#he is adorable he’s 5 foot and loves hyper pop

[homebody-nobody]

you’re a part of me

(WHAT?? Jax wrote ANOTHER fic?? THREE FICS?? in TWO WEEKS?? I know, I’m shocked too. We’re gettin closer and closer to bein a Real Fic Writer lads.) How many juke first kiss fics will you write, Jax? all of them. as many as I want. I dunno. you're an adult obsessed with a tweeny-bopper show. shut up. who even has the patience for 5 +1s in this house it's 3 +1 and only barely bc I don't know how structured fic works so it's not even separate like it's supposed to be. anyway enjoy some dumb teenagers falling in love if the dialogue is cringe sorry lol I was trying to stay in the tone of the show and may have gone a little bit too disney channel (Also if you see typos/the same adjective used twice in one sentence/paragraph, no you didn't I don't edit it makes me nervous)  ------------------------------- (ao3) ------------------------------ '... Luke has thrown out any semblance of personal space. He orbits around her just as closely as the others, no longer threatened by or hyper-aware of the consequences of his proximity. Basically, he’s getting entirely too comfortable.'

(3 times Julie and Luke almost kissed and 1 time they did) ------------------------------------ Luke is overly physical. Theoretically, Julie already knew this. She’s seen him with the boys, the way he lives in other people’s space, hanging off Reggie and lurking next to Alex, not caring where his lanky limbs or knees or elbows end up, even if it’s in other people’s ribs. He was never like that with her, too afraid of the crushing disappointment that came when she phased through his hands. But now, there isn’t the strange, tingles-up-her neck way-weird, way-wrong sensation that came when she accidentally brushed through him. So even though Julie’s used to keeping a respectful distance, Luke has thrown out any semblance of personal space. He orbits around her just as closely as the others, no longer threatened by or hyper-aware of the consequences of his proximity.  Basically, he’s getting entirely too comfortable. 

She notices it the first time during rehearsal, when they’re hashing out the particulars of a melody -- Luke wants it to go down, and Julie thinks it should go up. She plunks herself down at the grand piano to prove that her idea will sound better, fanning the half-finished sheet music out across the top, pointing out the measure they’re arguing over, smudged and crinkled from repeated erasings. 

Luke narrows his eyes at her from across the room, his face set in his trademark (adorable) grumpy expression. “It just sounds better!” she argues. “Listen.” She puts her hands on the keys, left hand hitting the chord, right dancing over her proposed melody. “So please, keep chasing me…” she sings, building to the last word and sliding her voice over an intricate run ending in a step up. Looking up, she tilts her head, her wild hair piled into a tenuous bun, curly tendrils framing her face. Luke’s stomach does an interesting flip. “See?” 

He stands up, swinging his guitar strap down across his chest before walking around her, putting his right hand over where hers had just been on the paper. He stands just behind her shoulder, sending goosebumps down her spine. “It should go down,” he insists. “It’ll flow better with the next line and then the break before the chorus makes more sense. Listen.” He puts his foot up on the bench and swings his guitar back up like it's an extension of him, playing a riff and singing the line they’re arguing about before dipping in to the next. “So please keep chasing me,” he sings, his voice gracefully stepping up and then back down, “Cause even though I’m runnin’, I know you’re the one I need.” 

“You’re making it too simple!” she cries, slamming her hands down in her lap and turning to face him. She opens her mouth to continue the argument, but when she looks at him, she starts, finally realizing just how close he is. The toe of his sneaker brushes her leg, and he leans over the sheet music, closing her in against the piano. His dark eyebrows pull together, mouth slightly pinched as he concentrates, solid and strong and very much in her space. “Um --” she says. 

He shrugs, shaking his head a little bit. “What,” he says, not understanding what she’s having a problem with. Julie’s eyes drop to his mouth, close and stupid kissable, and he notices the motion. The air crackles as both of them unconsciously draw closer, song forgotten, focused only on each other. Luke leans in, half an inch, and Julie’s breath hitches in her chest. This is stupid. She knows this is stupid. Luke is dead. Full ghost. Not real. Well, real, but not a viable option. He might have a physical presence now -- a very strong, very warm, very attractive physical presence -- but that doesn’t make him any more possible. And yet, here she is, pulled into him like he has his own gravitational field and she’s helpless to it. Luke licks his lips, and Julie tilts her chin up, fractional motion tiptoeing toward something irreversible and dangerous. 

Just as she’s about to step over that uncrossable line, there’s an almighty crash. Both of their heads whip up in time to see Alex topple off his stool -- he’d fallen asleep as they were arguing. The noise wakes Reggie, whose head was lolling against his amp. “I didn’t do it!” he yells, flailing into sitting up straight. 

Julie clears her throat and turns back to the keyboard, stretching her hands over the keys. “You’re, uh --” she says, glancing at Luke out of the corner of her eye to find him smirking in an infuriatingly adorable manner. “You’re right. It should go down.” He stands up straight, mildly surprised at his easy victory, and backs off from the piano to show Reggie the chords. They sketch out the verse and Alex adds a backing beat, the moment forgotten. 

That is, until Carlos comes in to nag her to eat. Alex poofs out and Reggie dives behind his amp. Since the whole discovering-corporeality thing, they’re not totally sure if Julie’s the only one who can see them still, and they’d rather not have to explain to Julie’s dad what three teenage ‘holograms’ are doing living in his garage. Carlos delivers his message and then darts back inside, eager for dinner, and Julie stands up from the piano, gathering the half-finished song and tucking it into the folder she keeps her in-progress projects in. 

Reggie emerges in a comic mess of limbs and grins at her, Alex poofing back on to his stool. “I’ll be back after dinner to finish this,” she says, hoping they don't notice the shake in her hands as she tucks the folder away. Luke pops his chin over the edge of the couch, behind which he’d taken cover. 

“Hey Julie!” he calls, and she turns back to look at him. “Just remember; KISS.” 

Her brain short-circuits, heart tripping over itself as she remembers his eyes on her, his shoulders and his hands and his stupid concentration face. “I, uh -- What are you --” she sputters.

A shit-eating grin spreads across Luke’s face as he puts his elbows on top of the couch and pushes himself up. “Keep it simple, stupid.” 

Julie practically runs out of the garage. Alex raises an eyebrow, his gaze arcing from the door to land on Luke. “That was uh…” Luke schools his expression into one of false innocence. “Bold.” Luke rolls his eyes and brushes him off, but Reggie gives Alex a knowing look. Their friends are idiots. 

It happens again one afternoon when Carlos has a baseball game and Julie has the house to herself. Or, so she thinks. She’s lazing around on the couch, avoiding her history homework spread out on the coffee table, Adventure Time babbling on the television. She’s slowly working her way through a bag of gummy bears and m&ms (her favorite candy combination),  wearing an enormous hoodie that used to be her mom’s, home alone; life is fantastic. Until -- 

“Oh, sweet, cartoons!” Luke poofs into existence directly next to her on the couch, and she starts violently enough to shake candy into the couch cushions. Some of it lands on his chest, and he holds up a green gummy bear with a wistful expression. Julie just stares at him, still mildly in shock, definitely still annoyed, and really not in the mood to endure his moping about food when she was having a perfectly nice time by herself. 

“Hey,” he says, either ignoring or unaware of what he’s just done to her heart rate and her peaceful afternoon. “You think now that I’m corporeal --” (he over-pronounces the word, having just learned it from Flynn days before) “I can eat like, regular human food?” It isn’t until he looks to her for an answer that he realizes what he’s just done. “Oh, sorry,” he says, that same stupid-ass grin settling on his face, not sorry even a little bit. “Did I spook ya?” 

