#he just pops up like a tulip wherever he feels like it!

[sameboot]

ah, let me explain,

[sylvie-writes]

Bad (2): What Happened?

First inspired by this song ➳ Bad by Lennon Stella

(Ransom Drysdale x wife reader)

Summary: What went down that fateful night...

A/n: I got carried away, and kinda forgot about the real plot lol. So there’s more fluff than angst... I think. 

Disclaimer: this chapter is sort of a filler before we get to the real shiz. 

Warnings: Cheating, mild profanity, poor writing. Ransom being an asshole (rip all the soft Ransom stories I’ve written)

As always, plz pardon any mistakes, the stories are always proofread but I tend to make many mistakes regardless.

Series Masterlist 

Picking up from where we last left off: About two months ago, your work gave its employees a week off for the holidays. It was once in a blue moon that you got to see your family, so you seized this opportunity. You wished your husband could have come, but Ransom had to stay behind to help Harlan with an upcoming novel. In truth, Ransom never saw himself reverting back to his bad ways, but who knows what entices people to change… 

They always say to choose a job that you love. Something even your own parents had drilled into your head as a young child, trying to prevent you from their own mistakes. It was known then, that if you chose a job you didn’t love, you would be metaphorically chained like a prisoner bound to the wall, or in your case, the job. 

Well, you followed their advice, and chose a job you were passionate about, something you didn’t mind studying about all those years ago in college. It’s not that you didn’t love your job, but you were tired, very tired. Life was fast paced and you were running out of fuel, so to say. So this morning when your work offered you an exclusive week off, you took the offer, worked quickly yet precisely, and flew out the door, before it was dark. Normally, you’d work more than the normal 9-5 shift, it was more like 9-7 for you, anyway.

Ransom was supposedly off today, and you wanted nothing more than to kick off your break, by eating a nice lunch with your husband. While you gave your holiday wishes to your friends, you shot Ransom a quick text asking him to call you. 

So, just as you drove down the highway, your phone steaming your favorite playlist to the car’s stereo, Ransom’s name popped up on the large screen, a picture of him in college, showing up. (yeah, you liked to tease him about his college years, when he thought he was all that and a bag of chips.) 

“Hey Gorgeous! What’s up?”

“Well… you interrupted my carpool karaoke.”

Your husband laughed along with you, before you dropped your surprise on him.

“Other than that, my work gave me the week off. No biggie though.” 

Being married to Ransom and having known him for many years, has given you a real sense of sarcasm to say the least.

“That’s amazing! You deserve it, my love.”

“Ohh, quit trying to butter me up, Ran.”

More laughter from his end, making a large grin grow on your face. Only you could ever make Ransom laugh at the stupidest things, that’s just the kind of bond you two shared. 

“Anyhoo, I was wondering if you wanted me to come pick you up for lunch?”

“Sounds great, love ya.”

“Love you too.” The rest of the drive to your house was enjoyable. Today had been spectacular, something that hadn’t happened in ages. As you continued to drive, all the amazing occurrences from today settled with you in the car, a permanent smile on your face the whole way.  

You pulled into the driveway, opting to stay in the car just to keep the warm air flowing from the vents, sending Ransom a quick text.

A few minutes later, the man himself came out, his brown suede trench coat on, your own raspberry pea coat slung over his left arm. 

The passenger door popped open, and Ransom’s warm lips pressed slowly against your cheek, instantly warming you up.

“I figured you might be cold.”

A deep laugh resonated in his stomach as he reached over the console to hand you the jacket, the one you had forgotten this morning. 

“Thanks, hon. So, where do you want to eat?”

You looked over to Ransom, whose eyes had been lovingly glued to you since he’d gotten in the car.

“How about that little sandwich shop in town?”

A bright and sweet smile graced your lips, stunning Ransom with its effect on him. His own eyes crinkling up as his frowning lips slowly formed into a content smile.

Once you had reached town about twenty minutes later, Ransom rushed out of the car the minute you had stopped the engine. His actions leaving you confused when suddenly a blurb of tan suede halted and revealed the missing man, who was now pulling your door open.  

“Wow Mr. Drysdale, since when did you become such a gentleman.”

You teased Ransom, wrapping your arm around his, embracing his warmth, and playfully kissing his nose. 

“Since you became Mrs. Drysdale.” 

His little quip caught you off guard as you weren’t expecting a response from the man. As a result of that surprise, your cheeks slightly warmed, causing you to shyly look down. It was a given, what had just happened, as Ransom knew your reactions like the back of his hand. 

That arrogant jerk knew very well what he had done and slightly leaned over to kiss your bowed head.

Confidently, Ransom spoke up, and without even looking over at him, you just knew he was smirking. 

“Still have that effect on you, huh?” 

Before you could banter back at him, your arm interlocked with Ransom’s was tugged, prompting you to look up. 

Apparently, when you were just mindlessly walking to the restaurant, Ransom had another stop on his list. One full of eye-catching flower bouquets. Blood red roses, yellow lilies, variegated tulips, you name it, they littered the glass window of the flower shop. 

As you stepped into the shop, the distinctive smell of baby’s breath filled your senses. You were still interlocked with Ransom, so at this point wherever he walked, you went. Also meaning he’d dragged you to the counter despite your words of defiance.

“Ransom, you don’t need to buy me anything. All I want is to eat lunch, with my husband.”

“And that you’ll get.”

Just when you’d thought you’d won this argument, the man continued.

“Along with the bouquet of carnations and baby’s breath please.

Your husband spoke up just a bit louder, so the man behind the counter could hear his order while also making it known to you that you were indeed gonna accept these flowers. 

Ransom quickly paid for the bouquet, coming back to lock arms with you and hand you the flowers. It was a simple bouquet yet the meaning behind the choice a lot stronger. Coral carnations ideally intermixed with the snow-white baby’s breath. The soft aroma from earlier, now in a bouquet held by your cold hands. 

When you were young, your grandmother would always buy carnations for her home, specifically the coral ones. She’d tell you about each flower and how they were all unique, capturing your curiosity. As you got older, you became more versed in floral design and structure. Soon, you were going every other day to buy fresh carnations for your grandmother. When you had first brought Ransom to meet her, she told him about the story behind carnations and when you were always buying them. 

To this day, Ransom remembers, and the carnations have since then become your flower.

If it weren’t for the constant wind, the temperature would have been enjoyable, but now your hands were slightly shaking and Ransom noticed. Taking your free hand in his, he then put your conjoined hands in his coat pocket.

Just a few more blocks and you had finally made it to the humble little sandwich shop, one Ransom had actually introduced to you. 

Mr. Miller, the owner of the shop happily greeted you both. Over the years you’ve lived in Massachusetts, you and Ransom have become regulars at this shop. It may have been a small place, with seating for only thirty people, yet the food was outstanding. Especially Mr. Miller’s Monte Cristo, your’s and Ransom’s favorite. To no surprise, that is in fact what you ended up ordering. 

As you sat at the booth, the two of you laughing and enjoying the time spent with each other, never once did it cross your mind that this was it. That this was not gonna be the normal anymore. It’d become a memory you’d end up savoring for the years of the future.

Because little did you know, that was the last time he’d ever buy you flowers, the last time he’d ever laugh with you…

The last time he’d ever really love you. 

That very next day, you woke up early to pack your bags for the unbearable flight to come. You absolutely hated the airport, but then again, who doesn’t? It was a constant marathon and by time you make it to all your gates, you’d probably lose ten pounds from running so much. There was no peace at the airport, especially with the holiday rush and you dreaded it. If only your husband could have come, it would make things ten times better, but he can’t and you aren’t going to miss this opportunity. It’s been a few years since you’ve been able to go home, and truly relax for the holidays. The years before, you’d only get to spend the weekend, but now you have the whole week and in the end, it’d be worth the living hell at the airport. 

By 10:00 am, you were all ready to go, Ransom carrying the bags to your car, sulking as he did so. He really wanted to go with you. Believe it or not, but Ransom would love to spend all his time with you if he could, except Harlan really needed his help to finish up a few things. 

With everything packed, it finally came time for you to bid goodbye. Sure, it was a week away, but this was your first Christmas as a married couple, and you couldn’t spend it together. Had things been different, you could have, but Ransom understood you missed your family. For once in his life, Ransom Drysdale thought about someone else’s benefit beside his own. 

The car running, you flung your arms around Ransom, who stood at the door, coffee in hand, balancing it as he reciprocated the hug.

He could feel your tears on his neck, running through his sweatshirt. Your head was buried in the crevice, and your sobs made his heart shatter. Ransom couldn't bear it anymore, because soon he’d be the one crying. A warm hand, ran up and down your back while soothing whispers rang in your ear.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay.”

Your sobs that racked your body soon ceased, Ransom pulling back to give you his best attempt at a smile. His eyes worriedly scanned over your red ones before pulling you into a soothing kiss. Releasing your lips, Ransom once again gave you a comforting smile, handing you the coffee, knowing you had forgotten your own. 

“Go on, you’re gonna be late, my love.”

On tippy toes, you pressed your lips to the corner of Ransom’s, slowly leaning away, then solemnly heading to your car. 

That night, you had called Ransom, telling him you made it safely and that you’d facetime him tomorrow. In his voice, Ransom hid his sorrow, but in truth, ever since you left this morning, he’d been wallowing in despair. What better way to drown out your sorrows than to actually do that? So just as Ransom hung up the phone, he dashed to the car and to the nearest bar, slowly easing the pain via eight beers. 

Just about to ring up the bartender for a check, a small, womanly hand slowly wrapped around his forearm, setting it back down on the counter.

“Hey stranger.”

Ransom was so intoxicated, he struggled to even focus, but all he knew was that a woman was sitting in front of him and he sure was missing his wife. It was wrong, but at that moment, his priorities blurred the minute the girl’s lips smothered his. There weren’t boundaries anymore and he knew damn well, that this lady was making his thoughts and good judgement dissipate, he forgot why he was even there in the first place. Right now, you were in the back of his drunken mind, and Blair in the front. Literally and figuratively. 

The two broke away from the kiss for air, and Ransom soon remembered the woman staring seductively at him. At this moment, the man was no longer in his own mindset and was reverting back to his old self. The playboy Ransom Drysdale was out tonight, not the man bound by the ring on his finger. 

“It’s Blair right?”

She nodded, a few waves of chestnut brown hair moving with her head. Soon drinks long forgotten, Ransom threw down a one-hundred dollar bill, taking Blair by the hand, and out the door. As he gripped her warm hand, he could feel the cold metal of his wedding ring, slightly breaking him out of his lustful haze as mentally kicked himself for what just almost happened. He let out a small laugh, you were always there to keep him in line, whether he accepted it or not. And thank god for that, he thought. After that little reminder, it was like he had sobered up.

About to send Blair back into the bar, lips peppered small kisses to his ear and his fresh mindset was thrown out the window. The sober thoughts now gone. Starting that car engine and driving out with Blair in the passenger seat, Ransom was unknowingly throwing away the best thing to ever happen to him. By doing this, long gone was the better man you had helped make Ransom become.

 If only he had been strong enough to fight the temptation and listen to the little warning the symbol of your love (his ring) gave him...

And that night, as Ransom washed away his longing for you with Blair, you laid awake in your childhood bed, happily replaying the memory of lunch with Ransom just the day before. Soon, you’d be reliving that memory in your head, more often than once, but with tears streaming down your face. 

taglist: @kiwihoee @buckybarnesthehotshot @memissbee @tricereads @tonystankschild @coffeebooksandfandom @ria132love @what-is-your-wish​ @maan24​ @bval-1​ @jemimah-b99​

If I’ve messed up and tagged the wrong person, please lemme know. I’m very tired and typing up the taglist was probably not the best idea.

[nsr-scrapped-records]

Hey since it's angst hours I also wanted to tell you I saw a painfully beautiful art of Eloni/Green infected by hanahaki disease (you might have seen it too) and I just... imagine a member of 1010 (or even Neon J) being in love with the one person that does not love them back, they are most likely capable of feeling love right ? They would try to hide it at first but eventually the others would notice but what could be done ? The only way to cure it would be to remove it surgically (1/3) -💤🇨🇵

Is that the one with the forgetmenots? A really good flower for hanahaki, what with "dont forget me" and "true love" both being tied to it. Another good one would be Devil's Bit (unfortunate love). Wisteria (clinging love), Jack-in-the-pulpit (release love addiction), Love Lies Bleeding (lost love), willow (forsaken love), agapanthus (my love has not faded, magical love, never fading love), yellow tulips (hopeless love), Carolina Rose (love is dangerous), Morning Glory (Love in vain), Dutchman's Breeches (I want you to love me), Bleeding heart (passionate love, rejected love), Asphodel (our love will endure after death), Orange Blossom (i will love your forever), and Cosmos (no one could love you more) are also excellent flowers that could be used :]

What I'd give them all is

Red - devil's bit

Yellow - orange blossom

Green - forget-me-nots

Blue - morning Glory

Neon - cosmos or agapanthus

I don't talk about hanahaki much in general, but it is SUCH a fun thing to consider when it comes to robotics. They got no lungs, so where does it grow? Why, either it slowly leaves the joints unusable as it grows further leaving the robo immobile instead of dead, OR the roots are centered on their battery chamber, taking the energy for itself and choking out the wires.. there's only so much you can hide the flowers that poke out of your physical form, and it's not like they wear clothes normally. Would be kind of odd for Blue to just start wearing hoodies :]

With the roboys, odds are is thst they COULD cough up the flowers as it gunks stuff and the system tries to evacuate it. Unfortunately, Neon doesnt seem to have a mouth, so, while he may be coughing, odds are wherever the air circulates from is too small to properly get any of it out of his system.

Could think about, with the boys, Neon having to shut one off and bring him back online and it seems fine, and then the boy coughs. Back to square one. Maybe it's somehow affecting their code. If there isnt a flower yet, the body still behaves like the constriction and stuff is still there. Desperately talking to Mama, but there is no other way to fix it but surgery, ans what surgery can you perform on a robot. Neon tries to do what he can to get the flowers out of the system, but with it being complicated robotics, he can't get all of it and it quickly grows back. The other boys and Neon trying to get the sick boy to tell them who they love, but it's not like anything will change. Less run time every day until the day that the boy shuts off and can't.

Could think about, with Neon, him gradually being less and less out there until he finally shuts himself in his room. Songs are still being made, for a bit, 1010 can see it in their files, but it quickly slows to a stop. His coat fluff is covered in flowers, some of them wilted as his body tries to go into overtime to make his lungs work and it's somewhat burning him. He's more focused on getting everything set up for when his lungs finally stop working. A meeting pops up, and 1010 goes and they're stuck explaining to the other artists. The other artists being let in my 1010, either solo or in group, trying to convince him to say who It is so they can try something, but Neon is stubborn. Stubborn stubborn too stubborn and eventually the robotics can't keep up. His room is a sea of petals.

[thezodiaczone]

Taurus Compatibility

TAURUS + ARIES (MARCH 21 - APRIL 19) The stubborn Bull locks horns with the willful Ram, nostrils flaring, heads bowed in determination. So begins a fierce but fiery courtship, as splashy and menacing as a Pamplona stampede. Aggression, however uncivilized, is part our Darwinian natures. It certainly is for your signs—who possess an arsenal of steamrolling tactics, from doe-eyed charm to old-fashioned philistine strong-arming. No weak-willed mate will survive your natural selection process. Nor should he. Neither one of you feels safe in the arms of a mate who can't protect you. Thus, your initial faceoff is simply a warning shot: Show me your strength so I can trust you. Once the fanfare is over, you make a great team—like British pop royalty Victoria (Aries) and David (Taurus) Beckham.

As tight as two mafiosos, you like to dress up and flaunt your natural superiority over the rest of the animal kingdom. The deal is sweet for both of you. Taurus gets an attractive show pony and a lusty mate to satisfy his Earthy libido. Aries has a lifelong provider and benefactor to supply creative freedom and endless playtime. Issues can arise if Taurus grows too possessive or tries to tame independent Aries. Indulgent Taurus will need to remain active to keep pace with the energetic Ram (read: lay off the nightly steak frites and vino). You both crave attention, but don't go looking for it outside the relationship, unless you want a real showdown. Like two tots in a nursery, you share a favorite word: Mine!

TAURUS + TAURUS (APRIL 20 - MAY 20) Slow and steady wins the race for these two earthy Toros. A pair of contented cows munching clover in the field, you're masters of pleasure and leisure. Ruled by Venus, the goddess of beauty and love, Taurus life is a sun-dappled serenade—when you're not locking horns in a bullfight. Fortunately, the fierce stampedes are rare between you. The most lethal "charging" for your acquisitive sign happens on Black Friday, or at the Barneys shoe sale. You govern the zodiac's second house of material gain, and while you'll work your fingers to the bone, you also adore "stuff." Taurus rules the five senses. You've got the most sharply attuned sense of smell and taste, and an eye for beauty. As a couple, your home is not just your castle, but an art gallery, listening lounge, movie theater and gourmet restaurant. Renovation is your middle name, and you're forever titivating your digs with state-of-the-art fixtures and upgrades. There's always an occasion to celebrate, and you love to invite people into your grand yet cozy salon to feast, imbibe, show off your fineries, and talk about your latest passions. But the heartbeat for this couple is friends and family. Children, grandchildren, parents, siblings—as long as you're on good terms (and even when you're not), they're a tireless topic. In fact, your true nature really shines as a parent. Warning: you're creatures of habit and you can get lazy and indulgent together. Bring on the personal trainers, nutritionists and motivating friends to keep you on top of your game.

