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oddinary4bts · 10 months

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Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

“You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. ��They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

“Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

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spacesapphi · 2 months

Text

HES Trio Headcanon Time! (HCs below the cut, this is a long one)

TW for mentions of bullying, death, parental death, car accident, drinking, and neglect

Elliot

- he's 30yrs old and 6'0, very lanky and tall and covered in freckles. His hair is curly too!

- HC for his voice has to be Raoul from Phantom of the Opera, just has that romantic voice that fits him so well

- his family is of Irish descent and his last name is Lillis, which he finds sounds VERY romantic!

- growing up he was so obsessed with classical literature that he would often pretend his life was a novel, narrating his daily life in his head

- LOVESSSS pride & prejudice, Phantom of the Opera, and Les Mis, he'll talk your ear off about them if you let him

- was unfortunately bullied a lot for his interests growing up, even at home. He tried not to let it dampen his spirit, but it was difficult. He channels a lot of that pain into his writing

- his parents never really respected his hobbies, and his brothers weren't that kind in general. Elliot often felt alone in his house, like he was a misunderstood outcast that didnt have anyone. One of his favorite book series as a kid was Anne of Green Gables, as he connected to her feeling out of place and different from everyone around her

- pretty much canon, but he's a lightweight. One drink and he's GONE. Hes gets silly and giggly when he's drunk too

- he's autistic (I feel like everyone in the HES trio is) and his special interest is around literature, specifically romance literature. Anytime he sees something notable happen in town, or a couple do anything he goes "Oh this is just like x character in x book!" And he'll infodump about the story to anyone who will listen (usually Leah or Penny)

- he gets along well with Penny and shes actually been his test reader and editor for many of his published pieces! He always puts her name in the "special thanks" section

- takes much pride in his appearance, especially his hair. Before the farmer arrived he was the one practically keeping Pierre in business for self care products because he REFUSED to go to Joja bc "Do you know how many CHEMICALS are in those things?!"

- maladaptive daydreamer for sure. He gets frustrated with the way he cant stop daydreaming, and how music always seems to intensify it. On one hand, it gives him ideas for his writing, on the other it makes it hard for him to interact with others. When he's home alone in his cabin, Finding him pacing around, listening to his favorite CDs and records is common

- his love language is sentimental gifts. They don't need to be elaborate or expensive grand gestures. If you mention loving a certain food he'll make it for you, he'll get you things in your favorite color just to make you smile. Hes a very sweet man!

- he has a beautiful laugh!

- wears dangly earrings all the time. He likes very sparkly ones with jewels, ones that make him feel like he's in a romantic period piece. He has a killer collection of them!

Harvey

- he's 35yrs old and 6'2, though you can't tell because he's often slouched over (bad habit, he knows. His back hurts all the time). He's a chubby guy too, which makes him feel self conscious, but he learns to love himself :)

- My HC for his voice is Simon Petrikov, specifically the way he speaks in Fiona and Cake, I cannot imagine it any differently LMAO

- Harveys family is of Italian descent and his last name is Russo!

- grew up with just his mom and grandpa. His mom was a doctor and his grandpa was a retired pilot who helped spark his love for flying. He died when Harvey was 12, leaving some model planes and that radio he keeps in his office to him with a note telling him to always reach for the skies.

- Harvey has a bit of a lisp, and spent a lot of time in speech therapy as a kid. Words with lots of "s" sounds are tricky for him

- he actively went through so much testing to be a pilot, but when he got to the actual flight test where he had to get into a plane he got so anxious he threw up and ran away

- he realized then and there that he couldnt do it, and it was a hard reality to face. A lot of crying, and a lot of struggling to accept his dream wasn't attainable. He felt like he was letting his grandpa down, but his mom promised he wasn't

- when he decided to go to medical school, he couldn't decide what his focus was going to be to save his life, he changed it constantly. It took about two years to land on primary care physician and even then he still kept researching other tracks. This would come in hand once he got to pelican town and became the only doctor

- often too exhausted to cook for himself, which is why he buys so much processed food. Shane gives him a lot of shit for it every time he sees him at JojaMart ("don't say SHIT to me at my next checkup if you're going to buy that")

- his eyesight is so bad. He can't see a foot in front of him without his glasses. He's also incredibly clumsy and falls and breaks them often (I mean where did you THINK all those broken glasses you were fishing up were from?)

- like Elliot, was a victim of bullying in school, especially highschool :( Nerdy guy with a plane interest that stuck to himself was unfortunately a prime target, and he found himself in a rough situation. It actually got so bad that he took a special test to be able to graduate early so he didn't have to deal with it anymore. He passed it in tenth grade, and put all his energy into studying to be a pilot until he was old enough to join courses for it

- his mom was his biggest advocate, and was regularly down at his school to yell at administration for letting the bullying get that bad. She loved her son more than anything and would do anything for him. She was the one to suggest testing out of school, not wanting him to go through all of that for years.

- hes still close with his mom, and they regularly call and write letters to each other to keep up. Since Harvey lives so far now, they mostly meet up on important days like birthdays, holidays, and to go visit his grandfather's grave every once in a while

Shane

- he's 30yrs old and 5'7, and he hates both of those facts. Being the shortest man in town and one of the oldest single ones is a bit of a blow to his self esteem. He's pretty bulky too, a combination of muscle from working on the ranch and as a stocker, and fat from drinking and diet

- I go back and forth on his voice HC constantly, but I like the common fan interp of him sounding kinda like Nick Miller from new girl, it fits too well

- Shane is Pennsylvania Dutch on his mothers side and his last name (along with Marnies) is Yoder!

- that being said he knows very little of the PA Dutch language, though Marnie speaks it fluently. He has a bit of an accent from growing up with her

- croc wearer, don't tell me otherwise. He has a few everyday pairs, a fur lined pair for when it gets cold, and what he calls his "formal Crocs" (literally just black Crocs with bowtie jibbits this man is so fucking corny). He has normal shoes too, like sneakers and boots for the winter and work, but nothing beats his Crocs

- Jas has tried to call him dad a few times, but it makes him sad. He doesn't feel good enough to deserve that title, and he feels like he'd be disrespecting his friends by trying to take it over.

- Was in the accident that killed her parents. They took him out to celebrate his 25th birthday, going to a Tunnelers game. They were hit by a reckless driver going far above the speed limit on the way back home, and he was the only one who made it. One moment Shane was having the time of his life with his best friends in the world, the next he's waking up in the hospital finding out they're gone. As a result, his birthday has become a bit of a sore subject, hence why he "was hoping he'd forget" anytime he gets a birthday gift

- his leg got really hurt in the accident, and though its healed, he still often needs compression braces to deal with chronic pain from it. Working at Joja and on the ranch aren't exactly low impact after all

- Marnie is his only bio family thats alive and on speaking terms with him. She practically raised him for the most part, with his dad gone and mother having passed when he was little. His mother was Mona, the same Mona from the cemetery. She was Marnies twin sister, and the photo in secret note 11 is her and baby shane.

- He and Emily were childhood bestfriends growing up, and dated in highschool. They realized after about a year that they just worked better as friends though, and remain besties to this day

- he's transgender he told me himself

- Marnie was also incredibly supportive of his transition and she's fiercely protective of him. He may technically be her nephew but she sees him more as a son and thus goes full mama bear when it comes to him

- even though he doesn't take great care of himself, he makes sure jas is well taken care of, especially after he starts recovery. His clothes may be threadbare and worn, and he may look like he hasn't slept in a year, but Jas will *always* have everything she could ever need... and want. Ngl he kinda spoils her a little, especially after he cuts back and can afford it more. He feels bad saying no to her given all that she's gone through. She has a doll collection that could make the most avid collectors jealous

- he makes sure he spends time with her too, taking days off for festivals because she wants him there, taking the day off for her birthday, and trying his best to be there for her. It's an upward struggle for him to get better so he can be there for her, but he's trying

- after Joja closes down, Marnie offers him a full time job at the ranch, including pay and board. He takes the offer IMMEDIATELY, and does an amazing job at it. She's certain she'll be leaving the ranch to him once she's retired

- if you want to get him to do anything, tell him him it involves chickens in some way. Chickens are his special interest for SURE. Chicken print socks, corny puns, joke tshirts, he has it all. He practically becomes the organizer of the Egg Festival yearly once he's started recovery, putting a crazy amount of work into it to make sure it goes well. Same with the Valley Fair's petting zoo. The amount of pride he gets talking about the animals to tourists is unmatched, and it's one of the few times Marnie gets to see him look as happy as he did before the accident. Those moments are fleeting, but everytime she can see that light in his eyes she feels like everything will be ok.

#stardew valley #stardew valley shane #sdv #stardew valley harvey #elliot stardew valley #a lot of this is projection but idc #i love these characters so much i wish men were real #sdv headcanons #headcanons #tw alchohol mention #tw death mention #tw neglect #tw bullying

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elioslover · 11 months

Text

Little Angel, Only Freak? - Grapejuice.

🎃 Halloween Flashbacks 🎃

This can be read as a stand-alone piece! 👻 I've really been wanting to include some flashback moments from Harry and Klutz's past, so I thought Halloween would be the perfect place to start!

Premise: Harry has been pining over Y/n - his best friends slightly older sister - for as long as he can remember.

GRAPEJUICE MASTERPOST / Other Writing

NB! Y/n's (Klutz) brother's name is Jack. In Grapejuice it's mentioned that Harry may have wrote some songs about Klutz. These events were inspired specifically by two of his masterpieces lmao, so lemme know if you notice any references hehe. - Em. xo

Warnings: Drinking/smoking (this oneshot contains quite a bit due to the fact that they are attending a lot of Halloween parties). Age-gap (2yrs). Self-insert she/her.

Word count: 5.4k

🍷 2011 🍷

Sitting with your legs criss-crossed, on the kitchen counter which is perhaps the highest off of the ground you are most comfortable with. Your firm belief in keeping your feet on the soil, neither under deep waters nor up in the air.

That aside, you are eating a toastie, courtesy of your own cooking- rather surprised that not only did you manage to get ready on time, but actually finished with plenty to spare.

Indulging in your meal, the sound of Travis Scott accompanying your chewing, Harry's sudden appearance in the kitchen is startling, but nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, there have been plenty of worse and compromising interactions in the past.

“Aren’t you too old to be trick-or-treating?” You mumble through your food-filled mouth, eyeing him from top to bottom, shamefully admiring his choice of costume. Perhaps you were a sucker for a sexy pirate- though a large part of you believes the 'sexy' part was unintentional.

Harry only smiles and meanders further into the kitchen, invading the fridge for god knows what before giving up, strolling over to you, invading your space in an instant and with audacity you have never witnessed prior, he snatches the half-devoured triangle of a toastie and takes a hearty bite before speaking through muffled chews,

“Age is but a construct.”

“I guess I agree.” You shrug, thoughts travelling to the dangerously explicit fantasies you experienced at the mere existence of Tom Hard, your brain concocting a dreamland in which a 15-year age gap would be graciously welcomed.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Harry archives the moment. An entirely separate dreamland surrounds him and yourself. But, you still seem so far away, Harry is aching to extend the conversation, “Where are you off to, a Tarantino-themed party?”

“That my dear, is none of your business.”

“Well for what it’s worth,” he informs both sweetly and sultry, “you make a beautiful *Viper.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Styles.” You open the gates and let your guard down, needing him to know you notice him- see him, and if vulnerability is the way to make that clear, god willing, something inside you wishes to share it.

Harry is stunned- your words are one thing, your tone is another. He wants, no, he needs to hear your softness, again and again. Then there is an invasive double honk and it can only belong to the red Mazda parked in the driveway, stark headlights shining through the kitchen curtains.

You hop off the counter without a care in the world, straighten out your costume, and check your makeup in the reflection of the microwave before strolling straight past Harry and into the entrance hall, grabbing your matching purse. You raise your voice to address both your brother and the sexy pouting pirate stunned to silence,

“That’s my ride." Certain they've both heard, you open the front door and as an afterthought, call over your shoulder, "Save me a Mars bar!”

👻

The boys are in line for the entrance to a club that Jack stated would be "popping", but there is a clear age limit and Harry's anxiety is already reaching its limit. He turns to Darth Vader- ignoring how ridiculous his friend is- and Harry cautiously ponders aloud,

“Are you sure we’re even gonna get in?”

“Trust me.” Jack sternly enforces.

“What is this hold you have over me?” Harry concedes.

By what could either be deemed a miracle or exceptional finesse, it's not long before the boys have their left wrists stamped with a small ink jack-o-lantern, and are entering the club.

“See! Am I ever wrong?” Jack projects against the booming bass, but Harry certainly hears him, more focused on the dissipating nerves being replaced with confidence.

“Drinks!” Jack doesn't allow a retort, making his way to the bar with the assurance that Harry is following close behind. Harry was, and after a few other patrons are tended to, the boys order their choices and cheer a duet of tequilas in celebration of their success.

The tequila is still travelling down Harry's throat when a voice, so sweet and so familiar, almost causes him to choke, his eyes opening, neck dropping to look at the person who had exclaimed "Oi!". Unsurprisingly, you are standing there, arms on your hips, a look of disappointment painted across your face,

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“To be fair, I didn’t expect you to be here either.” Jack shrugs.

“I thought you were trick-or-treating, Jack." You chide.

“Oh, please, we’re seventeen. You knew that was a cover.” His eye-rolls with a jovial smirk.

“Still. I thought at least a house party.”

“Which is exactly where you said you would be.”

“Shut up.” Your last line of defence.

“C’mon, Y/n. Go have fun, it’ll be like we’re not even here.”

With a dissatisfied sigh, you grab your drink from the bar counter and gather within the group of girls all dressed with glamorous uniqueness, disappearing into the mass of dancers, praying that Jack’s statement would prove correct.

But, as expected, this promise was broken within the first hour after the desperate need for a Marlboro was lulling in your lungs, and for some useless and godforsaken reason, smoking is banned from the bar and dancefloor- bar vaping- however, due to the lack of an outside area, the designated smoking zone was the hallway.

After a trip to the bathroom- which had vanity counters, ladies waiting near the cashmere wash towels to unnecessarily aid in drying your hands; each bathroom is garnished with gold framing and every stall comes with a little glass table attached to the wall; perfect for cutting lines of coke- you decided it was time to settle down for a good smoke, spotting an empty, luxurious maroon and velvet two-seater sofa.

Your focus is on the ridiculous custom silver bear lighter you bought second-hand, your head bowed, smoke balanced between your lips, so it comes as a great surprise when you glance up and Harry is standing before you. By the time your cigarette sets alight, he is settled next to you on the lounger,

“Fancy seeing you here.” He teases lazily.

“You lost Jack?” You shift your body to better see him, simultaneously handing him your smoke.

“Always do.” He softly chuckles, knuckles brushing your fingertips in exchange, and he takes a good drag, hoping it will miraculously cure the anxiety that seemed to return the moment he found himself alone.

“That guy’s a menace.”

"This is the strangest hallway I've ever seen." He comments, glancing around the room of scattered stoners and straight smokers. Then he remembers the house he visited less than three hours ago, "And that's saying something."

"Our hallway is not that bad." You lamely defend- this conversation has been ongoing since youth.

"Can't believe we're sitting on a chez lounge." Harry marvels, hand stroking at the smooth material.

"This place truly is something." You agree, proceeding to ponder the answer to a premonition she needs confirmation for, “What are you doing over here?”

“Just needed a breather.” He admits. “You?”

“Guess I’m doing the same.” You consider.

“What’s the matter, klutz?” He reads your mood like a medium- some sort of magician.

“Boys are shitty.” You allow him the tip of the ice burg- it has been bugging you, perhaps not as much as the other things bothering and plaguing you.

“We are.” He agrees lightly, knowing it would be detrimental to pry.

“You aren’t. most of the time, anyway.”

“I thought I was the most annoying person you know.”

“You are. Maybe ever.” You dramatise your distaste, “But you are by no means shitty.”

For a reason Harry had always known, yet never questioned, he found your presence as relaxing as falling asleep cradled by a fluffy cloud. He briefly wonders if you feel the same, but knows better than to embrace hope. Nevertheless, he says what he can guarantee will suit your interesting demeanour,

“I’m sorry about… whatever you’re going through.”

“Thanks, Harry.” You smile earnestly as the pair of you proceed to pass the cigarette back and forth, comfortable in the presence of taking a cool-down.

But, with your vulnerability out in the open, it becomes mandatory to verify the reason he is currently sitting beside you,

“Why aren’t you down there?”

Harry knew it was coming, thought about what to say, and came up with a few reasonable excuses but as soon as the question leaves your quirked and lush lips, the truth comes pouring out and he cannot do anything but witness his honesty,

“I feel out of my element.”

“That’s all in your head.” You try to reassure him, knowing it isn’t that simple, yet hoping he might allow you the chance to prove it, even for just a moment.

“Oh, is that right?” He smirks.

You are standing before he can blink twice, singing your cigarette in the ashtray and reaching your arm out for him to join you,

“C’mon, I’ll show you.”

He doesn’t protest- he doesn’t even hesitate as he wraps his hand in your own, raising from the chair and allowing you to drag him wherever you please.

This results in descending stairs, weaving through a crowd before finally reaching the destination; the bar. He shouldn’t be surprised, but the pleasure and subconscious pride he wore as you tugged him about, moving closer, sometimes a few steps apart, but never letting go of his hand- even if only one finger was hooked to his own.

The bartender arrives with such haste that Harry is almost certain it has something to do with your beauty- it does- but mere moments later he finds out that you are in fact a regular visitor- and a loved one, at that.

Harry is so enamoured and floored with such an overload of new information about you that he hardly registers when you tilt over the counter and order four tequilas.

And when the tequila arrives, there are five, offered as, ‘on the house’. Your reaction is mischievous and Harry feels exhilarated at the promise of your mission to make his night memorable.

“Bottoms up.” You command, double-parking and encouraging Harry to wrap both of his shot glasses in each palm. He does as follows, giving you awkward cheers before copying your skill and tossing back the tequila one after the other. You then guide Harry to drop both glasses on the table and immediately grab the lonesome shot glass, still filled to the brim.

You go in for half a sip, savouring the sharp spirits slipping down your throat but leaving half the glass full. Handing it over to Harry he finishes the drink and turns to you in anticipation for further instructions. Your shoulders can’t resist a consequential shudder, and then you clap your hands together and cheekily beam up at him,

“Now, we dance.”

“I can’t dance.” His pitch is one of panic and protest.

“Neither can I.” You answer proudly, wrapping his hand in your own and leading him onto the dancefloor.

🍷 2016 🍷

Your boyfriend has caused yet another scene, taking it personally when some poor guy dressed as a zombie accidentally stepped on his foot.

Before he had the chance to toss more furniture, you plan an escape and make a beeline for the kitchen- somewhere likely to be devoid of party-goers. But when you round the corner, the sight of Harry, dressed in a white and red striped shirt, hair quaffed beneath a goofy matching beanie, and eyes framed by large, black round glasses. He's sitting on the counter, his light jean-clad legs dangling, shoes knocking against the bottom cabinets.

He seems too calm for such a festive evening, especially when he is as notorious as Jack when it comes to turning into a playful nuisance- affectionate, chatty, and likely to end up attempting to dance.

You walk straight over, only coming to a halt when your sternum presses into his knees, and beneath those gaudy glasses, you don't miss the way his deep green eyes swell and his lashes bash beautifully with bafflement.

"Ah, here's Waldo." You beam up at him.

"Y'got me." He lightly shrugged, a sneaky smile painting his cheeks.

"What do I win?"

Eyes widening with an accompanying Chesire cat smile, your tone tainted with taunting cheeriness. But, nonsensically you lean in closer, bare abdomen grazing his denim.

Whether intentional or not, Harry is set alight, his burning knees spreading along his stomach, trailing up his chest, simmering his heart and throat, coals burning at his cheeks and brain. He is so stoned on placebo, that his mouth is unable to project his profession,

"Anything you want."

You are experiencing first-degree burns, bathing yourself in diversion,

"Are these your real glasses?" You lean your face forward, lining up with his own, your hands gently clasping the black frames and examining the determined false lenses. "Guess not."

There are less than zero reasons for your bodies to remain so stuck, relaxed in the sanctuary of physical contact, but neither of you makes an attempt to move, unaddressed and absolutely mad. You deem it time to turn things around,

"Avoiding the party?"

"A little." He shrugs.

"Bad company?"

"The worst." He tilts his chin to the ceiling before returning his gaze to your own, "Though I can't imagine I'm much better."

"Anything is better than the mess going on outside." You meet his pondersome eyes with a competitive roll of your own.

Now Harry understands the crash he had heard through the kitchen window. Your expressions of annoyance and disappointment emit all of the information he needs to know,

"Dickie acting up again?"

"You know that's not his name."

"It should be."

Harry has never shied away from expressing his distaste for your boyfriend- simply because you were dating him. Harry was hardly around, and when he was, you were almost guaranteed to be absent due to plans with Ricky.

With a sudden bough of frustration, your hands press into Harry's upper thighs to properly balance yourself. he does everything- and more- to avoid physically reacting to your unusual closeness. You breathe out and it matches the mournful furrow of your brow,

"He's just... why does he have to be so aggressive?"

"Yeah, that table certainly didn't deserve that." Harry leans in, looking down at you with a worrisome but sensitive demeanour. And then he leaps and lightly wraps his hand around your hip.

His eyes are studying your soft face, his heart focused on your sweet features and the feeling of your skin separated by his clothes, but his head is still stuck on the confusion currently holding you captive. He can't help by prying,

"He's not... aggressive with you, right?"

"Not yet." The words trail off of your tongue. And then you toss everything aside, pressing your fingers into his thigh "I don't wanna talk about it right now."

Harry doesn't know how to react, sudden shocks of arousal emulating at the discomfort of your digging nails, the desperate desire to destroy the distance between your lips, loop his arm around your neck, softly cup your cheek and express how special you should be treated- with such certainty that you never forget,

"I like your costume. Might be your best so far."

It definitely is, you are rather impressed with how well your Other Mother costume turned out. Though, your already tragic bank account has taken a traumatic bashing,

"I spent way too much money on it."

"How much?" His grin is mischievous.

"Too much."

"Now I have to know." He pleads, but know you will never utter the shame you suffer. He won't let you off the hook so easy, though, "Just to rub it in, I'll have you know, I only spent three pounds."

You huff, leaning further into his touch, enjoying the feeling of his fingers on your flesh. He has to tilt to see you fully, and you aid him craning your neck to meet him in the middle, dismissing the deemed unnecessary distance,

"Well, you've done a terrible job at making it hard to find you."

"Maybe I wanted you to find me." He shrugs with suave.

"That was ambitious."

"It worked, yeah?" He is seeping with playful pride, though he cannot prevent his need to compliment you- perhaps the only way to get his attraction across was through words, true words at that, "You really do look beautiful."

"Not just sexy?"

"Sexy as fuck." He groans, fingers pressing into the plush fleshyness of your waist, "But not just sexy."

"Filthy." You scold seductively.

And then you seem to find yourself sinking further into his touch, trying with everything in you to get nearer- his neck so biteable, collarbone begging for loving bruises. Harry is on the same page, body pressing into your own, his palm trailing up and settling on your lower back.

You think he might kiss you. You think you are out of your mind... But, you think you're going to let him. The only thing to pause your seemingly-senseless thoughts is the defensive, stern, and frankly, threatening boom of your boyfriend,

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing with my girl?"

Like velcro being violently ripped apart, you have never moved with such haste in all of your current existence to date. Harry is now at least three feet away from you, and your boyfriend is berzerkly striding towards him. Harry calmly and rationally raises his palms in defence,

"Nothing, mate."

"Ricky-" You edge closer.

But, your boyfriend has already aimed his fist at Harry's face, and instead of reacting with returned aggression, he interjects,

"Mate, chill out." Harry reasons with a casual shrug, "She's like a sister to me."

An invasive feeling of disappointment pangs at your heart at the sound of sister, and to this day you will not analyse why. It was something you were guaranteed to repeat in the future.

"Am I supposed to believe that?" Ricky scoffs but his arm drops to his side nevertheless.

Harry hops off of the counter with ease, stepping past your boyfriend with effortless confidence. He glances over at you for a mere instance- not long enough for you to comprehend the event that just unfolded.

