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yeojaa · 5 years

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TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why. Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds. When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you. "Yes." Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic. Always had been. It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary. You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. who knows, honestly. the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.

tags. blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy.

rating. general (for now?)

word count. ~6000

chapter 1.

You weren't sure what you were doing here.

Sure, you'd signed the waiver, your favourite pen leaving a messy blue scrawl across the crisp weight. You'd acknowledged all of the terms and dated the bottom left-hand corner, humming quietly to yourself as you'd done so. You'd read the document once, then twice for good measure, politely asking for a copy of it when the petite assistant had come to take the pages off your hands.

But you still weren't sure what had brought you here, to this exact place at this exact time.

Standing in the spacious studio with a dozen hangers hung over your arms, ready to air your life for millions to see. Were you really ready for this - whatever it was?

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly nervous. Your fingers are experiencing a strange tingling sensation you only recognize from times of stress - waiting for your results after an exam, the minutes after a first date, any time your umma calls without messaging first. It's descending down the tips of your fingers, shooting like electricity through the live wire of your bones. Suddenly, every minute movement of your neck feels like it takes all the strength in the world and your chest feels like it might explode from the labour of your breaths.

"Ready?" It's the assistant again, bouncing toward you in her Fila Disrupters. Very stylish. She's staring up at you expectantly, though that shifts quickly to concern when you don't immediately respond. "... Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I'm fine." To her relief, you answer her follow-up almost immediately, a chipper smile plastered across your face. It's a touch forced, the edges pressing your cheeks a little too far into your eyes, the tension in your jaw almost making it look like you're grimacing. Almost.

"Great! Come with me."

Your fingers fumble with the button of your jeans, missing the hole twice before a groan of frustration fills the enclosed space. You're so anxious you can feel the nervous energy filling you up like a balloon, dragging your poor body from the familiar weight of your bones. Your hands won't stop shaking and they're so cold. You can feel the chill through the denim of your pants when you rub your palms over your thighs in an effort to bring blood rushing back to them.

"Please come out when you're ready." The voice speaks over the public address system wired into the ceiling.

You glance up from your little dressing room, noting the soft yellow that now illuminates your space. It floods the walls you can barely make out over the top of your dressing stall. You notice, with some amusement, that it matches the yellow of your socks that rise above your ankles and disappear into the hem of pants.

"Relax. It'll be fun," you tell yourself before counting to three and trying your button again.

It slots into its rightful home on your first go. That must be a sign, right?

You exhale deeply, pushing all the air from your lungs as you face the mirror on the back of the door. You blink at your reflection, smoothing your fringe until it falls just right over the rim of your glasses, barely grazing your line of vision. You watch the way you chew your own lip, grateful you've got nothing but bubble-gum flavoured lip balm on, and nod. It's reminiscent of a child on their first day of school.

Then you force yourself out of the stall before you can talk yourself out of it, peeking around the corner of the door.

You're not sure what you'd been expecting but it definitely isn't this.

Because he's tall and broad, with shoulders that fall like a mountain range and a mop of dark hair. It curls over his ears and looks unkept but purposefully so, pushed behind his ears. The coat he wears fits across his back, hugging his silhouette as it falls to his knees. Plaid trousers hold his legs, cut directly above his bare ankle. He looks like a goddamn fashion model and you haven't even seen his face.

"Oh, hi." His voice is warm and heavy, like a weighted blanket or hot cocoa on Christmas Day.

It envelopes you in bass and makes your stomach flip in anticipation.

He's right across from you now, sliding into the high director's chair that sits directly opposite from where you are, half-pulled into your seat. He's as handsome as you would've imagined, the slope of his jaw and curve of his cheekbone seemingly carved by Michelangelo himself. Thin gold frames - eerily similar to yours - sit on the high bridge of his nose and behind them, eyes crinkle from the force of his big, boxy smile.

You find yourself at a loss for words for the second time in not very long, only managing a soft, "hello."

He seems to find that endearing, a soft laugh - one that very clearly echoes ha ha ha in the quiet room - drifting from where he sits. You feel your face flush, shifting through the colour wheel before landing on an embarrassingly vivid shade of magenta. You can see if in your reflection from behind his shoulder when you finally make yourself comfortable, only then meeting his open, curious stare.

"I like your pants." He gestures toward you as if he could be talking to anyone else, the diffused golden glow catching against the thin rings he wears.

"Thank you." You try not to mumble, offering a sweet albeit small smile in return. You're pleased with your choice and in turn, his compliment. You loved these jeans, had worn them for years since you'd bought them one summer in Tokyo. They hug you just right, sitting close to your waist and through your hips before relaxing into a chic 70's inspired straight flare. It doesn't matter that there's paint on the left knee - from that time you'd hosted a wine and paint night at your apartment - or that the frays on the hem are in dire need of trimming.

"Should we get started?" There he is, leading the conversation again. You feel a little bad, though that flies out the proverbial window when he's leveling you with another one of his smiles. It's hard to feel anything but child-like happiness when he looks like sunshine and middle school crushes.

You nod, turning your attention to your phone.

The screen reads START: PERCENT OF INTEREST FROM FIRST IMPRESSION. You immediately want to enter 100, your fingers moving to tap the requisite numbers before you're hesitating, hovering over the "1" as it taunts you. Was that too high? What if they showed him? Would he be turned off by how eager you were?

You're dragging your bottom lip through your teeth over and over again, stuck on a decision. Was he experiencing the same turmoil?

You steal a peek at him, hoping to be as covert as possible. He's staring straight at you, amusement written into the way his mouth twists, fighting back the laughter that sounds like music to your ears. His phone rests loosely in his right hand. Clearly, he's made his choice already.

You huff and enter 85, still not entirely happy with your decision by the time the next question pops up.

BASED ON OUTFIT 1 (SCHOOL), YOUR NAME IS _____, YOU ARE _____ YEARS OLD, AND YOU LIVE IN _____.

You had to guess his name? That was going to be impossible.

Or not, you think as his fingers glide across his screen, seemingly unfazed by the challenges currently presented. Maybe that was for the better, though. Maybe it would help you gain some sort of idea into who this stranger was, with his soft white tee shirt and expensive Hermès belt.

Even as you're filling out the answers, you can feel his eyes boring into your head like two little laser beams. You're sure that's why your cheeks are burning up and your have to retype your last answer three times, messing up the characters like you haven't spent your entire life writing them. How could he be so comfortable? His fingers aren't even twitching, instead leisurely curled between his legs as he studies you. He looks like he has nothing to hide, blinking innocently at you when you drag your gaze from his hands, his brown leather watch strap.

"Your name is Kim Nari." He's speaking seconds after you've pressed enter, alerted of the fact by the small chime of his phone. If he notices the way your brow furrows, he doesn't react, reading his answers with easy reassurance. "You're twenty-threeyears old and you live in Itaewon."

It brings you some sort of joy as you shake your head, hand raised with your thumb and forefinger curled in. "Three strikes and you're out." You laugh and then he's joining you, the sounds slotting easily together like a harmony. "My name is Cho Jiyeon." His words are forming the syllables silently, as if testing out the way it feels. You can't help but smile at that, nose scrunching as he does it again, repeating it like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. " I'm twenty-two and I live in Hongdae." You don't acknowledge the fact that he's technically right - your actual birthday is in a few days.

"I see." Your corrections are accepted as easily as he breathes. "Nice to meet you, Cho Jiyeon."

"Really, Nari?" You can't help but tease, manicured brow quirking curiously.

"You're pretty, so I thought you'd have a pretty name," he says plainly. You can't help but snort, hiding the sound behind your palms as laughter shakes your shoulders. Had he managed to compliment and insult you all at once? "You still have a pretty name."

Now it's his turn to laugh, your reaction of wild head shaking and face covering causing him to stifle his own into the back of his hand.

"It's your turn."

So it is. "Your name is Yun Taewoo and you're twenty-five?" The first two come as questions more than answers but you're almost certain of your last one. "You live in Cheongdam."

By his smirk, you're either terribly right or miserably wrong.

