#his skin is so perfect too literally the prettiest brown it matches his eyes

[xanaxan]

not to be nsfw but I’d lick the sweat off his thighs

[greenninjagal-blog]

Stars Die (But We Don’t)

What is up everybody?! I’ve brought you more anxceit! This is the next story in my Space and Everything In It Series, which if you missed the first installment of, you can find it [here]!

Summary: Janus and Virgil have a talk about Scars, Death, and Names. Space is still a really big place.

Word Count: 7178

TW: talk of scars, survivors guilt,  death

Quick Taglist: @alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones  @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders  

Read on AO3 || My General Writing Masterlist

“What am I supposed to say?” Janus said indignantly. Virgil hadn’t thought it was possible to miss the sound of something so annoying, but here he was, somehow grateful to hear the way that Janus’s tone conveyed absolutely no remorse for his actions. Condescending, patronizing, and snooty.

Apparently, very little about him had changed at all in the three years he had been declared dead, funneled through space, and ended up a very loyal member of Remus Prince’s Sucky Space Crew Extravaganza. The warmth in Virgil’s chest seemed spread, until he couldn’t quite place if it was an emotion or just part of being close to Janus again, like the way that Roman’s tail wagged the more Erefrens he was around.

“You could start with “Hey Patton, sorry for almost shoving a knife in your eye”.” Virgil suggested as he pressed the alien aloe to the cuts on Janus’s face as lightly as he could. Janus still hissed out a curse-- one of the many he seemed to know. Virgil thought that maybe that was his specialty because he had lost count of the scraps of languages that Janus had spouted.

“Sorry, Sorry,” Virgil muttered, “This is the last one.”

“That shit burns,” Janus whined because he was still the untouchable golden boy who had never even skinned his knees before he met Virgil.

“Sorry,” Virgil said because he was still the stupid kid who hated seeing others in pain. 

Janus pulled back slightly, just an inch or two out of Virgil’s reach. His eyes danced with a mischievous light, as he fluttered his eyelashes ever so innocently. “Kiss it better for me, Vee?”

“Kissing?” Virgil repeated, pretending like he wasn’t already leaning forward just a bit, like he hadn’t been eyeing the soft pick of Janus’s lips through their entire previous discussion, like the fact that Janus’s shirt was not his own through this whole thing was entirely coincidence and not by both their designs. “I don’t know, Jan…. on my Christian Minecraft server?”

Janus laughed, and Virgil was almost certain that sound alone added seventeen years to his lifespan. It felt a bit like serotonin being directly injected into his bloodstream, making him absolutely stupid happy. Or perhaps that was just part of being near him, like the warmth in his chest. Maybe somewhere in the three years they had been apart Janus had developed a superpower, like an off brand power ranger who had a really pretty smile.

“Oh, chastity,” Janus said, “Thou art my biggest foe!”

Virgil rolled his eyes, scooped a glob of the aloe on two fingers, and swiped up to catch the bottom of his chin. Janus tossed his head back hissing.

“Betrayal!” He whined scooting away.

“Janus!” Virgil laughed, “Come on, stop being a child!”

“My own best friend!” Janus continued, “Betraying me!”

“Is that what this is?” Virgil muttered chasing after Janus with the aloe, “Trying to take care of you is a betrayal, now?”

Janus hissed again as Virgil made contact and the aloe did its job accelerating the speed at which the scars on his face were healing. It had only been two days since the incident-- two days since they had come face to face on that Pol’turian ship, two days since Janus had nearly killed Patton with a knife, two days since their very close call in the teleporting room and just barely managing to get back to their own ship. But even so the cuts on his face already looked several weeks old. The new scar tissue was pale and light and looked hella cool in Virgil’s opinion.

He just wished that the way that Janus had gotten said scars wasn’t because he had nearly been dismembered and literally sold for parts.

“How will I ever recover?” Janus playfully batted Virgil’s hand away again. “Oh Brutus! My brother! What have I done to incur a wrath like this?” He swung off the medical cot and fell to the floor in an over dramatic heap. He rolled over to stare up at Virgil, languidly draping his arm above his head, and smiled. Virgil who had seen galaxies, had seen suns and stars, had seen distant moons and auroras and nebulas, still thought that he was the prettiest site.

“Et tu, Brute?” Janus whispered.

“Oh my god,” Virgil snorted. “Please stop being a dramatic whiny bitch, will you?”

“Ah, but my dear Virge,” Janus kicked his foot up to tap Virgil’s own swinging feet, “Dramatic whiny bitch is my defining character trait.”

Virgil had a response, he did. But like every other instance where he ended up staring up at Janus for an extended amount of time, all his rational thought evaporated. It was definitely some sort of superpower and Virgil would defend that theory until the end of his days. There was something about his eyes that were so hypnotizing, something about his lips that were mesmerizing, something about the softness of his skin and the twitch of his nose that made the whole world melt away. Virgil could stare at him forever if Janus let him; could drink in the sight of him and live on just the glimpse of his brown curls bouncing to the tune of his voice. 

Even when he was lying on the floor there was a way that he held himself that was so undeniably Janus-like, Virgil couldn’t really explain it. He was smooth as silk, with a tongue sharper than a knife and twice as cutting. With just a word or expression he could change the atmosphere of the entities around himself, befriend a foe, slaughter a friend, raze the world and all its inhabitants. Janus Ekans had always been something that very few people could look away from.

But so very few people had been able to actually see him. In light of empty words and pretty promises and cheshire smiles, Janus had become a master of the English language (and Spanish and Japanese too) and then used those syllables to build the facade around him.

Virgil had taken a sledgehammer to that facade once and no one had forgiven him for it.

“Are you even listening to me?” Janus cried out from the floor, pitifully whiny and offended and all those things that rich white boys were when they weren’t the focus of attention. “Virgil! How can I complain about the state of your betrayal when you aren’t even paying attention to me?! This is an outrage! The disrespect!”

He tossed his other arm up and over his head letting them both sit on the pristine floor and the sliver of his stomach peeked from under his borrowed shirt. (It was Virgil’s shirt, the cleanest one he had and it fit him well all things considered.) Virgil’s eyes were drawn to the pale skin like a moth to a flame, drawn in and frozen in place.

Janus’s laugh died, “...Virgil?”

Virgil placed the open container of aloe on the medical bed and hopped down to the floor, so he was right next to Janus, his fingers hovering lightly over where the shirt had been moved and the pale skin that was marked by a crisscross of healed flesh. It was an old scar, but it wasn’t an old scar.

Because Virgil had seen Janus before, shirtless, like that time they had snuck out of Janus’s Mansion to go for a dip in the pool on a dare from one of them and Janus had tossed his shirt to the side right before doing a subpar cannonball. Or that time that they had gym and been forced to play some bastardized version of kickball and Janus had sweated his team's way to victory and peeled off his shirt halfway back to the locker rooms. Or that time that they had been hiding from the sweltering heat in the library during the summer and Janus had striped in front of about seven different people and made one girl faint.

Virgil had seen Janus shirtless before.

He had not seen that scar before.

So it was new, despite how old it looked.

“Oh,” Janus said chuckling, and lying back down with his eyes closed, “That’s from a Sblorp attack.” 

“A what.” Virgil repeated because there was no way that Janus had said that so casually.

Janus waves a hand up in the air in a flippant dismissive movement. “A Sblorp attack. You know Sblorps? I’m sure you’ve seen them before: Feathers? Fangs? An adoration for fresh flesh? I’m running out of words that start with F, here.”

Virgil carefully pressed up the lip of Janus’s shirt higher, hesitating in case Janus was about to smack his hands away. But all the other boy did was breathe deeply and sigh through his nose, watching him the way that he might have watched saturday cartoons (if Janus had ever had time to watch Saturday cartoons between his extra studying and being stupidly perfect).

The scar was a criss-cross, matching Virgil’s memory of the pointed teeth shape of a Sblorp. The jaw of it had definitely needed to unhinge in order to make the marks, digging in and gripping with the barbed notches. Sblorps were known for consuming flesh raw, for surprise attacks of unhinging their jaws to catch creatures wriggling on the ground, for latching on and never letting go. 

Virgil’s fingers ghosted over the old wounds, touching as featherlight as he could.

There had to have been a lot of blood, a lot of pain. And yet somehow Janus was still holding on to that passive smile, as if the memory was more fond than agonizing.