He reaches over to the nearest countertop and grabs his solo-cup and before turning his back completely, he addresses Ricky with finality,

"Believe what you want, Batman."

🍷 2018 🍷

Harry knocks for a third time before Jack finally answers the door- and when he does, dressed Pennywise- a red balloon tied to his wrist- Harry instantly regrets his entire life, attempting to prepare for a chaotic Halloween party. Whenever Jack finds himself in an extravagant, far-too-detailed costume, two things are certain; there will be a magically, monstrous punch bowl, and Jack will be dancing on any piece of furniture that catches his eye.

“So, this was your last-minute decision?” Harry works hard to keep the disturbed feelings from projecting across his features.

“It was this or Heisenburg, okay?” Jack sighs, audatiously comparing his- what can only be described as a slutty Pennywise to simply purchasing a hazmat.

“How much time did you spend on this?” Harry finds his amusement increasing.

“Too long.” Jack admits with distaste. But all in all, This is the best of his costumes to date, and Harry certainly agrees.

“I’m sure the ladies will love it.” He commends, and Jack nods avidly, his face mimicking that of confidence.

Harry ponders halfheartedly as they enter the home Harry knows so well- the home he spent at least a quarter of his 28 years. It's only as he reaches the living room, packed with both familiar and unfamiliar faces. Many of them seem older than he, and Harry can only assume these are friends of Jack’s college, and your work colleagues.

A pang of panic threatens to become a full-blown wave of disappointment and regret. Missing out on the life he could have had.

Before he can be swept away by his newfound unfamiliarity, Jack has led them to the makeshift bar- a dining table decorated with spooky decorations, all surrounding the notorious monster of the eve- the Halloween punch. Harry doesn’t protest- by this point he deems it necessary.

Lightly tapping their cups together in cheers. Jack takes a hearty sip before his brows suddenly raise in realization,

“Huh. That’s funny.” Jack finally takes a moment to acknowledge his best friend, emulating the Devil himself.

“Hm?” Harry asks halfheartedly, eyes scanning the room for something and he doesn’t even know what.

“I just noticed your costume.”

Harry’s gaze snaps back to Jack, giving him a puzzled look, masking a sudden bough of insecurity simmering beneath the surface,

“I look funny?”

“No, Y/n told me she was gonna be an Angel. Coincidence, huh?” Jack shrugs.

“Is she here?” Harry tries to hide the sudden panic.

“Not yet. You know she’s gonna lose her mind over it.” Jack grins, always bemused by the so-called banter between his sister and best friend.

Harry’s panic is substituted by an odd sense of relief- he now knows what- or who- he had been searching for. With a bough of mischievous confidence, he mimics his best friend's grin and informs,

“Just what I wanted to hear.”

👻

Upon the news of his holy crush’s imminent arrival, Harry finishes his first punch cup and then heads towards the ‘bar’ to pour another.

Pleasantly, someone is already attending to the punch- an old teammate from his high school football team has the same intentions, finishing up on filling his cup before recognizing Harry and enthusiastically initiating a catch-up. One that proves helpful, replacing his thoughts of you with good conversation and in turn, allows him to react.

It’s unclear how long this chat persisted as the boys moved from the make-shift bar to a spot on the porch- already scattered with smokers and an extremely tense game of beer-pong.

Eventually, the punch has caught up with him and Harry has to excuse himself in favour of the bathroom. This should be an easy enough task, but this monstrous punch has proved poisonous as it lags his movements and encourages him to take a long, good look at himself in the cobweb-framed mirror.

Impressed with his costume, and impressed with how calm and cheery he felt. Things don’t seem so bad- the intrusive thoughts were offering silence for the sake of letting him have a good time.

His best friend’s home has always had the oddest of hallways. A complicated combination of narrow to wide, with unnecessary corners and nooks. These proved sacred during the times of childhood, the perfect place to out-smart the person trying to yell, ‘Tag, you’re it!’ Now, this hallway is treacherous and Harry longs to find himself back in the living room, especially with the amount of party-goers crowding the corridor.

Looking back, Harry wonders if he would have even seen you wedged between a pair of what seems to be Cersei and Jaime Lannister. It would be hard not to, with the way the shimmering satin dress and the sparkling halo create a ring of glory around you.

But you certainly see him, meandering down the hallway dressed in a costume to match your own. Your first feeling should be annoyance, but unfortunately, your thoughts are redirected to just how good he looks.

The duo you were humouring are a thing of the past as you mutter an “excuse me”- gaze and mind already set on intercepting Satan himself.

He’s leaning against the wall- being extra careful to not knock over any picture frames. His head is bowed, contemplating his next move and it suddenly and forcefully occurs to him that his original plan to find you was diverted by a pointless side-quest.

As if the thin veil of Halloween was thoughtful enough to grant him instant gratification, a set of white heels, laced to the upper calf is walking his way. He lets his eyes trail the length of soft thighs up to the seams of lacy trim, savouring each fleshy, smooth thigh before finally addressing the owner's face.

When his eyes are met with your own, glittering with each blink, Harry’s widen in surprise, jaw threatening to slack as you stop before him. Giving him a good glance before mimicking his stance and balancing yourself against the wall.

“Well, well, well.” Your tone is both amused and annoyed.

A sudden rush of ease and euphoria washes over him at the coolness of your mood- though, that was subject to change rather quickly in the presence of Harry.

On a whim you attribute to both a poisonous punch and the devil standing before you, Harry is taken off guard by the sudden contact of your palm on his chest, even more, surprised as you push and guide him into the nearest alcove.

But that was as far as your thoughts had progressed, what was the plan now? This is a result of impulsivity, and when you concede and don’t go on to say anything further, Harry takes the opportunity to back you into the corner, arms balancing loosely on the wall near your face.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” His smile is cheesy.

“I’m sure you’re enjoying this.” Your eyes roll, arms crossing your chest in distaste.

Harry tilts down ever so slightly, aligning his lips with the shell of your ear,

“Loving it.”

“And I’m supposed to believe this is just a coincidence?”

“Believe what you want, Angel.”

He returns to his previous position, aching to get a better look at your face, hoping that the blush pink scattered across your cheeks is a product of not makeup, but himself. You cannot admit that it’s a combination of both- not even to yourself- instead opting for a classic eye-roll and continuing to do what you do best,

“I see you chose to go costume-less this year.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“You’re the Devil.” You try, “Truly.”

By now, your hands have dropped to your sides, securing distance but still unexplainably allowing Harry the chance to wander closer if he wishes. He does, but only enough for your chests to brush, his head bowed to gaze your way, one of his hands reaching out to fiddle with the accessory adorning your head,

“Why, because I make you want to ditch that pretty little halo?”

“You’re insane.” You chide, palm raising to his abdomen in protest.

“And you want me.” He articulates with certainty.

“Correction, you’re psychotic.”

But you like the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath your hold, the musky and fruity aroma invading your senses. The curve where his shoulder and neck meet is aligned with your chin, and for a split second, you ponder the impulse to get closer, latch your lips to his skin and sink your teeth in.

Harry likes having you so near, he can smell the Chanel and cocoa butter seeping from your skin, the crown of your head smells of something fruity and fresh. And when your hand absentmindedly trails further along his stomach, settling on his shoulder, Harry almost stops breathing when his impulses get the best of him, wrapping his free arm around your waist, and when you don’t protest and your free arm goes to rest along his shoulder, he thinks he might have a chance,

“Are you sure, pretty Angel? Your body seems to think otherwise.”

“Shut up, Harry.”

“You’re more than welcome.” he smirks, loving the way your eyes simmer with conflict, “…To shut me up, that is.”

You decide that fame has done a lot to him, not just the typical singing, stadiums and superstardom, so why the hell is he talking like a… man? Like he knows how to seduce a woman, and why the fuck does that make your stomach churn with curiosity.

But, you remind yourself that age equals experience and that makes you the superior. Besides, from the way he’s currently behaving, you have an inkling that his ego has likely inflated.

This could be fun. Two could play at this game, and no matter the amount of fraternizing Harry may have committed, you were competitively and egotistically prepared to knock him down a peg.

Raising to the tip of your toes, hand tightening on his shoulder, nails softly scratching at his back, your other hand reaching to wrap around his neck, your thumb stroking the crook of his chin. Batting your eyelashes with a lick of the lips, you ensure he hears each and every word,

“Is that what you want, sweet boy?” You coo, and Harry stiffens in an instant, blinking rapidly as you push on, “Want me to take care of you?”

“You can do whatever you want.” He blurts out before the ‘ou’, fist flexing against the wall, his body aching to be tangled up with your own.

It's cute, and unnecessarily arousing, and as much as you know you shouldn’t, there’s an ache in your chest that chants for you to crumb him along for just a little longer,

“Pity. After all, this is just a costume.”

“Prove it.”

His eyes are eager, nose bumping along your forehead, and your hand comes to its finale as it holds his cheek in place, gently pulling his face nearer to your own. You pout, but the sly smirk prints itself at the corners of your lips nevertheless,

“A Devil certainly isn't deserving.”

“Prove it anyways.”

Harry thinks he’s about two sentences away from begging for something he didn’t know he needed so desperately. As much as it pains you to put a pin in this, the confusion of juxtaposition of attraction is threatening to make you light-headed.

“No.”

So, to Harry’s utter dismay, you release him from your hold and tactfully slip out between the space you once occupied. With one more sympathetic pat on his shoulder, you smile at him and make your way back down the hallway, feathered wings taunting him in your wake.

🍷 2019 🍷

Harry was lucky enough to have been in town for Halloween- he can't count how many holidays he missed over the last half-decade. He’s dressed as her favourite thing; a teddy bear- fuzzy ears and makeup to match. Your brother, Jack was hosting his famously chaotic annual Halloween celebration, and Harry was far too giddy at the guarantee of seeing you again. He can't count the missed holidays, but he can certainly count how many years it’s been since you last spoke- mar the quick birthday wishes, and periodic congratulations and praise.

But, after an hour or so, he is starting to doubt his certainty, gaze shamelessly studying the room, hoping he had merely missed your arrival. Two solo cups of warm beer later, Harry is itching to locate you- this is your tradition after all, and he was so sure that this time would end differently, that she would finally see him for the man he was becoming.

He definitely wouldn’t be asking Jack why you weren’t here- partially because he seems preoccupied with a makeshift gravity bong. Instead, Harry seeks out one of your oldest friends, Nova, who is dressed as a Harley Quinn, but before he can even reach the group in which she mingles, his boot trips on a rug and unable to help it, the contents of his cup comes spilling out, splashing and coating Nova’s front with the sticky substance. After apologising profusely- even if just to come off polite- Harry musters up the humility to ponder your lack of presence.

Disheartened and disappointed when she responds with, “She’s in Italy”, Harry is once again confused by Jack’s lack of mentioning the news. Though none of his business, the dichotomy of standing his ground and avoiding the question versus caving in and simply asking Jack has him in quite the frenzy.

The rest of the evening is a bore- Harry switches to ginger ale, and though he attempts to mingle, maintaining interest proves to be impossible, and for the first time, Harry makes the decision to head home early.

But, now, with a make-up-free face and his favourite jammies, he is tucked beneath the fluffiest sheets and your mere existence is pulling the sheets tighter, trapping him in a series of thoughts of yours truly, thinking about you.

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writing-blocked-me · 2 years

Text

Glued to Your Side

CW: Spoilers for everything past season 1, clingy Dazai, little bit of angst, brief mention of Oda, Dazai is so so smart but so so dumb, maybe OOC?, hurt/comfort, bad writing - I can’t write dialogue sorry!

Pairings: Dazai x Reader

Author’s Note: I need to stop writing angst so have a fluff piece! Or at least what was supposed to be a fluff piece. It turned more into hurt/comfort tbh. Also I attempted dialogue for this fic but I am BAD at writing any form of speech so sorry for that. Not proofread also I was very hungover when I finsihed this lmao.

Also! I have a Masterlist now! It only has like 4 works so far but hopefully that’ll change aha.

Masterlist

Ever since you started working at the ADA, your world had been turned on its head. There was always some sort of strange job to take, or fight to have with the mafia or some other organisation. However, there was one fact that remained constant since you had become a detective: Dazai Osamu was a flirt.

You were fine with it, even sometimes enjoying some back and forth banter with the living mummy. It was completely harmless, you knew it wasn't going anywhere so it wouldn't get in the way of your professional career. Plus, you knew you weren't the only one subject to Dazai's affectionate teasing, so you knew there would never be anything romantic between you too, meaning you were free to pursue real romance if you wanted to.

At least that's what you thought.

In the weeks following the batte against the Guild, Dazai had been clingier than usual. He made a point of always keeping some sort physical contact with you, whether it was leaning on you while you were sat on the agency's couch (after he dragged you to sit and do work there instead of your desk), or having you walk shoulder to shoulder when you went on jobs.

You guessed the close eye he had been keeping on you had something to do with meeting Q. You had been the agency member tasked with escorting Haruno and Naomi to safety. While the three of you were on the train, after escaping Lovecraft and Steinbeck, you met the small child named Yumeno. They had seemed like a perfectly normal, sweet little kid. The four of you got along and chatted as you waited to reach your stop. Getting off the train, however, was a different story. When Q bumped into Atsushi and activated his ability, your memories got a little fuzzy. It was like a flip switched in Atsushi as he suddenly became violent, lashing out towards Haruno, Naomi and yourself. You quickly jumped in to protect them, bearing the brunt of the attack and being thrown into the walls of the train station. You'd hit your head pretty badly, so you could not fully register the rest of what happened. You vaguely recalled Dazai rushing in and stopping Q's ability and watching the child wave goodbye as the train carried him off. You passed out shortly afterwards.

According to the others, Atsushi had taken Haruno and Naomi to safety, while Dazai took you straight to Yosano.

After the Guild used Q to attack Yokohama, Dazai had been stuck to you like glue. You hadn't minded, you were used to his antics and affectionate behaviour. But a week passed. Then two weeks and still Dazai was fixed at your side. You had begun to get suspicious. While he was clearly putting effort into appearing as his usual self, it was clear there was something going on. He had started flirting less and less with others, even ceasing his witty back and forths with the waitress at the cafe below the agency offices. He had gradually gotten clingier and clingier too, seeking you out even on days off, to the point where soemtimes you felt as if you were being suffocated.

Everything came to a head when your friends from home were visiting the city. You had planned to meet up with your friends in the shopping district. You had not planned on bumping into Dazai. Wandering through the shopping district, arms linked and laughing at old memories, you didn't even see the bandaged man until you walked straight into him.

“Belladonna! Fancy seeing you here!" Your coworker greeted you, eyes glinting with mischief.

You were sure he was up to something, but you couldn't quite figure it out. One thing you knew though, it was no surprise that he saw you there. You had made it known to the agency how you would be spending the day off.

"Yes, well you did know I was going to be here. I mentioned it yesterday Osamu," you remarked.

Truth be told, you'd been attempting to have a Dazai-free day. He hadn't left your side in a while and you were really in desperate need of some time to collect your thoughts. Due to his attentiveness over the past few weeks, your friendship with Dazai was slowly turning into something more, at least on your end. You were sure it was all in your head though so you needed some time away from him until you could collect yourself and sort your feelings out. His recent actions confused you.

Dazai's smile faltered at the mention of your plans. "Oh, I must have forgotten," he said, his tone uncharacteristically subdued.

You raised an eyebrow at his unusual behavior, but before you could say anything, your friends interrupted.

"Hey, who's your friend?" one of them asked, eyeing Dazai curiously.

"This is my coworker, Dazai Osamu," you introduced him, not noticing the way Dazai's jaw clenched at the mention of "coworker."

Your friends chatted with Dazai for a few minutes before you realised the time and had to rush to your lunch reservations. Quickly saying goodbye to Dazai, you grabbed your friends and rushed off.

During lunch, your friends regaled you with stories from home, and you laughed and joked with them. However, your mind was elsewhere, thinking of the strange actions of your fellow detective. Dazai never forgot anything, you knew that you had mentioned coming out with your friends multiple times too, so what was he doing showing up? It was messing with your head. At least you’d managed to escape him during lunch.

After saying goodbye to your friends, you decided you needed rest and you went home. Shutting the door behind you, you dragged yourself over to your coush and toppled onto it, exhausted. You had barely shut your eyes when you heard a knock at the door. Opening the door, you came to see a familiar sight.

"Dazai? What are you doing here?" you asked, confused.

"Dropping by to say hello, of course," Dazai replied, strolling past you into the house and settling down on your couch. “Bella you would not believe the day I’ve had. First, Kunikida would not stop bugging me about th-”

“Stop.” You cut him off before he could finish his story. “Osamu, what are you doing here? I mean what are you really doing here?”

His eyes softened at the use of his first name. “I wanted to see you,” he spoke softly, barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid to let anyone else hear it.

“You see me all the time!” Your frustration started to get to you as you raised your voice. “You literally saw me just a few hours ago, which, by the way, I know wasn’t a coincidence beacuse I definitely told you I was going out with my friends.”

“Y/N I-” he started, but you quickly shut him down.

“No. Listen to what I have to say first. I don’t understand Dazai. What do you want from me? You’ve been glued to my side ever since the battle with the Guild and you’ve been acting weird and I, I don’t know what’s going on but you’re messing with my head. I was fine before, talking and joking with you, but now you’re just making me so confused and I don’t know what to think anymore.” You ranted and rambled on and on, letting all your thoughts out. “What’s going on? Please tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” he started, as he watched you fall onto the couch beside him. He knew he had been acting different lately and he knew exactly why. He couldn’t help himself, after all, he’d come to find he cared for you. A lot. Much more than he wanted to for everything that was ever worth wanting was lost the moment he obtained it. But by God did he want you.

When Higuchi and Gin lured him away from the station to talk, he had been suspicious. But as he realised that Q had been unleashed, he felt his stomach drop. He had never feared for another person so much, not since Oda. He couldn’t lose you. But he had been to late to protect you from Q. So, while he knew he could not have you all to himself, he also decided he would always stay by you to ensure your safety. You had become his top priority.

Still, when you confronted him about his change in behaviour, he didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t want to suffocate you, but he knew he had to protect you. He couldn’t be with you, but he knew how crushed he would be if you were with someone else and it would no longer be his place to stay by your side. He did not want to lose you and everything he ever managed to grasp was lost to him. Hearing your words, he knew you had romantic feelings for him. And now, as he gazed into your eyes, he was torn between his head and his heart.

Noticing his silence, you began to speak again. “This isn’t fair to me you know. You have to be honset with me. Just tell me the truth and from there, we’ll figure it out.” You smiled, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. He seemed so fragile, so delicate in a way you’d never seen him before.

The reassuring gesture prompted Dazai to once again look to the floor. He know what you’d probably say, if he was honest with you. You’d probably tell him it didn’t matter and that you could be together anyway. Then you would get hurt and he couldn’t have that. But he didn’t think he could lie to you either, not anymore. You wouldn’t believe him. So he chose his words carefully as he turned to you and began explaining.

“I know I've been...clingy, lately. And I'm sorry for that.” He snuck a glance at you, seeing you staring back, listening intently. “You have to understand that what happened with Q, I just- I just need to make sure you’re safe.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know, belladonna, I’ve seen you in the field. But this is something different. I have to make sure i don’t lose you. I need to make sure you’re safe because I-” He takes a pause again to collect himself, bracing for what comes next. “I care about you a lot. But I can’t be with you. Everything I ever want, I ever love, is always lost and I can’t have that happen to you. I tried to stop it, I flirted with others, told myself that it’s no different with you, but it was. And the thing is, I’ve come to realise, I can’t help the way I feel about you.”

“Dazai-” You spoke, but this time he cut you off.

“Please just let me get this out.” He looked at you once more and you could see the raw emotion in his eyes. Never had he been so open, so vulnerable. “I can’t help how I feel about you, and I can’t be with you. Not in the way I want. But I can protect you. If I just stay close enough, I can protect you and you won’t have to be hurt. I know it’s selfish, but it’s the only reason to stay close to you, without ever having to lose you, because you wouldn’t be mine.”

“Osamu-” He noticed you beginning to speak, but continued on, eyes now fixed to the floor.

“I knew what you’d say if I told you this. I know what you’d probably tell me now if I let you speak. That it’s not true, right? I can have you and you won’t be lost to me. Except that it is true. Everyone I’ve ever held close has been taken from me. I will not let that happen again.” His tone was filled with conviction as his gaze grew more determined. “I’ve been to lenient, allowing myself to flirt and joke about with you. It’s selfish of me, to do that to you when we have no future together, but I can never seem to help it when it comes to you. I’m going to step back now though, let you live your life, find someone who deserves yo-”

“Don’t.” Dazai’s eyes widen as he takes you in. Your eyes are glazed over, as if tears are about to spill at any moment, lip quivering, but your determination is written all over your face. “You told me how much you care for me and want to keep me safe, right? Well, I feel the same way about you.” You were in complete disbelief. How could he be so dumb as to believe you would ever love anyone else? “You haven’t lost me yet, even though you said you wanted me. There are some things in this life that we just can’t control, like when it’s time to depart from it. You may lose some whom you love but that doesn’t mean that everyone else we love will follow the same pattern.” You reached out and grabbed his hands. “Osamu, have you ever considered that, given that it’s my life, I should be able to decide how to spend it and who I spend it with?”

“Of course I have and you should, but that person can’t-”

“It can be you. I don’t want to hear anymore of this ‘selfish’ crap about how you want to protect me and love me but can only do it from a safe distance. I feel safest and happiest when I’m around you. I feel protected because you’re there. You’re a fool if you think anyone else is capable of making me feel that way. Osamu I-” You took a breath, choosing how to word your next sentence carefully. “Osamu. You are the most intelligent person I know, so I honestly don’t understand why you’re being so stupid right now.”

Dazai let out a shocked laugh at that. He guessed he deserved the insult. He guessed he probably deserved a lot worse than a single insult as he remained quiet, head down.

“You’re not being selfish by wanting to be close to me, especially when I want that too. You are being selfish by keeping me at a distance and I won’t be letting that happen anymore.” At that Dazai lifted his head, turning to you wide eyed. “These feelings go both ways. The idea of losing you is terrifying to me, just as losing me terrifies you, but we can’t stop loving others just because we’re afraid of loss. We have to go on. Maybe one day we might lose each other, but that’s not either of our faults, that is life. We have to make the best of it by staying together and protecting each other. The most fulfilling life for me is the one I get to spend with the person I love.”

Dazai’s hands retracted from yours in one swift motion. Startled, you jumped back slightly. Had you said something wrong? Touched a nerve? Had you gone too far when you called him stupid?

“You... love me?” Wait what? Did he hear you right? You loved him? He had assumed you’d had romantic feelings for him, yes, but love? He hadn’t realised you felt that strongly for him. He’d assumed you’d easily be able to get over him as long as he distanced himself and he was dead set on keeping that distnce after starting this conversation. Now, he didn’t think he could. You loved him. Him. After that confession, Dazai lost any resolve he had left. His body moved of its own accord as his hands cupped your face, pulling you towards him.

His lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss, not at all what you’d imagined your first kiss with him to be like. It was delicate and gentle, as if he was afraid of breaking you, yet still firm enough that you couldn’t escape his grasp, like he thought you may leave. You assured him that wasn’t the case by raising your arms to rest around his neck, keeping him close. As you broke apart for breath, Dazai rested his forehead against yours, keeping you as close as possible.

You stayed like that for while, holding each other, exchanging soft kisses, small reassurances that shared how much you cared for one another. After that conversation, Dazai could not deny himself of you any longer, he couldn’t push you away, not after feeling your love. You still had a lot to talk about, but for now, Osamu Dazai was happy to just hold you until you fell asleep in his arms and he could whisper his reply to your confession.

“I love you too.”

#bsd dazai #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd x reader

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serve-cunt · 2 months

Note

did you end up writing the f1 wag fic! I didn't see anything!! did i miss it?

oh no this is embarrassing I was hoping everyone had just forgotten LMAO

umm ok yes long story short I signed up with the intention of writing a Pretty Woman AU bc I got briefly obsessed with that movie. and I was like "HA easy 10k fic"! nice! except I could NOT pull it together in 10k because i have a bad habit of jabbering ... so it's looking like a 30k fic now and I couldn't finish it in time & now I'm stressed out bc the pieces are not falling together as neatly as I hoped ..... anyway all that to say here is the first part I'm not sure when/if the whole thing will be on ao3 but I still like the idea a lot!!!

working title "cinda-fuckin-rella" under the cut...

ch. 1 - strawberries

They had been talking for fifty minutes before Oscar mentioned he was late for a meeting he couldn’t miss, which annoyed Lando because up until that point he’d been pretty sure he was going to get a night of relatively easy dicking and a hefty tip on top of the usual, and instead it appeared that he had wasted an hour of his time with somebody who had to be somewhere, actually.