TAURUS + GEMINI (MAY 21 - JUNE 20) ♥♥♥♥ Taurus is a traditional, grounded Earth sign, and Gemini is a free-spirited, unconventional Air sign. Despite the doubt gnawing your gut, you insist on forging ahead together. Nine times out of ten, your first instinct was correct: you don't have much more in common than hot, lusty, try-anything-twice sex. For a while, that's enough to satisfy you both. Unfortunately, the post-orgasmic glow only wanes after you've intertwined your lives—often to the point where leaving would get messy. Perhaps there are enough good reasons to stay after all. For one, you make great business partners. Gemini is creative and media-savvy; Taurus has an instinctive knack for sound financial moves and marketing. You're both visual and gifted with color and style. Blend Gemini's clever quirks with Taurus elegance, and you've got a high-end specialty brand in the bag. Want to keep the bedroom hot and business booming? The cardinal rule of this relationship, which will be torturous for you both, is this: never argue. Gemini loves to debate and play devil's advocate, which will threaten Taurus' ego, making the Bull charge with fury. Taurus is a know-it-all who loves to be right, but experimental Gemini doesn't want to hear "I told you so"—especially not from a lover. Can you go against your natures in the name of love? If you want this to last, you'd better learn how. Agree to disagree, hear each other out, and hire a mediator if you must.

TAURUS + CANCER (JUNE 21 - JULY 22) Buy those twin rocking chairs and install them on the porch: You're an old-fashioned throwback, high school sweethearts at any age. No two signs are more traditional, sentimental or family-oriented than yours. Although the sweetness can be cloying, you're a love story for the ages. In fact, you may emulate your own parents (or compensate for their shortcomings), since you share a rather conventional moral compass. Affectionate and nurturing, you crave lifelong security and a comfortable home, and you'll squirrel away a sizeable nest egg together. Not that you don't indulge. Your signs both appreciate art, culture, decorating, music and gourmet food. As parents, you're protective but firm, Taurus doling out tough love in your children's best interest, nurturing Cancer kisses every boo-boo. Framed family pictures creep like urban sprawl through your home. At times, Taurus' booming voice and blunt remarks wound the Crab's tender feelings. Like a bull in a Bernardaud shop, Taurus doesn't realize his own size, strength and intensity. Taurus will need to dial down the volcanic energy—intuitive Cancer doesn't need every point driven home. At the same time, Cancer must overcome insecurities and toughen up, since Taurus doesn't mince words or tiptoe through the tulips for anyone. Sure, there will be tears and misunderstandings, but there's nothing that any recipe calling for heavy cream can't solve. You both love pampering and feasts, and if your waistlines expand along with your joy, c'est la vie.

TAURUS + LEO (JULY 23 - AUGUST 22) This dynamic coupling is as stable as a batch of homemade explosives. Yet, you can't resist mixing those chemicals just to see what happens. The sexual pyrotechnics alone are certainly tempting. You're both proud, fierce and egotistical—two incurable hotheads—and you're attracted to each other's showy flair. When it's good, it's damn good: you get all the affection, doting and hero-worship you crave. You love to glam up like rock star royalty and paint the town together, drawing attention wherever you go. In fact, your shared vanity may keep you together past the relationship's prime. Sex is animalistic and hands-on (keep ointment at the ready for bites and scratches), and best enjoyed in the monogrammed sheets of the finest hotels. With your combined charisma and willpower, you could overthrow a midsized government, or form your own totalitarian regime. Bad days are brutal, though. The Lion assumes he's in charge of everything, but nobody bosses the Bull around. You both dig in your heels and go for the kill. Drama, shouting, and ego showdowns are your favorite weapons of mass destruction, and woe betide the day you turn those on each other. You're both capable of enacting a scene that brings down the house. Security!

TAURUS + VIRGO (AUGUST 23 - SEPTEMBER 22) You're a pair of sophisticated Earth signs who blend like cashmere and wool. Taurus adds the touch of luxe and Virgo is the solid standby. You're what could be described as a "lovely couple," with good taste, social graces and old-fashioned values. Although your earthy natures can also make you hippies at heart, you tend toward the traditional, and you both like possessions of quality. You'll set up a lovely, well-appointed home—though Taurus will have to fight neat-freak Virgo to keep the plastic slipcovers off the sofas and doilies off the appliances. Virgo is ruled by intellectual Mercury, and Taurus by pleasure-loving Venus. As a result, Taurus is more feisty, raw and direct, which can offend Virgo's stuffed-shirt sensibilities. However, the Virgin soon looses up and learns to laugh at himself. It's good to have sensible Virgo around to pull the brake when Taurus overspends, heads up to the buffet for a fourth helping or tips his glass for a refill. Responsible Virgo has far more self-control than the Bull. In private, you're both sensual and erotic, and you can spend hours wrapped contentedly in your Egyptian cotton sheets. You share a judgmental streak, and if you're too intent on fancying yourselves superior to the world, you may limit your horizons. Open your minds, and be willing to try something "lowbrow" or off your beaten paths. It keeps life interesting.

TAURUS + LIBRA (SEPTEMBER 23 - OCTOBER 22) ♥♥♥♥ Your signs are both ruled by Venus, but your disparate elements prevent this from being an ideal match. Taurus is a fixed Earth sign who builds his castle by the sweat of his brow, then lords over its inhabitants. Libra is cardinal Air, a Queen bee who buzzes around, ruling the hive without doing the drone-work. You both want to be in charge, but your clashing leadership styles create a patchwork parliament that can't agree on anything. Taurus is planted on terra firma, and Libra lives in the clouds. Of course, if the Bull is content to be the provider while Libra dresses up and plays charming host, then this can work. You're certainly an attractive pair of aesthetes, and you share high-end tastes in fashion, décor, food and all the Venusian pleasures. Shameless snobbery is a shared affliction, but neither of you cares to be cured. You love to talk about art, literature, politics, everything under the sun—though Taurus may find Libra's values superficial, and moderate Libra will take offense to the Bull's heavy handed opinions. At least your sexual attraction is strong, and that will take you far enough. However, conflict-avoiding Libra will need to build up some backbone to avoid being steamrolled by dominating Taurus. The Bull will need to turn down the volume, and Libra must get better at addressing issues head on, rather than letting them fester.

TAURUS + SCORPIO (OCTOBER 23 - NOVEMBER 21) You're opposite signs who can fall into a real love-hate dynamic, mainly since you both like to run the show. Taurus is the bossy Bull, and Scorpio rules power and control. It's like two mafia kingpins trying to rule the same territory: it works as long as you're loyal, but cross each other and you're getting whacked. Differences can be a turn-on for some signs, but for this pair, they're often a deal breaker. Taurus and Scorpio are both "fixed" signs, gifted at perseverance and holding your ground, terrible at adapting to other people's personalities. This inflexibility can lead to serious power struggles and enmity that burns bright after the relationship ends. If ever a couple needed a prenup, it's you. Better yet, you'll need to be extremely self-aware and conscious of your personal power. If you can avoid arousing the sleeping dragon in each other, there's plenty of rich material here. You both love music, food and sensual delights. You're equally intense about your beliefs and passions, and sex is a lusty, no-holds-barred affair. You'll give each other the attentive listening both of you crave. The Bull's earthy nature can be grounding for watery Scorpio, whose emotions can warp his perspective. Practical Taurus will pull Scorpio out of depressive slumps, and Scorpio will help Taurus look below the surface to see hidden motivations and agendas. You're loyal and protective of each other, so stay off each other's sacred turf and respect your differences.

TAURUS + SAGITTARIUS (NOVEMBER 22 - DECEMBER 21) ♥♥♥♥ This is a curious match that demands adaptation, as you have vastly different temperaments and tastes. You're either wildly attracted to each other or completely repelled, and there's not much middle ground. Taurus is a traditional Earth sign who knows his tastes and sticks to a simple set of beliefs, social circles and experiences. Sagittarius is a wild, adventurous Fire sign whose anything-goes nature invites friends of diverse cultures and backgrounds. The Archer's global embrace can irritate Taurus, who doesn't feel the need to befriend every person he meets, or remain lifelong pals with his exes (though he can certainly rant about them). Jealousy can be an issue on both sides. However, you can make an excellent team if you respect each other's strengths. Taurus is practical and sophisticated, a grounding force that streamlines the Archer's expansive visions. Between the Bull's business acumen and Sag's charisma, you can build an empire—especially with your driven work ethics. You both have a ribald, lusty side to your personalities and misbehaving together can be a blast. With your hot tempers, you can go from zero to sixty fast, and arguments can be explosive. Your peace treaties should always take place at the dinner table. Sagittarius is ruled by Jupiter, god of the feast; Taurus by Venus, planet of pleasure and love. Gorging your bottomless appetites awakens a primal instinct in you both—you'll be tearing each other's clothes off before the second course.

TAURUS + CAPRICORN (DECEMBER 22 - JANUARY 19) You're fellow Earth signs who really vibe well together. By day, you're both hard-driving workaholics. Taurus is the plodding Bull, Capricorn the sure-footed Mountain Goat. Any business venture you launch together will thrive, and you share a deep respect for tradition, family and long-term security. You're both shrewd financial planners, though your love of earthly pleasures can break the bank, too. Once you punch out and uncork the Sancerre, you morph into a pair of hedonists. Sleeping and lounging are favorite pastimes, and on weekends, a forklift couldn't pry you off the sofa. However, Capricorn is far more self-disciplined than the indulgent Bull. Taurus is ruled by Venus, the goddess of beauty and pleasure; Capricorn by strict Saturn, the cosmic taskmaster. Where Taurus is a megalomaniac forever humming his own praise song, poor Cappy flogs himself for even the slightest misstep. Saturn's repression also gives Cap an eccentric side; he can fall into melancholy or fatalistic spells that confound Taurus. The Goat is always planning for rainy days—and as karma goes, plan for a downpour, and you'll surely get one. Taurus refuses to pack an umbrella, for he can't fathom worrying about something that hasn't even happened yet, nor shown up on the radar. You both have something to teach each other. The Bull is gifted at savoring the present, while nostalgic Capricorn obsesses over the past and the future. Strive to get your timing right.

TAURUS + AQUARIUS (JANUARY 20 - FEBRUARY 18) ♥♥♥♥ Your signs have so little in common, it's hard to make a go of this. Old-fashioned Taurus craves tradition, order and security. Rebel Aquarius is an oddball who lives to defy rules and convention. Taurus is an Earth sign who plants deep roots; Air sign Aquarius is an adventurous nomad who goes wherever the wind blows. While you may start out fascinated by each other, the magic ends faster than you can say "pixie dust." Taurus will quickly offend Aquarius with his heavy-handed opinions and staunch political views. Free-spirited Aquarius will flee from the Bull's possessive grip, which only clenches tighter the more Aquarius flits about. Then there's the matter of your social circles, which rarely overlap. Aquarius habitually befriends the most eccentric people—the corner wino who's solved the string theory, the local fortune teller, his bus driver. While Taurus may humor these characters in passing, all hell breaks loose when Aquarius invites his tribe of wayward souls to spend the weekend, or to sleep on the couch "until they get their act together." Not on Taurus' leather club chair and alpaca throw pillows! You can try to compromise, but you'll only end up short-changing your natural gifts. Aquarius rules the zodiac's eleventh house of friends and society; he's the unofficial mayor wherever he goes, and is meant to spread himself among the people. Homebody Taurus has much more earthbound goals. Neither of you will get the satisfaction you crave unless you work hard to compromise.

TAURUS + PISCES (FEBRUARY 19 - MARCH 20) This is a lovely match of two pleasure-driven sensualists. Taurus is ruled by beauty planet Venus, and Pisces is governed by enchanting Neptune. You both love gourmet food, wine and culture, and you make a creative couple with sophisticated flair. You never run out of things to discuss, whether it's the latest New Yorker piece, art theory, or the obscure band both of you love. In the bedroom, the lusty Bull is happy to enact any fantasy that Pisces' boundless imagination conjures—and there will be many. Domestic bliss is assured, and your fussy decorating styles will match perfectly, much to your snobbish delight. For the long term, you'll need to regulate your energy with each other, or you can lapse into a master-and-servant dynamic. Passive-aggressive Pisces must become more assertive, and forceful Taurus should relax his domineering ways. At times, Pisces' secretive spells can cause fissures in the foundation, arousing suspicion in possessive Taurus. Even if what Pisces is hiding is inconsequential, the act itself destabilizes the relationship. Emotional manipulation infuriates the Bull, who prefers everything above board, and hates to be blindsided. However, Pisces can't always verbalize his complex feelings as quickly as Taurus demands. Too much forcefulness can intimidate the gentle Fish, sending him swimming into unreachable depths.

[shadowofthelamp]

So, you know I mentioned that thing about Wander stumbling across Tallest au Zim and wanting to help him woo Dib, right? Well, with the talk of Twix outliving Tulip and heading out to space with her parents....

He got a new name since this is meant to be post-WOY, and post Sylvia.

Wordcount: 475

It was lucky that they’d crashed near a little town. She’d picked up some mechanical skills over the years, but Papa was touchy about her getting near the engine, so she’d had time to wander. It was a quaint little place, and she popped into the refueling station to grab a snack. Lucky that these bodies could convert snacks to fuel, just like a real flesh body would, because she’d hate to give up chocolate.

It was when she was settled on the bench that he appeared. He popped seemingly out of nowhere, bright as a tiger lily with a sunny smile. “Hiya!”

“Hey,”

“How are you?”

“I’m- fine. Why?” He was probably selling something.

“Well, you’re out here all on your lonesome and looked like you could use a friend.”

“Oh, my parents are fixing our ship about ten minutes out of town. I’m just getting a-“

“Oh, do they need any help?”

“No, they’re fine, they don’t like anyone else touching it.” She squinted. “Who are you?”

“The name’s- Vega.”

“Well, Vega...” Twix sighed. It had been weeks since she’d really talked to anyone besides Dad and Papa. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, I go wherever the galaxy needs a helping hand the most.” He tipped his hat. “Are you going anywhere special?”

She shook her head, balling up the wrapper to drop in the can next to the bench. “Not right now.”

He tilted his head. “Well, I hope you get there someday anyway.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Thank you.” Her hand drifted to her locket as he gave her a quick once-over. His eyes darted to the locket.

“Someone special?”

She nodded. “My- wife. She passed away a while ago. It’s a long story.”

Vega shifted a little closer before draping an arm over her shoulder. She froze, but he didn’t feel like he had claws or was about to ensnare her in some trap, it was... just a hug. “I’m real sorry about that. I’ve lost people too over the years, but you just gotta find new things to live for, to make them proud.”

He looked like he couldn’t have been older than twenty or thirty, but he spoke as if he’d been through this more times than she could imagine. She held out her other arm and he swung a leg over her lap to hug her tight. “I- I try to.”

He pulled back, eyes watering a little before he wiped them away. “Gosh, it’s nice meetin’ somebody who knows, you know? I’m mighty glad I caught you. Hopefully you ‘n your parents have safe travels.”

“You too.” She tugged the band of his hat down over his eyes, and he laughed.

“Oh, the galaxy looks out for those who put their best food forward. I’ve been wandering for a long time, and I’ll be there for anybody who needs me.”

[beihonglin]

ii. daisies

a tangram flower shop au inspired by @honeyforzhixie and @tanqram | for the banana squad

gerbera daisies: I hope you have sunshine and warmth wherever you go, no matter how dark your day might seem. 

“And then you tuck this end in, like this...” Zhixie glances over at where Maotong’s fingers fumble with a length of purple ribbon. “No, tuck it in here-“

It’s not a bad bouquet, it really isn’t. All the client’s requested flowers are gathered neatly in the centre and are interspersed with sprigs of baby’s breath. It’s just... a little out of shape?

Zhixie sneaks a peek at the flower shop entrance. The lights at the front of the store are turned off, but the entire first level of the flower shop is flushed a heady gold with the sunset, chrysanthemums and tulips brushing shadows onto the white wooden floors. The glass folding doors have been pulled closed since they closed half an hour ago - the only thing blocking Zhixie’s view of the street are small, sun-kissed movements as Chaoze swishes his mop around, shoulder to shoulder with the sunflowers. Honglin sits at the small set of steps leading up to the mezzanine Zhixie and Maotong are at, warm gold just touching the tips of his shoes and his fingers gently massaging the stray cat in his lap as he waits for the rest to close shop and head home.

It’s not that late, Zhixie surmises, and turns back to Maotong. “Perhaps another try?”

Maotong groans. “Ge, I’m never going to get this right-“

Zhixie pats Maotong on the back gently. “Chaoze had really bad first tries too,” he offers. “As long as you keep practising, it should be oka-“

Wham!

Zhixie winces - it’s the third time this week someone’s walked into their glass doors, he should really put up a sign.

Four pairs of eyes track Chaoze as he pushes past the tulips to unlock the entrance.

There’s a click as Chaoze turns the key, and the first thing Zhixie hears the moment Chaoze pushes the first glass panel open is non-stop cursing. He’s tempted to cover his part-timer’s ears, but before he can turn to Maotong, he feels Maotong’s fingers digging into his arm.

“That’s them!” Maotong whispers, eyes wide.

“Who?”