“It was my fault,” Janus said in lieu of explaining, “You know how Sblorps are afraid of anything bigger than them, right? Well Remus neglected to inform me that their fight-or-flight instincts are more like freeze-and-bite. I didn’t even see the thing until it was two inches from tearing out my large intestine.” He chuckled softly in a way that caused Virgil’s hovering fingers to make contact with his skin again.

“Ooh, cold,” Janus hummed, reaching down to catch his hands and weave their fingers together. “It took them forever to get that thing off me. Remus was laughing so hard he started oozing his goo or whatever it is.” 

“Toxin,” Virgil managed, “They… its a poison, that ignites all the pain receptors in the body.”

“Yeah that,” Janus squeezed his palm, then squinted and turned Virgil’s willing palm, “What’s this?”

At first Virgil wasn’t sure what had caught his eye. His hands were slender, but they had always been that way, more for the steady grace of piecing together electronics than for getting into fist fights, despite what the teachers at school always thought. He had calluses from work around the ship and a few scrapes on his knuckles from where he slammed it on the doorway yesterday while talking to Janus. His nails were bitten down to the quick from nineteen plus years of anxiety and three years of a miserable, directionless void when Janus had been dead and gone and past and Virgil was missing the company of his ghost. 

But Janus tilted his hand and revealed the faded red line along the side of his palm that ran from the base of his pinky to the heel of his hand. Janus rubbed his thumb along it, as if Virgil was delicate and breakable and fragile.

It almost made him want to snort: the idea that of the two of them, Virgil was the one that needed to be protected. Like Janus hadn’t been placed on that pedestal for all to see and never to be touched, like Janus hadn’t been the one who had chunks of his face carved into by an alien, like Janus hadn’t been declared dead by everyone back on Earth.

Janus looked at the mark, scarcely a scar and more of a reminder, and tutted softly. “What happened?”

“It was nothing,” Virgil said.

“You are a terrible liar still.”

Virgil blew out a breath, somewhere between annoyed and comforted by the way that he was so easily read by the other human. 

“Come on, I shared about mine,” Janus sat up as he spoke until they were sitting only a hair's breadth away from each other and their hands linked between them.

Virgil stuck his tongue in his cheek and glanced around the rest of the medical bay. It was empty except for the two of them, although it really shouldn’t have been. With the amount of damage Remus had taken he shouldn’t have been up and walking for weeks, but Remus wouldn’t let a simple thing like his own personal health and wellbeing stop him from terrorizing Roman. Virgil wasn’t sure where he had snuck off too, but after two days and dozens of escape attempts, Virgil had just stopped caring. Remus was Roman’s problem now.

Janus leaned forward. “Virrrrrgil!” He sang. “You can tell me anything!”

“Oh, can I?” Virgil said, also leaning forward. “Anything at all?”

“Absolutely! I’m a great secret keeper!”

Virgil leaned in, leaned in so close he could feel Janus’s breath on his cheeks, leaned in and squeezed their fingers together. “Hmmm…. Okay, how about this: I am in love with this boy.”

“No way,” Janus faux-gasped. “You’re gay?”

Virgil struggled to keep the smile off his face. “I am in love with this boy and he’s really pretty. Like super pretty.”

“Just pretty?”

“Oh no, He’s pretty and he’s a smartass.”

“You think my ass is smart?”

“Who said it was you? I was talking about Roman.”

Janus squawked, reeling back, like the words were a physical blow to his ego but he was laughing all the way. He tried to separate their hands but Virgil held tight and Janus yanked him forward. Before Virgil knew what had happened, he was lying on top of Janus, his forearm framing Janus’s head, and pressing his stomach to Janus’s chest.

“Hey,” Janus said in that same soft tone had that haunted Virgil’s most cherished memories: the late nights in Janus’s room, the early mornings when Virgil was trying to sneak out before the Mayor's security caught him, the quick greetings in the library before a study session.

“Hey yourself,” Virgil said, his own breaths tickling the wisps of his own hair falling over his eyes. He gently brushed his fingers through Janus’s own hair strands, teasing a lock or two between them. 

“So you really don’t want to tell me?” He asked, “After I shared my silly story?”

“I’d hardly call getting eaten by a Sblorp a silly story, Jan.”

“Perhaps you just lack imagination.”

“Perhaps you’ve spent too much time with Remus.”

Janus paused for a moment, offered a half shrug, and then conceded the point because he was such a good person. He smiled again, a bit of a crooked thing, craning his neck so that they bumped noses.

“What if I said please?” He offered. 

Virgil sighed, although he guessed it was really more of a laugh after all. How had he forgotten how stubborn Janus could be? How he could latch onto a concept (such as how a golden boy and a rebel punk could be friends) and simply will it into being with nothing but his determination?

“You can’t laugh about it,” Virgil said. “I’m serious.”

Janus happily squirmed under Virgil’s body weight, part of a victory dance that made Virgil want to kiss away that smug expression again. Instead he leveled a look down at his face-- a mistake if he had ever made one. His eyes were almost impossible to look away from once he started looking that deep. They were black holes, dilating when he looked at Virgil until they sucked him right in and promised to never let him go. His left eye was gold, like the summer sun rays through the tree branches back on Earth, his right eye was brown, like fresh chocolate chips ready to become ammo in an impromptu food fight, and staring at them both reminded him of the best days of his life. 

“The truth is….” Virgil sighed, “I fell down a flight of stairs.”

Janus laughed anyway, because he’s a liar at heart and for some reason Virgil found that very attractive and liked him anyway.

“Wait, really?” He giggled-- honest to god, giggled. Virgil shook his head, but laughter like that was contagious and it had him swallowing back a smile.

“Yes, really,” Virgil pursed his lips, “We were on this little planet, uh, K3-450-something, and I had caught this cold from some Dreyfel that we were ferrying across the sector and Patton had regulated me to the medical bay, but in my lovely sick haze I thought that it was some sort of virtual reality escape video game where the damage didn’t translate over--Oh god please shut up.”

Janus laughed so hard he actually dislodged Virgil from on top of him. “I can’t-- I can’t--!! Oh my god, a game?”

Virgil hid his face in his sweatshirt sleeves. “You said you wouldn’t laugh, asshole!”

“I--I’m s-sorry!” He did not sound sorry at all, Virgil noted. He sounded like he was taking immense pleasure in making Virgil’s ears turn brick red with embarrassment. “But I said... no such t-thing. A game? Did you have a health bar too?”

“I think you're due for a date with the airlock.”

“S-sorry can’t... hear you!” Janus wheezed. “Over the...sound of-- fucking video game!”

Virgil groaned folding his arms over his head and hiding as much of his face as he could. “See this is why I didn't want to tell you!”

Janus’s laugh filled the air, his gasping breaths, making Virgil’s heart do some type of improvised dance routine without his permission. He peeked, because of course Virgil wasn’t going to miss a chance to see the mirth adorning Janus’s face. He peeked and sucked in a breath at the way Janus laughed with his whole body, kicking his feet and curling around his abdomen as he imagined the 99 million ways that sickly Virgil had managed to toss himself down a flight of stairs and gain a scar for his troubles.

“Are you done yet?” Virgil said breathlessly. He had to keep a reputation after all, didn’t he? He didn’t want Roman or Logan glancing by and assuming that he was anything other than a grumpy, nervous disaster human, after all. What would they do if either of them realized Virgil was soft and weak for Janus’s smile?

“No- No!” Janus gasped. He rocked back on his spine and lifted his leg in the air so he could roll up his pant leg, and showed off a series of two slashes on his lower calf. “Okay! You see this?”

He waited for Virgil to drop his sleeves from covering his face, waited until he could see Virgil’s beat red embarrassed face himself, waited with a grin and tried to catch his breath against the threat of giggling forever at Virgil’s stupidity.

“Yes.” Virgil said.

“This,” Janus traced his calf muscle, circling the very clear mark, “This I got from a little old lady on T7-365 who was selling these bad luck charms in a market place, except that she was an undercover police force or something and when she saw that I was a Deathworlder she leapt the goddamn table--I’m not joking! This lady had to be like 400 years old and you know that Shylans rarely live past 200, right? I thought if I defended myself she was gonna shatter!”

Virgil poked his leg, “She did that?”