Earlier, when he had sidled up to where Oscar was perched on a chair at the bar, Oscar had looked up from his drink and raised his eyebrow, as if waiting for Lando to say something, or ask something.

“Here by yourself?” Lando had asked, obligingly.

Oscar had blinked back at him for longer than men usually did, in similar situations. Then he’d said, “Yes.” He gave Lando a once-over, like he was calculating the price in his head. Then he shifted over to give Lando room and said, “Buy you a drink?”

Lando had smiled, nodded, and slid in next to him.

Oscar surprised him only by being slightly more interesting to talk to than the average middlingly attractive businessman alone at a hotel bar on a weeknight, and also by being his age—or close to it. Lando had pegged him as older because of the suit; then, a moment later, as younger because of his round cheeks—and the fact that he wore his suit uncomfortably; then as older again, when Oscar had started talking. Now he was settled on Oscar being around his own age.

Oscar had introduced himself immediately, and so smoothly that Lando could almost believe he'd given his real name. Thrown, Lando had accidentally given his own real name in exchange. Usually he picked a new one, depending on the kind of night he wanted to have.

Oops, he thought, as soon as it was out of his mouth. But, well, Oscar would never see him again. He could have Lando’s real name.

“You just in town for the night?” Lando asked.

“Yeah,” Oscar said. “No—sorry. Two. I’ve got—meetings. Don’t really know anybody in the city, so…”

“S’pose that’s a relief,” Lando said. “Getting to be anonymous for a night.” Oscar looked at him for an oddly long, still moment, before Lando continued, into Oscar’s pause: “No girlfriend, or whatever. Or boyfriend. Make your own schedule, and things.”

Oscar’s expression changed, but pretty much from “neutral” to “differently neutral.” He had the kind of face that seemed to stay mostly at flatlining. “Yeah,” he said, after another pause. “It kind of is. How about you? Know the city well?”

Lando laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “Like the back of my hand, don’t I?”

“You weren’t born here, though.”

“What gave me away?” Lando asked, with a wink. “My charming Texan drawl?”

Oscar’s smile blinked on and off. “Where’re you from, then? You sound… Southern? Somerset?”

Lando was impressed, despite himself. “Bristol,” he admitted. “Not too shabby, Aussie-boy. You must have spent some time on our soggy little island.”

“I went to school there,” Oscar said. “In London. What brought you out here?”

Lando shrugged. “A friend of mine lives in Hollywood. Thought I’d give sunny California a whirl.” That was about as much information as he’d ever given anybody. He never talked about his dad’s creative investment plans, nor the resulting fall from grace. Only Daniel knew what had happened there, and even he didn't know everything. “I ended up staying longer than I thought I would. You seen the beaches yet? They’re killer.”

Oscar shook his head. “No time. But if I was going to, where would I go?”

“Depends what you’re looking for. Surfing?”

“If I had somebody to teach me.”

Lando leaned in with a smirk. “I’d teach you. You look like you could handle a tumble in the waves.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, minutely, his smile sticking around this time. Lando counted it as a win. A reaction! he thought, and was oddly proud. He leaned back. “Alright, well, for beginners I’d say… El Porto, maybe County Line. Food’s better at County Line, so we’ll start there. I’ll lend you my second best board.”

“Thanks,” Oscar said, dry.

They talked easily, without pause. Mostly Oscar let Lando speak, about surfing and driving in LA and the night life, laughing generously at his stupid jokes. He bought Lando a drink—whiskey and coke, which the bartender knew to make just a coke—and then another, without asking, ordering a straight whiskey for himself both times. Lando decided within five minutes that he’d let Oscar fuck him, and decided within the following ten that he wouldn’t go through Oscar’s wallet while Oscar was in the shower.

He was just starting to get a little impatient, and had decided to drop a hint about getting up to Oscar’s room, when Oscar looked at his watch.

“I’m late,” he said. He didn’t say it with real urgency. It was just an observation.

“To what?”

“I’ve got a meeting,” Oscar said.

Lando grabbed his wrist, pulling Oscar’s watch towards him. “It’s nine PM.”

“That’s when my meeting was.”

“Guess you missed it.”

Oscar shook his head. “I can’t. I’ve got to go.”

Lando couldn’t tell if he was serious. “Who has a meeting at nine PM?”

“I do, I guess.” Oscar took his hand back. “I just need to figure out where it is.” He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, swiped open a maps app.

After a beat, Lando leaned back. He was annoyed and disappointed, and a little confused. He felt like he’d got this one locked in, and now Oscar suddenly had places to be. Basically, he’d just gotten an hour of Lando’s time out of him, without paying for it. What a fucking con. Lando should start charging for company, instead of just sex.

He slurped moodily at his soda, looking around at the bar. There wasn’t anybody else he fancied; he was probably going to have to chat up the hang-dog fifty-something mouth breather who’d been ogling him all last night. Gross. Maybe he’d have more luck next door, at the Marriott.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Oscar tapping at his phone, which seemed frozen. Then it winked off, the screen abruptly a black void. Oscar stared at it, then gently turned it over and laid it screen-down on the bar top.

“Hard luck,” Lando remarked.

Oscar continued to stare at the metal case, his reflection shining back at him. Then he said, “Fuck.” He seemed exhausted, and a little drunk. His head lolled on his shoulders, like he was having trouble keeping it upright. “I really need to go to this meeting. And now I don’t know how to get there.”

Call a cab? Lando thought. But when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “Where’re you going? I’ll give you directions.”

Oscar looked up. “Yeah? Would you?”

Sure,” Lando said. And then, so the night wouldn’t be a complete waste, he added: “I’ll come with. So you don’t have to remember it all.”

Oscar hesitated, then said, “Okay. Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

“Well. I charge by the hour.”

“Ha,” Oscar said.

Lando smiled. “Ha,” he echoed. “No, really. Five hundred bucks.”

“To give me directions?”

“To give you directions, baby. Anything else and we’re talking four digits.”

Oscar blinked. He glanced at the drink in front of Lando, and then at his own. “I don’t need anything else,” he said. “I just need to get to the Ritz-Carlton.”

Lando whistled. Fancy. “Alright, well, I know where that is. Five hundred, and I’ll get you there.”

“I could just charge my phone,” Oscar said. “I could call somebody. This is actually an easy problem for me to solve.” His face had a new expression now: the expression of somebody who had just figured something out, and was annoyed at himself for not understanding it earlier.

Oh.

Lando was almost, almost, regretful. He hadn’t realised Oscar hadn’t known. Although if he was so naive as to not know, well. That was Oscar’s fault. He was the one who had been sitting alone at a hotel bar on a Thursday, looking forlorn. Lando was wearing a silk collared shirt open practically to his navel and jeans so tight they cut off circulation if he wasn’t careful how he sat: he hadn’t been hiding anything.

“If you could call somebody, you would’ve already done it,” Lando pointed out. “Now you’re late. We could leave now.”

“We?” Oscar asked.

“You can’t drive. You’ve had three drinks. At least.”

“I’m a good driver.”

“Mm hm. Are we in a drink driving advert?” Lando made a show of looking around for the camera. “Can’t let you get in a car, mate.”

“I’ll get a cab.”

“Just let me drive,” Lando said. “I know the way, we’ll get there in ten minutes.”

“So—five hundred an hour—eighty bucks?”

Lando grinned. “I round up. Learned that from a lawyer.”

Oscar didn’t seem all that surprised. “Most expensive chauffeur I’ll have ever hired.”

“Most fun, too,” Lando said. He leaned forward, slid his hand onto Oscar’s knee. “A thou, and we’ll make sure of it.”

Oscar shifted. “Five hundred,” he said. “Drive me to the hotel.”

Lando took his hand away. “You got it, babe.” He stood up. “C’mon then.”

#ask #THANKS FOR ASKING MY LOVE #sorry to be terrible my problem is that my job requires thinking again and also I have been On The Road!!#v fun for me but less writing ukno #can't write on trains because of ~the embarrassment~#actually I'm on a train RIGHT NOW #it's stuck between boston and nyc because of signaling issues and I want to be home SOOOO BADDDD #anyway. hope this snippet is comprehensible and fun. who knows

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jollyinha · 8 months

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I have brought... My YuuriVoice listeners.

...On The Sims, because I can't draw for shit. I spent pretty much the whole day redesigning (except Rookie, who already got a glow up bc he's my favorite child) and dressing them up like Barbie dolls lol

DISCLAIMER: I'm being a lil' poser because I have never watched Bittersweet nor the Faust audios (and yet I still have Sugarboo and Star done, go figure), and am catching up on Lost and Found as I type this. ANYWAY HERE ARE MY BABIES, MORE INFO ON THEM UNDER THE CUT YIPPEEEEEEEE

FÉLIX/ROOKIE:

- As previously mentioned, he's my favorite child, sorry not sorry, I adore this boy so much

- Dumb of ass and home of sexual (out of the closet to everyone except his mom, oof), pulled a millionaire CEO with his ADHD swag. Also canonically a cheeky horny bastard

- An artist (draws/paints and crafts all sorts of stuff) at heart, but had to pursue a more lucrative career in order to support his family. So, Law school it is. Viva le capitalism

- Is an ENFP and his birthday is on February 16th

- His mother is Brazilian and his dad was Colombian. They have been living in the USA since Félix was a young child. He also has a little sister (not so little, she's in college by the time Shattered begins) whom he loves very much and basically raised her, to the point where she sees him as his dad more than their actual dad (whom passed away when she was a toddler)

- Has an excellent relationship with his uncle (and his wife), aunt and cousins. Him and Joy/Sunflower don't meet that often bc she lives a bit far away, but when they do, they share the same braincell

- Appears to be suave and chill when he's at work, but he's actually a SOFTIE. The biggest golden retriever... Well, not literally the biggest. He's 5'7ft/1m69cm. Compared to Auron, he's pocket-sized. But anyway-

- He loves Trish. They bully Auron together. Incredible dynamic

- Has pyrophobia bc ✨ PAST TRAUMA ✨. Began cooking as a hobby to try to work through it

- Likes: Arts, cooking, biking, peacocks, sun imageries (long story), sea monsters and plaid jackets

- Félix has SO MUCH LORE and tidbits (like his tattoos!) about him, I would need an entire separate post to tell it all. And I might do it bc I need that sweet infodump dopamine...

JOYCE "JOY"/SUNFLOWER

- Actually my first YV OC! I met the channel through the infamous Finn compilation

- Bisexual! Finn is her first serious boyfriend, though, up until she met him, she only had girlfriends... And she had the worst luck with all of them. Oof

- Colombian, just like Félix

- Huge animal lover, especially the aquatic critters and reptiles. Has a Bull Terrier named Cow (yes, that's her name.) that has her entire heart. Currently trying to get a job in the veterinarian field! Just... Don't put bugs near her. Please

- Is an ESFP and her birthday is on July 27th... The day the Finn compilation premiered

- Her mother had her pretty young. She doesn't know who her father is, and her mom refuses to talk about it... But tbh, Joy doesn't care that much. She loves her mama, and that's all that matters

- (also her mother loves Finn dearly. everytime they meet, he leaves with a piece of cake or some other home made food bc she loves to spoil her "son-in-law" lmao)

- Surfs on her spare time! Queen shit! Also plays a bit of soccer

- Had pretty severe acne as a teen and still has its marks

- Golden retriever energy runs in the Torres family, because she has it too

- Likes: Snakes, whales, surfing, soccer (as stressful as it is to watch it lol), jogging, her dog Cow, hoodies, fun scrunchies

CARINA/SUGARBOO

- Like I previously stated, I haven't watched Bittersweet, so, I may not have much to say about Sugarboo except for the (few) misc audios from Al and Seth I have heard... BUT GODDAMNIT SHE'S SO BEAUTIFUL OH GOD

- Straight, but poly

- Japanese, but was born and raised in the USA and, sadly, doesn't has much connection to her roots... Mostly bc she's not super close to her family :(

- (Canonically) Likes to bake! Also cooking, but still has a preference for pastries. Works in a bakery... Which isn't a very healthy workplace, but, oh well

- Is an ESFJ, and her birthday is on January 20th (it's coming!!!!! happy early birthday, queen!!!!!)

- Pulled TWO bitches by having ADHD

- Has A SHIT LOAD of tattoos because she's best friends with a tattoo artist... Who may or may not be Star 👀

- Used to have long hair when she met Alphonse

- She may be Al's impulse control, but Seth is her impulse control 💀

- Calls Alphonse "bug". Earlier on their relationship it was ironically ("so you and me together can be bugaboo!"), but the pet name has stuck

- But in reality, she does have a passion for bugs! Especially butterflies and moths ("NOT Mothman, Seth. Normal, regular moths.")

- Also love cats

- She bullies Seth for believing in cryptids... But believes in aliens

- Again, I haven't watched Bittersweet, so feel free to discard this part if it's contradicting canon events, but... She kind of likes Charlie. She thinks he's cute, even with all the shit that happened

- Likes: Baking, collecting jewelry like some kind of dragon, bugs, cats, tattoos, aliens

ASHER/CASPER

- The coolest mf to ever walk on this earth. I don't make the rules, it's the truth

- FtM trans of gender, also home of sexual

- Just american. F

- Yes, his last name is a Life Is Strange reference, sue me

- I... I have no idea what he works with? Because gotta wait for more Charlie videos to find out wtf canon!Casper is up to he's such a mysterious guy,,,,,

- (I really hope that the "Casper works for Auron" theory is true tho, the Auron/Félix & Charlie/Asher shenanigans would be so funny to imagine)

- What I do know is that he's kind of a gym bro, except if said bro was fruity

- Seriously though, he's a sporty guy. Likes to go jogging, (he and Joy/Sunflower would be good workout buddies!), climbing, hiking, good ol' fashioned working out and, of course, skating! But after Charlie left, he got into roller skating as well, and he's pretty damn good at it

- He's an ISFP, and his birthday is on April 22nd (Earth Day, get it, bc his favorite color is green,,,,,,)

- Disowned by his parents, but was taken in by his uncle and aunt, whom really support him <3

- Has a tooth gap! Cute shit

- Braided his hair as a kid, still does it nowadays. Certain things never change

- He WANTS to get SO MANY TATTOOS AND PIERCINGS... But he has a pretty bad case of trypanophobia (his ears are pierced bc his parents had him pierce it as a baby). Having his top surgery was challenging enough! He just wanted to get some tattoos... :(

- Always carries an extra hair tie on his arm, like a bracelet. Mostly for himself, but sometimes he gives it to Charlie too

- Has dyslexia! Fucking hated school bc of that

- Likes: Skating, roller skating, climbing, collecting sick ass knives, bad horror movies, hair styling (he wanted to be a hairstylist as a kid even!)

- I don't have thaaaaat much to say about him as of right now since I'm still finishing Lost and Found, but he's growing a lot on me, I love him

PAIGE/ANGEL

- URGH I LOVE HER SO MUCH AAAAAAAAAA ULTIMATE SASS AND NIHILISM

- Their relationship with gender is... Confusing. Doesn't like any labels, really. Just go with she/them and you'll be fine. Considers themselves to be pansexual, though

- British ("sadly, stupid ass country"), still has a strong accent even if they have been living in the USA for quite a while

- ...They like tea though

- She works on the IT department of a big company. Boring office job. But she doesn't mind it that much. Everyone is nice enough and it pays the bills. That's more than enough for her

- But besides programming and gaming, her big passion in life is... Sewing! 80% of the plushies in her collection are handmade, including Sir Gengar himself

- Also a huge cinephile

- Is an INTP, and their birthday is on September 4th (it may or may not be a reference to Gengar's pokedex number)

- Pulled a LITERAL DEMON FROM HELL with her autism swag

- Has chronic pain on her left knee due to a past accident

- Obviously, huge Pokémon fan

- Ironically enough, doesn't really like cooking, which explains why their house didn't had shit when it comes to ingredients lol At least now they have a demon boy to cook for them

- Awful relationship with her family. All of it. Ran away for the USA to escape from them

- Doesn't have many friends irl, most of them are virtual friends

- Considers themselves to be "plain and boring". Normally they don't give a damn about it, but got kind of insecure when they and Lucien got officially together... But in their most confident days, they think it's hilarious how the most normal-looking human ever managed to pull a demon

- Deep, deep down, Paige is a sweet and caring person. Heck, that's why her soul was so enticing. She just has trouble demonstrating it (Autistic Struggle™)

- Likes four leaf clovers. No idea why. She just does

- ...I feel like she would watch Faust's streams ironically. She thinks the cat boy is hilarious

- Likes: Cinema, games, programming, plushies making, clovers, tea

ENID/STAR

- ...I haven't watched a single Faust audio in my life, but Enid just... Popped up in my head. Their design came to me and they were yelling at me to bring them to existence. So here they are?????? I really gotta hear the twink's audios any of these days...

- I don't even know much about them tbh lol But here's what I do have:

- Non-binary (AFAB), bisexual

- A tattoo artist! They're Sugarboo's friend that I mentioned all the way up there

- Likes to write and read in their spare time (IMAGINE THEM AND AURON WRITING FANFICTION ABOUT THEIR S/Os! Beautiful)

- Likes to watch sports (don't look like the type, do they?)

- Likes questionable shirts with 80s/90s aesthetics

- I can see them being friends with Paige/Angel, ngl :D

- ...That's all about Enid for now, maybe I'll develop them if I get around to hear more of Faust eventually lol

Idk if there's someone reading all of this, but if there is, tysm for reading this HUGE infodump 🥺 If you have any YV OCs, I would LOVE to hear about them too! My DMs are open!

#yuurivoice #yuurivoice listener #félix (rookie)#joyce (sunflower)#carina (sugarboo)#asher (casper)#paige (angel)#enid (star)

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kaistarus · 3 months

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Enchanted

Chapter 4

Pair: Nishinoya X Reader

Words: 4.6K

Summary: When your best friend enters a relationship with a prince your life changes in ways you never thought possible. You gain new friendships, learn dangerous secrets, and learn that love may exist for you after all...

A/N: This is for the like two people who still ask for updates on this fic... It's been multiple years buuuuuutt I'm still kicking lmao love and appreciate you <3 better late than never right??

Prev/Next

The sunrise trickled in through the bakery's front windows, casting the store in peach hues that chased away the creeping Autumn chill. The cacophony of Yachi’s rush to complete set-up before the early risers were welcome background noises, as opposed to the usual morning doves screeching aside your bedroom. Unhelpfully, you picked freshly sliced banana bread rolling each piece into miniscule dough balls before plopping them in your mouth.

A deep sigh escaped as you dropped your forehead against the counter’s course wood. It was too early to be alive.

“You know, when you offered to help me open the bakery I thought you’d be, I don’t know, helping?” Yachi appeared, startling you by roughly placing a tray of tarts on the counter.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, propping yourself up uselessly with your cheek against your palm. You watched her swiftly arrange various baked goods–realistically you probably would’ve slowed her down. “I’m not feeling very motivated.”

“Shouldn’t you be in a good mood? I thought crushes made people all smiles and blushy,” Yachi stepped back to admire her display before pointing her empty tray accusingly at you. “You’ve been nothing but grouchy and depressing the past weeks.”

A warmth crept up your neck which you expertly covered with a sneer. After confiding in your friends that you maybe, possibly had more-than-friend feelings toward Nishinoya they haven’t failed to remind you at least five times a day. Which didn’t bode well for your attempting to forget the whole problem existed.

“It feels more like I’m going to throw up and I constantly want to punch him for ruining my ability to have a coherent thought,” you grumbled. At the mention, his stupid amber eyes flitted across your thoughts and you groaned exasperatedly. “He’s the absolute worst.”

“A tragedy I’m sure.”

As your glare turned on her the bell above the bakery’s front door chimed for the day’s first customers. Perhaps some mindless customer service would help distract you from a certain annoying royal guard. Yachi’s bakery was on the opposite side of Karasuno from the castle–you were about as safe as you could get after all.

“--me walk all the way here just so you can–”

“If you’re so sure she’s not here then what’s the problem?”

Your shoulders stiffened when your eyes snapped toward the entryway. Standing there was a relatively tall man with a shaved head, dressed in commoner clothing except for a shirt that detailed the castle insignia–a crow. Although you knew you’d never met him there was a strong tug in your mind that you should know him; as if his name was on the tip of your tongue.

Perhaps you could have remembered if it weren’t for the unfortunately, incredibly familiar man trailing after him. Your heart had mindlessly leaped at the sound of his voice and now it raced rapidly as your gaze remained glued to him. Nishinoya’s hair was flattened, blonde strands rested haphazardly against his forehead in a way that left you itching to run your fingers through them and brush them back. He dressed like his friend, the only thing signifying their roles was the castle crest on their shirts.

“She never gets up this early. Even if she did do you know how weird it’d be if I randomly… was…” Nishinoya trailed off as your eyes locked. “Aw, shit.”

His friend glanced between you before a sly grin spread across his face. Nishinoya’s eyes went wide and he attempted to grab him, “Wait, Tanaka, please I–”

“(Y/N)?”

You took in the man’s devious smile as he leaned against the counter, effectively blocking Nishinoya from view. That night in the castle’s garden rose from your memories. Kiyoko and a guard whispering low, her smile that had given you hope, Nishinoya pulling you back panicked.

“Yes,” you stuttered out, avoiding his eyes. Afraid he’d see the recognition there. “Um, and you are?”

“Tanaka, at your service,” he gave a mock bow, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You have?” You asked, eyes flickering toward Nishinoya who’d reddened significantly.

“You have?” Yachi piped in excitedly beside you, unhelpfully adding to the chaos.

“Oh yeah, Nishinoya never shuts up about you.”

“Not true,” Nishinoya countered. “I shut up all the time about you. I barely even talk honestly.”

You scoffed. “What a dream.”

Nishinoya managed a weak glare over Tanaka’s shoulder but was disappointedly cut off by Tanaka’s uproarious laughter. A twinge of annoyance struck noting Nishinoya’s clear discomfort, only made worse when Tanaka slung an arm around his shoulders to root him firmly in place.

“You really weren’t kidding man,” Tanaka said approvingly, shaking Nishinoya who groaned in distress.

You tilted your head, but before getting clarification Yachi asked, “So what are you both doing out here?”

“Great question,” Nishinoya muttered.

“I was just craving a muffin for breakfast,” Tanaka waved off the curiosity.

“At the crack of dawn?” You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical once-over. “On the other side of town?”

“Food always tastes better after a long walk in the fresh morning air.”

You and Yachi exchanged a glance in disbelief. The coincidence of whatever show Tanaka was putting on felt too suspicious for this casual run-in. Nonetheless, Yachi began helping him choose between the various muffins available. Meanwhile, Nishinoya played an excellent game of avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“So, (Y/N),” Tanaka said, pulling your attention away from the other royal guard. “What are your plans for today?”

That seemed to capture Nishinoya’s attention, frantically looking between you in alarm. You raised an apprehensive brow, answering, “Helping Yachi.”

“Help is a word,” Yachi snorted. “She’s free.”

“Why are you asking?”

“Well, Noya and I were just about to head over to the lake–”

“You were just telling me how incredibly uninvited I was.” Nishinoya interrupted, but Tanaka bulldozed through him.

“--and I think you’d really enjoy it.” Tanaka leaned over the counter. “You know who will be there too. She’s been wanting to meet you.”

You blinked, slowly processing his cryptic message before your eyes shot wide. Kiyoko. A warmth spread through your cheeks–he knew. Either Nishinoya had confessed the slip-up or they’d spotted you too.

“Uh, maybe I could…” You glanced for Nishinoya’s reaction. His cheeks were a deep red, eyebrows furrowed with a piercing glare targeted at Tanaka. Your stomach rolled with the familiar nausea. “I don’t think Nishinoya would like that very much.”

He turned to you baffled, any trace of anger vanished when your eyes met. “I would.”

You blinked, attempting to divert your focus anywhere aside from the rapid pace of your heart as his amber gaze intensified. “I don’t want to overstep,” you added.

