#ever think about how sick it is for brother wharfing of all people to tell carpenter

[cherrywhite]

Silt verses dialogue I think about Constantly btw

[shan-ri]

Popsicles Are for People…and People are Like Popsicles

It was melting fast. The seething summer sun beating down on the cold treat mercilessly, drips of sweet citrus collecting on the stick quicker than her absentminded licking could keep up. Mari turned the popsicle to the side, trying to gauge which angle was best to take the next bite. There wasn't much left, so she had to make it count-

"Are you gonna eat it or just stare at it?"

She jumped ever so slightly and turned her head to see the usual judgement plastered across her brother's face. And in that moment, when his comment warranted her sticking out her tongue at him, the popsicle finally heaved its last breaths, submitting to the combined attacks of Mari's appetite and the sun's rays.

Juice ran down the stick to her fingers and she caught sight of the last bit of the treat slipping off to land on the ground. She stared at it in dismay for a moment, before bending down to scoop it up and whirling on her brother.

"It would have been fine if not for you, Mako!" She jabbed the popsicle stick at him, the other hand clutching the melting piece of popsicle.

Mako shrugged, his own popsicle stick jutting out from the side of his mouth.

"Not my fault."

Mari paused for a moment and was considering whether the sweet in her hand belonged on his shirt or smeared on his face when there was a soft 'mew’ at her feet.

A gray striped cat was winding around her legs and when she glanced down it looked up imploringly at her, green eyes practically sparkling with feline hope.

And who am I to crush that hope? Mari made up her mind, dropped into a crouch, and held out her sticky hand towards the stray. It began to sniff at her hand tentatively.

Mako realized what she was doing at the last instant. "Mari, don't-!"

Before he could even finish his sentence, the cat took the piece of popsicle in its teeth, darted a fair distance away from them, and began chowing down on the orange-flavored ice. Mari glanced up at Mako and grinned impishly.

"Too late, it's done."

He groaned and put his hand on his face. "Popsicles are for people, not cats. The poor animal is going to get sick."

She glanced over at the animal in question. It was finished eating and beginning to wash its face with a little white paw. A pang of guilt shot through her stomach, but at least the stray had enjoyed the snack and chances were that tiny piece didn't contain enough artificial sugar to do anything bad.

Mari wiped any of that fleeting concern from her face and gave Mako her own shrug.

"Next time, I'm not buying your popsicle for you," he promised. His words sounded stern, but Mari couldn't help the laugh that slipped from her lips. Mako wasn't serious, he could never keep those types of silly, little promises to himself or to her. And Mari had already counted on that.

"Okayyyy. No treats for me!" She sung, beginning to walk further down the wharf, away from her brother and towards the preening cat.

She bent down once more and held out her hand, still sticky and sweet smelling from the popsicle. The cat afforded her one glance and then walked off with its tail waving jauntily in the air.

"Hey!" Mari shouted and jumped to her feet.

The feline shot forward--only to seek shelter beyond the legs of someone new.

"Awww, you two got popsicles without me?" a new, somewhat husky voice complained.

Mari's spirits soared once more when she recognized the long-legged boy who stood before her. "Keresh! You made it!"

The boy's mouth turned down in a sour pout and he muttered, "Not in time though apparently…"

"Hey, don't be cross, Keresh. It doesn't suit you." Mako's voice sounded and he materialized behind Mari in that eerily silent way he always did.

Keresh rolled his eyes and the stray meowed, pawing insistently at his legs. He obliged the cat and lifted it up into his arms where it promptly began rubbing its head all over his face, purring like a speedboat motor.

"You traitor…" Mari muttered, eyes narrowing at both Keresh and the cat. She had even given it the last of her popsicle, yet this was the thanks she got?

A familiar hand landed on her shoulder. "You too, Mari. You know that it's only acting that way because Keresh smells like fish."

Mako said it so matter-of-factly that Mari couldn't help the amused chuckle which escaped from her lips.

Keresh's poisonous glare was also only made funnier as the grey cat in his arms tried biting stray locks of his hair. She may have kept laughing at his expense, but Mako's hand on her shoulder tightened and he began pulling her to the side.

"Okay, enough playing around you two. We gotta bring in the traps and set up the bait before the tide changes."

They muttered in agreement and the cat yowled in protest as Keresh detached it from his face.

Mako began dragging the traps in one by one as he crouched on an outcropping of rocks. He checked them each quickly, his keen eye easily discerning the ones that had reached their capacity of crabs, crayfish, and shellfish before putting those to the side. Some of the empty ones he sunk back below the waves, while others he also placed on the rocks--probably because the traps were damaged, or the bait was no longer fresh and tempting enough.

Mari watched her brother for a little while. She would never admit it to him but… she found his routine actions oddly calming and admired the skills which he'd honed over the years. He didn't do this for their main source of income, mainly to bring a little extra fresh seafood to the dinner table and then sell the rest off to a proper fish vendor. Or, so he explained.

But Mari knew better. She could see the way his eyes glittered whenever they walked the beaches of their home, plundering the sea for her bounties, and hear the excited, rising intonation of his voice as he discussed even the most menial of fishing activities.

She shook her head and went back to focusing on her task--setting wriggling bait worms on hooks.

They moved slick and wet under her touch, but her fingers were sure and practiced. Not a single worm would survive her ministrations.

She wished she could say the same for Keresh.

Unfortunately, his baiting of the hooks was clumsy at best, dreadful at worst. It seemed that every other worm was dropped on the sand before it was finally set upon the hook. Mari grimaced as the boy dropped yet another bait worm making a bid to escape. There was no way she was letting him near the small bait fish swimming in the bucket beside her anytime soon.

But, she knew she couldn't lose her patience with him. Keresh had only arrived in their town a couple of months or so prior and, by his jerky, uncertain actions, Mari guessed he had never engaged in even the most basic fishing activities before.

He fumbled over the hook in his hand and groaned, "Why can't we be eating popsicles instead?"

"You're still going on about those?" Mari shot back. "Here. Give me that, I'll do it before you hurt yourself."

