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jimlingss · 4 years

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Kale’in Me Softly

➜ Words: 17.1k

➜ Genres: 90% Fluff, 9.5% Angst, 0.5% Smut, Farm!AU

➜ Summary: After your grandfather's passing, you decide to take over his farm and plant the trendiest vegetable: kale. It's a struggle to be in the countryside when you've always been a city girl. But there's someone less than sympathetic — a grumpy farmer across the acres who's constantly trying to pick a fight with you.

➜ Warning: Strongly implied smut

cr.

Home — you left it all behind for this. The tractor chugs and wheezes. Its wheels roll over the craggy and unpaved road, making you feel every bump and pebble through constant jolts and bounces. The sweltering heat of the scorching sun was already making you break into a sweat and you sigh, listening to the buzzing of cicadas and the sputtering engine. But otherwise, it was quiet. More than what you were used to. There isn’t any traffic, honking, construction or the noise of motorcycle engines or sirens of ambulances. There’s just the rustle of leaves and the swaying of grass strands. “I can’t believe Old Man Seok had such a pretty granddaughter.” A laugh bubbles out of you. “It’s all in the genes. Did you know my grandfather?” “Everyone knew Old Man Seok. Everyone knows everyone here. But it sure helps that our farms are next door to each other. Just down yonder.” The middle-aged farmer grips the steering wheel. A good-natured aura in spite of his intimidating disposition, he feels like a strict but caring father figure. “He was very kind even to the end of his life. Offered my family a lot of jam throughout the years. A good man through and through. My condolences.” Your smile softens. “Thank you.” “I gotta say, it’s nice to have a new face around these neck of the woods. Doesn’t happen often.” The corner of the man’s mouth pulls and the wrinkles by his eyes crease. “You should come meet my son sometime.” “I wouldn’t mind.” The tractor pulls up to the worn house you’ve seen in your mother’s childhood pictures. “I always love making new friends.” You hop off the tractor the moment it comes to a stop and the man wishes you luck before you thank him again and he’s on his merry way. With only one packed suitcase in hand, you walk up to the house and push your Gucci sunglasses to the top of your head to get a better look. The fence, door and roof are made with a cherry wood that compliments the forest green walls. The patio, on the other hand, is out of oak that matches the rocking chair in the corner. There’s white trim lining the rectangular windows, giving you a peek at the purple, paisley curtains inside. The house looks tattered through time, but cozy. “You’re leaving?!” — “Do you really think this is a good idea, Y/N?” — “Do you even know what you’re going to do there?” The voices of the friends you left behind echo in the recesses of your mind while you fiddle with the hem of your dress in the shade of classical blue — 2020’s pantone colour and a fantastic fashion statement. It’s not farm-appropriate, but better than most of the things in your closet. You went shopping for the last time before you packed your one pink suitcase, but you’re starting to realize those tight, denim overalls might not work like they do in the movies. “You think you can run a farm?!” — “I didn’t raise you so you could go back to the countryside!” — “You don’t even know what you’re doing, Y/N! Grow up already and stop being ridiculous.” An exhale squeezes out of you as you dispel away your family’s discouragement and you grip your grandfather’s letter as you finally muster the courage to approach the house. When your grandfather passed away, you inherited ten thousand dollars and his five acre farm. It’s small. Nothing worthy of bragging about and one of the hundred of reasons everyone thought you would sell it. They even urged you to, so they could get a split of the money. But they never thought you would refuse. That you would leave everything behind and come all the way here. It’s a mess. Thick layers of dust coat the antique furniture and peering out from the kitchen window, the field is littered in leaves and twigs, wooden planks and debris. A sense of guilt overwhelms you. You can’t believe your family let it become this way. You set down your belongings and almost immediately, you begin to look around. Pacing the backyard, the field, the barn, trying to figure out what is what. And it’s not long before a dark-haired man with doe eyes and a permanent dear-in-headlights expression finds you. He nearly startles you to death with his timid greeting. “H-Hi...” “Holy shit!” You press your hand to your chest, spinning around and he boyishly grins. “You scared me!” “S-Sorry…my bad...” Boots, jeans and a white shirt, he looks like a newly graduated high school student who stumbled into the wrong place. “Are you Y/N?” “That’s me.” You wonder if he’s here to kill you. The farm setting was the perfect location after all and serial killers these days have the potential of looking as cute as he does. “You’re...?” “I’m Jungkook. I used to work with Old Man Seok. My mom told me you’d be comin’ today and that I should show you around, so….” He scratches the back of his neck, oddly endearing for how awkward he is. You let him guide you despite having already gotten the chance to peek at almost everything — a detail you leave out to spare him from being disheartened. But with Jungkook here, he has the strength to widen the doors of the old shed out back and you get a better look at the storage and old equipment. “God.” You cough and bat your hand from the dust piles arising. “It’s so dirty.” “Yeah. The tractor needs a bit of fixin’ up which I can help you with, if you need.” It’s clear that towards the end of your grandfather’s life, he was too weak to properly take care of his property. You can tell by the way the field is in tatters, all his crops long dead and his machinery is in desperate need of repair. But as you gander at the space, you discover that there’s everything you need right here. Shovels. Wheelbarrows. Sickles and spades. “Thank you. I would appreciate that.” Jungkook nods, wearing a small smile. “Your grandpa used to help me out a lot, so it’s the least I can do. If you ever need any help, I’m down a few acres West by the market. Just give a holler.” Your cheeks warm, realizing he’s not as young as he appears to be. “I will.” After a while longer, Jungkook leaves you to get settled down and you bid him farewell. You know it’s going to take a bit of time for you to get used to this change, but with a sigh, you try your best to familiarize yourself with the land and surrounding climate. // Back in LA, you were a fashion design marketer. Originally, you set out to fulfill your childhood dream of being a top designer for a big brand like Chanel or Dior, but along the way, you ended up in the marketing sector. It wasn’t as bad as what people thought. A kind of niche you actually quite enjoyed and while you might've left it all behind for the farm life, you know the first step to starting anything is doing market research. So at nine in the morning sharp, you enter the farmers’ market. Open every Sunday, there’s a certain bustle and liveliness in the atmosphere. People from surrounding communities and even far away cities have come to get their fresh produce and dairy products. The market place is held in an open building with doors and massive garages wide open, practically held outdoors itself, and as you walk along the stands, you notice goat milk to beeswax lip balm being sold. There’s everything someone could ask for, bath salts and herbal soaps, baked goods and handmade aprons and quilts. You didn’t know farmers’ markets had so much to offer. “Would you like to try some raspberry jam, darlin’?” A plump lady offers you a spatula. “Sure. Thank you.” The sweet taste ends up bursting on your palette and you hum at the taste, considering buying a jar for breakfast. But she interrupts with a curious stare and a bigger smile. “I haven’t seen you around before, dear. Did you come from somewhere far?” “Oh no, I just moved in. My grandpa was Seokjin….” “You mean Old Man Seok?” Her entire spine straightens, face lighting up. “I never knew he had a granddaughter!” You warm, proud that your grandfather’s made such a lasting impression. “I just moved in a few acres away.” “Taking care of your grandpa’s farm?” she asks and when you nod, the woman practically swoons. “Why, what a gracious thing you’re doin’! Old Man Seok would be proud to have a granddaughter like you! Keepin’ his legacy alive like that. Heaven knows I can’t even get my boy up to milk the cows!” You laugh and she ends up handing you a small jar of raspberry jam for free, wishing you the best of luck. Apparently word spreads fast in this place. After ten minutes of exploring the market, kind and overfamiliar strangers approach from behind their stands, greeting you and taking your hands. Some muse how similar you are to your grandfather while others happily send you some cheese and bread. By the time you’re at the end, it looks like you went grocery shopping. But in the midst of it all, you get the chance to talk to some customers. Making conversation with a pregnant woman, an elderly man, and a little kid overly excited to use his allowance for some candy. People are receptive and friendly, more than what you’re used to back in the city. But you study what they purchase, their spending habits, what people seem to be interested in. Then, your attention is caught at a cute honey stand — jars of honey sealed being sold with beeswax candles tied with pastel yellow ribbon. More importantly, you recognize the doe-eyed boy at the cash register. “Jungkook!” He greets you with a big smile. “Oh, hey, Y/N! I didn’t expect you’d be here.” With your previous lifestyle, the attention of a cute boy like Jungkook isn’t enough to make you bashful — a few years too late on that — but you can still appreciate how endearing he is. “I’m just taking a look around. Thought I should get to know the place since I might be here soon.” “How’re things going? Did you settle in yet?” “I did actually.” It wasn’t in the realm of your expectations to make friends so quickly out here, but to have such pleasant small talk with Jungkook proves your anticipations were wrong. “It took a lot of time to clean the house, but totally worth it! I strung polaroids above the mantle and I found a vintage armchair that’s really in style, so I’d say things are going pretty well.” The boy grins from your enthusiasm. “It sounds like you’re adapting better than I would.” “I’m trying.” Your smile becomes sheepish. “I’m still figuring out the fields and the land. I haven’t even gotten started in clearing out the shed yet.” He nods, lips parting to respond. But then there’s a call of his name behind him and he sighs before sending an apologetic expression. “Sorry. My ma has more honey to unload from the truck. I gotta skedaddle before she yells, but I’m glad things are working out for you!” Jungkook’s undoubtedly cute, even when he says goodbye and promises to catch up with you soon. You don’t dwell either, continuing to parade through the market by yourself and discover all the places you missed on your first walk that was overwhelmed with others intercepting. What piques your curiosity this time is a wooden stall with a soft green cloth draped over the flat surface and a sign that reads ‘Romaine with Me’. What’s offered in the crates are lettuce. Lots and lots of different heads of lettuce lined in rows like plush animal prizes on display at carnival games. You don’t pay much mind to the man behind the stall that’s sleepily blinking and leaning his head in his hand, elbow propped up and figure slumped over. He looks like he’s dozed off but somehow kept his lids peeled back. You approach and read the labels underneath. Red. Green. Romaine. Boston. Bibb. Arugula. Batavia. Radicchio. Iceberg. “I didn’t know there were so many types of lettuce,” you mutter to yourself. “It’s two dollars for each bundle or head,” the man suddenly pipes up in a raspy tone, nearly startling you to death. You realize his pupils have darted right on you and that’s he’s not in fact sleeping with his eyes open. “Romain is three. And there’s a sale on the radicchio.” The man has an oddly intimidating disposition for looking so tired. He has tender features and seemingly soft skin that makes you wonder about his skin care routine. Yet, his hair is as dark as his cat-like eyes that have narrowed in on you. You suddenly feel pressure to make a purchase lest you waste more of his time. “What are the differences?” you ask, studying the lettuces in front of you. “Iceberg, romaine and radicchio are crispy. But iceberg has a clean and fresh taste. Romaine is more bitter and radicchio is a bit bitter and spicy. Boston and bibb are butter lettuces which are softer and have a sweet taste. Boston's leaves are wider and lighter green than bibb's. Arugula is peppery. Batavia is your usual with more crinkled leaves. Red and green are your standard.” The man breathes the explanation out with only one lazy inhale in between and when he’s done, he gives you a look as if asking if you’re satisfied. But you’re more than that. You’re genuinely impressed. He spat facts at you and you’re not sure what to do with the information. “You know a lot about lettuce.” “I’m a lettuce farmer,” he deadpans. “Really?” The corners of your lips pull, even more intrigued than before. You didn’t take him for much of a farmer. The man has a kind of bad-boy vibe that you’re accustomed to and without much thought, the clumsy words stumble out of your mouth— “I thought farmers were dirtier.” “What?” “Like sunburnt, straw hats, overalls.” You nod, studying the produce and missing his offended expression. “Like that’s totally the farmer’s aesthetic.” “Aesthetic?” “Yeah,” you hum, not realizing the man was glaring holes into you. “I’ll take a bundle of the romaine, please.” You end up going home shortly after, trekking underneath the sun with recyclable bags full of food that fills your fridge, sure to be enough for a whole week. You’re not sure what to exactly do after that — there’s plenty of tasks and jobs to be done, but you’re not certain where to start. So you decide to take a break — partly to relax and partly to procrastinate. With your sweat wiped away and a fan whirring in the corner, you plop down into the vintage armchair and grab one of the magazines you brought with you. But it isn’t a good read, not when you had already looked at most of the pages on the plane ride over here…. Your mind ends up wandering, considering what you should do with grandfather’s land, if there was anything new you could offer at all. And at the same time as you’re flipping through the magazine, you stumble on a particular page. A recipe for an avocado kale poke bowl. You skim it and your eyes stop at a single word. Kale. Kale. It sticks to you like glue and you squint at the text, the four letters in print. Your mind searches and it hits you that kale was never sold at the farmers’ market. There was everything, every fruit, every vegetable. But not kale. A smile stretches across your face, determination blooming in your chest. Organic kale was a total new fad. Good for you. Healthy. Sought after in the city, but yet to be prevalent in the countryside. It was a perfect opportunity, one that was sitting right in front of you this entire time. Relief overwhelms you as you make a decision on your niche: kale. // It starts off with books. Gathering as much information as you possibly can, you also learn through guides and internet articles on your chosen crop. You find out that kale becomes bitter over the summer, sweetest in the Fall after being touched by a light frost. It bolts in Spring, so sowing seeds is most appropriate around April to May while they can still be planted throughout the seasons. It provides a yield between late September to early May, direct seeds maturing in fifty to seventy days while transplants take a bit less than half the time. You learn how to protect seedlings from pests, purchasing lightweight fabric to cover rows, and you begin to plow the fields. It takes time to clean up, to get your grandfather’s equipment fixed, to become financed. But you start right away and soon, you’re sewing the seeds eighteen to twenty four inches apart. Getting transplants. Watering them appropriately. Working day and night. You’re not exactly sure if you’re doing this right. Especially on hot days when you’re sweating buckets, dirt has marred your skin and your lower back screams. But you know that even if you fail and have to pack your bags, the effort of trying would be enough for you to feel satisfied. So, you persist. And day by day, the seeds begin to sprout. The dirt is littered with tiny green specks and you feel thrilled that it’s actually growing. Slowly, but surely, you would return this farm to its former glory by your own hands. // It’s another Sunday when you take a trip to the farmers’ market. In spite of having only been here for a short amount of time, you’ve become acquainted with the market. You don’t get lost anymore in the bustle and many like to stop you to ask about your day. It’s a hospitable place, never making you feel uncomfortable or awkward, and you feel relieved that your grandfather was surrounded by such warmth till the end of his life. You’re also starting to become familiar with one particular wooden stall and the sleepy man behind it. No matter what week it is, he’s always there, wearing the same loose flannels but in different colours, flipping through a pamphlet or dozing off. He only looks up when someone comes to buy lettuce. But today, he’s joined by an older man that recognizes you all too easily. “I almost didn’t see you there without being so gussied up in those city clothes. Looks like you’ve gotten yourself comfortable with farm life. Almost reminds me of Old Man Seok back in his heyday.” Immediately, the younger lifts his head up, brow cocked. “You know her?” “She’s Old Man Seok’s granddaughter. I gave her a ride to his farm when she first came,” Mr. Min introduces and his son gives you a better look, one that’s ridden with a modest amount of distaste. “Y/N, this is my boy, Yoongi, that I was talking about.” It never occured to you how similar they are. Their husky voices and quiet yet intimidating dispositions are unparalleled. But the older seems more open and friendly than the younger who has a blank expression and his eyes narrowed in at you. Although you don’t get much time to dwell, ask him that the issue might be or if that’s simply who he is. Some people naturally have a resting bitch face and Yoongi might be one of them. “How’s the countryside life doing for you so far?” his father asks and you smile, attention redirected. “It’s not too bad. But the sun’s hot and I didn’t know farming could be so hard!” Your head quirks to the side, still awed that this was the lifestyle of so many. “I always thought it would be easy cause the organic edamame plant back at my apartment wasn’t so bad to take care of.” Yoongi scoffs. “Yep, it’s difficult alright.” Mr. Min’s engrossed and asks, “What’re you growing?” Enthusiasm and a sense of pride makes you exclaim the answer— “Kale!” Yoongi winces at the volume of your voice while his father is made even more curious. “Kale?” “I was thinking about what wasn’t being sold at the farmers’ market and I found that kale was underrepresented,” you rant, “Kale’s totally the new wave. It’s a trendy, super food and packed with antioxidants. Did you know that kale is among the most nutrient-dense foods on the planet?” “Can’t say I knew that.” Mr. Min has his mouth upturned into an amused smile. Yoongi, on the other hand, sighs. “I’d love to hear more about it. My wife’s quite passionate about these kinds of things too. She practically runs the entire farm! You should come over for dinner sometime, Y/N.” “She should?” — “I’d love to!” Both you and Yoongi talk over another, but you don’t hear him. You’ve never been invited to this kind of thing before and your family rarely ate together. So, the aesthetic of sitting down for a countryside meal with a farming family, like it’s Thanksgiving, is a fantasy you’re eager to fulfill. // Unfortunately, dinner at the Min household has to be held off when your first harvest comes. Finally after a month of waiting, there’s actual kale out in the fields that are ready to be collected. The leaves are small, a little bitter and it’s not a large yield — but it isn’t bad for the first time. You’re happy enough that you’ve grown something, so you don’t nick pick for now. Instead, you focus on wrapping up the bundles, on preparing a stall, on organizing a spot at the market to sell. And when the days of busy work and high pressure accumulate into the first Sunday of the month, you’ve arranged crates of freshly washed, organic kale ready for purchase. It’s exciting. One week you’re walking around as a customer and the next, you’re on the other side of the stand as a vendor. You get to witness the behind the scenes of other farmers, the doors opening at nine sharp, the increasing bustle of the market. But for some reason, you only have a few people who stop by and only one who buys a bundle. “Don’t be worried,” Jungkook comforts, having stopped by once he noticed you. “People tend to buy what they’re used to, so just wait a while. You’ll eventually get your own set of customers!” You can only hope he’s right. By five in the evening, it’s over and you hold in your sigh. You wonder what you should do with the abundance of kale you have left, but you try not to linger as you close shop and the market shuts its doors. Everyone seems to disassemble their stalls with ease, carrying crates to their cars, collecting their earnings. Most are gone within ten minutes but you struggle, unable to keep up when it’s all too new to you and before you know it, you’re the last one left in the space that’s still cleaning up after yourself. The only person you catch is Yoongi who’s walking off, passing you with a crate of two lettuce heads, having already sold most of it. You notice he’s in one of his open flannels again, this time it’s yellow and gray, and you send a friendly smile. But he doesn’t say anything or make a change from his indifferent expression. But then he stops. Five meters away. “You should stop treating this like a joke,” Yoongi deadpans, swiveling around on his heel. You freeze, halfway from grabbing the mason tip jar that you decorated with washi tape the night before. You blink, not sure if Min Yoongi is actually and willingly uttering words to you or if it’s your imagination. “What?” But it isn’t. He is very much talking to you. “The market isn’t here for someone like you to play games.” Now, you’re just confused. “But…...I’m not playing games...?” “It’s obvious you’re not serious about this.” You scoff. You’ve had your fair share of running into mean girls in the fashion industry and in High School, the ones who are snarky and make passive aggressive insults that are disguised as compliments. You just never expected to run into something like that here. And in such a straightforward way too. Usually people are more subtle when they show that they don’t like you. “You can’t accuse me. You don’t know anything about me!” Yoongi stares at you boredly. “You’re making a mockery out of people’s livelihood.” “I’m trying to learn.” You cross your arms, standing your ground. You suppose from his perspective it might be off-putting that you’ve come from nowhere and you’re trying your hand at the farm life. But you swear you haven’t been condescending nor have you ever looked down on anyone. At least you hope it hasn’t come across that way. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but if it seems like I’ve been mocking you then I’m sorry.” This isn’t just a hobby to you nor is it a spectacle for your amusement. You’re serious. Even if you might come across as ditzy, insincere and inexperienced. “But you don’t need to go out of your way to insult me. I already know I was stupid for coming here. Why do you think I came alone? This is a whole new world for me and I’m trying, so I’d appreciate some empathy.” Yoongi stares at you. You stare at him. The two of you have your eyes locked in one another’s, and you want to throw hands, but then he suddenly walks away as if he didn’t hear a word you said. You glare at his backside, huffing out in frustration. As if your day wasn’t bad enough, he had to make it worse. // “Stop being ridiculous, Y/N!” Your mom’s voice is jarring on the other end of the line. It’s grating to your ears. There’s a strong urge to hang up, but you’re not sure if she’ll call again. You’re surprised she called you in the first place — the likelihood of a second time is slim. “I’m actually doing well, thank you very much.” She ignores you. “Sell the land and come home. Do you really think you can do this?!” Tears sting your eyes against your will. You inhale to keep your voice even and steady. “I do actually. I’m learning while I’m out here and it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.” “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. You had a high paying job. An apartment. Clean water to drink. Lots of food to eat. You were comfortable! And you gave it all up, why?!” “The air’s fresher here,” you quip much to your mom’s chagrin and frustration. “I’m a grown woman, mom. I can make my own decisions.” “Until you make others pick up after you!” You wince, hand tightening on your duvet. You try your best not to cry. She doesn’t need to know that you’re running out of money, that your kitchen is filled with leafy greens you couldn’t sell, that your back aches from working out on the fields. “Don’t come running to me when you finally get bored or you’re halfway to starving to death.” You know they think sooner or later, you’ll show up back home with your packed bag. But you refuse to give in. You’ll prove your friends and family wrong — you’ll follow through with this. If there was one thing you were good at, it was being stupid. Being stupid made you at the bottom of the class, it made you have friends who used you, it made you struggle. And it made you resilient. It made you know what working hard to get to where you want meant. It made you determined. And you’re gonna fucking give it your best! Even if the smarter route would be to give up! So with your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, you brace yourself and enter your kitchen full of kale. If you can’t sell it raw, then there are other things that you can try. // “Get your kale kombucha! Your kale smoothie! Full of vitamins and nutrients!” You’re holding a tray of paper cup samples, voice loud with a wide smile. A woman who’s looking at your stand curiously passes by and you steal the chance, smoothly intercepting her way. “Would you like to try one, ma’am?” “Sure.” She takes a sample and once she sips, her eyes light up and her expression becomes inquisitive. The woman approaches your stand, looking over the products you have. “It’s really delicious. How much is it for a smoothie?” “The three sizes are here.” You gesture to the display and she hums. “Two dollars for a small, two fifty for a medium and three for a large. We also have salted kale chips, kale guacamole and kale pesto.” “Is this all homemade?” “It is!” Your enormous smile is proud. “I grew the kale organically and made these with fresh ingredients.” “I’ll take a large smoothie, this guacamole and a bundle of just regular kale then.” “Coming right up!” You’re no stranger to the art of advertising — it’s one of your strengths with your marketing background. You’re pretty sure the chalkboard signs are doing a good job of directing attention to your stall and the samples are certainly going a long way too. “Can I try one, miss?” A little kid tugs on your green apron and you lower yourself down to their eye-level, happily handing them two. “Of course you can!” Sunday after Sunday, you do better and better. Of course, it’s not without constant trial and error, honing in recipes and packaging, learning how to keep products as fresh as possible. But the improvements make the labour all worth it. You notice how Yoongi watches you across the floor and when you smile, he immediately looks away. But there's little time to pay attention to him when the lineup at your stall gradually becomes longer and longer. Jungkook helps you out when he can, whether that’s manning the register beside you or handing out samples to draw in curious customers. “You’re gonna run me out of business soon, Y/N.” Jungkook says in the midst of a slow down when you’re finally able to catch your breaths. “Please,” you giggle. “I’m sure you’re the one drawing in the business. Weren’t those last two customers trying to get your number for the past ten minutes? Last time they kept on asking me about you too.” The boy laughs shyly and it’s all too endearing. “They’re just bein’ nice. If anything, you’re the one drawing in the customers since you’re so pretty and all.” More giggles bubble out of your throat and you lean closer to him. “So you think I’m pretty?” Jungkook realizes what he said and his face reddens. He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “I mean...isn’t that a fact?” “You’re too sweet, Kook,” you sigh wistfully. “Thank you for helping me.” “Anytime, really.” Jungkook’s smiles softly and his lips part, but before he can say anything, his peripheral vision finally catches the weight of a third party’s stare. His eyes travel across the market floor to the wooden stall of lettuce — right on the man behind it who’s rolling his eyes. You follow his line of sight and a knowing smile appears on your features. “Jungkook, can you hand me the sample tray?” You might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but you’re not that big of an idiot. For the past two weeks, you’ve noticed how Yoongi keeps staring at you. You don’t suspect it to be sudden infatuation either. Most likely, it’s surprise that you’ve proven him wrong or reluctant admission that you’re on your way to success, or perhaps passive aggression too. Whatever the case is, you approach him and witness him visibly stiffen as you come closer. Your smile remains bright when you ask, “Is everything okay, Yoongi?” “I’m fine,” the man deadpans. “You should move. You’re blocking my customers.” “You have no customers.” “I would if you weren’t standing there.” You scoff. “You are not cute.” Yoongi’s brow lifts, amused at your comment. “Excuse me?” “I want to make peace,” you outright declare, having no shame with confronting him. “I’ve had my fair share of drama back home and I’m not looking forward to picking fights here, so I forgive you.” Yoongi snorts as you raise your sample tray as a peace offering. “I know you’re curious, so you try one. My kale kombucha is my most popular item. It’s a fermented tea that has lots of healthy yeast and bacteria.” “No.” The dark-haired man rejects without needing to blink. “Kale is disgusting. There’s a reason no one sells it here.” You’re shocked, not knowing where to start. But there’s no point in arguing with him and spewing nutrition facts. Your pride is much too high to insist too, so you merely lift your chin. “Fine. Suit yourself. But one of these days, you’re going to fall in love with kale, Min Yoongi.” It’s a challenge — but a one-sided one. Yoongi simply sighs as you strut away, feeling more tired than he did before. // The engines of the moving truck rumbles and coughs as it rolls down the dirt road. It’s drawn the attention of several, including his dad and mom. They’re peering out the front window, curtains tugged with their noses pressed to the glass. Usually, Yoongi doesn’t care much for what the neighbours are up to or keeping up with community gossip, but for some reason, his curiosity is piqued enough that he glances out as well. “What’s going on?” “There are trucks coming back and forth from Old Man Seok’s land.” Yoongi wonders if you’ve given up and you’re moving out. He wouldn’t be surprised. But suddenly, before he can walk off and mind his own business, his mother whirls around. “Yoonie, go check up on our new neighbour.” He exhales exhaustingly. “Why?” “Well, you’re friends, aren’t you?” “We’re not.” It’s a firm fact, but his mother doesn’t hear him. She’s already moving into the kitchen and making him follow her. He knows arguing is futile — once she’s set on her mind on something, no one can change it. “Go on and deliver some cheese too.” She hands him a paper bag. “We haven’t welcomed her properly yet and it’s customary to at least give a greeting and gift.” Yoongi begrudgingly obliges and minutes later, he finds himself making the trek across the acres to the cottage that always reminded him of Christmas with its cherry red roof and forest green walls. The polluting trucks drive away in the meanwhile, wheels turning against the gravel fading, and the countryside returns to its quaint atmosphere. As he comes closer, Yoongi notices the wooden spools on your lawn and some barber chairs littered around, akin to a dumpster yard, but he avoids them and walks up the porch, knocking twice on the door. He can imagine thrusting the bag in your hand, muttering a greeting and question or two before getting back to the farm. Yet, what he doesn’t anticipate is silence and then noises farther away. The man sighs and decides to follow the sounds lest he spends the rest of the afternoon waiting at your front door. He rounds the house to the backyard. “What are you doing?” Yoongi discovers mason jars, picnic blankets, wooden crates sprawled all over on the grass — things he guesses the trucks brought over — and he finds you on a ladder with fairy lights tangled around your limbs. You jolt. In horror, Yoongi watches the ladder dangerously wobble back and forth, but luckily, it steadies and you twist yourself around. “Holy shit! You almost scared me half to death!” “What are you doing?” he repeats, more urgently and concerned than before. “I’m setting up fairy lights obviously.” Your smile is big, cheeks swelling with it. “I’m gonna decorate part of the land with hipster furniture and channel the farm aesthetic. It’s going to become an Insta