“You couldn’t over–” A crease appeared between his brow as he struggled to find the right words. “I prefer it when you’re around.”

Nishinoya’s gaze was too earnest, his smile leaving you baffled at how easily he could speak his mind. You hadn’t realized how embarrassingly long you’d been staring until Yachi began lightly nudging your side.

“Oh, uh, okay. Yeah, I’ll go,” you fumbled out, glancing at Tanaka who wore a shit-eating grin.

“Excellent.” The mischievous tone he did nothing to hide gave you a flicker of regret. That was until you glanced back at Nishinoya’s dopey grin. “Well, I’ve gotta head out to pick up milady but surely Noya’s got it from here.”

Nishinoya’s face dropped in panic, “what?”

Tanaka was out the door before any arguments could ensue; the bell’s lingering chime and a few absent muffins were the only signals he’d even been there. Nishinoya stiffly turned toward you, “I guess we should…” He gestured toward the door and you nodded absentmindedly.

As Yachi guided you around the counter it struck you that you hadn’t been alone with Nishinoya for months. Since that bizarre invitation to the castle, you had only seen each other under the pretense of his guarding Prince Kageyama. You had grown used to the buffer of your friends. When your heart beat a little too fast or the urge to touch him grew dangerously strong, they were always there to divert attention.

What were you meant to do now?

The early Autumn chill still clung to the air as you exited the bakery, drifting past various storefronts filled with early risers. Your matching footsteps echoed against desolate cobblestone streets. Nishinoya seemed lost in thought and although your walk remained fairly quiet, you were only filled with peace; as though this was a routine morning activity.

“Uh, it’ll just be a few more minutes to the treeline.” He nodded toward where the road shifted to a dirt path. Several yards further you could just spot the forest line.

“Kiyoko’s going to be there?” You asked, taking his grunt as a yes. “Where is this place? I didn’t know there was a lake out this way.”

“It’s pretty secluded. I found it while exploring the woods,” Nishinoya said with a smile, giving an eye-roll as he added. “Tanaka’s pretty much taken it over recently though. Haven’t been there in months.”

“You just wander into forests often?”

“When I was a kid sure,” he shrugged.

“How long have you lived in Karasuno?” You’d lived in Karasuno your whole life and certainly you’d remember running into him… because he’s obnoxious and weird; no other reason.

He side-eyed you, looking apologetic in his silence.

“I forgot. Guardian Deity, top secret information,” you grumbled. “So dramatic.”

He chewed his bottom lip before quietly adding, “I moved to the castle when I was thirteen.”

You paused, watching him continue ahead. “So, six years?”

“Eight.”

Your jaw dropped, rushing to catch up with him once more. “You’re twenty-one!?”

His cheeks dusted pink and he eyed you defiantly, “Yeah, twenty-two in October so… what’s that look for?”

“Nothing, I just thought you were younger than me.”

“Not into older guys?” He said with a sly smirk making you puff your cheeks in annoyance. You marched toward the forest line with your head high, ignoring his teasing calls behind you.

“Hey, c’mon, you’re going the wrong way.” He laughed, changing your marching direction by lightly adjusting your shoulders. When you both reached the supposedly right entrance to the forest you stared at him dubiously.

The ‘entrance’ looked like any other section of the tree line–overgrown grass and plant life, trees too close with branches hanging low, and roots entangled on uneven terrain. There were no clear paths to follow and you were suddenly suspicious this was all a prank.

“You have to go a little off-trail, but that’s why it’s so well hidden.”

“A little off-trail?” You scoffed, gesturing to the overgrown bush you’d need to climb over. “Nishinoya. There’s no trail to stray off.”

“But that’s half the fun,” he smirked, amused by your horror.

“I am not going in there.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“We get mauled by a wild animal,” you began listing on your fingers. “I trip and hit my head on a rock and fall into a coma, or you trick me and murder me where no one will find my body.”

“I would never let any of those happen to you.” Nishinoya fought back a smile, “And I hear you’re pretty good in a fight so I’d be stupid to attempt murdering you.”

You tapped your chin. “It’s true. I have learned how to properly hold a sword.”

“A force to be reckoned with I fear.”

You sighed in defeat, “this better be the greatest lake I’ve ever seen.”

“I would never lead you astray,” he swore with a hand over his heart. You rolled your eyes at the theatrics before he held the hand toward you, wiggling his fingers for emphasis. “For safety.”

You glanced at Nishinoya, his amber eyes that couldn’t quite meet yours and his outstretched hand. With a moment’s hesitation, you took it, allowing him to lace your fingers together with a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

For safety.

He did his best to guide you through the densest of the forest, holding back branches that stuck too close and mapping out paths that held the least stray rocks or wild roots. Whenever you stumbled he reflexively steadied you before disaster. Anytime curses began flowing from your mouth he just bounced back with encouraging words and promises that the worst was almost over.

The positivity almost frustrated you more than snippy comebacks, but eventually, the woods cleared enough you could walk side-by-side without fear of consistent stumbling. Neither of you mentioned your still entwined hands, and neither attempted to separate them. After several minutes you had grown used to the warmth of his palm, the comfort of safety it brought you. Part of you dreaded releasing him, maybe you didn’t mind the forest.

That part died the moment an exit came into view.

“Slow down,” Nishinoya laughed, dragged behind you as you broke through the treeline. Your jaw went slack when your eyes adjusted to the sunlight reflecting off the shimmering lake. The grass surrounding it was a lush green, untouched by anyone aside from wildlife. And the rocky shore glistened as waves brushed against it.

You spotted Tanaka and Kiyoko seated around a handmade firepit, surrounded by a long log and several larger rocks dragged out from the woods. Tanaka waved you over and fearing more relentless teasing at Nishinoya’s expense you swiftly dropped his hand. You didn’t have time to process the disappointed look he sent you before jogging over to the others.

“You actually came!” Tanaka said, standing to greet you before the firepit.

“I said I would,” you half-smiled, glancing behind him at a waving Kiyoko who smiled politely.

“Kiyoko. This is (Y/N),” he clasped you on the shoulder which Nishinoya promptly swatted away. “She’s the one Noya’s been talking non-stop about.”

“Oh my god, no I haven’t,” Nishinoya grumbled, shoving Tanaka away. “I talk a reasonable and appropriate amount.”

“It is rather often,” Kiyoko added with a hand covering her smile. “I feel like we’re already close friends with how much I know of you.”

“Kiyoko,” Nishinoya whined in betrayal. Tanaka hurried back over, effectively pinning Nishinoya with an arm slung around his shoulder.

“Did you know he took two months of overtime to get you invited to that party at the castle?” Tanaka asked, tightening his hold on Nishinoya as his face became horror-stricken. “This is his first day off in forever.”

“Oh my god, that explains so much.” You stared at your hands as you processed. You knew it made no logical sense for you to get that invitation–Hinata’s friend or not.

“After everything I’ve done for you,” Nishinoya growled, before going weightless and pulling Tanaka to the ground with him. You stared baffled as they took turns grappling each other to the ground.

“Should we be worried about that?” You asked Kiiyoko, pointing to where Tanaka was seated firmly atop a flailing Nishinoya.

She simply shrugged. “They should be done in a few minutes.”

“Of course…” You plopped down onto the log across the fire from Kiyoko. How often do those two fight for her to wave it off so casually?

“It’s nice to have someone else around,” Kiyoko commented.

“I actually wanted to apologize,” you blurted feeling warmth creep up your neck. “I didn’t mean to–at the castle, I should’ve–”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” she raised a confused brow. “Nishinoya trusts you. That’s enough for me.”

You fiddled with the log’s bark beneath you, fighting down the erratic beating of your heart at those implications. There was so much you wanted to ask Kiyoko, so many things you could learn from her. That happiness you’d thought a fairytale danced in her eyes even now as she watched the wrestling behind you.

You opened your mouth, closed it. Struggling to find words before she interrupted your thoughts. “You want to know how I met Tanaka?”

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable,” you rushed.

“No, it’s okay. I would like to.” Her smile diverted to her feet as she said, “I’ve never been able to share it before.”

You blinked in surprise. The fact that she had to keep such a strong development hidden from everyone twisted your heart painfully. Even throughout whatever was developing for you, you had friends teasing you the whole way. You couldn’t imagine going through it alone.

“When I first arrived in Karasuno my family spent majority time at the palace,” she began, staring off into the distance while examining her memories. “They encouraged me to spend time with Prince Kageyama, so I was with him and Nishinoya most days.”

You nodded encouragingly, truthfully excited for any crumbs of Nishinoya's background you might be receiving. Kiyoko hesitated a moment before continuing.

“Prince Kageyama wasn’t interested in entertaining guests, so I mostly talked to Nishinoya. A bit of a flirt I’ll admit, although looking back I think it was more for entertainment than a show of interest.” She rolled her eyes and you smiled, ignoring the unreasonable pang of jealousy. “Then one day I spotted Nishinoya wandering the halls off-duty, but he wasn’t alone.”

A smile quirked on her lips. “Tanaka saw me and before we could even do introductions he was confessing his undying love.”

Your jaw dropped. You waited for her to backtrack, to break out into laughter and inform you it was an insane joke. She did not.

“And that… that worked?”

“Oh, absolutely not. I thought he was crazy,” she chuckled behind her hand, eyes darting over your shoulder. “But we somehow ended up alone quite often. And as we were talking I just… I don’t know it felt different. It felt genuine.”

You nodded in understanding, “But aren’t you scared? What if someone finds out and…”

Kiyoko shrugged. “I’d rather love him like this than never love him at all.”

You scoured her face calculatively. She did mean that. Kiyoko would rather have a few moments with him than nothing at all. It was a beautiful sentiment… one you weren’t sure you had in you to agree. That rolling nausea crept back into your stomach.

The log teetered as a warmth plopped close beside you. Nishinoya’s brief body heat did more to warm you than the low fire had throughout your entire conversation with Kiyoko.

“Miss me?” He smirked, wiggling his eyebrows. The movement emphasized crinkled leaves and twigs trapped in his unruly hair, mussed by their roughhousing. You rolled your eyes, leaning over to clean him off.

“In your dreams,” you scoffed. “I’m surprised you didn’t injure yourself.”

“Oh? Worried about me?” He teased in a way made less effective by the pink dusting his cheeks.

“Obviously.” At his surprised look, you immediately backtracked. “How can you guard my best friend’s boyfriend if you’re injured?”

An amused smile crept onto his lips. “You’re right. How can I live up to my duties as the royal boyfriend protector if I break my arm?”

You narrowed your eyes at the mocking glint in his eyes and ever so slowly crushed the leaves in your hand, sprinkling the pieces into his disheveled hair without breaking eye contact. As realization struck him a triumphant smile spread across your face.

“What the hell?” He exclaimed, ruffling his hair in an attempt to rid it of the bits that clung tightly to his brown locks.

“I try to be thoughtful and that’s the thanks I get.”

Nishinoya grumbled to himself, sending you a half-assed glare before addressing the group. “Hey Tanaka, when should we–”

Tanaka was gone. And Kiyoko was gone. You looked around the clearing frantically but couldn’t find signs of either of them; as if they’d up and disappeared.

“Don’t worry, they’re probably just making out somewhere. I’d avoid that spot specifically,” Nishinoya said, gesturing at the far end of the forest line near the lake’s edge.

“They disappeared so quickly,” you said in amazement. You hadn’t even heard them leave.

“Yeah, that’s why I don’t really hang out with them anymore.”

You studied him calculatively as he stirred the dim fire using a long stick that had been lying beside your log. Your fingers itched to run through his hair, somehow remaining soft despite the unruliness from his earlier roughhousing. His lips rested in a mindless smile as if that was their default expression when relaxed and you fought to keep composure of your heart, fearing at this distance he could hear its rhythm pounding against your ribcage. Moments like these were when you desperately relied on others to kill the mood.

“Kiyoko told me how you all met.” You blurted thoughtlessly if only to distract yourself from your inner turmoil.

“Yeah? She didn’t ruin my incredibly cool image did she?”

“You’d need to have one for her to ruin first.”

“I miss that Yamaguchi guy. We should hang out with him more.” He pouted before facing you fully, “Well, what’d Kiyoko say?”

“She just mentioned stuff about the castle, you guarding Kageyama, Tanaka confessing his undying love. All the basics.”

Nishinoya nodded as if being told old and incredibly boring news. “...and?”

“And what?”

“That’s not why you brought it up, is it?” He quirked a brow. “What else did she say?”

You chewed your lower lip as embarrassment flooded you. His watchful gaze intensified the longer you took to spit it out. “She said that you flirted with her a bit. Before Tanaka confessed or whatever.”

Nishinoya did not even attempt to hold back the excitement glittering in his eyes as he scooched closer on the log. “Did that make you jealous?”

“No,” you denied, sliding away. “I just found it interesting.”

“Oh?” His smile was downright devilish and you wanted to punch it off his dumb handsome face. “Well, would it make you feel better if I said I never genuinely flirted with her?”

“A little,” you mumbled, avoiding his amused stare.

“What if I said I’ve never genuinely flirted with anyone?” He claimed, scouring your face. “Never even really liked anyone?”

You blinked opening your mouth to say that actually would not make you feel better, thank you very much, until he added, “Until recently.”

You stared, dumbfounded. “Depends.”

“On?”

“How much you like that Yamaguchi guy.”

He narrowed his eyes unamused by the joke, “Yeah, I spend all this time embarrassing myself around you because I have a crush on that rando.”

“Don’t call Yamaguchi a rando. He’s very important to–” You blinked, slowly taking in Nishinoya’s reddened cheeks. “Oh, we’re talking about me.”

“Obviously I’m talking about you,” he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. A dopey smile crossed your face watching him grumble to himself. Thoughtlessly you leaned forward, grabbing his hands to tug them back from his face, urging him to look up at you.

He glanced up wearily, pink dusting his cheeks and palms lightly coated in nervous sweat which you’d lock away to tease him about later. In the moment, you pulled them into your lap with an encouraging squeeze.

“Me too,” you whispered.

His eyebrows shot to his hairline, he gawked bewildered as if that had been the last thing he imagined you confessing. He struggled to form a sentence, his incoherent stuttering had you biting your lip to hold back laughter. Until he stilled, eyes flickering toward your mouth where they lingered much too long.

You noticed him slowly begin to lean and alarms blared, drowning out any ounce of desire as you blurted, “I can’t be like Kiyoko.”

He furrowed his brows in confusion, wading through a daze to string together, “I don’t want you to be like Kiyoko. I just said I’ve only liked you not–”

“No not–” Your face burned at his straightforward confession and you battled to keep your mind focused. “I mean, I can’t sneak around like them. I can’t hide in gardens or forests and pretend I don’t love someone. I can’t just be okay with for now when I want forever.” Your grip on his hands tightened in your distress. “You know what I mean?”

He looked in awe, gaze filled with an emotion you weren’t certain you could accurately yet name. His eyes scoured your face searching for something before a dopey smile spread across his face. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he gently pressed his forehead against yours. His blonde tufts tickled your forehead as he gently said, “I’m not built to love someone in secret.”

A raging warmth spread throughout your chest. “But how will we–”

“I’ll figure it out.” He nuzzled his forehead further against yours. “I promise.”

“Is Kageyama going to threaten my entire family?”

The corner of his lip quirked, “It’s definitely a solid backup plan.”

You half-heartedly smacked his chest but he just squeezed your hands tighter. After a few moments of blissful silence, you adjusted to lean against him while he toyed with your fingers in his lap, just reveling in being together, Nishinoya whispered, “My name is Yuu.”

You lifted your head surprised. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to know that.”

“You’re not, but I’d like you to.” His gaze was genuine as he added. “I’d like you to know all of me. If that’s okay.”

A smile broke across your face. “I would singlehandedly fight all of the King’s enemies if it meant I got to know even you’re favorite color.”

He blinked. After an awkward amount of silence you thought perhaps you’d said something wrong, but he surprised you by tenderly cupping your cheeks. “That was the single most romantic thing anyone has ever and will ever say to me.”

“What do you–”

“I would very much like to kiss you now.”

Your entire body tensed. You hadn’t even meant to be romantic–you were just being honest. The determined set to his brow sent your heart into a frenzy, you squeezed your eyes shut as you nodded your head. You felt him shifting, tilting your head minutely before leaning closer. Just as his breath was against your lips a voice echoed in the fields around you, fluttering your eyes open you met with Nishinoya’s furious glare.

“Hey, Noya do you know when–Ohhh.”

Nishinoya gave Tanaka the deadliest glare you’d ever seen, you could almost see the flames radiating off him. It made you realize that maybe there was a reason Karasuno’s Guardian Deity had all those terrifying rumors Yamaguchi always paraded around. Perhaps there really was a reason everyone was so frightened of him.

Kinda hot.

“Dude, privacy!?” Nishinoya waved his hands at where Tanaka’s exited. “I know you’ve heard of it.”

“I’m so sorry, bro. I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

You glanced toward the lake as their arguing continued, gasping at the realization of how high the sun had risen. Nishinoya placed a hand on your shoulder in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m supposed to meet my mother for lunch. She’s going to kill me if I’m not–”

“No problem,” Nishinoya grabbed your hand to assist you in your dreaded trek back through the woods. You waved goodbye at Tanaka while Nishinoya sent him a rather crude gesture that had you covering a smile.

On your journey home Nishinoya recounted stories involving his older sisters that left you smiling the whole way. You truly couldn’t remember a time you’d felt happier than in that moment beside him. And you had no clue how the future would play out, but you trusted him–there was no one you’d rather go through this with.

#haikyuu!!#nishinoya yuu #nishinoya x reader #haikyū!!#haikyu x reader #haikyuu nishinoya #nishinoya yū #nishinoya x you #hq x reader #hq nishinoya #yu nishinoya #haikyuu #haikyu

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halfpricedpages · 2 months

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intro post (finally)

ive debated making an intro post because first off ive been on tumblr for two years and I never got around to it and secondly I am really really horrible at talking about myself because what is to much info and what it to little info and the cycle continues but im giving it a shot because I feel like my mutuals have no idea who I am lmao

HAI my name is Charlie im 15 (18+ I dont mind if you follow me but please dont dm me thank you :]) I use jasper as an online name kind of (at this point its just reserved for my best friend ace but I dont mind if other people call me jasper since I still love the name)

my pronouns are he/him but im also perfectly comfortable with common neopronouns (it/its xey/xem) if you wanna get funky with it.

im a self diagnosed autistic and ARFID (if you dont know what that is its an eating disorder where certain factors make you avoidant and restrictive of the food you eat and it has nothing to do with physical appearance. for me its linked to my autistic sensory issues(ALSO OCD NOW?!!? WHAT THE FUCK?!!?)) I have depression and anxiety and the only reason I mention this is because I relate my mental health to my fav characters in tv shows and books and stuff so if you see me posting about them like everything is connected lol

(my a03 is ghostwithfeet if you want to see me be silly and project my weird life onto fictional characters (I am the most inconsistent updater in the world please expect nothing from me if you even ask about a project it will scare me and like I turtle I will crawl into my shell never to see the light of day again))

my interests really vary about current hyperfixations but heres the master list

current hyperfixs

stranger things specifically Byler but mostly mike wheeler (this has turned into a special interest(I DO NOT support Noah schnapp or another of the other cast members who are in support of the inhumane actions the Israel government are doing. I am pro saving innocent civilians. I know that this can be controversial to be such a big fan of this show and honestly I have a lot of complex feelings on the matter but im autistic as previously mentioned and its my special interest and It won't leave my brain even if im not directly interacting with the media so im gonna yap about it on my blog thank you.))

also just Finn wolf hard for some reason (check out his band the Aubreys its awesome. also check out a recent movie he was in called when you finished Saving the world. it means a lot to me)

donna tarts the goldfinch book

old special interests/hyperfixs

the percy Jackson universe specifically nico di Angelo

the IT universe specifically reddie and Beverly marsh but more leaning towards richie tozier (see what I mean with the Finn wolf hard thing)

dead boy detectives !!

doctor who (I haven't even finished David tenants doctor yet so please no spoilers)

Alice oseman content (never read loveless or iwbft but ive read all of her other stuff)

paper girls graphic novel

other interests

the good place tv show

Kathleen Glasgows book girl in pieces

the walking dead comics including the clementine spin off graphic novels

um yeah thats all I can think of for now

my fav musicians/bands

florence and the machine

indigo de Souza

Kevin Atwater

searows

the Aubreys

sadurn

the cranberries

soccer mommy

runo plum

nep

lala lala

the smiths

hospital bracelet

Chappell roan

AURORA

Madilyn Mei!

Elliot smith

(my music taste is all over the place and is also very seasonal and I have a bunch of underground artists I dont listen to but I am here to give good recs I promise my playlists are fire)

we've gotten to the part of the intro post where im wondering if this is way to much information so sorry if I overshared idk but hope we can be silly mutuals or friends if you want (never be scared to shoot the friendship shot I would love to yap with y'all)

also since this is taking over my other pinned post I just want to put this as an honorary spot and let everyone know that my old pinned post was a quote from radio silence and that Aled last is me and I am him and the February Friday plot line is actually me and it makes me sick how much I resonate with that book

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imbeingchokeholded · 1 year

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Blissful Peace

Hiya! I'm new to the COD side of tumblr! I have another tumblr named @gimmethosedaddymilkers which is dediacted to RDR2, mainly Arthur, and this tumblr will be more dedicated to COD/Soap specifically because I love him and I feel like there's actually not much for him in terms of fics (at least romantically)

I'm super excited to do it! *mainly for me because I'm mentally unwell and he's got me in a chokehold* but if there's other Soap lovers out there I hope you enjoy this!! (Meaning my blog and not just his piece lmao)

Also this one is probs gonna be a little shorter cause im going off the top of my head on my phone and right before bed so like LMAO

Anyway, with all that being said!

Let's do this!!!

Fluff piece for a first piece until I get some fic requests!

Warnings!: fluff, maybe a mention of sexual endevors, soap being soap, and potenental bad Scottish accent writing because i have no idea how to do it so bare with me unti I figure it out, and Fem! Reader!

John "Soap" Mactavish, a six foot two, muscled, Scottish, military man, was not exactly someone who at first glance looked friendly, sweet, kind, or funny for that matter, in fact he appeared quite threatening, albeit still handsome, Perhaps not as threatening as his 141 partner Simon "Ghost" Riley, but threatening nonetheless.

So you were absolutely positive that if you ever tried to tell someone about the absolutely wonderful circumstances you'd woken up to with him, you'd only recieve a cacophonie of laughter.

The skin of his bare chest was warm against the palm of your hand, and your cheek too, was nearly sizzling from where you had it pressed against one of his pectorals.

He slept soundly, that cute little devilish smile on his face, even in slumber. His hair, usually styled and spiked into his signature mohawk, is now ungelled, and natural, laying against the pillow beneath his head.

He breathes, gentle and steady, healthy, happy even.

It's absolutely heavenly, listening to it, steady, his heartbeat too.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes again. You'd woken up only ten minutes ago, in your eyes there'd be nothing wrong with going right back to sleep in your husband's arms.

That is until he starts muttering in his sleep and you're compelled to listen.

Most of it is in Scottish, grumbles and groans in low tones that you were sure you probably wouldn't have understood even if they were in English.

One you do recogonize, because he'd told it several times before.

"It's pishin' a doon..."

It's a grumble, hardly very loud at all, but you smile and look out the window.

The sun is shining quite brightly, sending rays of light into your room.

Quietly you laugh and kiss his chest where you can, mumbling under your breath, more for your benefit than his.

"Johnny, I hate to break it to you, but there's not a drop of rain in the sky." You smile against his skin, and chuckle to yourself as he grumbles again and begins to stir, he grips your wait tighter and pulls you to the side as he rolls over.

"Yer...a wee bonnie lass..." he mutters, and then it stops, only to be replaced with soft snores.

You feel your face heat, his voice is low, thick with sleep, and that accent of his never fails to make you happy. Not only that but the short little sentence makes you remenise, remembering the first time he came up to you and requested a date.

You chuckle to yourself and kiss his jaw, which earns a small hum in response.

It's only a few more minutes before he wakes up, his eyes half lidded as he looks at you, and a loopy sort of lopsided grin plastered on his face.