Keresh fell back into the sand with a dramatic sigh as Mari wrestled the remaining hooks away from him. "I don’t understand why you go through all this effort to catch fish. It seems so…excessive."

He began unraveling the tangled fishing wire and Mari fought back a scoff as she arranged the baited hooks along the rim of another bucket.

"It's not excessive, it's necessary. How do you suggest we catch them then? With ice cream cones and rainbow pops?"

Mari shot him a quizzical glance with the beginnings of a smirk. But he didn't even look up, shrugging and replying, "I dunno. With your teeth. And your hands too if it's a big one."

"You're kidding. No one can do that or would even want to if they could!" She sat back on her haunches and gestured to Keresh. "What? Can you?"

Keresh finally looked up and his turquoise eyes shone with absolute earnestness.

"Yes. My teeth are very good for catching fish."

Mari laughed. She couldn't help such a natural reaction. The image of Keresh swimming under the waves, snapping his mouth open and closed to snag any passing fish, was too hilarious.

She clutched her stomach from the continuing guffaws, managing to force out in between giggles: "What are you, then? A shark?"

"No! How dare you!" Keresh jumped to his feet and glowered down at her, looking, impossibly, unreasonably offended.

Mari's laughter reached a new pitch and she was struggling for breath when Mako rejoined them.

Through the tears in her eyes, she saw him standing, a trap writhing with crabs and such grasped in each hand, and a third trap slung around his neck by a rope. His pants were rolled up to the knees, and his hair was wet from the waves.

"Is there time for you two to be rolling around in the sand?" He asked, though he looked more perplexed than upset. His head swung towards Keresh as it became apparent Mari was still trying to regain her ability to speak, much less find any composure. "Is she making fun of your baiting again?"

"No…" Keresh began reluctantly, shooting a glare at Mari. Then, he seemed to change his mind midway. "Yes…In a sense."

Mako switched one of the traps over to his other hand to give Keresh a friendly pat on the back. "Don't worry about her. Come on, I'll buy you a popsicle."

Keresh lit up immediately. "Really?"

"Really. Geez, calm down." Mako gestured at Mari to get up and gather the equipment, and she grudgingly obliged. Sometimes, he really seemed to think he could order her around…

She trailed behind a few steps, weighted down by the buckets and the bag strapped across her chest, while Mako tried, unsuccessfully, to stop Keresh from jumping up and down in excitement.

"I'm just getting you one, okay?! You really eat too many of them."

"You can't eat too many popsicles. They're practically air!" Keresh protested, quite seriously.

Mari could tell Mako was getting flustered, the left corner of his mouth rising in frustration. "That's not how it works. They're like any other food, if you eat too much of it you'll-!"

His explanation was cut off as Keresh suddenly came to a stop and looked straight up at the sky.

A few beats of silence other than the cries of seagulls and the crash of waves, and then: "There's gonna be a storm soon."

"Huh? Really?" Mari also looked overhead, seeing only the wispiest of clouds, the sun’s brute power reigning supreme even in the late afternoon and early evening.

Keresh merely nodded while Mako stared at him with a strange expression on his face.

He glanced at Mari, but she couldn't think of anything to say before Keresh began prancing ahead of them--acting like an overgrown child once again.

Mari and Mako knew better than to take the true nature of the weather at heart from a moment’s glance. They shrugged off the comment for later introspection and chased after their friend before he devastated the nearest tourist shop's dessert cooler.

End Part 1

[moonlitjiminn]

Purple Part Nine | Taehyung, You

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Photo Cred: Haru Haru 

Why do you have to be different?

Tori gave Taehyung a worried look when she saw the expression on his face; one of complete shock.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Taehyung,” his croaky voice started to smoothen out like honey, “It’s me.”

“I-I don’t know wh-”

“Your mother gave me your number, she said that if she didn’t call me, to contact you.”

He blinked, feeling his eyes water, “Sorry?”

“Your mother-”

“You talked to my mother?”

“Yeah, didn’t she tell you?”

“Mom’s… she’s not here anymore,” he stuttered, and upon hearing this, Tori spun around, her face filled with concern.

Taehyung looked up at her and she noticed his glassy eyes, mouthing ‘Who is it?’

He shook his head, “Who are you?”

“I said it already, Taehyung, it’s your father.”

“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number, my father left over ten years ago,” he managed to let out before hanging up.

Tori’s parents turned around, finally realising his state and their eyes grew in alarm.

But Tori stopped them from running to him, giving them their luggage and asking them to put it in the car.

“Taehyung, who was that?” she asked softly once her parents had left them.

He shook his head, “I don’t know, he claimed to be my father?”

She furrowed her eyebrows, “What?”

“I don’t know,” he sniffed, his hands flying to his face.

She stopped him, however, not letting him cry into them. “It was probably a prank call,” she told him, wiping the single tear that escaped his eye.

“Right?” he asked, looking up at her.

She nodded, “Right.”

“I’ve been living just fine without him in the picture, and just when his name is mentioned-” he choked on his tears.

“Tae,” she murmured, enveloping him, “Just forget that phone call even happened, it was probably some idiot playing some sick prank, don’t let it get to you.”

Leaning back, she looked into his eyes, drowning in the light brown pools which had splashes of red here and there. Wiping the last of his tears, she brushed his hair out of his eyes, and prompted him to take deep breaths by doing it herself.

“Let’s go,” she whispered and linked their arms, walking to their car.

“Tori’s told us so much about you!” her mom turned back to look at Taehyung and he smiled at her.

“Not all bad, I hope,” he said politely and Tori couldn’t help herself but watch his every movement, his every expression, he just looked so shy once again.

“We just couldn’t believe that such a smart boy like you would see anything in our daughter,” she gushed, and this made Tori’s face of admiration turn stormy, and Taehyung noticed from the corner of his eyes.

“Victoria’s actually such a lovely person,” he told her, and Tori felt like she was sitting in a parent-teacher interview in high school again, “I don’t know what she sees in me, honestly.”

Tori’s eyes widened and she slapped his stomach, “Do you want me to list the reasons I like you?” she hissed and her mother snorted.

“You two must have been together for a while, Tori has never introduced me to her boyfriends before.”