spot. Hashtag kale-in-farm.” Yoongi doesn’t understand half of what you just said and he’s not sure if he should even ask. “What’s a hashtag?” “You don’t know what a hashtag is?” Your eyes are perfectly rounded, looking at him like he’s an alien and he chuckles. The irony isn’t lost on him. He isn’t the weird one — you are. “Should I know what it is?” You don’t answer, merely climbing off the ladder and his breath hitches at how you don’t watch your step. Yoongi doesn’t get stressed easily, but he swears he’s going to get a heart attack looking at you. You pull out your phone suddenly from your back pocket and after some tapping, you thrust the screen in his face. “This is Instagram, see? It’s an app where you can follow people and see the pictures that they post. An Insta spot is a place where you can take good Instagram pictures. Hashtags is a way to label the posts, so others can see and search it up. Or at least that’s what I think it is. It’s kind of hard to explain, it’s one of those things that just catches on and you get after using it. This is my page, see?” You’ve given your phone to him and Yoongi eyes your bikini photos before handing it back. “Uh-huh.” “I can’t believe you don’t have an Instagram. You should make one and add me!” “No thanks.” You huff, pouting at him and Yoongi’s mouth twitches as he resists the small smile. There’s something in the way you react to him being mean to you that makes it all too entertaining. “My mom wanted to give you some cheese.” He hands the paper bag over and you excitedly peer inside. “It’s just goat cheese. Usually she makes a cherry pie as a housewarming gift, but today….was a bit last minute.” Yet in spite of the measly present, Yoongi’s taken aback at how happy you seem. “This is so sweet! Tell your mom I said thank you! I should probably give her some kale—” He lifts his palm, stopping you in the middle of your sentence. “There’s no need.” “Well, tell her I said thank you.” You put it down on the wooden patio steps and move towards the ladder. Then something by his foot catches your eye. “Oh, can you do me a favour and put that typewriter on the wooden crate?” Yoongi doesn’t know why you have a broken typewriter, but he follows your instructions. His eyes travel to several worn bikes you have leaning against the railing. It’s strange considering you don’t seem like the type to bike. As if reading his mind, you laugh. “They don’t work. It’s just for the aesthetics.” “Uh-huh.” He turns back, about to bid goodbye and leave this mess behind him. But as he turns away, he witnesses you step on the highest prong of the ladder. The part you’re not allowed to step on. With the danger warning signs plastered on it that says ‘STOP’ in big, red letters. Yoongi’s breath hitches and he lurches over, grabbing the ladder to steady it as it wobbles. “Woah!” You regain your balance and turn to grin at him. “Thanks for that. You saved my life!” “Get off.” “What?” “Get off the ladder before you die.” His stern command has you obeying and you come down to the ground again. Yoongi sighs and takes the lights from you. “I’ll do it. Tell me where you want them and hold the bottom rung for me.” You’re bewildered, but you don’t reject his offer of help. Yoongi follows your instructions too, working quickly and more efficiently than when you were, and you can’t help but giggle as you watch him string the fairy lights. He glares at you. “What?” You look up at him, beaming a grin. “For being such a mean, old grump, you’re actually pretty reliable and considerate, Yoongi.” He diverts his vision elsewhere. “Whatever.” But it’s all too true. In many ways, Yoongi reminds you of peppermint candy. Hard on the outside but with just a bit of melting, all too sweet and sugary on the inside. // It starts off with you. A post, a cute caption, the hashtag. You manage to get Jungkook to follow suit and then it’s a group. A person who shows up with their friends, stopping by to enjoy your kale farm and haphazardly filming their adventure to put onto their social media. Then it’s three or four, more and more of the hashtag being used, of pictures being taken, of others catching wind of the trendy new place to take photos, of fresh kale being harvested and kale kombucha being sold. It’s an exponential growth and before you know it, there’s a bustle at your farm. Strangers that park in the designated area, families enjoying the picnic spots, young adults posing for photographs underneath the strung fairy lights after dark. Your kale chips and smoothie sales skyrocket and after constructing a website, you know you’ve made a name for yourself. You hire Jimin, Jungkook’s cousin, to help you out. Recently turned eighteen, he’s gentle and luckily attentive. He excels in customer service and in between selling your products and doing measly tasks to upkeep the farm, you know you’ve finally found a sustainable income aside from the farmers’ market alone. “This ‘s what I call innovation,” Yoongi’s dad muses as the two of them stand near the tractor, looking over the field to the figures prancing on your land and listening to the laughter that leaks over. “It ain’t often a smart woman suddenly shows,” he says, glancing at him. “You should take advantage of it.” “It’s not smart.” Yoongi turns away. “It’s dumb luck. There’s nothing impressive about it.” His dad sighs at him, but as they retreat home, Yoongi can’t help glancing over his shoulder. // Yoongi has accepted that you’re a complete wild card — when he thought you were making a spectacle of this rural life for your own amusement, you make a whole declaration about how serious you are. When he expects you to move out, you instead bring bits and bobs to your farm. When he expects you to completely and utterly fail, you thrive. Yoongi always thought that he was the enigma — hard to understand, hard to get to know, one of the many reasons he isn’t particularly close to anyone. But in reality, you are. At surface level, it looks like you’re simple-minded, overly enthused, optimistic. Yet you continuously defy his expectations. And he has to applaud you for it. But of all things, Yoongi most certainly did not expect to see you on his porch one afternoon. “I got invited by your mom for dinner,” you explain with another infamously bright smile and your arm lifts with a bag. “I brought kale!” “You did.” He holds in his sigh. “I don’t know how you want to eat it, so it’s raw….unless…..do you not have electricity? I can go back to prepare it.” “What?” “You know, electricity.” When he stares at you, you begin explaining to be helpful. “The stuff that gives you light and power and you can turn on the stove—” “I know what electricity is!” Yoongi shouts. He’s almost always calm, but you have a talent for being condescending without even realizing. “What’s with all the noise?” His mom emerges and her face immediately lights up, lips forming into a warm smile. She wipes her hands on her apron and comes to embrace you. “Y/N! I thought I heard your voice! Come in, come in! Oh my word, what’s this? Kale? Thank you! Was the walk here long?” “Not at all.” You smile, being ushered in the kitchen. It still amazes you how much Yoongi looks like his mom. They both have tender, soft features. Albeit, the male took on his father’s personality and characteristics, his physical appearance compared to his mom is nearly a carbon copy. “It’s only a few acres away. I love your home, by the way. It has a good energy to it.” Yoongi wonders when you got so comfortable with his parents. “I’m preparing dinner right now. Should be done fairly soon, but Yoonie! Why don’t you show dear Y/N around the farm?” Yoongi knows he doesn’t have a choice and you hold in your giggle at his dejected expression. It’s not often you can witness him being obedient and when he takes you through his backyard, you can’t help poking fun at him. “Yoonie?” “It’s a childhood nickname,” he grumbles. There’s an urge to squish his cheeks together. They’ve always reminded you of jello or bread loafs, but for the sake of not being slapped, you control the desire. The Min property is vast. Chicken coops and several sheds are close to the house, but in the distance, cows and goats graze in the open pastures. The lush fields seem to stretch to the horizon, only broken up by the occasional tree left to grow in peace. It’s a tranquil landscape and there’s an urge to sit back in a rocking chair and knit. Even though you don’t know how to knit. “How big is the farm?” “It’s a hundred acres.” Yoongi says it like it’s nothing impressive, but it’s still fifty times the size of your own farm. “Is that all lettuce?” You look over the plowed fields filled with green. “Some of it is asparagus and carrots, but it’s mostly different kinds of lettuce,” he explains, “We don’t sell all of it at the market. We got a few contracts from grocery stores and those get shipped out, so we’re always busy year round.” You’re amazed. His family manages to do a lot more than you and you already feel swamped half the time. But you suppose you still have a long way to go before you can call yourself a real farmer. The pair of you approach the fence and you watch the goats chewing on their grass, bleating at you. You grin and mimic their noises, oblivious to the way Yoongi steals a glance at you. “What do you do with all the animals?” you ask. “They’re for personal usage. We eat chicken eggs and my mom makes cheese a lot.” Yoongi diverts his vision at your intense stare and clears his throat. He didn’t know all of this was so interesting to you. “Have you ever milked a cow before?” “No!” “Do you want to learn how?” “Yes!” This time, Yoongi can’t hold back his chuckle at your childlike enthusiasm. He leads a smaller cow into the stall, introducing her as August, and you help him brush her down. Yoongi shows you how to wash August with warm, soapy water, how to clean her utters and let the milk down by relaxing her. He demonstrates as well, clamping the top of the utter between his thumb and first finger before squeezing. You follow his instructions, mimic his movements and milk squirts into the silver pale successfully. “It feels kind of weird.” The corner of his thin lips pull. “Is it supposed to feel nice?” When your hands get tired, Yoongi leans over to help you out, explaining how often someone can milk cows for, where August came from and how long she’s been around. You never expected how awfully endearing it would be to listen to a farm boy talk about his precious cow, but it is. Or maybe that’s just Yoongi being Yoongi. Everything that comes out of his mouth is interesting to you. “—months ago and…..are you even listening?” “Of course I am!” You totally weren’t and he doesn’t seem to believe your assertion either, so to divert his attention, you turn the direction of the utter and squeeze. The line of milk squirts directly at Yoongi’s kneecap, dampening his jeans and you laugh at his scandalized expression. “What the fuc—!” “Stop! Stop!” You stand, giggling incessantly while blocking your arms up when Yoongi lunges down and squeezes two utters at you. The milk is warm and sticky against your skin. “I’m sorry!” “Too late!” His cheeks are swollen with a gummy smile, happily taking his revenge. Before any of you have realized, the sun has gone down and there’s a lingering scent of milk on your clothes. But no one other than you and Yoongi notices or at least his parents don’t say anything. “How are things going, dear?” his mom asks you with a satisfied smile as she watches you devour her dessert apple pie. Dinner at the Min’s was all too cozy and welcoming. Food had filled the rounded table and the family, albeit only three members in total, had gathered together. For the past few months, you’ve been eating by yourself with a magazine by your side or in front of the old television with some obscure show on. You missed having conversations over delicious meals and part of you wonders how you’ll return to your regular routine after tonight. After a taste of the forbidden fruit, you’ll wish every night was like this. “Better than expected actually. It’s a learning process, so it goes up and down, but everyone’s been so helpful to me that it hasn’t been bad.” Yoongi’s father nods solemnly. “All on your own too.” You become shy under their praise. “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to preserve the memory of my grandfather and all I have is his land, so....” Sometimes you lay awake thinking about how much your life has changed. A year ago, you were still in LA in a high rise apartment working, and in an effort to connect with your family roots again, you left it all behind. But you don’t regret your decision whatsoever. From the moment you came here, no matter what challenges you faced, it all became worth it in the end. It’s a hard life, but a peaceful one. A simple and serene way of living that you always needed. “Bless your heart,” his mother swoons and you realize Yoongi’s gazing at you too — with an odd sense of gentleness that you aren’t used to. Or maybe that’s merely the dim lighting of the small dining room. “You are the hardest working, gosh darn smartest young lady I have ever met.” You look away from Yoongi, face warming at the compliments. “No, I just try my hardest.” “And try hard you do!” His mom leans across the table, eyes bright. “Don’t you think so, Yoonie? Isn’t Y/N marvelous?” You turn to him expectedly, but Yoongi’s eyes are suddenly down at his empty plate. “Well, there’s nothing else to do out here but work, so isn’t that the default?” You scoff and it takes his attention. “You aren’t cute at all.” The corner of his mouth tugs. “Excuse me?” “Don’t pay any attention to him, Y/N.” His mom bats at your arm. “He’s too much like his dad.” “You mean, he took after my best traits?” The older man at the table has his brow cocked and you smile at the banter, but the woman beside you doesn’t entertain it. “He took after your temper and grumbling.” “Which is why no one ever bullied him.” Yoongi’s father slaps him on his back and he sighs. His mom turns her head to continue, “Never mind them. I swear, Yoonie used to be the cutest kid in the whole country. I don’t know when he changed. Do you want to see his baby pictures?” Your spine straightens and your eyes widen. “I would love to—” Suddenly, there’s the ear-piercing noise of the chair leg scraping against the wooden floorboards. Yoongi has stood up and tosses his napkin down. “It’s getting pretty late. Probably time to go home, right?” You laugh, but oblige only because it gives you reason to come over again. Yoongi’s mother at least assures as much, promising that next time you’ll be able to see all the albums and photographs of that time he cried while being chased by a goose — something you’re looking forward to, much to Yoongi’s dismay. He’s just too much fun to tease. The more and more you get to know Yoongi and the people in his life, the better you’re coming to realize that he’s not that much of a grump at all. It’s a facade, really. A thin curtain that hides how soft and pouty he actually is. Less like the bad boy you initially thought. More like a farm sheep. “You didn’t need to walk me home, you know.” You turn to him, glancing at his profile. “It’s only a few acres away.” “Yeah, but then I would never hear the end of it from my mom. It’s dark out anyway and it’s not like I mind.” You nod and the pair of you fall into a comfortable lull. There’s a lot from tonight that you have to think about and it’s not just about Yoongi and his family. After seeing how they run their farm and how much they’ve expanded, you wonder if you’ll ever get to that size too. “What do you think if I started growing quinoa and soy?” He gives you an incredulous look, still visible in spite of the darkness, and it makes you laugh. “What would you do with quinoa and soy?” “I don’t know. Make different smoothies or flavours of kombucha? I would have to look into it. But it’s just a thought for no—” The pitch of your voice raises as you lose your footing, about to plunge. But then Yoongi yanks your arm back, steadying you before you trip in the ditch. “Oh my god! I almost died!” “Watch where you’re going, woman,” he scolds and his hand boldly wraps around yours, palms clasping together firmly. You glance down, foreign to the feeling of his affection and Yoongi notices. He looks straight ahead, but quickly explains, “If you die and haunt the farm, that’ll bring down the value of the land nearby.” You scoff. “You’re lucky you have a cute face, Min Yoongi.” His lips curl. “I thought you said I wasn’t cute.” “Your personality isn’t, but your face is alright.” If anything, you’re downplaying it, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Out here, you’re a good eight, but where I’m from, maybe you’re a six and a half.” His laugh is mellifluous, and it infects a smile on your own features. “What about you?” You look down to where you’re joined at the hands and muse how much larger his palm and fingers are to you, how his skin is calloused from working the fields, how warm and secure it feels. “Clearly, I’m a ten wherever I go,” you quip. “Can’t you see?” Yoongi apologizes, “I’m sorry, I might be blind then ‘cause I can’t see you as attractive at all.” Another scoff tears from you, a lighthearted one that makes his grin widen. “You know what? I take it back. You aren’t cute at all. Not even your face can make up for your sour personality.” Yoongi chuckles, squeezing your hand, and it’s awfully unfair how your face heats more. // Despite how busy you get managing the Insta spot, planting and harvesting kale, and cooking and packaging products, you never fail to find time to be at the market every Sunday. While your other sources of income are slowly increasing more than what you get from the farmers’ market, the atmosphere and sense of community is enough for you to scrape up time out of your week to set up your stall. And it’s often the time that you get to have your conversations with Jungkook too. “So….did you try it out?” Your eyes glisten, locked into his. “What did you think? Did it work?” The boy scratches the back of his neck. “I...don’t think kale shampoo is it, Y/N.” You deflate, keeping your sulking to a minimum. It didn’t work for you either, but you were trying to see if it was just your hair that was the strange one. “Really? But it looks soft.” You reach over and plant your hand in his black bed of hair. To your surprise, it’s even silkier than it appears. “Woah! It’s soft!” Jungkook ducks his head, colour blooming on his cheeks. He doesn’t bat your hand away nor does he lean into your touch when you pet him incessantly. “It isn’t that soft…” “What shampoo and conditioner do you usually use? It feels so nice, Kook.” The both of you are oblivious to the flannel-wearing man from across the market who’s glaring above the heads of lettuce. He bores his gaze into you, wondering what the hell you’re doing in the middle of the farmers’ market and putting on a show for all the older ladies to watch. Don’t you know how gossip and rumours start at this place? Merely chatting is enough to grab attention, but to be outright flirting like this was downright reckless. His jaw ticks, nostrils flaring. He’s uncomfortable. It isn’t any of his business, but Yoongi feels an urge to do something. It’s utterly irrational. Completely out of the norm of his usual behaviour. But somehow, he finds himself abandoning his stall and crossing the floor. “What the hell are you two doing?” “Yoongi!” You turn, greeting him with a big smile and suddenly that irrational emotion is replaced with something else that sits at his chest. To have your attention, he feels…..satisfied. Even if it’s childish. “I was just talking about the kale shampoo I made, but I think it’s an idea I’m going to have to scrap.” “Shampoo?” “It left a sticky mess on my head and took me ten minutes to wash it off,” Jungkook tells and his smile softens at your sigh. “Sorry, Y/N.” “Maybe kale conditioner would work better....” At the same time, Jungkook’s name is called by his grandma nearby, so he bids goodbye and a see you later to the both of you. It’s a slow down period right after lunch, so there’s fewer people around and with Yoongi here, you take the opportunity. “Can you watch my stall for me?” “What?” “I need to go to the bathroom.” You clasp your hands together and bat your lashes, trying to appeal to him. “Pretty please, Yoongi? I would really, really appreciate it.” He exhales and waves his hand boredly, not sparing you a glance. But you already know he’s relinquished before he says it. “Fine.” You jump up with a smile. “Thanks! You’re the best!” In the next three seconds, you’ve jogged away and Yoongi’s left standing at the market, watching your stall and his stall from across the floor that he abandoned. He wonders how he got into this predicament, but doesn’t dwell when his eyes stray to your bottles of fancy kombucha on display. He picks up a bottle, curious as to how you made these fancy labels, and he snorts when he notices in tiny text it says, ‘don’t kale me’. You’re such a dork, it’s impossible to believe. Then again, his mom decided to make a pun for the lettuce stall too, so he’s not one to talk. For a moment, Yoongi ponders what the hell this kale kombucha tastes like. He got a chance to try it before when you waltz up to him all those weeks ago with a tray of samples, but he denied you out of pride and stubbornness. He knows it must taste somewhat decent if you’re making all those sales. He’s seen people drinking it as they walk around too, but he’ll be damned if he actually went up to you and bought one. He’s sure you’d throw a celebration and do the whole ‘I told you so’ dance if it was actually delicious. Relinquishing, he places the bottle back on the display. But then the awful happens. Time slows — there’s a noise and the entire dainty shelf is collapsing. Yoongi is helpless to the way the bottles collide against the ground deafeningly, how the dark green liquid splatters on the concrete, to the way the glass shards spray. He cusses and manages to catch one bottle before turning around. There are people staring at him — customers alarmed and vendors sympathizing. But more importantly, you’re standing meters away, returned from the bathroom. He catches your shock, your confusion, and then the heartbreak — even if it only lasts for a blink before you’re smiling again. You come over, looking down at the mess. “I didn’t know you hated me this much to sabotage my stuff like this,” you quip jokingly. But there’s no banter or excuses being made. There’s silence. And you lift your eyes to meet Yoongi’s, realizing how mortified he is. “Hey, it’s alright. I knew the shelf had a few loose screws, but I didn’t know it would fall like that. I should’ve fixed it sooner.” “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” “You don’t really need to do th……” “I’ll make it up to you,” Yoongi states more firmly than before, eyes darkened and you swallow hard. He knows you’re trying to cover up how hurt you are, how you’re trying to save face and not only is he embarrassed, he’s guilty. “You were supposed to sell all this, weren’t you?” You give in and Yoongi grabs a broom, aiding you in cleaning up the mess. You’ve never seen him so serious and solemn before, but it makes you glad that he’s the one here to help. // At six in the morning, you wake up and less than ten minutes later, you hear the wheezing engine of a truck out front. The sun was barely on the horizon, but when you walk out to the porch, you discover Yoongi shutting the door of his vehicle and coming up to you. He’s dressed in an oversized purple and black plaid flannel and gray shirt underneath, black hair flopping to the side, features softer than usual. He’s yawning and rubbing his eyes, all too endearing that you have to admit it. “Mornin’,” you greet with a grin and he merely grunts, gesturing inside your house. A laugh draws out of you and you open the door for him. “You didn’t need to do this, you know. I told you I was totally fine.” “Just accept my help, lady,” he sighs and looks around your living space, glancing at the polaroids strung above the brick mantle, the recycled jar of flowers on the kitchen counter, and the couch cushions made from flour sacks you reused. You grow warm under his scrutiny, realizing that no one has ever entered your home before. But while you expect to get criticism, Yoongi instead says, “I like what you did with the place. It’s cozy.” You smile, still a bit self-conscious. “Thanks. Do you want tea? Coffee? Kale juice?” “I’m fine.” He follows after you, stepping into the kitchen. The space is crowded or maybe it’s just you feeling small with him so close. “I’m here to help. What do you usually do at this time?” “Well, I usually start by harvesting whatever kale I can. The weather seems good today too and there are some fields that need to be plowed, so I should do that and then plant some seeds…” “Okay.” He’s already tugging his sleeves up. “Let’s get to it.” It’s unusual to have someone join you during your morning chores, but it isn’t unwarranted. Granted, you have to teach him a little on the way you do things, but he already knows a lot from working on his own farm and you find Yoongi is a great listener. He might have a blank expression and be exceptionally quiet, but his occasional questions are insightful and he’s attentive when he mimics you. It’s peaceful — the sun not yet sweltering in the sky or giving an unbearable heat that makes it hard to work, the animals in the far distance not awoken, the breeze curling through your hair. When you look up from your spot, you see Yoongi working as hard as you are and it tickles the corners of your lips into a subtle smile. Things finish twice as fast and then you’re taking a break, making breakfast for Yoongi. His company is nice at the table, even when he complains that your sunny side up eggs are too overcooked and you threaten to throw him out. It’s a kind of banter that doesn’t so much irritate you — rather, it keeps you on your toes, making you giggle at witty remarks while he rolls his eyes. After breakfast, Yoongi insists on washing the dishes and succeeds when he whines and feigns annoyance on how you don’t trust him to clean your plates. He ends up fixing a light fixture in your kitchen too after you mention that it sometimes flickers off and startles you. He’s helpful and handy, more than you thought he would be, but you try not to get used to it. “This is where you keep your kombucha?” he asks as you show off the pantry that you’ve practically changed into a cellar. “Yep.” You tap one of the large jars on the shelf. “It takes five to seven days for it to ferment after I make it. Then, I have to add in the kale and let it ferment for another three days. These babies will be ready for tomorrow. But I have to make a new batch today.” “That’s a lot of work,” he comments. “Oh. You haven’t seen it yet.” You brush past him, smirking. Yoongi looks all too cute in the pink apron. It’s a comical sight and albeit, isn’t actually a part of your usual routine to wear one, you made it up on the fly just to see him wear it and he’s too cute. “What?” His head whips up, brow cocked at the way you’re grinning. “Nothing. Hand me that bowl.” It’s a bit of an irony that Yoongi hasn’t tried any of your kombucha, but is first to learn the recipe from you. You show him how to brew the gallon of black tea, how to add the cup of sugar in and allow it to cool before pouring it into the jar. “What’s that?” he asks when you’re sticking a rubbery flab into the jar. “It’s a scoby. It has a bunch of yeast and bacteria that helps with fermentation. It’s made from kombucha, sugar, black tea.” You seal off the jar and Yoongi goes quiet. You look up at him, discovering a thoughtful expression on his face as if he’s impressed you know what you’re doing. “I’m not completely stupid, you know. I know I come across as—” “I never thought you were dumb,” Yoongi suddenly states without missing a single beat. Your eyes become rounded and the corner of his mouth pulls. “Maybe insensitive and ignorant, but not stupid per se.” “Hey!” “There’s a difference,” Yoongi laughs and insists, “Being ignorant means you just haven’t learnt yet, but being stupid means you can’t learn at all.” He ducks when you half-heartedly swing and more chuckles fill the home, including your own. But Yoongi’s right. You had no clue what you were getting yourself into when you first arrived. Everything’s been a learning process, but it finally feels like things are falling into place. Yoongi helps you wash the kale out back and stays by your side, peering over your shoulder, as you make the kale chips, guacamole and pesto. He stirs and gets ingredients when he can, and you find he has quite a knack for packaging things neatly. He’s somehow careful yet efficient. “I didn’t know you did so much.” “Yeah.” You wipe your sweat with the back of your hand. “I try to space everything out, but sometimes everything falls on the same day and I’ve been running low on products, so I can’t put it off.” He hums, sealing the jar of pesto shut and then working on smoothing the label on the surface. It’s mid-afternoon already. You didn’t realize how quickly time was going. The golden sun is already coming through the windows of the kitchen as you and Yoongi work across from one another, falling into a lull. You turned the staticky radio on, but it often acts as background noise when either of you start another conversation. You giggle and he tilts his head up at the noise. “What? Did I put the label on upside down again?” “No.” You shake your head, smiling to yourself. “It just kind of feels like we’re a married couple, that’s all.” Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi freezes. But then he eases, the corner of his own mouth tugging. “You’re not trying to seduce me, are you?” “Seduce you?!” You scoff, looking up to see him focused on tying the ribbon around the jar. “I have higher standards than that, Min Yoongi.” “Says the one who’s been flirting with me all morning.” “I’m not flirting with you.” “Uh-huh. Don’t tempt me with the suggestion of marriage then. I might actually do it.” You’re baffled, made speechless with how he twists his words and how sweet he can talk. Your face heats and you know that if you open your mouth, you’ll blubber and make a fool out of yourself. So you opt for a huff and silence which only spurs on his chuckles and inadvertently makes you sulk harder. If anything Yoongi was the flirt. But you’re not about to declare it in case he asks if that means you’re affected by it. Because you are. The rest of the afternoon is spent finishing on packaging and storing away the products to sell tomorrow when the Insta spot opens and the following day at the farmers’ market. But as you dust off your hands, you feel the gurgle of your empty stomach and you offer to make him an early dinner. “Is there anything you want to eat? My cooking skills aren’t that great—” “Clearly.” You glare at him. “—but I can look up any recipe you want.” Yoongi makes a disgruntled noise and he leans over to open your fridge. You peep over his shoulder and at once, blood drains from your face. “There’s nothing in your fridge, Y/N.” He turns around with puzzlement on his visage. “How did you make breakfast this morning?” “I….used the last of my eggs to make breakfast. I didn’t think you would actually stick around long enough for dinner.” “And what would you have eaten tonight if I did leave?” With one foot keeping the fridge open, he starts taking out several things like a maid cleaning out your kitchen. “The strawberries have gone bad...and there’s….mold on the bread. How do you live?” “My budget was a bit low for this week and I underestimated how much groceries I would need.” When he pulls out the drawer with bundled kale, you stop him. “That’s for me to sell.” “You don’t eat what you grow?” “Not really,” you admit. “I don’t actually eat much kale….I brought lots of instant noodles from the city, but I ran out two weeks ago….” He shuts the fridge. “I’ll talk to my mom and bring more eggs and milk to you more often.” “You don’t need to do that.” “No, but I want to.” Looking at you, Yoongi realizes that you’re really just a girl who came from nowhere to start a whole farm. Partly hopeless and causing an urge in him to take care of you, but for some reason, he doesn’t seem to mind as much as he thought he would. “Move. I’ll make dinner. You have some iceberg lettuce and kale that I can work with.” He starts rolling up his sleeves again and you don’t let your eyes linger on his exposed veiny forearms for long. You feel a bit embarrassed that you didn’t prepare more and that he caught you at a struggling week. But more than that, guests are supposed to be treated better. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.” “Don’t be.” As he passes, he plops a hand on your head and you look up at him, surprised at the unusually affectionate gesture. “I’m quite the chef, you know. I make better breakfast than you do.” Yoongi probably does, but your pride won’t let you admit it. “Psh. You haven’t started yet. Don’t get so cocky.” You help by setting the table and then pulling a stool to watch him cook. Maybe it’s a bit lame, but you’re impressed at his knife skills and how fast he chops the lettuce and kale into thin strips, keeping a constant rhythm and never once stopping. You scoff when he glances at you with a smirk, but there’s little you can say, especially when he sautes it in a pan with oil and half an onion you have left. The house is filled with a mouthwatering scent and it’s even more delicious than expected once the plate is plopped down in front of you and you get a taste. “Oh my god….how did you make this?” Yoongi smugly shrugs. “I made it up on the fly. Can’t help that my talent is inborn.” You’re too busy eating to retort with a snarky comment. “Maybe I should marry you.” He laughs and quickly eats before you steal his own portion. The sun eventually goes down and it’s hard to say goodbye after one of the best days you’ve had since coming here, but you know you’ll see Yoongi tomorrow and the next day — whether that’s across the acres and through a giant wave or arguing as you do at the market. He’s always been around, an addition to the farm life itself, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