"Mhm...if I dinnae know any better I'd say you had a crush on me miss Y/N, starin' at me like tha'."

"Oh, I'm afraid I'm taken." You smile at him, unable to stop yourself. "It's actualy Mrs. MacTavish to you."

"Taken? And in my bed? Oh, you are an awful cheater then!"

You roll your eyes at him and move to kiss him, a familiar fuzzy warmth preading through your body as his mouth meets yours.

He isn't home all the time. He's gone for months at a time, away on dangerous government missions that he could die on. So you take every kiss, every blissful moment, every physical touch, compliment, everything you can get, as though it's your last.

Having him home, like he is now, makes you happy to no end, but you know as soon as he has to leave again you'll go through the same steps of panic you always do.

But you leave that for a different version of you.

A later version.

For now, you stare into his eyes and listen to his horrible jokes, and kiss him whenever the need creeps up.

For now, things are peaceful.

#cod #cod mwii #soap cod #john mactavish #soap mactavish #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #soap x reader

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onewmin · 1 year

Text

the perfume on the shelf. pt. 8 | bangchan

Pairings: Bang Chan x Fem!reader, Kim Yugyeom x Fem!reader

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend was never a part of the plan. So you end it up. But does he want to put a stop to it, too?

Warnings: AU, 3 time jumps (not big ones), mentions of parental abuse, mentions of the eating disorder, mentions of shooting (at a shooting range in the park), mentions of mental illness, mentions of depression, profanity, a lot of awkwardness, typos, the reader’s and Chan’s povs, a bit of Minho x oc (not the reader lmao)

Author’s note: so… If some of the actions seem rushed/too awkward, don’t worry — it’s intended this way lol

I originally planned like 10 parts… yikes. It’s going to be more, I guess. Anyways, hope you enjoy!! Tell me what you think!!

Disclaimer: the names and appearances of real people are used for inspiration and writing purposes only. I do not claim anything, everything belongs to its owners.

Part 7 | Part 9

A week had passed since then.

Chan hadn’t called or texted. You hadn’t either. You left home to go to work and get some food if you felt like eating. To be honest, you wanted to eat every food item possible.

That was your compulsive eating speaking for you: ever since you were a little girl, you found comfort in food. When your parents were fighting, screaming in their bedroom early in the morning, you’d sneak into the kitchen to get anything to fill your anxious stomach with. When you were hurt, another breakup hitting you, you’d find yourself in a bar, drinking and overeating. Your first big weight gain was when you turned nineteen: you had yet another heated argument with your parents, resulting in you crying on the street, while excessively smoking. You had saved some money to get your first tattoo done; however, your parents — the conservative people they are — only tended to scold you for that.

“No one’s gonna marry you now!” Your mother screamed over the phone. “How could you do that! You’re a Christian girl, that’s a sin!” You didn’t quite remember when the God said tattoos were a sin, but oka, whatever. Your mom would tell that your father said it was a stupid decision, but did she really think you cared about his piece of mind in this conversation? He was barely present in your life, and when he was, he would only criticize you for every thing you did. And your mother thought you’d care about his opinion? As if.

Nevertheless, your parents’ reaction hurt you. You’d always wanted to have an open, honest relationship with your mother, but it was not possible — it was always one step forward, ten steps back. You’d cherish the moments when the two of you bonded, laughing at something together, gossiping about some family members. And in those moments you desperately believed that it could always be like this. But whenever you let your guard down, you’d get stabbed in the already bleeding wound. Your mother would never change. And you would never share the sweet moments with her.

Your mother also blamed you for the weight gain. She constantly stated you shouldn’t be eating so much food, because, “No one would want to marry a fat girl”. Even though she’d totally support your desire to fulfill the career goals, she was still focused on the possibility of prosperous marriage for you. Yeah, your mother wasn’t exactly a mentally stable person herself.

And now you were eating as well. All of the hard work you’d put into working out to get back into the desirable shape of yours would be washed down the drain now. As you were sitting on the floor next to the TV, a third bag of chips out of the ten you’d bought being shoved down your throat. And the cherry on top? There were actually multiple ones, like two huge bottles of coke and a cake in your fridge. Your rice and the fried chicken you’d cooked a week ago rotting in the refrigerator as you spent half of your savings on junk food.

‘Cause it was comfortable. It was your solace. Alongside with occasional drinking when you were sad, overeating was the comfort zone. Like you gained weight after that huge conflict with your parents (which led you to carry that massive guilt on your shoulders and your mother wasn’t speaking to you for weeks), like you gained more after the breakup with Yugyeom (and kept gaining, ‘cause every time you talked to him or saw him, you’d end up eating half the menu in the bar) or like when you were rejected by a publishing agency. The latter got you to actually go and work within your major, leaving your dreams behind. Now you were in the same pit of shit.

The mere thought of your hard work in the gym was overshadowed by the image of Chan, helping you around, guiding you through the training. It seemed as if any gym experience had been forbidden, ‘cause the memory of Chan being your personal trainer was engraved in your memory forever.

“Ugh, you’ve got to be kidding me”, you turned around to see Eunjoo, Minho behind her locking the door. You were so engrossed in that TV reality and your thoughts that you didn’t hear them coming in.

“Hey”, you said in a flat tone, facing the TV again.

The two of them would come and see you almost every day: Eunjoo was your work wife basically, but she still made sure to check up on you outside the office as well. After you wept in her arms that day a week ago, fell asleep on her lap and woke up to cry more, she just couldn’t leave you all alone. Eunjoo was the greatest friend out there and you definitely owed her a lot — you weren’t sure if you were able to repay her for all the kind things she did.

Minho, on the other hand… If Eunjoo was this sweet and comforting friend, who was there to help you cope with the emotions and be your crying buddy through all of that, this ass was quite the opposite. Eunjoo didn’t bring the topic up, letting you forget it, dissolve the memory of him forever; Minho would be running around your apartment, screaming curse words, shouting,

“What an asshole! What a complete piece of shit! My mother told me not to trust him!”

That’s his best friend, mind you. Their energy in this question didn’t really match much, obviously; so Eunjoo had to physically drag him out of the apartment and locking the door on her way back in order to get rid of his annoying anger splashes. But Minho would bang on the door, turning the handle violently, and it would result in the two of them bickering while Minho was still outside your flat. That was probably the only thing that made you laugh. And as they noticed that, they went on doing it more often just to put the smile back on your face.

“You’re eating chips again?”, Eunjoo sighed, turning to Minho in a helpless attempt to get some support from him. He shrugged his shoulders and plopped on the floor next to you, snatching the bag of chips from your hands.

“Oh, cheese flavored? Thanks”, he started chomping loudly, not letting you get another chip from the bag. “They’re mine now”.

“Did you tell your therapist about it?” Eunjoo sat down on the other side; now you were between your friends, being unable to escape.

“I cancelled our session this week”, you mumbled, pretending to carefully observe the palms of your hands. Eunjoo let out a sigh and took your hands in hers.

“It won’t help you”, she replied, “you’re only making it worse by shielding yourself from the world”. You nodded, still unable to look back at her. “Your therapist is the only person who can actually do something”.

You listened to Eunjoo silently, gaze fixated on the TV. You missed every thing said on the reality show you’d been watching, thoughts long gone from your head. You were so tired of this, extremely exhausted from all this talking. You knew you had to go through it with your therapist, but you just didn’t want to be analyzed for now. Not by your therapist, not by your friends.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” You stood up and marched to your bedroom, slamming the door when you got inside. It felt like fighting with your parents when you were a teenager; only if you dared to slam the door this way, your mom’d have slapped you.

You sat on the bed, back leaning on the headboard. Only, what, a couple of months ago, were you crying after Chan left and came to the decision to break up with him? Could you have ever imagined it all would go south?

You took the phone in your hands, the screen almost blinding you in the dark of the room. Scrolling down the gallery, you looked at the pictures you took of Chan, the ones he took of you, and the photos you’ve made together. Gosh, whenever you saw him standing close to you in any picture, you wish you could go back in time and punch him in the face. His stupid handsome face.

“Come here!” Chan’s voice rang out in your ears, looking at the particular photograph that was taken in the amusement park.

He looked so delighted to share that day with you — it was his debut anniversary, his first year as an idol had just passed. He had just gotten back from his tour around the country, and the first thing he did after stepping a foot in Seoul? Arranging a day out with you. “Tomorrow at 12. I’ll pick you up”.

And as you’d spent almost seven hours, running from attractions to food trucks to attractions again, your legs started getting wobbly with every step you were taking. Chan, on the other hand, with his body being physically stronger than yours, didn’t seem to be exhausted at all. So when he turned around to see you standing way behind him,

“Are you tired?”

“It’s a rhetorical question, right?” He chuckled at your sarcasm.

“Yeah, guess it is”. Your gaze fell behind Chan’s back, and he turned to follow it — only to see you staring at the shooting range. Before he could even utter a word, you already sprinted (wasn’t she tired a minute ago?) there.

After three unsuccessful attempts, you, for some reason, started bickering with the owner of the range, as he was making a lot of comments about you not winning. As amused by that as Chan was — seeing you bicker with strangers was a rarity — he took the matter in his own hands.

“Which one d’you want?”

You pointed at the plushy wolf. “That one”.

“Consider you have it”.

One. Chan wasn’t satisfied his first attempt was a failure, so he got his wallet out to pay for the next three rounds. Two. Three. Four. The smiley grey wolf in a sweater was still untouchable. “One more time”, Chan said to you confidently, “trust me, I’ll get him for you”.

Well, he didn’t. He was sulking, glaring at the owner from afar, when both of you had spent all of your cash on that stupid range.

“Sorry I didn’t get that wolf for you”.

You smiled, hand tapping his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Chan. You did your best”. He smiled back at you. “At least, it was fun”.

In the end, the two of you decided to take a selfie there, to capture the moment of your double failure. Now you noticed how closely to one another you were standing, as if your friendship was doomed to turn into something else from the beginning. Well, and Chris did admit he had always been in love with you, so it felt like truth.

“Do you want me to talk shit about him?” Eunjoo was sitting on the bed next to you. “You will show me the photos, and I will say everything that comes to mind”.

“I can do it without pictures, just so y’know”. Minho was leaning on the doorframe, your cat being scratched in his arms.

“I don’t think it’s gonna help”, you muttered. Having put the phone on the bedside table, you rubbed your face ferociously. “Wish I could… Just erase him from my memory”.

“Then lookin’ at his face won’t help”.

“Minho, shut up”.

“No, Eunjoo, he’s right”, your eyes welled up for some reason. Well, technically, there was some particular reason. That elephant in the room. “I’m, uh… Being too delusional, I guess. I think looking at him and knowing what he said to me will… Will make me hate him”. You draw a breath. “But it makes me hate myself more”.

Eunjoo took your hands in hers; that was a habit of hers whenever she needed to comfort somebody. “You know what I did when Jeong broke up with me?” You started nodding frantically. “No, I’m not talking about that”. The shadow of a chuckle in her voice made the corners of your mouth quirk up.

“When we broke up, the first thing I did was deleting our photos. Threw them away if they were polaroids. Put all the gifts he gave me in a box and then put it on the farthest shelf of my closet. That’s how you forget. Or, at least”, she added, “that’s how you start to forget”.

You didn’t need to think twice — because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to get rid of the memories. “I’ll start with the photos”.

Eunjoo smiled at you. “Good choice”.

Five hundred selfies. You and Chan had taken five hundred selfies, the majority of them during your situationship era. There was the two of you in his car, his mouth covered with your smudged lipstick; ten selfies taken on ‘a date’ Chris organized, and countless pictures of you two holding hands in various places. Looking through them, you couldn’t but wonder: how him and you weren’t a couple? Even your selfies, especially your selfies, were saturated with adoring glances and stolen kisses, many of the latter caught on camera. And he had the audacity to say that you weren’t his girlfriend? After basically admitting the fact that the two of you did, in fact, everything ordinary couples do?

Was Chris that stupid? Or was he just so bad at gaslighting that it didn’t take much to catch him do so?

Your blood wasn’t boiling, but you were not melancholically miserable anymore. Seeing his happy face in the now deleted from your memory photos made you just… Spiteful. Sick. You fell for his silky lies — the ones he himself believed too; and you were not going to grieve the relationship, the love that was actually never there anymore.

Your cat meowed loudly as she jumped from the bed, Eunjoo following her shortly. Minho went through your gallery after you handed him the phone, and hummed in approval.

“Does it feel better?”

“A bit, but… That’s enough for now”.

He nodded, standing up and slightly stretching his arms. “Good. I’ll tell him you did that when I’ll be in the studio”.

“Minho-“

“I’m kidding”, he huffed. “Dunno if we ever gonna talk again, like, as friends”. He sighed and shook his head; you couldn’t convince Lee Know to talk it out as well, ‘cause he just didn’t want to speak about Chris. “Anyways, who’s Jeong?”

You were dumbfounded for a moment. “What?”

“Well, y’know”, he scratched the back of his neck, “the guy Eunjoo was talking about”.

“Why are you asking about her ex?”

Minho shrugged his shoulders. “No reason. I’m just”, he cleared his throat, “I’m just curious, uh, who would date such a smartass”.

You let out a groan. “What grade are you in? Fifth?”. Having stood up next to him, you smacked his shoulder. “Ask her out, for god’s sake”.

You turned away to leave your bedroom, but you knew that Minho had this perplexed expression on his face. Yeah, you wished your best friend wouldn’t go out with Minho, knowing his dating history, but… There was just something about the two of them together, something that seemed right. And maybe in the endless circle of heartbreaks and hurt, at least Minho and Eunjoo would find happiness.

Although, you wish you and Chan would find your personal solace in each other as well.

Chan sat down at the studio, music blasting in his headphones. However, he didn’t hear anything but his thoughts, which were relentlessly torturing him for the past month.

The pain eased off a little bit, but… But Chris wasn’t numb to all of it yet. He was still clinging onto the memory of you, you, that were one call, one car ride away, but yet too far from his reach. And he was the problem. He was the epicenter of the explosion.

The moment you left, the moment the taxi drew away Chan knew it was over. Chan knew he screwed up so terribly that there was no cure, no mending to the damage he had done. Leaning back on his chair, he closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. To this day, thirty-three days later, Chris couldn’t understand what possessed him to say all of that. Maybe…. Her words, anger, her lack of desire to forgive him then and there — he was embittered. He was willing to change, and she was leaving!

“What a pretentious asshole you are”, Jisung told him that morning, when he showed up at his place again. “How you manage to get girlfriends in the first place is a mystery to me”.

Chris knew what Han was implying. The thoughts that were lingering inside his head like unobtrusive memories — something that he remembered but wished to forget the moment he reminisced on it. His inability to maintain relationships because he chose to run away from every possible love expressed at him wasn’t the only problem present. He couldn’t admit a defeat; and he couldn’t admit he was wrong. Alright, the latter could happen, as he was willing to admit to his faults to some extent; however, if the other party pointed out other the things which he fucked up? A fatal mistake for them, a vicious victory for Chan. To throw more hurtful words, to cause more pain, reminding where they messed up instead of simply apologizing was the only possible outcome. The same thing happened with you. Instead of trying to fix it, he blurted out the stupidest shit, knowing that he, indeed, took it too far and, again, indeed, broke your heart by choosing to stay in a blissful oblivion.

Only now, a month later, Chan started to realize what he had done. It’s not like the both of you fucked up, no, for god’s sake, none of you would admit that; but, nevertheless, Chan got to the point when he knew, knew that it was him who spilled the darkest shade of paint onto the portrait of your love. Now he was starting at what used to be rosy background and had no idea how to scrub the black color off. Everything was in black. Because you weren’t there; and Chris could feel it in his chest, he knew it would take ages for your love to bloom like the first flower in spring again.

Having taken off the headphones, Chan stood up and rubbed his eyes. The action left wet traces on his face and fingers, and he tried to even his breath to avoid crying.

The door behind him creaked a little, and he turned around, swiftly thinking it was you.

“Hey”, Minho shortly nodded. Chan’s eyes widened as Lee Know was the last person he expected to see.

A glint of hope sprinted through his entire body, as he watched his best friend stand there, awkwardly twisting the ring on his finger. Maybe, just maybe, Chris would be able to save their friendship with Lee Know.

“So, uh…” Chan mumbled.

“Got a minute?” Minho’s voice was a little louder than usual. “Think we need to talk”.

A long drive in your car never seemed so nice like it did at the moment.

Summer was still present, the unbearable heat during the day changed into warm nights, and you enjoyed those. Windows open, the evening breeze gently touching your hair. Even though you cut it a couple of days ago, it was still long enough to get a bit tangled after the encounters with the wind. But you didn’t really care about that at the moment.

The traffic was slowly cooling off, which made your way to the destination shorter in time. There were still plenty of cars, but they were mostly going in the direction of residential areas, as everyone was headed home, even though it was Friday evening.

A week ago Youngjae invited you to his birthday party. You didn’t use to be very close before, he was just a pleasant acquaintance, your best friend’s cousin. However, in the past couple of months you found peace listening to his midnight radio program, Youngjae’s voice being the perfect lullaby to your unsettling mind. And since you texted him, praising his program, you’d become good friends. So him inviting you alongside Eunjoo didn’t come out as a surprise; besides, he really wanted to know who was that mysterious guy Eunjoo had been cryptically mentioning. Oh boy, you were willing to tell him.

Having left the car at the parking lot near the restaurant, you made the way inside, noticing how non-super-fancy the place was. Youngjae asked for no dress code and no gifts, but you did bring him a small one as a sign of your gratitude. If it weren’t for him and his midnight talks, you wouldn’t have fallen asleep at all.

“And as we finish today’s program, I wish we all could come to the road of finding peace and comfort within ourselves”. The tone of his voice slowly drifted you into sleep. “No matter how hard it is, it all gets better in the end. The hot line for the free mental help is…”.

His programs tended to have this unserious tone usually; however, quite regularly, he’d touch upon serious topics — mental health, depression, eating disorders — inviting specialists to discuss questions the audience would ask. As Youngjae put it himself, “I used to be heavily depressed when I was younger. And as I had no one to talk to, I listened to the midnight radio program. The host and their voice were my solace. I hope that I can be a help to someone who’s listening to my program now”. And he was. At least, to one person.

Youngjae pulled you into a warm hug upon your arrival. His shiny smile was impossible to resist; so after giving him the present, the two of sat down next to each other, some of his other friends greeting you simultaneously.

“Where’s Eunjoo?” You asked, having looked at your watch.

Youngjae rolled his eyes. “Running late”. You chuckled. “Tell me about the guy”.

“Oh boy”, you sighed, “but promise you won’t tell her that I told you”. Youngjae nodded. “It’s nothing serious for now”, you started, “they’re just… friends. But, from what I can see, they both really like each other”.

“Where does he work? How old is he? Who are his parents? How did they meet?”

The endless number of questions from Youngjae made you laugh. Him and Eunjoo were cousins, but they treated each other as siblings. Youngjae called Eunjoo his ‘little sister’ and you could understand why he was so interested and worried at the same time. You’d lie if you said you weren’t worried for Eunjoo as well.

“His name is Lee Minho, he’s 28, and he’s a choreographer”. Youngjae lifted an eyebrow.

“Minho? How does she know Minho?”

“How do you know Minho?”

Youngjae sighed. “Uh, well”, he ran his hands through his hair, “he was a guest on my program around a year ago. A really sweet guy”.

“Well”, Youngjae slapped his things and got up, “we’ll see. I want Eunjoo to tell me about him herself”, he giggled and you laughed back at him. You didn’t have any siblings, but if you had, you wished they were like Eunjoo or Youngjae.

Sipping a drink in the corner of the room, you saw Eunjoo walking in the hall, talking to somebody. Somebody tall, somebody dark-haired, somebody with a contagious laugh. “What the hell is Yugyeom doing here?”

You looked down, bringing the half-full drink to your face in a tremendously unsuccessful attempt to hide yourself. A desire to run away and hide came upon you immediately; it wasn’t the fact that you didn’t want to see Yugyeom, it was the fact that you unintentionally hurt him, choosing Chan when you shouldn’t have. And that made you really uncomfortable; he didn’t need your explanations or apologies, you knew that too well. But it felt like you needed to apologize to shrug this enormous weight of guilt off your shoulders. However, no matter how much you thought of him, you didn’t rush to get in contact. ‘Cause it was scary, and you almost never chose the unknown and terrifying path.

Fuck it. How long would you run? How long would you avoid uncomfortable situations just to stay in your imaginary tranquil world? How long would you escape the encounters with your fears? So fuck it.

You slowly raised your head to glance at Eunjoo, who was looking directly at you. Ignoring the tingling in the stomach, you waved at her, and she, having said something to Yugyeom, of course, made her way to you with him. Ugh. Eunjoo, why?

“Hey!” She almost sang, hugging you. “Remember that friend Youngjae told us about?” She immediately ranted. “This is Yugyeom”, she introduced him to you, “they met at Columbia University several years ago. Youngjae told us so much about you, it’s just…”

You didn’t hear the rest of her rather awkward speech as you looked at him for the first time after noticing him. The glimpse of smile on his lips, a white shirt covered by a black jacket and tucked into same-colored pants. His eyes didn’t hesitate to look at you, piercing through your appearance, landing somewhere deeper, somewhere around your heart.

You and him bowed to each other, and Eunjoo suddenly disappeared, using her cousin as an excuse. You gritted your teeth; she might have not remembered his appearance — as she only saw him in the rare pictures you’d shown her — but she definitely remembered his name and the fact the he went to Columbia University. Playing it off as if she’d ‘introduced’ you to each other was peak Eunjoo.

“Didn’t know you know Youngjae”, Yugyeom broke the silence a couple of minutes later.

“And I didn’t remember you do”, you answered. Awkward, to say the least. You wish it wasn’t this uncomfortable.

“On our way from the parking lot, she kept on telling me about her amazing best friend”, he continued, having taken a sip of his drink, “and also mentioned that this friend is freshly single. I didn’t understand what she meant until I saw the said friend”, he chuckled. You couldn’t help but smile back.

“She’s unbearable”, you sighed, “sorry about that”.

Yugyeom shook his head. “No need to apologize. I’m used to people ‘advertising’ possible girlfriends to me”.

“People?”

Now it was his turn to sigh. “Fine, not people in plural. My mom”.

You couldn’t stop yourself from snoring; in response, Yugyeom let out a breathy laugh. And in that moment, the time seemed to stop running as it used to. In that moment it seemed as if the two of you were laughing at some stupid jokes you shared when you were younger, when you were soaked from the pouring rain, riding your bikes on the country road, when you were lying in bed, your head on his chest, stomachs hurting after you laughed too hard. No matter how much times passed, you wanted to be absorbed in those moments, to stay in those memories forever. Because everything about Yugyeom just screamed home. You wish you could have changed the past after him completely.

God, you just wish none of it had happened.

Taglist:

@heylookwhoitis @amaranth-writing @itstorimf @tenshimara @whyyougottadothatbro

Fic masterlist <3

#bang chan #bang chan imagine #bangchan imagines #bang chan x female reader #bangchan imagine #bangchan #bang chan x reader #bang chan x oc #bang chan x you #bang chan imagines #bangchan x reader #bangchan x you #bangchan x y/n #stray kids imagine #kim yugyeom imagines #kim yugyeom x reader #got7 imagines

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scp-tiggles · 6 months

Text

Scp 076-1

50% ler | 50% lee

As a ler

Surprisingly just as merciful as cain/073

Loves to use sheep for aid with lees! (Since he can summon them)

Absolutely has a favorite lee and its 073, when the two arent teaming up, they’re against each other

BIG on teasing.

“Aww, you’re laughing so much! Maybe i should just let the little ones get their fill of laughter and not help..”

Now, if hes the one tickling? Be warned, he runs FAST

Your best bet to try and avoid him is by hiding, he’s pretty much near sighted so you can easily get away

After wrecking someone will let the person chill with the sheepies :]

As a lee

Firstly, best spots are his back and his armpits

CANNOT STAND ROUGH TICKLES HE FOLDS IMMEDIATELY! (Its the cutest thing too, he curls up and clamps his arms down)

His laugh is soft mostly, but if he’s in a bubbly mood it’ll be a bit more cackly with some snorts here and there

Hes been wrecked more times by his sheep then he cant count smh, not even on purpose, they’re stupid and cuddly and end up accidentally tickling him!

