#good lord i actually spent like three hours on this

[stingyslegslookweird]

Curvier - a short essay-type thing

Okay, it's been 11 years, I have to share a theory. I'm fully aware that basically no one who currently follows me and/or pays attention to the things I post about will understand anything I'm about to say, but tbh I've put way too much into this to really care.

Anyway, you guys ever heard of TOME? :D

If not, it's this neat little 15-episode (technically 16 if you count /FILE:ZERO, 25 if you also count the Season 1 shorts, and 26 if you count all of those plus AvZ, the 5-year anniversary short) animated web series about two teenagers, an imp, a dragon-man, and a [REDACTED] who get together and fight criminals in VRchat.

Jokes aside, it's really good and you can watch it here. Seriously, go do that. It's so damn good. Today's the 11th anniversary, you literally have no excuse. At least watch episode one, otherwise the rest of this post will make absolutely no sense beyond the most surface-level of details.

Okay, done? You've watched Episode 1? Good, good. So...

In the first episode, specifically around 3:06, Nylocke pronounces Kirb's username wrong, to which he replies "It's Kirbopher. It's like Christopher except curvier." But... it isn't, though, is it? Merriam-Webster Dictionary (the most official dictionary, as we all know) defines a curve as "to have or take a turn, change, or deviation from a straight line or plane surface without sharp breaks or angularity", its synonyms including bend, curvature, arc, bow, and crook. Basically, any circle, half-circle, quarter-circle, oval, etc.

To be fair, assuming the onscreen textboxes are actually a "thing" in TOME itself, as opposed to a visual effect only used to tell the story, one could claim that the font Kirb's player uses is rather curvy itself (and they'd be right), but is it curvier?

After checking Google, I quickly found a list of every font used in the show, gathered in this here Google Doc by one unicornfoal (their username didn't pop up in the menu thing when I tried to @ them so idk if they still go by that), which tells us that the font Kirb uses is "Spicy Sushi Roll".

With the font determined, we can compare the curviness of the names. To do this, I typed each of them out in a word document, took a screenshot, and pasted it into my photo-editing software of choice. There, I created this handy diagram detailing every curve in the letters, in addition to offering brief definitions of my terminology and method for determining what counts as a curve.

Also, as an aside, I'm really proud of how this turned out, especially with the lines and colors and the grid in the background. Like... man. Not to suck myself off or anything, but holy hell am I good at this.

Anyway, as you can see, the name "Kirbopher" has 7 inner (convex) curves and 8 outer (concave) curves, adding up to a total of 15 curves, which, assuming I'm correct about all this, had to be intentional. "Christopher", on the other hand, has 10 inner curves and 11 outer curves, which adds up to 21 total curves. Therefore, "Kirbopher" is not only not "like Christopher except curvier", but is in fact less curvy. This revelation, while shocking, isn't my final point. No, no. Because this rabbit hole goes deeper, dear reader. First, though, we must talk about parallel universes a long-defunct 2000s internet forum.

Long before TOME was a 15-episode web series, its world and characters were conceptualized in a 70-something long series of sprite animations on Newgrounds, known as TvTome Adventures, or TTA for short. Based on the forums of the TvTome website, which now redirects to tv.com, the series featured characters based largely on the forum's users, including one white sword-wielding marshmallow-thing by the name of Kirbopher15, pictured below.

Yeah. That's... more or less Kirby in a hat. Somewhat Kirby-like. Kirbyish? Though, to be fair, it could probably be... kirbyer?

And that's where my theory kicks in. Buckle your fuckle because this is gonna blow your damn mind.

What if, and hear me out here, the original line wasn't "curvier", but instead "kirbyer", as in "more Kirby"? It'd certainly make more sense, seeing as, one, the character was originally just a Kirby recolor in a hat, and two, the name Kirbopher is literally just "Christopher" but with "Chris" replaced with "Kirby", minus the y.

Why was it changed, then? Seeing as it's so early on in the show, which has been stated to have had somewhat of a rough production, almost not making it past four episodes, it could be out of concern over copyrights, trademarks, or other legal issues possibly arising, were the show to be, say, picked up by a TV network or something. Even though Kirby is an actual name that real people have, when you factor in the character's previous incarnation, it could definitely be taken to mean the Nintendo character, instead of a regular person's name.

Oh, and one more thing. Tumblr, being very art-driven by design, is home to tons and tons of artists, writers, voice actors, etc., both amateur and professional. Plus, because Tumblr lets you @ blogs you know the names of, someone with an insane theory about a single throwaway line of dialogue in an episode of a somewhat niche web animation could, say... @ the creator of said animation, assuming they're on tumblr in the first place, and ask if they're correct in their long-winded assertions, or are simply talking out of their ass. So, with that in mind...

@kirbopher How'd I do?

[zreamy]

spf 23

pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader

summary: for as long as you can remember, your summers have been much the same, largely spent in your hometown, relaxing by the local pool. when you get back home this summer, things seem like they'll go the same way, until you get to the pool that is — when did the lifeguard get so hot?

genres: smut, fluff, people that kinda know each other to lovers, summer au, lifeguard au..

warnings: minors dni, MENTIONS OF UNIVERSITY DURING SUMMER, sunghoon in water, sunghoon on ice, sunghoon

word count: 31,818 .. even more sorry than last time.

playlist: kiss nct dojaejung, obvious ariana grande, safety net ariana grande

author's note: lmk ur thoughts (positive / negative / sunghoon) i'd love to hear. to beta bestie @asahicore u da best MUSIC DJ EMMAAA. i hope u have a good time reading, lord knows this has been a long time coming.. ok enjoy <;333

It’s the hottest day of the last summer of your life. 

The sun’s rays coat your skin in a film of sticky sweat and sunscreen. Crisp white clouds hang in the sky, drifting overhead. Yunjin complains about the temperature as if you and Chaewon aren’t outside with her.

If you strain your ears over yelling children and raucous laughter, you can just about hear a Top 40 playlist looping Cupid and Dua Lipa songs through age-weakened speakers. What holds your attention the most, though, is the blond by the pool. He leans back on his hands with pretty fingers spread out behind him. He’s been lifeguarding at the public pool for more summers than you care to count but he’d never looked like this while he did it. 

Park Sunghoon seems relaxed as he sits on the pool’s edge, kicking his legs in the water and scanning the space. Presumably watching out for kids drowning, or diving, or.. whatever it is lifeguards get up to at work. His voice is deep as he (half-heartedly) yells at a group of kids with water guns to stop running. When did he get so buff?

He’s always been attractive. Always. But this is outrageous. The bleached hair. The toned arms. The sliver of skin you can see peeking out from under his cropped vest. It’s almost too much to take yet you can’t bring yourself to look away. Given the way he turns his head when you catch his gaze — with flushed cheeks and upturned lips — you assume his glow-up has been purely external. 

“Can you believe this might be the last summer we spend here together? Like, this time next year we’ll be graduates.” Yunjin’s sudden statement makes you wish she’d go back to talking about the weather. 

Chaewon’s jaw drops. “Whoa.”

“Is it bad that I’m looking forward to fall?” Yunjin asks. “No offence, YN.” 

This isn’t the first time she’s shared such a sentiment. Last summer and the one before, she’d said something similar before clarifying. She’s excited about her new classes, not about you going back to your apartment a few towns over.

You’re only looking forward to your shared two-bed and Minjeong’s dinners. It pains you to have to thank university for anything, but thank university for giving you something to miss over the holidays. 

“None taken, YJ, but break just started last week.” 

“Our last finals were five weeks ago.”

“Well, you know break doesn’t really start until our girl gets back.” Chaewon leans up in her seat to grin at you. She raises her cup, the tiny puddle of melted slushy shaking a little. “Here’s to the best summer ever!” 

Needing all the affirmation you can get, you entertain her, raising your own cup so the three of you can toast properly. 

“Cheers!”

The next few hours do nothing to affirm your belief in the effectiveness of toasting. Recently hot Sunghoon hasn’t taken his shirt off yet and you’re not sure how many more times you can beg your friends to stay for another half hour in hopes something will happen that causes him to tear the thing off. At this point you’d settle for a simple conversation or even the word hey.

“I’m begging, like, actually, let’s go.” Yunjin groans, sitting up.

“Just let me pee first,” you grumble, attempting to buy more time as you stand up from your lounge chair, packing up your towel and the magazine you never bothered to look at. 

On your walk to the restroom, you see him leaning in the doorframe of the changing rooms with his toned arms crossed over his chest. Perfect. There’s a smile on your face as you approach him and unexpectedly he speaks before you do. 

"He—" He clears his throat, thick brows coming together as he places a big hand on his chest. "Hey."

You let out a breathy laugh. “You okay?” 

He straightens up his posture and nods his head, blond hair shifting over his forehead from the movement. 

The sounds of the public pool fill the silence stretching over you, though it’s not enough to distract you from the way his eyes trail over your body, landing on your chest as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

“I’m Sunghoon,” he eventually introduces, extending a hand for you to shake. 

A smile stretches across your lips when you do, noticing how much bigger his hand is than yours when his fingers wrap around it and cover the whole thing. “I know,” you nod.

“You,” Sunghoon pauses, tilting his head to the side as if considering your words. “Know?” His brows quirk up. 

You hum in response. “We had Spanish together. You sat with.. that kid,” Your hands come up to gesture around your chin and neck. “With the jaw, Jay, was it?” 

He looks at something over your shoulder for a bit while you worry that he didn’t take Spanish and you’ve got the wrong guy, but a laugh rises out of him instead. “Yeah,” he grins. “Jay.” Nods his head.

Despite stuttering his way through the conversation, Sunghoon makes you laugh as he tells you about how he didn’t realise he’d have to swim on the job and almost drowned trying to save a kid in the deep end. He seems more confident after seeing that his story was well received though he still fidgets with his hands, and can’t hold eye contact for more than a second at a time, always looking away and clearing his throat. 

The story was a bit of a ramble, and it might be the most words you’ve ever heard him say all at once before falling quiet, though his pretty lips open and close a few times as if he’s stuck on what to say. “How-” He’s cut off by the sound of someone yelling his name. 

In the pool, a cute (and very tall) kid waving his arms above his head yelling: Quickly! Quickly! makes you laugh, and the way Sunghoon rolls his eyes makes it clear he knows him.

Much to your dismay, the yelling doesn’t stop and you realise you’ll have to make your exit. “I’ll let you get going, but, uh, say hi to Jay for me, okay?” you say, grinning at the way he nods his head, mumbling yeah, of course before you turn around to leave.

Sunghoon’s still standing in the spot you left him in, hands crossed over his chest as he eyes you. Head snapping in the other direction when you look back over your shoulder to call out a: Later, Hoonie, with a wave of your fingers.

Chaewon watches you over her sunglasses with a smirk on her face as you approach. “Who is that?”

You crinkle your nose. “Park Sunghoon.”

At the sound of his name, Yunjin gasps, abruptly sitting up in her chair. “The figure skater?”

“The what?”

At home, you type his name into the search bar and find that the shy boy you’d only met properly some hours ago is something of a celebrity in the skating world. 

You watch YouTube videos of his short programs and feel a swell of pride with each jump he lands. The tiny Sunghoon on the screen carries an air of confidence as he glides across the ice — nothing like the Sunghoon you’d met at the pool today. And definitely nothing like the quiet Sunghoon who’d sit in the back of your 9th grade Spanish class conjugating verbs as his friends got into trouble for talking over the teacher. 

It’s not hard to trip down a rabbit hole, and suddenly every video with his name in the title has a little red bar under the thumbnail as a mark of your affection. It doesn’t take long for you to find Instagram user smartblond, and the blue follow button on his page greets you with the option to follow back, which leaves you feeling a little bad as the pad of your thumb falls onto it unthinkingly. 

Sunghoon’s feed leaves much to be desired. A modest 1 post he’d made 4 years prior, a square photo of himself and Lee Heeseung with bros as the caption. The only comment is from Heeseung who wrote ma boiiii. The tagged photos however tell a different story. 

Thankfully.  

You spend longer than you’d like to admit scrolling through these pictures, grinning and ignoring the way your stomach flips at the sight of the seemingly outgoing boy captured in the pictures posted by his closest friends with wide smiles and middle fingers while trying not to hit like on any of them. Even though you do like them. A lot. Except for the one of him and Bae Sumin at the pool with pretty smiles on their faces, and their arms around each other that she posted 15 weeks ago with the caption lifesaver. A smile spreads on your lips when you see Sumin’s (way more populated) page and the post she made yesterday to celebrate two years with her boyfriend. 

Distraction only reaches you in the form of an alert from your university’s portal app. The words you’ve got new correspondence in your inbox wipe the smile from your face in an instant. While chewing at your lip, you click on the notification and wait for the email to load. 

A pit forms in your stomach while reading four paragraphs offering advice for people who’ve failed their final exams. At the end is a link that you click with squinted eyes. A countdown appears and there are 8 days, 12 hours, 2 minutes and 17 seconds until results are out.

During your next trip to the pool, you hear Sunghoon before you see him and his voice comes out in a cute whine when he speaks. “Why do you guys only wanna hang out here when I'm working?” 

Looking over your sunglasses, you see him running a hand through his hair, looking up from the water at a group of boys you recognise from both high school and his tagged photos, including the very tall kid who’d cut your conversation short the other day. With a wide grin on his face, he slings a towel over his shoulder and calls out something about the concession stand before running for the changing rooms and ignoring Sunghoon’s cries to stop. 

His back flexes deliciously as he wades around the mostly empty pool, chatting to his friends, and in all of your staring you notice Jay’s eyes on you, looking back to Sunghoon after a while and nodding his head not so subtly in your direction.

You look at Yunjin in the lounge chair next to you, who stares at the remnants of your blue raspberry slushy with disgust on her face, finishing off her cherry-flavoured one. “I said thanks when you came back with them, it’s abnormal to want this much recognition over a £1 purchase,” you say defensively, sighing and thanking her again anyways. 

“You should thank Sunghoon’s giant friend,” she says, nodding in his direction. “He came over to me in the line, asked how I knew you, and gave me change when I told him Chaewon introduced us.” 

“Huh,” you say, taking a refreshing sip, the last, before putting your cup down between your chairs. 

“I don’t understand what you see in that insane flavour.” She leans over to put her now empty cup next to yours. “It’s.. unnatural,” she says, shuddering dramatically. 

“It’s the only flavour I like,” you say simply, watching in your peripheral as your new favourite lifeguard (not that you have an old favourite) climbs over the edge of the pool.

The sight of Sunghoon’s lean figure coming out of the pool only makes you regret ever wanting to see him with his shirt off. Water slips from every part of his body in droplets, running from his broad shoulders down his veiny forearms before falling from his pretty fingers onto the ground. This must be the fittest-looking person you’ve ever seen, and Kazuha can do push-ups (one) with you and Chaewon on her back. 

With his wet hair stuck to his forehead, he laughs at something one of his friends said and it’s only when he looks over at you that you’re able to tear your eyes away. 

You miss the sight as soon as it’s gone. 

“That’s absurd,” Yunjin says after a moment. You have no idea what she’s talking about. “Can I open the Skittles?”

You’d forgotten about those. “Go ahead.” 

While rummaging through your bag, Yunjin tells you quietly that Sunghoon’s coming though you barely have a chance to look at him before his shadow casts over the two of you, stark and vivid. With his arms crossed over his chest, Sunghoon towers over you. His red shorts cling onto his hips, so low you can see every inch of muscle definition spanning his stomach where little beads of water stare you dead in the eye. By the time you manage to look up at his face, he has a huge grin stretched over his pretty lips. “Hey, stalker,” he says.

Though his smile falters when you crease your brows, pulling your sunglasses down your nose. “Stalker?” 

“You, uh,” he pauses to sniff, less sure of himself than earlier. “I saw that you followed me on Instagram last night.” 

“You did? And no DM?” 

No DM, he repeats under his breath, visibly confused, and the—“Ohhhh, you wanted to talk to me?” 

“Yeah, that’s why I followed you.”

“Right.” A nod. “And no DM?” Sunghoon seems to like the way you laugh, uncrossing his arms, and puffing his chest out. “So what did you wanna talk about that just couldn’t wait until you saw me again?” 

“I wanted to catch up.”

A sceptical look crosses his face. “Really? Anything specific you wanted to talk about?” 

“Not really. I just think you’re interesting.”

“Me? Interesting?” The mixture of amusement and surprise on his face makes you laugh. 

“Yes, you, interesting.” A saccharine smile spreads across your lips as you swing your legs over the side of your chair. Sunghoon apologises when your ankle grazes his calf. “Very interesting.” 

Sitting like this, your face is so close to his hips you can see the loose thread at the top of his shorts. He seems to notice, taking a step back. Down the bridge of his nose, he watches you through squinted eyes, furrowing his brow and letting a beat pass. “How so?” 

“There’s a lot of reasons, but, for one, you’re the only figure skater I know.”

So quickly you barely see it, Sunghoon’s lips curl into a frown before he presses them together, nodding. “How’s summer treating you?” He changes the subject. 

You let him. “Pretty good,” you say, bringing a hand up to the tied strap of your swimsuit to pull it to the side. “And I’m tanning pretty well, right, Sunghoon?” 

A massive cloud glides across the sky, casting a welcome shadow over the scorching sun. The transition is gradual but relief is immediate and even Sunghoon sighs. You push your sunglasses up to rest in your hair, taken aback, like always, by how bright it actually is outside. Even with the sun covered up, your eyes sting a little without the tint making you squint up at Sunghoon who watches you with an amused smile. 

“Is there something on my face?” you ask. 

“No, nothing like that.” He shakes his head. “It’s just.. nice catching up with you.”

“Yeah. It is.” You return his smile, liking the way his widens. “So, how’s summer trea—” You’re cut off by the same kid as yesterday, yelling “Sunghoooooooooon!” At the top of his lungs. 

“What were you saying?” 

“Uh,” you start, distracted by the kid pointing at Sunghoon, who waves frantically when he realises he’s caught your eye. “You, uh,” you pause, using a finger to point over to the pool. “I think your friend might need you.” 

He turns to look over his shoulder, the sun shining directly on the side of his face when he does, highlighting the pretty mole on his nose that you’ve somehow never noticed. Sunghoon shakes his head and freezing water splashes onto your stomach, making you flinch. A non-committal sound comes out of his mouth as he shrugs, facing you once again. “It’s just Riki.”

Just Riki doesn’t let up. Instead, he enlists the help of a cute cat-eyed boy, clambering onto his shoulders and balancing precariously as he yells and yells at the top of his lungs. 

“Okay, yeah, I gotta,” Sunghoon sighs, using his thumb to motion towards the pool as he walks backwards away from you. He points a long index finger at you before turning around. “I’m coming back,” he says. 

With a huge splash, Riki falls from his friend’s shoulders unceremoniously, his form disappearing for a moment, replaced by a mess of bubbles and long frantic limbs until he resurfaces. 

“I’m not here to play, I’m here to work!” Sunghoon calls out, walking right off the coping and into the water, swimming towards his friends anyway. 

He doesn’t come back. 

That night you stay at Chaewon’s, rifling through old teen magazines and taking quizzes to determine who your ‘celeb bezzie’ is. Answering mostly C’s, the two of you squeal at the prospect of a friendship with Lindsay Lohan. 

Jaehyun’s complaining when you reach the pool and you figure Yunjin and Kazuha must be nearby. Your hunch is correct when you round the corner by the water slide and see the two of them splashing each other in the small pool. He’s standing with his hands on his hips and yelling something about the literal sign that says they can’t be in there right now. The sign is a bright red fold-out thing, saying in bold white letters that the pool is closed for swimming lessons starting at 1:30 p.m. 

“It’s 1:20, you can’t be in here,” Jaehyun groans, raking a hand through his hair. “I know you guys think because we’re friends you can do what you want but the other lifeguards kicked me from the group chat and Sunghoon said it’s all your fault.” 

The mention of Sunghoon makes your ears perk up, and you decide to insert yourself. “What did they do wrong?” 

Jaehyun practically jumps at the sound of your voice next to him and Yunjin calls out for you to get in! “Don’t you dare,” Jaehyun mutters, cutting his eyes. “Whatever it is was bad enough for Mark, Yeri, and Chaeyoung to decide I’m not worthy of LIFESAVERS 2.0 swimming guy emoji, ring float emoji.” 

“If you got kicked because of them, I don’t see why Sunghoon gets to stay.” You tilt your head, stepping back a little when you feel a splash hitting your feet. “His one million-man friend group takes up half of the big pool every day, competing for who can laugh the loudest, and these two are pretty much doing the same thing.” 

“Yes, but Sunghoon’s friends aren’t breaking the rules.” 

“I saw Riki take an ice cream cone from a kid yesterday.”

“That’s not against the rules,” Jaehyun sighs. “And Chaeyoung thinks Sunghoon’s cute, so.” 

“She does?” you ask too quickly. 

“What do you care?” Jaehyun spares you a glance, arching his brow. He seems to undergo some kind of revelation, gasping a little and nodding his head. “So that’s why you guys are here all the time! You totally like that loser.” 

“Sunghoon’s not a loser, he’s hot.”

“Interesting thing to dispute.” 

You roll your eyes. “Do I need to worry about Chaeyoung?” you ask quietly.

“If you’re trying to hook up with Sunghoon I wouldn’t worry about her.”

You hate his response; hate that instead of really answering you, he’s just left you with even more questions. 

And you hate Chaeyoung for falling into your line of sight just as you mention her. 

She leaves the locker room, laughing about something with Yeri, and making you wonder what exactly she wants with Sunghoon. And why she suddenly feels like your competitor.

“And if I’m not?” 

Jaehyun cackles at your suggestion. “You? Not trying to hook up?” 

You can’t come up with a reason for why his words make your chest ache so you shove him with your elbow before jumping into the water with the girls. The sound of Jaehyun groaning and begging you guys to get out of the pool only dissolves the ache and puts a smile on your face.

Yunjin and Kazuha gang up on you for taking so long to join them but the water feels so cool against your skin you can’t help but enjoy it. 

The sound of what you think is Sunghoon’s voice makes you freeze in your spot. “I can’t keep defending you, man,” he sighs. 

At the sound of a whistle blowing, you raise your hands to cover your ears and all three of you whip your heads in its direction. Sunghoon stands next to Jaehyun with a whistle in his mouth, coughing around the metal when he sees you. He smiles, dropping it to rest against his chest. “Oh, hey.” 

“Hi,” you greet, swimming over to the edge of the pool and resting your arms on it, letting your chin find a home against them. Looking up, you see Jaehyun rolling his eyes before walking off in the opposite direction and Sunghoon stares down at you with a smile on his face.

“How are you?” he asks, fidgeting with the whistle like a charm on a necklace. 

“I’m good, how are you?” 

“Good, me too. Uh-your friends,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “I’m teaching lessons here, in five minutes, so I was wondering if you guys could maybe hang out in the main pool or by the slides instead?” he asks. It seems like he’s asking. “Only if you want.” 

“What if we’re here for lessons?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, you guys must be the six-year-olds I’m teaching this afternoon, my bad for assuming.” 

You can’t tell if he was trying to be funny or if that was just something he said for the sake of saying it, but it makes you smile anyway. “You don’t do lessons for grown-ups?”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “I teach 6 to 12-year-olds, but Mark teaches adult classes on Saturday mornings if you’re interested.”

You nod, lifting yourself out of the pool, dripping water on the concrete. You’re close enough to Sunghoon to clearly see his jaw tensing, and the way his gaze shamelessly falls to your chest for more than a few seconds. 

“What if I’m interested in a one-on-one lesson?” 

Close enough to see the goosebumps that rise on his skin. He licks his lips, holding your gaze. “I guess we could work something out,” he says, clearing his throat when you rest a hand on his wrist, though he doesn’t look away from you. 

It seems like it’s just the two of you and the sun beating against your skin. And his pulse racing against your fingers. 

An excited wail grounds you, brings you back to the pool. “Sunghoonie! Sunghoonie!” You hear over his shoulder, as a tiny girl with pigtails and a huge grin comes rushing over to you. “Look, I got new goggles, look at my new goggles!” 

You take a step back and Sunghoon gasps, holding her Hello Kitty goggles in his hands, inspecting them carefully while crouching down to her level. In his absence, you see more, equally excited, kids plodding along, babbling to each other, followed by parents with small character backpacks slung over their shoulders. 

Sunghoon chats animatedly with her, nodding and gasping and saying really? at all the right times, in a way that summons butterflies. She giggles and holds her belly laughing when he holds her baby sized goggles over his head, asking if he can try them on, and you need to leave before you burst into tears at how sweet he’s being.

Yunjin and Kazuha beam at you when you look over at them, winking dramatically and giving you silent rounds of applause. Your cheeks burn at the sight, mumbling at them to come on, before turning around to walk away. 

“Hey, YN!” Sunghoon calls out, stopping you in your tracks. He’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, and a small smile on his lips. “See you later, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You nod. 

The girls have caught up to you by now, Yunjin’s eyebrows waggling suggestively as she links her fingers with yours. “Oh, he is so into you,” Kazuha whispers, wrapping a dripping arm around your shoulders. “Chaewon was right, summer really doesn’t start until you get back.”

In the main pool, you play around with the girls until you’re tired from swimming and the heat, and if it wasn’t for what Sunghoon said, you would have gone home already. You lay back in a lounge chair and close your eyes behind your sunglasses. You could probably fall asleep out here, feeling an odd comfort in the blood-curdling screams and mix of music playing from tiny bluetooth speakers all over the place. 

About five minutes later, you use your fingers to pick out a few pieces of Oreo from Yunjin’s ice cream, deciding they’ll be compensation for having to deal with the sticky dessert trickling down the cone and onto your fingers. Though in this heat, it doesn’t bother you so much.

On your trip back to your seat, you see Heeseung and Sunghoon by the locker room entrance. Standing in the shade, the two of them talk while Sunghoon lets a chunky pair of sunglasses rest on the back of his head, a sight that makes you clench your fist so hard the cone crunches under your fingers. You watch Heeseung’s face split into a grin while he throws his head back laughing, though Sunghoon presses his lips together in a straight line, clearly unimpressed. 

Yunjin jogs over to you, thanking you for the cone and complaining about how stingy Jungwoo’s being with the Oreo pieces these days but taking an appreciative lick anyway, letting her head fall back and a long hum of satisfaction buzz against her lips. “Just go over there and talk to him,” she says after a while. 

“Wow, YJ, thank you. I hadn’t thought of that.” 

She flips you off before walking away.

You don’t mean to catch his eye but he smiles when he sees you, waving when you wave. Heeseung waves too. If Sunghoon had been standing on his own you’d have no problem approaching him, but something about interrupting their conversation puts you off. Heeseung nods at you and calls out your name, inviting you to interrupt them. 

“It’s funny, we were just talking about you,” Heeseung says. You’re not sure how he wants you to respond to that, but Sunghoon looks at him with wide eyes, using his elbow to nudge his oversharing friend. “All good things, of course,” he adds on, raking a hand through his hair. 

“Who could have anything bad to say about you?” Sunghoon asks. 

Out of genuine concern, you ask if they’re okay, which only makes the two of them burst out laughing. Awkward laughter in the form of robotic ha ha has and forced applause. You’re not sure what to make of this, looking back and forth between them with a crease along your brow. High school was probably the last time you talked to Lee Heeseung, but besides the piercings and muscle definition he doesn’t seem to have changed much. 

“How have you been? How’s college?” Heeseung asks after wiping his left eye with the back of his hand. 

“I’ve been good. I saw you graduated last week, congrats!” 

He looks delighted at the mention of his own studies, missing the fact that you’re trying to avoid talking about yours. “Thank you!” he says, beaming. “Do you know what classes you’re taking this year?”

“No.” You shake your head. “You studied music, right?” 

An impossibly brighter grin spreads across his lips, eyes shining with genuine happiness as he nods. “Yeah, I majored in production actually. Best thing I ever did.”

For a while, Heeseung talks about his course though most of it goes over your head as jealousy burns in your stomach. The last three years have gone well enough for you to know that you’re more than just good at your major, so why, like him, can’t you enjoy it too? Right now, you want nothing more than for stupid Heeseung to shut up about his stupid career choices. 

Sunghoon interrupts the conversation, seeming to notice your mild irritation. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks, resting a hand on your shoulder.

He doesn’t seem convinced when you nod your head belatedly, clearing your throat. You do your best to focus on the burn of his hand on your skin and not your jealousy. 

Sunghoon looks over at Heeseung, giving him a look that the older boy takes as an invitation to leave, smiling at the both of you before waving goodbye. 

“What’s the matter?” His voice is much softer now that you’re alone, so comforting that you’re tempted to fall into his chest and tell him everything that’s ever upset you.

“What makes you think something’s the matter?”

“You were staring at Heeseung like you wanted to wipe the stupid smile off his face with a bullet.”  

“Actually, I think he has quite a nice smile,” you admit.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon agrees. “But it’s a little annoying, right? Like how everything just seems to go so well for him no matter what. Perfect guy with a perfect major, it’s a little hard not to be jealous of him when he talks like that.” 

“You don’t like what you study?” 

“It’s not my major I’m struggling with.” He lets out a dry laugh. “What about you?” 

A deep sigh rolls out of you, pulling your shoulders down. “I’m good at it so why stop, you know?” 

“Plenty of people stop things they’re good at.” The response comes quicker than you expect, in a defensive tone that makes you want to slice open his brain and take a look inside. “Sorry, I just mean if something isn’t making you happy, then it’s okay to stop. Right?” 

It doesn’t feel like he’s talking about you. “Right,” you affirm anyway. “It’s just that I only have a year left so the way I see it, I should just deal with it, graduate, and worry next summer instead. Uni sorta freaks me out is all,” you explain, shrugging in a way that you hope looks nonchalant. “I don’t like my course, and I don’t like talking about it, so let’s not talk about it.”

Sunghoon nods. “No talking about uni, got it,” he says, holding an imaginary pen and making a note of your words in the palm of his hand, with a tiny smile on his face that makes your stomach twist. “So, what do you like talking about?”

“Literally anything else.” 

“Look at us, so much in common.” There’s a hesitant look on his face, like he’s questioning his word choice but he smiles when you do, letting out a breathy laugh at the sound of a chuckle slipping out of you. 

“Hey, Sunghoon?” you ask after a beat, tilting your head and continuing when he hums. “Do you work here every day?” 

He shakes his head. “Just Monday through Thursday.”

“So, if I wanna see you, I could just come to the pool on those days?” 

“Yeah.” Even in the shade, it’s hard to miss the way his cheeks flush pink, and he scratches at the back of his neck while stifling a smile. “Exactly.” 

“And if it’s Friday or the weekend, and I wanna see you, I could just text you?” 

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” That same smile curves on his lips, gentle, happy. 

You think you’d like that too. 

Sunghoon puts his number in your phone and you send a text so he has yours too.

The sun doesn’t set until late that night, and you spend the better part of the evening in the garden with your mum, catching the last moments of the sun’s rays from a blanket in the grass. The sound of her fingers against the keyboard is like a perfect mechanical OST for the summer romance you’re halfway through. Though knowing that the countdown in your email is set to strike zero in a matter of hours makes it difficult to concentrate on what’s going on in the made up beach town you’re reading about.

After a late dinner, you click the link to watch the countdown hit zero before refreshing the page. The stark white background of the login page stings your eyes in your dark room as you wait for the results page to load with a held breath. All three of your course titles are marked with MP for merit pass. A weight falls from your shoulders only to be replaced with another. 

The family group chat doesn’t seem to share your distress. Your dad hearts the message and sends a gif of Michael Scott clapping, your mum texts back that she’s so proud of her baby, and your older brother says KNEW U COULD DO IT! You throw your phone across the room, hiding your face in your pillow to muffle a scream. 

That night, you dream of graduation. Of crossing the stage and seeing the culmination of four long years on a flimsy piece of paper. The ceremony ends and behind closed eyes, you watch yourself sign your life away to a 9-to-5 in a field you hate, the same your brother had done. Drenched in a cold sweat, the nightmare jolts you awake. 

You spend all day in your room for fear of running into your mother and having to discuss your future.

The day after that, the familiar smell of coffee hits your nose as you walk by a cafe you used to frequent in high school, drowning yourself in hot chocolate in the winter and in sweet frozen lemonades in the summertime. If it wasn’t for your plans of seeing Chaewon you might’ve picked something up for nostalgia’s sake. 

Right when you think about her, she calls you. “Bring me a coffee,” Chaewon says. 

“What?” 

“Can you get me some coffee?” 

Looking over your shoulder, you fully expect to see Chaewon standing behind you or perched in one of the bushes across the street with a pair of binoculars. Her voice rings down the phone at you, at a volume you’re sure you would be able to hear if she was watching you from somewhere. “Hello?” 

“Yes, I’ll do it,” you say, ignoring the chill that runs down your spine and hanging up.

A bell rings above your head when you open the door, the cafe greeting you warmly like it always has. You admire its familiar green walls and the organic curves of its interior, from the sweeping archways to the round tables and chairs. Back then, you must have sat in each of them. 

You think you’re going crazy when you hear Sunghoon saying thanks, and you know you’re going crazy when you actually see him leaving the counter with his fingers wrapped around a vibrant orange iced drink. He doesn’t see you, focusing on the phone in his hand and the straw in his mouth, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat with each sip. Sunghoon turns his back to you, walking towards a table in the far corner, his head moving to the beat of whatever song he’s listening to. He sits in the seat facing away from you, and you stare for so long that the barista has to say excuse me to get your attention. 

After apologising, you order Chaewon’s latte, giving her name over to the barista when she asks and waiting off to the side while she makes it. The whole time, you watch Sunghoon, willing him to look over at you. It doesn’t work.

Not in the way you’d been expecting, at least. Your phone vibrates against your palm.

sh: hey yn! are you doing anything nice today?

You grin at the back of his head. 

yn: seeing chaewon later :) hbu

sh: oh cool i hope you guys have fun!

sh: working later.. closing shift :/ 

When it’s ready, you collect Chaewon’s drink and approach Sunghoon’s table. He’s staring at his phone screen, where you see your conversation over his shoulder — even though it’s been five minutes since he texted you — and have to bite back a smile.

“Hey, you.” The words come out like you intended, light, pleased. 

Sunghoon jumps in his seat anyway, slamming his phone face down on the table and looking up at you. “YN,” he breathes. “Hey.” He wipes his palms on his pants. “What are you doing here?” 

“Same as you, I guess,” you grin, raising the cup in your hand. “Can I sit?” 

“Of course.” A beat passes while you take your seat and Sunghoon’s eyes don’t leave you once. 

It’s been a while since you last had a vanilla latte but it’s just as sweet as you remember when you try it, the ice doing a good job at keeping you cool. You tilt your head at the boy in front of you, checking the date on your phone. “It’s Friday today.” 

“Yeah…” Sunghoon squints at you, nodding his head slowly. “Oh, it’s Friday,” he says, seeming to figure out what you were getting at despite the lack of context. “There’s a girl I normally coach on Mondays at the rink, Hyein, but she couldn’t make it this week so we moved her session to this afternoon. To be clear though, I don’t normally work on Fridays. At the rink or otherwise.”

You nod, taking another sip of Chaewon’s coffee and angling the cup so he can’t see her name written on the side of it. 

“So, if you wanted to see me, on a Friday, or over the weekend, you could still text me about that.” 

Smiling, you nod. “Good to know. Do you work Monday to Thursday at the rink as well?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

Sunlight spills through the tiled windows, warming your skin through the glass. Over his shoulder, the bell by the door rings incessantly and under the sun’s rays, flecks of amber glow in his eyes that crinkle at the corners, a dimple peeking at you as he shakes his head.

“I have my own training at 6 on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, and then I teach kids classes on Monday and Tuesday nights, and I see Hyein on Monday mornings.”

“6 a.m.?”

“No, our sessions start at 10.”

“I mean your training, you start at 6 in the morning?” 

“Oh.” He nods. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging. 

“Fuck, that’s so early, I could never.” 

“I mean, that was just my training block during school. 6 to 7:45, so I’d go to the rink, back home to shower, and go to school when I could.” A beat passes before he speaks again, using his straw to stir his drink. “But that was mainly during, like, off-season. If I had competitions coming up then I’d spend entire days at the rink, or dance class, in the gym, so I missed a lot of school.” 

You nod. “I remember.” 

Sunghoon’s eyes flash with something, as his brows knit together for barely a second. He smiles. “Anyway, I did try later sessions when I started college but I was so used to my early sessions that I’d still wake up at 5 a.m. even though my classes didn’t start until the afternoon.” 

There’s a sparkle in his eyes when you ask about Hyein, and excitement in his voice while he tells you all about her. About how much potential she has, even though she doesn’t seem to realise it; about how much better she’s gotten in the year since they met and how similar she is to him at her age.

After a very slow walk with Sunghoon, you reach Chaewon’s place. It doesn’t hit you that you’re empty-handed until she opens the door and frowns at you, asking where you’ve been and what happened to her coffee.