When Yoongi returns home, he announces that he’s back. There are storming steps, his mom enthusiastic and racing down the stairs to ask him how it went. His dad looks around the living room corner as well, and he sighs at their intrusiveness. “It was fine.” Yoongi tosses the keys aside, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s actually a lot more hard-working than I expected.” He walks off before they can bombard him with any more inquiries, but they understand their son well enough and they exchange knowing smiles.

You never expect to see Yoongi awkwardly lingering on your porch like a car salesman, especially considering you were once doing the same thing at his house not long ago. But while he’s here just to deliver some apple pie his mom made, you eagerly pull him inside. “Why? Why?” he whines childishly, but stumbles after you anyway. “I need you to try something for me.” It was an Insta spot day, cars filled in the lot you designated, people from the city out in the back and the chatter loud enough to leak inside the kitchen. Families were strolling about, children picking kale, young adults posing for countless pictures by the picnic blankets and decorations. Yoongi can’t quite understand what their fixation and fascination is to drive all the way out here for such frivolous things, but if it works then it works, he supposes. You set the apple pie on the table and notice Yoongi peering out of the window, primarily watching the brunette boy fussing about and working the register behind the cute stall you made. “Oh, that’s Jungkook’s cousin, Jimin,” you tell him, even though he probably already knows. Everyone knew everyone around here. “I hired him to help out.” “Doing well enough to hire people?” he asks, brow lifted and a smile raising on his cheeks. “I guess you could say so.” Your pride is supported by the bustle outside the window. “I need all the help I can get.” “Are you trying to get me to help out too? Because I don’t work for free, lady.” “Pft. No. I thought you might want to try out the kale kombucha you made with me last week. You came right in time actually. I just got it packaged and everything. Wait here. I’ll go grab a bottle.” Without another word, you pull the door open and Yoongi sighs with a softened smile, watching you march across the land to chat with Jimin. But within seconds, his attention is taken away by the squeak of the door and a middle aged woman sticking her head through. “Excuse me,” her voice is shrill, “is there a bathroom in here?” “Uh…” He’s fairly certain you don’t let anyone inside your house and that he caught sight of fancy porta potties you set up on the side. “No. If you turn the corner, there’re some bathrooms you can use.” Yet, she blinks blankly at him and Yoongi holds his long exhale in his nose. Whatever your intentions are, it seems like he’s working for you anyhow. “I can show you.” Yoongi hopes he’s not wrong or it’ll be terribly awkward, but luckily for him, there’s indeed bright blue stalls and the woman thanks him as she waddles off. But he can’t take refuge inside your home when he’s interrupted by someone again. “Excuse me!” This time it’s a group of girls around his age giggling with caked makeup and dressed in short rompers. They thrust their phones forward before he can utter a word. “Can you please take some pictures for us?” “Uh, sure.” Yoongi feels out of his depth. Embarrassed. While you knew nothing about farm life, he knows nothing about city life. You might’ve disproved a lot of prejudices and stereotypes he held, but he still feels awkward and out of place in their scrutiny. Like he’s part of a completely different world, and he’s not sure what to say or how to act. But he still tries and crouches down, trying to frame the photo and catch the trees in the back with the stringed fairy lights above. “One. Two. Three. Smile.” “Thanks!” The girl comes forward to look, but before he can ask if it’s good enough, her friend comes up to him with another phone. “Can you take another one?” “Alright.” He gets back into place and times it. “One. Two. Three.” Yoongi hands back the device and is about to duck his head and seek refuge no matter who calls out to him, but the girl stops in front of him with a brightened smile. “Is it alright if you take a photo with me? I’ve never had a picture with a farmer before!” Yoongi sputters, speechless. For one, he hasn’t taken a photo in years, much less for a stranger’s personal collection. And secondly, he’s not some spectacle to be gawked at. He’s not some dancing monkey or clown. Not a poster boy or a cardboard cutout. This is his life— “I’m sorry.” A voice calmly cuts through his annoyance and Yoongi feels a hand against his shoulder. You’re beside him with a polite smile. “Staff aren’t allowed to be photographed.” “Oh. Okay.” They walk off and resume their activities. You take Yoongi’s hand and tilt your head towards the door. “C’mon. Let’s go back inside.” He feels safe inside your house again when he can remain an observer and not a participant. “Sorry about that. Some people can be a bit insensitive, but most of them have good intentions.” “It’s fine.” You pour out the bottle of amber liquid into a tall glass. “They probably just wanted a photo since you’re good-looking.” “What?” Yoongi snorts and turns around with a grin. “So you think I’m good-looking?” “Isn’t that a fact? That’s why people were staring at you. The whole rugged look works well for you.” You plop down the glass in front of him before you can think twice about the honesty that just unabashedly spilled from your mouth. “Try it. You had a part in making it, so it’s only right, right? And if you like it, I’ll even let you bring some home.” He rolls his eyes at your mischievous smile and lifts the glass to his lips. It’s fizzy, and the taste is both tart and slightly sweet. It reminds Yoongi of sparkling cider, but with a herbal hint that he assumes is the kale. He doesn’t utter a word, even when you’re watching him intently. But after Yoongi smacks his lips together, he goes for a second sip. And you take that as a positive sign. “You like it?!” He’s startled at your overly excited voice. “It’s not bad.” “See?! I knew it! All you needed to do was to try my amazing kombucha recipe and your mind would be changed. Didn’t I say that? I totally told you I would get you to like kale!” “Hold on, hold on.” Yoongi stops you in your ramble. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I only said it was decent.” You laugh. “Sure. Whatever you say.” He sighs, but ruffles your hair as he walks past, already bidding goodbye. “Get back to work.” “Yes, sir.” You dramatically salute him and he leaves through the front door. But then it hits you a moment later. “Wait a minute….” This is your farm. Not his. // You’re thriving in more ways than one. Aside from your personal projects on the farm, you’ve gotten yourself established at the market, like one of the decade long vendors who’ve spent their whole lives here. After a few months of setting up your stall, now everyone knows you by first name basis. A few older ladies even gave you the nickname of Sunshine and it only makes you love them more. “You’re staring at her a lot, Yoonie.” His mother nudges him and he tears his eyes away from you across the market floor. “No, I’m not.” He’s not sure why he bothers. Yoongi feels like a child trying to deny the obvious. “Go talk to her. Lookin’ is not gonna do you any favours, young man. You have to talk.” Yoongi already knows — he doesn’t need his mother to tell him. “She’s busy,” he grumbles, “I’ll talk to her later.” Fortunately, a customer comes up and Yoongi takes the opportunity to escape the conversation, immediately moving to ring them up and leaving his mom with a hopeless sigh. At the same time, someone approaches you. After taking a sample from the tray, she decides to purchase a whole case of pesto much to your delight. “I actually bought smoothie and kombucha from you last week,” the lady mentions as you’re packing it up for her and you nod. “I know. You bought two large smoothies and half a case of kombucha, right?” Pleasant surprise takes hold of her expression. “How do you remember? Don’t you get a lot of customers?” “I remember most of them, but I especially remember your Chanel classic handbag,” you point out with a smile. “The medium pink is a rarer one, plus it’s not the kind of thing lots of people wear in this sort of place.” “You have a good eye,” the lady notes and you take the compliment. “It’s the only flashy thing I own and I have no other place to wear it aside from running errands.” “Oh trust me, I’m like that too.” You grin, finishing up and passing the machine card for her to tap and pay. “I find that as long as you have confidence, you can pull anything off and it makes running errands a lot more fun.” The lady laughs and easily agrees. She takes the box you offer her, but lingers. “Your kombucha and your smoothies are delicious by the way, and the pesto seems pretty good too.” “Thank you. It took me a while to narrow down the recipe, but I think I nailed it.” “You did.” She affirms and then out of the blue, asks, “Would you be willing to sell your products at the supermart? It’s a local grocery store I run with my husband, five miles from here, just down Imlings road.” You’re speechless, blinking twice at her as your mouth opens and closes. The older woman waits patiently with a smile and you muster a half-coherent answer. “I-I would definitely consider it!” “Great.” She smiles and then reaches over to her pocket. The woman hands you a business card. “Some folks around here have contracts with me too, and I’d love to add your products on the shelf. Give me a call some time tomorrow and we can chat about the details.” You’re stunned and only broken out of your trance when a customer comes up and clears their throat. It’s a triumphant day. You feel like you’re floating, walking on clouds — and Jungkook notices how you’re humming to yourself too and boyishly grins. “Something good happen, Y/N?” The pair of you are walking out, Jungkook carrying your boxes as you lug your totes with you while waving goodbye to the other vendors that were leaving for the evening. “Just everything. I feel like things are going right for me, you know? And that’s kind of rare for me.” “No, I get you. Pop always says there are rainbows after the storm. Then again, he always says how the Kim’s are running around like chickens with their heads cut off.” That makes you laugh, but then the two of you interrupted by a sharp cry of your name. “Y/N!” You witness Yoongi running up to you, completely out of breath. “Hey. Are you okay? Where did you even come from?” “Never mind that.” He straightens out. “Let me drive you back.” “Oh, Jungkook was just going to….” “Nah.” He insists and takes the boxes from the younger boy. “Our houses are closer together anyway. I don’t mind.” “What about your mom?” “She’s already left since she’s having dinner with a friend.” You look at Jungkook who’s wholly confused, a deer in headlights and you decide to spare him from the trouble. “Well, alright. Thanks then.” It feels a bit odd, but you take him on the offer and bid Jungkook a goodbye. The rest of your kale and belongings are packed into the back of Yoongi’s truck before you’re getting in. It’s old and worn, but the vehicle feels like it’s full of memories. You buckle yourself in and then he’s driving off with the fuzzy radio playing in the background as the golden sun sets over the horizon. “Jungkook ain’t shit,” Yoongi suddenly pipes up after a moment. You glance over to discover him looking straight out the windshield, hands gripped on the steering wheel. And you burst out laughing. “What?” “He was seeing Aria for a while and then left her for the hills, so he’s got a reputation around here. I thought I should let you know.” You see him peek at you in the corner of your eye, but you can’t repress your grin. “You sound like a boyfriend.” “Yeah, well, I’m actually a good one.” “Oh yeah?” Yoongi’s knuckles are white and with the way his tongue peeks out to lick the seam of his lips, you wonder if he’s nervous. “I could show you.” A giddy giggle that belongs to the sixteen-year-old you bubbles out. “And what would dating Min Yoongi look like?” Yoongi plays off of your playful tone. “For one, I haven’t gotten to show you around properly yet and you still haven’t gone to one of Taehyung’s bonfire parties. He’s the guy with the strawberry farm. And I have access to his exclusive parties cause we went to school together, so you could use me to get in.” “Hmmm….you drive a hard bargain, Min Yoongi.” “I know how to cook a mean dinner if you give me real ingredients too.” You laugh again, leaning your head back against the seat. “You’re too good at sweet-talking. Does your mother know you chat up girls like this?” “Maybe. But I only really sweet talk you.” He’s bold tonight and it’s not doing good things to you. Your face is heating and you’re incessantly tapping your fingers against your leg. Beneath the lighthearted flirtation was a sort of simmering nervousness that’s filled with questions of if the line is going to be crossed and when that would be, and who would be the first to make the move. Yoongi parks the car in front of your house and pulls the keys out of the ignition. The pair of you naturally shift and look at one another. Your gazes lock together and there are three seconds of tense silence — neither wanting to get out, to break the rather intimate moment. Where you muse how brown his eyes are and Yoongi, himself, hitches his breath. And then you’re lurching over for a kiss. It’s all mouths and noses bumping together, obscene and sloppy, but a long time coming. His lips are softer than expected, only chapped at the corners, but you don’t get to think about it for too long or deepen the kiss. Not when you’re too busy giggling and laughing against him. You pull apart, hands grasping onto the collar of his loose flannel. “You’re so eager.” It’s a bit unusual to see Yoongi be anything other than annoyed or composed, but you soak it up as much as you can. The sunset is painting his skin golden and the car smells like him too. It seems like you’re surrounded in Min Yoongi and it’s fully welcomed. “You are too,” he retorts on an exhale, hand skimming down to the dips of your waist. But then Yoongi swallows hard and retracts. He leans his arm on the steering wheel and looks out the window in disappointment. You wonder if you did something wron— “I can’t stain the truck. My mom has hawk eyes and she’s gonna know if we do something, and I’d rather she not.” You scoff and lean forward, swift enough to plant a kiss on his cheek and pull away. “For such a good talker, you sure are stupid, Yoongi. There’s a whole house behind you and no one in it.” A gummy smile spreads into his face and you feign a tired huff, lifting your chin and sticking your nose in the air. You add, “But for your information, I only give people the time of day when they make it worth it for me.” He’s already opening the door and accepting the challenge before you can finish. “Oh, I’ll make it worth it alright.” You find out that Yoongi has a dirty mouth and an even nastier tongue. Part of you always wondered if he hated your guts, but you couldn’t be any more wrong. You’re tugging on the strands of his hair, chest rising and falling as you pant. “W-Where did you learn how to do that?” The bastard shrugs with a smug smile. “I might be unlikable, but I’ve had plenty of practice before.” “Oh yeah?” The corner of your own mouth tugs. “With who?” Yoongi grins and lifts himself up to plant a sweet kiss against your lips. “You wouldn’t know them. But they’re not as important as you are.” “I’m going to choke over your greasiness, Min Yoongi.” “Good. Choke.” “You’re gonna have to stuff me with your cock first.” Yoongi laughs at how you’re desperately tugging him closer to you, but he easily agrees with one condition— “Only if you’re good for me.” The pair of you are sweaty when you finish. You thought the old bed frame was going to give up mid-way. Luckily, it held up even with all its loud squeaks and creaks. But you wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a dent where the headboard slammed against the wall. But you’ll count your losses later. You’re just relieved that there was no one in the house. While Yoongi might’ve been all soft groans and rapid exhales, he made you absent-minded to your own noises that somehow leaves your throat sore. You’re sure anyone who would’ve stood by your porch would’ve heard and been scandalized for the rest of their life. “You know.” You turn to Yoongi, having stared at the ceiling. His eyes meet yours. “You’re pretty good for a farm boy.” The playful quip ticks him off enough that he does it again. Yoongi pins you underneath him and is merciless. Your bubbling giggles turn to tears leaking down the side of your face from overstimulation, but you climax again through a moaning apology. When you’re spent, Yoongi collapses next to you. You’re surprised at how cuddly he is, how he naturally reaches for you, torso molding against yours and arms wrapped around your waist. In spite of feeling hot and sweaty, Yoongi holds you against him and you relish in it. “How is it possible that no one’s snatched you up yet?” “Maybe it’s because I’m known to be standoffish.” He smiles against your temple, soothed by the way you run your fingers through the strands of his hair. “And what about you? Do you have a boyfriend or a husband I don’t know about that’s waiting in the city?” “No. No one’s drawn me in quite like you have.” Yoongi’s smile pulls into a grin, and the pair of you are lulled by each other’s inhales and exhales, unintentionally falling asleep in one another’s embraces like lovers underneath tree canopies on a Summer afternoon. It’s some of the most peaceful sleep you’ve had, but then you’re shaken awake by a rattle and an ‘ow’. Your eyes open to find the other side of the bed empty and Yoongi nursing his hip after presumably bumping into your nightstand. You sit up, disoriented as he’s hopping up and down, barely getting his pants on. “I need to get home before my parents find out I was gone the entire night and start asking questions.” His voice is thick and husky, hair in a disarray, eyes bleary and barely awake. His panic makes you giggle and you watch him struggle to put on his clothes. Peeking outside, the sun isn’t up yet and the clock reads that it’s five in the morning. “Are they even awake this early, Yoongi?” “I don’t know. Sometimes.” He fiddles with his flannel, putting his arms through the wrong holes, and even when he figures it out, he doesn’t realize it’s inside out. “I’ll...see you later?” “Wait. Yoongi.” You stop him for a second and he turns around. It feels awfully juvenile, like you’ve reverted back into your sixteen-year-old self that giggles over crushes, but Yoongi always seems to make you feel that way. “Are we….dating now?” “If I didn’t make it any more clear last night and by sleeping over, then I don’t know what else to do.” It takes a beat for the words to sink in, but once it does, a bright and overexcited smile overcomes your features. Yoongi snorts before the corners of his own mouth tickles. When he’s gone, you discover that you miss him already.

The morning alarm rings at six. But by then, you’re already up. You’ve fallen into a natural schedule, a cycle that your body has picked up on and has awoken before anything needs to call you. And after brushing your teeth and running a comb through your hair, you’re taking care of your farm. Plowing fields. Harvesting kale. Having breakfast. You also package the last of the pesto and guacamole, pouring the kombucha into the bottles with the proper labels. Some of which are prepared for the grocery store to pick up while others are packed for tomorrow. Afterwards, you come to the farmers’ market and meet Hoseok, a boy you’ve hired to help you take over. He helps you man the stall and the cash register, giving you the freedom to chat with customers and other vendors or complete other tasks with Jungkook. By afternoon, you come back to the farm to check out the Insta spot and aid Jimin in running things smoothly. “This is beautiful, Y/N.” Today, you’re graced by a few friends from the city. They drove out here after you reached out to them again and you couldn’t be more pleased from their genuine reactions. “When you said you were coming out to start a farm...I didn’t imagine this.” “It took a lot of work, but it’s not half bad, right?” Mina leans in, eyes flickering around. “Where’s this infamous Yoongi?” A laugh spills from you. “He’s busy. You’ll see him next time.” “I keep hearing about him, but I haven’t even seen him or his picture once,” Tiffany huffs. “I’m beginning to think he’s fake.” You grin and insist, “I promise you he’s real.” “Oh my god!” Yeri startles the group by the sheer urgency in her voice, but when you all swivel to her, she has her phone held in the air, screen directed to her face. “This is the perfect lighting! Guys, come here and take selfies up before the sun moves!” You can’t help smiling as you watch them, matching their footsteps as they approach the fields. You can tell that they’re still surprised, that they love what you did — and you couldn’t be prouder. At ten at night, the last people have filtered out and you bid them goodbye. “Great job, Jimin. Thanks for the help as usual. It didn’t get too busy when I was gone, right?” “Not at all.” The brunette with the polite smile shakes his head. “Oh, but the customer feedback box was full. I put it in the living room for you.” “I saw that. Thank you. I’ll take a look tomorrow.” Looking ready to go, you walk him to the door. “Rest up then! I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Goodnight, Y/N.” But as one man leaves, you catch another down the road. The familiar truck is chugging, head beams piercing through the darkness settling across the horizon. Jimin recognizes it too after months of the same routine and smiles at you before he’s on his way. The truck is parked on your lawn and the dark-haired man in the flannel is already smiling when he catches you through the front windshield. He opens the door and slams it shut as you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed and the screen door held behind you. “Well, well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in.” Yoongi chuckles and grabs a crate from the back of his truck. “It’s groceries from my parents.” He meets you at the porch and plants a chaste kiss on your lips as a greeting. You follow him into the kitchen as he beelines to it. It’s almost like this is his home — an idea that tempts you greatly. “Aw, she packed me more pie.” There’s goat’s milk too and you store it in the fridge as Yoongi organizes your cabinet, making sure there’s enough sustenance to keep you healthy for the week. You’ve already told him that you could take care of yourself, but he’s stood firm and you didn’t argue. It was a guilty pleasure to be pampered by Yoongi after all, and you weren’t about to refuse it. “My parents want you to come over soon. They keep asking me about you.” You nod. “I’m happy to come over whenever they want. But I should probably bake something. Your mom always makes me food.” “Nah. She does it cause she likes to. How about Tuesday?” “That works for me.” “Have you eaten yet?” One shake of your head leads to him cooking and then the pair of you sitting at the table across from one another and sharing a warm meal. You ask Yoongi about his day and he tells you about bailing Namjoon and Taehyung out of jail. Apparently, they landed themselves into trouble after they lost their cow and went looking for it. Yet somehow, they ended up miles away on an orchard farm where they had a confrontation with an old grump and got arrested for trespassing. But as exasperated as Yoongi likes to act, the irony isn’t lost on you how he drove that far out to bail them out and keep the secret from their parents. He’s the kind of man that conveys his feelings through his actions instead of his words and you’ve come to endear that quirk about him. After dinner and cleaning up, you turn on the twinkling fairy lights strung along the backyard and stand on your patio, leaning against the banister. The land and rows of kale are strangely bare without people and the ruckus of crowds, yet there’s a certain peacefulness of the uncertain horizon. “What’re you thinking about?” A husky voice sounds beside you as Yoongi meets your side. “Nothing.” You shake your head. “All day I’ve been feeling proud of myself, that’s all. I think...my grandfather would be proud of me too.” “Of course he would be.” Yoongi drapes his arm around your shoulder. “I’m proud of you too.” As calm and detached as Yoongi may be at times, he still has the effect of catching you off guard when he sweet talks. And it’s a kind of duality that makes you adore him even more. You wrap your arm around his slim waist, grinning and he plants a wet kiss at your forehead. “Hey, Yoongi. Since you love me….does that mean you love kale too?” “Those things are mutually exclusive.” “But kale is my lifeblood.” You look up at him. “You can’t love me without loving kale.” He scoffs at your ridiculous argument, but it’s pointless back and forths like this that you enjoy the most. Especially when Yoongi gives in. “Fine. I love kale. But for the record, I love you a lot more.” You laugh and lean your head on his shoulder. “I’m glad I came here.” You’re glad you never gave up or gave in to the discouragement of your family, the apprehension of your friends or the voice inside your own mind. You’ve finally found your place. “I’m glad too.” There’s no need to go home when home is right here.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi scenario #yoongi reader insert #bts farm AU #bts farm!AU #YOONGI AS A PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE BOY IN FLANNELS #AND OC AS A GIRL WHO KNOWS WHAT'S TRENDY #welcome to my first and only farm AU lol #hope you enjoy

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sundaysundaes · 3 years

Text

Into the Forest of Fireflies’ Light

Lee Taeyong X Reader, feat. Haechan | Fluff, Best Friends to Lovers, Angst | Supernatural AU | 18k

Summary: You can only remember summer. Of the love you could never receive. Of the lips you could never truly taste. Of the warmth you could never take. And of a boy with smiles so soft, being consumed by the fireflies’ lights (strongly based on a beautiful Japanese animated movie called Hotarubi no Mori e)

Dear Taeyong,

I can only remember summer

Of the taste of the dry weather on our tongues

Of the songs the cicadas chanted behind our backs

Of the sunlight that bit through our skins

Of the summer dresses and cat masks we once had

I remember that twig of an oak tree between our hands

Separating you and me, life and death

That warm goodbye from your usually quiet lips

The way you said, “Until we meet next summer.”

And how I always truly, desperately, believed in it

You are the beautiful reality in my sleep

The blissful dream in my wake

I will see you again next summer

I miss you

***

Dear my love,

I can only love summer

Of faith that bloomed between us

Of loving smiles that shone when I glanced away

Of the longing distance we put between us

And the fireflies’ light that will soon consume me

I will wait for our late exchange of secret words

And next time, I will take your warm goodbye from your lips

“Until we meet on the next life, Taeyong,” you said

Yes, that’s true

Until we meet on the next life, my dear

Because of you, I have truly lived

Our summer will last for eternity

I love you

“Make sure you listen to your uncle, okay?” Your mother says in her motherly way just like how she usually does. “Do you have your handkerchief? Your ticket? A nice pair of shoes. Don’t zone out and miss your stop. You’re always clumsy like that.”

You straighten up with one bag slinging around your shoulder and another one hanging around your wrist. With a casual pair of flip-flops, a white sleeveless summer dress decorated with broderie details, and your lips curving upwards in a farewell smile, you respond, “Jeez, Mom. I’ve been going there every year. I’ll be fine. I’m taking off now, okay?”

Although your mother seems unsatisfied with your words, she lets her daughter kiss her cheek and waves her hand goodbye. As you take the first step out of your house, the sun quickly showers you with light that is hot enough to leave sunburn on your skin. The trip to the nearest bus stop will be nothing but exhausting, you’re sure of it. But it’s okay. It’s summer anyway. You always love summer.

The bus comes only a few minutes later after you arrived at the stop and dropped your heavy bags next to your feet. You take a seat on the right side of the bus, near the window. There are only three passengers on the vehicle aside from you—a man with a sweaty neck on the front row, and a mother cooling her half-sleepy child with her paper fan on the back seat. You smile a little to yourself. Everything seems normal, just like always.

You lay your head on the window, randomly staring at the trees and leaves getting blown by the wind, as the bus starts moving. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, letting your memories come close and your thoughts fly back to him.

The first time you met Taeyong was when you were six.

***

Thirteen years ago, you were nothing but a lively little kid with short-cropped hair and choppy bangs. During a hot summer day, you got lost in the forest of the Mountain God, which was said to be where spirits lived. After running around searching for an exit, you became so tired; you couldn’t move a muscle. You ended up sitting under the shadows of the swaying tree branches and felt a little ticklish from the green grass that spread widely underneath your feet. You hugged your knees to your chest, gave your best to act strong but failing pathetically with every try. When you started crying from fear and loneliness, he appeared before you.

“Hey, Shorty!” A male’s voice resonating through the air made you gasp sharply. “Why are you crying?”

There was a boy, standing just a few meters away, with half of his body hidden behind a tree. His posture seemed a bit rigid as if he was nervous or shy for suddenly reaching out to you. The boy was noticeably taller, with a voice that sounded deeper than any boy you’d ever met before. But judging by the way he dressed—at his denim trousers that ended a few inches above his ankles, combined with a casual short-sleeved button-down white shirt and a red tee underneath it, he was probably still around eighteen.

What caught your attention was the cat mask he wore on his face. It wasn’t unusual—you had seen your friends wearing it a few times during the summer festival. The white mask had ears, whiskers, and big round black eyes that were continuously staring back at you with no emotion. The mask covered his entire face, but you could still see his hair. His hairstyle was normal—a little bit messy from the wind, with his strands ended a few centimeters above his neckline, but the color was odd. It was silvery white, almost like an old man’s.

“It’s…” You gaped, not caring about any of that fact at the moment. “It’s a person! I’m saved!” You claimed happily, standing on your feet with so much speed, it almost gave you a head rush. With your hands spreading in front of you, you frantically ran towards the boy with joyful tears in your eyes. “I’M FINALLY SAVEEEEEED!”

But with a quick reaction, the boy moved away before you could embrace him and you ended up landing face-first on the ground, with a handful of grass finding their way to stick themselves into your mouth.

“S-sorry,” the boy said apologetically but he didn’t move any closer to help you up. “You’re a human child, right? If a human touches me, I’ll disappear.”

Previously annoyed, you looked up at him with knitted eyebrows. “If a human?” You blinked twice in confusion. Your eyelashes were still a bit wet from the tears that were no longer falling. “You’re not human?”

A momentary silence came by before he formed an answer. “I’m…” He hesitated. “Something that lives in this forest.”

“Huh?” You unconsciously tilted your head before realization hit you like a train and you clapped your hands in glee. “Then, you’re one of the Spirits?” Another silence, and this time, the boy decided not to reply, so you tried again. “But… What do you mean by ‘disappear’?”

He stayed mute, his body standing still as if time just stopped. You couldn’t see the expression he had behind the mask so you wouldn’t know how he reacted. You could only see the flat emotion the cat mask was giving you as he continuously stared at you. If you weren’t a playful little girl with a naturally born cheery attitude, you would’ve found it creepy.

But instead, you found it rather amusing.

You reached out your little hand toward him, climbing back to your feet and when he moved away from your touch, you began to try harder. Every time the boy tried to escape, you laughed a bit louder, tried a bit better, and before you knew it, you ended up chasing him between the trees.

You ran after him, reaching out for him, closer, closer, closer—

Thunk!

You groaned in pain, covering your bruised forehead with both palms as you kneeled on the ground. You couldn’t believe he just hit you on the head with a twig!

“Y-you’re really not human after all…” You whimpered, rubbing your ache away. “No human would hit a child like that!”

When you began to sob a little from the pain, the boy sighed. “To disappear means to be obliterated,” he explained, slowly taking his eyes off you to face the sky instead, “That’s the spell that the Mountain God placed upon me. If I get touched by a human, then that’s the end.”

You had stopped crying by the time his sentences sank into your head. His previous action was really necessary, then, if he was truly in that condition. If you had kept on chasing him and he’d failed to avoid you, he would’ve disappeared. Now that you thought of it, you realized you nearly killed him with your antics.

“I’m…” Still sitting on the ground, you folded your knees underneath you and bowed down, overwhelmed with guilt. “I’m sorry…”

With an unreadable expression, the boy approached you and gently offered the wooden twig. “Here, Shorty,” he said, “Grab the other end.” When you gazed up at him, he was facing away. His posture seemed to give out a vibe that he was a bit embarrassed but you weren’t exactly sure of it. “You’re lost, aren’t you? I'll lead you out of the forest.”

You were surprised at first, both from his kindness and his features, because from that position, you could see the side of his face. His jawlines were sharp and prominent. The skin of his cheek was just as pale as the rest of his body. He was so white; it was almost ghastly.

You beamed at him. “You’re so nice! Thank you!” Moving by reflex, you began to run toward his arms again. The boy was screaming from being caught off guard, and you almost got him before—

Thunk!

You were stopped by another hard hit on the head.

“I’ve told you not to—” The boy was breathing hard with his body leaning forward and his hands clamped around his knees to steady his weight. “Don’t touch me.”

You were practically rolling on the grass to mute the aching you felt on your temple. “S-sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

The two of you walked next to each other with thirty centimeters long wooden twig between your hands. With every stride he took, you had to match it by doubling your steps. Your height difference was striking. It almost looked like you two were siblings—with him being the high school student older brother and you being his elementary school sister.

You were walking down some stone steps, tightening your grip around the twig to maintain your balance. There was a temple inside the forest, and that was the only way out. You usually followed that path to come back home but that day, you were having too much fun wandering around on your own that you forgot the way to find those tracks again.

There were abandoned Buddhist statues on the side of the stairs and the steps had some cracks on them even though they were made of stone. You could tell that the place would be too scary to walk alone when the night fell and the cicadas stopped singing. But right now, you couldn’t care much about it.

“It’s just like going on a date!” You chirped happily, jumping like the little girl that you were as you climbed down the steps. You hadn’t known how a date would feel like—after all, you were only six back then—but you had imagined it happening with a boy in your school, and this one fit your imagination well.

The boy had his free hand stuck inside his pocket. With a nonchalant voice, he replied, “Not a very romantic one, though.” And when you weren’t looking, he stole secret glances at you. Of course, with the mask still on, there wouldn’t be much of a difference, even if you had been looking.

“You aren’t afraid, are you?” he asked, and although you were surprised, you grinned at him.

“Of what?”

The boy seemed a bit hesitant before he answered, “Nevermind.”

You walked a few more steps until you finally arrived at the end of the stairs. The sun in the background was already setting, splashing orange tint to the previously blue sky. “If you go straight, you’ll hit the mountain path,” the boy said, standing under the simple wooden gate with no doors that indicated the entrance to the forest. And with his usual flat tone, he said, “Goodbye.”

“Are you always going to be here?” You questioned. “If I come back here, can we meet again?”

“This is the forest where the Mountain God and the Spirits live,” he answered matter of factly. “Set foot within and you’ll lose your way and be lost forever.” The wind was blowing, caressing his silvery-white hair and that made you stare in awe, memorizing how out of this world he seemed and wondering what kind of expression he displayed behind that mask. “You shouldn’t be here,” he finished. “That’s what the villagers say, right?”

That was true. It was, and you understood that, and yet, you just couldn’t wave this meeting away as if it never happened. Facing him a little bit better, you warmly smiled and introduced yourself. “I’d love to be your friend. Can you tell me your name?”

He didn’t say a word, just continued to stand in front of you with his cat mask staring back at your face. You waited… and waited… and even a second felt so long.

Those expressionless cat’s eyes kept staring back at you, making you feel somewhat woozy and embarrassed. It was as if you just asked something too personal. Perhaps he didn’t want you to know. Perhaps he didn’t want you to be attached to him. Perhaps he just wanted you to go away.

“U-umm…” Panicking, you took a step back, putting more distance between you. “Anyway, I’ll be back tomorrow with a thank-you present!” Just that, and I won’t come back if my presence bothers you so much. “B-bye!” You shouted, turning around on your heels and proceed to run from the tension that felt like cutting your skin open.

But then—

“It’s Taeyong.”

You stopped abruptly and turned around, but the boy was no longer in sight. His voice vanished without a trace, drowned by the wind.

But you heard it loud enough to put a permanent smile on your face that night.

Taeyong.

When you were walking by the fields that seemed more familiar, you were humming to yourself. It was until you heard your name being called that you stopped singing.

Your uncle was walking toward you with tattered breathing. Perhaps, he had been running around the village searching for you all day. “Uncle!” You greeted, grinning innocently as you ran toward his arms. “Uncle, I—”

“You stupid girl!” Your uncle landed a knock on your head before you could hug him and it was the third time you felt like your head was about to explode that day. “If you go into the forest on your own and get hurt, what are you going to do?!”

You finally began to realize that possibility and ended up crying as you ran to embrace him again. Your uncle let your tiny arms wind themselves around his waist and though he was still upset, he felt more relieved than anything. He patted your back and soon after you calmed down, you began to walk with your hands holding one another.

“Hey, Uncle.”

“Hmm?”

“Is it true that there are spirits living in that forest?”

“The Mountain God’s forest, huh? Who knows. That’s what they say,” he answered in an unusually serious demeanor. But when he started again, he had a tiny smile painted upon his lips. “When I was little, I wanted to meet the spirits so my friends and I often went into the forest. In the end, I never met any but I had the feeling I’d occasionally spot something from the corner of my eye. On summer nights, you could hear the sounds of the river coming from the forest. And now that I think about it, Hyori said she and her friends went and had fun at a summer festival in the forest. But there’s no way the villagers would’ve held a festival in the forest. So then, whose festival could it have been? It started this crazy story that they must’ve snuck into a festival for the spirits.”

The old man with a scruffy beard was laughing, his eyes glistening with the reminiscence of his childhood. “Man, that takes me back!” he exclaimed. “We were so stupid back when we were kids.” Then he laughed some more. You were only busy carving his story into your mind.

That night, you had trouble sleeping. The last words that Taeyong spoke to you were echoing in your head.

This is the forest where the Mountain God and the Spirits live. Set foot within and you’ll lose your way and be lost forever.

You understood that and yet…

***

“You came back,” Taeyong said, sitting at the end of the stone stairs where you parted ways the day before. He was wearing the same clothes, with the same cat mask on his face. “I didn’t think you’d really come back.”

You blinked your eyes, mouth slightly parted. The question ‘Was he waiting for me?’ ran through your mind. “You…”

The boy tilted his head, “Huh?”

“YOU WAITED FOR MEEEEE!” You screamed in excitement, running towards him in reflex with your arms reaching forward. The boy yelped in surprised then—

Thunk!

“You just don’t learn, do you?” Taeyong sighed, holding the same wooden twig he held on the previous day. Though the pain on the top of your head was throbbing, you chuckled, feeling your heart burst in warmth and joy.

“I was so happy, I just…” you giggled again. “Sorry.”

The boy leaped forward, approaching the spot where you were squatting down due to the pain. Taeyong pocketed both of his hands and threw his face to the side. “It’s a bit hot here. Shall we go somewhere cooler?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry,” he assured, climbing up the stairs even though he just hopped down from there. Perhaps he wanted to walk beside you? “I’ll walk you back again.”

Your lips broke into the biggest grin you had ever made in your six years of living. “Okay!”

You went inside the forest, walking next to one another with nothing but air between you. You wondered if Taeyong had decided to trust you now, or if he was just being polite. You offered him the vanilla ice cream you’d brought from your uncle’s shop and the two of you ate your ices in silence. But the thing was, the silence was never awkward. You knew by then that Taeyong wasn’t much of a talker, and you were already too happy for being able to spend your day not with just a new friend, but also your first Spirit friend. It felt surreal and exciting at the same time.

The deeper you went inside the forest, you found out that the trees were bigger, almost taking all of the blazing sunlight to themselves and left none for you and Taeyong to bask on. The wind felt soft on your skin, the scent of grass and blooming flowers filled the air.

Your smile never receded from view when you walked behind Taeyong. It was only when you noticed that something had been following you that you began to frown. “Hmm?” You were sure something was following you, but Taeyong was walking like everything was normal.

As you were about to dismiss the thought, a shadow crept along the ground, a layer of dark mist clouded your vision, then a voice, low but thunderous, spoke. “Taeyong.”

You froze, your fingers almost gripping at the end of Taeyong’s shirt. The shadow turned colossal, darker, and somehow, somehow, you could see it grinning eerily at you.

“Is that a human child?” the shadow asked in a reverberating voice. You could practically feel its eyes on your skin. “Can I eat her?”

You hastily moved to the side with your tiny steps, hiding behind Taeyong’s legs. The boy noticed your fear and he quickly set out a hand to let his opponent know that you were off-limit. “No,” he said, “She’s my friend.”

“Is that so?” The shadow’s voice reminded you of the sound of the dark grey clouds rumbling before the storm came to wash the earth. “Human child, please don’t touch Taeyong’s skin. If you do, I’ll eat you.”

You were so scared; you started to shiver all over. By the way you were clutching to his shirt, Taeyong realized that you were, indeed, only a vulnerable little girl, barely knew anything about the world and the secrets it held. “Hey—” But then he abruptly sneezed.

The Shadow suddenly shrieked in horror then there was a blast of smoke, making you jolt on your feet, tiny hairs standing up at your nape. When you managed to look between the mist with narrowed eyes, that shadowy figure turned into a cute little golden fox with nine furry tails and a pair of sparkling ruby eyes.

“Oh!” It was so tiny, you could probably hold it with both hands. “Is that a Spirit Fox?”

The Fox’s fur was standing up, perhaps it was startled by Taeyong’s sudden sneeze. It wasn’t even that loud—to be honest, Taeyong’s sneeze was much quieter than how your uncle used to do. To be frightened only because of that…

“Yeah, he’s another one of the Spirits. He transforms to scare people away, but he’s all bark and no bite,” Taeyong said, approaching the little golden fox that was hiding behind a tree with its body cowering to the ground. “Isn’t that right?” The boy bent down, grabbing the fox with both hands, and lifted it off the ground. “Haechannie?”

Puff!

There was another kind of explosion that clouded the forest with ash grey mist, and you coughed a couple of times before you gazed back to the Fox. It was no longer a fox—it was a person.

Taeyong was holding a boy’s waist with both hands just like how he did to the animal before and your jaw grew slack at the sight. The golden fox just turned into a human—a male, nonetheless—with golden hair and the same pair of ruby eyes that matched the blush that crept through his cheeks. His skin, you noticed, had a darker complexion but it complimented his looks so much as if he was kissed by the sun, smooth skin glistening under the light. He also had a pair of dog-like ears and a nice golden Foxtail that resembled his previous form. And although the color of his hair and eyes were striking, it didn’t startle you as much as the fact that the boy was naked.

You screamed, immediately turning around from the sight of the two boys facing each other with Taeyong’s hands still holding Haechan’s bare waist as if it was the most normal thing to do. You had your hands covering your face, feeling embarrassed since it was the first time you witnessed a naked boy’s body.

“It’s because you startled me,” Haechan whined, arms flailing as he blushed a bit deeper. “Now let go of me, Hyung.”

Taeyong sighed, taking his hands off the boy that appeared to be the same age as him—just a couple of years younger, maybe. He didn’t seem to be bothered by Haechan’s bare skin at all, though he looked tired of his antics. “Don’t bother her, okay? She’s a friend.” Taeyong pointed his head toward you squatting down on the ground with your back turned, face sinking into your palms. You could hear Taeyong telling him your name but Haechan snorted in response.

“I don’t care what her name is!” Haechan shouted, looking away from the other boy. “Why are you getting all chummy with her even though you just met!” The way he whined so childishly was the complete opposite of the way he talked in his monstrous shadow form earlier. “And she’s a human! What would you do if she touches you by accident?” With a prominent pout, Haechan added under his breath, “You’re such an idiot.”

With the cat mask staring flatly at him, Taeyong replied, “I can hear you, you know.”

“Ah, damn it!” Haechan groaned, giving the other boy a shove on his shoulder. “I won’t cry if you disappear, all right?! It will all be your fault! Taeyongie, you big idiot!” He quickly turned back into his animal form, nipped Taeyong’s finger with his pointy teeth, and climbed the tree with his little paws.

