brother, but quickly looked out the window of their black Toyota minivan at the countryside, her last glimpse of it for at least three months. Only once had Y/N been to London. It was when she was 12 and her brother 10. One Saturday the whole family had gone for a day trip to the capital, and for some reason Y/N had felt so right. The culture, the constant buzzing of people, the endless opportunities, being where it all happened. It was different from what she was used to, with the Picot Farm situated pretty much in the middle of nowhere and the everyone-knows-everyone culture of her little village Hawkley. She had known then, at the age of 12, that she someday wanted to move to London. Not to live there permanently, but maybe for university, a three-year long period. And that was exactly what she was doing now.

It was the first day of Freshers Week when the whole Picot family arrived at Battersea, University of London. A ton of students and their families were walking around campus to check in; get their keys to their accommodation, their student ID card, a whole lot of documents and booklets on how to survive uni, and their timetables. Freshers Week was the seven days when all the first-year students would go to countless of parties, get drunk, go to their first lectures and seminars with hangovers, and basically live their wildest life until university and seriousness in week 2 and onwards. Horror stories about Freshers Week had gone around college, Y/N remembered, about how people dropped out because the mere pressure of drinking everyday alone was enough to have people drop out. Y/N had never been a huge fan of parties. She was dreading Freshers Week.

“Come on, poppet, let’s check you in, yea?” George took his seatbelt off when he had parked the van, smiling back at his daughter. “You’ll stay here?” He asked Allison, who nodded.

Y/N sighed and, because of the odd taste in her mouth, it dawned on her that she hadn’t said a single word on the whole drive up to London. She swallowed.

George and Y/N made their way up to campus on the edge of Battersea Park, huge elegant white buildings, both old and modern, rising above them. Walking on the gravel path leading down to the Antonin Artaud Building - the main building - Y/N felt nerves press on once again. For every step, for every breath, she felt her heart beat faster and something inside her brain protest. The scary prospect of change, of being on her own and not seeing her mum, dad or brother everyday scared her. Why had she done this to herself? Why couldn’t she have chosen a uni closer to home so she could go back to the Farm on the weekends? What was she going to do without her mum? Who was she going to go to for her outlet of weirdness every day when she didn’t have Edward there? Y/N tried her hardest not to think about it. She could cry in her room later tonight. But not now. Not in front of her father. Not in public. She would not humiliate herself. Yet.

The Antonin Artaud Building was the place all Arts and Performing Arts lectures, seminars and gatherings usually took place. Y/N remembered this from having stalked the Battersea University website, as going to an Open Day at the university was too scary. Well, it could never be as scary as actually starting university. Again, Y/N pushed her own stupidity away, not wanting to have a mental breakdown right now.

Her dad opened the door into the main building for her, smiling and putting a hand on her lower back as they made their way inside. From an open pair of double doors, stood a long queue of freshers and their parents, the chatter loud and the sun shining in through the Victorian windows behind Y/N and George. She caught a glimpse of herself in the window, running a hand through her loose hair as she tried to calm herself down, to come back down to earth. Tight-fitted black and white checked trousers, her black vans, and a white tee shirt with the Tommy Hilfiger logo printed in black across her chest, tied at the front and wrapped around her waist, just above her belly button that was covered by the trousers. She loved her trousers, or any trousers with a pattern on it, really. She had no idea how many she owned, but she felt they went with almost everything, making her outfits a little livelier. She ran a hand over the fabric of her trousers, reminding herself that everything was fine. Touching something familiar grounded her. When her dad placed his hand on her lower back to walk along with him, she moved.

The queue behind her was longer now, if possible. Y/N inhaled, then exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled.

“It’s going to be fine, poppet.” George said, noticing his daughter’s uncomfortable demeanour. “We’re going to check you in and then help you move in, and then you’re free, ey?”

“Next!” A dark-skinned girl smiled at Y/N from behind the check-in counter, waving her hand at her to come over. A row of tables stood before her, countless of volunteer students working to sign in first years. They all wore a baby blue tee shirt that read ‘Welcome! Ask me anything!’, and, all of a sudden, Y/N felt absolutely sick to her stomach.

“I’ll wait outside for you, Y/N.” Her father said, giving her shoulder a squeeze before he disappeared. Swallowing hard, Y/N watched her dad leave, heart racing. She could do this, she could do this, she could do this. Her dad was waiting outside. She could do thi-

“Miss?”

Y/N startled out of her inner monologue. Crossing her arms over her chest, she walked up to the lady who had called for her.

“Name, please.”

“Y/N.” She said, stopping a little as the girl raised her eyebrows. “Oh! Sorry. Y/N Picot.”

“P.” The girl said to herself as she turned to the table behind her, walking up the counter to the paper on the wall that read P. Inhaling shakily, Y/N tried to calm herself down. You did not embarrass yourself. She does not think you’re pathetic. Calm down.

“Picot.” The girl repeated. “Westbridge Halls, right?”

“Yea.”

“Don’t listen to those that say it’s the worst student accommodation, yea?” The girl smiled, putting a ‘How to survive uni’ booklet into a mustard coloured manila folder.

“P-People say it’s the worst?”

Noticing the slight stutter in Y/N’s voice, the girl’s face dropped. “Oh, no, no, no! It’s not bad at all! I lived there and I had the time of my life, honestly.” She smiled again. “Met some of my best mates and had an absolute blast. You will, too. Trust me.”

But Y/N didn’t know if she could.

“Okay, Y/N,” the girl looked up at her again. “You’re in House 3, Flat 34, room 3.” The girl explained. “The key is here,” she dropped it into the folder. “And you use that to get into your flat as well as your room, yea?”

Y/N nodded again.

“A map of campus is in here as well,” she took it out of the folder, laying it on the grey table between them. “Here you have Albert Bridge Student Accommodation right across the street from us,” she pointed. “Also the most expensive place to live if you want to live in halls, but you already knew that.” She moved her finger Lombard Road. “Here’s Cotton Row, second most expensive, and also only one building. There’s only 20 flats in it.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows a little.

“Yea, I know.” The girl snorted, moving her finger to Shuttleworth Road. “Then there’s Shuttleworth Halls. In my opinion, the ugliest of all four halls. It’s just grey and dreary, and everyone smokes weed.” She groaned. “And at last, we have Westbridge at Parkham Street. You’re coming here by car, I suppose, and it’s not hard to get there. You’ll see it the second you drive down Parkham Street.”