When his head tilts, you're reminded of a golden retriever or a teddy bear, his dark eyes twinkling at you from behind his spectacles. "My name is Kim Taehyung." You're not sure how you ever thought it would've been anything else by how well it fits him. "You're right, I'm twenty-five." Here comes the winner, you think. "And I also live in Hongdae."

Dammit dammit dammit.

Taehyung can see the disappointment in your eyes and his own are waning into crescent moons, dragged into the shape by his all-encompassing grin. "My parents live in Cheongdam, if that helps." It doesn't really, but you appreciate the effort, visibly relaxing at his concession. You've known each other for all of fifteen minutes and he's already worming his way into your silly little schoolgirl heart.

"It does. Thanks." You're giggling around your gratitude, allowing your eyes to trail pointedly at the timepiece on his wrist. It cost more than one of your semesters. "The Cartier was kind of a giveaway."

"But you recognized it," he teases back warmly.

"Touché."

"My turn again." A soft cough to clear his throat before he repeats the next question.

YOUR MAJOR IS _____, YOUR GPA IS _____, AND AT SCHOOL YOU ARE _____.

"Your major is art, your GPA is 3.1, and at school, you're an outsider."

You're not sure whether to be offended that you're seemingly so easy to read, a hand flying to your throat. "Are you following me?" You're asking before you can help it, earning a hearty laugh from Taehyung. He's shaking his head, awfully proud that he's just struck the nail on the head. "I'm actually doing a double major, so I'll give you that. My GPA is actually 3.9, though." You can't help your own pride from sneaking in, colouring your words in shades of gold as you beam. It only falters when you consider his last guess. "What makes you think I'm an outsider?"

Not that he was wrong, per se, but you're a little surprised. You'd never been unpopular but you just kept to yourself, drifting from different friend groups as you saw fit.

"You don't want to forced into a box, so you're an outsider. You choose to be."

You have no answer for that so you instead engage in a peculiar staring match until your eyes burn and you're blinking rapidly.

"Your major was business, your GPA was 3.5, and you were a total insider." Maybe it's the fact that he figured you out so easily that you feel uncertain about your own answers.

He shakes his head, ever the gentleman. "No, sorry. I was a fashion major and my GPA was 3.0." He pauses thoughtfully, considering the implications of being an inssa. He supposes you're right, though he'd never really thought of himself as one. Just someone that was well-liked and never turned away. "Good try, though." Again, encouragement. It makes you like him for more than his charming smile and fashion-sense.

"I'll get you next time."

"I'm sure you will," he returns without even a hint of sarcasm. "Next outfit?"

You nod, slipping from your seat and all but skipping into your dressing stall. As you disappear back inside, you catch his smile in the reflection of your door and bite back your own.

The nerves that had melted over the course of your conversation seem to have come back in full force, spreading warmth over your cheeks as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You've smoothed your hands over the soft corduroy of your skirt at least ten times now, straightening the hem this way and that in the pursuit of getting it to sit just right over your thighs.

"Just go back outside. He's nice. Stop freaking out." The reprimands are filling the small space and you feel almost overwhelmed. Outfit number two was supposed to be a date outfit and just the word had your hands clamming out, heat licking up the back of your neck.

It's not that you weren't used to dating - he was just really cute.

Adjusting the collar of your turtleneck - soft, black, draped in all the right places and tucked neatly into the waist of your skirt - you nod again. It's your little way of building yourself up before you're stepping back outside, arms sliding into the sleeves of your grey tartan blazer. You look good. Taehyung had even said so. You could do this.

No, no, no. You can't do this. Not when he looks like that.

He's beat you to his seat, an Adonis in black. Gone is the loose white shirt from earlier, replaced now by an inky top that sinks against his skin. The collar is open, the top two buttons undone to reveal the honeyed expanse of his chest. You're not sure whether you want to bury your face into it or his silky shirt and it takes you a moment to remind yourself that's terribly inappropriate.

"I like this look," you offer, hardly able to tear your eyes away from him as you settle back into your chair. You can't help but notice how he smiles, gloating like he's all too aware of his effect on you. He even readjusts, opening his arms to you as if to urge you on, when you continue to inspect his clothes.

The pants he wears are different now, an expensive textured fabric that hugs his thighs and drapes across his shins, falling just above his ankle like before. There's no visible sock line and his shoes - black calfskin loafers with little tassels across the tops - scream expensive. You'd hazard a guess they're Saint Laurent or Prada. The only thing carried over from his last outfit is his watch, now stacked with delicate silver chains and a single red yarn bracelet you'd noticed earlier. Even his hair is different, effortlessly styled and sweeping across his brow in soft, easy waves that beg to be touched.

"I like yours, too," he coos, that smug expression never faltering. You try not to blush beneath his stare, trapping your hands beneath your legs as you allow him the same courtesy.

Your thigh high socks sit just beneath where your palms rest, black a stark contrast to your skin and the brown of your skirt. Your toes wiggle experimentally in the boots you're wearing, the ever popular sock-style blending seamlessly with the material of your stockings. You can feel the lines of your rings where your skin is exposed, the same silver resting at the small of your throat in layered necklaces and at your ears in intricate loops.

He can't help but linger when the light catches the metal of your jewelry or when you shift nervously, thighs pressing together. More than a small part of him enjoys you squirming under his gaze. It's coquettish, even if it isn't meant to be.

"Do you want to go first?" The words break whatever spell you'd been under and you re-focus on the device in your lap. You nod before you've read the question thoroughly, flushing once you've had a chance to do so.

BASED ON OUTFIT 2 (DATE), YOU'VE RECEIVED _____ ROMANTIC CONFESSIONS AND HAVE BEEN IN A RELATIONSHIP _____ TIMES.

They really didn't beat around the bush, did they?

You're tapping out your response, pushing forward when you stop to think. It was just two numbers.

When the familiar ding of your phones breaks the relative silence, you look back up. Of course, he's already watching you, ever the active participant. "You, Kim Taehyung, have received more than twenty romantic confessions and you've been in a relationship more than ten times."

Something like surprises steals across his face, contorting his expression into one you hadn't seen yet.

"Wrong." There's no further elaboration and for a moment, you have the urge to apologize. Had you offended him? "I've received more than twenty romantic confessions but I've only been in a relationship twice."

Now it's your turn to be surprised, your eyebrows disappearing into your hairline. How did someone look like that and not date? It seemed like such a waste.

"Shocking, right?" Taehyung takes the words right out of your mouth but they feel wrong when uttered back at you. "Both relationships were long-term. Five and four years, respectively, so I never really had time to date anyone else." A hand adorned in Gucci rings cards through his silky mop of hair, smoothing it away from his forehead before it falls back into place perfectly. "Don't worry - I'm not offended you think I'm such a Casanova."

You can't help but scowl at his words. He's right and you're being called out so hard.

"You've probably had more than ten confessions and..." You're not sure whether he's really trying to remember what he'd written or if he's just drawing it out, teasing you mercilessly like its his newly discovered favourite pastime. "Five boyfriends?"

"Ah - you got those right!" You're not bothered by his accurate guesses this time. In fact, you clap as if his success somehow belongs to both of you. He finds that endearing. He likes the idea of the two of you as a team.

"Next one? Go ahead."

You double check your next answer, trying not to laugh when you remember what you'd entered.

YOU FEEL ATTRACTED TO SOMEONE WHO IS _____. YOU ARE ACTIVE/PASSIVE DURING THE DAY AND ACTIVE/PASSIVE AT NIGHT.

"Kim Taehyung," you meet his eyes when you say his name and for a second, you lose your train of thought. His lashes are so thick and dark and without his glasses on, you swear you can see the constellations in his irises. "Um." He snickers and you roll your eyes, rereading the small font on your device screen. "You are attracted to someone who shares your confidence and who will rise to challenges with you. You're active during the day and..." You don't dare look up. "You're also active during the night."

To your benefit, you both collapse into laughter, doubled over in your chairs as the double entendre sits salaciously between you.