Taeyong yelped a little from the bite but more because of the shock instead of pain. “Haechannie!” he called, but the fox spirit never looked back, jumping from one branch to another until he disappeared behind the trees. The cat-masked boy huffed and walked back towards you. “He’s gone now,” Taeyong said, bending down a little to match your height. “I’m sorry if he scared you.”

You slowly sneaked a glance behind you, and it was true. Haechan was nowhere to be seen. It was then that you could finally grasp what just happened.

“It was so…” You clenched your tiny fists before you jumped and punched the air. “SO AWESOME! That was the first time I’ve seen a real spirit! Not quite like I imagined, and I wasn’t prepared to see a naked boy like that but wow, they really do exist!” And as you continued jumping happily on your feet, shouting, “Amazing! Amazing! So amazing!” Taeyong muttered, “So what did you think I was?” And without waiting for you to calm down, he walked again with his hands tucked neatly inside his pockets.

You eventually followed him with your usual lively grin. “Are you a no-face or something? Why are you wearing that mask?”

“No particular reason,” Taeyong answered, making you frown. Perhaps he hadn’t trusted you that much? “Never mind me. Tell me about yourself.”

Your eyes twinkled; your grin turned mischievous. “Are you curious?”

A pause, then, “That’s why I waited for you.”

You couldn’t suppress your laughter. He was waiting for you, after all.

So you told him about yourself, from the most important things to the littlest nonsenses that went through your mind. Taeyong listened to your words in silence, no comment, no reaction, not even giving the slightest hum. And since he was always wearing that cat mask on his face, there was no way of telling how he felt when he listened to your stories. Did he even pay any attention to you? Was he bored? Was it entertaining for him? Taeyong was a mystery you didn’t know how to solve.

The next day and the day after that, you went back to the forest again and again. You kept running and playing all around the mountain, just together with the boy who was probably, at least, twice your age. You managed to break through the walls he built around you, little by little. His quiet, reserved demeanor gradually turned into something warmer, though not as lively or chaotic as you were. He began to tell you his favorite spots in the forest; crafted little ships from long leaves so you could watch them float along the river streams; and grabbed your sun hat when it got blown away by the wind before they got caught between the branches of a willow tree.

You even got Taeyong to play tag with you. You would run away from him, and he would chase after you with a twig on his hand so he didn’t have to touch you directly when he said, “Tag, you’re it!” Taeyong’s favorite trick was pretending to fall on the ground and waited for you to come back with a worried face. You always did, but Taeyong still wouldn’t be able to catch you even after you fell for his trap because you were always much faster.

These mundane things you shared were special to both you and him. And even though they would most likely dissipate from your memories as you grow older, at that time you felt infinite.

***

One day, you were humming to yourself as you were busy collecting little flowers from the field while Taeyong was lying down on the grass with his mask-covered face facing the clouds. The sun was hot but the wind was nice. At the end of the day, it was comforting.

With a handmade bouquet between your tiny palms, you rose to your feet and ran to Taeyong’s spot, only to found the boy resting there with one hand lying idly on his stomach. You kneeled next to his head, facing him upside down. “Taeyong…” you murmured to yourself, gazing at his cat mask. “Did he fall asleep?”

Slowly, out of curiosity, you reached out a hand. You hesitated, but it would be okay if you only touched his mask, wouldn’t it? Swallowing hard, you decided to take your chance.

How does he look underneath that mask?

You placed your tiny palms on each side of his mask, and slowly, carefully, lifted it off his face. Your heart was racing, as if you were doing something sinful your heart forbid you to. You pulled it higher, and higher, until you could see his face, and for that moment, the time seemed to stop.

Despite his height, Taeyong had a young baby face with long eyelashes brushing the top of his cheeks. His eyes were closed and he looked so blissful, like a baby falling asleep in his mother’s arms. His skin was soft, flawless, but pale—almost transparent as the sun shone its light upon it. His nose was cute. He had curvy, thin lips, with two tiny moles faintly painting his lower one. His jawlines were sharper than Haechan’s, making him look mature, and the more you observed his features, the more you thought that, oh, he was indeed a boy.

A beautiful, beautiful boy.

You thought that Taeyong was unfair to hide such beauty from the world; to only let the world witness malice while he kept such purity inside the forest.

How young… How innocent…

Then Taeyong suddenly smirked and before you knew it, a pair of deep, dark brown eyes were staring back at you.

“Ah! SORRY!” You exclaimed, startled to the point that all your breath left your lungs at once. Panicking, you unintentionally slammed the mask down onto his face harder than you intended to.

Taeyong hissed in pain, holding his face over the mask, and turned to his side. “Attacking someone while they’re asleep like this,” he said, eventually moved up and sat down cross-legged on the grass. “You surely are a scary little lady.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” You looked away, muttering quietly. “You were pretending to sleep anyway, weren’t you?”

Taeyong paused for a second before he propped his elbow on his thigh and laid his chin on his palm. Somehow, you felt like he was smiling behind that mask. “I looked normal, didn’t I?” he asked, a bit playfully. This time, it was you who just sat quietly and stared back at him without a word.

“Taeyong… Why are you wearing that mask?”

He straightened up, voice sounding unusually soft when he spoke. “If I don’t wear this mask, I don’t look like a spirit, do I?” Surely with that mask on, Taeyong seemed less human. After all, that mask was designed after the Cat Spirit that was retold from time to time. But why? Why did he have to go that far? Was he scared that people would mistake him for a human and grabbed him accidentally without purpose?

You just sat in silence. Somehow, your chest tightened, as if you were drowning little by little. It was heartbreaking to know that Taeyong seemed like he didn’t have a choice. Maybe he wanted to throw that mask away. Maybe he wanted to be human—or at least, look like one. Maybe he wanted to be connected. To truly be alive. But then that would mean he had to risk everything…

And knowing how even days had passed by, you hadn’t seen anyone getting along with him other than you, Taeyong had probably never set a foot outside the forest either.

Is that why he seems so…

Lonely?

“You’re weird,” you said and you ended the topic just like that. Because if Taeyong didn’t want to tell, then you wouldn’t want to force the words out of his mouth.

Taeyong only chuckled.

***

“Taeyong.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think…” You stared sadly at your feet as you climbed down the stone steps that lead you back to the entrance gate. “I don’t think I can go back here tomorrow.”

Taeyong didn’t utter a word. Like usual, he just walked in front of you with his hands in his pockets and his mask pressed tightly against his face.

“I’ve told you before, haven’t I?” You continued. “That I’m just staying at my uncle’s place for the summer? So, I have to go home tomorrow…”

Taeyong just hummed once, to let you know that he was listening but did not intend to form a reply. You brought your head down, feeling disappointed. But why were you disappointed? You never felt like this when you said goodbye to your other friends before.

Taeyong stopped dead on his tracks. “Will you…” he said, turning his body slightly to face you but not quite. “Will you be able to come again next year?”

You stood still, your lips trembled slightly as if you were about to explode into words. Before you knew it, you felt your eyes grew a bit teary but you blinked your tears away before they fell and with a huge smile on your face, you merrily replied, “Yeah!” You had never felt so relieved.

And that was how summer became something you always looked forward to.

***

Every year, you came back and Taeyong always waited for your promised summer. You would find him sitting near the gate, on the stone stairs with his white cat mask placed upon his face. The two of you usually just did the same routines, lying lazily on the field of grass, eating ice creams as you crossed the wooden bridge, or throwing pebbles while dipping your bare feet into the water of the lake that was as clear as the sky.

“So cold!” You were turning eight that year, shouting as you plunged your bare feet into the water. Taeyong only let out a flat comment, “You’re weird. Of course the water is cold.” And although he sounded bored, you could tell that he was probably smiling behind his mask. After all, he could have just stayed silent about it, and yet he said something just to pull a reaction from you. You adored that part of him where he acted like he was fine being alone when in reality, there was nothing he craved more than someone’s attention.

Sometimes, when you walked too close to each other, a Spirit would show up in some form to revive the forgotten space between you. A lady wearing a snow-like kimono with flaming red hair once grabbed the side of his cheek and said with a pair of agonizing eyes, “Please be careful, Taeyong. We don’t want to lose you.”

A willow tree caressed his hair with its branch, pulling him by the neckline so he would distance himself away from you. The way its thick branch was shaped into a beast’s claw, clutching at Taeyong’s entire body was almost frightening, but there was only tenderness laced with concern when it spoke, “It’s dangerous, Taeyong. That’s a human child. If she touches you, you’ll disappear.”

“Thank you,” Taeyong always said, placing a reassuring hand on the tree’s claw. “I’m fine.” He sounded so sincere and absolute, leaving the Spirit Tree with no choice but to retract its claw from him.

“Please don’t touch him, human child,” the Spirit Tree said once again before it went back to its slumber. You could only answer, “Yes,” but to you, it was more than a promise. After all, you wouldn’t want Taeyong to disappear.

You couldn’t help but notice that other Spirits could touch him normally. You tried to put aside how your heart jerked with jealousy. You wouldn’t let your selfishness be the end of him.

Haechan was the one who showed up the most, appearing in his animal form to bite the end of your skirt and pulled you away from the other boy. He persistently yelled at you how your entire existence was a threat to him, making you realize that you were a weapon, designed by God to annihilate him and yet, Taeyong still waited for your visit every year. How could someone dare to take a risk like that?

Were you really worth all the trouble?

***

Every year, you waited for the summer to come. And before you knew it, you were already a ten-year-old girl. You grew taller, but your hair was still cut short with choppy bangs. Though you grew older, it didn’t mean your childish personality was wiped away.

“Hey,” Taeyong called, searching for you who were hiding somewhere in your sky blue summer dress through the holes of his cat-mask. “It’s dangerous to wander alone in the forest! Where are you—”

“SURPRISEEEED!” You shouted, dangling upside down from a tree branch with your legs circling it. Taeyong yelped, taking a step back in surprise from your sudden appearance. You were enjoying the moment, but before you could laugh about it, the end of your dress couldn’t fight the gravity so it fell covering your face. Your white panties were shown clearly for Taeyong’s eyes to see. “OH NO!” You quickly attempted to pull your dress back up and eventually, shifted your weight so you ended up sitting on the branch.

“What are you doing exactly?” Taeyong asked, not because you looked dumb but because he was genuinely interested in knowing. He always seemed to find your existence somewhat amusing.

You chuckled lightly. “I wanted to see your startled face but…” You forgot he was wearing his mask all the time so that was ultimately pointless. Taeyong just stared back, waiting because you looked like you wanted to say more. “You know, Taeyong… Can you at least take your mask off when I’m around? Once in a while is okay, right?”

Taeyong let a second pass. “Well, it’s fine but…” He placed his fingers at the end of his mask and slowly began to lift it off his face. “Is there a particular reason why?”

You observed him with anticipation. “Well, not really, but—” A cracking sound could be heard as the branch wasn’t strong enough to handle your weight, and with a shriek, you found yourself falling.

Calling your name, Taeyong ran towards you in reflex, arms out and ready to catch you. In a split second, as you fought to defy gravity, you could see his hands desperately trying to save you. Aside from the fear of falling, all you could think about was—

No.

Please, don’t.

Don’t touch me.

If you touch me, you’ll—

You fell head first on small bushes that were soft and safe enough for you to land on. You had landed on the ground before Taeyong could reach you and although you felt like you probably twisted your shoulder a little, you were more than fine.

“That was close…” Taeyong breathed out, his hands still hanging stiffly in the air.

“Y-yeah…” You felt slightly lightheaded as adrenaline faded away from your veins. You were in haze, body reclining against the bushes, grateful to be able to come unscathed.

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong murmured, but from not being able to be there on time to catch you or because he had retracted his hands back in reflex when he nearly touched your skin, you weren’t sure. “Are you okay?”

You exchanged stares, letting a few seconds pass by in silence before you finally let out a weak chuckle. “Thank goodness.” When Taeyong asked you what you meant, you softly added, “No matter what happened, Taeyong, don’t ever touch me, okay?”

His lips were tightly shut as he approached your spot, but the gesture he made with his hands seemed like he wanted to comfort you. Why would he want to comfort me, you thought but soon enough, you found the answer.

Because when you spoke again, your words are tainted with your tears.

“Did you hear me?” You forced yourself to smile but once the first tear broke, the rest of them were unstoppable. You cried again, and again, and again, until your whole body trembled, chest suffocating. You tried to laugh it off, shakily saying, “No matter what, okay?” but the more you tried to pretend that it didn’t faze you when you almost erased his entire existence over your negligence, you sobbed even harder.

You finally understood why the Spirits didn’t want you to be close to him. It wasn’t because they didn’t trust you. It was because Taeyong was just too kind. Even if it meant he would be wiped off the earth, he wouldn’t mind as long as you were safe. The way he had run toward you with his arms reaching out to you was a proof of that. The Spirits probably thought that Taeyong would be obliterated someday not because you touched him, but because he tried to save you when something like this happened again.

No. I can’t afford that.

No matter what, please don’t touch me.

You didn’t want him to see this side of you. You didn’t want him to know that in a human world, sometimes pain could be so unbearable that all you could do was just fall to your knees and wish that someday you could stop crying and stand up again.

This ugly side of humanity… You didn’t want Taeyong to know…

But Taeyong never said a word.

***

The next summer and the summer after that, you continued to visit the forest to meet him.

“Taeyong! I’m here again this year!” You greeted, wearing your junior high school uniform with your skirt ending a few inches above your knees. Taeyong, dressed in the same way like he always did, was already there at the spot where he usually waited for you to arrive. “Ta-daa!” You twirled once for him, making your skirt flutter and your longer hair sway above your neckline. “I’ve become a seventh-grader now!”

As always, you couldn’t tell what kind of expression he had behind that mask, but Taeyong was indeed staring at you for a few seconds. “Somehow…” he began saying, “You’re starting to look like a girl.”

“I am a girl,” you replied, unconsciously pouting and Taeyong laughed a little in response. Even the way he laughed felt like summer to you—radiant and hot enough to light a spark of fire to your chest. Standing up, he stuck his hands inside his pockets, and climbed up the stairs. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, then as you saw his figure, you began to realize. “Oh…”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

You just noticed that your ages were gradually getting closer. Unlike you, Taeyong didn’t age normally as any human would. Somehow, he aged much slower, maintaining his youth to stay perfectly the same from season to season. Your height was almost on the same par as Taeyong’s shoulders now. As the years went by, your appearance began to change, but Taeyong almost looked the same as the day you first met.

If this keeps on going… Maybe…

You stopped walking when you realized Taeyong wasn’t walking beside you anymore. You looked back, facing the sun that was setting behind the hill and the boy who stood with his face lifted to perceive the sky. There was a butterfly on Taeyong’s mask, just right on the cat’s nose and slowly, he began to take it off. Underneath the shadow of the mask, Taeyong was smiling, softly, gently, and he eventually brought his mask down to stare at the butterflies that flew through the branches of the trees.

He closed his eyes.

From where you were standing, Taeyong merely appeared like a silhouette but in your eyes, he was a painting worth being praised. A beautiful portrayal of a man who only knew bliss in his life with a pure smile that even God wouldn’t be able to resist its beauty.

It was probably the day when you realized the reason behind the ache in your chest.

Someday, I will be older than him, won’t I?

You didn’t know what would be more dreadful to face: Taeyong leaving you over an accidental touch, or you leaving Taeyong because of old age. After all, time is cruel. Time is responsible for the summers that come and go, for the leaves in autumn that shrivel, for the long and cold winters that made your teeth jittery. It’s amazing how you can fall asleep by listening to the sound of the rain and when you wake up, the sun is blazing once again and the roads are dry. It would be as if it never rained.

What if I become like that? You questioned yourself. What if for Taeyong, I’m just nothing more than a fleeting summer day?

With the two of you being bound by the chains of time, you knew that there would come a day where time would become your enemy.

You buried your thoughts deep inside your mind, and promised him, “I’ll come back here again tomorrow, okay?”

Taeyong opened his eyes, gazing back at you, and smiled that one breathtakingly beautiful smile. “Then I’ll be waiting as always.”

***

“Before our summer vacation started, a boy in my class asked me out,” you said, now fourteen, as you hugged your knees to your chest, making sure that your sky blue sleeveless summer dress was not showing the polkadot panties you wore underneath. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Taeyong didn’t respond, wasn’t sure how to. He just stared at you—blankly, by the look of his cat mask, and you curled your toes in the uncomfortable silence.

“Say something, will you?” you mumbled after a while, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Well, that—” You opened your mouth but then nothing came out. What did that mean exactly? ‘To go out’? “Well, I mean, I think he wants me to date him… or something,” you finished terribly.

Taeyong hummed, lying down on the grass and folding his hands underneath his head to use them as his pillow. The leaves of the trees above him were doing a great job in providing the shades he needed. “Date, huh?”

There was something annoying about how Taeyong behave so nonchalantly like this, as if you were conversing about what you had for breakfast. But you noticed that it was weird of you to feel that way. Did you even have the right to be upset?

“What do you suppose they do?” Taeyong suddenly asked, snapping you out of your reverie.

“They?”

“People who are dating,” he explained further, his hands now moving to lay on his sides. “What do you think they do?”

You thought about it, looking up at the pillowy white clouds and feeling the wind that caressed your strands. “I don’t know,” you answered, throwing yourself to the grass again, next to Taeyong but remembering to put a safe distance between you. “Maybe go somewhere together, hold hands and stuff?”

Taeyong fell into another silence.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes linger on the small gap between your pinky finger and his. You almost moved your hand closer, just a little bit, but then he lifted his arm and you nearly yelped in shock.

Taeyong took off his mask and placed it over his chest. His hand was now nowhere close to your smaller one. He had his eyes closed and from where you were lying on his side, you could see how long his eyelashes were, how they fluttered against his cheeks. Taeyong still looked so young, like a pure little boy with no idea how to sin, and perhaps that was because he never stepped a foot outside the forest. You envied his naivety but you also questioned how he truly felt for living a life monotonously like that. Even though he had Haechan and the rest of his Spirit friends here, was it really better for him to have no contact with humans?

Because sometimes… Taeyong looked so lonely.

The boy parted his lips. “Do you think they would kiss?”

If you had been drinking, you would’ve sprayed all of it on Taeyong’s face. “What?!”

“Those couples,” Taeyong elucidated, as if you were asking because you didn’t understand, when in reality you were just utterly embarrassed by it. “Do you think they kiss a lot?”

“What—” You almost bit your tongue. “Who even told you this stuff?! I thought you were supposed to live inside the forest!”

“I do, but it doesn’t mean I’m raised like Tarzan, you know.”

He even knows Tarzan! You wanted to scream. “Let me guess, Haechan?”

“Yeah.”

That perverted little fox! Of course he told him this stuff!

“Yeah, well, I think they do,” you sighed, lying down on the grass again with another huff. “I remember having this conversation with a friend. See, she has a boyfriend, and she told me that they were kissing the other day. I, just like now, didn’t know what to say.”

“You never kissed anyone before?”

Your face was aflame and it had nothing to do with the sun. “N-no…” Of course not! If I had done it, then—

“Why not?” Taeyong asked, staring at you with genuine curiosity. You promptly looked away, ignoring the question.

Because then you’d disappear, you idiot. But how could you tell Taeyong that? You didn't even know why you wanted to kiss him. When exactly did you start wanting it? When did you start looking at him differently?

“I just…” You absentmindedly played with the tip of the grass underneath your fingers. “…haven’t found the right person yet.” Actually, I have, but if I touch him, he’ll disappear so… “And there’s a difference, you know, between kissing someone because they’re attractive and kissing someone because, umm, w-words can no longer express the intense feelings you have for them.” You clear your throat, feeling a bit nauseous all of a sudden. “Even if I did go out with him, I can’t just kiss him because he’s cute. It’s not right.”

Taeyong’s eyes were following the clouds, which were somehow changing shapes from one to another. “A kiss, huh…” he mumbled, reaching out a hand toward the sky and spread his fingers widely as if he was about to seize the sun. “I wonder if humans are as warm as this.”

“As the sun?” You asked, laughing quietly. “I certainly hope not. That’d be scary.”

Taeyong only smiled, slowly averting his eyes to lock them with yours. But you’re already burning as bright though…

“What?” You asked when you saw him looking at you without saying anything. “Did Haechan draw something on my face again? I swear to God, it’s like I can’t even let my guard down for one sec—”

“Don’t kiss him,” Taeyong suddenly said, abruptly cutting the rest of your sentence short and leaving you gaping, loss for words. When silence came to fill the space, he tried to break through the tension. “I mean…” He scratched his cheek awkwardly. “Well, it’s your choice, but…”

Your heart warmed. “But…?”

Taeyong’s tongue laid heavy in his mouth and he quickly put his cat mask back on. “We’re too far inside the forest. We should be getting back now before it’s too late,” he sternly said, sitting up. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the gate.” And he stood up, placed his hands inside his pockets as always, and walked away without even waiting for you to get up.

You followed with a blissful smile breaking on your face.

“I won’t,” you said, loud enough for him to hear. “If you don’t want me to kiss him, I won’t.” Taeyong never said anything back.

But you noticed the way the tip of his ears went red.

***

Taeyong called your name. His voice, like always, sounded a little bit muffled from the mask. “Hey, I’m back. Too bad, I can’t find the—”

The sight of you in your favorite peach summer dress, sleeping soundly on the grass as if nothing could attack you at that moment, made him grow speechless. You had one arm lying down on your stomach, your lips were slightly parted as you fell deep into slumber, and Taeyong could see your chest heaving up and down slowly every time you breathed.

“Goodness,” he muttered, sighing. “This is a forest, you know? Moreover, it’s the forest where Spirits live. What would you do if they attack you?” Not that Taeyong actually thought that would happen—except for Haechan. That devilish fox could be pretty childish when he got jealous. Taeyong wouldn’t be surprised if he found him biting the edge of your dress again.

But, of course, you didn’t hear him. You had always been a heavy sleeper, even a clap of thunder could barely wake you up.

Taeyong huffed once more before he sat down next to you, taking a glance at the beauty marks on your face, at your bangs that had grown longer since your first visit two months ago, and at the lovely shape of your mouth. The way your lips seemed so soft and rosy, sparked curiosity and something within him that he couldn’t properly name, as he didn’t quite understand the feeling just yet.

Pressing one palm to the grass to prop his weight, Taeyong took off his mask. His silvery-white hair fell covering his hooded eyes but the soft wind blew it away. He leaned over, almost hovering above you by the time he laid his other palm on the other side of your head. Releasing a shaky breath, he brought his face down to yours.

I’m… Towards you, I’ve been…

Close. So close. Taeyong could even count your eyelashes if he wanted. You were breathing softly, warm air flowing from your slightly parted lips. Taeyong wanted to seal them with his own.

“Taeyong?”

Taeyong blinked, freezing on the spot. You were awake, staring at him with your eyes still slightly red from sleep. “Taeyong, what are you doing…?”

Taeyong only stared at you, eyes to eyes with such close proximity. He could tell how nervous you were, no matter how hard you tried to keep your face composed.

“I couldn’t find the flower you wanted,” he said, with a voice so calm as if he was speaking in a safe distance. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s…” You swallowed, still locking your gaze together although your heart was screaming like a beating drum. “It’s all right…”

Taeyong spent another two seconds being in that position before he finally pulled away, just to press his mask to your face. You let out an ‘oof’ sound of surprise but you didn’t take it off. You just laid there, completely still, with his mask covering your face. It smelled just like him—the dry air of summer, with a hidden scent of fresh green grass and sunray.

“Your face’s red,” Taeyong said. “Go back to sleep.”

You wondered whether the sun managed to bite through your skin and warm your face like this. But how would that explain your racing heartbeat?

“Okay…” you murmured and the sounds of birds chirping suddenly became louder as you both fell mute, unsure of what to say.

Not far from there, a golden fox scrunched his nose in annoyance. With a small puff of smoke, Haechan returned to his human form.

“Is he an idiot?” Haechan growled in his human voice, sneaking around behind the bushes with no clothes on like usual. “What would he have done if she didn’t wake up? Did he want to die?! I should’ve knocked some sense into his head! Stupid Taeyongie!” But despite the venom in his words, Haechan could only look away and do nothing. After all…

Taeyong had looked so happy.

There was only this little smile displayed on his lips, yet somehow he looked more alive than Haechan had ever seen him before. It was the first time Haechan ever witnessed that kind of expression on him.

Haechan gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “That idiot,” he said again, grumbling but instead of running back and throwing a fist at the other man, Haechan kept walking away and bit his lower lip until it grew white. Stop looking that happy. You know how this would end, don’t you? She can’t give you the happy ending you want.

Don’t start something that will only hurt you, Hyung…

***

On the last day of your eighth summer together, you bought Taeyong a scarf. When he asked the reason why, you simply explained with, “My uncle said the winter will be freezing this year, so be sure to wear it, okay?”

“I don’t get cold, though.”

“Just wear it.”

Taeyong hummed, taking a detailed look at the maroon knitted scarf in his hands. The cuts that appeared on your fingers when you tried to knit it three months earlier had disappeared, and just by seeing him holding it already made you feel like it worth every effort you’d given.

“Oh, and here.” You took a small music player from your summer dress’s pocket. It had earphones and batteries that would definitely last for at least a month if it was only used once a while. “I’ll give you this.”

“You’re giving me a lot of things today,” Taeyong commented. “And what’s this?”

“An mp3 player,” you said as you sat next to him on the stone stairs. “Here, I’ll show you how it works. First, you press here to turn it on, then you pick the song from the playlist.” You demonstrated every word and Taeyong stared intently at the mp3 screen from the holes of his mask. “I already put some songs in it. I’m not sure what kind of music you like, so I kind of put every genre I could find. You can skip it by pressing here if you hate the song.”

“How can I hate it when I can’t even hear it?” he innocently asked and you laughed.

“That’s why they invented these earphones, silly,” you giggled, and without waiting for his permission, you plugged in one earphone to his ear while you pressed the other one to your own. You moved a bit closer toward him and Taeyong fidgeted a bit from the distance. “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you,” you said and you wondered since when did it begin to hurt you so much when you said those words? “But be very still, okay?”

“Oh, it’s playing.” Taeyong was astonished when the song started playing in his ear. It was a piece from Beethoven, a sound of violin combined with piano and cello. You explained everything to him, from the instruments, to the harmony, to the genius composers in the music industry. It was all new to him. “And what’s that sound?”

“That’s the sound of timpani,” you explained and when you glanced to the side, you realized how close you were to him. One wrong move and you could hurt him. You needed to be extra careful. It was probably best to move away, Haechan would’ve certainly told you so but just for one more second…

Let me be this close to you for one more second before I go…

“Wait, don’t change the song,” Taeyong said, snatching you away from your thoughts. Your finger stopped moving around the playlist. “I want to hear this one to the end.”

You grew quiet. There were over a hundred songs you had put into the music player and out of all of them, Taeyong had to choose this song. This one song that took you an entire night contemplating whether you should put it inside the device or not.

“This is the sound of a violin, right?” Taeyong asked, looking serious because of his mask but you dared to think that he was smiling underneath it. “It’s nice. It’s not as rich as the other piece that had timpani in it, but… It’s beautiful. I like this one.”

You stood up abruptly, your earphone detaching itself from your ear. “I—I have to go. It’s getting late.”

“Huh?” Taeyong was a bit startled. “Oh. Yeah…”

You stepped forward, not looking back at him or waved him goodbye like usual. Instead, you rushed forward with your head hanging low.

To think that he would like your song.

To think that he would say that your violin playing was nice.

To think that he would prefer your song better than any other ones there.

“Hey,” Taeyong called, and you froze before you slowly peered back at him. If he could see the blush on your cheeks and ask about it, you would lie and say that the lights were playing tricks on him.

“Thanks for these,” Taeyong said and the boy had taken off his mask. With that warm smile that almost matched the warmth of the sun drowning behind him, he waved his hand goodbye. “Until we meet next summer.”

***

“Why doesn’t he wear clothes?” You exasperatedly asked one day, in the middle of a blazing summer. It was your ninth summer together. You were fifteen-years-old, and Taeyong… Well, you never actually knew what his real age was but he still looked like he was around eighteen as always.

“Who, Haechan?” Taeyong asked, and the little golden fox lounging on his lap perked his ears at the question. Taeyong smiled a little and you, once again, whispered gratitude toward whatever it was that made him take off his mask that day. The boy placed his palm on the Fox’s head and stroke its fur. Haechan purred and leaned into the touch, his tails swaying happily behind him. “Haechan doesn’t like human clothes. He said they’re uncomfortable.”

“Well, I’m uncomfortable seeing a grown man walking around naked and clinging to you like a possessive girlfriend—” Your sentence shortly ended with a shriek when a cloud of smoke exploded around you and you knew perfectly well what caused it.

“I’m not his girlfriend, you ugly monkey, but Taeyong-Hyung is mine!” Haechan, already standing in all of his naked glorious human form, shouted as he hugged him from behind, having one arm around Taeyong’s neck, and his chin being annoyingly close to the other boy’s shoulder. “And I’m not clingy because I want to. He’s just warmer than any other Spirits here and I happen to like warmth.”

“It’s summer.” You squinted your eyes menacingly, sounding remarkably irritated but still trying your best to hide the flustered look on your face because no matter annoying Haechan was, he was still a fully naked boy. “It’s like forty degrees out here, how much hotter do you want?”

Haechan actually had the knack to ignore you with a “Hmph!” while puffing out his cheeks and nuzzled his head against Taeyong’s palm. “You don’t find me annoying, do you, Taeyongie?”

Taeyong smiled and patted his head. “I’m already used to you being like this.” Haechan’s golden tail wagged excitedly in delight. “But you should put some clothes on, Haechannie. You’re making her feel uneasy.”

“I don’t care about that monkey girl!”

“What did you say, you stupid fox?!”

Both you and Haechan gritted your teeth, facing one on one in a glaring battle before your head nearly burst from being unable to contain the shame. Haechan was so naked, you couldn’t handle staring at him for a second longer than that. Haechan was cackling proudly for achieving victory.

“That’s not nice,” Taeyong scolded and Haechan only huffed, curling on the ground and laying his head on Taeyong’s lap.

“Of course,” Haechan grumbled quietly, plump lips turning into a pout. “Why should I be nice to a girl who can make you disappear anytime she wants? That’s ridiculous.”

You froze, heart dropping to your stomach, before you hugged your knees to your chest and half-buried your face in them. Taeyong was glancing at you for a second before he brought his eyes back to the boy on his lap and pinched Haechan’s nose.

“Hey, ouch!” Haechan batted his hand away, snarling. “What the hell was that for?!”

Taeyong didn’t utter a word but there was something… Some kind of tension that made Haechan pout angrily and mutter harshly in your direction. “Well, I’m sorry, okay?” Haechan heaved the loudest sigh. His ears went down dejectedly as he laid on his side. Taeyong’s hand had stopped long from stroking his golden hair. “I know you don’t mean any harm to Taeyong-hyung, but… I mean, I… I…”

You waited in silence as Haechan tried to form his words. He looked rather cute, trying desperately to draw the right sentence to apologize when he would pretty much prefer dying instead of doing so. Eventually, Haechan sat up, pointing rudely at you with his finger, and shouted, “All right, fine! You’re allowed to stay with my Taeyongie for now, but if you pull some kind of trick like trying to kiss him in his sleep again, I won’t forgive you, OKAY?!”

Both you and Taeyong jolted, hearts thumping loudly behind your ribcages.

He was watching?! But wait, Taeyong thought, he said she was trying to kiss me. So he wasn’t watching me when I tried to kiss her. But when did she…

Taeyong turned his head toward you at the same time you were averting your gaze from Haechan’s to his. Both of you blushed and immediately brought your eyes away.

“I—I should go.” You abruptly stood up, your knees wobbling under your weight. This is so embarrassing, I could die! “I’ll c-come back tomorrow, okay?”

“Huh?” Taeyong was not being himself, losing his composure. “Yeah, s-sure. I’ll—”

But you had already walked away from your spot, mentally slapping yourself in the face because oh God, no, now he knows. What should I do? How can I face him now?

“What’s up with that girl?” Haechan asked, raising an eyebrow as he draped his bare arms all over Taeyong’s body again. “I know she’s weird, but that was too weird, right?”

“Haechannie.”

Taeyong’s voice startled him a bit. “Y-yeah?”

“When you said…” Taeyong swallowed, the thought of him trying to kiss you in your sleep started to overwhelm him once more. Did she really do the same thing to me? When? “What you said before… Was it true? Did she really try to kiss me?”