It starts to feel like you’re running out of friends to take to the pool when, a few days later, the entire girls chat is too busy to come along, and Lee Jeno from an engineering lecture you took two years ago sits in the chair next to you, lazily flipping through an old copy of Dazed Magazine. Even if only as a last resort, Jeno makes good company seeing as you like the funny Tiktoks he shows you and the way he sneaks vodka into your slushy behind your towel. 

For a while, you pretend not to care about Sunghoon’s absence in hopes he’ll spawn from the pool’s deep end. Surprisingly, he does not. And just like that, an ugly pattern is formed: you go to the pool, wait all day for Sunghoon, and eventually, stumble back home in a daze from alcohol or sunstroke. 

It takes four and a half more, uneventful, Sunghoonless visits to the pool to leave you trying not to tear your hair out at Chaewon’s dining table. 

Kazuha serves as a good distraction though, making you quiz her on the details of Kim Yeri’s driving licence so she can come out to the club with you guys. Between the two girls looking nothing alike and Kazuha thinking a March birthday makes her a Sagittarius, you’re not hopeful. 

When she goes to the toilet, you check your phone just to be sure Sunghoon hasn’t texted in the twelve minutes since you last checked. And like before, the only messages you find are from Yeonjun asking if you’re “tryna slide” later. You aren’t, and haven’t been for the last two weeks he’d been asking. Completely unrelated to a certain blond lifeguard, of course. You sigh, thinking of Sunghoon again and why he hasn’t texted yet.

There’s nothing stopping you from sending the first text (today) — except for the fact that you’d been texting back and forth until you accidentally aired him at the start of the week. Unless you’re trying to hook up, you never send the first message. And as much as you would like to hook up with Sunghoon, there’s something about him that’s too endearing to only experience in the quiet of a backseat at 3 a.m., or in your room when no one’s home.

Four shots and a lot of egging on seem to be all you need to make your way to Sunghoon’s DMs. You let Chaewon and Kazuha debate over what your opening message should be, and with shaky thumbs, you type out something simple. Much to your friend’s (and your own) disappointment, you eventually settle on hey handsome. 

sh: hiiiiiiiiiii

For a while, you watch as Sunghoon types and stops and types and stops before his message comes through. 

sh: pretty

You can’t help the giggle that comes out, clearing your throat when Chaewon raises a brow at you. The two of you hold eye contact for a beat before erupting into a fit of laughter. 

you: i haven’t seen you at the pool in a while and i was wondering if you’re ok..

sh: yn.. have you been at my workplac e waiitng for me to show up again ???

you: are you ok.

sh: i think it’s cute that you did that, my friends tol d me they saw you there every day this week

you: why are your friends reporting my whereabouts to you..

sh: i asked them to, also im good i just took some days off

sh: back monday am i gonna see u then?

you: or we could just see each other on one of your off days?

On the left side of the screen, you watch animated ellipses dance above the keyboard before halting, though no message comes to replace them and it doesn’t take you long to figure out that the message hasn’t come through because your phone is frozen. 

Right?

You let out a laugh at your stupidity while Chaewon looks at you like you’re insane, turning off your phone and letting it sit for a bit before turning it back on. Wasting no time, you go straight to Instagram and pull up the DM thread where the word seen sits underneath your last message, laughing at you. 

Perplexed by what seems like your first rejection ever, you’re not quite sure how to move on so you send a text to the group chat (mainly for Yunjin, the only one who isn’t present). Yunjin replies with a message suggesting Sunghoon’s phone died. In the chair opposite, Chaewon suggests maybe he died. Jaehyun brings you more shots to cope with your heartache and you clutch your stomach laughing when he squirts lime juice into his eye.

Because your friends don’t respect you, you end up in the middle seat when the Uber arrives; sandwiched between Chaewon and Kazuha, drinking as much vodka as you can stomach from the younger girl’s flask while she mutters March 5th, Taurus over and over again. 

All that hard work was done in vain, though; when you reach the club Kazuha insists on being the first to go up in line, and tears start streaming when the bouncer asks what part of Seoul she was born in. Yeri’s ID gets confiscated and the four of you pile into another Uber and head to your backup plan, which you only learn about when the car pulls up.

Living in another city for uni means you’ve never partied with Sunghoon’s friends before — beyond walking by each other in a club — and some combination of excitement and alcohol makes your stomach heat up as you think about seeing him again.

Nishimura Riki’s family home is a giant structure that takes up more room than what’s probably necessary. There’s a massive fountain in the middle of the driveway shooting a stream, out of the mouth of what you think is a lion, into its main bed of water. The grand front door has banners criss-crossed over it saying HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIM SUNOO! Before you reach it, the door swings open and Jay’s jaw is even sharper than you remember when you see him so close. He grins at you and your friends, whooping obnoxiously at the sight of Jaehyun, dapping him up before waving awkwardly at you, Chaewon and Kazuha. You watch him lean over to Jaehyun and ask if that chick’s okay, while not so subtly pointing at the youngest of you all. 

When you look at her, black streaks of mascara tear through her blush like a knife though she wears a bright smile as she eyes Jay like a predator. You nudge her in the ribs and make a mental note to find a bathroom to help her fix her makeup. She frowns when you take her hand and enter the house, leaving Chaewon with Jaehyun and Jay, the three of which chat easily with one another.

Upstairs in the main bathroom, you kneel on the floor between Kazuha’s legs, gently running a makeup wipe over her face while she sits on the lid of the toilet babbling about Jay. “He’s the one,” she says determinedly. “I mean, he was worried about me.. he barely knows me and he was asking if I was okay. Like, how did he know I’d been upset?” You wonder if Kazuha has seen her face in the last half hour. Or if she knows why you insisted on taking her makeup off. 

“Right,” you nod, knowing it’s easier to agree with a drunk Kazuha than face an argument.

“It’s a feeling. Like, sometimes you just have to look through the eyes of your soul, and everything will work out.”

It’s amazing to you that she can say the things she says without laughing. But there’s a finality in her tone that makes you hope she’s right. 

With Kazuha all cleaned up, you’re able to focus on how crammed the house actually is. There are people in every room of the house, sitting on the porch, in the backyard. People are everywhere and you’re not sure you’ll ever manage to reunite with your friends. In favour of getting to know Jay, Kazuha presses a kiss to your cheek and runs off in the opposite direction. You head for the kitchen knowing that Chaewon will most likely be in there somewhere, batting her lashes at a tall graduate in hopes to score a free smoke. 

People are grinding and hanging off one another in the hall and the living room, making out by the stairs, and in what looks like the only empty spot in the kitchen Sunghoon leans against the counter, taking generous gulps from something in a red cup. Judging by his smart trousers and pretty black cardigan, Sunghoon has also developed a personal style in the time since you’ve last been home. A dent forms in Sunghoon’s cheek when he sees you, a sweet crinkle in his eyes as he says hi! 

You can’t figure out whether you should hug him or not but he looks so sweet with his wide smile and flushed cheeks that your arms widen of their own accord. His embrace is gentle, wrapping you up in a mixture of toned arms, soft cotton, liquor, and something light, floral, you think. 

“Can I fix you something to drink?” Sunghoon asks quietly, you only just hear him before he lets you go. “I didn’t think you’d be here tonight,” he says, reaching over the counter to grab a cup for you. 

“Yeah, I didn’t either.” 

“I was your backup plan?” 

“Oh, come on.” You nudge his shoulder with your hand as he screws the cap back on a bottle of lemonade. “I wouldn’t use those words. If I’d known about the party you would’ve been the plan.” 

“I thought you wouldn’t use those words.”

“You’re using those words,” you say, grinning when he laughs. 

You both go back and forth on it for a while, as Sunghoon tries to find Malibu in the mess of bottles cluttering the countertop. A wide grin spreads across his face when he does and you watch him fill the empty space in your cup before handing it to you. 

The first sip is syrupy sweet on your tongue, forcing an appreciative hum out of you. “So good,” you say through a dreamy sigh, shaking your head before taking another gulp. 

From his nose, he lets out a breathy laugh, his lips quirking up at the corners as he watches you. “It’s good to know my bartending classes are paying off.” 

“Have you ever considered a recipe book?” you ask, putting the cup down next to your phone, looking up at Sunghoon who seems to seriously consider this for a while before nodding. 

Almost experimentally, he rests his hand on your hip. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he tells you, holding you a little closer when he sees that you’re okay with it. 

You tilt your head at him, pretending not to remember the way he’d left you on read. “What happened earlier?” 

“On.. iMessage,” he starts, trailing off at the end though he continues when you nod. “I’m not good at talking to pretty girls.”

Despite not fully believing him, there’s a sincerity in his voice that makes your stomach flutter. “Lucky for you, I’m very good at talking to pretty boys.” 

You can’t tell if he’s flustered or drunk, but his cheeks redden after you speak. 

“Pretty boys, me?” 

“Who else?” 

Sunghoon’s laugh comes out in ha ha ha’s, and if you couldn’t see the way his eyes crinkled up you might have thought he was faking it.

For a moment, his gaze flickers between your eyes and mouth, his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he speaks. “I don’t want you thinking I’m not interested or anything.” His voice is low, almost too quiet for the cramped space where Me and Your Mama bounces off the walls and rowdy kids constantly bump into you. 

With his hand still burning through your dress, he nudges you, turning you both around to take your place. Your ass rests against the edge of the countertop and the drunk students bump into him instead. “I’m just.. still figuring out how to stop being so shy all the time,” he says, using his thumb to lift the fallen strap of your dress.

You’re having a tough time believing him. If this is what being so shy looks like for Sunghoon, you’re terrified to see him being confident. 

The heat of his lingering hand against your bare shoulder only leaves you drawing a blank. Part of you feels silly for saying that you’re very good at talking to pretty boys. You’re way out of your depth right now.

“But you,” he trails off, looking between your eyes and lips again. His hand starts to tremble against your waist. “You make it so hard.” 

“I do?” you ask dumbly, at a complete loss for words, trying not to read too much into his word choice. Why, anyone could say that word, hard, and not mean anything by it, it’s a word after all. An adjective, you think. 

Get out of your head. 

“Mm,” Sunghoon nods solemnly. “You have no idea.”

Three people nudge past you, each one shoving into him harder than the last; he looks thankful when you suggest going outside. His fingers brush against yours before he pulls them away, turning around to head for the garden immediately. 

The smell of smoke spikes through the fresh air, strong enough to make your head swim as Sunghoon closes the back door behind you. “Wow,” you whisper, looking around. It’s like stepping into a whole new party, with slow R&B pumping out into the summer heat. The garden spills out way beyond what your eyes can see, glowing with twinkling fairy lights and excited chatter.

“I know, right.” 

There’s a two step staircase in the centre that you follow Sunghoon up, mumbling an apology to the couple whose makeout sesh you had to break up to do so. Both of your footsteps crunch against the stone path that splits the grass, and — at Sunghoon’s request — you tell him everything that led you to this party tonight. Leaving out all of the overthinking that went into the text you eventually sent him of course.

“Wait, how old is Kazuha?” 

“21, she’s just waiting on her new ID coming in the mail.” 

“What happened to her old one?” 

“I think she’s like.. 13 or something in her old photo, and we didn’t get in last week either ‘cause the bouncer didn’t think it was her,” you pause. “Or she just looked too young in the photo. I’m not sure.”

You can hear Sunghoon humming along to the SZA song that’s playing, tilting his head at your words. His brows knit together for a beat, and he has to grab you by the forearm to keep you from tripping over your own feet. Sunghoon’s eyes meet yours, as he maintains his grip on you. “Thanks,” you say through a breath, trying to focus on anything other than his touch. 

“Let’s sit, yeah?” 

Sunghoon rests his arm around your shoulders when you nod, keeping you upright as you walk slowly towards the back of the garden. “I don’t know where you guys go out, but one time, we put Riki in a dress and gave him Hwang Yeji’s ID.”

“And then stayed home?” The mental image makes you cackle, getting funnier with each second you dwell on it, but your breath catches in your throat when you look up at him, shaking his head as best as he can while laughing. The way his head falls back, showing off the column of his neck and angle of his jaw forces you to screw your eyes shut to stop the thoughts of kissing him there. 

“And then took him to the club with us and got him to buy our first round.”

With each thing he shares about that night, it grows more and more unbelievable, leaving your jaw on the floor as he leads you around a timber shed (that houses a hot tub) to a big swingy chair thing. “I’ll find the photos in a sec,” he smiles. “Let me hold your cup while you sit.” 

The spot provides about as much privacy as you figure a packed house party could afford. Not that you need privacy to be endeared by Sunghoon or anything. You take him up on his offer, sitting down and watching as he ignores the phone ringing in his pocket, handing you back your drink. Even though you’re not thrilled about the interruption, you tell him he should at least check who it is. 

“Jungwon?” He flinches, yanking the phone away from his ear. Jungwon’s voice is so loud you can hear him despite the distance. “Yeah I got it, I’m at the swing outside.” The call ends there and Sunghoon still doesn’t sit down and neither of you speaks. 

Blinking fairy lights are strung neatly around the swing’s frame. Only a few of the bulbs are working, but together they produce enough light for you to see the sun-bleached blue of the cushion you’re sitting on, and the way Sunghoon’s looking straight at you. You smile. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he worries his bottom lip with his teeth for a while, completely spaced out, until a broad-shouldered child arrives. 

Sunghoon daps him up and your brows raise when he pulls a short, flat bottle of vodka from his back pocket to give to Jungwon. “How much do I owe you?” he asks, taking the bottle. 

“For the drink or for the lifelong tab you and Riki have been racking up?” 

Chuckling, Jungwon shakes his head and points his thumb at Sunghoon. “Don’t you just love that sense of humour?”

The two boys share a look, and Jungwon nods in understanding. He affectionately pats Sunghoon’s bicep, face lighting up in awe. “Wow!” he gasps, turning to glance at you. “Have you felt the muscles on this guy? I wanna be just like him when I grow up.” With wide eyes, he nudges Sunghoon in your direction. 

Despite his apparent indifference towards Jungwon’s attempts at hyping him up, Sunghoon comes closer to you, letting you feel his arm anyway. He flexes his bicep — all firm, sculpted muscle through his soft cardigan — under your fingers in a way that spreads fire in your stomach. Unintentionally, you catch his gaze and your breath gets stuck in your throat. A quiet laugh slips from his lips as he puts his arm down. 

It’s hard not to think about what Jungwon had said about growing up, and even harder not to study him to figure out his age. His outfit is similar to Sunghoon’s; loose pants and a knitted cardigan which does nothing to help you make an estimate. Not being able to buy his own booze tells you that he’s not your age, his wide eyes and round cheeks only make him seem like a child, but his height and broad shoulders throw you off.

“How old are you?” you ask, giving in to your curiosity. 

“21,” he says, too quickly. “.. in two years.” 

He lingers for a bit to hype Sunghoon up some more; not so subtly bringing up his great qualities, like his considerate nature and unwavering dedication. Though Sunghoon’s “never ending” patience wears out and he asks him to leave. With a nod, Jungwon waves goodbye before sprinting back towards the house. Sunghoon laughs watching his friend and sinks into the seat next to you, his thigh pressing against yours for a beat before he closes his legs and rests his arms over the back of the chair.

“Wow,” you grin, leaning into his side. “Figure skating legend Park Sunghoon buys alcohol for kids.” 

He shrugs. “I’m not a legend.” 

You raise a brow, a smirk playing at your lips. “That’s the part you’re disputing?”

“Well, the other part is true,” he says, chuckling though unable to hide the flash of discomfort in his eyes. “If you consider a 19-year-old a kid.” 

“You’re way too humble.”

“Anyone could be good with the right coach, and I have, like, the most supportive parents ever so they help me a lot.”  

“Well, yeah, probably, but even then, your parents aren’t the ones skating, you are,” you point out. 

Sunghoon deflates, sighing heavily. “Can we talk about something else?” He takes a sip from his cup in a silent plea for you to drop it. When his eyes meet yours, his lips press into a flat smile and the soft lighting brings out the dimple in his cheek. 

You nod, using your hand to push his hair away from his forehead. The flat smile spreads across his face as you play with his light hair, that’s somehow silky smooth under your fingers despite the bleach. It’s a little messy when you move your hand, sitting over his thick brows in a way that, when paired with his boyish grin, makes him look younger. 

A dull thump startles both of you as a couple jog away from the shed with linked hands and no regard for you or Sunghoon. Neither of you bother trying to hide your amusement when you meet each other’s eyes, laughing hard enough to make the swing sway. 

“I’m sorry,” you say after calming down — maybe too late. 

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to be.”

The smile on his face is soft, sincere, but does nothing for the guilt you feel over stressing him out — your lips tug into a frown.

“Hey,” Sunghoon whispers and his forehead is warm against yours when he nudges you, grinning at the way you giggle when he pulls away. “I’m not upset or anything.” he pauses. “I don’t think I’m upset or anything, I’m just tired, you know. I spend a lot of time talking about skating during the day and there’s, like, a million and one other things I’d rather talk about right now.”

His honesty assuages your guilt and piques your curiosity. “Yeah?” you ask, arching a brow. Sunghoon nods. “Other things like..” 

He hesitates, caught off by the suggestiveness in your tone, by the way your hand grazes his knee before resting low on his thigh. A gulp echoes in his throat. “Uh, like..” His voice trails off. 

There’s a flutter in your chest as a smile tugs at your lips. “Why don’t we start with those pictures of Riki at the club?” 

“Riki at the club,” he repeats, nodding his head. “I can do that.” 

Sunghoon’s arm falls around your shoulders when you nestle into him, close enough now that his scent hits you effortlessly. A tiny square in his camera roll expands under his thumb, showing you Riki in a tight black halter dress with his hair grown out and styled in neat curls. There’s a boxy grin spread across his lips while he holds Yeji’s ID next to his face. In the next picture, he crouches between Shin Ryujin and Lee Chaeryeong while the three of them make kissy faces for the camera. “And then he had two shots of Fireball and passed out in a booth so we had to carry him home.” 

A laugh bubbles in your throat at the sight of Riki hunched over in a booth with his head on the table, and tears start to spill when you watch the video of Heeseung stumbling down the street, accidentally letting Riki slip off his back and onto the concrete. 

Out of nowhere, Sunghoon’s eyes practically bulge out of his head; an expression you’ve only seen on Kazuha whenever she suspects she left her flat iron on at home. Dread settles in your stomach as you brace yourself for what he might say next. “Just give me a minute,” he says, his words holding an urgency that only fuels your nerves. “I need to text someone.” 

Sunghoon thinking about talking to someone else while you’re trying to get to know him isn’t your favourite thing. In fact, it feels worse than what you imagine might happen if Kazuha actually does leave her flat iron on one day — because it shuts off automatically after 15 minutes.

You try hiding your disappointment but you can feel your lips drooping at the corners as he angles his phone away from you, deep in thought about this message he so urgently has to send. Whatever, you think. Couldn’t care less.

At long last, he finishes typing and pulls air through his teeth before putting his phone back in his pocket, drumming his nails against the seat until your phone goes off in your lap. In a fit of Kazuha-inspired absurdity, you want Sunghoon to feel bad about his lack of manners, so you ignore the notification despite your burning curiosity.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” he asks, his gaze fixed on you expectantly. 

You shake your head. “It can wait.” 

A frown creases Sunghoon’s brow and you hate it; checking your phone immediately to find two texts from the boy sitting next to you.

sh: hey yn! sorry i took so long

sh: if it’s not too late do u wNt to go on a date with me next saturday?

After six days of exchanging Spotify links with Sunghoon over text, Saturday rolls around, and the doorbell chimes earlier than you’d been expecting it to. You call out that you’ll get the door, grab your bag and bolt down the stairs. With a hand on the door handle, you catch your breath, an act that seems pointless when you see Sunghoon through the glass. The door creaks open and his neck snaps in your direction, jaw falling to the floor. 

He waves. 

Your greeting is followed only by silence, your Hey, Sunghoon, dissipating into the sticky summer heat as he chews on his cheek, letting his eyes scan your body over and over. If he didn’t look so nervous you might have offered to pose for a picture. “How are you?” you ask, locking the door behind you and double-checking that you did lock it before tossing your keys into your purse. 

“You’re so pretty,” he sighs, pushing his hand through his hair. “And I love your dress,” he adds. “Very pretty.”

“Yeah?”

Sunghoon nods and suddenly, your group FaceTime call with Chaewon, Minjeong, and Yunjin feels like two hours well spent. 

While you tried on every summer outfit in your wardrobe for them to judge, Minjeong gave enthusiastic reactions to Sunghoon’s tagged photos, or, rather, to Mark in Sunghoon’s tagged photos but even she was struck by the outfit you settled on. The pretty floral dress that sits at the middle of your thighs that Sunghoon can’t seem to look away from. Hopefully, you’ll remember to thank them appropriately. 

You follow him to his car where he opens the passenger door for you. Struck by the fact that this is the first time anyone’s done that for you, and the sound of his hand rattling against the metal, you sit down, beaming up at him as he closes the door. Sunghoon’s car is neat, and tidy, and smells pleasantly of the new car scent Little Tree that hangs, completely still, from his rearview mirror. Through the clean windscreen, you watch him walk around the front of the car with pursed lips. 

“You like ice cream, right?” he asks when he sits down, looking over at you nervously. 

“Who doesn’t like ice cream?” 

Sunghoon takes you to a little old diner themed ice cream spot with checkerboard floors and a handful of plush vinyl booths. Some of the walls have cursive LED signs that you can’t quite make out and a great big jukebox in the back corner plays What Makes You Beautiful. 

It doesn’t surprise you that Sunghoon is quiet when it’s just you guys, but you can tell that he’s trying his best. He listens attentively to everything you have to say, nodding his head and asking thoughtful questions at all the right times; he makes you laugh more than you ever have. He practically lights up when you bring up his friends. 

“Your friends are so cute,” you say with a smile, thinking of the change Riki had given Yunjin to buy those slushys the other day. 

“If you knew my friends you wouldn’t think that,” Sunghoon says, a fond smile that goes against his words spreading on his face at the mention of them. “Except Jake,” he corrects. “Jake is so cute, yes.” 

“I don’t think I know which one he is,” you admit. “I know Heeseung, I know Jay, Jungwon, and Riki..” you trail off, looking up at him and the smudge of ice cream on his lower lip.

“Jake is the cute one,” he frowns. “You’ll know him when I show you.” Sunghoon takes his phone from his pocket, scrolling for a while. “I’m sorry, I can’t find a normal photo of all seven of us.” 

“Just show me whatever,” you say, looking up at him and the smudge of ice cream on his bottom lip.

Without thinking, you reach over the table, using your thumb to wipe it away. Sunghoon’s cheeks immediately flush with pink and he gulps watching you suck the ice cream from the pad of your finger.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, shy, while turning his phone towards you to show the most absurdly staged photograph you think you’ve ever seen. “So, uh, Jake is.. he’s the one holding Heeseung up by his hair, and Sunoo’s posing in front of Jay.” Sunghoon hands you his phone when he’s done talking.

You use the opportunity to examine the picture. 

Jake (so cute) really does hold Heeseung up by his hair, and Sunoo (also so cute) shows the camera his pretty side profile and a thumbs up. Some other things stick out to you in the photo, a laugh making its way out of you as you notice that Jungwon isn’t there but Jay holds up a printed picture of him in his right hand. Riki sits between Jay and Jake, wearing a concerned expression about something going on off-camera. Sunghoon is in the back, holding what looks like a yoga pose on the back of the couch they’re sitting on. 

Happily, you let Sunghoon tell you more about his friends until the sun starts to set and the backs of your thighs stick to the vinyl seat. Not quite ready to say goodbye, you ask Sunghoon if you can go on a walk together. He seems into the idea, nodding his head and smiling down at you. 

Walking aimlessly, the two of you maintain a neutral silence (not uncomfortable, not particularly comfortable either, just quiet), and pretend not to notice the way the backs of your hands touch, each bump longer than the last though amounting to nothing. 

It’s not until comforted by the smell of chemically treated water that you realise how close to the pool you are. You follow Sunghoon around a corner and see the locked gates, wondering if he’d brought you this way on purpose or just out of habit. 

“Wish it was open,” you say off-handedly, not really meaning anything by it. Like telling the person you sit beside on the first day of class that you’re so tired even though you had the best night of sleep in your life. 

Sunghoon isn’t beside you when you look over at him, he’s a few paces behind you, standing by the gates. A mischievous smile spreads on his lips as he holds his keys in his hand, dangling them. “It could be.” 

“Are we allowed to do this?” you ask nervously, watching Sunghoon twist his key in the lock. 

“Allowed to?” he repeats, tilting his head as though the concept is foreign to him. “No, I don’t think so.” A satisfying click sounds as the lock comes undone and Sunghoon pushes the gate open with a huge grin on his face as he gestures for you to go inside first. “After you.” 

He follows you in, shutting the gate behind him and holding out a hand for you to take; you lock your fingers with his and decide that you never want to let go. Not even after a thin layer of sweat forms between your palms. 

The space seems so large when it’s empty like this, with the parasols closed and the lack of screaming children. Streetlights cover the area in a dim orange haze, turning it into a fuzzy dreamscape. The pool itself seems so small when you see it covered up, nothing like the ocean-wide abyss you remember it being when you were young, racing with Chaewon, or pretending like you were only playing around when you tried to drown Jaehyun. 

“Do you wanna get in?” Sunghoon asks, his soft voice interrupting your thoughts. 

You don’t hesitate to nod. 

One night a week, the pool stays open until after dark, but you’ve never been. So when the mechanised pool cover whirs open after Sunghoon flips the switch, you’re shocked by the lights that illuminate the still water. It makes sense that the pool would have some form of lighting for safety, but you hadn’t expected the yellowing fixtures set in the tiled walls to shine so beautifully.

“Come on,” he says, taking you by the hand again, approaching the water. 

A part of you wants to protest when he lets go, but the words catch in your throat as he pulls his shirt over his head. Having spent the better part of most summers poolside, the sight of shirtless Sunghoon isn’t a new one though you find yourself breathless all the same. It’s different tonight but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

Worried you’ll break the spell, you can’t bring yourself to speak. Worried you’ll open your mouth and the moment might slip out from under you. These worries, however, are no match for Sunghoon’s slim waist which leaves your mouth forming an O at the sight. 

“Wow,” you whisper, awestruck. 

Sunghoon laughs, nervously, running a hand through his hair and using the other to hold his shirt over his stomach. “Don’t do that,” he says under his breath. He drops the shirt. The rest of his clothes follow, quickly leaving him in only his tight-fitting black boxer briefs that you struggle to look away from. 

An odd feeling starts to creep in, causing a fire in your belly — obviously from the sweet cider you had earlier, nothing at all to do with Sunghoon. Or his sculpted torso. Or his face, with his soft smile, and sparkling eyes. No one’s ever looked at you like this before.

“What are you thinking about?” 

Those shoulders. Those lips. Kissing those lips. You gulp. “Nothing.” 

Even though he doesn’t look like he believes you, he doesn’t press you on it. Instead, he smiles. Sunghoon turns his back to you, walking towards the pool’s edge to dip a pointed toe into the water. You like the way he hums, nodding his head as if it’s just to his liking. 

“Feels good?”

“Perfect,” he grins, stepping into the pool. 

A splash makes the water ripple around him — you’ve never noticed it’s so clear, you can see everything. From the mosaic-like blue tiles on the pool floor and walls to the way Sunghoon’s hair moves around his head. It’s a dazzling blue, shifting brilliantly through the whole spectrum under light from the moon, the pool, and the lampposts. 

Considering the way you’re sweating in the sticky heat, the water even looks refreshing, so you’re not sure why you don’t move to pull your dress off; or why you can’t shake your nerves. Sunghoon’s seen you in skin-tight dresses, and skimpy bikinis, so you’re not sure why the thought of him seeing you in your underwear is spooking you so much. It could be your lack of a bra. But even then, Sunghoon isn’t going to be the first person to see your bare breasts.

Interrupting your thoughts, he bobs to the surface with closed eyes and straight lips; his dimple shows. Pushing hair from his forehead, he asks if you’re going to join him though he seems to sense your apprehension, shaking his head. “You don’t have to take anything off,” he tells you gently. “Except maybe your shoes and socks.” 

You nod, stepping out of your shoes and pulling your socks off almost robotically. 

“It’s okay,” he smiles, comforting, reassuring, as he swims up to the edge of the pool and extends his wet hand to you. “I got you.”

You tell yourself to get out of your head, looking into Sunghoon’s sparkling eyes and feeling at ease from the way he looks up at you like you’re God’s gift. When you reach for the bottom of your dress, he gulps, his arm falling limply against the coping. You turn away from him to pull the light fabric over your head, letting it fall in a heap next to your shoes, and Sunghoon’s looking in the other direction when you turn back around. Even with the ‘privacy’ he’s afforded you by looking away, you can’t help but use your arms to cover your chest as you make your way over to the pool, sitting down on the edge and slipping into the water. 

It is refreshing. The water is the perfect temperature as it envelops you, soothes you.

Just more than an arm’s length away, Sunghoon’s form is broad. His shoulders are so wide and his back so toned that your head starts to swim. His skin, sunkissed, glowing, is dotted with pretty moles that you’ve never noticed before but can’t look away from — suddenly feeling as though you could point to each one with your eyes closed. 

With an odd half step, you reach him, letting your arms fall around his waist and pressing your chest to his back. You don’t know why you do that.

He draws a sharp breath. “Hi,” he whispers after a beat. 

“Hi.” 

A quiet falls between you until Sunghoon mumbles, over there, while pointing towards the deep end of the pool. You swim poorly behind him and he only stops when you call out his name. Sunghoon breaks out into laughter when he sees you. For him, who’s well into the deep end, the, now still, water might tease his chin if disrupted. For you, almost 2 metres behind, the water tickles your nose even when you stand on your tiptoes.

“Whoa,” he whispers. 

You tilt your head back to speak. “What?” 

“You’re just..” He pauses to gulp. “So short.”  

Offended, you scoff. “I’m the tallest out of all my friends,” you say defensively. And untruthfully — hoping he’s never seen you standing next to Yunjin.

“Are you friends with the Lakers?”

You drift away from him, laughing as well, until the water just about reaches your armpits. He follows you. As more of his body breaches the surface, water slips from his chest, droplets and streaks glowing under the white light of the moon, completely breathtaking.

“I was so nervous about today,” he says, pushing some water towards you, his lighthearted tone gone. 

“Oh?” You pause, continuing when he nods, and push water back in his direction. “How do you feel now?” 

Sunghoon’s pouty lips jerk up the corners, playful, boyish. A soft laugh slips from the space between his teeth. “I’m absolutely terrified.” His honesty draws you to him, and has you actually drifting closer in the water.

“What’s scaring you?” 

His breath seems to catch in his throat. He tilts his head while eyeing you. “Are you asking because you really don’t know?” If you’d still been splashing each other you doubt you’d have heard him talking over the water.

“Does it matter?”

Sunghoon seems to consider this for a moment, to consider you. Despite sitting just high enough to cover your breasts, the water doesn’t do very much to conceal them and his eyes get stuck on your chest for more than a little while. He clears his throat, looking back up at your face. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he raises his hands and smacks the surface of the water between you with open palms. A big splash hits you in the face. 

It’s on, you think, doing the same thing to him with all the force you can muster and laugh at the yelp he lets out. Something of a splash fight ensues, both of you doing everything you can to create a bigger mess of water to attack the other with. 

The rain starts so subtly that you don’t even notice it at first. You’re both too busy laughing and trying to splash the other harder to think about anything else. Only when you stop to catch your breath, to rest your aching arms, do you catch the faint ripples skating across the pool’s surface. Sunghoon doesn’t relent, taking the opportunity to gain the upper hand. And the rain gets heavy fast.

“Sunghoon, it’s raining, stop!” you call out, turning your face away from him. His raucous laughter makes your stomach flutter as you grab his wrist. “Come on, we’re gonna get wet, we have to go!” 

When you look back over at him, his smile is so wide, so sweet that you almost feel faint. Sunghoon doesn’t stop laughing, the sound is so contagious you can’t help but join in. His arms fall around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do while he cackles in front of you, you let your hands rest on his firm triceps. 

Large droplets start hitting your lashes, clinging to them, obscuring your vision, so you bring a hand up to act like an awning above your eyes. He calls you so cute under his breath though his laughter doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop anytime soon. 

“Hoon, come on. What’s so funny?”

The rain is cold against your shoulders but the boy in front of you doesn’t seem to share your concerns about the sudden downpour. You lock eyes with him, and his laughter seems to get caught in his throat. He’s still smiling but seems nervous, as though he’s only now become aware that he’s holding you so close that your naked chest is pressed against his. 

Sunghoon clears his throat. His smile returns, as a breathy laugh makes its way from his nose. He lets his face come down towards yours, slow, cautious, and too desperate to wait, you meet his lips halfway; they’re every bit as soft as you’d imagined. 

As if relieved, Sunghoon’s shoulders sag and his body seems to melt into your own. Desperation, hunger hits you from all angles, lighting up your insides and leaving your skin burning under his touch. Unthinkingly, you link your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly close, almost whimpering when his tongue grazes yours.

Sunghoon tastes light and sugary, like the perfect combination of artificial strawberry and sweet coffee as his tongue moves against yours. From your mouth into his slips a dreamy sigh, while he holds onto you gently, like you’re the most delicate thing in the world; like he’s the most delicate thing. Why haven’t you been kissed like this before? So slowly, so softly, as if he means it. As if he’s kissing you for no reason other than simply wanting to kiss you. 

Only when he pulls away to catch his breath do you regain your senses and notice how much heavier the rain has become. But your brain short circuits at the sight of him. His breathing is ragged, his chest rises and falls against yours. Water darkened hair clings to his forehead, letting beads slip from its ends to his cheekbone before slipping down the column of his neck.

Shelter is the only word you manage to say and all you can do is hope that he’s able to work out the rest. Like something from the purest depths of your imagination, Sunghoon’s kiss-bitten lips stretch into a wide smile. A giggle, the softest thing you’ve ever come across, slips from his mouth while his fingers squeeze at your hips. 

“YN,” he says, breathless. “We’re in the pool.”

Dripping water onto the concrete under your feet, you and Sunghoon walk at snail’s pace from his car to your front door, with your linked hands swinging between your bodies. 

The porch light diffuses dramatically over Sunghoon’s features, and somehow, even under the stark lighting, he’s still beautiful. His wet hair drips water onto his shoulders, darkening his shirt in abstract splashes around the neckline. A grin splits across his lips when he locks eyes with you, his face scrunching up and his shoulders racking up and down as he laughs to himself. 

It’s impossible not to join in. “What’s so funny?” 

He only shrugs in response, struggling to keep a straight face. “I’m just.. happy,” he says eventually, a tinge of uncertainty hanging from his words. 

With shaking hands, Sunghoon grabs you by the waist and holds you close, leaning down to kiss you. As your lips move with his, the only thing you can think about is how badly you want to feel this moment forever. To feel the tremble in sweet Sunghoon’s hands as he holds onto you gently, to feel his soft hair under your fingertips, and his hard chest pressed against your body. To feel his lips curving into a smile, his forehead resting on yours as his breath fans your lips. “Are you happy too?” he asks. 

You think you’ll die if you ever forget the way it feels to like Park Sunghoon.

“Yes. Very.” 

Through the peephole in your front door, you watch as Sunghoon stands outside, bringing a hand to his cheek, fingers grazing the spot where you’re certain your lip gloss lingers. You suppress a giggle with your hand and run up the stairs to your room where you bury your face in your pillow to muffle a squeal. You can’t remember the last time you felt so giddy over something that was happening in your own life rather than something sweet you’d read in a book or heard about from a friend.

With Chaewon’s hand in yours, and butterflies in your stomach, you make your way to the community pool for the first time in about a week. Like always, you find Sunghoon’s friends wreaking havoc in the water until.. something happens. By the time it occurs, you’ve been laying poolside for about an hour, trying to convince your best friend that you liking a guy isn’t going to do anything to your friendship. 

“You’re not supposed to like that guy,” Chaewon whines like a child, playing with the frayed hem of her shorts. “You’re only supposed to like me!” A sigh passes from her lips as she uses her arm to shield her eyes from the sun. “And Yunjin!” she adds after too long. 

“What about the rest of our friends?” 

“And Kazuha, and Minjeong, and Jaehyun, an—” 

“Jaehyun’s a guy.” 

She seems a little thrown off by your interruption, pursing her lips before speaking. “Well, yeah, but.. he’s one of our guys. A Chaewon-approved guy.” 

Suddenly, the noise level reduces by at least half and you can’t help but feel alarmed, whipping your head in the direction of the pool. A quick scan tells you that nothing bad has happened, allowing you to release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. In the corner of your eye, you see Sunghoon’s friends huddled together and quickly realise that the space has only gotten so quiet because they’re chatting at a normal volume. Huh, you think, it almost sounds like the speakers are quite good. Heeseung and Jay get out of the water, sitting up on the pool’s edge while the other four boys all stand in place, all six of them fix their eyes on something in front of them but you don’t care enough to investigate further. 

You look back at Chaewon as a pout settles on your lips. “Why can’t Chaewon approve of my guy?”