“Yes! Those claws….” He shook his head, quirking his lips upward. “Remus tackled the lady off me. I swear he nearly crushed her entirely. And the entire police force chased us all back to the ship. I thought we were gonna die. Almost left behind Bowers and Kyle in the frenzy and--” 

Janus stopped. Virgil felt his own stomach hollow out and his breath catch in his throat in an insurmountable lump. The words had left Janus’s mouth so suddenly they had bowled over the others and reality had locked back in place around them.

The medical bay, the cuts on Janus’s face, the death of the rest of his and Remus’s crew.

The friends and family that they had lost and that everyone had done their best to tiptoe around and not bring up. Virgil knew that it had been wrong, to just pretend like none of it had happened to him, but at the same time… he was watching Janus's spark of happiness drain from his body and leave an empty coldness in its place. 

And Virgil had always been a bit of a coward.

If he still had nightmares about the strangers he had been forced to fight in the Welsor fighting rings, of the dust and the pain and the terror, of the bloodlust and the memories that were so obscured by his need to forget that he could not remember the faces of those that he killed….

If Virgil was still haunted by ghosts without names, he couldn’t imagine the horror of being haunted by those that had them. 

Janus curled up slightly, the same way he had done once upon a time when they were strangers who thought they knew each other and Virgil’s parents refused to be proud of him for anything and Janus’s refused to be disappointed in him for everything.

He forced a laugh. “Its stupid, you know?” He said in a way that made Virgil think that it was absolutely not stupid at all in any way shape or form. 

“I keep…” Janus huffed, “I keep thinking...if we had just... God, Virgil there were so many times…if we had just been a few minutes slower and gotten caught by the police, or just hung out longer on any one of the moon bases... maybe they would-- they would--” 

He sucked in a breath and let it back out, long and slow and painful in a way that was beyond physical.

(Compared to Remus, he had very little damage done to him. No lasting bruises, no broken bones, no head injuries. Virgil hadn’t had to ask why; they all knew that Pol’turs like their merchandise to be as undamaged as possible.)

Virgil wanted to say something, wanted to say anything to bring back that smile to his face, wanted to tell him it was okay but even twelve years of school could not have prepared him for this type of bullshitting. It wasn’t okay, and he didn’t need to force Janus to call him on that lie too. 

“It was bad, Virgil.” Janus said, with his eyes closed and voice so soft it could have been drowned out by the silence of space. 

He sucked in a shaky breath, one that caused his entire body to tremble, one that made Virgil want to reach out and hold him tight and make himself a human shield between Janus and the pain of memories.

"I wasn't even close to any of them." Janus admitted, "I mean Remus picked me up off a dwarf planet, and you know being a human and all...no one wanted to get too close." He laughed humorless, "They thought I was gonna rip their throats out in their sleep for a while."

"Deathworlder perks," Virgil whispered. 

Janus snorted, nodding, "Perks, yeah right." He sighed into his hands. 

Virgil watched him, watched him as he ground the heel of his palms into his eyes, watched as those hands trailed upwards and hooked on his bangs, watched as he tugged on his hair the way he used to when they were studying chemistry and Virgil understood it immediately when Janus couldn't figure out the differences between intermolecular and intermolecular forces.

"I should've…" Janus started. "I should've--"

"Hey," Virgil cut in. Because his heart was twisting, because his chest was aching,  because his eyes were burning. Because Janus was in front of him and he was doing a song and dance that Virgil had done three years ago when that detective showed up at his house and asked what Virgil had been doing on the fourteenth of the month and if he had anyone to collaborate his alibi.

He reached out and tapped on Janus's hands and slipped his fingers under the palms and wedged open the tight holds.

"Hey," Virgil said, waiting until Janus looked at him, "It wasn't your fault."

"I should have--! Virgil! I should have--!" He floundered, flubbed, scrambled for words in a way he was completely unpracticed in. He yanked at his hands but Virgil was stronger and held him, "I could have...done something!"

"Like what?"

"What?"

Virgil moved so he was directly in front of Janus, so that there was no missing him, so that there was no mistaking him. He squeezed Janus's hands tight and ground and pressed their knees together. "Like. What.” He repeated, “What could you have done, Janus?"

He was shaking, or maybe that was Virgil. Maybe it was both of them. Shaking together, shaking apart, shaking.

"I--"

"Tell me what you could have done," Virgil said lowly, "that wouldn't have cost you your life in the process?"

It was a selfish thing to say, but Virgil was a selfish creature. He hadn’t meant to be, hadn’t grown up being taught that way at all. If his parents had caught wind of how selfish and stupid and mean he had become they surely would have both had strokes. 

No, this was a type of selfishness that Virgil had learned and learned and then learned again. It was the selfishness that had reared its ugly head that night that Janus had caught up to him and begged to know how Virgil had known--known-- when the dirty little truth had been Virgil just being an awful person. It was a selfishness that had snuck into his heart when his feet had dangling off the fenced balcony and his lips had tasted like “Blackberry Breezer” and Janus’s had tasted like “Bahama Mama” and Virgil couldn’t decided if he liked the taste of them together or not. It was a selfishness that had torn him to pieces when he couldn’t tear his eyes off the empty desk next to him in Spanish III, when the police would show up at his house four days of the week and follow him around the town whenever he left, when he’d been told that he was not invited to the funeral and he said he refused to go anyway because Janus had not been dead, couldn’t be dead, he wasn’t dead, damnit!

It was a selfishness that Virgil hadn’t remembered he had until the moment that he had seen Janus again on that Pol’tur ship, alive and breathing and real--

He squeezed Janus’s hands, held him tight, held him here in this moment.

Because he was selfish enough to want to tear Janus away from the past. Because he was selfish enough to be grateful. Because Virgil was a terrible, awful person and he was happy that Remus and Janus’s crew had been torn apart because it had meant that Janus hadn’t been.

It had been two days since everything, since the escape from the mercenary ship since they had recovered Remus and Janus, since Virgil’s entire world had been desperately turned upside down. 

Two days since Virgil had been gifted back a part of himself he thought he had lost forever.

Janus had been an ingrained part of him. The Ying to his Yang, the inverse of himself, the funhouse mirror reflection at the world's crappiest funfair. When he had disappeared, Virgil had spent a year searching, waiting, hoping, praying. And it had gotten him nothing. 

Virgil had seen first hand how big the universe was, seen the most distant stars, escaped from the galaxy police, visited breathtaking moons-- Virgil had seen how massive Space With a Capital “S” really was.

And Virgil could have been on a distant moon. He could have been in space jail. He could have been back on Earth. He could have been anywhere in that massive amount of Space.

And Roman, Logan, and Patton could have been a few hours slower, a few days slower, they didn’t have to have gone after Remus at all, or Roman and Logan could have gotten Remus and then decided it was too big of a risk to go track down the mysterious last crew member-- 

And Janus could have died.

And he would have been just another nameless corpse.

And Virgil never would have known what had happened to the boy with two different colored eyes who had looked at him like he was something worth remembering. 

Virgil leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Janus’s, rubbing his thumb over Janus’s fingers, mixing their breaths together in a warm series of exhales and inhales and something else Virgil was too afraid to put a name too even after all this time.

“What could you have done?” He asked again, possibly a little desperately, possibly a little harsh, possibly a little mean and selfish and bad, “That wouldn’t have ended with you dead?”

Janus was shaking his head, moving it back and forth. There were words, incoherent and empty and Virgil heard them and felt his chest compress with every syllable. 

“Jan…” He said, dropping his hands to cup Janus’s face. His fingers haunted the marks on the cheek, reading the raised, healing scars like he was an expert in braille, trying to ignore the memory of blood where those cuts were.

“If I had just been faster...” Janus said brokenly. “They wouldn’t have been… I couldn’t...It should have been me, Virgil. I should have been--”

“Listen to me,” Virgil whispered, “Listen to me real well, Janus. Are you listening?”

Virgil brushed back a lock of Janus’s hair, brushed away the strands so he could stare into those nebulas he called eyes, brushed away the falling tears that reminded him of falling stars. It made his chest ache and heave with something distant and awful, made the words on his tongue feel meaningless and worthless. He wanted to understand, wanted to make Janus understand-- How could he not understand?

“I should have--” Janus said.