It was saddening for him that Taeyong was paying more attention to you than to him again. Ever since you came into his life, all Taeyong could ever talk about was you. You were the reason behind his smiles, when it was used to be Haechan who brought warmth to Taeyong’s cold demeanor. “Well,” Haechan sighed in defeat. “To tell you the truth…”

With a dandelion flower tucked between his fox teeth, Haechan ran with all of his power to where Taeyong was. He moved his four legs as fast as he could, his golden tail swinging behind him. Being a small fox had its perks. He could easily jump from one tree to another, he could slip through narrow spaces, and Taeyong once said that he had soft fur that was nice to touch. Haechan truly adored that boy so as a token of his gratitude; he wanted to give him a dandelion flower—one that Taeyong loved the most.

Taeyongie! Taeyongie! I want to meet him! I want to give this to him!

So he ran faster, and faster, looking for him until Haechan saw his figure sitting next to a tree with his spine pressed against the thick trunk. From where he was, Haechan could only see his back.

Ah, there he is! Taeyongie!

He ran faster, crossing the field of grass to get to that spot, but only to find Taeyong sleeping with his bangs covering his eyes and his mask tossed to his side. Then there was you—the girl who always hung around him—kneeling in front of him with…

Haechan blinked. What kind of expression is that?

Your eyes were soft, your lips parted forming Taeyong’s name, and even from where Haechan was hiding behind the tree, he could tell that you were nervous. There was something different with the way you looked. Haechan usually saw you as an annoying, little clumsy girl who posed nothing but a threat to his dearest friend. But that day, he noticed how feminine you really were.

Has she… Haechan unconsciously thought, his heart racing a little. Has she always been that pretty?

“Please don’t wake up,” you whispered, your cheeks heating up. Then you leaned forward, pressing your palm to the grass next to his waist to prop your weight.

Wait! Haechan shouted in his head but he couldn’t will himself to move. Wait, what do you think you’re doing—

Then you closed your eyes and filled the spaces between you. Haechan wasn’t breathing at that moment. He couldn’t even think.

You were kissing Taeyong.

That girl! Haechan yelled in anger. If Taeyong disappears, I am going to kill—

“Hmm?” Taeyong’s voice came through his hearing. “Oh sorry, seems like I fell asleep. You came back already, huh?”

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling at him before you stood up. “I was just going to drop this for you and leave since I thought you were sleeping.”

Haechan crawled a bit closer to take a look at what you were referring to. It was a handful of dandelion flowers—just like what he wanted to give him—with a white paper card laid upon them.

The paper! Haechan realized. Of course! She was using that when she kissed him!

You took the small paper card and laughed. “I was going to write something like ‘Make a wish for me’ or something but you already woke up.”

When Haechan looked back at Taeyong, the boy was staring at you in the same way you’d looked at him before. Those soft, gentle eyes. That adoring gaze. That longing stare.

Taeyong stood up, taking the dandelions off his lap and offered them back to you. “Why don’t we make a wish together?” he asked, smiling so tenderly that even you got startled for a moment.

“Okay!” you chirped merrily and you walked next to each other as you blew the dandelions one by one.

“What did you wish for?”

“World peace,” you answered with a grin. “You?”

Taeyong sneaked a glance toward the small gap that separated your hands from one another. “An ice cream,” he said, smiling back.

You tittered, oblivious about the actual thing he desired the most. “You’re so weird.”

Haechan watched from afar, hiding behind the shades of the tree before he eventually transformed into his human form, laid his back against the trunk and blew his own dandelion flower away. The seeds were swaying together with the wind, leaving him alone as Taeyong’s chatter began to wash away from his ears.

“Idiot,” Haechan muttered. “Stop being so obvious. You’re even making me embarrassed.”

“Haechannie?” Taeyong’s soft voice woke him from his reverie. Noticing how the boy hadn’t spoken for a while, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Haechan glared at him, shouting. “Nothing’s wrong! Just go die, you idiot!” Then he morphed back to his animal form, bit him in the nose and scurried off.

Taeyong hissed in pain, rubbing his nose. “Why is everybody leaving so suddenly today?” he sighed before throwing himself back to the ground, lying on the grass with the sun showering him with its light.

Ah, I want to see her again already.

***

Seasons changed and what was once warm air caressing your strands, had turned into soft snow prickling against your skin and coating your spine with shivers. You began to realize that the world became a little dull as you grew older. You stared at the glassy window in front of you with lifeless eyes, close enough to make the glass hazy with your warm breath. The school’s bell rang, indicating that your next class was about to begin but you kept standing still in the hallway, just staring at the cloudy weather.

A boy called your name—Mark Lee, you remembered well, from his big doe eyes and his messy raven hair. “Shouldn’t you be heading to the lab? Everyone already left.”

“Huh?” You blinked, still somewhat dazed until you noticed that Mark was already carrying his textbook, ready to move to the biology lab. “Ah, right!” You sputtered, turning on your heels to run toward your classroom but Mark caught you by the wrist.

“Here,” he said, giving you the note and the textbook you wanted to grab. “We’re going to be late, so I’ve brought your stuff with me. Let’s go.”

And if your thoughts weren’t so distraught, you would’ve noticed how Mark had been paying more attention to you than anybody else for the past few weeks.

But that was the problem. You had been having trouble focusing these days. Everything just seemed to pass by like a blur. During your next class, you didn’t pay any attention at all. It wasn’t like you were busy chatting or drawing random doodles on your note. You were just staring blankly at your textbook. Your eyes were half-lidded, your thoughts scattering all over the places.

At home, you hardly finished your dinner. Your mother scolded you as she thought her daughter was snacking before they shared sukiyaki at the dining table. You could only pout before you took your leave. You didn’t tell your mother that you had hardly eaten anything all day.

When the lights were off and you were settling down under your blanket in bed, you couldn’t sleep. You kept staring at your ceiling, part of your soul going somewhere else. Somewhere where it was warmer, brighter, with a stupid-looking cat mask in sight.

You eventually closed your eyes with the thought of gentle brown eyes staring at you behind silvery white strands.

Six more months left until I can see you again.

***

“Good morning.”

You exhaled from your mouth, creating visible puffs of air in the chilly weather. Your coat and scarf were clinging tightly to your body and yet you still felt cold. You never enjoyed the winter season. Or, any other seasons, for that matter.

“I said, good morning.”

You blinked. Your brain finally could process that someone had been calling you since a moment ago. “Oh,” you said, smiling politely. “Good morning, Mark.”

“Dozing off already?” Mark said, fixing the strap of his bag that was about to fall off his shoulder. “Isn’t it still too early for that?”

You could only laugh but even the sound of it felt empty to your ears.

“There’s frozen ice underneath your feet,” he warned, his voice sounded a bit muffled. Half of his face was covered with his checkered navy blue scarf. “Be careful.”

You stopped walking and noticed that you were indeed standing on asphalt-covered with black ice. It made a soft creaking sound when you tried to walk on it. It was too slippery.

“You’ll slip. It’s dangerous.” Mark took out his hand from the pocket of his brown duffle coat. “Come here,” he called, offering his hand. There were clouds of breath when he spoke.

Appalled, but only for a second, you then smiled gratefully. “Thank you.” You took his hand, but Mark was the one who held it tighter. He was warm and the texture of his palm was rough. You never knew that a boy’s hand could feel like this.

You were no longer walking on the frozen ice but Mark never let go of your hand. He just continued walking in front of you, dragging you gently by the hand. “It’s cold today, isn’t it?” he said and you wondered whether you should reply to a rhetorical question like that. You ended up saying nothing.

“Haven’t you been a little out of it lately?” Mark asked after the small awkward silence. “Actually, you’ve always been that way, but…”

His grip around your hand wasn’t exactly too tight or too loose, and it somehow felt nice so you were confused. Why weren’t you affected by it? Why didn’t you feel anything at all? Some other students who were passing you were staring, and both you and Mark would probably need to get ready to clarify dating rumors the second you arrived at class but you felt nothing. Nothing at all, except…

Mark’s mouth was moving but you couldn’t hear him over the loudness of your thoughts.

I want to see Taeyong.

I want to touch him.

I want to feel his hand on mine.

I miss him.

But you still had six months left before summer came.

It didn’t use to be a problem. But at that particular moment, as Mark began to lace his fingers more comfortably around yours, you thought that it hurt. Not seeing Taeyong was more than painful.

It was suffocating.

***

“Is that your new uniform?” Taeyong asked, leaning his shoulder to the tree near the stone stairs where you usually met. That was his first line after nine months of separation.

You timidly smiled, nodding with your fingers interlacing behind your back. You were wearing a white and dark blue uniform, indicating that you had become a high school student that year. You wore a hairpin to clip your bangs from falling over your face. Taeyong didn’t comment on it but he noticed how your hair had grown longer, and how he loved it now as much as he’d loved it then.

“Time really flies, doesn’t it?” Taeyong marveled, as you climbed up the stone stairs, walking to a deeper part of the forest. “You’re already in high school, huh?”

The cicadas were singing loud behind your backs. They always sang the loudest when it was hot. “Yup.”

You sat on the carpet of green grass near the pond. Pink lotuses were growing, blooming underneath the sun. Taeyong sat cross-legged, and you sat next to him with your legs folded carefully to guard your skirt against blowing because of the wind.

“You don’t come running at me anymore these days,” Taeyong chuckled “You were so clingy when you were a kid.”

“Of course not.” You scoffed. “I’ve learned my lesson after all the beatings you did.”

Taeyong stayed in silence so you eventually looked away and diverted your gaze toward the sky. “I’m really looking forward to it,” you said. “In three years, when I graduate, I plan on looking for a job here. Then, I can be with you more. In winter, in autumn, in spring… We’ll always be together.” Your voice became softer, just like the sheepish smile you displayed on your face. “Always, okay?”

Taeyong glanced back at you through the holes of his mask. You seemed so optimistic and bright; it was almost painful.

Because what were you doing exactly? You both knew this wouldn’t last. You weren’t supposed to be together. There was no way for you to be together without you hurting each other in the end.

It was just… Impossible…

When Taeyong called your name, his voice had lost its cheeriness. “Let me tell you about myself.”

You blinked. “Eh?”

“I’m not a spirit,” Taeyong said, sitting up better on the ground. “But I’m also no longer human. It seems like I was once a human, but when I was a baby, I was abandoned in this forest.”

Taeyong could no longer recall the memory back when he was a baby, being left all alone in a wooden basket in the middle of a haunted forest. “I’d only just been abandoned, so I cried helplessly, as if to call back the parents who left me.”

But Taeyong’s tone was no longer painted with agony. You wondered how many years had truly passed since the day he was abandoned for him to feel nothing when he spoke about it.

“They said I didn’t stop crying for a long time,” Taeyong said, and you noticed that he must have been talking about the Spirits. “It was until they placed this cat mask on my face that I began to laugh. I should’ve died then, but the Mountain God appeared and cast a spell that allowed me to continue living so that I never move on.”

Taeyong never once looked at you when he retold his story. “I’m like a ghost,” he said, and finally turned his mask-covered face toward you. “So, it’s okay if you forget about me.” You couldn’t find anything to say. Your mind was busy processing all the information you'd just received. “A body that’s maintained by magic is very weak,” Taeyong continued nonetheless as he stared at his own palm. “If it touches a real human body, the spell will break and the body will disappear. It’s such a fragile thing…” There was an obvious pain in his voice now. “Just how long can you—”

“Something that disappears when touched,” you immediately said, not wanting to hear the question escaping his lips. “It’s just like snow, isn’t it?”

This time, it was Taeyong who went speechless.

“You know, Taeyong…” You embraced your knees to your chest, staring at the pond. The light cast its reflection on your face, which to Taeyong only added more sparks to your beauty. “I thought of you during winter. And fall… And spring… I thought of you all the time, so...” You locked their gazes together as you smiled. “Don’t forget about me, okay? Don’t forget. Time might separate us one day, but still, until then, let’s stay together.”

Taeyong never once discussed it again. He decided that you were worth it. He would allow himself to be selfish. Whether he would disappear from your touch, or whether you would pass away on your deathbed even when he was still in his twenties, no one could ever know. But if he could spend that time with you, no matter how short it would be, no matter how much it would hurt, he would endure the pain. If it meant that he would stay together with you, he would crush his own happy ending. Because you had decided to let yours go.

And there was no way he would let you go down that road on your own.

***

“A spirit festival?” You asked, as you sat next to each other near the lake with your feet dipped into the water. Now eighteen, you felt closer to him more than ever. You secretly wondered if someone saw you walking together side-by-side, would they think of you as a couple?

“No, a summer festival held by the spirits,” Taeyong corrected.

“There’s not much of a difference.”

“The nuance is completely different.”

“Nuance?”

“When you were little, I thought you might get scared so I didn’t invite you. But tonight,” Taeyong stopped to showcase his grin. “Can you sneak out of your house? I’ve wanted to go with you for a long time…”

As if you could decline that tempting offer. “I—I want to go!” You exclaimed, jumping up to both of your feet.

“Then meet me at eight at our usual place.”

“But when you think about it,” you muttered, hand propping your chin as you ran through your mind. “A festival filled with Spirits sounds a little unnerving. On top of that, it’s at night.”

Taeyong took off his mask and you could see the sincerity behind his brown eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling handsomely. “On the outside, it’s not very different from a human festival. It’s supposed to mimic human festivals after all.” And at that time, his smile turned a bit sheepish. “And I will protect you, so…”

You felt like something just lit a fire behind your chest. “W-when you say things like that,” you said, eyes glancing away from embarrassment, “it makes me want to jump at you.” You wanted it to be a joke. You both knew that there was no way you would touch him underneath your conscience.

“Then do it,” Taeyong, in all of his seriousness, said, “I’m serious.”

You could only look at him with conflicted feelings.

***

The summer festival that was held by the Spirits inside the forest was indeed similar to the ones in the living world. Lanterns were lit up, surrounding the place with orange-colored lights that seemed normal enough for your eyes. But when you took a closer look, the fireballs behind the paper lantern were actually dancing. Spirits were everywhere around the place and this time, they didn’t look like ghosts or monsters. They were all disguised as humans, even wearing yukatas and wooden sandals but with masks over their faces—just like Taeyong. Not every Spirit managed to do well with their disguises, though. You could still spot some children with pig noses and cat tails, and you could see Haechan’s fluffy golden tails and matching fox’s ears on his head as he waved a hand and ran toward Taeyong with all of his strength.

Taeyong was wearing a dark grey yukata with his usual cat mask placed on his face, and the Fox boy jumped into his arms, winding his long limbs so naturally around his neck.

“Taeyongie!” Haechan chirped as he nuzzled his nose against Taeyong’s neck, despite them being full-grown men. The other boy pushed him away with one palm.

“Y-you’re wearing clothes,” you stammered, gaping at the sight that Haechan wasn’t actually naked at that moment. Instead, the boy was wearing a white yukata with golden obi around his waist. It matched his blond hair and golden ears perfectly.

Haechan groaned, “Oh man, don’t tell me that monkey girl is here with you to—” The rest of his words died on his tongue the second he checked your appearance. No longer wearing your summer dress, that night you were wrapped in a sky blue kimono with falling cherry blossoms painted around it. You had a salmon-colored obi around your waist, curving your body perfectly and you had your bangs clipped to the side, showing more of your face for them to admire.

“Hmm?” you asked, tilting your head slightly when you noticed that Haechan was staring without saying a word. “What is it?”

“You…” Haechan gulped before he took a step back and pointed a finger at you. Taeyong could blatantly see the blush on his face but you never paid attention to anyone besides Taeyong. “You’re so ugly, you almost made me puke!” Haechan screamed.

“Excuse me?!” You shouted back and Taeyong laughed when Haechan turned into his animal form, sending a small kick to her face—it wasn’t as painful as it was surprising—before he ran away like a scared little rodent.

“Why are you laughing?” You pouted, rubbing your slightly bruised cheek from Haechan’s attack. “God, he must have hated me so much. What’s his problem? And is he leaving his clothes just like this?!”

Taeyong couldn’t understand why you were so oblivious of Haechan’s feelings. But if it meant he could stare at your adorable confused face longer then he wouldn’t say a word to explain.

“Hey,” Taeyong called, bringing out a thin white scarf from his sleeves. “Tie this around your wrist. You’ll get lost if you don’t.” You obeyed right away, even humming happily as you did it. Taeyong tied the other end around his wrist as well. With that, you were connected to each other.

“It’s just like going on a date,” you said, giggling. Taeyong had brought his mask to the side of his head, so most of his face was shown when he smiled beautifully.

“It is a date,” he said, successfully sending your heart thrumming wildly against your ribcages. When you weren’t as flushed, you mirrored his little smile, wishing for your heart to beat at a slower pace so you could focus more on his beautiful features instead. Taeyong was so close and so handsome; it felt almost surreal for you to witness. “Shall we go?”

You shortly nodded and let him lead the way, a thin white scarf bridging the small gap between you. It’s funny how you weren’t exactly holding hands, but it felt just the same way. Your heart was racing, your thoughts were filled with him, and your never-ending smile, brighter than all the lanterns combined, was the proof of the joy you shared with him.

It was perfect. He was perfect.

There were fireworks, music, and dances. Everything looked so fun. Taeyong bought you cotton candy, but when you tried to take a bite, it flew towards the sky, morphing into clouds between the shining stars. Every time you laughed, Taeyong was grateful to be able to witness the beauty of it. It was so easy for your happiness to be his.

You walked around, checking some food stalls from one place to another, with him trying to match his steps with yours without you knowing. You wanted to buy a mask as well, perhaps one that looked similar to Taeyong’s. When a mask finally caught your interest—a tanned person’s face with his eyes crossed, you touched it to try it on but it turned out that it was an actual Spirit’s face, not a mask. Flustered, you had no choice but to run away, shouting “I’M SO SORRY!” and forcing Taeyong to follow you with chuckles reverberating from his chest.

Taeyong laughed more frequently that night than he had been the entire summer and you loved it. You loved the way he laughed without care. It was like firewood in the cold, darkest night—warming, bright, and beautiful.

“Ah, I had so much fun!” You cheered, still laughing slightly as you walked away from the festival. It was getting late and knowing how your uncle must have been worried for your well-being, Taeyong took you home. “Everyone really went all out with their disguises, didn’t they?” Your voice echoed through the night. “It was like a mimicking competition. You weren’t kidding when you said it’s supposed to imitate human’s festival.” No wonder his uncle’s friend Hyori had managed to sneak inside back then. “Is it like this every year?”

“Yeah, every time summer comes around…” But Taeyong’s voice suddenly lost its liveliness. And as you walked further away from the festival, the forest became dark once more, with only the moon and the stars illuminating your faces.

When Taeyong called your name, it was a mix of a longing sigh and a hushed whisper. Little frogs and insects were making sounds in the background and you could hear your steps matching his as you stepped on the grass, near your usual private pond. “I can no longer wait for summer to come around,” he softly murmured.

You turned your head toward him, glancing at the face of the boy you’d spent your entire summer with. Taeyong was wearing his mask again, and you wished he didn’t. You wanted to see his expression when he said those words.

“When I’m away from you,” Taeyong confessed, “even though I can’t be around the crowds, I want to go see you. Even though I knew it would’ve killed me, I was ready to step a foot outside this forest and run to you. Nine months are too long for me to wait for you.”

You almost reached out a hand to touch his, but you stopped before you got your wish. Instead, you sank your fingernails to your palm, hard enough to tear your skin apart so you could focus on the pain on your skin instead of the one in your chest.

Why does he have to be so close and yet so far away?

Then Taeyong suddenly stopped walking, lifting one hand to take off his mask and pressed it to your face. Before you could understand what was happening, Taeyong bent his head down and kissed the other side of the mask, right where your lips would be if there were no barriers between you. The thin mask was the only thing separating your lips from touching one another.

You froze, seeing Taeyong’s close-up face from the holes of the mask. As you’d guessed, Taeyong had long eyelashes. And he was so beautiful, so gentle, so young but with the expression of a man who spent hundreds of years in silence, yearning for other people’s touch.

Taeyong wasn’t really kissing you and yet, you still couldn’t breathe.

He pulled away after a few seconds had passed; smiling at you in the way it was almost breaking you apart but not quite.

Why does this feel like a goodbye?

“That mask,” he said, gazing straight at you. His smile never faltered from his lips, which only broke your heart even more. “You can have it.” And with him taking another step forward, you began to walk side by side again without uttering any other words.

He probably won’t come back to the place where we usually meet next summer. You pondered, hiding your face behind his mask. This is definitely our last…

“Hey, wait for me!” Two children passed by, running with their little feet and roaring into the night. The first boy managed to get a few steps ahead and his little sister was trying to catch up to him but she fumbled and slipped on her feet.

“Careful!” Taeyong shouted in reflex and reached out a hand to help her. With a hold around her wrist, he managed to prevent her from falling. The little girl smiled, showcasing her teeth and thanked him before she ran away chasing her brother again.

“Be careful, you guys!” You said and the two children waved their hands at you. You chuckled to yourself. I wonder if I was like that when I was a—

Taeyong’s sudden call of your name made you jolt. You hastily turned around, hoping to see him smile from the holes of the mask you had on your face, but instead what you saw was something more.

It was your nightmare.

Taeyong had his hand—the one he used to touch the little girl—stretched out in the air, staring at it with parted lips and wide eyes as his fingertips started to glow and slowly disappearing into thin air like fireflies vanishing in the night.

“Ta…” Your throat, your chest, it felt like fire was consuming every inch of you. “Taeyong..?”

You couldn’t believe what was happening. You wished you were dreaming. You prayed for it to be a dream. But Taeyong was really there, disappearing little by little in front of you and you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t live without him in your life. How could just one touch of a hand do something like this?

“That girl was a human?!” You panicked, head throbbing loudly but the pain didn’t even come close to the aching you felt in your heart. What should I do? What should I do now?! I can’t lose him—I don’t want to lose him—

Taeyong!

The glow started to spread to his wrist, passing his elbow, to his chest and you wanted to scream stop! Don’t take him away from me! Please, stop! But Taeyong was smiling, so widely and beautifully and this time there was no trace of loneliness or secrets he tried to keep to himself like his usual smile. This time, he really did smile with all of his heart.

“Come here!” He called your name between his smiles, throwing his arms out for you to jump into. “I can finally touch you now.”

And you didn’t let a second to waste. You pushed the mask away from your face, facing him with a smile because that was what he deserved and then you hugged him, embraced him tightly with all of your strength, and you never wanted to let go. Taeyong looked so happy so you held your tears to yourself, no matter how much they burned behind your eyelids, and when Taeyong lifted your face and pressed a kiss to your lips, you curled your fingers on the back of his yukata.

Taeyong was so warm. And soft. And…

Gone.

You fell to your knees with his yukata held tightly against your chest. Your shoulders shuddered. Your chest felt like a thousand ice blades striking you at the same time. The clothing still smelled like him and yet, Taeyong was nowhere to be seen. He was consumed by the fireflies’ light and now there was no trace of him left.

I love you, you heard him said just a split second before he vanished. Faintly. Lovingly. Awaking every memory of the summers you’d spent together. That twig of oak bridging the distance between you. Those flowers you picked from the fields for him. That time when he ran to save you from falling. How lonely he’d looked from time to time. And how lonely you were when he wasn’t around. When Taeyong wasn’t there to spread happiness to your life.

And now he’s gone…

“Me too,” you sobbed as you held onto the piece of fabric he left from his final moment as if you were hanging on a thread that separated life from death. “I love you too.”

I love you so much, Taeyong.

And you let yourself cry, just this once, just for tonight. You would cry your heart out, screaming his name, telling him how much you loved him, just for this time only. Taeyong was the source of your happiness. Not even his death should change that.

When there were no more tears to cry, you got back to your feet and the first step felt so heavy. It was easier to just be drowned in silence, never have to get up again, never have to see the light of day now that his light had been taken away. But Taeyong wouldn’t wish for that to happen. He wanted you to be happy, with or without him.

So you picked his mask off the ground and embraced it tightly to your chest. There were murmurs of the Spirits around you, thanking you for being with Taeyong until the last moment of his life. They said Taeyong could only truly smile when he was with you.

Haechan appeared in front of you, wearing his previous white yukata with golden obi around his waist. His fox’s ears were down and his tails were no longer wagging behind him like always. His eyes were red and puffy, though he wasn’t crying.

“Taeyong-hyung wanted nothing more but to feel a touch of a human,” he said when you’d lost your voice to speak. “Being hugged by you before he vanished like that… I guess he wouldn’t have preferred anything else.”

You weakly smiled and reached up to stroke Haechan’s hair. The Fox boy seemed somewhat startled but didn’t move away. “He must have been happy,” you said, smiling with tears brimming in your eyes, “to have someone like you paying so much attention to him.”

Haechan brought his head down and you could hear soft sobs as he began to break down once again. He was biting his lip until it grew white, just to muffle his whimpers. You told him that it was all right for him to cry as hard as he could. After all, it was only normal. The pain of being left by someone you love… Taeyong must have understood it well.

I probably won’t be able to look forward to summer for a long time.

My chest will hurt.

My tears will be overflowing.

But this warmth in my hands and these summer memories will live forever in my heart.

I wouldn’t ask for anything more.

You smiled, kissing the temple of the mask and whispered, “Until we meet on the next life, Taeyong.”

***

It takes bravery to show up at the gate of the forest in your sleeveless white summer dress and you can feel your knees trembling underneath your weight but your resolve doesn’t dissipate. It’s been one year since Taeyong has vanished without a trace. Your heart still bleeds, but your tears are dry. And although it kills you to know that Taeyong is no longer there, waiting on the stone stairs like usual, you keep your smile intact, taking a seat close enough to the spot where Taeyong used to sit waiting for you.

“I’m here this year too, Taeyong,” you whispers, one hand being placed on the stone steps as if it was out for him to touch. “How are you?”

A soft wind blows, caressing your now longer hair and swiping warmth to your cheek. Lonely. You feel so alone. The cicadas are singing loudly as always but they don’t sound the same without the sound of Taeyong’s soft chuckles. You can no longer share stories with him, can no longer try to close the forbidden gap between you little by little. There’s nobody you can show your uniform to.

Don’t cry, you will yourself, hugging your knees tightly to your chest. Don’t cry. Taeyong wouldn’t want you to cry. You said you could do this, remember?

But it still hurts.

So you quickly open your bag and retract his cat mask from it. Placing it upon your face, you bask in what’s left of Taeyong’s scent as you close your eyes. This way, even if you end up crying, no one will see. If Taeyong is still here, or if he somehow stares down from heaven, he won’t be able to see you breaking apart.

“If you want to cry, just cry,” a boy suddenly sits down next to you, your shoulders brushing one another. “Idiot.”

You look to your side, feeling your breath stutter a little. “Haechan-ah…”

The Fox boy turns his head to face you as well but unlike Taeyong who greeted you with a gentle smile, Haechan was scowling. He has an apparent frown on his handsome human face, but although he is glaring, his nine tails betray him as they wag in elation behind him. “What are you staring at?” he says and flicks you on the forehead. It doesn’t hurt since he’s only grazing the mask, but it does make you move your gaze away.

Haechan still looks as young as always. His golden hair is still shining reflecting the sunlight, his ruby eyes are shimmering, and his sun-kissed skin still glows beautifully.

“You’re wearing clothes,” you comment, noticing the casual white shirt and the blue jeans he has on his body. He’s not wearing anything to protect his feet though.

“Of course, as if I would give you the reason to ogle at my perfect body,” Haechan spits back harshly and you don’t answer anything back. Eventually, it creates tension between you so he runs a hand through his hair and mutters, “Well, I mean… Taeyong told me it made you uncomfortable, so…” You still stay mute but for an entirely different reason.

“Thanks,” you finally say, your voice sounds a bit muffled because of the mask.

Haechan feels his face growing hot and he grits his teeth to wash it away. “You’re being gross, stop it,” he raves and yet his tail sways faster behind him as his ears perk up in joy. You can finally understand why Taeyong was fond of him. Despite his snarky attitude, Haechan is shy and he’s never honest when it comes to showing his feelings, but his body often betrays him. He has his own charm.

So you laugh—softly, quietly, unfamiliar to your own ears, but it’s a start. “I’m sorry.”

Haechan huffs and fixes his red eyes to the sky. The clouds are moving, changing shapes and he secretly wonders what would Taeyong say at times like this. “I thought you wouldn’t come this summer,” he murmurs.

“I thought I wouldn’t too,” you admit. “But I realized in the end, even though he’s gone, it doesn’t mean he can’t still live in my memory. I think when someone dies; it doesn’t really mean that they’re gone. The difference is that we can’t physically see them anymore, so as time goes by, we begin to forget. And once we forgot about them, then I guess that’s when someone truly dies.” You take off your mask, turn it around on your palm and stare at the cat’s two-round, lifeless eyes. “I can’t see Taeyong anymore but I won’t let him disappear from my thoughts. He’s now living in my memory and I will keep it that way. He’s already a part of me now—of who I have become.” Your lips curve up as you rub your thumb along the cat’s whiskers. “I’m sorry for saying such weird things. I must have bored you by now.”

But unbeknownst to you, Haechan is staring at you with admiration in his eyes. He never knew you had such a complex personality.

Even though she’s a human. Even though she’s just a human.

“You know, for Spirits like us,” Haechan says, “Humans have always been nothing better than something to eat. It’s not worth having a relationship with them. You can’t befriend someone who will pass away in a blink of an eye. Spirits like us can live for hundreds of years. And you, people like you, can barely even reach a hundred. Becoming attached to something so fragile will only hurt us, that’s why we try to never look at humans as someone to be friends with. Just like humans in general, we’re afraid of getting hurt.”

Your eyebrows are knitted together, can barely understand why is Haechan telling you these things.

“I saw Taeyong-Hyung when he was with you,” Haechan utters, and this time he smiles at the memory of his friend. He looks much younger like this. “He was happy. Perhaps happier than I’d ever seen him. That’s probably why I decided not to eat you.”

“You wanted to eat me?”

“A few times, yeah.”

“Even though you were so startled when Taeyong suddenly sneezed and almost ran for your life like a little scaredy-cat?”

“That’s—” Haechan blushes madly. “That’s different!”

You place a hand over your mouth, covering your small laughter. “Okay, okay,” you said and Haechan feels a tweak in his heart again. Humans are such fragile beings, he wonders, maybe that’s the reason why I want to protect her so badly?

He quickly shakes the thought away, blushing even deeper. Get a grip on yourself, you idiot!

“Well, Haechannie.” You stand up from the spot you’ve been sitting on, smoothening down your dress. “I’m supposed to head over to my uncle’s house now. I don’t want to make him worry.”

“Oh…” Haechan blinks, standing up as well. “Right, of course.”

You’re appalled at how taller he is now. Even when you’re standing up straight, you can only reach a little above his shoulder line. “Are you still growing?”

“Huh?” Haechan takes a look at himself. “Oh. Yeah, maybe.” And you want to comment on that but you’re distracted by the look of Haechan’s fox ears going down. “Are you…” he looks away, somewhat hiding his lips behind the back of his hand. His cheeks are burning redder by the second. “Are you going to come back here tomorrow?”

The wind is probably playing tricks to your ears, that’s why you’re hearing some weird stuff right now. “What?”

“Ah, damn it!” He groans, his blush now expanding to the tip of his ears. “I said, are you going to come back here tomorrow or not, you stupid monkey girl! Don’t make me say this thing twice, it’s freaking embarrassing!”

It takes another two seconds for you to process before you burst out laughing. He’s so childish; it’s somewhat adorable. “If you want me to, I will,” you reply, wiping small tears away from your eyes.

Although Haechan’s ears perk up instantly at your answer, he keeps muttering rudely, “Well, don’t expect me to wait here for you or anything, okay? Today is special but I won’t do it tomorrow.”

“Huh?” You nearly break out into laughter again. “You were waiting for me today?”

By this point, Haechan’s practically combusted into flames. “SHUT UP, YOU MONKEY GIRL!” In a split second, he transforms into his animal form, creating musky grey mist all around you, and he bites your nose before he scurries away. His golden tail still wags happily behind him as he runs off.

Rubbing your nose from the itching pain, you grin with your teeth shown and waves your hand goodbye. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Haechannie!”

“It’s Donghyuck!” His voice can be heard but he’s nowhere to be seen. “My real name is Donghyuck. You better memorize that!”

Donghyuck… Somehow, you could feel your heart warming in the way it hasn’t been for a year long. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, Donghyuck…”

Your summer is changing. The feeling is different though something hasn’t quite changed. You still miss Taeyong, terribly so. There will probably no way you can stop missing him. After all, they said first love lasts forever, right?