“When you say that Sunghoon is your guy, do you mean it in the same way that Yeonjun is your guy?” she asks, her tone scathing but her face concerned. “Or, the way that Asahi is your guy, or, even Yoshi?” 

“No. This is different. Sunghoon is different.” 

You know how trite and naive you must sound, but he is different. You’d never dated a guy who’d pick you up right at your front door; Yeonjun and Yoshi typically sent DMs to let you know they’d parked out front, and Asahi did nothing but honk the car horn because he found it funny. Though to call what you were doing with those guys ‘dating’ would be a huge overstatement. There was Renjun from first year who was nice enough but never wanted to hang out, and Donghyuck who made you laugh but never complimented you. 

Chaewon crinkles her nose, reaching out to hold your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I really hope you’re right.”

And now there’s Sunghoon. Sunghoon who tells you that he can’t wait to see you again; who always tells you how pretty you look; who blushes when you hold his hand, who touches his cheek when you kiss it. You can’t imagine him doing anything bad to anyone. Sunghoon is different, and you hope you can be different this time too. In all the time you spend thinking, your guy shows up with a shy smile on his face with both of his hands behind his back. 

It’s your first time seeing him in person since your date and the sun glows against his skin, his wet hair tickling his thick brows as he stands at the foot of your chairs, watching Chaewon nervously. “Hi, Chaewon,” he says after a while.

“Hello!” She grins, seeming so bright and happy that you find it hard to reconcile this Chaewon with the one who’d been clutching her chest and sliding down the walls over the fact you have a crush on the boy she’s now being so pleasant to. 

“I got this,” Sunghoon says, bringing his hand from behind his back to reveal a strawberry-flavoured slushy. “For you.” He adds on, holding the drink out to your friend. While Chaewon gushes about how much she likes the mix of berries that make up her favourite flavour, Sunghoon hums and nods along while making his way to the other side of your chair. He wears a wider, more confident smile on his face while he stands over you. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” he says quietly, bringing his other hand out to give you the blue raspberry slushy he’s been holding. With his foot, Sunghoon drags a spare lounger from behind him next to yours before moving out of the way and using his hands to push it some more, making the armrest touch yours. “Hey,” he smiles, taking a seat. 

You take a grateful sip of your drink, surprised at how much better it tastes coming from him. “Thank you, Hoon.” You can’t stop yourself from leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek, liking the way your stomach flutters when his hand flies up to touch the spot you’d kissed.

“I like when you do that.” 

“This?” you ask, kissing him again. Through squinted eyes, you notice a dusting of pink over his cheeks and take such a big sip of your slushy that every single part of your body goes numb and your head starts to hurt. Sunghoon only laughs, watching you. It’s quiet between you for a bit until you come to. “I’m not complaining, really, but don’t you have.. lives to guard?” 

“I’m on break,” he says. “Do you want me to go?” His brows raise dramatically as the corners of his lips sink to the floor, a glint of something playful in his sparkling eyes. 

You shake your head, face alighting with a grin when you remember something. “So can I see the skating videos you promised you’d show me?” 

All playfulness is gone. “Did I.. promise?” 

“Yes!” You don’t like the way he arches his brow at you. “Two nights ago.. before you fell asleep on the phone.” 

He scoffs at you, playfully. “If I remember correctly, you fell asleep on the phone,” Sunghoon says, tone accusatory. “And you snore.” Sunghoon lets his cheek lie flat against the chair, grinning. He’s beautiful. And correct.

“Skating videos,” you repeat. Sunghoon rolls his eyes at you, grinning brilliantly when you laugh. “I’m serious,” you frown. 

“You’re cute,” he says quietly, like it’s a correction. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Sunghoon pauses but takes your nod as a sign to continue. “I have a thing, next Tuesday, and I was wondering if you’d want to come and see me skate in person?” His voice tips up at the end of the question.

Excitement bubbles up inside you, causing you to sit up straight in your seat, turning your body to face him. “You want me to come?” 

He nods eagerly. 

“I’ll be there.” 

The tips of Sunghoon’s ears redden as he smiles at you, his eyes scanning your face. You can’t resist kissing him, and he doesn’t try to stop you, meeting your lips halfway. It’s sweet as sugar and goes on until his friends start to cheer loudly and Sunghoon pulls away, shy. But he looks like he wants to kiss you again. You grab him by the cord of the whistle around his neck and pull him back towards you. Relief floods you when your lips reunite.

“I’m gonna text you later with the details, time and shit,” he mumbles against your lips before getting up to go. 

As he retreats, he looks over his shoulder a few times, waving at you and smiling widely while he does. Until he bumps into a small child who practically topples over; Sunghoon manages to catch them in the nick of time and his neck flushes pink. 

It doesn’t make sense to you how he could be so cute. 

Chaewon watches you as she sips her slushy with an appreciative smile, letting out a long ahh of refreshment before putting the cup down. “Chaewon approved.” 

It seems like your mother’s been back from work for a while when you get home. A stretchy white headband holds her hair out of her face while she stands over a pot on the stove, looking comfy in some sweatpants.

Happy to see you, she pulls you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Hi, honey,” she grins. 

She turns down your offer to help and insists on you setting the table instead, which you do happily, taking a seat when you’re done. Through her phone, she plays the music she listened to while you were growing up and sitting there, watching your mum cook while dripping chlorinated water from your hair to the kitchen floor, makes you feel a bit like a child. Like it’s 2008 and you’ve come home from a day at the pool with Chaewon, who would sit across from you at the dinner table, all blunt fringe and missing teeth, talking about this brand new thing called cheesecake, while your mother made dinner for the three of you with a towel wrapped on her head, drying her wet hair. 

As your mum fills your plate, she tells you about her day at work. Her boss was unreasonable, like always, and her office bestie took off on maternity leave. Again. She asks you about your day and pretends like she doesn’t notice the way you smile when you talk about the pool. 

You don’t wait to tell her about Sunghoon. 

“Is that who you went out with last week?” 

You cough around a grain of rice; you don’t remember mentioning him. “How do you know?” 

A smile takes over her face. “Because I watched him stand around the driveway for five minutes before he rang the bell.” You can’t help the way you laugh, it sounds like him to a tee. “What’s he like?” 

You tilt your head for a minute, thinking. “I still feel like we’re getting to know each other, you know?” Understanding, she nods her head. So, naturally, you talk for the better part of 10 minutes about Sunghoon until your food gets cold and your cheeks hurt from smiling. 

In preparation for Sunghoon’s skating showcase, you read up on the sport and audience etiquette, and stay up late the night before making a pretty banner for him. Sleepiness plagues you when you wake up that afternoon but at least you’re happy with the way the sign came out. 

While doing your makeup, you start to second guess your outfit choice. It was nice when you picked it last week, and it was nice when you put it on an hour ago and then back on twenty minutes ago. So, out of options, you stand in front of the mirror for the umpteenth time, sending Sunghoon a picture of your flowy off-white dress and asking if it’s okay. 

Sunghoon, dramatic as ever, responds with a selfie, all pretty smile and red hearts drawn over his eyes. You almost want to drop dead at the sight of him. And then another message comes through, no words, just emojis. At least 40 silly little yellow faces fill the text box. Some are crying, some have heart eyes, some have starry eyes, and some are drooling. There seems to be no apparent order, and you see sprinkles of white hearts in between them. 

sh: you look so beautiful you’re so beautiful baby

Baby, he’d said. Simple, pixelated, enough to make your heart flip in your chest. 

sh: can i come over 

sh: just to loo k at you or smth 

you: please 

You want to kiss him. 

sh: ok omw .. lying i dont have time :((( 

sh: also i fucked up my hair last night don’t laugh when you see me. 

you: no promises .. 

There’s a short queue at the reception desk when you arrive at the rink. The lobby is full of excited parents and bored teens, all eager with anticipation for the start (and end) of the summer showcase. Sunghoon had been relatively vague about the event until you called him last night, with a list of questions about it. With one question about it. The two of you chatted and laughed for hours until you got an answer. 

When he’s not spending the day at the pool, Sunghoon volunteers to teach kids classes at the rink he grew up in. Every year, the teaching cycle runs from April to July, at which point the rink holds the summer showcase, for parents and family members to attend and see what they’ve been funding for the past four months. 

“We don’t normally let parents sit in on classes because it’s distracting for the kids,” he explained through a yawn. “And it’s the whole reason I started skating in the first place.” Sunghoon paused. You hadn’t been expecting him to stop speaking but you rubbed your eyes and mumbled oh, really? as you used a pencil to sketch out the outline of your bubble letters. “You know, at first I thought you fell asleep, but I didn’t hear you snoring so I got a little worried,” he said, nervous. 

“I’m still here.” 

He fell quiet for a beat, speaking nervously. “Just let me know if I’m boring you, yeah?” 

“I could listen to you talk forever,” you admitted. “I’m having fun learning more about you.” 

Sunghoon’s light laughter made you bite back a giggle. “You make me feel good about myself,” he said quietly before continuing, giving you no time to respond. “But, yeah, I used to play hockey because I didn’t know how to talk to anyone except my parents and my one-year-old little sister, but my only friend on the hockey team invited me to go and watch him at the showcase one year and it was just.. the greatest thing I’d ever seen.” 

You encouraged Sunghoon to go on, still reeling from his quiet confession, and loving the grin in his voice while he spoke about skating and the way he laughed through some stories from work. Like how on a quiet day at the pool when he’d been messing around with Heeseung, Jake, and Riki in the water, some random guy approached them. 

“And this is so crazy too because we were just, like, fucking around, and the guy goes, “My grandmother can swim faster than you,” like he yelled it and stomped away.” 

Worried about waking your sleeping parents, you covered your mouth while laughing, mainly from the offence you can hear in Sunghoon’s voice over something that happened in October. “What did you guys do after that?” 

“I was on shift so I clocked out and went home.” 

The back of the program has a picture of Sunghoon and some of the other skating coaches, but it’s hard to pay attention to them or the signup sheet at the bottom when you see the wide smile on his face; you love the photo, it’s your favourite. He looks so happy, so radiant. If the scrunch of his nose and eyes is anything to go by, he must have been laughing when the picture was taken. This detail only makes you love it even more. 

In the corner of your eye, Jake leans against a wall, scrolling through his phone with a sheet of paper tucked under his arm. Seeing as he’s now (technically) your friend-in-law, you decide to approach him. Through the crowd of attendees waiting to be seated, he spots you as well, rushing over with the widest smile you’ve ever seen on anyone. You could count his teeth. 

Jake takes you by surprise, hugging you. “Hey! Hoon’s so happy that you’re here,” he says, somehow smiling even wider. “I’m so happy that you’re here, I finally have company!” 

When the double doors to the rink open up, you follow Jake to what he describes as the best seats in the house. “I always sit up here, so our boy knows to look over,” he says with a smile, his eyes never leaving you. “In case you were worried about that. It’s kinda far, and there’s lights, so you might have to wave a little harder than normal but, he’ll see you.” 

You nod, smiling too. “Got it.” Jake doesn’t look away. “Are you okay?” you ask him. More out of concern for your own well-being than anything else; you’ve heard of people murdering their best friend’s crushes before. 

He chews on his lip, tilting his head. All traces of his welcoming smile have faded, replaced with a more solemn expression as he looks over your shoulder for a beat. “Sunghoon’s my best friend,” he starts, and it’s hard not to picture yourself tumbling to your death down the slowly populating rows in front of you. They seem steeper now than before. “And he’s.. well.. you know him. It’s just that, he really likes you, you know? And I’m not saying this to be rude but I know about Yeonjun.. and—” Jake stops short, shooting you an apologetic look. “Anyway, I know that for some people, for you, for me, even, seeing more than one person at a time isn’t a big deal, but Hoon’s not like that.” 

You wait for him to continue. He doesn’t. 

A voice booms through the tannoy, telling everyone to take their seats as the show will be starting soon. 

Unsure what to say, you look out at the ice while Jake’s words sink in. It might have been easier to come up with something if he’d been any less kind about it. Spoken to you in a harsher tone. You hate the idea of Sunghoon knowing about the others, even if they were before him. Hate the idea of Jake having a similar conversation with him; telling Sunghoon that he’s not trying to be rude but..

“Sunghoon’s..” you pause, nervous. “He’s the best, and I can’t imagine seeing anyone else,” you admit. 

Jake beams, trusting you, and nods his head. “He’s gonna love your banner,” he grins. “And that.. angry looking plushy you brought.” 

The lights cut and all of the chatter hushes in an instant. Slowly, they fade back on, as a classical piece begins. Jake bounces his leg so hard you can feel the bench rattle under you, he’s practically glowing with giddiness. He’s like a little puppy, a golden retriever with light hair to match. 

After a short while, a boy skates out onto the ice, tall, graceful, an—Riki? He reaches the middle of the rink and introduces himself, enthusiastically reading a script from a few cue cards and looking right up into the stands to wear you and Jake sit. Beside you, Jake cheers, raising his banner, and you crane your neck to read it (LUCKY STRAWBERRIKI), and on the ice, Riki hides his face with his hand, quickly looking at his feet before continuing with his intro. 

You count eight tiny kids skating towards Riki, followed by Jungwon, and a line of other older skaters, Sunghoon is the last to appear, and your stomach churns with pride. All of them are dressed casually; you like Sunghoon’s straight-cut jeans and open button-up. 

As Jake predicted, Sunghoon (and Jungwon, and Riki) look up in your general direction, and next to you, Jake struggles to hold all three posters up at once so you help him, yelling along excitedly. It’s hard to tell from so far away but it feels like Sunghoon is staring straight at you like you’re the only two people at the rink. You feel like standing, like standing and singing HOOOOOOOOOOOON at the top of your lungs. For a moment you wonder if he’d shout back, telling you that right now he can hardly breathe. As if reading your mind, his mouth tugs up at the corners, slightly, before spreading into an ear-to-ear grin that makes your cheeks burn. 

The entire show passes by in an adorable whirlwind, as you and Jake applaud and encourage all of the performers, gushing with one another over how cute the baby skaters (including Jungwon and Riki) are. It’s beautiful and exciting, and you’re so happy you came. 

But time seems to stop when Sunghoon returns. Jake cheers loudly for him when he skates out; you can’t bring yourself to do the same. 

He comes to a stop in the middle of the rink, looking right up at the two of you. Jake waves his poster and raises yours too, seeming to notice the way you’re stuck to the spot. Sunghoon smiles, and somehow, he’s even more beautiful than you remembered. 

Graceful, elegant, Sunghoon glides on the ice when the music starts, immediately skating into a jump — you watch with held breath. He spins once, his arms tucked neatly by his sides, his hair fanning out around his head. Another spin, beautiful, clean. In the seats around you, people are cheering, you can hear them clear as day but the only person you see is Sunghoon who’s turning into his third rotation; the last. He sticks the landing, and an eternity has passed by as you let a sigh of relief slip out. 

Each jump is more gorgeous than the last, though seems to go on forever — you’re nervous as if it’s you on the ice. 

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you watch as he skates beautifully, executing smooth spins and controlled turns. You don’t think you could look away from him if you tried — this must be what people mean when they say someone was born for something. Even in the casual setting, he looks like a professional, just as stable and fluid as he was in the videos you’d watched. 

The music fades out, his performance is done, and you find yourself thankful for the fact that no one’s sitting behind you as you stand up. Jake does the same. Both of you hold your banners up for him to see, cheering louder than anyone else. Sunghoon raises a hand to wave at you. You wave back excitedly, getting a little flustered by the girl sitting a few rows ahead of you who turns around, smiling dreamily at Jake and rolling her eyes at you.

After bowing politely, Sunghoon looks back up at you, and you can’t help but blow him a kiss, only feeling silly about it when Jake nudges you with a goofy smile. You watch as Sunghoon raises his right hand for a beat, shifting a little on his skates before reaching out ahead of him, catching the flying kiss. 

Butterflies run rampant in your stomach when he holds his hand, and your kiss, over his heart.

As the show ends, you chat with Jake for a bit, gushing over the performances together as the audience clears out, and you trudge slowly down the stairs and back into the lobby. It’s nice chatting with him, seeing the way his face lights up as he talks so excitedly and passionately about his friends. 

You understand why Sunghoon likes him so much.

Sunghoon shows up at the other end of the lobby space, a vision in purple-tinted hair. You have to tell yourself to keep your feet planted on the spot for fear of literally running into his arms. He doesn’t seem to share the same sentiment, thank God, jogging through the lobby, dipping and dodging people as best and as fast as he can to reach you. 

He hugs you. Holds you tight. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he says, quietly, only for you. 

In your chest, your heart seems to grow tiny fists that throw a million punches a minute. Your brain scrambles for the words to say but you can’t come up with anything, hoping that the tightness of your arms around him lets him know that you’re glad to be here. 

He lets go of you, beaming, and moves to dap up Jake, asking his friend if he’s aware that he’s taking Jungwon and Riki go-karting tonight. 

“I’m doing what?” 

“Yeah, they wanted me to take them but I’m busy.” 

“Busy doing what?” Jake asks conspiratorially, arching a brow. He glances sideways at you, and can’t hold back his laughter. 

Sunghoon sets his jaw, punching Jake in the stomach. “Grow up,” he mutters, stifling a laugh of his own. 

You laugh too, partially at what Jake said, mostly at the way he keels over, clutching his stomach, a long groan passing from his lips. Sunghoon’s brows raise when you hand him the banner. “Look what I made for you.” 

“I saw you holding it earlier, baby, I love it,” he says, beaming at you as he reads over it again. “You did such a good job. Can I take it home?” His eyes sparkle when he looks up at you. Your heart cinches in your chest. 

“Of course.”

Next to you, Jake holds out the banner he made. “Do you wanna take mine home?” 

Sunghoon doesn’t even spare him a glance. “Recycle it,” he says. 

Jake tilts his head, confused. A loud huh comes out as he raises his brows. “I make a banner for you every single year and every single time you turn your nose up at it. But here comes a pretty girl and all of a sudden you love banners. Really, Sunghoon? You love it?” He pauses to let out a laugh, incredulous, seeming not to care about the few people that have turned over in your direction. “I can’t stand you.” Jake’s voice is whiny and hard to take seriously.

“I don’t love banners, I love this banner,” Sunghoon corrects, using his hand to shove Jake’s shoulder before holding the banner up over his chest. 

Amused, you watch the two boys bicker for a bit before Jake cuts Sunghoon off mid-sentence, raising his hands, muttering the word whatever.

Sunghoon seems sceptical of Badtz-Maru when you hand him over. He holds the plushy in his hand, eyeing it suspiciously before wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “He’s cute, baby, really, but why’d you pick the world’s unhappiest penguin?”

“He reminded me of you.” Sunghoon’s jaw drops, brows knitting together as he tilts his head, all while Jake struggles to stifle a laugh. “Because he’s from Gorgeoustown,” you add, your heart singing when Sunghoon kisses the top of your head, and you can’t resist letting your arms wrap around his waist. 

Compliments flow out of you like water from a fountain when Jungwon and Riki join your little group outside. Jungwon, with deep dimples and flushed cheeks, shyly mumbles variations of thank you, and I appreciate that while shifting from one foot to the other. Riki glows with pride, standing up straighter, and asking you what else you liked about his performance. 

The sun feels nice on your arms as you watch the two play a very intense, high-stakes game of rock, paper, scissors for the front seat of Jake’s car. They’re playing best of five and getting ready to begin the third, and possibly final round. Riki has two wins under his belt, it’s not looking good for Jungwon whose breathing has become heavy. He’s taken off his hoodie and is stretching his arms in preparation. 

You start a countdown from three and laugh so hard your stomach starts to hurt when Jungwon throws a losing rock against Riki’s paper, the oldest boy falling to his knees on the pavement and holding his head in his hands. Riki jumps higher than he had on the ice, embracing Jake in a tight hug, overjoyed by the victory while Jungwon groans. 

“Let’s hang out,” Sunghoon says as you walk to his car. 

Squeezing his hand, you nod and try not to melt on the concrete when he opens the car door for you. “What do you normally do after skating?” 

Sunghoon seems to think about your question for a while, tilting his head to the side as a fond smile pulls at the corners of his lips. “My parents would always take me out for dessert after competitions, or the next day if it was too late.” 

“Well, what do you think, Hoon? Is it too late for dessert?” 

Giddy in a way you’ve never seen him, he shakes his head in response. And in his car, he hums along to the radio, gingerly resting his hand on your bare knee. 

Sunghoon takes you to a dessert spot by Chaewon’s house, a fairly popular family-owned establishment that serves her favourite cheesecake. You sink into your seat over the table from him, in a slightly stiff booth with a tall back that makes it seem like it’s just you two and a coffee shop chatter Youtube video playing on a loop. 

“What are you having, baby?” he asks, drumming his fingers against the laminated menu. 

Knowing that Chaewon is coming over later, you let your eyes fall to the ice cream selection, reading the names of all 27 flavours and still settling on the only flavour you ever order here. “Cookie dough,” you say, reaching across the table to point at it on his menu. 

“And?” 

“And nothing.” 

His brows furrow. “You’re only getting ice cream?” 

“I mean, it’ll probably come in a cup, with a spoon,” you say, liking the way Sunghoon laughs at your stupid comment. “Chaewon’s staying over tonight so I don’t wanna fill up too much before dinner. I’ll order some cheesecake to take away when we’re done though, it’s her favourite,” you explain. 

He nods his head. “We can share my tiramisu.” 

It’s only after a conversation with Jake later on that you realise how big of a deal this is.

The two of you only manage to stop chatting and laughing when a girl with a cute bow in her hair and a smile on her face comes to ask if you’re ready to order. Across from you, Sunghoon orders a slice of tiramisu and a 3-scoop cup of coffee-flavoured ice cream. He runs a big hand through his hair and clears his throat, cheeks covered in pink as he asks if it would be okay for us to get a milkshake, to share, so, like, one milkshake, but then with two straws? Her eyes flick between the two of you and she grins, nodding her head but Sunghoon doesn’t go on. 

“A strawberry milkshake, please,” you say, watching the waitress take note of it before saying she’ll be right back. 

More than anyone you’ve ever met, Sunghoon loves tiramisu; he adores it. He lets you take the first spoon, and it’s delicious so you don’t have to fake your reaction when you try it. Sunghoon lights up with childlike excitement as he tries the second spoonful, his eyes widening as he hums around the dessert, shaking his head a little out of genuine enjoyment. 

Surprisingly, he’s able to tell you about the origins of the word (stems from the Italian tira mi su or pick me up), and shares a fond memory of the first time he tried it — he was 9 years old and choked on the cocoa powder on top.  

Sunghoon takes the first sip from the tall glass that sits between you both, you gulp at the sight of his lips wrapping around the straw and need to try it too. Your noses bump a little when you lean in, and, with sweet strawberry coating your tongue, you can’t help but giggle.

As you’d been expecting, your cookie dough ice cream is delicious and after a while, you use your tiny plastic spoon to scrape the sides of your cup and ignore the way Sunghoon laughs at you. Even when he’s mocking you, he still makes your stomach flutter.

“I can get you more if you want,” he offers with a wide smile. 

You shake your head. Sunghoon frowns, watching you collect the last pitiful scrapings before eating them. “You were so pretty today,” you tell him around the spoon.

“Did you think I was ugly before?” 

“Extremely.” His face scrunches up with laughter, showing off his dimple and his fangs. “You must have practised forever,” you add, distracted.

Sunghoon shrugs, reaching his hand across the table to play with your fingers. “In a way I did but not really,” he says vaguely, using his nail to draw a circle in the palm of your hand. “I don’t plan anything for the showcase, it’s just meant for fun, you know? I just go out and do what feels right on the day — so, I guess I’ve been practising for the last 13 years.” 

Completely awestruck, you utter a quiet “wow” and giggle when he pinches your hand. 

“What’re you and Chaewon gonna do later?” he asks, changing the subject.

You let him. At the mention of your best friend, a smile teases at your lips and Sunghoon matches it, beaming sweetly at you, looking forward to what you have to say. “I’m gonna cut her hair.” 

“Really?” Your heart thuds at the genuine interest in his tone. “Do you always cut it for her?”

“No,” you pout. “I’ve never cut anyone’s hair.”

“Not even your own?” Sunghoon laughs when you shake your head. “Wow, she must really trust you.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “We’re best friends.”

“She’s lucky.” 

A chuckle slips out of you and you scrunch your nose. “Me too.” 

When he sees the waitress approaching, Sunghoon stacks your dishes to help out, handing them over to her with a soft smile. “Would we be able to get two slices of cheesecake?” he asks. “To go?”

“Sure, what flavour?”

“Vanilla, please.” 

Eunchae, as you read from her nametag, makes a face, pulling air through her teeth. “The vanilla’s gonna be about an hour wait.” 

Sunghoon pales, looking at you. “That’s alright,” you say, smiling. 

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Sunghoon shakes his head, asking only for the bill. The two of you go back and forth on it and you practically beg him to let you pay. You put up a good fight, only backing down because he renders you speechless, shaking his head and saying: I’m not gonna take my girl on a date then make her pay. 

His girl hides her face with her hands, flustered. 

He laughs. 

A beat passes before he stands up, holding a hand out and asking you to go with him to the photo booth. With a smile, you slip your hand into his, allowing him to tug you towards it. Behind the curtain, he wraps his arm around your waist, leaning forward to pay. The two of you agree that you’ll take a set for him to keep and one for you. On the screen, a countdown starts from 4, and you almost feel under pressure. 

Posing for the first picture is a little awkward; you watch as Sunghoon puffs out his cheeks, poking one, and suppress your smile to copy. The second isn’t much better; you both grin and hold up peace signs. As you pose for the third, you can feel Sunghoon’s eyes burning holes in the side of your face, can see him on the screen, staring as you look at yourself ahead but can’t bring yourself to look at him. 

The countdown reaches 2 and he holds you closer. His lips touch your cheek when the screen says 1 and you grin when the picture is taken. Sunghoon’s gaze is soft when you look at him. His hand touches your cheek, heavy on your skin, as he leans in to kiss you. You’ve never been kissed in a photo booth before and your heart beats in the back of your throat when the screen flashes, taking the last photo. 

He sticks his head out of the curtain to collect the 4-cut and cringes a little. “God, we look so stiff in the first two,” he complains. 

“I love them,” you say, taking the photo set from his hand. “They’re perfect.” You mean it. The visible awkwardness that you can feel through the frame is endearing to you, and you like the gradual transition into comfort as the photos progress. 

He looks at you with disbelieving eyes and pays for the next set. 

When you reach your table again, Sunghoon slides into the booth next to you, letting his arm rest over your shoulders, and he’s just as sweet as the tiramisu you tasted on his lips. 

With full bellies and two slices of cheesecake packaged in a pretty yellow box, you head back to his car, where he clips his photo set to the sun visor. You can’t help but lean over the centre console to kiss him again. When you pull away from him, you swear his eyes dart to the backseat, but the moment goes by as quickly as it happens so you must have been imagining things. He drives you home with the radio playing lowly, and his fingers locked with yours. 

On your doorstep, Sunghoon kisses you goodbye, biting at your bottom lip and grabbing your ass. He’s never kissed you like this before. You don’t think you were making things up earlier. “I really like your dress,” he tells you quietly, his lips brushing yours. 

Suddenly nervous, you mumble a thank you. 

“I like everything you wear, but this dress?” Sunghoon pulls away from you, just enough to rake his eyes down your body before holding you close. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, holding your cheek in his palm before kissing you again.  

A few hours later, Chaewon stands on a towel in the bathroom, between you and the mirror while your right hand shakes over a pair of scissors. “Are you sure about this?”

She nods her head. “It doesn’t need to be neat, it just needs to be short,” she assures you, smiling at your reflection in the mirror. Despite only just passing her shoulders, Chaewon’s hair is the longest you think you’ve ever seen it. “I wanted to grow it out, like Kazuha’s, but I hate the way it feels on my skin.” Freshly washed, her hair is just beyond damp and darkening her pink t-shirt. 

You gulp, nervous. “How about you sit down?” 

She nods, saying it’s a good call. 

Chaewon sits on a towel in your bedroom, between you and your full-length mirror while your right hand shakes over a pair of scissors. Before you grab them, you move her hair over her shoulders just so she can tell you once more to give her a chin-length bob. 

She does. You nod. 

Releasing a deep breath you make the first cut, and the sound of the blades slicing through her hair leaves goosebumps forming on your arms. Wet and slightly clumped together, the remaining hair falls from your hold and smacks her ear. You hold your breath as she runs her fingers through it. 

“It’s even!” 

“I only cut one part, Wonie.”

“Yeah, but you did good!” Her eyes meet yours in the mirror and she grins. “Keep going, keep going!” 

The other three sections generate similar reactions, and you keep having to tell her to sit still while you try to trim her hair. 

Chaewon claps her hands when you finish, running her fingers through her “new” bob. “I love it!” she squeals, beaming at your reflection. “It’s perfect.” She turns around on the spot to fling her arms at you, appreciative, wrapping you up in her familiar, soft scent. 

The two of you sit on the couch, as Gossip Girl plays on the TV. For the duration of an entire episode, Chaewon turns her head gently from left to right, her short hair fanning out around her, with a light smile on her face as she does so. You only manage to look away from her when you remember the cheesecake, getting up from your seat abruptly, and excusing yourself. 

As you enter the kitchen, you check your phone, grinning at the sight of a few texts from Sunghoon. You open the fridge as you unlock your phone, clicking on the notification as you take the box of dessert out. Giggles fall out of you at the first message: a cute bed selfie, with his plushy tucked under his arm. 

sh: no way

sh: he smells like you :o

sh: are we seeing each other tmrw? 

sh: (say yes) 

It doesn’t make sense to you that Sunghoon is as cute as he is — you have to put the cheesecake down to relax. 

you: noooooooooo ur so cute

you: i gave him some perfume :o and i’m w wonie tn and tmrw but another time

you: talk later hoonie! 

The sight of the box in your hand makes Chaewon spring out of her seat, covering her mouth with her hands as she does a cute happy dance, prompting you to set the cake down on the coffee table to join her. Tired out, you slump back onto the couch after a while, smiling when she hands over your plate before sitting next to you. 

With a fond smile, you pull your knees to your chest, watching as Chaewon says: You know you love me, xoxo, Gossip Girl, in perfect sync with Kristen Bell. She grins to herself before taking a forkful of cheesecake to her mouth, moaning around the utensil. 

You’ve never known anyone to like dessert as much as her, and a grin forms on its own as you remember the way Sunghoon had done almost the same thing with tiramisu only hours earlier. Being an avid hater of tiramisu, you wonder how Chaewon might react if you told her, before focusing on your slice and the gorgeous face of Leighton Meester. 

The two of you must sit through four episodes, before you sleepily lean into her, telling her she can finish off your piece of cake that she’s been eyeing hungrily since she finished hers approximately 15 Gossip Girl blasts ago. She watches you from the counter while you wash the dishes, thanking you again for the cake. 

Later that night — when she thinks you’re asleep — Chaewon presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’ve never had a friend like you before,” she whispers, turning over in bed and grabbing your hand. You don’t know what to do when you hear her sniffling next to you. 

Salt air and sun cream skate around you — the only things you can smell over the oil soaked chips you share with Chaewon at the beach. Heavy trainers weigh down each corner of the fitted bed sheet underneath you and Chaewon as you watch the wind push clouds through the too-blue sky. Drunk on cider, she laughs to herself, pointing above you. “That one kinda looks like Sunghoon’s friend, right?”

“Which one?” you ask, moving your head to see exactly what she’s pointing at. You’re not sure if you’re asking which friend or which cloud. 

“That one, like Jay.”

Laughter hits you immediately. She’s absolutely right. A triangular mass in the sky leaves you both cackling and rolling around. 

Same as the sand through your fingers, three weeks slip by. You and Sunghoon take more pictures in photo booths and struggle to stop kissing each other. He clasps your necklaces, and puts sunscreen on your back; you hug him from behind and take naps in the park with your head on his chest. Sunghoon makes daisy chains to sit in your hair, and puffy paper stars to fill a jar in your desk. You take his little sister for ice cream and braid her hair when she asks you. 

Tonight however, completely spent from a day of shopping with your mum and Chaewon, the three of you sat on the couch, all eating your bodyweight in cheesecake and crying over the ending of How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days.  

After you’ve all recovered, your mum watches from the car as you hug Chaewon on her doorstep and you fall asleep in the passenger seat on the ride home. No longer small enough to be carried up to your room, you drag your feet to the bed where you fall asleep as soon as your body hits the mattress. But a phone call from Kazuha disrupts your slumber. 

“Are you going to the pool tomorrow?” she asks, sounding alarmingly awake for 4:57 a.m. 

“Tomorrow, today, or tomorrow, tomorrow?” 

“Like,” she pauses, you can picture her running a hand through her hair as she thinks. “In a few hours, I guess.” 

You hum down the phone. 

“We can go together!” The smile in her voice is audible. “Oh, Jay likes YJ. Did I tell you? And fuck, Lee Heeseung is so annoying.” 

“No, he’s not,” you say defensively, slightly rattled by the fact that she woke you up in the middle of the night to shit on your boy’s best friend.

Kazuha scoffs. “Sure.” The line falls quiet for a beat. “He’s not actually annoying, I was just trying to announce that I have a crush on him.” Of course she was. 

“Heeseung seems like a great guy and I’m really happy for you, but let’s talk at the pool, okay?” 

“Talk at the pool!” she chirps, cutting the phone. 

You don’t manage to get back to sleep. 

At the pool, Kazuha says you’re beautiful when you pull your t-shirt over your head and cuts you off before you get to thank her, going on a tangent about how badly she wants to nap but doesn’t want to tan unevenly. Or sleep for too long that her face gets puffy. You take your mission seriously, using your phone to set timers and waking her up each time it goes off despite the way she grumbles at you. 

Riki runs over to tell you to watch him before running away and flipping into the water. Your praise doesn’t seem to get old, but the flips don’t either, each one just as clean and impressive as the ones before. 

Kazuha’s on her 4th rotation when you find yourself wandering over to the concession stand, in the mood for something sweet after being tempted by the scent of baking dough wafting over the pool. But as you get further and further ahead in line, you eventually decide you only want a lollipop, and there are only two people in front of you when you realise you left your phone in your chair and won’t be able to pay.

As if sent from heaven, someone taps you on the shoulder, but you’re met with no one when you look to your left; Sunghoon’s laugh is adorable on the other side of you, contagious when he bumps your hip with his. 

“Hi, baby,” you say, looking up at him. He has a white towel on his head, covering his forehead and tucked behind his ears. “Is there a reason you have this on?” you ask him, touching the damp fabric that sits on his shoulders.  

“What, I’m not allowed to dry my hair?” 

“I’m not allowed to be curious?” 

Sunghoon gently flicks your forehead and you pretend it hurts. 

Like Hannah Montana, he hooks his fingers under the front of the towel, pulling the “wig” off to reveal his luscious (and soaking wet) locks of dark hair. A gasp falls from your lips as your hand flies up to cover your mouth. Having essentially grown up with Sunghoon, or rather, grown up adjacent to Sunghoon, him having black hair isn’t anything new. But it’s definitely something you’re fond of. Fond of him and the way his dark hair only brings out his features, matching his thick brows and the hard lines of his face. 

“Do you like it?” he asks. 

You love it. “What are you gonna do if I don’t?” you ask, pushing some of his hair from his forehead. 

“Buzzcut.” 

With a worried look on his face, he lets you use both hands to cover his hair and imagine it. “Are you laughing because I’m so devastatingly gorgeous with black hair or because I’m about to buzz my head?” Laughter bubbles in your chest, as his hair flops back over his forehead. “Wait, baby, no.” A deep pout settles on his lips. “You actually don’t like it?” 

“I love it, you know I love it.” 

Sunghoon lets you compliment him until you reach the front of the line when he talks with the person on shift. He uses his phone to pay for what you want, and seeing your smiling face on his lock screen makes your cheeks burn while you hide your face in his back, arms locked limply around his waist. 

The two of you only leave the stand when the line behind you builds up, standing in the shade next to it. He watches you unwrap the candy and raises a brow when you hold it out to him. “First lick?”

He shakes his head. 

“Come on, Hoonie,” you tease, letting your hand rest on his arm, liking the way it tenses under your touch. “I know you want a taste.” 

His eyes drop to your chest for a split second, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he lifts his gaze. “You have no idea,” he mumbles before opening his mouth a little, leaning down towards you. His lips are slightly parted and very tempting as they wrap around the lollipop. 

“Good?”

Sunghoon’s eyes lock with yours as he sucks on the candy. “Very,” he says, the word coming out kind of garbled around it before letting you take it back. You watch him chew on his lip, humming to himself at the lingering taste of your lolly. 

The cola flavour hits your tongue immediately and you like the way Sunghoon gulps as he watches you, struggling to maintain the eye contact you’d had a moment earlier. You don’t take nearly as long as he did, pulling the lolly from your lips with a satisfying pop before smiling up at him, sickly sweet. “Very good indeed,” you echo him, letting the candy rest between your lips before you turn to walk away. Sunghoon follows, thankfully. Heading back over to where you’d been sitting, you find Kazuha’s chair empty. 