That’s because they were never proper relationships ever.

“Dad!” Tori interrupted, wanting to change the conversation, “How’s work?”

“Same old, same old,” he sighed, “But at least it’s not horrible anymore.”

“That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

They spent the rest of the car ride telling Taehyung of the places on Jeju Island as they passed them all. Once they got to Tori’s house, they took their small luggage bags and put them into their respective rooms while her parents prepared a small dinner for them.

“Thank you so much for coming with me, Tae,” Tori said lowly, walking into her older brother’s room. He was to be staying with him, and she was still very uneasy about that.

“It’s fine, when else would I be able to visit this beautiful place, anyway?” he smiled at her, opening his bag and pulling out a hoodie. “And your parents aren’t half as bad as what you made them out to be.”

“Just you wait,” she sighed, “Until my siblings come home, and the house gets messier and louder than this, you won’t be saying the same thing.”

Shaking his head at her, he put the bag down.

“Tae?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you turn around for me?”

“Huh?”

“Like a full circle,” she twirled her finger in the air, “I need to check your outfit before you see my family.”

“Oh? Okay,” he slowly turned around and when she was done she nodded.

“You look great.”

Is it just me or is his butt looking especially good today?

Taehyung turned away, his face flushing a bright red. He felt the heat going to his ears, and he didn’t even have the chance to open his mouth to let out the deep breath he had taken in.

She lunged forward and took the hoodie out of his hand before he had the chance to wear it.

He looked at her, confused.

“Let me wear this,” she said cheekily and winked before leaving the room.

He sighed, shaking his head at her before pulling out another hoodie, one she had bought for him, it had the word ‘Loyal’ written but crossed out and underneath it said ‘Royal’.

She had given it to him saying that he should live like her King, although stay loyal to her too.

Going downstairs, he saw that the table was now filled with some unfamiliar faces, and he took a deep breath, getting ready to say some introductions.

When he got there, Tori jumped up and stood next to him, tapping the table for everyone’s attention, and soon enough there were five pairs of eyes trained on him.

She felt him start to shake and so she slipped her hand in his.

“Taehyung, this is my older brother, Luther, and my two younger siblings, Taylor and Ben.”

“Guys, this is Taehyung, my…” she looked at him, and observed his terrified expression with a smile, “boyfriend.”

“You’re dating that loser?” someone asked and it took Taehyung a while to realise that Tori’s brother was talking to him, and calling her the loser, instead of the other way around.

“Yah!” she snapped, running around the table and curling her arm around her younger brother, causing him to fall into a fit of giggles in her embrace.

He internally smiled at their antics before her mother tapped the seat next to Luther, “Sit Taehyung.”

“Okay, but really, what do you see in my sister? My mom keeps telling me how she’s head over heels for you but I wouldn’t understand why anyone would feel the same way about her,” Luther leaned over and asked.

“Uh,” his eyes flickered between Tori (who was playing with her little brother and completely oblivious to their conversation) and her brother who was waiting for his answer.

“Uh…” he didn’t like having to answer questions like this, he hated being the centre of attention, for anything really, and he didn’t even know how to word the feelings he had for Tori.

“Victoria’s funny, smart, charming,” and before he knew it, he was gushing and letting out every single one of her strengths.

“Okay now I don’t know who likes who more,” he leaned forward to whisper into his ear, “But I hope you know, if you hurt my baby sister, you won’t be able to use your arms or legs again.”

He gulped, blinking at him with wide eyes.

No surprises where Tori got her overpowering aura from.

--

Tori closed her eyes as she breathed in the scent from Taehyung’s hoodie. She was now sitting on the wharf, overlooking the ocean as it crashed against the shore. Her favourite place (second to their lake, obviously).

The air was still, and apart from the soft water rippling onto the sand, there was no sound to be heard. She pulled up the neck of her hoodie, wanting to savour every bit of the smell.

Someone came and sat next to her, dropping their legs over the edge like she was and swinging them from side to side.

Tori turned to see Taehyung looking out into the sea, his eyes full of misery and longing, and she wanted to find out what it was that was bothering him so she could see his stress free face again.

“Do you think that one day it will all stop?” he asked, turning to look at her in the eyes.

She furrowed her eyebrows, “What will stop?”

“The struggle, the despair, the hard stuff.”

“Nope,” she turned and looked out to sea again, feeling her eyes well with tears, “I don’t think it’ll ever stop. We’re stuck in an endless cycle of torture and gloom, mate.”

“It’s life,” Taehyung sighed, still looking at her.

Truth be told, he had witnessed the argument she had had with her mother an hour or so ago.

“You know, Luther got his scholarship renewed after he got his results from last semester?” her mother asked, Taehyung retreated from walking out into the bedroom and stayed behind the wall.

“Really? That’s amazing!”

“Yeah, it makes me wonder what you’re doing at school.”

Of course the conversation’s going to end up being directed at me.

Taehyung sighed, feeling bad for her.

“Mom, I’m actually doing really well, I’ve gone from Cs to B pluses this year!” she said enthusiastically, and he knew she was doing so, hoping to get a good reaction.

“Only Bs? When Luther wa-”

“Mom, when are you going to accept the fact that I’m not Luther?”

Her mother was taken aback.

“Excuse me?”

“You keep comparing me to him! We are two different people, mom, two different people who think two different things, study two different ways, and have different dreams.”

“Victoria Chandler, how dare you speak to me like that!” her mother snapped, “This is how you’re learning to speak to your parents after going to all those parties and hanging out with all the wrong people. I can’t believe you’re my daughter.”

I guess getting Bs really aren’t anything to be congratulated on.

I guess it was only me who thought it was an accomplishment.

“Well I’m sorry I don’t have the most perfect friends, or spend my weekends locked up in a room like Luther does. I’m sorry I like having my fun, and I’m sorry for being your daughter,” she sniffed, walking away.

Taehyung wrapped his arm around her and she turned to him, surprised.

He squeezed her tighter, not knowing what he was going to say.

“You know she loves you, right?”

“Huh?”

“Your mother loves you, she just doesn’t know how to show it as well as you show love.”

