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seollenda · 4 months

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it’ll belong to us (unnie!irene x fem!reader high school au)

literally inspired by a clip of an irene fancall where she does fanservice pretending to be an unnie. + lyrics of “secret tape” by sunmi. will probably write sequels to this too lol

CW: just angsty fluffy ambiguous confessions/coming out

word count: ~1700

would you show me a little of your time?

i just need a little bit of it

—

“i’ll come pick you up after your exam.”

joohyun tapped your chin with a gentle finger, unable to suppress an amused smile at your crestfallen expression. “yah, i have school to go to too, you know.”

“that early?” you complained, even though you knew it was futile when bae joohyun made up her mind.

the older student looked at you for just a moment. or maybe not…?

“what do you want as an after school treat?” she slung her backpack onto her shoulder, moving toward the door.

“nothing.” you pouted, only to hear your unnie chuckle.

“uh huh. see you tomorrow afternoon!”

you sighed, locking the door behind joohyun and shuffling back to your late night cramming.

—

the next day was miserable, as math exam days went. you studied furtively in korean and english class, but by the time biology rolled around you couldn’t be bothered and just spaced out sleepily. the weather was beautiful out the window. you knew joohyun was in that direction, just half a kilometer away, probably in gym class and walking laps around the track arm-in-arm with her friends. how much you’d give, just to feel the sun on your skin and chatter with her for half an hour.

it wasn’t fair when the lottery assigned you to one high school, and joohyun to the other. it was comical, when you lived two doors down from each other. each morning, you met up early on the street to chat or exchange your mothers’ extra batches of banchan. joohyun’s activities as a student body vice president meant some mornings she had to depart way too early in the morning—today happened to be one such day. you’d usually see each other off with a good luck hug on big exam days like yours, but duty called joohyun.

you sighed, dropping your chin to the desk until the observant teacher called your name. one more class period…an awful exam…and then joohyun would walk across the neighborhood to pick you up, just as she promised. bae joohyun never broke her promises.

—

as expected, the exam ran overtime. you weren’t the last to leave the room, but you grew fed up with triple checking your answers and knew that joohyun had probably arrived at the school gates by now. you hopped up, dropping off your test before speed walking out the door.

“y/n-ah!” joohyun called, waving furiously to get your attention as if she wasn’t standing in her usual spot. a few students turned their heads with amused curiosity, one pair of your grade mates giggling to each other. you couldn’t bring yourself to care very much, skipping across the yard with a broad enough smile that drew delighted laughter from your unnie.

“hi joohyun unnie,” you said, peeking your head through the bars and miming being a prisoner. “will you set me free?”

“oh, stop fooling around,” joohyun rolled her eyes, reaching around the post to tug you onto her side. she smiled, reaching up to rearrange your disheveled bangs in her usual impulse. “how was the test?”

“it was fine.” you shrugged, not particularly interested in pursuing the topic.

“did you check your answers?”

“two and a half times.” you started to walk, towing joohyun away from the godforsaken institution. she fell into lockstep with you, her arm automatically looping into yours.

“two and a half?” her brows knitted, trying to decipher what that meant.

“i gave up on the third pass because i’d keep you waiting,” you admitted, trying at an appeasing expression. joohyun frowned.

“you…” she trailed off, giving up on the scolding. “i brought you bungeobbang. choux cream.”

“oh!” you beamed, accepting the greasy wax bag and taking a bite out the head of the fish bread. the filling was still warm and fresh. “you’re the best, unnie. i love you.”

joohyun laughed softly, and you watched from the corner of your eye as she briefly dipped her head away from you.

truth be told, joohyun was acting strangely lately. it didn’t quite make much sense, but she suddenly seemed both clingier and more reserved at the same time. you’d wracked your brain to try and remember if anything had happened to trigger this change, or if you had done something wrong. you couldn’t for the life of you recall anything specific.

“unnie, do you have to head home?” you asked, stopping at a quiet crosswalk. cross the street straight and you’d make it home; a left turn, and your feet would take you to your favorite cafe. having missed your morning meeting, you figured an hour or two at a cafe wouldn’t hurt.