A shriek over your shoulder locates her like a pin on a map. 

In the pool, you see her sitting on Heeseung’s shoulders cackling as she pushes Sunoo over so hard that Jay, whose shoulders he’s sitting on, falls too. Gleefully, she leans back, falling into the water only to resurface and find her way into Heeseung’s arms. You stop walking when she tilts her head up to kiss him. Oh? Sunghoon walks right into your back. The kiss is short, not much more than a peck really, she pulls away with a grin on her face, swimming to the edge of the pool and Heeseung’s ears turn red as he watches her. 

Against your own, Sunghoon’s skin is warm, slick almost from what you think is a combination of pool water, sweat, and sunscreen. You hate yourself for liking it. His hardening dick presses against you, and your heart swells — some frenzied mix of feeling flattered, and horniness, you assume. A flame burns in your stomach, hot, blue. Neither of you moves for a while, long enough for Kazuha to walk over to your seats and scrunch her hair with a t-shirt. 

Sunghoon exhales shakily when you lean into him, resting the back of your head on his chest and holding the lollipop by the stick. “You okay?” you ask, voice nothing more than a whisper. 

His head dips, breath fanning your neck as he kisses your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles against your skin before standing up straight. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding you close. “Do you wanna come over tomorrow?” he asks, words coming out as one. “My family’s on vacation.” His cock twitches against you when he says it. 

“They are?” 

“Mm, they leave tomorrow morning.”

A breathy laugh comes from your nose as you step away from his body, turning around to look at him. Not so subtly, he takes the towel from his shoulder and holds it in his hand, covering himself. A proper laugh falls from your lips, your head tipping back a bit. 

“What if I wanna come today?” you ask, raising a brow. “Tonight even?” 

“Tonight? I can call you if you wanna come tonight.” 

You have a feeling that the two of you are talking about entirely different things.

“Pick me up?” 

“Always.” 

Sunghoon’s bedroom is exceptionally neat. Everything on his desk (his PC set up and a notebook) is placed precisely, and there’s nothing on the floor except for his furniture and a giant 8-ball rug. His off-white walls are completely bare, save for three posters above his desk; your favourite is a handmade (you think) white poster that reads There’s No Planet B in slightly messy block capitals, which sits between blown up pictures of Childish Gambino, and SZA. Underneath the perfectly aligned posters, stuck right above his monitor are the words: Figure skating prince, Park Sunghoon! You’re the best! with a bright red lipstick kiss in the corner; your heart does a triple axel at the sight. 

He stands in the middle of his open doorway like he has been for the past two minutes, watching you admire the medals that sit in a display case on a floating shelf. In 2015 he took home a gold medal from the Lombardia Trophy, and another from the Asian Open Trophy. The two silver medals beside them tell you that he continued to do well at the Asian Open Trophy in the two years that followed.

Along with the Sunghoon you saw today, tiny Sunghoon skates through your mind, so impressive and so young. The quiet boy who often missed class. Who’d fall asleep with his face in a textbook during the classes he did attend. Who you’d let borrow your notes after days of absence, and who wordlessly thanked you with a carton of banana milk each time. How didn’t you know about all of this?  Beyond awestruck by his accomplishments, you look over your shoulder to ask him about it. 

Sunghoon only shrugs. “I was okay.”

“You were okay?” You can’t help but scoff at him. “I’ve seen the videos, Sunghoon. I’ve seen you in person, you’re.. amazing.” The word feels like an understatement. “I don’t know very much about skating but you’re breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” he says, looking at his feet. 

“Have you thought about the Olympics?” you ask seriously. You get ready to apologise when you watch him purse his lips to the side, making you worry you’ve touched a nerve—But Sunghoon speaks before you have the chance. 

“I used to train with the Olympic team but it was too much pressure for me, and I much prefer coaching nowadays, it’s, like, the perfect way for me to feel all the joy of skating and absolutely none of the stress.” The fond smile on his face makes you think he means it.

It almost feels wrong to sit on his neatly made bed but you take a seat on its edge anyway, desperate for one of you to at least look comfortable in this situation. BaMa sits between his pillows and you can’t help but smile at the penguin who stares back at you, unimpressed. Sunghoon stays in place. From where you’re sitting, it’d be difficult to miss the way his eyes widen, stuck on you as he chews on his bottom lip. “Are you okay?” you ask him after a while, starting to feel awkward under his stare. 

For a split second, Sunghoon presses his lips into a straight line that shows his dimple before shrugging. “I’ve never brought a girl to my room before. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do,” he says, fixing his gaze on the wall behind you. 

“The only thing we’re supposed to do is whatever you want. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Sunghoon looks at you, thinking. “We should kiss,” he blurts out. 

“That’s what you want?”

“Badly.” But he doesn’t move. 

You wait it out a little, counting thirty whole seconds with no sign of movement from him. “How’re you gonna kiss me from over there?” 

A gorgeous grin takes over his face. Sunghoon closes the door behind him, crossing the room in a few paces to sit beside you. With some hesitation he pats his lap, struggling to meet your eyes while he does so. Your insides feel like a shaken bottle of Coke when you straddle him, and you can hear him exhale shakily at the way your dress hitches up, showing off your bare thighs. Sunghoon’s thighs are firm underneath you, his pants soft against your skin. It’s no use trying not to think about riding his thigh or riding him. But try as you might, your efforts don’t stand a chance against the feeling of him hardening under you.

His lips catch yours in a gentle kiss. You can feel the way he smiles, feel a giggle, light, airy, passing from his mouth into yours. It’s hard not to smile too. His fists clench behind you, bunching up the fabric of your dress in his palms desperately. Hard and thick, his cock presses against your core. You moan and Sunghoon all but freezes, his hands releasing your dress.  

Barely a second passes before he grabs you again, leaning back against the bed without breaking the kiss for anything, until you need to catch your breath and you pull away, sitting back in his lap with your hands resting on his toned stomach. You instinctively grind down on him when his cock twitches under you.

From your seat you can see the way his eyes widen when you do, see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat when he gulps. Or maybe the gulp came first; it’s hard to say. Either way, you don’t think you care. He sighs, relieved when you rock your hips against his for a second time. 

Sunghoon looks like sin the third time you do it, groaning and sitting up on his elbows, looking at you through lidded eyes, sighing through pouty lips. “I’m not ready to have sex yet.” 

You freeze in place. “That’s okay.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise, there’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m ready when you are.” 

“I just feel bad that you came all the way over here for nothing.”

Looking down at Sunghoon with all of the uncertainty on his face makes your stomach twist. You wish he knew how much you like being with him; like spending time with him. Wish he knew how nice it was to spend the day sitting by the pool and just getting to look at him. How nice it was to eat fruit in the park with him. To talk about nothing on the phone before bed. You rest a hand on his cheek, melting when his fingers wrap around your wrist and his thumb strokes the back of your hand. “Hoon, I’m not here because I wanna have sex with you, I’m here because I like you.” This thing you’ve felt for weeks, lived with and nurtured seems so foreign now that you’ve put it into words. 

The smile on his sweet face almost has you saying it again, and again, if for no other reason than seeing the way his fangs peek out at you, or how his eyes crinkle up into crescents, or hearing how he laughs, breathy, happy.  Sunghoon moves his head to kiss your palm. “I like you,” he says into your skin, mumbling like it’s a secret. “And I like being with you.”  

Even though Sunghoon saying he likes you feels a bit like a toddler telling you they can’t read, the statement shocks you. You knew he liked you, there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt this entire time, but hearing the words, feeling the shape of them against your palm makes his feelings for you seem tangible; so vivid; so thick. Like moisturiser sinking into your pores. 

He moves his head a little so your hand cups his cheek again. He smiles, soft, shy, Sunghoon. “You do.. eventually want that though, right?” The way his brows knit together when he asks is so cute that you can’t help but laugh a little. “Like, to have sex with me,” he adds. 

“Yes, when you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready to do.. other things,” he says, voice dwindling into a shy whisper. 

Curiosity piqued, you arch a brow. “Yeah?” Sunghoon nods. You press on. “Other things like..” 

A beat passes, and Sunghoon doesn’t speak. 

Instead, he opts to pull you down close to his chest, turning the two of you over. My God. His thin silver chain slips out of his shirt, swinging over your face just a bit, his light hair tickles your skin. You think you’d be happy if you died like this. With his bottom lip pinned between his teeth, his eyes scan your face, locking on your parted lips. His fingernail traces shapes on your hip, you immediately notice how blunt it is now compared to yesterday at the pool and can’t help but smile. Sunghoon moves his hand, his fingertips ghosting over your skin until he reaches the top of your panties. 

“Is this okay?” he asks. 

You nod, smiling, eager. You think you might die like this. 

His finger is long and thick, rubbing devastatingly slow circles on your clit through your underwear. Sunghoon puts a little pressure on it, just enough to please you yet still leave you wanting more. He slips a finger into your hole, pressing a kiss to your lips and catching your gasp in his mouth. 

“What got you so wet, baby?” 

There’s something about hearing these words from Sunghoon that makes them sound new, makes them sound fresh; alluring. Makes you want to cum on the spot when you answer. “You did.” Quickly, you learn that the way his lips quirk up into a smile also makes you want to cum on the spot.

You try to focus on the feeling of his tongue on yours, on the loud, wet sound of your lips smacking together, on anything other than how much better one of his fingers feels than two of yours. How much better he fills you up. How quickly he finds your spot and presses on it. A surge of pleasure licks down your spine, causing you to yelp. Kissing becomes hard fast, but if the way he moves his head to your suck lightly at your neck is anything to go by, he doesn’t mind.

He bites and he nips and he kisses the tender skin to soothe you, all while pushing a second finger into you. Time stops at the stretch and you arch your back towards the ceiling. He passes a breathy laugh; calls you cute. Your thighs press together around his hand. 

Leaning up from your skin, he makes a scissor motion with his fingers to work you open, studying the way your eyes screw shut, liking the way you gasp. His head dips back down beside yours, hair tickling your face. You can feel his lips graze your skin, breath fanning your ear. 

“I can’t stop imagining how you might taste,” Sunghoon whispers. “You gonna let me find out?” 

Your dress is bunched up around your waist, and if it wasn’t for all the material, you might have been able to see the trail of spit and love bites that Sunghoon had left on your stomach. You’ll have no choice but to wear one-pieces and full-length shirts for at least a week. There’s a smile on his face as he looks up at you from between your thighs. 

Sunghoon kisses the dark spot on your panties, holding the wet fabric between his lips, tasting you. A quiet moan slips from him, and your body jolts involuntarily, a chill inching up your spine. His fingers hook on the sides of your underwear and he looks up at you, smiling when you nod your head, pulling them down when you lift your hips. With all that material out of the way, he can finally see your pussy, and the word fuck comes tumbling from his lips before he groans. “So pretty, you’re so pretty, YN.”

He buries his face between your thighs to press light kisses to your clit, pecking it sweetly. Your body buzzes from the contact. “Shit,” you sigh at the feeling of him licking a strip from your dripping hole back up to your clit. 

“My God,” he whispers, licking his lips. He presses his tongue against you, lapping up your wetness and humming appreciatively. Sunghoon’s eyes flutter shut when he holds your swollen clit between his lips, sucking on it, licking at it, slowly, passionately, the way he kisses your mouth. His movements make you jolt and he chuckles against you, a delicious vibration running along your cunt.

Unable to fully express how you feel, you settle with saying so good through a whine. A match strikes a flame in your stomach when Sunghoon moves his head down a little, letting his tongue tease your hole, his nose bumps your clit and he moans into you when you clench around the tip of his tongue. You can’t help but grip his hair to hold him in place, hoping he’ll never stop.

Shamelessly, you hump his pretty face as your orgasm quickly approaches, reminding you how long it’s been since you were last eaten out — not that anyone has ever come close to making you feel this good.  

His lips focus on your clit again as he presses a thick finger into your hole, curling it up towards your belly button a few times before adding another. Immediately, your toes curl up, everything flashes white behind your eyelids while your orgasm rips through you and Sunghoon moans when you finish. You’re thankful for the way he slows down, letting your cum slip out onto his lips and chin for a beat before sucking and licking your slit to clean you up, holding you down as you squirm against his sheets from the sensitivity. 

Looking just as spent as you feel, he leans back on his heels. His eyes are blown wide, his chest heaving, and his lips are swollen, glistening in your arousal that’s spread all over the lower part of his face. Spellbound and unblinking, he stares straight ahead at your cunt. 

“Hoon,” you say, breathless, leaning up on your elbows. 

“Yeah, baby?” He doesn’t look away when he speaks. The trance seems to break at your lack of a response and he seems to want to cuddle just as much as you do if the way he scrambles off the floor and crawls over the bed to you is anything to go by.

Save for Sunghoon’s coaching sessions, the two of you are practically joined at the hip for the entire weekend. In the mornings and before bed, you brush your teeth together and don’t even separate to shower, stuffing yourselves in the cubicle to make out and lather shampoo in each other's hair or soap on each other's backs. 

It’s this excess time together that makes waking up to nothing but a note in Sunghoon’s absence so disturbing. His handwriting stirs something in you, the short and sweet: miss you already, please come visit me at work :) 

None of the girls want to go with you, so you find yourself trying on different swimsuits and figuring out what you’ll do at the pool on your own. With four magazines you’ve already read, a book, and your laptop just in case, you make your way there, enjoying the sun on your skin as you walk. 

“Hi!” A chirpy voice makes you flinch when you reach the pool. Sunoo’s whole face is curved into a grin when you look at him. “I’m Sunoo!” he says, extending a hand for you to shake. His grip is firm, not matching his smile at all. “Do you wanna hang out with us?” 

Equal parts excited and scared to say no, you nod. Dumping your bag in a locker, you meet Sunoo out by the changing rooms’ entrance, and he smiles when he sees you. You follow him over to the smaller pool where the rest of the boys are, Sunghoon included, and introduces you. 

The boys look around at one another, wondering if Sunoo knows that all of them have already met you. He doesn’t pay it any mind, jumping in and joining them. They all continue bothering each other while you sit on the edge, dipping your legs into the water. 

Sunghoon, who’s been grinning at you since you arrived, swims over to you and stands in the space between your legs. Cool droplets hit your thighs when he lifts his arms up to wrap around your waist in an embrace that might leave others wondering how many years it’s been since you last saw each other. After promising Jungwon that you won’t make fun of his armbands, you card your fingers through Sunghoon’s wet hair, giggling to yourself when he presses a kiss to your stomach. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” 

“Well, yes,” he says, looking up at you with a pout on his lips. “I’m just on duty at this pool today. Are you unhappy to be spending time with me?” 

“A little.”

Sunghoon pulls you into the water with him. “Even as a joke I don’t like that you said that.” There’s a crease in his brow that you want to kiss away but he’s already calling the boys over when you have the idea. Before you know it, all seven of them are splashing you with so much vigour that you don’t even bother fighting back. Even Riki who’s taken a liking to you shows no mercy.

As much fun as you had, you can’t help but feel a little drained when Sunghoon takes you home at the end of the day. You end up spending the week with him and his friends, and Riki seems crushed when you politely decline his invitation to poker night on Friday but his spirits lift when you say you’ll treat him to ice cream if he wins. On Saturday afternoon when you get out of the shower, you spend the better part of an hour wrapped in your towel texting Sunghoon, grinning at the messages he sent you while you were catching up on the girls’ group chat. 

sh: riki didn’t win anything last night so don’t let him lie to you, ok baby?

sh: plus im kinda mad at him ngl ..

sh: i wanna see u today

sh: only you

sh: need it :( 

sh: if i find out you’re making plans w riki rn i’ll kill him 

sh: babyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

sh: i miss you can i take you out 

you: why are you beefing a kid ur 500 

sh: you’re older than me ???

you: yes and ur my baby bubu bear 

sh: .. 

sh: picnic baby

sh: ? 

you: yes when

sh: rn.. 

you: uhm..

you: let me go get ready i miss u so bad

Your picnic quickly turns into an evening nap session for Sunghoon who, full on pizza and cider, lays down on his stomach with closed eyes and his cheek on his forearms. Meanwhile, you slowly sip cider from a sun-warmed bottle and pick off bits of pepperoni to eat, knowing Sunghoon will be annoyed about it later. The setting sun shifts the sky through warm oranges and purples, casting its hues over the park and Sunghoon’s sleeping form. 

“Quit watching me,” he mumbles, blinking his eyes open and yawning as he sits back up. Soft hair is all flat on the side he’d been lying on and his lips rest in a pout that, when combined with his eyes resting in a permanent squint, makes him look confused.

You watch with a grin on your face as he sits back on his hands, crossing his legs. “I have something for you, actually.” 

“For me?” you ask, shocked, your brows raise, and butterflies go crazy in your stomach. The thought of Sunghoon seeing something and thinking of you drives you crazy; you’re in way deeper than you could ever have anticipated. 

You hear the bikes whizzing past you, zipping down the cycle path over to your left, you can see the people walking dogs, pushing strollers, jogging, walking. But it still feels like you’re the only people here. The only two people left in the world, sitting on Sunghoon’s blanket in the middle of this park you’ve come to frequent. 

“For you. Do you see anyone else here?” Sunghoon chuckles, though you can see his nervousness peeking through the joy on his face. “Well, kinda for us I guess, to put it properly. You know what? No, it’s dumb. Forget I spoke.” He covers his face with his hands, embarrassed. 

“Something for us?” Even though it’s not a new development, the thought of you both being an us, in any capacity, still makes you giddy, and the butterflies in your stomach are bordering on feral. “Baby, come on. If it’s from you it’s not dumb. I promise I’ll love it.” You nudge his knee gently.

“You promise?” 

“Promise.” Your pinky finds his, linking together for a little while longer than you’d expected. 

“There’s some stuff I have to say first though, is that okay?” he asks, continuing when you nod. “I know you don’t like talking about it, but we should probably have some kind of conversation about what’s going to happen when you go back to uni, you know?” 

The thought of leaving unsettles you; of leaving him, but you’re desperate not to show it. “Yeah,” you say, aiming for calm but hitting upset instead.

Sunghoon chews on his lip before he speaks again. “And you’re happy, right? Like, with me?” 

You nod. Of course, you want to say but the words get caught in your head, how could I not be?

“Good.” Sunghoon smiles. “Because I like you, so much, and I hate the idea of you going back and telling all your friends about the totally awesome, smokin’ hot, mega babe you hooked up with over the summer.” He continues when you nod. “So I’ve been thinking it might be nice if, when your uni friends ask about your summer, and you feel comfortable talking about me, that you tell them about me as your boyfriend.” The uncertainty in his tone doesn’t match the widening grin on his face while speaking, and the word boyfriend comes out as nothing more than a whisper but you hear it clear as day. 

Head spinning, you meet his eyes, a hopeful glint behind them as he watches you. “Do you mean my totally awesome, smokin’ hot, mega babe boyfriend?” 

“It wouldn’t upset me if you said that.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Hold that thought,” he blurts out, opening his backpack. 

Drawing a deep breath, Sunghoon pulls out a pink box with your name written neatly on it before placing it in your lap and asking you to open it. He chews on his lip while he watches. 

WILL YOU BE MY GIRL ? is written on little chocolates that span three rows. The word girl is followed by six empty slots that you can only assume held the word friend. Between the shy look on Sunghoon’s face, and the gesture as a whole your heart leaps jaggedly in your chest. “Will you be my girl?” you read, unable to keep from grinning like a fool.

“I picked them up yesterday before the guys came over, and Riki..” he pauses to sigh, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “He ate part of them. I think he shared them with Jungwon actually — not that it matters. Anyway, the store’s closed on Sundays so I wasn’t able to replace them or anything, and I didn’t wanna wait any longer to ask,” Sunghoon says in a partial ramble. 

You look down at the pretty pink box in your hands and giggle to yourself. His friends are cute, you think. “I mean, they could’ve eaten the girl part.”

Sunghoon nods his head, grinning. “At least the sentiment still stands.” He eats a raspberry before looking up at you expectantly. “So, will you be my girl?”

With a smile spread on your face, you nod. “Yes, Hoon, I’ll be your girl,” you say, hoping he knows you’ve always been his girl. 

You cuddle in the grass with your boyfriend until the sun goes down, giddy from cider and the joys of summer romance when he walks you to your door. The two of you stand under the light at the doorstep, grinning competitively at one another. Reluctantly, Sunghoon bids you goodnight with a kiss and — just like after your first date — he stands there beaming brightly long after you’ve gone inside. 

A few nights later the two of you have your first sleepover as a couple and Sunghoon seems to take the idea in stride, showing up at your door with an overnight bag stuffed with his skincare, actual pyjamas, and snacks. Plus a bottle of wine he brought for his first meeting with your parents, despite having already had an awkward meeting with your mum at 3 a.m. in the hallway two weeks ago.

With his face glowing under the lamp on your desk, Sunghoon makes a show of bringing up the time he’d talked at length about his friends and says he thinks it only fair that you talk about yours. Your college friends. A blush coats his cheeks when you tell him he doesn’t need an excuse or justification to ask you things he’s curious about. 

This results in him sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of you, asking you silly things like what kind of Youtube videos you like to watch (his ears burn red when you say Park Sunghoon skating compilations), and more serious — to him — things like what your first impression of him was (he covers his face when you say I thought you were the cutest boy I’d ever seen, and it upset me that you missed so much school). 

“Do you think we would’ve dated if I was in school more?” 

“We are dating.” 

“I mean back then.”

“When we were five?” 

Sunghoon nods. 

“Even if we did date back then, we’d have broken up by lunchtime.” 

His jaw drops. “But it’s us,” he says like it’s the simplest thing ever. It takes a while to console your pouting boyfriend but when he moves on he gets back to asking about your friends. 

“They’re like.. the only reason I don’t completely regret picking my major.” The words come out before you can help them. You rarely talk with Sunghoon, or anyone, about your major, never mentioning much more than what results you got or the classes you’re taking if someone asks. 

So it doesn’t surprise you that he sees this as an opportunity to ask you about it. “Why do you hate it so much?” 

“It just makes me unhappy.” You feel your lips sagging at the corners when you finish speaking. “And the thought of working in that field forever, or, at all, makes me feel physically sick.” 

“What are you gonna do after graduation?” 

A tightness occupies your chest. You think about your brother, on the other end of the country, favouring texts over calls so no one has to hear the sadness in his voice when asked about work. You think about the future, all the unknowns awaiting you once you leave the familiarity of the education system. “I don’t.. I don’t know.” You hate how small your voice sounds when you say it.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until Sunghoon mumbles hey, no, baby, it’s okay, and cups your cheeks with his hands, using his thumbs to wipe your tears. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m on your side, okay? You know that. I’m not trying to upset you, baby, just trying to understand. To help.” Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you into him, letting you cry into his shirt. “If I’m going about it the wrong way you can tell me, I never want to make you cry.” 

For a while the two of you sit in silence while Sunghoon rubs your back and kisses the top of your head, only speaking when you’ve stopped sniffling. “How about you finish telling me about the girls? Minjeong, Jimin, Aeri, and Yizhuo, right?”

You don’t even remember telling him their names, besides maybe mentioning missing Minjeong. “You remember their names.” It’s not a question, not really. When you pull away from him, looking up, your heart snags in your chest at the sight. Of lovely Sunghoon and his small smile, the Kuromi headband holding his hair back. You want to cry again. 

“I remember everything you tell me.” 

Everything about him is lovely, from his soft cheeks to the Piplup pyjama pants he’s wearing and the way he’s looking at you with literal heart eyes. 

Knowing that Sunghoon has his last competition coming up, you savour every second with him. Barely sleeping that night trying to prepare for the lonely nights to come, memorising the feeling of his arms and the steady beat of his heart against your ear. 

His training schedule is rigorous and he’s had to stop his shifts at the pool to accommodate it, committing his days to skating and his nights to you when he can. Though he’s always so tired by the time he gets to your house that he can only sleepily sit through dinner with your parents and falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

Like most nights you spend apart, Sunghoon’s face fills your screen, talking about what he did that day that kept him from you. Today’s activity was back-to-back coaching sessions, then going to the movies with the boys, and, now, tired out from pretending to be patient, his eyelids are shut for most of the conversation. He looks so warm and cosy under his duvet that you wish you were there with him, or that he was here with you.

“I can come over if you want me to,” he says, and from the way he sits up, you can tell he means it. 

You hadn’t meant for those thoughts to be verbalised.

Looking to your left, at the space in your bed, you don’t trust yourself to be alone with him. Not here. You do want to see him though. Almost desperately. For the good of you both, you shake your head. “Let’s go for a drive?” 

Sunghoon smiles and your stomach turns. “Give me 25 minutes.” He cuts the phone. 

Sitting in the darkness of his car is way worse than having him in your bed. Having started on your knee, his big hand now rests on your thigh, barely an inch away from where your shorts start. A cold sweat breaks out on your skin. Leaning your head against the window, you let your eyes fall shut while Sunghoon sings SZA quietly. Eventually, the car comes to a stop.

“We’re here.” 

It’s too dark out to see anything properly until Sunghoon opens your door for you. “The park,” you say, looking around at the now familiar street. “Wouldn’t be my first choice for a murder.”  

“If you think about it, it’s sorta perfect. Who would hear you screaming for help at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday?”

Sunghoon pulls his backpack and a fleecy blanket from the backseat, and, with a ridiculous grin, you watch him put the blanket down in the grass, not too far from where he’d parked the car. You leave your sandals to the side and sit down next to him. 

“The store was closed, so we’ll have to deal,” he explains, taking out some fruit and two bottles of water. 

You shake your head. “It’s perfect.” 

Sunghoon lets you feed him strawberries, humming appreciatively around your fingers. You take a few sips of water before shifting on the blanket, turning around in the space between Sunghoon’s open legs and leaning back on his chest. He hums the same SZA song from his car and you can’t help but close your eyes. 

You tip your chin to kiss him, accidentally letting your hand rest on his lap. 

Ever since that day in his room, things between you have found a way to turn sexual after a while. Not that either of you seems to mind. Though you will admit that sometimes it is nice to just sit with Sunghoon and watch the sun come up over the hills by his house. Or to watch Mighty Ducks on your laptop with your head on his shoulder. 

Tonight doesn’t seem like one of those “sometimes”, but you really can’t find it in you to complain or want to change anything when he slips his hand down the front of your shorts. More focused on the way your lips feel on his, Sunghoon lazily runs his finger through your slick for a beat before pushing into you and smiling to himself as you gasp against the kiss. 

You pull away from him, shifting around a little, trying to angle yourself so you can see what you’re doing when you tug his waistband out of the way. The sight of Sunghoon’s cock, of his pretty tip coated in precum that dribbles from his slit down his shaft never gets old. If anything, it only turns you on more and more each time. You stroke him slowly, occasionally letting a finger tease the spot below his head, just the way he likes it.

“Oh, my G—” Sunghoon cuts himself off with a groan, pressing his lips to yours again.

The breeze tickles your arms, keeping you cool despite the way your skin burns under his touch. He’s close to cumming, you can tell in the way his cock twitches in your hold.

“I want you,” he mumbles against your lips. 

“You have me.” Sunghoon lifts his head away from yours after you speak, looking down his nose at you. It seems like he’s searching your face for something as he pushes a third finger into your hole. Something clicks in your head, understanding. “Fuck me,” you say, barely short of begging.

His hips buck up into your still hand. “I don’t have a condom.” 

“You’re joking.” 

“No,” he sighs, shaking his head solemnly. “I wish.” A frown teases at your lips. “Why didn’t you bring one?”

You arch a brow. “Why would I bring a condom when we’re waiting to have sex?” 

“Because I don’t wanna wait anymore.” 

“Ok,” you nod, trying to think as he separates his fingers. “Well, this is.. this is me finding that out, right now.”

Sunghoon’s never put a fourth finger in you before; it’s a tight fit. Your head falls back and you give up your poor attempt at continuing to jerk him off. “I don’t care if you don’t. About condoms.” 

“Oh, you’re on the pill?” 

“I ran out two weeks ago, I thought.. you’d give me—” A moan cuts you off. Sunghoon chuckles. “I thought you’d give me notice or something.” 

“Notice?” he asks, voice high, incredulous. A beat passes. “I don’t care,” he says eventually. “I need you.” 

You nod your head, relieved. Whining a little when Sunghoon pulls his hand out of you, and whining a lot when he sucks on each of his fingers, one at a time. “I’ll get Plan B in the morning,” you say, scrambling to your knees, facing him. 

“We’ll go together.” A soft smile spreads across his lips as he holds you by the waist. “And I’ll ask Jake to pray for us.”

Hungrily, you watch as he pulls his white t-shirt over his head. There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Sunghoon has a firm grip on your shorts, barely a second away from yanking them off when he stops, leaning away. “I’ve never..” he trails off, struggling to hold eye contact. “I’ve had sex just not.. outside,” he whispers, his lips pouting through his words.

Despite your desperation, you can’t help but feel like maybe this shouldn’t be the moment you two have sex for the first time. You almost can’t believe yourself, having Sunghoon here, hot, sweaty, with his kiss-plumped lips, and lidded eyes; his groans, and his sighs; his wandering hands and hard cock pressed against you, yet thinking that maybe you should wait a little longer. 

“We don’t have to do this now.” 

“I do.”

“Okay,” you whisper, relieved, pressing your lips onto his. You shiver in Sunghoon’s hold, cold and chasing his kiss when he pulls away, shuddering at the feeling of his fingertip grazing your collarbone. 

“You’re cold, baby.” 

You shake your head. “I’m not.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, your body betrays you and your teeth chatter. 

Sunghoon frowns at you, playing with some of your hair beside your ear. “You have goosebumps, and your teeth are clattering. I’ll take you home, come on,” he says, letting go of you. 

“I have goosebumps because I’m horny, and I want you to fuck me,” you admit, feeling your need for him in every part of your body. “And I don’t want you to be nice about it either, I’m already your girlfriend.” 

You watch him gulp. Sunghoon’s eyes scan your face. He leans into your touch when you let your palm cup his cheek, his skin is burning hot, if it was any lighter outside you might have been able to see the pink on his face. He wraps his thick fingers around your wrist, letting his thumb stroke the back of your hand, and his pretty eyes find yours. 

“I want to, so bad, but you’re freezing.” He kisses your palm. “How about I take you home and fuck you there, hmm? I won’t be nice, I promise.” 

Oh, God, you think, clenching around nothing. 

Dazed, you almost agree until something clicks. “Take this off,” you say, practically begging as you tug at his knitted hoodie. His brows knit together. “Let me wear it.” Without hesitation, Sunghoon pulls the jumper over his head and slips it over you. “Please, Hoon,” you all but beg, as you put your arms through it. 

The two of you are close enough that you can see his pupils dilating as his eyes trail over your body. “I like my clothes on you.” Is the only thing he says before kissing you again.

Sunghoon’s hands are all over you, eventually settling on the top of your shorts, as he does his best to tug them off. You raise your hips to help him out before settling back into his lap, whining at the feeling of him under you, touching your pussy for the first time. He throbs against you when you grind down on him.

It all seems so real now. He’s so big; so hard, that you start to worry. Suddenly you remember the ache in your jaw every time you suck him off and how much of him is left over, even when his head inches its way down your throat.

Flustered, you start to stall a little, rocking back and forth on his length, coating him in your wetness. You take him in your hand after a while, jerking him a little to spread his precum and your slick all over him. He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re whiling up time, and if he does, then he doesn’t seem to care, simply moaning when you lift yourself off of him to stroke your clit with his tip and tease your slit. 

Sunghoon’s teeth worry his bottom lip as you try to take him, his head falling forward, eyes trained on the spot between your bodies where you connect. His hold on your waist is so firm you can practically feel bruises forming under his fingertips and the sting of his cock pushing into you makes you draw a breath. “Just take your time, yeah?” he mumbles. “No rush.” 

No rush? you think, he must be crazy. You don’t think you can wait any longer, trying hard to sink down on him despite the pain of the stretch. You like it, that sting, the heat, you don’t want to go without it ever again. You must be crazy. Fuck, and Sunghoon are the only things you can bring yourself to say.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” he tells you. “It’s okay,” he says, though he doesn’t look like he’s doing any better than you are. 

Sunghoon’s head falls forward once you’ve taken all of him, his teeth sinking into the skin at the base of your neck as he lets out a broken whine. Everything feels a little too much to bear. It’s so hot, when did it get so hot? With the last few crumbs of your brain power, you tell yourself to take the hoodie off, but you feel like you can’t move. 

He fits so well, fills you up just right. 

With a shaky breath, he lifts his head to look up at you. “So beautiful.” Sunghoon pushes some of your hair from your face. “Good girl,” he coos, using his thumb to wipe tears you hadn’t even realised were there. “You’re doing such a good job, baby. Taking me so good.”

Sunghoon asks if you’re okay. It sounds like Sunghoon asks if you’re okay.

Your fist balls around the fabric of his cotton shirt. “Warm,” you whisper. “Too warm.” He loosens his grip around your waist, moving his hands to your hips to pull the hoodie off of you. You lean back a little to let him take it off and feel as if you’re being split open, the angle only pushing him deeper. 

With the hoodie off, the cool summer breeze makes you feel a lot better; makes taking him a lot more manageable. So you move. His pretty face scrunches with pleasure, as a long, heady groan comes from his throat. “You feel so good. So tight.” There’s something in his voice that you don’t recognise, desperation, need. Sweat beads along his hairline, the flush in his cheeks so prominent you can see it despite the dark. 

You want to see him like this all the time. Need to.

His hips buck up towards you, seeming to catch you both off guard if the way you gasp simultaneously is anything to go by. He wraps his arm around your waist, his trembling hand beating against your skin, and lets his other hand rest on the blanket behind him, leaning back on it. 

“You’re so good at this,” you sigh. “How are you so good at this?” You practically clamp your mouth shut, not letting yourself say any more lest you propose to him, or worse, expose your breeding kink.

Sunghoon only gives you a languid smile before kissing you. 

It’s more than a little hard to focus on coordinating the movement of your lips and tongue when he’s fucking you the way he is; lifting you off of him so only his tip stays inside, then thrusting all the way back in, deep and slow, trying to feel every single part of you and doing a good job hitting that spot that has you seeing stars. So the kiss is messy and loud, an exchange of spit and moans but you’re way too turned on to care. 

Before long, he uses his hand to pull down the front of your vest, attaching his wet mouth to your nipple instead and your brain short circuits. He moans into your skin when you clench around him, his body stuttering under you.

“Baby, I don’t..” Sunghoon sighs, lifting his head from your chest to look at you. He’s the picture of desire, of lust, with his messy hair and parted lips, the sweat slipping from his brow bone. “I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer,” he admits, thick brows pulled into a furrow.

At this rate, you don’t think you will either. His words only make you dizzy, they spur you on as desperation sets in; to see him cum, to feel it. Like always, his sounds are just as pretty as the rest of him, his grunts and his groans, and the ragged breaths that catch in his throat. And you quiver in his lap at the feeling of a knot forming in your stomach, immediately unravelling when his finger catches your clit again. 

Your head falls back. “I’m—” Is the only thing you can say.

“I know, baby, don’t hold back. I wanna see you make a mess.” 

His words send you over the edge, forcing your orgasm out of you while Sunghoon moans and fucks you through it. So good, baby, he mumbles over and over, stuttering through the words when you cum, though you barely hear him over the sound of his cock squelching up into you. 

A shaky breath and the word fuck tumbles from his lips. 

Sunghoon’s thighs tense and his stomach does the same. Shuddering under you, he cums hard, filling you up completely. You’ve never had a guy cum inside before, let alone been fucked without a condom, so you weren’t sure what to expect. But nothing could have prepared you for this. 

Heat courses through you everywhere, and you’ve never been so warm in your life. You can feel every last drop of his hot cum spilling into you, can feel it leaking out around him, slicking up your thighs. Shaking in Sunghoon’s lap, you’re full in the best way, eyes rolling back as your mind goes completely blank. 

Both of you try to catch your breath as he holds onto you tightly, his arms hugging around your waist. You’re having a hard time calming down with him still inside, but you don’t think you could move if you tried, and it seems as though he feels the same, only being able to bring his head away from your chest. With heaving shoulders and a dazed look in his eyes, he smiles up at you, sweet, contagious. Drunk on him, a laugh starts to bubble in your throat, forcing its way out. Sunghoon laughs too, and breathy chuckles slip from you both, happy, delighted. 

He reaches for some napkins, cleaning up what he can with you still in his lap before reaching for his hoodie. You watch as he folds it up a couple of times before putting it down near the blanket’s edge, shifting over a bit to hold you in his arms and lay you down, the hoodie under your head like a pillow. 

You think he must be an angel. 

Gently, he separates your legs to clean you up properly before pulling his boxers and shorts back up. You watch as he looks around the space for something, returning to your feet to help you put your underwear and shorts back on, sniffling a little and making his way to lie down on the grass beside you. Sunghoon reaches over your body and uses the remaining blanket behind you to cover you up. 