"You're not wrong," he drawls, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at you. If you were closer, you think you'd swat his arm or nudge his foot - anything to demonstrate that you think he's an absolute dork. "I want someone who can be my partner in crime and I'm active all the time." He leans heavily into the implication, dragging the "ah" in all out like he's trying to break it over his tongue.

"Okay, Casanova. Your turn."

He hums, not even bothering to look at his screen as he studies you, eyes ticking from the way your long, dark hair cascades over your shoulder to the wine-stain you'd pressed into your full lips. "You're attracted to someone who excites you and makes you feel wanted." By the way he's drinking you in, you think he could be talking about himself. "You're active in the day and passive at night."

When he says passive, it almost feels wrong. Dirty. Like it should be whispered into the shell of your ear and not spoken so casually from three feet away.

You have to remind yourself you're sitting in a studio, surrounded by production staff.

"I do like to sleep a lot." You manage once the flutter in your chest has subsided, allowing you to find your breath again. It still feels a little airy, a little like the wings of butterflies are tugging the words out of your chest. "But I think everyone wants to be desired, don't you? I don't think that's specific to me."

"Then why don't you tell me what kind of person you're attracted to?" He doesn't say it but you hear it in his voice - the unspoken question. Is it me?

You're not ready for that conversation, nor do you think this is the place to have it. "I think we should change."

The third time you exit your dressing stall, you're out before Taehyung is, giving you a moment's reprieve as you climb into your chair.

You're more comfortable than you have been, both mentally and physically, but it's nice to have these few extra moments of peace. He was just so much - it was hard to focus when he caught your stare or he did that thing with his tongue, pink gliding across his bottom lip. You were ready to take back some control. Hopefully his daily outfit was as casual as yours. You didn't think you could handle another peek of that chiseled frame.

God, when had you become so easy to please?

"That was quick." He's popping his head out of his room and gliding into his seat in what feels like one fluid motion. Well, he certainly seems spirited.

"What can I say? I'm fast." It's enough to make him chuckle because very clearly, you were not fast, but he wasn't about to call you on that. Not when you two were getting along so swimmingly. "Shall we get started?"

You don't even wait for his response before you're studying your phone again, considering the two latest questions.

BASED ON OUTFIT 3 (DAILY), WHAT YOU HEAR OFTEN FROM YOUR FRIENDS IS _____ AND WHAT YOU HEAR FROM YOUR PARENTS IS _____?

That was easy enough, you think, free hand fiddling with the pocket on your thigh. The cargo pants you wear sit easily on your hips, the beige material matching the seat. You're back in sneakers - all-white Converse with a small platform - and your glasses are perched on the bridge of your nose. You're aware of a draft on your shoulder, the soft wool of your camel and blush cardigan having drifted low across your shoulder.

You fill out your answer with ease, sparing Taehyung a glance when you're finished and realizing, much to your surprise, he's still typing.

"You can go first, when you're done."

The only indication he's heard you is the bob of his head so you take his preoccupation as time to admire his latest fashion choices.

Wide-legged trousers that look extremely comfortable, falling easily over backless Gucci loafers. His shirt is French-tucked, the drape of his taupe top relaxed. The watch remains where it has been, though the other jewelry that had previously accompanied it is gone. He's got a chic black beret pulled over his ears, causing strands at the nape of his neck to curl adorably. He looks every inch an off-duty model and you have to remind yourself to stop gawking when he begins speaking.

"What you hear most from your friends is 'don't forget' and what you hear most from your parents is 'did you eat?'"

You think his streak must be running out and he sees that reflected in your goofy smile, one of his own framing his face. "Nope. My friends say 'get some sleep' and my parents ask 'how is school?' Good try."

He shrugs, mouthing something like 'you win some, you lose some' before sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Go ahead."

"What Kim Taehyung hears the most from his friends is 'I can't believe it' and what he hears most from his parents is 'visit more often.'" You'd been reading your screen, lifting the words verbatim, so when you look up and catch his expression, you're startled. For the first time, Taehyung looks unsure, though it lasts only a fraction of a second before he's nodding, his sweet laughter sinking into your molars like honeycomb and cavities.

"Close enough. My friends usually say something like 'you're kidding me' but you're right about my parents."

Maybe that's why he looked so sad, you realize with a little twinge of guilt. You consider asking a follow-up but by the way he pulls his phone out, you know it's a conversation better left for another time. Like perhaps a second date.

YOUR ALCOHOL LIMIT IS _____ AND YOU SMOKE _____ A DAY.

He's already reading his answer to the second question by the time you tune in fully.

"Cho Jiyeon, your alcohol limit is two bottes of soju and you don't smoke." You wouldn't say he's exactly right but you relent, nodding in agreement.

"Between two and four, depending on the day." There's a story there and it intrigues him but he says nothing, instead waiting for your appraisal of his tolerance. He's ready to completely blow your mind. "Your limit is... four bottles? You definitely don't smoke."

It's with pride that Taehyung shakes his head, chest puffed out and lips pursed. "My tolerance is one - one shot." He can't help but laugh when you level him with disbelief. "I don't like the taste," he continues, completely unashamed. He's dealt with enough teasing from his closest friends so he's used to the incredulous stare you're currently giving him, unfazed as he beams at you.

"I never would've guessed," you quip, thoughtful.

"I'm full of surprises."

You think it's a promise, like the guarantee of buried treasure or calm in the eye of the storm. "I'm sure you are."

Your final change makes you feel like you're at home, despite the fact that you're nowhere close to it. It's nice to be in your pyjamas in the middle of the day, even if you didn't normally wear the set that currently sits on your body.

"Last one," you say to yourself, peering closely at your hair, your lips, the way your shorts feel a little shorter than usual.

Then you pull yourself out for the last time and plop yourself into your chair, smiling brightly at Taehyung when he exits in the same instant as you.

He's in silk pyjama bottoms, the navy a stark contrast against his feet - which are slotted into soft shearling slippers. The top looks oddly familiar, the white stirring a memory that you're not sure how to place. "Hey - I recognize this," you state uncertainly, gesticulating at his broad chest. He looks down and a smile so shy your heart could cry spreads across his face. Maybe you're wrong but it looks like the tips of his ears are suddenly red beneath his crown of softly mused strands.

"I don't normally sleep with a shirt on," he confesses, delicate fingers brushing the shoulder of his top. He's not quite meeting your eyes, that seem dusting of rouge seeping over his hollowed cheeks and across his temples.

"Oh," is all you can say, just as bashful.

As if to ease the unusual weight that's settled over the two of you, he speaks again, earnest. "I like your sweater."

You pick at the item in question, thumbing over the worn hem. It's incredibly soft from years of wear, a gift from your father when he'd visited for business years ago. The formerly vivid stitching on the first letter is starting to come undone, the remaining letters of HARVARD all in equal states of distress. Still, it's comforting and oversized, drowning you in its shape and making you look more diminutive than your lissome stature already does.

A leg draws up, about to pull to your chest, but then you think better of it. You're in shorts - worn jersey ones taken from a matching pyjama set you'd once gotten as a birthday gift - and you're reminded of how little they'd covered when standing, so you settle for crossing your ankles. The bears printed on your socks - three stacked at various levels across the top of your foot, your ankle, your calf - cross as well.

"Thanks."

"Do you want to go first this time?"

It's nice that he's so considerate. You nod, turning your attention to the last few questions. You realize, with the smallest hint of disappointment, that there are only two left.

BASED ON OUTFIT 4 (PYJAMAS), YOU WANT TO LIVE UNTIL _____ YEARS OLD. THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN YOUR LIFE IS _____.

You're not sure whether it's the fact that your time with him is coming to an end or the questions themselves but you feel odd, a lump forming in your stomach. Whatever it is, you try to push it from your thoughts, ignoring the weight it carries in favour of giving further consideration to your answers.

"I think you want to live until ninety years old." That made sense, right? Most people wanted to live out there lives as long as they could, watching the generations span after them and basking in the pride of a life-well lived. "The most important thing in your life is growth." Okay, so maybe that was a bit of a stretch. Could you really know someone that well after only such a short period with them?