His glee at the pun, which he definitely stole from Reggie, sparkles in his gray-green eyes, and Julie’s heart, which had just started to recover from his sudden appearance, trips over itself one more time. Emerging from the shaken-up snowglobe of her brain, she blurts out her first thought. “You’re the worst,” she says, even while thinking the opposite. 

He looks genuinely hurt for about half a second before turning the gummy bear towards her, too, and speaking for it. “You should be nice to Luke,” he says in an absurd voice. “He’s so handsome and talented!” He laughs at his own joke and pitches his voice up to continue with the bit, but she snatches the candy out of his hand and pops into her mouth, grinning. He feigns shock. “That bear could have had a family, Julie.” 

“If they did, they’ll all be happy together in my stomach,” she says, eating another one to punctuate the statement. Luke laughs, and the sound has a heart-stopping melody of its own. It’s comfortable, the relationship that they’ve developed with each other. He always laughs at her jokes and is the first to offer her a compliment after rehearsal, and she loves his dorky sense of humor, even when she gives him a hard time about it. They write music and goof around, and even with the (very strong) undercurrent of romantic (she hopes) tension between them, a friendship sits comfortably on top. He’s only been in her life for a short time,  but she can’t imagine it without him. Her feelings for him endanger that, so she does her best not to let it show. He asks her what she’s watching, and she explains the basic premise of the episode so that he can understand what’s going on. 

She’s hyper-aware of him as they watch the show, and  she envies the ease with which he occupies her space, his shoulder brushing hers, their knees occasionally bumping. He slouches all the way down on the couch, one foot kicked up on the table, turning the remote in his hands and messing with the battery cover, completely at home. (He’s always fiddling with something -- a pen, his necklace -- or bouncing his leg, or clicking a guitar pick between his teeth. It’s a habit that’s mostly adorable and only sometimes annoying.) If he notices her staring at him, he doesn’t say anything. 

It takes a couple more episodes, but she finally relaxes, and the distance between them -- already spare -- vanishes, her shoulder tucked under his, her head angled toward him, their feet bumping on the table. Half her attention is on Finn and the land of Ooo, and half on the boy beside her, who doesn’t seem to give any indication that he’s thinking about this as much as she is. Luke has a way of pulling her in until she’s closer than she ever planned to be, like she can’t help but touch him. Ever since the night they played the Orpheum, he’s become magnetic, his presence a force she can’t resist. If she tilted her head down, just a fraction, it would be resting on his shoulder. What would he do? Would he shrug her off, or rest his head on hers? She watches his hands play with the remote, imagining what his strong, slender fingers would feel like laced with hers. She’s had crushes before, of course -- she liked Nick all the way from seventh grade up to this year -- but nothing so real and powerful as this. 

“Don’t you think Finn sounds just like Reggie?” Luke asks, pulling her from her thoughts. She looks up at him, and he looks down at her, and -- oh. 

He’s very close. 

His eyes always remind her of an overcast sky, swirling with unknown depth, and they widen when they meet hers, filled with awe. Blood rushes in her ears, muting the TV, tuning out anything that isn’t him. Her heart is beating so hard and so fast she wonders peripherally if he can hear it, and then that thought fizzles out with the rest of any kind of logic when his gaze drops to her mouth. He’s going to kiss her. He’s going to kiss her!! Panic and elation and anticipation all scramble in her chest. She’s never kissed anyone before, and even though she’s never asked, she knows he probably has. What if she’s bad at it? She’s half freaking out and half telling herself to shut the hell up as he turns his entire body towards her, his hand reaching up to hold her face and -- 

The front door slams open, announcing Carlos and Ray. “Mija!!” her dad calls. Luke jerks back from her like he’s been burned, eyes filled with absolute terror, before he disappears. 

“JULIEEEEE!!” Carlos hollers, launching himself across the living room at her and landing on her stomach, knocking the air out of her. Her arms come up around him automatically, despite all the sweat and the diamond dirt sticking to it. Feeling mildly shell shocked and like she’s been hit by a hell of a lot more than her little brother, she barely listens as Carlos and their dad babble over each other in an attempt at telling the story of Carlos’ game-winning home-base slide. She’ll be happy for him once her heart rate slows down. 

Luke stays away for almost a full twenty-four hours after that particular mishap, long enough she almost asks Reggie and Alex if he talked to them about it. There’s about a thousand reasons not to, but mostly, she doesn’t know if she can even explain just what happened. She does tell Flynn, who launches into a very confusing monologue that starts with her admonishing Julie for thinking anything good can come from involving herself with a literal ghost and ends with her gushing about how many cute love songs they could write together, zero percent of which makes her feel better. 

The only reason he doesn’t continue avoiding her is rehearsal, which, of course, he would never miss. She’s hoping to talk to him before they get started, but then the bus gets stuck in traffic and all of her boys are already set up with their instruments and having an impromptu jam session by the time she gets home.  “What --” she hisses as she heaves the doors shut behind her. “Did I tell you guys about playing in here without me?” Alex shrugs and apologizes, and she can’t really be mad at Reggie, at least not for long. 

But Luke -- he barely looks at her, nervous fingers dancing across a complicated riff even as the other boys stop playing. It takes a second of silence before he looks up to see the rest of his band staring at him. “Oh,” he says, the phrase ending in the discordant sound of fingernails on steel strings. “Yeah, right. Sorry.” 

They get started, but nothing sounds right. Luke rushes the tempo and refuses to make eye contact with anyone, spinning off into fancy riffs that have no place in the song they’re working on. Reggie keeps trying to keep up with him, tripping up Alex and frustrating Julie, and when the song grinds to a cacophonous halt for the fourth time, she stands up from the piano. Reggie takes a step back. 

“What is your problem?” she practically yells, stomping over to Luke. He’s been surly and unusually stubborn, and the shift from his usual cheerful, passionate demeanor builds her own stewing anxieties to a dangerous head.

“It’s not my problem you can’t keep up,” he says, and then, after watching the words register in Julie’s expression, immediately regrets it. Alex’s eyebrows shoot up and Reggie makes a very soft ‘ooooohhh’ noise under his breath.

“It’s not keeping up if you can’t hold a steady tempo,” she says, too upset over his refusal to cooperate to catch the reaction from her bandmates.

“Okay, so maybe I was rushing,” he admits, trying to walk it back. But Julie’s on a roll, and once she gets started laying into him, she very rarely lets up.

“Thank you!” she yells, the sarcasm clear in her tone. She’d been especially fond of the product so far, a song she thought embodied the perfect blend of Luke’s harder edge and her singer-songwriter roots. His sudden, uncharacteristic left turn is as much an interruption in their rehearsal as a knock to the tenuous pride she’d been building in the piece.  “And what are all those riffs you’re tossing in? You have to hear how they don’t fit.” 

“Oh come on,” he says, proud in his ability and therefore less willing to step down. He rolls his shoulders back and moves toward her, the challenge set in his spine. “I was shredding and you know it.” Luke is sweet and kind and silly and compassionate, but he’s also a musician, and a lead guitarist at that. His ego, though it rarely becomes an issue, is far from insubstantial. 

“If you want a solo, fine!” she cries with exasperation, her hands flying through the air like they always do when she’s upset. “But you have to say something so we can give you room for it!” Her annoyance has turned down the sensitivity on her Luke-nonsense monitor, caught up enough in the trouble that she can’t see that he’s riling her up on purpose.

“What, you afraid of a little improvisation?” He’s smiling now, and his obvious glee, such a stark flip from where she thought this was going, throws off her tirade. He starts walking toward her, and his newfound physicality gives him an ability to fluster her to a much greater degree than before.