But I’m doing fine, Taeyong. There are still many things for me to do so I will move on, little by little. No matter how long it would take for me to be able to remember your name without hurting; to remember your smile without regretting not being able to kiss your lips longer; or to remember the days we spent together and not crying over them—I will heal.

Time will no longer be our enemy. It will be the one to erase my pain.

I will heal.

***

Dear Taeyong,

I miss you.

I miss you a lot.

I miss you to the point of shedding my tears.

But I will not wish for you to come back.

After all you never truly left me, did you?

I remember everything.

I still remember everything.

Even if ten years have passed, even if twenty, even if a thousand years have gone by, as long as I’m still alive, I promise you until my dying breath that I will remember you.

You are still the beautiful reality in my sleep.

The blissful dream in my wake.

I am still here, in the place where we usually meet.

I am not waiting for you—I know you wouldn’t want that.

But I am here because of you. Because you remind me of summer. Of joy. Of faith. Of love. Of a bittersweet goodbye.

Everything about you brings smiles to my face, even if our first embrace ended without time waiting for me to keep your warmth. Even if our kiss never left an aftertaste on my lips.

It’s all right. It’s enough.

No matter where you are now, Taeyong… Be happy.

I will meet you again in our next life.

Maybe by then, we can set our promise not by words, but by our fingers lacing together.

And maybe by then, you can stroke my hair when I cry.

And every time we part, I will let you take my farewell words from my lips.

Take my breath, if you must. After all, they’re yours. Everything about me is yours.

I love you.

I love you so much.

I love you despite everything that separated us. Time, distance, age, even a single touch—Nothing can make me tired of loving you. I love you. I have never loved anyone else but you.

I am forever yours.

***

My Love,

I miss you too.

I miss you so much.

I miss you to the point of breaking apart.

And I’m glad you don’t wish for me to come back.

I don’t think it would’ve done us any good.

I still remember you.

I will always remember you.

Even if I no longer have a body, even if not even my ashes remain, even if the fireflies decide to abandon me, I will remember you.

Listen to me, my dear.

Even if I had the chance to choose, I still wouldn’t change a thing.

I’d prefer not to be able to touch you, to feel your warmth, or to taste your lips,

rather than not be able to fall in love with you.

I’d rather be consumed with these feelings I have for you,

rather than being burned by a passion that would be over after the summer end.

This is all right. This is enough.

So no matter what happens next… Be happy.

For I do not wish for anything else.

I have no regrets.

You have given me everything I’d asked for.

You have given me more than I could ever imagine.

I have never desired anything until I met you.

I am eternally grateful for our meeting.

Even if we had to separate for nine months each year, I have enjoyed every little second that we spent, from sunrise to sunset even if it was only three months a year.

I will see you in our next life.

And by then, I will place a ring around the finger you lace with mine.

And by then, I will kiss the tears away from your eyes.

And we will never part, but I will seal your lips with mine from saying those farewell words.

I love you too. I wouldn’t have understood love if it wasn’t for you. My whole life wouldn’t have meant something if it wasn’t for you.

Until we meet again, my love.

I am forever yours.

***

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astro-rain · 3 years

Text

delicate; b. barnes

chapter nine- “to have or not to have indoor plumbing”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2.3k

synopsis: no fallout shelter is perfect. sometimes you need to think outside the box... or outside the bunker, that is.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: what did you think of this chapter? what do you want to see next? PLS let me know! :))

Light did not shine through the windows and cast a bronze glow on the floor like it did in the castle quarters. He didn't hear the soft buzz of the cicadas like he usually did in the morning. He didn't wake to an empty room with familiar beautiful Wakandan tapestries.

This was because Bucky Barnes awoke in an underground shelter with no windows, stone reinforced walls, and a sleeping psychologist in the bed next to him. Somehow... this wasn't that bad.

He woke up before her, as to be expected. His body was pretty much programmed to be up in the early morning. That, and any time he slept for too long his mind conjured up remnants of horrors from the past.

The super soldier stood up from the bed and stretched his back and arm. It was quiet. A relaxed, enjoyable quiet. Y/N was still sleeping. He wondered what time it was. He didn't have a watch, and he didn't see any clocks in the bunker. He assumed she probably had her phone, but he wouldn't wake her just to ask the time.

He glanced around the room, and his eyes landed on the panther key. Perhaps he could go outside for a bit, gauge the time, scope out the area, get some sun. He never was overly enthusiastic about the sun, but since being in Wakanda, he had grown to love the warmth.

Warmth was a welcome change from the brutalizing cold Hydra put in his bones. Cold was past agony and torment, but warmth. Warmth was the rich, golden promise of remedy that gleamed on his skin.

Just thinking about it made him yearn for the outside sun and the way it enveloped his skin in amber rays. It felt safe here.

Usually, he couldn't stop his mind from worrying and expecting all the good in his life to somehow crash down around him. However, he couldn’t help but feel safe in Wakanda, no matter what he did. He felt safe in Wakanda and with Y/N, even though they were in a bunker hiding from a country's takeover-

"Bucky?" A raspy voice called out.

He turned around, not realizing he had walked over to the table, where the panther key was sitting. It looked just as regal and ferocious as it did before.

"G'Morning," he smiled.

She sat up on her elbows, avoiding hitting her head on the top bunk.

"How'd you sleep?" she asked. "Nightmares still?"

"Last night wasn't bad," he shrugged. "Still... there, but I got some decent hours in."

"That's good," Y/N yawned. "I'd like to work more on the nightmares soon. See if we can find any improvement. But don't worry, no 'Interpretation of Dreams' shit because I refuse to dignify most Freudian theories."

He let out a breathy chuckle. Sometimes Y/N would go into what he, in his head, called her silly psychologist speech. She would momentarily forget that Bucky wasn't an academic, and use big words to talk about things he'd never even heard of. Sometimes she would slip into psychologist mode when she wasn't "on duty."

"Are we movin' the sessions out here now?" he joked.

"Damn," she snickered. "My bad. No more psych talk in here, I promise."

"It's alright, I don't mind," he shrugged. "S'just you bein' you."

"I guess. I don't know to be anyone else, so."

“I would expect nothing less of you.”

Y/N then moved the blanket off of her legs to stand up out of the bed, just before stopping short, staring at the bed she was sitting on. He could almost see the gears turning in her head.

"Did I make the bed last night in a frenzy of exhaustion and not remember it?"

He laughed. "No."

She furrowed her brows and cocked her head to the side, confused and waiting for an explanation.

"I made it - well, as best as I could... all things considered."

Her face changed, melting into an endearing look of gratitude.

"Thank you Buck," she smiled. "Way better than sleeping on the floor."

She didn't say anything else regarding it, and he was glad. What she didn't know was that he put her in the bed after he made it. She was so exhausted, he didn't want to wake her. The task proved itself exceptionally challenging with one arm. However, super soldier strength and determination was a worthy advantage.

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked.

"Umm," she dragged out, finally standing up from the bed. "Not sure, I'll have to find my phone and- oh shit"

"What?"

"I don't have a charger."

"Oh. I'll uh look around and see if there's one stored down here."

Y/N stood still and looked around the room. Her eyes landed on the space heater and her expression dropped.

"Bucky..."

"What's wrong?"

"Do you remember what I said yesterday about the heater?"

"Not... really. Jog my memory?"

She quoted herself. "I doubt they could get electric or plumbing out here."

"Oh yeah," he still wasn't following.

"There's no shower down here... or toilet..."

He looked around and it hit him. "Oh."

"That's..." she trailed off, "a bit inconvenient."

He saw her begin to fidget with her hands.

"What are we supposed to do?" she asked. "We can't like... pee in buckets or something."

Bucky scratched the stubble on his face, about to suggest something he knew she wouldn't like.

"Well, before you woke up, I was thinkin' about going outside to get an idea of the time and maybe get some sun. We can go out and see if we can find a fresh water source or something. It's not perfect, but it's better than buckets."

"Outside? Is that not dangerous?"

"Danger is a possibility, but we're pretty far out from the castle grounds. I doubt anyone comes out this far or even knows about the shelter."

She took a deep breathe in. "I don't know..."

He could hear the uncertainty and weariness in her voice.

"If you're not comfortable, I can just go look and come back, tell you if it's safe, if there's water nearby," he offered.

"No. I'm going with you."

"I thought-"

"You’re not going alone. I'll grab my shoes and we can go."

Well then.

"As you wish, oh wise one."

"Smartass."

He grabbed the panther key and tossed it to her with a smile.

"So... how does one locate a water source?" Y/N asked, her footsteps beside Bucky's.

The Wakandan sun beat down on them. They'd only been walking for a few minutes, and they were already sweating.

"Keep an eye out for mud. If the ground is wet, chances are there's water nearby."

She nodded.

"Hey," she smirked, "Have you ever heard of Bear Grylls?"

He could hear the smile in her voice.

"No, but I have a feeling whatever that is is being used to poke fun at me?"

She huffed in a fake gasp, feigning over-exaggerated shock. "I'd never do such a thing!"

"Hey! I'm doing this so we don't have to pee in buckets. A teeny tiny bit of gratitude would go a long way."

"Apologies. Please accept my most heartfelt thanks, my dear old friend."

"Who you callin' old?"

"I don't know, does a hundred seem old to you?"

"You know, it’s disrespectful to mock the elderly,” he fake scolded.

"Yeah, well don't disrespect your mental healthcare provider."

"I didn't! You started-"

"Water!" she shouted, cutting him off. “Look!”

In front of Y/N's pointed finger was the end of a tiny stream. The source was somewhere ahead of them. And so they followed, continuing their trek beneath the sun's sweltering rays. It really was oppressively hot.

"Holy..." Bucky muttered.

"Shit," Y/N finished.

He gave her a look and he she shrugged, fighting off a laugh.

They stood facing a beautiful scene: a modest waterfall flowed over mossy stone and poured out into a little pool of crystal clear water. It was quaint and secluded, surrounded by rocks and trees. This was wonderfully fortuitous for the two of them as they were still technically in hiding. The pool of water was relatively shallow; he could see the bottom, but it was still deep enough to submerge his whole body and them some. The pressure from the waterfall looked mild enough to go under; perhaps it could act as a makeshift shower.

"This definitely works. Much better than buckets," Y/N commented.

Then she began to untie her boots, take off her socks, and sit with her feet in the water.

"Holy hell it's hot," she groaned, wiping a hand across her forehead. He noticed that she had been squinting for the last couple of minutes. "Buck, do you know if the water is clean to drink or swim in?"

"Why don't you taste test it? Then we'll know for sure."

She turned her head to him, an emotionless expression on her face.

"I don't give a damn about the super serum, I can and will drown you, Barnes."

A laugh came from deep in his chest. "I'm just playin'. The water looks fine, you should be good."

She cupped her hands to scoop up some of the water and threw it at him.

"Hey!"

"Aw, you look so refreshed now," she cooed sarcastically.

"That was uncalled for."

"Perhaps. Hey, how long until we have to go back?"

"We're not really on a set schedule. Whenever you're ready, I guess. It's not like we have things to do."

"Do I have time to like dunk real quick? It's deathly hot and I don't wanna walk back in this heat."

Dunk in the water? There are no swim suits here...

"Oh-uh... uh y-yeah, do you want me to like... wait over there-or-“

"I’m goin’ in with my clothes on,” she deadpanned. Straight and to the point, like she didn’t want any type of confusion about the situation.

“Oh,” he breathed. “You’d rather walk back in soaked clothes?”

“Yes.”

"I mean sure, knock yourself out. But be careful, some parts look pretty deep."

"I'm know how to swim, Buck,” she smiled. “Don’t fret.”

He hummed an "okay," before looking around the entire waterfall area. Instinctively, he started walking the perimeter, making sure they would be safe. He didn't know how he hadn't done it sooner. He must've been distracted.

The soldier made his way through trees and over rocks until he returned to the spot facing the center of the waterfall pool. He watched as Y/N's head slowly ascended from the water. She opened her eyes, and as her gaze found him, confusion washed over her face.

"Bucky, aren't you hot?"

"I mean, it’s warm, but I think I'm more useful out keepin' watch."

"Are you sure?" she laughed, tossing more water at him.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, clumsily trying to jump and dodge out of the way of the water flinging at him.

Y/N shamelessly continued. "The water's just fine! It's so refreshing and cooooool!"

Bucky's attempts at dodging the water were very much in vain. Soon enough his grey shirt had splatters of Wakandan waterfall water all over it.

He only laughed some more. "Come on! You're comprising our security!"

She stopped.

"Wait- I'm sorry. Am I actually?"

His breathing slowed, but his smile remained. "No, it's okay. I just think it's safer for at least one of us to stay out and be aware. I can go in next time."

"Okay," she frowned.

At the edge of the water, closest to grass, the ground descended into layers, creating a sort of makeshift staircase that sloped into the pool. Y/N floated over to the stairs, and leaned her elbows on the second highest step so that the water settled just below her shoulders. He watched as her legs floated straight up behind her, and each edge of her clothing moved up and down languidly in the water as if they were breathing with its movement.

In response, Bucky sat down at the waters edge, removing his own shoes and socks, rolling up his pant legs and resting his feet in the pool.

"There, now we're meetin' in the middle."

Y/N spared a gentle smile.

"Buck," she asked softly, "can I ask you a question?"

His brows furrowed at the sudden change in tone. "Mm hm."

He was expecting some kind of serious question, but instead, he watched yet another mischievous smirk grow across her face.

"Don't you have to pee?"

He rolled his eyes, and splashed her with as much water as he could cup in his hand. Y/N let out a burst of loud, boisterous laughter, wiping the water from her eyes.

"Why, do you?! Do I have to worry about feeling some warm water!!"

"No! I already went..."

"Oh, ew!" he howled with laughter.

"Not like that! I did it behind a tree while you were makin' your rounds."

"Well thank you for not christening our only clean water source."

"You are quite welcome, James Buchanan Barnes."

His brain slowed at the sound of his full name. He almost didn't feel the barely-there smile that turned the sides of his mouth up ever so slightly. Time became lazy, and his line of sight came to a leisurely stop directly at Y/N's face.

He got a good look at the reflective water droplets all over her skin, and the way some were falling off while others stayed perfectly still. He got a good look at how her waterlogged eye lashes stuck together in bigger clumps, making darker shades of black that contrasted her eye color, and how her wet hair was slicked back and flowed down her neck. He got a good look at the teeny tiny drops of waterfall that settled in her eyebrows, and how he had only been this close to her very few times before.

He couldn't tell why, but he wanted to take a mental snapshot of this moment. The charming imperfection of her was so genuine, so endearing, so alluring. He found himself having a hard time finding the motivation to look away. He must be tired or something.

He hadn’t noticed how still she was as well. But then, gradually, her smile went away, and her face was replaced with a neutral but poised expression. She slowly floated back from him, putting space between them.

"Can we go back now?" she asked. "I think the sun is giving me a headache."

"Y-Yeah, 'fcourse," he said, unprepared to do anything but fulfill her request.

164 notes · View notes

belettewrites · 3 years

Text

Listen to the melody

In which Jaskier finds a puppy, immediately adopts him, and Geralt becomes the “dad didn’t want a dog//dad and the dog” meme. Oh, and some self-esteem issues from a certain white-haired witcher that lead to some hurt until they finally talk to each other.

cw: the dog gets hurt but I promise he’s fine.

Around 8k words, link to AO3 here!

And a big thank you to @potatofu-art for giving the dog his name! Go check their blog, you won’t regret it (no seriously, do it, trust me)

Geralt and Jaskier had met again when the cold breeze had been replaced by a warmer one, when trees were starting to wear bright green leaves again and fields were blooming with small and fragile flowers.

A few months had past, spring leaving in favor of a warm summer, and they had not parted ways yet. It was something that they usually did, because sometimes Jaskier needed to go to a bardic competition that took place where Geralt would never be able to find a contract, or because Jaskier was requested to play somewhere Geralt would never be able to follow. It wasn’t really parting ways, actually it was more Jaskier leaving, but Geralt told himself that it was something he was fine with. The bard did find him again after, or Geralt did, and they would start traveling together again, Jaskier sharing gossips that Geralt pretended to care about.

He was… fond of Jaskier, and that was why when the bard stopped following the path that would lead straight to the village they had planned to spend the night in, Geralt stopped to wait for him.

The sun hadn’t set yet and wouldn’t for at least an hour, but cicadas were already singing around them, the luminosity dim even though night hadn’t fallen yet. They were just at the edge of the town, and so they had time.

Geralt turned around to see what Jaskier was doing; surely the bard had found a flower that he deemed worth picking, and-

Jaskier wasn’t on the road anymore. He had jumped in the ditch by the side of the road, and was currently cooing at something. Now that Geralt thought of it, he could hear two heartbeats in that ditch.

“Jaskier?”

He didn’t draw his sword – there was no need – but readied himself for whatever he would find. He walked closer to the ditch, trusting Roach not to run away; the mare snorted but didn’t move.

“I’m fine, don’t worry, it’s just – can you hold him for me while I get out of here?”

Geralt looked down. The ditch was quite deep, Jaskier would no doubt stain his doublet to get out of it, as he had his boots when he had jumped in it: a layer of mud covered the bottom of the ditch. But that was not the part that interested Geralt at the moment; not, what made him pause was what Jaskier was currently cradling to his chest – a puppy.

It was not a small one; his legs, covered in mud as the rest of his fur, showed that he would grow into a big dog, the kind that kept herds of sheep in the mountains – not the kind that was left alone in a ditch by the side of the road.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his tone impatient, and Geralt reached out without thinking about it, taking the puppy in his hands.

It squirmed a little but let itself be carried. Geralt put it on the ground next to him, and helped Jaskier to get out of the ditch.

“Thank you, dear,” Jaskier smiled, before his attention returned to the dog. He squatted down to take it in his arms. “The poor thing wasn’t even making a noise,” he said, his smile turning sad, “and he’s shaking. He must have been in here for hours – why would anyone do that?”

Geralt looked at the puppy. His long brown and black fur was in a poor state, hairs matted together by the mud.

“He’s missing a leg,” he stated, and Jaskier frowned.

“And?”

“And people don’t want dogs with only three legs,” Geralt shrugged. It was stupid, but humans often were.

Jaskier’s eyes somehow got even sadder, and Geralt felt helpless. He didn’t want Jaskier to be sad, but there wasn’t anything that he could do to make humans stop being prejudiced against things that weren’t how they expected them to be.

Then determination shone in Jaskier’s eyes and Geralt suddenly felt afraid of what he would say next.

“We’re keeping Butterscotch.”

“We are not keeping him- you gave him a name?”

Jaskier scratched the dog behind his ears, and the puppy closed his eyes.

“Well it’s not as if anyone was going to,” the bard replied, and Geralt suddenly felt extremely tired. “Besides, I found him. I get to name him.”

“We can’t keep him,” Geralt said again, because it was something that Jaskier needed to understand.

“But he’s helpless,” Jaskier almost pouted, “and you said it yourself: people won’t want him. I am not going to leave him here all alone, ready to be eaten by wolves.”

There weren’t any wolves in the area, but Geralt decided against saying it. And of course they wouldn’t abandon him like that.

“His previous humans didn’t want him,” he said instead, “we can find him another family.”

The puppy yawned, which was the most noise he had made since they had found him, and tried to lick Jaskier’s chin. The bard smiled at him, a fond thing, and Geralt suddenly couldn’t tell Jaskier that a young dog wouldn’t survive on the path for long and that they couldn’t exactly afford to feed a puppy on top of their needs.

“No,” Jaskier said, still holding the puppy in his arms. Fuck, but he was cute. The dog – Butterscotch – tried to lick him again, and Jaskier laughed.

Fuck.

They were now doing what he had no choice but to call puppy eyes at him.

This was a bad idea. There were so many reasons why this was a bad idea – a dog would need care and attention, and Jaskier’s life was chaotic enough as it was. And of course, dogs didn’t exactly like Geralt. Neither did other pets; cats avoided him like the plague. He didn’t want an animal to be near him all the time – that would cause it distress, and Geralt knew that Jaskier would choose to leave sooner than he usually did.

But one important thing that Geralt couldn’t push aside was that what he wanted most was Jaskier to be happy, be it by his side or on his own.

“He can stay,” he finally conceded, trying not to let it show that at this point there was nothing he would be able to refuse Jaskier. “For now,” he warned pointlessly, acutely aware that the dog would be with him on the path until Jaskier decided that he had had enough of following a witcher around.

He turned away, warmed up by the smile that was currently lighting up Jaskier’s face. He tried to hold onto that happiness when the thought that Jaskier would leave inevitably came. They started walking again, Geralt leading, Jaskier right next to him.

“We’re going to have so many adventures together,” the bard said to the dog that he was still holding in his arms, “and we’ll have a fantastic time. But for now, Butterscotch, let’s go back to the inn and get you a bath. I’m sorry to tell you, you poor thing, but you absolutely need it.”

***

Traveling with a dog wasn’t that much different. Butterscotch was a silent one, never barking at birds or other dogs, which was a relief; the last thing Geralt needed was a small animal broadcasting their location to every single monster around. Even if Butterscotch wasn’t exactly small anymore.

They had found another town and had decided to stay there; Jaskier had performed at the tavern, earning a fair amount of coin, and they had retired for the night when his set had been over.

Geralt was already under the covers, watching with half-opened eyes as Jaskier was getting ready to go to bed. His boots were already by the bed, his doublet folded nicely on the table.

Butterscotch put his front leg on the bed, near Geralt’s face, and currently sniffed him. His whiskers were tickling Geralt’s nose, and he glared at the dog, who – tried to lick Geralt’s face. The witcher resisted the urge of hiding himself behind the cover.

"He's not sleeping on the bed,” he warned.

“Of course he is sleeping on the bed, we'll need the extra heat. And he's adorable, Geralt, how can you say no?”

The so-called adorable dog was currently making puppy eyes at Geralt, as if he had understood what was going on and was trying to convince him too.

“Because he'll get fur everywhere, and my pants and armor are already covered in them.”

Because that sounded petulant, he added.

“The inn will charge us double.”

Jaskier sighed, but Geralt knew he had to win this one. If he didn’t, then the dog would just take a bad habit, and they would end up regretting it when he would be fully grown. The puppy was already bigger than when Jaskier had got him and it seemed that he was not going to stop. He looked like a shepherd dog, and Geralt wondered how the fuck he had ended up in the small town in which they had found him.

In which Jaskier had found him. Butterscotch was Jaskier’s dog, not theirs.

“But he’ll get cold, and lonely, and he’ll think I don’t love him-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted his friend before it turned into a proper lamentation and it was too late, “the d- Butterscotch loves you already, he follows you everywhere. He won’t mind sleeping on the ground, especially since dogs like him are used to sleeping outside.”

“You’re- you’re right. And we’re right here, it’s not as if he’ll miss us!”

It’s not as if he’ll miss you, Geralt thought. I don’t think he cares much about me.

It was already a miracle that the dog could stand being near him. They usually ran the other way, but this one was surely soothed by Jaskier’s calming presence, always here to talk to him or pet him, or even carry him – Geralt had told Jaskier that he would regret it when the dog would be older, but the other man had ignored him.

“Hear that, Butterscotch? No sleeping on the bed for you. But you’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

He heard Jaskier whispering to the dog for a few minutes, and let himself smile, knowing that the other man would never see it. It was nice to see Jaskier so happy; Geralt had given him some coins so he would be able to buy a brush for the puppy, and the way Jaskier had smiled still haunted him.

He heard more than he saw Jaskier slipping under the cover, yawning.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” he whispered, and Geralt hummed his reply.

He discovered in the morning that Butterscotch had slept on his bag, successfully shedding fur everywhere. Jaskier had gone downstairs to get them breakfast, so he allowed himself to say to the dog:

“You’re a menace, little one.”

Butterscotch wagged its tail and nudged Geralt’s hand. Well. You couldn’t win them all.

***

The wind was howling outside, the sky was getting darker, and people were hurrying to get inside before the night fully settled. However, Geralt and Jaskier were too busy arguing to notice that.

“I’m telling you, Jaskier, you have to stay here for this one. It’s too dangerous.”

They had been arguing – calmly discussing – for a good ten minutes about Geralt’s next hunt; the witcher didn’t want Jaskier to come with him because it was too dangerous, while the bard absolutely wanted to come because it would “make a great song”. Geralt tended to disagree – he couldn’t exactly see the appeal of songs describing him fighting against monsters.

Plus, the fight would take place in a forest, at night, so it wasn’t very likely that Jaskier would be able to see anything, and extremely likely that Geralt would have to end up running for his bard’s life, because the other man was too busy taking notes to notice his surroundings. Though the night would prevent him from taking any notes, as would the rain that the dark clouds were announcing. There really was no point for Jaskier to come with him.

“Well what I am telling you is that-”

Butterscotch whined, effectively interrupting Jaskier in whatever he was going to reply.

They both looked down at the dog who was laying at their feet, his ears back on his head. Jaskier squatted down to take him in his arms.

“You’re going to regret that when he’ll be older,” Geralt warned, as he did every time Jaskier went to hold the puppy. Jaskier was strong, but not strong enough to hold the eighty pounds that the puppy would one day weigh. Somehow, Geralt knew that he was going to have to hold the dog when he would want to, and the thought itself was enough to tire him.

“We’ll see,” Jaskier replied like he did every time. “He doesn’t like when we’re fighting,” he added, showing the puppy to Geralt, who barely resisted the urge to pet him. Butterscotch’s ears had perked up now that Jaskier was holding him, and he and the bard made quite an adorable sight, not that Geralt was ever going to say that out loud.

It didn’t seem like Jaskier was going to change his mind soon, if the way he was frowning was a good indication of it. If the wind, the rain threatening to fall, and his possible demise weren’t enough to deter Jaskier from following him, it was time to change tactics. Jaskier might be the bard between the two of them but Geralt too knew how to wield words, though he didn’t choose to do it often.

“We can’t let him here,” he said, shoulders open as a proof of sincerity. Because he did mean it.

“I’m sorry?”

“Butterscotch. You can’t leave him here all alone. He’s still… young, it’s too dangerous.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at Geralt, who felt like he needed to go on if he wanted Jaskier to actually yield.

“He might get injured, I won’t be able to defend the both of you.”

And between you and him, I would choose you. Even if you’d hate me for not saving your dog.

Jaskier’s face seemed to fall, but he nodded, reaffirming his hold on the dog.

“You’re- yes, it would be safer for him.”

“For you,” Geralt insisted, because it was something that he needed to say. Butterscotch was a means to an end here, a way for him to make Jaskier stay in their room instead of running to his doom. And if it meant protecting the puppy, well. It was as they said, with the birds and the stone.

Geralt clumsily patted Jaskier on the shoulder before turning around to check if he had all he needed. It was easier than to see how his friend was looking now, his eyes too sad for Geralt’s liking. But it was something that he would do again – Jaskier’s safety was more important to him than what the bard actually thought about him.

He glanced at his things, quickly scanning what was in his bag: potions, a shirt that Jaskier had insisted had to be there, the stick that Butterscotch had given to him – wait.

He took the stick out of his bag, deciding against throwing it away, not because it was something that Butterscotch had given to him, but because… because. He could feel his swords against his back, their light weight a reassurance that everything was going to be okay – that even if he didn’t make it for a reason or another, Jaskier and Butterscotch would be safe here.

“I’ll go now,” he said to Jaskier, who had put the puppy back on the ground and was currently taking his lute out of its case. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Be careful, dear,” Jaskier replied, barely taking his eyes away from his lute.

Butterscotch tried to follow Geralt as he walked towards the door, and the witcher had to quickly close it to prevent the dog from escaping. He heard a whine coming from inside the room and Jaskier’s soothing voice who tried to calm him.

Shaking his head, Geralt walked downstairs, ignoring the way hearing how sad the puppy was made his heart clench.

Jaskier was reading when Geralt came back, thankfully uninjured, though damp because of the rain that had finally started to fall. The bard was already under the covers, his lute safe in its case, papers safely tucked away in his bag. A single candle was lighting the room, and Geralt was left once again to wonder about Jaskier’s powers. Could he see in the dark? Maybe that was why he had wanted to come with him despite the night.

“You’re back,” Jaskier smiled at him, not closing his book. “Do you need help with anything?”

“No,” Geralt grunted, putting his bag and swords down. He had already cleaned them, knowing that Jaskier would already be in bed and not wanting to disturb him.

He started to unbuckle his armor, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw what was currently sleeping on his side of the bed.

“Is Butterscotch-”

“Sleeping on the bed? Yes, I think he is. He’s cute, isn’t he?”

Geralt sighed.

“I thought we had agreed not to let him sleep on the bed.”

“I know it’s going to teach him terrible habits, but you were away and he was looking so sad-”

“It’s unsanitary,” Geralt said, finally getting out of his armor. Quickly changing into a new shirt – one that wasn’t full of fur –, he woke the dog up by petting his head. “Hey,” he murmured, trying not to think too much about why he was so gentle with him, “get off the bed.”

Butterscotch slowly stood up, stretching and yawning, but finally jumped off the bed in one smooth motion. He immediately went near Geralt’s bag, curled up into a ball, and promptly fell back asleep.

“Hmm.”

“See? He listens, he’s well-educated,” Jaskier said, closing his book and putting it away.

“He was afraid of what I might do to him,” Geralt retorted while getting under the cover. “I don’t think that counts as listening.”

Jaskier blinked a few times, his face growing serious.

“Butterscotch isn’t afraid of you, Geralt.”

“He obeys me because he sees me as a predator. He’s afraid.”

“Is that- Geralt, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Didn’t you hear him when you left? He was sad because you were leaving without him.”

“You’re disillusioned, bard,” Geralt snarled before blowing out the candle. To think that a dog – that anyone, really – would miss him when he was gone was beyond stupid.

Jaskier stayed silent, the only sound in the room the deep breaths of the dog.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” he finally said, his voice small.

Geralt didn’t reply, too busy hating himself to notice how Jaskier’s breaths became more irregular, how the air suddenly smelled like salt instead of them.

Butterscotch kept on sleeping, undisturbed.

***

Geralt hadn’t known how to apologize about that incident so he didn’t, and they kept on moving across the continent for a few weeks, Butterscotch still proudly walking beside them, following Jaskier or staying near Roach who, the traitor, seemed to like the dog just find, never minding when he walked near her.

Jaskier hadn’t mentioned the incident either, so Geralt simply thought that it had been forgotten. He hadn’t made any other remarks after that, and Jaskier hadn’t tried to pretend that the dog loved them both equally when they both knew it was a lie.

It didn’t stop Geralt from thinking back about that night and the day that had followed, how Jaskier had talked but not really talked, how it had seemed more like a defense mechanism than a true desire to share every thought that came across his mind.

Butterscotch hadn’t been allowed to sleep on the bed again after that night though he kept on trying, and Geralt was left to wonder how exactly the presence of a dog had changed their dynamics so much. Or maybe, he thought as he watched Jaskier braiding a flower into Roach’s mane, maybe it didn’t change them as much as it revealed that they had already changed. Jaskier was getting older, and though it didn’t show, Geralt knew that the time for him to finally settle down somewhere would come.

He had mentioned the coast, once, how he would have liked to go there when he would be older, and Geralt knew that it was only a matter of time before Jaskier would leave him, taking Butterscotch and all the happiness in Geralt’s life with him.

But it was not something Geralt had control over; still, he couldn’t help but think about it, about when Jaskier would eventually leave, when he would be all alone on the path once again. He had forgotten how it was to truly be alone. Even when he and Jaskier got separated during the year, he knew they would find each other again. But to know that Jaskier wouldn’t be waiting for him anymore would change the colors of the path from bright and lively to dull.

It was difficult not to think about it right now. They were sleeping outside, in the woods, because the weather was nice and they were too far away from any villages anyway. They had set camp early and the night had just fallen on them. Jaskier and Butterscotch had left for a walk, as they always did on evenings, and Geralt had stayed behind, as he always – no. That was not true. He should stop thinking like that.

He added another log to the fire, and sighed. He could hear them still, Jaskier walking on twigs and Butterscotch running around, but he felt… lonely. Which was ridiculous. He never used to feel like that before.

They were coming back, just in time to eat the rabbits that Geralt had been cooking. He had made sure to add spices to Jaskier’s part.

Butterscotch ran straight to him, his lack of a front leg not deterring him. He stopped right by him, and Geralt petted his head. The dog had surely smelled the rabbits, which would explain why he was letting Geralt pet him. Or maybe – but no. Dogs didn’t like him.

