#finally putting my sketch brush to good use besides sketching

[retired-for-now]

DogenyEn

(Vote for it in the @ut-side-character-showdown now. NOW)

[underaverageheight]

paint my love

hwang hyunjin x artist!gn!reader genre: fluff warning(s): none other than hyune being a bit of a crybaby

note: took me a while but i finally got to fully write out my little thought from here because tbh sending in asks to sage gets my brain going lol

word count: 2.1k omg

“Hey Bin! Um... can you do me a favor? Like a big, big favor?” Your best friend nodded eagerly, awaiting your words. "Can you... buy me a studio? Nothing huge. Just a studio?"

Changbin looked at you as if you were speaking gibberish. At this point, real gibberish would have made more sense. "Um. I love you but why? You have a studio and Hyunjin. Ask Hyunjin."

"Well, you see... I want to give him a new studio for our anniversary but I want to keep it a secret. A very secret secret and it’s not like I can drop a grand or two randomly and play it off." You looked at Changbin, reaching for his hand on the table. "I need you, Binnie."

He raised his eyebrow. "You need my money."

"Well... yeah. But I'm a good friend so I'll say I need you. Besides, I'll pay you back," Grinning, you gave him the best puppy eyes you could muster, causing him to groan in defeat.

"Fine." He pulled out his card. "For the love of this world, do NOT go buying a whole bunch of buildings. Okay? Ask Chan for his card if you're gonna do that." Changbin smirked and handed you his card before getting up to pat Hyunjin's shoulder, who looked at you with a puzzled facial expression.

Later that day, you spent your time sketching cherry blossom trees, scraps of your designs littered the floor of your shared room-turned-mini-studio, which was mostly filled with Hyunjin’s finished projects and some half-finished projects. With both of you being artists, many of your projects mixed with Hyunjin's. You tugged at one of his binders and flipped through the paints your boyfriend had bought or created. You found various shades of pink and red, ones you considered using for your project. After all, it had to be the most perfect anniversary gift for him.

"I'm home~" Hyunjin kicked off his shoes and found you scavenging through his binders and some of your folders. He gave you a quick peck on the top of your head. "Artistic rush?" You nodded and he chuckled, sitting down next to you. "What are you looking for?"

"Just some shades. I'm trying to find the nature catalog." Humming softly, you leaned against his shoulder. "I had a little thought." Laughing softly, you traced patterns on your boyfriend's thigh. "How was practice?"

"It was kinda fun today. We goofed off mostly and we were all okay with it. Even Minho was okay with it." Hyunjin tangled his fingers in the locks of your hair before reaching into a mess of binders and pulled a smaller one out. "Here."

"Thanks Hyunnie.” He hummed his acknowledgement, kissing your cheek again.

“I’m gonna shower and work on some things,” He got up and went to get his clothes from your bedroom. You, on the other hand, grabbed a spare bin, put the catalog, some paints you could easily find, and many brushes or various shapes inside. The rest of the day, you looked into multiple art studios, trying to find ones with a nice view and large windows. 

“This is the one.” You found a lovely, spacious yet cozy studio that faced the west, allowing one to see the prettiest sunsets from the room. Booking a viewing appointment for tomorrow, you quickly made another checklist; things to double check and look for to make sure what you were buying had the proper things. Grabbing your tote bag, a birthday gift from your boyfriend who painted delicate roses on the sides, you put the list in, your car keys, and your wallet with Changbin’s card inside. 

“As you can see, this studio has a smaller, more private office area with a lovely view of the city. It’s perfect for smaller businesses or artists or all kinds. Out here,” the realtor led you out of the little office to the outside space, “is the kitchen and a large open area here that can fit your various needs. Should it be a living room, meeting area, art studio based on your pretty bag there.” The woman smiled, gesturing to your tote bag. 

“It’s beautiful. May I check and look around the studio?” 

“Feel free to. I have another client downstairs so take as much time as you need,” The realtor smiled and left, going to the bottom floor to meet the client. Looking around, you checked for any damage, locating wall outlets, checking the space, checking the windows. Satisfied, you went down the many floors to find the realtor, going to make your down payment with Changbin’s card. 

You better love and use that studio to bits and pieces. Pay me back when you can :>

Texting Changbin back that you promise to pay him back, you drove home, catching Hyunjin on his way back to the house from a company dinner. Next week, you’d start the painting and prep. “Hi Jinnie! I finally figured out my artistic rush. So unfortunately I’ll be busy for a long long time.”

You giggled at the silly ferret’s antics. “Oh no! You’re going to disappear off the face of the Earth for a long time. When can I expect your kisses?” “Mmm… a week or two?”Jaw drop.

“Lord. Are you being summoned to paint down in the depths of hell? What are you painting? A skyscraper?” Hyunjin pounced on you, hugging you tightly and peppering kisses all over you. “Come back alive, my love.”

“Dramatic.” Laughing, you hugged him back, with a big grin, “I just wanna perfect this project. Besides, I literally see you everyday, angel.”

“Alright, alright fine.”

For a few days, you spent hours painting the walls, deciding on a green summery background, with faint mountains in the background. Coming home, you set your bags down, sighing, glad to be home. “Babyy!” Hyunjin comes to you, hugging and spinning you around with a wide grin. “You have green paint on your cheek… You’re really using that nature binder, huh?” 

You flushed a light pink, attempting to wipe off the dried paint. “Ah…” Laughing slightly, you rest your face against Hyunjin’s chest. Stilling slightly, Hyunjin brought his hands up to your head and your back, rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

A week later, you set the wet brush down on the paper, admiring your work. In the center of the wall was a grand cherry blossom tree, its branches stretching across the walls and parts of the ceiling. The white and pink blossoms stood out against the greenery, a flurry of floating blossoms seeming to drift in the wind. After hours of research, you found UV paint and glow in the dark paint. You outlined the tree and some blossoms. You added small details in your mural, working a lot later than you normally had, determined to finish this soon.

By the time you finished detailing, you gasped in wonder as the paint glowed brightly, seeming to shine brighter than the night life down below. The next and last day, you took the UV paint, marking up the mural with tiny messages. Satisfied, you sat on the couch, taking in the view of your finished mural. You were proud of the work you produced, stopping to admire it while you were cleaning up the studio. Before you left for the day, you left a little bag on the counter with a note. 

“Can you believe we’ve almost been dating for 4 years?” Hyunjin smiled as he held you close, his arms wrapped around you, blanketing you with his warmth.

“Speaking of which, I planned dinner at the restaurant we went to on our first date tomorrow.”

“Really? Do you think your message is still by that table in the corner?” Hyunjin’s eyes shined, recalling the memory.

On your first date with him, you both went to this small local restaurant. It was cozy yet elegant in its own way. After finishing your meals, you pointed at the wall next to the table, decorated with messages from its many visitors. “For good luck?” Hyunjin shrugged, pretending not to seem overly excited. “Sure.” You found an open area on the wall, scribbling the date. You thought for a moment before writing Y/n & Hyun - our first date ~ Hyunjin tried his best to hide his smile as you got up to use the restroom. Unbeknownst to you, he stood up and wrote a message of his own near the ceiling, convinced you’d never see his wish for luck. 

“Good morning darling. Happy anniversary~” You woke up to a decorated room, the walls of your shared room covered in many sketches and drawings. 

“What is this?” Walking over to the walls, you read off the writing on a smaller sketch. “‘The 73rd thing I love about you. Your sleeping patterns.’” The sketch depicted a person, presumably yourself, curled up like a koala. You laughed and looked at other sketches. “‘The 12th thing I love about you. Your hugs.’ ‘The 5th thing I love about you. Your smile.’ ‘The 1st thing I love about you. You.’ Aw Jinnie… I love it so much. It’s beautiful. I love you so much. Happy anniversary my love.” You hugged your boyfriend tightly, kissing him lovingly. 

“Where is it…” Your finger traced the walls, scanning for your message. “Found it! Right here, look!” You pointed at your faded handwriting, smiling brightly. You drew a heart near your previous message and wrote a new one. Happy 4 years to the one I love. “I don’t remember if you wrote one. I don’t think you did, did you?”

“I did write one. Honestly, I was completely head over heels for you when I first met you…So I wrote one in secret. Didn’t want to scare you away if you knew how much I cared about you.” Hyunjin blushed, looking away from you before searching the writing near the ceiling, pointing at the corner. I know it has to be you, so please let it be you. Underneath was a small cherry blossom, a symbol of when you first met Hyunjin. 

“Speaking of cherry blossoms… It's time for me to show you your gift.” Taking him to the tall building, Hyunjin was confused, unsure of what you could be referring to.

“Oh my god. Did you buy this building?” He paled slightly, making you laugh.

“Why does everyone think I’m gonna buy a building?!” Shaking your head with a smile, you took him up to the studio, placing the key in his hand. “Happy anniversary, darling.” Hyunjin nervously unlocked the studio, gasping at the sight.

“A new studio? For me? This is your gift? Oh my god.” You flipped the lights on. The mural was fully revealed, nearly bringing your boyfriend to tears. “I…” He rushed to feel the wall, tracing the blossoms. “Cherry blossoms. When we first met…” 

“This isn’t even the best part.” You grinned, relishing in how emotionally touched he was.

“There’s more?!” He nearly shrieked, trying to figure out the tricks you hid up your sleeves.

“Close your eyes.” Hyunjin hesitantly closed his eyes, anxious for the rest of your surprise. You turned off the lights, waiting for the paint to glow again. The low glow of the paint illuminated part of the room. “Open.”

Hyunjin stared, mouth agape at the glowing mural. Tearing up, he sniffled, coming to hug you tightly.“It’s beautiful. I love it so much. I… don’t even have the words to express how much I love this. It’s stunning…” 

“Go grab the bag on the counter.” Hyunjin reluctantly peeled himself off you, sniffling as he grabbed the small bag off the counter. “Go ahead, turn it on.” Reaching inside, he revealed a UV light. He turned it on, waving it around. “No you goofball, point it at the wall.”Slowly but surely, the UV messages you spent writing all over the mural revealed themselves. Your boyfriend was full on sobbing, sitting by the wall, tracing your messages with his finger. Looking back at you with tears streaming down his face, he made grabby hands towards you, making you come over to him, hugging him and laughing. 

“Don’t look at meee…” Hyunjin sniffled, wiping his face with his sweater sleeve as he read your messages aloud. “‘I expect my kisses in two weeks' time.’ ‘If you find this, I may or may not have used up all of your green paint.’” Hyunjin laughed, still crying as he buried his face in your shoulder. “I love you. I love you so much. I thought you bought me a whole entire building… Maybe I should do that. Buy you a building so we can paint every room, every wall, everything. I’m gonna paint the world for you.” Giggling, you wiped his tears, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Gonna paint my endless love for you.”

[notgonnaedit]

Healer's Hands

Chapter 3: The Deserter

Summary: When 16 y/o Althea Aaun's home is lost to the Clone War, she must find her way in a squad of rejected clones

Pairing: Bad Batch x Teen!OFC (clones being good brothers/dads)

Chapter summary: After crashing on Saleucami, Althea and the Batch must make peace with the farmers there

Warnings: Depictions of grief, Crosshair being an ass, Hunter trying his best, cameos (If I miss a tag LMK)

Master list

Althea froze at the sight of the woman. She had the rifle aimed directly at Hunter, who didn't flinch. Wrecker stood near the ramp, unsure of what to do. Tech looked up from his work, and Crosshair glared at the woman.

"I won't ask again." She said in a thick accent. "Who are you?"

Hunter put his hands up, as if he was calming a wild animal. "We're not here to hurt you, ma'am. Our ship crashed and we're trying to repair it."

The woman shifted the rifle in her hands. "You are clones?"

"Technically," Said Tech. "Although our genetic mutations–"

"I don't care." She said. She put the rifle down, but ready to shoot at a moment's notice. "I don't want you on my land. Be gone as quickly as possible." She turned and left, disappearing into the brush.

"That went well." Said Crosshair. Althea could never tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Hunter turned around to address them.

"She obviously doesn't want us on her land, so we better get to work. Wrecker," Hunter turned to the taller clone. "I want you to help Tech with any heavy lifting. Crosshair, be on guard. We don't know who that woman was, or how long is too long. I'm going to try and contact the Republic to update them on our mission."

He began to walk up the ramp, and Althea looked up at him. "Is there anything you want me to do?" Anything to find her brother.

Hunter faltered. "Uh, no. Try and rest up. You're still injured, so take it easy." He walked up last her and into the ship.

Althea leaned her head on her hands, her elbows on her knees. She needed to do something to help. Maybe Tech could use some? No, she didn't know very much about mechanics, so she would probably only slow him down. And with her bad leg, she couldn't help Wrecker with the heavy lifting. Maybe she could keep watch with Crosshair? But he seemed so cold and distant, Althea wondered if he would shove her off the top of the Marauder from where he sat.

She figured Hunter was right, there was nothing she could do to help. He seemed so in charge. He must be the leader of their squad.

With nothing to do, Althea became bored quickly. She rummaged through her bag to find any past times. Besides medicine, bandages, and a lot of salves, all she had was her journal and pens. But it was only for herbs. An idea popped into her head. Maybe she could wander around and see if she found any herbs. Surely Tech could help her identify them if she needed him to. Plus, she wouldn't wander far, just around the Marauder.

Having made her decision, Althea stood and walked into the bushes. She walked until a plant or bug caught her eye. A small insect zipped past her face and landed on a flower. Althea stopped to get a good look at it. It was shiny blue, with four, paper thin wings that caught the golden light. Althea took out her journal and pen and began to sketch it, making sure to capture the delicate wings.

She wasn't halfway done when the bug flew off, but she just closed her journal and walked after it. She wanted to draw it, then see if any of the Bad Batch had any information about it. She chased after until it landed again, this time staying still long enough for her to finish her sketch.

Althea added the final details on her art, then closed her journal. She looked up to see where she was, but the Marauder was nowhere in sight. Panic rose inside of her. She was on a strange planet, lost and alone.

Althea took a breath. Surely if she just walked in the direction she came from she would get back to the Marauder. Making her decision, she began to walk through the path the plowed through the bushes.

            •°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Hunter walked down the ramp and back outside. "I was able to contact the Republic, but they won't be able to send any help."

"Figures." Crosshair scoffed from above.

"Every time." Wrecker groaned. "They never send help."

Hunter sighed. Often times the Bad Batch was considering a sort of "suicide squad". Handling the missions no one else could. But it seemed that the Republic thought that because of their success rate, they didn't need help. "This isn't anything new. Let's just repair the ship and complete the mission." He looked around and realized someone was missing. "Where's the kid?"

Tech adjusted his goggles. "I have not seen her for some time."

"I thought she was with you." Wrecker shrugged.

Hunter looked up at Crosshair. The sniper kept his eyes on the fields. "I was watching for clankers, not little girls."

This was bad. "We need to find her." Said Hunter.

"Why?" Crosshair jumped down from the Marauder, landing next to Hunter. "We should just leave her here. That woman will probably find her."

Tech brushed his hands off. "She is injured, Crosshair. She wouldn't last long. This is a foreign planet to her."

"Yeah, we can't leave her here." Wrecker added.

Hunter nodded. He wouldn't let Althea get eaten by some beast. He grabbed his helmet. "Wrecker, with me. Let's go find her."

Wrecker nodded, donning his own helmet and following Hunter. The sergeant used his heightened senses to track Althea. He noticed the broken twigs from where she brushes against the plants. Her uneven footsteps from her limp. He twisted and turned, wondering what even made her go out this far. He rounded one more bend before finding her, her black hair contrasting heavily against the golden flora.

"There you.are, kid!" Exclaimed Wrecker. "We've been looking forever!"

Althea didn't respond. Hunter grabbed her shoulder. "Kid–"

She held up her hand, signaling for them to be quiet. She pointed subtly in front of her, and the soldiers looked.

It seemed they were at the end of the field, and in front of them was a clearing. In that clearing was a house, a barn, and a few small farm animals. But what was the most interesting, was a man working. He wore a simple green tunic, but his face was one Hunter had seen a thousand times.

He was a clone.

"Is that a clone?" Wrecker whispered.

Hunter nodded. "Looks like."

But the clone wasn't the only person in the clearing. From the house, came the woman from before, and behind her were two Twi'lek kids. A boy and girl. They ran outside and began to play with their ball, tossing it back and forth. That was until, the boy threw it over the girl's head, and it bounced over, right at Althea's feet.

The girl ran to fetch her ball, but stopped short when she saw the strange trio. Althea picked up the ball, offering it to the little girl. She looked wary, and the woman from before noticed. She craned her neck to see what was happening, and a dispute scowl played across her face when she saw them.

She turned to the clone and said something, making him approach them. He was on guard. Hunter figured he could either present himself as peaceful, or half to possibly fight off the clone. He chose the former. He stepped out of the field, his hands raised in surrender. He motioned for Althea and Wrecker to do the same.

Hunter slowly took off his helmet, and the clone seemed to be confused. "We don't want to hurt you." Said Hunter. "Our ship crashed not far from here, and one of us wandered off."

Altea winced, but Hunter didn't say anything about it. Thanks clone lowered his guard, but only slightly. "Why don't you come inside? We can talk more there."

               •°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

It felt good to sit down after walking for so long on a bad leg. Althea, Hunter, and Wrecker sat at a table inside. The clone, Cut, began to tell them his story. "Shortly after the Battle of Geonosis," He explained. "Our troop transport got caught between two Separatist gunships. They fired at us with everything they had. We crashed. Most of us were either dead or severely injured. So when they started working their way through the wounded, killing us off, I knew there was no hope. I ran. It still haunts me."

Hunter nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that. We weren't sent to come find you."

Wrecker nodded. "Yeah. Our ship crashed just over there."

Cut hummed in thought. "I can help you with your ship, but only of you swear not to report me."

Hunter nodded. After all, what could he gain from reporting a clone long thought dead?

          •°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Over the next few days, (turns out the ship was worse than Tech thought) Cut, Tech, and Hunter worked tirelessly to fix the Marauder. Crosshair kept a constant vigil, and Wrecker played the with kids. They'd taken a liking to him. Althea, however, was on strict orders to not walk unless absolutely necessary. Apparently, her walk through the fields ended up causing more swelling in her leg. She sat bored on Cut's porch, her open journal in her lap.

Suu, the Twi'lek woman, walked up next to her. "Bored?" She asked.

Althea nodded. "Tech won't let me do anything with my bad leg."

Suu sat down next to her. "Are these your drawings?" She pointed to the sketches of herbs in her journal.

Althea nodded. "Yeah. My family had been documenting them for years."

Suu looked at the pictures with great interest. "I could teach you some of the herbs around here, if you'd like."

Althea perked up. "That would be great!"

Suu smiled and stood. She walked into the house and returned a few minutes later with a bright yellow flower in her hand. "This is a sundelion." She explained. "When it's made into a stew, it helps heal sickness faster."

Althea nodded, jotting down notes and drawing the golden flower. When she was done, she thought it might have been her best work.

Suu looked over at her art. "You look a bit like a sundelion yourself."

Althea looked at her. "Really?"

She nodded. "Black and yellow, and you both heal. You both seem delicate, but are actually strong."

Althea smiled. She looked out at the yard and saw the kids, Shaeeah and Jek, hanging off Wrecker's arms. It reminded her of herself and her brother when they were little. She needed to find Thao. They were a few days behind now, and who knows what he was thinking on that Separatist ship. He must be so scared.

Suu must have noticed her sadness. "Is something wrong?"

Althea shook her worries off. "No. Thank you for the help."

Suu nodded. "It's my pleasure. We could do more if you like."

Althea smiled, and the two documented herbs until the ​​​Marauder was fixed.

             •°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Althea stood outside the Marauder with the Bad Batch. Cut, Suu, and their kids sending them off. "Thank you for your help." Hunter said.

Cut nodded. "As long as you uphold your end of the deal."

Wrecker laughed. "You don't got anything to worry about. Hunter's a man of his word."

They said their goodbyes, and took off into the atmosphere. Tech said that the Separatist ship had left the system, and was now near Rodia. Althea sat back in on of the console chairs. Hunter was across from her.

She thought about the family, and how happy they seemed. "Hunter?" 

The sergeant turned around to look at her. "Yeah, kid?"

"You're not actually gonna report Cut, right?" She twisted her fingers as she spoke.

Hunter stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. "Of course not. Kid, Cut is one clone. He wouldn't make any difference in this war. It's best to just let the Republic think he's dead."

"Besides," Tech added from the doorway. "We never follow orders."

Wrecker laughed, and even Crosshair smiled slightly. Althea smiled as well. These clones were good people, and maybe she would be all right with them

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[adultswim2021]

Tim And Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! #29: “Larry” | September 22, 2008 - 12:30AM | S03E09

A weak episode with some stuff in it I do like. We’re going to leave the meatiest segments for the end. 

First there’s Burps, which is sort of a rehash of Zits. This one has okay ideas, but isn’t really that funny. Tim burps while talking, and Eric asks him questions that inexplicably all have the word “rain” in the answers. It’s a real “spaghetti and meatballs” approach to comedy. That’s not a bad thing, it just didn’t bowl me over here. This recurs later in the form of outtakes where Eric is beside himself with laughter. It’s maybe a little silly to complain about DVD extras, but there’s even more of this stuff in the bloopers on the DVD. Enough!!!

There’s another Tairy Greene sketch that has some amusing moments, and I consider this one “funny enough”. The main idea, where Tairy is making an example of a wheelchair kid for no good reason, is a decent bit. 

Next is another guest star. It’s… Ugh, Rainn Wilson. He does the same bit Patton did a few episodes back of portraying a child singing a song about sexual matters. This one is about peeing in a girl’s mouth to make a baby.

Rainn Wislon is a wad, so I'll digress into childhood stories. Skip this paragraph if you want: I remember when I was little I used literally worry about the idea that a girl from school might hide in my toilet at home and wait for me to go pee, and then she’d wrap her mouth around my childish penis and impregnante herself, putting me at the forefront of a “with child” situation. At my tender age! In my imagination, it was shot like a scene in a movie trailer, set to “Bad to the Bone”, and her toilet prank would smash-cut to a Norman Rockwell-esque portrait of me, looking surprised to have a family. 

Okay, the wraparound segments are a continuation of the Carol and Mr. Henderson saga. This is, perhaps, the weakest of the Carol and Mr. Henderson sketches, but it eventually pays off. Instead of Mr. Henderson being cruel to Carol, they are now fully in love and in a relationship, and the jealous Larry is left licking his wounds, upset that his friend Mr. Henderson is spending too much time with Carol. It’s a tale as old as time. While Carol and Mr. Henderson do some french kissing (accomplished with a “digital snake tongues” added in post; a detail I think I literally never noticed until this watch), Larry sings a mournful song about how his friend left him for “a piece of cooze”, which had to be censored by the network with a bleep. 

The final scene in this sketch is also the final scene of the episode, where Larry just shows up to work with a gun. He shoots both Carol and Mr. Henderson, presumably dead, and then sticks the barrel of the gun in his out mouth and blows his own brains out. It’s hilariously grim and brutal. The twist is that both Carol and Mr. Henderson are wearing bullet proof vests, which begs the question: how the fuck did they anticipate this? Carol glibly states “this was fun.” mere feet away from Larry’s lifeless body. This is one of my favorite moments in the whole series! It’s the only great sketch in the whole episode!

Needless to say, it’s a little jarring that you can show a guy blow his brains out in a somewhat realistic, inimitable manner, but “cooze” needs to be bleeped. As with other Carol/Mr. Henderson sketches, there are plenty of outtakes and deleted material. We see Eric perform yet another one of his own stunts; keen readers of this blog will recall his brush with head-trauma in the first Carol sketch when Larry smashes a candy glass coffee pot over Carol’s head, which wound up cutting Eric through the wig. The stunt in this episode involved Eric diving in front of Larry’s bullet to save Mr. Henderson. In the blooper reel footage, you see him narrowly avoid banging his head directly into the cubicle desk. ERIC!!! WATCH IT!!!! 

EPHEMERA CORNER:

MAIL BAG

I can think of a lot of things that would get RC cancelled. S11 was the first season in a while to not get an emmy nomination, Lazzo's not around anymore to keep greenlighting it, It got over 3,000 sketches which is plenty stockpiled to live off of youtube views, anytime I saw people mention it online they were surprised it was still running, Seth Green's embarassing NFT debacle that even his own writers and other NFT guys made fun of him for, COVID (that's what killed Shivering Truth), etc.

Good call. I too was ignorant about Robot Chicken's status, but that was because I hated it. Lapsed fans being unclear on that detail is definitely a sign.

[lokisninerealms]

A Tellers Secret

Synopsis: A friendship that holds no secrets. So, how does it feel when you and Loki have to share your deepest secrets with each other.

Category / Pairing: Fluff, Fluff, and even more Fluff; Loki x GN!Reader

Warnings: Slight mentions of toxic/abusive households, childhood bullying

A/N: with it still being pride month, i wanted to write a fluffy loki fic for all my fellow lgbtq+ angels. you are loved in every way 🤍

MASTERLIST

Sharing your thoughts and expressing your feelings have never been easy. Growing up in a home where every feeling you felt besides happiness was looked down upon. Your childhood wasn’t easy, you were always a reserved kid. One that never spoke out, keeping to themselves as they observed the world around them.

Other children always picked fun at you for how quiet you were. While they were out having fun, hanging out with their friends and exploring the world with no shame. You sat alone, whether it was in your bed or under a tree, drawing and reading. A creative soul, you were.

Always drawing with your pencil and colored ink pens, pencil shavings all over your lap as you sketched whatever came to mind. On days where it was nice outside, you would cozy up beneath a tree to read the latest novel that peaked your interest. Your eyes taking in every word as the story unfolded in your little mind, sparking your imagination.

Friends were never your thing. Maybe it was the extreme introvert in you, or maybe it was just the fact that you never put effort into making them. People always presumed you as closed off, one not to bother; which is why it surprised you when you finally made one. A friend.

Loki. A boy that you met, accidentally, when roaming around your favorite book market in Asgard. You loved this market. It brought you so many good memories of the many interesting tales you discovered and the amazing bookkeeper herself, Phoebe.

Remembering it just like it was yesterday.

Your little legs carrying you around the market, as you searched for the next novel to burry your nose in. A book already in your hand. You reached up on your tip toes to grab the spine of the book to pull it down. The book flew out of the shelf, knocking you down as you fell.

“Loki! What did I say about using magic while in my market?” Phoebe scolded. You huffed, rubbing your elbow as you looked towards Phoebe as she continued to lecture the boy. The boy, you assumed looked to be of your age, who conjured the book out of thin air.

Blue eyes met yours as he walked towards you, a mischievous grin displayed. Picking up the book that had fallen from your hold, he examined it. “Prometheus Bound, interesting read.” You huffed, brushing yourself off before snatching the book out of his hands.

“I’m sorry to have knocked you down, Phoebe told me to not use magic on books, I couldn’t help myself.” A grin still plastered on his face, arrogance written all over him. Rolling your eyes, you pushed past the raven haired boy as you handed the book to Phoebe to check out to you. Long forgetting about the other book that you wanted to read.

You made your journey over to the other side of town, ready to dive into your book under the cool shade of the willow tree. A tap on your shoulder caused you to jump as you spun around. The boy from the market standing behind you, before you could speak he cut you off.

“Look I’m sorry, sincerely I am. I feel like we got off on the right foot. I’m Loki.” He held out his hand, you were hesitant. You furrowed your brows. Not the type who liked human interaction, let alone, conversation.

“Well are you just going to leave me here or will you return the favor of introducing yourself to me?” The same arrogant tone falling from his lip. You sighed, knowing that he wouldn’t leave you alone. Introducing yourself by giving him your name. Still thrown off by this strange interaction with a stranger.

Loki handed you the novel that he had magicked on. “You had left it at the market. I was wondering if you wanted to read in the cool shade under the tree.” He pointed towards the tree, the spot you always nested under while reading. “Many people here don’t appreciate the art of literacy, so will you join me?”

A smile appeared, maybe having a friend wouldn’t be so bad after all. You nodded, making your way over towards the tree as you both indulged in the novels.

You smiled at the memory. Loki had become your closest, your only friend, to be honest. It didn’t bother you though, you and Loki had a lot more in common.

While your encounter showed an arrogant, cheeky bastard. Underneath that persona was a very intelligent, funny and charming sweetheart. There was no doubt that Loki was your best friend. The person you could laugh with until both your bellies hurt. The one who you always joined with on mischievous pranks and plans. While also being the only person you could confide in, who you could tell all your deepest and dark secrets to without fear of being judged.

Both you and Loki struggled on being vulnerable, both growing up in households where feelings were not to be discussed. Maybe that was why you two were so close. He never judged you and you could never judge him. You both had spent countless hours reading under the willow tree, running around causing havoc, and staying up late to watch the nightfall of Asgard while talking about anything and everything.

So, it wasn’t a surprise to you when Loki had come out to you. You knew Loki like the back of your hand, knowing everything about him from his manners to how he would always arrange his books in alphabetical order.

Both of you were staring up at the sky, night had already fallen over the realm of Asgard as you peacefully sat on the balcony. Loki was awfully quiet, different from his usually chatter self as he always had something on his mind. That night however, he hadn’t spoke a word.

It wasn’t until he shifted towards you that your eyes saw how anxious, terrified he truly was. You grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as you knew whatever was bothering him, he could tell you. Both of you always allowing each other the space and time, never pushing as you understood how breaking down your walls was never easy.

“I-“ He started. Pausing, as he looked everywhere but you. You gave his hand another squeeze, whatever he needed to tell you. He could tell you. “For a while, this feeling has been consuming me. I don’t know when it started or how it started but I’m attracted to both women….and men.”

Exhaling, he finally looked at you. Engulfing him in a hug, you felt him tense before melting into your arms. Physical touch was another thing that you both have grown to like, being the only ones that felt comfortable exchanging hugs with each other.

“I’m so proud of you for telling me, Lokes. I’m glad you felt safe enough to share with me, any woman or man would be absolutely lucky to be courted by you.” You gushed. Proud of your friend for sharing with you, his deepest secret.

He smiled, a weight being lifted off his shoulders as he brought you back in for another hug. “Can I share with you something?” You broke away from him, staring up at him as he grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m afraid that I haven’t confided in you either about what’s been on my mind. I’m attracted to (men/women/men and women) as well.” You said. Loki gave you the biggest smile you have ever seen on the God’s face. Feeling his strong arms wrap around you, you laughed into each other’s embrace.

Loki pulled away, grinning at you before telling you how proud he was of you.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing that could be kept between you two. For you both knew that no matter what, you’d always have each other’s backs. Forever each other’s mischief in crime.

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was... disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k warnings: unrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos a/n: hello and welcome to the one thing that guyi has wanted to write for literal years now but never go around to! finally i can cross camp counselor au off my list. anyway, it’s been over a year since i wrote for jimin so i hope that this monster 27k fic can make up for that !!! i swear the ending is happy. i swear. i promise.

Something about last summer sucked. 

Maybe it was the record six wasps’ nests you found around the cabin, leaving you with more bee stings than mosquito bites by the end of camp. Maybe it was that weird murky green color of the water in the showers and the sinks that didn’t go away until three weeks in, when you were already positive you had contracted some sort of pond disease from brushing your teeth. Maybe it was the lack of Namjoon, who had an internship and couldn’t come, therefore removing all sense of order and leaving you and the rest of the counselors in a state of chaos.

Or maybe it was the fact that, on the very last night, at the very last counselor campfire, you told Jimin that you loved him. 

Truth be told, you weren’t sure how badly it would go. But telling him was so much easier than keeping it hidden, than letting it drag on and on, this boulder sitting on your chest for the rest of time. You had spent the whole eight weeks of camp rationalizing it to yourself, so much so that by the time the last counselor campfire rolled around, you were convinced that it wouldn’t be that disastrous. 

There was no part of you that thought Jimin would reciprocate your feelings. No part of you that secretly hoped that maybe he felt the same, and that you could end the summer with more money in your bank account and a boyfriend on your arm. You knew he didn’t. Jimin was sweet, and thoughtful, and gentle, which is exactly why you fell in love with him, but he was like that to everyone. You didn’t think that telling him would suddenly make him fall in love with you.

You told him because people like Jimin deserve to know that somebody loves them. 

You told him because you thought that nothing would change. 

What you didn’t really expect to happen was this:

Your marshmallow is burnt beyond recognition, poking off of the edge of a stick like a sad piece of coal rather than a sweet treat. At this point, it’s even darker than the chocolate sitting on the graham cracker in your lap, waiting to be smushed together into the sugar-fest known as a s’more, so eloquently named because you will apparently always want some more. 

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

Taehyung’s hand waves furiously in front of your face as he leans forward to make eye contact with you.

“Huh?” You ask, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. Your mind has been awfully cloudy these days, overcast like the weather around here. It’s a wonder you’re able to make your way through. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. “Your marshmallow looks like what happens when I try to make scrambled eggs.”

“Your scrambled eggs look like that?” Seokjin interrupts, pointing accusingly at your charred marshmallow. You’ve seen Taehyung in the kitchen. It’s not that bad, is it? “Next year you should sign up for some of Yoongi’s cooking classes. The six-year-olds can cook better than you.”

“You’d have to pay me way more than the shit they’re giving us to get me to teach Taehyung how to cook,” grumbles Yoongi. 

“I’m fine,” you promise Taehyung as Yoongi and Seokjin launch into a tirade about raising minimum wage. “I just—” You glance at your marshmallow. You don’t even think the fish monster at the bottom of the pond would eat it. And he apparently eats people whose hearts have turned to stone. Like Seokjin, who swears that it had eaten the tip of his pinky finger. “—like my marshmallows really cooked.”

Taehyung looks skeptical but drops the subject nonetheless, turning back around so he can find a different conversation to barge his way into. You’re willing to put money on him finding some way to annoy Jungkook. 

Insecure about your apparent lack of marshmallow-roasting skills, you pull your stick away from the campfire, blowing on it until you decide that you’re willing to risk burning the tips of your fingers. You pluck the marshmallow from the skewer, hissing to yourself as you quickly plop it onto the graham cracker, squishing the whole thing together. 