“No --” she stammers, stumbling backwards, distracted out of anger by his sparkling eyes and the power in the body approaching rapidly. “That’s not what I --” There it is again, that power he has to turn the rest of the world into radio static, her vision blurring and her hearing dulling until it’s just Luke filling up the world in front of her. 

“C’mon Julie,” he says, and right now she hates his stupid smirk and the stupid way he rolls her name around in his mouth before letting it out. “you have to take risks once in a while.” She’s backed up against the piano now, her hands wrapped tight around the lid, and he’s still pushing it, strong and warm and undeniably, frustratingly male in her space. 

But Julie isn’t one to let him intimidate her into silence, no matter how cute and well-muscled he may be. She takes a breath and looks him in his ridiculous sparkly eyes, poking him in his absurdly firm chest.“I am not afraid of taking risks, mister,” she says, “Let’s not forget who performed in front of her entire school to get back into the music program --” 

“My idea,” he scoffs, not backing up. Why isn’t he backing up.

“Or who fronts a band of actual ghosts!” she continues, her voice increasing in volume again, and the speed of her heart tripping over itself could be from the argument or the boy who’s collarbones are less than a foot from her face. Both are entirely possible. 

“Less ghost now,” he reminds her, tilting his head, his weight leaned one one leg, his hand resting on the head of his guitar, relaxed when they’re supposed to be arguing. 

“You just get to poof out after we perform!” she says, only about two-thirds of her mind still focused on the fight itself, the other third completely wrapped up in the feeling of Luke in front of her. “I’m the one who has to stick around and ask questions!” 

“So you’re saying you take chances,” he says, diabolically diplomatic instead of challenging. He leans forward, putting his hands on the piano behind her, caging her in with his arms. She refuses to back down again, even though his face is now inches from hers. “You’d take a leap of faith?” 

“Yeah,” she says, only half-certain, because she’s not totally sure they’re still talking about music, and her heart is in the base of her throat and her stomach is somewhere around her shoes, and suddenly her hands are sweating when they definitely weren’t a minute ago. This definitely isn’t an argument about the song anymore. 

“Oh yeah?” he says, and there’s the challenge again, except this one sounds more like a dare, and he’s definitely looking at her lips this time, not even trying to be subtle about it, and her hands are braced on his forearms and when did they get there? And Luke is warm and when she looks up, his eyes are on hers, and despite all that bravado and provocation there’s still a question there, and all she would have to do to answer is lift up on her toes and finally, finally press her lips against his, and -- 

Alex coughs. The oxygen goes out of the room like someone opened an airlock, and Julie feels herself sink, just barely, back down on her heels. The world fills back in, colors and sounds suddenly too bright, too abrasive. Tearing her eyes off Luke, she glances over his shoulder to where Reggie and Alex are, still with their instruments, watching them intently. Alex looks politely put out, his eyebrows tilted up with incredulity, like he's asking if they seriously just made him watch that. Reggie, on the other hand, hides nothing in his expression, shock and amusement there in equal parts as he glances between Alex and the two of them still tucked close against the piano, jaw askance in a surprised smile. 

"Are you done?" Alex asks, in a tone that sounds less like a question. "It’s not that I mind…" he gestures between the two of them with a drumstick. "This, but like, time and place, dude." He's not talking to Julie. Luke clears his throat, appropriately chastised, but still looking smug as shit. 

"Um, sorry," she mutters as he returns to his spot next to his amp. 

Alex shrugs. "Not your fault," he says, "from the top?" 

"Uh," she says, frozen for a moment in embarrassment and confusion. She looks to Alex, and he gives her one of his soft, kind smiles, the sort that makes her feel like everything is going to be okay. “Right, okay,” she finishes, as her hands twitch and she settles back into her body. Rushing back around to the bench, she flexes her hands over the keys, curling them into fists and then back out again when they tremble. “From the top.” 

The rehearsal goes -- okay, after that. The magic is missing; therefore, while she usually feels inspired and courageous and empowered walking out of the garage, she just feels exhausted and drained. She eats dinner with her family, and her dad definitely notices that she’s uncharacteristically quiet, but saves asking about it until after Carlos is safely sequestered with his iPad. “How ya doin, kiddo?” he asks as she helps him clear up the dishes. “Everything okay?” 

Julie looks at her dad with mild alarm, wondering what exactly he knows. He does his best, he really does, but it took him a while to even notice she was in a band. Not to mention, he still believes they’re holograms. “Um,” she says convincingly. “Yeah?” 

He smiles kindly, in the way that means he’s very politely calling bullshit. “Alright, mija. What’s going on?” 

Heaving a sigh, Julie keeps her eyes on the dishwasher she’s loading, trying her best to plan an escape route out of this conversation. “I promise, Dad,” she says, “It’s nothing.” and then, what she thinks are the magic words. “Boy stuff.” 

But Ray’s been prepping for this, had conversations with Rose about it before she passed, while the cancer slowly ate her alive. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to be there for her daughter through the time in her life a girl needs her mother the most, and she wasn’t about to let him hide behind toxic masculinity and leave Julie to figure it out on her own. “Okay,” Ray says, trepidation clear in his voice but also not unwilling to approach the topic. “What’s his name?” 

Julie almost drops the pot she’s scrubbing. “Does it matter?” she asks, her voice crawling up several octaves. 

“Just trying to learn who is in my daughter’s life,” he answers diplomatically, sitting down at the counter to make it clear he’s not letting her out of this one easily. 

“I promise, Dad,” she says, doing her best to frantically dodge the interrogation she knows is coming, regretting she brought it up at all, cursing herself for being so obvious. “It’s dumb. You don’t even know him.” 

Ray nods slowly, pretending to believe her. Julie goes after the pot a little harder, because maybe if she just finishes the dishes she can go upstairs and bury herself in her bed and not have to have this conversation anymore. “It’s not that guitarist, is it?” he asks, and her spine goes stiff as a ramrod. Ray’s her dad, but he’s not blind. He’s seen the way they look at each other when they perform, the way the boy follows her around the stage like a puppy, desperate for her attention, disappointed when she jams with the other members of their band and not him. He’s an excellent musician, but Ray knows too many stories of near-legends gone sour with misdirected young love. 

“No!” Julie cries immediately in an obvious lie. “Of course not!” She turns, half-laughing, explanations falling out of her mouth “We’re just friends,” she insists, lacing her fingers in front of her and nodding exaggeratedly. “Just friends. Only friends. Uh-huh. Friends. And!” she continues, gesturing widely, “he doesn’t even live here! So that… wouldn’t even make sense!” she laughs awkwardly. “So no way. That it’s him. No way it’s him.” 

Ray sighs out a laugh that Julie’s too panicked to hear and leans forward on his elbows. “Alright, nina. Just be careful, okay?” She’s nodding along, edging her way towards the stairs. “You and your band…” She looks like Rose, in that hoodie that practically swallows her, hair piled messily on top of her head. Her mom was also a terrible liar, he remembers fondly. “You have something special. Don’t throw that away for a boy.” 

Julie nods rapidly and then bolts, thundering up the stairs before throwing her bedroom door closed behind her and diving headfirst onto her bed, burying herself in decorative pillows. How does everyone  know?? First Flynn and then Reggie and Alex and now her dad? Is she that obvious? (Um, yes.) She flops onto her back, staring up at the colorful tapestries slung across her ceiling, the string lights and posters and art. Usually, she loves her room, the feeling of her creative mind as a space she can inhabit, exploring her heart and the things she loves without having to shut out the outside world. But tonight, she feels trapped in her own head, so she grabs her notebook and squeezes out the window, perched on the roof outside her room. 