“He whines when you’re not here, you know,” Jaskier said as he sat down next to Geralt. “Which was cute when he was small, but now – I swear, he’s always silent when you’re near but when you’re gone? Gods, the only way to soothe him is to give him one of your shirts.”

That would explain why he kept on having dog hair on his stuff even when they had been safely packed away in his bag.

"Hmm," he replied, trying to ignore the way the dog wagged his tail as he pet him. It meant nothing.

He stopped petting Butterscotch to take the rabbits out of the fire, and the dog nudged his arm.

“He didn’t like how you stopped petting him,” Jaskier remarked, an amused smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hmm,” Geralt said, but resumed his previous task. Butterscotch sat down and put his head on Geralt’s tight, who tried his best to refrain the wave of affection that overtook him. Maybe – maybe the dog trusted him, after all. Maybe Jaskier had been right, the other night, when –

He quickly glanced at his friend, who looked the other way when their eyes met. Great.

Geralt hated it, hated the way they were right now – but he couldn’t say anything. It was too late. He should have apologized right after his outburst. But Jaskier had acted as if everything was fine the next morning and it had been too easy to follow his lead, to not think about what he had said, how it might have hurt him.

“We should eat,” he said, if only to break the silence. “And maybe – you must have a song or two, for after,” he added hesitantly.

Jaskier’s face cleared up, a sparkle of mischief lighting up in his eyes. It made Geralt want to smile.

Instead, what he did was take his share of the food and eat it slowly, giving as discreetly as possible pieces of it to the dog that hadn’t left his side. If Jaskier saw him, he didn’t say anything; he was talking about the latest gossip in a court whose name Geralt had forgotten.

Listening to his laugh as he recounted the misfortune of some nobles made it a bit easier to forget that this, that them being together and sharing a meal, was not something that was meant to last. Jaskier played soft tunes that Butterscotch fell asleep to, laying down at Geralt’s side, and Geralt closed his eyes. He never wanted the moment to end.

***

The day had been nice; the weather had been kind to them, the sun warming the streets of the town they had decided to stay in because Geralt had taken a contract there and because the inn looked “just perfect for me to perform in, Geralt”. So they had rented a room, Jaskier had given the innkeeper his word that the big fluffy dog that was with them wouldn’t hurt anyone and would keep silent, and they had spent the rest of the day preparing for their respective evening activities.

The fight wasn’t one Geralt was worried about, and it went without much problems. Jaskier and Butterscotch had stayed behind, as they did most of the time now, and Geralt had tried not to think about it too much. Because that was what he had wanted, right? But he couldn’t help but feel as if it were a sign of Jaskier’s soon departure, a proof that Jaskier wasn’t interested in staying with him anymore. It scared him, and the fact that it scared him scared him even more.

He managed to refrain from sighing wearily as he opened the door. He was ready to eat whatever was left of supper and to go to bed, because hopefully his dreams wouldn’t be plagued by thoughts of Jaskier and Butterscotch leaving him.

“Geralt!”

His name, said with so much angst and worry, made Geralt almost drop everything he had been carrying – namely, his swords and his bag of potions. Eyes wide open, suddenly perfectly awake, he all but ran to Jaskier, worried out of his mind. The last time he had seen him, Jaskier had been working at the table of the room, happily humming, the dog laying at his feet, playing with one of Geralt's shirts.

Now Jaskier was standing beside the door, eyes full of tears, while Butterscotch was nowhere to be seen.

“Jaskier, breathe,” he said, as gently as he could manage. “What's going on?”

Jaskier grasped Geralt's arm, his grip almost painful.

“I- it's Butterscotch. He's- he's not doing well, I brought him to the town's apothecary and they said to come back with payment, but I don't think I have enough coins and I don't even know if he'll be okay and-”

Geralt put his bag down and gathered his friend into his arms – to ground him.

“-and I don't usually panic but you were late and- oh, Geralt, what if something happens to him?”

That was exactly why Geralt hadn't wanted the dog to stay with them. Not because he was a liability and another way to waste coin – but because this exact situation could happen. Because loving a being as fragile as Butterscotch was the best way to end up hurt. He tried not to think about Roach, and the Roach that had been there before.

That also was why he had tried his best not to attach himself to Jaskier. Because the bard would die one day, and it was easier not to have friends than to have to face the pain of losing them. Though that line of thought had been cut short when Jaskier had casually said that he couldn't exactly die, and though Geralt didn't exactly know how that particular thing had happened, he couldn't say that he didn't like it. Now the only thing that would stop him from being with Jaskier – as a friend − was the bard deciding that Geralt wasn't worth his time and affection anymore, which would hurt too, but Geralt comforted himself by thinking that at least Jaskier would be alive.

“I have money,” he said at last, not knowing how to comfort Jaskier who was crying in his arms. “We should go there, and listen to what they say.”

He had no idea what had happened to their dog, but it must have been bad if Jaskier was in such a state. The bard loved so freely, it was sometimes worrying.

“Yes,” Jaskier nodded, “Yes. Do you think- do you think we should bring him his shirt?” he added tentatively, sniffing.

“I don't know when my shirt became his, but yes,” Geralt tried to joke just to make Jaskier smile, to bring back the spark in his blue eyes.

It worked, somehow, Jaskier smiling thinly, eyes still brimmed with red. How long had he been crying, alone?

“Come on, Jask. No need to stay here when they need us there. I have enough money, take the shirt, and we'll see how our dog is doing. I'm sure he'll be fine.”

Jaskier nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Yes, you're right, yes, I- I'll tell you what happened on the way.”

They left the room without looking back, and Geralt, worried about Jaskier and about the dog that had somehow forged a way into his heart, let Jaskier take his hand. He needed the comfort, Geralt thought, and it wasn't hurting anyone. And there was nothing that he could really refuse Jaskier – the mere presence of Butterscotch into their life was proof of that.

Their brown and black dog was in a poor state, his breaths laborious and his eyes glassy.

“I gave him something against the pain”, the apothecary explained, “but it's going to take a few more days until he'll be fine again.”

Geralt felt Jaskier squeeze his hand.

“But he is?” the bard asked, his voice hoarse, “Going to be fine, I mean.”

The apothecary smiled.

“Yes, worry not,” they assured. “Make sure he doesn't eat anything like this again, though.”

As Jaskier had explained to Geralt on the way to the edge of the village where the shop was, he had taken Butterscotch outside for a walk right before the night had fallen, because he had planned to spend the evening playing for the townsfolk and the day was just too beautiful to resist a short stroll.

Since the dog didn't need a leash, Jaskier had let him wander around, keeping an eye on him but not worried. Nothing bad had happened, but right as they were going back into their room, Butterscotch had eaten something that had been left right in front of their door, and had started whining soon after. Jaskier had dropped everything to run to the town’s apothecary, Butterscotch in his arms, worried out of his mind and not even thinking about who could have done it.

It made Geralt's blood boil with rage. He could understand people being prejudiced against him, not liking him and fearing him. But to think that someone had willingly tried to poison his dog – it made him feel furious and guilty. What if they had decided to hurt Jaskier instead?

“We brought him something,” Jaskier said, taking out the black shirt that was covered in fur, “Can he have it?”

The apothecary sent a knowing look Geralt's way but smiled at them. Jaskier hadn't let Geralt's hand go.

“Of course. I can keep him here for a few days, if that's alright with you.”

Geralt could feel Jaskier's hesitation, though he didn't know what caused it.

“I have coin”, Geralt told them, and he felt Jaskier relax next to him. “It's not going to be a problem. Please just... make sure he doesn't suffer too much?”

Jaskier squeezed his hand again, and Geralt squeezed back to let him know that everything was going to be alright.

“I will,” they promised, “He's lucky to have people as loving as you two are.”

“He's... good,” Geralt said, not really knowing how to answer that. He glanced at Jaskier, only to find that the bard was already looking at him.

“Thank you for taking care of him so late in the evening,” Jaskier yawned, and oh, right, it was well into the night at this point. Geralt hadn't even realized. “We'll be on our way,” Jaskier added, and Geralt took it as his cue to give the apothecary the amount of money they had asked for. “Thank you for taking care of Butterscotch, we'll be back tomorrow to visit him.”

They bid their goodbyes and walked back to their room. Jaskier was silent on their way back to the inn, which was weird but understandable; he seemed to be thinking about something, his scent betraying his sadness and his anxiousness. And if Jaskier's hand found Geralt's again, well, neither of them was going to comment on that.

***

“It's weird, not having to tell him not to climb on the bed,” Geralt remarked a little while later, as they were both trying to sleep, candles blown out a few minutes ago.

When Jaskier didn't reply, he opened his eyes to look at him. Jaskier avoided his eyes, and Geralt frowned.

“I'm worried about him too,” he said, “but they said he was going to be okay. You should try to sleep, Jaskier. It won’t change anything if you stay awake.”

Jaskier sighed, a sigh so sad and so full of anguish that hearing it made Geralt's chest hurt.

“I know, it's just- you aren't going to leave him here, right? After he's well again? Because I know we're both just liabilities to you,” Jaskier went on without caring about Geralt's stunned silence, “But this was my fault and he shouldn't be punished like this – because between you and him I don't know which one I would be able to choose, because choosing you would mean losing him and I think I would hate you for that, but choosing him would mean losing you and I- I can't afford to lose you, Geralt.”

To say that Geralt didn't know what to fucking say would be an understatement; he went for the thing he was the most familiar with.

“What?”

Jaskier sat up and so did he. He cast Igni absentmindedly, thinking that it was a conversation for which they needed to see each other clearly and not in the darkness of an unlit room. It was a mistake, though, because seeing Jaskier's desperate look in the light made Geralt feel... he didn't know what the feeling was, but it was not a good one.

“I mean,” he tried again, “Why the fuck would I leave him here? He's our- I mean, your dog, and you love him, why would I- I would never do that, Jaskier, I-”

A thought occurred to him.

“Wait, what do you mean you're both liabilities?”

“What I mean,” Jaskier said, “and don't you dare deny it, is that I know I don't bring much to you, and that Butterscotch at best amuses you sometimes. And-”

“I love him, Jask,” Geralt interrupted. And I love you, he didn't add.

“Oh,” Jaskier replied, clearly not expecting such an answer. “Well, that's-”

“And you’re not liabilities,” Geralt went on, because that was something that he needed to say, that he apparently should have said sooner if Jaskier was able to say it with so much confidence.

“Geralt, you need to feed him, I’m useless in a fight, and I mostly make you end in problems which you would have been able to stay away from if you had been alone.”

That was… true. Not that Geralt cared.

“Jaskier, you don’t- I was alone. And you decided to be my – friend,” he managed to say, trying not to show how much it scared him to say it out loud, lest Jaskier denied it, “and I don’t mind paying for your dog, or for our food, it’s- it’s how I can take care of you. So. I don’t mind.”

He was the one trying to avoid Jaskier’s gaze, now. The mutations made sure he wasn’t able to blush, but boy did he feel like he was. Eyes cast to the side, he tried to say the last thing he had on his mind, because it felt like it mattered.

“And I- I’m happy that you’re here. On the path with me, I mean. And you’ll be welcome for as long as you want. But you don’t have to feel- obliged to stay,” he choked out, because now that it had been said, Jaskier would surely leave, no matter what he had told before. Geralt thought of the coast, of a blue-eyed man laughing on a beach, throwing a stick for his dog to fetch. “I know you’ll want to leave, and when that time comes I’ll make sure to bring you to safety, not because I don’t think you couldn’t handle yourself but because I know I- I know I would want to- to travel with you one last time.”

Silence fell on the room, but not the right kind of silence. It was not a comforting one, not the kind of soothing silence that seemed to wrap you in a hug, the kind that felt like balm gently applied to a burn; no, it was an burning one, a silence so loud that it hurt, and Geralt found that it was hard for him to breathe. He had said his piece, and now Jaskier knew.

The flame flickered and shadows danced around them, and he found himself wishing that it had been a windy night, because at least that sound would have filled the silence that was suffocating him. Geralt was still waiting for Jaskier to reply something, anything, to yell at him or to let out a relieved smile that would mean Yes, finally, I am free, but Jaskier’s face was completely blank and Geralt didn’t know what that meant.

“Or- or if you don’t want that,” he scrambled to say, suddenly understanding why Jaskier was always talking to fill the silence, “I wouldn’t accompany you, I don’t want you to-”

“Is that why you’ve been so odd lately?” Jaskier interrupted him, frowning, his blue eyes clear despite the low luminosity. “Because you think I want to leave?”

“Yes,” Geralt admitted, not daring to speak too much when Jaskier was finally saying something – and wasn’t that ironic.

“Geralt,” Jaskier started, and the seriousness in his voice almost made Geralt shiver of anxiousness, “the only reason I would leave would be if I wasn’t wanted anymore. Which, if I’m being honest” he added, lips stretched in a bitter smile, “was what I was thinking was happening.”

Jaskier closed his eyes, and to Geralt’s horror he saw tears making their way down his face. He ached to tenderly wipe them out, but knew he couldn’t.

“Jaskier-” he said, suddenly desperate to get the words out, to make this right, to make them right again, “about the other night- when I snapped at you because you said that Butterscotch liked me- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

His friend sighed. It was a tired sigh, a weary one.

“That’s the thing, Geralt – you never mean it,” he smiled, but his smile was as happy as his sigh had been. “But whether you mean it or not, your words, the very few of them that I’m blessed enough to hear – they hurt.”

Geralt could only stare helplessly as Jaskier went on, tears still streaming down his face.

“You are my most precious friend, Geralt, and that’s why I have- why I didn’t say anything. Because you mean well, you’re a good person, and just being around you makes me – it makes me happy, Geralt, to be able to care for you, to give you the few things I have, because with you everything is just – better. And in the end,” he added, wiping out his tears with the back of his hand, “in the end the way I feel when I’m near you is worth the pain your words put me through. You are worth – everything, Geralt of Rivia.”

How had they arrived here? How, after years spent traveling together, could Geralt have been so blind about how he made Jaskier feel?

To learn that he had caused so much anguish and pain to the person he loved the most was making Geralt ache. His first reaction was to dismiss what Jaskier had just said about him, but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?

“I-,” Geralt tried, tried to be honest and to show more than just aggression for once, “I don’t think of myself that way, so it’s difficult for me to- to think that anyone would. Especially-” he gulped, fighting to get the words out because it felt like if he didn’t, he would lose Jaskier for good, “Especially someone as- as- perfect as you. And it was easier to just dismiss it and push you away than to think about how much – how much I care about you. Because caring about people is – dangerous. Gives them power over you, gives your enemies something to use against you.”

Jaskier was looking at him, hands on his tights; he wasn’t crying anymore, but tears were threatening to fall once again. Geralt hopped, prayed, that it wasn’t because he was hurting him again.

“But you have to know that-,” he started, then stopped because he didn’t know how to say it. “I- I don’t know how to tell you,” he finally admitted. “It’s- like- despite how dangerous it is, I- I let myself care about you, and I- I don’t regret it. I will never regret it, Jaskier, because you are – a blessing. You are a beautiful, perfect thing that my hands don’t know how to touch without breaking it.”

He ached to reach out, to take one the hand that he had been holding earlier.

“So it’s- it’s easier to-”

He had no choice but to say it, hadn’t he? He couldn’t lie to Jaskier anymore, he wouldn’t lie to Jaskier anymore – though was it a lie, to keep the truth silent? He was being a coward and he knew it, but being Jaskier’s friend was better than to confess and to lose his warmth entirely. Though he had been a bad friend to the bard, and – well.

“It was easier to act as if it meant nothing than to admit that I love you,” he mumbled rapidly, afraid that his courage would fail him.

Now that the truth was out in the air, he didn’t dare to glance at Jaskier. What would the look on his face be? Disgust? Pity? Or, somehow worse, just a blank look, synonym of the doom of their already fragile relationship?

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathed out, and his voice sounded teary but the sadness from earlier had disappeared. “Is that how you’re thinking? That love is a – liability? That loving me is a liability?”

“That’s how I used to think,” Geralt corrected him, “before I realized that I was wrong. And that’s why – that’s why Butterscotch scares me. Because he’s young, but he will die, and I know that it’ll hurt and-”

“Darling,” Jaskier interrupted, moving on the bed to be sitting next to Geralt, their tights pressed together. Geralt could hear his heartbeat, knew that the other man was nervous, but the closeness felt like acceptance and maybe, maybe, requited love. A hand found his, and Geralt squeezed it without thinking. “Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, “Why do you focus so much on what is going to happen? It prevents you from enjoying life, darling. Butterscotch will die one day, yes, and I know that it will bring me pain, that it will hurt us both. But is that all that you’re thinking about when you see him playing in the dirt? When he sleeps soundly next to you? When you hear a song, darling, do you think about its last notes or do you listen to its melody?”

“I-”

“I’d be a hypocrite,” Jaskier’s voice dropped lower as if he was sharing a secret, “if I didn’t admit that when we meet up in spring, I can’t help but think about the day we’ll go on our separate ways, because it might be the last time I’ll see you. But then I- I force myself not to think about it, because at least six months of the year will be spent next to you, next to the man I love, and-”

“You love me?” Geralt interrupted him, turning his head to look at Jaskier. His red-rimmed blue eyes had never looked more beautiful.

“Of course I do, Geralt, how could I not?”

Jaskier dropped his head on Geralt's shoulder. Geralt didn’t know where their conversation was going, didn’t understand what had just happened – he had been this close to losing Jaskier, had felt the bard closing off, and now they were next to one another, Jaskier’s hair tickling his cheek.

“So that means I- you- forgive me?”

Jaskier stayed silent, but didn’t draw away.

“Yes,” he finally replied, and Geralt frowned slightly.

“I’m not sure I deserve your forgiveness,” he started, squeezing Jaskier’s hand when he felt that the other man was about to say something, “but I will do my best to deserve it. I will – I will be more careful with you, Julek,” he swore.

They stayed silent for a bit, but this time Geralt didn’t feel as though he couldn’t breathe. The room around them felt more welcoming, the orange light from the candle warmer than it had been earlier.

“What does that mean for us?” Jaskier asked, and he sounded – hesitant, but hopeful. It was a question easy for Geralt to answer, because he had always been better at acts than at words.

“It means that we’ll stay as long as Butterscotch needs us to, and then we’ll go on with our travels. Maybe we’ll stay near the coast, there are always villages that are in need of witchers there. Butterscotch will go play in the water and I’ll complain when he’ll shake himself, but I’ll give him treats when you won’t be looking.”

A pause, then.

“But he still won’t be allowed to sleep on the bed.”

Jaskier snorted, and Geralt felt relieved beyond measure.

“For now, though,” Geralt added, “I think we should sleep. I did just come back from a hunt, after all, and it is quite late in the night.”

“My poor, dear witcher,” Jaskier smiled, and Geralt tried not to let it show how much it pleased him to be called Jaskier’s until he remembered that actually showing how he felt was important, “you must be exhausted. No kiss for you, then, only resting.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at Jaskier who was looking at him, mirth lighting up his eyes.

“I’m not that tired,” he objected, and Jaskier chuckled.

“Aren’t you? Then I guess I could be convinced to kiss you goodnight.”

Their kiss wasn’t mind-blowing. It just – was. Jaskier’s cheeks were still damp from his crying and their kiss tasted a bit like salt and the angle was weird, but Jaskier sighed in his mouth, a happy sigh, and Geralt found out that he couldn’t wait to do that for the rest of their lives.

Soon they would leave this place and travel, and Geralt would get more injuries and Jaskier would write more songs; but he tried not to think about it, and found it not so difficult to focus on the moment when Jaskier kissed him again.

It was a short kiss, a chaste one; it was a promise for more to come, for sunny days spent in laughter and gloomy evenings spent next to each other, for arguments and reconciliations, and for a life in each other’s company. Just him, Jaskier, and their dog – and Roach.

#Geraskier #The Witcher #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #no beta we die like cpge students #so this was NOT the fic I was planning to post first #but turns out what's even better than writing to avoid studying #is writing DURING your mock exams #as in #why write about Hobbes when you can write about Geraskier

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mimiplaysgames · 3 years

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Terraqua Week Day 6 (Free Day)

Summary: Terra and Aqua are getting married—and Ven is the Bridezilla. || Word Count: 9,058

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek I could have never written this without my dear friend @localcryptideli. We talked about this wedding years ago, and I promised to write it. It’s here, three years later, blending their headcanons with mine and I couldn’t be more proud of it. <3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

the threads that tie hearts together

Terra never once considered in his entire life that his wedding preparations would include the perk of mice squeaking in his ear—but he here is, in the tailor’s studio, getting re-fitted for his tuxedo, with Princess Cinderella’s team of seamstress mice on his shoulders, measuring the length of his arms. His muscles were too big for the previous suit.

Ven refuses to hire a proper tailor, and instead rents out the parlor so the mice could do their work in private.

Lea sits on a nearby bench by the shoe shelves, the top button of his shirt open, jabbing at his Gummiphone. He’s quite popular today, pinged every two minutes. Isa and Roxas share a mirror, trying to get the mechanics of their bow ties right.

Terra is getting married.

The thought. Married. Soon. Yes. Damn. He can’t cry right now.

Terra stands in front of a mirror and bends his elbows to see how the fabric moves. The mice are tiny, three of them in skirts. They’ve developed an efficient obstacle course of threads all down his entire body, a network so the mice on the floor can deliver them supplies—spools, sewing needles, thumbtacks, measuring tape—in a jiffy.

Lea groans, squeezing his Gummiphone. “This twerp is going to turn me into a serial killer.” He yawns, possibly for the fortieth time.

“Not an ill-fitting job, all things considered,” Isa says from across the room.

“I do appreciate your sarcasm.”

“Who’s bothering you?” Terra asks, lifting his collar so the mouse on his left could thread through it with a sewing needle.

Lea snorts, slaps his knee and leans forward. “Did you not know your buddy is a monster?”

“Ven?”

“Oh, he’s a joy.” Lea holds his Gummiphone up as if he’s about to make a speech. “Come help me pick out Aqua’s flowers. Now. If you could.” He glances at Terra, then back at the phone. “He writes that in all-caps.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be so pushy.”

“The other day, he called me to model the bride’s dress because Miss Aqua couldn’t be bothered to come to the fitting herself.”

“Master Aqua was away on a mission,” Isa explains.

“Isa took photos of me in it—” Lea scrolls through his phone, but stops. “Oh, I can’t show you before...” He clicks his tongue. “It’s very nice. Very bridal.”

Terra is sure that’s true, but the image of Ven hanging his head so much on someone else’s wedding is worrisome. Last night, he fell asleep at dinner. “I think Ven is taking on too much stress.”

“Lea,” Roxas says, snorting a chuckle and giving up on his bow tie, “you should show him the texts.”

“Gladly.” Lea stands to shove the Gummiphone into Terra’s face. Out of the history, a couple of messages stand out.

Ventus

I got 500 cake flavors come taste them with me

Ventus

Which cologne do you think terra should wear

COME SMELL

i need a second opinion

Ventus

Do you have aqua’s flowers yet?

remember

we want orange roses and bluestars

Ventus

Aqua isnt here im freaking out

Youre closest to her body type

HELP

After all that, Terra feels as though he’s being watched by several microscopic eyes. One of the mice squeaks with urgency, and he straightens one of his arms. “I don’t know what to say... Why doesn’t he talk to me directly?”

Lea purses his lips as though this is a secret not worth sharing. Roxas is the one to step forward, a knowing grimace plastered on his face.

“He told me that he doesn’t want to bother you with anything.”

That doesn’t sound entirely false but not true either.

“That’s ridiculous.” Terra tests the bend of the elbow to fiddle with his bow tie. It’s already done but something about it doesn’t sit right. “He could come to me for anything,” he says with a low voice, wondering if there’s something he’s missing. Terra has also been a mess. He’s getting married. Holy stars.

Isa huffs out of frustration, turning away from the mirror, his bow tie undone. He studies Terra’s suit. “I don’t like it.”

His straightforwardness is well appreciated. Aqua would probably smirk at the sight of it and stare at his neck the entire ceremony. “I don’t either,” Terra says.

“Smart man.” Isa smirks, and tugs Terra’s bow tie to undo it. “Let’s change it.”

Lea snorts. “You might want to ask permission from he-who-shall-be-slapped.”

“It’s my wedding,” Terra says.

“So you think.”

He-who-may-be-slapped enters the tailor’s parlor through the front entrance, announced by the bell of the ring. He’s perfectly dressed in his ringbearer’s/best man’s/maid of honor’s suit, vest fitted, bow tie sublime, sleeves coiffed. He sees what Isa is doing. He gapes.

“Hey guys,” Ven asks with a frustratingly shaky voice. “What are we doing?”

“They are unbecoming,” Isa answers, wrapping a traditional tie around Terra’s neck.

“Oh.”

Sometimes, speaking to Isa is like getting clocked in the stomach. By the looks of Lea’s expression, chewing on the edge of his Gummiphone, it’s well deserved.

“Okay,” Ven says, with a tight smile. He takes the tie from Isa’s hands. “Do they match?”

“A hello would be less rude,” Terra says. “Hi, Ven. Can we talk?”

Ven glances up. “Later. There’s lots to do.”

Lea inhales sharply. “Hey, Ven. Here’s an idea. Did you know you could tame cicadas to sing in harmony on command?”

Ven whips his head around. “You can?”

Isa brings a hand up to hide a smirk and Lea passes him a subtle wink.

“Picture it.” Lea opens his arms. “From nine until eleven at night, they gather in the bushes. They mutter, a light dusting of atmosphere on a peaceful summer night.”

Ven’s eyes grow wide with obsession.

Roxas comes near. “You can also make them glow.”

“Like stars in the bushes,” Ven whispers to himself.

“Come on, guys,” Terra says, unimpressed. “Leave him alone. We’ve got better things to do.”

Ven snaps himself out of it, but not before pulling out a notepad and writing notes. He eyes Terra over, nudging him to open his arms and pinching the sides of the suit. Ven draws them in by the measure of a finger and pulls pins out of his pocket, like he’s been expecting to use them, and marks their places. “Jaq Jaq,” he calls, “where’s Suzy? We need to make sure these ties look right. Oh, and we need two extras—we have to ship some to Riku and Sora.”

Some mouse squeaks in reply.

“I can help her carry things.” Ven gives a flash of a smile and then hurries off.

Out of earshot, Lea gives Terra a look. “Anyone able to talk to mice is a crazy person in my book.”

Terra glares back and quotes, “‘You could tame cicadas to sing on command?’”

“He needs something to obsess over. How else am I going to get peace?”

“This is going to bite you in the ass,” Roxas says, wrapping his new tie over the neck and having a much easier time.

“Ventus may very well task you with hunting and gathering the cicadas,” Isa says, a tie already in place, immaculate.

Lea groans and Terra feels it’s well deserved.

Well deserved… the suit may be. The future wife, maybe not. The suit is a glove for every finger with no excess. It makes him a good-looking groom, a nice addition to the closet for any special occasion. The bride is beautiful, no matter what she wears. She is loyal, patient, strong, intelligent, loving, funny when she’s stern, too good for him, a divine gift he didn’t earn and he still can’t understand how she said yes.

“I hope you’re laughing at the face of my misery,” Lea says.

Terra knows that’s sarcasm. Weddings are headaches, emotions are terrifying and Terra needs Aqua like a sip of medicinal tea to calm down.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The others squeal when they walk into Le Grand Bistro. It’s sunset, the city lights already ignited and giving it the glow of evening fairies welcoming the moon. They’ve just discussed dresses—Xion requests a pantsuit instead, which looks stellar—and they can choose their own styles so long as they all wear the color of night. Simple, elegant. That’s the kind of effect Aqua prefers. Thank goodness they’re almost done. Aqua couldn’t handle more hands in her hair and she rejected the flower crown that would have come down on one side to compensate for the lack of length.

She fiddles with the ring—a thin, intricate design weaved around a small, blue stone—as a waiter escorts them to the kitchen. On days when she doesn’t have missions, she wears it.

Aqua is getting married. Some part of her wonders about the surreality of it, like it’s a dream or a picture she created in her mind when she was a child, at the altar with a faceless person next to her. Sometimes, it feels like she is already married. Terra has always been with her. Every day in class. Every day strolling through the woods. Every day sparring, sharing meals, bickering and laughing. Her best friend, her confidant, her rock.

There is something about nearly dying that challenges perspective. When they both thought they’d never see each other again, it made them realize there’s more to it and there’s been more to it for years. The emotional intimacy that strengthened after the fact. The physicality of it, when he takes her to bed. They argue differently, they laugh the same. Terra has always been with her, so what is the difference between being with him and being married to him? A part of her is eager to find out. The other is already at peace, a kind of joy Aqua has always wanted.

Ven is in the kitchen, talking with Remy (responding to Remy, who is naturally unintelligible). Plates of cake pieces sprawl out on the table, eliciting oohs and aahs from the others, all patient like they’re waiting for Aqua’s permission to take a small bite.

Aqua reads through the description of flavors—strawberry, fudge, angel food cake with blueberries, red velvet, even coffee. “The one we requested isn’t here.”

“You mean…” Ven pulls out his notepad and looks through his notes. Remy climbs onto Ven’s head, squeaking and pointing to a bowl of flour and eggs, unmixed. “Dark chocolate and rum?”

“That would be correct.”

“A spicy cake? Are you insane?” At his shock and at Aqua’s denial, Kairi helps herself to a spoonful of vanilla. “This is a wedding, not a club!”

“My wedding, Ven.” Aqua isn’t annoyed, but amused. Ven has such strong opinions about for some reason.

“Try this one.” He holds up a plate of a decorated piece that honestly looks delicious. “Triple chocolate, with the rarest berries found in the woods, matured at thirty-five degrees Celsius for a week.”

“Burnt cake?” Kairi asks with a smirk.

“Not the cake, the berries.”

“Oh,” Xion gasps, with need in her eyes. It takes a nod from Aqua to grab a fork and have at it. She approaches each piece with so much excitement— Aqua wonders if there are flavors here she’s never tried before in her short life.

“What will the final cake look like?” Naminé asks, the only one not to dive forward. She’s so gentle, so serene. When they were trying out dresses, everyone was saying what a beautiful bride she’ll be one day if she chooses.

“Perfect,” Ven says, like it’s the most obvious thing. “It has to be perfect so it will look beautiful. Painted like a night sky, with stars everywhere. You got that, Remy?”

Remy glares at Ven.

“I want,” Aqua starts, and when Ven frowns, she smirks. Sometimes, for the sake of maintaining control, she has to play dirty. “Rosewater and cardamom.”

Ven sticks his tongue out in disgust.

“Terra needs something to enjoy,” Aqua insists. “These are all too sweet for him.”

“Terra is the bane of my existence.”

“By the way, I don’t know if I want King Mickey and Queen Minnie to officiate.”

“You are way more difficult to deal with.”

Aqua and Ven have a staring contest as the others talk about their favorite flavors. Ven, a glare, a challenge to outwit her. Aqua, a calm knowing that she’s going to win. Ven relents.

“Fine,” he stresses. “Remy, change of plans. We’ll need some damage control. Let’s add some”—he writes into his notepad—“fruit pastries, sweet cheese with chocolate—”

“Triple chocolate,” Kairi adds.

“Custard and kiwi,” Xion says.

“All good choices.” Ven writes them down.

“Sea salt ice cream?” Naminé says, lifting a shoulder. “Everyone else eats them, I hope to try some.”

“Ven.” Kairi slams a hand on the table. “You need to add marshmallows covered in hazelnut and chocolate.”

“We need all the chocolate,” Ven agrees. “Call it revenge on this nasty cake.”

Kairi cackles, but it’s nothing malicious. They’re young and excited about the wedding, their suggestions a way of helping. Aqua takes it all in stride. The small details don’t matter, only the intent, and letting friends have fun deciding makes the entire process easier. What’s bothering her is Ven. He’s exhausted from taking it all too seriously. Aqua assumes the best intentions, but she doesn’t get it.

“You know what would be really cute?” Xion says. “Little petit fours shaped in your symbols.”

Ven blinks. “What symbols?”

“Oh, the Keyblade Master symbols.” Naminé claps her hands. “That would be so lovely.”

“In different colors,” Xion says.

“Each a different flavor,” Naminé adds. “Maybe the same colors as your Wayfinders?”

“You two are geniuses.” Ven taps his notepad. “Remy, we gotta get to work.”

Remy stomps a paw and squeaks vigorously.

“No worries. You’ll get paid.” Though it seems that’s the last thing on Remy’s mind.