The marshmallow is so burnt that it barely gives underneath the press of your fingers, bouncing back up like rubber. You frown at your s’more, which clearly should be renamed to something else because nothing about the thing in your hands makes you want some more. 

Next to you, Jimin laughs at your pitiful attempt at a classic campfire treat. 

“You want mine?” He asks with a smile, holding out a flawless s’more, the kind that they make in movies to perpetuate the illusion of perfection. You look up at him and in the light of the fire he glows, like a spark from the flames had created him right then and there, like he had been born with light in his eyes, a halo surrounding his body. 

You wonder if Jimin knows how beautiful he is. How beautiful he has always been, radiating kindness and joy and laughter. He must know, right? It must be impossible for him to notice how everyone falls in love with him. You certainly aren’t an exception. 

He holds out the s’more in his hands, laughing as he looks at you because there must be something endearing about being a shitty s’more maker, and you think, what’s the worst that can happen?

“I’m in love with you.”

The s’more drops to the ground, hitting the grass with a thud. 

Jimin’s eyes meet yours, and for once, they are unreadable. This tragic sort of confusion, like he can’t believe the words you’re saying to him. Like his mind refuses to accept them as true. 

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him. 

“It’s okay,” you assure quickly, reaching a hand out to rest on his own. The touch makes him look away, like your fingers are the flames of the campfire, burning him where they touch his skin. “I—I know you don’t feel the same.”

It’s not a secret. Not to him, and not to you. Jimin purses his lips because he feels guilty for not loving you back. Because he is so good, so kind, that he feels as though he has wronged you because he doesn’t love you the way you love him. Like it’s his fault. 

“Y/N—” He starts, but he does not finish. 

“You…” you interrupt, looking down at your feet. You can’t look at Jimin because looking at him hurts, and you can’t look anywhere else because Jimin is all you think about. All you ever think about. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He speaks, and it’s as if the words don’t belong to him. Don’t belong to anyone. 

“What are we supposed to do?” He asks. 

You shrug, resigning yourself to this. You knew that he wouldn’t feel the same. You didn’t know how terrible he would feel because of it. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I just thought you should know.

He nods, because he knows, and he nods, because he can’t do anything else. 

The fire crackles beside you, s’mores forgotten on the ground as your friends laugh and cheer, distant sounds that echo in your head like white noise. Jimin is all you can think of and right now you’re thinking about what happens next.

“I’m sorry.”

Maybe telling him wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

“Me too.”

Your busted-up sedan revs angrily as you rally up the mountain, shaking your head in an attempt to rid the memories of the campfire from your mind. Unfortunately, the nasty thing about memories is that the more you try to forget them, the more you seem to remember.

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked. 

Nothing about this summer makes you feel like it’ll suck any less.

The good thing about being thirty minutes late is that you’re still thirty minutes earlier than Taehyung, who does not have a single punctual bone in his body. You can count on one hand the amount of instances where he’s actually been on time, all of which are because you and the other counselors conspire to tell him that events are an hour earlier than they actually are just to make sure he doesn’t stroll in an hour late and improperly dressed. 

The bad thing about being thirty minutes late is that everyone besides Taehyung is already here, waiting for you. 

Your sedan crawls to the clearing at the top of the mountain, fighting against gravity and itself as it chugs up the last few feet, coming to a rough stop in the dirt, sunken in from countless tires tracking across it. 

Through your windshield, you can make out two figures with two clipboards, only one of which has something genuinely useful on it. 

“Y/N!” Hoseok cries out excitedly, splaying his arms out as if to hug the entire front of your car only to reveal the near-blank clipboard in his hand. All that’s on it is a neon green Post-it note with a caricature drawing of who you assume to be Yoongi, if the grouchy expression and chef’s hat are anything to go by. There’s no signature or name, but Hoseok’s art skills are on par with those of the campers you work with and Jungkook has a fun and quirky habit of vandalizing all drawable surfaces with pencil sketches of the counselors, so you take a wild guess as to who the artist is. 

You pop the door of your car open and step out into the sticky weather, warm and muggy despite the clouds above. It’s the same as when you step into your bathroom after your two roommates have showered, using up all the hot water and leaving a layer of fog on the mirrors for you to all play hangman on. Only, this steam never goes away. 

“Hoseok!” You cheer, letting the man wrap you up in a sweltering hug, your hands gently patting the top of his back so as not to come in contact with the dampness soaking through his thin cotton t-shirt. You haven’t seen each other for nearly a year, though, so you give in more than you usually would and relax into his hold. “You look good, I like the hair,” you compliment, two fingers coming up to twirl at his bright red locks, deep and vibrant like the cherries you pick. 

“Dyed it just so I could tell the kids I’m a superhero!” Hoseok grins. He’s already heading over to the back of your car to pop the trunk and pull out your duffel bags so that he can park your car in the garage at the other end of the campsite.

“Then who’s the villain?” You call, tossing him your keys.

“I guess that would be me.”

You whip around to find a platinum-blonde Namjoon standing happily before you, looking at least a little bit resigned as he grins at you. His hair is longer this year, like growing it out would somehow compensate for frying it with layer after layer of bleach. And with his silver-white hair and the fact that he is the only counselor any of the kids are genuinely afraid of disobeying, you suppose he would be the antagonist after all. 

“Namjoon, nice to see you again.” You go in for a hug even though Namjoon clearly had no plans on instigating one himself, because someone as hardworking and patient as Namjoon deserves a little platonic affection every one in a while. What, with everyone else constantly conspiring with the campers to oust him every summer. 

The truth is that all of you know that without Namjoon, this camp would be nothing but chaos in its purest form, with the counselors unable to wrangle the kids and the kids using that knowledge to their fullest advantage. Take last year, where everything seemed to go wrong because Namjoon had his stupid internship with a business firm and spent the entire summer drilling finances into his head instead of losing brain cells watching kids eat sand.  

If you had any dignity left you’d blame your rotten confession to Jimin on Namjoon’s absence as well. 

“Nice to see you, too, Y/N,” Namjoon says when you part, checking your name off of the list on his clipboard. “I feel like it’s been ages since I was here.” You can see red marks all over the page, blank only where the name Taehyung is written. 

Some things never change, you suppose. 

“Well, we definitely missed you last year,” You say with a chuckle, trying not to immediately associate your personal misjudgements with the lack of Namjoon, who you can hopefully keep from ever finding out what happened at last year’s end-of-camp counselor campfire. The problem is that Namjoon picks up on social cues and body language like a sociologist, so your only hope is pretending that the campfire never even happened. “Camp was pretty much a mess without you.” In more ways than one.

“Namjoon!” Someone calls. You and him both jerk around to the source of the sound when you see a figure barreling towards the both of you, face obscured in shadow. 

You almost don’t recognize him, with his pitch black hair and thick voice, like he has somehow become a new person in the nine months you’ve gone without seeing him. But the moment he comes into view, you know, and you can’t even pretend to not know, not with the way your heart freezes in place, mid-beat, like the sight of him has turned you to stone. Not with the way that Namjoon is right beside you, and how you don’t think you can bear explaining to him why you and Jimin aren’t as close as you used to be. Not with the way that Jimin looks as beautiful as he always has and always will be, no matter how many summers pass, this timeless portrait, this piece of art that’s come to life. 

There’s a part of you that’s shocked still at seeing him, like you had almost thought that after last summer at least one of you would bail on this shitty summer job, filled with mosquitoes and mud and wifi that only works in the room that doubles as the gymnasium and the mess hall. It’s the same part of you that wants to go back to pretending that nothing ever happened last summer. 

But Jimin is here, in front of you, eyes wide and out of breath and gorgeous, and pretending that last summer never happened is the same as pretending that you never fell in love with him at all.

“The water in the boys’ cabins sinks is green,” he says with a tense smile, making Namjoon nearly smack his clipboard into his forehead. 

“Ugh, seriously?” He asks, and you can’t tell if you’re thankful or hurt that Jimin’s failed to acknowledge you. “Fine,” he scribbles something down on the clipboard, this handwriting scrawl that only he can read, “I’ll figure out what to do with that later. In the meantime, just don’t drink it.”

“Seokjin’s already made lemonade with it, though—”

“Great,” Namjoon says, exasperated as he takes off towards the main cabin, where Seokjin is sitting on the balcony with his feet up on the railing with a glass of suspiciously murky lemonade in his hand, one that he’s offering up to Yoongi with a devilish grin on his face. 

His disappearance leaves only you and Jimin left standing at the entrance, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet in the hopes that one of you will either leave or spare the other the torture of a conversation. 

“Hey,” Jimin says quietly, trying to meet your eyes. 

You look away, pretending to smack an imaginary mosquito on your arm while an actual one bites your leg. “Hey, yourself.”

“It’s been a while.” The last time we saw each other you told me you loved me. 

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

“How are you doing?” Do you still love me, or was the distance and time enough?

“I’m alright. Same old, same old.” I never stopped. “How are you?” What about you? Did you stop seeing us as just friends?

“Doing well, thanks.” No. You’ll always be just a friend to me. Jimin sighs, looking up at the overcast sky with his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, taking in the scenery before him. He exhales, long and heavy, before turning to you with a soft little smile, the kind of grin that almost makes you feel like forgetting might not be the best thing to do after all. “I just feel like this summer is a fresh start, you know? Like, I feel like there’s something different about being here this year.”

Maybe this summer, you can learn to move on from me, too. Because something’s gotta give. 

“I hope you’re right about that,” you tell him, because being around him hurts and being away from him makes you replay that night over and over, wondering what would have happened if you had just kept your stupid mouth shut. You open your mouth to say something, anything else, anything to break the ice that didn’t used to be there before, cut between the tension that has settled between the two of you, but your tongue is dry and your heart is sore just looking at him. 

Defeated, you walk over to where Hoseok’s left your duffel bags, hiking them onto your shoulders and heading towards the girls’ cabins, ready to end this conversation before it tears you in two. 

Jimin seems to flounder, standing awkwardly for a few moments as he watches you walk towards the cabins, skirting around him a few feet away because brushing by his side seemed too close for comfort. But then he says, “Hey, Y/N?” 

And it makes you stop dead in your tracks, unable to deny him an answer. 

You turn around to look at him, and he offers you a grin. 

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

It already has. It always has. From the very beginning, loving you was part of our friendship. I don’t know how to be friends with you without it. Even when you didn’t know it, I loved you. In a way, it was easier back then. Telling you was the one thing I shouldn’t have done. 

“Yeah, Jimin,” you tell him. “We’re good.”

The trek to your cabin from the main buildings of the camp is nothing if not familiar. Familiar in the way that the ground curves beneath your feet, leading you up to the top of a small hill where the building sits, looking out over the rest of the clearing. Familiar in how the scent of the woods that surround you fills up your senses, this fresh, airy feeling, like the very oxygen is smothering you. Familiar in how this place reeks of the memories of summers gone by, summers spent beneath the stars and by the campfire. 

Summer memories that make your heart burst with fondness and summer memories that… don’t. 

The fact is that it has always started and ended here. 

When you kick open the door to the cabin, there is only one other occupied bed. It belongs to Hazel, a counselor in her sophomore year in college who joined the crew last year and assumed that the Namjoon-less pandemonium that was camp last summer was just the norm. Hopefully she can take a much-needed break this year now that Namjoon’s back and she’s not the only one fruitlessly trying to cajole the campers into behaving. 

You beeline towards the bunk bed that has been your summer home for the past three years, the one shoved right up against the back right corner, giving you a perfect view of the entire cabin. The downside is that it’s the same corner that spiders seem to prefer as their location of choice for their webs, but better you, a stone-cold college student, than a terrified six-year-old. 

Plopping your duffel bags on top of the mattress, you let out another sigh. You wonder what it is about this summer that is so damn tiring, so exhausting that you can’t help but outwardly exhale every ten seconds, like merely being here is wearing you out, bit by bit. 

You’re looking forward to when the campers arrive tomorrow. Sleeping alone (well, nearly alone) in a cabin feels uncomfortably empty. Plus, you’re hoping that they’ll provide you with some sort of distraction so you don’t have any free time left to spend dwelling on the what-ifs and the should-have-dones. When there’s only a dozen of you, it’s much easier to run into him. 

The moment you collapse on your bed, a messy brown head of hair comes bounding out from the shared bathrooms in the center of the cabin. 

“Y/N!” Hazel cries out, launching herself across the room and into your arms for the tightest hug you’ve had in a long while. 

“Hey, Haze,” you greet in return, offering her a squeeze back. You didn’t often mix in your camp activities, with Hazel in charge of the nature walks and animal conservation activities while you hide in your air-conditioned arts and crafts room, but living together brought upon you a closeness you otherwise don’t share with anyone else. Plus, Hazel keeps a family-sized pack of Oreos and a gigantic jar of smooth peanut butter by her bunk at all times for emergencies. 

“I feel like it’s been so long!” She laments when she finally releases you, looking positively thrilled to be here right now. 

Not long enough, you think to yourself, though you don’t suppose any more time apart from Jimin would make seeing him again any easier. “Yeah, but the year goes by so quickly,” you agree half-heartedly. Too quickly. 

“I’m so excited for this year.” Hazel grins, clapping her hands together. “I have so much planned for all the nature walks and everything. I spent all of last week reading up on edible plants and berries found in this part of the country. I’m gonna teach all of the kids what they can eat in case they get stranded in the forest!”

“Fun,” you say with a hesitant nod. It’s not that you don’t trust Hazel to have done her research, it’s more that, knowing the campers and knowing the counselors, someone’s going to try and get lost in the woods around the camp, eating everything they can. Not to mention the fact that Hazel’s so innocent she’d probably reveal to someone like Seokjin or Jungkook which plants were poisonous without even realizing it. 

Camp last year was a mess, but at least nobody died. 

“Hey, aren’t you excited, too?” She asks, a hand on your shoulder as she notices your reluctance. “Apparently Namjoon’s a great leader so this year isn’t going to be as bad as last year.”

“Last year wasn’t bad just because Namjoon wasn’t here,” you comment vaguely. Hazel doesn’t need to know about all of the drama that goes down between the counselors. Hopefully she can get out of here without being dragged into something by one of you. 

“Well, this year is supposed to be better!” She cheers you on, determined to get you to feel as enthusiastic as she is. “No matter what did or did not happen last summer. Plus, you know that if anything bad happens I always have my secret stash, counselors only.” She winks. 

“Thanks, Haze,” you say, sighing again like it’s your job to be worn out by life. “I think I just need a bit of time to get back into the swing of things.”

“That’s the spirit!” She rallies. “I’m gonna head back to the main camp and see if there’s anything good to drink. I’m thirsty.”

“Stick to soda,” you advise, eyes wide at the thought of her downing anything that Seokjin’s had a sneaky hand in making. 

She doesn’t seem to notice your worry, already bounding towards the door, light on her feet. “I was feeling a Fanta anyway. See you at the camp counselor meeting if I don’t see you around beforehand!” She pulls open the heavy wooden door, half outside when she stops to turn back at you, wagging a finger in the air. “Remember, Y/N, leaves of three, let them be!” 

The door slams shut behind her, creating a cloud of dust in its wake. You watch helplessly as the particles dissipate into the air, as the silence that was once so comforting begins to terrorize you once more. 

You collapse back onto your bunk. If only last summer’s murky green water had poisoned you. Then maybe you’d finally have a good enough excuse for your utter lapse in judgement, and you wouldn’t be sighing so much.

There were no camp counselor meetings last year. There were only haphazard caucuses, irregular get-togethers where no one knew quite what was going on and there were no real announcements to be said, no real orders to be given. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone with genuine leadership skills working here. 

The problem last year was not getting everyone into the same room for thirty minutes. It was keeping everyone focused in that same room for thirty minutes, which was essentially impossible because, at your age, submitting to someone of authority is the very last thing you want to do. Especially when the consequences pretty much only amount to having to drink Seokjin’s murky green lemonade.

But like with everything else, Namjoon has, somehow, made the impossible possible. 

“Guys, guys, can we stop drawing on the board, please? I need that,” Namjoon begs as he walks into the room to find Jungkook and Taehyung with chalk in their hands and a chalkboard at their disposal. What they’ve accomplished so far is an expert drawing of Spongebob and Patrick with their faces missing, waiting to be filled in by one of the unlucky people in this room. 

“Okay, so who’s Patrick?” Taehyung asks the audience. 

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok. 

“Seokjin!” shouts Hazel, too, just because she likes being involved in things. 

Jungkook lets out a cackle at that. “Are you kidding?” He asks. “If anything…” He does a quick sketch on the board, hand flying across it so quickly you’re actually a little bit impressed, “Seokjin would be Plankton.” 

He steps away from the board to reveal a scarily-realistic drawing of Seokjin’s angry face on Plankton’s tiny, antennaed body, making everyone—even Namjoon, who usually tries to keep the roasting between counselors to a minimum—laugh. 

Seokjin scowls, and normally you would feel bad for him always being the butt of Jungkook’s endless jokes, but you can see a half-empty glass of green lemonade by Jungkook’s side, and you decide that he can hold his own just fine. 

“I think you guys would be Spongebob and Patrick,” Jimin pipes up from the back. You freeze, turning your head slightly just to see him sitting on the table pushed up against the wall. You hadn’t even noticed him. Or maybe you had, and your brain just decided to pretend that you hadn’t. 

Nevertheless, hearing his voice doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Jimin’s right,” Jungkook agrees, already beginning to fill in the blank space where Spongebob’s face would normally go with a caricature of his own. “I’d be Spongebob because I have a wider face than you, Tae.”

Taehyung doesn’t object, instead moving his hand to an empty spot on the board. “Yeah. Oh, and Namjoon’s Mr. Krabs, obviously,” Taehyung says, adding his own drawing of Mr. Krabs with Namjoon’s camp get-up on—cargo shorts, a short-sleeved flannel shirt, a baseball cap, and high-tops.

“I would not be—hey, give me that!” Namjoon shouts, indignant, before ripping the chalk from Jungkook’s hands as he cackles wickedly, clearly pleased with himself. Namjoon shoos the both of them away from the board before wiping it with the eraser, which has very obviously not been cleaned since last year, leaving a trail of pale yellow dust in its wake wherever Namjoon drags it across the chalkboard. “Chalkboard for official matters only.” He glares at Jungkook and Taehyung, who high-five each other. 

The chatter soon subsides as Namjoon writes down the meeting to-do list on the board in his same old scratchy handwriting. Namjoon’s one of those people that writes exclusively in capital letters, simply enlarging any letters that actually need to be capitalized. You’re almost one-hundred percent positive it’s to establish written dominance over the rest of the counselors. 

“Okay, first order of business,” Namjoon begins after coughing to get everyone’s attention. “It’s come to my attention that the entire cabin water system is green.”

“Hasn’t it always been—?” Hazel asks, innocent eyes wide in confusion. 

“I called the utilities people and they’re coming tomorrow to fix it, so in the meantime, do not drink the water. Showering and using the bathroom is fine. I would use water bottles for brushing your teeth, though,” Namjoon says, crossing off something on his clipboard as the rest of the counselors murmur in approval. 

“See, this is what happens when Namjoon’s here,” deadpans Yoongi, motioning up to him where he stands at the front of the room. “Shit gets done.”

“Okay, secondly, no swearing in front of the kids,” Namjoon says, adding that onto the board as a final reminder. “The fact that I have to tell you guys this multiple times every year is ridiculous.”

“Fuck you, I can do what I want!” Taehyung shouts, earning a chorus of fuck yeah’s. 

“You guys do know that I have the power to fire you, right?” Namjoon says pointedly, making Taehyung shut his trap. “Okay, moving on. Everyone’s been assigned to the same things that they were assigned to do last year, and if you weren’t here last year, then the year before that.” Namjoon receives some cheers and some groans in response to this, the former mostly from people who work indoors, and the latter mostly from people who don’t. 

“Seriously?” Seokjin whines. “I don’t think Yoongi has stepped foot out of the kitchens in literal years.”

“And I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much!” Yoongi counters. 

“Oh, shut up, at least you get to spend some time indoors teaching all of the kids how to play Hot Cross Buns on their guitars,” Taehyung counters. “I got more mosquito bites than freckles last summer.”

“My students have long advanced from Hot Cross Buns,” Seokjin says proudly and a little bit devilishly. “We’re working on something more technical now.”

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

“Okay, continuing…” Namjoon says loudly, eyeing Seokjin suspiciously. “If you’re new, you should have already received notification as to what activities you’re in charge of, but if you’re not sure, come and talk to me.”

“Oh, so Jimin’s still on first aid, then?” Taehyung asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “What do you think Y/N’s gonna do to get herself sent down to his tent? Glue her fingers together? Burn herself with a glue gun?”

“Shut up,” You mumble tensely, embarrassed that somehow you and Jimin’s relationship has turned into a counselor affair. 

Last summer, you had accidentally given yourself a palm full of splinters from the birdhouses that you had the campers paint to bring home with them, and the first aid tent is the only place that has bandages. Jimin was there, as he always is, and the two of you spent the evening plucking out all of the pieces of wood from your hand and patching it up with Band-aids that had Spiderman and Moana on them. Contrary to apparently popular belief, it was not on purpose, even though the hour of hand-holding was rather nice. 

“Or Jimin can just find some excuse to visit Y/N in the arts and crafts room,” Seokjin tacks on unhelpfully. “You know, last summer I don’t think I saw them eat lunch in the counselor room at all. They were always finding secret places in the woods.”

“Maybe we were just busy during lunch?” Jimin suggests, clearly equally uncomfortable. 

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters. 

“It’s none of your business,” you snap, because the last thing you want to be talking about right now is how wonderful your relationship with Jimin used to be, when all that’s left this summer are the burned remnants of it, the ashes of something that could have been. You don’t need a reminder of why you thought that you and Jimin would be alright, of why you thought that telling him wouldn’t be that bad. It was terrible, and now all you can do is pick up the pieces, patch together a friendship whose thread has come loose. 

“Alright, let’s keep going,” Namjoon says, picking up the weirdly tense atmosphere and doing his best to bring the attention back to him and the meeting at hand. “You guys should know that this year, Hoseok is thinking of adding in a counselor dance to the end-of-camp show…”

You look over at Jimin, who immediately turns away when he spots your gaze, making to pick at the rips in his jeans, doing anything and everything he can to avoid eye contact with you, and your shoulders sink. 

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

And you had responded, “Yeah, Jimin, we are.”

And the two of you must have both known that was a lie. 

You turn back to face the front, focusing on how Hazel is rubbing your forearm and not asking questions, and you try to feel a little bit better. 

After the meeting, you and Hazel decide to spend the night holed up in your cabin eating from her Oreo stash instead of eating dinner with everyone else, half because it’s only the first day and already being around all of the other counselors is tiring, and half because you don’t think you can handle seeing Jimin any more today, but not before Namjoon stops you on the way out of the door. 

“Y/N,” he says, making you pause in your tracks. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” You ask, hoping to God that it’s not about everyone thinking you purposely injure yourself just so you can see Jimin at the first aid tent. 

“Just quickly, you and me,” Namjoon says casually, pulling you to the corner of the room, away from any windows so no one can see you two talking. “Did today’s meeting make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you lie like a liar. “What are you talking about?”

Namjoon’s too observant for his own good, you decide, when he frowns at you, clearly not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell him. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says quietly. “But I know that something happened between you and Jimin.”

You open your mouth to object and tell him that you and Jimin are fine, but Namjoon raises his eyebrows at you, like he’s challenging you to tell him another lie. 

“Well…” you begin, resigning yourself to the truth. “Yeah. Last summer.”

Namjoon purses his lips, nodding in understanding. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“You’re not my mom, Namjoon,” you say with a smile, even though maybe telling someone about it might not be a half-bad idea after all. Plus, Namjoon’s your friend and the only one around here who’s any good at keeping secrets, so getting the words off of your chest could be good.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he reminds you, because he’s wonderful like that. 

“No, it’s alright…” you sigh. “I guess someone else has to know.” You close your eyes, willing the words to come up from your throat, willing them to not hurt you as they leave your lips. “Last summer at the campfire I told Jimin that I loved him.”

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. 

“And he doesn’t love me back, which is not the problem because he shouldn’t change how he feels about me just to make me feel better. It’s not his fault, and I’m not angry at him or anything. I knew that he didn’t love me back when I told him,” the words come up like bile, slowly and carefully before spilling out in front of you. “But I was an idiot, and I thought telling him would make me feel better, or something. And it didn’t, because now Jimin and I don’t know how to act around each other anymore, and everything sucks.”

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile. 

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

“Sounds like you and Jimin should talk about it,” Namjoon suggests, and maybe he’s smart, and a good leader, and attends a prestigious college along the coast, and studies business and sociology, but that is the worst idea he has ever had. 

“No,” you immediately say, shaking your head. “It’s no big deal. Jimin and I are still friends.”

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks. 

You sigh, reaching up to rub at your forehead. “Yeah, we are,” you insist, perhaps more to yourself than to Namjoon. He looks skeptical, but doesn’t ask any questions. “It doesn’t even matter. I made a mistake and now I’m gonna deal with the consequences.”

“I can try to get the rest of the boys to stop teasing you and Jimin. I know it must be weird for you both right now,” Namjoon offers, always wanting to help. You scoff. Weird would be the biggest understatement of the century. 

“Jimin and I can handle it,” you say, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the counselor dynamic just because you and Jimin are dealing with things right now. Besides, the teasing has always been in good fun, and you know the boys well enough to know that they aren’t doing it out of malicious intent. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“Just doing my job,” Namjoon says proudly. You stand there in silence for a few more seconds until he coughs awkwardly to fill up the space. “You can go now, by the way, Y/N. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine,” you promise, silently hoping that one day, when you talk to Namjoon, you won’t have to lie to him anymore. “Thanks for checking in.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” he says in that comforting way, that warm way that wraps around you like a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter night. 

You crack open the door to find Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook tossing around a frisbee on the open lawn as Seokjin and Yoongi watch from a picnic bench, soda cans sitting next to them. Someone must have mentioned the green lemonade. Jungkook purposely tosses the frisbee too high for Jimin to reach, making him jump wildly in a fruitless attempt to grab it. He falls backwards onto the soft grass, laughing alongside Taehyung and Jungkook as Taehyung pulls him back up to his feet. 

You smile to yourself, the longing and the pain and the love settling deep within your heart, finding a home amongst the wishes and the dreams. Seeing him there, the widest smile on his face as he tosses around a frisbee with some of his best friends, letting the rays from the setting sun fill him up with joy, it reminds you why you fell in love with him. It reminds you why you’re still in love with him.

Something seizes up at your heart, clenching it between its fingers. That used to be you, the thing whispers. You used to make him laugh like that. 

You did. From the moment you met him, you let his laughter fill your senses, burned the sound of it into your brain. You used to be so close. You used to think that maybe, just maybe, Jimin might love you back. 

You should have never told him, it murmurs, grip growing tighter. Look at where it got you.

If I could turn back time and redo that night, I would, you fight back. 

But you can’t.

The wicked thing releases your heart, lets it drop to the floor. You don’t pick it up. 

Every year, you and the other counselors keep a scorecard on the chalkboard in the meeting room to see how quickly someone gets sent to the first aid tent, whether it be from stumbling over a twig or contracting poison ivy or drinking the green water. Last year, it took two hours and thirteen minutes. 

This summer, it happens barely an hour after all of the campers have arrived. 

You make a mental note to write down the time on the scorecard as you run over to help the poor boy off of the ground after slamming into a spruce tree while playing an early game of tag with his friends. The side of his cheek is imprinted with the texture of the tree bark, and he has some scrapes on his hands and knees from the fall. 

“Whoa, hey, you alright?” You ask, leaning down to help him up. “You gotta watch where you’re looking, okay? Don’t want you to get hurt.” 

The beauty about young children is that very little actually causes them great pain. If it weren’t for all of the overprotective counselors, the kids would probably run themselves into the cabin walls and trees for the entire duration of camp.

“I’m not hurt,” the young boy says, standing up proudly. “I’m fine. My mom says I have thick skin.”

“What’s your name?”

“Eli,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly. “That’s my cabin.” He points to the one to the west of the camp that Taehyung and Jungkook are in charge of. Why Namjoon continuously assigns them to the same cabin year after year is beyond you. Once, they convinced everybody in their cabin that Seokjin and Yoongi’s cabin was haunted, and the only solution was to out-scare the ghosts by yelling and screaming right outside. 

“Is this your first year at camp?”

“Yup,” Eli says, rocking back and forth on his feet. He is not at all fazed by the blood and broken skin on his hands and knees, nor the pieces of wood and bark sticking out of the side of his face. 

“Alright, Eli, even though you have thick skin, I have to take you to the first aid tent. Really quickly, okay? Just to make sure you aren’t gonna get an infection. Then you can go and tell all of your friends how thick your skin,” you say, already beginning to usher Eli towards the first aid tent.  

“I think I have the thickest skin out of everyone here,” Eli says, as if goading you on. 

“You know what? I have to agree with you,” you say. “I get hurt really easily. My mom always says that I need to be extra careful here.”

“I’m sick of listening to my mom,” Eli pouts, stomping on the ground as you lead him towards the first-aid tent. 

“Me too,” you agree. No point in telling him that he needs to yield to his parents when he probably won’t even remember this conversation by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Besides, it’s never too early to begin teaching kids about rebelling against authority figures. “But you won’t have to listen to everything I say, okay? We’re just gonna be really good friends.”

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says. 

“Exactly,” you say, stopping right outside of the first-aid tent. You’re not even positive that anyone’s inside, especially since it’s barely been an hour since camp officially started. Hopefully, Jimin’s somewhere else so you can just patch Eli up yourself. 

The first aid tent is not so much a tent as it is a shed with a fabric entrance, two curtains attached to a rod above the entryway to provide some semblance of privacy since nobody in the camp is handy enough to actually install a working door. But calling it the first aid tent is better than calling it the first aid shack, which, in the wise words of Yoongi, makes it sound like “a hospital where people go to die.”

When you push open the curtain, the first thing you notice is Jungkook and Seokjin in the far left corner, each with ice packs and suspiciously identical markings on them. They’re both making desperate attempts to patch each other up, fighting with the gauze and bandages that are laid out on the table beside them, as if in a competition to see who can better take care of the other. 

Besides that, Jimin is lounging along the wall, leaning back against it as he gazes into nothing, deeply lost in thought. His eyes trace the lines of the shed, foot tapping to an imaginary beat, brows furrowed. You wonder what the hell it is that Jimin could possibly be thinking about so intently, what it is that is making him not even pay attention to the two overgrown children in the corner of his tent, attacking each other with first-aid materials. 

Watching him, you almost don’t want to disturb him. Almost want to grab one of the kits on the shelf by the doorway and pull Eli outside, partly because you don’t think Jimin absolutely needs to be present for you to clean Eli’s wounds and give him some Spiderman Band-aids, and partly because you don’t think you can bear having to say hello to him. 

Eventually, and only because Eli would start thinking it was weird you weren’t talking to each other (and not because a part of you just wants to hear his voice again), you take another step forward, coughing. 

“Wha— oh, hi,” Jimin says, the sound of your arrival breaking him out of his trance. He rubs at the nape of his neck, clearly trying to brush off any awkwardness. “How can I help you guys?” His voice is unrecognizable. 

“Eli here crashed into a tree while playing tag,” you say tensely, doing your best to look around the room, anywhere else, literally anywhere else, just so you don’t have to look at him. “I just brought him here to make sure he’s alright.”

“I’m fine,” Eli insists. 

“Well, Eli, we just have to double check that,” Jimin says comfortingly, reaching down to bring Eli over to one of the benches. He sits him down and kneels so that he can be at eye-level with him, and says, “Sometimes our bodies say that they’re alright even when they really aren’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin meets your gaze, looking at you like there’s nothing left that you can do, looking at you like there is so much that he wants to say but no way to tell you. 

You open your mouth, willing for the words to come out, but your throat is dry and your heart is pounding in your ears, a painful thud with every breath that you take. He must have known that what you said was a lie. He must have known what you were going to say when he asked, but he asked anyway, not to get the truth but to see where your relationship stands. 

As it seems, your relationship doesn’t seem to be standing at all. 

It lies in front of you, shattered into a million pieces like a broken mirror, cursed but still doing its job, still showing you this fragmented reflection of yourself. Mixed together like this, you can’t see where your friendship ends and your love began. Mixed together like this, it is impossible to repair. 

“Y/N—” Jimin begins. 

“I should go,” you say at the same time, making the two of you stop in your tracks once again. “Thanks for, uh, patching Eli up. Just make sure he gets to the mess hall in time for dinner.”

“I will,” Jimin says with a nod. There is so much that he wants to say but you don’t think you can bear listening to another word come out of his mouth, to another apology for not loving you back when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with. 

You ruined your friendship but Jimin seems to think that he is the one to blame. 

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Jimin asks. 

You look back at him, wanting so desperately to say yes, to pretend that everything is back to normal, to act like this is the beginning of last summer instead of this one, where you loved him and he didn’t know and everything was alright. But you can’t, because it’s not last summer. It’s this one, and you still love him but he knows now. He fucking knows and just thinking about it makes your heart shake in its cage, holding itself together but unable to stop itself from cracking from within.

Jimin must have known you wouldn’t have agreed. Why did he ask?

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!” 

You’re already halfway out of the makeshift door when you turn around to see Jungkook barrelling after you, leaving Seokjin in the dust as he joins you outside, pulling you away from the entrance instinctively. No one has ever been particularly good at keeping secrets here. 

“Can I help you, Jungkook?” You ask, blinking at him, trying to act as normal as possible. 

“Are you alright?” He leans in close, looking into your eyes, concern washed over his features. 

“Everybody seems to be asking me this,” you say, acting like you don’t know why. “I’m fine.”

Jungkook, for all of his wide-eyed innocence, for the way that he views the world as perfectly imperfect, doesn’t buy it. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “I don’t know what went down between you and Jimin.”

“Nothing happened,” you say, forcing a laugh just so you don’t sound miserable. 