“The ones at the cafe this afternoon, the ones talking about us!”

Zhixie blinks up at the boy. The ones talking about... what?

A clear voice rings from the door. “My god, get up, they’re going to think we’re complete idio- Hi! I’m Ruotian and this injured fool is Jingzuo. We’re here to look for Zhixie?”

Zhixie sighs and pushes past the table he and Maotong were working at. He didn’t expect Yanjun’s cousins to have moved in already - Yanjun made it sound like they were moving in next month at the earliest.

He steps past Honglin on the stairs, earning a soft meow from where the cat is nestled in Honglin’s arms.

The twins look a little different from what he remembers. The younger one has another helix piercing in his left ear (Zhixie vaguely remembers Yanjun mentioning it) and a sword poking out from under his right shirt sleeve. His face is a thunderstorm; Zhixie isn’t entirely sure if it’s because of his angry eyebrows or the fact that he just walked into their glass door.

The older twin has bleached hair now, and the sleeve Zhixie remembers has extended up to his neck, dragon peeking out from his collar. His eyes are hard and wary, almost as if he expects Zhixie to say something about his tattoos. Not that Zhixie is surprised - if they were planning to open a tattoo parlour, Zhixie would have expected good tattoo work at the least.

“Hi! I’m Yanjun’s cousin. We’re in the middle of wrapping up, but if you can give us a couple minutes, we can lock up and head out for dinner or something?”

The older twin nods, face relaxing, and he gestures to his brother. “We’ll wait for you outside then.”

The younger one looks like he’s about to say something, eyebrows furrowed, but there’s a soft meow between their feet.

Honglin’s eyes widen and he makes to move forward. He has no idea how Strawberry left his arms so fast, but he knows it took forever for her to trust them and he knows she isn’t good with strangers and he knows she’s going to be terrified of the man with shadows of annoyance all over his face and-  

“Hi, baby... you’re so pretty, look at you... you’re such a soft little angel, hi...”

Honglin blinks. Said man is kneeling on the ground as Strawberry rubs along his thigh - he looks absolutely delighted. His fingers find their way to her neck, and Honglin watches in amazement as she instantly purrs and cranes her neck for more.

He hears a mutter behind him, “On second thought, can we wait here while you lock up... I feel like if we try to pull him away from the cat, he might cry...”

“Ah- ah, okay...”

______

It’s hard not to spot, reviews say. There are apparently tables of flowers lined up outside the shophouse’s folding doors, rows of tulips and roses and carnations brightening up the entire street, a spring of life in an otherwise grey lane.

Except... you can’t seem to find it.

You peer at the instructions on your Google Maps app, but for some reason your location refuses to refresh. It’s the worst timing, really, especially when you’re supposed to meet your mother for her birthday celebration in half an hour and you haven’t gotten the flowers you were supposed to get.

There’s a tinkling sound from behind, and you move out of the way just in time for a mint bicycle to slow down right beside you.

“Lost?” A kind voice asks.

You look up gratefully. The man’s eyes are crinkled up in a cotton-soft smile, and his hair slightly messy, no doubt tousled by the bike ride. You also can’t help but notice that the man’s bicycle basket is laden with flowers, and the book bag he has slung across his pink apron is filled with more. Sunshine Flower Shop is supposed to be the only florist in this area, so...

“I think you’re the one I’m looking for.”

A startled laugh bursts out of him, and you flush. Definitely wasn’t supposed to come out of your mouth.

You rush to clarify and he waves your stammers away, chuckling and dismounting his bike. He starts pushing, a silent gesture for you to follow him. “We’re over on the next avenue.”

He carries conversation effortlessly, voice as golden as sunflowers. You talk about the cafes you pass, the reviews you’ve read, the cobblestones under your feet; you talk about the flowers your mother likes, the flowers in season, the flowers your mother likes that are in season and in almost no time at all, you’re both standing in front of a coral shophouse.

The reviews were right - it’s beautiful. There’s a balcony right above the entrance, all white shuttered doors and cast-iron railings. The name “Sunshine Flower Shop” is carefully hand-painted onto glass bi-fold doors, gold letters glinting in the late afternoon sun. There are tables wheezing under the weight of endless vases and succulents, and you have to brush past daisies and lilies to get to the entrance.

The inside is a dream, glass vases lining the walls with more flowers than you can name. There’s a short flight of stairs up from the main area to a mezzanine that, as far as you can tell, is warmly lit with even more botanicals. You can see no apparent organisation to the placement of the flowers, but the myriad of colours is enough to put a smile on your face.

“I’m back,” the man calls out, propping his bicycle against the open glass door.

“So soon?” A head pops out from behind stalks of snapdragons and begonias. He pushes a pair of round glasses up his nose. “Honglin’s still out on his delivery.”

Honglin, you think. The name appeared in quite a few of the reviews you’ve read, along with Chaoze and Zhixie. You turn to your right, embarrassed that you never thought to ask the man for his name on your way here, but find that he has already moved halfway up the stairs.

He waits for you to join him on the mezzanine before gesturing to the wall on your right. “This is our Mothers wall. You mentioned she likes orchids?”

At your nod, his long fingers deftly pick out pink orchids (“Elegance and femininity,” he says) and pink carnations (“A mother’s love.”). He adds in a few sprigs of greens and Queen Anne’s Lace (“Sanctuary and delicacy,” he tells you) before holding the stalks up for your approval.

You nod in awe - the way the meaning of each flower rolls off his tongue, smooth as butter, while his fingers reach out for stalks of the right size and shade just reminds you how well-versed he is in his business.

You leave Sunshine Flower Shop less than five minutes later, armed with the most beautiful bouquet and a name tucked high in your cheek like a sweet a child has learnt to savour.

Zhixie, you say to yourself. Qiu Zhixie.

[kuriquinn]

You Are Cordially Invited [3/?]

Cover & Disclaimer

Chapter Summary: Ino is also the person that she confides everything in, good or bad. She was there for Sakura when Sasuke and Naruto weren’t, and there’s a dimension to their friendship that none of the men in her life will ever understand or be able to replace. She can’t not tell her.

Chapter Beta: Sakura’s Unicorn

Author’s Note: The views on marriage in this chapter are not my own. I personally could care less when it comes to the whole institution (get married or don’t get married, just don’t dictate who’s allowed and who’s not when they should do it and why they should do it…etc.) but I figure most of the characters in Naruto would be the traditional sort and would have traditional views about it. So no SJWs equating these fictional situations with my own view, please. I’m always shocked by the tiny details people get hung up on…

An empty, industrial-sized knapsack, several neatly folded piles of clothes, and methodically packaged medical supplies lie on Sakura’s bed. Humming to herself, she looks around, trying to decide if there is anything she hasn’t packed yet that she ought to.

I’ll need more of those, she thinks, picking up a bottle of blood pills, but I can get those from the hospital when I give my notice tomorrow.

It’s not official yet – technically, she’s not on the mission roster – but Sasuke said he would take care of that this morning. She’s not worried; Kakashi will definitely say yes. Even if he doesn’t, she’s already set her mind on a leave of absence from work. If she wants to spend her time off near Earth Country at the same time that Sasuke happens to be on a mission there, it’s completely her business. She dares anyone to try to tell her different.

“Well, that’s a lot more stuff than usual,” a voice remarks from her doorway. She glances up to see her mother peeking her head in. “Where are you off to, the lost Land of Ancestors?” She chuckles at her own joke.

“Earth Country,” Sakura replies, packing her clothes away.

Her mother frowns. “Is there an outbreak of something up that way?”

“Maybe. There’s always people in need of a healer wherever I go.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“Well, Sasuke can’t tell me until he gets permission from Kakashi to read me in on it – and even if he does, I couldn’t tell you the specifics until it’s declassified,” Sakura says, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Come on, Mom. It hasn’t been that long since you went on missions.”

“So. Sasuke’s going, too.”

“Mm-hm.”

“What about Naruto? And Sai? Is it a mission that needs you all?”

“No, I don’t think so. Besides, Sai’s busy restructuring the black-ops division. And Naruto doesn’t actually go on a lot of missions these days while he’s learning how to run the village. I doubt they’d put him on a long-term one like this.”

“Long-term?” her mother echoes. “How ‘long-term?’”

“Oh, I don’t know. It could be weeks. It could be months,” Sakura replies, unconcerned.

“So, you’re going on a mission that might last for weeks or months. Alone. With a man.” Her words are flat.

“Oh, Mother, don’t be so archaic. It’s a mission with Sasuke,” Sakura rolls her eyes, “not a drunken sex-romp through the Five Shinobi Countries with a complete stranger.”

Well, it could be, her inner voice, quiet for so long, pipes up slyly.

Mebuki makes a face. “Excuse me for thinking you’d be safer on one of those than the other.”

“No. We’re not doing this,” Sakura says, holding up a hand. “You’ve made your feelings about Sasuke perfectly clear. And while you’re entitled to your opinion, you’ve got nothing to back it up with. You don’t know him like I do.”

“That doesn’t count. You’re in love. That sort of thing clouds judgement.”

“Then you don’t know him like Naruto does. Or Kakashi. You trust the judgement of Konoha’s hero and the Sixth Hokage, right?” she asks, to which her mother crosses her arms, but can’t think of anything to say. In a more wheedling voice, Sakura adds, “Just give him a chance, okay?”

“Did I say I wouldn’t?” Mebuki grumbles, and Sakura knows she’s won.

She crosses the room to hug her mother and then glances at the clock. “All right, I have to get going. I want to catch Ino before she heads home for the night.”

It’s the best time to talk to her, really; Sakura isn’t keen on intruding in her friend’s home these days. She and Sai are still in the honeymoon period, and Sakura’s learned her lesson about showing up unannounced.

She shudders. That’s more of Sai than I ever, ever wanted to see…

Given the fact she’s a medic, that’s saying something.

It’s barely five minutes to the flower shop, the road familiar and strewn with memories. Sakura thinks about how strange it will be, taking a different path to get here once she and Sasuke have their own home. She blushes at the thought, unable to keep the smile off her face or the bounce from her step.

I’m getting married, she thinks giddily for the umpteenth time since he proposed. She still can’t quite believe it; the thought will jump out at her at random points during the day, making her stomach flip and her heart speed up. She wonders if Sasuke experiences the same excitement and disbelief, or if (as with all things), once he’s set his mind to something, it’s simple fact that requires no reaction.

Probably the latter, she sighs to herself as she enters Yamanaka Flowers.

The place is the same as usual, although the décor has changed; the once blank walls are now swirls of colour, murals painted by Sai that have turned the four corners into their own little contained fantasy worlds. Beautiful landscapes meld into one another, the colours rivalled only by the flowers which line the walls.

Ino is behind the counter, preparing a bouquet of yellow tulips for an awkward-looking youth.

“Hey,” she greets as the shy boy bolts from the shop, “it’s been a while since I’ve seen you here. Come to bask in my beauty?”

Sakura wrinkles her nose. “Please, if I want to bask in beauty, I’ll go watch a sunset.”

“Excuse you! Are you saying I’m not as gorgeous as a sunset?”

“More like you’re as irritating as a sunburn.”

“Billboard Brow.”

“Pig.”

They smirk at each other.

“Thanks for that mint oil balm you sent over. It’s done wonders for my mother’s back.”

“I’m glad! As soon as you run out, I’ll have Ando make some more. He did pretty well with that last batch. Oh, if you ever get a shipment of cajuput, I’ll tell him to add it. It really helps.”

“I’ll put a note in when we resupply,” Ino says. “So, what’s up?”

“I came to see if you want to meet for dinner tomorrow night,” Sakura says. “Naruto and Hinata will be there. Kakashi-sensei, too, if he’s not busy.”

“So, Team 7 and others?” Ino smirks. “Didn’t we just meet at Ichiraku last week?”

“It’s not Ichiraku. We’re having it at Sasuke’s place.” Sakura frowns. “And we were going to order in from that new yōshokuya, but if you’re desperate for ramen, I’m sure we can pick some up for you.”

“Well, aren’t you funny today – wait. Sasuke’s place? Isn’t that a little cramped?”

“It was either that or my parents’ – you know how they hover.”

“Yes, but at least your mother is always popping up with treats. And there’s more space there.”

“Are you going to be able to make it or not?” Sakura asks impatiently.

“Not,” Ino answers, “but it has nothing to do with the location. Tomorrow night, there’s a Yamanaka clan meeting and Sai’s insisting we go. Honestly, he cares more about it than I do, even though I told him that it’s only boring accounting stuff and an excuse for the old geezers to talk about the time so-and-so’s cousin stole their cat…”

“He just wants to fit in.”

Sai never gives up a chance to learn more about the family he married into. He’s gotten very protective of it, especially since he never had a family himself.

“There are other ways to fit in than getting your cheeks pinched by a dozen great aunts,” Ino complains.

They grin at each other, and Sakura sobers. “We’ll miss you at dinner.”

“Can’t you postpone it?”

“No. I’m sort of on a fixed schedule and might not get another chance during the next two weeks.”

“What’s in two weeks?”

“I’m heading to Earth Country. It might be a month or so, depending on what the trouble is.”

“They asked for a healer? Don’t they have a bunch of their own up there?”

“It’s not that – though I doubt they’d turn me away. See, Sasuke’s leading the mission and he asked me to come with –”

“Wait. He asked you? You sure you didn’t rudely invite yourself along?”

“Shut up, Pig!”

“Who else is going?”

“No one. It’s just us.”

“Just…” Ino’s eyes widen and a beat later, she leers. “Just the two of you? Oh, you little tramp! Ooh, and you’re unmarried and everything. How scandalous!”

“Hilarious…”

“Seriously, though, isn’t your mom freaking out about this?”

“Not as much as she would under normal circumstances,” Sakura admits.

“Normal circumstances?”

“That’s sort of what I wanted to tell you at dinner tomorrow along with everyone else,” Sakura explains. She looks around the flower shop, ensuring that they’re completely alone, and leans over the counter. “If I tell you, you have to swear you won’t say anything. To anyone.”

“Anything about what?”

Sakura hesitates. She’s a little apprehensive about telling Ino, worried that she’ll be hurt by the news. Granted, it’s a little late, considering she’s been happily married to Sai for weeks now, but their inane competition over Sasuke took up so much of their childhood; it almost ruined their friendship. Sakura knows that Ino doesn’t have feelings for Sasuke anymore – at least, not the romantic kind – but she also doesn’t want to seem as if she’s rubbing Ino’s nose in it.  

But Ino is also the person that she confides everything in, good or bad. She was there for Sakura when Sasuke and Naruto weren’t, and there’s a dimension to their friendship that none of the men in her life will ever understand or be able to replace.

She can’t not tell her.

“I mean it, Ino. You have to wait at least until Naruto knows because he wouldn’t forgive us for not telling him first. But you’re my best friend, so I have to tell you –”

“Sakura, what are you…” Ino trails off and then gasps. “Oh! Oh! You’re not…”

“Sasuke asked,” Sakura reveals in a breathless whisper, unable to keep the smile off her face. “Two days ago.”

“Two days ago?!” Ino yells, remembers she’s supposed to be quiet, and hisses in a lower voice, “This happened two days ago and you didn’t tell me right away?! Forehead, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

“We’ve been busy – besides, it’s not like you told me the minute you got engaged, either.”

“That doesn’t matter, you selfish bitch! This is a situation where you tell me right away! Our entire childhood was dedicated to one of us nabbing him, and it was your sworn duty to inform me the second you pulled it off!” Ino cries, but she’s smiling as she reaches for Sakura’s left hand. “Let me see the ring.”

“There is no ring,” she replies.

“Ehhh? What the hell? Is he cheap or something?”

“No, it’s…that’s not really his style,” Sakura demurs; she’s not actually sure that’s the case, but in the whirlwind of everything happening, she honestly didn’t even think twice about a ring. “Besides, he gave me something better – he taught me his family’s Katon.”  

“Okay,” Ino says, incredulous. “If you say that’s better…”

“No, you don’t get what that means to him,” Sakura says quickly, and sets about excitedly relating the entire tale to her friend. She probably doesn’t do it justice – everything happened so quickly and it felt so dreamlike that she’s probably forgetting half of it – but Ino’s eyes soften like she’s beginning to understand.

“Well, I still say he should’ve gotten you a ring,” her friend says when she’s done, “but it sounds like it was romantic. Much more romantic than I got, anyway.” She adopts a stilted tone and blank expression that Sakura knows is meant to represent Sai, and mimics, “’Ino, I enjoy having sexual relations with you. I never want to have them with anyone else. Let’s continue to do this for the rest of our lives.’”

Sakura sniggers, and when Ino shoots her a glare, she arranges her features into something resembling an apology. “To be fair, that actually is kind of romantic. Especially for Sai.”

“You know, it kind of was,” Ino admits. “Until my mother walked in on us.”

“No!”

“And then he just looks up at her, utterly unbothered, and tells her he’s marrying me. And then they start talking venues and flower arrangements. While I’m still hiding under the covers!”

Sakura can’t help her laughter now. “Is it just me, or has Auntie gotten a lot more relaxed about these things?”

“Since Dad’s been gone, she’s much more of a ‘seize the day’ type,” Ino agrees. “And she thinks Sai is funny, which…it’s nice that they get along.”

“You’re lucky. I’m not sure my mother will ever get along with Sasuke. I think the best I can hope for is some sort of mutual non-aggression pact between them.”