About to open her mouth, Y/N stopped herself as the girl continued.

“You’ll find your Student ID in here as well.” She picked the badge up, showing it to Y/N. “You use this as a library card, to scan your attendance at lectures, and you use your student number,” the girl pointed to a number on the card, right beside the awkward picture Y/N’s mum had taken of her to use for this exact card. Y/N cringed. “1448573, to log onto My Record and your unimail to log onto Canvas.”

“My Record?” Y/N blinked. “Canvas?”

“My Record is where you can find all personal and academic information, and also forms and documents, that you might need someday. Basically all information, you’ll find on My Record. Canvas is the place where you’ll find everything about your modules, where you hand in assignments, and stay in touch with tutors, lecturers and other peers. They have a Canvas tutorial for those that don’t understand it in like a week.”

The girl put Y/N’s badge back in the manila folder, putting another map of Westbridge Halls into it.

Y/N cleared her throat, toying nervously with her hair. “Do you… Do you know how many students will approximately be in my year?”

The girl closed the folder and handed it to Y/N. “About 9000.”

Y/N stayed silent.

“Think we’re 31000 in total. It’s mad, innit?”

Y/N nodded.

“Well, Y/N, before you go I need you to sign here. That way everyone knows you’ve checked in and all that.” She handed Y/N a pen, smiling her radiant smile at her. About to puke for what felt like the 84th time that day, Y/N bent over and signed her name right by where it stood in digital form. The sun from the windows behind the girl shone in, yellowing the paper and making the whole situation seem grander than it did before. Standing upright, the manila folder pressed to her chest and the girl still beaming at her, it felt like someone had stuffed Y/N’s ears with cotton as the girl spoke again.

“Have a great Freshers Week!”

Turning around, Y/N walked out past people who stood talking loudly to their parents, some who stared at the beautiful interior of the main building, and students who were already talking to others. It made her heart beat a little faster. And not in a good way. People were already making friends, and here Y/N was, not even sure how you initiated a conversation with someone else, let alone casually befriend them. She hated that she had put herself in this situation; hated that in a matter of an hour, she would be all alone, and her family would be driving back home to Hawkley. Once Y/N saw her dad with his hands in his high-waisted blue jeans and white David Bowie tee shirt tucked into it, she instantly relaxed. George’s grey hair shone in the sun, reminding Y/N of silver, and as he smiled at her, she cursed herself for ever thinking her dad to be anything resembling silver. They needed to name a whole new gem after him, because the way he radiated warmth, showing of nothing but goodness, was so beautiful and safe Y/N didn’t know how she would survive without his presence near her.

“Look at that,” George said, grinning. “A folder with information! You’re all ready to go, poppet.”

He threw and arm around her shoulders, and together the two of them walked back to the minivan.

“How did it look? Were there many people there? Did you see something cool? Who did you meet-“

“-You can look through the folder once we get to my dorm, that okay, Ed?”

Edward sighed at his sister’s tone, but nodded, knowing that she wouldn’t give him any information until she herself was ready to. Y/N told George to type in Parkham Street into their GPS, and that once they got there, they would be able to spot Westbridge Halls pretty easily, according to the girl she had been talking to. As George pulled away from the main campus, Y/N opened the manila folder and looked at its contents. Pulling her student ID card out, she took a good look at the picture she would be stuck with for the next three years, her student ID number, her faculty (Performing Arts) and her full name spelled out. Standing with a straight back, her hair pulled back, and arms limp at her sides, Y/N showed a tight-lined smile in front of a white wall in her little brother’s room back in Hawkley. Edward had made their mum take down all the pictures he had on his wall, and he had taken down those he could reach himself, just so Y/N could get the perfect shot. The instructions had been clear: don’t show your teeth, background should be neutral, and all of your face should be visible. So, that was what Y/N had submitted, even though she detested the image as she looked upon it now. With a mustard coloured tee shirt on, the rest of her body not pictured, she looked tense, as if an audience was watching her. Though it had only been Allison and Edward in the room when the picture had been taken, Y/N had still felt uncomfortable, hating being the centre of attention. She was the complete opposite of her little brother who was 17, who loved having all attention on him at all times.

George drove into the Westbridge Campus parking lot, whistling at the huge mass of students milling about. Y/N put the turquoise ID card back into the manila folder, swallowing thickly as she looked out the window at everyone that had already arrived. The nervous snake in the pit of her stomach hissed again, reminding her of how much she did not want to be left alone here; how little she knew about the world, and how she did not know how to live in it independently. Because she… she… she just couldn’t. She needed her parents there; her Edward.

Parking the minivan, George and Allison got out, both smiling as they looked at the light brown buildings that made the Westbridge Campus. George knocked on Y/N’s window, pointing to the back of the car when their eyes met. With the folder in hand, Y/N got out of the safeness of her family minivan and walked back to her parents

“Can I come out now?! I want to see!” Edward yelled as Allison opened the back of the car.

“Just wait, honey, we need to get Y/N’s suitcases and bags out before we can lower the ramp, yea?”

Edward groaned, but whipped out his phone and started playing something on it. George and Allison were quick to get everything out so he wouldn’t start complaining about how slow everything was going, because if Edward was in a foul mood, then everyone was in a foul mood. It was just the Picot effect. The entire family felt the same way about everything, always sharing opinions and moods. Out of everyone Y/N knew and had known, no one was as close with their family as her. And she would not have it any other way. Though, no one seemed to pick up on just how nervous and downright terrified Y/N was as she stood in the parking lot of her student accommodation.

Y/N stepped back as Allison got Edward’s ramp out, watching him as he carefully rolled back. George stood by the ramp to make sure Eddie didn’t fly off it and through the windows of a passing car. Once Ed’s wheelchair was on the ramp, Allison lowered it, and George shuffled out of the way so Edward could roll his way off it.

For as long as Y/N could remember, her little brother had been in a wheelchair. He had a rare case of spina bifida called something as simple as myelomeningocele. Spina bifida is a birth defect that occurs when the spine and spinal cord don’t form properly. The neutral tube is the embryonic structure that eventually develops into the baby’s brain and spinal cord, and the tissues that encloses them. There are three types of spina bifida, whereas Edward’s case – myelomeningocele – is the worst one. With the two other cases of the bifida, the patient is able to walk, something Edward has never been able to do properly. Sure, he could walk a few steps supporting all his weight on a pair of crutches, but most of his time when he was one the move, he spent in a wheelchair. Myelomeningocele is the most severe form of the three bifidas. The spinal canal is open along several vertebrae in the lower and middle back, making it hard to walk.