“Taehyung what are you o-”

“Listen to me,” he turned her head to face him, brushing her hair behind her ears. “Your mother loves you, despite what she says. Sometimes people let their anger speak louder than their honest desires, it’s inevitable. But please don’t forget how much you mean to her, she might not say it but if she hadn’t kicked you out, and she’s letting you just come back without much notice, she still thinks of you as her child. If I was her and you were my daughter, well, that would be a different story,” he added that last bit in to lighten the mood.

“Hey!” she laughed, slapping his arm, amidst the tears spilling from her eyes.

He let her do it, before grabbing his face in his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs.

“You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re funny, you’re charming, and I don’t know about you but, I am very proud of your grades this year.”

She smiled, her eyes not wavering from his own and he loved it. Staring into those lilac irises was something he could do every day and not ever get tired.  She felt the same way, however, staring into the chocolate pools of his eyes, too, was addicting.

He always knows what to say.

“Thanks, Tae,” she scrunched her nose, and he did the same as his response.

He’s not as awkward as I remember.

Taehyung frowned, but she didn’t see due to the fact that it was very dark.

“We should probably head back,” Taehyung said, getting up and dusting his knees.

Tori got up and once she did, he started walking back to land, but she stopped him, pulling him back by his hand.

“Woah,” he let out, finding himself standing in front of her again, just inches off the edge of the wharf. “You trying to get us both wet?” he hissed and she grinned, shaking her head.

“Kiss me, you idiot,” she tilted her head to look at him, “When we go back home we-”

He cut her off by placing a small peck on her lips, “Okay, let’s go-”

And of course, it wasn’t enough for Tori as she gripped his neck, bringing him down and silencing him again.

He smiled into the kiss, loving how she was still her impatient self, and hugged her tight. The wind was now blowing, and to say he felt cold would have been an understatement. He felt Tori’s hair start to be wafting through the air, and he loved feeling her dress brush against his jeans.

“Let’s not go back,” she panted, when they tore.

“Hmm, yeah, great idea,” he said sarcastically and she sighed.

“Please?”

“You’re not being serious,” his eyes widened, “But your parents!”

“They won’t care,” her eyes lit up, and her smile greatened, “I doubt they’ll care.”

He frowned, “You have so much hope in your parents.”

“Not like they have hope in me,” she muttered and he blinked blankly at her.

“Let’s go home.”

“No! Please! Just for an hour! I’ll show you my favourite spot on the Island!”

He shook his head but she just pouted the puppy face at him and he caved in the end.

“Fine.”

“Yay!”

--

That’s how they found themselves on the top of a small hill, Tori’s head on Taehyung’s chest as they lay and stared at the stars.

“Do you know much about stars?” she asked him and he smiled, closing his eyes.

“Enough to point out the constellation positions with my eyes closed.”

“Wahh,” she looked up at him and at the feel he looked down.

“What? Is that not normal?”

“Nothing about you is normal,” she ruffled his hair.

“Really? Well, you’re not your average eighteen year old either, so I guess we make the best pair.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his chest, “The best pair. We should have nicknames for each other!”

“No, we shouldn’t.”

“What do you want to call me?”

“Victoria-”

“Nah, that’s boring, do you think we should have original nicknames or the normal mainstream ones?”

“We don-”

“Okay you can start with the mainstream ones, repeat after me, ba-by.”

“Victoria-”

“Tae!” she snapped, “Repeat after me, ba-by.”

“I don-”

“Taeeee,” she whined, sitting up and looking down at him.

“Victoria I do-”

“You want a girlfriend after today or not?”

He sat up too, “Seriously?”

“Yes, let’s break up,” she was about to stand but he caught her wrist, pulling her back down. “Repeat after me,” she said, after waiting a while.

He sighed, looking to the grass.

“Ba-by.”

When he didn’t say anything, she repeated herself, “Ba…”

“Ba,” when he finally gave in, she smiled.

“By.”

“By.”

“Now together, baby.”

“Baby.”

“Okay, we should probably head back, babe, can you pass me my phone?”

“Huh? O-Okay,” he turned and got the phone for her.

“Let’s go,” she grabbed his hand and stood up, “Mom’s going to be mad at you for being late.”

“Me?”

She giggled, running towards her house, and he followed.

--

The next few weeks went past, the two of them spending all their free time together. Taehyung would help her with her exams, and they would always pair up for their partner work. Tori went from being the most popular girl in college to dating the dorkiest nerd and yet she didn’t even mind.

And the most surprising thing was that Taehyung was starting to become comfortable around her, but just her.

To other people he was too shy to talk, much like how he was with Tori in the beginning.

But now they shared something so beautiful, so intimate that he felt he had shown her his everything and yet still felt relaxed with her.

He never thought that he’d be able to accomplish a relationship this comfortable, he’d see people in the streets, in movies and in novels achieving the same things but for it to happen to him, it was a dream he never felt worthy to have.

When he was with her, he couldn’t stop smiling, but when he was in the presence of other people he felt like the same Taehyung, shy and embarrassed. Afraid that he would show a bit too much of himself and everyone would laugh at him.

But it was different with her.

She saw the world in him, and no matter how many times she would tell him this, he wouldn’t believe her.

However, he knew that, no matter what he did, what he said, what he thought, she would never judge him, and that nothing would be able to change the way she felt about him.

And that was when he realised that this was something he should never let go of.

Taehyung was just working as he normally did, trying to observe the colour change and smell of the solution he was given when it was mixed with Sodium Nitrate, in order to identify what the substance was.

And as he lifted the test tube to eyelevel, examining the liquid, he felt something touch his back and in shock he almost dropped it, luckily his instincts made him clutch it tighter instead.

“I love scaring you like this,” an amused voice said from behind him and he recognised it immediately. He also recognised the way two arms snaked around his lab coat, fastening like a belt in front of him.

“I was about to drop iiiiit,” he whined, putting it into the test tube holder and writing down his observations, before holding it in his gloved hand again.

Tori got onto her tiptoes and rested her chin on her shoulder, whispering into his ear, “What’s that?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, not taking his eyes off of it, “I have to find out.”