“Whatever it is, I just want you to know that it doesn’t always have to be like this,” he says, reaching out to take your hand in his own, his calloused thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. “But you should be honest with your feelings, don’t you think?”

“You and Namjoon both think that I don’t have a handle on this, when I do.” You don’t. And being honest with your feelings is what got you into this mess in the first place. 

“Come on, Y/N, you don’t think we haven’t noticed, have you?” He asks, soft and sad and desperate to get through to you. 

“It’s no big deal,” you insist. “Jimin and I are alright. We’ve always been alright.”

“If you say so…” says Jungkook, no less skeptical than he was when he initiated this conversation. 

“Are we done here?” You ask, already pulling your hand from his grasp so you can go back to your cabin and pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, resigned as he lets you go. “But you know I’ll always be here for you, right?”

“I know, Jungkook,” you promise, because he always has and he always will be. “Thanks for looking out for me.” You begin to scurry away from the first aid tent, praying that Jimin didn’t hear you and Jungkook and wishing that everything was the way that it used to be.

“Be honest!” Jungkook shouts when you’re a hundred feet away, rushing back towards your cabin. 

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

Telling Jimin that you love him ruined your life. It ruined camp, it ruined your friendship, and it ruined your future. Seeing him now makes your heart ache and your brain dizzy. Every night you replay that conversation in your head, over and over, wondering if there was something that you could have done differently, something that you could have changed so you wouldn’t have ended up like this. Jimin wants to be friends again but you don’t know how to do that without him feeling guilty for not loving you back. 

You want to be honest?

Jimin makes you feel like there is a fire beneath your skin that you can’t extinguish, the flames creeping towards your heart. 

The only solution, it seems, is to smother them. 

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is that he’s impossible to avoid. 

You peer into the mess hall to see if lunch that day is any good and you see him laughing at a table surrounded by elementary schoolers munching on hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You go hunting in the storage shed for some extra packs of popsicle sticks and find him cleaning out the old flower pots to use in the greenhouse. You lead your group of campers from the arts room to the lake and see him and Taehyung setting up the net for some friendly water polo, laughing as they try to tie each other up in the rope. 

It feels like you’re watching a movie unfold in real time, one where he is the star and you are nothing but a background character, the desperate loser who confessed to him in the beginning of the film just to develop his character arc, make him seem personable and relatable, then forgotten about until the end when you spot each other on the street and nod silently to each other, as if to say you’ve both inexplicably reached a peace between the two of you. 

Is that what the future holds for you? A wordless camp, an empty conversation? Will you simply go the rest of the summer without speaking, then nod to each other right before you leave? Will this be the last time you ever see each other?

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is knowing that just because you want things to be different doesn’t mean they will be. Just because you want Jimin to love you back doesn’t mean he will. Just because you want everything to go back to normal doesn’t mean they will. 

As it turns out, love confessions don’t always end in fireworks.

Park Jimin is impossible to avoid not only because he’s everywhere but also because he is everybody’s best friend, the campers’ favorite counselor and the counselors’ favorite companion. He is kind and thoughtful and electric. He is magnetic. He makes others laugh without even trying, he names the plants in the greenhouse after the people he loves, he stays behind after activities to clean up when no one else will. 

Falling in love with Jimin wasn’t you picking out your favorite traits of his, wasn’t you seeing him do one selfless thing and deciding that he could do no wrong. It was submerging yourself in the lake, little by little before you dive in headfirst. It was catching glimpses of his goodness until you were consumed by it. It was knowing that you prefer yourself when you’re around him.

Falling in love with Jimin was like the heat in summer—endless. 

If only falling out of love with him would be just as easy. 

The weather has been unusually nice today. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the sun beats down on you, rays peeking through the tall branches and leaves of the spruce and oak trees that surround you, casting hazy shadows on the grass beneath your feet. It isn’t too muggy, isn’t too sticky and sweaty, this perfect medium between warm and hot, between dry and humid. It’s the sort of day that you romanticize every day of summer being, only to realize that summer actually consists of sweating through three different t-shirts and needing to eat your ice cream in ten seconds before it melts into a puddle on the concrete. 

Nonetheless, camp policy has always been that when it’s a beautiful day, the campers are going to spend every hour they’re awake outside, going on nature walks and playing capture the flag and eating watermelon on the splinter-y picnic benches. It’s nice, because it gives you a break from having to tell the kids not to touch the tips of the glue guns, but it also stinks, because it forces you to leave your sweet, air-conditioned paradise in favor of a mosquito-infested summer hell. 

Luckily, the kids have been washing off the summer heat in the cool water of the lake with the counselors that actually prefer being outside, playing volleyball in the shallows or canoeing out where it’s deeper. Sometimes, you wonder why Namjoon will let so few counselors supervise so many campers, and sometimes, you decide that it’s better them than you. 

You take a seat on the picnic bench by Yoongi, who is drinking notably clearer lemonade than in days past, so you assume that Namjoon got the water problem fixed like he promised. The two of you have never been outdoorsy people. Why you’ve been working at a summer camp for the last three years escapes you both. You and him lean back against the edge of the built-in table. From here, you have a perfect view of the lake, clear and blue and filled to the brim with rambunctious children, keeping at least somewhat of a watch over them so that Namjoon can’t shout at either of you for slacking off. 

“You know that Seokjin gave you murky water lemonade earlier, right?” You ask, just to make conversation. 

“I know,” Yoongi says, wholly unfazed. He takes another sip and sighs, feeling refreshed. Without batting an eyelash, he deadpans, “You know that you and Jimin aren’t going to get any better if you don’t talk to each other, right?”

“What are you talking about?” You scoff, playing dumb. 

“Just because all of those other idiots didn’t hear what went down between you and Jimin last summer doesn’t mean I didn’t,” Yoongi mutters monotonously. 

You jerk up, stick straight at his words, eyes wide as you glare at him. He heard you?

Yoongi laughs at your reaction, reclining back impossibly farther. “Relax, I haven’t told anyone. You know it’s none of my business.”

“Well,” you sputter out, “if it’s none of your business then why are you talking to me about it?”

Yoongi frowns. “Because you’re my friend, Y/N. And I hate seeing you like this,” he says, that soft lilt to his voice peeking through the rigid words spilling from his lips. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore. A lot of the other counselors do.”

You purse your lips together, guilty. 

“Especially Jimin.”

“I just need time,” you say, trying to be honest for once in your life. Loving Jimin was never going to go away without a fight. 

“You need to talk to each other,” corrects Yoongi. 

“Talking is what got us into this mess,” you huff out, dejected. Yoongi heard it himself—your confession sent you and Jimin’s relationship down the garbage chute. 

“And talking is what’s going to get you out of it,” Yoongi tells you pointedly, truthfully, in that horrible way where you know that he’s right but refuse to accept it. “Promise me you’ll try?” He reaches out to place a hand atop yours, looking into your eyes with hopeful promise. “We want you back.”

“I’ll try,” you sigh out, because it’s never been worth fighting with Yoongi. Not when he cares so deeply. 

“Try what?”

You and Yoongi whip your heads around to find Jimin standing on the opposite side of the picnic bench, helping himself to a piece of sliced watermelon. 

“Try enjoying the outdoors more,” Yoongi covers for you instantly, making you breathe out a little sigh of relief. “We both hate when Namjoon makes it an outside day.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jimin says with a smile. The only reason Jimin doesn’t mind it is because he gets the best of both worlds—half the day spent inside the first-aid tent, the other spent inside the greenhouse by the woods. “There’s beauty in everything.”

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

In the distance, you spot three things: Jungkook and Taehyung, laughing evilly as they run down along the rocky beach. The clothes clutched in their hands, crumpled up in their grasps while they hoot and holler. And Seokjin, hair sopping wet and half-naked, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and ugly lime green water shoes on, chasing after them. 

“I’m out,” Yoongi says without missing a beat, grabbing his lemonade and dashing off to safety. Yoongi’s exit leaves you and Jimin standing there, stranded, frozen in place, as Jungkook and Taehyung rush by you, each grabbing a piece of watermelon on their way. Something falls from Jungkook’s hold as they pass you, and Jimin reaches down to pick it up. It’s one of Seokjin’s socks. 

“Give that back, Park Jimin!” Seokjin’s banshee screech rings in your ears. 

“Run,” Jimin says, and you don’t get another say in the matter before Jimin is grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, Seokjin’s angry caws echoing throughout the clearing. 

Even though Jimin didn’t even actually steal his clothes from the locker room by the lake, Seokjin has determined that anyone who runs from him is automatically guilty, thus lumping both you and him into a wild goose chase alongside Jungkook and Taehyung, who are almost always the guilty parties when it comes to practical jokes like this. For a few moments, it’s the four of you running across the open field with Seokjin hot on all of your heels, desperate to catch up to at least one of you despite being severely out-matched, both in athletic ability and footwear, and then suddenly Jimin is pulling you behind the shed as Jungkook and Taehyung make a sharp right, headed in the opposite direction. 

Crouched behind the shed, you and Jimin stop for a minute to catch your breath, chests heaving after doing more exercise in the last thirty seconds than you have in the last week alone. You’re pressed up against the back siding, and only after your heart rates finally slow down do you become faintly aware of Jimin’s hand still gripping your wrist, like he’s simply forgotten to let go. 

“You think we lost them?” He asks with a wicked grin, and it’s impossible to avoid his gaze when he’s so close like this, when there’s barely a foot of space between your bodies, when his fingertips still press against your skin. 

“I think so,” you heave out in response. 

“Better stay here for a bit longer just in case,” Jimin says, and it’s the flirty sort of thing that he would say if it were last year, the flirty sort of thing that he would say if you two were friends like you used to be, but you aren’t anymore, and now it feels like Jimin is trying too hard and you aren’t trying hard enough. 

“I… I mean,” you say, pulling your wrist out of his grasp, rubbing at where your skin sizzles from his touch. “We’re probably fine.”

“Are we?” He asks, and this is exactly why you shouldn’t try to talk to him, exactly why talking won’t erase the tension that has settled between you two, repair the cracks in what you are. You’re not fine, because everything changed when you told Jimin that you loved him, and you’ve never been good at adjusting. You’re not fine, because for the first time in your years-long relationship, loving him is getting in the way. 

“I hope we are,” you admit, more to yourself than anyone else. Oh, how you so desperately wish that things were back to normal. Oh, how it would be so easy if only things were just a little bit different. 

“Me too,” Jimin says, and he smiles and, oh, how it makes you feel real and true and whole. He stands back up and reaches an arm out to help you do the same. For once, it doesn’t feel like a Band-aid on top of a stab wound. It feels like a lifeline. 

You let Jimin help you back to your feet, and for some reason your heart feels just a little bit lighter. 

“You think we’re alright?” Jimin asks. 

“Yeah,” You respond with a nod. “I think we will be.”

One thing that Namjoon is big on is interdisciplinary recreation. This is half due to the fact that he attends a private liberal arts school on the east coast and half due to the fact that he doesn’t always trust some of the counselors when it comes to chaperoning a whole group of kids on their own. You aren’t going to name names, but they’re the same people that steal clothes for fun. 

He’s got a list up on one of those massive sheets of lined paper filled with suggestions for all sorts of things that combine two or more of the basic activities the camp offers, ranging from making handmade bird seed treats in the kitchen to put out on nature walks to dodgeball in canoes. Some of Namjoon’s ideas are a lot more feasible than others. 

Namjoon’s never been a pushy person. He’s repeatedly said that he purposely avoids telling people what to do within their activity sectors because he doesn’t want the counselors to think that he’s stepping all over them or doesn’t trust them to come up with their own entertainment. The list in the counselor meeting room is titled: ACTIVITY SUGGESTIONS, bolded and circled, just so everyone knows that he isn’t forcing you to do anything (if you’re being honest, the emphasis on suggestions somewhat works against his whole niche). But sometimes, especially for someone whose greatest fear is stripping away others’ creative freedom, he can be rather insistent. 

Take, for example, the two stacks of plain flower pots left anonymously inside the arts and crafts room when you walk in to set up the activity for the day. You were originally going to have the younger kids color in their own guitars to hang up in the music room—an activity that was not on the activity suggestions list—and give the older ones some clay and let them go to town, but you suppose that decorating flower pots will be just as entertaining. At least you didn’t have to go hunting for the materials. 

The only problem with decorating flower pots is that, once the campers have painted streaks and polka dots and glued charms all over them, the flower pots have a rather specific place to go. A place that is part of a notable Park Jimin’s domain. 

A sneaky little feeling beneath your skin suspects that someone may have let it slip to Namjoon that you and Jimin could do with a bit of relationship repair. And Namjoon and Yoongi have been bunking in the same cabin for as long as you can remember. 

Sighing to yourself as you begin to set up the flowerpots on old newspapers spread out on the wooden tables, you decide that spending an hour with Jimin in the greenhouse (maybe even less if you can find an excuse to get yourself out of there!) couldn’t be any worse than being crouched down behind that cobwebbed old shed with his hand on your wrist and his eyes gazing into yours. At least you’ll have thirty campers to maintain the distance between the two of you. 

You suppose that you do have the easier of the two jobs. Arts and crafts is a rather simple activity to oversee, barring the occasional papercut or glue gun burn. Luckily, painting flower pots means that you will really only have to worry about the campers mod-podging their fingers together, and even then, the bathroom is just down the hall. Jimin, with his having to wrangle the kids to garden neatly and not hit each other with the trowels, is going to have it much harder. 

There’s a part of you that knows you’ll stick around. Not just to lessen the load of campers for him, but just so you can spend a little more time in the same room, breathing the same air, pretending that things are the way that they used to be. 

When you leave the arts and crafts room to hike the ten minutes to the greenhouse, followed by all of the campers dutifully carrying their brand new flowerpots in their hands, you feel like a young bird leaving the nest. Taught to fly little by little, but one day forced to face the real world and exist without the safety net you’ve called home for so long. The arts and crafts room hasn’t always been your favorite place in the camp, but this year it’s felt like you’ve been holding on particularly tight.

Jimin is already waiting happily in the greenhouse for your arrival, this stupid old gardening apron tied around his waist with a faded picture of a cartoon cactus on the front that says free hugs. He watches fondly as all of the kids shuffle into the greenhouse, the whole room just barely big enough to fit all of you, wide eyes peeking out from behind seed packets and green leaves. 

You stay in the back corner as Jimin gets to work, having all of the campers place their pots on the tables in front of them, bright plastic buckets of soil at the ends of their tables, flower seeds waiting to be planted. 

As much as Jimin is fantastic at patching kids up inside the first aid tent, the greenhouse is where he really belongs. The harsh rays of the sun are softened by the glass walls as they beam down on him, surrounding him with this warm yellow halo, painting him into the scenery behind him. Here, amongst the lush vegetables and flowers and ferns, Jimin doesn’t look like an underpaid camp counselor carrying the weight of thirty children on his back. He looks like this fairy in the woods, this forest sprite that has grown up amongst the trees and the moss and the wildflowers, who has learned to tend to the world’s greatest garden. He looks like someone whose mere presence makes the plants smile a little wider. 

Jimin’s like that with everyone. It should come as no surprise to you that the plants feel better when they’re around him, too. 

Jimin has always been so good with kids. More so than any of the other counselors, really, though they all try their best to be fun and friendly and gentle and stern all at once. But there’s something in Jimin’s nature that just makes him the best at it, something about the way he cares for them so deeply, something about the soft lines of his face that earns him their trust the fastest. He’s good with everything that camp throws at him, from frisbees to murky water to lake monsters, but nothing has ever seemed quite as right for him as his connection with the campers. 

The children don’t know how lucky they are to know someone like Jimin. Someone who believes wholeheartedly in the goodness of others, someone who will stop at nothing to fix what has been broken. 

You think about how lucky you are to love someone like Jimin every day of your life.

“Mr. Jimin?” A squeaky little voice pipes up. It’s a young girl named Zoe, whose flower pot is decorated with a painting of her entire family, a group of four stick figures with red shirts and purple dresses holding hands together, loopy smiles drawn onto their faces. 

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects. 

“Are you sure these seeds are going to turn into flowers?” Zoe asks, looking skeptically at the packets in front of her. 

Jimin laughs, and it is as warm as the rays of the sun that stream through the glass walls. “I can’t promise that they will, Zoe.”

“Then why are we doing this?” She pouts. 

“Because,” Jimin says, pointing to the packets in front of the campers, “the only way that I can promise that these seeds will turn into flowers is if you guys can promise to love them. Because no matter how much sun they get, no matter how much you water them, they will only bloom if you really, really love them.”

“How do they know?” Another girl pipes up. 

“Flowers are just like us,” Jimin tells her gently. “They can feel when they’re loved, and they love us back by blooming for us.” He shuffles around the back of the greenhouse where he stands, fishing through the shelves lining the walls until he emerges with a rather large pot in his hands, placing it down on the table beside him with a thud. “Take this hydrangea, for example.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the blue flowers flashing before your eyes. 

You planted those together. Last summer. You and Jimin snuck out to the greenhouse while everyone else was eating potato salad for lunch and spent the hour listening to pop songs from the eighties and planting a baby hydrangea. 

They will bloom every year, Jimin said. 

So they’ll always remind us of us, you responded. 

It’s the first time that you and Jimin have looked at each other since you entered the greenhouse. He catches you off-guard, eyes wide as you stare back at him, suddenly feeling this gut-wrenching ache from deep within your belly. And Jimin—

God, Jimin looks like he’s tried everything under the sun and moon to keep that damn hydrangea from wilting. 

“They were planted early last summer. And they bloomed, right? But they look so sad,” Jimin explains, rallying himself and turning his gaze away from you. “And I gave them new soil and watered them regularly, but I’m still missing something.”

“Love!” Zoe shouts. 

“Right,” Jimin says with a tense nod, eyes flickering to yours once more. Your shoulders slump. “But I have a lot of love to give, so hopefully they’ll be alright soon. You guys just have to remember that love is the most important thing that you can give to your flowers. Just like you and me, the flowers need to know that there is someone who loves them.”

But you do know, you want to shout out to him. You’ve known this whole summer and you knew back at the campfire and you probably knew even before that. You’ve known for so long and still the flowers that we planted together are fucking wilting. Like they can’t even bear that this is what we’ve come to. What do you mean, they need to know that there is someone who loves them? You do. And I love you. You must know that, don’t you?

You feel the vines of a thorny rose wrap around your heart, clenching it tight. It’s been in bloom for a year now, thick red petals filling up the empty spaces between your bones, nectar swimming within your veins. And when you picked it, cut it off at its stem to place in Jimin’s hand, it grew only stronger, bloomed only harder.

Oh, if only that hydrangea knew how much you loved him. 

Afterwards, you stay back to help clean up. There’s soil all over the floor, buckets knocked over in the campers’ frenzy to go play games in the gym with Jungkook, discarded paper seed packets and trowels left littered across the tables. 

Jimin doesn’t put on any eighties music. Instead, you stand there in silence, brushing the leftover soil into dust pans and buckets, placing the gardening tools on the rack by the entrance. 

Even though you know flowers don’t wilt that fast, it feels like with every second that passes, the hydrangea is a moment closer to death. The color seems to fade every time you look at them, going from its vibrant pale blue to a sallow green, no longer able to tolerate being in the same room as the two of you. 

Your love doesn’t seem like it’s going to fix it this time. 

“I didn’t know that it was doing so badly,” you say, and the words don’t even feel like they belong to you when you hear them back, making Jimin stop dead where he stands. 

“What?” He asks. 

“The hydrangea.”

Jimin looks over at the pot on the table, and he sighs, helpless. “I’ve tried everything. It just doesn’t seem to be working with me this year.”

It’s no secret to the both of you why. 

“Hopefully you can figure something out,” you offer alongside a half smile. “I would hate to see them die after only a year in bloom.”

“Me too,” Jimin sighs. 

“How have you been?” You ask him, because you never really did get a real answer when you asked him that very first day. And because no matter what you do, you’ll always be curious about him. 

“Alright,” Jimin says, and it’s not a lie. “I’m looking forward to graduating next year.”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, even though you’re only looking forward to the not-being-in-college part of graduating. Not so much the being-chucked-into-the-real-world part. “How’s the major coming along?”

“Well, physics never gets any easier,” Jimin jokes, and even though it’s a little bit forced it makes the two of you both laugh, desperate to get back to the way that things used to be, step by step. “What about you? Still going for English?”

“With a side of business so that I don’t end up a broke poet,” you remind him. “But yeah.”

“Maybe you can write me into one of your stories,” Jimin suggests. 

Oh, but doesn’t he know already? He’s the main character in every single one. All of your poems are about him. He is your inspiration and your muse. He fills up each blank page all on his own. Doesn’t he know? 

“Maybe,” you agree, even though there has never been a ‘maybe’ when it comes to him.

You nearly drop the plastic bucket of soil on your toe when you hear his next question. 

“Have you, uh, been seeing anyone lately?” Jimin scratches at the nape of his neck, clearly nervous. Your heart sinks. Out of all of the possible questions he could ask you to keep this relatively casual conversation going, he chooses that one? 

You look up at him, wondering why on earth he’s asking you this when your love has already been laid out bare in front of him, every corner unfolded so he can read across the lines like a map, memorize the splotches of color. You look up at him and you are helpless, desperate for him to realize that even with thousands of miles and hundreds of days between you, for you, it has always been him.

You wonder if the only reason he’s asking is to see if you were starting to move on. 

“No,” you mutter lifelessly. “I haven’t.” And then, like a devilish whisper in your ear, “Have you?”

You almost expect him to say yes. You almost expect to hear him recount all of the fantastic dates he’s been on, all of the loving relationships he’s been in, but instead, he says, “Me neither.”

And that? That makes your heart stop dead in its tracks. 

“I tried to, you know,” Jimin says, and each word is a puncture wound inside of you. “But I just couldn’t. Nothing really stuck.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him, because you are. Because Jimin deserves to love someone who will love him back. Someone that isn’t you, someone who hasn’t been hopelessly pining after him for a year. 

“No, it’s alright.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m kind of glad that nothing stuck.”

And if hearing the words “me neither,” leave his lips made your heart freeze up, then hearing these words set it aflame. You don’t respond, instead choosing to let the words etch themselves into your memory, carve themselves into your heart, give you hope, if only a droplet of it. Any is enough to have your heart beating a little faster.

“I miss this,” Jimin breathes out, and if you closed your eyes and pretended that you were somewhere else it would almost sound like a confession. You glance up at him, and he is so empty, clinging hopelessly onto the remnants of things past just like you, and you realize that being honest is really the only option you have left. “I miss doing stuff like this.” 

The with you goes unspoken, but it rings loud and clear in your ears anyway. 

“I miss it too,” you say, because Jimin must know already, doesn’t he? How if you could choose to go on loving him without him ever knowing, then you would do it in an instant? How loving him silently was painful but loving him like this, unbearable. “I feel like it’s been a long time.”

A long time since you both really spoke to each other. A long time since you were friends the way you used to be. A long time since you first began to love him.

“Can’t we go back?” Jimin asks, a foolish question. He should know better than to ask for something he already knows he can’t get. 

“You know we can’t,” you tell him. You’ve already tried.

“Then can we begin again?” He proposes, the two of you meeting in the middle of the greenhouse, right in front of the hydrangea. You hadn’t even realized you were barely three feet away from him until you were already there. “Please? I miss us, Y/N. Don’t you miss us, too?”

Gazing at Jimin, you feel your heart tremble. One thing that hasn’t changed is how weak you are to his touch, to his eyes, to the way that they make every part of you feel like jelly, feel like you’ll collapse without him to hold you up. You’ve never been able to say no to him. It’s one of the things you don’t think you’ll ever outgrow. 

“We can try,” you say, because being honest may be hard, and talking even harder, but now you would rather try to piece yourselves back together than spend the rest of the summer wondering what to do with the shattered remains on the floor, stepping around them instead of cleaning them up, repairing what has been broken. 

It’s like the words are music to Jimin’s ears, the way he lights up, grinning wide and real and true. He inhales and it feels like a breath of fresh air, like a brand new season has come to rest upon the two of you. It feels like relief. It feels like hope. It feels like new.

You hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve been dying to make him smile. 

Next to you, the hydrangea seems just a little bit brighter. 

It’s getting easier. 

No longer are you turning in the opposite direction whenever you see him hanging around the center of camp, praying that he hasn’t spotted you from where you stand. Nor are you making excuses about having to go help Namjoon with something or run back to your cabin whenever he shows up to spend time with you and the other counselors. 

And even though it’s still a little tense when you accidentally look up at the same time and meet eyes, even though it still feels like you two aren’t quite the same, it’s getting easier. 

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again. 

It’s not exactly like it was before, not like when you would scurry off to the greenhouse or the shed or some other hidden place, spread out a picnic blanket and bask in each other’s company, laughing about anything and everything, but it’s better. It’s better than how it used to be, when you would always bring your lunch back to your cabin to eat in silence, drown yourself in your comforter and your thoughts, letting them pile on top of you, one by one. It’s better than how you used to pretend that you didn’t even know each other. 

Slowly, step by step, things have almost started to feel normal again. 

“You guys seem happier lately,” Taehyung commends mindlessly as he sits down across from you and Jimin, three pieces of meat lover’s pizza on the paper plate he sets on the tabletop. 

You and Jimin smile at each other. You suppose that you have been.

“Three, Tae?” The moment gone too soon, Jimin’s focus is immediately redirected to the behemoth meal in front of Taehyung. “Seriously? Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

“The meat balances it out,” Taehyung says matter-of-factly, even though it definitely doesn’t. He takes an enormous bite out of one of the slices, eating nearly half the pizza in a single chomp. “But seriously, I mean it. You guys look a lot happier. Yoongi!”

Yoongi freezes in his tracks from where he’s walking by your table, spilling his open soda can all over his plate of pizza at Taehyung’s shout of his name. 

“Don’t you think that Jimin and Y/N seem happier?” Taehyung asks, motioning to the both of you. 

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says with a shrug, aloof as always. You chuckle to yourself, knowing fully well that it was him who got Namjoon to leave two stacks of flower pots in the arts and crafts room to give you an extra push towards talking with Jimin. Taehyung huffs, disappointed but not surprised that Yoongi contributed so little to the conversation, but he doesn’t notice how Yoongi gives you a smile and a thumbs up as he heads over to where Namjoon and Hoseok are sitting. 

“Well, I think you guys do,” Taehyung says pointedly. 

“Did we seem… unhappy to you?” Jimin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“No,” says Taehyung. “I don’t know, you guys just seemed different. You know, I was talking with Jin and he and I were convinced that the two of you were dating last year and then broke up sometime before this summer because you guys were acting so weird earlier.”

“Really?” You ask, cracking an awkward smile just to keep the mood light because god, Taehyung really is a lot more observant than you give him credit for. “That’s so funny, honestly.” It’s not. “You know that we’re just friends, Tae.”

Next to you, Jimin is staring down his lunch like it’s insulted his family. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he opens his mouth to say something, anything, goddamnit, anything that will make you feel like you’re not the only one who wants you two to be friends again. Anything that will remind you that being friends is all you have left because he will never love you back. 

“You could have fooled me,” Taehyung acknowledges. “Seokjin was pretty convinced, too. We even had a bet going to see which one of you would admit it first.”

“You guys bet on us?” Jimin asks, a little horrified and a lot of something else, something that you can’t quite place. 

“Not with money!” Taehyung defends. “Marshmallows for the end-of-camp counselor campfire. But neither of you ever said anything so we ended up just dropping it and ate as many marshmallows as we wanted.”

Oh, if only Taehyung knew. Oh, if only he had heard you that night, heard you pour your heart out in front of that fire. Oh, if only he had noticed, noticed the warm yellow glow that made Jimin look like he had been bathed in candlelight, noticed those roasted marshmallows over the heat, noticed the words that replay in your head like a broken record. 

There’s a part of you that wants to know who Taehyung was betting on. A part of you that is wondering why on earth would either of them ever assume that Jimin would be the one to confess first when he has only ever seen you as a friend and you have always seen him as something more. Seen him as this dream come to life, seen him as the answer to all of your prayers. 

Jimin never would have confessed first. That hasn’t changed. 

“Thinking back, it was kind of stupid of us to bet on you guys when you hadn’t even confirmed anything,” Taehyung says with a sigh, pursing his lips together tightly. “I don’t know. I guess that Seokjin and I both really, really wanted you guys to get together.” He chuckles, but it isn’t funny anymore.

Believe me, Tae, you think to yourself. You guys weren’t the only ones.

“Eh,” Taehyung hums, shrugging to himself. He clearly isn’t as caught up about it as you and Jimin, who wonder every day how different things would be if you had just kept your damn mouth shut that night, if you had never loved him in the first place. “I guess I’m just glad to see you both smiling again.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you say, because even if Taehyung doesn’t know the whole story he’s still hit the nail on the head, and even if he can’t pick up the way that Jimin’s body has tensed up beside you, even if he doesn’t notice how normal feels like the furthest thing to describe the two of you right now, he has always wanted the both of you to be content.

“Makes me kinda sad to know you guys are just friends, even though I’m obviously not going to force you into anything.” Taehyung takes another bite of his pizza, the words just conversational to him even if they clearly aren’t to either of you.

Slowly, Jimin looks back up from his lunch, like he’s finally made up his mind. You meet Jimin’s eyes when he does, and for once you don’t dare jump into the swirling sea of his irises, for once you can hardly tell if the waves are calm or rough. For once, it feels like Jimin is looking at you the way you look at him—helplessly.

Taehyung smiles, looking fondly at the both of you. “You guys would have been cute together,” he says it because he means it. “You make each other so happy.”

He means that part, too.

The end-of-camp show is a longstanding tradition where all of the kids, divided by age group, celebrate the best part about summer and going to a sleepaway camp: being away from their parents. There are dance performances choreographed by the counselors (namely Hoseok, who has the most free time because his other job mainly consists of making sure Namjoon doesn’t lose his head), a guitar performance organized by Seokjin (who has promised not to rickroll everyone this year), and an art show setup by you to display all of the treasures that the campers have created. But your favorite part of the show is how, no matter how much time time is spent practicing and rehearsing, the performance will always end in chaos. The only predictable thing about it is its unpredictability. 

This year, as suggested by Hoseok and immediately implemented by Namjoon, the counselors are being roped into a performance of their own, one that is bound to be even more disastrous because even though you can all listen to directions, you are all also just as capable of purposely disobeying them. 

Part of you suspects that the only reason Hoseok even recommended that you all do this is because he enjoys watching the camp counselor collective crash and burn. Like there’s something cathartic about watching you go up in flames.

Nevertheless, you do it, because if not for yourselves then for Hoseok, and if not for him then for Namjoon, both of whom tirelessly to make sure that camp is a place where you and the other counselors can do the dumbest things without repercussions. If it weren’t for the two of them, camp would be a lot less fun.

Hoseok also just absolutely relishes in being in charge of something, something that involves dancing and singing and performing, which are his favorite things to do, and it would be cruel of all of you to deny Hoseok this opportunity, if only for a silly little camp performance. 

Hoseok manages to wrangle a time and space for rehearsal thanks to one of those magic scientists that perform cool things with chemicals, one that Namjoon has arranged to visit camp to give you and the other counselors a much-needed break from the endless excitement of children. 

And so, you all trickle into the empty counselor meeting room at three in the afternoon exactly, waiting to see what the hell Hoseok has come up with now. 

All of the tables, chairs, and other miscellaneous furniture has been pushed up against the walls, leaving just enough room for all of you to fit relatively comfortably, with Hoseok standing smack in the middle of the room, looking proud. 

“I’m scared,” Hazel admits to you as you pass by Hoseok to stand where the rest of the counselors have gathered. You sneak a peek at the clipboard in Hoseok’s hand, which isn’t empty this time, and is instead filled with sheets of paper that look like they belong in the hands of a sports coach, X’s and O’s and arrows littering the pages. 

“Don’t be,” you say, though the tremble of your voice is probably doing very little to calm her nerves. You end up grouped together with Jimin and Yoongi, who are both standing in silence, waiting for something to pull them out of their thoughts. “Hey,” you say softly, giving Jimin a nudge. 

“Hey,” Jimin responds, face lifting a little when he sees you. From behind him, Yoongi is eyeing the both of you, but he doesn’t seem very worried. Jimin laughs tensely. “I’m nervous about what Hoseok has in mind for us.”

You glance over to Hoseok as he talks animatedly with Namjoon, who looks a little bit in over his head. Namjoon must have known that Hoseok would spare no expense when it came to a counselor performance. 

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” you assure him with a squeeze to his wrist, making him smile weakly at you. 

“First Namjoon makes us sit outside, and then he makes us do exercise?” Yoongi huffs. “When will it end?”

“High time he got you out of the damn kitchens,” Jungkook mutters to himself, making all of the other counselors within earshot laugh. Yoongi turns around to give Jungkook half of a noogie before Hoseok claps to get everyone’s attention. 

“Alright, hi everyone!” Hoseok cheers. “Glad you all could make it.”

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks. 

“Nope!” Hoseok grins. “Anyway, as you know, this year Namjoon and I have been thinking of doing a counselor performance at the end-of-camp show to show unity and entertain the kids, since they’re the ones who have been doing all of the work thus far to make the camp show a reality. And I, as your assistant head counselor and dance choreographer, get to set it up!”

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says. 

“It’s not going to be a super serious thing because this is camp and we’re literally performing for prepubescent children, so don’t worry!” He says, doing nothing to ease people’s worries. He turns around to face the chalkboard, and begins to magnet the pieces of paper from his clipboard onto it, page by page, as the rest of you stare on in horror. “But I have come up with a bit of a dance for us to perform…”

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically. 

“Anyway,” Hoseok says, clapping his hands together once more to redirect everyone’s attention from the mess on the board back to him. “It’ll be a bit of a partner dance for the first half, and then everyone gets about five seconds worth of a solo in the middle where you can do whatever you want—” when Hoseok spots Jungkook, Taehyung, and Seokjin already beginning to scheme, wicked smiles widening, he quickly adds, “—within reason, and then a big old group thing to finish it up. Does that sound good?”

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

“Great!” Hoseok says, fumbling for another piece of paper in the stack that he still has left on his clipboard. 