But regardless of the pain the spina bifida brought Edward, he was the happiest person Y/N knew. There was not a single human being on earth that could make her laugh or smile or live the way Edward did. And she was so incredibly scared to find how the lack of his presence would affect her mood and mental state.

“I’ll take the folder, Y/N, then you can take some of your luggage.”

Y/N gave him the folder, and he instantly looked into it, taking her student ID out.

“Edward, no!”

“It isn’t that bad-“

Y/N reached over and stole it out of his hands, holding it to her chest as she glared at her little brother.

“It’s not a bad picture!” Edward argued, a smile on his face.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Nice. Finally I’ll be on the news.”

“Alright, you two, can we get a move on?” Allison asked, raising her eyebrows at her kids.

Y/N took the manila folder, put the ID card in it, and handed it back to her brother. Then, with a bag on her back, a suitcase in hand, Y/N and her parents walked over to the entrance to Westbridge Campus. The seven houses were all a light sandy brown, turquoise along the outlines of all the windows, all the doors leading into different flats the same colour and with a round window at the top, mail box just underneath. Each building shaped like a square with a pathway to all the different entrances, sported by lush green grass, trees and the occasional bench and table in the middle, making it each houses’ little garden. As the Picot family walked down the herringbone pavement, Y/N looked into each and every single one of the houses. A big opening was provided so one could easily see all the different people sitting outside already, and those walking in and out of their new flats with their parents. The first one to the left was house one, so the one right below it would be house three.

“Eddie, check the house number. Was it three?” George asked looking back at his son, turning his whole body as he couldn’t look over his shoulder where a bag was blocking the view. The whole family stopped by the road that led into house three as Edward couldn’t roll himself while checking the house number.

“House three, flat 34, room three.” Edward said, putting the paper down into the folder again. “That’ll be easy to remember, Y/N.”

Edward went first, George following right behind him, then Y/N, and Allison last. Edward looked around them at the different entrances, frowning a bit to himself. There were four doors, but along the side of the two outer edge pillars were a spiral staircase, each leading up to the second floor where another door was. George, sensing the confusion of his son, looked to a group of people sitting around one of the three tables in the green courtyard of House three.

“Excuse me!”

“Dad, no!” Hissed Y/N, but it was too late. Her father was already on his way over to them.

“Do you lot know which one of these are flat 34?!”

“You don’t have to shout.” Y/N mumbled to herself, feeling the incredible urge to become invisible.

“That one.” One of the girls pointed to the turquoise door behind Y/N, to her right. “That’s flat 31,” she pointed to the door behind and to the left. “Flat 32,” Front left. “33,” Front Right. “And flat 35, 36, 37, and 38 are all on the second floor.”

“Thank you so much. Were afraid we had gotten ourselves lost there for a second.” George’s laughter boomed thought the courtyard as he walked back the five steps to his family. “This one, poppet.” He said, pointing to the one behind Y/N and to the right.

“Really? It was so hard hearing every single part of your conversation.” Y/N turned around, knowing that the reason she was being a bitch was because of how immensely terrified she was of that moment her family would leave, and she’d be left all alone in big, scary London.

Edward rolled over to the door, fishing the key out of the folder and handing it to his sister, giving her a smile. It was that exact same smile that had cured her of so many anxiety attacks before, that had instantly made even her darkest days bright. And she hated knowing she wouldn’t see it after today for at least a month. She wasn’t sure how often she would go home to Hawkley on the weekends, but her mother had told her to stay at uni the first few weekends as it was important she got to know the people she was living with. And also to become more independent, though Allison had never said that out loud.

Reluctantly, Y/N put the key in and turned, opening the door into her new home for the next year. The walls were a dull cream colour, the carpet floors blue, and from how worn-out it looked, Y/N assumed this flat had been used for a few, lively pre-drinks in the past. As she stepped through the door, to her right was the stairs to the second landing of the flat, but she was too busy finding her room and getting inside to care about the second landing yet. Walking through the door right opposite her, she entered a hallway with the same cream walls and blue carpet, but along the wall in front of her were four wooden doors, each with a number placed on it. Y/N read from the top of the hallway and to her right; 1, 2, 3. At the top of the hallway was a door with a huge square glass window on it, and through it Y/N could see the kitchen. That meant the door at the other end of the hallway was the shared downstairs shower, and the door to the left and beside the one she was now walking through, was one of two toilets.

Y/N walked to room three with her suitcase dragging behind her, her hand with the key outstretched.

“Oi!”

Y/N stopped, looking over her left shoulder at her father that still stood in the doorway, looking back at the rest of the family.

“Give Y/N this.” It was Edward, and soon the manila folder was in George’s hands. “It’ll be a bloody round of Cluedo trying to fit me in through that maze. I’ll wait out here.”

“But Ed-“ Y/N stopped protesting, knowing that her brother was most likely right. Besides, he knew very well where he could and could not fit. But Y/N had so wanted to show him her new room, have him decide where she would hang his paintings as putting them up on a wall made him happy, and they were always so beautiful it was a privilege in itself to have Ed want her to have them. However, this maze of a house was not made for people in wheelchairs. Y/N hated this house already.

“Eddie will see your room when we bring his crutches next time, yea?” George smiled.

Y/N just turned toward her door, not answering to her father as she knew doing so would most likely bring her to tears. Any little thing could trigger her tears today, it seemed. Turning the knob, Y/N walked inside, looking around the room she would call home for the year to come. She flipped the switch to her right, illuminating the yellow-white coloured room. Just to her right as she entered was a huge brown pinboard, covering most of the wall till it stopped by two dull cocoa brown shelves, a desk of same colour under it, sporting a blue Devonshire wooden frame armchair. Accompanying the chair to its left was a window, the same tedious blue on the curtains that were drawn before it. Behind the door stood a wardrobe in the same ugly brown as the shelf and desk, beside it a run-down sink and mirror with a shaving light above it. Y/N could already tell it was the kind of light that would blind you once you turned it on, so white you would be blinking away spots in your vision for weeks. In front of the sink, leaning against the left wall and the opposite one, stood a single bed, stripped bare to its white mattress alone.