“No.” Virgil told him, “There’s no should haves or should have nots, okay? It happened, Jan. It happened and it was bad, but you can’t change it. If you keep thinking of things that should have happened, you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

But no that’s not right, Virgil thought even as he said it. Because the should-have-been-theres hadn’t driven him crazy. It had made him doubt himself,yeah, made him talk and beg deities he didn’t believe in, made him hate himself and the world and everything in it, but it never once made him crazy.

Empty, though. 

Empty was an entirely different story.

Janus had disappeared and Virgil had laid awake at night feeling like someone had removed the lungs right from his chest cavity and sold them to some Quitans on the black market.

And Virgil wouldn’t wish that feeling on Janus’s crappy parents, much less Janus himself.

“I keep thinking…” Janus whispered, “I wish it had been me. Instead of them. Why didn’t they take me first? Aliens don’t adhere to “best for last”! I don’t even adhere to “best for last”! I wish-- I wish--!”

Virgil’s throat went dry, too dry. “A very smart man once told me that wishing on stars is a stupid and pointless thing to do,” Virgil breathed softly. “Remember that?”

Janus huffed out a harsh laugh, a sarcastic, angry laugh that told Virgil that he was well aware of that sort of advice and who it had come from. 

“The stars don’t give a fuck about us.” He quoted, parroted, mimicked a version of himself that was four years younger, four years stupider, and four years a memory and nothing more. “I guess... I was right... about one thing, huh?”

The words he was going to say, all of the billions of them, got wedged in his esophagus, leaving barely enough room for him to breathe. He wheezed after Janus’s voice breaking, after the whimpering tone, after the crystal tears. 

How could he explain that Janus was always right? That Virgil would trust Janus over himself every time? 

He hoped that he could convey the message through telepathy or through his touch or something. Because if he had to say them out loud he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself from crying too.

Time passed, and Virgil didn’t think either of them really noticed. The lights in the medical bay didn’t change or dim and the door never opened. The halls of the rest of Roman’s ship were a respectful quiet that Virgil knew had nothing to do with either of them as much as Patton was reorganizing the cargo hold and doing an inventory check while Logan went through the communications they had missed and decided what job requests they should adhere to, and Roman and Remus were up on Bridge several floors away probably arguing because they had yet to stop really.

Time passed, and Janus didn’t say anything more, lapsing into that silent crying that he had perfected in the bathroom at their middle school because god forbid someone find out that Janus was fucking miserable being the center of attention every second of his life. Virgil kissed his temple featherlight and softly pressed their foreheads together. He didn���t move, even after his knees started to ache and both his feet started to fall asleep and Janus’s tears soaked through the sleeves of his sweatshirt and left his wrists feeling cold and uncomfortable.

Time passed, and Virgil counted Janus’s breaths the way he used to count the stars, back before he had ever thought about the possibility of actually going into space and the concept of alien life was as debatable as the idea of meeting Mothman one day.

“I…” Janus sniffled. Virgil waited patiently for him to finish, but he must have changed his mind because he just burrowed his head into Virgil’s shoulder, and breathed out shakily.

Janus fell into him like he was a blackhole, and Virgil did his best to hold them both up and keep his heart rate low and even and calming. He restarted his mental count of Janus’s breaths, feeling each inhale and exhale through his fingers that were rubbing circles on Janus’s shoulders.

Somewhere around a sleepy, soundless three thousand, Janus stirred back into himself. He inhaled deeper and pulled back from Virgil’s shoulder wiping away the leftover tear tracks with his pale and clammy hands.

“You said,” He started, with a measure of exhaustion that Virgil felt deep in his soul, “You said...back when you first saw me….Did my parents really declare me dead?”

Their Pride and Joy, they had called Janus once, twice, a billion times. If Virgil closed his eyes he could see them there: Janus’s mother who still looked to be in her late twenties despite nearing fifty now, with long blond hair that curled in perfect rings and so much glittering diamond jewelry that she was hard to look at in in the flash of paparazzi cameras, and Janus’s Dad, the Mayor, who’s dark brown hair and charismatic smile had been plastered across the city every election year. They had shown up to every event that Janus had been in, and had turned it into a showcase about how great and fantastic Janus was. Every award ceremony, every spelling bee, every sports game, Chess club, Robotics, Art shows--

Perfect, flawless Janus Ekans, they called him. Gonna grow up to be the finest President of the entire United States, whether he wanted to or not.

With a life like his, no one had ever really considered the idea that he might have run away. And two weeks without a ransom note had led everyone to assume that he had been murdered. According to the lead detective, kidnapped teenagers rarely made it past the first twenty four hours, no matter how much people loved him. 

Virgil’s expression must have given him away because Janus blinked hard again and furiously scrubbed away a new wave of tears.

“They…” Virgil swallowed hard, “They waited. A whole eight months. But there was no note, no ransom call, nothing. The detective wanted to close the case.”

Virgil didn’t tell him that he had been barred from the service, that Janus’s parents who had always hated the bad influence that was Virgil hadn’t stopped glaring at him, that the media had picked up on the cold exchanges and crafted their own story on what happened. Virgil did not tell him that everyone had eaten up that story, including Janus’s parents, and the rumors had spiraled into a noose strategically wrapped around Virgil’s neck.

Virgil didn’t tell him anything about the last four months he had spent on Earth, and definitely didn’t tell him that sometimes he woke up in a cold sweat wondering if the Weslor Fighting Rings were really worse than life back on Earth.

“Virgil I…” Janus’s hands reached forward suddenly, twisting around the edges of his hoodie and tightening. “Virgil, I’m dead, right? They killed me.”

And Virgil was ready for the sadness, ready for the harrowing realization that his parents had turned their backs on him, ready for Janus to realize that he had lost something important again.

Virgil was not ready for the blissed out relief on his face.

“I’m dead,” He whispered again in the silence Virgil left behind. “Virgil, I am dead.” He inhaled sharply. “I don’t ever have to go….” He tugged on Virgil’s jacket again, then let go quickly and smoothed out the fabric over his chest, as if he was afraid of offending Virgil somehow.

(As if Virgil wasn’t fully prepared to give him anything he asked for already.)

“Do you,” Janus asked, “Do you want to go back?”

His tone was entirely too level, too even, too emotionless for a guy who was overflowing with negative emotions. It pricked at a memory Virgil once had of a night far too long ago and buried in a Janus sized coffin: it was the voice he used to use in public when his parents were bragging and Janus was praying that they would stop putting him in the spotlight but knew deep down they would never knock it off.

It was the tone, the voice, the expression he used when he was afraid of the answer, but resigned to the fate of it.

“Do you?” Virgil asked back, because even if he knew the answer he needed to hear him say it. Out loud.

To make it real.

Because if Virgil had read him wrong, if Janus wasn’t drowning in relief, if this wasn’t hope of never needing to go back to Earth-- Virgil would-- He would--

He would ask Logan and Roman and Patton to take them back, if that’s what Janus wanted, if that was what made Janus happy. Virgil would leave all of the cosmos, all the distant planets, all the alien races, all the dying stars to follow him back to Earth. He would forget all about the great, huge, endless expanse of Space and stay with Janus on their tiny, little deathworlder planet in their tiny, little hateful city.

“My parents buried an empty coffin,” Janus said. “I think...that’s the only good thing they ever did for me.”

Virgil’s heart did a pitter-patter in a way he wasn’t sure it was supposed to do.

Janus scooted towards his side with a great amount of effort. Virgil watched him, cataloguing the sudden weakness in his arms, the tiredness of his expression, the fatigue that clung to the very essence of him. All that just to flop his head on Virgil’s shoulder. When he exhaled again, it sounded a lot like him letting go of a billion more unsaid words.

“I want to let Janus Ethan Ekans stay dead,” He admitted.

Virgil tilted his own head so his cheek pressed against Janus’s and breathed in deep. He smelled like the alien flower shampoo that Roman liked to use. Virgil hadn’t hated it, but he also hadn’t adored it all that much. Now though, he thought he might be okay if that was the only thing he smelled for the rest of his life.

“I’ll have to find a new name to go by, I think,” Janus continued, his tone dripping with exhaustion.

“Oh?” Virgil humored him, like he was prone to do.

“Yeah,” Janus smiled a little as his eyes fluttered closed. “I got...a few ideas already. Had them for a while.”

“Do I get a hint?” Virgil asked, settling back so that he could rest against the leg of the cot for support. He shifted a bit to get a good adjustment, and Janus very patiently whined while he did because he was still a brat.