“God, a partner dance?” You ask awkwardly, feeling noticeably more worried than before. It’s not that you’re dreading having to dance, or even having to perform in front of a bunch of kids, it’s the idea of having to dance with someone else, a specific someone else in particular, that has your stomach doing flips. “Why did Hobi think that was a good idea?”

“It might be fun, don’t you think?” Jimin says, trying to keep the mood light. It’s clear he has no worries about the potential for being paired up with you, which might have been able to fly last year but this summer, you’re not so sure. You and Jimin just managed to start eating lunch together again without wanting to curl into a ball and hide. What’s going to happen if you have to dance with each other?

“I’m not a very good dancer,” you admit, a weak excuse for your real fear. 

“Then I’ll teach you,” Jimin says, and the words are hopeful and filled with light as he works so desperately to remind you that not all has been lost. That you can begin again. 

“Okay, partners,” Hoseok says, looking at his list. “Namjoon and Yoongi, Jungkook and Seokjin, Taehyung and Hazel, Maria and Ruby, Jia-yi and Quinn, and Jimin and Y/N.”

Shit. 

Yoongi, noticing your alarm, immediately interrupts, “Uh, is it possible for us to switch partners?”

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently. 

And in that split second, that moment of pause, you look from the wide-eyed Yoongi to Jimin, who is gazing back at you like he’s finally got it right, like he’s finally been given an opportunity to fix what you had broken, to repair your relationship, brick by brick, if only for a stupid counselor performance. Jimin, who is smiling and smiling and smiling because you are finally eating lunch together and you are finally watering that damn hydrangea and you finally get to dance together, and everything in the world is slowly beginning to feel right, the dust is beginning to settle after a month’s worth of storms. 

You inhale, then you exhale, and you say, “I’m fine with my partner. I don’t think we need to switch, do we?”

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already. 

Jimin pops into the arts and crafts room more often these days. Sometimes he actually does it because he needs to drop something off, because a camper left something in the greenhouse or because Namjoon is making him, but most times, he does it just to say hi, just to charm all of the campers as they make collages out of old magazines or glue together fabric for no-sew pillows. 

And every time he does it, every time there is that familiar knock on the door, you nearly tumble over yourself from excitement. The best part about it is how normal it’s all beginning to feel, how familiar it is. You are almost back to where you used to be. 

Almost back to when you loved him, and he didn’t know, and everything was alright. 

Today, the kids are making cards for you to mail back home before the summer is done, before camp comes to a close and they return to their lives and you return to yours. Normally, you’d automatically send the letters back to the parents, but this time, you offer up an alternative. 

“These cards are going to be mailed back home to the people that you love,” you say, holding up your own as an example. It’s a basic one, yellow cardstock with daisies made out of construction paper glued onto it, but it serves as a good guideline for whatever the campers want to do with their own. “You just need to provide their address so that we can make sure it gets to the right person.”

“It doesn’t have to be our parents?” One boy asks.

“Nope,” you say with a smile, shaking your head. “You can send it to anyone you love. It’s just to let them know how you are, and that you miss them.”

“Who are you sending yours to?” A different girl, Rose, asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, because you don’t really need to let your parents know how you are when you text each other constantly, and all of your friends from back home can see all of the shenanigans you get up to on your social media, but a letter is no fun if only one person ever gets to read it. 

“You should send it to Jimin,” Rose suggests matter-of-factly, making you sputter out the water you were taking a sip of all over the table in front of you. 

“Jimin?” You repeat, forcing a smile. “I see Jimin all the time.”

“But you really like him, don’t you?” She asks, even though she obviously already knows the answer. Goddamn, kids pick up on everything. “I can tell.”

“Is that so?” You return, eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, me too!” The boy chirps up. “You always look so nervous whenever he comes to say hello. Like you don’t know what to say. That’s what my mom looks like whenever she comes home from a new date with a boy she really likes.”

You do? That is news to you. 

“It’s okay, though,” Rose interrupts. “I think that he really likes you too. Otherwise he wouldn’t just be popping in every other day to say hello!”

“Maybe he really likes seeing you guys, instead!” You offer, feeling your cheeks heating up at the thought that you and Jimin have laid yourselves out bare like a board book for everyone to read. 

“I don’t think so. He looks too happy when he sees you.” The girl shakes her head. “You should send your card to him, so he knows that you love him.”

Oh, he knows, that’s for sure, you think to yourself. There’s no way that Jimin hasn’t already realized that you still love him. That you have always loved him. Even the campers have it figured out, and they’re still in elementary school. But you think that the worst part of this, the worst part of all of these freakishly observant children verbally beating you up with reminders of your relationship with Jimin, is how they seem to think that Jimin likes you back. That Jimin sees you as something more. 

Because he didn’t, last year. And he didn’t, earlier this summer. And there is no way things have changed that much. 

“You guys should keep working on your cards,” you say, desperate for the subject to drop, desperate to talk about anything, literally anything, besides Jimin. “We want to send them by the end of the week so that the people you love will get them before camp’s over.”

“So you do like him!” The boy exclaims. 

“Cards, Oliver!” You reprimand him, earning a chorus of giggles, though there is no mistaking the way your body has tensed, the way your words are shaking. No mistaking how your heart trembles at the thought of Jimin, sweet, wonderful, beautiful Jimin, actually liking you back. 

It can’t be. 

You and Jimin have always just been friends. That’s all you’ll ever be. You swear. 

You swear.

“The hydrangea looks better,” you comment as you enter the greenhouse, eyes immediately darting towards the pot on the table at the front. In it, the hydrangea has blossomed fully, its petals a vibrant sky blue, basking in the faint glow of the sun as it streams into the greenhouse, peeking between the misty gray clouds, painting everything with a hazy yellow warmth. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Jimin asks from where he’s wrestling with an enormous packet of soil, pausing his battle to turn and look at the blossom, smiling to himself. “I think we must have worked some sort of magic.”

“Or maybe it’s just your expert gardening skills,” you tease, hauling in some plants by the door that Jimin has been meaning to bring inside the greenhouse for days now. “I’m not in here enough to make any sort of noticeable difference.”

Jimin scoffs disbelievingly. “You’re in here almost as much as I am nowadays.”

“Just to help out,” you defend weakly, pouting to yourself. It’s not like you’ve completely abandoned your air-conditioned arts and crafts room to fool around in the balmy greenhouse, soil underneath your fingernails and seeds stuck to your clothes. You just prefer to spend your free time here. Nothing criminal about that.

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind. 

“And for that, I thank you,” says Jimin with a grin, the bag of soil finally beginning to cooperate with him. He hauls it over his shoulder to bring into the back room, where he keeps all of the bigger tools and plants that are too advanced for the campers, and you pretend not to ogle the way his biceps bulge as he carries the soil away, the bag easily fifty pounds or more. 

What? You didn’t fall in love with Jimin just because of his electric personality. 

“Besides, you come into the arts room so often that all the kids are starting to think you work there instead of here,” you remind him pointedly. He laughs, and the sound bounces off of the glass walls, filling up the room. 

Jimin comes out of the back room, a little bit of soil smudged onto his cheek from his gloves, and he’s smiling. “Maybe I just like seeing you.”

“Next time we do a craft I’ll make sure to prepare an extra one so you can do it with us,” you joke, ignoring the way his words warm you from the inside out, convincing yourself that this is what it was like last year, too, so Jimin doesn’t mean anything by it. 

Convincing yourself that Jimin has never loved you the way that you love him. 

“Am I going to be allowed to sit next to you?” He asks as he walks up to where you’re working, that same flirty lilt to his voice, that teasing tone that he always used to use on you, especially whenever it came down to spending time together. 

“Only if you’re good,” you chide in response, leaning over to pick up a flower pot just so you don’t have to see his damn face, so you don’t have to see the way his eyes glint in the sun as he toys with you, as he presses all of your buttons with ease.

Obviously, you had seriously miscalculated how far away he was, because by the time you’re standing up straight he’s right behind you, playfully pinching at your waist, the sensation sending an electric jolt through your veins. You jump and gasp at the feeling, nearly dropping the goddamn flower pot, body suddenly turning to jelly. Behind you, Jimin is in stitches. 

“I could have dropped this!” You scold him as he doubles over in laughter, giggling and giggling and giggling, so much so that you can’t even pretend to be angry at him, too endeared by his happiness, by his pure joy, to shout at him any more. 

“You’ve always been so ticklish, Y/N,” Jimin says between puffs of air, trying to catch his breath.

“I am not! You just surprised me!” You defend, even though Jimin’s right and he knows it. Your outrage leaves him in hysterics still, amused by the way you so easily fall right into his trap.

“Whatever you say,” he singsongs, helping you haul in the last of the flowerpots. “I think that’s the last of them.”

“Next time I show up, a whole different part of the greenhouse will need work,” you say with a sigh, because no matter how much you do, no matter how much you clean and reorganize, there will always be something left. 

“The work is never done,” Jimin says with a smile, having already resigned himself to this fate. “But I think it looks pretty good.”

And looking at the greenhouse, looking at the vibrant hues that fill the room, from the rich golden marigolds to the bright pink lilies, from the rich green leaves to the soft blue hydrangea, you have to agree. It’s no wonder why Jimin loves this place so much, spends so much time in it despite its severe lack of circulation and the absence of reliable shade. It’s because everything in here he has had a hand in making. Everything in here is here because of him. 

This place will never not remind you of him. 

“It’s getting late,” Jimin says, checking his watch. “You think they have dinner ready for us?”

“God, I hope so,” you say with a sigh. “I’m starving.”

“Then shall we feast?” He asks, holding his arm out for you to take. 

You wrap your arm around his own, and you grin. “We shall.”

Then the thunder cracks, and the sky begins to sob. 

You’re barely three feet out the door before you feel the wet splotches on your shoulders, cold drops on your skin, made thicker by the leaves above your head, forcing you to retreat back into the greenhouse. Thanks to the glass, the raindrops that hit the rooftop ring like mallets on a drum, booming and loud, echoing throughout the room. 

“Damn,” Jimin says, staring out at the once sunny clearing, now shrouded in a grey haze. “It was sunny two minutes ago.”

“It’s just a summer storm,” you assure, arm still wrapped up tight in his own. “They never last long.”

“Think we should wait it out?” He asks. 

“Whatever you want to do.”

Jimin grins, squeezing you tight. “How about this? Five minutes, and if it doesn’t stop, we make a run for it?”

You nod. “Five minutes.”

Five minutes pass and the rain has no intention of letting up, seemingly getting heavier as you count down the seconds, the light grey fog that has blanketed the clearing turning to an angry deep blue, thick and endless. The alarm on Jimin’s watch goes off, signifying your wait’s end, and you open your mouth to suggest that maybe you should wait here a little longer, but barely get the first letter out before Jimin is flinging open the door to the greenhouse and pulling you out into the rain. 

You shriek as the drops hit you, little pellets of water striking you like beads, soaking your clothes and your skin everything in between. Jimin looks back from where he’s running in front of you, one hand still wrapped around your wrist, and his hair is in strands and his shirt is sticking to his torso, and you don’t think that, in your three years of knowing him, you’ve ever seen him happier. He pulls you out into the rain and he looks like a shot from a movie scene, looks like the hero in a coming-of-age film, letting the rain wash away his worries and his insecurities, letting himself be reborn beneath the crying sky. 

And he stops, and you stop, and you stand there in the pouring rain just looking at each other, picturesque frames, moments in time, letting the water soak into your skin, letting it trickle down your cheeks, decorating your eyelashes. You feel his hand sink down to your own, feel your fingers intertwine. And he is smiling, God, he is smiling so fucking wide, smiling at you like there is no place he would rather be, smiling at you like you smile at him when you think he isn’t looking, like you are the reason he is filled with light. Jimin stands there in the rain with his hand on your wrist and droplets of rain dotting his skin, and he is brand new. And you watch him, watch the way it rains down upon him, and you wonder what the hell he is thinking. 

You wonder what on earth he sees when he looks at you. 

(Is it the same as what you see when you look at him?)

“Aren’t you cold?” You ask him, feeling like your voice is a distant melody, feeling like it’s coming from somewhere else. 

He shakes his head, and you can see the rain spraying from the ends of his hair, soaked strands framing his face. “Isn’t this wonderful?” He asks up to the sky, tilting his head up to let it rain down upon him, let the droplets drizzle down his cheeks. “Don’t you love it?”

“It’s nice,” you admit, because there’s something refreshing about being here, about being caught in the midst of a summer storm, washing away the dirt and sweat and worries. 

“It’s perfect,” Jimin corrects, voice trampled by the rain, thick and heavy. “I feel like this is just what I needed.”

“Needed for what?”

He looks back at you, looks at the way your bodies are still connected, at the way you’re standing barely a foot apart in the pouring rain, and he grins and says, “Just what I needed to know.”

You don’t have time to ask him what he needs to know, what he has been so desperate to learn, before he’s pulling you back into him and up onto the deck, wet footsteps on the wooden porch as you heave yourselves out of the rain and into the counselor meeting room, drenched from head to toe. 

“Oh my God, what the hell happened to you guys?” Seokjin asks, shocked when he spots the two of you, still holding hands. 

“Got caught in the rain,” you say sheepishly, still feeling out of breath. 

“In the rain?” Taehyung asks. “For how long?”

“Long enough,” Jimin answers this time, finally letting you go to run towards the back of the room. You watch helplessly as he does, your hand clenching around nothing, missing his touch. When he returns, he’s got a dry windbreaker in his hand, crumpled up from being in his backpack for so long. “Here, use this,” he says, placing it over your shoulders, pulling the collar tight at your front. 

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly, wondering what the hell Jimin is going to use to dry himself off, clothing so soaked not even a day in the sun could dry it. 

“That was fun,” Jimin says, fixing the windbreaker over your shoulders to make sure it’s covering as much of you as possible. “Who knew, right?”

“Right,” your voice trails off, too focused on the way his brows are furrowed as he tries to dry you off with a jacket made of fabric meant to repel water rather than absorb it, mouth pressed into a pout as he shuffles it around, drying off whatever he can. 

“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” he says when he’s satisfied, gazing into your eyes, trying to get you to gaze back into his own. When you falter, he chuckles, this little huff of air dispelled from his lungs. “I’m gonna go bother Hoseok for something dry. Don’t stay in those clothes too long, or you’ll catch something.”

With that, he disappears into the other room, soggy footsteps leaving prints in his wake. You’re so busy watching his back disappear from view that you don’t even notice Namjoon coming up to you, a sage expression written all over his face. 

“What?” You challenge, not liking the way he looks so suspicious. 

“Nothing,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head. “I just… don’t know if you really do have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He nods his head in the direction of Jimin before vanishing, called over by Seokjin and Jungkook to complain to him about something, leaving you floundering in the doorway to the counselor’s room. 

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

Because as far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin are finally getting back to where you used to be. As far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin did these same things last year, worked in the greenhouse together, planted flowers together, ate lunch together (okay, maybe you didn’t stand in the pouring rain together), and you are positive Jimin didn’t love you back then. As far as you’re concerned, this isn’t different. This is normal. 

Outside, the rain has stopped, a rainbow hidden behind the trees the only reminder that it was ever there in the first place. 

Despite the fact that you will literally only be performing for a bunch of children, Jimin is insistent on teaching you how to dance. 

At least, that’s it looks like, when he asks you to meet him in the counselor’s room one day half an hour before the mandated practice that Hoseok’s arranged for the whole group of you while the all the campers are off on a nature hike with some of the local rangers from the reserve nearby. You don’t know why this couldn’t wait until during practice, when Hoseok puts on some upbeat dance music and lets everybody do what they want, which usually ends up in someone getting twirled (usually Seokjin), but you don’t really mind. Your other option was to lie around in your cabin waiting for the next social event. 

Jimin’s already inside by the time you arrive, this smooth, soft jazz playing from the little speaker that he brought with him, set up on a table at the front of the room. The furniture hasn’t been moved back to their original spots since the first practice, so anytime Namjoon calls a meeting everyone ends up sitting on the floor like a kindergarten class, but at least it makes dance practice easier. 

Even though he’s not really dancing, his body is still moving, absorbed in the music as it echoes around the room, hips swaying and head bobbing. He loses himself in the melody so easily, letting each and every note pluck along to the strings of his heart, this deep, mellow sound that fills him up like a wine glass, dulcet and sweet. 

“Hey,” you say softly from where you stand, watching him from the doorframe. 

Jimin jumps a little bit at the sound of your voice, almost embarrassed that he hadn’t spotted you sooner. “Hey,” he says in return, coming to a halt. “I didn’t, uh, see you there.”

“That was kind of the point,” you joke, walking into the room and joining him where he stands in the center. “Why did you want me down here?”

“You mean I need a reason to see you now?” Jimin teases in return, a little smirk playing along his lips. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, unimpressed. He gives. “Alright, you got me. I promised you a dance lesson, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t the kind of music that Hoseok puts on, though,” you point out, even as Jimin intertwines his hand in your own and pulls you in close to him, the two of you stepping in time to the beat, not too slow but not too fast, either, this even, steady swing, the sort of thing an old bar would play during the evening rush. Jimin doesn’t pay your comment any attention, instead focusing on his hand on your side, your fingers laced together between your bodies. 

You have, admittedly, never been much of a musical person. You never go out to clubs because sweaty, drunk people just aren’t your style, you don’t ever dance, and you can barely keep a beat when you sing in the shower. Your body has always been stiff as stone despite your (and your friends’) best attempts to achieve otherwise, and as such, you had long resigned yourself to the fact that you do better with your mouth than with your feet. 

But still, Jimin rallies on, because you’re here, goddamnit, and even if you never dance again after this, at least you can say that you have. He moves you around the room in time with the honeyed melody, even daring to pull some advanced tactics like spinning you beneath his touch, hand held above your head as you twirl in place. And you try to let loose, try to lose yourself in the music like he does, but it’s hard when you have always been more of a wordsmith than a dancer.

What’s also not helping is how every bone in your body always seems to freeze up at his touch. 

“Relax, alright?” He says, guiding you across the old wooden floor, boards creaking beneath your feet. “It’s just me.”

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully. 

“I told you that I wasn’t a very good dancer,” you say bashfully, unable to look Jimin in the eye when he is so close, when his body is practically pressed up against yours, when his fingertips leave burn marks where they press against his skin, sparks flying. 

It’s different than when it was raining, because when it was raining, even though you were close, there were other things for Jimin to look at besides you. He gazed up at the sky and thanked it for its tears, gazed around the clearing and surrounded himself in the navy blue haze, closed his eyes and felt the drops on his skin, felt them wash away his nightmares and replace them with dreams. 

It’s different now, because there is nothing impressive about the counselor room. Because the janky old tables and dirty windows aren’t something to be gazed at. Because Jimin’s focus is on you and only you, and it makes you feel like he’s staring right through you, like he’s gawking at your heart where it sits in its cage, trembling beneath his eyes. Jimin makes you want to board yourself up, wall yourself in, and reveal yourself bare all at once, like there is so much that he already knows but so much more that he could, if only things were just a little bit different. 

“You’re doing just fine,” Jimin promises, voice as soft as his steps, padding on the hardwood. You’ve lost track of the number of times you’ve circled the room, Jimin guiding you without reason or rhyme, just rhythm. He makes sure you’re always looking at him, reaches a hand out to tilt your chin back up if you dare glance away, keeping his steely gaze trained on you, determined to have you do the same. “Isn’t this nice?” He murmurs. 

“It is,” you agree. You don’t even have to think about your response, letting the words fall off your tongue, because even if you do feel tense, even if your bones are stiff, there is something about this that sets you at ease. 

And you stay like that, wrapped up in each other, swaying to the beat of this song, a beat that is strikingly similar to the drums of your hearts, and the moment feels as though it’s freezing. Feels as though the rest of the world is fading away, leaving only the two of you and the warm, rich tune that floats through the air, slowing down as time seems to come to a halt. 

“Do you still miss us?” You breathe, and you can see the words as they leave your lips, see them written out in puffs of smoke between you before they fade into nothingness. 

“No,” Jimin responds, equally as speechless. The word disappears quickly in front of you, replaced by his next ones, “because this is what I had been waiting for.”

The words stare down at you angrily, your eyes raking over them, line by line, letter by letter, hoping to imprint them into your skin and your brain and your heart, hoping to keep them locked up besides your love for you to replay, over and over, one of many memories that keep you up at night, that you flicker back to watch like an old film, reminiscing of who you used to be, what you used to do. 

They disappear far too quickly, and suddenly time begins again, and you get dizzy just from how much the rest of the world needs to catch up, whizzing by you in fast forward. Or maybe you’re just dizzy because Jimin has always made you feel this way, always left you gasping for air, weak in the knees, heart pounding. 

God, he makes your heart pound. He makes it drum in your ears like the Nutcracker, like thunder during a summer storm. 

“Don’t you want…” he asks, trailing off, eyes hazy and deep, absolutely unreadable. 

“Want what?” You respond, and you swear you aren’t doing it on purpose but you feel yourself leaning forward, closing the gap between you, inch by inch—

“Want to see me lift Seokjin up in the air?” Jungkook’s voice rings out into the room. “I can, you know, he weighs like two pou—whoa, alright.”

A hoard of people stop behind Jungkook as he stands in the doorway like a floundering fish, blinking at you and Jimin. His arrival does not give you enough time to part without things looking suspicious, without all of the damn counselors already making their assumptions, leaving the two of you separating awkwardly, smiling tensely. 

“What were you guys doing?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence that has blanketed the room. 

“Practicing,” you say quickly, looking as far away from Jimin as possible. Not even you are buying into your excuse. 

“Sure thing,” Taehyung responds, eyebrows raised in understanding, already having formulated his own, likely more realistic answer. 

“Alright,” Hoseok says, appearing from behind the crowd with a clap of his hands. “I guess that means that Y/N and Jimin don’t need to be joining us today, off you guys go.” He gestures for the two of you to leave, but the only exit doubles as the entrance, which means the two of you are left to shuffle past a crowd of counselors, all of whom are staring at you as you pass them by. Jimin doesn’t reach out his hand, and you don’t make any attempts at changing that. 

You nearly suffocate on the way out, overwhelmed by the tension that has filled the atmosphere, leaving everyone helpless to it. 

Jimin goes in one direction and you go in the other, the both of you clearly too stupefied to say anything meaningful to each other, determined to spend the rest of the night apart in an effort to dispel the dozen rumors that you know have already begun to circle the camp. 

On your way back to your cabin, alone and lost in thought, you finish your conversation. 

“Do you want…” Jimin asks, voice trailing off. 

“Yes,” you say. “I want it all. I want you.”

You wonder if Jimin feels the same. 

There is something eerie about the camp late at night, when the only lights that shine are the dim yellow wall sconces outside of the cabin doors, when everyone is sound asleep in their bunks, when there is only the moon and its stars to keep you company, watch over you from their place in the universe. There’s something eerie about the quiet, not because you have a reason to feel unsettled but because you’re so used to camp being this lively, bustling place, filled with things to do and people to see. 

When you see it like this, empty and silent, it almost makes you think you aren’t even in the same place anymore. 

The one and only place that you go when you cannot sleep is the pier, extending out over the lake, the cool, clear lake, looking out into the midnight horizon, a perfect view of the stars and their reflections, cast over the water, twinkling endlessly. You take a seat on the edge, legs dangling over the water, and you stare out into the world, a cool breeze tickling your skin. 

You wonder what it is that’s keeping you awake tonight. What it is that is holding sleep just out of your grasp, your dreams suspended above your head. Camp ends in three days and for once you finally feel satisfied, feel as though you have done what you wanted and accomplished what you had hoped. The last few days of this summer are a far cry from those of last summer, where you were wearing yourself thin thinking about your confession, thinking about what you would say and when you would say it, and what you would do based on the fifteen thousand different things that Jimin could say in response, so hung up on telling him that you barely focused on anything else. 

But this summer, you and Jimin are finally starting to be alright again. And even though you don’t think you will ever move on from loving him, you have moved on from the fact that he will probably never love you back, moved on from your failed confession, and you are learning to be okay with what you have, even if it’s not what you want. 

The truth is that you and Jimin have never felt closer. Driven by your mutual desperation to be friends again, to return to the way that things were when you were together, when you were inseparable, you have been pulled together like moths to each other’s flames, like the thunder and the lightning. You can’t think of anything from this summer that you have wanted more than to be by his side again. But things are different from last summer, different because you and Jimin are not only friends but friends who have had to reckon with love, with its disastrous effects. 

So maybe that’s why you’re awake tonight. Because this summer feels inexplicably stranger than last summer, and you feel like you’re missing something. 

“I thought I’d be the only one still awake.”

You whip your head around at the voice to find Jimin standing at the other end of the pier, ink black hair hanging over his eyes, stars swimming in his irises. You can barely make out his face this late at night, when there is nothing to cast upon him a glow besides the moon and its lonely companions, but you will never mistake his soft, honeyed voice, never mistake the way his eyes sparkle and shine. He is grinning at you, warm and kind, as he slowly makes his way towards you, footsteps tapping along the worn wooden planks, until he sits down next to you, feet hovering above the water. 

“You and me both, I guess,” you feel yourself whisper, not daring to speak a decibel louder. 

“Lots on your mind?” He asks, looking out into the horizon. You sigh, too tired to respond. He understands anyway, just like he always does. “Mine too.”

You let the silence wash over you like a wave that bathes the shoreline, gazing out into a world that carries on no matter the time of day, no matter who watches over it. Like this, you and Jimin don’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Don’t need to force a conversation just for the sake of filling up the quiet night. Like this, your presence is enough, the knowledge that he is here beside you, staring out into the same sky, into the same moon and stars, is all that you need. 

Something has long gone unspoken between the two of you. Something that you can’t quite place. Jimin has had something to say for a long time but he lets his body do the talking, lets you fill in the gaps. But this time, it feels like the more you try to read between the lines the less you understand, and goddamnit you wish that he would just tell you, would just say it so you don’t have to keep wondering and wondering and wondering—

“I never did tell you,” Jimin says, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you what I was thinking, that night.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what night he’s talking about. You stare down at the lake, at the way it seems to move into itself even though there is nothing to disturb it. 

“I guess I was just so shocked that you, you know, liked me like that, that I didn’t really focus on anything else. Didn’t think about why, or how, or when, or what to do. It existed separately from all of that,” he admits, breaths heavy. 

“You didn’t need to focus on that stuff,” you assure him softly. “It was my burden to hold. I was the one who chose to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Does he know? Does he know that you never hated him for not loving you back? That you didn’t expect him to do anything about it? 

“I just felt so bad,” he says, and you hear the way the words prick at his tongue, leave burn marks along his lips. “Because I didn’t know what to do after that. I wanted to love you back so badly but I just couldn’t.”

And even though you already knew this, even though you were already well aware that Jimin has always only seen you as a friend, for some reason hearing him say it aloud still hurts, still pierces your heart, wounds that your love for him alone cannot fix. 

“It’s not your fault,” you promise him, because throughout all of this, no matter what, you have never, ever blamed him for not loving you back. “I didn’t expect anything. At all. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I, though?” Jimin asks, and God, he sounds so helpless, sounds like he’s tried everything under the sun to figure things out and still, nothing has felt right. “We had always been so close. I wondered why I couldn’t fall in love with you and the things that we did together when you could. I thought that I was doing something wrong. You deserved someone who would love you back, and I so desperately wanted to be that person.”

“You owed me nothing,” you declare. “You still don’t owe me a damn thing. All I wanted was for you to know.” And look where that got you.

“Knowing didn’t feel like enough,” Jimin divulges. “I wanted to do more for you than just acknowledge it. I replayed that night in my head, over and over, wondering what more I could have said to you.” He sighs, deep and slow and filled with weight, filled with a year’s worth of thoughts he never told anyone else. “You told me you loved me and it was all I could think about. Then and now.”

“You still think about it?” You wonder aloud, sad because Jimin doesn’t deserve to have this weight on his conscience when you are the one at fault, and hopeful because maybe, just maybe, your confession meant just as much to him as it did to you. 

“I can’t stop,” he confesses. And then he turns to you, turns to you in the glow of the moon, his eyes drowning in starlight, and he says, “Every time I look at you I think about how you love me.”

You don’t know what to say. You are too absorbed in the swirling sea of his irises, letting the warmth wash over you in waves, filling you up before emptying out again, shocks of cold before the heat races through you. Jimin is right there, right here, and he is gazing at you and you wonder. 

You wonder, what if. 

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

“Even when I was away from you I thought about it,” he chuckles to himself, amused at his own obsession. “I thought about you, that night, at the campfire. You were wearing this neon pink camp t-shirt and your marshmallow looked like coal and you had this warm orange glow on you, and I swear to God, that image is imprinted in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

You didn’t know that. 

“When I went on dates, I saw you instead. I would be sitting in a booth with some girl and she would be trying to talk to me about the menu and all I would see is you.” Jimin exhales, filling the pauses that he leaves between his sentences, eyes raking you up and down as if he’s trying to commit this scene to memory, as if this night on the pier is something worth remembering. “They knew, too. All of them told me that I should get over my ex before going on a brand new date.” 

Get over you? What about you was there to get over? Your love has always been one-sided. You have never known a world where it hasn’t.

“And I wouldn’t even try to explain to them that I didn’t have an ex to get over, and that you were the one who confessed to me, and that I didn’t love you like that,” he forces another laugh, like he doesn’t even believe the words he’s saying himself. “Then this summer rolled around, and I saw you arrive and I just can’t tell you in words how happy I was to see you. How looking at you just lifted my spirits.”

“I hardly recognized you at first,” you admit shyly. 

“I dyed my hair,” Jimin reminds you. That’s right. He had brown hair last summer. “And I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to without bringing up all the shit that happened last year, and things were awkward between us, and I guess…” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “I guess I just really, really wanted us to get back to the way things were, but I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t know what had changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you say, even though everything did. But loving Jimin has always been a constant in your life, a truth, and this summer was no different. “I wanted to go back to being friends with you, too.”

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

This time, you are the one who turns to look at him. What could he possibly mean by that? 

(Can it be?)

“At first, that’s all I wanted,” Jimin begins. “I wanted us to go back to being friends, I wanted us to eat lunch together and have it not be weird, I wanted us to spend time in the greenhouse and the arts and crafts room together, I wanted us to hang around the rest of the counselors without them noticing how different we were. But then I noticed that the hydrangea was wilting no matter what the fuck I did to keep it alive, and I realized that wanting our friendship back wasn’t enough for me anymore.”

You are frozen in place. You are locked into his gaze, body turning to stone, unable to even utter a single word. To breathe a single breath. And you look into his eyes, Jimin’s beautiful, ocean eyes, Jimin’s sparkling, ink eyes, and you pray. 

“And then Hobi partnered us up for the stupid camp counselor performance, and we got caught in the rain, and then we danced in the counselor meeting room and I just—” His chest heaves, words flounder. As if he has so much to say, as if the words are practically spilling off of his tongue, and yet they are still not enough. He closes his eyes. Pauses. Catches his breath. And then he asks, “If I asked you if you still loved me, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“If I asked you if you wanted me to love you back, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper again. 

Jimin blinks.

“If I asked you if you wanted me to kiss you, would you say yes?”

You barely get out the first letter before Jimin is pulling you into him and pressing his fiery lips upon yours. His hand cradles your cheek, the other one splayed out on the wooden pier to keep his balance, dragging you into a messy, desperate kiss, one that sends sparks ricocheting throughout your body, turning your blood into liquid flames, that fills you up from the inside out. The feeling of his lips pressed upon yours makes your heart shake so wildly in its cage that it frees itself, growing a thousand times wider. The rose inside of you vanishes, finds itself replaced by a blooming, bright blue hydrangea, one that settles deeply within your soul. 

Your legs dangle off the pier as your arms wrap around Jimin’s body, curling around his torso in a futile effort to bring him closer than he already is, to feel the warmth of him press against you, sending jolts down your spine, into your bones. You feel yourself getting dizzy just at the feeling alone, kiss drunk, the rest of the world spinning like a goddamn teacup ride, but you cling onto him and you know that he will always be there to catch you if you fall. You know that he will always be there to steady you when you feel the world slipping out from beneath your feet. 

You have him, you have him, you have him. You have him, and he is right here, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon, and you love him like the waves love the shore.

When you part, you almost lose your balance and fall right off the damn pier. Jimin reaches out to grab you just in time, saving you from a watery grave (or just major embarrassment), and the two of you laugh, letting your voices fill the moonlit air, heads light, bodies blissed out. 

“Honestly, I was a little nervous you were going to say no,” he admits with a laugh. 

“Impossible,” you chide. “You know I’ve always loved you.”

No matter what, that will never change. 

“And now,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one gentle and plush, “you know that I will always love you, too.”

It doesn’t feel like something long overdue. It doesn’t feel like something that you have been waiting and waiting and waiting for, something you have expected from the moment you told him. 

No. This feels like something new. 

This feels like your heart is in bloom. 

The end-of-camp show, no matter how much time and effort Namjoon puts into making it go smoothly, is a train wreck. But it is a train wreck in that wonderful way, in that way where you would be suspicious if things actually went according to plan, in that way where chaos and disarray reign supreme. Quite frankly, when it comes to the end-of-camp show, you never expect anything less. 

The truth is that the majority of the end-of-camp show performances are just for the counselor’s entertainment, an afternoon of fun to wrap up the end of camp, topped off by a fun meal (usually pizza) and a night around a bonfire, letting the heat warm your bodies from the inside out. Unless Jungkook and Taehyung pull some extremely ridiculous prank, the last official day of camp is usually everyone’s favorite, filled with snacks and music and laughter.

The performances by the campers go about as well as any performance by a bunch of elementary schoolers can go—that is to say, the kids remember the first five seconds of the choreography before they devolve into pandemonium, dancing as many weird, trendy dances as they can, and some you don’t even think have been invented yet. Nonetheless, Hoseok is proud, and beams at all of the campers as they scurry away from the center of the gymnasium once their dance is done, grabbing little snacks on the tables by the windows before settling in to watch the next stage. Hoseok does a good job of keeping the music current and upbeat so that nobody falls asleep, and gives the campers enough creative liberty so that it doesn’t feel too practiced. 