“Ven,” Aqua says softly, pulling him aside as the others brainstorm ideas. “I don’t think we can afford all this.”

“Sure you can,” he says too confidently, though she and Terra were the ones to save up their munny. “Don’t worry,” he stresses when she’s not convinced, giving her a squeeze on the arm. “You asked me to bookkeep your finances”

“Reminder that I did not ask you to take full responsibility. Remy can’t do all of this alone, he’s going to need you.”

“I’ve got plenty of time, and we’ve got plenty of budget.”

Aqua does not know how that is possible. After the dresses, the refitting of Terra’s tux, the decorations… sure, since they’re using the ballroom in the Land of Departure, they saved on not having to rent out a venue, but the original plan was to have a small, intimate wedding in the woods, something private with just the three of them, minimal decorations necessary, all plucked from nature.

All of this is out of their price range.

Ven goes back to the table, back to the stovetop and oven where he follows Remy’s instructions and mixes the flour in the bowl with some milk. He doesn’t assuage her at all, like he knows something she doesn’t.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Home should be a solace but not when it’s the wedding rehearsal.

Ven has ushered in movers from different worlds to carry in artifacts, all decorations, all star-themed. Terra has yet to see the ballroom, but the amount of people rushing through the hallways makes him nervous.

Ever since Terra called Riku in the dead of night (in a panic, needing someone to talk to, alone in the kitchen with a cracked mug of tea), blabbing about tripping on the way to the altar, or cutting the cake clean through the table, or stepping on linen and ripping the curtains, or dropping his plate of food, or looking like an idiot on the dance floor, or worse—forgetting his vows—he hasn’t lived a moment of peace. Sora won’t let him.

Terra finds it hard to breathe. What if he chokes on his vows and accidentally offends everyone?

He stays far away from the workers—it’s for the best. No one needs a huge bull stampeding in a china shop, destroying everything.

Lea crosses the hallway on his sixth trip and enters one of two entrances to the ballroom, vases of flowers in his hands. Terra peeks. From the looks of it, Ven did a fantastic job.

The ballroom, once gold, now looks like the set of night. The ceiling is covered in blue with twinkling lights. The table linens are also dark, with napkins and silverware sets a solid gold. Glass windows that take up one entire side to the ballroom are bare of curtains—the wedding is planned for after sunset so they’d be declaring their vows under the stars. Two navy blue carpets come in through both entrances of the ballroom, meeting in the middle and then straight to the altar at the far end. The point is for him and Aqua to enter together, like equals. With her in a bridal dress, she’ll look like a light in the darkness.

Through the doorway, Terra can see Riku and Sora, the latter making motions with his arms as if he’s flapping like a bird. Terra lets the door close so they don’t notice him.

There are fears he’s never voiced.

What if she realizes she doesn’t want to get married to him after all? At the altar no less?

Oh stars, what if he makes a terrible husband?

What if he neglects her?

What if, years down the road, she realizes after a slowly oncoming epiphany that she isn’t happy and regrets it?

Tonight is the party, tomorrow is the wedding, and Terra still has no vows. He pinches his nose hard enough to distract him from crying. He’s already cried five times in the arc of three hours.

Footsteps—light, brisque, confident, hers—approach him, and Terra embraces her in his arms, taking her in with a needy kiss. She smells like home, she lets him breathe again.

“You look like you’re about to fall apart,” she says, stroking a thumb on his cheek.

“Not if you’re my glue.”

She snorts, smacking him on the bicep. “What did I say about the puns?”

“Shower you with them.”

He kisses her before she can roll her eyes—

—and gets interrupted the moment Ven peeks out of one door.

“What’s with the hold-up?” he says.

Terra breaks from the kiss, casually noticing how Aqua is patting his shoulder, as if to warn him. “What’s with your attitude?”

Ven pouts like he’s about to choke and slaps the notepad to his forehead. “No one listens to me. I said baby blue and champagne on the napkins, all shaped to form the constellation of Juno… and they gave me yellow. I am gonna complain so much.”

“There are worse things?” Terra says and Aqua shakes his shoulder as another warning.

Ven snaps his eyes open. “Get into position, we’re starting.”

Aqua stands behind one door and Terra goes to the other, waiting for the cue to enter. On the other side, Ven is speaking out loud, organizing people and where they should stand. Grooms and bridesmaids will enter the altar from behind and gather together, leaving the carpet only for the star couple (no pun intended). He interrupts himself, raising his voice about vases that match too much and Terra can imagine him pointing across the room.

“I have to tell you something,” Aqua loudly whispers from the other side of the hall.

Terra runs to her and wraps an arm around her waist. Touching her is a panacea. Despite knowing there is still a possibility she’ll rethink this entire relationship, it seems unreal, like a nightmare.

“It’s about Ven,” she continues, keeping her voice low even though they’re the only ones in the hall.

“Lea threatened to slap him.”

She frowns.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Don’t you think it’s too expensive?”

“I don’t know. Ven doesn’t tell me how much anything costs.”

“It’s way more than we have saved up.”

Terra gapes. “Then how—?”

Aqua stammers, fiddling with her fingers. “I looked into his books.”

Terra melts into a breath-heavy laugh, careful to keep his voice out of it. “Reading people’s diaries? Aqua, I thought I knew you better.”

She blushes. “I didn’t mean to, but I was worried.” Now Terra is worried. Her expression is too serious. “Ven has been doing side-missions and hustles for months just to earn enough to hire the best chefs and tailors, to buy linens and all these flowers and carpets—”

“He wouldn’t.”

“He did.”

“Why?”

“I think it’s because he wants us to be happy.”

“We are.” Terra doesn’t appreciate how he doesn’t sound confident, scared he’s assuming too much on her behalf. “How could he just…”

“We were stuck in darkness for so long and he couldn’t help us.”

“But that’s not his fault.”

“He feels he is the weakest and wants to compensate.” Aqua grimaces and she blinks back tears.

“I feel so guilty.”

“I feel worse.”

“Why?”

Aqua bites her lip. “I’m still attached to the idea of a small, intimate ceremony in the woods. Just the three of us. Does that make me a horrible person?”

“No. Our wedding has become a spectacle. Maybe pointing that out makes me terrible, too.”

She groans. “I found a book. I left it in your room. It’s very last minute, but there are some ancient rituals in there that I found so beautiful… the exchanging of rings is beautiful, too, but modern and there are some lost traditions from our Keyblade history that I’d love to do instead... if you could take a look?”

The way she smiles, stars. Ancient, modern, he’d do anything for her. “Sure. I’ll read it tonight.”

Aqua winces. “He’ll be so angry with us.”

Terra squeezes her hand. “He wants us to be happy. Think about that.”

One of the doors burst open, and Lea sticks his head out. “Kindly stop being an ass and don’t keep your guests waiting anymore?”

They start: Terra at one entrance, Aqua on the other, entering the ballroom at the same time, where guests will watch them approach one another, like the shadow of the moon to a star. They meet at the point where their lanes merge into one.

Terra offers his arm—

“Nonono,” Ven warns, running up to them. “You can’t meet her like this. You must bow at a forty-degree angle.” Ven scans the room frantically. “Here, I have a ruler.”

After that hiccup, Aqua finally takes Terra’s arm, walking down the single aisle, where guests can ogle at them. Their groomsmen and bridesmaids take pictures with their Gummiphones for their arrival at a wall of flowers.

Sora has his hands behind his head and snickers when they reach the end. “I made sure the carpet is ironed out so she doesn’t fall with you.”

“I’m going to kick you in the shins,” Terra says.

He snorts and wipes his nose. “I’ll kick you back.”

At the altar, Ven is too excited to stop rambling. “We have to make sure that you arrive here, at this spot, at exactly nine-thirty so we can finish the vows at ten because...” He frames the windows with his hands. “We’ve got a perfect spot for star sighting so we need to be on time.”

“Do you mean, right after the wedding ceremony?” Aqua asks.

“Before the reception, yup. We’re walking out to the balcony, we’ll watch the meteor shower where a new world will be born, then we’ll come back in for supper and dancing.” When he notices their stupefied faces, he continues, “I spent three weeks finding the right angulations so you can witness a unique astronomical event, and we’ve got a miracle of a spot right here so we can’t be late.”

“It’s a wonderful thought, Ven,” Aqua says, her voice shaky.

“Okay, now you get into position and face each other.” He points and they follow. “Next, Mickey and Minnie will talk some stuff, you know, all official, and then you say your vows.”

Terra freezes up. “Our vows.”

“Yeah. That’s what I said. You ready?”

Terra hesitates and Aqua speaks for him. “We’re keeping those a secret until tomorrow.”

Ven pauses, then shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Aqua doesn’t let Terra have another thought, leaning forward to kiss him in front of everyone (aahs and awws elicited), and ending the rehearsal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“How do you get your skin so clear?” Kairi asks, though the warm glow of the fire makes for spectacular lighting.

They’re camping in the woods near the waterfall, equipped with warm blankets and pillows, a bowl of cookies, and toasted marshmallows on sticks; Aqua’s vision of a bachelorette party. No gifts necessary.

“Mountain spring water does wonders for you,” Aqua says.

“I’ve read in a magazine,” Xion says, crawling out of her sleeping bag, “that some people like to put mud on their faces to get clean skin.”

“Why?” Naminé asks, chewing on a marshmallow.

“Something about the properties. Lots of good minerals.” She walks over to the creek, digging her hands into the dirt and smashing it into her face against the shocks and cries of the other girls. “If mountain water is good for you, then that must mean this mud is magical.”

“Is that true?” Kairi says, though she’s asking no one. She hurries over and joins in on the mud-mashing, running fingers over Xion’s face in places she’s missed.

With globs of mud in their hands, they bring over the excess to the camp.

Xion offers it to Aqua. “For beautiful skin on your special day?”

“It’s our job to pamper,” Kairi says with her hands out so that Naminé can scoop up the mud on her own.

Aqua tries not to chuckle too loudly. It’s adorable. “Okay,” she says, and Xion gets to work, massaging it into her skin. It smells unpleasant, earthy and mukky. She closes her eyes and tries to relax regardless.

“I think we’re supposed to keep it on our faces for at least a half hour,” Xion says, rubbing more on Aqua’s nose.

“This will make us prettier?” Naminé asks.

“Cleaner,” Kairi says.

Naminé blinks, already covered in the mud and hesitating to put on more. “But we look dirty,” she says quietly.

“Can I request something, Miss Aqua?” Xion says, patting her fingers onto Aqua’s forehead.

“Certainly.”

“Can you tell us the story of how Terra proposed?”

Kairi jumps and squeals, and Naminé claps her hands, both of them chattering please, please, we’re dying to know.

“We’re around a fire,” Kairi says, as if that’s a convincing argument. “We’re supposed to tell stories.”

“I feel bad for asking,” Naminé says. “You’re very private, and I don’t want to intrude…”

Aqua reads her face. “But you’re curious.”

Naminé pouts. Xion’s eyes go wide, and Kairi nods excitedly. Everyone is guilty as charged.

“It’s a simple story, I guess,” Aqua says, crossing her legs and watching the fire. It’s not often that she talks so openly about the details of her relationship. The two of them together is something people know, but never knowing where they come from and why, except for Ven—even then, there’s so much he never pries to. Watching their reactions is a little overwhelming. She rubs the stone on her ring. “Terra made the engagement ring with his own hands, but he took months to propose.”

“I remember that,” Xion says, sitting on her chair and smiling. “It annoyed Lea so much that he offered to set you both up just to get it over with.”

Aqua laughs. “I’m grateful we had it to ourselves.”

“Was it romantic?” Kairi asks.

“Not at all. I… knew he was up to something. I know him.” She lifts a shoulder. “He was burning breakfast too often, he couldn’t look me directly in the eye, and he left on his own to do more missions than usual. I took that as though he had done something wrong. The last time he was that clumsy and avoidant, it was because he accidentally cast Firaga in the library and was trying to hide it. Or when he broke the oven. Or when he offered to do my laundry but didn’t know how to treat my fabric and ruined my clothes.”

“He sounds like a clumsy oaf,” Kairi says.

That makes Aqua smile. She loves that oaf. “He is. The general rule of thumb is that a clumsy, avoidant Terra is usually hiding something.”

“So how did the proposal happen?” Naminé asks.

“I cornered him—”

Kairi snorts.

“—and he blurted it out.”

They giggle, Kairi acting out how that may have looked and Naminé holding her hands over her heart in a show of genuine affection.

Aqua smiles to herself, a finger to her lips. It might be her favorite memory, her standing her ground and demanding to know what was going on.

Terra, looking all around the terrace except for her face, guilty, guilty, guilty, pulling a box out of his pocket and stammering for a cohesive sentence. Well, I don’t know what to say, he had said, like a child getting grounded. I-I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I’m a big lump of a human being. He paused, his cheeks rounding up like he was about to vomit. Will…will you marry me, anyway?

It felt like racing in a train and pulling all the stops, crashing. He got red in the face, tears welling in his eyes and she realized he took her silence as rejection. Aqua had to hold his forearms, and all she could utter was a soft, I genuinely thought you burned down a building.

Terra’s eyes went wide. Do you mean you’re not mad?

Of course not. Why would I be?

So… He licked his lips, reaching for her but not touching her, forgetting that he had the box with the ring inside. What do you say? I mean, you don’t have to give me an answer straight away. I mean, I just thought you would… you know… because… He sighed. Yeah.

Aqua finally laughed, and kissed him on the cheek. Of course I will marry you, you beautiful dork.

The laughter quiets around the fire. They’re waiting for Aqua to continue her story.

“Then he drops the ring.”

They howl, melting into a blissful exchange of cheers and gossip, a vibrant hearth brighter than the one keeping them warm.

“I had hoped to propose first, actually,” Aqua continues. She shrugs. “The end.”

“That was beautiful,” Naminé says, wiping her eyes.

“If Sora hears about this, he’ll never leave Terra alone,” Kairi says, grinning something mischievous.

“I don’t know what love is supposed to look like,” Xion says thoughtfully, gazing at the sky. “But it sounds sweet.”

In Aqua’s opinion, the proposal was perfect, him scattered on the ground frantically searching for the ring, her on her knees helping him. How he slipped it on her finger, how they kissed for an hour in the dirt, unaware that they were dusty, unaware that anyone else existed in the world.

Aqua nods, mostly to herself. It aches to be away from Terra tonight but it burns her insides to see him tomorrow and finally do this. Aqua wants to sleep and get this night over with but she doesn’t want to sleep so she could see the sunrise, knowing he’d be up early watching the same thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bachelor parties aren’t fun.

Sora is whooping about a cannonball, the water splashing when he makes contact. Ven and Roxas race to the lake, testing who will be the first to dive, the first to swim across and come back. Considering the expanse of the surface area, they’ll be gone for a while and the barbecue will get cold, but maybe it’s for the best. It’s not the right time to talk to Ven right now, not when all of them have a moment of fun (except for Terra, the only one here thinking about tomorrow). Lea and Isa prefer to relax, sipping drinks on their chairs by the lanterns erected onto the sand, speaking quietly about memories, about chores, about home and what ifs.

Terra sits by himself, the thin booklet Aqua gave him on his lap, tucked under layers of parchment. It’s titled The Way, no author. She was right: old Keyblade rituals are interesting, almost possessive, their focus on the literal binding of hearts. They’re from the Age of Fairytales, and Terra realizes as he reads through it that ancient Keyblade wielders were for some reason obsessed with the loss of memory and the prevention of it. The rituals sound painful, too—maybe Aqua has developed a mild taste of macabre from her time in the Realm of Darkness.

All Terra has left to do are his vows. His stupid, dorky-sounding vows. He should have accepted the simple, “I do.” He shouldn’t have waited until the last minute.

He’s tried dramatic.

You are my other half, my heart, my breath of life, my sky, my angel, can we keep our souls together?

He’s tried poetic.

The mountain will thirst if not for the water—

He’s tried being honest.

I don’t know why you love me, but I’ll do my best to make it up to you.

All dumb.

Terra groans into his hands, eyes wide in existential blunder.

“Keep doing that,” Riku says, setting a chair next to him and sitting down, “and you won’t be able to blink again.”

“I’m not finished.”

“But if you don’t sleep, then you’re more likely to have accidents.”

Terra gapes and almost whacks Riku on the side of the head from the sight of his constricted smirk. “You’re so mean. I called you one time.”

“In a huge panic talking about causing mass destruction of a wedding the worlds have never seen.” Riku shrugs nonchalantly. That’s his state of being—too cool for anything, too sensitive for everything. It’s refreshing. “It was the funniest phone conversation I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll never call you again.”

“Not in the middle of the night, please no.” Riku bites a forkful of steak. “Is it cliché to tell you to speak from the heart?”

“This entire conversation is cliché, but here I am, living it out.” Terra stares at his messy pages, where he pressed the pen so hard that it left ink blots.

“You could do the very committal thing and tell her you love her fifty times.”

“All the guests would leave by the time I reach twenty-five.”

“More like fifteen.”

“Ten.”

“Disaster.”

Terra grimaces, not entirely comforted, but not entirely anxious anymore, either. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“It is a big deal, I’ll give you that,” Riku says, more serious. “I don’t have any advice.”

“None of it makes sense. Be honest, but not too honest. Be loving, but don’t make it cheesy. Express yourself, but hold back on certain things. Do make it personal. Don’t expose personal details. How am I supposed to know how to do it right?”

It would be easier if there are no witnesses. If it’s just Ven, if Aqua is the only person he’s talking to, if he could simply say, You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I know I’ve fucked up. For as long as I live, I’ll never do that again. I will never take your forgiveness for granted.

And if she doesn’t want to be with him anymore, there’d be nothing he could say to make her stay.

“I think if Aqua was the kind of person who expected you to do it right,” Riku says, looking out to the lake where Ven and Roxas are swimming back to their shore, “you wouldn’t be marrying her.”

Terra bends the pages, exposing the cover of the thin, leather bound booklet. There are no vows he could use in there, except for the officiator declaring their hearts intertwined. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

“Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

Riku pats him on the shoulder and leaves him alone to take a walk, Sora begging him to enter the water. Terra flips to a page where he’s repeated I love you, I love you all over, each in different calligraphy, like doodling, like losing his mind and procrastinating the night away, hoping that any moment, inspiration would drop bricks on him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s time.

The strangest part of the day is waiting it out in her bedroom until it’s her turn to show herself. Over the years, her bedroom has been a reflection of her personality. The cleanliness, the artifacts from her home world long ago, the size of the bed, the furniture—they all stayed the same. What’s come and gone were the paint colors, the bedsheets, the art on the wall, the smaller vanity mirror. Her bedroom is her old life, and she sits in front of the mirror in her bride’s dress, about to start a new one. For now, they both collide, as though her childhood doesn’t know her.

The cape dress is simple, plain white with the neck scooped across the collarbone. The sleeves slit at the shoulders, draping over to the floor with the rest of the train. Aqua couldn’t have asked for something better. She completes the look with the ring, a jeweled hair pin on one side, and an armored choker. Makeup is minimal.

Aqua is surprisingly calm and the sun is going down.

Her Gummiphone buzzes with a text message.

Terra

Let’s do it

Aqua sighs, not texting back immediately.

Aqua

I don’t want to break Ven’s heart

Terra

I’ll talk to him

We can both get what we want

I already stole some flowers from the wall

Don’t think he notices

She chuckles, moving a hair strand behind her ear. She hasn’t noticed that her stomach has been a knot, from excitement, from nerves, from anticipation. The sun takes so long to set. Terra is the warmth of a tight blanket.

Aqua

Will this label me as a runaway bride?

Terra takes a long time to answer, giving her the impression that he must have been distracted and forgot to reply.

It buzzes.

Terra

The shame

Aqua

What will they think when they find out the groom seduced her to it

Terra

The scandal

when they hear how she met him secretly at the creek

an hour before the ceremony

It sounds like an action plan. Aqua picks up her bouquet of orange roses and bluestars from her vanity table, heading out the door.

Aqua

I want Ven there

Terra

Definitely

I love you

Aqua

I love you too

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Terra finds Ven in the dining room, taking inventory of an indulgement of sweets and a feast of meats, fritters, and rice. The wedding cake is as tall as his body, a dark blue with smacks of gold glitter in the shapes of galaxies, large stars framing each layer, and topped with two halos. Ven is mostly dressed in his vest and tie, the suit missing. By comparison, Terra is overdressed, a groom ready for his encore.

Ven sighs when he sneaks a cookie the shape of the Keyblade Master symbol into his mouth, as though Terra’s presence reminds him of disappointment.

“I couldn’t tame the cicadas,” he says morosely, like he’s apologizing, and for a moment Terra second-guesses what he’s about to do. Ven eyes the white rope curled around Terra’s shoulder. “What’s that for?”

“This may either cheer you up or piss you off,” Terra says, dropping The Way on the counter.

“I don’t like how you said that.” As Ven flips through pages, he frowns, chewing on the side of his lip. “Are you... not happy with the wedding preparations?”

Terra inhales, caught off guard. “Of course I am. Happy, I mean. It’s… huge. It’s a giant ordeal.”

“And you don’t like that,” Ven says quietly, stroking one of the pages with his thumb.

“I think there are things we’ve always wanted to have privately.” Terra sits on a stool, but Ven won’t look him in the eye. “And we want you to be there. We can do it now. We’ll be back in time for our guests.”

The booklet shakes in his hands. “I messed up.”

“From my point of view, I’ll be eating very well tonight. There’s nothing to compensate for.”

Ven closes the book. “I just wanted to do a good job.”

“If you allow Lea to slap you, he’ll forgive you.” Terra smiles, but Ven doesn’t join him. “We’re still doing your grand ceremony—that, we could never pull off on our own. But we also want something tiny and ours, and we won’t do this without you.” Terra takes Ven’s hand and squeezes it, before glancing at the cake. “I hope it’s delicious.”

“It’s disgusting so you’ll definitely like it.”

“See, I can always count on you.” Terra stands up. “Now come on. You wouldn’t want us to be late for the bride.”

Terra takes him to the creek, not far from where Aqua hosted her bachelorette camp, where the sound of rushing water is gentle and the creek splits into two directions, one that would drip off the side of a cliff and one that would join a massive river downstream. The trees huddle close in the clearing, a soft shadow from the fierceness of the setting sun, like a pocket of protective magic in the middle of the forest.

Ven gasps. “You stole my flowers.”

“Please, you didn’t even notice.” Terra had built an easy wooden arbor before the crack of dawn that morning, an arch weaved with orange and blue flowers, spotted every so often with green lilies. He showered right after so no one would suspect.

“Let’s take it over there.” Ven points to a short boulder against a tree nearby, a good photo op. They pluck the arbor up from both sides and plant it in front of the boulder. Ven takes stock of the sight. “Not bad.”

“Thanks!”

“I take credit for the choice of flowers.” Ven rolls the rope into a tight circle, layering it on the boulder with each loop in equal circumference. He splays the book open and studies. “It’s kinda creepy,” he says though he gets no response and he doesn’t ask for one.

Terra shoves his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo and waits. Aqua isn’t here yet. The vest constricts his breathing, the thicket suddenly feels humid, and Terra wipes his cheek, realizing that his heart is beating fast. Time sped up to this moment and dropped him here without warning. Now it’s slowing down out of pure, unjustifiable spite to torture him in the final hour.

“You okay, dude?” Ven asks.

Terra lifts his face to the sky to keep the tears in his eyes. “If I cry now, I think I’ll cry for the rest of the night.”

Ven snorts. “No one would be surprised, trust me.”

But it’s not working. He’s two seconds from sobbing. “I don’t know. I…” He scoffs. “I can’t believe it’s happening. I’m expecting her to never show up or brush me off last minute when she realizes what we’re doing—”

“No.” Ven approaches Terra like he’s about to punch him in the stomach to make a point. “Don’t think like that, she’d never do that.”

Ven has good faith and better timing. Aqua approaches the other side of the clearing, the fabric of her dress gracefully making waves with every step, the foliage fluttering light and shadow on her figure. She holds her bouquet in one hand and a framed photograph tucked under the other.

It shocks Terra.

He can’t stop the flow of tears. He covers his shivering lips and the drip of his nose, his face twisting from the sight of her—brilliant, like she’s made of stars, a gift walking the earth.

“Terra, are you okay?” Aqua asks, rushing to him now, the train of her dress bouncing behind her.

In the flash of an instinct, Terra runs to meet her, tripping over a branch and landing right into her arms.

“You’re—” Terra sucks air in, his heart shoving itself up his esophagus. “Y-you’re s-so beautiful.”

Aqua uses her pinky to wipe his tears. “So are you.”

“Let me help you.” He takes the frame—a portrait of the Master, bordered with a white ribbon—and walks her to the arbor. Ven takes the portrait and places it on the boulder, their little family tied together, fractured in glued pieces, now and always. Before they start, Terra asks Aqua to pose under the arbor so he can take a picture of the trees and the flowers surrounding her. Beautiful.

“How do we do this?” Terra asks when he finds his voice again, still trembling. Aqua stands to the side to take her place. She’s beautiful.

Ven takes the book in his hands. The description of this ritual covers at most two pages. “Well, it’s archaic. It’s from the Age of Fairytales but it sounds like we will intertwine your hearts—but in an intense way, like we’re sewing them together.”

Aqua holds her bouquet to her chest. “Shall we start?”

Terra chuckles too hard, gasping for breath. “Simple as that.”

They wait for Ven’s cue, who also has no idea how to do anything. Ven clears his throat, shrugs his shoulders, and reads:

“We witness today the soldering of two hearts. To intertwine like the roots of a tree, the severance painful, the nourishment plentiful. A physical bond, a magical one, the merging of two sprites under the guidance of one truth. Two hearts, but one.” Terra watches the way Aqua watches him. There’s no one else in the world, Ven’s voice disconnected, like it floats on air. “Now it says to summon your Keyblades. Dig the tips into the ground, and offer your hilts to each other.”

Ends of the Earth is massive, taller than Ven. Stormfall looks delicate but it’s menacing, sharp, direct. They offer their hilts, the shafts crossed over each other, Stormfall light and airy in his hand, Ends of the Earth weighty and thick in hers.

Terra finds it interesting that they’re using the hilt to connect each other’s hearts—the Keyblade should never be used against a person’s heart in traditional Mastery, because it’s such a dangerous weapon and it’s so violating. The blunt hilt, on the other hand, the physical manifestation of their hearts, is like exposure, an offer of vulnerability.

Aqua’s feels like it’s thrumming, singing. She’s happy.

Ven steps forward with the rope and ties it over the hilts in loops. “This is just an image, the ties that bind, two Keyblades, but one. To intertwine a heart is to forge a chain, a friend, a companion, a memory. If missing then a void, a dream, a wish until reunion.” He steps back into position. “Before we go on, I think this would be a nice place to say your vows. Terra, you first.”

Terra stammers, looking into her eyes. “I-I couldn’t write one. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ven whispers, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I wrote some just in case.”

Terra doesn’t take it. He licks his lips. “It wouldn’t have been graceful. None of it—all of my thoughts—pale in comparison to you, Aqua.” He steadies himself with labored breathing, the squeeze on her Keyblade like a hold on her waist. “You’re so, so beautiful, and I’ve spent my days believing I don’t deserve you, because… because I couldn’t make things right like I should have.”

Aqua quivers, gently touching his arm with her free hand and motioning for him to breathe.

He continues, “I’m sorry. I wish the Master was here. I wish I was smart enough to prevent it from happening.” He inhales, choking up from the mention of Eraqus. “I never thought you would marry me of all people, so… I promise... I will be there every step of the way. I promise you, if you’re scared at night, I’ll be there to protect you. If you’re hurting in another world, I’ll come find you. If you’re confused, I’ll hold you close and help you make sense of it. I’ll brew you tea to help you sleep, I’ll step in the line of fire even if you wish to do the same for me, I’ll walk to the ends of the earth to make sure you are safe and healthy. I promise I’ll be with you.

“And I’ll mess up. I know me. I’ll fix it. If you want to clobber me, I’ll be patient. I’ll learn. I’ll do better. Every day you save me from myself. This is the least I can do. I’ve loved you since I was a kid. I’ll love you every day.”

Silence falls on all of them, Terra sniffing just to get some fresh air, Ven wiping his eyes, Aqua blinking too much.

“Now you, Aqua,” Ven says.

Despite being teared up, Aqua holds it together. She’s so good at that.

“Terra, I stand with you because I do want to be here. I do want to be by your side. I do want to laugh at your bad jokes.” She relieves a giggle. “I love you. I have for as long as I can remember, even if I didn’t know the words for it.” She studies his face. “I’m sure the Master is here with us, and he couldn’t be prouder of you. I’m proud of you.” Suddenly, she switches her tone, as if to lecture. “And if you even fathom taking a hit for me, remember that I’m faster than you. I’ll protect you first.” Then she softens. “I promise to be your shelter when the storm falls on us. I promise to sit on your bedside when you’re sick, to lift you up when you’re down about yourself, because you are sometimes.

“You are my home, no matter how far your heart is from me. If you need a star to light your way back, I’ll give it to you.” She smiles widely, like she’s about to laugh. “If something between us breaks, I’ll mend it with you. I can’t imagine my life any other way.”

Their words are now spoken. Aqua suppresses a laugh and grins like a child. Terra holds his breath, just in case he screams from every emotion that he can’t name.

“Well,” Ven says, rolling his sleeve up so he could wipe his nose on his forearm. “I guess it’s time. This bond is an oath you will remember each other until you close your eyes for the last time, for the tragedy to forget is to be alone forever. Do you accept this?”

“I do,” Terra says.

Aqua hums. “Yes, I do.”

Ven smiles. “You know what to do.”

With his free hand, Terra presses two fingers to his chest, over his heart, where he builds a golden glow. Twenty years living with her, ten years in darkness thinking about her, this vow is impossible to break—even if they can’t do this any longer, Terra could never forget her. Never. In his hand is now a piece of himself, a nugget of his heart, a memory of her in his bed that he never wants to lose.

He takes those fingers to her chest, two thick golden threads drawn out from his heart. She winces at the touch, quick to dissolve. Stormfall shifts in his hand, growing longer, its hilt thicker and darker, wrapping around like a weaved shield. A subtle change, a little piece of him.

Aqua does the same, fingers to her chest first to create the threads, bringing them to his chest. It does hurt, like a needle digging into his skin, sharp for the entire length until it’s suddenly gone.

He feels full, as though his insides are creating space for something extra. Warm, frightening, whole, exciting. Her piece is a memory he can’t read but he doesn’t need to. Ends of the Earth opens way for an icy blade to cut through the middle as the hilt fans out like wings. A piece of her to take with him where he goes.

“Alright,” Ven chirps, snapping the booklet closed. “The book ends with the quote, Two hearts, only one, but I think this means I can call you husband and wife in secret. So kiss.”

Their Keyblades dissipate when they hold each other, tender but with appetite, unaware of their surroundings for several selfish moments. With sewn threads, it’s as though he breathes through her. Terra presses her onto him, feeling how her heart now beats in sync with his.

“I love you,” she whispers. They are married.

He’ll never tire of hearing it. Stars, they are married. “I love you, too.”

Terra hears Ven sniff before a handkerchief is shoved into his face. “You need your face dry and clean before everyone sees you,” Ven says.

The sunset now is deep, a fiery orange. Terra doesn’t want to let go.

“I’ll hold you again tonight,” Aqua says, patting his chest. “I want to see the meteor shower Ven promised.”

“It’ll be a good one,” Ven assures.

Terra kisses her. “Then we have to make a run for it.” He picks Ven up like a log, jogging through the thicket of the forest with Aqua close behind him, the Master in her arms. When they approach the castle, in the twilight, they hear chatter coming from the halls, as though ghosts are partying outside.

Terra feels at peace despite that he now has to perform, balancing on a tightrope where he doesn’t care if he falls. He turns around and holds her neck to kiss her again, feeling her laughter in his mouth. “One more?” he asks when they break.

Ven, still tucked in Terra’s arm, groans. “I never asked for a front seat to the kissing show. Is this my punishment?”

Aqua kisses him one more time, whispering to him I love you for what will be a string of I love you’s in the night to come. Friends will cheer, Terra will trip on the way to the altar, Sora will cry because Terra will cry, Xion will eat too much cake and get sick, Isa will laugh because he is drunk, Kairi will be the star of the dance, Aqua will be the star in his eyes.

#terraqua #terra #aqua #ventus #terraqua week #kingdom hearts fanfiction #omg #this is finally out holy shiiiiiiiiit #i'm really proud of this one #reading through for edits #i impressed myself haha #my fic

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