“Well, go inside, then.”

Y/N did as her father said, walking over to the bed and putting the bag on her back down on the mattress before placing the key on the desk. Doing the same, George opened the curtains, letting some of the day’s sun in, and smiling at the simple view of house five right outside his daughters’ window. Allison came in right after, putting the suitcase with the other ones.

Allison put a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “George, why don’t you take Edward for a walk around campus while I help Y/N unpack, yea?”

“I’ll keep him company.” He gave Y/N a smile. “And I’ll be back to say goodbye to you.”

He walked out, and Allison had the same look as George on her face. A mixture of pride and sadness. Y/N looked away.

Together, they started unpacking the suitcases first, as her family were to take those with them back to Hawkley. Storing them in her tiny room would prove very difficult as there were no places to put them. Allison hummed a soothing melody, and Y/N got lost in her own thoughts, blinking away tears that were threatening to spill and quickly wiping away those that did. When George and Edward came back from their stroll, it was time to say goodbye. She walked outside with her mum, and the four of them walked to the entrance to house three, where they finally exchanged hugs and kisses. Allison hugged Y/N first.

“Goodbye, my sweet darling.” She said, smiling into the crook of her daughters’ neck. “Be good. I’ll see you very soon.”

Y/N nodded, giving her mum the biggest smile she could muster without bursting into tears right then and there. The smile wasn’t a big one.

“Poppet.” George embraced his daughter, stroking her back and swaying the two of them from side to side. “Have a blast, yea? And don’t distance yourself from the others. You’ll find university is bloody wicked once you take it all in.”

Y/N clung to her father, closing her eyes into his chest and willing the tears to leave. Willing all the sadness and the mortification and the dread of everything that was to come, to leave. But it didn’t. Because holding her father’s familiar frame and hearing his low chuckles roll softly off her skin, was nearly enough to make her collapse and beg them not to leave. So, her heart beating faster than it had ever done before, Y/N stepped away from her father, turning to her brother.

Edward resembled their mother as well, the same hair, eyes, and straight white teeth. Though where Y/N had gotten their father’s crooked bottom teeth, Edward had taken his dimples. He was one of the most charming, most caring, most beautiful people Y/N knew. Her best friend. And she had no idea what she would do without him. She bent down, hugging him against her, closing her eyes as she felt his fists against her back, holding onto her tee shirt. She felt him swallow, and uneven breaths, and while she would normally have mocked him for it, laughing at him for being a sap, she did not find it in herself to do so now.

“See ya, Goose.” Edward whispered into Y/N’s ear.

“Later, Maverick.”

Their favourite film; Top Gun. Neither knew when their obsession had started, but it had been their parents that initiated for the family to have a film night, George putting this on the telly for them to watch. And every film night since, they had watched Top Gun. Y/N and Edward did pull one of their laptops out every now and again, though, to watch it together. Ever since that movie night, they had gone by these nicknames. Y/N got to be Maverick since she fancied Tom Cruise mad.

The siblings pulled away, not looking at each other, both knowing it was for the best. With one last kiss on the cheek from both her parents, Y/N watched as Edward turned his chair around and her parents dragged three empty suitcases along the walk up to their car. Not wanting to linger there for a minute longer, not wanting to know if they looked over their shoulder at her, Y/N turned around and near jogged back to her flat. She needed to be alone. She needed to be alone now. Tears were threatening to spill. Her heart thumping in her ears. Vision blurry. She took a grip of the door handle, turning it. But it did not open.

No.

Oh no.

Oh God, please no.

Y/N went through her pockets, breathing heavier now as panic took over. Her front pockets were empty and she did not have any back pockets. She remembered the exact spot she had put it on her desk. And also how she had forgotten to bring it out with her. Calm down. Everything’s going to be fine. Just breathe. Closing her eyes, Y/N inhaled. Willing every cell in her body to stop buzzing with anxiety. She exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled. But she could not stand outside her flat, as that would not help. The only thing she could do was ring the doorbell and hope someone was in. And what a great way to meet her new flatmates.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, the biggest muppet on the British Isles whose braincells often stop working. Nice to meet you.”

Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God. She had to ring the doorbell. She had to. Had to initiate an awkward conversation with someone she did not know. Because she couldn’t stay out there all day long. So, before she could think much about it, she rung the doorbell. Warm chills of nervousness swirled from her right pointer finger and through her entire body. It was the most uncomfortable heat wave Y/N had ever experienced. Fisting her hands at her sides, she looked through the round window at the top of the door, anxiously waiting. Finally, she heard a door shut, and soon after, a girl looked at her as she opened the door into the downstairs hallway.

“May I help you?” She asked, her voice a delicate sort of deep that most found enticing, like the slow fall cake batter did into its pan.

“I live here, but forgot my key in my room when I was saying goodbye to my family.” Don’t think about them, Y/N, don’t think about them. She swallowed thickly.

“Oh!” The girl smiled. “It was you we heard! Hi, I’m Tiana.”

She reached her hand out and Y/N took it, hoping Tiana didn’t take notice to how sweaty her hand was. Smooth black skin, and a smile that would leave everyone admiring her, Tiana had a charisma about her that Y/N was sure everyone around her would find appealing. Her long black hair fell down her back, being held back by a pink hairband, that almost matched her pink tank top.

“Y/N.”

“Welcome home, Y/N.” Tiana giggled, stepping aside to let her housemate in. “Which one of the rooms are you?”

“Room three.” Y/N said, watching Tiana open the door into the hallway.

Tiana gestured for Y/N to walk through first, and she gave her a smile before she did. “Then you’re my neighbour, I’m two.”

Y/N nodded, crossing her arms as she walked to stand outside her door. Her heart was still beating too fast for its own good. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.

“One is Ian, two me, three you, four is Finn, five is Spencer, six is Annie, and seven is Becky.”

Y/N felt herself dizzying.

“We’re in the kitchen hanging out, if you wanna join.” Tiana said, pointing to the kitchen behind her with an inviting smile on her lips. “We’re just getting to know one another and having fun.”

Pinching her arm, Y/N gave Tiana a smile back. “I should really unpack.”

Tiana nodded, arm falling to her side. “Come out whenever you’re done, yea? We were kind of hoping you’d show up soon. Been dying to meet the last one.”