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say. 

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

After the dances, Seokjin and his hoard of campers with guitars the size of an overgrown ukelele make their way to center stage, and you and the other counselors bet on what stupid song he’s taught them all. He starts it off with everyone’s favorite and the most timeless of all tunes—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—before the musical highlight. 

(“It’s gonna be Fireflies,” Taehyung insists, so confident in his choice that he even wagers two of the homemade Rice Krispie Treats that Yoongi got all of the campers to make for today’s celebration. 

“It’s been too long since he rickrolled us,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing suspiciously to Seokjin at the front of the room. “I’m just waiting for it.”

“Wonderwall, obviously,” Hoseok contributes, even though Seokjin got all of the campers from last year to play that. 

You and Jimin are both almost positive Seokjin has chosen to perform Let it Go, a song that will never truly escape you, but you keep your comments to yourselves. 

“I’m thinking Photograph,” Namjoon comments mindlessly, late to the conversation.

“The Nickelback song?” Yoongi says with a scoff. “Dude, we’re the only ones old enough to even know that song. No no, I think it’ll be Despacito.”

“If I have to hear Despacito one more time, I’m going to jump out of the f—” Taehyung stumbles on the syllable as Namjoon turns to glare at him, making Taehyung sputter for a replacement. “F… -reaking window. Watch me.”)

In the end, none of you guess correctly, because Seokjin has chosen to teach all of the campers how to play Country Road, Take Me Home, and honestly, none of you can even be mad about it because by the thirty second mark, you’re all singing along. There’s just something about that song that forces you to belt out the lyrics, something magical and irresistible. 

Afterwards, it is finally time for the counselor’s performance, which, if the camper’s excited screams are anything to go by, is apparently the peak of the afternoon. Hoseok puts on the same upbeat dance music and all of you go to town, following his choreography without any hitches before jumping into the solo section. Namjoon and Yoongi both attempt a trendy Internet dance and fail miserably, Taehyung and Hazel do a little tango that involves no accidents, and then it’s you and Jimin’s turn. 

The music isn’t really appropriate for the slow dance that Jimin taught you in the counselor meeting room, but he makes it work and you follow along, tracing his footsteps and laughing at the prickly sensation his hand on your waist sends shooting through you. You really have always been ticklish there. Hoseok only gives everyone thirty seconds before they’re booted off to the sideline, but thirty seconds is just enough time for Jimin to spin you once before pulling you into a kiss in front of dozens of campers and all of the counselors, whose hollers and hoots fill the gymnasium, bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into your ears, when they watch you. It has your cheeks heating up something fierce, all embarrassed by Jimin’s big reveal, but the great big smile on his face makes it all worth it. He looks so happy to be here with you. He looks so goddamn happy to have you. 

It makes you feel like you can do anything. 

Ultimately, Jungkook and Seokjin get the greatest applause, because Jungkook lifts Seokjin into the air figure-skating style before Seokjin comes crashing down on him, and they land in a puddle on the gymnasium floor to the screams of all of the campers and counselors, who have never seen anything quite as artistically dramatic in their lives. 

Afterwards, you and Jimin retire to the snack tables alongside the rest of the counselors as the campers are free to roam the building, check out the art on display and eat as many ants on a log and homemade Rice Krispie Treats as they can get their grubby hands on. 

“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, raising his dixie cup filled with lemonade. “It worked out after all.”

“I’m proud of you,” Yoongi murmurs to you, a soft smile gracing his features. 

“Love always prevails,” Jungkook declares, sighing happily, always a hopeless romantic at heart. You sure hope that one day, Jungkook will fall in love with someone who loves him back unconditionally, because he deserves it. 

“Which one of you confessed first?” Seokjin says, Taehyung nodding furiously behind you. You see that the bet is still on. 

“Me,” you say. 

“Me,” Jimin says. 

You both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, clearly on separate wavelengths. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Alright… which one of you said ‘I love you’ first?”

“That would be me,” you admit sheepishly, having a year’s headstart on Jimin when it comes to love confession. 

“I fucking knew it,” Seokjin says, palm out. Taehyung begrudgingly smacks five dollars into Seokjin’s hand, muttering to himself about how he was convinced that Jimin would tell you first. It makes you wonder, just a little bit, how long Jimin had known.

You open your mouth to defend yourself and your weak, weak heart, when you feel a tap on your side. Behind you is the same girl from the day that you were making cards to send back home to people you love, the one who absolutely grilled you about your feelings for Jimin. 

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily. 

“So did you send it to him?” She questions. 

“Send what?”

“Your card. Did you send it to Mr. Jimin?” She elaborates, eyes wide in curiosity. You make a mental note to remind her to never stop being inquisitive. It will take her far. 

“No, I didn’t,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head. You look back at Jimin, where he’s laughing with Seokjin and Taehyung about their stupid bet on you, and you grin. He is so beautiful. It’s still hard to believe he’s yours. “Jimin doesn’t need a card to know that I love him.”

Not when he’s right here, and not when you know he loves you back. 

The counselor campfire is held on the day very last night that you spend together, after all of the campers have left the mountain, returning home, and you finally have the place to yourselves. Namjoon and Yoongi light it because everyone else has been banned from doing so after the Great Flame Incident two years ago, and then you all sit on the logs around the fire pit, reminiscing of the summer gone by, musing aloud about what the future holds. 

You and Jimin snuggle up together, and this night faintly reminds you of the one from last year in the way that Jimin still glows, warm and yellow, in the light of the fire, in the way he seems to make perfect s’mores no matter what, in the way that he laughs at everything that you say. But even with all of the similarities, nothing, literally nothing, could top how you feel right now, dancing on cloud nine with Jimin by your side. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d have him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your confession would amount to anything more.

“You’re burning your marshmallow again,” Taehyung points out crudely, the side of your marshmallow already turning an ashy coal color. 

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, yanking it away from the fire as you blow on it. 

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?” Jimin teases. He plucks his off of his stick, perfectly toasted, and holds it out for you. “Here, have mine.” You open wide and he pops it onto your tongue, the crisp, sweet flavor melting in your mouth as all of the other counselors groan, clearly wishing that they were somewhere other than here. Jimin’s fingers reach up to your chin, tilting your face towards him, before a thumb comes out to wipe away at the smudge on the side of your lip, a sticky white crumb that he pops into his mouth, earning another round of whines.

“Gross,” Seokjin says, nose scrunched up. “Just because you guys are in love now doesn’t mean you have to keep showing us. We get it.”

“Oh, just leave them alone,” Yoongi chides. “They’ve been pining after each other for so long, let them have this.”

“Thanks,” you murmur to Yoongi. You have a lot to thank him for. He has always been on your side, even when you weren’t. 

“Anytime,” he promises. 

“If they’re gonna be like this next year, then I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Taehyung admits with a fond sigh, because no matter how much he pretends to be annoyed, you know that he’s happy for you. 

Namjoon sucks in a breath. “Uh, yeah, about next year…” he says, wringing his hands together. “I’m not going to be coming back.” You fall into silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the wildlife in the woods. “I have another internship at a firm, and then I’m going to be going into the job market, so I don’t, uh, I don’t really see myself coming back here.”

“Me too,” Yoongi chirps up, earning a surprised look from everyone else. “I’ve just been given an offer to produce music for this small record company, but they’re located across the country, so I’ll be moving soon. I guess—well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you all.”

“Congrats,” you tell him, sad to hear he won’t be back but thrilled to know he’ll be doing something he truly loves instead. “Seriously, Yoongi. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, man, that’s sick,” Jungkook pipes up. “When you’ve won your Grammy you have to remember to mention us.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, small and quiet, but even in this orange light you can see the way his cheeks are turning cherry red, relishing in the praise. “I’ll miss you all,” he says. 

And slowly, one by one, you all begin to admit that even though you love it here, being a camp counselor had always been temporary, and it just wouldn’t be the same without everyone else here with you too. You and Jimin will be graduating this coming school year. So will Taehyung. Seokjin has a Master’s degree in acting that he wants to pursue. Even Jungkook, who is younger than all of you besides Hazel, has said that he plans to travel with his college lacrosse team next summer. 

“Damn,” Taehyung says when everyone is finished, as you all begin to count how many of you there will be left for next summer. “Who’s gonna do Namjoon’s job?”

“I already asked,” Namjoon says with a proud grin, “and Hazel said she is happy to take on the responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Seokjin shouts, giving Hazel a massive hug, nearly crushing her in two. “Hell yeah, Haze! You are going to be kick ass at that. I’m proud of you!”

The rest of the counselors soon follow suit, congratulating Hazel and cheering for her future. It almost makes you want to come back, but you know that Hazel will be fine without you. As long as she still has her secret stash. 

“Nice work, Haze,” you tell her, earning a shy smile from her in response. “You’ve always been a leader.”

“I’m just nervous I won’t be as good as Namjoon,” she admits timidly, clearly a little overwhelmed at such an enthusiastic response. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Namjoon assures her. “I know you’ll be fine. Plus, you won’t have all of these losers to worry about, so your workload will be much lighter.”

“Hey!” Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all shout at once. 

“Don’t get me started on the two of you,” Namjoon chides, eyes narrowed. “You’ve caused me more stress than my senior thesis.”

“Out of love,” Seokjin swears, Jungkook and Taehyung nodding enthusiastically next to him. Namjoon rolls his eyes, even though you know that he secretly loves the extra work that they give him. It keeps him young, in that old-timey kind of way. 

“Then I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Hazel asks, standing up and holding out a finished s’more, already taking on her newly-bestowed head counselor duties. “I suppose I’ll do the honors. Congrats to Y/N and Jimin for finally figuring their relationship out, congrats to Yoongi for getting into that record company, congrats to Namjoon for getting his internship, and congrats to everyone else for doing what they love, and for not letting their dreams be dreams. This summer feels sort of like the end of an era, in a way, don’t you think? I mean, lots of us are moving on to bigger and better things, celebrating the past and aspiring to become people that we hope will be admired in the future. And I guess that I just want you all to know that no matter who you become, no matter what you do, I’ll always be someone who admires you.”

If you were a little drunk or just a little more sentimental, Hazel’s words would almost bring tears to your eyes, but instead you just join everyone in cheers, standing up and clinking your s’mores together.

And in a way, it really does feel like the end of an era. No more summers on the mountain, no more late-night camp pranks, no more hydrangeas in the greenhouse. You’re moving on, not only from this part of your life but from your almost-fruitless quest for love, from the place that led you to fall so deeply for Jimin, the place that has housed every memory you have ever saved of him. You’re moving on to a world where Jimin is with you every step of the way, where you know that he will always be there for you, where you no longer have to fight yourself to keep from loving him, where you have to do everything you can to preserve an already-fragile friendship. 

No. Now, you can take your first step forward with Jimin by your side. 

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts. 

“Cheers,” Jimin says to you, pulling you in for a quick little kiss, and no matter how hot the campfire burns Jimin’s lips upon yours will always be what warms you from within. “Cheers to us.”

You grin against his lips, pressing back because you can never get enough, and you murmur, “Cheers to us.”

“Hey! Jungkook!” Seokjin shouts right as Jungkook hops into his car. “When we text you in the group chat you better fucking respond!”

“I will, I will!” Jungkook screams back, voice so loud you can hear it despite the fact that all of his windows are rolled up. 

“No, he won’t,” Yoongi deadpans as he passes you by, duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. “You know he won’t.”

“He never does,” you agree. Getting a text from him is almost as impossible as winning the lottery. “I’ll call you, alright? I know you don’t really like texting, either.”

“Talking is just easier,” he says with a nod. “I’m looking forward to it. Call me whenever you need me.”

“I will,” you promise, watching as Yoongi bids you one final goodbye before heading to his own ride. He plops his bags into the trunk of Namjoon’s car before getting into the passenger seat. Namjoon pushes his head out of the window to wave, smiling wildly at you as he starts the car. You grin, waving back, and watch him, Yoongi, and Jungkook, disappear down the mountain. 

“You’re next, right?” 

You whip around to find Jimin standing behind you, a frisbee in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He won’t be leaving for another couple of hours, when Taehyung’s finally ready to go. They live close to each other so they figured they’d save money by splitting an Uber, which will be waiting for them at the bottom of the mountain.

“Yeah, gotta get back before college starts,” you say, dropping your bags at your feet. “But we’ll see each other before then, right?”

Jimin and you attend universities on opposite sides of the country. Loving each other is the easy part. Staying in love is what will challenge you. 

“Of course,” he promises. “I’ll visit whenever I can. And I’ll come see you on all my breaks during the semester, too. You and Jungkook.”

“Good, you better,” you say, and you pull him in for a bruising hug because you know that this will be the last time for a while. Not a long while, but a while, and even if you have committed every slope of his figure, every inch of his face to memory, you still have to remember how warm he is when you hold him, how soft his lips are when they touch yours. Those things… those are new. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he assures you. “But I’ll miss you too.”

Several feet away, Hoseok honks the horn of your car to let you know that you’re all ready to go.

“I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?” You promise, pulling him in for another hug, one last time, feeling this strange desperation rush through you, like you won’t see him for weeks and this is all you’ll have left. “Isn’t it weird? You’re right here and I miss you already.”

“We’ll see each other again before you know it,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, quick kiss. No matter how many times he does it still sends sparks shooting through your veins, but you suppose that that’s just another thing you’ll have to remember. When you part, he notices your worry, eyes softening at the sight. “Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “I love you.”

You crack a smile. “I love you, too.” 

It’s not a goodbye. 

It’s an until I see you again.

You grab your duffel bags and hike them over your shoulder, footsteps heavy and weighted as you slowly make your way towards your car. Every four steps or so, you turn back just to make sure that Jimin’s still there, and sure enough, he’s watching you, this lopsided, love-drunk smile lacing his features. 

You place your bags in the backseat of your car before heading to the driver’s side, hand on the handle as you look up one final time. 

There Jimin stands in the middle of the clearing, the warm afternoon sun bathing him in a halo. There he stands, beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and in love. And you are so in love. You wave. He waves back.

And you know that you two will be alright. 

You jump into your car and tug the door shut behind you, keys in the ignition, engine revving, and you sigh, content and feeling confident in life. You peer into the rearview mirror to see Taehyung running up to Jimin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and waving goodbye to you. You lift your hand up in response, watch as they bid you farewell as you creep towards the slope down the mountain. 

As you drive down the mountain, you take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh summer air, and you smile. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[chiwhorei]

pollock

paring: art major!k. tsukishima x fem!reader

genre: a dash of angst, hurt/comfort, smut, 18+ minors dni

wordcount: 3.2k

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, spitting, dacryphilia, praise, daddy kink, breeding kink, impregnating kink, soft and kinda hard dom!tsukki, sub!reader

a/n: ahhhhh!! this is my first longer fic to come out in a while and i am ~so~ excited to share this with everyone. i have been keening over the idea of art!major tsukki and i hope you all like him as much as i do! this is piece is brought to you by the hqhq monthly server collab, so please go check out everyone’s amazing writing, the masterlist can be found here!

hymn: validation by herrick & hooley, cherry hill by russ

“Your work is always technically very well executed, Tsukishima-san.” The round, bald-headed man shuffles through the photos on his desk, pieces of Tsukishima Kei’s senior project that he’s tried to fit together before his final exhibit only four months away.

“But,” the dreaded word has Tsukki restraining himself from a long eye roll, “It seems like you’re stuck. You still need one more piece for the show. What inspires you?”

You hear a resounding slam of the front door swinging open and meeting the frame again, followed by a shuffle of feet towards where you’re standing in the kitchen of your shared apartment. Tsukki’s mouth is set in a flat line, expression softening only slightly when he sees you leaning against the counter. You greet him with a warm, but cautious smile. It had been a horribly long day, grating on every thread of patience Tsukishima has. The bubbling of anxiety and frustration mixing into a sour look on his handsome face. You hate seeing your boyfriend so defeatus, much preferring the sardonic, confident air he usually holds. Both of your final years of college have been exceptionally taxing, Tsukki’s final art project being the most stressing of all. It seems like as days propel forward, closer to his due date, the less assured he is of his talents, his passions. It’s heartbreaking to see someone so brilliant struggle through a million half fleshed-out ideas and crumbled up leaves of paper.

You pull one of his hands to you, examining the stains of paint and ink across his long digits and kissing each finger softly. You wish you could get inside that big head of his and help in some way.

“Did you have a hard day at the studio, Kei?” You wrap your arms around his neck and search his eyes. He’s not always the best at talking to you, especially when he’s upset, so you don’t expect him to give you an answer. Instead, you rub his shoulders, trying to coax the tension out. He sighs deeply at the contact, hands moving to rest at the plush of your hips and gripping tightly when you work at a particularly sore spot.

“You’re too good to me, princess. Thank you” He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, and you nuzzle into him. You don’t have the answers to his current road block, you don’t pretend to. But maybe, you think, you can offer him a more carnal outlet.

“Of course, Daddy.” The name hangs in the air for a moment, any response hitching in his throat. The title is familiar after years of being together, always being both comforting and electrifying. Since the title slipped out years ago for the first time, your boyfriend feels his cool demeanor snapping like a glow stick, leaving hot lust in its wake upon it rolling past your lips.

He pulls you closed to him by your ass, inhaling sharply at the contact on his jeans. All you have on is one of Tsukki’s loose, paint stained sweaters and a thin pair of cotton panties. You brush one of your bare thighs against his crotch, and he feels the stresses of his day falling out of frame. Your body is always a buoy to pull him back from the drowning of self doubt. A perfect slice of heaven he became addicted to from the moment he spotted you across the dusty stacks.

“What inspires you?”

The question rings in his head again, but with a new perspective. Tsukki hears pieces clicking together with your lustrous body pressed against him.

“Babygirl, I think I have an idea. But I’m going to need your help.” His hands move to cup your cheeks, scanning over your features and finding a devious glint behind your soft, e/c eyes. Tsukki trails a thumb over your bottom lip lightly, admiring how you lean into the contact. Always so eager to please him, your temperament goes straight to his cock every time.

“Anything for you, daddy.” You press your forehead against his, waiting patiently for his next move. There’s astounding beauty in the glossy, temperate look in your eyes that he wants to, has to, to freeze in time.

“I have a few things to set up. Come to the office when I call you,” Tsukki pushes a stray hair from your face with a fond smile before walking away, he stops for a moment to look at you over his shoulder, “Naked.”

Your mind races as to what exactly he wants to do with you tonight as you busy yourself with peeling off your clothing. There is very little that you and your boyfriend haven’t tried at least once, but the tone in his voice has left you reeling at the possibilities.

Your eyes catch your reflection in the hallway mirror, naked body completely exposed to your own scrutinizing stare. Had it been the stress causing the image in front of you to be so unsavory? Every plane of skin promoting a different insecurity. A blasted thing a hallway mirror becomes when you’ve never truly loved what stares back. You fuss with your hair in a feeble attempt to make yourself more presentable. The question of how Tsukishima sees you always rattling around in the back of your head, especially standing completely naked and waiting in your own insecurities.

“Princess, come here.” You are pulled from your deprecating thoughts at the sound of Tsukki’s warm voice. You walk into his office, and notice he’s changed into just a pair of grey joggers. The sight of the low hanging garment making you salivate so much you almost miss your surroundings. He’s struck some kind of inspiration, you can see it in his eyes as he adjusts his easel and props up a large, blank canvas. You fiddle with your fingers as he looks up at you.

“Jackson Pollock.” You meet your boyfriend’s eyes, confused by his seemingly random statement as he parses out different colored paints into small bowls. Red, blue, green, yellow. “He poured paint on a flat surface so that he could view every angle color could create, every curve.” Tsukki muses, dipping two fingers into the bright yellow hue sitting next to him, bringing them towards his face with contemplation. “But I think this sweet little body of yours will prove a much better canvas.”

His eyes provide no sign of bluffing, but you stare back at him dumbly. Sure, he’s used you as a muse before. Studying your hands or the way your hair falls in the sketches you see hanging up by his desk behind you. You love when he wants to use your body for inspiration, but is he really going to cover you in paint?

“We both know you don’t mind getting a little messy,” He trails his wet pointer finger across your collarbone, following a line towards your chin. He tilts your head up to meet his eyes, “Open your mouth.”

Your bottom lip parts from the top, eyes following the line of spit that drops from his mouth to your tongue with a resounding put.

You swallow thickly, the feeling of his control already bending your will to meet him at every pass.

“I want you to look nice and fucked out for me, baby. I want to show my stuffy professors where my inspiration comes from. I’m going to capture how sweet and submissive my little princess is and then everyone will get to see what I get to enjoy every night.” His unmarred hand moves towards your already disastrously wet pussy. You’re drooling at even the most slight contact, bucking into his hand in a plea for more. His words, complimentative but unmistakingly domineering, have your head becoming fuzzy.

“Daddy, please. Please touch me.” Your whines are music to his ears.

“Oh princess, I plan on it. But I need you to be good for me. You don’t want to mess up all my hard work do you?” His voice is steady, authoritative but still soft around the edges in a way that makes you feel gooey.

Tsukki leads you to the stool sitting in the middle of the room, and you perch on it with his hands keeping you steady. You are his muse and medium, his subject and his canvas to use in any way desired.

Smudges of color brandish every inch of your skin, each stroke is a reminder of where your lovers hands have been. Blue and pink splatter against your stomach, a vibrant red outline on each curve of your breast and purple fingerprints against your pert nipples. Your legs wear a trail of hand prints towards your glistening cunt, wanton cunt. Each marring of paint sits beside paths of hot, opened mouth kisses.

All that is keeping you balanced on the squeaky wooden stool is Tsukishima’s strong arms holding you captive in place. Your legs had been thrown over his shoulders after painting across your upper thighs in a sea of greys and greens. As soon as Tsukki’s eyes met with your bare cunt, his mouth was quick to follow.

He’s a mess of paint now too, muscular chest and arms covered in pigment and face covered in you. He’s always insatiable, drinking you in like it’s the only source of sustenance left in the world. He knows how to work you, how to propel you towards orgasm in a way no one else has ever been able to do. Worshiping your body with langued strokes of his tongue. You let out a pitchy moan in response to his mouth, pushing you towards an end you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I bet you want to cum don’t you, baby? I can feel it. Such an eager little thing.” Tsukishima ghosts his lips across your hot cunt, blowing at your clit to make you yelp. You’re so close, too close. Dangling above bliss but not tipping over, knowing you need permission. You’ve been so good for him, he has to give you your release.

“Please, daddy. Please let me cum.” Tears wet your cheeks as you beg, holding onto Tsukki’s blond locks like an anchor. All you need is his approval, but instead of persimmon you are met with a bawdy laugh.

You really should have known he wasn’t going to let you go that easy.

Tsukki stands up, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. You’re wrecked in every way. Hair loose and disheveled, body dipped in a thin layer of sweat and thick splotches of paint. The look on your face is equal parts pathetic and fervent.

“I need you to sit pretty for daddy, I want to capture how desperately beautiful you look right now.” His words make you preen, but it’s a compliment and a warning at the same time. He wants to capture the look of sweet pain of denied orgasm to display at an art exhibit of both peers and his seniors. Sadistic in Tsukishima’s own unique way.

You should have known better, Tsukki’s patience has always been astounding. You know all he wants to do is bury himself in you, but he wants even more to make you suffer under his stare. There’s plenty of times he unleashes his frustration out on you physically, ripening your ass cheeks in bright red handprints and ensuring you can’t walk in the morning. But it’s these moments that can be even harsher, when he regards you with steely eyes and a aloof threat, that make your nerves catch fire more than a spanking ever could.

He sits down to start sketching on the large canvas in front of him, pinning you to your position with a practiced glare and playing on your desire to please him.

You sit as still as you can, listening to the scratch of pencil on vinyl in an attempt to keep calm. Your cunt is still twitching, puffy and slick propped uncomfortably atop the wooden stool. Tsukki hums along to the rhythmic music coming from his phone speaker, a playlist you know to be the one that helps him concentrate on his work. His brow furrows in concentration, pushing his glasses back in place as he stares at you again. His eyes are calculating and coldly observant, but his mouth quirks up in a surprising smile.

“My perfect baby. So stunning in every way.” His thoughts start tumbling out without his usual sarcastic filter.

“I have never wanted something more in my life than you. All of you, all the time.” A genuine regard for you in the lilt of his voice clamps down on your chest. He’s called you pretty, told you he loved you a million times before, but there’s a calm resonance in his words as his hands move across the white caves in front of him that catches in your throat. With the pressure of graduation looming over the two of you these past few months, romantics have been pushed to the side to make room for laser focus on finishing your degrees.

Your eyes well at his confessional, struck by the vulnerability so unfamiliar to him. You missed this side of your boyfriend, unlocking it incrementally through the years and finding it virtually non-existent recently. He sees your shoulders trembling slightly and tears his eyes up to your form.

“I told you to stay still.” His voice comes out harsh, but melts away when he sees fat tears rolling down your puffy cheeks.

“Y/n, are you okay? Did I upset you?” He moves to console you, the action causing another round of sobs, your body on edge in every way after both the teasing and his impromptu affirmation. Your response surprises yourself just as much as Tsukki, not realising how starved of his affection you had become.

“I’m sorry daddy, I-I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just- do you mean all that?” You lower your head in embarrassment, and Tsukishima’s heart breaks at the realization. Had he unintentionally disregarded you? Had he been ignoring you?

“Fuck baby, of course I mean it. I’m so sorry I made you doubt that.” He pulls you up into his strong hold, he lets you cry into his shoulder until your wracking sobs simmer to sniffles. He holds you tightly in an attempt at atonement. He has to do something to show you how he feels now that he knows his words have failed him. His actions have to speak in his place.

Tsukishima pulls you away slightly to meet his gaze before colliding his lips against yours. He traces his tongue in sonnets across your mouth, tasting the lingering essence of your arousal and the salt of your tears. He writes prose in the breathy gasps as you part for air, chests heaving. He has to show you what his words won’t always allow him to.

It’s bodies tangled together, covered in the colors of a man trying his best to show you how much he loves you. You had fallen to the floor at the behest of passion, Tsukki’s body covering yours, lips kissing any extension of your skin, uncaring of the paint covering both of your writhing frames.

You paw at his sweatpants as if they are the most offensive thing you’ve ever scene, Tsukki’s cock springs out to slap against the hard muscle of his abdomen. You don’t waste any time lining him up to your dripping folds, you’ve waited long enough. Hips crashing together like a fever dream, you’re wrapped in each other as if there’s nothing else in this world outside of a set of paints and four walls of a dimly lit apartment. The sun could be hurling towards the sidewalk just outside and Tsukishima, usually observant to a fault, would have no idea. All he knows is your body beneath him, clawing desperately at his back with every deep thrust, and the love poem he has written on your body. Reds across your breasts and brandishing your thighs. Greens and yellows across your neck, up your arms. Messy, sticky, covering the thin sheet Tsukki laid out to spare the hardwood.

Your panting, crying out for your daddy and consumed in the salty taste of love and lust crashing together like waves. His cock is heavy inside you, filling you up so completely. Tsukki rowes on, not daring to stop now, not with the resounding drumming of two hearts beat so perfectly together and the feeling of your clenching, velveteen walls hugging him like he’s coming home.

“I am so desperately in love with you. I want you like this, with me, forever.” He’s delirious, drunk on your body. Primal, as he stares down at you, colorful and completely conquered. He sees everything in your eyes, every baser desire, every hope for the future.

“I want to fill you up with my cum, princess. You are mine in every way. God, I want to see you swollen with my baby. Right here.” He presses against your belly, feeling his cock moving inside you from the splotches of pick and blue.

His confessional spurs you on, the emotions overwhelming. Feeling so loved, so needy, wanting everything the blonde above you is willing to give.

“Ah, Daddy! Please, please fill me up. I wa-want you to put a baby in me, I need it.” Your clenching tightly, each pump of Tsukishima’s cock better than the last.

“You are such a good girl baby, always saying exactly what I need to hear. Cum for me, princess, let me see how good I make you feel.”

His warrant is all you’ve needed this whole time, snapping to hours of tension with a sharp cry. You’re thrown into the pooling, honey-sweet feeling of release. Sinking every inch of your aching body into a blissed haze. Your walls spasm violently, tightening around him like a vice. He meets your hips with his own, knocking hip bones together like pool balls and holding himself in your heat as you milk his throbbing cock, stealing every drop of hot, while cum he has to offer.

He crumbles to the floor beside you, pulling you to his chest. Lying in a mess of paint and sweat and staggered breathing. Through the fog still resounding in your head, you hear Tsukki laughing lightly, “How’s that for inspiration?”

-Four Months Later-

You shift on your toes in anticipation, waiting for Tsukishima to release the hold he has around your eyes. You hear the bustle of people around you, the laughter and tinkling of glasses clinking together filling your ears. He kisses your temple before letting go, and you are met with a new reflection of yourself hung proudly on display. All of the places you see blemishes are drawn with vibrant purposeful color. Every curve of your form mapped out with the care only a lover could administer. Your naked form exhibited for hundreds of critiquing eyes, but there’s not a bone in your body that could feel embarrassed in this moment. As reflection so beautiful it’s unbelievable is staring back at you.

“Is this really how you see me, Kei?” You turn around to meet his eyes, his stare holds the love of epics. He would write you novels if he could, but this picture is worth a thousand words.

“Of course it is, baby,” He brings a hand to thumb at your slightly swelling belly.

“Of course it is.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[mamichigo]

kaebedo // seaside

*

"You seem upset," Albedo commented absentmindedly, fingers never pausing on the strokes of his drawing.

Kaeya crouched to pick another shell, partially hidden by the sand. He held it to the water and let the tide wash it. He threw a smile over his shoulder.

"Do I?"

The seashell was all white and not at all special, but Kaeya still put it inside his pocket. He clapped the sand from his fingers and brushed a hand through his ponytail.

Albedo looked up at him as he approached, which was already rare enough when the alchemist was absorbed in his art, but there was also a small smile playing on his lips.

"A little," Albedo belatedly replied. He watched Kaeya for a moment. "You smell like seawater."

"That's to be expected."

Kaeya sat beside Albedo on the rock—it wasn't the most comfortable seat, but it was, at the very least, dry.

While Albedo added a line to his sketch of the seaside view, Kaeya started emptying his pockets. He arranged the seashells in a line and hummed as he appraised his collection.

"Would you like me to ask what's wrong?"

Kaeya turned to Albedo, and found him already watching him. Although there was nothing different in his expression, somehow, he seemed more relaxed here. It was a good look on him.

"I wouldn't trouble you with such a task," Kaeya chuckled. "Besides, I can't look that bad."

"I suppose not."

Albedo stopped to inspect the seashells Kaeya had been appraising, poking at one with the tip of the charcoal he used for drawing. He seemed particularly captivated by the ones that shone under the sunlight.

"It just isn't like you."

"What isn't?"

"Usually, you'll stay cool no matter the situation— Ah, hold this one for me."

He handed an iridescent seashell to Kaeya, who dutifully did as told and moved it this and that way so Albedo could observe the way the colors shifted.

"From what I've observed," Albedo continued, "you're more likely to dial up the charm when in a difficult situation."

"Do you make a habit out of observing me?" Kaeya asked with amusement.

Albedo deliberately looked up at Kaeya, eyes tracing the lines of his features. "Sometimes."

With a final nod, Albedo turned away and noted down something at the corner of the paper he had previously been drawing on. Kaeya watched him write, not for the content, but for the elegant way Albedo looped the letters.

When Albedo caught him staring, he turned the paper away—for what purpose Kaeya wasn't sure, since there wasn't anything important in there. Kaeya pouted.

Immediately, Albedo smiled and nodded again as if Kaeya was one of his successful experiments.

"You're being more childish," Albedo commented. "Even something like this…"

He gestured to the seashells that Kaeya was still admiring in between looking at Albedo. Kaeya lowered the one he was currently holding and tilted his head.

"I didn't picture you to be someone with that sort of hobby."

"So you dislike it?"

"I suppose I don't. It's a little cute."

"Ah, straightforward as always."

Kaeya let out a fond sigh. He quickly traded seashells for one of the most beautiful ones—the first that had truly captured his attention. He held it up so it aligned with Albedo's left eye.

With that, it was like looking at the ocean: that unique color between green and blue, sparkling so purely.

"What can I say, I simply like pretty things." Kaeya turned the seashell for Albedo to see and grinned. "See? This one is the same color as your eyes."

Albedo tried to catch the shell from his fingers, but Kaeya tightened his grip. Albedo's hand hovered over his, touch feather-light.

"I wasn't aware my eyes were to your liking."

What a ridiculous thing to say, when Kaeya had picked this one up just for the similar colors, and Albedo's smile had been playing in his head the entire time. Kaeya chuckled and captured Albedo's hand, pressing their palms tightly together with the seashell trapped in the middle.

"Among other things."

That one instant was enough to distract Albedo, who was now solely focused on their joined hands. Kaeya wondered what he was committing to memory.

(If it was the temperature and the pressure, technical things that Albedo seemed to collect about everything he saw.

Or if he, too, marveled over how their hands fell so comfortably together, despite the difference in their size.)

"Are you still in a bad mood?" Albedo asked.

Kaeya pulled him in, so gently it was more like a suggestion. Albedo came willingly, his free arm wrapping around Kaeya's waist, keeping him secure in his arms. Kaeya rested his cheek on Albedo's shoulder and looked up at him through his eyelashes.

"Hmm, I am," he rumbled, voice vibrating from his chest to Albedo's. "So just kiss me a little until I feel better, won't you?"

There was a huff that preceded it, but Albedo dipped his head to grant his wish.

His lips tasted like salt.

[peachywrite]

Before I Let You Go

Rohan Kishibe x JosukeSister!Reader & Protective Brother!Josuke

Trigger Warning: violence, inappropriate stand use, mild suggestive themes

Josuke doesn't understand why his sister has been spending even more time with Morioh's Famous Mangaka.

Josuke sat himself down beside Koichi, the pair of friends awaiting the next delicious plate of specialty pasta Tonio was whipping up for them.

“You know, your sister has been hanging around Rohan quite a bit recently.” Koichi’s concern was evident in his tone of voice and the way he avoided eye contact with Josuke.