The evening air is cool and crisp, the gentlest bite warning the oncoming winter, as much as there is a winter in LA. She spends a while scribbling down half-baked lyric ideas and doodling angry black scribbles around the edges of the pages when nothing comes out right. It’s harder to write on her own, now, without the steady pulse of Luke’s genius behind her, the electricity that flows between them as they create impeccable harmonies. Sometimes, it feels like music belongs to the both of them together, a joined force, like they’ve given up their individual melodies for something greater. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once. 

Eventually, she just ends up holding the notebook open to ‘Perfect Harmony’ with one hand, the other arm wrapped around her legs, her chin propped on her knees. She still hasn’t shown it to Luke, afraid of how real it feels, how clear it makes her feelings for him. Also, it’s a ballad, which they haven’t even approached yet, and she has no idea how Reggie and Alex will feel about such an explicitly romantic duet. She’s thinking that maybe she might be able to vague it up, maybe even make it a solo piece, when Luke appears next to her, like thinking about him draws him to her. (Which might actually be true -- she hasn’t examined that very closely.) 

“Hey!” he says cheerfully, all awkwardness from the evening’s rehearsal ostensibly disappeared. He plucks the notebook out of her hand, using the other arm to hold back her immediate demands for its return. “New stuff?” he asks. This is not normally such a grievous invasion of privacy. Ever since they started writing together, their songwriting journals have become common property, and half the pages in hers are marked up with his handwriting and vice versa. 

“It’s not ready yet!” she cries, pushing against the (stupidly strong) arm he has across her collarbone, willing to climb bodily over him to snatch the notebook back. Luke’s face very slowly falls as he reads it, the lyrics sinking in, and her protests trail off as she stops scrambling to grab it out of his hands. 

He stands suddenly, pacing across the roof. “Did you --” he starts, breathing shallowly, his tongue tucking his teeth between his lips, nostrils flaring before he speaks again. “Why did you copy this out of my songbook?” It’s not accusatory, only a question, born of true confusion. 

“I didn’t,” Julie replies without skipping a beat, equally baffled. 

“I wrote this after the garage party,” he says. “How is it in your notebook?” 

“I wrote it at school before the garage party,” she replies, doing her best to keep down the memory of the Luke in her imagination and the song coming to her fully formed in the form of a Patrick Swayze-esque daydream. She didn’t even tell Flynn about that part. 

“At school…” Luke repeats, studying the lyrics with a furrow between his eyebrows, and as much as Julie is also reeling from shock at the mystery, it’s kind of adorable to watch him try and solve it. “This doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking up at her, signature grumpy expression in place. He tilts the notebook flat, like he’s presenting it to her, hoping she has the next steps. Like he’s reached his conclusion, and it’s that he’s confused. 

“It doesn’t,” she says, and it comes out as half a laugh unintentionally, just looking at his ridiculous, adorable face. 

“Why are you laughing?” he demands with exasperated urgency. “This is super weird!” He rushes over and collapses next to her, a mess of flannel and limbs and beautiful dumbass. He shoves the notebook back into her hands as she folds her legs underneath her, relinquishing her grip on her knees. 

“Yeah,” she sighs, unable to wipe the grin from her face. “Yeah, it is.” Luke looks like he wants to ask her what she’s smiling at, but then he starts smiling, too, because her happiness is his happiness. Julie’s already past the strange coincidence, lost in the joy of his gray-green eyes and the feeling of him next to her. She’s too used to strange, to the ever-changing rules of the afterlife and the constant uncertainty that Luke and her boys bring to her life. Yes, it’s strange, but she’s in a ghost band and her crush is dead and still manages to look at her like that so she has a certain level of perspective when it comes to things like this. 

“What are you --” Luke tries to say, but her eyes are on his and they’re warm and brown and kind and he’s finding it a little hard to form sentences. 

“This is ridiculous,” she says, and he’s nodding without knowing what he’s agreeing to. “We wrote the same song on the same day,” she laughs, and he nods again, half-listening, half lost in her. She’s excited now, about the possibility brought on by magic and her connection -- their  connection -- souls tied together with passion and music and love. “That’s impossible!” It cements something for her, the feeling of coming together, of sliding into place. They’re so solid, tight, together, on the same wavelength… musicians have put it a thousand ways throughout the years, to communicate the feeling of a co-writer, a bandmate, a partner, reading your mind, singing the next line, playing the next riff that was just in your head. Julie and Luke get the added bonus of being inexplicably spiritually linked. Nothing can break that, or replace it. She’s not scared of it, anymore. 

“Impossible,” he echoes. He always feels a little bit stronger, a little more alive whenever he’s with Julie like this, just the two of them, hanging out or writing music, and he’s in her immediate proximity, soaking in the warmth of her brown skin and brown eyes and the chaotic energy of her wild, incredible hair. She pulls him in, without knowing the power she holds or the light that she emits, casting a golden glow over everything around her. 

“Luke,” she says, and he tunes back in, realizing that he’s steadily leaning toward her as they sit on the roof, Julie cross-legged, Luke angled toward her, one leg stretched out, his elbow propped on his other knee. “Are you listening?” 

“Um,” he swallows, “Yeah?” but he’s looking at her lips, not her eyes, and he’s thinking about kissing her, just once, just to see what she tastes like, remembering the smell of gummies and m&ms, hoping she’ll be just as sweet. She doesn’t say anything, mostly because she forgot what she was going to say in the first place, watching his eyes watch her mouth, breathing him in. He’s too close again, closer than any friend or bandmate should be, and there’s no mic between them, and the door to her room is closed, and there’s no bandmates or brothers or dads, and her heart pounds in her chest. 

When she tilts her chin towards him, she feels ready, finally, knowing what he means to her. Only a breath separates them, but they both stop, waiting for the inevitable interruption, the door slamming open, or someone calling up from the yard below, but it doesn’t come. Realizing what they’re both waiting for, they breathe out a simultaneous laugh, their foreheads dropping together. The tension fades, and Julie’s smile feels uncontainable, demanding every inch of her face as this beautiful, goofy, genus, talented boy adores her while she sits there, falling in love with him. 

It’s easier, this moment, than the one before, because it feels less laden with the weight of someone pulling away, unsure or unwanting. This moment is comfortable, joyful, the two of them acknowledging every minute of want and disappointment and hilarious misfortune over the past few days, acknowledging what they would have asked for instead. And when Luke finally reaches up, pulling her in gently with his hand on her neck, his thumb sliding over her jaw, it’s with confidence and tenderness, reassured that she wants this, too. Julie leans easily into the touch, and when their lips meet, the spark and rush is better than any performance, any screaming crowd drowning in lights. They kiss each other, moving together, leaning in as one, harmony made in the movement of mouths and the press of lips, and this moment -- it’s perfect. 

[to-star-lake]

ether [ pt. 2 ]

pairing | pjm/jjk x reader genre | angst, love triangle word count | 5.4k rating | M

You stared at the multiple missed calls from Jungkook on your screen, your thumb hovering over the notification, wondering if you should call him back. 

“Ugh,” you mumbled, feeling a headache come on, your head starting to pound and you tossed your phone aside. You pushed yourself up, struggling to pull your dress from your body before flipping the duvet over and crawling into bed, snuggling your face into your pillow. 

You took a deep breath in, ready to drift to sleep when you heard a faint buzzing from somewhere under the covers. You popped one eye open, annoyed, and felt around in the sheets until your hand landed on your phone. You grabbed ahold of it, and held it up to your face. 

Incoming call: Jungkook

Shit.

You sat up, holding your phone in your lap, staring at the lit up screen in your hands, wondering what to do. 

Fuck, just pick up the phone. 