Sleepily, you rest your head on his chest, feeling his heart race against your cheek. “You’re so big, Hoon,” you whisper, mind still reeling. 

A beat passes. “Ok, baby, thank you,” he says a little awkwardly, you can feel his chest stutter as he chuckles and you can’t help but smile.

The stars above you beam brightly and you don’t think you’ve ever seen so many at once, peeking through the few dark clouds that drag lazily through the sky.

“You did so well tonight, YN,” Sunghoon tells you after a while. “You always do so well.” Your heart beats in your throat as he kisses the top of your head.

“Really?” 

“Mm,” he hums.

Curious, you look up at him. “What did I do well?” 

“Should I fill out a performance review?” 

“I just wanna know what you’re gonna tell your friends later.” Your heart rate picks up when Sunghoon laughs, sweet, contagious. “I’m serious.”

Into the air above, he huffs a long, dramatic sigh. “You really wanna know?”

“Desperately.”

He leans up on his elbow, looking down at you. Butterflies flutter in your stomach, already nervous about what Sunghoon might say. It’s as if he’s the only person in the world, the only one that makes a difference. You can’t help but feel special under his gaze, grateful that you’re the one who gets his attention. His hand is big on the side of your face, his thumb grazes your cheek. 

Sunghoon opens his mouth but closes it before speaking, then brilliant, bright, he smiles. “I think I’m gonna tell them I’m in love with you.” Your breath hitches in your throat. “And, ask Jake to pray for us.” 

And, ask Jake to pray for us, you repeat as if bound by a spell and he nods his head. Overwhelmed, you hide your face in his shirt. “I love you.” 

Back at your place, Sunghoon does a good job of living up to what he’d promised you earlier. Leaving you to wake up that morning in his t-shirt, with your head on his chest and a dull ache between your thighs — though not before, for the first time since primary school, you (and Sunghoon) kneeled by the side of the bed to perform the sign of the cross. He’d stumbled his way through a prayer first and you followed, watching as he sent a text to Jake before eventually drifting off to sleep, tired and sore.

The duvet is bunched at the bottom of the bed, leaving your bare thighs victim to the light breeze rolling through your room. Sunghoon’s mouth is slightly ajar and he snores sweetly. Even in his sleep, his stomach is tight and his soft penis rests cute and limp against his thigh in a way that leaves you stifling a giggle. You want to kiss it. 

Regrettably, you don’t.

“Stop looking at me,” he mumbles, half-heartedly lifting his arm to cover your eyes, though, with his still shut, it ends up resting on your neck.

“I’m not.” 

Sunghoon pries open one of his eyes, catching you. He follows your gaze down his body, groaning when he realises what you’re looking at. “You’re worse than I thought,” he says, sitting up to pull your duvet back over himself, resting over his waist. “I’m never sleeping naked next to you again.” 

You open your mouth to quiz him but he covers your lips with his hand. “Or anyone else, relax.” 

“Good boy,” you mumble, the words muffled against his palm. 

“Ew,” he whispers when you lick his hand, wiping it on your t-shirt before pushing some of your hair away from your face. “How are you feeling, baby?” His voice is soft when he asks, eyes scanning your face for even the slightest sign of discomfort.

“I’m kinda sore, but I’m good.” 

“You are?” There’s pride in his voice when he asks, eyes lighting up for a beat before pressing his lips together, trying to hide a smile. His broad shoulders betray him, trembling with silent laughter. Fuck off, you mumble, just as amused as him. 

Sunghoon clears his throat. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers. “I’ll be gentle next time, promise.” 

Next time. The simple words and all of their hopefulness leave your mind reeling. Laying next to Sunghoon, you grin at the thought of all of your next times with him. Through the seasons of the year; through autumn; through winter, spring, and back to summer again. 

“What’s on your mind?” he asks through a yawn. 

You love him. “I love you.” 

You’re expecting him to kiss you when he starts to lean in, but he pulls you tight against his chest instead. He smells faintly like sweat when he hugs you. Like sweat, and sunblock, and peonies. Like kisses during sunset, and late-night swims. Like the happiest you’ve been in a long, long while. 

“I love you, more.”

© zreamy (2023), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let my know your thoughts !

permanent taglist: @asahicore

[bitterbeanren]

Just a Little Longer

Kamisato Ayato x Reader

Summary: Now that things have quieted down after the winter festival, you feel it’s time to celebrate with a hot pot party. Ayaka has insisted that you invite Ayato personally.

A/N: My gift for @laurequenta

I had a lot of fun writing this! Ayaka and Thoma are such shippers in their own subtle and sometimes less subtle ways.

Happy Holidays!

~*~

After the winter festival concluded, work around the Kamisato estate and your own family’s estate calmed down, and the weather became even colder, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to play another hot pot game. You had gone to the Komore Teahouse to ask Thoma what he thought (as well as play with Taroumaru), and he had happily agreed to participate. You’d just taken off your haori and scarf and hung them when Ayaka arrived as well. After hearing your idea, Ayaka grew excited about having a hot pot party too. Then, she insisted that you need to be the one to let the Head of the Kamisato Clan know about the plan and invite him as well.

You don’t mind. Your families had worked together for generations, your mothers had been close, and you considered him a dear friend. You’d known each other since childhood after all. You had fond memories of walks in the gardens, studying and comparing notes after lessons, of playing together with Ayaka, and of him showing you what he’d learned about sword fighting. You remember going to the Narukami Shrine together for New Years, warming your hands with cups of amazake and checking fortunes. When you think back on those times, you realize that you actually spent a fair amount of time together. A good chunk of your youth was spent at the Kamisato Estate and with the eldest Kamisato sibling. At least that was the case until Ayato took over the position of clan head. He became significantly busier after that.

As the years passed you maintained a good friendship with Ayaka and Thoma, however, you still felt fondest of the eldest Kamisato despite your differing paths.

Even now that you are adults, because you know of his fondness for odd snacks, whenever you see something you think he would enjoy you would get it for him. When you were able to give him the unique treats in person, his gaze would soften and the small smile that appeared on his face felt more… genuine. But when you weren’t able to give them to him yourself, he would send a letter describing the goods almost like a review column belonging in something from the Yae Publishing House. It never fails to make you smile. And when the two of you do get to spend time together, it’s like nothing has changed… provided that the two of you aren’t in public or are alone. When you do see him at events, there’s an air of formality around him that makes him feel more distant.

You much prefer being around him when he doesn’t need to put up a front.

“Master Ayato said he would be taking a walk around Hanamizaka, ___,” Thoma informs with a smile. “He didn’t leave too long ago.”

“Oh, you should go over now and invite him! I don’t believe he has any plans for tonight, so we could meet back here with ingredients in a few hours to have the hot pot party,” Ayaka claps her hands together with a warm expression on her face. “And if he is busy, then we could have one with just the three of us. Would that work for you?”

You look up thoughtfully before giving the younger Kamisato a nod. “I’ll need to send word to my family, but I don’t have any other commitments today.”

“Would you like me to send the message to your estate while you check in with my lord?” Thoma tilts his head to the side cutely.

“That would be much appreciated, Thoma,” you smile politely and wave goodbye before making your way towards Hanamizaka. “I’ll see you two soon. Jya ne!”

As you make your way through the city, you can see your breath come out in puffs. It’s cold— and you can feel the chill through your kimono even though you’re wearing one of your thicker ones. Ayato certainly was bold— most Inazumans avoided being out in this temperature. But perhaps that was why he felt comfortable to walk about— he’d never been fond of crowds, especially after he’d become clan head. It was important to keep up public appearances when part of a noble household, and since Ayaka was well-loved by the people, Ayato could get away with being in the shadows so long as his few appearances were viewed positively.

The street vendors are still manning their stalls even though business is slow, but they were more prepared for the weather than you. They wear scarves and hats as well proper outer layers. Drat— you should have grabbed your scarf at least before leaving the teahouse. You mentally kick yourself and bring your fingertips up to your mouth, attempting to use your breath to warm them. When you next glance up, you see Ayato making his way towards you, an easy smile playing on his lips.

“Ayato!” You beam at him when he stops in front of you, one hand on his hip as he furrows his brows.

“Aren’t you cold, ___?” The man asks, you nod your head sheepishly.

“Ayaka and Thoma told me you were around here, and I forgot to put my layers back on before I went looking for you.”

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like it’s my fault you’re cold,” Ayato chuckles, taking off his scarf and looping it around your neck. “Honestly… what could be so important that you’d forget? Surely seeing me isn’t worth catching a cold over.”

“We’re going to have a hot pot party tonight,” you explain, subconsciously nuzzling into the warm fabric and laughing with a hint of embarrassment, “since things have quieted down, I thought it’d be nice for all of us to get together again.”

“Ayaka must have insisted you invite me personally. Am I correct?”

“She did. But I would have invited you regardless.”

Ayato’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he leaned in a bit closer. “Truly?”

You roll your eyes. “Have you so little trust in me, Ayato? We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

The Yashiro Commissioner gave you a noncommittal shrug. “It seems like these days I only see you when you’re with Ayaka and Thoma. I suppose I’ve been feeling a bit… neglected.”

“A hot pot party with just the two of us wouldn’t have nearly as much variety,” you shrug in response. “So, would you like to join us? We could get ingredients together.”

Ayato takes a moment to consider his response before letting out a sigh and securing his scarf around your neck. “Let’s find something interesting at least. Where did you find those sea urchin chocolates last time, ___?”

He already knows, of course. He’s the Yashiro Commissioner after all. But still, Ayato asks.

“If I tell you my source, then how will I be able to surprise you anymore?” You joke lightly.

“I’d never refuse a gift from you, even if it was uninteresting.”

“That doesn’t mean you’d like a boring gift.”

“I’d like any gift from you. We’re… childhood friends, after all.”

You place your hands on your hips. “Even so, the fun of finding weird things to put in hotpot comes from using perfectly normal things that don’t belong in hotpot. Ayaka still wins for using cake that one time… I need to think of something incredibly normal but just as upsetting for us to discover.”

The two of you begin to walk towards various stalls together, chatting as you go. “Perhaps… sunsettia?” Ayato offers as an idea.

“In Liyue there is a soup dish that uses sunsettia as the main ingredient,” You reply with a shake of your head. “So… adding sunsettias feels as though I’d be playing off that dish. Oranges, though… that might be fun…”

“Depending on what other ingredients are added, I imagine that the inclusion of orange slices would be quite novel.”

“But see, now that you know I’m considering it, that makes it less fun.”

You don’t notice how Ayato’s expression softens as the two of you continue, still shooting ideas back and forth. Being together feels so natural that you don’t even realize when you’ve taken his arm, purchasing a variety of normal and unique ingredients to bring to the hot pot party. Or maybe you choose not to notice, happy to bask in your closeness. Normally you aren’t this close while in public, but the lack of people on the streets make both of you more comfortable.

You’re childhood friends, after all. Of course it’s natural for the two of you to be close, despite everything. It’s something that both of you remember and remind yourselves whenever you end up standing closer than most would comfortably be. Whenever you find yourselves staring or thinking of the other for a moment too long.

There is no shortage of people vying for Kamisato Ayato’s attention these days. But you were there before. Back when the clan was struggling and the future was uncertain— be it because of foolish, childish innocence or loyalty, you had been and continue to be there for him even if only in the most miniscule of ways.

It begins to snow and Ayato adjusts his scarf on you. It’s cold, you really should have brought your own scarf and haori. But you want to enjoy being like this a little longer— together, chatting and carrying ingredients as you walk down the quiet streets back to the Komore Teahouse. Normally, you wouldn’t get to do this. Ayato had an image to uphold, after all. People would talk, seeing you two acting so familiar… but would either of you really mind, if they did?

He laughs at something sassy that you mutter under your breath, a fond look in his eyes, and you think you’ll be able to handle the cold for a bit longer.

Just a little longer.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#342

“Well fuck!  I know it’s end of the day on a Friday, but you still have an hour and a half of work you owe me.  Jesus, you have already changed out of your ranch work clothes into going-to-the-roadhouse clothes.  You look ridiculous.  You go from being an actual cowboy working with the herds on a ranch to dressing like a wannabe city cowboy who goes to watch the rodeo during the day and then line dances, gets rowdy drunk, and gropes up some skank ho who believes every cowboy line you feed her before taking her round the roadhouse for a pathetic back-alley blowjob at night.  Good lord, those jeans look sprayed on.  There’s no way anyone can miss your junk up front…. 

“Wait, is that one of…  Did you open up one of my beers?  Jesus fuck.  When I allowed you to stay in the workers quarters around back as part of this job, I told you that food and drink was your responsibility.

“Look, we need to have a talk.  It’s been three weeks since I hired you on.  Now is as good as time as any to go over how you are doing.  Into the barn now!

“Holy shit, no wonder why you wear those jeans; your ass is on display.  I swear if you were to fart, that seam would split open. 

“Go into the center….  Got you motherfucker….  Urgh….  Ahh….

“Shut the fuck up.  I was roping cattle since I was nine.  Tying up a scrawny five-foot seven pseudo cowboy wearing very restrictive jeans is nothing for me.  Now look at you, your limb bound together so can’t move a muscle lying on the ground totally vulnerable.  Damn, my tying skills are amazing.

“Now let’s talk about your performance the past few weeks.  You suck.  You do a half assed job, and it shows.  You make mistakes, nothing major.  But still.  Now you want to cut out early?  Fuck that.

“When I hired you, I heard about your reputation of being a brat, not interacting well with others.  I figured you just needed a job with little interaction with others.  Now I understand fully that you are a fuck up.

“So, I am in a predicament.  What the fuck do I do with you?...  Shut up!  That was a rhetorical question.  See, my ranch is one of the smaller ones around, and I can’t pay as much as some of the corporate ones around here.  So I’m stuck with a worker who sucks.

“Heh, interesting choice of words hunh?...  You know I spent eight years in the Corps right out of high school?  Yeah, I don’t have many things from my time in.  But the one thing I use quite often is this: my Ka-Bar knife.  This knife is so functional, I keep it sharpened.  If you were impressed with my roping, wait until you experience how I handle this knife. 

“With one swipe, the seam of your jeans now has a hole in it.  And like that, I have further ripped the hole, so your entire ass crack is exposed.  Another tug,… now your cock and balls are free.  I should say your tiny cock. 

“Now you are in a predicament.  Your limbs are bound and your asshole is exposed for all to see.  Let me ask you again.  What am I going to do with you? 

“I see you drank half your beer.  I would hate to see the rest of it go to waste.  It should go into the sewer, your sewer.  Hold still.  The bottle is still cold.  Your asshole is twitching.  You ever have a beer enema?  No?  Well, half a bottle should be enough.  You feel it?  You should start to feel the effects quite fast….  You’re drunk hunh? 

“You know?  If I let you continue working here, I think I will require you to wear those jeans from now on.  It will keep your mind focused on who is in charge here. 

“And just to show you that I’m not a total asshole, I’m going to let you see my ass and dick.  That’s only fair.  I’ll just take mine off….

“This is a real cowboy cock.  Eight inches long and seven inches around.  I got a serious leak going on.  Check out my ass.  This is a real cowboy ass, not one poured into jeans.  This ass came about from decades of hard work.  You should see it up close.  Here, you aren’t going anywhere, let me just squat over your face.  Smell that?  That stink is not from not wiping, but being in the saddle all day in the sun.  That’s saddle stink.  You will learn to love it….

“What the fuck?  Did you just lick me?  Jesus fuck you did!  Holy shit!  Damn boy, either that beer enema got you really drunk or… you’re a faggot!  Oh my god, your dick is rock hard.  I got me a faggot working for me.  Here eat some more of my hole boy.  You seem to have no problem with the saddle stink.

“Oh man, you have done this before haven’t you?  I take it from you moan that you have.  Fuck, you are one nasty pig.  Wasn’t expecting this to happen from you, but fuck your tongue really belongs in my shitter.  You really got me leaking.

“I need your hole now….  No! I’m not untying you until I’m done.  This is not supposed to be comfortable for you.  I want you tied in that position. 

“Feel my leak on your hole?  That’s all the lube you are going to get.

“Scream motherfucker.  Scream!  Clamp down, don’t let one drop of beer go.  Oh man, does your hole feel good, and a beer filled one at that.  Fuck.  Quit squirming.  You are interrupting my rhythm.  I’m not going to last long.  It’s been a week since I last shot, and I am ready to breed this hole.

“I’m going to do it!  I’m going to cum.  You ready?  You don’t deserve this load.  But fuck I deserve to nut.  Here it cums.  Here it cums!  Ahh ahh ahh!  Fuck.  Ah.  Oh man.

“Going forward this hole is mine.  Part of your job is to serve my cock.  What my cock wants, it gets.  Clamp down.  I’m about to pull out.  I want my cum and beer to be in you for a while. 

“Fuck, you look good tied up.  Let me get you bound in a different painful position.  I’m going to untie you.  Keep in mind, you are sore from being in that position, you are drunk, I am bigger than you, and I know how to handle livestock.  So don’t do something stupid and try to run.  You are going to be tied down in one way or another this entire weekend.  Stand on these blocks and lift your hands up high….

“…There, you are.  You look good spread eagle with your wrists tied to those posts. And if I kick those blocks you were standing on, on your tip toes you go.  Well, I’m going to be back in an hour or two.  I’m going to call some friends over from the canyon.  They are a couple that got me into tying up and fucking queers like yourself.  You are definitely their type.

“Yeah, now you know what’s really expected of you for this job, I think you are work out fine going forward, don’t you think?”

[thefangirlofhp]

21. gift horse part 2/2 to helping-hand

“So,” Azriel informs her, from the privacy of their camouflaging shadows as they hide by a lamppost. They’ve been following Lord Chester around for the better part of an hour, unbeknownst to the male; apparently the shadows conceal them entirely to the world. “The esteemed male he’s meeting for dinner is from a noble family in Winter. Chester was one of the courtiers who suffered exponential losses during Amarantha’s reign, not only in finances but in position as well. He’s been working to repair the damages, so to speak.”

Elain rises to her toes, her eyes following the fae as he makes his way through the street towards a restaurant. “Which is why he’s taken on the charity, I presume? Nothing restores credit like charitable work.”

“Mhm,” Azriel agrees. “It also does allow him access to considerable amounts of funding. I know I personally donate fortunes to charities.”

Elain drops down to her heels. “Should we follow him inside?”

Azriel nods and heads off. “We should.”

“But we don’t have a reservation,” Elain follows him. “Does your name come with certain privileges?”

Azriel smiles incredulously, pushing open the door to the restaurant and holding it for her. “Not really. Most of the city isn’t familiar with me like they are the rest.”

“You keep to yourself,” Elain nods, finding it sensible, taking in the restaurant appreciatively. She likes the decorations, and the tasteful lighting.

“Good evening, how can I help you?” the receptionist greets them pleasantly from behind her stand. Elain glances at Azriel, before approaching.

“Hello, I believe we have a reservation,” Azriel replies, leaning closer a little.

“Can I have a name?”

Elain watches a shadow dart around the stand and disappear into the folds of the pages before another one curls around Azriel’s ear. “Ronan.”

The fae slides a finger down the register, turns the page and finds it. “Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Ronan. We thought you wouldn’t make it. Follow me please.”

Azriel holds out his elbow which Elain quickly loops an arm through, glad to be wearing a dress suitable for dinner and they follow the waiter inside, who seats them at a two-person table, three tables away from their person of interest.

“This is nice,” Elain figures, looking around briefly as she settles in her chair, angling it to keep Lord Chester in her line of site. “It was a lucky guess, that the Ronans didn’t show.”

Azriel sips from a glass of water, glancing at Lord Chester out of the corner of his eye and hums his agreement.

“Or was it an educated guess?” Elain thinks. “Did your shadow know?”

He nods. Elain peers over at their suspect, who is dining with a platinum-haired fae of elegant handsome features, wearing regal tailored clothes with great detailing and stitches.

“Can you hear them?” Elain murmurs, receiving a confirming nod. She rests her chin in the palm of her hand, propping her elbow on the table. “What are they speaking about?”

“Dinner-talk,” Azriel answers, his fingers drumming once on the surface. “Exchanging pleasantries. I expect the actual purpose of the meeting wouldn’t be discussed immediately.”

“I wonder,” Elain’s eyes flit over Lord Chester. “Does he have any heirs, unmarried daughters?”

Azriel blinks. “There is one, of marriageable age. His youngest. Why?”

“Well Father would invite important people to prestigious places when the need to impress them was dire. For my engagement to Graysen, he spent a small fortune inviting Lord Nolan and his heir to different places, showing them his status and wealth. I can’t imagine Lord Chester meeting with an outsider in one of the best restaurants in Prythian for naught. And he’s a nobleman, you say. I suspect Lord Chester is attempting to marry off his last daughter.”

Azriel’s brow narrows. “It would explain the need for funds, for her dowry. But there are other possibilities.”

Elain taps her fingers on the table. “A foreign nobleman invited to Velaris, Lord Chester is spending a good penny to impress him and is coincidentally with one unmarried daughter left? I highly doubt it.”

As it turns out, she is right. Halfway through their meal, Azriel’s brows rise and he nods at Elain who relishes in her victory with a grin. When their suspects finish their meeting, Elain and Azriel hurry out after Lord Chester without so much as having dessert (a grievance Azriel expresses with much chagrin, which Elain promises to rectify when this is over) and follow him through the city, and to his estate home.

“We’re breaking and entering, aren’t we?” Elain murmurs, as Azriel walks along the brick wall sealing off the property. He looks up along the length of the estate, and nods. When Elain takes his offered hand, Azriel tugs her for one step and she finds herself standing in a richly-furnished study, her shoes sinking into a thick carpet and her wide eyes taking in the packed bookshelves and the cluttered desk. She has flashing memories of her Father, burning the late-night candle, pouring over his accounts and his correspondences.

Azriel approaches the shelves and reads the titles curiously, while Elain hurries to the desk and tugs at the drawers. One is expectedly locked, which she leaves last as she rummages through the contents, finding stray stencils and outdated receipts. A stamp, ink bottles and pens.

Elain slides out two hairpins from her hair, and sets to work on the lock.

“Try thi—” Azriel trails off, a lockpick falling into his palm from a shadow, when Elain manages to slide out the drawer with an accomplished grin. “Much experience picking locks, my lady?”

“A few,” she smiles, finding keys, letters and documents. “Father kept his foreign sweets locked.”

Azriel chuckles, going back to his task.

“We need any evidence of large transactions,” Elain tells him, while she peruses through classified letters. “Receipts, account balances, bank statements. Or better yet the charity accounting books. Aha, look, he is marrying off his daughter to…Lord Vansucci ”

“Like this?”

Her head snaps over her shoulder, as Azriel slides out a large ledger from the shelves and holds it up in the air. She shoots up instantly. “Yes.”

“Here,” he hands it off and resumes his examination. Elain settles in a leather armchair and makes herself comfortable. Father used to let her help with the accounting, so her eyes are acclimated to reading the numbers and making sense of the transactions while Azriel uncovers every secret Lord Chester’s ever kept, occasionally remarking things like “fucking knew it” under his breath. Elain cannot help but liken him to someone reading society papers, having their suspicions and gossip confirmed. But she doesn’t tell him that.

“Azriel, come look,” Elain calls him over, which he instantly answers. “There is a confusing discrepancy. There’s a substantial amount missing from here, his family fortune, and from the charity’s funds. They do coincide, approximately, in time. Both last week. And see, it recurs ever month. Now it does roughly correlate with his tax, but the deductibles don’t explain this. And the documented amount missing from the charity does not come close to what is actually missing. I know for a fact how much donations and funds were approximately allocated to the charity, and this income isn’t a fraction of it.”

Azriel’s jaw tightens. “Son of a—”

“And I found these receipts,” she shows him. “From the locked drawer. Does this look anything like Rhys’ signature to you?”

Azriel grimly smiles. “They’re forged.”

Elain nods. “Now look at this: a certificate of ownership—”

“—For an estate in Encers,” Azriel reads. He grins. “It’s for the mistress and secret family.”

“No,” Elain’s jaw drops.

“Mhm,” Azriel confirms, waving a set of letters in front of her. “I always suspected something was the matter with him, but Rhys’s never allowed me to confirm it.”

“Why not?” Elain frowns.

“He didn’t want me to waste my energy,” Azriel answers, reading over her shoulder the rest of the papers. “I have a lot on my plate, you see. A thousand things that demand my attention, and digging into the secret lives of his couriers was never a priority, Rhys believes. He’s right, in a sense, nothing worthwhile comes of knowing for a fact about Lord Chester’s…tastes. But I always find uses for everything.”

“Will this help us?”

Azriel nods. “We’ll need to collect the receipts from the people who donated, and I have a few friends at the bank that can give you a statement of what was allocated to the charity and with this you can prove the misplacement of a substantial amount of money. If we can prove for a fact where they’ve gone, like the estate, would be even better.”

“But there’s so much to dig through,” Elain realizes, looking around the study and the amount of evidence they have to sludge through.

Azriel shrugs. “This job isn’t very exciting. I once spent a week combing through a hoarder’s collection for a hairpin. Wasn’t really worth it. The things I’ve done for this job…”

“What if we drew a confession out of him?”

“That’d make things infinitely easier.”

“It’s settled then. Males like him retire to their study after dinner to tend their affairs, and in Chester’s case his literal one. It’s a matter of time.”

Sure enough, Elain hears the tell-tale sound of someone climbing a creaking staircase and the door unlocks, admitting a yawning Lord Chester initially oblivious to the intruders in his study in the dim light and when the faelights brighten, revealing the court spymaster and a strange lady he audible yelps.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” he demands, quickly shutting the door behind him.

“Well, well, well,” Elain says slowly, crossing her arms and tries to lean against the bookshelf behind her, only to stumble against its unsteady frame and have no choice but to stand straight. “Lord Chester.”

“What the hell?” he demands again, directing his rage to a mask-faced Azriel. “This is an outrage. What are you doing?”

Azriel points to the seat behind the mahogany desk. “Sit,” he orders coldly.

Elain sits down in the chair across the desk and crosses her ankles.

“You—you bitch—” Chester realizes, recognizing her from her previous attempts at speaking with him.

“Ah, ah,” Azriel holds out a threatening hand. “Shut the fuck up and sit down. Now.”

“You’ve got no right to be in here.”

“Foraging and embezzlement are serious crimes, Lord Chester,” Elain remarks slowly. “How do you respond to those allegations?”

“I deny them, of course. They are nonsense.”

Elain turns to Azriel.

“All-right,” Azriel yanks out a chair, its four legs scraping loudly against the carpet as he drags it over to Chester and slams it down violently. Azriel sits down, straddling the back and fixing Chester with a dark look. The darkness behind him thickens, stifling the fae-light. A visible fright swallows the entirety of Chester’s face, as sweat beads form at his temple and his lips pale.

“Now, you can come clean about the embezzlement and we’ll leave it at that,” Elain negotiates. “Continue to deny it, and I’m afraid we’ll be examining other crimes as well.”

“What crimes?” Chester snarls.

Azriel begins to tick off his fingers. “Tax evasion, treason, conspiring with enemies of the court, murder and…I’m missing something. Right: desecrating your sacred vows to your wife.”

When Chester remains silent, his jaw visibly clenched, Elain’s jaw drops.

“So,” Azriel murmurs. “A few years in jail in Hewn and a fine or The Prison? Your pick. Personally I’d throw you in the sea but the magnanimous lady has no such intentions.”

Chester grits his teeth.

***

“That was amazing!” Elain cannot contain her thrill, after they’ve left Lord Chester’s estate. “You were amazing! How did you know about the other crimes? Murder?! Treason?!”

Azriel’s lips turn up in a crooked smile. “Shot in the dark. Now I know for certain.”

Elain’s jaw drops. “You were bluffing? I couldn’t tell! And he believed it! Oh, you’re very good.”

“It’s my job,” Azriel tucks his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Well, now you have everything you need. He’ll be sentenced to a few years, assuming Rhys doesn’t murder him for the foraging.”

Elain slows, and turns to Azriel.

“Do we have to turn him in?”

The spymaster freezes in his steps. “What are you getting to?”

Elain feels a little wicked, and unclean but somehow it feels the right course of action. She bites on her lip. “What if we kept this to ourselves, and told him it would remain so, as long as he corrected his mistakes?”

Azriel regards her sharply. “You mean to blackmail him, keep him under you thumb.”

Elain shrugs slowly. “Why would you kill the enemy’s spies if you could make use of them? I don’t see why we should…dispose of a pawn, who could prove useful.”

“Elain Archeron,” Azriel remarks. “Your thorns are sharper than you let on.”

***

Breakfast is quieter and more orderly in the large estate Lord Chester has so kindly donated to the charity. The children now sleep in pairs of two in each room, with enough space for two different wardrobes and trunks. Said wardrobes are each equipped with several different outfits chosen by the children themselves with help from one of the ten-new caregivers that have been employed to work with the orphans. And after breakfast, those old enough are off to their schools for the day where they spend the time learning, and the younger ones signed up to different classes such as Feyre’s art classes, or physical gymnastics that Gwyn Berdara teaches. They have a large library stacked to the rim with all sorts of books, fictional or otherwise, and equipped with desks for the children to do their work.

Elain helps occasionally, sometimes coming round to teach baking or gardening and make the children delicious desserts. Some nights, she helps put them to sleep and read them bed-time stories. And if Lalitta has several questions about this sudden change in generosity and budget, then Elain is just as clueless as she is, wondering just as much what had changed so quickly.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” Lalitta informs her one night, after the children are put to bed. “That fortune smiled on us the day after you asked about the budget.”

“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, Lal.”

“I think you do. But I’m not the fae to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Elain smiles, and sips her cup of tea.

[emetoandotherthings]

The Teachers' Curse

A/N: Honestly this is the first thing I've written in so so so long.. I don't really even know where it came from but 🤷‍♀️ Also apologies cause there's a lot of build up, but suck it if you don't like it. Just cause they're so wonderful I'm dedicating this to @lickstynine and @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

______________________________________________________________

         The teachers’ curse. That’s what they’d all joked about in uni. The last week of term and the first week of the holidays – rule them out because with everything that needed done, you’d be exhausted and every bug, virus and eager bacteria comes after you. Jude had laughed about it with all the rest, until his probationary year began.

         After 8 weeks, October had brought a tired, run down feeling; December heralded a cold – but then, who didn’t get a cold in December? Jude was beginning to think that it was a whole load of rubbish, until he had to content with a 13 week term, coinciding with a pedagogical enquiry and a final profile to prove that he was actually good enough to be a teacher.

         With only 7 school days to go until the Easter holidays, Jude woke up with conjunctivitis – all scratchy and inflamed. He’d ended up with drops that Eden almost had to pin him down to put in, and forced to wear his glasses for the entire week.

         With 5 days left, a throbbing incessant pain in his ear had made itself known as his class worked with the percussion music specialist. The rest of the day, he’d felt like someone was trying to sharpen a pencil inside his ear canal. By 3pm, the glands in his neck had blown up and swallowing was a challenge. Eden had dragged him to the emergency out of hours doctor and the result was a 3 day course of antibiotics. Jude tried to laugh it off as just one of those things, but secretly he wondered whether it was the teacher’s curse creeping up on him. At least he’d be finished the antibiotics by Friday and would be able to have a drink in the evening when the holidays arrived.

         The thrumming had faded to a stop over the next few days, along with the sandpaper scratch in his throat and the only thing that lingered was a tiredness that made it almost impossible to drag himself out of bed on Friday morning.

         “Last day!” Eden’s voice was far too cheery for so early in the morning.

         “Thank the Lord…” Jude sighed, rubbing both hands over his face as he placed both feet firmly on the carpet. Eden was packing books the size of paving slabs into his backpack.

         “I’m in lab today,” he explained, as Jude dragged a shirt over his shoulders. “I’ll try to be back for you getting home – first evening of the holidays!”

         “I am very much looking forward to being back in bed…” It was just 6 hours – then he’d be done, he’d have some downtime. It’s not that he didn’t love teaching – he did! He loved the kids, hearing their stories, seeing their learning click into place like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle… but anyone who claimed working with children was easy definitely hadn’t spent time with 30 at once.

         Last days were a grand waste of time. For start, nearly one quarter of his class were absent; the rest were as mad as a box of frogs – unable to settle to anything for longer than five minutes. Jude was only glad that it stayed dry so the afternoon was filled with spare part outdoor learning; an activity which required supervision, but not a great deal of teaching or attention. He was only too pleased when the bell to end the day rang, and he could wave goodbye to his learned for the next two weeks. Jude had sat at his desk for nearly 10 whole minutes just willing himself to move before he geared himself up to go home.

         He was determined to only make one trip from his car to the flat, so he clambered up the stairs with three bags trying to pull his arms from his sockets. He was struggling to get the keys from his pocket when the front door swung open from the inside.

         “Jude!” Eden looked scandalised at the number of bags his boyfriend was carrying; he swooped forwards and grabbed some of them.

         “Eden…” He hadn’t expected him to be home. “I thought you’d still be in labs.”

         “It’s your first evening of the holidays!” Eden strained under the weight of the tote bags. “I wanted to spend some time with you.”

         “I’m not sure I’ll be that great company,” Jude answered, dumping the last of his bags into their hallway.

         “Oh shush,” Eden said, disappearing into their kitchen. “I was more thinking…” His voice continued from the kitchen and he re-appeared at the doorframe, two beers clutched in his hand. “A drink, a takeaway and some Netflix… No lesson plans, no profile – just relaxing.” Eden was holding out the bottle of beer, a quarter of lime squeezed into its neck.

         “Sometimes you’re the most beautiful thing on the planet,” Jude couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face, accepting the beer bottle.

         “Only sometimes?” Eden’s eyebrows disappeared up under his fringe.

         “Always,” Jude sighed. “Sorry…” Eden grabbed Jude’s free hand and dragged him into the living room; he’d brought several blankets and pillows into the room. “Oh, Eden…”

         “I thought we could make a bit of a nest,” Eden suggested, “food, drinks, not having to move…”

         “What did I do to deserve you?” Jude mused as Eden pulled him to the sofa, noticing that Eden’s cheeks had flushed pink. “Thank you.”

         Jude had barely drunk half of his beer before he dozed off, his head lolling backwards against the sofa and the beer bottle tipping forward precariously. Eden gently extricated it from Jude’s hands and let him sleep – he needed it.

         Jude’s head was heavy as he woke up, he felt sluggish and groggy; he opened his eyes and stretched. Eden was curled next to him, a book in his lap.

         “Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his hands across his face. “How long have I been asleep?”

         “About an hour and a half,” he put his book on the arm of the sofa and stretched his arm around Jude’s shoulder. Jude loved how well he fit into the crook of Eden’s shoulder. “I ordered food, it’ll be here soon.”

         “You’re an angel,” Jude said; he was so tired he didn’t feel like eating, but he would – if only to make Eden happy. He grabbed his beer from the table and took a swig, it didn’t taste as good lukewarm, but that was his fault for falling asleep.

         “Food’s here,” Eden announced, his phone buzzing to let him know the delivery driver was at the door. “Do you want another beer?”

         “Why not?” Jude shrugged, he felt bad – Eden was doing so much for him, yet he couldn’t help but feel the only thing he wanted to do was crawl into bed. He tried to waken himself up a bit, sitting up straighter and stretching his arms above his head.

         “Here you go,” Eden reappeared, carrying some pizza boxes and more beers. He set down one of the boxes in Jude’s lap before settling beside him.

         “Aaw, you even got pineapple on mine!” Jude smiled as he opened the lid of his box.

         “I thought I could allow for your transgression just this once,” Eden opened his own pizza. “I’m starving, I don’t know what it is about labs that always makes me so hungry.” He pulled a slice of his pizza up and devoured it hungrily. “Oh, and I’ve got cookie dough for afters.”

         “You’re amazing,” Jude grinned, though even the muscles of his cheeks felt tired.

         “Come on,” Eden nodded towards Jude’s pizza. “Tuck in.”

         Jude managed three quarters of his pizza before he felt the strain of his waistband against his stomach. He wanted more, it tasted so good and he felt more awake than he had since he got home. He swigged more of his beer as he rested the pizza box on the table and leaned back into the pillows and blankets surrounding it.

         “Man, I’ve got a food baby,” he rubbed his hand over his stomach.

         “Me too,” Eden replied. He’d finished all of his own pizza and had curled his arm around Jude’s shoulder again.

         “Shut up!” Jude joked, scanning up and down Eden’s slim frame. “I don’t know where you put it!”

         “I dunno,” Eden shrugged, “perks of having a fast metabolism.”

         “If only!”

         “You’re perfect just as you are,” Eden said; and then they were kissing. It was warm and soft, and Jude loved the way they fit together, as though they’d been made that way. When they split, Jude stayed closed to Eden, he felt like home. “Right,” Eden spoke after a while, “let’s put something on to watch, you choose.” He handed across the remote.

         “Anything?” Jude asked.

         “Anything you want,” Eden smiled.