“What are you talking about? She just likes his art, is all. She’s always been into drawing and stuff since she was little.” Josuke tried to brush Koichi’s worries away, but he too was a bit suspicious of their sudden closeness.

Tonio returned with two heaping plates of authentic Italian pasta, smiling down as he placed each on the table. He gave a small bow and returned to the kitchen. Koichi poked at the new food with his fork, spinning it around as he began to speak.

“I mean, they’ve been hanging out with each other for a while now, but just recently it feels like something’s changed.” The two paused for a quick bite of their dishes and thought quietly to themselves, both suddenly coming to the same conclusion.

“Hey, Josuke. You don’t think your sister would ever date Rohan, right? What am I thinking, that’s a stupid question. It would never happen.” The shorter boy scratched his cheek nervously, staring down at his plate.

“I-I don’t know. She’s never had a boyfriend before. Rohan’s also too proud to date anyone, so we shouldn’t worry our heads over this, Koichi.” Josuke smiled at him, patting the gray-haired boy on the back to reassure him.

“I don’t know, it’s just… The other day, when I went over to return some photos to Rohan, I saw the two of them through the window. I couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, but it kinda looked like he was holding her hand? And placing a kiss on it? I don’t know though, the window was so high up, so I probably didn’t see anything.” Koichi’s voice wavered, the overwhelming silence from his friend concerning him.

He didn’t have the heart to look Josuke in the eyes at the moment, too afraid he may have let the young man down by not sharing this memory sooner. The dread in his heart outweighed his fears quickly, and Koichi looked up to see a Josuke imbued in the darkest aura imaginable. It reminded him of those terribly frightening spirits in the alley that tried to steal him that one day.

“Uh-Josuke? Is everything a-alright? I know I should have told you sooner, but I wanted to be a hundred percent sure about it before you could go off and beat up Rohan again.” Josuke silently nodded, pulling out his wallet and dropping enough to pay for both meals on the table as he scooted his chair in and began to leave.

“Josuke! We aren’t sure if they even are dating yet!” Koichi shouted.

Josuke turned around, a chilling smile spread across his face as he waved.

“No worries, Koichi. I’m off to find out. Sorry about leaving you, I’ll call Okuyasu to take my place while I’m out. I’ll see you later and tell you what I found out.”

All Koichi could do was stutter in surprise at Josuke’s changed demeanor.

Was he putting on a show to calm his nerves? Or was he actually thinking about how it would affect his sister if Rohan was dating her?

The boy returned to his meal, lost in thought, until a tired Okuyasu joined him at the table.

Josuke’s heart was conflicted. If y/n was really dating Rohan, that would mean she was probably in love with the mangaka. He knew his sister wore her emotions on her sleeve and would never fake a romance, but was that true for Rohan? Could he have used Heaven’s Door to make her love him?

He didn’t trust Rohan after what happened with the others, but he did save his life when they fought against Highway Star.

This is what conflicted him. Rohan had a good soul, but was he doing this because he truly loved y/n, or was this another trick to get back at him for the lost dice game or the partial burning of his mansion? Rohan was the kind of person to hold grudges for as long as he saw fit, so this frightened Josuke.

“You can tease and mess with me all you want, but as soon as you bring my sister into this, you’ve crossed the line.” He muttered under his breath, jogging to the café he knew the artist would probably be sitting at.

As he finally spotted the mangaka, enjoying a sip of tea between his quick sketches, he rushed past the hostess and right up to the table. Rohan was caught off guard, a bit frightened and prepared to use his stand until he saw the steak shaped head of hair.

“Josuke? You idiot, I almost attacked you. Why are you rushing me like an enemy?” He blew out his held breath and took another sip of tea.

Josuke pulled up a seat across from the artist, his hands neatly folded in front of him, eyes staring down as he tried to formulate the proper words without working himself up.

“Rohan, I heard from someone that you may be dating my sister. I just want to know if the rumor is true.” Rohan nearly spit out his cup of tea, the shock of the question taking him completely off guard.

After composing himself, the Great Rohan Kishibe began to sweat as he tried to decide whether he should divulge the truth. Y/n would want him to be honest, but he feared the beating Josuke would surely give him if he found out the two of you were dating.

“Your hesitation to answer is making me nervous, Rohan. You better speak up soon, or I’m gonna lose my patience.” The young delinquent spoke through gritted teeth.

“Fine. Yes, we are. We have been for at least a week now. I love her. It’s simple. Why are you asking me? You could have easily just gotten the same information from her.” Rohan took another sip of tea, hiding his face behind the cup as he tried to figure out how the young man would react.

Josuke’s hands reached out from across the table, grabbing Rohan by the collar and dragging him off to the side, so he could pull him in closer. The smashing of glass on the quiet block alerted the hostesses as they worriedly watched.

“Rohan-sensei! Do you need us to call the police?!” Shouted one of the waitresses, who had reached for her cellphone behind the counter.

“No, everything's alright. I can handle this.” Rohan waved her off, Josuke still dangling the man in the air.

“You better not be doing this to get back at me. I can take the teasing and the jabs at my intelligence, but I won’t let you make a mockery of my sister and her feelings.” Josuke lowered the man down, taking a breath to relax himself, then began to drag the manga artist off the café patio.

“Hey! Release me, you brute! Where are you taking me?!” Rohan struggled in his hold, trying to call Heaven’s Door out to control Josuke.

“We’re going to see y/n.” Rohan stopped fighting and instead calmly placed his hand on Josuke’s shoulder.

The boy stopped, turning around to meet Rohan’s stern face.

“I’ll go with you, just stop manhandling me.” Josuke stared into him, debating with himself, then let the manga artist go.

Rohan stumbled back to his feet, dusting himself off as he grumbled under his breath about how rude Josuke was being to him.

The two walked side by side towards the Higashikata residence. When they were nearly a block away, Josuke spotted you being dropped off by Jotaro. You waved goodbye to the older man, but turned around to face them after.

“Good grief.” Jotaro rolled his eyes with a sigh, leaning against the car as you spotted your brother and your boyfriend angrily walking toward you.

“What do you think is up with them?” You asked, curious as to why both seemed to be in foul moods.

“Looks like your brother found out who your boyfriend is. I’m only staying because I don’t want an unnecessary stand fight.” The marine biologist pouted to himself, annoyed.

You looked back at the pair, shaking your head in annoyance as well.

“I should have just told him from the start. I knew Rohan couldn’t keep quiet about this.” You motioned to the two of them to speed up, so you could talk.

As they reached you, Josuke grabbed onto Rohan again, dragging him by his collar with one hand.

“Why must you fling me around like a rag doll!? I already agreed to come with you!” Rohan shouted, squirming in Josuke’s death grip.

“Use Heaven’s Door on her.” Josuke mumbled to the mangaka.

All he could do was shake his head in response, his eyes wide at the order given to him by the delinquent. Suddenly, a second hand came up to grip the other side of Rohan’s collar, both now shaking him violently.

“I said use Heaven’s Door! I want to be sure you aren’t messing with her!” The tears that welled up in Josuke’s eyes shocked you.

You’d seen Josuke cry before, but these tears were different. He looked scared.

“Josuke, stop it! There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

You placed a hand on Josuke’s back, your touch pausing his tirade and causing him to drop his hold on the artist. Helping him up, you touch Rohan’s cheek and nod to him.

“Rohan, I give you permission to use Heaven’s Door on me right now.” He shook his head again, adamant about his refusal.

“I won’t use it on you. Not for that bastard or for you. It’s not right.” You could tell how upset this was making Rohan. He turned his head away from you, not allowing you to meet his gaze.

“Rohan, please. He’s just scared. Just this once. I’ll never ask for you to do this again.” He finally meets your eyes and sighs.

His hands carefully touch your cheek as he whispers Heaven’s Door. The pages on your face open up and prevent you from moving, but you happily look up at the man, reassuring him that you felt safe and accepted this. Josuke came from behind the artist, flipping through all your pages quickly, searching for any scribblings Rohan could have made.

A few minutes pass and Josuke is finally content with his search. He closes the book on your face and your movement returns to you.

“See. Everything was fine. I really do like him. A lot, actually.” You pinch Josuke’s cheek.

Josuke pulls you into a tight hug as you feel his stress melt away. The mangaka crosses his arms, an angry pout on his face. All you can do is sigh and return the hug.

“I just wanted to be sure. If you were to get hurt because of me, I don’t know how I’d live with that.” He squeezes you tighter, your breath leaving your body quickly from his sheer strength.

“Josuke, it’s fine! Trust me! Now let go, you're crushing me.” You squirm, but your brother refuses to budge.

“I don’t think I will. If I let go, you’re gonna go give Rohan a hug, and I don’t want to see that.” The boy then lifts you with little effort and attempts to run, but his plan is foiled when your stand manifests and wraps around his legs, keeping him from moving.

“I see how it is, y/n. Fine, go be with your boyfriend, but no lovey-dovey stuff.” Your vines unwrap his legs as he sets you down.

You give your brother one last hug and a smile, running into Rohan’s arms. He still looks upset, but when you nuzzle into his chest, his anger melts away.

“I’m sorry you had to do that. It had to happen, though, so don’t be too mad at me. I’ll make it up to you, promise.” You look up at him, still in his arms, he leaves a quick peck on your cheek followed by a hefty sigh.

“You’re lucky I’m such a forgiving man.”

[dollslayer]

Artistic Intention

Artist!Steve x Reader

Summary: Steve's doing well in his life drawing class, but a new muse throws him for a loop in the back supply room.

W/C: 2,374

Warnings: NO MINORS, p in v smut, unprotected sex, public sex, breeding kink if you squint, swearing

A/N: Hey! I wrote this for @buckyownsmylife 1st anniversary challenge! I love me a good AU so I chose Artist AU+ exhibitionism. Happy tumblr-versary! I made Steve a shy boi in this lol. If you liked this fic pls reblog/comment!! Check out my other fics too! Cheers!

Main Masterlist

It’s 1:45pm and Steve is desperately trying to weave his way through the crowd of people before him. His art folio hits everyone and thing as he makes feeble attempts to apologize to everyone for the bulkiness of the case. He can’t be too apologetic though, he’s running late for his 2pm life drawing class and if he doesn’t make it the professor will close the door in his face.

This is the longest 15 minutes in Steve’s life, he figures. He finally makes it up the steps and jogs up the stairs. His folio hits his leg, he winces but doesn’t stop, he’s only got a few minutes to make it up to the second floor and get himself situated behind an easel. He’s nearly out of breath when he makes it to the second floor and he’s trying to check his watch while running for the door. Two minutes.

Steve bursts through the doors and exhales loudly, he’s not sure he’s ever felt so relieved. His feeling of relief is short lived and quickly replaced with embarrassment as he realizes every pair of eyes in the room is on him. Every pair except for one. The new model for class this week, you slowly turn your head to reveal sharp eyes and a coy smile. He feels himself blush under your gaze and mutters an apology before getting settled in an easel directly in front of you.

He tries his best to focus on getting his paper and charcoals set out in an effort to shrug off the mixture of humiliation and lingering anxiety he had about being late. He feels his heartbeat begin to steady and he lets himself relax a little bit.

“Good afternoon, everyone. We have a new model in class this week, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. She’ll be keeping her current pose for one hour and repositioning for the second half of class. Mr. Rogers, since you had no problem running late I assume you’ll have no problem staying late as well. You’ll clean up after class.” The professor concludes with a short nod.

Steve sighs but nods his head in acknowledgement. He catches you smirking in amusement again at him and he can’t help but to blush all over again. He feels just like he did in high school, embarrassing himself in front of pretty girls. He sighs and picks up a piece of charcoal.

Steve decides to get a proper look at you and almost regrets it when he chokes on his own breath. You’re gorgeous, you’re coy and charming, you’re a muse. He’s still blushing because you’re naked, and beautiful and the feeling of humiliation hits him even more. He’s been in this class before, he knows the models will be naked but none of them had ever caught his attention as more than a subject, none of them were you.

He takes his time admiring your natural curves and appreciates your figure. You are so full of natural beauty, your bare face is perfectly flawed and the sun shining through the window highlights your skin tone. He can see why you were chosen to model for class, you’re perfect. He has to discreetly adjust himself and shuffles his jacket into his lap as he feels his pants tighten. He’s flustered all over again and realizes everyone else is already ahead of him. He puts charcoal to paper and gets to work.

____

As class goes on Steve’s sketch is coming along nicely. He can’t bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time for fear of getting hard again. When he sends furtive glances your way he catches you looking back at him with that smile of yours. He swears at one point you raise an eyebrow at him like you’re amused by him. He brushes it off and keeps drawing.

Class comes and goes much faster than he anticipated. He wants to pack up and get out as quickly as he can when he remembers that he has to clean up the room. He lets out a groan and waits for everyone else to leave. Now it’s only you, him, and the professor who are left in the room.

“Mr. Rogers I’ve got to get out of here, I trust you can put easels away without incident?” The professor asks. Steve nods and the professor turns to you. “Thank you for your work today, you can collect your pay from the front office. I look forward to having you as a model for this class.”

You smile and nod, waving goodbye to him. By now you’ve slipped on a robe and are reaching for your bag but it feels like you’re lingering. It’s just now that Steve realizes the two of you are alone. He swallows thickly, trying not to pay attention to you out of the corner of his eye. He begins to pack away his own drawing but not before giving it one final assessment. He can’t help himself from his own critical eye, analyzing mistakes and appreciating triumphs.

“Is that supposed to be me?”

Steve jumps in surprise, you’re peering right over his shoulder. He’s caught off guard by your presence and also by your voice, do you always sound this sultry?

He swallows and nods before taking a deep breath. Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans he turns to face you.

“Uh, yeah. Yes it is. I don’t think it’s very good but I’m trying” He anxiously starts making excuses, assuming you hate it.

But you don’t. You just smile thoughtfully at him and nod.

“It’s good. At least, I think it is.”

“Th-thanks, thank you.”

“Do you always cut it that close or were you just hoping to stay late with me?”

Steve sputters at your boldness. He has to remind himself that he’s not that scrawny, measly kid he used to be. But he can’t help but feel like he is with his sweaty palms and short breaths.

“I, I um, I didn’t realize there’d be a new model. Was kind of expecting the old one. Not- not that there’s anything wrong with you, of course! I, sorry I didn’t mean to imply that, you’re- you’re beautiful too, you’re perfect really, I just. Oh jesus.” He spews the words out faster than his brain can keep up and he’s making a complete fool of himself.

He can’t bear to look at you, so he starts closing up easels and stacking stools. He doesn’t notice you ogling his muscles through his tight t-shirt.

“You think I’m beautiful?” You ask innocently.

“I-, um, yes. I think you’re very beautiful, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Steve answers honestly.

He moves some stools to the large supply room in the back of the classroom and you follow him.

“I think you’re beautiful too. And cute. You’re practically falling all over yourself, it’s sweet”

Are you talking to him? He still sees himself as he was back then, having a hard time thinking that anyone would look at him and find him attractive. It’s why he’s so beside himself now. You’re so completely beautiful and self-assured, there’s no way you’re talking to him. He sets down the stack he’s carrying and realizes you’re much closer than he thought. You’re inches away.

“What do you like the most about me? Is it my body? Don’t think I didn’t notice you readjusting your pants at the beginning of class.” You move even closer and Steve thinks you must be able to hear his heart beat because it’s about to come right out of his chest.

Your hands are on his chest and you have to lean up on your tip-toes for your lips to meet his ear.

“What do you say? You and me in this supply room? There’s hardly anyone here. Come on”

Steve feels like he’s dreaming, he has to check if he is. But then your hand reaches for his dick through his pants and he nearly doubles over from the sensation. He’s never been with anyone so brash and confident, your touch leaves a burning trail on his body.

“But- but what if someone comes in and sees?” He says, using every last bit of coherent reasoning he has.

“Isn’t that what makes it so fun?”

Oh, God. You. You. Smiling that devilish smile at him. He was weak in the knees and you took the opportunity to push him backwards onto a spare desk. You pulled him by the shirt collar to meet your lips and he let out a noise of surprise. Steve pushes his tongue into your mouth and lets out an obscene moan. You feel so good. He knew you’d feel good but not this good.

Steve’s large hands come to your waist and venture lower until he has a handful of your ass and grabs. You let out a little moan and nudge your knee between his legs and he grinds against it. You pull back to catch your breath when your hands go to the ties of your robes.

“We’re a little overdressed, don’t you think?”

Steve doesn’t need to be asked twice as he pulls his shirt over his head. Jeans have never felt so uncomfortable and he’s frantically trying to get himself down to his boxers. He swears he goes slack jawed when he looks back up at you. He’s already seen you naked, he just stared at you naked for hours, but you’re just as gorgeous as before but it’s the way you’re looking at him. Like he’s desirable, almost like he’s a piece of meat. It makes him feel wanted and reassured and he feels himself grow harder.

Your hands slip beneath the elastic of his boxers and slowly slide them down his legs. He can’t help but flush when you let out a small gasp at the size of him. He doesn’t want to get too big of an ego with it but he’s always known he was… gifted.

Before he can let anything go to his head he lets out his own soft gasp as you stroke him languidly. He can’t control his hips as they cant up into your hand. You grab his hand and quickly lead his fingers to your dripping pussy. Steve nearly melts when he feels how wet you are and slides two fingers in easily. He’s pumping them in and out and you let out tiny mewls as you kiss his neck.

There’s no more time for preamble though, you two need to be quick if you don’t want to be caught by some unfortunate custodian. You remove your hand from his cock and he takes his fingers out of your pussy and swears you whine a little. Feeling brazen himself, he makes direct eye contact with you and sucks his fingers clean. You bite your lip and squirm while he revels in the taste.

Reluctantly he takes his fingers out of his mouth and gets up to situate you so you’re sitting on the desk. You spread your legs wide for him and he takes in the sight, committing to memory. Maybe he can draw you like this some time. For now he takes a step closer but falters, remembering one fatal flaw in this whole plan.

“I… don’t have a condom”

You don’t look let down at all, you look excited in fact. Shaking your head, you explain to him.

“Doesn’t matter, ‘m on the pill. I wanna feel you cum inside me”

Steve might pass out before he gets the chance, the way you keep talking with that mouth of yours. He wastes no more time and positions himself at your entrance. He has one hand on his dick and the other on the back of your neck when he looks you deep in the eye and impales you fully in one go.

The moan you let out is pornographic and Steve uses his newly freed hand to cover your mouth.

“We have to stay quiet. Can you do that?”

You nod silently and he removes his hand, opting to grab your hip instead.

He pulls back and begins to start pumping into you. He’s steady at first, trying to keep himself from cumming too quickly. Slowly he starts increasing his speed and the force that he uses is causing the legs of the old desk to scrape against the floor.

Your hand reaches and grabs his ass, pushing him deeper into your pussy. You feel so tight wrapped around him with no barrier and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. You’re trying to keep your moans quiet when he kisses you to silence them all together. He’s trying with all his might not to cum before you do.

His fingers find your clit and he starts rubbing it in tight circles. You have a harder time keeping quiet and you’re squeezing him like a vice. The friction on your clit and his dick hitting your G-spot perfectly is causing your eyes to roll in the back of your head.

“‘M gonna cum, please. Please don’t stop” You beg. Steve feels a wave of power surge over him now that you’re the needy one.

“Go on then, I’m not far behind ya. Wanna feel your pussy cum on my cock.”

With a few moments more he has you seeing stars and you claw at his back and pull him close to you. He continues on in his movements and starts pounding into you in earnest chasing his own release. All you can do is hold on for dear life.

Steve makes one final thrust before he’s cumming deep inside you. The rush of warmth is welcome to you and you kiss his jaw as he tries to catch his breath. The only sound being both of your heavy breathing. Hopefully no one heard you.

Steve can’t believe what just happened. He met a gorgeous girl and she propositioned him in a public place all in the span of two hours. He realizes just how far he’s come from who he used to be. He looks down at you, your noses touching.

“So, what’s your name?”

[amimimi]

reki and langa taking care of their drunk s/o

synopsis: headcanons about how reki and langa takes care of your drunk ass

pairings: langa x reader, reki x reader

warnings: underage drinking (drink responsibly pleath!), getting sick, drunk..ness, I use the word “sexy”

notes: school is beating my ass, so i wrote this just to lighten the mood. i want to have one out for joe and cherry tomorrow! and i also want to write one where you take care of them while they're drunk too! but omg pls drink responsibly tho! 😭 I apologize in advance for any spelling/grammatical errors!

REKI

PLS he'd be so stressed out

he's taken care of drunk friends before and didn't even bat an eye but when it's you, he's a lot more concerned because you're his bby <3

will probably laugh a bit at your antics and take cute pictures of you

but then you’d get sick and he starts freaking out and looking up common signs of alcohol poisoning njgksdkdhskf

so he’s closing up at dope with manager oka when he gets a call from your phone number

he’s a little worried when he picks up and it’s your friend that’s calling him, and not you

“where’s y/n? are they okay? why can’t they talk to me?” he spits out without even taking a breath

oka and him are standing outside the shop

oka has one hand on the grate as he stares hard at reki, obviously concerned

“oh they’re fine! we were gonna meet up with our other friends to go to a party, but they go too drunk. ” your friend tells reki breezily.

reki hears your voice in the background, tiny and slurred, and his heart squeezes

“yea, i’m talking to him right now!” he hears your friend say to you. “yea, he’s coming right now...you want me to what?”

“hey,” your friend says directly into the receiver, taking to reki now “y/n said they miss you and they wanted to know if you miss them back”

“yeah, i miss them a lot” reki answers easily, exchanging glances with manager oka, who’s still looking confused and concerned

“y/n, he said he misses you too...why are you crying again?” your friend sighs, and reki’s heart clenches in his chest. “yeah, just come pick them up...please. i’ll send you the address”

reki hangs up and looks up at manager oka, who’s waiting for an explanation

“could you please give me a ride?” reki begs him, clasping his hands out in front of him.

and of course, manager oka says yes

when they arrive outside your friend’s place, reki thanks manager oka for the ride

“are you sure you got everything from here?” oka asks slightly uneasy about the situation. all reki told him was that you needed to see him—urgently

reki fumbles to take off his seatbelt and opens the car door

“yeah! i’m fine! thank you very much!” he says frantically.

“okay, call me if you need anything” oka frowns.

when your friend opens the door for reki, he kicks his shoes off and immediately is like “where are they?”

he’s led into your friend’s bedroom, to see you laying on your friend’s bed, wearing a short dress

you're crying face first into a pillow, not even noticing when reki and your friend stepped in the room

“hey, look who came to rescue you!” your friend grins, stepping into the bedroom after reki.

you slowly look up and blink some tears away to see reki standing by the door, looking at you anxiously

“reki?” you hiccup, struggling to sit up only to fall back down with a squeak.

reki’s heart twists as he watches you, before rushing over to help you with open arms.

“i’m here, baby, i’m here” reki sits on the bed and he pulls you upright. you slump into his chest like a rag doll and rubs soothing circles into your back. “you are so dumb for this”

“am not!” you weakly protest into his chest, your voice muffled.

"are too" reki counters, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

" 'was an accident..." you murmur, nuzzling your face against his chest

"no it wasn't" your friend clicks their tongue as you groan.

reki thanks your friend for taking care of you and for calling him before taking you back to your place.

you live just two down blocks from your friend's place so reki doesn't see the harm in walking

he thinks it may even be good for you

reki gives your his dope sketch sweater because all you're wearing is that short halter dress

tries to walk with his arm wrapped around your waist for support, but you're sagging against him heavily

so he just gives your a piggyback ride the rest of the way home

"oh my god, you're not wearing a hoodie right now..." you slur into his shoulder

"yeah, because i gave it to you" he hoists you higher up on his back and you giggle

“oh yeah,” you say.

you’re silent for a bit, before you lift your head off from reki’s shoulder and to reki’s horror, shout “y’all! this man gave me his hoodie! i think he gotta crush on me!😩🙈”

“shhh!!” reki hisses, pinching your thigh, which only makes you shriek. “people are trying to sleep! who are you even talking to??”

“the audience!” you announce, your voice booming through the empty street. reki rolls his eyes, not even wanting try arguing with you

“okay, okay just shut up please”

“you’re embarrassed because i told the audience that you gave your hoodie”

“okay then, tell the audience how you were crying for me to come see you”

“i...don’t recall that”

when you both finally make it to your home, you’ve quiet downed a little and reki is slightly relived/unsettled

he’s carrying you to your room until your tighten your grip around his neck and whimper “reki, i don’t feel good...”

reki bolts to the bathroom before placing you in front of the toilet just in time for you to get sick

he isn’t grossed out (he has three little sisters and he’s taken care of them when they’ve been sick) but he is shaken up

reki holds your hair back with one hand and alternates between rubbing your back and supporting you forehead with another—ALL WHILE scolding you for drinking so much dhjdjdbdjd

“you need to drink more responsibly! you shouldn’t of even be drinking! you’re underaged! oh my god, what did you even drink? how much did you drink?”

he can’t help it, he’s so worried for you

he’ll stop scolding you if you start crying tho, like how can he be upset at that?

wipes your mouth and kisses your temple before asking if your feeling better

when you say yes, he holds you up by your shoulders as you brush your teeth and rinse your mouth

he does your skin routine for you as best as he can (you have so many steps, it’s ungodly)

reki changes you into something more comfortable for bed and orders you to drink a glass of water

you’re so out of it that you comply, reluctantly of course

reki sits beside on you on your bed as you look at him glumly while you sip from the glass of water

“ahh, don’t give me those eyes. i’m making sure you don’t prune up” he pouts back at you, smoothing one of your eyebrows down with his thumb.

when you finish your water, he takes the glass for you and sets it your bedside table

“you have painkillers right? you’re gonna need them tomorrow morning” reki sighs as takes his jeans off to slip into bed with you

“in my drawer...” you murmur, your eyes half shut as you lay on your side. “are you gonna go?”

reki folds his jeans and places them on your desk, before walking back over to you

“nope, i gotta watch you for the night” he smiles softly at you and you give a shaky sigh of relief that makes reki’s heart burst

“it’ll be like a sleepover” reki says, as he slips next to you and turns on his side to face you

“a sexy sleepover” you nod, and reki frowns

“no...”

“...yes”

“you’re drunk”

“—in love, as our dear Beyoncé puts it” you slur, slightly grinning. reki doesn’t reply, staring at you disapprovingly, and you croak out— “we be all night! looooveeee—”

reki grabs your face with one hand, looking somewhere between horrified and amused

“i can’t stand you, right now” reki’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter

“but you’re already laying down—”

“enough, enough! roll over!” reki hisses, he points in the opposite direction with his finger

you giggle but comply

you feel reki’s hands wrap around your waist as he snuggled up from behind, spooning you

“i promise you, you won’t be laughing in the morning” he whispers into your ear as you begin to drift off

LANGA

just one big “?”

googling “how to take care of drunk person” with one hand with his other arm wrapped around your waist

alternates between confused and concerned

if you get sick, langa will actually call an ambulance—you have to tell him that you’re fine and even then he’s reluctant

you, langa, and reki all went to a party after S

you and reki are kinda amped, but langa isn’t enjoying himself all that much

people shouting across the room, shoving into him, the smell of alcohol—it’s all too much for him

so he’s like “ mkay, i’m out 🚶”

so he makes sure reki stays with you before walking to an isolated corner in the backyard to get some air

it hasn’t even been 30 minutes when you and reki stumble over to where he sits, arms wrapped around each other’s necks and giggling

langa watches the both of you stagger up to him with weary eyes, he already KNOWS that his night is gonna get stranger

“your darling, y/n, is drunk” reki announces, trying to keep a straight face

“reki is too!” you protest, stepping on reki’s foot causing him to yelp.

langa. exe has crashed

he realizes that he has to take care of the both of you,,,and he has no clue how

langa sits up from the planter he was sitting on and grabs both of your arms

“we’re going home” he says flatly, earning whines from both you and reki

langa drags you both to the front yard, as the both of you struggle in his grasp

“langaaa~ we didn’t even get to dance!” you whine, trying to break free from langa’s grasp

“langa, man, the party literally just started—” reki protests, struggling to get langa to let go of his arm. “holy hell, you’re strong”

“yea...it’s kinda hot” you murmur, slumping toward langa, who continues to drag you through the front door and onto the lawn. “langa, you’re so strong and hot, thank you for dating me”

when he’s dragged you both onto the sidewalk, he looks both ways down the street before asking “who lives closest to here?”

all of sudden, reki pitches forward to be sick

“langa! he’s dying, do something!” you wail, beginning to cry.

langa grips the back of reki’s hoodie to keep him from falling face forward

“okay” langa sighs as you drunkenly sob into his chest and reki moans, barely supporting himself. “i’m calling an adult”

he calls hiromi and begs him to come pick all three of you up

the three of you wait, sitting on the curb

langa is sitting between you and reki, an arm wrapped around you as you murmur nonsense into his chest and a hand clasped on reki’s shoulder who’s seeming a bit more lucid

“i promise you i’m fine! i get drunk quick but it fades away! let’s go back in!” reki pleads, earning a frown from langa

“y/n is still drunk, and you should probably go home” he looks down at you with sad eyes when you whimper against his chest. “i shouldn’t have let them drink”

hiromi brings the company car, shouting at the three of you as langa loads you and reki into car

hiromi is mad as hell but he still gets out to help langa buckle you in

langa offers for reki to come over to his house so he can monitor both

but hiromi grudgingly offers to watch reki because he knows there is no way langa can take care of you both

so hiromi drops you and langa off, telling him to call him if anything happens

langa carries you bridal style in his room and sits down on his bed with you in his lap

you blink up at him sleepily at him, holding onto his shoulders for support

“i don’t think you should’ve been drinking” he whispers, steadying you with his hands on your waist

“i don’t think i should have either” you murmur, before smushing your face into his neck. “i don’t wanna be drunk anymore, how do i stop?”

you sound close to crying and langa feels his stomach twist with panic because fuck, he doesn’t know either

he holds you against his chest with one arm and hastily whips out his phone, googling “how to stop being drunk”

cut him some slack y’all, he’s TRYING

he sees a “cold shower”, “plenty of sleep”, and “hydration” in the top results

sports mode langa: activated

carries you into the bathroom to give you a cold shower, but then you abruptly get sick and langa is like “!!?!!$!!??”

like reki, he’s gonna hold your hair and pat your back, but he’s too shook to scold you

says strange, earnest things like “you’re doing great!” and “you’re being very brave, i’m proud of you!”

unlike reki though, he’s slightly grossed out about by v*mit but he continues to be a dutiful boyfriend

waits until your done and you slump back against him, half asleep.

he decides the shower isn’t a GREAT idea with you being this groggy

langa isn’t letting you move an INCH

brushes your teeth for you—like he makes you open your mouth and gently brushes along your teeth

carries you to bed (he likes carrying you, he isn’t gonna lie)

he gives you one of his long sleeves to wear to bed and helps you out your clothes

langa holds a water bottle up to you lips and even tips your head back gently sjduslsjxjisej he’s so <333

his bed is pretty small and he’s pretty lanky, so he tucks you in, making sure you sleep on your side

he kneels on the floor beside you, his upper body resting on his bed and his face right next yours

langa holds your hand and watches you as you struggle to stay awake

“i’m sorry” you croak and langa kisses your finger

“don’t be sorry, it happens” he assures you quietly, his face slightly softening.

you blink bearily as you take in langa’s face, glowing in the moonlight shining through is window

“you’re so pretty” you murmur, weakly gripping his fingers. “i wish you could see yourself right now”

langa softly smiles at you as drift off

he watches you the whole night as you sleep, making sure you don’t skip a breath

notes: i’m writing one for joe and cherry and i’m gonna post that real soon!

edit: here it is!

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

hiya, this is my first time requesting smth and i dunno rlly how to go about it but i was wondering if you could do a fic where the s/o leads to bois to Hudson's bluff where theres a projector and a roll up whiteboard thingy set up, blocking the view and they make them sit down and starts to play a film that s/o recorded earlier of the sunrise since the bois cant go out in the sun. sorry if that was too long, i really like your writing and i think youre awesome :))

Thank you so much for the kind words and for the super cute idea!!! I hope you like it!!

One Last Look (Poly!Lost Boys x S/O)

Warnings: angst about being a vampire, angst about their human lives, yearning for a forgotten life, tooth-rotting fluff

Word Count: 1414

The boys had no idea as to what you'd set up, you'd made sure of that. It was somewhat difficult even convincing them to go somewhere without David's choosing, but you'd promised them a surprise. That was enough to, at least, pique Paul's interest, and the others knew that he wouldn't shut up until the surprise was revealed.

So, you'd taken them up the stairs and all the way up to the cliffs edge. Quickly, confusion dotted some of their faces when they saw the projector screen and the rest of your set up. You'd even gone through the trouble of bringing some beanbags and chairs up for the boys to use, and the blonde twins didn't hesitate to launch themselves into the bean bags you'd put side by side. David sat in one of the more rigid beach chairs, and Dwayne, given a choice between a bean bag and a beach chair, chose a bean bag. You smiled, dodging Dwaynes attempts to pull you into his lap as David asked,

"Now what?" And you tried not to roll your eyes at his tone. Really, he couldn't stand not being in charge for ten minutes? Well, you were sure that you were about to change his attitude. You pressed play, starting the projector, and then hurried to your seat. It was in the middle, between David and Marko, and you watched as your earlier film began.

***

The boys didn't like being kept in the dark, but they waited patiently as the show began. Paul had muttered something about it being a dirty movie, but Marko had immediately given him a glance. A dirty movie showing right on top of Hudson's Bluff? Yeah, no way.

Paul had scoffed, crossing his arms as he thought pointedly. Well, you never know. To the boy besides him. But, when the movie began to roll, they watched in confusion as the horizon right in front of them began to play. And then, the first bit of light peaked over.

The boys flinched out on instinct, with some of them even moving to push themselves out of their seats. But you reached for Markos hand, giving it an assuring squeeze.