“If anything ever happens, my money’s on Auntie Mebuki,” Ino says seriously.

うちは

Sasuke never really interacted with any of his friends’ parents or parental figures before.

He barely acknowledged Iruka as a teacher when he was at the Academy, and after he left, there’s been little opportunity or need to spend much time with him, even for Naruto’s sake.

Sakura’s parents were even less of a priority. He actively avoided happy families when he was a kid, and even more so with Sakura because she was so annoying back then. It’s only since he’s been back to Konoha the second time that her parents have even been a factor in his life.

So, he’s a little mystified at the fact that he’s now sitting in the brightly decorated kitchen of the Haruno household, across the table from Mebuki Haruno while she pours him a cup of tea.

He’s also having a hard time understanding the reason behind his mounting, inexplicable apprehension.

He only came by to let Sakura know that Kakashi agreed to let her join the mission – looking entirely too knowing about the whole thing for Sasuke’s liking – and to see if she was free to spar. It’s been a while, and he knows today is one of her rare days off.

When her mother answered the door, saying she’d just gone to the flower shop, he fully intended to come back later (he has no intention of venturing into Ino’s shop, suspecting it would get people’s tongues wagging). But before he could make an escape, Mebuki invited him inside for a quick cup of tea in a tone that suggested this was no mere invitation, but a command on par with any Hokage’s directive.  

“After all, I feel as if I hardly know you, and we really should get familiar with each other since we’ll be family. For Sakura’s sake, at least,” she insisted, her tone dripping with implications that made his stomach twist.

For Sakura’s sake, he told himself firmly and accepted.

Of course, as soon as he sits down in the kitchen, she doesn’t even bother to keep up her initial pretence, instead stating, “So, Sakura tells me you’re going on a mission together.”

Ah. That’s what this is.

He relaxes, suspecting this is her opportunity to ensure he will take care of her daughter. Considering Sakura can take care of herself, he supposes he can add some sort of secondary reassurance for her mother if she requires it.

“Yes,” he says.

“Just the two of you?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” She takes a sip of her tea and it occurs to him that he doesn’t like her tone. “And this is happening before you get married?”

“Yes,” he answers unthinkingly.

“Hm,” she hums, and he realises that he’s made his first mistake.

“You and my daughter have a long history,” Mebuki begins. “How do I know you won’t let that get in the way of treating her in a respectful fashion? While you’re travelling together. All alone.”

Sasuke blinks. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“You’re both young and healthy,” she goes on, “and these missions get the blood boiling. I remember it well.” The dots connect and Sasuke’s eyes widen. He, once again, considers the wisdom in bolting, but she’s speaking again, and this time her tone is hard and forbidding. “What happens if, one night, you forget yourselves?”

Sasuke grits his teeth, disbelief flooding him at the fact they’re actually having this conversation. He thought this was the ‘protect my daughter with your life’ speech. He was so very, very wrong.

“Not that it’s any of your business –”

“She’s my daughter, so it is my business.”

“ – but I would never disrespect Sakura in that way,” Sasuke finishes firmly. “I would do nothing without her express permission.”

“Yes, you’re big on permission,” Mebuki replies coolly, “considering you had the forethought to ask my husband’s permission. It shows you have at least some understanding of etiquette, despite some…rough patches.”

Her tone suggests it’s the best euphemism she can come up with, and he has to hand it to her – it’s the most delicate descriptor he’s ever heard for his behaviour.

“So, my question is, why do you intend to travel and live in close quarters with her without being married first? Don’t you care about her reputation? Her honour?”

“I –”

“I assume you’re a decent sort, as I said, you were at least respectful of her father,” she continues, “If you did get carried away or caught up in the moment, I would hope you’d marry her right away –”

“I –”

“ – but that leaves us with the problem of a shotgun wedding in some backwater burg,” she concludes. Her eyes rove over him judgementally, and then she wags her finger at him. “Sakura has put up with an awful lot from you over the years, you know. And she’s too kind to say anything, of course, but she’s dreamed of her wedding since she was a little girl. She used to tell me stories and draw pictures – I might have some of them somewhere…”

“No, it’s…it’s fine. I don’t need to – we’re coming back,” Sasuke manages to choke out.

“The gods laugh at people who make plans,” Mebuki simpers. “You might plan to get married when you come back, but you don’t know what could happen along the way. And when it does happen, you might be thousands of miles away.” She meets his gaze, and suddenly, her face becomes pained. Sasuke feels a tightening in his chest because her eyes look exactly like Sakura’s. “You’d be keeping her from the wedding of her dreams – and you’d be denying her father and I the only chance we’ll ever have to watch our child get married. To the man she’s loved her entire life.”

Each phrase feels like a growing, invisible weight hanging over his head.

And then she goes in for the kill.

“Surely your mother raised you better than that,” Mebuki ponders out loud. “She was such a kind woman…”  

Sasuke’s eyes widen.

“You knew my mother?” he asks, momentarily stunned.

“I didn’t know her as well as some did, but she was a woman of quality,” Mebuki says. “And I can’t help think of what she would want if she were here.”

“But she’s not here,” Sasuke says, only just holding him back from snapping. This is not Naruto or an argument he can win by escalating it into a physical fight; this is Mebuki Haruno, a woman who never made it past genin, the mother of his future wife, and she could conceivably make the next fifty years of his life a misery. But using his deceased mother to influence his choices…

“Do you think that somehow invalidates her wishes?” Mebuki challenges. “The people we care about never truly leave us – and their intentions live on even when they don’t. Sakura’s told me about your brother – what he did and the hardships he endured. He’s gone, but you live your life based on your intentions, don’t you?”

Sasuke’s anger stalls at this.

“Mikoto was a good woman,” Mebuki goes on. “Even if we weren’t what you’d call close, she was an Uchiha and she was a mother. I’m positive she would have the same concerns that I do.”

Sasuke has always avoided imagining ‘what if’ scenarios because they’re just too painful. But just this once he allows himself to imagine the conversation with his mother, explaining that he and Sakura are leaving on a potentially long-term mission alone together.

He knows the exact expression she would make, and winces.

“Really, in the big scheme of things, it’s such a small thing to ensure that everything is settled before you go,” Mebuki concludes pleasantly.

They stare at each other for several long moments.

Half an hour later, Sasuke stands outside the Haruno residence, blinking into the afternoon sky. Somehow, he actually agreed to have the wedding before leaving on the mission, and he can’t for the life of him figure out the exact point where he gave in.

On the up side, Mebuki seemed like she was in a good mood when he left her which is a nice change from the suspicious glares and double-edged words he faced when he first arrived there. The woman wields guilt like a kunai.

How did this woman never make it past genin? She would’ve had a glowing career in Interrogation and Torture!

If Sakura inherited even a fraction of that, he’s in serious trouble.

Thinking of his intended, he winces; not a day after she thanked him for including her in decisions, he’s just made a huge one without bringing it up with her first. And while, if Mebuki is to be trusted, it’s something Sakura wants, he remains uncomfortable with it. And embarrassed because one of his strengths is remaining immobile even in the face of adversity, yet she broke him down in less than an hour. Has being back in Konoha made him soft? Has acknowledging his feelings for Sakura made him weaker somehow?

No, that’s not it…

There’s something else about the whole situation that he’s missing, but before he can puzzle it out a little more, he sees Sakura coming around the corner. She notices him right away, her expression brightens, and she quickens her approach.

“You’re here!” she beams. “Did you speak to Kakashi-sensei?”

He nods, deciding to mentally pack away his misgivings for another time. “He gave his permission.”

“I knew he would,” she gushes, “He’s such an old softie. He’s going to be a push-over when his kids are old enough to talk.” She reaches for her front door. “Want to come in for some tea?”

“No!” Sakura looks startled by the quick snap of his reply, and he hurries to amend himself before she takes it as an insult. “Actually…” He eyes her house like he might an underground torture chamber. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“All right,” she agrees slowly, and falls into step with him.

As they meander through the streets, Sakura relates the events of her morning to him. He’s only half-listening, guiding them away from prying eyes and ears.

“I had to tell Ino,” she says about her recent visit to the flower shop, “since she can’t come over tomorrow. But she promised not to tell anyone else until after we tell Naruto.”

He nods, distracted.

She notices, because of course she does, and touches his arm to get him to stop walking. “Sasuke, is something wrong?”

“Perhaps,” he says, earning a troubled frown.

Glancing around – they are near the river now and safely alone – Sasuke gives her a much-edited version of his own interesting morning adventures and the fact he somehow agreed to a wedding before their departure.

An expression of great annoyance passes over her face – one similar to what he’s seen when Naruto says or does something stupid which usually precedes a show of monstrous temper.

Or strength.

Or both, depending on the seriousness of the offence.

Sasuke braces himself, not sure whether he’s better served dodging or standing there and taking the blow.

But then Sakura rolls her eyes skyward and groans, “Mother!” and he realises he’s safe.

“This is really going too far!” Sakura rants. “She’s always interfering with everything…such a control freak! You can bet…she and I will have words…can’t believe she stuck her nose in!”

“She makes a decent point, though. Your parents should be able to see you get married.”

“They’ll see it when we get back.”

“We can’t predict the future,” he reminds her. “Anything could happen between now and then.”

Sakura narrows her eyes. “I hope that’s not an implication that you intend to die, or break off our engagement while we’re out there.”

“What? No! That’s not what I…” he trails off, momentarily confused why that’s the first place her mind goes.

Sasuke thinks back on what Mebuki implied, about the reasons why getting married now might be more prudent, and his neck heats up. He doesn’t want to repeat any part of that conversation to Sakura, but can’t figure out any other way to explain himself.

“If your mind is made up, that’s fine,” he says stiffly. “I’ll go back and speak to your mother. I made the mistake in accepting without consulting you.”

“No, Sasuke. That’s not what –”

“You deserve more than a rushed ceremony,” he interrupts. “I want you to be able to celebrate in as grand a fashion as you want.”  

“No,” she replies immediately. “A wedding like that would make you miserable. Even if we waited and came back, I wouldn’t want that. I’d want to celebrate with family.” Sakura takes a deep breath, puffing out her cheeks in annoyance. “Damn it, my mother’s right.”

But there is no malice in her words.

“You said you didn’t want to wait,” he points out.

“I did, didn’t I? All right…if we’re just going to arrange a small wedding when we get back, we might as well do it now. That’s the epitome of not waiting, right?”

“Small,” he states, considering it. “Just us and your parents.”

“And Naruto and Kakashi,” Sakura agrees. “They’re family. They should be there.”  

Sasuke’s chest does that thing where it tightens, yet feels like it’s expanded at her words because there’s no one in the entire village who understands that as well as she does.

“As for the reception…well, Ino would never forgive me if I didn’t invite her, so she’s a given,” Sakura continues. “And we might as well invite all of the significant others, too: Hinata, Manako – and Sai, of course.”

“Sai,” Sasuke repeats, slightly incredulous. He’s on better terms with the artist these days, but he never imagined the man would be a guest at his wedding reception. It’s definitely not something he would’ve even entertained the first time they met.

‘You woke me up to talk about bonds?’

“…and we should invite our friends from the Academy,” Sakura is saying. “Shikamaru and Temari; and Chōji and Karui; and Li and – well, everyone and their partners, of course.”

“Wasn’t this supposed to be a small affair?”

“It will be, compared to Naruto’s. Totally informal and nothing that requires the village being shut down for a three-day party,” Sakura determines. “For all I care, we can rent the dining room at the Yakiniku Q, if you’re determined to have it casual.” Sasuke makes a face at that, and she laughs. “Or not.”

“My family used to hold marriage ceremonies at the Naka shrine,” he remarks lightly. He knows that’s not an option now. The shrine is as ruined as the rest of the district; this is the first time Sasuke regrets not asking Kakashi to have it rebuilt.

Sakura’s expression softens, and she wraps her hand around his, squeezing. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” A beat later, he returns the gesture. “Besides,” Sakura says after a few minutes, “how hard can it be to plan a wedding?”

つづく

Uh oh…famous last words, right?

Reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated! Also, if you are in a supportive mood, I have a ko-fi button at the top of the page, or you can find my tip jar here.

Thanks for your interest in my work!

*Refers to events in Miso Soup Every Day

クリ

Next Chapter

[vocalpmh]

where soil lies, a new beginning blooms

note: a little something i wrote inspired by the one and only @vonseal​‘s magic users series on ao3, in particular witchcraft (my all-time favourite myungjin fic to date, bless her). the feels were all too real on a particular night and when i saw this joke on my tumblr dash, i was hit with all of the inspiration (though very regretfully, i should have not laughed as hard as i did when i read it) and managed to write this piece of fluff :’))

The sun filters through the bakery as Myungjun opens the door with Minhyuk in tow. It glistens over the countertop and dabbles across the display of model bread Myungjun insisted on making at the very opening of the establishment.

“Hyung, quit admiring your cardboard bread, did you bring that new flour you were raving about?”

Myungjun stops staring at the baguette and glances at his hands, he looks back at his dubious colleague and roommate, then back at his very, empty hands.

“I’ll be two seconds Minhyukkie, don’t miss me too much!” Myungjun’s voice trails off as he opens the door in such a hurry that a mass of brown leaves fly into the bakery and Minhyuk lets out a loud grumble.

Myungjun spots Minhyuk angrily sweeping away the leaves through his peripheral and smiles to himself before strolling in the direction of their quaint apartment.

‘I wonder if Jinwoo’s awake,’ Myungjun is already grinning at the sight of his boyfriend sprawled on their bed and his cute butt in those pyjamas he got him last Christmas.

Before he can imagine Jinwoo in those black jeans that also really do his butt justice, he’s already arrived at the apartment level and just as the elevator halts and the metal doors slide open, a trail of something earthy leads him to the door at the very end of the hallway.

Myungjun glances at the floor and back at the door, that looks very much like his home, and back at the floor.

Who on earth would break into his apartment and leave a dirt trace behind them?

It was up to Myungjun to find out.

“Come out wherever you are, I’ll get my boyfriend with his killer biceps to kick you and your soily whatever-the-hell out of my hou-“

Myungjun’s eyes are closed as he yells out his threat but something, that smells very much like his boyfriend’s cologne wafts into the air.

He opens one eye discreetly and something brown, crumbly and Jinwoo-shaped is standing in front of him.

“What on earth happened in the thirty minutes that I left the house, Park Jinwoo?”

Jinwoo has the audacity to give Myungjun a gummy smile as he scratches his neck sheepishly and a clump of soil falls out of his hair.

“I woke up just as you left, and I wanted to do something, you know helpful since you and Minhyuk have been really busy at the bakery lately, and I just thought that, your plants looked like…they needed more soil?” Jinwoo pants slightly after his speech and Myungjun doesn’t have the heart to scold his sweet boyfriend.

However, he does have the heart to shake his boyfriend violently by the shoulders and watch as all of the dirt crumbles away to reveal a dirt-smeared (a huge understatement) Park Jinwoo with a pained expression painting his handsome face.

“Was that necessary?” Jinwoo rubs his shoulders with a pout on his face but Myungjun misses it as he’s too busy staring at the effects of the tornado (aka Park Jinwoo and nature) that struck his apartment and left a muddy trail in its wake.

“What do I tell Minhyuk when I rock up to the bakery around two hours late, with flour that does not resemble flour anymore in my hands?” Myungjun sweeps all of the soil that somehow found itself in the kitchen into the bin and Jinwoo shoots him a cheeky grin as he brushes dirt onto the balcony, where Myungjun’s supposed sunflowers stood, the line between large chocolate cake pops and yellow flowers blurring severely.

“Tell him that I was trying to be helpful?” Jinwoo resorts to murmuring a spell that sends all of the dirt that had seeped into Myungjun’s upholstery onto the balcony and Myungjun forgets that manual labour isn’t necessary with a witch for a boyfriend.

“Jinwoo can you also magic it up in here, my arms are tired from sieving the flour,” Myungjun whines as his arms fall slack next to him, a bowl of flour speckled with brown in front of him.

“Sorry babe, just wait a minute,”

Myungjun would’ve thought that Jinwoo was flipping the bird at him if he didn’t know his boyfriend had to perform gestures whilst almost rapping a spell.

Fragments of soil and a rogue worm levitate in the air before flying out of the room and onto the balcony and Myungjun can only wince as his sunflowers get violently pelted with dirt.

“When I said magic it up, I didn’t mean move the mess to the balcony,” Myungjun sighs and even though Jinwoo’s mouth says ‘sorry,’ his eyes glint with something else.

“Park Jinwoo what are you-,”

Jinwoo picks up the clump of dirt that fell out of his hair unceremoniously before from the floor and brushes the dirt off it to uncover a box.

Myungjun doesn’t need to be a mind-reader to know what’s going to happen next.

“Kim Myungjun, I know I have no affinity with flowers yet I think I’ll be able to care for you for a long, long time. Will you marry me?”

Jinwoo slowly kneels down on one knee and opens the box to reveal a small silver ring with a glittering diamond in the middle, set in a gold tulip head.

“Oh my lucky roses, yes of course-” Myungjun flings his arms around Jinwoo’s shoulders before he can even finish his sentence and before Jinwoo can even slip the ring onto his finger, he starts wails loudly into Jinwoo’s shoulder. His tears mix in with the dirt in brown smears on his boyf- fiancé’s orange jacket and he can’t tell if it’s a dirt particle in his eye or his tears.