Limbs DO flail when tickled, so be careful (hes never actually trying to hurt someone though)

Immediately sleepiness after being tickled, falls asleep in minutes (honestly hes just constantly tired lmao)

Scp 076-2

100% ler | 50% stoopid

As lers

Okay so theres roughly about 30 of them in total, and a mix of actual sheep and the ones mentioned above.

These dudes are SUPER FLUFFY, and mainly tickle with their snoots or just trying to cuddle their victims

Abel is their favorite to target since hes basically their dad (plus its an excellent way to coax for treats!)

DO NOT LET THEIR APPEARANCE FOOL YOU ITS A MANIPULATION TACTIC—

Real note though, if one approaches you, be warned. The rest will follow.

..as uh..lees-?

Cant tickle em

BUT YOU CAN DISTRACT EM!

Okay so, if you happen to be faced with them, simply just throw a piece of food away from you.

Dont have food? Say your prayers cause these little dummies know no mercy.

Extra! (For both)

Abels flower crown was gifted to him by cain!

He has a reflection ability like his brother, any ACTUAL damage tickles him and the user who tried to afflict it.

Hes a big cuddlebug who loves naps, and falls asleep in random places.

Also follows budgie logic, throw a towel over his head and hes asleep in seconds.

His sheep all have names.

Except nobody ever remembers them so they just call them “1, 2, 3, 4,” etc

The sheep have, on multiple occasions, stolen from the cafeteria.

But they’re to cute to be mad at so everyone just lets it slide :]

#scp tickle #sfw #sfw interaction only #sfw tickling community #tickle fluff #tickle art #tickle blog #tickle fic #tword blog #tword content

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urlocalwormtoday · 1 month

Text

Subjects, Faceless and Voiceless ARG Analysis

ELLOELLO ‼️‼️ you might've heard a friend of mine started an ARG, and so, tis the time to analyze everything we've gotten so far >:D

BEYOND THIS LINE INCLUDES SPOILERS FOR MY FRIEND @honeyzee312 's REALLY COOL ARG ON YT ‼️‼️

real quick disclaimer, I do have confirmation on some of my theories and small pieces of trivia bc at the time of initial analyzing I was chilling with zee irl TvT

ANYHOW;;; here's the pieces I have so far

Miscellaneous (not a video/common knowledge) :

- that hot pink color (we see it during the first video, Stars, at timestamp 0:28) is important

- the videos of the ARG are all mixedmatched at different times, so not all of them occur one after the other

- it all takes place sometime between 2015 and 2024

- there's an odd glitchiness that appears whenever we change scenes or somebody gets hurt

- soneone hit and killed somebody with a car in 2015, that's why that year is so important

Stars :

- Purple first appears

- Pink color and static for the first time

- Red first appears

- Blue first appears

- We learn Blue's name is Kayebee

- Red asks if Blue/Kayebee remembers something, to which they respond they do

There's not a whole lotta lore in this one I don't think, but I have been told to look deeper. The phrase 'lose the stars' is interesting and quite ominous :o

Liar :

- Teal first appears

- Teal is calling somebody ('he' pronoun) a liar as Blue/Kayebee narrates

- Pink and static again, scene changes

- Splotches of pink in the background of the next scene ? (I have gained confirmation that pink will not be a subject/character in the future so that's been ruled out)

- More pink, it fills up the entire screen but only ever when purple is talking and disappears when Red's dialogue appears

- I've received confirmation that there's three separate scenes; first one with Teal and Blue, second with Purple and Red, third with Red and Teal

- Purple asks if Red hates them, Red doesn't know

- Teal begins saying a name to Red in the next scene, 'Koki-' before getting cut off

- The two both call each other liars but never deny the accusations that either of them are liars

This one's interesting.. The scene switches confused me for a bit, but overall just raises more questions

Sorry :

- Scene begins with a conversation between Teal and Blue

- Teal asks if 'he' is okay and Blue asks Teal to define okay

- Teal says sorry a lot 0-0

- 'He doesn't forgive you!' from Blue to Teal

There's not a whole lot in this one that I can see either, but as I write this it has reminded me to check the descriptions more often

Trees :

- I've received confirmation trees aren't symbolic of anything, they're just pretty and something to be adored lol

- Blue, Red, and Purple chilling

- Red insults Purple, Purple hits Red, then static

Okay this one's just pretty and chill 🥹

6/8 :

- Title is a reference to a measure of music, and is a reference to Le Cygnus I've been told

- Blue and Red open up a scene

- Red is extra tired today :o

- Blue wants to show Red a song, static fills the screen as we switch scenes

- Purple is trying to calm Teal

- Static, we switch scenes

- Lilac first appears :DD

Lilac !!!!! Lilac intrigues me like a bug intrigues a scientist.. I wanna put them under a microscope and study them

Rain :

- 'on that night..' the night of the vehicular manslaughter, I'm assuming

- Static appears, switch scenes

- Green first appears!! welcome, world, to my handwriting >:]

- Red is either concussed or the rain gives them headaches

- The show begins being mentioned, and apparently Lilac wasn't tipped in on what it's about

- Blue, Green, Lilac, and Red all watch the show together

- Static, scene swap

- 'oh. my. god' from Purple, supposedly something bad

Oughh Green also intrigues me (partially because they have my handwriting lmao),, I wanna see more of them

The Show! :

- Blue begins narration

- Static, we return to Teal and Purple, Teal is panicking. Maybe the show was a news broadcast of some kind ?

- Teal apparently tipped off the cops, and told them 'they' (they as in plural, two or more) were nonviolent; I assume this is referring to the vehicular manslaughter TvT

- Static, we return to the bigger group

- Lilac is asking where 'she' is

- Green tells Lilac 'she' ran

- Lilac maybe didn't watch the show ??

- Static

- Red has a high fever, blue picks them up :,]

The plural 'them' is very interesting, I wonder if we'll ever get to meet them. It's been so long since I've had to pick apart a puzzle like this before I didn't realize how much I missed it lol

I most definitely haven't put together everything yet, but I eagerly await new material (no pressure btw Zee !! dw if u start running outta steam, it happens to the best of us lol) to put under my brain microscope :0

#Subjects; Faceless; and Voiceless #Subjects; Faceless and Voiceless #arg tag #alternate reality game

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yanderecandystore · 1 year

Note

I was reading about Azir and MC who either given up or not playing his games. With Azir being controlling, I thought about something. What if there is something that Azir can't control, like death? Because what if he made one scenario with MC who has given up that causes them great harm or worse death. Either MC is still young and doing shit, or maybe they are old that inevitability of death is near.

Stress is sometimes good, but too much is bad and may cause some.... Unfortunate accident. :)

Be mild, Azir

In today's episode of Choco not knowing how to goddamn read: Another request where I fixate on only ONE aspect of a request! Hwrqefjegjq I'm so sorry boo ;-;

I just realized something… he isn't a player… he is a craftsman 💀 he spends too much time taking pieces of different planets and realms to make into snow globes… I don't know why I named him a player lmao

I decided to be mean and make Azir's life worse by shoving another person to take care of you.

TW/Tags: mentions of reincarnation; death; complete obviousness/disregard for human life // the depiction of the afterlife is vague and based on nothing that I'm aware of(?); Subconsciously, it could be based on something that I don't remember // Multiple reader deaths (someone keeps killing you)

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Guardian Angel [Yandere!Eldritch!OC x GN!Reader - Headcanon]:

Oh Azir, how I missed playing with you just like how you miss playing with your darling-

I think he never really bothered with getting humans back from the dead, especially since they just tend to be born again. They always go back to Earth, of course, so he never bothered searching for specific people to put back in his little games.

But an essential character like you can't be easily replaced and you have too much potential to be forgotten by the universe like that- So, he would absolutely violate your natural born right to have a peaceful eternal rest.

What? It's not unheard of for entities to simply revive their favorites, although his brethren aren't really allowed to do that, he simply wishes to continue the plot you were previously following.

Which one? Well, all of them. All of them in their right times. Think of it as resetting a game and starting all over, but the mechanics slightly shift through every playthrough.

You're the same you as you always will be, maybe with a different appearance, a different mentality molded by the variety of environments and backgrounds he can put you on- Oh, but you're just his favorite actor in each of them! How is he NOT expected to bring your soul back regardless of the trials and errors?

The first time you died was the only time he slightly felt, well, worried? It wasn't exactly guilt nor grief, but it was something like a sense of emptiness especially if it was his fault… Making you overly stressed, be it at a young reckless age or at your last moments standing- He probably wouldn't feel your loss in the same way mortals do.

His favorite toy broke, his game feels incomplete without it, and although reanimating your body was quite easy… hm… pretending to be you was fun at first but it lacked the spark of something natural and random.

He liked to be in control of everything, yes, sometimes watching but most of the time finding ways to implement himself in the lives of others- He didn't want to pretend to be you forever though, nor did he like the idea of using your inactive body as a skin puppet, the flesh was a fun but not so intriguing part of the mortal experience.

He needed to find your soul, wherever it was. Searching the different realms for it was easy, and quite boring actually, but getting you to come back was something else.

He wasn't really allowed here. None of his kind was, they were powerful and followed no "rules" but had some limitations when it came to the simple task of bringing someone back from the dead. It's not like they couldn't do it, it's that they shouldn't.

Would he really taint the afterlife forever and snatch you away just to keep himself entertained for longer? Yeah, yeah he would.

In the mix of different voices, a colorful sea of different souls collectively sleeping and awaiting their return, one of them screamed while being forcefully dragged back to their already rotting corpse.

Ah dear… A rotting corpse isn't suited for souls to stay in, although you looked adorable as a living-dead variant of yourself, you didn't seem to be cooperating with the vision he originally had in mind.

His first experiment to bring you back was a failure, as your body was no longer suited for a soul- But with just a few adjustments he got to bring you back with your same appearance and memories intact! Your body was healthy again, aren't you glad to be back?

… Ugh… Why can't you stop complaining to him about your death? People die all the time, shouldn't you be glad he brought you back from that boring afterlife?

Sleeping peacefully for eternity sounds absolutely tedious, he can't imagine why anyone would consider it a good choice to spend their time.

Considering no normal person would feel good about being brought back to life by their killer (directly or not) especially knowing this person has the power to keep you bound to them forever, it is understandable that you would be quite pissed about it.

So maybe keeping your memories wasn't a good idea, but he knew a quick way to fix it.

As long as you belong to his simulations, living inside them you're not going to go anywhere else, dead or alive… He "could" try to take a piece of the afterlife and shove it in a snowglobe, but truly, that's something that he doesn't have any control over.

It was too tricky to try to trap it there, whenever he would come back the globe would be empty. It doesn't matter what arcane dark magic he uses, he can't ever keep that "terrain" fixated in one location.

But, he could maybe make his own..? Oh, wouldn't that be lovely? Instead of having to constantly take you back by force, he can just make a self-sufficient system of afterlife and reincarnation, he could make it so there was no other choice than to keep the cycle going as much as he could!

Or he could make something special for you for once, how would you like a smaller snow globe just for you? Every fantasy your heart desired could be real if you just behave a little more.

Ah but there was also one small thing he didn't really consider… So, remember how he isn't welcome in the afterlife? Yeah, he is also not "allowed" to take a soul and force it back to the realm of the living, especially not a soul that is screaming and begging to be left alone already.

Someone is responsible to keep these souls intact, perhaps there are multiples like this entity- But only he came to fix the job.

Think of it this way, you have a being that is almost like a guardian angel, with a grim reaper mentality that keeps chasing your soul to bring you back to the afterlife (the correct version of it). And on the other hand you have Azir, a being that keeps bringing you back and who although "lacks authority" over your little "angel", won't ever back down about doing what he wants whenever he wants.

And then there's you, being brought back for a certain period of time, perhaps decades in your lifetime before having to die again and again by a safekeeper of souls. One wants to play with you like a toy and the other sees you as some sort of sheep that got lost from the herd.

If there's Hell, I would bet you it's more pleasant than this existence. Hah, wouldn't it be hilarious if you got them both to fall for you? Hah, as if that would happen.

I like to imagine your little "guardian angel" and Azir have to be passive aggressive when interacting- As any small fight could lead to a war between realms and let's be honest, the ones getting the short end of the stick here would be you and all of the mortals of every other planet and realm.

Everyone is fucked except the ones that can withstand the existence after existence itself has imploded, and no one really wants to see the age of nothingness and darkness return, life as fragile as it is, brings light to those that don't understand it's real value- But miss it dearly when it's gone.

What I mean is that congratulations, I'm giving you another mythical boyfriend who will try to restore order to your peaceful afterlife while the other one keeps bringing you back out of spite at this point.

It's not just about you, it's also because he is well aware that shiny looking asshole is probably spending time with you in that calm, "wonderful" place that only hosts exclusively mortal souls.

Well… But now that I think about it, technically this whole process of reincarnation is technically working inside the laws of the universe. You are born, you live, you die, you get sent to the other side and then get reborn again. It is also sort of very beneficial for both parties despite their mutual hatred towards one another.

You really need to find a cosmic lawyer or something like that though, this work practice is really unethical since you're very much aware of why and who keeps you inside this vicious cycle, it's hard to live a life you're constantly getting reminded of your previous one.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

I just wanted to draw the three bois in human disguise, Diph being angry at Azir for being reckless and getting unwanted attention from an "angel" (and also for letting the human die like that, like bro, you have so much power yet you did nothing?).

And then reader have to deal with this bs.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

#choco stuff #yandere oc #yandere x reader #special delivery headcanons #special delivery request #yandere eldritch x reader #yandere eldritch #yandere eldritch oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc drawing #ibu's wife took care of his hair for once #also sorry but I made Azir's hair flare up because I thought it reminded me of a peacock tail XD #I'm so sorry for making you wait;-;#I go through phases like the fuckin moon

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birlwrites · 11 months

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hi just wanted to say that i love heather brown. tell me about heather brown. if you want to. <3

HEATHER!!!!!!!

i'm just going to say random facts about her afjlskghljksdf, some of these may be things i've said before but who cares, LETS GO

so, she's the middle child, the only girl, and the only slytherin among her siblings - she has an older brother rowan, who's heir to house brown, a former gryffindor who graduated at the end of heather's 4th year (so, reg was in 3rd year). she also has a younger brother linden, who's going to start hogwarts this fall and go to gryffindor. gryffindor is a common house for the browns - they have kind of an even mix of the other houses, when someone does get sorted into another house

(side note, heather's younger brother is going to be in the same year as the eldest of priam's younger siblings - his sister is going to go into ravenclaw though)

she loves pink because a) she loves it and b) she associates it with things like sunset clouds and other things that are both soft and fun, like cotton candy, except not because cotton candy is the american term, but u know. it's basically her comfort color lmao. it's her go-to in any situation and like, Her Color

and heather genuinely loves being around people - she thinks people are fascinating, she loves figuring out what makes them tick, she's very chatty and it's a good thing she and regulus have never tried to study together because they'd drive each other bonkers, what with heather keeping up a steady stream of Unrelated Talking and regulus responding with monosyllables if at all. she's bored and he can't focus. hell. (but that's why heather does most of her schoolwork in the slytherin common room - she gets to hang out with her friends as she does it, and also chances are high of priscilla parkinson appearing, aka heather's favorite cat)

priscilla is not heather's favorite ANIMAL because heather has a beloved barn owl named thistle, who has been very helpful to the plot, but thistle doesn't really hang out in the dungeons so

her birthday is december 1, i feel like i've mentioned that before but i'm saying it again - it renders her birthday Very close to evan's, which i didn't plan and am actually only realizing now ajfhglkjdf. such is life, i don't think that'll affect the plot so we carry on

she has a generally solid relationship with her immediate family - they keep in touch during the school year and like, spend time with each other over the summers and all that jazz. her mom is first cousins with arnold macmillan's dad. heather is capable of getting along with arnold, but he's a very straightforward person, so she kind of picked him apart long ago and there's no more puzzle to be had there, which means she's kind of whatever about him

the browns are the highest-ranked non-dark family in the sacred 28 (which tells you how much the dark families DOMINATE). they and the weasleys are the only non-dark noble and anciente families, and the weasleys basically don't count, so. heather's not on regulus's level, but nobody is.

she tends to run cold and has Many blankets in her room, which she will either use as a cape or put over her lap when she's in the dungeons - she can cope without them, but like, why be uncomfortable when you could be comfortable. (priam is also an option for Heat Source afjslghjskf)

she loves sour candy - anything that's a combination of sour and sweet really

and she's in slytherin because she is very good at piecing together how to get what she wants!

#dark lord wip #should i make an inbox tag #part of me thinks 'i should make character tags for my ocs so i can find these posts'#part of me thinks 'birl you're in way too deep for that already'

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dnangelic · 8 months

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LN 2 (snow queen) summary. same disclaimers as before, google translate is wheelchairing me bigtime, none of this is in perfect order or detail, it's a gist for the desperate (tm) who might otherwise never ever lay eyes or hands on the books themselves, and it's 200 pages more or less directly transcribed, (+ novel illustrations) so beware of enormous huge gimongous post length under the cut. open in a new tab and treat it like the book it is 👊 links contain novel illustrations LET'S GO

prologue opens up with dark exploding from the window of a museum into outside after just stealing the snow queen. he holds it up where its 'dazzling brilliance creates the illusion that a new constellation has been added to the starry sky above,' then complains that he wasn't able to show off since there weren't any guards or security systems. daisuke tells him that nothing can be done about it, to which dark further complains that hiwatari is 'such a cold guy that he didn't want to play' with him, to which daisuke tries to argue against. cue hiwatari showing up apologizing for being late (and mentioning that since everything was so sudden, he had to take time to 'prepare',) to which dark says that only cute girls have the privilege of being late for a meeting (lmao.) even hiwatari laughs a little and says that he intends to make up for it; hiwatari lunges for him and dark runs off towards the forest that surrounds the museum.

'if you've prepared a present for me, i'll have to accept it.'

dark's goal is to meet up through the forest to meet wiz who now has the crown at the other side so he can fly away, but hiwatari's laced the woods with hard to see piano strings, which dark has dodged solely through intuition and their sound. one step away from properly meeting wiz, wiz gets caught in the strings, dropping the crown. a tiny piece of it gets into one of dark's eyes, and he loses his footing, stumbling because of it, falling down into a valley.

waking up to a 'pure white world' covered in ice, dark starts to experience a series of daisuke's memories alongside a bad chill. when a white shadow in the shape of a woman appears behind daisuke, she says that she 'finally found it' in a 'chillingly gentle whisper,' and dark decides that this is what was setting off his nerves. despite shouting his name and telling daisuke not to go, daisuke can't hear dark's voice, and the world shatters and hails down ice as daisuke's embraced by the woman from behind, dark chasing after him.

my encounter with the "snow queen" was a coincidence.

daisuke's class has gone on a three hour train ride trip for a school camping-barbeque tournament trip. there's an optional field trip to the local museum, which is described as a 'cute western-style building, contrary to the students' expectations of an imposing building. although it's small, it has white walls, decorative windows, an elegant staircase, handmade carvings of angels, animals and plants adoring the hallways, and antique table decorations. everyone was surprised to see the beautiful hand-knitted lace.' in here riku moves next to daisuke, whose heart starts to pound when she puts her hair behind her ear a little and gets him to question whether or not her hair's 'grown a little since summer,' and he starts worrying that he'll transform right inside of the museum.

no matter how hard i try to suppress it, this pounding won't stop. when did i start to care about riku so much?

in the middle of this saehara shows up and leans directly onto daisuke's shoulder, ignoring dai's complaints over him being heavy to read the snow queen's explanatory plaque out loud.

the snow queen. artist unknown. creation date unknown. it's said that starting from when a bride wearing this tiara mysteriously disappeared, it's caused a series of tragedies as its changed hands. apparently, it drifted along and ended up at this local museum. the tiara is wrapped in a lonely glow that doesn't match the gorgeous structure, and there's some truth to the rumor it was bringing about.

saehara calls the tiara cursed and scary while squeezing daisuke's neck, exasperating dai and causing risa to say that she hates curses, asking if he 'can't say it in a more romantic way.' all of the students start generating all sorts of stories regarding the tiara's history, but daisuke grows more and more unhappy listening to their ideas of tragic love, while riku and daisuke both sympathize with the artwork did it ever have to truly survive or witness that sort of thing.

actually, it may have been a tiara as proof of love, but it was left in a place like this just for fun.

the two of them fluster, riku remarks to herself that 'even though daisuke's a boy, he still looks at things with kind eyes,' and they laugh over the absurdity of a curse, saying that 'even if the curse were true, it seems like it'd tear two people who love each other apart.' hiwatari surprises them by agreeing, then tells daisuke that 'magic is a troublesome thing. at the slightest trigger, it turns into a terrifying curse. and from that curse... you can't escape forever.' his eyes flicker as if he's seeing something invisible, far away, and the setting changes to the class's camping preparation endeavors.

daisuke's parents have massively overpacked for him. meanwhile, the key for risa's bag won't work, so daisuke unlocks it for her with a twig, then lies to cover up the fact he picked it. he muses over his own and his family's history of being thieves, as well as riku: she hates dark, and yet, even though she's the one who daisuke doesn't want to know of his true identity the most, she's still the one who brings out dark the most, leaving daisuke to smile 'bitterly in his heart.' daisuke also confronts his feelings over risa.

for some reason, daisuke's heart aches for dark's inability to reciprocate her feelings, as if they are collectively responsible. i know my heart would be lighter if there was even one person who understood me. ...i can understand the pain of having worries that you can't tell anyone about .

daisuke continues rummaging around his massive pack for gloves only to see wiz wrapped up in dark's clothes. dark remarks on the fact with joy and surprise, to which daisuke immediately says that it wasn't him, and that his mom had put everything inside without telling him-no wonder the backpack was so big. daisuke can't get the snow queen out of his head, either.

however, the feeling that filled my heart when i saw that small crown in the local museum, which had a collection of valuable works of art, remained with me forever . [...] is there anything i can do? if it were me...i wonder if i could save the snow queen from there... dark responded to the words that came out almost unconsciously. ---'if it were us, it would definitely happen.' words filled with confidence, not doubting themselves or daisuke in the slightest. in the past, daisuke would have been repulsed or subservient to dark, but now it's different. those words, like wings, pushed daisuke's back. 'that's right... let's try it.'

daisuke writes up his own calling card ('if mom put in dark's costume, there's no way she forgot to put the cards in,) and hands it off to wiz to be delivered. (fun note is wiz, after transforming into his black/wings form, is likened to a 'carnivore.') some rustling scares daisuke and he worries that he's been spotted, but it's only riku who bring shim back to the barbeque/campsite. saehara is cooking like a pro, while daisuke gets this little scene.

ah, it's starting to boil over. the girls in the group watched with wide eyes as daisuke deftly pulled out the firewood and set it to a low flame. niwa-kun, who was always in a daze, suddenly looked cool... ah! as daisuke stood up, he tripped over the residue of someone's failed stove.

riku rushes over saying she'll do everything as the other girls sigh and say that daisuke's no good after all. saehara says there aren't enough vegetables, so hiwatari starts chopping some --- to which all the girls start admiring him for. not about to be outdone, saehara picks up his own cutting pace to no avail. daisuke's attention stays focused on riku as they try to cook rice together, but the hot bowl slips until daisuke catches it with a foot with a soccer technique. he turns it upside down, and when riku asks why, explains that it'll be more delicious that way.

hmm, niwa-kun, you know a lot about strange things. even though it was strange, she sounded impressed. daisuke secretly thanked his grandfather. no, it might have been my father. i remember him often carrying a large backpack on his back, as if he were going mountain climbing. also, unlike my mom, i feel like my dad, who's not descended from the niwa family of thieves, taught me the mundane things. those were also important things. he didn't talk much, but his voice was low and slow, like dark's.

riku and daisuke finish cooking, wiz showed up with a stick being cute, which gets riku and daisuke laughing and dark sulking. 'don't just have fun with riku!' dark points out the fact that daisuke can't properly confess to her, to which daisuke retorts that it has 'nothing to do with dark.' the feeling he's having with riku is different from when he fell in love with risa, and he can't explain the difference, but...