"Hey, hey. You're okay." You said, and the boys looked between the screen and the world around them. The sunlight was false, it couldn't hurt them any more than the candles they used to light the cave could. Their eyes turned to the screen once more, fascination on them as the sun breached the skyline.

It'd been eighty years since they'd last seen a sunrise. Even then, some of them couldn't remember it.

Marko had always been an early riser. He'd seen his fair share, but after eighty years of fog? It was like looking at a faded photograph. The colors weren't right or the lines were hazy. Maybe certain parts of his memory were distorted. Or maybe all the memories of sunrises he held had blended together. But there was one thing he always remembered. The orange, yellow glow of the sun. He'd remembered that perfectly, and he stared silently as it climbed up the screen. He gripped the bag under him, kneading it as it climbed. He remembered waking up just to watch it, even sketching it in his young life. His fingers itched for his pencils then, and he bit his thumb to try to suppress the urge. He remembered how expensive pencils and paints used to be. How he'd save a week's wage, as he used to call it, just to buy some. How, even though they never said anything, the others used to stare at his brushes like they wished they were a loaf of bread instead. But he also remembered how his drawings used to brighten up their space, how they'd done the same thing to the cave below. He thumbed at his jacket, thinks about how, even after all these years, even after he'd forgotten why, he was still trying to bring color into their lives.

Paul had seen his fair share of sunrises when they'd been human, but that was usually while he was scrambling out of someone's bed, or scrambling out of his own to try to make it to whatever sorry excuse for a job he called work. He never paid much attention to the sky of the morning, but, in that second, he remembered how much he missed the feeling of the sun on his face. A sun that didn't burn his skin the second it touched it, but a sun that warmed him. He remembered mid-day, a breeze of memories he didn't even know he still retained. He remembered eating lunch inbetween shifts. He remembered being full, remembered the way his muscles used to burn and how good it felt to sit down and relax. Paul relaxed all the time, but he couldn't remember the last time, in his vampire life, it felt like relief. His muscles didn't ache, his brow didn't sweat, and he didn't feel the prickle in his feet after being on them for too long. He never even realized those things had been missing, and a small part of him missed the feeling.

During his human life, Dwayne had always paid more attention to sunsets, to the sight of the sun retreating behind the sky. To the oranges, reds, and deep purples that followed. He was used to the navy blue of the night sky. He'd been under it every night for years. But, seeing his first sunrise in nearly eighty years, he would've traded all of his sunsets for it. He wished he'd appreciated it more. He missed lying under the sun, even if it was just to tan. He missed having to tie his hair back to keep himself from overheating. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt hot, let alone even warm. Memories of him under the sun in the California desert floated in his mind. He thought he'd known what thirst was then. He laughed a little bit to himself, and he glanced over at you when you looked over to find the source of his laughter. He didn't explain, simply letting his eyes flick back to the screen. He stared, watching in silence as the sun rose on the screen.

David didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he should say anything. David had never been one for sunrises. He always got up the latest. He was practically nocturnal even when he'd been human, working through the night and spending the rest of the time worrying about the others. The switch to being a vampire hadn't been much of a change in his life, but it was only then that he realized what he'd been missing. Instead of having his thoughts float back to his old life, he glanced over at you. He wished he'd been able to be there with you, watch as it pulled over the horizon. That you didn't need to take a video, and instead you could've nudged him awake. He realized then that there were parts of your life that he'd always miss. Unless you became one of them. But, as he stared at the screen, David had his first inkling of doubt. He'd been so sure of it before. It'd been an obvious choice. As sure as the sun rising above the horizon each day. But now? His fingers itched for a cigarette. Anything to stifle and take his mind away from the thoughts swirling around his head.

***

You looked over at them. The boys had been silent ever since you started the movie, until it ended. When it did, you waited for them to speak. It took a moment, but David finally said,

"That was- You shot that?" He asked, and you nodded. He was quiet for another moment, and it unnerved you. For a moment, you thought that you'd done something wrong. That perhaps you shouldn't have. But Dwayne was quick to say,

"Thank you, y/n. Really." And the others were quick to chorus a mantra of the same.

It took a moment for you and the boys to clean up, but, just before you packed up the set-up, David had walked up to the screen. He reached out for the screen, and the others paused where they stood. It occurred to you then that they were getting one last look, before the five of you packed everything up and went to take it down to the cave.

[therenlover]

The Boy With The Easel (A Young Artist!Helmut Zemo x Reader Oneshot)

(Hey! If you end up enjoying this fic, it’s the first chronological part of a new fun expanded AU I’ve created with @creme-bruhlee​! Their fic Bliss is part of the same timeline and takes place about a year after this one, so you should check it out!!!)

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Tags: Meet Cute, College AU, First Meetings, Coffee Date, Artist!Zemo, Embarrassment, Awkward College Kids Falling In Love

Rating: T

Warnings: Very Vague Mention of Sexual Content, Swearing, Zemo Says The Word Daddy In Reference To His Father and The Reader Thinks It’s Kinda Hot

Word Count: 7000~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3!

------

                                    The University of Novi Grad

                                                 Fall 1996

Mornings in Novi Grad could be beautiful if you knew what to look for.

Sokovia was… different from America in many ways. From the language to the scenery, you often found yourself adrift in the strangeness of it all. There had been nothing quite as old as the buildings in the historical district of Novi Grad back home, no towering grey behemoths serving as a reminder of a bygone fight against Soviet invasion in the memories of your childhood. Still, though, there was beauty in the strangeness nonetheless.

From your tiny room in the Helena Lyudmila International Scholar’s dorm, for instance, you had a perfect view of a large campus courtyard hosting a statue of the donor by the same name. She was some royal who had invested in education a few hundred years ago, and by the looks of her metal likeness, she had been quite pretty. The sight of her shining in the early morning sun was one of the things that made uprooting your whole life seem worth it in the end, no matter how silly that seemed.

There were other small comforts that you had found beauty in during your first month attending your prestigious university, too.

You found beauty in the way the sunlight streamed over the rooftops like the opening to an Oscar-winning film. In the sound of traffic below and the overcast skies above. Sandwiches from corner stores, wildflowers growing in the median of the road, cups of the worlds best black coffee served steaming by scowling attendants at the cafe; Everywhere there was something small and kind and just familiar enough to relish in, more than able to distract you from the stress of living hand-to-mouth in a country where you didn’t even know the language. It made it all worth it.

That being said there was something else too…

Someone else to be specific.

The campus tended to run like clockwork. The same groups of students would walk past your window to their classes, the same professors would get their coffee and lunch at the little cafe across the square, and every weekday morning at 8 am on the dot, easel boy would set up his palette and canvas and paint the same bustling street.

He was talented, that you couldn’t deny. Even from the 6th floor, which was a considerable distance away, it was possible to admire the detailing and consistency with which he painted. His talent wasn’t when kept you captive at your window in the morning, though. Though you were sure his art was beautiful, he himself was a thousand times more stunning.

All dark eyes and dark hair and dark clothes, he parted crowds with his piercing gaze alone. He was always dressed like the protagonist of some awful artsy film. Massive argyle sweaters, untucked button-ups, corduroy jackets, and flare bottomed pants that must have survived his father’s wardrobe from the ’70s… his style was as close you could get to atrocious while still being impeccable as possible, and that wasn’t even getting started on the smudged black liner always present under his persistent gaze. You had never had the pleasure (or embarrassment for that matter) of meeting him in person, but you were sure that you would have had the same awed and slightly frightened reaction if you ever did. He could have been plucked entirely from the pages of some awful romance novel.

You were well and truly smitten with the idea of him.

If you looked at your morning routine through the eyes of a stranger, you’d consider yourself odd for your strange obsession with him, but you didn’t look at it like that. It wasn’t an obsession. You never overstepped your bounds. He was simply pleasing to look at and so you did. That didn’t constitute as obsessive, right?

Even if it did, you weren’t causing any harm.

Easel boy, as you had come to refer to him, was simply a tool you used to ground yourself in your new and frightening environment. Nothing more. If you ever met him, you would surely hate him from the short interactions you’d seen him have with strangers. They never ended well. He would remain an unattainable, attractive ideal in your mind until he eventually faded away into a funny memory you’d share with your kids one day.

Until then, though, you would watch him from your window before your morning classes and refused to feel guilty about it. So, that was that, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

On the morning in question, you had woken up a little late and in a foul mood. In preparation for a test in your foundations of algebra course you had spent the better part of the night pouring over formulas while your upstairs neighbor’s bed slammed repeatedly into the wall and floor. Though you were sure they were having an excellent time, you were most definitely not. It all culminated in you missing your original alarms and despite the fact that your first class started at 10, you were exhausted, furious, and not looking forward to missing breakfast to finish the assigned reading you had put off the night before. The only thing keeping you from throwing in the towel and just giving up was the promise of seeing the painter.

So, when he arrived for the day at 8 am sharp, you were positioned at the ledge by your window, textbook in hand with a mug of instant coffee at your right. It was like a breath of fresh air.

As usual, he retrieved a small pack of cigarettes from the back of his eternally paint-stained jeans only to bring one to his lips and light it quickly. He always smoked before he worked, and just like always, he took an extra cigarette from the pack to tuck behind his ear for later. Then, he got to work setting up his easel and the small stool where he set his palette.

Pulling tubes of acrylic, brushes, and pencils from his well-worn messenger bag, easel boy flipped out the kickstand without any problem and set his thick, pre-primed canvas on the worn metal. You watched in fascination. Art had always seemed so unattainable to you. Instead, you were drawn to the more academic. The man before you, though, created beauty with an ease that had evaded you all your life, and it had you both jealous and entirely intrigued. Slowly, you reached down to take a sip of your coffee as you let your eyes drift back to your reading.

Learning about ancient Babylon was far less interesting than watching him, though.  

When you next looked out the window and away from your work the handsome artist had created his base sketch already. How did he do it so fast? You assumed it was practice. He had been drawing the same 3 buildings every weekday morning for at least a month, so after a while, it must have been second nature to measure out the lines and put things into perspective. You smiled. He tended to have that effect on you.

The process was repeated until a little before 9:30. You would read a few paragraphs then look up to watch the painting progress from a sketch to a full-fledged work of art. It was good today from what you could see. The colors were a bit more muted than usual, but that was only on account of the awful, dreary overcast sky that threatened to dump rain on the city at any time. Overall, you would have considered it a masterpiece. Easel boy didn’t seem to think the same.

He regarded the painting with a sort of begrudging satisfaction that bordered on disappointment before he pulled the second cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and began the process of packing up his materials. You finished the last of your coffee watching him do so. Smoking, well, smoking tobacco at least, had always been a vice you had avoided and yet you often wondered what it would feel like to take a drag of one of his cigarettes after it had been between his lips. Then, the magic lifted.

He folded up the flimsy easel, tucked it away with his materials back into his messenger bag, hoisted the stool under one arm and the painting under the other before taking off at a brisk clip down the street away from your window. You watched him until he was out of sight.

You were snapped from your concentration by a knock at your door.

“Y/N,” a heavily accented voice called, sending you scrambling for your bag, “If you are not outside in the next 15 seconds I will break down your door,”

Shit.

“Coming, Sasha!” You wailed. It took about 10 of those seconds to grab your backpack and shove your textbook inside, an extra 2 to check your appearance in the mirror- you looked slightly disheveled, but it was the best you were gonna do after the night you’d had. Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing anything important. You didn’t need to be dressed for a date -and you were opening the door for a quick save at the 14th second. Your door was safe for another day.

Out in the hall waited Sasha Balandin, arms crossed and grey eyes piercing in the flickering light of the terrible overhead fluorescents. As a fellow international student, you had become fast friends with Sasha. He was a little rough around the edges, and definitely didn’t take your bullshit, but he was a rare friend. “I have been waiting for 10 minutes,” he griped. You tried your best to look apologetic. “Don’t do that,”

“Do what?” You asked, closing and locking your door behind you as you began walking down the hallway.

Sasha huffed. “Do not pretend you were not too busy ogling that painter in the courtyard to hear me knocking on your door,” His Russian bluntness was on full display now as you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that!”

“It is not an accusation if it is true,”

“There’s no way you know for a fact that I was watching him again,”

“But you were. This happens every week,”

You sighed, pausing at the top of the stairs. “I was,”

Taking the stairs in twos, Sasha sighed. “You are too soft, Y/N. Besides, you have said so often that he seems like an asshole. Why do you continue to get all mushy at him out the window if this is the case?”

“Because… well, because…” for a moment, you floundered in search of an answer that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete freak, but you found that there really wasn’t one. It came down the one small factor. “He’s just really hot, okay?”

The look Sasha gave you could have killed. He kept his mouth shut, though, choosing to let his silence shame you more than anything else did. It worked. For the entire trip down the stairs and the mile-long walk to your lecture hall, you felt the weight of shame heavy on your shoulders. Or maybe it was just your backpack. You didn’t know which you’d prefer. He did start speaking again eventually, going on about some party you had missed in favor of studying, but the feeling never left. Even as you sat down for your lecture it was still at the forefront of your mind. In fact, you were so busy thinking about your crush on easel boy and the problems with it that you barely paid attention to the professor’s rehashing of the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Your error only hit when the professor flipped the PowerPoint to the final slide.

“Before you go, I want to remind you that you have a paper on the importance of Enkidu in the Epic is due at the beginning of class this Friday. The details and requirements should be listed in your syllabus. Class dismissed,”

Fuck.

Friday was only two days away.

You were so screwed.

The problem was, you didn’t have a spare copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh just lying around your dorm room. Usually that wouldn’t have been an issue, the professor for your current history course used English for her slide because her particular history course was specifically for first-year international students. Unfortunately for you, though, you hadn’t been taking notes. Instead, you had been daydreaming about how it would feel to have easel boy blow his cigarette smoke in your face and then subsequently scolding yourself for having thoughts like that about a total stranger. In a terrible twist of fate, the professor only held office hours after her last classes on Mondays and Fridays, so even getting the information from her then was off the table. Dread began to pool in your stomach.

Any other student would have been able to cut their losses, rent a copy from the library, slog through it in a night, and write the damn essay even without the help of the classroom slides for context. The only problem was all the books in the library were in Sokovian, and you still barely knew how to order a coffee correctly. Reading the language in a full Cyrillic alphabet would just be impossible, especially for a book as stupidly old as the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In short, unless you could get your hands on a copy in the next day or so, you were absolutely, well-and-truly fucked.

Sasha was quick to find you as the hall cleared out, waiting near your seat as you packed away your notes. “That was all bullshit, no?” He asked, but the second he took in your slightly panicked expression he stopped short, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. You knew what he was going to say before he ever said it.

“Something is wrong. You were not paying attention. Were you thinking-”

“Yes. Okay? Yes, I was thinking about him,”

He shook his head slightly. “I am concerned for you,”

“Who isn’t?”

Despite his usually stoic demeanor, that made Sasha huff out a soft laugh. “You got yourself into this mess, Y/N, you will get yourself out somehow,”

Your jaw dropped as you slung your bag over your shoulder and started making your way towards the door. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“Though I would love to be helpful, you forget that my English is poor. It will do me better to read the book in Sokovian myself than to use the information from class,”

Oh, yeah. You winced. “Sorry, Sash’”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged as you walked out onto the lawn, chilled to the bone by the wind that whipped in every direction.

A storm was brewing. It might not fully take hold of the city for a few hours yet, but it would make the walk to your evening class absolute hell if the rain fell as hard as it had several weeks prior. You could only hope that it wouldn’t start until after you had walked home. Your odds were looking slim, though, based on the way you could already hear thunder clapping in the distance. After a moment you hit the edge of the sidewalk where your paths would diverge.

“Good luck with the paper,” you offered weakly.

Sasha replied with a sharp, “Good luck with your crush,” and then he was off in the opposite direction without another word. Sasha was blunt like that, never overstaying his welcome or lingering when he didn’t need to. There was something enviable about it. What you wouldn’t give to be able to simply say things as they were without an unnecessary sugar coating to save face and spare feelings. It lingered on your mind for the whole half-mile walk to the campus bookstore. Speaking of which...

There was only one place where you might possibly find an English copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh. It wasn’t the big student bookstore, most of the textbooks there had been in Sokovian, Russian, or German and you hadn’t even tried to set foot in their actual book section. No, your only hope was the tiny hole-in-the-wall bookstore you had stumbled upon during move-in. It was only about half a mile away from your dorm from any of your lecture halls, so you often found yourself wandering inside when you had time to kill. They were one of the only stores you’d come across that sold anything in English, magazines included, so despite the fact that the young cashiers rarely spoke your language you often found that the back shelves of that tiny shop kept you from going mad.

Now, they might also be keeping you from ruining your GPA.

You could only hope. If anybody could save you, it was them.

Ducking in through the small doorway, you were greeted by the soft ring of the bell above your head. The attendant at the register simply regarded you with a polite nod. You had seen her there before and she knew you barely spoke a lick of Sokovian, so she didn’t attempt a pleasantry. Instead, she simply let you wander through the entrance and into the towering bookshelves, passing a few other faceless shoppers on your way towards the back. You were grateful for her nonchalance.

If there was anything worse than feeling foolish for not knowing Sokovian, it was being talked down to in perfect English by a Sokovian citizen. Most interactions left you wishing you’d actually taken anything away from your high school French class other than emotional trauma from your teacher and a caffeine addiction. Damn America and its terrible public-school language programs…

The path to the English classics section was one you’d walked many times since discovering the book store. It was right in the very back corner of the shop, tucked away where the city natives wouldn’t have to address or see it. You had snagged a copy of Pride and Prejudice a few weeks back, so you knew exactly where to search. The only problem was slogging through every single book on the shelf in search of the one you were looking for.

Your eyes scanned the wall.  

Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh…

Gilgamesh!

On the 6th shelf up sat one small copy. Score! You were saved! As you reached up to grab it, though, you were met with yet another roadblock. The shelf it was on was juuuust a little too high for you to reach. Oh, come on…

You hopped a little, extending your hand up as far as it could go, but your fingers just barely brushed the spine. Somewhere behind you, you could hear footsteps. Then someone coughed to suppress laughter. The shame was plain on your face. As your flannel rode up and you stretched up in one last desperate attempt to grab the book when suddenly someone, you assumed the same person who had been laughing at your misfortune, spoke.

“They have stools, you know,” he said, accented voice thick with amusement. The English surprised you, but you assumed they used it for your benefit. You were in front of the English language books after all. Besides, the shame of it all kept your mind from questioning it too much. “For reaching the top shelf,”

Of course they had stools.

If your face hadn’t already been burning with embarrassment it definitely was now.

In a split-second decision, you decided playing dumb was the only way you could walk out of the situation with any dignity left at all, so you plastered on a confused smile and spun around to greet the stranger. “Really? I had no cl-”

You stopped short.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’d know those paint-stained jeans anywhere.

There, with his hands in his pockets and the most self-important, thin-lipped smirk you had ever seen, was easel boy in all of his cocky, intimidating, hot glory. Had you really noticed how hot he truly was before? It didn’t feel like it. Not now that you’d really seen him close up and reveled in the way his dark eyes hypnotized you with their smudged liner that felt borderline obscene. You could smell him too, all charcoal and turpentine and cigarette smoke. If you had it bad before when he was just a blurry ideal out your window, you were completely and utterly smitten now.

He regarded you with a sort of practiced annoyance, and yet there was a strange softness to it that you hadn’t found in many native Sokovians, especially ones that saw you as the stupid, bumbling American wandering blindly around their country.

“Would you like my help?”

“Huh?” You were so lost in his eyes that you couldn’t even focus on his question.

“To reach your book. Would you like my help?”

“Oh!” With a brisk nod, you stepped away from the shelf to make room for easel boy, “yeah, I’m just trying to grab that one there. The, uh, Epic of Gilgamesh,”

In one swift movement, he was stepping right beside you to easily reach up and grab the offending piece of literature. The closeness of it all nearly sent you into a tailspin. That wasn’t even mentioning the way your heart thudded just a little faster when he finally handed the book to you, his calloused fingers brushing against your own. You barely find a grip on your brain strong enough to thank him through the fog of embarrassment and attraction. Eventually, though, you managed to choke out a placation as your eyes explored the cover of the book.

“Thanks for that,”

“It was no problem,” he shrugged. He didn’t move though, still standing just inches away from you. When you looked up from the book you found his eyes were still on you, watching intently as if he expected something from you. The answer to what he actually expected was a mystery but you could tell he wanted something. When you didn’t speak, he spoke for you. “So, The Epic of Gilgamesh? That’s definitely a bold choice,”

You looked up at him sheepishly through heavily lidded eyes. “It’s not a choice at all, actually. I’m only buying it so I can write an essay,”

“Ah,” Something about his tone was almost disappointed as the conversation stalled.

You quickly changed the subject to the first thing you could think of.

“Your hair is really nice!”

“My hair?”

“Yeah… your hair,”

Smooth move, dumbass.

Easel boy’s expression seemed to soften once more as his signature grin crept back onto his face. “Thank you, I grew it myself,” Between his accent and the way he was looking at you like he was going to eat you alive, you weren’t exactly sure how you hadn’t had a heart attack yet. Still, the attention was nice, even if it was bourne out of you repeatedly embarrassing yourself in a never-ending cycle of fuckups. He ran a hand through his loose brown hair. “I like your shirt. Very American,”

Silently, you cursed yourself for not taking a few extra seconds to pick out a better outfit when you woke up. Standing next to him, even while he was dressed in his paint-stained jeans and undone button-up, you looked like a wreck in comparison. He didn’t seem to be speaking from a place of judgment, though.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was being nice, but that couldn’t be the case… could it?

“Maybe it’s just that I haven’t met very many Sokovians that are fond of America, but I’m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult,” You joked. It was a bit sarcastic, the lilt of your voice masking your deep insecurity, and to your surprise easel boy laughed. He really laughed. From your place beside him, you could almost feel the warmth radiating off of him as he shook his head.

“It was definitely a compliment,”

Oh.

Your heart skipped a beat.

That was a new revelation.

You steeled yourself with a deep breath. Fuck it. It was now or never.

“I, uh… I’m Y/N, and you are?”

He regarded you once again with that strange expression of expectation. “What?”

“I asked for your name,” you repeated, and yet he still stood, slightly dumbfounded, staring down at you with that same expectant expression from earlier. For a moment, you almost thought he expected you to know it already. That fact was quickly glossed over when he moved to rub the back of his neck with his hand, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’m not very good with people. My father thought college might help me finally connect with my peers, but I don’t think he expected that I was the problem, nor do I think he expected me to pick a degree in the arts,” Suddenly, he paused and stuck out his hand to you. “I’m Hel. It’s very nice to meet you Y/N,”

With only a moment of hesitation- because wow, your name had never sounded more right on someone’s lips -you took his large calloused hand in your own and shook it gently. His palm was warm, his fingers lingering on your own for just a moment even as he pulled away. It wasn’t much, just a soft brush against your flesh, but it sent a flash of heat and liquid confidence through your chest.

“Is that short for something?” Your eyes met his in the soft yellow glow of the overhead lamps. Seeing him like this, so up close and personal, he looked a lot more human than he had from your window. Sure, he was imposing. Underneath the initial harsh facade, though, was something softer and almost poetic. You weren’t an artist by any means but if you had been, you had no doubt that he’d be your muse.

“It’s short for Helmut, but only my father calls me that, and only when he’s cross, which, unfortunately, is most of the time,” he chuckled, “Besides, it’s an old man’s name. It doesn’t suit me,”

The words left your mouth before you knew what you were saying.

“Well, it’s better than calling you easel boy,”

Shit.

Today really just wasn’t your day, huh?

In the split second where you were mourning your chances with the most stupidly handsome guy who had ever shown any interest in you, you almost missed the way Helmut’s eyes lit up at the admission.

“Easel boy?” His voice was teasing, but not demeaning. That didn’t do much to ease your mortification, though.

“Is there any chance that I can get you to forget I said anything?”

“If you already have a nickname for me when we’ve barely met, I think you already know the answer to that question,”

His knowing smirk was enough to get you pleading. “You can’t just let me off the hook this once?” you begged, scrubbing a hand across your forehead in a desperate attempt to get away from his piercing gaze. The things those brown eyes did to you could be classified as obscene… “I will genuinely do anything if you don’t make me explain myself right now Hel,”

Hel quirked up an eyebrow. “Anything?” The way your stomach turned at just one word from him was both terrifying and extremely exciting. It felt like a promise. Without hesitation, you nodded. That made him smile. “In that case, get coffee with me today?”

Once again, you were rendered speechless.

“My treat,” he added, “unless you’re not interested…”

“No!” Your answer left your lips embarrassingly fast, “Or- yes? No, no, I think I meant no. No; I am very interested. Yes; I would like to get coffee with you,” There was a hint of shame in your words, but only a hint. After the day you’d had already, there wasn’t very much there to be ashamed of. Still, that same pit of dread began to open up in your stomach as you mulled over your choices.

Thankfully, Helmut continued to take it all in stride. “Wonderful! Is there anything else you’d like to do here before we go? It’s best we leave soon if we want to beat the rain,” He offered up his arm as he spoke like some sort of Disney prince. It was, by far, the cutest gesture you had ever been lucky enough to receive.

You linked your arm with his without hesitation. “As soon as I pay we can get going,” He was warm. It radiated off him in waves just like the warm hints of tobacco and wintermint that seemed to seep from his skin and clothes. With that, you made your way to the front desk as Hel shot you a sly smile.

“Who said anything about letting you pay?”

True to his word, he didn’t let you pay for a single thing for the rest of the afternoon.

The two of you made your way up to the cashier together, and Helmut only separated from your side to grab his wallet before you could grab yours. He then spoke in rapid-fire Sokovian to the lady at the register and pulled what could only be described as a wad of Sokovian koronas while you set the book on the counter, and from the looks of it, she seemed more than pleased with the two of you. Who wouldn’t be, especially when Hel seemed to insist that she keep the excess? In the end, after the book had been wrapped nicely in a paper bag and deposited in your backpack, Helmut held the door open for you like some sort of gentleman and followed you out into the grey afternoon.

Then, you were off down the street on Hel’s arm, pushing through the wind and the biting chill that had settled in the air.

“So, you don’t sound like a big fan of your dad,” you asked, half laughing as you attempted to broach conversation once again.

Helmut groaned beside you. “My father is a menace who is unable to understand that some people want more in life than to sit behind a desk all day making phone calls. In fact, most of my family is the same way. The only reason I haven’t completely cut them off and changed my name is the money,”

“I assume you get a lot of it if it’s worth sticking around someone you hate so much,”

“Never ask a man about his net worth,” he chuckled, gently elbowing you in the ribs, “but yes, I’m very comfortable. I have my own apartment just far enough away to be considered off-campus with my own car and as much money as it takes to keep me happy and getting good grades; Daddy makes sure of that,” The word daddy was a deep sneer, barely there in the wind, but something about it sent butterflies through your stomach. Well, that was never something you thought you were into… “Little does he know, I’m not here to make money. I’m here to find inspiration worth my time while out from under his thumb,”  

You snorted softly. “Artistic and rich? You’re just ticking all the boxes, Hel,”

“Good for me. Would offering help on that essay of yours endear you to me further?”

“Absolutely,”

The next 5 minutes you spend discussing the Epic of Gilgamesh. Surprisingly, in one of the first stokes of good luck you’d had all day, Helmut seemed to be one of the only people on earth who knew plenty about Enkidu off the top of his head. When he was the one lecturing you in his smooth, heavily accented timbre it was so much easier to pay attention to something so very tedious than when you heard it from your aging and often monotone professor. In fact, you were so enthralled by his retelling of the tale that you barely noticed you’d made it all the way to the cafe that sat across from the international dorm.

If you didn’t consider Hel to be smart as a whip and twice as clever as he was smart, you would have thought it was a coincidence. It couldn’t be though. No, there was no way anything was a coincidence with Helmut around. You shot him a smile when he opened the door for you and ushered you inside.

“You know Hel,” you muttered, “I’m starting to think you might know more about me than you initially let on,”

He shrugged. “You’re American, so it’s unlikely you live anywhere else and I wanted to make the walk home easy. It’s supposed to rain, you know? Besides, despite the… interesting waitstaff, they make the best pastries in town right here in this cafe,”

“Did you mean it when you said you were paying?”

“Absolutely,”

“Then I can’t wait to try one,”

The two of you were seated quickly (you assumed it had to do with the waitress finding Hel as hot as you did, because you caught her looking at him from behind the counter and whispering excitedly in Sokovian to her coworker at least twice over the course of the meal) and the conversation flowed easily as you waited on your coffees and the deserts Helmut insisted on splitting to let you try. Millefeuille, pear tart tatin, chocolate devil’s food cake, and a towering plate of apricot kołaczki awaited you, and they kept you sitting and talking and snacking for over an hour as you really got to know each other. The more you learned, the more you fell in love with the man across from you.

Over the course of the afternoon, you learned that Helmut was majoring in studio art while minoring in psychology just because it interested him, he hated the Beatles almost as much as he hated Freud’s theories on women, his favorite color was purple, and he spent most of his free time reading or getting high off his ass in his massive studio apartment in what you now knew was one of the most expensive areas in the city. He, in return, sat at rapt attention across the table as you gushed about your life in America, your reasons for going to university in Sokovia, your favorite books, and the ridiculousness that was trying to pass college-level classes in a country that seemed to avoid English at all costs.

Eventually, though, you did touch upon his nickname.

“I just thought it was really interesting that you did the same thing every single day, no matter what,” you explained, grabbing one of the last kołaczki from the plate and ignoring the powdered sugar that stuck to your fingers, “and by watching you… I don’t know, I guess it kind of felt like I had another friend who’d share breakfast with me in the morning if that makes sense,”

Hel nodded, swallowing his last bite of chocolate cake. “I understand completely. It can be lonely, coming to a new place without any friends or connections, but you were brave enough to take the leap. I admire that,” He brought his napkin to his lips before crumpling it and setting it one of the now empty plates before him, “But I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed that you didn’t watch me because I’m attractive,”

You nearly choked on your pastry. “Well, I wouldn’t say your pretty face didn’t help…”

The grin that spread across his face was heartstopping. He grabbed a napkin from the little holder next to the two of you and grabbed a pen from one of his pockets as he spoke. “In that case, you should join me tomorrow morning. Bring coffee if you can, I never have enough hands to bring a cup for myself, but even if you can’t bring some, if you want to come and watch me work I’d be more than happy to have a companion for the morning,” he paused for a moment, flustered, “or every morning, for that matter,”

“That sounds like a deal,” Your cheeks were hot, but not from embarrassment this time. No, it was anything but, because here you were across the table from a kind, attractive, intelligent Sokovian boy with money to spend and time to spare for you. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud too. He wanted you back, after all. You could see it in the way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than he should, and even more plainly in the way he wrote his phone number in bold blue ink on the napkin and signed it with a doodle of a heart before passing it across the table to you.

“I’m going to go pay,” he said quietly while standing, “but I’ll be back in a second to walk you out. Alright?”

“Alright,”

There was something strangely similar to sorrow sitting in your chest when you watched him walk away. The sight of his ass as he went made up for it, though. Once he was obstructed by other patrons, you turned your attention to the napkin in your hands. Hel’s handwriting was neat as far as artists’ handwriting goes, but it still held a sort of looseness in its curves, a freedom in the way the numbers had flowed effortlessly from his pen. You popped the last kołaczki in your mouth as you admired the blue ink before devouring the final bites of pear tart and millefeuille. How had you gotten so lucky to have someone like him giving you his number and buying you pastries? You pondered the bizarre nature of it all until Helmut returned.

You stood quickly, folding the napkin and putting it away in your pocket. “Ready to go?”

“If you are,” he replied. In an instant, you were standing beside him again as he opened the door for you. The wind was even stronger now, strong enough that his loose hair whipped wildly around his forehead from the force of it. You couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance.

He caught you off guard as he walked you across the street. “You have such a pretty laugh,”

It was like you were seeing him again for the first time. You fiddled with the strap of your backpack as you got closer and closer to the door to your dorm. “Thanks. I’m pretty fond of your laugh too,”

Then, you were there, just two college kids standing awkwardly before your first departure.

“So,” you said before you could stop yourself, “when I tell my one friend all about this afternoon after my math class tonight, should I say it was a date?”

Hel’s cheeks flushed pink. “You can call it that, if that’s what you would like it to have been,”

“I think I would,”

“Good, good,” he let out a little chuckle, “I’m glad. Would you… would you consider going on another? I promise I have much more to offer than just small talk and tips on where to buy the best pastries,”

Looking into his brown eyes, so full of uncertainty and hope, you knew you couldn’t have denied him even if you wanted to. Still, you weren’t going to give in to his advances without a little bit of taunting. It made it fun, a game to be played where, hopefully, you both would win big in the end.

“That depends,” you teased, letting your lower lip catch between your teeth, “what do you have in mind?”

Helmut shoved his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, pensive. “If you want to, we could go to my place and I could actually show you all of the paintings I’ve been working on while you watched me. The view from the rooftop is lovely too. We could have dinner up there while looking out over Novi Grad. I have to warn you, though, it’ll probably be takeout. I’m an atrocious chef,”

Slowly, a brilliant smile spread across your face. “Does Friday work?”

The smile Helmut shot back was as bright as every star in the night sky and even more enthralling. “Friday is perfect. Can I pick you up at 7?”

“As long as you come in that fancy car you were talking about,”

“Then it’s a deal,”

“Well,” you turned away, walking up the steps towards the door before turning back to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Hel, and I’ll bring coffee. Have a good night,”

“You too, Y/N. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that,”

With that, he gave one last short wave before turning on his heel and pulling out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. You watched him walk away until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Only then did you enter the punch code and race up the stairs to your room.

Your back was pressed to the door of your dorm room the second you had shut it, your hands clutching at your chest in a desperate attempt to keep your heart from beating right out of your ribs. The second you were in the privacy of your own place, your cool facade had melted away to reveal just how much of a wreck you really were.

He had invited you over to his apartment.

He liked you.

Easel boy really, honestly liked you.

No, not easel boy. Helmut. Hel.

Hel liked you, and he invited you over to his apartment, and you had plans to meet him with coffee as he painted the next morning.