“Ohhh,” she nodded, leaning her head to the side and observed his side profile. She started to plant small kisses on his neck and he shivered.

“I’m workiiiiiiing.”

She giggled and, taking it as a challenge, let her lips trace upwards until they reached his ear and she nibbled at it.

“Why do I even let you do this to me?” he muttered to himself, putting the test tubes down and taking his glasses off. “You’re just a big distraction,” he turned around and she grinned.

Challenge: success

He placed his hands on her waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Well, what are girlfriends for?”

“Oh, I don’t know, being supportive of their significant other’s studies.”

“I’m supportive of your studies,” she said, innocently, “I just don’t support them when you could be doing other things… like this,” she reached up and kissed him, her right hand went straight to his cheek, keeping him in place.

Their interactions with each other had been reaching a different level recently, they were less wary of each other, Taehyung was less shy around her – as if he felt there was nothing he hadn’t shown her – and Tori was not bothered by the fact that he wasn’t as experienced as she was anymore. They achieved a different level of intimacy and they couldn’t deny it was amazing.

He leaned into her, his hands not moving from her waist, while she threaded her fingers through his hair.

Shuffling forward, they stopped when Tori’s back his the table behind her and Taehyung lifted her up to sit on it.

“Let’s take this off you,” she whispered, holding onto the collar of his lab coat and he grinned sheepishly.

You’re not going to get any work done now I’m here anyway.

He obeyed, letting Tori slip the lab coat off and threw it across the table she was sitting on.

“Caref-” before he could finish scolding her, she pinched his chin and drew his lips onto hers, silencing him.

“Baby?” she asked and he hummed a reply. “I love you.”

He pushed back, blinking rapidly. She chuckled at his reaction and only pulled him closer, “What?”

“Huh?”

“I love you,” she smiled, “Like, really, really, really, love you.”

“Uh-”

“You don’t have to say anything back,” she play punched his arm, laughing, “I just needed you to know, you’re more than just a boyfriend to me, I’m so in love with you it’s crazy.”

She said this while twirling his bangs around her index finger and he reached down and kissed her again, this time it was deeper, hungrier, more passionate.

And even without the need of the next few words that spilled out of his mouth, she knew what he was feeling.

“I’m so in love with you too, I think… I don’t really know what being in lov-”

She wouldn’t let him continue – couldn’t let him continue – because she couldn’t comprehend how adorable he was.

“When you’re in love, you’ll know,” she told him, much like a teacher to a student.

He nodded, “Well then I guess I’m in love, crazy in love.”

[readbookywooks]