“Baby don’t cry, I haven’t even put it on your finger yet,” Jinwoo rubs small circles onto his distraught fiancé’s back and Myungjun sniffles loudly as he watched Jinwoo slips the ring onto his (albeit a little grubby) left hand.

“I love you so so so so so much Park Jinwoo and I would raise a whole army of pets and plants to protect you from any sort of harm-,” Myungjun blubbers again as he stares at his fourth finger with teary eyes before diving onto Jinwoo and wrapping his arms around the younger’s torso.

“I feel like I’m receiving more physical assault than affection here Myungjun,” Myungjun can feel Jinwoo smiling as they both land on the floor and a puff of brown dust suspends in the air around them.

Myungjun attempts to glower at the grinning man underneath him but his emotions get the better of him and he smiles instead.

“Physical assault and my method of expressing affection are synonymous Park Jinwoo, didn’t you realise already?” Myungjun takes the opportunity to reach his hand behind Jinwoo and give his (blessed) butt cheek a cheeky squeeze and Jinwoo yelps.

“I can’t believe you, what a lewd man I’m marrying,” Jinwoo remarks and gives the older a cheeky squeeze back, but he earns a sly smile instead. Myungjun would’ve attempted to grope Jinwoo’s other butt cheek if his back wasn’t aching like an old, wizened man’s and just presses a peck onto Jinwoo’s pink, moist lips.

Jinwoo smiles into the kiss but before anything more happens, the door swings open, revealing a wide-mouthed Park Minhyuk but the wide mouth slowly closes and the young adult’s face morphs into something neutral and deadpan (both of which Myungjun and Jinwoo are more comfortable with, rather than an expressive Minhyuk).

“Why am I not even the slightest bit surprised,” Minhyuk murmurs under his breath as he scans the wreck that he can barely recognise as his home. His eyes lock onto the two men, still on the floor and post-almost-make-out and zeroes in on the silver glinting on Myungjun’s hand.

“Was about time, Jinwoo hyung, you’re slower than I expected,” Jinwoo silently accepts the insult and Myungjun pats the ground next to him.

“Come here, my friend Minhyuk Park,”

“Why are you trying to speak Engl-,” Myungjun grabs a hold of Minhyuk’s arm and yanks him down, earning a groan and a loud thud of presumably Minhyuk’s butt hitting the floor.

“Best man? Please Minhyuk Pa-,” Myungjun slowly enunciates, making sure to emphasise every syllable.

“If you try to speak English one more time, I will actually crash your wedding,” Minhyuk interjects and crosses his arms, refusing to face his newly-engaged friends.

“You’re not really a wedding-crasher if you’re invited to the wedding Minhyuk,” Jinwoo points out and Myungjun smiles smugly at his best friend whose eyebrows slowly scrunch up in defeat.

“Okay fine, just promise me there’s no English speaking and Myungjun hyung is not trying to be hip and I won’t have to leave the country when you guys say your vows,” Minhyuk retorts and Myungjun squeezes the younger’s arm.

“I knew the English would get you squirming,” Myungjun announces triumphantly (in Korean) and Jinwoo snorts.

“When Jinwoo hyung speaks, and by all means are you guys basically on the same level, but he just sounds way better,” Minhyuk flicks off the dust from his shoulders nonchalantly and Jinwoo can’t help but snort again when Myungjun chucks his snarky best friend the stink eye.

But Minhyuk allows himself to smile just the slightest and turns around finally to face his roommates (amongst other things).

“I’m happy for you guys, I really am,”

It’s short but incredibly sincere and very Minhyuk-like, which is all Myungjun could ever wish for. The first person he would’ve told (had someone not opened the door to see him in tears and in a compromising position with his partner) was Minhyuk. He was his roommate, colleague and the only brother, let alone family he could really call his own. That sentence is all it takes for Myungjun’s eyes to prick with tears again and he thanks Minhyuk with an attempt of a hug (note, the three men are still very much on the floor) and he cries into Minhyuk’s shoulder this time, with Jinwoo patting his back soothingly.

If Myungjun didn’t know any better, he’d think this was such a romantic scene, fit for a Nicholas Sparks work of literature. But alas, three grown men, one bawling, one smiling until his mouth could literally fall off and one looking positively deadpan, lying on soil-littered floorboards is far from romantic but for Myungjun, it’s all he could have ever dreamed of.

[jiminwolf]

When the cherry blossoms fade

Soulmate!Jiminxreader oneshot

Genre: Soulmate AU/ Fluff

Summary:The fate entwining You and Park jimin are much stronger than they seem.

A/N: The whole story was inspired by this song written by B1A4’s Jinyoung. I actually started writing this story in May last year when the song first came out, but I guess I took too much time to work on it and even after IOI disbanded I'm still not done with this. If there are mistakes and sudden changes in writing style, please keep in mind that i spent an entire year on this. This is still unedited.

Prologue

Year 00

Tuesday 2:11 A.M.

The hospital

A new life is brought into the world, loud wails and cries filling the small operating room, the pungent smell of blood filling the air. The new mother tears, her husband grasping her hand tightly, still unable to let go after the tedious 6 hour delivery filled with painful contractions that made her feel like ripping all her hair out. The doctors and nurses smile at her brightly, and she can only reciprocate with a weak smile.

The newborn is wriggling, struggling against the doctor’s grasp, as he brings the child over to the exhausted parents. A mark is fresh on its tiny, pink wrist.

“Congratulations, it’s a girl.”

The parents lean over to carry the small bundle of joy, excited to see her mark. They both gasp in shock, as the mother’s fingertips smooth over that certain spot.

“She has two, what does this mean? Is there something wrong with her?”, the mother worriedly questions, for she has never seen anything like it before.

“There’s nothing to worry about. Babies that have two marks combined together are very rare, yet very lucky. It just means that she has a second chance to meet her soulmate again if she happens to miss the first chance.”

The pair sighs in relief, and return to staring lovingly at their child.

The soulmate system was established to save mankind, for there were simply too many people in the world who failed to find a partner in life. A tattoo, often known as ‘the mark’, forms on every newborn. Each mark is unique to two individuals in the world, and often acts as a hint to a significant event occurring in both of the soulmate’s lives where the two will finally meet. However, once the two meet, it is necessary for the both of them to recognise each other as soulmates. If the opportunity to find each other is missed due to the both of them failing to recognize each other in the crowd, the mark gradually fades to nothing. A person with no mark is looked down upon in society, and to have no mark is a disgrace to the family name. Once the soulmates successfully recognize each other, both their marks remain permanent and stay for life. The meeting between soulmates can occur at  any point in time.

---

The start.

Year 04

Saturday 4:55 P.M.

Your house

The summer was getting to your head, the heat rising up around you, surrounding and suffocating you. The climate is hot and humid, the sweat dribbles down your tiny forehead and the baby hairs that fall out of the little braid your mother did for you stay plastered to your neck, the minimal amount of clothes on your figure all glued onto you with sweat. Sticky, icky, disgusting sweat.

Despite the sweltering heat, you were sitting outside by the steps that led to your little house by the countryside. Mommy is in the living room watching television, you think, swinging your small feet around where they are unable to touch the ground. You hum a familiar tune, the same tune that you hum with the other neighborhood kids when you go out for ‘adventures’ around the small cluster of houses.

You glance at the daisies, the marigolds, the budding tulips that sprout up in your garden; the bees that buzz excitedly around them in a frenzied dance. You pause, and wonder, how nice it would be if I could draw the flowers with my crayons and give the picture to mommy as a present? You immediately scramble to your feet but turn to meet soft fabric.

“Daddy!” You exclaim excitedly.

He puts a finger to his lips, and you immediately quieten down. In his hands, he has two red packets, dripping with water from the packet. You have no idea what it is called, yet you love it so much. He passes you one, and you desperately tear open the packaging to reach for the sweet treat within. It is icy cold and tastes like fruit, yet the artificial taste of it lingers on your tongue afterwards. As you continue to gobble it up, your father whispers, “ It’s called a popsicle, sweetie.”

You glance up at him with glassy eyes, your pouting lips stained by the red food colouring found in the popsicle, before bursting out into a fit of giggles. He smiles with you too. The two of you sit side by side, watching the cars drive past the front gate, whilst sucking on your strawberry flavoured popsicles.

The heat causes the popsicle to melt quickly, sending glossy red syrup running down from your hand to your arm. You rub at the ruby red liquid, only to make your hands stickier and the situation messier. You stare at your dirtied arm in disgust and discomfort. Your father laughs again.It is then you first notice the weird looking mark on your right wrist.

“Daddy.”

“Hm?”

“What’s this?”

He turns to inspect your tiny wrist; but he knows very clearly what you are talking about, the mark on your wrist still ever so clear despite the intrusion of the new sticky, red lines across your skin.He holds your tiny wrist delicately, rubbing soothing circles on the porcelain smooth skin.

“It’s your mark.”

“My mark?”

“It will help you to find your future husband, a person you will love even more than Daddy and Mummy”

Your lips form an ‘O’ shape, then you frown in thought, the deepest kind of thoughts a four year old could possibly have.

“But I think I’ll still love Daddy and Mommy so much more.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, one a four year old will only interpret as happiness, before turning to face the little girl and gaze at her lovingly. She looks ever so innocent, so protected from the ways of the world.

He mutters under his breath,“We’ll see then.”

---

Year 18.4

Monday 10:47 P.M.

Someone’s House

The party is still going strong, but you feel like you’re dying. Young adults your age are scattered around the house, some grinding feverishly against each other on the the makeshift dance floor, loud pop music blasting from the cheap speakers, flashing lights that seem to make your headache even worse. Others are either seated on the couch beside the dance floor or are in the backyard. Most of them are couples, making out wherever they can. If your parents were here, they would have commented, “No sense of social modesty!”

But they aren’t here, which makes things 10 times better and 10 times worse.

The heavy bass of this music is deafening, and you aren't sure it's the music or the alcohol clouding your mind that sends the surrounding walls thumping to the beat.

Your roommate, Claire Park, the one that got you stuck here feeling like shit in the first place, is nowhere to be seen. You scan the place, the bright, flashing lights impairing your vision. Your head is throbbing like crazy and you are very sure you look very haggard. All you want to do now is get out of this damn place. You had a shot too many, despite knowing very well that you cannot handle liquor. The guys that were initially hitting on you have also moved onto other girls, leaving you drunk and stuck to the kitchen counter.

You saunter over to the living room, the current dance floor, and finally spot Claire. She defines the word ‘goddess’, literally. She is right smack in the middle of it, flaunting her jaw-dropping physique accentuated in a sparkling silver dress, grinding on a jock at the same time. He looks so familiar, yet you can’t lay a finger on who the hell he is. You, on the other hand, look like a potato. Absolute crap, decked out in a suspicious looking hoodie and sneakers, which earns you dirty looks and sniggers from the cheerleader group a few meters away from you.

Just before you can reach out to her, you feel bile bubbling over in your stomach and you instinctively cup your hand over your mouth, rushing upstairs towards one of the available toilets, only to find that it is locked because of some stupid couple in there. You rush into the other toilet and breathe a sigh of relief when you find that it is unlocked. You lean over the seat and release. Wiping off the excess spit on your mouth, you rise and flush the toilet.

Your phone suddenly rings and when you see the Caller ID, you feel like slapping yourself. It’s your parents. You’re supposed to be studying in the dorm as finals are round the corner. You hesitantly pick up the phone.

“Hello? Are you studying now?”

“Uh..um yeah, I am.”

“Why can I hear music in the background?”

“Um...I like to listen to music while studying??”

You are such a horrible liar.

“You get your lying ass back to your dorm right now! I am in your room right now and there isn't a single soul in here! Don't you get how important studying for your exams are? How can you still go to parties at times like this?”

You mutter a few apologies to your parents on the other side of the line and sigh as you end the call. What a bummer.

Pissed and grumpy from the alcohol and the phone call earlier, you storm right onto the dance floor, pushing and shoving other party goers away to grab Claire’s hand, earning a few glares from the surrounding partiers as you practically drag the girl shouting in protest out of the house. The both of you stumble out, and your lungs relish the feeling of fresh air after being trapped in that stuffy old house for the past 4 hours.

“Hey! What the hell man! I just managed to meet some cute guys. The night is still young!” Claire whines. She's the kind of girl you would classify as a goddess and a troublemaker at the same time.

“My parents just called. I just got myself into some deep shit.”

“What?! You should have told me earlier, I would have left with you.”

“Says the one who got me into this kind of shit party.”

“At least there were cute guys! You should have seen! I—-”

You cut her off abruptly.

“No thanks. Now can we get both our asses back to the dorm? I’m strangely hungry after puking so much.”

“..Or maybe we should go check out that new Chinese Korean restaurant near the dorm. I heard they open till eleven!” She giggles.

Sometimes you really just love and hate your roommate at the same time.

Year 18.4

Sunday 2:31 P.M.

Wang’s Chinese-Korean food

Jimin

Earning pocket money has never been this nerve wrecking.

It’s his first day working as a part-timer at Wang’s Chinese-Korean food, and already females are eyeing him like a tasty morsel.

He had only ended up there because of his stupid roommate, Kim Taehyung, who told him that the part time job would be a good deal, good pay, flexible hours. What he wasn't told was that it already had a reputation within the campus despite it being a new store, something that only transfer students that had just joined this term would not be well aware of. That is exactly what he is.

The restaurant is situated near the campus, and is known to have attractive waiters. Very attractive waiters. As a result, both senior and junior girls flock to the place after lectures, determined to either talk to them or score one of their numbers.

Sadly, he wasn’t aware of this particular situation at all. He didn’t feel that he was particularly good looking whatsoever, or rather, when he was compared to the other six boys working the same shift as him.

Kim Seokjin, a tall wide-shouldered lad slightly older than him with the face of an idol, makes him seem like your typical Prince Charming. He cares for every single customer; and girls swooning over him has become so common that he is used to it already.

Min Yoongi, with flawless, glowing skin that snow white would even be jealous of. He seems like an ice prince, but once you get to know him, he can be pretty chill. He has legs that are too pretty to be on a man.

Kim Namjoon, tall and charming, with a gentlemanly air that makes girls flock around him, desperate for attention. His pastel pink hair can be easily spotted around the restaurant, accentuating his glowing olive skin that girls drool over.

Jung Hoseok, a cheerful and energetic man, is super nice to everyone around him, and has a perfect ski slope as a nose bridge. His radiant aura infects everyone around him, giving everyone in the shift a newly found energy.

Kim Taehyung, perfect height, perfectly defined features,a perfect deep voice that surprisingly does not fit his age. His annoying roommate and a fast worker, yet he tends to goof around on the job.

Jeon Jungkook, his favorite and also the current maknae, has flowing onyx locks that frame his doe like features. He is often nicknamed ‘The Golden Maknae’, and he does not deny it, though his only current weakness is girls, but it increases his likeability by a ton.

Then there’s him, just good old Park Jimin, who has totally no idea why girls are chasing him like crazy. He doesn’t mind anyway, since the job earns him good money and the others treat him well.

Then he has an absurd thought : Was there the slightest chance that he could meet his soulmate? Unfortunately, he is dragged out of his reverie for the umpteenth time by Hoseok’s shrill screams for help with the ice water at table 10.

The rest of them chuckle and he rushes over to give Hoseok a hand, but the thought embedded in his mind just doesn’t fade away. It sticks to his mind just like bubblegum to the sole of a shoe, and he smiles to himself, and the group of girls in the far corner start squealing like crazy.

Maybe, he thinks.

Just maybe.

Year 18.9

Friday 10:35 P.M.

Campus

Your stomach growls for the very fifth time, and you are only halfway through the first lecture. The other students that sit near you stare at you in disgust, and you whisper silent apologies to them. Claire is all the way at the back of the hall, already making herself comfortable with the surrounding students.

You scoff at her, only to slump back in your seat in agony because of how hungry you are. You have food in your bag, in fact lots of food that your mom prepared for you that morning. There is carbonara, a tub of salad, Oreos and a bag of chips in your bag, but it would be too risky to start eating in the middle of the lecture. You calculate your chances, considering the fact that the current lecturer has hawk eyes and he would not hesitate to shout at you with that microphone of his and publically embarrass you for life. The students around you would also cause a big commotion upon sight of food which would in turn result in you getting spotted by the teacher.

You sigh, and reach into your bag, fingering the smooth plastic packaging of the Oreo packet, before sneakily popping one in your mouth. You chew once, twice, then reach for the second chocolate biscuit in the pack. The now empty blueberry coloured packaging is then abandoned in the small bag you own, and you hum a soft merry tune to yourself. The students behind tap your shoulder and shush you up. Three small chocolate biscuits would obviously never be able to satisfy your hunger, yet it is enough to last you through another lecture.

You turn your attention away from the scripts, notes and colorful stationery scattered around your tiny makeshift table and scan the hall; shifting uncomfortably in your seat Most of the students look super bored while taking notes down from the lecture. The lecturer is busy telling everyone his life stories while forcing them to listen as if it is some inspirational speech. Nobody is listening, except for the few new faces you spot within the crowd. Most of the girls and boys scattered amongst the front row are busy taking down whatever he says, a telltale sign that they are newbies in this school. One boy with hair the colour of a setting sun; the colour of maple leaves hanging on the trees in breezy autumn, sits in the second row. It makes him stand out in the whole hall full of students. None with a colour as striking as his. His hair looks so velvety soft, just like liquid gold.