You think so, because after everything so far, you felt like you did.

"Ninety would be nice," he agrees after a moment, biting his bottom lip as he weighs his next words. "The most important thing in my life is being true to myself." So you were wrong - but that was also a really deep question. You feel like it's not fair and he can clearly see that when he grins, gracious and giving. "I think growth means staying honest to myself, though."

You think you could kiss him and absorb some of that sunny goodness.

"You want to live until you're ninety, too." A small part of you doubts he'd use the same age, that suspicion deepening when he doesn't even bother looking at his written answers. "The most important thing in Cho Jiyeon's life is love. Am I right?"

The reason you'd even agreed to appear on this silly video segment.

"What about age?" He prompts, not skipping a beat.

"I don't know," you answer honestly. "I don't think I'd mind when I died if I found love before that."

You're not sure whether the look Taehyung gives you is affectionate or pitying because you're not really looking at him, instead focused pointedly on the paint that coats your nails and the way your knuckles flex beneath your ministrations.

"Last one," he chirps, snapping you from your careful consideration of your own humanity.

You don't answer, instead rereading the last answer you'd filled out.

IF WE WERE LOVERS WHO BROKE UP, WE WOULD HAVE DATED BECAUSE OF _____ AND BROKEN UP BECAUSE OF _____.

It felt a little too close to home and yet, you were in the home stretch. You'd be held here in this little piece of forever until you answered.

He begins before you get a chance to, impossibly softer than he'd been previously. "If we were lovers who broke up, we would have dated because you felt like my other half." You have to remind yourself that it's all hypothetical but his voice is so alluring, like a lullaby you'd like to slip into dreamland listening to. Even the way he details your imaginary breakup is beguiling, low timbre hitting some chord in your heart you weren't aware existed. "We would have broken up because you'd always be chasing a vision of me - and not the real me."

Emotion wells in your chest and in your throat and behind your eyes and you have to swallow thickly, forcing the onslaught down before you're crying in front of the cameras and making a fool of yourself.

You'd written something silly but as you prepare to answer the same question, it feels far too inconsequential, like a child playing dress-up.

"If we were lovers, we would have dated because I was your muse." His mouth quirks at that, though you can't see from the way you're staring at your hands still and it's short-lived. "We would have broken up because I couldn't keep up with you." It's not what you'd originally opted for but it feels better. Right. Like it could be true, in some fantasy world where people like him ended up with people like you.

Silence drags on once you've finished speaking. You could hear a pin drop - and think you do. It might just be someone's pen slipping from their hand.

Your eyes meet, like kismet, after what feels like forever. He smiles and you can imagine that same, sad thing mirrored in your own expression.

"Please give us your percent of interest based on your final impression." The public address system again, tearing your little illusion to shreds. He's a stranger again, someone you've only met for the purpose of this YouTube video.

You glance down at your phone and without thinking, press that frightful "1" followed by two 0's. You see him enter his score.

And then the lights are fading from a rosy glow, replaced by the standard professional lighting. The curtains have closed and the production assistants are milling over, thanking you for your time and advising of when you might expect to see the video up. You're barely listening.

Because Taehyung's already gone.

notes. i've never written this much in one sitting. i hope you enjoy it! as always, feedback appreciated.

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okaywhateverokayyes · 7 years

Text

Refractory

Notes:

It became an accidental babysitting fic! It is not AU so it's very much to how the characters would behave. I wish they were good at taking care of kids but that is not the case.

This one-shot is more about anything than what I'd expected it to be because Adrian, Deran or the both of them together, should never have to watch over Lena without superivision. Just like all the Cody brothers, they are all just kids.

P.S: My old computer crashed, where I had a 6000+ chapter (which wasn’t even scratching the surface to the last chapter).. getting back into the flow is tough and feels forced so it’s going to take a while before I am able to finish ‘Limbo’.

Adrian sat on the sidewalk, his feet digging into the soles of his slippers. His skin continued to itch to the point where it felt as if he was incinerating from within. He’d glare at his flesh, watched as the crimson red spread from his wrists all the way to the seam of his shirt. He dug his nails into his nails so he could resist the need to itch.

It would only get worse, that he was sure of.

He didn’t have to be sitting outside, on the searing cement, bathed by the scorching sun but the alternative to that would have been to go inside-beyond those gates. And that was something that made his skin crawl.

He’d bear the brute end, even if it meant that his skin would blister and peel by the time he had gone back home.

Adrian shoved his hand into the sleeve of shorts, grabbing his phone, squinting as he glanced to see what time it was. There was a bar hovering at the top of the screen- ‘1 new message’

Mom.

His thumb ghostly hovered over the screen, a temptation to open the message had been invoked but he quickly shoved his phone back into the pocket. Adrian shifted a little further back, noticing the rays dissipating and creating a shady hue in it’s aftermath.

He felt the scorching dismantle slightly, his skin cooling. It’s not much but the urge to itch is slowly revoked.

He focused on the oasis that appeared beyond the gate, a mirage he was sure had been caused by the refraction. The road looks wet at a certain distance. Adrian knew his optics had been deceiving him but it does nothing when all he does see as he stared at the road ahead of him, a mirage that seemed as tangible as the fiery and sweltering pang that arose from his ram.

Adrian swiveled his head around as he heard the grate of the gates scratching the cement.

As the gate swerved to one side, he focused on the long legs that soon appeared.

He doesn’t have to surmise much to recognize who it was.

Cat grimaced as she tugged onto her shoulder bag, which was slipping from her grip under her pit. She jostled Lena in the other hand, wrapping her hand around her back as she arched her back to levy the straps back and around her shoulder.

Her feeble pace is exacerbated when she grazed the bottom of her shoes on a hoove that she doesn’t see. Adrian was quick to stand as he ran in her direction, holstering her elbow as she knelt down.

“Oh-!” Cat grimaced, the scowl void of any derision. She pursed her lips as she stretched her hand from around Lena to edge the straps under her pit.

Adrian aided her, fastening harness in an attempt to secure the grip.

“Thanks, Adrian.” Cat offered, a pleased and softened look appearing on her face.

Adrian returned the gesture.

“No problem,” He replied, “You need?” help. Someone. Help?

Cat shook her head, hoisting Lena until she’s pressed against her chest.

Lena hid her face under the crook of Cat’s neck, continued to squish her face in whatever space she felt she had, before settling in what Adrian assumed to be a, comforting position.

“Have you seen Baz?” She asked instead, “He said he’d be here…” she continued, a sense of unsureness seeping into her voice, “He needs to take care of her right now.” She was quiet as she finished. Her eyes are glossy but Adrian wasn’t sure whether that was a mirage as well.

He swiped his hand against his forehead, stepping back as Cat turned to face him.

Her hair had started to stick to her flesh, the sweat percolating from under her jaw. Strands of her sandy brown hair are etched on her forehead, some other strands jostling to the side as she swayed Lena in her arms.

“I guess we’re both going to have get used to this.”

Adrian blinked.

“Huh?”

Cat swerved her eyes in the direction of the familiar house.

“The Cody brothers. Can never find them. Will never tell you where they are.” Cat scowled, her nostrils whisking as she let out a low groan.

“Yeah, been waiting for Deran.” Adrian offered, settling beside her. Cat glanced up at him, a tired smile washed over her face. She nodded as if she understood, the implicit assumption being that one- they both knew who tended to always be late. And if they had been on time, they had probably been forced to be on time. Two- that they’d both would need to wait for longer than they had been and that they shouldn’t have expected any different. And lastly, three- that despite all of that, they had shown up early because inspite of who they were waiting for and their inability to be where they said he would be, punctuality wasn’t something they couldn’t adhere to.

He’d wait if he needed to.

He’d never wanted to be the one who someone else was waiting for.

“Why aren’t you waiting inside?”

Adrian rubbed at his elbow, swiping his tongue on his bottom lip to only bite down at the chapped skin that began to peel.