--you just can't say it because you're afraid of being rejected again. that's not it. really i don't know how to say it...

daisuke impresses riku with the quality of his rice, happy to see her having fun. although he 'doesn't know what feelings he's experiencing, it's nothing dramatic, but a calm, warm, and comfortable space that he wanted to share.'

later riku gets caught in a confession competition- the rules are to answer with who your crush is, or if you don't have one, who your first was. hiwatari's naturally popular, and there are plenty of rumors over who secretly danced the last dance at the school festival. riku turns red thinking of daisuke while risa reminisces over dancing with dark- however, risa only danced after the after-party. dark had stolen an old player and records after a fake notice issued by risa, and risa had no idea that riku and daisuke were the ones who danced the real last dance.

at the niwa family's house, emiko paces in front of the phone while daiki tries to calm her down. finally it rings, and daisuke gets bombarded by... general mom questions and nagging reminders. by the time daiki has picked up the phone, daisuke's run out of pocket change to feed the line. exhausted and disappointed, he didn't get the chance to say anything to his mother about the notice he had issued without permission. saehara shows up and teases daisuke for missing his mom before calling his dad and telling him what to eat- 'saehara, who lives with his father, seems to fulfill his duty of cooking even when he's away.'

daisuke moves over to hiwatari to ask if he's fine, after which saehara suddenly turns loudly surprised. daisuke immediately worries over being suspected or his notice being conveniently discovered, and as expected, saehara runs off shouting that dark had sent out a notice, and his scoop was waiting for him. daisuke can only sigh with sekimoto (another one of his friends,) noticing that hiwatari had also disappeared.

---the battle has begun. dark's deep, relaxed voice resonated in his heart. daisuke didn't make a sound, but he nodded firmly. just for today, you can't say that you don't want to turn into dark or that you don't want to work. because it was daisuke, not dark, who wanted to steal this treasure.

daisuke tells sekimoto to cover and cheat on roll call for him while running at an unstoppable speed, thinking of the snow queen 'who was supposed to be shining white and pure. called a cursed tiara, it is a light that was lost as it was passed from darkness to darkness.' he tells himself that if everyone knew what it really was, they wouldn't be able to help but love it, and remembers riku's smile and sympathy, positive it was directed towards 'her', the snow queen herself.

for the first time, daisuke was about to steal a work of art, feeling as if he was in love with it.

run while feeling excited. eventually, when he couldn't even see my own shadow, he stopped in a dark forest where even the moonlight couldn't penetrate. as if surrendering himself to the darkness, daisuke slowly closed his eyes. for a moment, he was enveloped in a strange sensation, as if he were suddenly flying up into the sky. the visions he had while he was roaming the night sky as the phantom thief dark comes to life. and then, many memories that only the moon and stars know apart from daisuke and dark pass vividly before his eyes. the first time i saw riku from the top of the clock tower. being looked at by riku's straight gaze. the two of us huddled and danced. ...i kissed her. my heart pounded at that moment. this feeling will not only never fade, but only become even stronger. i can't do anything. a hot sensation overflows from the center of daisuke's body and fills every corner. the consciousness of the great movement was completely released from the vessel called the body. the sky goes on forever. countless sparkling stars shine as if they are surrounding you. you can ride the wind and fly anywhere! as far as 'her.' when he opened his eyes again, they were not gentle eyes that made him look timid, but strong and sharp.

daisuke transforms like so and dark heads off to the museum 'as if he were going to a party.' he flies out from the forest as sekimoto asks whether or not daisuke came by, riku recognizing dark in an instant. 'you can't mistake it even from a distance. that man with black wings and all black clothes has a nice face and figure, but he is a total pervert.' (girl that pervert is your BOYFRIEND!!!!) she almost puts one plus one together (dark leaving the forest that daisuke entered) but willfully ignores it with a muttered 'that's not true.'

at the museum, dark calls the story regarding the tiara stupid while standing right in front of it.

there was nothing here that could be called security. due to the curse, the academic value, artistic value, and value of this piece as a piece of jewelry, or as a work imbued with lost magic, was all erased. there are some families who sell cursed items, such as blood-sucking swords for money, but they do not how to handle items with magical powers and end up causing tragedy, often strengthening the curse. then it's out of anyone's hands as the items are thrown away or passed around from time to time, until they end up disappearing. they're only casually displayed here for the sake of their novelty, or because of their value as precious metals such as diamond and platinum. it's just a perfunctory decoration.

dark takes the crown and immediately starts acting creepily enamored enough with it (telling it not to worry, promising it'd become only more and more beautiful, kissing it like the hand of a lady,) that daisuke gets a chill- 'i've seen him seduce random women many times, but it never goes this far.' hiwatari shows up and also gets to be creepy, looking 'genuinely happy,' with a smile that was terrifying 'because it's finite. his eyes glare like a beast that's found its prey.' hiwatari apologizes for being late, cue the piano wires, which hiwatari himself is also wielding in an attempt to 'hunt and capture' dark. the prologue sequence would have occurred from here; hiwatari notices that dark behaves as if 'he had been shot,' and later retrieving the snow queen, inspects it - 'no matter how much it's protected from dark, if even a single piece were to fall, it would be a big deal.'

hiwatari mutters that the snow queen seemed to have protected herself by herself before telling saehara to handle the crown appropriately. saehara relents but also brings up the fact that he's positive dark will come after it again for the sake of his pride, and that they should be fully prepared to 'arrest that bastard.' wandering away, hiwatari moves over to the river in the valley, where daisuke lays unconscious, clutching wiz tightly to his chest. wiz wakes up and 'spreads its four short legs as best as it could, trying to protect daisuke,' to which hiwatari says not to worry.

hiwatari checks his pulse and breathing (it's steady) before lifting him out of the river and trying to bring him out of it. unfortunately, 'no matter how small daisuke is, hiwatari doesn't have a sturdy physique either,' and the slippery stones leave him staggering until he finally falls. wiz worries when hiwatari's face contorts with pain and his face turns pale, 'as if he had no blood in him.'

damn... at a time like this...! i tried to stand up, but i couldn't find the strength. 'kyuu, kyuu, kyuu!' wiz was running around the area not knowing what to do, but suddenly seemed to think of something and started running, bouncing up and down. hiwatari couldn't watch where it went to in the end. his vision is spinning dizzy. he exhales deeply, trying to calm his shallow and labored breathing. even that requires a lot of concentration and pain. as if he had given up, hiwatari sat down and leaned against a large stone, letting daisuke sit next to him. '...i don't have any time anymore...'

the two of them black out together (wow besties) as wiz brings back help.

2. in the meantime, daisuke starts to have a dream, waking to a cold sensation and a 'pure white world' he had never seen before, the same that dark in the prologue had witnessed. beginning with remembering his heartbreak over risa, he watches a number of memories pass him by, until he's met with a romantic scene of riku and dark together clinging to each other. daisuke can't believe it and succumbs to heartbreak, punctured suddenly by a sharp, freezing pain that prevents him from moving. a slender white hand reaches out from behind and covers his eyes as the snow queen says 'i feel sorry for you, but this is your future.'

a hand that protects daisuke from the falling needle-like white particles. her hands wrapped around daisuke from behind and gently hugged him. shining white, silver-like hair falls smoothly over daisuke's face. daisuke saw the woman's face for the first time. lonely eyes with light pigmentation. transparent white skin. her beautiful face was full of sadness, as if it would disappear at any moment but only her lips were red. 'come on, come here.' the white woman blew cold breath from her blood-red lips. daisuke's eyes slowly fell. ...yes, if you do that, you won't have to look at anything anymore. you won't have to feel bad anymore. perhaps the cold numbs the senses, and the pain begins to recede. it felt as if someone was calling daisuke, but daisuke's consciousness gradually lost its outline and melted into this white space. blending into the white mist, many figures that he hadn't seen before come into view. there are lovers walking together holding hands. men and women who pick fights, abuse each other, and are connected only through hatred. there are two people who appear to be a married couple who do not interact at all, just because they are in the same space. passing by one after another, there isn't a single familiar face among them. some people are foreigners and wearing old-fashioned clothing. a white space filled with sadness. the tears of many people are creating this ice. he protects me so i don't feel the same way. ........but i........ just as i was thinking that, i heard a voice again. 'dai-chan, you'll catch a cold if you sleep in a place like that!' shut up, shut up! dark doesn't just steal art and jewelry. don't forget he also steals time. daisuke is becoming increasingly dizzy, but a voice still speaks to him. 'daisuke...'

a deep voice like dark's. however, this voice spoke to me calmly and warmly... i haven't seen father in a while, and even when he does come back, we don't talk much compared to my mother and grandfather, who are always so lively, but i'll never forget the voices of my family. 'old things are filled not only with the feelings that went into making them, but also the memories of the people who spent time with them.' guided by this familiar voice, daisuke realized the identities of the people he had seen earlier. then, he tried to open his eyes again. 'don't go, daisuke!' ....that's right, i haven't said anything yet..... daisuke snapped his eyes open.

the snow queen jumps confused as to why daisuke won't completely freeze, and dark appears to say that it's because 'they're not normal.' he says that although he 'took the opportunity to invite a beautiful woman,' he has to let her go because she was a little too forceful - before angrily smashing the ice daisuke's in, freeing him. the two immediately squabble over daisuke's being hit (why did you hit me!!!!) (because i don't hit women.) before dark cuts the conversation- 'i don't care, it doesn't matter, we can get out of here.' as the world fades the snow queen stares at dark.

you were the one who said you would take me out of here... the woman was staring at dark. it's like daisuke was forgotten. 'yeah, but if you do something like this, i won't be able to ask you out on a date anymore.' although it was a light and playful tone, this is how dark clearly rejected the woman. it was the first time daisuke had seen him do that. however, the white woman didn't seem fazed at all. 'i'm sorry. i wonder why i made a mistake...' as the white world disappears as if melting into the air, the woman's white shadow-like figure also fades. 'goodbye, snow queen.' the red lips that were still clearly visible moved at dark's words. no. you will definitely come to me... definitely.

daisuke wakes up confused and wondering if everything was just a dream before remembering his failed heist. he freaks out worrying that saehara, in front of him, might have already seen him turn back from dark, if not taken the 'decisive scoop.' riku helps to take care of him as he's feverish, working through her own feelings of flustered relief. 'he disappeared silently, and when i found him, he was sleeping like he was dead... i worried about him a lot, and now he's healthy and eating well, it's really...!' slamming the door so hard that the whole building shakes, daisuke hugs his backpack, left behind. 'sorry, riku-san. if i hadn't failed the theft, i wouldn't have made you feel that way.' though, he's also still happy that riku cared so much for him. later once everyone starts going home, riku offers to help daisuke with his luggage, but daisuke declines, feeling that just the sensation of concern was enough to give him energy.

back at the entrance of the niwa household, it's already become the afternoon.

'....i wonder if i'll be able to go home safely.' now that i'm not feeling well, it'd be suicidal to enter my house carrying a large bag on my back. my mother always told me that not avoiding avoidable risks isn't courageous, it's recklessness. the less handicap you have, the better. daisuke dropped his baggage on the doorstep, then made up his mind and put his hand on the door. a faint clicking sound is heard. the trap m ust have activated at the same time. traps hidden throughout the house are baring their fangs and waiting for daisuke... with all of his nerves in place, daisuke took his first step. from there, he didn't have time to think about anything unnecessary, and with his well-honed reflexes, he hit traps one after another.

when he finally makes it to the living room safely, he panics backwards hearing something burst from behind the door. thinking it's explosives (and regarding the 'unconventional enthusiasm' of his mom) he's astonished until confetti lands on his head. turns out his mother and grandfather just wanted to welcome him home, but daisuke isn't in the mood- he still has to confess to committing his first theft without permission. 'i forgot to say it yesterday, but i made the mistake of issuing dark's notice and stealing the snow queen.'

daiki and emiko are stunned and have no idea why he's apologizing. in fact, the confetti and party poppers was because they were celebrating his very first personal heist. although daisuke has no clue how his family figured it out, it's impossible to put anything past his mother- she was listening in onto the police radio.

'we come from a family of thieves with a long history. we have many other tricks up our sleeves!' my mother laughed like a little girl. it's cute, as if she was talking about gardening or lace knitting. also, the lack of discomfort is frightening. so, if you don't need me to tell you anymore..... daisuke hung his head. it seemed that he still had some moral issues to overcome.

daiki is about to lecture daisuke in regards to his failure over preparation- 'no matter how lax the security or whether or not there's no security equipment, you can't let your guard down,' but emiko cuts him off and daisuke heads off to take a bath. daisuke asks about his dad, thinking about how the words of his mother and father had saved him from his dream's ice and its 'overwhelming sadness,' to which emiko brings him a second scoop of rice. 'dai-chan is lonely, isn't he? but papa.. koji-san is doing his best for me and dai-chan. so let's be patient.'

later after dinner daisuke attempts to speak with dark, but something's wrong. chalking dark's sudden depressed silence and intense mood shift to him sulking over the botched heist or jealousy over riku, he starts talking about his feelings and how he didn't know someone could be willing to work so hard for the person they loved. 'i would do anything to see her smile.' while expressing a desire to become stronger, wishing he could be as relaxed as dark, dark finally answers- apologizing, saying it was bad and own his fault.

dark apologized to me!! it was a surprise, as if heaven and earth had turned upside down. that dark....?!?! i wonder if the shock of failure was too great. daisuke suddenly felt a smile on his face as dark felt so close to him. he thought of teasing him, but when he saw dark's figure on the other side of the window reflecting the pitch-black night, daisuke was shocked and speechless. his chest tightened. dark's eyes looked at him from between his long hair. the image of a young man daisuke didn't know, who is filled with sadness and who seems like he might disappear at any moment. he's very confident and youthful , and doesn't care about other people's opinions, and he's the kind of guy who laughs and looks down on daisuke at the checkpoint while he's desperately struggling... his confidence is just right. it's so unwavering. at that time, when i decided to steal the snow queen, i might not have been able to issue the notice without dark's words. dark is like that. he must have always been one step ahead of daisuke, laughing. this can't be dark...! daisuke thought he was just like himself when he lost confidence and was worrying. he shook his head and the man disappeared. reflected in the window is an unreliable boy. but i can't remain unreliable forever. daisuke speaks flatly. 'after all, phantom thief dark has to do what the notice says.' ---daisuke.....? dark asked curiously. 'the legendary phantom thief dark failed to steal a small artwork from a place like that with no security equipment and almost no security guards. hiwatari-kun was the only one who stopped him. ---you're starting to say that, too. dark took a breath in surrender. 'that's why,' daisuke said especially brightly, 'i'm going to steal the snow queen.' ---the snow queen? it's probably impossible. a quiet voice. hearing that resigned sound, daisuke was once again struck by a sense of discomfort. the word 'impossible' never came out of dark's mouth, other than when he was teasing and bullying daisuke. even though it was indeed, as a result of dark's aim, the value of the snow queen had been reaffirmed, and her existence has been widely acknowledged by the world. it would no doubt be moved to a larger, better-equipped art gallery or museum, and this time it would be placed on strict alert, with hiwatari and saehara's father at the lead. nevertheless, 'dark and i will definitely be able to steal the snow queen this time.' dark answered daisuke's confident words as if he had no choice. ---then, give it a try. daisuke thought that he had finally returned to being the usual dark. it was strange to him how relieved he felt at that. this is how it is. i'm sure if the theft is successful, dark will be back to normal.

daisuke then immediately Yells trying to hype himself and dark up, and his eavesdropping mother and grandpa spill into the room to let daisuke happily know that they've already researched the destination, prepped a note, while daisuke gets left behind in the storm of it all, even wiz having fun at his feet.

the most daisuke could do was curse dark in his mind. ...you fooled me by pretending to be depressed!! ---what are you talking about? there's no way i'm going to fool you. dark answered quietly, but daisuke thought it was just pretend. 'that's a lie, you coward!' dark's voice was drowned out by daisuke's frustrated scream as he fluffed his pillow on the bed. ---i always say, i'm just another you. i've never lied to you. that's why... can you do it alone? those words didn't reach daisuke. they were such a small whisper. where is dark? his voice was low, as if he had traveled far away. daisuke was caught up in the commotion of his mother and grandfather, and was unaware of it. no, he'd already overlooked a number of discomforts. he still didn't understand the meaning of dark's change. daisuke didn't notice the white light that was creeping up close to him, trying to swallow up the shadows.

daisuke dreams of the snow queen's white space again, only this time dark is absolutely gotdamn Zonked out of his Mind. his eyes are described as empty and lifeless, yet he still kisses her hand and she's satisfied with his obedience, his shape 'swallowed up by the white light' of the distinct contrast between them. the queen promises him that he'd 'get one during the day' and that she'd 'get rid of any intruders right away' in an 'extremely gentle but endlessly cold voice.' daisuke awakes with a freezing cold pain in his chest.

it was the morning after the barbecue tournament ended.

the school's girls are huddling around photos from events and festivals, along with 'rows of photos of saehara's masterpieces,' not only taken for the shared class (2B) but from 'around the entire school as much as possible.' students are allowed to purchase photographs not just for themselves but for a glimpse of anyone they might like, but riku's already decided she has nothing to do with the excitement and remains in her seat until saehara shows up to pester her about number 45: a photograph of herself and daisuke happily sharing their moment with the camp rice.

daisuke and hiwatari eat their lunches together and likewise aren't privy to any of the conversation, nor is riku eager to purchase the photography still convinced that daisuke liked risa rather than herself at all. meanwhile, risa's mind is focused on her own relationship with dark: 'in love and yearning for him, she chases after him... even when she tries to hit him with her body, dark easily dodges. he never rejects her, but he never gives her the words she really wants.' she's depressed that she doesn't know him despite every effort and attempt to get closer, but he doesn't respond; how nice it would have been if i could have loved someone who loved me...

in the midst of this, risa notices riku putting a purchase mark on the photo numbered 45.

away from the girls' commotion, hiwatari and daisuke have their own talk. he thanks hiwatari for 'yesterday' and is relieved when the boy's expression is the same as always - 'whether dark fails or succeeds in his theft is irrelevant at school.' saehara bounds up with the photography of daisuke himself and riku, saying that daisuke's grown - after being dumped by risa he was always depressed and absent-minded, but recently he had become more lively, and the photo was proof of that. 'riku, who always looked angry, and daisuke, who always looked troubled, were together, having a lot of fun and laughing.' however, something's changed - daisuke has no reaction to the photography, to the extent that the sort of poker face and apparent confusion at the photograph of himself and riku should be impossible for someone like him.

hiwatari asks to make sure if daisuke is okay, and daisuke only looks confusedly back. taking his leave, saehara's left to talk about dark's failed heist, to which daisuke adds inside of his mind that he'd properly steal the snow queen this time. afterwards, hiwatari has returned to the snow queen. after being carefully polished and allowed to regain its shine, it was now befitting of its original name, 'snow tiara.' 'however, it seemed to hiwatari that he was unable to remove the ominousness and sadness that were ingrained somewhere.'

he had been collecting data on the snow queen since his lunch break. in conclusion, the curse of the snow queen was real. however, the method to break the curse is based on the origin. he couldn't figure out how it was turned into a curse. this isn't his job. it's not even a role assigned to him. but hiwatari had something on his mind. what happened to that small piece that was dropped into dark? what's the reason for daisuke's change that most of his friends don't notice? there was only one answer. 'did you put a curse on dark....?'

hiwatari, touching the snow queen, also ends up in her world- figures he recognizes flash him by. daisuke, riku, risa, then classmates, then elmroot/his 'father in law', and the 'vague silhouette of a woman. she's young and beautiful... even though i've never met her, that look in her eyes is somehow nostalgic... who is she?' (AUGH RIO CAMEO!!!!!!)

hiwatari merely observes these figures. 'those associated with 'ice hunting' (the hikari) told him about his fate,' and he looks over everything with no change in his expression.

'is it fun to dig up other people's memories?' hiwatari declared, sharp enough to cut through the ice that made up this world. 'unfortunately i don't have the scars you would inflict.' as if they had been cut by those words, the people around him slowly broke their outlines and turned to him. the appearance changed to hiwatari himself since childhood. even in the house where he was born and raised, even after he was adopted by the hiwatari family, he spent most of his time alone. that life is repeated before his eyes. then, my father-in-law told me this with a stern look on his face. 'i didn't adopt you just to play tag with you.' '...that's stupid.' hiwatari slowly turned around, took off his glasses, and peered into the white shadow. he had been aware of the shadow that had been hovering behind him for some time, watching his reaction. 'i have never felt sorry for my circumstances or my fate.' there are many cross-sections to things. it could be good or bad depending on how you think about it, but those who are showing this illusion only brought out information that can be manipulated to their advantage, and only memories that have a great impact on their minds. that's what hiwatari thought. 'it's pointless.' the young hiwatari's form once again becomes like a white mist, wavering as he tries to find another form. 'what i'm afraid of losing... i can't find.' hiwatari spoke calmly. capturing dark and ending the clan's eternal battle. other things to worry about, there's nothing like that.

(HIWATARI AUGH!!! OOGH!!! WAUGHHH.) the snow queen finally appears before hiwatari, and behind her is dark's figure trapped in ice. when he asks if she's the snow queen and if she wants to get dark, she only laughs before saying 'all that's left to do is to get rid of the nuisance. that child's heart will soon freeze. that he'll be mine. ' hiwatari also laughs saying 'i see. but will it be that easy? it's a self-deprecating laugh, as he's let dark escape many times at the last minute.' the snow queen says that she will, this time, and with her voice turning into a sad blizzard, hiwatari's ejected from the snow queen's world. he contemplates the nature of loss and hesitation, 'if there's something you don't want to lose, if you still don't hesitate, isn't that what true strength is?' before the image of a 'red haired boy who's always timidly smiling' comes to his mind. what did he see in that white world, and how did he escape? deciding there must be a hint to the snow queen's desire for dark and daisuke's own heart getting in the way, he checks his data again until the moonlight filling the museum is blocked- a black shadow flies across the sk, and hiwatari mutters to dark not to forget that he's the one who's going to catch him.

the next morning, daisuke's staring blankly at the sky. 'even though that aspect hasn't changed at all from before, it felt like something was different from usual.' he murmurs a search for a certain word, while riku grows uncomfortable at his sudden loss of personality and increasingly blunt and apathetic attitude towards her. as friction builds between the two, daisuke returns to the same mirror from LN1 that he had once transformed into dark in front of. previously, it had been the face of someone with impressive, strong eyes and a fearless smile- 'dark....' but now, there was only a boy with lonely eyes. with a gaping hole in his chest, daisuke searches for dark's familiar figure to no avail. 'even if i call out to him, that disgustingly full-bodied voice no longer answers.' ever since he had returned from the campsite and right after he vowed to steal the snow queen again, dark's voice had gone silent.

hiwatari appears and asks what exactly happened during the last night. filled with doubts and his own loss of dark, daisuke blaisely responds 'nothing really,' to which hiwatari easily backs down. when his friends burst in and daisuke seems to return to being the same as always, his smile disappears as soon as he sees riku, and hiwatari understands why nobody has seemed to notice anything - it's only his attitude towards riku that had changed.

at the harada household, riku and risa start to discuss their troubles. riku expresses her troubles and confusion over the way daisuke's been acting and refusing to smile around her, despite everything that happened during their camping trip. as the older sister, riku's always been strong, bright and reliable, but this time, it's her who bursts into tears and accepts comfort from risa, who has her own conflicted feelings over seeing riku and daisuke happy together despite riku's attempts and kindness and consideration for her- above all, 'riku was the first to get what she wanted and couldn't get.'

are you okay?