You smiled softly under the fluorescent lights and pulled the book that had brought you together from your backpack. It seemed so unassuming now, just a fresh paperback with an unbroken spine, but in reality, it was so much more than that.

Hel.

It was such a nice name. You liked it a lot.

Now you couldn’t wait to see what else you liked about him too.

------

a/n: I have been so excited to start sharing this AU with you guys, and it’s finally here!!! If you liked this fic, I once again will direct you to Bliss by @creme-bruhlee​ because that’s technically next in chronological order for this AU. I hope you enjoyed!!!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 ,  @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @your-pixels-are-showing , @shit-post-things , @bbarton​ , @sux-ubus , @halefirewarrior , @janelongxox , @rax-writes , @mossybank​ , @simsiddy​ , @xxspqcebunsxx​ , @be-cautious-around-bri​ , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car​ , @frothonthedaydreams​ 

[nctsworld]

lucky strike

✩ renjun x reader | college au | fluff | friends to lovers | 2.3k 

SUMMARY ⇾ you ask to stay over at your friend’s place on campus for the night, which leads the two of you to realize your feelings for each other. WARNINGS ⇾ fluff, kissing, roommate!haechan, haechan’s a little shit RATING ⇾ teen+ PROMPT ⇾ college au + fluff REQ BY ⇾ anonymous 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Tomorrow, you have a midterm at 6pm, then another at 8am the next day. Since commuting would already eat away so much of your time, you ask around in hopes that you could stay with someone on campus overnight to make your life easier. Unfortunately, most of your friends are either off-campus or don’t have the space to spare. 

Except for your friend in acapella club, Renjun. 

Knowing he lives on-campus, at the end of your practice, you explain your situation and inquire if you can stay with him tomorrow evening. You don’t think it’s a huge deal since you two have been friends for almost a year, yet his eyes widen at your question as the other members trickle out of the room. Despite his reaction, he doesn’t hesitate in his response.

“Yeah, sure. I have room at my place.” He stands up and lets his backpack hang from one shoulder. You do the same, but with a pleased smile now that your search is finally over. “Although... do you remember Donghyuck?” 

“Oh yeah, he sometimes drops in during practice, right?”

Renjun nods, “I’m sure you could tell how he is from those few times. Even though he’s my friend, he’s also a little shit and, unfortunately, my roommate.” 

The two of you begin to walk out of the room, shoulders brushing against one another, and into the open hallway. 

“I doubt he couldn’t care less if you’re coming over, but do you think you’ll be okay with him?” 

He scrunches his nose cutely in genuine concern, a habit you notice he often does during practice when frustrated. You chuckle, waving your hand and his worries away. 

“I’m sure I can handle him, Renjun.” 

Suddenly, the young man stiffens due to the arms that drape around his neck, dragging him into a hug. Although this isn’t the first time you’ve done so, he still freezes from the embrace. 

“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” you whisper softly into his ear, squeezing him tighter to show your gratitude. 

Because of your firm hold and how you’re cheek to cheek, heat rises upwards to Renjun’s face and ears. He ponders if you can feel his warmth on your skin, and if you can feel the knocking of his heart against your chest. Carefully, he hovers a hand over your back, fingers ghosting over your body to reciprocate the hug.   

“Yeah, of course.” 

“So, you like her?” 

Later that evening, Renjun informs Donghyuck of your upcoming presence in their apartment during dinner in said apartment. The latter’s question is expressed, which causes the noodles that are about to be devoured by Renjun hang in the chopsticks near his agape mouth. 

“No, why would you say that?” 

The roommate snickers at the defensive rise in Renjun’s voice before picking around the plate filled with grilled meat in front of him.

“Why would you let her stay over at our place?” 

The follow-up question stops Renjun once more from eating. The noodles continue to drip the soup base back into the bowl and splatter a bit of it around the table. The older roommate furrows his eyebrows and spews, “Because I’m a good friend?” 

Squinting eyes filled with doubt stare back at Renjun. He sighs, shaking his head. 

“Just be on your best behaviour tomorrow, yeah?” he says, finally stuffing his face with the noodles. The younger of the two sticks one piece of meat into his mouth and quickly adds a few more. 

“Mmm, no promises,” Donghyuck mumbles with his full cheeks, now shoving the white rice from his bowl into his mouth. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing!”  

The next evening arrives fast. After finishing your midterm, you rush on over to Renjun’s apartment and are greeted by his candied smile as he opens the door. 

“Hey, come on in.” 

While you’re removing your shoes by the front door mat, you peer around and find his place quaint. It’s a little run-down and not the most spacious apartment; you’re directly standing in the small kitchen and it’s only a few steps from the slightly bigger sized living room. However, there’s a balcony that oversees a nice view of the campus, a fireplace across from the couch and coffee table, and, for two college boys, the space isn’t as messy as you expected. 

“How was your midterm?” 

“Don’t ask,” you groan. “I’m not looking forward to the next one.” 

“Well, I’m sure you did well.” Renjun beams in comfort, but you’re too focused on taking your shoes off. 

You set your shoes aside, ensuring they’re not obstructing the doorway. Standing up, you ask, “So, where should I set down my stuff?” 

The host opens his mouth, ready to answer, but a familiar figure comes out of a room to cut him off.

“Renjun’s girlfriends always stay with him when they come over, so you can put your stuff in his bedroom—ow!” Your friend jabs his elbow into Donghyuck’s rib cage and you stifle a laugh. 

“Ignore him. Anyway,” you trail behind him, entering the living room. “If you don’t mind, I was thinking you could sleep on the couch. There’s also the fireplace, so it’ll be nice and warm and—” 

“It’s perfect,” you interject, halting Renjun’s rambling. “Again, I really appreciate it.” 

You touch his arm for a brief moment, smiling warmly at him, before you place your backpack down beside the couch. His hand grazes over the spot on his arm and he nibbles on his bottom lip. Then, a low rumbling occurs from your stomach.   

“Have you eaten yet? I’ve been dying to get food since the midterm.” 

“Not yet. Let’s go pick something up.” 

Also dying for food and dying to get away from his roommate’s existence, Renjun hastily turns around towards the kitchen counter to take his keys.  

“Can you get food for me?” Donghyuck chimes in. 

With his back facing Donghyuck, he shoves the keys into his jean pocket. “Are you going to pay me back?” 

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Then, no.” Renjun turns and flashes him a snarky grin. 

It’s not like sass and sarcasm didn’t exist in Renjun’s vocabulary, but it’s amusing to you to see him act like this outside of acapella club.  

Your friend and you begin to put your shoes on, but the third figure in the apartment whines and groans endlessly for Renjun to pick-up dinner for him. 

“If I buy you something, will you leave us alone for the rest of the night?” 

Your sudden offer and brazenness shocks Renjun, yet leaves an impressed smile on his face. 

Leaning against the wall, Donghyuck folds his arms against his chest and eyes you up and down. You hold your ground and stare back at him. After a long beat, he faces Renjun.  

“I like this one,” he comments and waggles his finger at you, as if you aren’t there. You roll your eyes, realizing Renjun really wasn’t exaggerating when he said that his roommate was a little shit. 

“Is that a yes?” 

The little shit nods, “Renjun will let you know what I want. You two lovebirds don’t take too long now!” 

You’re the first to step out the door, so you don’t see Renjun baring gritted teeth at Donghyuck, causing the latter to flinch out of reaction. Both of you exit the building complex, heading towards the pack of restaurants on campus. 

On the way out, Renjun makes a deliberate effort to not bring up the topic of being labelled lovebirds from before. You don’t bring it up either, so he assumes you aren’t thinking too much of it. 

Little did he know, it’s actually all you’re thinking about; his roommate just shined a new light on how you see Renjun. 

When you return to the apartment with food in hand, Donghyuck keeps his word and eats in his room, leaving both of you on your own. 

Perhaps it’s because of the seed that was planted by his roommate, but over the last hour or so, you’ve been hyper aware of how you interact with Renjun, and vice-versa—how at ease you are with him; how he makes you laugh effortlessly; how he listens intently, hanging onto every word you say; how his stare often lingers on you; how, despite having different majors and interests outside of acapella club, both of you simply click, fitting as one like a lock and key. 

Come to think of it, this is the longest time beyond practice you’ve spent one-on-one time with Renjun. Sure, you’ve hung out during get-togethers at other members’ places and at the yearly retreat, but being alone with him is different. It also feels right, as if you should do this more often. 

After the food’s gone, Renjun questions if you’re going to study more for the evening. You answer with a shake of your head, citing you’ve studied enough today and will likely do more before you sleep. 

You propose, “Are you busy with anything tonight? Do you wanna watch movies or something together?”  

“Sure. Anything in mind?” 

Pouting in thought, you reply, “I’m kind of in a Marvel mood. Do you like Marvel movies?” 

The grin that forms on Renjun’s face isn’t alien to you, but it produces a remarkable feeling in your chest, one that doesn’t come regularly to you. 

“I love them.” 

Sinking into the couch, you observe the host prepare one of the Avengers movies on the living room TV. When he’s done and sits next to you, he reaches for a remote, which turns the fireplace on, fittingly warming up the apartment on this cool, autumn evening. 

Your attention is on the movie for the first bit, but it begins to transition onto the handsome individual next to you. He’s so invested in the movie, even though he’s apparently seen it a million times. Your gaze sketches the outline of his jawline, absorbs the beauty of the nuances in his expressions, and then rests upon his hand laying on his thigh. 

Impetuously, you reach for him and hold his hand gently within yours. 

Like with your hugs, Renjun freezes upon your touch, but it’s even worse than those occasions since this time, he almost forgets to breathe. He blinks once, twice, before glancing down, not moving his head whatsoever, at the reality of your affectionate touch. When he peers up at you, you’re pretending to be fixated on the screen. However, your face says otherwise—your lips are pressed together in a simper, cheeks puffing out in nervousness. 

The hand-holding is awkward since your fingers aren’t laced together, so Renjun anxiously draws his hand away, fearful of wrecking the moment with the absence of his contact, then hurries to intertwine his fingers between yours. 

Neither of you break apart nor say anything throughout the rest of the movie, enjoying each other’s company and new level of intimacy in comfortable silence.  

As the movie ends and the credits roll on the screen, neither party on the couch hasn’t let go of the other’s hand yet. 

“Renjun,” You’re the one to break the extended silence in a delicate murmur. You recline and settle your head onto the curve of the couch. You blink at him and he follows suit, blinking back at you merely a few inches away. Your thumb rubs circles against the back of his hand. “I like hanging out with you.” 

His throat goes dry, so he gulps, then whispers back: 

“I like hanging out with you too.” 

It’s not a blatant confession, but both of you understand the underlying intention of your words. 

Your head cranes forward and meets his lips. The first kiss is a chaste one—very still, the pressure of your mouths pressed against each other lightly. 

After a bit, with your heads still laying on the couch, Renjun raises a hand to cup your cheek, deepening the forthcoming kisses. His lips are soft and smooth, his kisses tender and careful. You’ve only had a small taste, but you already want to drown in his kisses forever. Both of you lift yourselves off from the head of the couch and shuffle your bodies closer to one another, increasing the excitement of the budding affection. 

“Don’t mind me, I”m just getting—” Donghyuck gasps at the sight in front of him. 

At the intruding voice, one of Renjun’s eyes shoots open. He attempts to wave his roommate off, hoping he won’t ruin the moment.  

“I knew it!” he mouths, prior to grabbing a drink silently from the fridge. Respecting his promise, he scuttles off back to his room. 

Studying is a forgotten concept as the two of you make-out for the next few hours upon the couch. The crackling and warmth of the fireplace engulfs your bodies amidst the intermittent giggles and sighs. 

Eventually, you withdraw from his addictive embrace and prepare to go to bed. You decide it’d be best to keep to the initial arrangement of you sleeping on the couch. Renjun respects your decision wholeheartedly. 

But neither of you don’t say your last good nights until you’ve shared a few more kisses first.  

When morning comes, following a brief cram session of studying and you getting dressed, you knock on Renjun’s bedroom door. You open the door slowly, head peeking through to ensure you aren’t catching him in a state of indecency. A small smile creeps over your face, indulging in how adorable and angelic he looked as he slept. You shake him lightly, stirring him half-awake.

You drop onto your knees beside his bed, whispering, “Renjun, thanks for letting me stay over. I had a really nice time last night.” 

“Mmm, of course,” he grumbles, eyes barely open. 

“I’ll text you after, okay?” 

He groans mechanically in response, making you feel a tinge of guilt for disturbing his peaceful sleep.  

You give him a good-bye kiss, simply a peck on his lips, but when you rise and turn around, you don’t expect the sleepy figure to grasp you by the wrist, dragging you down for a more intense kiss. 

“Did you really expect to leave me with a kiss like that?” he mumbles into your mouth. 

You’re thankful to be on campus since the lecture hall is close by, so you have the luxury to stay for another ten minutes in Renjun’s arms, and you’re definitely going to be staying on campus a lot more often in the near future. 

[junosartsthetic]

Hello :) For the yandere writing prompts: Might I get Roses with Shigaraki? Please and thank you <3

"Roses. They once brought great comfort. They still bring me roses but the light in their eyes is gone."

I always get carried away writing these, oops. Anyway here you go! Also this is a tattoo parlor/flower shop AU because of course it is.

__

Your new shop had only been open a day when you first noticed him. You were tending to your freshly cut roses, clipping the thorns carefully, when you heard the bell on the door jingle. You turned, looking to see who had entered. “Hello, welcome to Roses and Company!” you greeted, looking the newcomer over.

He donned a black hoodie, hood over his head and hands tucked into the pockets. You noted grey-blue hair poking out from the hood. His lips were rather chapped. He didn’t reply to your greeting.

You finished tending to the roses, placing them in a vase on a shelf before walking over to the stranger. “Can I help you find anything?”

He glanced over at you. You gave him a smile. He shrugged. “I work next door. I had nothing better to do so I wanted to check this place out.” You noted his gravelly voice. He sounded irritated. Maybe that was just his tone of speaking, you thought.

You remembered the tattoo parlor next door. “You’re a tattoo artist?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He rolled up his hoodie sleeve, showcasing a large collection of tattoos. They ranged from morbid depictions of skulls to scrawlings of words. You thought they were pretty.

“Oh, sweet. I’ve never had a tattoo but I might have to get one now that you’re right next door!”

He gestured to the bouquet of roses you’d just shelved. “How much for those?”

You were only just now realizing you’d never put price tags on anything, assuming you’d have time later today. “Oh, umm…”

He suddenly spoke up. “A tattoo for the bouquet?”

You raised a brow. “Really?”

This day was turning interesting.

He nodded.

Why the hell not, you thought, trotting over to grab the vase before handing it over. “Alright. Deal.”

Next thing you knew you were sitting in a chair, the stranger sitting beside you as he sketched out a few ideas. They were all types of flowers. He was a very good artist, you noted.

“Hey,” you spoke up, causing him to hum. “I never got your name.”

“Tomura,” he mumbled, focusing on his sketches.

You smiled. “I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to meet you.”

You pointed at a sketch of a rose he had, noting it resembled the roses in the vase sitting in front of the paper. “You’re really amazing at art, Tomura. That looks incredible.”

His cheeks grew warm. “I’ve been doing this for a while. Anyway, is that the one you want?”

“It looks expensive, are you sure you want just that bouquet?”

He nodded. “It’s fine. I don’t care about money. I just enjoy the art.”

Within a few minutes, he had laid down the stencil for the tattoo, and you braced yourself for the inking needle.

“Relax,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The sensation of the needle hitting your arm made you jump, but it wasn’t as bad as you imagined. Your eyes watered slightly as he continued his work.

It only took about an hour to complete, and you talked to him during this time, Tomura occasionally responding but mostly just listening.

He realized he really liked your voice. And your calm demeanor. He didn’t know why he suddenly made a deal with you, or why he insisted on giving you a free tattoo. He’d never done anything like this for anyone else. What made you special? He didn’t even really know you. It was odd. He’d have to discuss it with Kurogiri later.

“It’s done,” he spoke after some time, putting the ink needle down and cracking his wrists. He’d usually take a break during tattooing, but he decided to push onward for yours, strangely.

“It looks amazing,” you commented, gazing at your freshly inked arm. “Thank you, Tomura. And you were right, it didn’t really hurt.”

“You should probably get back to your store,” he noted. “Let me wrap it up and I’ll check on it tomorrow.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Sounds good!”

The next day, he showed up at your shop as promised, and you waved him over. “Hey, Tomura. Nice to see you again.”

You gestured to your new tattoo. “It seems to be doing good. I’ve been doing everything you’ve said to take care of it.”

He looked it over before his eyes roamed to your face. You were very pretty, he noticed. He liked the way you smiled at him. Nobody had smiled at him like that before. It made him feel nice.

“Oh, here,” you said, handing him a vase full of roses. “I decided that just one wasn’t enough in exchange for this tattoo, so I wanted to give you another bouquet.”

He stared at the red flowers, freshly plucked and trimmed. They looked perfect.

He took them wordlessly. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he mumbled.

You waved him goodbye. “Alright!”

Day after day, he showed up, and day after day you gave him a bouquet of roses. He always accepted them, and you always looked forward to his visits.

Until one day, it all changed.

It had been a month since you’d opened up shop, and your tattoo had healed up nicely.

You were rather busy today, so when you didn’t see Tomura at all you brushed it off as just missing him when he walked in.

When 10 pm rolled around, you began to close up shop.

You were prepared to walk out, purse in hand, when you saw a figure outside. You quickly recognized him as Tomura.

“Oh, hey! I thought you had already stopped by and I just hadn’t noticed you! I’ve already stored all of the roses away for today but I’ll give you two bouquets tomorrow! Promise!”

Tomura waved it off. “No, I’m not here for that. I wanted to repay you for all of your kindness.”

You cocked your head. “Oh, I don’t need any payment or anything. You’ve been a dear to me!”

He held his hand out, grasping yours. “You don’t have to keep up your ruse. I’m not a likeable person. I know that. But still, you look at me with such kindness. And I can’t get you out of my head.”

You stared blankly. “What do you mean, Tomura? Are you confessing to me or something?” You laughed, meaning it as a joke, but the way his hand squeezed yours, you realized he was completely serious.

“Every waking moment I think of you. I still have all of your bouquets you know, I’ve taken such good care of them. They’re all alive and well. Let me take you to them. They’re just inside my shop.”

You gripped your purse nervously. What had gotten into him?

“Oh, I’m glad you like them. Flowers can be tricky to take care of. Especially roses. People don’t like their thorns.”

He began to tug on your hand, guiding you next door. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”

Despite the lurking feeling of dread, you followed him without question. You knew Tomura. He wouldn’t do anything weird to you. He was a friend.

He led you inside, walking towards a door in the back of the tattoo parlor. You noticed a large chain and a lock on the door. He used his free hand to unlock it, the key dangling on a necklace tucked into his hoodie.

He led you inside.

There, on the walls of the small closet, vases of roses lined the shelves. You noticed they were all pristine, as healthy as the day you handed them to Tomura.

“Wow,” you said, letting go of his hand to caress a rose. “They’re so vibrant. You’d make a good florist, Tomura. You’ve taken great care of these. It’s amazing. They all look really healthy.”

You heard shuffling behind you. You moved to turn around, but a cloth pressed against your face stopped you. An arm wrapped around your waist, locking you against a chest as a chemical entered your airways. You attempted to scream, but no luck. Petrified, you could only wiggle in his grasp as your body began to weaken.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), but it’s for the best.”

When you awoke, you noticed you were still in the closet, though resting on a loveseat tucked into the corner. There was nobody with you. “Tomura!” you called, struggling to stand. You felt dizzy, and your legs wouldn’t move. “Hello!” you cried. You tried to wiggle your toes, but you couldn’t. What the hell was going on.

“Someone help me!”

The door unlocked, and in stepped Tomura. His hood was off. He’d never taken his hood off before. You looked into his eyes and saw blazing madness. He scratched his neck violently, smiling widely. “Oh good, you’re awake! I thought I’d knocked you out for good! That would have been awful!”

You recoiled in the chair, uselessly attempting to move your legs and escape.

“Sorry, little rose, but I had to. I couldn’t have you leaving me!”

Your eyes widened, terrified. What had he done to your legs; why couldn’t you feel them.

“Tomura, stop it. You’re acting crazy,” you cried, tears pricking your eyes. “Let me go!”

He shook his head. “I can’t. You don’t understand. I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can never let you leave me!”

You began to shake, sobbing.

He stepped towards you. “Don’t cry. I’ll take good care of you. You’re the most important of my flowers, don’t you see? You were giving me all of these roses, when you were the only rose I needed!

You cast your gaze to your tattoo as a new wave of tears struck you.

He said nothing else, only turning on his heels and walking out of the closet. The door closed, and you heard the chain clanking as the lock clicked.

You were trapped here. With no ability to walk. And no way out.

As Tomura locked you in the small room, his mind was racing. He’d done it. He’d finally gotten you all to himself. His heart beat rapidly, and he clenched his hands tightly. He was euphoric. And yet, that look in your eyes hit a soft spot in him. Was this the right thing to do? He shook this feeling aside. Of course it was. There was no other way. He had to have you. He had to protect you. He had to keep you healthy, just like the other roses...

Some time had passed, weeks maybe, you’d lost track, and you grew quiet and lethargic. You wouldn’t speak. You wouldn’t look at him. You wouldn’t even acknowledge his presence.

Still, he’d give you food and water. He helped you clean, giving you baths in the tub above the parlor. He even carried you up the stairs, being that your legs were now permanently paralyzed.

Every few days, after the parlor had closed, he’d carry you to a seat, giving you a new tattoo. It was always a rose.

Roses. They once brought great comfort to you. You used to love them. You would love giving Tomura a bouquet each day he visited. Technically, you were still bringing him roses, only he inked them onto your skin. You became his bouquet.

“You still bring me roses,” Tomura muttered quietly, buzzing the flower into your reddened skin, “but the light in your eyes is gone.”

[stargazer-balladeer]

[ii] - were you always this cute?

Word Count: 2.6k

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“I promise that I’ll make you fall for me!”

Those words keep echoing in your head endlessly, making you more embarrassed and frustrated. A proclamation you made earlier keeps replaying in your head, including the face that Albedo made making your cheeks warm at the memory of him smirking. Even though you said those words to him, you didn’t exactly have a plan or an idea on how to do it. Were you supposed to immediately act on it or what? How the hell are you supposed to do this? Why did you even say that when you don’t even know what he likes? Saying those words with much confidence because you were too caught up in the moment. Turning your head around to stuff it on your pillow before letting out a scream. Why does it sound so easy to say yet so hard to act on it? Growling to yourself, you sat up and opened your phone. You aren’t going to give up on this easily, you gave your word to Albedo and you’ll stick to it. 

Sending the message you typed, you put your phone on your side as you await for their response. 

“So let me get this straight… you want to know how to make someone fall in love with you, correct?” You nodded your head, almost too eagerly. Watching her sigh as she sent you a pointed glare. “And what makes you think that I’m an expert in this department again?” “You have a harem.” You shrugged, taking a sip on your drink. Lumine sighed once more, rubbing her temples. “Just because many people likes me doesn’t mean that I’m an expert in love.” Setting down your drink, pouting at her as you stare at her pitifully. “I just need help, Lumi~ I don’t know what to do…” “That’s not my problem.” Lumine snapped, taking a sip on her milk tea. 

Sighing, you knew from the beginning that this wasn’t easy. Lumine could be more stubborn than her twin brother, Aether. You wished you asked help from him but he’s friends with Venti, who was known to be a gossip queen. As much as you love Aether, you couldn’t help but sigh at his rather naive personality. He could be so gullible sometimes. Lumine, on the other hand, can keep a secret and is rather introverted. If you have to describe Aether and Lumine, Aether would be the sun due to his extroverted nature while Lumine is the moon due to her mysterious nature. “So, who’s the boy?” Lumine suddenly asked, staring at you. Pursuing your lips, you hesitantly told her. “It’s Albedo…” You told her.

Her eyes widened a bit before returning to normal. “Ah… I see.” She said, looking away. Tilting your head slightly at her odd behavior but decided to brush it off. “I just want to know what he likes and dislikes. What I should do and what I shouldn’t do around him.” You elaborated further. Lumine nodded her head, her eyes looking away. “The best advice I could think of right now is you should be you,” Lumine said, returning her gaze to you. “Much like the people I’ve met that came from Mondstadt, he prefers people that are true to themselves and won’t let anyone’s judgment affect them in any way.”

Nodding your head, trusting her advice. It was better than nothing you suppose. “Thanks, Lumi! I knew I could count on you!” You said while smiling brightly at her. You didn’t notice how forced her smile is or the bitterness behind her words. “Glad to help as always…”

Walking through the hallways with your mind drifting off as usual, and because of this, you didn’t notice the person in front of you. Which resulted in you accidentally colliding with them. “Sorry! I wasn’t looking.” You apologized, looking up to meet a pair of pointed cold amber eyes, much colder than Albedo’s and much fiercer. His hair green with a streak of light green and a purple diamond-shaped on his forehead, wearing a black-themed outfit. He seems familiar to you for some reason… “Watch where you’re going next time.” He huffed, turning around and walking away from you. Glaring at his retreating figure before rolling your eyes. “Rude.”

Deciding to just ignore the rude emo boy, you continued your way to your class. Adjusting the straps of your bag, you arrived at your destination. Taking a breath before sliding the door to enter, immediately getting swarmed by greetings from your classmates. Returning the gesture with a greeting of your own, you made your way to your desk. Hu tao’s bag or hat isn’t present yet on her desk so you assume that she’ll be late again. Taking a peek at the desk horizontally to yours in a different row (so like his seat is northwest from yours), you noticed he wasn’t there either. Probably in the lab, making some experiments before class starts. Shrugging, you take a seat and start to set up the things you need for your first period. 

Grabbing a spare notebook and flipping the pages until you find a blank page, you then grab a pencil and start to sketch. It wasn’t anything special or amazing compared to those art students who are amazing in drawing and painting, it was just a simple glaze lily that you saw while on your way to school. Stroking your pencil absentmindedly but still with precision, your mind half there but at the same time not. While stroking the petals of the flower, you didn’t notice someone watching you sketch from the side. “Your drawing skill is quite excellent. The way you accurately stroke your pencil with how glaze lily looks like… I’m quite impressed.”

Flinching at the sudden familiar deep voice, you slammed your notebook in surprise, whipping your head to the side to see Albedo staring at you. Locking eyes with one another, he tilted his head. “Why’d you stop?” He asked, his mouth in a small frown. Feeling your face heating up, you looked away. “I-It’s not that great. I was just… drawing randomly.” You said, your mind still not with you. Fidgeting slightly, you heard him hum in response and shuffling sound. “Really? I don’t see it that way.” Slowly raising your head to him but not quite meeting his eyes, you raise a brow, “What do you mean?”

“I think it’s lovely. Far better than any drawings I’ve seen so far.” Giving you a small smile before walking to his desk, leaving you dazed at what happened. After a few moments your mind finally comprehends what’s happening, you slammed your head to your desk, earning a lot of weird and concerned looks from your classmates. Only one found your reaction adorable and amusing. “Heyy~ are you trying to kill yourself or something~?” You heard your friend’s voice echoing beside you. “If you want to die already, I can give you a discount for being my best friend~!”

Albedo watches as the teacher continues to teach the rather boring topic that he knows already. Tapping his pen once in a while on his desk as he wishes for classes to end already. If he would have to choose his favorite teacher so far, it’ll be Mr. Zhongli. The way he teaches is rather unique, and what Albedo admires about him is his endless knowledge about certain things, most especially glaze lilies. Speaking of glaze lily, he looked at the corner of his eyes to see you almost asleep on your desk. Eyes almost closing and head on your palm, as you tried to stay awake. He watches amusingly as your head almost falls over and the desk. Hiding his growing smile behind his palm, he stares forward again.

“Miss [L/N]. Are you listening or are you busy trying not to fall asleep there?” The teacher’s voice boomed through the room, making everyone jump, most especially you. Watching your reaction at the corner of his eyes, he watches as you sit up straight, not anymore sleepy. “No ma’am! Sorry…” You said while smiling sheepishly. Stifling his chuckle as the teacher huffed at your response. “If I see you sleeping again, I’ll give you detention and more homework.” Nodding at what your teacher said, he watches as Hu tao teases you. His eyes look at your smiling face, the way your eyes wrinkle when you smile, when your nose scrunches up, and the way your eyes shine. 

Were you always this adorable?

“Ah, miss [L/N]. May I have a favor to ask you?” The silky and commanding voice of your economics teacher rang through the room after the bell finished ringing. Looking up to meet the ruby-colored eyes of miss Ningguang, you hesitantly nodded your head. Bidding a quick goodbye to Hu tao, you quickly made your way to your teacher. She crossed her arms as she smiled at you softly, which made her look more beautiful. “What is it, miss Ningguang?” “I need you to deliver something for me. You see, a fellow colleague of mine was in a hurry earlier and requested me to bring these supplies to the laboratory. But I still have a meeting to attend to now, so can I ask you to deliver these to Laboratory 2? Just place it on any desk.” She explained. Laboratory 2? Isn’t that where Albedo’s club is? You decided to nod your head since you have nothing better to do anyway, and gives you an excuse to see Albedo but no one needs to know about that. “Sure miss Ningguang! I’ll deliver these for you.” 

“Good. You are dismissed now.” 

Carrying the box that contains the supplies, you carefully navigated through the hall, minding other students and being careful not to bump into any of them. Laboratory 2 was upstairs near the third-years. “Ah! Miss [Y/N]!” Someone’s voice called from behind, making you look and see Sucrose smiling bashfully. “How are you, miss [Y/N]?” She asked, going to your side and noticing the box you’re holding. “And what’s in the box?” “It contains supplies for Laboratory 2. Miss Ningguang made me deliver it.” You answered while smiling. “And I’m doing alright. You?” Sucrose nods her head enthusiastically. “I’m doing excellent! I managed to recite in class without stuttering today!” Chuckling at her enthusiasm, you would’ve hugged her if it weren’t for the box you’re holding. 

“That’s great! Good job.” She laughs sheepishly, her pale cheeks turning pink, still not used at how openly you praised her. “Anyways! I’m actually heading to Laboratory 2 now. Why don’t we go together?” Nodding your head, you two continued your walk to the lab, talking along the way. You knew Sucrose ever since she moved to the house right next to yours, effectively making her your neighbor. She was still as shy as ever, even when you two were kids. Even though you were older than her by three years, it doesn’t stop you to hang out with Sucrose. Sucrose actually skipped two years during middle school, which makes her the youngest among the first years. 

You soon arrived at your destination making your conversation with your shy friend come to an end, sliding the door for you. “Thanks.” Entering the room, your eyes immediately landed on the figure inside, who was busy sketching something in the paper. “Good afternoon Mr. Albedo.” Sucrose greeted, which made Albedo look up to see you and Sucrose entering the room, he nodded in greeting “Good afternoon Sucrose. What brings you here, [Y/N]?” He asked, curious why you’re here until he noticed the box in your hands and realized why you’re here. “Ah. Is that the supplies? Thank you for bringing it.” Setting down his clipboard on the table and walked to where you stood. Sucrose went in already and started to set her things up on another desk, which you guessed hers. 

“This must’ve been heavy. Sorry for the inconvenience.” He said, getting the box from you and gently placing it on a spare desk. “No no! It’s okay.” You said, reassuring him with a smile on your face. He nodded his head while glancing at Sucrose, who was now busy with tinkering an old-looking clock. His eyes glanced back at you. “Are you about to go home now?” He asked, his eyes unconsciously inspecting your face which made you self-conscious. Starting to play with your hands, you shake your head. “N-Not really. Since I have nothing better to do, I’ll drop by the library today.” You said, averting your eyes. Humming at your answer, he nodded his head. “I see.. Take care then.”

“Ah, Sucrose. I have to go now. I forgot that I have to pick-up Klee at her school.” Albedo announced when he realized how much time had passed after he glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. Sucrose nodded her head while smiling slightly. “Ok, Mr. Albedo. Take care while going home!” “Same to you.” After Albedo closes the door, he sighed while running a hand through his hair. An experiment has gone wrong earlier when Sucrose accidentally gave him the wrong potion, as much as he was annoyed, he doesn’t have the heart to scold the soft-hearted girl so he lets it go. Opening his eyes and adjusting his bag, he started to walk through the empty halls. It was already 6, which means almost everyone is gone from school, save from those people that have clubs. 

When he steps out, he takes a deep breath. He’s been inside that lab for a long time now, it’s nice to have fresh air now. While walking though, he passed by an open window. His eyes decided to take a peek inside and noticed a familiar person sleeping peacefully in the window, you. You were sleeping on top of your arms, facing at the side making Albedo see your peaceful sleeping face, and underneath your arms was a book. Furrowing his brows, he stopped walking and stared at your sleeping figure. Don’t you know how dangerous it is to sleep in an open window? What if someone passed by and took a picture of you? Or stolen something from you? Or someone stupid deciding to kidnap you?

Huffing at your naivety, but he can’t help but watch you sleep. A strand of hair fell on your face, almost like an instinct, Albedo’s hand moved on its own and tucked the strand behind your ear. By now, he was close enough to see the smallest details in your face. Normally, he doesn’t care about anyone. But why does this person make him feel things that he’s never felt before with anyone? Sighing as he leans back, turns around before leaning on the wall and sliding down. What did you do to him to make him feel this way? Feeling his cheeks heat up, he huffed. 

Ever since you made that declaration the other day, he couldn’t get you off his mind. Out of everyone in his class, he noticed you the most. He thought it was because of how often you get in trouble with the teacher or your hyperactive friend. But when you confessed to him that day, he felt his heart skip a beat. He recalled how scared he was, why did it beat? If he was being honest, he didn’t know what he was saying until he heard you sobbing. He made you cry. Never in his life thought he would experience this kind of pain. But the almighty Albedo would never admit it. 

This is not love, he thought as he stood up and adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. Taking a glance at your sleeping figure, now noticing that you’re slightly shivering. He sighed as he started to walk. “I’m not in love.” He mumbled under his breath. 

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