“Smurf’s not there, just so you know.” There’s an understanding that seemed to be implicit between them.

He gave her a nod in response.

Her eyes shimmered as she drew out a languid sigh.

“Forewarning you.” She joked, “There is a cauldron brewing. 2 salamanders. Three missing grey donkeys. A broomstick. The whole nine yards.” She whistled as she lowered Lena to place her on the ground.

Lena doesn’t put up a fight as Cat settled her beside her foot.

Adrian chuckled, watched as she nudged him jokingly with her elbow. Cat winked several times before she glanced down at her wrist watch, her face skewing in dismay.

“Adrian, are you busy?” Her voice piqued as she asked, glancing up at him.

Adrian makes a quick once-over of what he had planned to do during the day. Other than going out to surf and eventually going back to fix the drainage leak, he was sure that that was the extent to what he had to complete in the day. In perspective, it was a very unofficially relaxed day.

“Not necessarily.” He answered, crossing his hands across his chest, “Just waiting for … Deran.”

Cat offered a cautious smile, her lips perking upwards but a comforting look etched across her eyes. She reached forward to grip his hand, clasping onto his wrist and giving a tight squeeze.

He saw it the moment she retracted her hand. The intrepidness. The hurried rush to get things done. The panic at whatever she had to fret over. The glossiness that appeared just as fast as it had disappeared.

She extended her hand for Lena to reach back, only to have to grab Lena’s hands as Lena had shifted her focus to straps on her sandals. She knelt over, peeling the adhesive side of the strap, pressing it against the flat surface of the putty. She was distracted to the point that she’s alarmed when Cat warmly grabbed her wrist.

“I know it’s a lot to ask..” Cat was hesitant, every word etched in careful thought. She rubbed Lena’s head with her free hand, biting her bottom lip in uncertainty that seemed to stretch between them. Adrian pursed his lips as he gazed at the tiny human being hiding behind Cat’s food.

Lena wasn’t doing a good job of hiding but even Adrian knew that she wasn’t making an effort to.

She clasped onto Cat for comfort. Cat was familiar. Adrian wasn’t. There was something respectable about that. The fact that she was able to procure such a distinction with her behavior and posture.

Adrian sighed with a shrug, “Well…I can’t imagine saying no to you will be particularly fun.”

Cat widened her eyes, an ease settled on her shoulders as she broke out into an exasperating smile.

“Thank you.”

Cat bent down, wrapping her hand securely around Lena. She slipped a strand of hair behind Lena’s ear as she whispered within his earshot, “Could you stay with Adrian today?”

Lena’s eyes flickered to Adrian.

Adrian doesn’t know how to discern that particular look but it was something that induced a flutter against his chest. He could see the slight trepidation in her eyes and there was validity to that concern. He had never spent more time than he had with her-tops, six minutes. Even then, it was a simple ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ that wasn’t even directed towards her as it was for Cat.

He wondered if he needed to recant his agreement to her proposal-there was no reason for Lena to be uncomfortable by his presence. God forbid if he had to be left in a stranger’s company at her age. He would have probably raised hell before his mother even considered propositioning anyone for that job of taking care of him.

“Cat-“

Lena nimbly nodded, unclasping her hands from Cat’s in the process.

Adrian stifled an impressed chortle. He withdrew his hand, only to slide it behind his back as he clutched onto his wrist.

Well, shit. Adrian figured that her inclination to agree must have been cultivated by her mother’s predisposition rather than any other reason. Hurriedness emanated from every visceral look that Cat embellished in all her glares and seeped in every word.

Cat pressed her lips against Lena’s scalp, giving a tight squeeze before sliding the bag off of her shoulders.

Adrian blinked as he processed the strap that is soon slid into his curled fingers. He grabbed back so it doesn’t slip, holding the bag down beside his knees because no way was he going to wear it and by the sheer heaviness of it, he’s sure that he doesn’t need whatever was inside.

“Lena, Adrian.” Cat shifted from facing him and then back to Lena. “Adrian, Lena.” She continued, waving her hand in Adrian’s direction. It appeared comical the way she would flake her hands in the air, almost if she wanted to make Adrian appear appealing and friendly, more than anything, reliable.

He wasn’t sure if it worked but Lena breaks out into a smile that made Adrian unsure of what exactly he should base his assumptions on.

Adrian extended his hand out, for all his improper formalities, it somehow seemed like an extension of Cat’s exuberating pretense. As he flexed his palm towards her, as soon as it comes into her direct vision, he curled his three fingers, leaving the thumb and pinky faced outwards. He emulated a fluctuating fluid motion, directing it towards her face.

Unlike Deran, her smile is visible.

It was genuine.

“Thank you.” Cat repeated, clasping her hands together in an apologetic manner, “I owe you one.”

Adrian waved off her offer, “Don’t sweat it.”

Cat leaned over Lena to press her lips against Adrian’s cheeks, giving his shoulder a warm squeeze before she rushed in the direction of the car he had not recognized that had been pulled to the rear side.

Adrian moved to stand closer to Lena as he watched Cat disappear inside of her car before swerving off and into the distant. He tilted his head until her plates were nothing more than a distant view.

He was slightly perturbed when tiny hands clamped around his knee, with others reaching upwards to curl into his hand. He directed his gaze downwards as he reached to knead his fingers with hers, completely surprised by her immediate response.

Rather than being thankful for her lack of reluctance, he dwelled on how easy it was. Sure, there was nothing he would do that would be harmful towards her but if six minutes qualified for a stranger to transform into a reliable acquaintance, an inevitable conversation would be much needed with Cat.

Adrian knelt beside her, leveling with her height. He lifted his free hand and rested it on his knee as he gazed to look at Lena, who despite her tendency to be quiet and aloof, had given him the most eye-contact he had ever gotten from any individual.

It felt as if she not only was staring at him, but at something beyond.

It almost felt visceral.

He wasn’t sure of what to say. As he had said, six minutes does not qualify him in any remote way to be personable with a child. He was content with a ‘hello’ or a ‘goodbye’ and anything beyond seemed intangible and implausible.

He couldn’t formulate words. Sure, maybe he would have had an easier time interacting with Lena than he would have had with anyone, considering that the Cody brothers were nothing short of childish, responding to inapt remarks.

Yet, immaturity expected out of an adult was entirely different from naivety prevalent in children.

“Hi.” He settled for, satisfied but immediately stupefied by the ambiguity of it. He wasn’t sure if it conveyed his confusion as to how to proceed but he doesn’t wait to fret, as Lena withdrew her hand-gently as she possibly could-before settling down under the brief space of shade that had been yet a foot away.

Smart girl, he concluded.

He assessed it was too tiny for both of them to share, unless he held her up. He decided against it when it became a disconcerting qualm that something would come out of him deciding to invade her space.

He settled for the rays that bled into his flesh.

The stinging dissipiated but it always seemed as if every consecutive ray, is armed with a newer and novel way to protrude into his skin and have a tangible effect that is just as worse and just as painful.

Adrian slipped his hand back into his pocket to grab his cell only to pull his empty hand out when he watched as the familiar black colored jeep swerve into the driveway. The tires screeched a short distance away from him, a raucous sound emanating from the instant halt.

The door flipped open, Deran jabbing his head out briefly as he wavered him over, “Come on” which with the brazen audacity he had to even make it appear as if Adrian had been the one to hold him up, had irked Adrian.

He was still alarmed when soon petite hands tugged on his fingers.

Adrian wavered his eyes as he gazed down, dropping his hand lower so it was easier for Lena to grab back.

Which she does, momentarily.

“What are you doing?” There was a disbelieving accusatory tone that caused Adrian to grimace. He settled his eyes briefly on Lena before looking back up at Deran, who at this point, had stepped out from the jeep and shut the door behind him.

He continued to glare at him, momentarily at Lena before settling them on Adrian. If looks could slice through flesh, Adrian was sure that Deran could qualify for semi-finals with his.

“Cat couldn’t find Baz.” He offered.

Deran frowned. He protruded his slightly forward, a baffled look etched on his forehead.

“And?”