“I was thinkin’,” Janus said, “maybe Janus Storm, instead.”

Virgil’s heart fluttered, like a butterfly’s wings on a billion butterflies that he could feel bumbling around in his chest all at once. For an absurd moment he flashed back to all those times in his Chemistry class where he scribbled “Virgil Ekans” in the margins of his notes enough times for him to be too embarrassed to bring them out after Janus had asked him for help studying. 

Janus Storm. Janus Storm. Janus Storm.

It made his chest feel light, but his stomach feel hollow. He hadn’t called himself Storm in two years, not since the Yurinks picked him off of Earth, not since the whole world had determined that Virgil Storm was a cold blooded killer, not since the detective had asked him to confirm for the record that he was indeed Virgil Storm, seventeen, male, son of--

“Nah,” Virgil said softly. “We should make our own. Something different from either of our families, you know?”

Janus breathed out part of a sleepy laugh, “Like Johnson?”

“Janus and Virgil Johnson?” Virgil tested.

They made twin faces of dislike.

“Smith? Hernadez?” Janus offered. “Miller?”

“Let's make a list,” Virgil suggested tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “I’ve always wanted... to be an Anderson.”

“Ugh, like Kyle Anderson?” Janus muttered. “He used to cheat off my Spanish homework.”

“So did I.”

“Yeah, but you’re cute.”

Virgil snorted. “What ‘bout….Davis?”

“Jones?”

“Janus Jones? You really want to be a JJ? ”

Janus made a noise of recognition, something disagreeable and agreeable at the same time. Virgil hummed in his own chest as he listened to it. The soft huffs of air from Janus’s lips lulled him into a calmness, of quietness, of peacefulness. By the time he realizes that Janus hadn’t responded, his own eyes felt too heavy to bother trying to open again.

Janus and Virgil. Virgil and Janus. 

“We’ll think of something,” Virgil murmured and let himself fall asleep as well.

[Next Installment: Happy Little Stars]

[autumnsart22]

Oikawa x Reader ch. 4

I had no idea what to do. 

It had been three weeks since I joined Aoba Johsai, and things were starting to fall into a rhythm. I went to class, and although the school was larger than I was used to, I easily stayed on top of all the work despite getting extra to catch up. I visited Karasuno as often as I could, almost twice a week to see the whole team. Also, Kiyoko’s house was closer to Aoba Johsai than my own, so I used the excuse to sleep over there almost every night. 

But despite that, I was bored and lonely. Studying wasn’t enough to keep me occupied, and now that I wasn’t the manager of Karasuno, I had large amounts of extra time with nothing to fill it. 

Such was the case on the Saturday morning after the second week at Aoba Johsai. Kiyoko was at a practice game against one of the other schools in the Miyagi prefecture, and I had already finished most of my homework. I had decided to pull out some of my old sketchbooks from under my bed, which had grown dusty from me not using them, deciding to try and pick back up my old hobby.

I’d stopped all kinds of art a few years ago, after my parents had a sit down talk with me about success. Before that, I had imagined that maybe I could make a bit of money by designing logos or web pages for businesses and companies, but my parents made it clear that would never be an option. 

But I was bored now, so the sketchbooks were laid out on the table and the pencils were sharpened. Unfortunately, I was a perfectionist who was out of practice and without any inspiration. I ended up breaking two of my nice pencils out of frustration, and decided to go on a run to cool my head. 

It was pretty early in the morning, only 8:30, and mist lay heavy in the air. It was good weather for running, cold enough that I wasn’t overheating as I jogged. 

I definitely wasn’t the most athletic person, although I wasn’t out of shape either. My body was curvy, not particularly muscly in any way, but I wasn’t fat. I had major body insecurities like every other girl in existence, but I had been working on it to try and like myself better recently. 

Either way, I was out of breath after only a few minutes of running, but I kept a steady pace, and focused on the rhythm of the music pounding through my headphones instead of the pain in my side. 

After jogging for almost twenty minutes through town, I finally allowed myself to slow to a walk as I approached a street. The road was busy, so I hit the button for the crosswalk and gave myself a minute of recovery. 

I almost jumped out of my skin as a voice spoke from behind me out of the blue. 

“Hey there, are you the new student at Aoba Johsai?” 

I turned and felt my heart practically stop. The boy that stood a foot away was tall with messy brown hair falling around his head, his figure lean with muscle but not very bulky. He was one of the prettiest people I had ever seen. I guessed that he had been on a run too, but unlike me, he didn’t look the slightest bit out of breath. 

“Oh um,” I realized I had forgotten to respond. “Yes I am. Do I know you?”

“Nope. Not yet,” He smirked, and I fought a blush. What was with this guy? 

“Uh, ok. Well I have to go…” Thankfully, the light turned, and I awkwardly turned away. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel him watching me as I jogged across the street and headed back home. 

That night, I sat on Kiyoko’s bed, legs across her lap. Apparently Karasuno had lost the practice match, but only by two points. The team was improving all the time, with every practice and every game. 

According to Kiyoko, the boys had been upset that I wasn’t allowed to come to the practice game, which made me feel a bit happy. It was nice to be missed. 

“What did you do today?” Kiyoko asked, glasses flashing as she leaned over to plug her phone into a charger. 

“Literally nothing. Went for a run, attempted and failed at drawing, finished my homework.” I sighed. I didn’t mention the boy I had run into while I was out, but I had been thinking about the awkward encounter the whole day, each time making me more and more embarrassed. I had definitely been rude. I hadn’t even asked for his name! 

He hadn’t asked for mine either, I reminded myself, but at least he had talked like a normal person. I had just stuttered, which I always did when I got uncomfortable. Ah well. 

“Y/n-san, you should become Seijoh’s manager.” 

At first I wasn’t sure I heard her right. “Huh?” Kiyoko sighed, pushing up her glasses. “You love volleyball just as much as me, and clearly you’re going out of your mind with boredom. I think it would be good for you.” 

“But-but Aoba Johsai is in direct competition to Karasuno! They’re our enemy!” 

Kiyoko rolled her eyes. “Y/n, honestly. That’s not an excuse for you not to join. Yeah, you’ll probably have to play against us, but it's not like you’ll become our enemy.” 

I sighed, shoulders slumping. “Maybe I’ll just go to a practice and see what the team is like, and decide from there.”

My friend shrugged and nodded. “That sounds good. You have to tell me how it goes.” 

    ✨✨✨✨

On Monday, I went to the front office to ask about Seijoh’s volleyball club. Apparently they met after school for two hours every weekday except for Monday, as well as every other Saturday. It was a lot, but Karasuno did even more, so I knew I would be able to handle it. 

I had to ask a few people for directions about how to get to the gym, but I managed to get there before practice had officially started. I could hear shoes squeaking on the floor when I arrived, which made me pause. I hated being the only new person, especially when entering such a tight knit group like a volleyball team. My social anxiety always made things awkward. 

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that the boys would most likely be too busy to notice me, and I just had to go talk to the coach. 

I shoved open the doors, sliding into the gym and quickly surveying the space. It was way bigger than Karasuno’s gym, the equipment clearly better quality due to their higher budget. 

I expected a few of the team members to be there early, maybe doing simple spikes against the wall to warm up. Unfortunately for me, the entire team was already dressed and gathered around the coach. As the gym doors slammed closed behind me, they all looked over as I walked in. 

I felt all the blood rush to my face, and I awkwardly crossed my arms and stood off to the side as the coach finished talking. I noticed a few of the boys muttering to each other and gesturing at me, which only made my stomach twist. Thankfully, the coach sent them on lunging laps pretty quickly, which kept them from hanging around. 

“Oikawa, not you!” The coach yelled, gesturing at one of the boys. “Your knee isn’t fully healed yet and I don’t want you to reinjure it.” 

Oikawa, the team captain and setter, I remembered. The arrogant one that Kageyama didn’t like. My mouth fell open when he turned around. 

It was the same guy from my run, who had asked me if I was the new student. I felt my entire body tense, and I quickly looked away from him. Damn, this had been a bad idea. 

“Aw coach, come on! At least let me do something,” Oikawa said, practically pouting. 

“You can do some stretches over there,” the coach said with an annoyed look.

The setter grinned, and then he looked at me. His eyebrows went up in surprise as he recognized me, and I smiled awkwardly before quickly turning towards the coach. No need to interact more than necessary. 