[...]he doesn't even look at me anymore. at the campsite, daisuke looked at riku with kind eyes. a warm smile, different from his usual gentle and timid smile. with a sweet voice when calling out riku's name, the hand held out to her hadn't been unreliable at all --- it looked a little like the person risa liked.

risa wonders why she's the one working so hard to try to meet and catch up with dark- dressing herself up as eye candy, sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to aimlessly search, and even sending out fake notices, having seen risa and daisuke surrounded by such a happy light, she had been starting to feel jealous especially after swearing that she would get a better boyfriend before riku - but why was there a need to do that? although risa was normally the one talking and grumbling and riku's role was to comfort her, things were now switched. risa was already used to being pampered, while riku was just like before, but she wasn't uncomfortable in the opposite position. after crying a lot, riku starts to feel better, considering the fact that maybe her true self, the one that loved daisuke, was just finally emerging- and that herself and risa, despite having nothing in common with her and everything in common with her, both had each other in the world.

at the niwa household, daisuke's come back home like an empty shell. he has no appetite at all to the extent that even emiko questions whether he's in a rebellious phase, until she finally convinces him to sit down to eat. his grandfather lectures to not hurt people and to never let the police take care of him - as a member of the niwa family, it was unacceptable. while daisuke absentmindedly picks at a side dish, his mother encourages him for becoming more enthusiastic, but warns him to take care and not catch sick. daisuke, confused, answers honestly that he hasn't been transforming or going anywhere- only for his mother and grandfather to retort 'a liar is the begining of a thief!'

after realizing that with every dream dark could have taken over his body and talked to the snow queen at night, he rushes to his room to find a message left behind by dark in shaky letters: 'find a certain word! it's important!' with the family's notice stating the snow queen's theft scheduled for 10pm tomorrow, and despite the snow queen's own stealthy theft of dark and daisuke's hearts, daisuke regains his confidence to thieve the crown. there was only one thing left for him to do: enter the snow queen's world and reclaim dark. patting wiz, he asks the rabbit to listen to him, and not dark, for the sake of saving dark.

the next time daisuke comes to, he's back in the snow queen's world.

dark was trapped in the ice. his eyes were looking kindly at the white woman standing in front of him. white skin, white clothes, and silver looking hair. her eyes are pale in color, an donly her lips are clearly red. her lips opened with satifsaction. 'soon, his heart will be frozen and it will all be yours.'

although dark smiles, it's a soft, empty smile that 'doesn't look like dark's.' the back of one of his eyes is shining coldly, and daisuke wonders why he hadn't realized it until now that ever since the piece of the snow queen fell into his eye, dark had been influenced by her little by little. cursing his own carelessness and rushing towards him, he remembers how he had been the first to be grabbed by the snow queen, and was able to escape thanks to dark shattering the ice before he froze. shocked and frightened to see him, the snow queen asks why daisuke's here before he responds that he's here to get dark back. however, unlike dark, who was able to shatter the ice in one blow, daisuke's unable to make a single dent, the ice's surface like diamond.

even though dark crushed it in one blow that time, did this mean daisuke was still weaker? feelilng frustrated, daisuke continued to pound away at the ice. seeing this, the woman in white seemed to have regained her composure and solemly told daisuke: 'there's no use in trying to break it. after all, your heart is starting to freeze, too.' when he raised his hand, a piece of ice abut the size of his fist appeared. daisuke gasped, clearly feeling there was something very important there. ' is that... my heart?' 'yes. if you freeze completely, your heart will be trapped inside this ice. ' she laughed as she fondly stroked the ice. ' then, that body becomes an empty shell.' daisuke trembled as a white finger pointed at his chest. 'he says he wants to be the same person as you. he wants to replace you, right? that's why i'll sow that wish.' ' something like that --- ' i tried to argue, but my words wouldn't last. it's true that dark told him to become one with him, and there was a time where daisuke wondered if he would be taken over by dark. but now... we share one body, experience the same feelings, and get along even if we fight. in general, it's too un-dark-like to rely on other people's help to do something. 'dark doesn't want that!' daisuke said flatly. then, he called out to dark inside of the ice. 'that's right, dark! even though you're a phantom thief, what would you do if you were stolen?' there was no reaction. his blank eyes only stared at the white woman. 'i bet he's flying around freely in your body now .' a triumphant smile spreads across the white woman's face. daisuke had gone beyond anger and became sad. 'why are you doing this...? 'because i don't have what i want here.'

when numerous white figures appear, daisuke wonders if they were all stolen and locked hearts of other people. pained by the sorrowful memories, daisuke tells himself that the curse must be broken as soon as possible before staring straight at the snow queen herself.

i will definitely break the curse.

despite the quiet of his words, the queen retreats somewhat, pushed back by his determination. although she tells him it's already too late and that his heart would be completely frozen by tomorrow night, daisuke calls for wiz to wake up dark, against the snow queen's own begging scream not to take him. outside of the snow queen's world in an instant, daisuke realizes he's falling- until he shouts for dark, who immediately transforms their body and saves them from a nasty crash. 'although it's only been two days, dark's voice sounds incredibly nostalgic.' daisuke asks if dark is back to normal, but dark can only decline in pain, daisuke sensing that his heart was fighting against some invisible force. unless the snow queen's curse was broken, dark's consciousness would only be dragged back inwards, and it would be impossible to escape her world.

'find a certain word!' dark choked out. 'that's the name of something important in your heart that was taken away by that woman. and in order to break the curse... that woman's true wish...' that was all. 'dark!!' it was daisuke who shouted in dark's voice. dark's consciousness was once again drawn back to the white world. daisuke was left alone.

returning to his room, daisuke considers the moon and its resemblance to the snow queen back when it was in a corner of the old museum, 'looking dull and lacking in confidence.' he considers that perhaps because of her unfortunate reputation, a strong magical power was nevertheless hidden within her- but dark's hints aren't enough for daisuke to figure out on his own. he considers that the first thing the snow queen showed were his memories, then the future he was afraid of, the air filled with memories of the snow queen. at the time daisuke felt as if he understood something, and that's why he had been able to escape, but now he didn't know anymore. contemplating the different parties he could go to and ask for help, he ends his thoughts on the way that dark was the only one he could ever freely speak to, though it's not as if he always wanted to talk- it just couldn't be helped when they could read each other's thoughts.

daisuke thought of his other self, the one who was always smiling freely. 'tomorrow, i'll be dark. i'll try my best, even if i'm alone.'

picking up wiz and looking him in the eye, daisuke asks for wiz's help once more.

4. saga's eating kitsune udon and calls for funabashi as the news goes crazy for dark as usual. at the niwa's household, emiko finishes laundering dark's outfit, blushing at the thought of how her transformed son's appearance somehow resembled her husband when he was young. asking wiz to take good care of daisuke, she contemplates how this is all that she can do for her son- even if a girl is born into the niwa family, she can't be dark, so she doesn't understand how difficult a heist is. but that's why she's been training daisuke so strictly so that he'd be okay no matter what happens; as a mother, she can't help but feel worried when she thinks of the harsh ordeals put onto a child that's only fourteen.

although daisuke hadn't been feeling well recently, and emiko had no clue what he's been thinking, since he didn't want to talk about it and has been trying to figure it out on his own, the only thing left for emiko to do was to believe in her child; nothing more than that. kosuke also arrives home, caught in one of the family house's traps and looking very troubled over it. although emiko mistakes him for daisuke at first and addresses him sternly at first, her face soon turns into a smile- 'the friendly, or rather timid, smile looking up at her from inside the pit looked a lot like daisuke's!' emiko jumps down to greet kosuke without hesitation, and they hug before daiki somewhat awkwardly tosses down a rope.

at school, riku's eyes follow daisuke everywhere until they finally begin to have a conversation. daisuke expresses his current struggle, while riku apologizes for getting angry, confessing to how happy she was that daisuke had woken up after falling into the river.

'"because i thought niwa-kun was going to disappear like this..." i didn't even say that..' haven't said anything yet. these words pierced daisuke's heart. i know. the meaning... the feeling. the pain in my chest increased, throbbing, like it was being torn apart. daisuke's frozen heart seemed to be screaming.

the two look at each other and both realize they share something in common with each other: at that time, i couldn't put it into words. it was a certain feeling. while daisuke's about to learn it, riku misunderrstands his stunned expression and apologizes, running out of the classroom before daisuke calls out to her. it's no use, despite wanting to chase after her, he's stopped by a pain in his chest. something was wrong, and he wonders just what the snow queen stole- he didn't understand anything. could he really steal the snow queen all by himself? could he break the curse? could he bring back dark? overcome with dizziness, he puts his hands on his desk, causing a sketchbook to fall out to a certain page. on it is a certain painting that he had been working on ever since he had returned from the camping trip full of excitement, though he had lost track of the motive by now.

a girl standing by a white window looking at a maple tree. a white curtain flutters behind her like a veil. the part of the beautiful transparent white curtain that was gently blowing in the wind was now just plain white. pure white. a flat surface with no depth or anything. it reminded daisuke of that pure white world. a space that stretches on without limit, yet is empty and filled with sadess. it's so bright that it's blinding, but what exactly is that emptiness? ' it's a shadow.' suddenly, the shadow of the person who said that fell over the sketchbook. it was hiwatari. he was silently staring at daisuke's half-finished picture.

hiwatari explains that the shape of things can become clearer by adding shadows, setting an example by drawing a beautiful perfect circle that becomes a sphere with a shadow inside it, or a hole with a shadow behind it.

'if there's no shadow, it's as if nothing... no one exists.' daisuke silently watched as hiwatari declared this.

'for example, people recognize their existence through their relationships with others.' daisuke felt as if he were being told about his current self. he teased me, made fun of me, provoked me... i twas inspired by dark and finally realized my true feelings. i've taken action. not only about the work of a phantom thief, but also love... daisuke let out a deep sigh, wondering if he could do anything by himself. he once wondered if hiwatari was always alone in the classroom and lonely, but he felt like that might have just been his own conceit. hiwatari can stand firm even by himself. seeing daisuke's depressed face, hiwatari added: 'however, it is also self-evident that if there is a main body, a shadow will natrally appear.' 'um ...' daisuke scratched his head, not understanding what it meant. 'if there is a guidepost, even one person won't get lost.'

daisuke muses over how talkative hiwatari is before hiwatari chuckles to himself that his guideposts are always within him, and as an example, he's always thinking about a certain person. with this, daisuke finally understands - hiwatari was encouraging him and telling him that if he stayed strong, he'd be able to get dark back. saehara bursts in to shout that the curse is real, giving daisuke an epiphany that saehara promptly continues to talk over.

first of all, she seems to be the lover of the guy who created the snow queen. well, the story about the bride mysteriously disappearing seems to be a made-up story, but even though the crown was made for her, she got married to someone else, and the guy who made it for her right after that died of heartbreak. it's like that.

saehara makes a pun that nobody laughs at then leaves as fast as he had arrived after daisuke sarcastically sends him off. hiwatari extends the favor of correcting errors in the information : the creator knew his days were numbered. at the niwa household, everyone cheers over kosuke's return, and dinner is even more lively than usual. apparently, kosuke got held up an extra day from his expected arrival because a drug dog had started barking at his backpack, and security/customs had suspected him of being a smuggler because of the art inside. he managed to get by saying that he was a researcher, and explained that what he was carrying was a cursed item, like a hope diamond.

the hope diamond is a legendary gemstone said to bring a series of misfortune to its owner. from the moment it was discovered, blood was shed by those who tried to obtain it. although it was originally just a stone, it was exposed to the distorted minds of humans possessed by desire, and as a result it acquired magical powers. [...] this is one of those things, so what happens when it's exposed to negative feelings for a long time?

daisuke's mother is impressed by kosuke's intelligence, while daisuke questions whether or not it would be dangerous to keep it in the house. in a low, friendly and kindly voice, kosuke replies that yes, it might be dangerous, but he couldn't just leave it alone. both his father's voice and words cause him to remember the way he had been saved from the snow queen. likewise, 'no one knows how to break the curse, as the technique of applying magic itself has been lost for a long time, but there has to be a way.' the answer had to be hidden in the snow queen's memory. daisuke, coming to his conclusions, shakes his head at the rest of his worried family and firmly says that everything was okay now - the mystery only lied within himself. kosuke remarks that even though he hasnt seen daisuke in a while, he felt he could rely on him, while daiki and emiko send daisuke off to his heist.

at the museum, a massive crowd has gathered thanks to saga, and the museum's on high alert. the police have mobilized more personnel than ever to try to protect their prestige; there are helicopters, relay vans, cameras, and an incomparable crowd of people compared to before. however, according to hiwatari's instructions, hiwatari and the snow queen are left by themselves. he states that 'it's time to get dark back,' because dark is his own prey, while, even a far distance away from the museum daisuke can sense the severity of its security, and can't help but feel a little nervous going alone. it's different from before; dark wouldn't be stealing it, it's not like dark can help, when in order to help dark, daisuke wold be the one stealing it. although he still hadn't figured out the snow queen's word and answer, riku shows up at the very last instant to tell him that she's been looking for him in order to say that she's figured out the answer: the one word the snow queen wanted to find was 'eternity.'

riku, turning teary-eyed, considers the way that there had been times she wished she had just stopped, and yet:

'they may hate you, you may be a nuisance, but you still love them. "i want to do something.' that thought alone is what drove me this far.

riku blushes and adds that she wants to be with the person that she likes(loves), which causes something hot to well up in daisuke's chest and remind him that he found something important to him. after thanking her, riku feels that a light had been shined on him, and that he had 'returned to the daisuke he was before.'

the bells of the clock tower ring as if announcing the arrival of an angel. a solemn and powerful sound descends over the noise surrounding the museum.

daisuke, with dark's body/appearance and alongside wiz, flies in and starts his solo heist. although the crowd cheers, they can't hear him quietly whisper to himself that's he's on his way for dark. inside, inspector saehara curses dark as he helplessly watches all of his prevention measures fail one by one.

the trajectory showed that dark was headed straight for the snow queen. it's always like that. no matter how much manpower or cutting-edge equipment you put in front of dark, it's as if it's completely meaningless, easily and freely invaded. moreover, tonight in a different sense, dark was getting on inspector saehara's nerves. normally, just before a monitor scereen cuts out, dark would purposefully show his face, wink and show off. but dark didn't do that tonight. 'as expected, you're being serious...' dark was seriously challenging the snow queen that he once failed to steal. in other words, up until now, dark had been playing around with the police just for fun.

daisuke (henceforth interchangeably [and adorably to me tbh] referred to as "dark---- daisuke," or "daisuke---dark,")makes it to the snow queen's room and hiwatari reveals himself, with a voice full of 'indifference and sadness' when he agrees with daisuke's sentiment to 'not mess with' the snow queen. instead of answering to anything, 'dark' only smiles, full of confidence, before grabbing the artwork and smashing through the window. 'dark's' look invites hiwatari to a chase, to which hiwatari calls interesting- attempting to make a path for himself, (cause... he can't parkour on the roof like the thieves,) he's stopped by wiz!dark, who grabs him and says clearly: your opponent is me. as 'dark' makes off with the crown, daisuke quietly mutters to himself asking/hoping that wiz is alright.

daisuke gets brought into the snow queen's world again. 'i found it, the name of the important thing you stole from me, and your true wish.' the snow queen is willing to give him the opportunity to tell her what word she was looking for, thinking it's a bluff.

'then let me hear it.' 'you are, after all, the heart that existed in the snow queen. you were born with the thoughts of someone who worked hard to make a tiara to give to someone they love.' although it wasn't a direct answer, 'certain words' were clearly included in it. the white woman let out a sigh, as if she had given up. daisuke found the 'key,' and just listened. 'that's right... that's why i loved him as much as that woman... for the first time, she twisted her face in pain. sadness and hatred mixed together! her eyes flicker. 'but that wman changed her mind. and then he... died of sorrow...' 'no, that's not it!' daisuke took a step towards the white woman. 'he knew he didn't have long to live. that's why he prayed for the happiness of the person that he loved.' the lady didn't say anything. behind her, the ice that was encasing dark cracked. 'i entrusted my heart to you so that we could always be together...' daisuke felt as if he had come in contact with the true feelings of the snow queen. she was both the heart of the person who created it, and the alter ego of the woman who received it. however, suddenly, a violent blizzard breaks out, and daisuke's unable to speak any further. just standing is the best he can do. 'that's it! i won't forgive you!!' the white woman is ravaged by hatred for a person who is no longer with her. no... daisuke knew that feeling. i can't believe that i've changed my mind, i can't forgive myself, and i feel like i'm blaming myself... 'but if you can change, good things will happen.' daisuke's words were bounced off by the blizzard and don't reach her. i've noticed something because i've had a love that didn't work out. i realized something for hte first time when i fell in love with someone different. the feeling of being in love will remain in my memory forever, and the many kinds of 'likes' i've had with various people always surrounds me. i came in contact with many people, got hurt a lot, and through those wounds, i was able to see a little bit of my own truths. yeah, i feel like that. light flooded from the center of the raging white storm, and daisuke reflexively closed his eyes.

when daisuke opens his eyes again he's standing inside dark, who thanks him before getting flashbanged and struck by something that feels like an electrical current, causing him to drop the snow queen. daisuke asks what the heck he's doing and dark tells him to shut up, it just meansthe curse hasn't been lifted yet. the snow queen rolls all the way into the forest, where riku picks it up. when she looks back in the direction it came from, dark/daisuke's heart starts to pound, and dark starts turning back into daisuke. they run away before riku can see, though riku later brings the crown to daisuke. as they touch it, the snow queen's cries can also be heard from the inside: i thought i finally got it, so why?

cut to wiz!dark and hiwatari. wiz repeats his poor 'your opponent is me' line at a sighing hiwatari who tells him that he 'already understands that.' contrary to dark's usual confident look, wiz is desperately trying to pass by until he turns back into his rabbit form and runs off. hiwatari stays where he is before saying: 'finally... you got caught?' and ruminates over his research: the curse wasn't just a rumor, and the snow queen really had been involved in the lives of many couples that were all captured by the snow queen; he didn't want to catch dark/daisuke like this.

in the night sky, the figure of the man his family had been chasing appearned. and my petite classmate's face... appeared then disappeared.

within the snow queen's world riku desperately searches for daisuke. she stuffs her hands into her pockets and pulls out a black feather she had taken from far earlier, and follows its guidance to the snow queen herself, daisuke lying on the ground beside her.

'do you believe in him? i see fear, hope... hesitation.' huh?!? why are you saying something so crazy at a time like this?! even though riku vented her anger, there was no change in the woman's white face. 'i'll show you his true form.' as the woman spoke, a crackling sound was heard and a wall of ice formed to cover daisuke's body. 'wait, what are you doing?!' riku, who shook off the woman's hand and ran towards daisuke, gasped. '....what?!' inside the wall of ice, daisuke's appearance changed. that man riku was afraid of--- dark. 'niwa-kun...!! is it really niwa-kun?! ' riku looked down at the block of ice in which dark was trapped. she wasn't sure why, but she definitely felt like daisuke was within it. this is a bad dream, riku said to herself. the witch is showing me a bad dream. even though it's just a dream, my heart still feels like it's going to burst.

riku expresses her frustrations and confusions as she bangs on the ice; just when she thought he was kind, he'd suddenly pull away, and she didn't know what he thought of her, the next moment she was happy they could talk a lot, he'd get carried away and say something harsh. she doesn't understand it well herself, and she doesn't care if people hate her, and daisuke only had a cold and scary expression on his face but that was it.

even if this was his true form. there are words i haven't said yet. 'i... i haven't told you properly yet. even though i told you to wait...' a single tear fell from riku. drip, drip. daisuke felt his heart tremble. he could see riku crying. beyond the wall, where he couldn't reach even if he extended his hand.

incapable of breaking the queen's ice, daisuke can't move. hiwatari's and his father's words flash in his mind, however: if there are guideposts, nobody will get lost. in this world, magic is something created by the human heart, so it can be definitely broken. he shouts for riku not to cry and desperately confesses that he loves her, the ice surrounding him dissolving and his frozen heart in the snow queen's hand thawing and vanishing, the snow queen with it. niwa and riku hug, only daisuke realizes she's nestled into his arms in a way that's 'extremely comfortable to hold,' leading to his surprise over still having dark's body. riku, not caring, clings to him (dark!) and cries--- and wasn't this one of the first scenes the snow queen had showed him?

'it looks like an evil witch had cast a spell on me.' 'magic....? but, no matter what happens to niwa-kun, i'll still love him.'

this triggers daisuke's genes and he transforms back into himself.

'riku-san... it seems like the spell has been broken thanks to you.'

they laugh a little and daisuke gratefully thanks her- thanks to her, he was able to get back something important; both his and dark's heart, who love riku.

from a distance, dark and the snow queen chat: dark asks if she really wanted daisuke as if he's known the answer all along, because the snow queen was reacting to the feelings of thinking directly about one person in search of her creator, who was no longer there. her feelings went out of control because she understood the feelings of her creator than anyone else, and dark remarks that there might have been a misunderstanding somewhere --- but he has no idea what else she might be feeling, and that's it scary, to which she bows her head. he adds on that it might not be bad to be that single-minded sometimes and laughs - not in a condescending way, but cheerfully.

dark tells her to close her eyes and embraces her, who likewise embraces him back. when she tries to apologize, he tells her that at times like these, a word of thanks from a good girl is enough before smiling gently at her- 'for the first time.'

she realized that there was no one else who could make her wishes come true. however, the wishes of her loved ones... how long will her heart continue to live, wishing for the happiness of her loved ones? she undestood. '...thank you.'

outside the snow queen's world, snow begins to fall and hiwatari smiles at it while risa angrily asks if she thinks that everyone believes it's impossible to catch dark - which earns her a round of laughter from her friends. hiwatari is the only one to agree with her, while daisuke and riku are transported back into the forest. riku says that she had a weird dream to a passive daisuke. she talks about the snow queen and how she thought it was cute, but in her dream, the snow queen was relieved of her sadness and smiling - so she's kind of happy too. everythig was for the sake of a smile; daisuke smiles, and riku wonders just how everything could have been a dream- ever since daisuke seemed cold, or all the way since the first time she had seen him instead of dark? either's fine, she thinks to herself. 'daisuke's right here next to and makes me laugh.'

riku musters up her courage 'for the umpteenth time': 'maybe.. we had the same dream? it would be nice if...' she blushes and looks away, which is enough to get daisuke's heart beating. he wants to avoid turning into dark in a situation like this and so he looks for a distraction - finding one in the snow falling onto riku's head like an angel's halo; a small white tiara.

daisuke called out the snow queen by her real name. then he remembered something important. i have to tell you this properly --- this is all i want to say... so dark, don't come out yet. praying so, daisuke suppressed his pounding heart and opened his mouth. 'riku-san, maybe i heard it in a dream, but...' daisuke whispered into her ear, and the only others that could hear him was the falling snow.

epilogue.

saehara bursts out of nowhere and interrupts riku and daisuke's cute moment, telling them to get lost and that he's waiting for dark. daisuke hesitates because he can't decide what's less embarassing to say to riku, despite the way that the only way he feels he can express himself is by calling her precious to him. saga and funabashi chat over a recording of dark's(daisuke's) heist and descent: although the image isn't clear, the sense of presence is undeniable.

'it's like the best jewel that can't be damaged no matter what. i wonder what it is...' 'isn't it worth polishing?' 'even something as simple as that is enough. saga tried to come up with the right words. the more you hurt him, the more he'll gain ground. i want someone with that kind of strength.'

daisuke, on the roof of his house, continues to look up at the moon, recognizing hiwatari's words regarding shaddows as correct. dark butts in to ask what daisuke was secretly doing with riku, to which daisuke says it's none of his business. dark says that he came back because daisuke 'cried and begged' him to be with him, to which daisuke shouts that he didn't say any of that. although it was his chance to get rid of dark, he didn't think of it. dark, meanwhile, was only laughing at daisuke's reaction, enjoying watching the boy scratch his head until daisuke also bursts into laughter.

in the back of his mind, daisuke felt strangely nostalgic about interactions like this. the feeling of despair he felt when he was alone looking up a the moon suddenly comes back to him. then, when he landed on the roof of the museum alone, he was uneasy. when he thought of riku waiting for him to come back, he felt a surge a courage. when he came to pick up dark, he felt scared. he won't tell dark because it's frustrating, but dark understands. if you have someone you love, then you won't be alone - that's what daisuke thinks as he looks up at the moon.

inside daisuke's room, emiko pulls kosuke along to show him a picture from daisuke's sketchbook.

there was a girl there. 'this is daisuke's favorite girl. her name is riku harada.' white lace curtains flow like a veil, bright enough to withstand the red wind. the profile of a girl with a simple smile. the girl's head was adorned with a tiara that emmited a pure white shine. her smile seemed to cast light in the dimly lit room.

#*･ﾟ⊰ 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒. ⊱ ✦ › OUT.#fav #reference.#IM NOT GOING THRU THE AFTERWARD..... idk if anybody'd want it but jus tknow im leaving it out #if there's anything that egregiously doesn't make sense lmk too because a) i'm not double checking this for a while #and b) my keyboard's broken so i am Plagued by typos #i tried to keep it clean though

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