“yeah,” joohyun answered immediately. “gotta work out a few logistics for the year end festival.”

“oh,” you said, let down for the second time. joohyun sighed, turning to grasp your hands in hers until you looked up at her.

“it’s the end of the year, us seniors have a lot to attend to,” she said gently. you wilted slightly. your year gap was something that you liked hearing less and less of.

because bae joohyun would, of course, graduate with perfect marks. then, she’d probably disappear north to attend some top seoul university, be a star student and the talk of the town up there, and forget little old you, back in your stinky old hometown.

it was a chance childhood connection and against all odds that someone like joohyun had a best friend like you. she was even the talk of your school, her reputation as the most beautiful girl in this whole town drawing boys from your school to peek into after school student body meeting windows.

she was looking at you with those pretty doe eyes now, pleading for your understanding and probably a little too hung up on what you had to say about her time.

“mmkay,” you sighed, trying not to look too pitiful. the walk light changed, and joohyun threaded her fingers through yours as you crossed the street together. she glanced over at you when she thought you wouldn’t notice, squeezing your hand once with a silent apology.

the walk was short, of course. you two stopped in front of your house, which was the closer one from your origin. she turned to look at you again, her eyes warm as she regarded you.

“talk to you later,” you said sullenly, but she caught your arm and kept you in place.

“i’ll ask my mom if you can come over for dinner, okay?”

you looked up at her, unable to ignore the unconcealed hope in her expression as she extended her olive branch. you sighed, pretending to consider her offer until she let out an annoyed whine.

“okay, fine.” you sighed dramatically.

joohyun nodded, her expression brightening. the conversation could’ve ended there, yet there was something that rooted the two of you in place.

“i’ll miss you,” you blurted, your gaze darting across her face as you tried to decipher bae joohyun’s penchant for unreadability. “when you graduate.”

the older student exhaled through her nose, still clutching your arm as if the northward wind would blow her away that instant.

“i’ll miss you too,” she said softly, and you knew she meant it. she tucked an errant lock of hair out of your face, her lips pressing into a saddened smile. “i don’t know what i’m gonna do without you.”

“you’ll be just fine,” you shook your head. “i’m not worried about you. who’s gonna bother me about triple checking my work?”

joohyun laughed weakly. “you don’t give yourself enough credit.” she rested a hand on your cheek, giving it a gentle pinch. “you’re a clever kid.”

she gave you that look, in moments when you grew acutely aware of the difference between the two of you. it wasn’t pity, or anything like that, rather a reminder that in some ways, you were always chasing after her.

“text me, all right?” you moved to turn and retreat into your house gate, but she kept a grip on your elbow. you looked up at her curiously, about to make a playful comment about how she seemed to like playing hard to get, when the look in her eyes made your thoughts stutter to a halt.

she pulled you into the shelter of your house gate, out of the narrow residential street, and kissed you. it was short and chaste, but on the lips, and it made your heart fairly stop in your heart. it was over as soon as it started, joohyun pulling away and her eyes fluttering open.

she looked at you as if you’d been the one to kiss her.

“sorry.” joohyun said, releasing your elbow. her cheeks were nearly red, you realized, her gaze fixed on the brick wall by your side. she sniffled softly, and your heart dropped.

“hey, don’t cry,” you reached out to grab the sides of her arms. “why’re we talking like this? it’s not like you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“yeah, i know.” joohyun laughed once, her lip trembling. you could see the panic growing in her eyes, as she began to realize what had happened. she started backpedaling. “sorry, i just…i got emotional and…i’m being weird, i'm so sorry—”

“you’re not weird,” you replied gently, automatically. “well, not for feeling this way, anyway.”

joohyun finally looked up, and her beautiful face was tragically, nearly poetically distraught. your best friend was not frequently vulnerable, not even around her family or close friends. it was all the unbelievably similar ways the two of you aligned that seemed to set joohyun at ease, unlike with anybody else in her life.

so maybe this had happened because she had seen it in you, too; in the way you’d looked at her for the past ten years of your lives, falling in deep before you knew what any of it meant.

you threaded your arms around her neck, pulling her close into a tight embrace.