You slid the bar across the screen and held your phone up to your ear, “Hello?” 

Nothing. 

“....JK?” you asked quietly. 

To this you heard a sigh, his breath huffing into the speaker. 

You felt your brows knit together. “Ok, if you’re not gonna say anything, I’m gonna hang up now-”

“Where are you,” he asked, though his tone made it sound more like a demand. 

“Home,” you scoffed at his question. 

“Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I was-” You fell backward onto your pillows, a blurry and rose-tinted image of Jimin pushing you against the wall, his hand between your legs flashed through your mind and you shook your head, “I was busy.” 

You heard nothing on the other end except for his breathing. A few moments passed before he said, “Who was that guy you left with?”

“Just someone I met at the bar,” you answered curtly. 

“You left with a guy you just met?”

The way he asked that question made a knot form in your stomach. “Why do you even care, JK?”

A few more moments of silence. 

“Are you with him now?”

“No, obviously not, I’m at home,” you rolled your eyes. 

“Where’d you go with him?”

“What’s with the interrogation, JK?” you heard yourself raising your voice. “You don’t hear me asking what you and Yuri were doing all night.” 

You heard a sharp exhale on the other end. “You shouldn’t just go places with some random guy you just met, he’s bad news-” 

“How can you say that, you have no idea who he is!” 

“Neither do you, that’s my point! You said yourself you just met him!” he was beginning to raise his voice too. 

“Yeah, so what, I just met him, and I happened to have had a great time with him. He’s nice, he’s funny, he’s incredibly attractive, and I’m going on a date with him tomorrow. So leave out of it, JK.” you huffed, hanging up the phone, angrily tossing it aside. 

You stared up at the ceiling, taking a few deep breaths trying to calm yourself down. Why the hell does he care? Besides, it’s not like you even owe him any explanation. 

You slid down further into bed, pulling the covers over you when you heard your phone buzzing again beside you. 

Glancing over, you saw Jungkook’s name come up on the screen and you picked up your phone, getting out of bed, and walked it out to your kitchen counter and set it down and watched as it continued to vibrate on the marble surface. 

You left it there, turning and heading back into your bedroom, slamming the door shut. You pulled the covers over your shoulder and thought for a moment back to when you saw Yuri clinging onto Jungkook’s arm at the bar earlier. You wondered if she asked him to take her home. You wondered if she invited him up to his apartment. You wondered if he said yes. 

-

In the morning, you woke to a horrible high-pitched buzzing coming from your front door. 

“Ugh,” you moaned, sitting up and rubbing your eyes, a dull pounding in your head from a lingering hangover making you dizzy. You blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the bright morning sunlight, and looked over at the clock on your nightstand. 

It read 10:00AM. 

Oh, shit. 

You flew out of the covers, bursting through your bedroom door and running towards the buzzing intercom in your living room, almost sliding and falling on the rug. 

“Yes?” you hit the speaker quickly. 

“Miss Y/N?” it was Johnny, the security guard downstairs. “Um, there’s a guy here, says he’s here to see you?” 

You stood by the intercom for a moment, stunned. 

Did he really come back, at 10AM, like he said he would? It took you a few moments to hit the intercom again. 

“What’s he look like?” 

“Uh, about 5’8, gray hair though he’s not, like, old, umm” he lowered his voice, “He showed up in a McLaren.” 

You heard a soft laugh escape your lips at the description. 

“Johnny, please tell him I’m sorry to be late, I’ll be downstairs in 15, please be nice!” and with that you ran back through your bedroom, pulling your underwear down from your hips, almost tripping over them as they fell to your ankles. You stumbled into your bathroom, turning the water on and jumping in immediately, flinching as the cold water hit your skin. 

You doused your body in soap, rinsing shampoo through your hair as quickly as possible, and flew out of the shower, tousling your hair with a towel. You slid on a bralette and a matching pair of underwear, pausing for a moment in your closet and realizing you had no idea what he has planned for today and therefore did not know what would be appropriate dress. 

You reached for a pretty shimmery blouse and then held yourself back, thinking you didn’t want to look like you’re trying too hard. But he must be dressed nicely, like he was last night, you thought to yourself. 

“Ahh, fuck it,” you muttered, pulling down a plain white t-shirt and a pair of Levi’s from the shelf and threw it on. Grabbing a cardigan and your purse from your desk, you skipped back out through the kitchen, and kicking on your shoes, flew out your front door, tapping your foot nervously as you waited for the elevator. 

You stepped out on the ground floor and turned to walk through the courtyard, and at the security desk you saw Jimin, one side of his silver hair slicked back, the other hanging loosely over his eyes, his long legs in a pair of black jeans, and a black and white striped t-shirt under an expertly distressed plaid shirt. 

He was leaning onto his elbows on the security desk, laughing at Johnny, who was waving his arms around, describing something. You took a deep breath, puffing out your cheeks, finding yourself having to shake some messy thoughts away looking at the lines of muscles on his legs as he shifted his weight. 

“Yo, Y/N!” Johnny called out, and you watched as Jimin turned to face you, and you suddenly became hyper aware of how your legs moved under you, like you had to consciously remember how to walk. 

“I was just talking with your man here about his cars,” Johnny boasted as you walked up. “I was telling him, the Wraith and the SV Roadster are some fine vehicles, but the engine in that P1,” he held his hand up to his lips in a chef’s kiss. “Mmm, when it comes to engines you can’t beat McLaren.” 

You turned to see Jimin smiling, his body leaned lazily against the table. “And I was just telling Johnny he should stop by the house on the island sometime. I’ve got the MP4/6 from the Formula 1 series in Monaco from a few years ago,” he said, grinning and totally serious. 

“Ha, cool cool, let’s see so that was a Rolls, a Lam, and an original F1 race car?” You tugged at your shirt. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” 

He laughed, reaching his hand out to your waist, standing upright and leaned in to give you a kiss, but you flinched at the sudden contact. 

“Woah, ok, I’m gonna just head back to my office and leave you guys to do, uh, whatever you were gonna do,” Johnny threw his hands up, backing away slowly. “It was nice meeting you man, don’t be a stranger, bring over one of the other toys next time. I’m totally gonna take you up on the offer to see the F1 car too!” he called out to Jimin before turning and walking into the back office. 

You turned and looked up at him, slightly embarrassed, “I’m sorry, I uh, I can’t believe you actually came.” 

“What, you didn’t think I’d show up?” he reached both arms around your waist, pulling you in for a kiss, and you felt your legs press together the moment his lips touched yours. “I’m a man that keeps his promises,” he pulled away, grinning. “Did you sleep well?”  

“Uh..” you felt your cheeks grow hot at his implication. “It was fine,” you answered sheepishly. “Um, so where are we going?” 

He led you out to his car and holding the door open for you, beaming, saying “This is going to be the cheesiest date of your life.” 

-

The day began at the aquarium, where he led you from exhibit to exhibit, mimicking the tiny fluorescent ocean fish, outrightly gawking at the sharks swimming above a glass tunnel, squeezing your arm and squealing about how cute the penguins were. 

He’d suck his cheeks in, making a fish face, asking ‘Is that how they breathe? Do their lips have to be like that?” 

You’d laugh and he’d pout, “Stop laughing at me!” 

“I’m not laughing at you Jimin, I’m laughing with you!” 

“You are! You’re laughing at me, and I don’t like it,” he’d cross his arms in front of his chest, walking a few steps in front of you. 

“Fish breathe through their gills, Jimin, they don’t breathe through their mouths,” you giggled, chasing after him. 

“Yeah, obviously I knew that,” he’d huff, still feigning like he was upset, but reached down and took your hand in his. 