The last one. They had all been boding and talking and hung out before Y/N had even got her. Panic arose again, but Y/N pushed it down. At least some of it.

“I’ll be out in a bit.”

“Good! See ya, Y/N!”

Y/N watched as Tiana turned around and walked through the kitchen door, loud laughter wafting from the room for the few seconds the door was open. It shut behind Tiana, leaving Y/N all alone in the corridor. She knew she should have come into the kitchen. Knew she should sit down with her new flatmates and get to know them. Knew she should not retreat to her room like a dog with its tail between its legs, crying for shelter. But that was exactly what Y/N was doing. Opening the door into her room, she slowly closed the door behind her. The bags were still on her bed, none of them opened. The room was quiet, neither of her parents or any of her flatmates around. Not a single sound was audible except for Y/N’s breathing. In house five across from Y/N’s window, someone was walking around in their room as well, though they were not alone. It seemed to be three flatmates hanging out together. Already laughing. Bonding. Loving uni life already.

Y/N rushed over to the window, throwing the curtains shut. No sun shone in on her room now, no natural light. The tedious white lamp in the ceiling was the only thing helping Y/N navigate her way through her room. By the little space that was left to sit on her bed, she sat down, her right arm resting on one of her bags. She took in her small room again. How bare it was. The minimal personality. The tastelessness of it all. There wasn’t a definite time Y/N knew she started crying, but she was pretty sure when her eyes fell on the door, the same door her mum and dad had left through some minutes earlier, she knew she was utterly and completely alone.

Symphony No. 3, Allegro moderato played from Y/N’s laptop as she put her Hampshire Countryside calendar on her pinboard. Tuesday 30 September was circled as that was the day university started. Y/N had Mondays and Wednesdays off, meaning, if she wanted to, she could go home to Hawkley after classes on the Friday and come back to uni on Monday. Spend some calming time with her family, her cows, and the forest of future Christmas trees before heading back to busy London. But she had promised her mum to stay put in London for at least a month, and she intended to keep that promise to her mother. With her hands on her hips, Y/N looked around her newly decorated room. Her violin laid on one of the shelves, taking up most of the space, and the shelf over it was occupied by books alone. Her laptop stood on the desk with a lamp that had come with the room, as well as stationary she would need, such as post-it notes, pencils, erasers, and so on. Her bedsheets were draped in sunflower beddings, white and yellow fluffy blankets and pillow laid around her bed, making it very welcoming. Her pinboard was already decorated in pictures of her family, her timetable for her first semester, a dinner plan, and everything else she might need or think looked pretty. Her room finally felt somewhat hers.

The door into the kitchen opened, and Y/N jumped over to her laptop, pausing her music. Voices were heard as everyone walked off to their rooms, all of them sounding excited and happy. Y/N drew a hand through her hair, listening intently as everyone opened their doors and into private. The fact that everyone was now alone in their own rooms, now that Y/N wasn’t missing out on anything by being the only one not present, made her feel instantly better.

Suddenly there was a knock on her door. Head whipping in the direction of the door, Y/N felt a weird sense of being trapped. Whoever stood on the outside of her door knew she was in her room, she couldn’t not open the door for them. So, hesitantly, she walked over to it, opening to see Tiana standing on the other side.

“Hi, Y/N.” Tiana was smiling, looking so beautiful that Y/N had a hard time forming letters into words.

“Tiana, hi.”

“Okay so, we assumed you were busy unpacking, which I totally get because it took me two days getting things in an out of all my suitcases and for my room to look good, you know? So, we didn’t want to disturb you and make you come out of your cave if you didn’t want to.”

Y/N nodded, crossing her arms.

“We planned on going to Bop tonight as a flat. Pre-drinks will be in the kitchen at 6, so get dressed and get ready to party!” Tiana threw her arms up in the air, looking ecstatic. “That is, if you want to, of course! But we really, really want you to join.”

“What- What’s Bop?” Asked Y/N.

“The school club, basically. It’s on campus. Every Wednesday they have a party there, but since it’s Freshers Week, they host a party every single day.” Tiana let her arms rest on her hip. “So, what do you say?”

Nervousness piled up in the pit of Y/N’s stomach. If she started drinking she’d most likely not have control of herself by the end of the night, both embarrassing herself and making her flatmates think her annoying. Well… she wasn’t the worst drunk, but when she was nervous alcohol tended to have more of an effect on her. And she did not fancy letting her new housemates see her throw up on their shared toilet. Besides-

“I don’t have anything to drink.” Y/N admitted.

Tiana waved her hand at her. “Oh, you can borrow from me, babes. No problem at all.”

Y/N bit her lip. “You sure?”

“Oh yea! It’s only vodka, so I can’t drink a whole bottle alone. I’d be happy to share it with you.”

Despite how nervous Y/N was to meet everyone she was living with for the first time in the matter of two hours, she felt herself smiling at Tiana’s generosity. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” Tiana said, walking to her room beside Y/N’s.

“I’ll thank you anyway.”

Tiana giggled as she opened her door. “Fine. Oh!” She pointed at Y/N, eyes big. “Wear something slutty! Or something nice! Be sexy!”

And then she disappeared into her room, Y/N doing so too. Though Tiana was the complete opposite of Y/N in every way there was to be dissimilar to someone, she felt a strong liking for her already. She had been so keen on getting to know Y/N that it made a warm fire play inside her. Suddenly, Y/N was eager to get to know everyone as well, and she hadn’t thought she would be. Not at first, at least. But Tiana had made her feel so included, not at all invisible, and no one had ever really done that for Y/N before. Walking over to her laptop again, Y/N resumed her music before walking to her closet, opening it and looking through everything she had brought. She wanted to look good for her first night out with her – hopefully – new friends, so what she wore seemed to matter very much. Though, deep down, Y/N knew that no one would really care what she wore at the end of the day. But she still wanted to look good. If not for the others, then for herself.

Y/N looked at herself in the mirror.

A rust ribbed scoop neck bodysuit covered her top half, and a high waisted black coated skinny Yazmin jeans her lower half. Along with black heeled sandals, a pair of black cut-out teardrop earrings and a black handle cross body bag where she could have her phone in, Y/N thought herself ready. Charging by her bed, she got her phone, dropping it in her purse, and got her keys, putting them with her phone. She hovered by the door, hand on the door handle, and mind in turmoil. Music sounded from the kitchen, people already in there talking and walking around. She knew that her first time walking into the kitchen and meeting everyone else had to be now, and as scary as it was, she had to dive in head first. At the thought, her pulse quickened, and for a brief second, she closed her eyes.