Adrian shrugged, “Cat’s busy.”

“Give her to Smurf.” He said offhandedly.

Adrian felt the grip only tighten in response.

He wavered his eyes to grab a look at Lena.

“She’s fine with me.” He replied as he watched where her fingers clutched onto his, turn into a pale hue.

“I’ll go find Smurf.” Deran continued, as if he hadn’t responded.

The grip got even more dense.

“Deran, I promised Cat I’d take care of her,” which was not necessarily the complete truth as he had agreed not under that pretense, “She’ll be fine with me.”

Deran glanced down, unimpressed with his answer, still made an attempt to push the buzzer to open the gates.

Adrian grabbed Lena’s hand as he walked in Deran’s direction, shoving himself in front of the gate and Deran’s stretched out hand, having it collide against his chest.

“I said-“

“I heard you.” He huffed, “So let’s just-“ He said tightly, “-leave her with Sm-“ to which Adrian gritted his teeth, noticing by the way Deran thinned his lips as if the clamping sound had not been restricted to the confines of his mouth-“Craig.”

Adrian drew his brows in, “What part of she’s staying with me didn’t you get?”

He doesn’t miss a beat as he replied drily with, “That part.”

Adrian pushed past him, lowering down as he took a stride to grab Lena, lifting her up against his chest as he secured a hand around her back as she held onto him. She gravitated easily towards him, clutching onto the helm of his shirt as she wrapped her leg at the crane of his waist.

It’s so easy that Adrian pondered whether Lena was just an exception to the rule or he’d given himself less credit that he needed to. She’s easy. She doesn’t contest. She was currently holding onto him as if he provided her the necessary security she needed to trust him. Or maybe- considering her two options, he had the nicer face and she’d rather avoid having to be even in Deran’s vicinity.

That, he could understand. Kind of. Maybe more than he needed to.

He was more receptive to it even though the very thought of kid and him and just, it all, was unnerving. He didn’t necessarily hate kids but that didn’t mean he wanted them by volition.

This, he could do.

Albeit, briefly.

Adrian clutched onto the knob, went to unclasp only to have to nudge harder when the door doesn’t open. He switched his gaze at the lock and noticed that it had been shoved down.

“Deran.” Adrian said in a leveled tone, “What the fu-“

As the heaviness settled into flesh of his chest, he paused. Had he continued, as much as it became a disregarding thing to do-to say the word-he was sure that if any sensible person had been in the room, he would have been reminded to think twice before saying it.

She shifted around slightly, her ankle jabbing into his thigh but it was a dense load that was almost unrecognizable if it weren’t for the fact that she continued to toss her leg slightly in the air before resting it back on his leg.

Adrian hovered his hand over the window glass, flipped the switch upwards before going to unclasp the door once again. Deran was fuming as he crossed to stand beside him in four-maybe five, easy strides. It was fluid and quick, as if the ground had been less compact than he had remembered and there was a railing that helped facilitate that easy maneuver.

Adrian settled Lena on the seat, one hand on the brim of the door, while the other had still been draped behind her back in an effort to levy her up, as she knelt on her knees, looking between the two of them in a curious manner that didn’t quiet make it to her eyes.

“Dude,” Adrian started, turning to face him, “It’s hot.” He stated matter-of-factly, swiping his hand against his forehead for a much needed emphasis. Something Deran apparently needed if it weren’t overtly obvious that his skin was in the transition of turning into a crimson red that would inevitably peel.

There was something innately disturbing that despite the several instances he had found himself not SPF’ing, he managed to do that again. And again. As if it hadn’t mattered that the burning sensation was something he would have preferably liked to have avoided. But it had to say something about him that he needed to learn that lesson, for the eightieth time.

Deran nostrils flared as he gripped onto the door, his knuckles cracking. Adrian grimaced slightly, quickly erasing it to not show his discomfort. He gazed back at Deran’s pale knuckles, shifting his eyes to survey the time that read on the digital radio.

“Der-“

“Fuck you.”

Adrian glanced down at Lena, watched as she sat, no recollection of being petrubed by the mere words or the tone of his voice. She picked at the seam of her dress, coiling the thread around her index and thumb before releasing it. Only for her to do it again, and again.

Adrian placed his hand on the incinerating leather, watched as Lena tilted her head to take notice of that. She slid farther into the truck, leaving enough room for him as he lunged upwards, collapsing against the seat as he shut the door close.

He glared at the space left-just enough for Deran-

He peered out from the frame window, watching as Deran took three large strides before straddling onto the ledge of the door, lurching forward before sliding back until he collided with the cushion.

Adrian was despondent as he wrapped his hand behind Lena, consciously tugged her closer to his own side-nudged her in his direction. He held onto the seat belt strap, brought it up and over her head, hinging the clasp into its hold.

She instinctively moved her dress, as it fell upon the restraint, making way as Adrian slid the clip into it’s hook.

Adrian removed his hand from behind Lena but if he was being honest, his nerves fizzled as he settled his hand on his thigh and at any moment, it would stretch in an instant as a reflexive thought.

He disliked very few. Unreliable people. Mayo in his food. Wipeouts. Especially any incident that predisposed to him to the wraths of a razor sharp roof. He slit the sole of his foot, a thick gash that percolated with his blood. The gauze did nothing but seepen with crimson red and it took several stiches and layers of gauze before his seeping blood was masked by anything but.

He also disliked how his shirt stuck onto every drop of sweat that perforated from the follicles in his skin. His pores are blended into the color of his flesh but they had enlargened and the water that seeps from within is blinded by the blinding sun rays.

Adrian wiped his hands against his shorts, only to have to glance as the glossiness had not disappeared completely.

Adrian grabbed on the edge as the truck swerved from beside the driveway, before zolting into the street. He pressed his toes into the sole of his slippers, digging his nails into the rubber. He glanced briefly at Deran, shook his head quietly.

He peeked at the meter, watched as the shaft drifted upwards.

The sheer force at the accelerated speed, tossed Adrian to crash his head against the backhold. He strained his neck as he tried to resist the impending collision. It’s not use as he felt the jab of the cool metal smear against his skin.

Adrian drew his hand out, stretched it across Lena before kneading his fingers into the fabric of the car seat.

Deran pushed on the accelerator once more.

He had one hand hovering over the glass pane, the side exposed to the air, his hair flailing in one direction. He gripped onto the steering wheel, pumping his closed fist in the air. To what-the radio had been mute.

The only sound that had richocheted off of his ear drums was the buzzing of the alarmingly fast winds that crashed into his face. The impact of that sheer force had been directed only to him and Deran, who was rather enjoying it as she shrilled his growls in exuberance.

Adrian tried not to focus on the fact that they had barely made it past a yellow light or out maneuvered a stop sign. When he didn’t have to focus on it, he was grateful that by the grace of something, nothing seemed to impede their flow. There were no close-calls or impending motor vehicles.

It was a rather alarming speed but they weren’t met with any counteracting semblance.

Soon, they’re at the pier.

Deran pulled the keys out of the ignition. He rammed the shaft upwards, removing his foot from the pedal. He doesn’t turn. Kept his one hand on the steering wheel, and the other one against the window frame. He pursed his lips as he retracted his leg back.

Adrian backed into the confines of his space, wretching out a shallow breath as the stagnation caught up to his speeding heart. He clamped down at his chest, kneading his fingers into this shirt to soften the sharp throbbing.

Adrian doesn’t have to turn to see Lena. He had felt her clamp her fingers around his wrist, her tiny fingers stuck to his flesh. She doesn’t show any indication of her disposition but he felt her fingers clamp down, harder with more force, anytime the speed had gotten any faster-the swerves have gotten any harsher-her fear emanating from the touch.

She didn’t have to say anything.

He heard her loud and clear.

“What are you gonna do with her?”

Adrian swiveled his head, drew his brows inwards. He wondered whether there had been three sorts of hell that he had been invited to because he was sure that a fourth had existed.