He casually threads a hand through his gorgeous hair, then moves to continue taking notes down. Even with such a simple gesture, he oozes charm from every part of him. His aura built from sunshine is basically that alluring.

Wow, what a find.

You lean forward to take a closer look at him; your new interest. To be honest, you have never been this attracted before, not in this particular manner. You almost never take much notice of your surroundings, as you could not care less about the people around you but this, this boy, immediately catches your eye the moment you spot him. It isn't just because of his hair, instead something else, something you just can't lay a finger on, that makes your heart race at abnormal speeds.

At this moment, he chooses to turn around and meet your eye. Even from such a far distance, you notice how his beautiful eyes twinkle. A connection as thin as a string of spider silk forms between you and him, and the world feels like it stopped for that three seconds for the both of you to hold your breaths and just stare.

You quickly turn away and cup your face, feeling it heat up rapidly; your heart fluttering. The string is broken, and you are left dangling and confused. You turn back to look at him, only to realize that his back is now facing you once again.

You slump back into your seat and whisper to yourself, “What the hell was that.”

The bell suddenly rings, and the whole student body is in a hurry to escape the tiny hall. You are the only person still glued to your seat, eyes staring into blank space. The students quickly drain out and take to the halls, enjoying their next 5 minutes of freedom between empty classrooms and lockers. You don't even notice.

“Earth to y/n, earth to y/n, are you in?”

You snap out of your trance and glare at the waving hand in front of your face. You suddenly remember the boy and shoot out of your seat, startling Claire and sending her stumbling back a few steps.

“Where is he? Where has he gone?” You exclaim, whipping your head around the now empty lecture hall, leaving you with a confused Claire.

“Whoa wait what who?”

“Y’know, the orange haired boy.”

“Oh him? He’s a transfer student isn't he.”

“I already know that. Did you see where he went?”

“Yeah,he just left the hall like 1 minute ago.”

You grab your bag and sprint out of the hall and into the corridor, desperate to find his familiar face again, but all that meets your eye is an ebony crowd, no boy with hair like sunsets in sight, except for a senior year student with pastel pink hair leaning against a locker, smirking at you.

You sigh in disappointment before a panting Claire collides into you head first from behind.

So much for luck.

Autumn boy is gone.

Year 19

Friday 6:46 P.M.

Dorm room

It’s been a few months since you last saw him.

Okay maybe not just a few. About

You seem to have forgotten him, yet it doesn’t seem like it too. What have you been doing with your life.

Music blasts from your room, and you lie motionless on the bed. Thoughts of studying have already been abandoned and you honestly just feel like staying in your room for the rest of the day doing nothing. You glance at your desk, back at your hand then back at the desk again. The feeling of skin against fresh linen. The refreshing scent of the sun that is embedded in your blanket makes your toes curl in pleasure. You roll yourself up in the sheets to form a giant human burrito, the warmth from your body contrasting with the cool, humid air that tickles the tips of your toes that stick out from inside the blanket.

Soft rhythmic tapping of raindrops on your window have been overwhelmed by the heavy bass of the song. You wiggle out of the comfy blanket and turn to sit at your bedside. Your toes trace tiny circles on the cold wooden floor. Staring at the raindrops against the backdrop, the window forms a barrier, separating the two worlds. The soft lavender fabric of your oversized sweater pools around your figure. It is raining heavily outside, yet it accentuates the lovely colour of the sunset outside. It reminds you of your favourite season,autumn, where the leaves of maple trees gradually transform to a beautiful amber shade.

You then remember the boy you had seen last month, his bright, silky hair standing out in the crowd. You sigh to yourself, then land softly onto the heap of linen spread across your bed. You consider calling Claire to ask her to go out and get take out for you, before you remember that she is already outside that the emptiness of the house finally strikes you. You then contemplate calling home delivery, reaching out for your phone.

You turn the music off, and the house becomes eerily quiet. Using your phone to scroll through the contact list, you lift it above you. Just as you were about to press ‘dial’, your phone rings loudly, and you drop the gadget on your face in shock. Speak of the devil.

You answer hurriedly, your voice still shaky, “Hello? Claire?”

Instead, someone else is on the other line.

“Uh um yes? Hello? This is Claire’s phone and um.. Oh Oh we’re calling from Wang’s Chinese-Korean food. Is Claire your friend?”

The person on the other line is definitely a male; his voice deep and mellow.

You clear your throat.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

He mutters something on the other line that you can’t make out before replying, “You see, we have a bit of a situation here. Your friend, er..Claire, has gotten herself slightly drunk and is disrupting business here. Just wondering if you would be able to bring her back?”

You mentally slap yourself. You should have known better to let Claire go out alone on a friday night.

“Sure, I’ll make my way over now.”

You throw the first pair of jeans you find in your closet on and head out with your trenchcoat, only to curse yourself when you realise that you have no idea where the hell ‘Wang’s Chinese-Korean Food’ is. Goddammit.

Thank the world for whoever invented GPS.

You spend the next 40 minutes of your life scrutinizing the small text on your phone, listening to the machine telling you where to go and trying to locate the restaurant, only to realize that it is just outside campus. How dumb was that.The rain only makes it worse by wetting your hair, clothes and brand new shoes. Great.

There is a pretty long queue outside the restaurant, and you push and shove your way through the crowd, cursing when someone steps on your already dirtied shoes. The smell of oily food wafts out of the place; the air conditioning blows the hair out of your face. Standing right at the front door taking orders is someone you recognize as a senior on campus. You’ve seen him around because of his striking pastel pink hair, but you have no idea what his name is.

“How many people?”

“Looking for someone.”

He moves out of the way, gesturing to another waiter within the restaurant, and your shoes make contact with the magenta ‘WELCOME’ rug.

You don't even have to scan the place to know where Claire is.

Jimin

He looks up from the cashier time to time, glancing worriedly at the girl drowning her sorrows in alcohol. He feels sorry for her, he wants to help her out, but the circumstances do not allow him to do so. He continues to observe the girl and takes a profound interest in her actions.

She continues to call for more soju, and Hoseok shoots uneasy glances at her then at him again, as if trying to determine if the girl has gotten herself drunk enough the night, but he signals to Hoseok to continue supplying her with soju. Hoseok stares back at him in confusion, then shrugs it off unwillingly and gets back to work. Jungkook and Taehyung walk past the girl occasionally to check on her, and they both walk off with worried faces.

The tapping of his fingertips on the wooden counter becomes a rhythm, just before shouts from the table in front of him interrupts his daze. It is that girl, bursting out in horribly sung pop songs in her drunken fit. Jin and Taehyung immediately stop in their tracks and tend to the girl, but she smacks Taehyung right in the face, and Jin is struggling to keep her under control. He has to cover his mouth to stop himself from bursting into a fit of giggles. Jungkook apologizes profusely to the other customers affected by the commotion as the other two men try to calm the girl down.

Taehyung somehow manages to gain access to the girl’s phone and calls somebody while Jin pacifies the girl with iced water. He straightens up at his seat, and continues with his duties as cashier.

He doesn't know how long it's been, but he notices the instant where a new customer has just entered the store. He stares at the girl, strangely feeling a warm tingle crawl up his spine. The girl is breathtaking, and every step she takes is effortlessly graceful. She is dressed so casually, a lilac sweater pulled over her figure, the faded jeans fitting her legs perfectly, her hair swaying with every movement.

But she looks like an absolute goddess to him, and she would most definitely be his religion.

Jungkook leans over the counter and nudges at his side, motioning to the girl.

“Whoa Hyung, you’re totally drooling at the sight of her. She’s your type?” Jungkook jokes, earning a sharp glare from him.

“I don't know,” he shrugs, “but she's really attractive though. I mean, she's not pretty or anything, but for some strange reason I feel like finding out more.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue.

“Eyy,You should go for it Hyung.”

Jungkook nudges his side one last time, winking at him before getting back to work.

Jimin huffs in annoyance at the maknae.

A few more hours left to the end of his shift, and he's going to give this girl a shot.

You

You don't even notice the boy approaching your side because you're so preoccupied with Claire and that really good looking blonde waiter with wide shoulders attempting to help Claire out.

Claire has black bean sauce smudged all over her pretty lips, a streak of her mascara inching down the side of her left eye. You frown at the sight, and the handsome waiter in front of you grins sheepishly. Before you can blurt out your apologies, the feathery light tap on your shoulder has you whirling around. You wince at the whiplash, only to make contact with a pair of beautiful brown eyes, the colour of roasted coffee that is warm on the tip of your tongue, and dark tea that swirls within delicate china porcelain. The tiny specks of caramel in his iris flash, and you feel the bond forming all over again, this time even stronger and even more overwhelming than before. The feeling of warmth shoots through your entire body and spreads, just like the shimmering fireworks on the 4th of July.

You shudder slightly and glance back at him, realizing that he is wearing the exact same expression as you are. You scan his face, a pink blush crawling up your cheeks. It’s the same boy from the lecture hall, the autumn boy,  just that under closer inspection, his olive skin carries a warm glow and you realize how deliciously plump his rosy bottom lip is. He looks starkly different from the encounter at the lecture hall, for his hair is now a stunning onyx, the colour of the city night sky devoid of stars, hinting at the infinite number galaxies that lie beyond earth, engulfing us entirely in a world of mystery.

You make eye contact with him once again, noticing that he has the exact same blush spreading across his cheeks. You swallow and look down at the ground in embarrassment, feet tracing tiny circles on the tiled ground. The handsome waiter takes note of these small actions, chuckling softly to himself before taking his leave. Claire is too forgotten within 3 seconds within the entry of this ‘new’ character, despite the fact that you were here for her in the first place.

“Uh, hello.” He meekly asks, his voice pitched slightly higher than most men you know. As a result, he sounds like an absolute angel to you.

“O-Oh, hi.” You awkwardly reply.

He rubs his neck, then he flashes a super cute smile at you. What he doesn't know is that he's already got you reeled in with just his eyesmile.

“Uh she's your friend, I'm guessing?”

“Yeah, she kinda got herself pretty drunk, and it's pretty embarrassing for the both of us, considering that most people already know who she is.”

He nods in agreement, the both of you bursting into laughter.

Just as you were about to ask this beautiful angel for his name, Claire chooses to lean over and attempts to puke over you, sending you jumping back. Unfortunately, she does puke all over the cement floor, and some of it stains the fabric of your jeans. Several customers turn to scoff in disgust but a waiter behind you with flowing locks like caramel sighs and heads over with a mop. You sigh too, but turn to ask the waiter with large doe eyes and Raven hair in the corner for a mop to help clear the area up. He’s actually been staring at you and the boy with hair that once reminded you of flames for the past 7 minutes, yet you shrug it off.

“No, no it's alright. I can do this on my own. You better head back to take care of your friend.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind helping-”

“No! I-I mean it's better if you don’t. Your friend there needs help.”

You glance back at Claire who is now banging the table and notice how all the other customers are complaining about the ruckus to the distraught waiters. Leaving might be the better choice. A step forward, and you trip over thin air like the klutz you are. Your fingertips touch when he reaches out to grab your hand to pull you back, and the both of you flinch away. It sends a warm tingle shooting down your spine. You smile awkwardly; blush again.

“I-I guess I gotta help her out then. Nice meeting you?”

“Nice meeting you too.”

You apologise to the other waiters and pay the bills with Claire’s money before practically dragging Claire by the arms out of the shop. You look back at Autumn boy in the shop, sending him an apologetic smile. He reciprocates.

Unfortunately, it’s drizzling outside, and the walk home with Claire leaning over you every few minutes gets the both of you soaked by the end of the journey. Thankfully, after the GPS incident earlier, it only takes 20 minutes for the both of you to stumble back into the dorms, arms linked casually.

After helping Claire change into fresh, clean clothes, you peel off your clothes too, stuffing the big heap of cotton and denim into the washing machine before dashing into the hot shower. It soothes your nerves and your freezing body, sending you into a dazed trance after you drag yourself out of the steaming bathroom. The moment your hair is blown dry you collapse onto your bed and knock out, sprawled across soft linen.

2 days later.

Claire is awake.

Wide awake.

Someone keeps screaming like a banshee from the bathroom, and it's already been the third minute straight. It's loud enough to wake the whole building of students.

She groans and shouts back in irritation, “What's with all the racket so early in the morning.

The screaming stops for a moment, then it intensifies.

Claire has to reach for the emergency earplugs in her drawer before heading over to the bathroom with a metal bat in her hand. The door is wide open for Claire to enter, and there you are standing in front of the mirror, a toothbrush still in you mouth full of toothpaste. Tears are streaming down the side of your face, your hand trembling while brushing your teeth. She doesn't realize why you're so overcome with grief until she glances in the mirror and recoils in shock, metal bat clattering noisily on the white tile floor. She gasps, and takes a step back. The chopstick part of your mark has already faded halfway, the chopsticks now a translucent red against your skin.

You stop screaming and turn to stare at Claire with reddened eyes.

“What do I do now.” you whisper, your voice trembling.

She is shocked into nothingness, and stares at you like a deer caught in headlights, a blank canvas in her head.

“Erm, but do you have any ideas about who your soul mate might be? Like maybe it was that other guy on our campus or some guy you passed by..”

“No no no… If my mark has a pair of chopsticks, it MUST mean something, but I can't think of anything now. THIS IS SO DUMB!!”

Claire suddenly lights up, snapping her fingers.

“Chopsticks! Chinese restaurant! Did you feel a connection with anyone you met there?”

“Shit, I just might. That guy, I felt something for him. I felt something.”

You lurch forward to engulf her in your embrace, and she giggles along with you.

“Well no time to waste! We’ve got to get you your soul mate!”

You nod feverishly, and within minutes you are fluttering out of the house, a grey coat draped over one arm, running as hard as you can to that restaurant from yesterday. You can't afford to miss him again.

Thankfully you reach the place in a matter of minutes. Unfortunately everything is wrong. Totally upside down kind of wrong.

The staff staring at you with suspicious eyes in the restaurant are totally different people from the ones you met yesterday. You feel an invisible Claire wingmanning you, and you clear your throat to speak.

“Uhm excuse me, but do you know this guy who works here at night with like really nice brown hair and uhh like equally nice brown eyes?”

You start gesturing and drawing figures in the air to explain your point better but the staff there just low key judge you for everything you do. You then proceed to lose all hope, as well as the image you never had in front of them, but not before someone calls you from behind.

You spin around so quickly that you experience whiplash to meet your saviour and realise. It's the raven haired boy from yesterday, and he smirks at you. That kid. You frown, obviously feeling personally victimized and slightly cheated. (You had hoped for it to be that manly pink haired waiter or… Oh oh!! That waiter with really pretty plump pink lips instead of this cocky kid)

“You’re looking for Jimin hyung?”

“Wait Jimin who??”

Jeongguk literally facepalms himself.

“Like, that hyung you were talking to just yesterday, the one with the brown hair and sparkly eyes?”

You snap your fingers in triumph and start hopping on the spot. Your heart soars.

“Yes him!”

You start nodding your head vigorously and Jeongguk has to literally hold you down in order to effectively convey his message over to the hysterical you.

“You see, Jimin hyung told me to tell you that he's not in town now because he has to return to Korea for an emergency trip. He doesn't know when he’ll be back...or if he'll ever be back.”

Your jaw drops and you feel an irresistibly strong urge to start shouting hysterically and tear everything in your way apart.

But you don't, and stay fine, calm and cool like the civilised student you ought to be. You take a deep breath. Exhale. Ignore the tremble in your heart. Ignore your shaky exhale.

“I understand.”

You turn on your heel and calmly walk out of the shop. One foot out, and you start bawling like a three year old kid on the streets as you run back to the dorm, tears streaming down your embarrassingly red face. The sleeves of your pastel pink hoodie serve as temporary tissues for you to dry your tears.

Life is unfair to you, so unfair.

So much for finding your so called destined soulmate.

What utter bullshit.

Still year 19

2 days after the ordeal

King Ramen Shop

7.42p.m.

The tiny shop located at the end of a staircase leading to the basement is filled to the brim with people, some college students, mostly the working class. They all huddle in their assigned seat, head down, busy slurping down the ramen noodles swimming in the hot, miso broth. The whole restaurant smells like a mix of faint soya with boiling ramen noodles. Chattering echoes off the walls in waves, and the chef is busy serving the other customers seated in front of him. A bowl of happiness served, freshly made, steaming with the scent of miso enveloping your senses.

You noisily wolf down the hot shoyu noodles in front of you while Claire rambles on about the theories taught during the boring ass lecture that morning. The two of you engage in a heated debate about whether or not to buy the new campus jersey in navy blue or black, bursting into laughter when Claire just shouts out “BLUACK!!!” in the middle of her meal, the whole restaurant of customers turning back to stare at her. Even the chefs stop for a moment to smile a little and shake their heads in disapproval,

 While the whole restaurant gets caught up in the atmosphere, you are suddenly reminded of the fact that you might never see your soulmate again. At officially the worst timing ever. A surge of anger fills you, then a hot tear of mixed disappointment and fury slides down your cheek. You hurriedly wipe it off, awkwardly laughing it off, but Claire has already noticed.

She places her warm hand on your back as you forcefully stuff the noodles into your mouth

“Thinking about him?”

You choke a little, then place the chopsticks on the rim of the porcelain bowl with a soft clink and face her.

“Telepathic.” you mumble under your breath.