Arya

The scent of hot bread drifting from the shops along the Street of Flour was sweeter than any perfume Arya had ever smelled. She took a deep breath and stepped closer to the pigeon. It was a plump one, speckled brown, busily pecking at a crust that had fallen between two cobblestones, but when Arya's shadow touched it, it took to the air. Her stick sword whistled out and caught it two feet off the ground, and it went down in a flurry of brown feathers. She was on it in the blink of an eye, grabbing a wing as the pigeon flapped and fluttered. It pecked at her hand. She grabbed its neck and twisted until she felt the bone snap. Compared with catching cats, pigeons were easy. A passing septon was looking at her askance. "Here's the best place to find pigeon," Arya told him as she brushed herself off and picked up her fallen stick sword. "They come for the crumbs." He hurried away. She tied the pigeon to her belt and started down the street. A man was pushing a load of tarts by on a two-wheeled cart; the smells sang of blueberries and lemons and apricots. Her stomach made a hollow rumbly noise. "Could I have one?" she heard herself say. "A lemon, or . . . or any kind." The pushcart man looked her up and down. Plainly he did not like what he saw. "Three coppers." Arya tapped her wooden sword against the side of her boot. "I'll trade you a fat pigeon," she said. "The Others take your pigeon," the pushcart man said. The tarts were still warm from the oven. The smells were making her mouth water, but she did not have three coppers . . . or one. She gave the pushcart man a look, remembering what Syrio had told her about seeing. He was short, with a little round belly, and when he moved he seemed to favor his left leg a little. She was just thinking that if she snatched a tart and ran he would never be able to catch her when he said, "You be keepin' your filthy hands off. The gold cloaks know how to deal with thieving little gutter rats, that they do." Arya glanced warily behind her. Two of the City Watch were standing at the mouth of an alley. Their cloaks hung almost to the ground, the heavy wool dyed a rich gold; their mail and boots and gloves were black. One wore a longsword at his hip, the other an iron cudgel. With a last wistful glance at the tarts, Arya edged back from the cart and hurried off. The gold cloaks had not been paying her any special attention, but the sight of them tied her stomach in knots. Arya had been staying as far from the castle as she could get, yet even from a distance she could see the heads rotting atop the high red walls. Flocks of crows squabbled noisily over each head, thick as flies. The talk in Flea Bottom was that the gold cloaks had thrown in with the Lannisters, their commander raised to a lord, with lands on the Trident and a seat on the king's council. She had also heard other things, scary things, things that made no sense to her. Some said her father had murdered King Robert and been slain in turn by Lord Renly. Others insisted that Renly had killed the king in a drunken quarrel between brothers. Why else should he have fled in the night like a common thief? One story said the king had been killed by a boar while hunting, another that he'd died eating a boar, stuffing himself so full that he'd ruptured at the table. No, the king had died at table, others said, but only because Varys the Spider poisoned him. No, it had been the queen who poisoned him. No, he had died of a pox. No, he had choked on a fish bone. One thing all the stories agreed on: King Robert was dead. The bells in the seven towers of the Great Sept of Baelor had tolled for a day and a night, the thunder of their grief rolling across the city in a bronze tide. They only rang the bells like that for the death of a king, a tanner's boy told Arya. All she wanted was to go home, but leaving King's Landing was not so easy as she had hoped. Talk of war was on every lip, and gold cloaks were as thick on the city walls as fleas on . . . well, her, for one. She had been sleeping in Flea Bottom, on rooftops and in stables, wherever she could find a place to lie down, and it hadn't taken her long to learn that the district was well named. Every day since her escape from the Red Keep, Arya had visited each of the seven city gates in turn. The Dragon Gate, the Lion Gate, and the Old Gate were closed and barred. The Mud Gate and the Gate of the Gods were open, but only to those who wanted to enter the city; the guards let no one out. Those who were allowed to leave left by the King's Gate or the Iron Gate, but Lannister men-at-arms in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms manned the guard posts there. Spying down from the roof of an inn by the King's Gate, Arya saw them searching wagons and carriages, forcing riders to open their saddlebags, and questioning everyone who tried to pass on foot. Sometimes she thought about swimming the river, but the Blackwater Rush was wide and deep, and everyone agreed that its currents were wicked and treacherous. She had no coin to pay a ferryman or take passage on a ship. Her lord father had taught her never to steal, but it was growing harder to remember why. If she did not get out soon, she would have to take her chances with the gold cloaks. She hadn't gone hungry much since she learned to knock down birds with her stick sword, but she feared so much pigeon was making her sick. A couple she'd eaten raw, before she found Flea Bottom. In the Bottom there were pot-shops along the alleys where huge tubs of stew had been simmering for years, and you could trade half your bird for a heel of yesterday's bread and a "bowl o' brown," and they'd even stick the other half in the fire and crisp it up for you, so long as you plucked the feathers yourself. Arya would have given anything for a cup of milk and a lemon cake, but the brown wasn't so bad. It usually had barley in it, and chunks of carrot and onion and turnip, and sometimes even apple, with a film of grease swimming on top. Mostly she tried not to think about the meat. Once she had gotten a piece of fish. The only thing was, the pot-shops were never empty, and even as she bolted down her food, Arya could feel them watching. Some of them stared at her boots or her cloak, and she knew what they were thinking. With others, she could almost feel their eyes crawling under her leathers; she didn't know what they were thinking, and that scared her even more. A couple times, she was followed out into the alleys and chased, but so far no one had been able to catch her. The silver bracelet she'd hoped to sell had been stolen her first night out of the castle, along with her bundle of good clothes, snatched while she slept in a burnt-out house off Pig Alley. All they left her was the cloak she had been huddled in, the leathers on her back, her wooden practice sword . . . and Needle. She'd been lying on top of Needle, or else it would have been gone too; it was worth more than all the rest together. Since then Arya had taken to walking around with her cloak draped over her right arm, to conceal the blade at her hip. The wooden sword she carried in her left hand, out where everybody could see it, to scare off robbers, but there were men in the pot-shops who wouldn't have been scared off if she'd had a battle-axe. It was enough to make her lose her taste for pigeon and stale bread. Often as not, she went to bed hungry rather than risk the stares. Once she was outside the city, she would find berries to pick, or orchards she might raid for apples and cherries. Arya remembered seeing some from the kingsroad on the journey south. And she could dig for roots in the forest, even run down some rabbits. In the city, the only things to run down were rats and cats and scrawny dogs. The potshops would give you a fistful of coppers for a litter of pups, she'd heard, but she didn't like to think about that. Down below the Street of Flour was a maze of twisting alleys and cross streets. Arya scrambled through the crowds, trying to put distance between her and the gold cloaks. She had learned to keep to the center of the street. Sometimes she had to dodge wagons and horses, but at least you could see them coming. If you walked near the buildings, people grabbed you. In some alleys you couldn't help but brush against the walls; the buildings leaned in so close they almost met. A whooping gang of small children went running past, chasing a rolling hoop. Arya stared at them with resentment, remembering the times she'd played at hoops with Bran and Jon and their baby brother Rickon. She wondered how big Rickon had grown, and whether Bran was sad. She would have given anything if Jon had been here to call her "little sister" and muss her hair. Not that