         Jude’s eyes were drooping, even though he was the one who’d chosen the drama they were both watching. He’d finished off his beer but now his mouth was feeling oddly dry; his waistband was still digging into his stomach and that discomfort was beginning to radiate deeper than his skin. He could get up and change, but that felt like too much of an effort.

         Yet as the time ticked by, and the first episode turned into the second, Jude’s attention was even less on the tv and much more on how the discomfort from his waistband had turned into a weird bubbly ache in the pit of his belly. It felt rather like the time he’d gone sailing and despite the calm water his insides had been sloshing around with every moment. A cold, goosebump sensation kept cropping up on his exposed arms. He tried to shuffle himself on the sofa, wanting to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling, but the movement only served to make him feel worse. He slid the empty beer bottle in between the arm of the sofa and cushion and rested his now free hand onto his belly. It felt soft underneath his hand, but he could still feel the bugle of his full stomach. He took a few deep breaths and tried to surreptitiously move the waistband of his trousers, hoping that would give him some relief.

         It didn’t. In fact, it got worse. From the slightly sloshy, swishy feeling, it progressed into a more churning sensation – like his stomach had been set to spin cycle. He slowly tried to massage his fingers into his flesh, but the ache gurgled and deepened. Jude thought he’d done a good job of hiding it, until Eden raised his eyebrows and fixed him with a strange look.

         “Are you okay?” He asked, his hand straying towards the remote.

         “Yeah, yeah,” Jude lied, but with one look he could tell Eden knew he was lying. “I dunno, I guess, I feel a bit… queasy.” Almost as soon as he said it, his stomach burbled under his hand. “I’m probably just tired.” He wanted to pass it off as nothing, but the discomfort was growing with every passing second. Eden grabbed the remote and paused the tv, he sat up straighter and seemed to survey Jude. Then he stretched out his hand and pressed it against Jude’s forehead.

         “You don’t feel warm,” he said quietly, frowning slightly. “Hang on…” Eden hoisted himself from the sofa and padded across to the main light; Jude blinked as the light turned on. “You’re a bit pale,” he commented, “maybe we should have an early night?”

         “You wouldn’t mind?” Jude asked quickly. “It’s just, you’ve gone to such an effort…”

         “Jude, if bed is where you need to be, then I’m happy to be there with you,” Eden answered, sounding so genuine that Jude could have cried. “And we can have cookie dough for breakfast.”

         “Thank you,” he said, sighing.

         “Come on then,” Eden crossed to the tv and switched it off, before turning off the lamps one by one. Jude shuffled forwards to the edge of the sofa, but as he moved a rush of heat swept across his body and his stomach twisted in such an uncomfortable manner that he froze where he was perched. He took deep steadying breaths, not liking the sudden shift. “Jude?”

         “H-ulp!” The hiccup burst from his lips before he could stop it, and he couldn’t stop the groan that followed or the way his hand had gone to his stomach.

         “Jude?” There was a sense of urgency in Eden’s voice now; he’d crossed the room in a few strides and was kneeling to the side of him, his hand resting on Jude’s knee. “Jude?”

         “Oh god…” Jude groaned. “I don’t feel well Ede…”

         “What’s wrong? Tell me,” Eden’s voice was a comfort, but the spin cycle in his belly seemed to have reached terminal velocity.

         “My – my stomach,” Jude muttered, trying hard not to open his mouth too wide.

         “D’you feel sick?” Eden asked. “Shall I get a bucket?” Jude squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling through his nose.

         “Mmmn, no,” Jude shook his head slightly. “Jus’ give me a minute, I’ll be fine.” But nothing felt further from the truth, the sweeps of cold and hot alternating with rapidity.

         “Are you sure?” Eden didn’t sound sure at all, but he squeezed Jude’s knee gently. Jude didn’t reply, he was far too busy willing his stomach to stop clenching in such a disconcerting way. He didn’t know how long he’d spent just trying to breathe, until he felt hot liquid creeping up the back of his throat – and at that point, he felt the inevitability of it.

         “’m gonna throw up,” he managed to force the words out.

         “Right, I’m getting a bucket,” Eden said firmly.

         “No – no,” Jude reached his hand and grabbed Eden’s to stop him moving. “Help me – to the toilet…”

         “Jude, it’d be easier…” Eden refuted, but Jude was already pushing himself up, his free hand cradling his belly. “Okay,” Eden grabbed Jude’s arm to support him, as his legs had the same quality as a newly born foal.

         “Oh god,” Jude slurred, the movement had made everything ten times worse. His stomach contracted and he felt the rush of liquid barrelling up his throat. He slapped his hand to his mouth, hoping to prevent what he knew was coming. “Hmmmllk!” The heave was so strong that Jude lurched forwards.

         “Jude!” Eden’s tone was anxious as he began to pull Jude more forcefully. Jude’s head was swimming, all he could focus on was keeping the contents of his stomach down.

         “Hmmrrk!” The next heave was stronger, and Jude felt liquid hit the back of his teeth, his cheeks puffing out dramatically. He fought to swallow, they were nearly at the bathroom – he had to make it. Jude felt his chest tighten and his stomach squeezing more powerfully, he tried to force his feet to move faster but his legs had lost the ability to be useful in movement.

         “H’kkrrrk!” Jude had no power over his own body anymore, it was doing what it needed to do. His legs had crumbled under the weight, Eden’s hand had released as he fell and he scrambled forwards, but not quickly enough.

         “H’kkkkrrrgggllll’uuuuurrrrggglll!” A spray of warm, bitter liquid burst from Jude’s lips, coating the toilet seat and splashing onto the floor. He had to ignore it, pulling himself closer to the toilet bowl, disregarding that he was kneeling in his own vomit. He’d barely had a second, hardly enough time to draw breath, before his stomach contracted again. “B’hhhrrkk-luuurrrk!”  It came with such force that the puke hit the back of the toilet seat and sent splashes back into Jude’s face.

         “Oh Jude,” Eden’s voice came back into focus, Jude hadn’t realised that all he had heard previous was the rebellion of his own body.

         “Urgh,” Jude groaned, learning forwards to his hands pressed on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. He could still feel his stomach contracting, gearing up for the next assault. “S-sorry…” He choked, his voice thin.

         “Jude, don’t be silly,” Eden brushed Jude’s hair away from his eyes, then placed his hand in between Jude’s shoulder blades. This simple action seemed to signal the start of the next round.

         “Hrrrr’uuuullllkrrrrggggll!” A wave of thick, bitter liquid forced up his throat and flowed forcefully into the toilet bowl. He could taste the hops of the beer and the tang of the pineapple, and this made him retch harder.

         “Oh Jude,” Eden rubbed Jude’s back firmly, feeling the muscles tense under his touch. “You should have said you were feeling this bad.”

         “Wasn’t-“ Jude choked, spitting in order to try and rid his mouth of the taste. “Hit me all at – hrrk – once!”

         “Here,” Eden retrieved a cloth and ran it under the tap, before kneeling down next to Jude and wiping gently at his face. It was something so simple, but it nearly brought tears to Jude’s eyes. “It’s okay,” Eden’s words were soothing, “it’ll be alright…”

         “Feel – hrrk – awful…” Jude spit the saliva pooling in his mouth out, but that gave way to another heave that brought up a further wave of sick.

         “You’ll feel better when it’s out,” Eden reassured him, rubbing his back again.

         “Urrghh…” Jude groaned, his knees were beginning to protest being pressed against the cold tile floor; he tried to re-adjust himself, kneeling back and straightening up. His body didn’t like this, sending more sick charging up his throat and splashing into the water of the toilet bowl. “Pineapple doesn’t – hllk – taste as good on its way up…”

         “Glad to see you’ve not lost your sense of humour,” Eden quipped dryly.

         “Not the only thing I’ve lost,” he muttered. He was hoping this was a lull; his stomach wasn’t straining and contracting now, all he could feel was a slow churn in his gut.

         “You feeling better?” Eden knelt down beside him, brushing a hair away from his face. “You’re not as ghostly pale anymore.”

         “Think – for a bit…” Jude answered, he put his hand gently to his stomach – it didn’t feel quite as tender as before. “Not sure I’m completely – finished…” The last word hung slowly in the air.

         “But just now?” Eden asked and Jude gave a tiny nod. “Right, for now, let’s get you cleaned up and into bed.”

         “But –“ Jude started, but Eden cut him off.

         “I’ll get a bucket, put it next to the bed,” Eden’s words were so self-assured that Jude had to listen to him. “We’ll get you in something comfy and tucked up so you can rest.”

         “Okay,” Jude agreed, there was no point in arguing with a determined Eden.

         “For some reason, I don’t think we’ll be having cookie dough for breakfast,” Eden chuckled.

         The mention of food made Jude heave dryly again; he gulped down some air and shook his head: “No, I think not…”

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Are You There God? It's Me, Dean Winchester

Masterlist

*(y/n)'s POV*

Bobby was sitting at his desk with a pile of books in front of him while Sam and I were sitting in a couple of chair in the opposite corner talking to Dean, who is standing. "Well, then tell us what else it could be." Sam said to Dean. "Look, all I know is I was not groped by an angel." Dean said.

"Okay, look, Dean. Why do you think this Castiel would lie to you about it?" I asked him. "Maybe he's some kind of demon. Demons lie." Dean replied. "A demon who's immune to salt rounds and devil's traps...and Ruby's knife? Dean, Lilith is scared of that thing!" Sam exclaims. 

"Don't you think that if angels were real, that some hunter somewhere would have seen one...at some point...ever?" Dean asked and I give him a disbelieving look. "Yeah. You just did, Dean." I said, annoyed, and Dean scoffs. "I'm trying to come up with a theory here. Okay? Work with me." He growls.

"Dean, we have a theory." Sam said. "Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please." said Dean. "Okay, look. I'm not saying we know for sure. I'm just saying that I think we --" Sam started to explain but Dean talks over him. "Okay, okay. That's the point. We don't know for sure, so I'm not gonna believe that this thing is a freaking Angel of the Lord because it says so!" Dean yells.

"You three Chuckleheads want to keep arguing religion, or do you want to come take a look at this?" Bobby calls out and we get up and walk over to Bobby's desk. "I got stacks of lore -- Biblical, pre-Biblical. Some of it's in damn cuneiform. It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit." He said.

"What else?" Dean asked. "What else, what?" Bobby said, shrugging. "What else could do it?" Dean asked. "Airlift your ass out of the hot box? As far as I can tell, nothing." Bobby said and I turn to Dean and place my hands on his shoulders.

"Dean, this is good news." I said. "How?" Dean asked. "Because for once, this isn't just another round of demon crap. I mean, maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know?" I said, hopeful. "Okay. Say it's true. Say there are angels. Then what? There's a God?" Dean asked, i could hear suspicion in his voice.

"At this point, Vegas money's on yeah." Bobby said as Sam nods. "I don't know, guys." Dean said. "Okay, look. I know you're not all choirboy about this stuff, but this is becoming less and less about faith and more and more about proof." Sam said to Dean.

"Proof?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Sam and I said.

"Proof that there's a God out there that actually gives a crap about me personally? I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it." Dean said, shaking hi ms head. "Why not?" I asked him. "Because why me? If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?" Dean asked.

"Dean --" Sam and I said, exasperated, but Dean talks over us again. "I mean, I've saved some people, okay? I figured that made up for the stealing and the ditching chicks. But why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just a regular guy." Dean said. "Apparently, you're a regular guy that's important to the man upstairs." I pointed out. "Well, that creeps me out. I mean, I don't like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by...God." Dean said.

"Okay, well, too bad, Dean, because I think he wants you to strap on your party hat." Sam said. "Fine. What do we know about angels?" Dean asked and Bobby picks up a pile of fat and weighty looking books and puts them in front of Dean.

"Start reading." Bobby said and Dean looks at the pile of books, and turns towards Sam. "You're gonna get me some pie." Dean said as he grabs a book from the top of the pile.

The next half hour, Dean, Bobby and I spent researching about angels but I couldn't really concentrate. I'm still in shock that Dean's back, half the time I have to pinch myself to make sure that this was real. But I am worried about how he got back...but if this was an angel that brought Dean back....this is big!

Bobby had been trying to call a friend, who he believed might have some info on angels but no response. He got worried and then we heard Sam pull up and he tells us to follow him.

We all walk out just as Bobby walks up to the car. "Keep the engine running." He said to Sam. "Why? What's going on?" Sam asked. "I got a friend one state over -- Olivia Lowry. I've been trying to reach her for three days on this angel thing. It's not like her to ignore this many calls." Bobby replied. 

"Olivia Lowry -- a hunter, right?" Sam asked. "Yeah. We're gonna go check on her. You guys follow me." he said. Dean approaches the driver's side of the car, as Bobby heads to his own car. "Scoot over." Dean said and Sam scoots over as I get into the backseat. Dean grabs the bag of food Sam bought back and looks inside it.

"Dude?" he said and Sam turns to him. "Yeah?" Sam asked. "Where's the pie?" Dean asked and Sam gives him a blank look while I shake my head.

Later, we make it to Olivia's house and Bobby enters the house, armed with a gun, followed by me and the boys who are also armed. "Olivia?" Bobby called out as we looked around. Then we see Olivia, dead and covered in blood, on the floor and Bobby walks away, out of the room.

"Bobby?" Dean asked but I noticed something on the doorway. "Salt line." I said to the boys and we look around the room. Dean picks up an EMF reader. "Olivia was rocking the EMF meter." He said. "Spirit activity." Sam said, nodding. "Yeah -- on steroids. I never seen a ghost do this to a person." Dean said as Bobby enters the room again, his phone in his hand.

"Bobby, you all right?" I asked him. "I called some hunters nearby..." Bobby said. "Good. We can use their help." Dean said. "...except they ain't answering their phones either." Bobby finished and we all shared a look of worry. "Something's up, huh?" Sam asked. "You think?" Bobby sneers and walks out of the room while the boys and I look concerned.

"We're in Jackson. It's not pretty. He looks even worse than Olivia." I said to Bobby, through my phone, after the boys and I walked out of a house of one of Bobby's hunter friends. "What about you?" I asked. "I checked on Carl Bates and R.C. Adams. They've redecorated...in red." Bobby said.

"What the hell is going on here, Bobby? Why did a bunch of ghosts suddenly want to gank off-duty hunters?" I asked as the boys give me a look. "I don't know, but until we find out, you guys better get your asses to my place." Bobby said. "We're on our way." I said then I hang up.

Later, Sam pulls up to a gas station then he gets out and puts the gas pump in the car. I get out of the car and walk to the restroom while Dean is asleep in the passenger seat of the car. I washed my hands in the bathroom, when I breath out my breath to see it visible.

The bathroom mirror covers with foggy mist, which I wipe away with my hand and become startled when I see Henriksen's reflection. "Hi, (y/n). It's been a while." he greets and my jaw drops and my eyes widen before I turn to him.

"Henriksen. Are you -- Did you..." I stammer but Henriksen talks over me. "I didn't survive...if that's what you're asking." he said and I frown. "I'm sorry." I said, apologetically. And I meant it; ever since we heard about that explosion at that station, I felt guilt for all those people the boys and I tried so hard to keep safe.

"I know you are." He said. "Look, if we'd known Lilith was coming --" I said, quickly, but Henriksen talks over me again. "You wouldn't have left half a dozen innocent people in that police station to die in your place. You did this to me. It was your fault. She was after you and Sam, and I paid the price. You left us there to die!" Henriksen yells then he attacksSme, grabbing me hard, and throwing me around.

That's when I noticed a small brand on Henriksen's hand. But before I could do anything, I was thrown against the mirrors and Henriksen knocks my head on the sink. I fall to the ground, blacking out.

*3rd Person POV*

Once (y/n) hit the ground, Dean and Sam enter and shoots at Henriksen, whose ghost disappears. Dean turns his head and sees the woman he loves on the ground, pass out. "(Y/n)!" He said, worried, as he and his brother go over to her.

Minutes later, Dean is driving and on the phone while (y/n) is in the passenger seat with bruises on her face, Sam was in the back seat. "Damn it, Bobby! Pick up!" Dean growls as he looks at his phone. Then he turns to (y/n). "How you feeling, huh? How many fingers am I holding up?" He asked her and she rolls her eyes. "None. I'll be fine, Dean." She said, exasperated.

"Henriksen?" Sam asked from the backseat. "Yep." she said. "Why? What did he want?" Dean asked. "Revenge, 'cause we got him killed." said (y/n). "(Y/n)." Dean said, exasperated. "Well, we did, Dean." (y/n) said. "All right. Stop right there. Whatever the hell is going on, it's happening to us now, okay? I can't get ahold of Bobby, so if you're not thinking answers, don't think at all." Dean said and (y/n) scoffed.

"You sure you're okay, (y/n)?" Sam asked (y/n), concerned. "Yes, Sammy. I'm fine." She said as they head to Bobby's house.

Dean, Sam and (y/n) enter the house, guns cocked and ready. "Bobby?" Dean calls out until they find the iron poker on the ground. Dean then gestures to the stairs. "I'll go. You two check outside." He tells them and they nod.

Sam and (y/n) walk through the junkyard and kept calling out for Bobby but no answer. They didn't know that Bobby was in a car with two ghost girls, who are keeping him quiet.

Dean was upstairs, searching. "Bobby?" he shouts when a door opens, slowly, no one is visible. "Come out, come out, whoever you are." he calls out. Then a Young Woman with shoulder-length brown hair appears behind him.

"Dean Winchester. Still so bossy. You don't recognize me? This is what I looked like before that demon cut off my hair and dressed me like a slut." the woman said and Dean realized that this was Meg. 

"Meg?" He said, confused. "Hi. It's okay, I'm not a demon." She assures him. "You're the girl the demon possessed." Dean said to Meg, shocked. "Meg Masters. Nice to finally talk to you when I'm not, you know, choking on my own blood." She said then she holds up her hands. "It's okay. Seriously, I'm just a college girl. Sorry -- was. I was walking home one night and got jumped by all this smoke. Next thing you know, I'm a prisoner..." and she puts a hand to her head. "...in here. Now, I was awake. I had to watch while she murdered people." She explained.

"I'm sorry." Dean said, apologetically. "Oh, yeah? So sorry you had me thrown off a building?" Meg asked, a bit angry.

"Well, we thought --"

"No, you didn't think! I kept waiting, praying! I was trapped in there screaming at you! Just help me, please! You're supposed to help people, Dean. Why didn't you help me?" She asked, angrily, but Dean didn't have an answer. "I'm sorry." He tells her again.

"Stop saying you're sorry!" Meg shouts then she slaps Dean and knocks him to the floor. "Meg. Meg..." Dean said as he tries to calm her down but she kicks Dean. "We didn't know." Dean explained. "No...You just attacked. Did you ever think there was a girl in here? No. You just charged in, slashing and burning. You think you're some kind of hero?" she growled.

"No, I don't." said Dean and Meg grabs hold of his jacket. Her hand has a brand on it. "You're damn right. Do you have any idea what it's like to be ridden for months by pure evil...while your family has no idea what happened to you?" she asked. "We did the best we could." Dean said then Meg shoves him and kicks him again. 

Then she stands over him. "It wasn't just me, Dean. I had a sister. A little sister. She worshipped me. You know how little siblings are, right? How they'll do anything for you. She was never the same after I disappeared. She just...she just got lost. And when my body was lying in the morgue beat-up and broken..." she said, her voice shaking with tears. "Meg." Dean groans but Meg continues.

"Do you know what that did to her? She killed herself!" she exclaims then she kicks Dean in the stomach.  Because of you, Dean! Because all you were thinking about was your family, your revenge, and your demons! 50 words of Latin a little sooner, and I'd still be alive. My baby sister would still be alive. That blood is on your hands, Dean!" she screams "You're right." Dean said and Meg kicks at him again.

Meanwhile, Sam and (y/n) were looking through the car lot for Bobby, calling out for him. But then Sam spots a reflection and works his way up a pile of cars towards Bobby, (y/n) close behind him. "Bobby! Hold on, Bobby! We're coming! Bobby!" Sam said and he and (y/n) use a couple of crowbars to pry open the doors to the car where Bobby is being held.

The girls push him and (y/n) backwards and they land on another car below, bleeding. The girls jump on them and the two hunters use the crowbars to fight the two until they disappeared.

Back inside, Dean was still on the ground as he takes out a gun and aims it at Meg. "Come on, Dean, did your brain get french-fried in Hell? You can't shoot me with bullets." Meg sneered at him. "I'm not shooting you." Dean said then he aims his gun and shoots at the ceiling, a chandelier falls and lands on Meg. "Iron." He growls.

Later, Dean, Sam, (y/n) and Bobby were in the study, discussing what just happened. "So, they're all people we know?" (y/n) asked. "Not just know. People we couldn't save." Dean explained then he looks over at Sam. "Hey, I saw something on Meg. Did she have a tattoo when she was alive?" he asked.

"I don't think so." Sam said, after thinking for a moment. "It was like a-a mark on her hand -- almost like a brand." Dean said and (y/n) looks up at him. "I saw a mark, too, on Henriksen." she exclaims. 

"What did it look like?" Bobby asked and (y/n) thinks. "Uh, paper?" she asked and Sam offers her a piece of paper and she takes it. "Thanks." She said and she starts sketching the mark.

Few moments later, she holds the drawing up for Dean to compare. "That's it." Dean said as Bobby and Sam look at it too. "I may have seen this before. We got to move." He said as he quickly stands up. "Follow me." He said.

"Okay, where are we going?" Sam asked as they follow him. "Some place safe, you idiot." Bobby growls as he picks up some books and leads the trio to a basement room, which is made entirely of iron and covered with pentagrams and Devil's traps.

"Bobby, is this..." (y/n) started to ask but Bobby finished her sentence. "Solid iron. Completely coated in salt. 100% ghost-proof." he said. "You built a panic room?" Sam asked. "I had a weekend off." Bobby said, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Bobby." Dean mutters and Bobby turns to him. "What?" He asked and Dean smirks. "You're awesome." He said then he sees a poster of a swimsuit model. "Oh." He mutters and (y/n) folds her arms across her chest. "You can look, but can't touch." She said and Dean turns to her and gives her his signature smile. 

"I'm starting to like this side of you." He said and (y/n) rolls her eyes at him.

Later, Sam, Dean and (y/n) were making iron bullets when Dean turns to the others. "See, this is why I can't get behind God." He said. "What are you talking about?" Sam asked as he and (y/n) look up at him. "If he doesn't exist, fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. There's no rhyme or reason -- just random, horrible, evil -- I get it, okay. I can roll with that. But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?" Dean asked and Sam and (y/n) share a look before they turn back to Dean.

But before they could say anything, Bobby comes in. "Found it." He said, holding a book. "What?" (Y/n) asked. "The symbol you saw -- the brand on the ghosts..." Bobby said. "Yeah?" (Y/n) said. "Mark of the Witness." Bobby replied.

"Witness? Witness to what?" Sam asked. "The unnatural. None of them died what you'd call ordinary deaths. See, these ghosts -- they were forced to rise. They woke up in agony. They were like rabid dogs. It ain't their fault. Someone rose them...on purpose." Bobby said.

"Who?" Sam asked, curiously. "Do I look like I know?" Bobby asked, annoyed. "Yes...cause you're all knowing." (Y/n) said and Bobby turns to her. "Smart-ass." He grumbles and she smiles, proudly. "Anyway whoever it was used a spell so powerful it left a mark, a brand on their souls. Whoever did this had big plans. It's called the rising of the witnesses. It figures into an ancient prophecy." Bobby said before Dean blinks, rapidly.

"Wait, wait. What -- what book is that prophecy from?" he asked. "Well, the widely distributed version's just for tourists, you know. But long story short -- Revelations. This is a sign, boys and girls." Bobby said. "A sign of what?" The trio asked. "The apocalypse." Bobby said and the whole room got quiet.

"Apocalypse? The apocalypse, apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, $5-a-gallon-gas apocalypse?" Dean asked, shocked. "That's the one. The rise of the witnesses is a -- a mile marker." Bobby replied. "Okay, so, what do we do now?" Sam asked, worried. "Road trip. Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience." (y/n) said. "Bunny Ranch." Dean added and (y/n) punches his arm.

"First things first. How about we survive our friends out there?" Bobby asked. "Great. Any ideas aside from staying in this room until Judgment Day?" Dean asked with sarcasm. "It's a spell..." Bobby said as he indicates the paper in front of him. "...to send the witnesses back to rest. Should work."

"Should. Great." Sam grumbles. "If I translate it correctly. I think I got everything we need here at the house." Bobby said. "Any chance you got everything we need here in this room?" Dean asked him. "So, you thought our luck was gonna start now all of a sudden? Spell's got to be cast over an open fire." Bobby said. 

"The fireplace in the library." (y/n) said and Bobby points at her. "Bingo." he said. "That's just not as appealing as a, uh, ghost-proof panic room, you know?" Dean mutters as he and the others prepare to leave the panic room.

"Cover each other. And aim careful. Don't run out of ammo until I'm done, or they'll shred you. Ready?" Bobby said and they make their way out of the room, and head towards the stairs.

A ghost sits on the stairs, a young man in his early 20s with curly hair. "Hey, Dean. You remember me?" The man asked. "Ronald, huh? With the laser eyes? I wish I could say it's good to see you." Dean said. "I am dead because of you. You were supposed to help me!" Ronald shouts then Bobby shoots at Ronald. "If you're gonna shoot, shoot. Don't talk." Bobby tells him and they make their way to the living room.

Sam and (y/n) create a salt cirle and Dean starts the fire. "Upstairs, linen closet -- red hex box. It'll be heavy." Bobby tells Sam. "Got it." Sam said and he heads upstairs. Then two girls appear in the living room again. "Bobby." One girl said and Dean shoots at the girls. "Kitchen. Cutlery drawer. It's got a false bottom. Hemlock, opium, wormwood." Bobby tells him and Dean looks at him, confused.

"Opium?" he asked. "Go!" Bobby shouts just as the girls reappear while Dean leaves for the kitchen. Bobby is drawing with chalk on the desk and tries to focus on this while the girls are there. "Bobby. You walked right by us while that monster ate us all up." One of the girls said to him. "You could have saved us." The second girl said then (y/n) picks up her gun and shoots at the girls.

Upstairs, Sam finds the red box in the cupboard when Meg shows up. "You know what really pisses me off, Sam?" Meg asked. Sam turns around, sees Meg and fires at her. "You saw how I suffered for months. I thought you must have learned something. I thought I died for something." Meg growled.

"Meg." Sam mutters as he reloads his gun. "But what you're doing with that demon, Ruby...How many innocent bodies has Ruby burned through for kicks? How many girls just like me? And you don't send her back to Hell? You're a monster!" Meg yells then Sam raises his rifle and shoots Meg.

Meanwhile, Dean is in the kitchen looking for the false bottom in the drawer when the doors to the kitchen close suddenly. "Dean!" (Y/n) yells, fearfully, and he turns to the door. "I'm all right, (y/n)! You make sure that Bobby keeps working!" He calls out when Henriksen appears next to him.

"Victor." Dean said.

"Dean." Henriksen said.

"I know." Dean said, apologetically. 

"No. You don't." Henriksen growls. 

"It's my fault you're dead. I left you behind. And the minute I heard about that explosion, I thought, I should have known. I should have protected you." Dean said as he reaches for a gun behind him, but it goes flying across the room.

"Unh-unh. Not so fast. You think you left and Lilith came and we all died in a beautiful blast of...white light? If only. 45 minutes." Henriksen said. "What?" Dean said, confused. "Over 45 minutes. Lilith said she wanted to have some fun. The secretary was first. Remember her? Nancy, the virgin. Lilith filleted Nancy's skin off piece by piece. Right in front of us, made us watch. Nancy never stopped screaming." Henriksen said and Dean's eyes widen.

"No." he whispered.

"I was the last." Henriksen said.

"Victor..." Dean started to say until Henriksen reaches inside Dean's chest and grips his heart. "Tell me how it's fair. You get saved from Hell -- I die. Why do you deserve another chance, Dean?" he said but then Sam enters and shoots Henriksen, rushing to check on Dean as soon as Henriksen is gone.

"You all right?" Sam asked him. "No." Dean said as he places his hand on his chest. "Let's go." Sam said as he helps Dean up and he and Dean carry the hex box and other ingredients to the library. Ronald appears again as Dean is reloading his gun.

"Ronald. Hey, come on, man. I thought we were pals." Dean said. "That's when I was breathing. Now I'm gonna eat you alive." Ronald growls. "Well...come on, I'm not a cheeseburger." Dean yells then he cocks his gun and points it at Ronald, but Ronald has vanished.

Bobby recites some Latin words and the windows blow open and a wind fills the room, the wind moves the salt so they are no longer protected by it. Meg appears and (y/n) quickly shoots at her, as Bobby continues to recite the spell

Ronald appears and they shoot at him. Sam, Dean and (y/n) continue to fire as the ghosts appear. Henriksen knocks Dean's gun out of his hands when he is reloading, and approaches him. (Y/n) aims her gun, and shoots it at Henriksen, who then turns to her. He knocks the gun out of her hands then shoves her to the side as Dean quickly picks up an iron rod and hits at Henriksen.

Meg appears and pushes Sam against the wall, trapping him there with a desk. Sam tries to push the desk away without success. "Sam! Help Bobby!" Dean yells.

Bobby continues to recite the spell and Sam keeps trying to get out from behind the desk. The two girls sit on the desk waiting as Meg plunges a hand into Bobby's back. Bobby drops the bowl with spell ingredients.

"Dean!" Bobby yells as Dean catches the bowl. "Fireplace!" Bobby yells and Dean throws the bowl in the fire, which turns blue. The ghosts all disappear and Bobby falls to the ground. "Bobby?" (Y/n) calls out as she gets up and Sam pushes the desk away, freeing himself. Dean, Sam and (y/n) help Bobby up. He nods, indicating he is okay.

That night, Sam is asleep on the couch while Dean and (y/n) are asleep on the floor nearby, (y/n) was sleeping on her left side while Dean was spooning her. Dean then wakes up to find Castiel standing in the kitchen. Dean checks on Sam, sees he is asleep, and slowly removes his arms off of (y/n) then walks over to join Castiel.

"Excellent job with the witnesses." Castiel praised. "You were hip to all this?" Dean asked him. "I was, uh, made aware." Castiel replied. "Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance." Dean said, sarcastically. "You know, I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest."

"But you didn't." Castiel pointed out. "I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos -- you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks." Dean growls. "Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. I'm a soldier." replied Castiel. 

"Yeah? Then, why didn't you fight?" Dean asked, angrily. "I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. We had larger concerns." Castiel said. "Concerns? There were people getting torn to shreds down here! And, by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?" Dean asked, angrily. 

"There's a God." Castiel assures. "I'm not convinced. 'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?" asked Dean.

"The Lord works..."

"If you say mysterious ways, so help me, I will kick your ass." Dean threatens and Castiel closes his mouth. "So, Bobby was right...about the witnesses. This is some kind of a...sign of the apocalypse." Dean said and Castiel nods. "That's why we're here. Big things afoot." he said.

"Do I want to know what kind of things?" Dean asked. "I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know. The rising of the witnesses is one of the 66 seals." Castiel informs. "Okay. I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld." Dean said with sarcasm.

"Those seals are being broken by Lilith." Castiel said and Dean raises an eyebrow. "She did the spell. She rose the witnesses." Dean said. "Mm-hmm. And not just here. 20 other hunters are dead." Castiel said. "Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us." Dean grumbles. "Lilith has a certain sense of humor." Castiel said.

"Well, we put those spirits back to rest." Dean tells him.

"It doesn't matter. The seal was broken." Castiel said.

"Why break the seal anyway?" Dean asked him. "You think of the seals as locks on a door." Castiel said and Dean thinks. "Okay. Last one opens and..." he said then Castiel finishes.. "Lucifer walks free."

"Lucifer? But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There's no such thing." Dean said,, shaking his head. "Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me. Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in 2,000 years?" Castiel asked.

"To stop Lucifer." Dean replied and. Castiel nods. "That's why we've arrived." said Castiel. "Well...bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That's nice." Dean said, sarcastically.

"We tried. And there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost. Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week." Castiel said and Dean looks a bit taken aback by this. "You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here. You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in." Castiel threatens then he vanishes, leaving Dean alone in the kitchen.

Later Dean wakes up and sees that Sam and (y/n) are already awake, up and about. "You all right? What's wrong, Dean?" (y/n) asked as she noticed that Dean looked a bit worried. Dean turns to them and asked. "So...You two got no problem believing in...God and Angels?"

"No, not really." Sam said as (y/n) shrugs. "I'd like to believe them." She said. "So, I guess that means that you believe in the Devil." Dean said and Sam and (y/n) share a look before they look back at Dean.

"Why are you asking us all this?" Sam asked him.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @ellie-andthemachine

[do-not-lick-the-walls]

a devil put aside | chapter two - angel's advocate

masterlist | read on ao3

(lovely gif by @goodsirs!)

beelzebub x fallen angel!reader

summary: after saving you, beelzebub attempts to convince their dark council to give you a chance.

(she/her pronouns are used for reader, no use of y/n)

warnings: strong language, smoking, some religious themes

-----

This meeting has been going on for two hours, and in that time, astoundingly little progress has been made, even by Hell's standards. This may actually be a new record for Least Gotten Done In Two Hours.

Beelzebub has spent these last two hours leaning back with their feet on the table, fiddling with their cufflinks, and losing their mind.

An odd (and, frankly, unpleasant) cocktail of feelings swishes around inside them. One moment it'll settle in their chest or lower spine, only to be reanimated at the slightest thought and go back to sloshing through their body. Some of it, they understand---boredom, irritation, both good friends of theirs---but some of it is unfamiliar. Or, at least, estranged to them.

Amongst those usual, dull emotions that often accompany Dark Council meetings, there's an uncomfortable fluttering of the heart. An urge to shift in their seat, to leave, as if they're afraid, or... no, not afraid, just... something adjacent to it.

Whatever this is, Beez is quite sure they're not a fan, and the way it's roughing up against the sound of Dagon wasting time is starting to get torturous.

Are we really sure it's her?"

"For the last time, Dagon, yes. It's her."

"How do you know?"

"I saw her face."

"Faces can change. You change yours."

"Yes, but---" Beez groans, pinching the bridge of their nose in an attempt not to smite their coworker. "Why would someone else have her face?"

"I don't know!"

Dagon's insistence on checking, double-checking, and deca-checking everything is exactly what makes her an excellent Lord of Files-slash-Master of Torments, and a real pain in the ass during emergencies. Everything's a trap with her, something she's got to unravel between those pointy teeth.

"She could be a... what's that human thing? Trojan Goat! She could be a Trojan Goat!"

"What the heaven are you on about?" The smoke off Hastur's cigarette curls, and Beez's insides go swimming again as they're reminded of your smoking wings.

"Upstairs could just want us to think she's Fallen," Dagon explains, "How do we know she's not an angel in disguise?"

"I literally found her smoking, wings broken, having smashed through the damn ceiling, remember?"

"I went to see the damage," Hastur says, "It was rather impressive, actually."

"How is that relevant?" Asks Dagon, Lord of Irrelevant Questions.

Beez throws their hands up. "Because if she wasn't Fallen, there wouldn't be a huge fucking hole in the ceiling!"

Had this meeting been about anything else, Beez would consider Dagon's point. It's a smart one. But you aren't a Trojan Goat. You just aren't. And this entire conversation isn't even really on topic, anyway.

They take a breath.

"The question we're trying to answer right now is what to do with her."

It's the fourth or fifth time Beez has coraled them back to this topic, in the hopes of getting their idea on the table, getting it agreed upon, and then getting themself out the door. So far, it's proven a massive failure every time. Probably because the council is made up of Dumb, Dumber, and Dagon, all of whom make getting off-track into an art form. But they can't exactly give up, here.

"I think---"

"Well, I could arrange eternal torment for her, or we could throw her in a really deep pit, or we could---"

"Actually, Dagon," Beez looks up from their fiddling. "I'd quite like to train her."

"You wot?"

Usually, Beelzebub cares about what their council has to say. They did hand-pick these three to advise them. But right now, after the events of tonight, Beez is resenting that they can't just decide shit themself sometimes. It's never that simple, is it? They've got a plan already forming, but instead of putting it into motion, they have to sit here and convince their own subordinates into a majority vote.

"I said I want to train her."

Dagon chews on her pen. "Beelzebub, with all due respect, that idea is absolute shit."

"And why's that?"

"Because she's a fucking angel!"

"Technically," Ligur finally joins the conversation, for better or worse. "She's not. Anymore."

"Still, you don't find it at all suspicious that a Seraph just fell out of nowhere? After six thousand years? Nobody's fallen since we did."

"I'm well aware of that, Dagon." Beez's voice starts to buzz with irritation, and they swallow it back down.

Ligur whistles. "She must've done something bad to get the boot after six thousand years."

"Thank you, that's what I've been trying to say, but Dagon here can't seem to get it through her thick skull---"

"Falling doesn't make her one of us, though," Hastur joins Dagon's team. "Who knows what her motives are?"

(Beez would hazard a guess that your motives include safety, comfort, and possibly revenge, if they're lucky, but they doubt these three would understand that.)