“Hi, can I help you?” The coach was looking at me imploringly, and I quickly bowed. 

“Yes, my name is Y/n L/n, and I was looking to see if you had any need of a new team manager. I have some experience from my last school, and I would love to get involved here.” 

The coach looked surprised, but then he smiled. “You have the most perfect timing. Our official team manager just quit, so we were looking for someone to take over. You would need to fill out some paperwork and figure out if you’re eligible, but if you want to stay for today and see how it fits, that would work out great.”

“Ok! Thank you so much.”

“Of course. I’m Coach Nobuteru, and over there is our team captain, Oikawa Toru. Oikawa!” 

I turned around, only to see the tall setter making his way over to us. He grinned down at me, eyes trailing over my body and back up. “Hi again, new girl.” “Oikawa,” the coach said. “This is Y/n L/n. She’s looking to become our new team manager.” Coach Nobuteru spoke for me, and I bowed quickly. 

“It’s nice to meet you officially, Y/n-kun.” Oikawa said, bowing back. He looked clearly surprised that I was looking into the manager position, which annoyed me a bit. I wondered what he thought of me. 

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you as well, Oikawa-san.” 

“Oikawa, why don’t you get back to work?” Coach Nobuteru said after a moment.

The team captain nodded, smirking at me one more time before heading back over to where his team were finishing their laps. 

I watched the practice on the sideline with Coach Nobuteru, assessing the players and trying to determine who needed to work on what. I asked the coach a lot of questions about names and strengths, and he looked at me with new respect as he seemed to realize that I actually did have experience with volleyball. 

It was obvious that Oikawa knew his team extremely well, and I couldn’t help but admire the way he encouraged them, capitalizing on their strengths. They worked like a well oiled machine, unlike anything Karasuno had ever managed to do, even though I didn’t want to admit it. 

The strength between Iwaizumi Hajime, the team’s ace, and Oikawa was almost unbelievable. They knew what the other was intending without effort, and they seemed to work in sync to slam one quick attack after the other over the net. The only relationship I had seen that could compare was that of Hinata and Kageyama. 

At the end of the practice, Coach Nobuteru directed me to the club office, where I could get the paperwork to officially become the team manager. As I left the gym, I felt the best I had for a long time. The energy from watching the team play volleyball made me feel light and happy, like I had a purpose again. It was definitely nerve racking to have to learn the names, strengths and weaknesses, preferences, and relationships of the entire team, but it was also exciting. I would do my best to be as good a manager of Seijoh as I was of Karasuno. 

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

[oingo233]

Ship #1

“Anyway I want to ask for a shipping with one of the marauders and one from the Harry Potter era, I am 17, a born on March 12th, I am a hufflepuff with ebony curly hair and dark brown eyes, kind of short(166 c”m) and I have a pale skin . I absolutely love books and studying... I am planning on becoming an electrical engineer and a physicist. I am artistic too sort of, I write a lot of stuff, and I am working on a novel atm, I also draw with charcoal. I absolutely love flowers and butterflies and I am obsessed with the stars and space. “ @kopheliablack​

Okay so firstly, you sound so sweet and awesome and smart and so my impression of you has led me to these two ships...

Marauders Era

I ship you with Remus Lupin:

- This boy didn’t know what hit him when he saw you, but my god was he deeply intrigued.  He saw you gently setting a book down at the Hufflepuff table when your friends arrived, you then waved it a little at them and animatedly talked about it.  He watched with a soft smile, you seemed so happy.

- Sirius and James made fun of him for the longest time because of the look on his face and the blush whenever you were around.

- He asked you out by lending you one of his favorite muggle books, which you happened to love too!  He had thoughts and notes scribbled in it (I can see him doing this sorry, I think it is so endearing).  So you were both reading the story and getting a deep look into his mind, you fell in love right then and there.  On the very last page he scribbled one last note.

    I couldn’t help myself from falling under your spell, must have happened sometime in charms class. Would you ever let me take you to Hogsmeade this weekend?  Promise, I won’t waste your time.

   -Remus 

- Your heart swelled and you hugged the book to your chest and raced to find him.  You accepted the date and you two were dating ever since.

- He took you on many dates to the astronomy tower, you two talked about the stars and planets forever, he was able to keep up because of what he learned from Sirius.  But eventually he had to just learn from you, which he enjoyed much more.

- He simply adored you, and found your height to be so cute.  Perfect for hugs and forehead kisses and all the cuddles.  

- He felt so safe and loved from you, and he secretly adored you were a Hufflepuff, it made him proud that you were such a kind and gentle person and some full moons he just needed that.  You also got along great with his friends but they cracked jokes about you being a Hufflepuff a lot.

- You liked to draw Remus and the group a lot, and Remus always blushed when he found your art book.  He thought you were so talented.

- He reads your writing when you let him and is always so helpful and complimentive.  Supportive boyfriend for the win!

- You two read aloud together and are always study buddies.

- Remus charms little paper butterflies for you!

So either him or Sirius because he can use a cute Hufflepuff in his life to read and draw him and who likes the stars.  Also he would for sure draw you the most beautiful portraits back, sorry I’m so indecisive.

Lightning Era

I ship you with George Weasley:

- He first saw you standing with other Hufflepuffs in the stands during a match.  He stopped flying for a second just so he could admire you.  He nearly got hit with a bludger but Fred warned him last minute.  He then looked for you every morning and when he finally saw you again he wasted no time asking your name and complimenting you and then, very shyly, asking you out on a date.

- You said yes and he blushed red, he got all excited and nearly ran to tell Fred without giving you any details.  But eventually at the date he charmed you to no end and you entranced him, you two fell madly in love.

- He would pick you flowers everyday and sometimes he’ll dry them for you and make them into bookmarks to give to you.

- All his pranks made you laugh and he simply reveled in the sound of your laughter.  

- He loves when you read to him and play with his hair.  

- He will always give you cuddles whenever you want them.  He makes fun of your height sometimes but secretly loves it because he can kiss your forehead and you two cuddle so great and he likes that you can tuck your head into his chest.

- When you stay at the burrow, he’ll set up dates for stargazing.  He’ll lay a soft blanket out in the grass at night, with pillows and all your favorite snacks.  He’ll then charm a single paper lantern to glow.  He’ll cover your eyes and lead you out there to surprise you.  Then when you two were ready he turned the lantern off and the starry sky became so vibrant it almost was hard to pick a place in the sky to admire.  It was beautiful.  He listened to you with a loving smile as you talked all about outer space.  He remembers thinking he’ll ask you to marry him one day under the prettiest night sky.

- He liked watching you draw and write and read, he thought you looked beautiful and it was the only time he could really stare and take you in without you blushing and asking him to stop or what’s wrong.

- He also thought it was cute how dirty your hands got from the charcoal and when you’d accidently smudge it on your face.  He’d rub it off and then you’d get it on him and suddenly it was a tickle war with dirty fingers until both of you were covered in charcoal and giggling madly.

- He loves how smart you are and how ambitious you are.  He also adores that you’re a hufflepuff though Cedric got him jealous a couple times.  But he was just cute when jealous or very hot and spicy and you always reassured him and made him feel happy.

That’s all!  I hope you liked this, it is my first ship so if you want to tell me to change something or anything let me know! Sorry if you don’t like Remus or George but I, and quite literally, ship it.  <3

[unimpressedperson]

Sunflowers

(Found this picture on Twitter and it’s so gorgeous)

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Mentions of drugs

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x @ohmydearmoonchild , Kim Taehyung x Reader

Word Counting: 3.4k

Synopsis: After celebrating their second anniversary, Taehyung decided to prove how grateful he felt for Diyaa’s help on his recover from drug addiction and profound hopelessness towards life.

A/N: Hey I’m here and the oneshot is finally finished! Thank you for inspiring me to write it down, ‘cuz it felt amazing to put into words a few feelings and I really hope you enjoy it, baby :) Wish I could play any instruments, so the “song” Taehyung wrote for Diyaa during the story would come true, but for now it’s just a short poem. Sorry :/ 

P: S The Mark mentioned during the story isn’t Mark Tuan from GOT7, it’s a made up character and you can imagine him like you want, and think would possibly attract Yoongi.