He had you clutching your stomach in laughter as he gushed about the dolphin show, insisting that the two of you stop in every gift shop along the way, buying stuffed clownfish, stuffed blue tangs, stuffed otters, anything he found so adorable he couldn’t help but get it. And he shoved them all into your arms, “They’re for you!” he’d insist, smiling brightly. 

“I don’t need this many stuffed animals, Jimin, I’m not 5,” you laughed, soon unable to see over the stack of stuffed toys in your arms as you waited for your coffees at the cafe by one of the gift shops in the lobby. 

“Yes you do, I want you to have something to remember this day by,” Jimin pouted, reaching his arms around your waist in a back hug. 

“So just one souvenir wouldn’t have been enough? What’s wrong with a nice refrigerator magnet?” you laughed, feeling the muscles on your stomach tense when he flattened his hands against you, leaning his head down over your shoulder, his cologne wafting down. 

“Refrigerator magnets are lame,” he rolled his eyes, walking over to the counter to pick up your coffees and leading you out to the car to drop off all the stuffed toys. 

You spent the rest of the afternoon walking hand in hand along the river, and he asked you endless questions about yourself - about your favorite everything; books, movies, music, places you’ve been, about your work, about your family. And you asked in turn, discovering that in addition to being incredibly cheeky, kind, and an absolute jokester, he was also extremely smart and well-read. 

The two of you bonded over a mutual love of Hayao Miyazaki’s early works, Hunter S. Thompson and Kerouac, that both of you loved to listen to gloomy acoustic songs because somehow they cheered you up.  

He paused for a moment, leaning forward onto his elbows on the metal barrier by the river and you stopped next to him, resting your hands on the cold metal, taking a deep breath in. He reached his arms around your shoulders, moving to stand behind you, leaning his face down against yours. 

“Y/N,” he whispered against your skin, his lips tickling your cheek. 

“Yes?” you smiled, and he squeezed his arms tighter around you. 

“I had a lot of fun today,” he leaned his face down to the base of your neck, breathing onto your bare skin. You leaned into the cold metal of the barrier, feeling him press his body closer to you. 

“I did too,” you sighed, breathing in his cologne and closing your eyes as he laced his fingers with yours, turning you around to face him. 

You looked up to see his smiling eyes, glowing in the late afternoon light. 

“So did you think more on what we talked about last night?” he leaned down and whispered in your ear. You felt goosebumps rise on your arm at his words. 

“I uh, I haven’t..” you looked up at him nervously. 

He smiled, “That’s okay, because after I left, I did a lot of thinking about it,” he leaned down, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

“Really?” you asked shakily, his hands sliding down your waist to your hips. 

“Mhmm,” his lips traveled across your cheek. “I thought about it on my drive home,” he kissed at your jaw, “In the shower,” he leaned over you, lowering his lips to yours. “In bed, all by myself,” you felt a dull throbbing sensation as he pushed his mouth open with his. 

“Um, mm, what- what did you think about?” you murmured into his lips as his tongue rolled past your teeth, his taste making you weak at the knees, remembering last night. 

“You want me to tell you?”

“Could you show me?” 

-

He drove quickly through the city streets, pulling the car to a stop in front of your apartment complex. The two of you made your way past the security desk, across the courtyard, rolling against the wall, him pushing you into the bricks, his lips pressed against yours greedily, and you barely registered Johnny waving his hands out as the two of you stumbled past his desk, trying to tell you something. 

Jimin pushed you back into the elevator and you reached your hand out, pressing the button to your floor clumsily, his body pressed hard against yours in the corner, his lips latched onto your neck, pulling your leg up around his waist. 

“You’ll have to take it from here, I have no idea where I’m going,” he slid his fingers through the loop on your jeans, pulling you from the elevator when the doors opened to your floor, making you fall against his chest, giggling. 

When you turned, you saw a dark figure stand up a couple of doors down, in front of your apartment at the end of the hall, stopping you dead in your tracks. 

“JK-”

He stood upright, sliding his hands into the pockets of his gray sweatpants, his backpack by his feet, standing in front of your door, his jaw protruding from clenching his teeth down together upon seeing you and Jimin exit the elevator. 

“Y/N, who’s this?” Jimin asked, grabbing your wrist and pulling you behind him. 

You saw Jungkook take a step toward you guys and you immediately tugged at Jimin’s arms, turning him around to face you. 

“He’s um, he’s a friend. Jimin, I- can we take a rain check?”

He looked at you for a few moments. “What’s going on Y/N?”

“It’s, it’s nothing, he’s just a friend, he’s been having a hard time recently,” you lied, trying to reassure him. “I just need to talk to him.”

“You’ll be alright?” 

You nodded.

He sighed, leaning past you, reaching to hit the button to call the elevator. “Call me later,” he said, taking your hand in his and giving it a squeeze before stepping into the opened elevator. You saw him smiling at you softly as the doors closed. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked in a biting tone as you spun around and stomped down the hall to your apartment door, blowing right past Jungkook. 

“You wouldn’t answer my calls.” You saw him pick up his backpack, swinging it over his shoulder and following you to your door. 

You unlocked it, holding the door only a little ajar and turning to face him. 

“I left my phone at home, and I was busy.” you emphasized, turning to face him, jumping a little in surprise finding him stepping close to you, his body towering over yours. 

He pushed past you into your apartment, dropping his backpack beside the coffee table. 

“JK, what are you doing,” you walked in, slamming the door behind you, crossing your arms in front of your chest as he pulled the long sleeves of his black t-shirt up and began clearing the mugs and plates from your counters. 

“Your kitchen’s a mess,” he answered through clenched teeth. 

“Yeah, well I got home late from work last night and ate quickly so I could meet Tae at the bar,” you tossed your purse onto the sofa, staring at Jungkook in frustration as he angrily tossed everything into the sink, the glasses clanging against each other. “JK, what the hell-”

“Are you fucking him?” he swung around. 

“What?” you held your arms in closer across your chest, defensive. “What are you talking about-”

“That guy you were just with, are you fucking him?” he repeated. 

You scoffed, walking past the kitchen island toward the bathroom, “No, I’m not fucking him.”

“Hey,” he caught your arm and you swung around. 

“What, JK , what?” you twisted your arm loose. 

Looking up at him, you were slightly taken aback by the way his eyes suddenly softened. “I came by to apologize, I just-” he slid his hands back into his pockets, looking down at his feet. “I just wanted to check on you, make sure you were ok.” 

You crossed your arms back over your chest. “Well I’m perfectly fine, satisfied?” 

“Y/N,” he reached a hand out to your elbow.

“No, JK,” you rolled your shoulder back, dodging him. “I don’t-” you looked around you, exasperated and trying to find the words. “His name is Jimin, ok? And I like him. I like him a lot. We just spent the day together, and he’s so sweet and- so I need you to stop doing this, ok? I need you to stop coming around, I need you to stop showing up at my house randomly and calling me at all hours of the night. I need you to leave me alone, ok?”

“Y/N..” he took a step toward you and you stepped back. 

“JK, stop. Alright? Just stop. I don’t know what you’re doing, you just-” you ran your hands through your hair, your frustration boiling over. “You don’t like me, you’re not my boyfriend, so why do you keep coming around? You come around and, fuck,” you felt a rush of adrenaline coming on. “You make me so angry, JK. You come around, you make me food, you watch movies with me in bed, you sleep here, and then, and then you just leave! You leave, and I don’t hear from you for days, I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing, except for the next time you decide to randomly show up at my door, and I can’t do this anymore, ok, I’m done with thi-”

You were cut off by JK’s hands grabbing onto your arms and pushing you back against the door to your bedroom, and his lips locking onto yours. 