it needed mussing. She'd seen her reflection in puddles, and she didn't think hair got any more mussed than hers. She had tried talking to the children she saw in the street, hoping to make a friend who would give her a place to sleep, but she must have talked wrong or something. The little ones only looked at her with quick, wary eyes and ran away if she came too close. Their big brothers and sisters asked questions Arya couldn't answer, called her names, and tried to steal from her. Only yesterday, a scrawny barefoot girl twice her age had knocked her down and tried to pull the boots off her feet, but Arya gave her a crack on her ear with her stick sword that sent her off sobbing and bleeding. A gull wheeled overhead as she made her way down the hill toward Flea Bottom. Arya glanced at it thoughtfully, but it was well beyond the reach of her stick. It made her think of the sea. Maybe that was the way out. Old Nan used to tell stories of boys who stowed away on trading galleys and sailed off into all kinds of adventures. Maybe Arya could do that too. She decided to visit the riverfront. It was on the way to the Mud Gate anyway, and she hadn't checked that one today. The wharfs were oddly quiet when Arya got there. She spied another pair of gold cloaks, walking side by side through the fish market, but they never so much as looked at her. Half the stalls were empty, and it seemed to her that there were fewer ships at dock than she remembered. Out on the Blackwater, three of the king's war galleys moved in formation, gold-painted hulls splitting the water as their oars rose and fell. Arya watched them for a bit, then began to make her way along the river. When she saw the guardsmen on the third pier, in grey woolen cloaks trimmed with white satin, her heart almost stopped in her chest. The sight of Winterfell's colors brought tears to her eyes. Behind them, a sleek three-banked trading galley rocked at her moorings. Arya could not read the name painted on the hull; the words were strange, Myrish, Braavosi, perhaps even High Valyrian. She grabbed a passing longshoreman by the sleeve. "Please," she said, "what ship is this?" "She's the Wind Witch, out of Myr," the man said. "She's still here," Arya blurted. The longshoreman gave her a queer look, shrugged, and walked away. Arya ran toward the pier. The Wind Witch was the ship Father had hired to take her home . . . still waiting! She'd imagined it had sailed ages ago. Two of the guardsmen were dicing together while the third walked rounds, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Ashamed to let them see her crying like a baby, she stopped to rub at her eyes. Her eyes her eyes her eyes, why did . . . Look with your eyes, she heard Syrio whisper. Arya looked. She knew all of her father's men. The three in the grey cloaks were strangers. "You," the one walking rounds called out. "What do you want here, boy?" The other two looked up from their dice. It was all Arya could do not to bolt and run, but she knew that if she did, they would be after her at once. She made herself walk closer. They were looking for a girl, but he thought she was a boy. She'd be a boy, then. "Want to buy a pigeon?" She showed him the dead bird. "Get out of here," the guardsman said. Arya did as he told her. She did not have to pretend to be frightened. Behind her, the men went back to their dice. She could not have said how she got back to Flea Bottom, but she was breathing hard by the time she reached the narrow crooked unpaved streets between the hills. The Bottom had a stench to it, a stink of pigsties and stables and tanner's sheds, mixed in with the sour smell of winesinks and cheap whorehouses. Arya wound her way through the maze dully. It was not until she caught a whiff of bubbling brown coming through a pot-shop door that she realized her pigeon was gone. It must have slipped from her belt as she ran, or someone had stolen it and she'd never noticed. For a moment she wanted to cry again. She'd have to walk all the way back to the Street of Flour to find another one that plump. Far across the city, bells began to ring. Arya glanced up, listening, wondering what the ringing meant this time. "What's this now?" a fat man called from the pot-shop. "The bells again, gods ha'mercy," wailed an old woman. A red-haired whore in a wisp of painted silk pushed open a second-story window. "Is it the boy king that's died now?" she shouted down, leaning out over the street. "Ah, that's a boy for you, they never last long." As she laughed, a naked man slid his arms around her from behind, biting her neck and rubbing the heavy white breasts that hung loose beneath her shift. "Stupid slut," the fat man shouted up. "The king's not dead, that's only summoning bells. One tower tolling. When the king dies, they ring every bell in the city." "Here, quit your biting, or I'll ring your bells," the woman in the window said to the man behind her, pushing him off with an elbow. "So who is it died, if not the king?" "It's a summoning," the fat man repeated. Two boys close to Arya's age scampered past, splashing through a puddle. The old woman cursed them, but they kept right on going. Other people were moving too, heading up the hill to see what the noise was about. Arya ran after the slower boy. "Where you going?" she shouted when she was right behind him. "What's happening?" He glanced back without slowing. "The gold cloaks is carryin' him to the sept." "Who?" she yelled, running hard. "The Hand! They'll be taking his head off, Buu says." A passing wagon had left a deep rut in the street. The boy leapt over, but Arya never saw it. She tripped and fell, face first, scraping her knee open on a stone and smashing her fingers when her hands hit the hard-packed earth. Needle tangled between her legs. She sobbed as she struggled to her knees. The thumb of her left hand was covered with blood. When she sucked on it, she saw that half the thumbnail was gone, ripped off in her fall. Her hands throbbed, and her knee was all bloody too. "Make way!" someone shouted from the cross street. "Make way for my lords of Redwyne!" It was all Arya could do to get out of the road before they ran her down, four guardsmen on huge horses, pounding past at a gallop. They wore checked cloaks, blue-and-burgundy. Behind them, two young lordlings rode side by side on a pair of chestnut mares alike as peas in a pod. Arya had seen them in the bailey a hundred times; the Redwyne twins, Ser Horas and Ser Hobber, homely youths with orange hair and square, freckled faces. Sansa and Jeyne Poole used to call them Ser Horror and Ser Slobber, and giggle whenever they caught sight of them. They did not look funny now. Everyone was moving in the same direction, all in a hurry to see what the ringing was all about. The bells seemed louder now, clanging, calling. Arya joined the stream of people. Her thumb hurt so bad where the nail had broken that it was all she could do not to cry. She bit her lip as she limped along, listening to the excited voices around her. "—the King's Hand, Lord Stark. They're carrying him up to Baelor's Sept." "I heard he was dead." "Soon enough, soon enough. Here, I got me a silver stag says they lop his head off." "Past time, the traitor." The man spat. Arya struggled to find a voice. "He never—" she started, but she was only a child and they talked right over her. "Fool! They ain't neither going to lop him. Since when do they knick traitors on the steps of the Great Sept?" "Well, they don't mean to anoint him no knight. I heard it was Stark killed old King Robert. Slit his throat in the woods, and when they found him, he stood there cool as you please and said it was some old boar did for His Grace." "Ah, that's not true, it was his own brother did him, that Renly, him with his gold antlers." "You shut your lying mouth, woman. You don't know what you're saying, his lordship's a fine true man." By the time they reached the Street of the Sisters, they were packed in shoulder to shoulder. Arya let the human current carry her along, up to the top of Visenya's Hill. The white marble plaza was a solid mass of people, all yammering excitedly at each other and straining to get closer to the Great Sept of Baelor. The bells were very loud here. Arya squirmed through the press, ducking between the legs of horses and clutching tight to her sword stick. From the middle of the crowd, all she could see were arms and legs and stomachs, and the seven slender towers of the sept looming overhead. She spotted a wood wagon and thought to climb up on the back where she might be able to see, but others had the same idea. The teamster cursed at them and drove them off with a crack of his whip. Arya grew frantic. Forcing her way to the front