- x - x - x - x -

Diyaa felt the rays of sunlight warming her face, every detail bathing under the waves of heat, bearable and delicious, caressing her skin like kisses. Still with closed eyes, she grope the bedsheets, looking for some human contact, specifically with Taehyung. Fingers trailing the silk fabric, blindly and allowing only touch guide her senses, finding its path and reaching for his long digits.

Laying on her back, covered with a navy-blue blanket and still listening to every single words said emotionally the afternoon before. Diyaa was stuck to them, all she could think about. Passionately contemplating how long it would last. The feelings, the touches, the promises. Hopefully forever.

Slowly and lazily opening her eyes, Diyaa took her time to get used to the bright morning lights. Still sleepy and intertwining pinkies with Taehyung, she stared at him, sleeping on his stomach peacefully by her side, while Diyaa couldn't help but watch passionately his exposed back going slightly up and down, calmly inhaling and exhaling.

Everything about Kim Taehyung seemed ethereal, way too perfect to be considered human. From his soft dark brown hair, to his breathing movements while sleeping. Diyaa always pointed out how lucky she felt for having him, looking up to encounter a flustered Tae with rosy cheeks and a timid smirk.

— I'm the lucky one in this relationship, sweetcheeks. - Tae always said, caressing her face dutifully with one hand, while the other one found its way to Diyaa's, intertwining pinkies.

The connection between them was strong, deep, soulmates. Her peaceful personality mixed with how chaotic he was. Yin and Yang. Balancing each other. Diyaa never felt something so profound or good, same for Taehyung, who was used to fake relationships, friendships, partnerships, a plastic world which he was tired of, willing to give up in exchange of some truthfull love and caring. Luckily, the man found honesty without leaving behind everything he battled for.

Taehyung was desperate and lonely, surrounded by bodies, but lacking souls. Filling the void with alcohol and overwork, sometimes mixing both of them and dragging Namjoon back to his old habits: late night studio sessions, hosed by cold vodka and lime slices. Some masterpieces were resulted, but no one involved felt happy.

At some point, getting drunk got trite and Tae bought stronger drugs, such as cocaine. With a thin package of powder disguised as salt on his wallet, Taehyung was feeling the pity results of a night spent on studio with Namjoon and Yoongi (who almost caught him taking a sniff). Under the hangover effects, he questioned his life choices, thinking about what would Hyung possibly do after getting him red handed. Everyone close to Suga knew he had problems with coke, only sobering up after his boyfriend, Mark, found him in a puddle of vomit, almost overdosing. Even drinking a few shots from time to time, Yoongi hated the idea of seeing someone he cared about going down the same alley.

The brown-haired man decided to get some coffee and buy new books, tired of reading the ones he had at home. At the bookstore, Taehyung grabbed a random work from Dan Brown and got in line for paying. Still hiding behind his sunglasses, he looked up and saw possibly the prettiest girl alive, dressed in a black mid-lenght sleeved shirt and a yellow apron. He felt his heart skip a beat noticing that on Diyaa's (as written on her tag) wrist was painted a sunflower, Van Gogh style.

— Fuck. I'm going to buy books here more often. - Taehyung spoke out loud, meaning to only say it to himself. The girl in front of him blushed and smirked.

He obsessed over Diyaa for over three weeks, before actually finding courage enough to ask her out. The day he finally did it, Namjoon was there to pick up his copy of "It" and a few magazines to leave on the dorm's bathrooms, also guaranteeing Taehyung wouldn't chicken out on the last minute.

Diyaa acknowledged who he was and would recognize his godlike face from kilometers afar, but never considered the idea of meeting him in person, nevermind attracting him and being asked out. At first, the girl thought everything was just a dream and even pinched her own thigh to make sure, feeling a sting and realizing that it was actually happening and Kim Namjoon was also there, holding a bunch of random magazines (literally, one of them was about motorcycle gears and raising cows).

Their first date was on a coffee shop, Diyaa didn't mention she only drank iced-coffee and Tae paid for two expressos, and a few almond cookies he claimed to taste like heaven on a plate. In fact, the biscuits were amazing. While leaving the place, after spending three hours laughing and chatting, the girl confessed that she hated coffee and a very guilty Taehyung bought her frozen yogurt with a no number of toppings. Staring at her cheeks full of brownies and strawberries, the man felt his heart melt a little.

Two years later, plenty of fights over Taehyung's addictions and bad habits, now Diyaa was helping him remain clean and sober, sometimes loosening up so he could drink wine on Christmas special to VLive, nothing stronger than champagne was their deal.

Mark and Yoongi also helped with Tae, since they went through something similar at the beginning of their relationship. Suga felt overwhelmed when Diyaa and Taehyung told what was happening, and getting his handsome and talented friend back on track became a teamwork. After coming out with his addiction, Tae became the fulltime maknae, being watched closely by even Jungkook, who was with him after relapsing for the first time and helped out when detoxing started all over again.

Now fully awake, Diyaa rolled on the bed to place her chin against Tae’s shoulder blade, hearing a growl coming down from his throat, still asleep, the man moved slightly and speaking in a low, raspy voice asking her to lift up the face so he could turn around and lay on his back.

He was still asleep, swollen eyes and mouth, not quite ready to stand up and face another toil afternoon and late night practice, wishing to stay right where they were, enjoying Diyaa’s second day off and just making out, or watching a movie, without giving more than 500 steps during the next 24 hours. Where there's a will, there's no way, so before the couple could possibly think of pretending to be sick, Hoseok knocked on the door, crooning on a rather pitch voice.

— Wake up lovey doves. I mean, Taehyung, Didi can keep on sleeping, she is off while he has a whole day of workiiiing. - After finishing the lyrics and high-note, the song continued with a whistling that wouldn’t quit before Tae opened the door and saw a fully dressed Jung Hoseok, with his uglyass Balenciaga shoes, skinny jeans and white t-shirt.

— You’re annoying and I’m going to toss your shoes right in the middle of the nearest river. - Tae said and closed the door, going back to bed, holding Diyaa on a tight hug, leaving smooches all over her face. - I know you hate my morning bad-breathe, but I love you. Good morning sweetcheeks.

— Go brush your teeth, you pig! - Diyaa joked, while caressing his chest and allowed herself to feel his soft, swollen and moisturized lips cover her face in light kisses. Yeah, she hated his morning bad-breathe, but also adored Tae. - I love you too, honeybuns.

— Come on baby, honeybuns? Why horse names? I swear that if at some point you end up calling me Buttercup or Chestnut, I’m going call a quit to this relationship. - Tae said staring her deadly serious, but leaving a perverse grin take over his gorgeous features.

They stayed there, kissing and discussing better nicknames, when Jungkook opened the door without any warning, staring at Taehyung and saying, before looking back to his cellphone, where he got into a very critic situation on the Battle Royale match.

— Morning hyung. Morning Diyaa. Jin said that if you don’t stand up and get ready, we are leaving without you. - He looked up from his cellphone screen and continued. - He also said that if you don’t get ready in 20 minutes, he’ll be taking the breakfast with him as well.

Taehyung growled again and stood on his feet, shooshing away Jungkook and breathing heavily. Diyaa was still laying comfortably on the bed, holding his pillow and glancing at him lazily.

— Ok sugartits, duty calls. You can stay at the dorms and sleep, or go to your own place and sleep. You decide where you want to crash. You know the rules, Yoongi’s room is a forbidden area. Don’t light any black light around, unless you want to see a Pollock painting.

— I'm going home. It's been days since I saw Gale for the last time, I don't even know if she fed Nemo right. - Diyaa commented while sitting up and sliding off the bed.

Walking in the bathroom direction, Tae glanced over to his girlfriend again, feeling immensely lucky, not regretting a single word said the afternoon before when they celebrated their 2 years anniversary. He loved and worshipped her, beside all the gratitude felt for helping with every addiction, also representing to perfection her task as muse for composing and work in general. Painting, singing, writing, thinking, there was nothing unrelated to Diyaa's appearance and personality.

- x -

Late night composing. Taehyung couldn't even remember the last time it happened. Everyone always felt like reliving old situations related to "dark times" would end up in relapsing again, so Namjoon and Suga changed passwords from every studio inside the BigHit building, only allowing Tae to get access whenever another member was around.

Honestly, thanks to Jimin and his fingers full of Doritos powder, Taehyung found out the new codes two weeks after changed, but writing alone was boring so he never felt the urge to use them.