“you’re not weird.” you muttered, and turned to press a sweet kiss to her cheek. a thousand emotions settled in the eye of the storm, until nothing mattered but memorizing the girl in your arms. “none of this is weird at all.”

joohyun melted into your hold, and you knew the relief that was washing over her, because you could feel it, too.

the exhale of a love that could breathe for the first time.

#was this proofread enough?#probably not lol #red velvet fanfic #irene imagines #red velvet imagines #bae joohyun imagines #angst #hs!au

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bear-cubs-art-things · 6 months

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PART ONE LETS GOOOOOOO

Super nervous very nervous hngjbghngbg

I have no idea how England works so just. Bear with me as an American. Fhshshsusudhfjdndg (it's not like this takes place in any place in particular, and I'll do my best to make it as reminiscent to England/Britain as possible, but if there are any discrepancies please let me know :)) )

Okay!:

○°-_-*×-_-○°♡°○-_-×*-_-°○

It was very early on a Monday morning. The sun was barely up, merely a bold orange-pink stripe across a dark blue grey horizon. Birds softly chirped their morning song, speaking of (that is, if they COULD speak) endless blue skies and soft yet cold bread crumbs.

Houses could be seen. Nice, orderly houses, all identical as houses go. The only way one could be distinguished from the other were porch decorations on what could be called the porch. Then, of course, the house numbers.

In house 236, off the corner of Orchid Street and Daragon Fly Avenue, a slumbering teen stirs in his bed.

Downstairs, a quiet sizzling of bacon in a pan cooks on the stove, eggs in a carton sitting politely beside the stove a few inches away. A toaster spits out two slices of white bread, toasted of course. A man wearing a white apron and business work clothes hums a tune on the radio. This man is Mel A. Traunn.

Mel Traunn is an officer worker at a financial firm, with highly regarded banks across the country. He works with the big heads, the head men, the CEOs. He may be rather small on the business food chain, and probably not as high as he wants to be, but at least he can feed him and his son.

Upstairs, in a dark, tidy bedroom, slept Azira Fell, 15 year old boy and currently attending Eldritch High. He's short, with a wide, somewhat thick build, and soft. Currently, short, white (in all technicality, it was a very pale shade of blonde) was a mess atop his head. He was sleeping soundly.

Bee-ba-ba-beep! Bee-ba-ba-beep! Bee-ba-ba-beep!

"Hrrng..."

Azira turned over, and felt around his nightstand for his alarm clock, turning it off once he did. Then he felt around for his glasses.

His glasses were small framed and circular, the kind of old frames those in the later 1800s would wear.

He liked the 1800s, actually. Their clothing was quite nice.

With some early morning bitterness (the kind when you have to get out of bed on an early Monday morning), and grogginess, Azira got out of bed.

It was the first day of school. You know how it is. Same routine of waking up at what felt like dawn, dressing in your most impressive outfits, and going to school only to neglect your studies.

Azira had a... put it this way, it wasn't exactly a stylish fashion sense by today's standards. He wore button up dress shirts underneath plaid sweater vests, slacks and shoes (may I add, his shoes were more in today's fashion than the rest of his wardrobe, though still worn out and one may say outdated). He owned a wristwatch as well, which fitted everything together. It was his father's, which is not to be confused with Mr. Traunn. (Traunn was actually his uncle, but since Azira had been living with him since early childhood, with no real recollection of his birth parents, it was easier and much simpler to call Traunn his father.)

Today, he wore a light blue shirt, with a plaid sweater vest of various shades of brown. He wore khaki slacks, and his slightly worn out black Converses (like I said, the only modern fashion item in his closet). He brushed his hair out, styling it up with some hair gel. It looked no more than a weightless tuft atop his head.

Traunn heard Azira's footsteps from downstairs- light, but still audible- and decided to make him a plate. Breakfast was still hot.