“What?”

“Oh no no it’s nothing, I mean yeah kinda I guess. The full weight of the situation is still sinking in and I’m feeling pretty crushed under it. It’s pretty vexing to me considering the fact that I have no idea if he’ll ever return and I’m already feeling overwhelmed by university life, so it’s all piling up on me and stuff. You feel me?”

Claire sighs and looks you in the eyes; her warm brown eyes carry a sort of considerate and loving glow.

Her reply pricks your eyes with tears.

“I feel you.”

.

Jimin (3rd person POV)

Year 23.3

12:24 P.M.

Airport

“The white of the airport is too much, glaring even but then again, where is my luggage? Which row do I collect it from? Shit.” were the thoughts running through his mind, hidden behind the thick black sunglasses, covered by the ochre coloured beanie. He absently glances around, desperately attempting to spot the screen with his flight number displayed on it. People just stream past him, their shoes tapping lightly against the large white tiles on the floor.

He casually jogs over to the correct conveyor belt when he spots his ‘lucky number’, grabs his sky blue luggage and strides off as if his whole internal ordeal never occurred before. Not before flashing a bright smile to the friendly old lady whom he had sat next to in the plane.

The airport somehow has a faint jasmine fragrance spreading through it. Glorious sunlight pours through its large glass walls and delicate installations are everywhere. He steps out of his designated gate, relishing in the moment-

“Jimin hyung!! Over here hyung!”

He removes his sunglasses and smiles. The whole crew he worked with at Wang’s Chinese Korean food is here to welcome him back, with Taehyung holding up a large, glittery pink sign that says ‘Have you seen this handsome boy called Park Jimin?” Taehyung chants his name repeatedly as Jeongguk smiles to himself from aside. Jin runs forward to envelop him in a big hug, pull his beanie off and ruffle his silver-grey hair which smells faintly of blossoming flowers.

“Yah, kid, we missed you.” Yoongi comments.

“Especially your ass.” Taehyung adds, sending the whole bunch of rowdy boys bursting into laughter.

“C’mon, we’ve got to get you some rest after that tiring flight from Korea. After that, we’ll party.” Namjoon says while loading Jimin’s luggage into the boot of his car.

“Besides, I believe you have someone you’re looking for here too.” Jeongguk mutters. Jimin smiles.

“I do.”

Day after

8:04P.M.

Juniper Bar

Jazz music plays in the background, with Taehyung mimicking the saxophonist’s nimble finger movement as he rambles on about his prior experience with the saxophone.

“It was like she was my lover. I needed her, she needed me. We would then have our private concert where she would be the star and the sounds of her would mesmerize the crowd. Sexy sounds, I would say.” Taehyung describes, with the occasional wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Dude, that sounds so suggestive.” Jimin comments as he exaggerates his shiver, his hands running all over his body.

“Goosebumps.” Jeongguk whispers. The group of them burst into laughter.

“Yo, Kookie, betcha couldn’t bust a note even if you tried, like, on the saxophone. Took me like three months and if that isn’t fast I don’t know what is.”

Tae finishes his blue cocktail and waves his hand carelessly in front of Jeongguk’s face.

“I betchu I can. I bet it on Jimin hyung’s fine ass!” Jeongguk retorts.

“Hey! Don’t drag me into this!” Jimin exclaims in fake horror, and the group of boys laugh again, with Jin’s window wiper laugh being especially loud this round.

Namjoon leans onto Jin with a low groan, grabbing only thin air when he tries to reach for Jin’s dark brown hair. Tired and half-drunk, he mumbles, “Did y’all hear about the festival thingy next week. Heard some peeps mentioning it a few days ago.”

Some ‘yes and ‘nos’ here and there, but then Jimin nudges Jeongguk’s side. Jeongguk stares into the addictive caramel brown of Jimin’s eyes. Light flashes across his irises, akin to shooting stars in a dark night sky when he says, “Hey, Kookie, how bout we give it a try. It sounds fun.”

Hoseok hollers, “Hell yeah!” before he stumbles onto his barstool. Namjoon chuckles at his fellow 94 liner, gently nudging Jin’s side.

Jeongguk almost trips over his tongue in his hurry to reply.

“Sure.”

You

Year 23.3

9.52 p.m.

Your room

F(x)’s ‘four walls’ reverberates against the walls of your room, quite literally the four walls of your room, as you shuffle across the wood flooring in your fluffy pink bunny slippers. Hopping, twirling like an ice skater across the ‘ice’, you take a calculated jump and land on the comfort of your bed, screeching, “triple axel!!!” ,proceeding to kick the blanket vigorously.

Queen Y/N claims the day again, as the crowd chants her name crazily, waving their big blue banners around. You stand up on your bed, take a deep bow, wave to the imaginary audience; blow a kiss.

“Love is four walls-”

You let yourself drop onto the bed, then wrap yourself up like a lil tiny warm fluffy sushi roll and huddle in the soft linens of your comforter, preparing to sleep in your super cute pastel pink rabbit pjs.

Well, not before the door to your room slams shut.

“AaaGhhH!! Will you please shut up!! I'm trying to have some beauty therapy time here!”

Claire charges in with a charcoal black mask plastered to her face; fiery red hair wrapped up in a white towel. Two thin slices of cucumber are held delicately in her left hand while her right tightly clutches the doorknob. She embodies rage; written in big red letters across her face.

“Sorry.” You sheepishly mumble, lightly tapping two of your fingers together in an attempt to appease her with your ‘cuteness’. She is unfazed, and only agrees to leave the war zone of your room after cursing loudly against your even louder music.

Amazing how she managed to put up with you as her roommate for the past few years.

You sigh in relief, but it is short lived, for Claire returns with a loudspeaker and shouts, “SHUT UP AND SLEEP! DON'T FORGET WHAT WE HAVE TO ATTEND TOMORROW.” right in your face. She storms out once again. A grand entrance, a grand finale.

Oh, right. Tomorrow. The ‘big’ day.

It’s the annual spring festival tomorrow, where practically almost everyone in the town gathers to celebrate, sing, dance, watch the cherry blossom petals fall. Mostly couples, though, who attend because of the ridiculously romantic atmosphere of the whole getup. Lots of families attend too, their children showering in the pale pink petals that flutter down from the trees; kiss them gently on the tip of their noses.

It’s especially important for you, too. You still have one more chance. One more chance to find that wretched soulmate of yours again and whoop his ass for escaping the first time. It’ll be a sight to see under the pretty spring backdrop.

Your fingertips trace the cherry blossom on your wrist, then press onto it slightly harder at the empty spots. The mini Claire in your head nags you to doll up and look real pretty tomorrow, for someone you are destined to see again, but just not today. You kiss your mark tenderly, then drift off into the world of dreams.

Tomorrow

You

11.52 a.m.

Apartment

“ Y/N!! Hurry your ass up! The festival probably started already!” Claire hollers from across the room, jamming her bright yellow strap on heels onto her tiny, perfect feet.

“Coming! Coming!!” You retort, hopping out of your room in a white blouse and a  flowery pleated skirt. You double check your makeup in the glassy reflection of the window while slipping on your white sneakers.

“We’re gonna make it on time.”

“So this was your idea of a fast way to get to the festival?” Claire half questions, half screeches.

“Yup!” You shout back, pedalling even faster on your bike to overtake the cars which stop at the red flash of light.

Thank goodness you wore safety pants under, and that your hair is in a loose mini bun.

Jimin

12:44 p.m.

Festival Venue

Though it’s only mid afternoon, the festival is happening. Children are running along the petal scattered road, ice cream and cotton candy in hand. Couples with matching marks stroll, hand in hand, under the trees, smiles plastered onto their faces. Love is written clearly in their eyes.

Jimin stares enviously at the pair while lapping away at his sea salt cherry blossom flavoured ice cream, Jeongguk by his side. The spring breeze is surprisingly refreshing, for it carries a tinge of flower fragrance which tickles at his nose. People stream past him continuously, as he sits there in silence with Jeongguk, soaking up the festive atmosphere.

Ice cream drips onto his hand when he doesn’t notice; it leaks onto his wrist.

“Aishh, not again.”

Jimin stares blankly at his wrist, the pink mark, identical to the current romantic backdrop of the festival, and smiles. Jeongguk glances over his shoulder, raising a brow at Jimin questioningly.

“Hyung.”

Jimin doesn't respond to the call.

Instead, the pink petals call out to him, entrance him, make him remember. They reach out, kiss his cheeks, tug at his cotton candy pink hair. They make him remember. He recalls his sole purpose in returning, for the image of her flashes right before his very eyes; it flits across his mind. He has to find her, no matter what.

And today might just be his day.

You

Claire literally drags you off the ridiculous get up of a pink bike and right into the heart of the festival, where music blasts at crazily high volumes. Cherry blossom ending by busker busker, a favorite amongst spring songs plays, and everyone starts to hum along; tap their feet to the rhythm.

Even you look up from your box of cherry blossom mochis to sway to the song ;relish in the cool spring breeze that blows at your hair lightly, the cotton candy held in your other hand fluttering in the breeze.

You, now let’s hold hands on this street How is this love song that you hear right now? I hold hands with you, whom I love As we walk together on this unknown street As the spring wind blows The scattering cherry blossom petals Spread out on this street As we walk together

At the back of your head, you suddenly feel a familiar ring, then a tingle that shoots down your spine. As though possessed, you look around for a figure, someone that resembles him. The wind pulls your hair to the left, as though to tell you :Hey! Look there! He’s there! Your legs decide to have a mind of their own, and you wander away from Claire, chasing your formerly lost lover solely based on feeling. You can feel it, 100 percent, that he’s around here somewhere. You just know it.

When the wind blows, my heart sounds to pound without knowing When the wind blows, from way over there, I keep seeing you When the wind blows, my heart sounds to pound without knowing When the wind blows, from way over there, I keep seeing you

A boy, from across the street, matches your eyes. He stares at you curiously, despite the petals that attempt to obscure your vision; to cut the connection between the two of you off. You would have missed him; you almost missed him, just because of his cotton candy hair that hides him delicately in the surroundings. It is impossible to miss him now, because you've already figured him out. The longing in his eyes that feels like a reflection of yours had already given him away. Nothing is stopping you now.

Jimin

He looks around, his eyes holding no purpose, except for the girl he is looking for. People walk around him, in front of him, beside him, but he takes no notice. Some girls walk past him and Jeongguk and giggle softly to themselves, but he does not heed them and neither does Jeongguk. The ice cream has long been finished and forgotten and the two just sit there in comfortable mutual silence.

Jeongguk glances around upon hearing the spring song from the other side, his ears chasing the melody, and he spots a familiar figure bouncing along at the other side of the street. She moves like a dandelion floating through the air, dancing in the breeze. Eyebrows scrunched, he thinks hard about who she is. It clicks in his mind.He turns around to tell Jimin.

“Hyung! Isn’t that-”

Then he realises that Jimin has already seen her. The girl on the other side locks eyes with Jimin, and Jimin rises to his feet.

No words further exchanged, he makes his way over to her.

Jeongguk smiles to himself while he watches Jimin’s silhouette get smaller and smaller as he gets further, further.

“Lucky him.”

3rd person POV

The two of you automatically gravitate towards each other, just like how unlike poles attract, the force pulling the two of you together is simply too strong to break. He runs towards you, you run towards him too. You meet in the middle, below the big cherry blossom tree, where the spring breeze blows once again, taking petals and the faint fragrance of flowers with it. Some petals entangle themselves in your hair and his. The two of you stand there and smile at each other because finally, finally you've found each other.

The both of you stand and stare; stare into each other’s eyes; immerse yourselves in their endless galaxies filled with stars and unexplored planets. You are his moon, and he is a lonely astronaut floating within your orbit, pulled towards you by gravity.

It’s almost as if you’ve read each other’s minds. Face flushed, you breathlessly mutter, “ Y/N, my name is Y/N.”

He timidly smiles to himself. His heart, his insides are bursting with colour upon hearing the sweetness of your voice; a sweet honey that he would absolutely get hooked on; a love drug he would submit himself to. Absolutely illegal.

“Park Jimin..from last time.”

Your heart leaps across oceans, continents and back. You hold your trembling hand out for him, your hand that trembles as much as your tiny heart. Your sleeve pulls back slightly to reveal your mark, a cherry blossom with two faded lines in the middle. Jimin glances back at his own wrist, and his mark matches yours.

“Soulmates?”

“Soulmates.”

Just before his hand meets yours, a tiny cherry blossom drifts down from the tree above. Slowly but surely, it lands in the square of your palm.

Surprised, the both of you let out a hearty laugh. His eyes form tiny crescents, twinkling and beautiful.

He closes in on the distance between you and him, enveloping you in his warm embrace; his arms wrapping around you tightly.

The cherry blossom tree rains pink on the couple below; it rains love, and love is quite literally in the air.

As for the both of you, nobody knows what the future may hold, but like what they say,  you will marry your first love if you catch a falling cherry blossom.

He was your first love.

And you were his.

[dothewrite]

SCENARIO WITH AKAASHI AND FEM S/O WHERE AKAASHI IS AN ASSASSIN/SPY THINGO AND HE WAS ON A MISSION TO KILL HIS S/O AND NOW THEY'RE JUST STANDING IN FRONT OF ONE ANOTHER AND AKAASHI IS HOLDING THE GUN BUT HEJUST CANT SHOTO AND (i'm so sorry this is a cliche but please feel fee to make it as original as possible! )

My brain went on a wild ride with this one! I initially misread that both characters would be assassins, then I wanted to make it all badass, then my brain went ‘nope’ and… well, you’ll see. This was incredibly fun to write, thank you for requesting this. :) I hope you enjoy it!

The house is empty when he returns. Nothing is out of the ordinary; the porch lights are on, the garage doors slide up smoothly when he presses the remote button. The low grinding of the tires against gravel is a noise he hears every night when he parks his Mercedes next to her Porsche.

It’s 6.55, five minutes until dinner’s ready. Akaashi is a naturally quiet man, and he slides his key and unlocks the front door very quietly, as he usually does. The hinges make no noise, because he’d oiled them a week ago, and he slips off his shoes by the glass shoe-rack. It’s only a small thing, as neither of them like impulse spending, and he counts silently in his head. Yes, they’re all there. She’s probably in her slippers then, padding around the polished wooden floor on muted feet.

He’s not the type to shout, especially in such a large house with only the two of them, so his entrance past the foyer and into the living room is unannounced.

She’s not there, and the curtains are drawn. Akaashi really should be getting on, but he takes a moment to run his fingers over the fine embroidery of their antique couch. It had belonged to his grandmother, and they had without hesitation, both decided to place it where they would see it the most.

“What do you think about a dog?”

“Depends on whose dog it is.”

“…Why do you know everything I’m going to say?”

“This is an expensive couch, let’s not ruin it with teething, infant beasts yet, how about it?”

“Well at least I know what you feel now about having children.”

“My feelings on children are entirely different.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They shit everywhere too.”

“Keiji!”

He peeks his head around the corner into the kitchen, and she’s not there either. It’s out of the ordinary, because both of them are quite tidy individuals, and the lights and oven have been left on. Akaashi reaches out to bring up a knife dirtied with the slight orange colour of chopped carrots. It’s all there, neatly sorted into bowls of prepared vegetables on the counter. The salt and pepper are out too, ready to go on the steak that’s still sitting on the chopping board.

Before he walks out of the kitchen, he takes a minute or two to put the condiments back into the shelf where they belong.

Seeing dinner almost complete makes him a little hungry, and it gives the uncomfortable churning in his stomach an edge- a nagging feeling that tugs at his sides. She always tells him off softly for that too, when he stays out too late or overworks himself at the office until he’s back at three in the morning looking completely famished. He remembers her late night snacks for him like it was yesterday, but he’s stopped coming home so late for two years. He misses them a little, maybe not the worried expression on her face, but the way she laces their fingers together and bumps her hip against his in a gentle admonishment.

It’s supposed to be his turn to cook tomorrow evening, if she’s doing it tonight. The only logical conclusion would be to make a stew, since she’s making something seared tonight. A warm smile touches his lips, unbidden, and when Akaashi pictures the scene of the two of them wrapped up next to each other on the sofa eating off fancy plates and watching bad soap operas, he forgets to be unhappy for a minute.

He gives the guest rooms downstairs a quick glance over, and she’s not there either.

“Mmmm, a boyfriend who cooks? Does this mean I’m set for life?”

“I’ll cook if you buy the groceries.”

“Sure, let’s leave the most tedious part for the lady.”

“Lady? I don’t see a lady here.”

“Oh, I see how it is. I guess it won’t matter if I do this-”

“-Stop! STOP! At least roll down the curtains, jesus christ!”

“I so am a lady.”

Akaashi is very proud of his stairs. He’s always been thankful that he chose to invest in good craftsmanship and good wood, and since they bought the house six years ago, he hasn’t heard a single creak from them at all. It’s all the better for him, because he knows that he’s used to stealth. He’s used to pretending that he’s not where he really is, and with each silent step he remembers what he’s supposed to do.

For him, silence has always been the loudest noise for him, and the way the house seems to be resonating with it, Akaashi has a lot of moments to think. One of the things that comes to mind is how she was happy to hear that he liked things quiet too, and now, he understands, that the soundless stairs were probably a good thing for her too.