You looked up at him in shock, eyes wide as he cupped your face in his hands, and you were brought back to that night during junior year in college when he took you home. He moved his lips against yours and you wondered why it felt different. He slid his arms around you, his muscles squeezing you in and you wondered when he’d gotten this strong. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, pulling away and leaning his forehead down against yours. “I’m not good at any of this, I don’t know what to do.” He took a deep breath in, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Y/N, you’ve gotta know how I feel about you, you must.” 

“Then why do you keep leaving?” you asked quietly. 

“Because I don’t know how to be around you,” he whispered. “Remember when we first met at Taehyung’s house our first year of school? You were coming over to help him study for an Econ exam and we realized we had the same professor?” 

You nodded, remembering walking into Tae’s house that day thinking it was a day like any other. It was a gloomy Saturday, and you were wearing just a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, your hair in a messy bun, an armful of books, chugging a large coffee as you walked up the steps to Taehyung’s apartment.

You remember knocking, and when the door opened, a guy you didn’t recognize opened the door. You remember seeing him for the first time, in a black t-shirt and his dark brown hair hanging over a pair of sleepy but glittering eyes. 

“Oh, um, hi, is Taehyung home?” you asked meekly, questioning for a second if you knocked on the right door since you remembered Taehyung didn’t have roommates. And from behind his shoulder you saw Taehyung emerge in his pajamas. 

“Yoo,” he gestured to you and you stepped inside. “Y/N, this is Jungkook, Jungkook, this is Y/N. JK’s in my fantasy league, he’s got Georges for Econ, too, but he’s in the Tuesday/Thursday class.” 

“Hey,” you said, handing Taehyung his latte, which is really a cup of milk and sugar with a tablespoon of espresso, chuckling softly to yourself that fantasy football is really a way boys make friends. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d be here otherwise I would’ve brought you something too.” 

He shrugged, “It’s all good.” 

You dropped your books down on the table in the living room where his and Taehyung’s books weren’t even open yet, but the TV was on and you saw a paused game of Fifa. 

“Really, guys?” you rolled your eyes at this, unzipping a bag of flashcards and opening your laptop on the table. 

Jungkook walked over and turned off the TV, much to Taehyung’s protest and took a seat beside you, opening his textbook as well and you saw the pages were all highlighted, with lots of notes scribbled in the margins. 

Meanwhile, Taehyung turned the TV back on, sliding a headset over his ears and scooting a chair right in front of the console and started a solo game. The spine on his textbook looked brand new, most likely because he’d never even cracked open his textbook. 

“So, did you understand last week’s lecture on game theory?” Jungkook asked shyly. 

“Oh yeah, I learned most of that in high school already, the predictive models are super easy-” you paused, looking up and seeing Jungkook staring back at you, wide-eyed and you realized he was asking because he didn’t understand any of it. “Heh, sorry, um, do you understand the basics and why it’s relevant to strategic decision making?”

He shook his head, dismayed. 

You laughed softly, seeing him bite onto his lip in frustration. “It’s ok, we’ll work through it,” you smiled. 

You spent the rest of that day explaining game theory to Jungkook, drawing out diagrams and coming up with metaphors to help him remember various formulas. You offered him a set of flashcards you still kept from your high school business class and he thanked you endlessly. The three of you soon lapsed into easy conversation and laughter once Taehyung was fed up with the teenagers he was gaming with online and ordered pizza and you guys just hung out through the evening. 

-

You felt yourself smiling, recalling the memory. “Yeah, you didn’t understand game theory,” you laughed. 

“When I opened the door and saw you that day, it knocked the air from my lungs,” he said, caressing your cheek with his thumb. He sighed and looked down at you with sad eyes. “I know I’ve been an asshole, it’s just- when we started spending more time together, I really started falling for you. But I held myself back because you were still dating that guy, but then when the two of you broke up-”

You remembered the exact night he was referring to. 

“You’re the first girl I’ve ever loved, Y/N,” he leaned down close. “I don’t know what to do because,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “Because I want you to be the last.” 

-

When Jungkook left, you flopped yourself down onto your couch, cheeks flushed, in a euphoric haze from what just happened. His words kept playing on repeat in your head like a lullaby - You’re the first girl I’ve ever loved, Y/N. And I want you to be the last.

“I just want to take things slow, I want to make sure I get this right,” you remembered he said, leaning down to kiss you again. 

“Okay,” You reached your arms up around his neck, holding him, giddy like an excited child at his confessions. 

You ran a hand through your hair and flopped about on your couch, picking up a throw pillow and squeezing it, still giddy, a smile plastered across your face like a fool. 

You heard your phone buzz on the beside table and you turned over, holding the screen up to see an incoming text.

Jimin: Hey, are you alright?

Shit. You remembered you were meant to call him to let him know you were doing alright. 

Yep, I’m good, thanks for checking in! you quickly wrote back. 

You watched three little dots flash up on the left hand side as he typed. 

Jimin: You wanna come meet me at Bemelmans? I have something I want to ask you.

You looked at the screen for a few moments, mood dropping suddenly. “Ugh, crap, what do I do,” you mumbled quietly to yourself, suddenly remembering the pile of stuffed animals Jimin bought you at the aquarium probably still sitting in the backseat of his car. 

You decided that you should tell him in person that it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to see him anymore. 

Yep, I can be there in 20. 

-

You stepped down the stone steps and through the bronze doors of Bemelmans and saw Jimin seated in the exact same spot he was last night at the bar.

“Hi Y/N,” he turned and saw you walk in, smiling. 

“Hey,” you smiled back, taking a seat beside him and the bartender slid a martini across for you. 

“I had it waiting for you,” Jimin grinned. 

“Oh, that’s really nice of you, thanks,” you laughed nervously. 

“Everything ok with your friend?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you. 

“Yeah..um, Jimin, look-” 

He swung back in his seat, pouting, “Uugghh, I knew it! So who is he? He’s your ex-boyfriend isn’t he? You’re getting back together?” He leaned forward onto the bar, dropping his head on his arm, whining. 

You sat frozen in your seat, completely taken aback by his cavalier and cute display. You studied his expression for a few moments, surprised that there was no anger or agitation in his voice as he spoke. You decided you’d just tell him the truth. And he listened quietly, his eyes watching yours intently, without judgement. 

“And then when he showed up today, and he told me he loves me, and, well it was kinda magical, like I’d been waiting for this for so long, you know?” you stopped, seeing how kindly he was smiling at you. 

“Well, I hope it’s not too forward for me to say that he is definitely not good enough for you,” he smiled, leaning onto his elbow on the bar. 

You laughed, “I’m...I’m cautiously optimistic to see where it goes...Oh, shit, Jimin!” you shot up in your seat. 

“Hmm?” He looked up at you with startled eyes. 

“What’s your Venmo? Let me pay you for all those stuffed animals, I feel so badly-”

He burst into laughter at this. “Y/N, love, don’t worry about it, it was my pleasure. It was a lovely date, after all, I haven’t had a fun day like this in a long time.” He reached his arms out to settle you back into the seat. 

“Are you sure? I feel really bad,” you mumbled. 

He sat looking at you quietly for a few moments. “You could make it up to me.” 

You flashed him a look as the devious grin grew on his face. “Jimin…” you said in a warning tone. 

He laughed, “No, no, nothing like that. I wanted you to come here to ask you something anyways, don’t worry, it’s a completely innocent request.” 

You sat up straight, “Ok, what is it?” 