Ligur nods, making his chameleon wiggle. "She didn't side with us the first time, after all. And she's not someone to just be lettin' run amok without allegiance. Do you remember what she was like in the war?"

"Yes, I had an... unfortunate encounter with her on the battlefield." Hastur grimaces. Beez doesn't blame him. "Had a lot of wings. Felt like she could see me even when she wasn't looking. Probably could, now that I think about it." He shrugs, blowing a puff of smoke that once again sends their heart into that uncomfortable patter. "Does she still have all the wings?"

"No, just the two. Dunno what happened to the rest."

Beez remembers the wings. You had six of them, or maybe eight. Huge, when they were unfolded all the way. They remember you, even from before the war. They used to see you around sometimes. Ever-smiling, ever-playful.

You were radiant. And strange. Something just a little bit incomprehensible, even to other celestials. All Seraphim are like that. But you, in particular, Beez always thought you somewhat... ineffable. How could you not be? You made the prophets, every one. Nostradamus and Cassandra and Agnes Nutter; all blessed by you, fed with knowledge passed down from God herself. Beez only ever looked on you from afar, but part of them always wondered if you knew they were watching. If you saw them with all your hidden eyes.

And in the battle, Satan, in the battle, you were...

"Probably a good thing, makes her easier to contain." Hastur takes another drag. "I wouldn't care so much if she was a nobody, but considering..." He shakes his head. "Power translates. 'As above, so below' and all that. Best to be rid of her before she gets a handle on whatever she's got now."

There we go!  Beez pounces on that sentiment and twists its neck to their advantage. "Exactly. Power translates. If we do this right, we could have another Duke of Hell."

The point goes whooshing directly over Ligur's chameleon. "What's wrong with us?"

"Did I SAY anything was wrong with you?"

"We could always give her to Satan," Dagon chews thoughtfully on her pen. "He likes a snack every now and again."

"Or feed her to the hellhounds." Adds Hastur.

Ligur shakes his head. "We can feed anyone to the hellhounds, seems a bit of a waste."

Good, good, somebody's getting it---

"Feed her to some of the lesser demons, then. Throw 'em a bone. Morale's been low."

What the fuck, Hastur.

"Morale's always low, we're in hell." Ligur snatches Hastur's cigarette and takes a drag. He then hands it to his chameleon, who also takes a drag.

"We're not feeding her to anything!"

"Alright," Dagon narrows her eyes, folding her hands under her chin. "What's your plan, then?"

Finally.

"Like I've been saying: We make her into one of us. Properly."

In one motion, Beez swings their feet off the table, stands, and leans in.

"Hastur, you said it yourself. Powerful angels make powerful demons. You want to waste whatever chaos becomes of a Fallen Seraph?"

The council is silent for the first time in over two hours. Beez takes this as a sign to continue.

"I'd train her myself. With help from you all, of course, and whoever else as necessary. Think about it. We have a powder keg here, and one we can mold into whatever we need. You said morale's low, we could... I dunno, make her into head of... whatever that is. Or a new Lord of Temptations, or Master of Hellhounds, or whatever! The possibilities are endless, really."

That seems to finally crack the brick wall that Dagon's put up around her brain. But she's a fish of habit, and there's a variable that Beez hasn't addressed yet.

Here goes.

"How do we know she'll cooperate? And more importantly, not stab us in the back first chance she sees?"

This is, by far, the flimsiest piece of Beelzebub's argument. There's no guarantee that you'll even sign on, let alone become loyal to the cause. But Beez is nothing if not a good bullshiter, and the thought of you becoming dinner is making that fear-adjacent thing whirl around in their chest again, so they sit back down, and prepare to save your life via two of their greatest skills; false overconfidence, and making shit up.

"She'll cooperate."

All great bullshit begins with part of the truth. The trick is to build outward off of that truth, make it sound like more than it is. Beez has three pieces of not-really-evidence-but-close-enough at their disposal to spin off of. If they play their cards right, they can appeal to all three councilors.

"Three reasons."

Beez looks at each of them. Dagon, cautious and objective; Ligur, dense but thoughtful; Hastur... whatever Hastur is. But who first...

Ligur.

"One: I just saved her from being torn apart by those assholes over in Accounting. And I fixed her wings. She'll trust me, probably even feel indebted to me after that. She even said she trusted me before I left."

Ligur strokes his chameleon's tail, a gesture which usually means he's managing to make his brain work. The chameleon fades from green into blue.

Got 'im. He's always the easiest to sway with pure logic. Beez feels the smirk start to creep into their mouth. They push themself out of their chair to pace around the room---well, as much as somebody can in this stupid, cramped space---height gives an extra kind of authority, and they want all the help they can get. Plus, they're not sure how much longer they can sit still with this coil all wound up inside them.

One down, two to go. Dagon needs established proof, Hastur needs some kind of emotional push. Beez glances back and forth between them, and decides to save Dagon for last.

"Two: she wants revenge on heaven. She obviously wasn't very happy with how it was running if she did something bad enough to get kicked, and she's definitely not happy with them now. Fuck's sake, she was cursing the bastards the whole time."

Hastur laughs. All it takes with him is a go at the angels. Two down.

And now, for the hard bit...

"Three. She just cooperated perfectly for me. Did everything I asked without batting an eye. Seriously, she takes direction like she was born to it. Or, well, made to it. She's already proven herself a good follower, and she doesn't even know us yet. Think how malleable she'll be once she's fully under our influence."

Dagon thinks for a minute, spinning her pen idly. Come on, Dag. You know you want to.

"Alright."

Gotcha!

"But."

Shit.

Eric chooses that exact moment to show up with the hellfire they ordered thirty minutes ago, nearly hitting Beez in the face with the door, mouth already open to make his usual pointless commentary. Beez is about to wring his neck, but Dagon ignores him, and continues asking her pointless question before he can start blabbering.

"Do you really think she has what it takes? To be one of us?"

Beelzebub pauses.

They think of you, broken on the floor in a pile of rubble, tears in your pretty eyes. They think of you, trusting them without second thought, placing yourself in their hands. They think of you, stumbling down the hallway in their arms, looking as if you could kill just as easy as you could die.

But mostly, they think of you, writhing beneath them in the dark, bloody and panting, enough fight left in your body to nearly push them off.

Beez takes their cup from Eric, and downs it in one go.

"Yes."

"We talking about the angel?" Eric chimes in, entirely uninvited. "Saw her in the hall with you, Lord Beelzebub. She's got a killer glare, that one. Very scary. I'd bet on her being a good demon for sure."

"NOBODY ASKED YOU!"

"Right, sorry---"

"Get out. Before I turn you into a pile of goo."

Eric gets out. Before Hastur turns him into a pile of goo. The not-really-fear-but-close-enough continues to slosh around.

"Right. Are we decided?" Beez says, in the way that means 'we better be decided,' edging backward toward the door. The urge to get back to you is growing as the feeling whirls more insistently within their chest.

Dagon does not get the memo.

"Not quite yet, I've got some suggestions."

Dagon's always got fucking suggestions.

"Fine, whatever. suggest away."

"First, she should be submurged in sulfur and hellfire, just to be certain she's not a Trojan Goat of some kind."

"Yep, gotcha, fair enough, I'll see to it. She needs a bath anyway. Covered in blood."

"Second, we can't let her wander about freely. She could do some serious damage if something goes wrong."

Beez has got their hand on the knob. "Alright, I'll keep her on a bit of a leash for now, probably good for her own safety."

Hastur raises his hand. "If something goes wrong, can we feed her to the hellhounds?"

Ligur raises his. "Or to the IT department?"

"Yeah, fine, whatever. Sure. All in favor of keeping her?"

As soon as Beez gets an 'aye' out of all three, they're out the door before they even finish saying "meeting adjourned!"

They manage to control themself from sprinting down the hallway, instead replacing their usual stroll with something more urgent. It's a long fucking walk back, but they don't want to send any more gossip spreading. Word of you, and of them helping you, has no doubt already made its way through the hive many times over by now. This could very quickly turn into a PR nightmare if they're not careful.

But still, they can't bring themself to walk quite as slow as normal. This entire plan hinges on you liking (or at least accepting) your new climate, and if you wake up alone and locked in, it's not going to reflect very well on them. Accounting already made a bad first impression, Beez can't afford a bad second. Especially not now, after fighting Dagon for a stupidly long time on your behalf.

Before you passed out, you asked them why.

They don't know why.

They want to say it was a simple recognition of potential that made them swoop in like that. They saw an opportunity, and set themself up to take it. There's part of the truth in that: you're a living ball of could-be, covered in gasoline and waiting to be ignited into something amazing, they know it. And they want to hold the lighter.

But there's more, they can't shake it. If it had been for nothing but your possible utility, they wouldn't have been so... whatever to you. No, there's something else here. Something sitting next to that unpleasant jumpiness in their gut. They just don't know what.

When they found you, you just looked so... sad. Pathetic, yes, but it wasn't pity, exactly, that so captured them in that moment. It was more like... looking at some kind of old reflection. Somebody who they used to be. Some kind of ghost in the mirror from a very long time ago.

Whatever it is, both the swishy thing and the ghost, it's almost certainly out-of-bounds for the Prince of Hell to be feeling. For fuck's sake, they're meant to be the example, the kind of evil that the lesser demons aspire to. Feelings aren't a part of the job description. Feelings aren't a part of them.

When they healed you, you squeezed half of their wretched heart between your hands. And half is too much.

Better swallow this before it's too late.

As Beez rounds the last corner, they walk past the "WE HATE YOU" poster. It makes them feel a little better.

[fallout4-reacts]

How about Companions react to a sole who cries in their sleep? Thx for doing the lords work

Hooo how cute! It will be with pleasure, I really hope you'll like it!

And Felicitations! You're the first!

Cait :  They set up a rudimentary camp under a pillar of the old highway. The road was long; barely the fire lit and the area safe, Sole fell asleep. Cait prefers to lengthen the evening with a good crooked brobov. That’s how she becomes aware, barely an hour later, of a strange sound. It’s like a muffled squeak. Really not usual of this kind of sound, Cait gets up slowly, wondering what creature can produce something so strange. She then realizes that the sound comes from the Sole’s sleeping bag and worries about what might be attacking them. She grabs a stick dragging near the fire and lines up to hit swift and hard… when she realizes that its Sole themselves that seems… cry? Like a child? Cait has a vague memory of having already cried, a long time ago. In fact, while crouching near Sole, she remembers too well a distant time when she was crying, curled up in the bottom of her bed, a habit she soon lost because the slightest weakness was deadly when she became a combat slave. She hesitates for a long time, then advances an uncertain hand towards her friend’s shoulder. “Eh?” Sole wakes up, shocked, and quickly wipes they cheeks covered with tears. “Sorry. I guess I was dreaming of… finally… before.” Cait makes a grimace, uncertain of how to react, but she decides to pat (awkwardly) Sole’s shoulder as a sign of comfort. “It’s going to be okay. We have all our moments… I guess.” Sole grips her and leads her in a hug to break the back of a bear and Cait immediately regrets having wanted to comfort the other. Finally, after a few seconds, she hugs them back.

Codsworth : The poor butler walks back and forth in Sanctuary’s kitchen. He heard Sole crying there, at the end of the hall, but even though he knew how to develop his small personality during the 200 years he spent waiting, he wonders where the line between servant and companion is. He cuts himself off from the only thing he can do: make tea. He actually prepares three kinds: one to calm the nerves, one to improve the mood, and one to help them regain sleep. After reflection, he mixes the three, then takes the cup and finally decides to enter the main chamber.  "Madam/Sir?" Sole shakes, surprised to feel they cried. "Hm. Codsworth. What time is it?" "3am. But since you seemed to have a disturbed sleep, I made tea to help you." "That’s nice, Codsworth. You’re a real friend." Codsworth feels excitement when Sole makes this statement. A friend? A friend. He gives the cup to Sole and then goes back to the kitchen to clean.

Curie (synth) : Curie has read much research on human emotion and knows that sleep disturbed by negative feelings means a repression of emotions. She decides to sit on the edge of Sole’s bed, gently shaking her friend to wake them up. Sole quickly wipes away their tears, embarrassed to be surprised in such a situation.

"Don’t worry, it’s perfectly normal in your situation to have these moments. According to Freud— "Curie, it’s okay. I’m going to skip an essay on human psychology at 3 a.m." "So, do you want a hug?" Sole hesitates, embarrassed, then reaches out. The synth is rather good for giving comforting hugs, and soon, Sole finds a calmer sleep. If romanticized, Curie and Sole would snuggle in each other’s arms to end the night, with Curie sliding her fingers into Sole’s hair while they fell asleep.

Danse : (PreBB) Danse knew a lot of soldiers sobbing at night for miles and a reason in barracks. But none was really his friend. He knows that the best procedure to follow is to wake the subject up, give them water to drink, and get them to talk about what’s upsetting them. But with Sole, he feels a bit embarrassed. He doesn’t know why. He feels that he himself feels something strange in the presence of his friend, but he has trouble understanding why he is so moved to hear them cry. However, he has to react. He shakes Sole’s shoulder and addresses them perhaps a little too abruptly without looking at them. "Soldier, you’re crying." "Shit, Danse, I’m sorry." "Want to talk about it?" "Not really, no. But thank you. It was horrible." Danse awkwardly holds a bottle, always without looking at them. "Drink, go back to sleep. But if ever… if you ever feel the need to talk about it, know that I... I am here. We are mission companions, and I would not want to know you are indisposed." "In your personal language, I understand you’re worried, Danse?" "Hrm. Drink, sleep." "Thank you, friend, good night." "Good night, and… sweet dreams. Danse (PostBB if romanced) : Danse turns into a half-sleep and surrounds Sole with his protective arms, attracting them in a bear hug. Sole immediately feels good and safe, finding a more peaceful sleep. The next morning, Danse tries to make Sole talk, and he opens slowly on what disturbed them. Over the course of the day and even the following days, Danse helps Sole make peace with their repressed emotions by using all the tricks he knows from his experience gained in the Brotherhoods.

Deacon : Deacon observes Sole sleeping over the campfire, and his face is irritated, but not because of Sole. He is irritated because he feels powerless to assist his companion. What would he say to them? Lies? Trying to help people to confront their problems at the risk of bringing up his own demons? No, let them sleep and hope that all will be forgotten the next day. If romanced, Deacon slowly awakens Sole. "Eh. I'm not sure who you were dreaming about, but you know the rules: you can only beg me, and only during sex." Sole laughs, a little surprised and taken aback. They see that their cheeks are swollen with weeping. They cried once more. The dream returns to them. Their spouse was murdered, and they lost their son. It's almost become a nighttime classic. They sadly sigh. "Come on, uh, everything will be okay." "Liar." They both bust out chuckling and Deacon moves Sole little to create room in the sleeping bag. "Come here, sleep, and keep an eye on you." "Thank you." "I'll always be there for you."

Dogmeat : Lick the face of Sole until they wake up. Whines a little before sinking into his master's arms. Sole buries their face in the dog's fur and sighs, pleased to have such a loyal companion. They return to sleep, and this time their sleep is more peaceful.

Elder Maxson : When the Elder is on duty in the barracks, he overhears a soldier whimpering in his sleep. He approaches a dormitory and discovers that it belongs to Sole. He is feeling a little uneasy. Sole did not appear to be the type of person to have struggles, but it appears that they suppress their feelings deep within. Maxson walks up to their bed and shakes them. "You have a disturbed sleep, Knight." When they see the Elder next to them, Sole misses falling out of bed... They are really humiliated to have been discovered crying, by the Elder in top of that. They rise slowly, embarrassed. "Don't be ashamed; it's normal, and I believe we all go through it. Life is difficult, and the life of a soldier is even more difficult. Tomorrow morning, you will consult Knight-Captain Cade, who will be able to recommend sleep options." "T-t-thank you very much, Elder." "Now go back to bed. Make an effort to have a better night." "T-t-thank you very much. You as well." If he's romanced, Maxson gets up from his office, where he spent the day reading reports, and moves closer to his bed. "Hey, honey." "Arthur?" Sole is perplexed and struggling to recuperate. "You were sobbing. Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" "No, but I'd like to be hugged." Maxson can't keep a grim smile on his face. When they want to, Sole can be a big baby. But he cheerfully submits to the comfort session and then tucks his beloved in. When he finishes his tasks, he slides against them in the bed and hugs them tightly, keeping them all against him while he falls asleep.

Hancock : Hancock slipped behind Sole and took them in his arms, romance or not. He softly awakens them up by playing with their hair.

"Look like you had yourself a real nasty nightmare there, brother." "Hancock? It was awful." "Want to chat about it?" "No, not at all. It's just too much...it's just too much..." "Sh. Don't sweat it too much, we all have our demons and you ain't no different. Take a swig of jet and let yourself drift back into dreamland, everything gonna be copacetic."

Hancock stays exactly where he is for the balance of the night, affectionately caressing his friend/lover.

Gage : Panic Pledge. Worse than Cait. An overboss crying is an overboss showing weakness. An overboss who shows weakness is a dead overboss. And how he compromised for this Overboss in particular, Gage believes he’s going to die if it’s discovered. He’s going around the Fizztop Grille to make sure no one’s sneaking around, and then he comes back to Sole’s room. "Hey boss, waking up." "Gage? What time is it?" "It’s time to take you for a pussy, it seems. Get your act together. It’s unworthy of an overboss to chew like a chick." Sole feels shame and quickly wipes their tears. "Sorry I…" "Don’t make it worse, don’t apologize any more. Damn it, you’re the big guy, drop the sentimentality stuff." "Yeah, it’s okay, I get it." "Here, a nuka-cola. Think of the conquests we’ll make before you fall asleep, it will save you from doing something stupid again." If romanced, Gage turns into his half-sleep and… panics for a moment while waking up completely. Then, finding nothing better, he takes Sole in his arms, if only to hide them in the face of a possible witness. He must protect them, no matter what. But he sincerely hopes that in the morning, they will not say a word about this story and that it will never happen again.

MacCready : MacCready was lying on his bedroll, staring at the night sky, when he became aware of Sole crying on the other side of the campfire. He sat back up, a worried expression on his face, and returned his gaze to the spot where they were resting. Their sleep expression was one of intense sorrow, and tears streamed down their cheeks.

He gave them a little shoulder shake. "Wake up, boss. You're having a terrible dream."

When Sole's eyes eventually opened, they were filled with confusion and fear as they looked up at MacCready. “Mac?" They were crying so hard that their voices were raspy when they asked, "What... what's going on?" Sole knows that with Mac, there's very little chance of a threat appearing too close, so they're perplexed as to why the mercenary wakes them awake.

"You were crying in your sleep," Mac replied, before asking, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Sole hesitated for a second, but after looking at the compassionate ratface who had recently shared his own concerns with them, they decided to start talking. "It was... just a nightmare," they stated. "Concerning the Institute and Shaun," their voice shaking as they mention their kid.

"I'm very sorry. That must have hurt a lot. I'm not sure how I'd react if Duncan were taken away from me," Mac mumbled through clinched teeth, his voice trembling with the intensity of his own emotions.

If romanced, MacCready would continue to console them, embracing them tightly and vowing to stay up and talk until they felt better. He'd then go a step further, bending in to offer them a delicate kiss.

"I love you." He said it while looking at them, tears welling up in his eyes. "You're worth more to me than any cap, and I only want to see you happy. You know what? We'll get your son back, it's a promise."

Sole smiled weakly as they reached up to softly pat MacCready's cheek. “Okay. Thank you very much, Mac. You are the most amazing everything that has ever happened in my life, since the bomb, and possibly before."

MacCready's heart was overflowing with feelings of love and pride. He was aware that being with the Sole Survivor meant taking on all of their suffering and fears, as well as their triumphs and happiness, but he was convinced that as long as they had each other, they would be able to face any obstacle.

Nick Valentine : When Nick hears weeping, he is working on a file. He's not surprised; there's no picture. Sole is already strong enough not to cry at every turn for someone who came from a perfect little existence and was launched into a post-apocalyptic world where terrible tribulations always multiply. Nick rises from his chair and walks down the passage to the back bedroom. He walks up to the bed and places his good hand on his friend's shoulder. "Wake up, doll/kid." "Nick? Can you tell me what time it is?" "It doesn't matter if it's late. You were sobbing. Wanna talk about it?" "No, not at all..." "Come on doll/kid," he says as he sits on the bed's corner, "it's not good to keep everything inside. It treats you at night, at the very least. The more that can be said, the better. And then we can move on." "Thank you, Nick. Maybe... someday." “Meanwhile, know that you can always count on me to be here for you. Right around the corner and down the hall. Would you like a bottle of water?" "Thank you, Nick; that would be nice." "It really is nothing. Nothing, in all honesty." If Nick is romanced: Nick leaves his workplace since, romanced or not, he doesn't need to sleep and only does so when Sole asks him to sleep with them. Sole went to bed alone that night, but Nick feels they shouldn't have after hearing their sobs. He walks up to them and, slipping close to them on the mattress, takes them in his arms, softly waking them. "Hey, you seem to be having a nightmare." "Oh, Nick, that was awful!" "Would you like to talk about it?" "No, but please keep me close." "Don't worry, I've got this." And that's exactly what he does. Through the night, he holds Sole in his arms and caresses them tenderly with his good hand.

Piper : Piper had always been a light sleeper, so when she heard faint sobbing coming from the other bed in the room, she awoke. She sat up and looked over to Sole, who was moaning loudly in their sleep.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," she said quietly as she crawled up to their side. "Blue. You're having a bad dream."

Sole straightens up in their nappy and reaches for their weapon, but Piper runs ahead of them and takes the gun away from them.

"Wow! There is no danger in sight!"

"Piper? What exactly is going on?"

"You were crying in your sleep," she said at them. "Honestly, given everything you've been through, I don't find it surprising, but I couldn't let you mope in either... whatever it was you were rehashing."

"Hm. It was simply a nightmare. Sorry for waking you up."

"Come on, isn't that what friends are for?" For better and worse, I guess. Would you like to talk about it?"

Sole examines her for a long time, perhaps hesitantly, before shaking their heads. "No. I don't want it to be on the front page of the newspaper tomorrow morning."

The reporter has been hurt but she chuckles nervously to alleviate her suffering. "Come on, I know I'm a little... intense, but I'd never expose your privacy to the four winds!"

"You've already done it. Remember? It was the interview."

"It was entirely voluntary!" Piper is fuming with annoyance now, and she reaches into her pockets for a cigarette. She understands that her relationship with Sole is built from above and below, but she just wants to help and is upset by her friend's insinuations. Sole sighs deeply, nervously rubbing their neck.

"I'm sorry. I didn't intend to be that cruel. I… I guess I'm still a little drowsy to speak well."

Piper puffs on her cigarette.

"I was dreaming about Shaun,” they finally confess. “I was dreaming about Kellogg taking him away."

The wide smile that spills over Piper's lips without her being able to contain it tells a lot about her happiness that her friend open to her. She puts down her smoke and wraps her arms around her pal, squeezing them hard against her. "Here you go.” Then she realizes what he said. “Oh… Oh my goodness! I’m sorry. It's awful. I'm very sorry."

“Oh no, only one of us can be sorry at a time,” Sole laughs.

"Ah, Blue, poor Blue." She continues to rock her pal till they are completely relaxed. Piper's nerves are completely spent from not crying in front of her friend's distress, so when Sole eventually falls asleep, she moves away a little, crouches on the ground, and cries for a solid half hour.

If they were romanced, Piper and Sole would have shared the same bed. Piper will then hold them tightly and keep them against her during their conversation, perhaps placing a kiss on their face or in their neck as proof of her love for them.

"Blue, I love you. I'm here for you," she murmured, her eyes welling up. "We'll get through this together, okay?"

The Sole Survivor smiled softly, reaching up to wipe a strand of Piper's hair away from her face. "Okay. Thank you very much, Piper. I'm not sure what I'd do without you."

Piper tucks herself into Sole's chest, and the two fall back to sleep together, providing profound solace to one another.

Preston : Preston is startled awake by Sole's sobs. He gets out of bed and quickly fixes his sight on the General's. Preston understands how a troubled mind feels at night. He walks up to his companion's backpack and searches for a bottle of water before gently shaking their shoulder. "General, eh?" "What? Is there a settlement that requires our assistance? What exactly is going on?" Preston softly shakes his head, unable to resist smiling. He may be exploiting the pleas for aid, and he should be aware of this in the future. "You were crying, General." "I…" Sole touches their cheek and notices that they are still wet. Their dream resurfaces in their minds. "Indeed, yes. I'm sorry for waking you up, Garvey." The Colonel sits on the edge of his superior's bed. "There's no need to apologies. Actually, I get it. Would you like to talk about it?" "No, not at all." "I understand that as well. Drink here." Sole takes the bottle and downs it. "How frequently do you do that?" they inquire. "Crying in your sleep?" "The question is, do I ever sleep without crying? Understand, I don't consider it a flaw. I've witnessed the devastation of so many men and women, children, and lives. If it didn't come for me, I'd say I'd lost my humanity." Sole pauses before returning the bottle to Preston. "You... you're right. I was dreaming about that day when I watched Kellogg murder my wife and kidnap my child. I felt so helpless. I still have nightmares about this moment, and each time it tears me apart." Preston places a compassionate hand on the shoulder of his General. "I see what you're saying. Believe me, I get it. But the most important thing to remember is that if it had been possible for you, I'm sure you would have done everything in your power to prevent it. I seen you, and I know you're capable of anything. Kellogg would already be rotting in hell if you hadn't been locked up without a way out, and your spouse and son would still be by your side. It wasn't your fault at all." "T...thank you very much, Preston. I believe...I believe I needed to hear it." "Please don't thank me; I'm simply telling the truth. It's time to go back to sleep. We'll have a lot of work to do tomorrow to get the Castle back in working order." "Yeah... but thank you." "I'll see you later, General." If they are romanced, it is all in the same waters, but Preston will take Sole in his arms and reassure them by softly cuddling them. He kisses them on the forehead as they fall asleep, assuring them that he will be by their side for a very long time.

Strong : Strong hears sobbing and walks over to Sole's bed. He takes the mattress with both hands and flips it over, sending Sole flying. "What? What?! What is— "Puny human weeps like a child. Puny human must be strengthened." "Thank you from the board, Strong. I'll try to remember..." "Strong always there for puny human." "Yeah, we'll discuss it in the morning. I might have an assignment just for you in a settlement." "Strong is powerful, and Strong guards weak little humans." "Please go to sleep." "Human sleep, Strong watch." "No! No, that's OK. Go to sleep, I'll keep an eye on you." "Good, but no more weeps." "No, trust me, never again."

X6-88 : "You're crying, Ma'am/Sir." Sole struggles to drive the clouds of sleep away, only to find the Courser leaning over them, hand on their shoulder. "X6? Can you tell me what time it is?" "The sun hasn't risen yet, but you were crying in your sleep." Sole looks around, a little perplexed. Then they recall. They had just left a raider camp the day before, and one of them was dressed in a set that vaguely resembled Kellogg's. Probably what made them dream about this fateful day... "I'm sorry for worrying you, X6, but everything is fine." "If there is something that disturbs your sleep and prevents you from getting a good night's rest, I'm confident a scientist at the Institute will be able to operate on a— "No, X6. It's natural for humans to experience extreme emotions during the sleep period, yet everything is well with me. I don't require treatment." "If you say so, ma'am/sir, but if it happens again, I cannot urge you enough to say— "Good night, X6." "Good night, ma'am/sir." Sole turns in their bed and goes back to sleep, while the Courser resumes his monitoring place, his piercing stare not leaving Sole for the remainder of the night. If romanced, X6 awakens Sole. "You're crying, Ma'am/Sir." "Yes, X6, I had a nightmare." "Is this another of those emotions you were describing to me?" "Yes, X6, it does happen." The Courser pauses. "What can I...do to assist you?" "Hold me close." X6 crushing Sole against his chest. "Is that correct?" "Yes, it's absolutely perfect." "Is that adequate?" "It's just perfect." Sole barely finished their sentence before falling asleep again, and X6 dares not to move a single hair.

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 36: Wasted Trip: Katsu’s fishing expedition comes to an unforeseen conclusion.

Mitsuhide x OC; Hideyoshi x MC (Mai)

All Chapters Archived on Ao3 

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

Having a plan is a wonder thing. Having a plan that depends up the whims of others, however, is… frustrating. Yoshimoto agreed that waiting for the populace of the castle to be distracted when Yoshiaki called for another of his flattery sessi… er, councils, would be the best way to time my investigation. Unfortunately, it turned out that Yoshiaki spent the next couple days engrossed in “private pleasures.” I chose not to question that further. I suspected the answer would go under the subject header, ‘you really don’t want to know’.

With both Iekane and Motonari walking freely about the castle grounds, Yoshimoto declared that I would be safest staying in his quarters. I disagreed. Safer, maybe, but I knew that I could still blend in with the scenery and pass by in plain sight. People don’t notice servants. Yoshimoto continued to insist upon accompanying me whenever I went on walkabout, and he… does not blend. Inevitably someone would question where Lord Imagawa was headed, did he need anything, and … well, there went any chance of sneaking. We spent more than a couple hours walking through the gardens, pretending that was where our destination had always been.

At least Yoshimoto tried to keep me entertained when I was confined to quarters. As always, I had my shogi set with me, and he turned out to be surprisingly good at the game. He easily won the first three rounds. Finally, I figured out that his playing style consisted of making elaborate feints and distractions that he used to disguise his true intentions.

Once I ceased falling for those ploys, we were more evenly matched, and I began defeating him. “You’re improving rapidly.” He seemed unconcerned over the fact that I had won after a hard fought battle.

“Less learning the game and more understanding your style and tactics.” When his eyebrows (both) raised in enquiry, I went on to explain what I had discovered about his gameplay.

“Flattering that you attribute that to strategy. I simply like making aesthetically pleasing patterns in the formations.” He began setting down the tiles, not in the standard game opening layout, but in a more mathematical pattern. A flower.

Really?

No.

Really?

I stared at him for a moment before I realized he was hiding a smile. “You goof! I almost believed you.” I threw a tile at him.

“You must admit it would add an interesting dimension to the game. If players were required to compete to make the most artistic designs.” He gracefully rearranged the tiles into the main starting position. “Another game?”

“You don’t have to keep entertaining me.” Yoshimoto had stayed in his quarters almost as much as I had.

“It is no hardship to spend time with a lovely woman.” He touched my hand. “However, there are other ways to keep each other company if you … no? I thought not.” He backtracked before I could even begin to verbalize a refusal.

“Your vassals might start wondering why you spend so much time with your page.” It was not an uncommon situation, and unlike in modern Christian-influenced thought, even generally accepted for lords to have relations with male subordinates. However, I imagined that the Imagawa vassals would be annoyed that Yoshimoto was wasting time with me, instead of concentrating on training and battle preparations.

“They have, in fact. Rumors of my obsession with my ‘pretty page’ have spread across the castle.” Since I had not yet made a move to begin a new game, he began creating another tile design.

Oof. Well. Katsu didn’t actually exist, so it likely wouldn’t affect me all that much. But as for Yoshimoto… “Don’t you care?”

“Worse has been said about me.” A sad smile flitted across his face, then evaporated like mist.

Fortunately for both my peace of mind and Yoshimoto’s reputation, the next day the shogun called for another session of meetings between himself, Yoshimoto, Motonari, and Iekane. Finally, I was finally free to investigate Mozumi’s condition. After assuring Yoshimoto on multiple occasions that I would proceed with caution, I made my way to the tenshu that housed Mozumi’s quarters. The dark gloom of the corridors and shadows on the stairs proved my allies, allowing me to melt into darkness unseen.

At one corner of the floor housing Mozumi’s personal rooms, I crouched under the eaves, waiting to make sure it would be safe to enter. I watched a maid go into his room carrying a kettle and a bucket. For a while, there was a quiet bustling about in there, before she remerged with the bucket, holding it as far away from her body as possible. Ah. She had emptied the chamber pot. Even from where I was hiding, I could smell the odor of urine.

With her hands occupied in such a way, she was not able to completely close the door, allowing me to sneak inside the rooms without a sound.

Mozumi’s chambers were larger than the quarters assigned to Yoshimoto, as befits the daimyo. It was divided into several areas by screens and sliding panels. From the entry, the end of Mozumi’s futon was visible through the half-closed panel. His hand lay limply over the side, and rested on the floor. He was snoring though, so at least he was still alive.

Electing to first investigate the outer room before getting too much closer to him (the last thing I wanted would be to wake him up and demand I leave… or worse, yell for help), I prowled around the chamber. No writing desk in evidence. Granted, Mozumi probably had a set of offices in the main area of the castle in which to conduct most of his business, but if he were indeed too sick to leave his chambers, he was also apparently not conducting any ‘work from home’ either. A quick rifle through his clothing revealed that he primarily wore soft, informal kimonos. No hakama, no armor. He didn’t even appear to have any warm outerwear or geta. When had been the last time he’d even left the tenshu?

It seemed that Mozumi had been very ill for a long time – and was not expected to improve.

On the brazier, the maid had left the kettle steaming over the hot coals. A container of tea, a bowl and brush were nearby. A paper packet with, yes, that was willow bark, had fallen onto the floor. Even the shelves were full of containers of herbs, packets of medicinal powders, some of which had been shoved to the back and were dusty with age. What were all these herbs? Were they helping, or hindering his recovery?

Perhaps he was being accidentally poisoned, not through malice, but through the incompetence of the local healer.

Still, having taken the risk of sneaking into this room, I resolved to see this investigation through to the end. I cautiously entered into Mozumi’s sleeping area alert to any sign of wakening. Still snoring away. I gazed down at him, seeing only an old, sick man, his face creased with lines of age and pain. Saggy skin at his neck and arms, gave evidence to a substantial amount of weight loss. His limbs were, thin, shriveled, without much muscle tone.

At the side of the bed, an empty tea cup. At the bottom, a faint ring of green tea. I picked it up and sniffed it. Was there anything else in the cup? Thanks to Aki’s training, I could recognize some common poisons, but nothing obvious was leaping out at me.

Nothing… except another inconvenient not-my-memory.

“There’s no such thing as a love potion. It’s a myth. Even if you gathered … whatever you put in this… and danced by the light of the full moon.”

“Lady Yone said there is. She once told me that purple flowers that grow along the cliffs, if brewed into a tea, would make a love potion.” She opened the teapot and stared into it.

Purple flowers… cliffside… I had to think to picture what grew around h—

Torikabuto.

I took the teapot away from her, while again my brain went ‘don’t touch it, don’t spill it, get rid of it now.’ “Shohime, that’s poison!”

“Oh. I did wonder why Nobunaga’s groom took it away from me.” She sighed sadly. “Maybe people pretend its poison to hide the fact that love potion grows on every cliff in Japan.”

“It is poison. I have seen the results.” Mitsunari pushed the table further away from all of us.

Mitsunari? Sho… hime? That had clearly been Sho in the vision, a Sho far more richly dressed and coiffed than the one in Sakai. Aki’s letter had mentioned a shattered timeline. Was this from a different life altogether? Perhaps the reason I was experiencing these visions so much more powerfully here was that a different Katsuko had spent some time visiting Genba.

And… had nearly been poisoned.

Fresh on the heels of that memory, came another one, just as strong:

Where were the sentries?  

They ought to have been posted along the walls, but no one was visible. Had they joined Iekane’s troops? Or were they being held prisoner somewhere? Overall, the situation appeared increasingly dire for anyone in Genba, although at least the missing sentries should make it easier for me to get to the tenshu unnoticed.

I found a tree that hung close enough to the wall to allow me to swing over, then ducked out of sight. Keeping my body low, I flattened myself against the stone, crawling slowly toward the tenshu, staying alert to any sound that would indicate an approaching guard.

It was eerily quiet.

Not until I reached the first guard tower did I understand why – the sentries were sprawled out under the tower, bodies stiff and cold, faces frozen in agony, a broken tea pot at their feet. Lady Yone’s calling card. Apparently she had found a use for the torikabuto after all.

I had been too late for these men, too.

Were these visions of poison a warning? Or were these distractions, putting ideas into my head where there was no other evidence? Had I been led astray by someone else’s memories? For the longer I looked through this room, the more it was clear that Mozumi had not left these quarters for quite a while. Years maybe. Maybe even before Iekane came onto the scene.

Annoying to leave this scouting mission with no evidence of wrongdoing. But frustrating as it was, the longer I stayed in here, the more I would be at risk, so I turned to leave… about five minutes too late.

There were footsteps and voices coming toward the room.

Iekane’s voice.

Quickly, I ducked behind a screen and…

Oh… yuck!

This was where the wooden chamber pot lived. And Mozumi’s aim was … terrible. I covered my nose and tried to silently breathe through my mouth as Iekane and another man entered the quarters.

“As you can see, his condition has not improved.” Iekane, sounding sad, with an edge of frustration in his voice. “Are you certain there is nothing you can do? I had high hopes of a cure from the most reputable healer in the area.” There was something of a threat in those words. Sounded like if Mozumi died, Iekane already had a scapegoat in mind.