Azira went through his typical morning routine... brushing hair and teeth, deodorant, finding that one book to read at school (today it was A Tale of Two Cities), you know the drill.

The smell of bacon wafted upstairs, and Aziras stomach rumbled with hunger.

Azira grabbed his bag (a single strap satchel that gave off the vibe of some high end scholar) and went downstairs.

The kitchen was a homey one; kept clean and organized, and photos of Azira and Traunn were hung up on the wall. The counter was a polished white and grey marble, the cabinets a matching white. The appliances were a stainless steel silver, the floor a walnut wood.

The whole house, in fact, was a clean, white one. It wasn't exactly all white, but most of its furnishing and detail were on the lighter side. The walls were a light grey-blue, the trimming white, most of the furniture was white or pale cream. The only dark accent was the floor; it was the same walnut wood throughout. The carpet was a color between grey and beige, which could be either considered on the lighter side or the dark accents.

Azira took a seat at the island on one of the beige barstools, greeted by a plate of continental breakfast.

"Gooood morning," Traunn said.

"Good morning," Azira replied.

"Excited?"

Traunn was referring to the first day back at school.

Azira shrugged. "Not really."

"Aw, you gotta be at least a little excited!"

At this point, they were both eating at the island. The stove was off, and Traunn had taken off his apron. Not a single food stain.

"Ehh..." Azira trailed off, shrugging a little more.

"Not one to get excited over school?" Traunn teased.

"I like school," Azira started, "it's just gotten to the point where I don't get excited over it anymore."

"Mm," Traunn nodded in acknowledgement.

The two ate I silence briefly.

"Know who your teachers are?" Traunn asked.

"Erm..." Azira set down his fork and fumbled through his bag for his schedule. "Not really."

Azira found his schedule, and read through it once more. He nearly had it committed to memory.

First period, history. Second period, English. Third period, PE. Fourth period, chemistry. Lunch. Fifth period, art. Sixth period, study hall. Seventh period, algebra 2.

Not very spectacular or special.

The teachers' names and rooms were written on the schedule, under their respective subjects. So yes, Azira knew their names and where to find them, but aside that he didn't know them.

He slid his schedule over to his dad, and he took a look at it.

"Huh," Traunn said, sliding Azira's schedule back to him.

Azira put away his schedule, and caught a glimpse of the time on his wristwatch.

"Oh!" He got up with a start. He could still catch the bus, if he hurried.

He gathered all his stuff (his bag and phone) and hurried out the door. He was two steps out the door when he felt something was off

Wait a minute. He felt his upper chest, where a ring should be.

Oh how could forget!

He ran back inside and dashed up to his room to grab the ring.

The ring was his late mother's ring, made of gold and with beautiful craftsmanship. It had ornate details of flowers and butterflies. It was her most prized possession. Now it was Azira's. He never wore it on his finger, but instead kept it on a necklace chain and wore it as such.

He once more left the house, barely hearing Traunn's "Have a good day!" on his way out.

He knew that if he ran, he would make it to the bus stop on time. He still had 15 minutes.

He could make it. So he ran.

And just as his calculations predicted, he caught the public transit bus loading its last passengers for that stop.

he got on the bus, winded and slightly sore from running. He found an empty seat and sat down.

He was at least awake. And on a more negative note, slightly sweaty.

Definitely need to get in shape, he thought retrospectively.

The bus engine shivered and went along its way. The next stop was, more or less, 20 minutes away. The stop that Azira needed to get off of anyway. Then it was roughly a 15 minute walk from there to the school.