Right then and there, Adrian latched onto the knob, drifting his hand to unclasp it. He firmly planted both his feet on the ground, the gravel under his feet do nothing but assuage his rapid inhales. He brought his knee close to his chest, stretching his heel as he felt the nerves re-start.

As if they had shut down and stifled any motion, which for all intensive purposes, was how he had felt.

Numb.

Despondent.

He heard the click of the seatbelt being unclasped. As he turned on his heel, Lena stretched her tiny hand across the remote lock, shuffling in her spot before deciding it best to take the leap. It was maybe a couple of feet from the ground. Not too shabby.

He waited for her to ask.

Watched as she shrugged languidly to herself, as if she had convinced herself of her decision, before leaping. She lands aptly.

Lena lifted her head up, her eyes swimming with content with her feat. She softened the creases in her dress before stepping beside to stand next to him.

The air had become easier to breathe.

“Fucking Christ.”

Adrian’s ears perked as he tilted his head, slightly, just enough that he could see from the periphery of his eyes, as Deran drifted towards the back of his truck, to which Adrian presumed to be for his garb.

The weather is much cooler. As expected. The wind is harsh as it swiped across his face, grovels of sand frisking into his flesh. It’s not enough that he had to respond to it begrudgingly but it was apparent enough that he had shifted around to avoid any more drafts.

Deran appeared with a board under his pit, his suit hanging right beside. The color of the neoprene was another hue of black. It seemed new but Adrian wasn’t quick to make that assumption. He’d never really focused on that-had he not had focused on anything else.

It seemed minute but it bothered him that he couldn’t discern whether he had not made that distinction because he wasn’t aware-which would have been a farce in on it’s own as it was painfully obvious that he was tuned to everything-or if he had just mislapsed in his frets.

“I’m gonna go enjoy my fucking day,” Deran gritted, nostrils flared as he thinned his lips.

Adrian gripped his hand to his side as he watched Deran stride his way towards the waves.

Apart of him wanted to just try to resort to some sort of acquiescence towards Deran’s predispostions. As he stood there, Lena’s fingers kneaded through his, his skin sizzling but cooled drastically by the indundating winds, he had a hard time squeaking a word.

If it wasn’t this, it was always something else. He had to choose his battles and this was as futile as disputing that his feet currently weren’t being pressed into the gravel.

As Lena nudged her index finger into his palm, he looked down at her and raised his brows. She drew her brews inwards, sliding one leg over the other and dropped her head in slight bemusement.

Adrian shifted his train of thought to the stand beside the pier, closer to one side of the narrowing sill. It had been a standard one, most likely had what anyone would need when they were short of necessities.

Adrian knelt, resting his free hand on his knee, eye-leveled with Lena.

“Hey Lena,” he said gently, trying to word in his mind how to ask without having it spill in a jumble. If she had said no, which her reticence would offer, they both would just end up walking the deck. Frankly, that thought was as unsettling as his skin peeling. The water would cool him and considering the fact that it was way over ninety, it would help them both.

If he was being completely honest, he looked forward to this.

Getting in the water, his paddle underneath his chest, his hands swooshing the waters underneath his fingers and behind him. He liked when he watched an offshore wave and had become familiar with the maneuvers of it that he had silently muttered the time it would take before he would need to lift himself up and brave the force.

“Did anyone ever teach you how to swim?”

She turned to her side, the gust of air unearthed her hair from behind her ears and swamped across her face. She dragged her free hand across her face, flipping the hair in the opposite direction.

Lena nodded casually, turning around to face him.

“Surf?” He pondered.

The creases in her forehead disappeared, to be soon filled with her perking brows.

Her lips swarmed upwards, the line etched wide across her mouth.

She shook her head vehemently.

Thank God.

Adrian levied his hand against his thigh before lifting himself up.

“Cool.” He smiled.

It doesn’t take him more than a couple of minutes to realize that he had in fact not been graced with an extra pair of trunks. His wetsuit, he checked in the trunk, had been tucked beside a cooler. His board was settled onto the side, a secure strap had mantled it.

He had just enough money to buy Lena a body glove-at her instance, blue. She had left his side and returned with her choice before he could even graze the aisle. He settled for a paddle board, the surf boards had seemed like a stretch. He estimated her grip and arm length just by sheer glance, decided against a larger board.

Paddle boards seemed like the most apt choice.

Soft boards were in the front glass but as he glanced at the price tag, he felt a hole burning in his shorts. Not that he had that kind of cash on him, either way. He took a once-over at the board he had held, noticed the sturdy rail. He gripped the fins, gave a rough tug before he slid his hands across the stringer. The nose had been angled more pinpointedly and the tail was a clean cut.

He decided against a noose around her ankle, deciding that he would direct them towards the chunks of whitewater, keep away from the offshore.

When he first started to learn surfing, he had watched as the other kids would first stretch themselves and practice in the sand. There was an outline of the surfboard etched into the thin grime; he had watched as they would lift their hands up and over their head, curling their hands just enough as to emulate the pushing of water from underneath their fingernails before fast pushing-up into a standing position.

Sometimes, it appeared as if the point of that exercise, rather than preparing them for the inevitable movements-which for all intensive purposes, was rather pointless as the sheer texture of water kneading through anyone’s fingers couldn’t be compounded with granules of dust-it was just for enjoyment.

He didn’t understand the latter.

But Lena wasn’t him.

He stopped a couple of yards away from the clammering water, stood in front of Lena as he knelt. He made some quick glances at the crashing water, that was as gentle as they possibly could get, dropped his index finger into the granules. He directed his finger around the board, got to the skeg and paused.

His instinct was to behave in a way that he usually wouldn’t.

This was definitely one of those moments.

“Okay, Lena,” he started, swiping his hands against his thighs, “Watch what I do, okay?” He settled his body over her paddle board, which had been overshadowed by his sheer size. He had left his own board back in the truck, decided that teaching her would take more than enough time and if he had decided to surf in that time frame, somehow stupidly assuming that she’d be able to land on her feet the first time-callousness had it’s limits and he wasn’t going to push it. He cursed under his breath and hoisted his head up as he glanced at Lena.

She didn’t seem to notice and even if she had, she didn’t seem to show it.

Adrian shifted into the sand, dragging his hands in the familiar swift motions. He planted his toes firmly into the granules, extending his arms out before curving his fingers in tight contact, upending them before diving in. He curled his fingers to give some fluidity before he groveled the sand through his fingers-backwards, forwards, backwards once again.

He flipped to his back as he stopped.

“That’s what you’re gonna do with your hands,” he supplied, hefting himself up.

Lena dropped to her knees, grabbing the rails in her direction. Adrian extended his hand out and gave it a slight nudge, which was just enough force before the nose of the board collided with her thigh.

She was quick to settle her tiny frame on the deck.

“Alright Lena, before you do what I showed you,” Adrian stretched his hand out in front of him, palm facing outwards and fingers pointing up. She screwed her eyes in confusion as she flexed her hand out. He moved towards her to fix the posture, emulating instead a stop sign with his palm, which she responded to. He gently pulled his fingers towards him with his left hand, so that his right hand was bending back. He held down for a couple of seconds, counting more loudly so that Lena would hold the grip as well.

She started to count with him after four, waiting for him to start before she would repeat the number. They got to 18 before he dropped his hands to his side.

“It helps you improve your range of motion.” He offered.

He bit down on his tongue as the words ricocheted off of his eardrums.

Improve your range of motion?

To a kid.

“Sorry.” Adrian supplied, “It’s good to stretch.”

With both of his hands on the sand facsimile, Lena’s on the board deck, he lowered himself to imitate a push up. He did a couple more and only until his hands were at full extension, he pulled his knees towards his stomach and hopped to his feet.

“That’s a pop-up.” Adrian answered her implicit frame of thought, “So you can balance your position.”

Lena nodded.

She extended her hands out shoulder’s length apart, goes down to emulate a push up. He watched as she retracted her leg inwards, hopping up and flexing her hands out to catch her wavering posture. Adrian was quick as he grabbed her wrist, placating one hand firmly against her back to stop her from falling.