There was a lower tone rumble in response that became more audible as the two men got closer to my hiding place. “There are, naturally, other treatments I can employ, but at a certain point, the patient will continue to weaken due to lack of sustenance.”

I risked carefully peering through the panels to see Iekane with an older man – the healer, I resumed, for he spent a few moments examining Mozumi from various angles, smelling his breath, and poking sharply pointed sticks into his fingertips.

Iekane let out a long sigh. “It is painful to see him so. I remember when he was a vital man.”

The healer simply hummed to himself.

If I had hoped to overhear a confession of crime or a conversation between two plotters, I was clearly doomed. Even if Iekane was poisoning Mozumi, this healer was not part of it, nor had he ever detected any evidence of poison.

Theory – not yet proven.

Evidence – yet to be found.

So… I’d gotten myself into this situation for nothing. Into this very smelly situation for nothing.

“Is he still using his bowels?” A rustle of cloth.

“That is not a thing I have paid attention to.” I heard a clink of porcelain. The teacup.

“Sometimes the tincture of poppy can cause a foul stoppage.” Ah ha. Opium. That was what had been in the teacup. “I would hesitate to give him more were that the case.”

Based on the conditions of this commode, Mozumi’s bowels were working just fine.

Wait.

Shit.

Literally… shit.

What if the healer decided to check for himself-

Footsteps came closer to my hiding place.

I pressed myself further against the wall and palmed my dagger, ready to defend myself if my hiding place was discovered.

Another set of footsteps as a third person entered the room.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” A smack. Skin against skin. “Why are you not at your post?”

“I’m sorry, Master Iekane.” A rougher accent, from a speaker who did not sound completely deferential to Iekane. Interesting. Helpful? “The shogun requested that you return to the council room. He grows impatient.”

There was a disgusted noise from Iekane, but his words revealed no frustration. “Of course. Rokuro, have your completed your examination?”

“I believe there is nothing more to see.” The healer seemed eager to leave this place. I did not blame him.

“You. Guard. Make yourself useful and clean.”

And two sets of footsteps left the room.

Please don’t clean the chamber pot.

I waited, but the guard did not move at all. He was so quiet, I began to wonder if he had left. Or maybe he was killing time, defying Iekane’s orders. If so, might he be someone I could convince of Iekane’s plotting? Or would I be captured and presented to Iekane as a gift to prove the guard’s loyalty.

Too risky. Better to stay put, and prepared for anyth-

Without warning, the screen was pushed aside, and I found myself staring into a pair of familiar amber-gold eyes. “Interesting detour you’ve taken, Brat.” He eyed the stained chamber pot. “And rather fragrant as well.”

The appearance of Mitshuhide where a Mitsuhide was not expected to be stunned me into silence. I could only stare stupidly at him, taking in his latest disguise of shaggy dark hair, streaked with grey, and sun darkened skin. That familiar prickly feeling danced along my nerves.

He raised his eyebrow.

“Did … did you follow me here?” While I had seen his spy on the road here, I had not ever caught sight of Mitsuhide.

“Oh, dear me, no. I arrived a good three days before you.” Right. He let you go. While I was still wrestling with the disappointment that his presence here at Genba was simply a coincidence, he put his arm around my shoulders and guided me out from behind the screen. “Before you … and the Imagawa.”

“You didn’t go back to Azuchi?” His sudden appearance had rendered me unable to do anything except state the obvious.

“I did not. And I suggest we continue this conversation elsewhere – perhaps that courtyard you and Yoshimoto are so fond of - before your friend Iekane or a vassal returns and finds us here.” Without waiting for me to answer, he turned my shoulders and pointed me toward the door.

Yeah, that would be a good idea. And even if it hadn’t been a good idea, Mitushide was using that ‘I won’t take no for an answer tone of voice.’ “Can I at least grab a cloak?”

“By all means. Although I believe you will discover that freezing to death is the least of your worries at the moment.” And then, after one more inscrutable glare from those eyes, Mitsuhide took me by the hand and tugged me out of the room.

@bestbryn @selenacosmic @mllorei @lyds323 @akitsuneswife @tele86

[cdyssey]

Human

Summary: A quiet moment between Barbara and Janine after they return to the school from their shopping trip. [2.21 Spoilers]

CW: Allusions to Parental Neglect

AO3 Link

—

When Barbara neatly slots into her favorite parking space—right next to Melissa’s sleek, black Civic—she smiles a little at the gentle scolding that she’s probably going to receive from her friend. Something to the effect of, What the hell, Barb? Where’d you fly off to? And then, when she explains, and recognition lights upon the forest of Melissa’s eyes like sunshine, she might even get something of a warm belly laugh and a familiar crooked smile that makes her heart beat faster than it probably should.

Nosy and interfering, she’ll maybe say, shaking her fiery head, elbowing Barbara’s arm. But I can’t say that I blame ya.

There are things in this life worth crossing boundaries for.

People even.

Sitting in her passenger seat, staring thoughtfully out of the window, there is Janine.

With a flick of her wrist, Barbara puts her sedan into park, but she doesn’t turn off the ignition quite yet. A quick glance at her watch lets her know that they still have some time before lunch is over. 

Ten minutes.

Sure, she just spent the last half-hour combing the aisles at Ross’s with the second grade teacher—showing her how to find the best bargains and helping her choose a cover-up that doesn’t seem like three clashing patterns have gotten sick on it—but Barbara has more in her left to give to the young woman who has looked like a kicked puppy all day long.

She gets it now, having finally met Vanetta Teagues.

That’s Janine’s mom.

“Sweetheart?” She prods gently, leaning back in her seat to better look at her coworker, who doesn’t initially stir at the pet name, carved from stone where she sits. Her chin is propped in one hand; the other is knuckled tightly around the handle of her shopping bag. Sunlight dusts her unmoving curls in gold. 

“Janine?” Barbara tries a little more loudly and succeeds this time, unfortunately startling her. She nearly jumps, restrained only by the seatbelt strapped across her, breathing heavily.

“Oh, sorry, Barbara!” She apologizes vehemently and rather unnecessarily. It seems to be a reflexive habit of hers to assume that she’s the one at fault. Barbara, having only spent five minutes alone with Vanetta, already has a distinct visual map of every time that she must have told her two daughters that they were the problem and the burden, perpetually the ones to blame. “I was just, um… lost in thought.”

“It happens to the best of us,” she shrugs warmly, “especially after a long day. The good Lord knows that I can be two crayons shy of a box from time to time.”

Barbara pauses, mulling over what she just said. It’s actually an uncommon admission for her—not being perfect, having off days, maybe even more often than she cares to admit—but she supposes that it’s something that Janine probably needs to hear. After all, it's what she would have liked to hear when she was a young woman of color, growing up and knowing, far better than most, that the eyes of the world were trained on her, waiting to see if her careful balancing act would ever collapse.

She had to be excellent, and so she was.

There was no room for error; every minor flaw was admissible to the merciless jury of mankind, who ultimately had the power and the audacity alike to pronounce her doomed.

Even though she's now decades removed from being considered young, Barbara still hasn’t quite forgotten those ingrained fears of her adolescence. Maybe she even inadvertently passed a few of them to her own daughters when she was raising them. But inwardly, privately, so secretly that she's likely disguised the selfless intention from even herself, she’s hoped for better lives for them, a world where they could be freer than she ever was—freer to make mistakes, freer to try new things, freer to have big and messy feelings that they don't have to neatly package in the well-ordered systems of their minds. 

Maybe she should tell them that one day and make the hard part explicit, but she has a sneaking suspicion that both of her wonderful girls have already figured that vital truth out for themselves.

Janine, though, she might need a little extra help to see the bigger picture.

That’s clear enough for Barbara to both discern and capably respond to.

She’s never been able to say no to a child in need.

“What, no?! You?” Janine laughs incredulously, picking up on the rarity of the circumstance almost immediately. “You’re Barbara Howard. Your crayon box is always full, and, like, super clean and shiny. It makes all the rest of us kinda jealous."

She smiles sadly at this; it's a familiar refrain—this adoration that she's striven most of her professional career to deserve and the entirety of her personal life to wholly live up to. (Even to this day, she's not sure she's ever completely reached the mark.)

“It’s touching that you think so highly of me, Janine,” she says, lightly shaking her head, “but I have my moments too. Perhaps far fewer than I used to, sure—experience has seasoned me, and it absolutely will you too someday—but still, even at sixty-six years old, I’ve been known to accidentally set tables on fire during my time.”

“Oh, God,” the younger teacher snorts inelegantly, covering her mouth. “I forgot about that.”

“Well, I certainly haven’t,” Barbara says it teasingly, like it’s a part of the joke, their quipping game, but she knows that it very well isn't. Every time she so much as walks in to the teacher lounge these days and sees the pot of sunflowers on hers and Melissa’s table, she understands that it’s covering up her own scorch marks.

Her momentary lapse.

Her nearly costly mistake.

That one bad day.

She’s somewhat made her peace with that, partially because she doesn’t have the energy to make a new martyrdom out of a mole hill, and partially because Melissa once delicately fingered the stems of that ersatz arrangement and noted that there were two.

Just for them.

Only for them.

“Point is, Janine,” she continues softly, “no need to apologize for simply being. I’ve been down that road far too many times before.” (A perpetual hypocrite, maybe she still is.) “So take this as wisdom from an old timer who cares. It’s perfectly okay to be human.”

Janine immediately glances away at the profound weight of these words, visibly overwhelmed and unprepared to be so. She tucks one of her dark curls behind her ear; her shoulders shiver against an unseen cold.

Barbara bites her lower lip and wonders if she’s overstepped yet another line; she seems to be doing that a lot with this particular young woman today, profusely and perhaps even recklessly blurring the margins between colleague and friend, mentee and work daughter.

But her fears seem to be unfounded because she does in fact get a response.

Eventually.

(Harrowingly.)

“Is it okay to still be sad about my mom, even though you just did a really nice thing for me?” Janine asks in a small voice that cleaves the kindergarten teacher’s beating heart in two.

This poor child.

This twenty-six year old woman, who pays rent, drives a car, and is a good teacher to all her children.

But even still.

“Yes, baby girl,” she murmurs, reaching over and curling her fingers around Janine’s wrist. 

It’s a simple gesture, a precious one. 

“That’s part of being human too.”

Janine nods and sniffs once, but she doesn’t say anything.

She doesn't exactly need to.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty-Two

I wake up from a nightmare certain that I am dying. There is a rancid taste in my mouth, and before I even open my eyes, the light through my eyelids is too much, too harsh. I open them just a little bit and feel like I’ve been whacked over the head by the floral pattern on the curtains. The bedclothes are far too hot and I feel restricted by them like they’re a pit of snakes that has coiled around all of my limbs, but as soon as I’ve freed myself my stomach lurches. I scramble out of the box room and dash across the landing to the bathroom where I clutch onto the toilet dry heaving but nothing is coming up. I am certain I’ve never felt worse in my life. I lay my cheek on the cold tile of the floor and don’t spare a thought to how disgusting it is to do this. The coolness feels so good against my skin. I must lie there for twenty minutes.

“…and what else? Oh, okay, well I never knew that, that’s actually interesting…” Jude’s voice drifts across the landing. He’s on the phone, probably with Jen because he calls her every day to catch up now that she’s recovering at home with Michelle’s family, and usually I find his voice quite soothing, but now, even through the walls of this bathroom it’s far too loud, searing right through my brain as my head throbs more aggressively than it ever has. I squeeze my eyes closed and let out a pitiful groan. Footsteps approach the door and he knocks so loudly that I feel like my eyeballs will rattle back into my skull. “Evie?”

I groan again. 

“Sorry, Jen, I have to go. I’ll call you back later maybe? Yeah. Okay, take care,” Another knock, “Do you mind if I come in?”

I use all my strength to drag myself up until I’m at least sitting on the floor, my head supported by the wall behind me. “Yes,” I manage. He opens the door. 

“I’m sick,” I announce, “I think I’m going to throw up soon. Eventually.”

“I don’t think so, love,” He gets down on his haunches beside me, “You already puked up the entire contents of your stomach last night, I doubt there’s anything left.”

“I did?”

“You don’t remember?”

I shake my head which makes it feel like my brain is banging around inside my skull. I wince and clutch my forehead, “No, I don’t remember anything.”

“Claire called Shane last night at like three AM, both of you were plastered in a club in Paphos and didn’t know where to go to get a taxi home. He went out and got you himself.”

Little pieces of the night start coming back to me in flashes. The wine event in the vineyard, downing all of my glasses and then what was left of Claire’s. Us dancing around to arabic music in the back of a taxi, shots at the bar, begging the DJ to play Cotton Eye Joe “because it’s funny”, trying to climb onto a table and getting pulled back down by the staff, coloured lights in my eyes and then… nothing. “Christ, I was really drunk,” I say.

“Yes,” Jude says, “You came into my room when you got home, threw a little bag of peach rings at me and said ‘chow down, pretty boy.’”

“Oh, Lord.”

“Then I thought I’d try and put you to bed but you rushed into the toilet and spent a couple of hours throwing up everything.”

“Did you stay with me?”

“Yeah I did.”

The dry little sob that escapes me is pathetic, “That was so nice of you, and I don’t even remember it. I’m so sorry. I bet I was so annoying, I’m the worst drunk, honestly, I get insufferable, I know-”

“Evie, no, you weren’t at all. You were fine, actually, I found you funny.” He takes out his phone and taps around on it for a moment, “You also drunk texted me for the first time, which was a bit of a thrill.”

“What did I say?”

He flips the screen to show me a selfie I took in the nightclub toilets, camera held above my head at a ridiculous angle, pointing right down my top to where I’m shoving my boobs together and making a stupid kissy face. I’ve captioned it ‘Do u like me?’ I catch a glimpse of Jude’s response: ‘No’.

“You said no?”  

“Yeah I thought it’d be a fun joke, ” he shoves the phone back into his pocket and hooks an arm around my back to haul me off the floor. “Come on, I think you’d be better off back in bed for now.” 

“What time is it?”

“Around eleven”

“AM?”

He chuckles, “Of course.” I go almost completely limp and don’t help him at all, but he’s bigger than I am, I know he can manage me. He lifts me easily and tries to get me to walk back to bed, but I feel extra sorry for myself at this moment, sorry enough to ask “Can you carry me?” in my best pathetic voice and he gives me a look like he thinks I’m being cheeky, but without protest he scoops me up into his arms. I bury my face in his neck and grab the opportunity to take a not-so-subtle inhale. He always smells so good and today is no different. Soapy, fresh, clean like a sober morning.

“Are you sniffing me?”

I sob, “I’m dying.”

“You’re just hungover.”

“Can I stay with you?”

“Your bed is a little small for two.”

“In your room then.”

“If you like.” He takes me inside, his suitcase open on the floor with clothes all around it and the bed unmade, crinkled pale blue sheets. He places me down upon them and then draws the curtains across the windows while I snuggle up into his pillows and whimper self-pityingly. Then he comes over and strokes my hair which I wish he wouldn’t because it is greasy and knotted at the back of my head. 

“I’m disgusting,” I say acidly.

“Yes, Evie,” He drawls with a huge eye roll, “You’re foul, how could you get drunk? I’m so put off by you now.”

“I haven’t been this hungover in years.”

“We’ve all been there, you’ll be fine, I just think you should try and hit the reset button by getting back to sleep for a while. I’ll get you some water and maybe some toast?” At the mention of water I suddenly feel like I’ve been traversing the barren Sahara without a drop of it for days. My whole mouth and throat feels as cracked and dusty as a desert floor. 

“Yes, water,” I gasp, and Jude thinks I’m doing a bit instead of being serious, which I can’t blame him for, but I still get annoyed when he imitates me by clutching at his throat and pretending to die. He heads to the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water, some painkillers, which I swallow with relish, and two slices of plain toast, which I don’t feel ready to eat, and then eventually I fall back asleep while he lounges around at the end of the bed looking at his phone until I wake up again and feel slightly less like passing away. 

“I think I should brush my teeth,” is the first thing I utter, “My breath is awful,” 

“Good idea,” he says, and I try not to be offended by the fact that he didn’t disagree, but all is forgiven as soon as he helps me off the bed and towards the bathroom like he’s afraid my legs will give out underneath me, and even squeezes a dollop of toothpaste onto my toothbrush, which he definitely didn’t need to, because I’m not that bad. 

“You’re being very sweet,” I say through a mouthful of minty foam. 

“I know, it’s weird but you bring it out in me. See, usually I’m horrible.”

“Says the man who feeds stray cats outside his apartment. I think that you like pathetic creatures.”

“That must be it,” He goes over to turn the shower on for me, and when I protest, he insists that I’ll feel better when I’m clean, which, once again, is true, because once I’ve scrubbed last night and this morning from my body and hair I almost feel myself again. When I have dressed myself in a vest and shorts and pulled my damp hair into a knot at the top of my head, I cross the landing back towards Jude’s room and realise that the house is completely silent save for the dim sounds of the Vines he is watching inside. I push through the door. 

“Where are Claire and Shane?”

“They’ve gone to the Adonis Baths.”

I gasp with betrayal. “But we were all supposed to go together.”

“I know, but you weren’t well enough,” He idly pats the bed next to him and I sit down, “You and I can go tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Did they ask you to come with them?”

“Yeah of course.”

“And you said…”

He glances at me, “I said no, I didn’t want to leave you alone when you were sick,” The corner of his mouth ticks up “It’d be a bit shit to sneak away while you were sleeping and have you wake up to an empty house, wouldn’t it?” For some reason this makes me feel like I might start crying. “Eat your toast,” Jude says, and I scramble up the bed to retrieve it, cold now, from the bedside table, and take a small cautionary bite from the corner of one slice. “Isn’t Claire hungover too?” I wonder. 

Jude pauses, his finger hovering over the video he’s looking at before swiping to the next. “No,” He says carefully, “She wasn’t quite as drunk as you were, but obviously that’s okay, it must have just hit you harder for some reason.”

“I’m fairly sure I just went bananas and drank everything in sight because I’m a lunatic, but thanks for trying to make me feel better.” I take another bite of brittle toast, “God, I wish I had, like, a fry-up or something.”

“Yeah? I can cycle to the shops and get you something.”

“No, please, don’t. I’ll be fine, don’t go out of your way for me.”

“If there’s something that’ll make you better…”

It would, but I can’t bear the thought of sending him on a forty minute round trip just to buy some rashers and eggs, mainly because I don’t want him to put himself out on my behalf, but a little part of me really doesn’t want him to leave my side. I insist that he not go, and then we lapse into silence for a while, and he keeps watching videos, and I look at my own phone, ignoring a message from my mother about something she read in the Tullamore Tribune, as if it’s at all relevant to me, and slyly open my message thread with Jude, just so that I can wallow silently in the shame of my drunk messages to him. 

There are more than just one photo, there’s four, just three of them are completely blurry as though I dropped my phone mid selfie. One of them is distinctly the bowl of a sink, droplets of water on ceramic and a bit of my hand in the corner, with a message underneath that’s completely incomprehensible, except for the word ‘baby’. I suddenly have a new thought that makes me become very still. The phone screen fades to black in my hand. 

“Jude?”

“Yes?”

“Did anything happen last night when I came home?”

“I mean, like I said, you burst in here and threw those sweets at me before vomming in the toilet.”

“Yeah, but anything else?”

He frowns, “Um, you went to bed, I suppose?”

“Alright.”

“What are you asking?”

I clear my throat, “Well, no, nothing, like… just in case, you know…” He stares at me for ages, and I start to regret saying a thing. “…did we do anything?”

“When you were drunk?” He says. “Are you asking me if I… if we-”

“Yeah, it’s just because-”

He recoils, “No, Evie, Jesus Christ, of course not.”

I say, “Never mind, it’s not a big deal.”

“Why would that even come into your head?”

I am looking at my phone now, not at anything in particular, just opening apps and closing them again while his eyes are on me with such razor focus that they might as well be searing holes into my skin. “No big deal,” I repeat, “Just wondering,” I don’t understand why he’s acting so shocked. It’s a normal question as far as I’m concerned. 

“I wouldn’t do anything with a drunk girl, that’d be insane. Do you really think that I would?”

“Well, no, but I don’t know, maybe I came in last night and tried to have my way with you or something, it’s whatever. I just know that I can be a bit more flirtatious when I’m drunk, that’s all. Clearly it was a stupid question, so just forget that I asked it.”

There’s a long pause, and I can tell he wants to say something else, but I try to stay very focussed on what I’m doing so that he doesn’t have a window of opportunity to do so. Eventually the atmosphere fades into something much more benign, and we both lodge pillows beneath our heads and tangle our legs together, and he reaches over his head to whip the curtains open wide to let in the light, and we forget that I said anything at all. 

Jude has The Prince of Tides on his bedside table, a corner folded on a page about halfway through, and I read a few paragraphs just to read what he’s been reading, and then skip back to the start to read it for myself. It’s nice being like this, in the silence of this house, completely alone for a rare afternoon with nobody else around, no housemates, no siblings pottering around in other rooms, just us and the birds outside the window, the distant roar of the waves.

“Do you think we should make the most of the day?” I ask Jude eventually, “I feel a bit like I’m trapping you inside when you could be doing something more interesting, especially since you spent yesterday inside too with your thesis, and… did you finish it?”

He smiles, “Yeah it’s done, thank God. You can read it if you like but I promise you that it’s boring.”

“Hmm… maybe later.”

“If you’re in the mood for going outside then yeah, I’d be up for it. You want fresh air?”

“Mm,” I say. “Fresh air, to stretch my legs, maybe just see something on the island that I haven’t seen yet.”

“There’s a vineyard at the top of the hill over there if you feel like trying out some fancy wines,” He teases, and laughs at me when I wince, “I’m joking. How about we get the bikes and go exploring.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[dickarchivist]

Okay because I have 0 self control, I have asks for everyone 👀 don't feel pressured to answer them all though! I just couldn't decide lmao 🖤❤️

Ghost: How far would they go to save someone they love? Would they sacrifice themselves? Others?

Phantom: What do they regret the most?

Wraith: what little regrets do they have?

Specter: Do they try to prevent unnecessary suffering?

Banshee: What haunts them?

Athena: What's their moral compass like?

Dax'Malkin: When have they been unable to save someone or something no matter how hard they tried?

Let's get fucked up.

Ghost: Ghost would *never* ever ever sacrifice someone else, but he would *always* sacrifice himself for the sake of someone else. He is deeply caring and protective, and he'd rather bleed or even die than let someone he loves be put in harm's way. He'd put himself between any danger to protect his family, he wouldn't hesitate, never again.

Phantom: Tom's biggest regret of all is pulling the trigger on his blaster and briefly ending Athena's life during Order 66. When she finally finds them in hiding, he spends the rest of his life protecting her. There's a lot Phantom thinks he's unforgivable for, but Athena's end is the thing he regrets more than anything.

Specter: Despite his hard and rude exterior, Specter will go out of his way to stop the suffering of others. He sees a loth/trash Cat with its head stuck somewhere? Free the cat. A kid wants a sweet but can't afford it? He'll steal it or buy it, give it to the parent for later, or the kid right then. But it goes both ways, it's not just for soft things... he'd end the life a creature if it couldn't be saved and was suffering. He's done it before, and as much as it pains him, he'd do it again. Anything to stop the suffering.

Banshee: I actually answered this one here, but the summary is this: on a mission to save refugees, a kid was killed under Banshee's protection. If he ever has a kid, he'll name his kid Jaia in their memory.

Wraith: I could write a book on Wraith's regrets, he is so nervous and anxious. His top three little regrets are:

1.) Getting drunk with his brothers and letting Phantom talk him into his one and only tattoo.

2.) That time he accidentally exposed himself to a very powerful aphrodisiac and spent several hours jacking off because he needed it to be OVER.

3.) Shaving his head when he was a cadet because other cadets kept pulling his hair or hiding things in it.

Athena: Athena's moral compass always points true north. She believes in kindness for the sake of kindness. That when someone is in need, you help them. That people are inherently good, no matter how bad they seem, there is some good in them still.

In other words: she is pure of heart and it shows.

Dax'Malkin: oh God. OH lord. Jesus christ. Okay. Alright. Here we go. We're gonna go chronologically.

Krazus. Dax'Malkin's twin brother. He never recovered from that and believed the jedi who saved him that Krazus was lost to them forever. They were just boys...

Vann Cree. Dax'Malkin's adoptive son, and younger brother to Annika Cree, his adoptive daughter. One month before the end of the clone wars, Annika and Vann were captured, and tortured for information. Vann didn't survive.

Annika Cree. Nika, or "Annie" to Dax and Dax alone, is still alive. But 3 days before the end of the clone war, when she finally returned to the jedi temple with her brother's body, and her lekku cut from her head. After all the torture and trauma, asking the council to help ease her pain, ease the loss of her brother and her first ever padawan as a master, she was met with "He is one with the force now, there's nothing more to be done." Dax wasn't there for Annika. He couldn't save her, or her brother, and when he felt Annika fall to the dark side, he never forgave himself for that. Even when he was in his own darkness, he never let himself forget how he had failed his children.

[crossroadsserpent]

Beautiful Bloodshed

Otis Driftwood x Transmasc! Reader. (18+)

Chapter Two

(Chapter One below)

Same summary and warnings apply here. Please enjoy this absolute shit show of a book.

~~~~~~~~~~

(Chapter two starts two weeks after Chapter One, Baby and Y/N have been hanging out almost every day.)

Y/N's shitbox truck pulled up infront of the now somewhat familliar Firefly house, idling for a few seconds before finally turning off. Y/N got out and excitedly ran up to the door where Baby met them, equally as excited as they were.

"Y/N! I've got something really fun for us to do today!" Baby squealed excitedly, her blonde curls bouncing as she jumped around, looking like she drank several redbulls before coming down to greet them.

Y/N giggled at their friends giddiness. "Oh lord, what crazy plan do you have cooked up for today?" Baby's plans ranged anywhere from laying around her room and listening to music while they painted eachother's nails, to going out and luring unsuspecting men back to the house for Mama Firefly.

Baby grabbed his hand and pulled him inside the house like she always did, but this time she pulled much harder, dragging them to her bedroom, giggling and laughing the whole way. She stopped outside her door, turning to them with a crazed grin on her face.

"Okay, get ready, because this is going to be wicked cool!!" She put her hand on the door handle, turning it and counting to three before swinging the door open so hard it hit the wall with a loud 'BANG'. "Ta Da!!" She yelled as Y/N peered into the room. A brunette girl sat on a chair in the middle of the room, bound and gagged, looking terrified. "I thought you and I could turn her into a living doll today!" Baby giggled, pulling them into her room.

They spent about three hours dressing up the girl, doing her hair, and putting makeup on her. Baby seemed quite pleased with the work the two had done, looking over it with a proud smile.

"She looks great! But I'm hungry now, wanna go make lunch with me?" She asked as she walked out the door. Y/N nodded and followed her, walking out out into the hall, stopping, when they see that Otis's door is open. He could see some of the art Otis had drawn on the wall around the tv, mostly a bunch of small doodles around some bigger, more detailed drawings. He was really good at what he did, and they had to admit they really did love the art of his they were able to see. Baby noticed they weren't following her anymore and went looking for them, finding them standing in the hall infront of Otis's door, staring into the room in awe.

"Hey, whatcha lookin' at?" She asked curiously as she approached them. Y/N jumped and looked at her, trying to think up an excuse but coming up with nothing.

"O-Oh! Uh, nothing! Just got lost in my head..." they lied, but Baby wasn't fooled. "Yeah, sure, whatcha lookin' in Otis's room for?" She asked, playfully nudging them, attempting to relax them a bit. Y/N let out a defeated sigh. "Okay, okay... no matter how many times I see the art on the walls in his room, it's always so... amazin', I've actually been meaning to ask you about it." They clear their throat. "You know anything about any of his art?"

Baby crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "why don't you just ask him, man? I'm sure he'll tell ya if you ask." The thought of talking to Otis made them nervous, not because they were scared of him, no, it's because they didn't want to bother him while he was busy (and they probably wouldn't understand the philosophical answers Otis has been known to give, and has given them many times in the past when they asked a question.) "N-No, it's fine! I'll ask some other time." He shook his head quickly, attempting to walk past Baby, but she caught him and guided him into Otis's room. "Otis! You got a sec?" She called out. Otis looked up from his book, about to say something rude or snarky in response, but stopped himself when he realized Y/N was there. "Depends, what for?" He asked, setting his book down on the bed beside him. Baby grins, gently pushing Y/N toward Otis. "They wanna know about your art, can you tell him about it?"

Hearing this actually shocked Otis. Y/N wanted to know about his art? Well shit, he'll tell them anything they wanna know!

He clumsily got off his bed, excited to finally spend more time with Y/N.

Otis mentally cussed himself out, he wasn't supposed to feel that way toward ANYONE, let alone someone of the same gender... but he couldn't help himself. The few times they hung out together (mostly drinking and talking shit about people) he'd feel his heart flutter when they laughed at one of his stupid jokes, and he'd get the feeling of butterflies in his stomach every time they looked at him with those damn doe-ish eyes or gave him even just a slight smile. Jesus, he felt like a teenage girl getting her first highschool crush and he hated it.

Baby left the room, happily leaving the two alone. Otis wasted no time in beginning to explain each piece to Y/N, getting less and less philosophical when he realized they didn't quite understand it as well as he did himself. Actually, he began to ever so slightly touch on the emotional side of it, allowing himself this one instance of vulnerability. Y/N listened intently, finding each piece and the meaning behind it extremely interesting. Otis found himself smiling as he answered Y/N's questions, feeling those same feelings he felt when he first saw them.

Shit, it's just gunna get worse....

Since Y/N was so interested in his art Otis decided to test just how far he could go before his art grossed them out or scared them. He first asked if they wanted to see some of his other art, and after they said yes (maybe a bit too excited) he pulled a few of the smaller bone sculptures from behind the curtain that hid the more grotesque pieces he'd done. He showed them one of the sculptures, one that was made to look like a bouquet of flowers, it was morbidly beautiful. Y/N let out a soft gasp, their jaw dropping in absolute awe.

"Holy shit, it's gorgeous! How the fuck...." the words left their mouth quicker than they could stop it, gushing over the tiny bone flowers.

Y/N's reaction made Otis's smile bigger. Someone loved his art, truely loved it, saw the beauty and emotion behind each piece....

There was no escaping it, Otis's feelings for Y/N were already too strong.

~~~~~~~~~~

End of Chapter 2.

Hope everyone enjoyed this shit! Chapter 3 coming soon. :)

[magpies-gold]

I may have finally unlocked the thing what turns my unhealthy overproductive causes-me-burnout creativity into enjoyable creativity - and it's called working off of vibes.

In the past I've tried just taking breaks from being creative, but that never works. Doing things other than being creative just feels like I've put myself in time out from the thing I actually like doing. Ultimately, I want to be creative. I love making art! I love writing stories! I genuinely get life from being my artistic self like.... all the heckin' time. It's all I genuinely want to do is make stuff. What I don't get life from is making it a grind. Working to rigid schedules, focusing on daily goals and - oh my lord, I despise the push to monetize it. I'm leaning hard away from that these days, and I'm not sure how far I'll ultimately take my aversion to pursuing profit from my creative ventures. It doesn't make me significantly happier to make money off of it (even though sometimes it's necessary, like when disaster strikes and I don't readily have four digits in the bank account to fix whatever's exploded), especially when making money comes with added stress from things like figuring out the taxes on what I've made, and the horrors of the perpetual chase to make more money. The emotional balance trends towards the negative and I'm over it. So I'm attempting a vibes-based approach - doing things when it's good for me to, and in a way that is fun. Some of it's a bit of concerted de-programming: for example, my webcomic is a source of truly bad habits for no good reason. It exists only on my Patreon, and it is exceptionally obscure and always was. There is very little point in wearing myself out trying to pour twenty hours a week into a new page every single week just because one is supposed to stick to a schedule, but over the last decade or so I programmed myself very well to do just that. Getting out of that rut so that I can have a healthy relationship with it again is a fight, but I'm winning. I want to chase the short term happy of getting a new page queued up every Monday, but instead I'm refusing to do so. If the page is done, I queue it up a few days late. And then the next week a few days later than that. Always a different number of days, pushing it out of sync so that I can't fall back into routine and neither can my handful of readers. I did not ever promise them a schedule. A schedule is bad for me. Result? I (mostly) drew three pages this weekend and enjoyed it. They're not done, but I made a heck of a dent and didn't feel gross about it. I'll finish them over the course of the next week or so, in bits and pieces rather than forcing myself to sit still for hours at a time until the page is done. I should be stopping when I'm done. I'm also way happier with the art I'm making. I'm still churning it out quick, but the lack of self-imposed deadlines means that I can have fun with it. I'm doing similar things with my writing. It's nice when I can keep Alpha Base moving forward, but for the last while I've been muddling around in different directions than forward and it's actually getting the creative wheels spinning in my head better than the methodical one-step-in-front-of-the-other approach. If I have a hankering to jump elsewhere in the plot and write a scene, I do. If I need to explore an aspect of a character that technically falls into a prequel (because dang it, I'm starting to develop prequel material) then I go for that. If writing a drabble that might not even land in the book, or any of the book(s), is what I need, then I'm doing that, and it doesn't matter if I'm "ready" to or "there yet" - I'm just doing it. Vibes. It's all worthwhile.  Hell, I spent most of the weekend writing a purely fluff scene (me! writing fluff!) between two of my antagonists and I think that was one of the best ways to spend a weekend. I feel damn good about it and learned a ton about them both. I think I even know where in the book to put it, and I sure didn't when I started writing. Didn't know that would happen! Life's too short to spend turning everything into a dang job.  I just want to play. So to hell with it. We play.

[barbiewritesstuff]

Seven Deadly Sins: Wrath (Hangman)

-- Something a little different today, as I was suddenly struck with this idea. This will be a series of oneshots for different characters from Top Gun based on the 7 cardinal sins.

Just as a heads up, these will not be in order because I don't have characters picked for all of the sins yet… Also in this series I write 'you' but there is an actual assigned name for the reader character --

Hangman was very careful with his appearance. Hair gelled and brushed to the side, clean shaven face, and freshly pressed uniform finished off with an aftershave that never failed to get him compliments. He even had a skin care routine. And still you wouldn't look at him.

You wouldn't look when he threw three darts into the board's bullseye. You wouldn't look when he hit the pool balls without looking, trying to catch your eye. You wouldn't even look at him when he played dogfight football. And it wasn't the usual 'not watching' some of his hookups did, where they spent the night pretending to be shy and only looking at him when they thought he couldn't see. No, you were just not interested.

It made his blood boil. 

He would spend the day trying to catch your attention, trying to impress you and you wouldn't even throw a crumb of attention his way. 

You would speak to him, obviously, and sometimes you even joked, but it wasn't what he needed. You spoke to him like you might speak to a waiter, your banker, or a colleague. Flat pleasantries and meaningless small talk. He needed more. He craved more. 

Everything he did was for you. It had always been for you. The clothes, the hair, the muscles, even the fucking medals had all been for you. And still you refused to fucking care.

Spending time with you, however brief and impersonal, left him frustrated and furious. He would drive to the gym and pound the boxing bag to a proverbial bloody pulp for hours on end until the rage he felt coursing through his veins died down enough that he could feel tired. Then he could finally sleep, his dreams being the only place where he found respite from your disinterest. In his dreams he was yours. You spoke, you laughed, you touched him, kissed him, fucked him. But then he would wake and the nightmare took over. 

He would beg, and beg, and beg for you. But you never heard the prayers of "please look at me, pay attention to me, please fall in love with me." 

Because Hangman knew that's what it was. It made him irrationally fucking angry that he had to suffer through loving you when you just didn't fucking care. He shouldn't have to feel his heart speed up when you enter a room only to have it shatter when you walk past him with barely a wave. 

It made him so angry so --

"Wrath" 

"What?" Hangman asked, looking at the person sitting next to him. He had just been pouring his heart out and that was the only thing his brother had managed to say.

"That's your sin. Wrath" Josh replied. He looked out into the distance. They were having coffee on his front porch. Jake had gone back to Texas to visit family and Josh had a spare bed. The adjustment had been harder than Hangman had thought. When he'd left his brother had just been his brother, now, he was a preacher with a house always full of people asking for advice. Finding a moment to talk to Josh had been a challenge. But when Jake hadn't been able to sleep in, he'd been thinking about you again, he had come down to find his brother making coffee.

"Yeah, because she'll fall in love with me if I just pray enough" He chuckled bitterly

"No, you need to overcome it. Praying is good, but the Lord wants you to do the work"

"And how do I overcome it, then"

"Patience"

It shook him to his core.

Patience

"What's her name?" Josh asked, completely oblivious to his brother frozen at his words

"Anah" Jake finally replied, Josh froze too

"Doesn't that mean --" he asked. Their mother somehow always knew what names meant, and it had rubbed off on both her boys.

"Perseverance and patience" Hangman replied still shocked, his brother laughed a loud bark and clapped him on his back

"Well if that ain't a sign, Jake"