But not for long. Because the door beside hers opened. Tiana. Y/N whipped her door open, stepping through it and into the hallway. For a single second, Y/N was surprised at her own actions at first, not necessarily understanding why she had reacted the way she had. But it soon dawned on her that walking through that door with Tiana, would somehow make it easier. Tiana was bubbly, loud, and – though Y/N did not know her flatmate well yet – loved attention. It would make he introduction to the rest of the gang shorter, Y/N believed.

“When I said sexy, I didn’t mean for you to try and outshine me, babes.” Tiana joked, hand on her hip and a smile on her face. It seemed the edges of her mouth were always tipped upward into a permanent beam.

Y/N gave Tiana a smile. “You look amazing.”

And she really did. Tiana wore a mustard ruched tight-fitted dress with chain straps, and when she did a twirl for Y/N, she had to bite her lip and convince herself not to let her eyes go all big. She really did look amazing.

“Thank you, Y/N. You’re an absolute stunner, you.” Tiana said, reaching her hand out for Y/N. At first, Y/N did not know what to do. But slowly, she walked over to Tiana and took her hand, the two walking over to the kitchen. Tiana turned the handle and walked inside, smiling at everyone sitting around the table.

“Everyone, last flatmate is here!”

Everyone cheered and clapped, and Y/N was suddenly overwhelmed by how excited all of them seemed to be to meet her. For the seconds they smiled at her, she took a few to look at the kitchen. Opposite to the door was a fridge, and then a counter, following along the wall opposite the door wit cupboards over it and stopping as it reached a huge window overlooking house five, the table for the house residence by it. Where the window stopped, the counter continued, cupboards over it, and another fridge where the counter ended. An oven and sink were also among the grey counters, both seemingly over-used.

“Y/N, so nice to finally meet you.” A boy with muscular build, black hair and beard said, giving her a smile.

“And you.” Y/N said, walking over to the table with Tiana after she got the two of them a glass each.

“Here you go, Y/N.” Tiana said as they sat down at the edge of the table. “Annie, could you pass me my vodka and juice, please, babes.”

The girl sitting by the wall, the window behind her, did as Tiana asked.

“Thanks, boo.”

Tiana poured vodka and cranberry juice into both of their classes as Sugar by Robin Schulz played from the speakers placed on the counter by the table. Just when Tiana poured juice into one of the glasses, Y/N noticed that it was the cranberry kind. She hated red berries. But since Tiana had been so nice to lend her some of her alcohol, she kept her mouth shut. She’d just have to endure the pain. No matter how bad she’d want to throw up.

“We’ll take a round of names then.” Said one of the boys, sitting by the wall, the speaker behind him. “I’m Ian, in room one, and I study Tourism with Business.” He had very sharp features, and short blonde hair, a mole on his cheek that moved as the corner of his mouth tipped up.

A small girl with long dark hair contrasting against her pale skin, looked at Y/N, smiling. “Becky, room seven.”

“Spencer, room five, studying Psychology.” Said the boy that had said it was nice to meet her when she entered. He was wearing a white shirt along with suit trousers. A very classy man, it seemed.

“And I’m Tiana, your neighbour, and I do Psychology and Counselling with Foundation.” Tiana said, grinning at Y/N.

Y/N cleared her throat, looking around the table at everyone and raised her hand in a wave. A wave? Y/N thought to herself. A wave?! You’re waving now?! “I’m Y/N, in room three, and I’ll study Music.”

“I also do Music.”

Y/N looked at the guy to her right; black, and with the brightest smile she had ever seen. His dark hair was short as well, skimming his scalp, and the minimal hair really fit him.

“Finn, room four, and your course mate.”

For some reason, this calmed Y/N, and she sunk a little into her chair. She smiled at him.

“I’m Annie, room six, and I also study Psychology.” Just like Becky, Annie had black hair, though her was straight, a little more volume. She also had a bit of a bigger frame, and clip-on nails in bright pink. Y/N smiled at her also.

“Okay!” Ian clapped his hand together again, gaining everyone’s attention. “Now that we’re all here, ready to get drunk, what do you lot say to a good ol’ game of Never Have I Ever?”

“Yes please!” Tiana sang, waving her arms above her head.

“Ready.” Finn said, grinning.

“Wicked. I have an app on my phone.” Ian got his phone, typing away on it before he looked up again. “Okay. We say one of the Never Have I Ever’s, then pass the phone on to the next person. Everyone knows how it works, yea?” Ian looked around the table, rather to help those in aid of instruction than to judge anyone.

“You just drink if you’ve done it, right?” Spencer asked, earning a nod and some ‘yes’s. “Cheers.”

“Okay, peasants,” Ian said, smiling at his phone. “Never have I ever injured myself trying to impress someone I was interested in.”

Annie, Finn, and Tiana drank, Ian laughing as he looked around the table.

“Explain yourselves!”

Tiana shrugged her shoulders. “Tried to strip at a party, but hit my head on the pole in the bedroom and passed out.”

Finn and Annie both blinked.

“Fuck, my injury pales in comparison.” Finn said, laughing. Annie nodded, agreeing. Everyone laughed, clearly impressed by Tiana and her wild past. Y/N even found herself laughing, something she didn’t think she would on her first day away from her family.

“Fine, snicker all you want.” Tiana said, holding up her hands in surrender.

“Did you get some, though?” Spencer asked.

“Get some? I was passed out.”

Spencer laughed.

“Becky, your turn.” Ian gave his phone to little Becky who took some hair behind her ear before reading out loud.

“Never have I ever broken something at a friend’s house and then not told them.”

No one drank, making Ian gasp.

“Are we all… good people?”

Finn chuckled. Spencer took the phone from Becky’s hand, clicking on it for the next one to pop up. A low whistle escaped his mouth, a smile soon accompanying it.

“Never have I ever been upset by a partner not performing well in bed.”

Becky drank, as everyone else catcalled and ‘ooh’ed. Putting her glass down, she smiled at everyone around and shrugged her shoulders, radiating a ‘what can I say’ vibe that made Y/N giggle. She reached for a glass and took a sip, trying not to grimace as she swallowed the cranberry juice and vodka.