“There’s this event I have to go to tomorrow night,” he took a sip of his drink, looking at you over the rim of the embossed glass. “It’s not really something I want to have to go to alone, and I was going to ask you to be my date. Now, I heard everything you just told me and I’m very happy for you. But given that I’ve really enjoyed your company, I’d still like to ask you to come with me. As a friend.” 

-

You thought about his question in perfect stillness as he drove you back to your apartment. When the car came to a stop, you lingered for a moment, looking out the passenger door window.

“What kind of event is it?” you asked. 

“Something for work,” he said simply, turning to look at you. 

“Like a work party?” 

“Yeah, something like that,” he smiled. 

“Is it casual?” 

He laughed, brushing his hand across his lip, “It’s actually quite formal.” 

You were glad for this response because this gave you an easy reason for why you couldn’t attend. “So everyone there will be like you, like in your network? I just, I don’t think I have anything to wear for an event like that..”

He looked at you for a moment and then turned, reaching back to the backseat and brought out a large, flat box sitting on the floor below all the stuffed animals. He handed it to you and you stared down at the large white box, with gold leaf along the edges, a band of black silk around it, tied in a large bow, an embossed mirrored double C logo on the top. 

“Jimin..” you shook your head, pushing the box back towards him. 

He pursed his lips, refusing to take it back. “Listen, I’ll be back here to pick you up at 8 tomorrow night. You think on if you want to come. If you do, you can wear this or something of your own, it really doesn’t matter to me, I know you’ll be lovely no matter what you wear. I went to the showroom to pick up my suit earlier and saw this dress in the window, and I thought of you so I got it,” he smiled softly. 

You looked down at the box in your lap and then back up at him, still making a gesture to give it back, but he held up his hand, shaking his head. 

“It’s up to you, love,” he looked at you with soft eyes.

[skelemira]

GIVE THE UL SNAS AND ROWAN LORE PLS PLS PLS I NEED THIS

OK FINALLY DONE WITH ART AND ON THE BUS HOME LET'S *DO THIS*

But before I start I should say this is not my characterization, it's actually how my bestest friend @hyacinthlanes characterizes him (she's also the one who drew my pfp btwwwwww I love you Saphhhhhhhh)

Aight so these two motherhuggers are the cutest fRICKING couple you ever will see. So I actually lowkey uh forgot how they met, I don't even think I set it in stone, I think I started writing a oneshot about it and then just straight up didn't finish it lol but I think I'm gonna go with that they meet at Muffet's.

(btw when I refer to Sans and Papyrus hereforth I mean UL Snas and Paps)

So Paps has a bit of a sweet tooth, nothing major just a bit of a craving for pastries now and then, and he knows Muffet is good about not making her pastries with an ungodly amount of sugar, so he pops by every once in a while. So one time he goes to Muffet's and he sees a new waitress. Now Muffet has *never* hired somebody to help her, so that immediately caught his attention. He noticed that she was a little bit awkward, clearly new to waitressing, and a little bit clumsy every now and then, though she seemed a bit more fearful of Muffet when she made mistakes than he thought was brought on by Muffet being a spider.... Especially because Muffet seemed to be acting extra sweet to the waitress. The waitress eventually got to him, asking for his order before stopping herself and apologizing, introducing herself as Rowan and then asking for his order again.

He brought out all the charm he could, and by the end of the conversation he had even coaxed a giggle out of her. It wasn't even much of a giggle, and she quickly stifled it, but he knew in that moment he would do anything to hear her full blown laugh. (In a completely platonic way, dw there is no jealousy. Though perhaps it might go a different way in an au 👀👀👀)

He went home and Sans noticed he was much more upbeat than normal. Usually when he went to Muffet's he was happy but he would go straight for a 5 mile jog to "burn off the sugar", but this time Paps just went into the kitchen to start prepping for dinner, humming merrily.

Eventually Sans pried it out of Paps about the new waitress and how adorable she was, and you just KNOW Sans is a sucker for adorable things so he decided to pay Muffet a visit (though he would definitely get Grillby's after to "atone").

Yeah so uh it took a couple of weeks for him to get around to going to Muffet's, not that he was dreading it, he just takes his sweet time to do something he says he's gonna do.

He steps one foot into Muffet's and curses under his breath.

Because he sees Rowan tentatively confident, making a joke with Muffet as she wiped down a table, and the ensuing giggle had a burst of magic zip through him, apparently so much that Muffet paused in her laughter, her gaze going to him and raising one eyebrow.

(I really just ended up writing a whole thing huh XDDD)

He saw a glimpse of that confident radiance peeking through the walls that seemed to be slowly crumbling and he became resolved to break them down, if just to see what was hiding behind them.

It started with him trying out various comedy routines as she took his order, anything to hear that giggle again (oh my stars she likes *puns*), and it eventually turned to flirting (her blush is *adorable* and he loves it more than anything) which eventually turned to him asking her out. She said yes <3 (obviously lol) and they started going out.

So obviously my boi Sans has some trauma, we hc him here as asexual, but I mean either way being forced to be in constant heat is gonna have some nasty consequences even if you weren't asexual, plus he feels like in other people's eyes he's been reduced to just sex, plus a lot of other stuff that I'm not going to mention bc that's Saph's territory lol (Btw forgot to mention Rowan is panro-ace like me <3 bc self indulgence XDDD)

So having a girlfriend who is also asexual and doesn't *at all* expect sex or even really want it most of the time if at all and who's basically like a best friend but also romantic is just. Exactly what he needs. Their dates are just the cutest and they both understand the other has trauma so when one has days where the "air is heavy" (basically days where it's hard to move or hard to breathe, like the air is too heavy to move through etc) the other is just there for them. ANYWAY they're too cute your honor

So eventually they move in together, think cottagecore and you've got basically Rowan and Oberon's house, they're adorable and their home is so cozy.

There are so many little moments that are just adorable I can't even think of them all but eventually they get married.

I love. Their wedding okay.

Like have you seen that post of a couple that invited their friends to a party they said was a costume party but it was actually their wedding? Yeah that's them. Except the people know it's a wedding, they just can wear whatever the heck the want, the wackier the better. Their wedding is outdoors and full of shenanigans and laughs and I don't quite remember who I had officiate, it might've been Grillby or my friend's sona, but ik Muffet was the maid of honor.

Tho since they shared so many friends it wasn't really a split situation, the wedding parties were all just kind of mixed together. Rowan was barefoot and it was by the edge of a forest so it was very nature-y (Rowan gardens like a LOT I mentioned it like offhand in the last post).

Super super cute.

Now RANDOM TIDBITS

Sans' favourite food is apple pie. Why? Because Rowan smells like apples. (Or it's her scones bc goshDANG they are good).

Rowan's favourite color is the purple of Sans' eyelights.

Sans (with Papyrus' help) builds Rowan a greenhouse with floating pink magic lights and it's the most romantic fricking place ever.

When their relationship is first starting to get serious, they plant a tree together (a Rowan tree aha). (If/when they have kids, the kids would play underneath that tree).

Sans' favourite colour is the red of Rowan's hair (it looks pink in the picture but it's kind of a pinkish red, like a pink lady apple).

Rowan and Papyrus have such a good relationship with each other man. Like when Paps finds out Rowan is drinking **EVERCLEAR** every night he is like absolutely Not you uncultured swine (affectionate) and so he starts up a Wine Night with her. Every Thursday he brings a new wine for them to try while maybe doing a puzzle or just chatting or baking or something. Together they become wine connoisseurs (bro I spelled that right the first time without autocorrect look at me go)

Ok I'm rambling at this point but uh yes <3 you're also free to ask me random questions about these two if you'd like!!!! Thank you so much for the ask Hyper beloved <333333 literally Saph is like almost the whole reason UL Sans is my husband now lol.