He chuckled, “I did that too. You know?” He pointed at his stomach as he continued, “We don’t go to our knees first. Because if you’re on your knees too long, you’ll have a harder time trying to balance on your board.”

Adrian went back to his previous posture, hands flexed and body lowering-he tugged his knees before he pulled them closer to his chest, just as Lena had, and struggled as he felt his level field tilt in a manner that had him scurrying his hands in a offhandish manner as he jolted forward.

He was quick to take another step to stop any impending fall.

“That’s why.”

They continued to maneuver the format. Adrian waited until her pop-up accrued to a transition from a smooth motion into a standing position. It takes her another twenty or so but he’s even surprised at the fastidiousness of her progress.

Soon, they were in the water.

Lena had already settled onto the deck, straddling the rails on both sides with her curled hands. Adrian had stood behind her, gripping onto the tail as the fluidity of the waves dragged them inwards, the buoyancy relieving the weight to a manageable one.

Adrian gripped onto her paddle board. He had one hand flattened and pressed under the surface, providing her balance. He gripped onto the frame as she began to swipe her hands in the water. He watched as she creased her forehead inwards, as if she was concentrating on what he had said earlier. He watched as she curled her hands and slowly drifted the water away from her-left hand- and then her right. She's slow but she started to emulate the way he had just taught her.

Her lips curved upwards into a smile, as if she had just realized that she had been doing exactly as Adrian had shown her. She picks up her pace, tilting to face him as she breaks out into a grin that just screamed 'look!'

Adrian nodded in response.

He directed her paddle against the offshore, towards the surface of the whitewater but further in that there was enough depth for more similar circumstances.

“Lena, move up to the nose.” He directed. She edged towards the sides, Adrian sliding his finger under her periphery vision to jab at the location of the ‘nose’.

She slid closer up the deck and stopped a couple of inches short of the stringer.

“Look at the horizon,” he pointed at the thin line that blended the surface of the water with the sky, “Remember how we learned how to stand up? Yeah? I need you to do that the next time you feel the push of the wave,” he brisked his free hand in the water to push the current in her direction, palming the water downwards to simulate the impact, “Like that. When you feel that, you stand up 3 seconds out.”

She stared at him squarely.

“Yeah? I’m right here.” He placed a small distance between the fin and himself but his hands were a second away from grabbing on just in case she were to fall, an unexpected tide were to swarm-anything.

He started to count as he noticed the graze that appeared softly in the nascent of the surface.

“One.”

“Two”

Lena had armed herself in a push up position, her knees had not yet caved in.

Good.

“Three!”

Lena drew her legs inwards before hopping up, extending out her arms and leveling her body as the tide glided under her paddle. She drifted slightly, only to catch herself as she flattened her palms, giving it more rigidness.

Adrian fisted his hand in the air, a sense of first-time adrenaline rush had ran through his veins. He swiftly uncurled his fist to flatten it out, high-fiving Lena’s flexed fingers as she, correctly, refused to remove herself from her fixed posture.

He patted the water, cracking through it’s tension and the droplets of water flying in the air. It’s a harsh slap that sends the globules of water to splash against his jaw. He shielded his eyes with his hand, spitting out any remnants that absolved into his mouth.

As he withdrew his hand, he caught Deran hanging out in the fringe. He had his hair slicked back into a loose ponytail that did nothing but curl is hair in a haphazard manner. He demonstrated stringent adherence to his posture that Adrian had to stifle a cheep.

Adrian wiped his hand across his face, observing the way in which Deran would glide his hand against the current, the cracks in the surface tension accrue to droplets that slip past his hands in a smooth swipe.

Deran angled his posture slightly back which changed the trajectory of the paddle to counteract. He balanced in a very rhythmic pace that was knifelike by the sheer contrast of the blue hues of the waves that he had ridden.

He’s alarmed when the rubber paddle slipped from his fingers.

He swerved around to notice that Lena had been pushed by the rip-semblance current in the opposite direction.

He lunged forward, kicking his feet in the water behind him as he paddled his hands fluidly to counteract the current.

The heaviness from the heavy breaking wave dragged his impending hand motion. Adrian surfaced his face on one side to take a breath as he continued his strokes. He relaxed his fingers as they curled into the water and drifted the water away from him.

Panic started to unsettle him everytime he hoisted his head for air, that he would notice that the distance grew-and grew-

His calves burned, dulled by the briskiness of the water.

Adrian’s eyes were obscured by the water splashing into his eyes, and even as he blinked, he had a hard time discerning what he had been looking ahead at. His arms ached as he pushed through, deciding to drop his strokes for a second as the current carried him. It relieved some of the force before he resumed his brushes.

Adrian kicked his feet until his lower half of his legs felt as if they were incineration. He reduced the amount of times he would hoist his head for a breath of air, instead of focusing on how much longer he could conserve it. Every single time he had to tilt to his side, he had to readjust to his flow of motion. He thought it would be better if he just practiced deep breathing, which tended to aid in this process.

He doesn’t make it far before he noticed a fin of her familiar paddle obscured by the light rays that bent his sense of perception.

Adrian surfaced, dragging his feet in swivels to stay afloat.

Deran was gripping onto the paddle, Lena saddled against his chest.

Adrian took three strokes before he was floating on the opposite side of the board.

“What the fuck, man?” Deran hissed.

Adrian parsed his lips, his panic dissipating to be usurped by an impasse drag that settled in his chest. It continued to ache as he shifted his gaze to settle it upon Lena, who had wrapped her hands around Deran’s elbows for balance.

“I’m sorr-“ he swallowed the salty water that had seeped through his nostrils, “I’m sorry.” He panicked as he settled his hands on the deck, crossing them over each other to stare at Lena, “I’m sorry,” he directed it towards her, “I’m sorry.”

Lena whisked her lips into a gloom, curling in on herself that made her appear smaller than she already had. It does nothing but exacerbate the despondency he felt towards himself at that moment.

“Le-“

Deran pushed forward, which alarmed Lena as she turned to look up at him. She retracted her hands in a swift motion and just as she was about to go curl them around Deran’s arms, he swam towards the tail.

He rose his hands out in front of him, waving his palms towards him and then letting them face Lena.

“Come on, let’s try.”

Lena shook her head furiously.

Deran paused.

He waited until she stopped before he unparsed his lips.

“Shit like that happens randomly,” he pointed at the direction in which she had come from, “Just like how it rains sometimes. Or how-“ he creased his forehead, “You know Cat gets angry. It doesn’t happen alot, huh?” Deran questioned.

Lena was stagnant as she stared at him.

“No, right?” Deran answered himself, “So we’re not gonna be scared by this, L.”

The nickname for her appeared beguiling.

Adrian’s parched lips divert his attention.

He dragged his curled hand in the water before splashing them against his face.

“Come on.” He tried again.

Lena is stuck to her spot as Deran nudged the tail. It’s not a rough tug, not enough that she would be displaced by her position. He continued to do so for several times before Lena implanted her tiny frame against the paddle in the familiar position.

Adrian watched as he swiftly pushed her paddle board in the direction of the beach; Deran doesn’t let go once as Lena dragged her hands in the water. She settled into the familiar strokes and soon, her forehead creased inwards in that commonplace curiosity.

“Sorry.” Adrian offered, once more. Apologetically remorseful would have been an understatement.

Deran caught his eyes as he tilted his head. Adrian stifled a gasp as his familiar hues of his pupils are dilated by the light rays that emanate from the sky upon them. His skin glossed by the sheer wetness and it was a gloss that left a veneered finish to his usually less toned skin.

The look is full of conundrums that Adrian had a hard time discerning which one to focus on.

Disappointment mixed with, ironically, respite.

Glare mellowed by his nonchalance.

Friskiness softened by his quietness.

“Right.”

Adrian recognized why those conundrums usually conflicted him-

It was because he never knew which one to ascribe to Deran.

Making him completely unpredictable.

And completely elusive for Adrian to want to discern.

"Right."

#animal kingdom tnt #Deran x adrian #deran Cody x adrian #lena cody #FIC prompt

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