“Y/N, you too?” Ian asked, grinning.

“No, I was just drinking.” Answered Y/N, feeling herself blush a bit.

“My turn.” Tiana sang, taking the phone from Spencer. She squealed. “Never have I ever sucked toes.”

No one drank, and Tiana raised her eyebrows, nodding.

“Nice, no one with a weird foot fetish that I need to steer clear from then.” Tiana gave the phone to Y/N along with one of her beams. “Y/N’s turn.”

“I do have a foot fetish.” Finn admitted, sipping his glass. “But I don’t suck on them… If you know what I mean.” He winked, sending the table into hysterics of either laughter or shouts of disgust. There was absolutely no way Y/N could try to stop her giggles. She had been so tremendously scared of this day, to meet all of these new people she would be living with, if she’d get on with them or not, and she found herself very much having a great time. Yes, she’d much rather be home with her family, watching Top Gun with Edward and walking along the endless moors with her mum, but this was a decent second option. At least she wasn’t nervous anymore. Or as nervous.

“Go ahead, Y/N.” Tiana said once the shouts had calmed down.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Never have I ever ridden an animal.”

“Like… cowgirl?” Becky raised her eyebrows.

“Most likely not in the sexual way of riding things.” Annie said.

“Just wanted to make sure.”

Y/N drank, and so did Spencer. Since everyone’s eyes were on her, Y/N had to fight as hard as she could not to show how much she really hated the taste of cranberry. Not that vodka was any better, but she would’ve drank it clean rather than with cranberry juice.

“A horse.” Spencer explained, eyes falling on you.

“A cow.”

Silence.

“Cow?” Finn asked, not being able to help his snicker. He seemed to enjoy having a laugh as that was what he seemed to be doing most of the time.

“Yea, we have cows on my farm and when I was younger my dad would put me on one of them called Rita, and I’d get to ride her while my dad held my hand.” Explained Y/N, sipping her drink again out of reflex, not thinking that she had to once again not gag after swallowing.

“You grew up on a farm?” Ian turned the volume of the speakers down.

“Yea, in Hampshire.”

“Bloody hell.” Ian exclaimed. “I’ve lived in London all my life, never even seen the bloody ocean.”

“I’ve seen the ocean, but never ridden a cow.” Becky huffed. “London life isn’t as adventurous as one might think.”

“Oh, no one thought the London life was adventurous to begin with, darling.” Spencer joked, making everyone laugh again.

Y/N handed the phone over to Finn who clicked on it for the next statement to pop up on the screen. “Never have I ever been arrested.”

No one drank.

“You lot aren’t a fun lot then, are ya?”

The gang continued playing the Never Have I Ever game, getting to know one another and having loads of laughs in the meantime. An hour and a half later, and everyone were mostly drunk, but not Y/N. She had told Tiana no when she was about to make Y/N another glass of vodka and cranberry juice, which she loved herself for. Tiana hadn’t questioned it, which Y/N was grateful for. And now, the flat was about to leave for Bop, ready for their first night out together. However, a very sober Y/N was searching for a way out, for a time when no one would notice her slip into her room for a breather. As much fun as she was having, she felt her batteries drain quickly as social interaction sucked the will to live right out of her. Just as the rest walked out the door however, Y/N last, she noticed Annie walk up to the first landing. Pity flooded Y/N, her chest giving in a little as she just watched Annie. She must have felt someone else’s presence, as she looked over her shoulder at Y/N, face blank. Y/N saw herself in that face. Saw herself in those anxious eyes, and in the helpless set of Annie’s shoulders; tense, like she was a little too nervous to come out with the rest. Annie was doing what Y/N wished she had the courage to: stay back and not go out with the flat.

“Y-You okay?” Y/N asked, holding onto the strap of her purse.

“Yea, just not feeling well. Have fun.” And then Annie disappeared.

Y/N thought about Annie walked off all the way to campus. Sad for her, at the same time envious. It was a weird mix of emotions, and Y/N could not for the life of her explain it rationally. But she guessed the reason for it was that she did not want to go out with the flat after all, but the pressure of missing out on something, being that one weird flatmate who barely emerged from her room, didn’t sound very appealing. Y/N wanted to at least try to keep up.

Bop was dark, only the corridor lit in white lights, and Y/N knew it would blind everyone walking in and out. The bar shone of purple, and so did the dancefloor, blurring out everyone’s facial features and making it hard to concentrate for longer periods of time. But the flat mate it in as a group, the music loud and the small student club crowded. Y/N felt uncomfortable, running her hands through her hair and giving Tiana a smile when she caught her eye every now and then. She had never really been in a club before. Sure, there was a single club home on Hawkley, but not as grand as this one. Not that this one was impressive, but Y/N imagined it would be if she had been drunk; the dizzying and happy glasses that drunkenness provided you with would have made her oblivious to the bad music and disgusting lads trying to get it on with pretty girls.

Y/N still thought of Annie and how she had just left her in the flat. She knew Annie most likely did wanted to be in the flat, but she could not help feeling bd regardless. Maybe she should have tried to convince her to come? Maybe she wanted someone to stay with her and Y/N hadn’t taken the hint? Was she a bad person for leaving? Y/N blinked herself out of her own trance when Tiana took her hand and dragged her over to the bar.

“I need a drink.” Tiana shouted to Y/N over the music.

“Then let me buy you one.”

Tiana looked to her right and away from Y/N who instantly shrunk. She did not want to be part of this conversation, some kind of weird third-wheel to whatever was going to happen between Tiana and that blonde guy she was now staring down. He was handsome, Y/N had to admit.

“Danny.” He said, introducing himself with a charming smile. “And you must be Beautiful.”

Tiana laughed and Y/N rolled her eyes, trying not to make it obvious just how strange she already thought this lad was.

“Tiana, Beautiful is my middle name, though.”

“Have no doubt.” Danny turned to the bartender. “Two apple ciders, please.”

“ID?”

Danny got his wallet out, giving the bartender his driver’s licence, Tiana doing the same. He gave it back to them when he could confirm they were over the age of 18.

Tiana clicked her tongue. “I do like the apple ciders, though the strawberry and lime ones are better.”

“Hey, bartender!” Danny leaned over the bar, catching the attention of the person who took his order. “Change one of the ciders to a strawberry and lime one, yea?”