of the crowd, she was shoved up against the stone of a plinth. She looked up at Baelor the Blessed, the septon king. Sliding her stick sword through her belt, Arya began to climb. Her broken thumbnail left smears of blood on the painted marble, but she made it up, and wedged herself in between the king's feet. That was when she saw her father. Lord Eddard stood on the High Septon's pulpit outside the doors of the sept, supported between two of the gold cloaks. He was dressed in a rich grey velvet doublet with a white wolf sewn on the front in beads, and a grey wool cloak trimmed with fur, but he was thinner than Arya had ever seen him, his long face drawn with pain. He was not standing so much as being held up; the cast over his broken leg was grey and rotten. The High Septon himself stood behind him, a squat man, grey with age and ponderously fat, wearing long white robes and an immense crown of spun gold and crystal that wreathed his head with rainbows whenever he moved. Clustered around the doors of the sept, in front of the raised marble pulpit, were a knot of knights and high lords. Joffrey was prominent among them, his raiment all crimson, silk and satin patterned with prancing stags and roaring lions, a gold crown on his head. His queen mother stood beside him in a black mourning gown slashed with crimson, a veil of black diamonds in her hair. Arya recognized the Hound, wearing a snowy white cloak over his dark grey armor, with four of the Kingsguard around him. She saw Varys the eunuch gliding among the lords in soft slippers and a patterned damask robe, and she thought the short man with the silvery cape and pointed beard might be the one who had once fought a duel for Mother. And there in their midst was Sansa, dressed in sky-blue silk, with her long auburn hair washed and curled and silver bracelets on her wrists. Arya scowled, wondering what her sister was doing here, why she looked so happy. A long line of gold-cloaked spearmen held back the crowd, commanded by a stout man in elaborate armor, all black lacquer and gold filigree. His cloak had the metallic shimmer of true cloth-of-gold. When the bell ceased to toll, a quiet slowly settled across the great plaza, and her father lifted his head and began to speak, his voice so thin and weak she could scarcely make him out. People behind her began to shout out, "What?" and "Louder!" The man in the black-and-gold armor stepped up behind Father and prodded him sharply. You leave him alone! Arya wanted to shout, but she knew no one would listen. She chewed her lip. Her father raised his voice and began again. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King," he said more loudly, his voice carrying across the plaza, "and I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men." "No," Arya whimpered. Below her, the crowd began to scream and shout. Taunts and obscenities filled the air. Sansa had hidden her face in her hands. Her father raised his voice still higher, straining to be heard. "I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert," he shouted. "I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold, I plotted to depose and murder his son and seize the throne for myself. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the Seven bear witness to the truth of what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." A stone came sailing out of the crowd. Arya cried out as she saw her father hit. The gold cloaks kept him from falling. Blood ran down his face from a deep gash across his forehead. More stones followed. One struck the guard to Father's left. Another went clanging off the breastplate of the knight in the black-and-gold armor. Two of the Kingsguard stepped in front of Joffrey and the queen, protecting them with their shields. Her hand slid beneath her cloak and found Needle in its sheath. She tightened her fingers around the grip, squeezing as hard as she had ever squeezed anything. Please, gods, keep him safe, she prayed. Don't let them hurt my father. The High Septon knelt before Joffrey and his mother. "As we sin, so do we suffer," he intoned, in a deep swelling voice much louder than Father's. "This man has confessed his crimes in the sight of gods and men, here in this holy place." Rainbows danced around his head as he lifted his hands in entreaty. "The gods are just, yet Blessed Baelor taught us that they are also merciful. What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?" A thousand voices were screaming, but Arya never heard them. Prince Joffrey . . . no, King Joffrey . . . stepped out from behind the shields of his Kingsguard. "My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black, and Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father." He looked straight at Sansa then, and smiled, and for a moment Arya thought that the gods had heard her prayer, until Joffrey turned back to the crowd and said, "But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!" The crowd roared, and Arya felt the statue of Baelor rock as they surged against it. The High Septon clutched at the king's cape, and Varys came rushing over waving his arms, and even the queen was saying something to him, but Joffrey shook his head. Lords and knights moved aside as he stepped through, tall and fleshless, a skeleton in iron mail, the King's Justice. Dimly, as if from far off, Arya heard her sister scream. Sansa had fallen to her knees, sobbing hysterically. Ser Ilyn Payne climbed the steps of the pulpit. Arya wriggled between Baelor's feet and threw herself into the crowd, drawing Needle. She landed on a man in a butcher's apron, knocking him to the ground. Immediately someone slammed into her back and she almost went down herself. Bodies closed in around her, stumbling and pushing, trampling on the poor butcher. Arya slashed at them with Needle. High atop the pulpit, Ser Ilyn Payne gestured and the knight in black-and-gold gave a command. The gold cloaks flung Lord Eddard to the marble, with his head and chest out over the edge. "Here, you!" an angry voice shouted at Arya, but she bowled past, shoving people aside, squirming between them, slamming into anyone in her way. A hand fumbled at her leg and she hacked at it, kicked at shins. A woman stumbled and Arya ran up her back, cutting to both sides, but it was no good, no good, there were too many people, no sooner did she make a hole than it closed again. Someone buffeted her aside. She could still hear Sansa screaming. Ser Ilyn drew a two-handed greatsword from the scabbard on his back. As he lifted the blade above his head, sunlight seemed to ripple and dance down the dark metal, glinting off an edge sharper than any razor. Ice, she thought, he has Ice! Her tears streamed down her face, blinding her. And then a hand shot out of the press and closed round her arm like a wolf trap, so hard that Needle went flying from her hand. Arya was wrenched off her feet. She would have fallen if he hadn't held her up, as easy as if she were a doll. A face pressed close to hers, long black hair and tangled beard and rotten teeth. "Don't look!" a thick voice snarled at her. "I . . . I . . . I . . . " Arya sobbed. The old man shook her so hard her teeth rattled. "Shut your mouth and close your eyes, boy." Dimly, as if from far away, she heard a . . . a noise . . . a soft sighing sound, as if a million people had let out their breath at once. The old man's fingers dug into her arm, stiff as iron. "Look at me. Yes, that's the way of it, at me." Sour wine perfumed his breath. "Remember, boy?" It was the smell that did it. Arya saw the matted greasy hair, the patched, dusty black cloak that covered his twisted shoulders, the hard black eyes squinting at her. And she remembered the black brother who had come to visit her father. "Know me now, do you? There's a bright boy." He spat. "They're done here. You'll be coming with me, and you'll be keeping your mouth shut." When she started to reply, he shook her again, even harder. "Shut, I said." The plaza was beginning to empty. The press dissolved around them as people drifted back to their lives. But Arya's life was gone. Numb, she trailed along beside . . . Yoren, yes, his name is Yoren. She did not recall him finding Needle, until he handed the sword back to her. "Hope you can use that, boy." "I'm not—" she started. He shoved her into a doorway, thrust dirty fingers through her hair, and gave it a twist, yanking her head back. "—not a smart boy, that what you mean to say?" He had a knife in his other hand. As the blade flashed toward her face, Arya threw herself backward, kicking wildly, wrenching her head from side to side, but he had her by the hair, so strong, she could feel her scalp tearing, and on her lips the salt taste of tears.