Differently from any other day, Taehyung had everything related to a new song stuck to his brain, from melody to lyrics. After convincing Suga to stay til late on the Genius Lab, he began working hard and passionately. Whenever he lacked words, only staring at Diyaa's smile on his lockscreen helped.

Yoongi was tired of practicing, but didn't had the balls to say no to a deeply inspired Kim Taehyung and called Mark, calling off their plans of having dinner, but politely inviting him over, not really meaning it, he also wanted to finish one song to his new upcoming mixtape. And let's face it, focusing on something other than his shiny eyes and plump lips was very difficult. Per se impossible.

Better than anyone else, Yoongi knew how personal a composition could get, so he just left Taehyung working without interruption, a constant flow of words and melodies emitting from his mouth and guitar.

Considering how long it would take for him to finish the primary details, Suga decided to order dinner, turkey sandwiches and orange juice. Vitamin C was important, bro. Presumably, based on how focused Tae was, he also texted Diyaa guaranteeing everything was alright and if her boyfriend didn't answer any messages it wasn't on purpose.

Nothing else existed around, only the notebook where he was sketching lyrics and the guitar. Distractions showed up now and then, but Taehyung wouldn't even notice, every word and feeling flew from his mind to the paper easily and smoothly.

"Skin smooth like whipped cream

Breathe appealing and reminding me of cold blue breeze

Oh, I feel your silk voice at afternoon

At night, get comfy on your touch soft as wool

I melt in your pastel pink lips

And sand yellowish sweater covering down your hips."

Said the first verse. When Taehyung decided to write a song completely about Diyaa, nothing sounded appealing or good enough. He wanted it to pat ears with a sweet melody, sounding as beautifully as her voice. Randomly, during a conversation with Namjoon, the hyung mentioned a condition called 'synesthesia' where some of the senses just mingled, making the person listen to colours or taste smells. After searching a little better, Tae found a way of describing his love and worship for Diyaa.

While putting together some ideas, Tae remembered how he couldn't tell apart her fruity smell perfume from the mint fresh breath, whenever they were kissing it felt like a froot salad on his taste buds. Or how soft her skin was, so whenever Diyaa used clothes made of light fabrics, everything seemed so unearthly, as if she could fly and astound humanity to a point everyone would worship her as a goddess. In contrast, wool made Diyaa looks so soft and cuddly.

He wished to highlight how everything improved after meeting her. No longer than 3 months together and Diyaa became his sun, warming and keeping him healthy. Now she represented life, heat and a meaning to keep on living. Diyaa was his daily dose of strength,

"You're my reason to live, breathe and never surrender to any adversity

You are my sun and I'm a sunflower

Your warm hugs created a bond based on tender

Even at night, eyes can't see but heart always feel

I'll chase you, round and round I'll follow you for real

You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed

I would cross the world to see you dusk and dawn. "

At some point, writing became so personal and emotional that Taehyung unconsciously felt tears roll down his face. Luckily, Yoongi was entertained producing a track with headphones on and didn't pay attention to whatever happened around.

The previous afternoon, celebrating their second anniversary with a picnic on the rooftop, Tae began talking nonstop flooding Diyaa's ears and mind with sweet and sincere words, possibly the deepest ones she ever heard from him in so long.

Everything started while looking for shape on clouds, laying peacefully at the rooftop.

— It's just vapor and air, but still manages to keep up in there, looking fluff. Physics is a badass bitch. - Taehyung said laying on his back, while staring at the skies, legs crossed and one hand pointing to the impressively big and dense cloud which amazed him, while the other one was being used as a pillow for his head.

— Yeah. It's so crazy to think that atmosphere is holding a bunch of condensed water right above our heads, and us down here. If something happened and the air got slightly different, we would probably float like clouds or get killed by the gravity, making us suffocate or get smashed by how heavy we would get. - Diyaa said also staring at the skies, but with a grin on her face.

Taehyung turned his head to face the girl, with eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He loved how Diyaa saw things, always finding a wire to connect subjects and turn the assumption into a whole another topic. The brown-haired man would never get tired of their long conversations, pillow talks or just random talks, there was never space to be bored.

— How did you just came up with that, though? We were looking for shapes on clouds and suddenly you are suffocating us in your mind. Girl, your brain is so fascinating. - Tae said smiling, still looking at Diyaa's soft expression and round cheeks, sparkling a light on her dorky grin.

— And that's a compliment I've never heard before. Not even coming from you. - She said turning to stare at his dark eyes, finding a Taehyung smirking passionately, glaring at her. - You always point out how soft my hair feels, or how my taste for movies is possibly the most random, just because we went from watching Saw and began a rom-com marathon with The Kissing Booth.

Tae's hand slid from his lap and found its way to intertwine with Diyaa, caressing the back of her hand with the thumb.

— I love finding new details to compliment about you. Luckily, you are so interesting, it would be impossible to run out of traits and sweet words. - He said and got back into staring at the skies.

They could stay silent for long periods of time without feeling uncomfortable. After so many ups and downs, fights and make ups, the lack of words would never bother them. Only sensing and acknowledging each other’s presence, with light touches or cuddles, was always enough. 

Taehyung glanced over to Diyaa again, watching her skin being caressed by the daylight, he felt a knot tight on his throat and an incompatible need to speak, expressing how much he loved her.

— Sweetcheeks, I love you. - Diyaa looked at him about to say something, but his pointer finger laid on her lips and a waterfall of words flew from his mouth, untying the knot on his throat and making salty tears roll down. - I love you way more than I love anything else in this goddamn world. You met me in a complicate moment, back in then I was a dirtybag full of shit and instead of leaving me and prayed for the best, you stuck around and helped to rise up again. I was so afraid of you getting tired of my hectic life and watch you leaving me for someone more similar. This idea still frights me up. I’m so grateful and I don’t think it’s possible to reward you. You deserve the world and now I remember listening to Yoongi praising Mark for all the assistance on his addictions, and how he claimed that love saved him. Back in then, constantly high and drunk, I mocked him, but look at me now. Full cheeks, sober for over a year, attending to the reunions, in a healthy relationship, living my best life so far. You even made me ditch fake friends and value the ones I have here.

“I don’t think there are words pretty enough to describe you, that’s why nothing I compose is totally about you and I want to change it. Put in a song why I love you and spread around like seeds. You are my sun and I’m a sunflower full of pollen and it’s possibly the worst metaphor ever. Sorry sweetcheeks.” - Tae continued, finger still on Diyaa’s lips, but now she didn’t knew what to say, only feeling the urge to kiss him, while sobbing on his chest, never truly understanding how deep was their love. - “I want to describe you in melodical words. Tell the world how your voice makes fireworks pop inside my brain, leaving a trail of colours around. Everything. You deserve the greatest masterpiece and I’m afraid I won’t be able to accomplish it.”

A whole new cascade of words were said and attached to them a promise: as long as they were alive, they would always keep their fire burning and love growing. Cultivating a life together like flowers, specifically sunflowers, just like the ones Diyaa had tattooed on her wrist and Taehyung intended to paint on his own skin at some point.

 - x -

Yoongi finished editing his track and left the headphones slide down to his neck while saving the archive on a file named “Mixtape 2″. He turned around on his chair and saw a sobbing Taehyung, trying his best to not smudge the lyrics written down. At first the hyung didn’t react, trying to remember what to do in such situations and a few seconds later getting in ‘parent mode’, walking carefully to check on the crying kid.

— What happened Tae? Is everything alright? - Yoongi didn’t touch Taehyung, but made sure he noticed the body getting closer.

— Of course, I’m just so happy hyung! I think I did it! I wrote something worth of being related to Diyaa! - Heavy, but happy, tears went down his face, trembling hands raising the notebook and handing it to Yoongi.

Holding the notebook and sitting down again, Yoongi read the lyrics carefully, paying attention to how personal every verse was. If love could possibly be materialized and described, the words completing that song would make its part. A feeling of tenderness took over Min Yoongi’s heart and the urge to cry got unbearable. He was proud and sentimental.

“I used to be blue and dancing between shades of grey

Your yellow love took over me turning me green

I was growing again, adulting up again

You gave me hope, when all I wanted was to quit

You held me up, now I’m alive and everyday a little more keen

After so many days together, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been

I’m so thankful, sweetcheeks.”

- x -

Inspired by: @ohmydearmoonchild thank you for being a ray of light and honesty among so many toxic people. I purple you.