Y/N was completely forgotten after that. She didn’t blame Tiana for having fun, for flirting with a guy and clearly having a good time, she wanted her to. But as she stood by the bar counter, shaking her head when the bartender asked if he could help her, or when she looked around and didn’t see any of the familiar faces from her flat, she felt completely alone again. Sober and not having an idea as to what to do, Y/N opt for the best option she had: take care of a very drunk Tiana. Though it seemed like her flatmate was having a good time, she didn’t want to lose sight of her and have her end up somewhere with someone she would regret. So she stayed put, acutely aware of Tiana and Danny drawing closer and closer to one another, giggling into each other’s ears. They even started making out at one point, but Y/N would rather forget about that moment when she felt Tiana lean against her, only to be horrified and see Danny – in almost every sense of the word – devouring Tiana.

“Danny!”

Tiana and Danny stopped their kissing and giggling to look at the guy that had just appeared by the latter’s side. Y/N couldn’t get a good look at the intruder, but thanked him for temporarily stopping whatever awkward threesome Y/N was finding herself in. Danny and this other guy talked, and Tiana turned to Y/N.

“He’s cute.”

“Who?” Y/N frowned, the loud music deafening.

“Danny’s flatmate.”

Y/N tried to get a good look at him, but to no avail. It was dark, the purple light from the bar made it hard.

“I guess.” Y/N agreed, looking back at Tiana.

“While I go fuck Danny, you can try it on with the flatmate.”

“Tiana.”

“What?.” Tiana shrugged. “It’d be cute! We shagged two people from the same flat.” She grinned. “On the same night!”

“I’m not sleeping with him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just…” Y/N looked away from Tiana, feeling very small again. “I just… don’t want to.”

Sensing Y/N to be uncomfortable talking about this, Tiana stopped pressing her, and instead placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. She gave it a squeeze, and Y/N looked up at Tiana again, feeling something other than comfort in the way she touched her. Like she knew how Y/N was feeling.

“Hey,” Danny dragged Tiana toward him, the hand on Y/N flying off her. “Wanna go somewhere private?”

Y/N did not hear the rest of their conversation, they were off before she knew what Tiana had answered him with. Open-mouthed, Y/N watched them run off, grabbing at each other and kissing. For the life of her, Y/N had no idea how someone could decide they wanted to have sex with one another after not even an hour in each other’s company. Sure, both Danny and Tiana were hot, but… what? Y/N tried not to be judgemental, but she could not help herself. This was so unlike anything she would ever do and think decent that she was absolutely stunned. She guessed they were just that horny.

She looked to Danny’s flatmate who stood looking after them as well. Brown curly hair that reached his jawline, a cream silk shirt on that was tucked into his brown trousers, held up by suspenders that ran in a cross along his back. He was handsome, Y/N thought, now that she got a better look at him. Maybe even better looking than Danny, though, for some reason, Y/N doubted he’d admit he was pretty to stare down. Suddenly, and with a sigh, he walked off.

Y/N walked around the club alone. She tried to find any of her flatmates, but the crowd was huge, and the dim lighting made it impossible to recognise anyone. Dancing at first had been fun, but this night seemed to grow worse by the minute. Once again Y/N was inside her room, everyone outside it having the time of their lives, making the most of the start of university. But she was all alone, isolating herself. She didn’t know how to have a good time in a place she felt so out of touch with, or how to blend into a crowd she did not want to be a part of.

She did not know how long it had been, but Y/N found herself in the corridor again, the one leading out of Bop. About to walk out and back to the flat, she saw someone in her peripheral vision, leaning against the wall of the corridor by the bathrooms. Looking around, Y/N blinked as she was still not used to the bright lights after having been in the cub for so long. Her eyes landed on Danny’s flatmate, hands in his pockets, back against the wall while he looked down at the floor. He seemed to be waiting for something, maybe to go to the loo, or maybe for someone, Y/N did not know. Neither did she know why she walked over to him. There were three different toilets; women, men, disabled. The flatmate stood on one side of the disabled toilet’s door, looking up at the wall before him as Y/N leaned against the other side of the door.

“They’re fucking in there.” He said, voice deep, and Y/N thought she might hear a slight tinge of sleepiness in there as well. It seemed he was very tired.

Y/N shuddered a little, nodding as she too stared at the wall ahead. “So… Danny’s your flatmate?”

Heart thumping fast, Y/N suddenly felt all kinds of nauseous. She hated initiating conversation, hated putting herself out there for rejection and humiliation to take hold of her.

“Yes.” He said.

Y/N nodded again, exhaling quickly as she felt awkward. “Why are you waiting out here for him?”

He sighed heavily. “Same reason you are, probably.”

Y/N looked at him. Because you’re terrified of social interaction and feel uncomfortable in crowds? Y/N was about to ask-

“Babysitting a horny lad with three braincells.” He said. “Whereof two are on vacation and the last one on its deathbed.”

Y/N stared back at the wall. “Well, at least they’re having fun.” She said, trying to sound somewhat positive. But the last only snickered.

“Having fun? We’re out here waiting for them to blow their load so we can go home. I don’t give a shit if they’re having fun.”

Y/N did not know what made her do it, did not know the name of the demon that possessed her as she opened her mouth next, but she was unable to stop herself. “At least they’re not waiting outside for someone to be done shagging so they can go back to their flat and to bed. Because that’s so fun.”

For the first time, he looked at her, brows in a furrow and mouth in a thin line. Y/N did not dare look back at him, fear of what had just said, of how she had probably already made someone she barely knew hate her, was too much. Blinking rapidly as tears of stress swam in her eyes, Y/N bit her bottom lip. But she did not have to stand there in that uncomfortable situation for long, because the door into he disabled loo opened, and Tiana stepped out with Danny who slammed the door shut.

“Thought I heard your voice.” Tiana said, smiling. “Come, let’s go back to the flat.”

Tiana took Y/N’s hand, dragging her along.

“Call me!” Danny shouted, and Tiana giggled.

Just as they were about to round the corner, Y/N looked over her shoulder and down the toilet’s corridor again. She met his eyes, the flatmate, and he seemed so confused still, so bewildered, that Y/N didn’t know what to make of it. While Tiana talked all the way home, Y/N tried to decipher that look; tried to understand. But she couldn’t. And she wasn’t so sure she wanted to either.

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