The banisters reflect only the warm, dim light from downstairs’ corridor and his own shadow. He makes it to the top before flicking up the switch that lights up their second floor. Akaashi glances around without moving his head, only his eyes flickering here and there, and it doesn’t seem like there’s anyone upstairs either.

He heads to the salon first, and when the only sign of life he sees is their shared pot of white tulips, he can’t help but take a seat next to them. Although pale yellow is his favourite colour, he thinks that these flowers are the most beautiful he’s ever seen.

-

“Happy Tuesday! I have a present for you.”

“But Tuesdays are my worst days.”

“All the more reason!”

“You got me a scarf? In the middle of summer?”

“I saw it in a display today and, well, I kinda thought it would make your hair look beautiful.”

“…I have a present for you too.”

“A scarf??”

“No, tulips.”

“Did you choose to raise plants instead because they don’t shit and bite your furniture?”

“Correct.”

-

His fingers fall away from their supple petals in a lonely caress, and he pushes himself upright. He’ll come back and water them later, he decides. The piano seems to play itself a mournful tune of farewell as he slips out and closes the door behind him.

There are a lot of windows in their house, he realizes. Purchasing it, they had been more focused on the layout and the spread of space, and even at night they usually turn the lights on in a trail behind them. Rarely have either of them needed to navigate the house in darkness, and now that he’s chosen to do so, Akaashi finally notices the way the half-moon lays down checkered patterns on the floor like a mat. Window after window, it marks his progress down the hallway.

Usually, there’s music coming from at least somewhere. Wherever she decides to nest, really, and if Akaashi ever loses her or if she doesn’t respond to his gentle call of her name, he only needs to follow the source of the music until she pops up sooner or later. It’s too quiet for his liking tonight, so when he reaches their shared room, he slides their built in speaker system on.

It plays her favourite song, Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 1, Op. 11, at a medium to low volume, and Akaashi feels a chill run down his arms. As much as she loves this, she seldom listens to it. Akaashi is the classical music lover out of the two of them, and this was the song he performed for her with a modest orchestra the night he proposed. She, however, thoroughly enjoys pop music and dramatic electronic tunes, and it’s despite all that she’s managed to fall in love with everything that Akaashi loves to listen to, too.

The melody feels like a love letter, a letter of apology, a message, a serenade. She’s not even here, not in the house like Akaashi had originally thought, but he falls in love with her a little more with each passing arpeggio.

Lithe fingers flip open the envelope on the nightstand, revealing an actual note on a post-it note. The laugh that this brings him aches from his head to his heart. He puts it back where he had found it after reading over the message, and makes his way downstairs again, a little faster than before. Swiping his abandoned jacket from the back of the couch, he leaves the house.

“I’ve been thinking of putting you in my will.”

“That’s sudden. We’re not married or anything. Do you have a terminal disease you’re not telling me about?”

“It’s just good to be careful. You never know what’s going to happen.”

“You’re… right, but… I don’t really want to think about anything happening to either of us yet. Not when we haven’t tried so many things together.”

“Alright. I won’t mention it again until you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Keiji.”

“Mhmm.”

The hotel lobby is so familiar to him that the busboys and the concierge all shoot him welcoming, yet knowing looks the moment he steps in. Akaashi supposes that he should feel a little abashed that he’s come here so often for dinner with his wife that everyone recognizes him, but nothing shows on his alabaster skin. He nods at them, a polite greeting that doesn’t disturb their work, and makes his way to the auditorium. It’s an odd combination, a hotel and an auditorium, but it’s the reason why he likes this place the best of all.

When he slips in from one of the side doors, he’s greeted with a solid flood of atmospheric lights, and a single spotlight that seems to be shining at the stage. She’s right there, waiting for him, her slim dress hugging her down to her ankles as they dangle off the edge of the platform. Graceful, yet obstinate, as always, and he clears his throat to let himself be known.

Her smile is so sad that it inspires a soft composition in his head. Akaashi makes his way closer to her and stops when he’s right in front of the dip that is the orchestra pit. Their eyes are locked onto each other, into each other, and he speaks first.

“Would you like me to play something for you?” His voice is terribly quiet, but it sounds like a cry in the silence and acoustics of the hall. “Chopin, perhaps?”

“Only if you’re planning on proposing again,” she laughs softly, bordering on a giggle and a chuckle. He watches wordlessly as her eyes wrinkle a little at the edges, her lips turn up at the sides and her fingers curl around the edge of the stage a little tighter. She’s not hiding a single thing from him, and it makes his breath heavy.

“Not tonight,” he murmurs.

A weighted silence hovers above them, and although they’ve spent more than half the time in peace, in each other’s arms, not needing to say a word, this leaves an uncomfortable tingle in their limbs. Stretched, sluggish, yet ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Her eyes finally flicker away from his own deep-sea ones, and they rest longingly on his shoulders and his hands. “Did you bring everything you need with you?”

Akaashi tenses his fingers. “Yes,” he replies, this time more solidly, “you left the bathtub untouched.”

Her smile is kind, and he returns one of his own. “I had to leave you with something, otherwise it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Thank you.”

She had always been the soft-hearted one, more so than he. Even her fingers look reluctant as they slide out a Desert Eagle .50 from behind her, wrapping around the grip with the same amount of delicacy she would cup his cheek with, or run her fingers over his lips with.

Akaashi can’t help but raise an impassive eyebrow, and draws his own Walther PPK/S .380 from its position by his belt. She doesn’t make a move yet, and he flushes a little in appreciation as he takes advantage of their stillness to double check his suppressor.

“I knew you’d be a suppressor kind of person,” she teases. Akaashi doesn’t look up, but continues to run his fingers carefully over any gaps he might have missed.

“And I didn’t think you’d really prefer power over speed, yet here we are.”

She shrugs, and this time he does catch it. He raises his head to meet her eyes again, and their grips on their guns grow firmer. “I don’t, not for actual work. A girl can have her guilty pleasures, after all.”

“Chopin?” He can’t help but grin a little, and she laughs again. Oh, how he loves that sound, more than music itself.

“Chopin,” she agrees, with a lingering smile, “and you.”

He lifts the gun to point it at the space between her eyes. She does the same, without hesitation.

“You were mine too,” he admits.

“Were?”

Akaashi gazes at her rather than stares, and his heart feels so incredibly full that it beats only pain that one feels when absolutely, irrevocably in love. “Are. You still are,” he corrects. It’s the most truthful thing he’s said all evening, perhaps all year, and the confession is worth three times its weight in gold when a rich, red flush spreads over her cheeks and her lips widen with happiness.

What a sight they must both make! She is beautiful- she is always beautiful, to him, even in tea-stained shirts and ripped pajama pants- in the black, full length dress that he had once commented on as his favourite. He, in his work clothes: a simple, black tuxedo with velvet highlights, and he knows it makes him look every inch a mysterious stranger. It was necessary for this afternoon’s job, you see. The job he took on because he had been taking too long on the current one he’s on. The one he put off for weeks.

He’s peering at her skin from behind his rear sight, down the barrel, and it’s a shame she doesn’t appear on stage more often because the gentle lights that beam up at her that makes her look a vision to him. He’s all coiled and tense, yet she’s still gripping her pistol loosely, swinging her legs like she always does when she’s nervous, and Akaashi has never wanted to pull her to him more in his life. He wants to murmur into her soft hair that she’ll be alright, that it’ll be better tomorrow, and that he’ll bring her a warm cup of tea once she’s tucked in bed.

She needs only to pull that trigger at him, for her to become the adult she’s always loathed being. Muscle memory will snap into place no matter how carelessly she does it, and without a doubt Akaashi believes that her bullet will hit its mark.

Maybe if she shoots at his heart instead of his head, it’ll distract him from that unshakeable ache in his chest for a while.

Akaashi Keiji is excellent at his job. He is one of the best in his agency, and he has never failed a mission before.

“Shoot me,” he looks her in the eye and tells her.

“I’m trying,” comes her strangled reply, forcibly light with stress and Akaashi lowers his gun. In fact, he lets it dangle off his fingers and drop of its own volition, onto the plush carpeted floor. It hits the ground with a muffled thud, and he lets his hands hang loosely at his sides.

“I love you,” he bleeds his heart from his lips, and all the pressure inside fades with each word he exhales, “I can’t shoot you. I wouldn’t be able to live afterwards.”

Her expression is pained, and her hands tremble when the tears start to roll down her cheeks in big, fat beads. It makes him feel a little better, because he’s adept enough at reading her expressions to know that she’s been holding those in for days now. Those stolen days built on stolen moments- taking as many normal, happy moments with them as they can.

“Keiji,” she whispers his name, “you’re a dead man if you don’t.”

“I’m a dead man if I do,” he replies stubbornly. His face betrays nothing, but his eyebrows are set in firm resolution, and his fingers wrapped into fists. He’s done nothing yet except for stand and stare, but he’s already exhausted and worn down to the bone. He can feel the beads of sweat form along his hairline but he doesn’t dare to break their tension. “If you want to shoot me, then please.”

“I don’t want to!” She grumbles indignantly. “Don’t put it like that. You always do that.”

He rocks backwards a little on his heels and smiles. “I do, I’m sorry.”

She lets out a heavy sigh, one that’s more impatient than solemn, and something in Akaashi’s chest leaps. He can’t quite believe his eyes, believe his life when he sees her toss her own gun to the side in a snap of her arm.

“Who’s going to play me Chopin in the middle of the night if I shoot you?”

“They did invent CDs.”

“Keiji, nobody uses CDs anymore.”

“Pirating is a crime, you know. You might get caught.”

“Funnily enough, I’ve done worse.”

She’s watching him out of the corner of her eye, and he’s looking at her with the deadpan expression he’s so accustomed to wearing. This moment finds them both submerged in complete disbelief, irony and utter ridiculousness that Akaashi is tempted to burst into laughter.

He opts to reach her as fast as he can, instead. His leather shoes carry him to the far end of the stage in a moment, and he can tell from her shifting shadow that she’s matching him step for step. Although he only has to wait half a second longer, it feels like the weight of the sea is dragging him down when he reaches out to trap her in his arms and never, ever let go.

She’s barely caught a breath, or a sob in this case, when he grips her face tightly in between his hands and covers her mouth with his in desperate apology. He drinks her up, each lap, each suck, until he’s sure that she’s the only flavour he’ll remember when everything is gone. He presses kisses along her neck next, or her forehead, or her eyelids, and anything else that he can reach because he promises that he’ll never take anything for granted anymore. She’s not always going to be with him, and he won’t always be allowed with her. This is yet another stolen moment, but to heck with it- Akaashi will sell every part of himself if it means that he can hang on to a few more of these.

He’s by no means a romantic, nor a very expressive man, but it’s the gravity of his decision that pulls him to one knee, cradling her hand in both of his. She looks ripped apart between relief and fear, but her eyes are wide and only for him in this one movement. Akaashi presses a kiss to her trembling knuckles.

“Marry me,” he tells her.

She’s silent for a second, until it’s broken by her hiccuping laughter.

“We’re already married, silly. You’re going to have to play me a different song this time if you want me to do it again.”

So he does. He pulls her beside him, slim figure pressed firmly against lean muscle and he begins to play a new song. Weapons on the ground, forgotten, and the promise of tomorrow’s daybreak also disappeared, the sound of fervent Piano Concerto in B-Minor: Allegro Appassionato winds together with the tune of an uncertain tomorrow, and a certain love.

[connorrenwick]

The Conran Shop Turns Seoul Carpark Into Retail Environment for the Modern Age

46 years after opening its first doors on London’s Fulham Road in 1973, The Conran Shop has opened its 12th global location in the thriving Gangnam area of South Korea’s capital city. According to creative director Stephen Briars, the new Seoul store is “a retail environment for the modern age.”

Rivaling the London flagship for size, the Seoul store occupies what was once a multi-story car park, now transformed into a dramatic two-story, 24,000 square foot retail emporium – a standalone space connected to Gangnam’s Lotte Department Store. The brand’s arrival in Korea introduces the world’s fourth-largest city in terms of GDP to Conran’s approach to design, as well as directly exposing Conran to contemporary Korean culture in what promises to be a dynamic and productive dialogue. We spoke to creative director Stephen Briars to find out more.

Why did you pick this city/neighborhood/storefront?

Our partner offered us the space and we loved it for its simple rectangular format and spaciousness. Compared to many heritage buildings it is relatively free of columns and obstructions and affords great sightlines across the floors. Interestingly, it was designed as a car park when the adjacent department store opened some years ago, then later the ground and first floor were converted to retail spaces. The neighborhood is modern and the most affluent area in Seoul.

The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea \\\ Photo: Woo Jin Park

Where did you get the name for the store?

The Conran Shop is named after its founder, Sir Terence Conran, a British name that has become synonymous with design around the world. Terence had already established the Habitat brand, but wanted a store which housed the best and most iconic design pieces and brands in the world. And by design, he meant any design – great design can cost anything from £1 to £10,000.

The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

Has it changed much since it opened? How?

At the time of writing, our store in Seoul has only been open for about a week, so not yet! But the concept of this new store was to create a ‘blank canvas’. Rather than being overt in its materiality, the space is refined and sparing with elegant use of glass and steel. It was conceived with seasonal change in mind and open to new layers which will be applied by our own creative team as well as guest collaborations. An example of the latter is the artist and illustrator John Booth, who worked a 15-meter mural into our opening scenario.

The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea \\\ Photo: Woo Jin Park

What’s one of the challenges you have with the business?

This is our first store in Korea. Apart from the UK and France, we also have six stores in Japan where the brand celebrated its 25th anniversary this year so there’s a ripple of awareness of the brand in that part of the world. The Seoul store opened with limited awareness of the Conran brand, which is a huge opportunity. We wanted to design it as the best design store in the world, rather than as Conran store number twelve.

The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

What other stores have you worked in before opening this one?

I’ve worked on many store openings throughout my career for brands such as Paul Smith, Louis Vuitton, and Urban Outfitters. I’ve lost count, to be honest, but most recently, just a month before our launch in Korea, we relocated, and doubled the size of our store in Selfridges, London which was really amazing.

The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

What’s your favorite item in the Korea store right now?

My favorite item is the one that seems to create the most ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ among customers as we are walking them through the new space. It’s not a new item per se, but if you haven’t seen it before it makes you stop and stare – it’s quite simply a light that opens like a book, by a brand called Lumio. Without exception, on opening the book in front of our new Korean customers, the glow of warm light illuminating my face had them super excited. With the walls of the lighting room in Seoul being steel, and having already wowed them with the light, tapping it onto the steel wall and demonstrating its magnetic cover made them open-mouthed.

Lumio Light \\\ The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

What is this season’s theme/inspiration/story?

We don’t tend to work with themes as such, it feels like an old-fashioned conceit and can push you down a dead-end. Instead, we focus on the story of the brand and our ever-changing product edit. We source products from all around the world to ensure our customers are presented with a carefully curated collection at all times, and that is a big part of our story. The product offering changes with each season and is dictated by good design, rather than a particular pattern or color trend.

The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

Are you carrying any new products and/or undiscovered gems you’re particularly excited about?

Wherever there is a Conran Shop, the edit is different. Our stores have a core offer that then differs from city to city depending on local trends and appreciation. The current collection in The Conran Shop in Seoul is close to the one currently in our London stores. It’s a British brand in a new market so we felt it was important to start by evoking the spirit of the brand. Throughout this year, the offer will evolve based on success and demand – for example, we’ll look at curating a Korean edit of great design for the store which will then hopefully launch in the UK and France as a story in the second half of the year.

The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

What’s been a consistent best seller?

It’s too early to tell, but early indicators suggest that the design classics will prevail, by designers such as Eames, Saarinen, and Wegner.

CH24 Wishbone Chair by Hans Wegner for Carl Hansen & Son in oak and walnut \\\ The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

Eero Saarinen Tulip Table – Fusion Fire Marble \\\ The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

Does the store have its own line? If not, any plans for it in the future?

Yes, we have an extensive assortment of Conran brand designs, including furniture, lighting, textiles, dinnerware, and decorative accessories. The ‘Conran’ range is a big focus for us as a brand and is growing by the season. Each piece is designed in-house or in collaboration with eminent designers. Some recent collaborations have been with Knoll, Carl Hansen & Søn, and Samuel Wilkinson.

Any special events/exhibits/pop ups/collaborations coming up?

My next visit to Seoul will be in the coming months, so we’ll get the ball rolling on this then – watch this space…

The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

Do you have anything from the store in your own home?

I do, I have furniture from Carl Hansen & Søn and Vitra. I have Castiglioni’s beautiful Snoopy light and the surreal alabaster Babel light from Santa & Cole. Amongst other pieces, I have also built an entire army of Studio Arhoj’s Famiglia characters.

Babel Light from Santa & Cole \\\ The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

What’s next for you and your store?

The existing stores are always changing and evolving; they never stand still anymore. We are working on the details of our Spring 2020 window schemes which feature photography as a central idea. We will be undertaking remodeling works in our Paris store early this year, and working on a new store project in Tokyo for mid-2020.

Famiglia characters by Studio Arhoj \\\ The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

What’s one lesson you’ve learned since opening the store?

Endless coffee and snacks get you through the day. Be nice to everyone.

If you could give one piece of advice to someone who wants to follow a similar path to yours, what would it be?

Ignore the rules, go with your heart, filter opinion, enjoy what you do, accept the fact that everyone thinks they are a creative director.

The Conran Shop, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea

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