Azira decided to read.

~~~

The school was a nice one. The exterior of the building itself was red brick, each one nearly fitted into its space. Cobblestone steps led up to the main entry doors. There was brilliant green grass, neatly trimmed and maintained. A raised garden bed were on either side of the steps, with flourishing flowers of many colors. The school was a university campus at one point, but then it was remodeled as a high school. It even had a library on campus that was it's own separate facility. The campus was expansive (more so, expensive).

Azira felt slightly overwhelmed every time he saw it. It wasn't the first time he saw it, but you can't help but feel as though the schools too big.

He walked through the hallway leading to his history class. They were wide and spacious by nature, but with all the students in the halls, it sure damn didn't feel like it.

Azira made himself small and unnoticeable. No one will remember you if you didn't stand out and make a presence. Life was easier that way.

He swerved and dodged his way through the hall, and eventually Azira found the history classroom. It was mostly empty, aside from a few desks with students in them. All of which were busy with their own entertainment... mostly playing their phones.

Azira found a seat close in the back.

He put down his stuff, and continued reading his book.

It felt like a second until the bell rang for school to start. It may have been about 5 minutes, and it had been, but time flies when you're occupied.

Nonetheless, the hallways got even busier as students scrambled to find their classes. Footsteps echoed a cacophony, and chatter was no more than useless noise. The world seemed to rush by in the doorway, between the students filing in the classroom and the students walking outside.

Azira paid no mind to anyone or anything. He simply kept reading.

The warning bell rang once, then again as classes began. The room, at this point, was quite full, both with students and with chatter.

"Okay!"

The teacher rose from his desk in the corner of the room, and the class hushed.

"Good morning, everyone," he walked over to the center of the room, in front of his whiteboard. A few "good mornings" echoed quietly in response.

Azira bookmarked the page he was reading and put it away.

"I'm Professor Wensleydale, and welcome to history class!"

Professor Wensleydale had light, nearly golden brown hair and dark brown eyes. He wore an outfit that screamed his profession - a white dress shirt, buttoned up to the throat, and khaki pants. He had dress shoes that were a common shade of mid-range brown, the kind you see oh so often in the men's formal wear section of a department store. The only splash of color was his tie, a subdued reddish-pink. Thick, round, black glasses sat on the nose of his pale, freckled face. He looks like the type of person who'd read thick books of law for leisure. Bookish, you'd say.

The whole class period was spent on a "get-to-know-you" activity, where you would research your name and write the origins of your name on a piece of printer paper. Azira was a little enthusiastic about this, since he was artistic by nature. He could draw very well, and kept a sketchbook (he has a collection of all his sketchbooks, in fact). Other than that, the class was mostly uneventful.

The bell for second period rang.

"Be sure to bring your posters tomorrow!" Professor Wensleydale called out to the quickly exiting students. "Make them colorful and pretty! We will present them!"

On to second period then, Azira thought.

The school floor plan, it should be noted, was a two story building, plus a library (also two floors) and a separate performing arts wing (technically it was a one story building, but there is an upstairs overheard light control for the theater spotlights). The science and history classrooms were, for the most part, on the bottom floor, plus the cafeteria (foods class is also here). Upstairs were the language arts, math, and non-performing arts electives classes (such as art, pottery, speech and debate, etc).

This is to say that Azira was going from the downstairs history class to an upstairs English class.

The class was half full, most of the desks in the back corner of the room were filled. A few in the front were also filled, but not as such.

Azira found another desk in the back. It was closer to the center of the classroom, but still. The room was filling up rather quickly

Azira didn't particularly notice, because he was reading. Again.

"Excuse me," a voice asked.

It seemed directed to him. Azira looked up.

A tall, thin figure stood over him. Well, over the desk in front of him anyway.

The figure had long crimson hair, wavy and pulled back in a loose pony tail. He wore dark, dark sunglasses, so dark Azira could barely make out his golden-yellow eyes. He wore a leather jacket, a grey tank-top, and baggy jeans with one of those black belts all the queer kids seem to wear. You know the ones. He also wore black boots with a slight heel.

He was good-looking, charming even. There was this energy around him that made him seem more intimidating than he let on, and he definitely looked like he didn't care about anyone's opinion about him.

Azira went warm in the ears.

"'S anyone sittin' here?" He nodded to the desk he was hovering over.

"N-no..." Azira answered quickly, and lowered his eyes back to his book.

"Hm."

The boy sat down at the desk, lazily draping himself over the seat.

Azira glanced back up at the boy. He could only see the back of his red head. He swallowed.

Warmth crept from his ears to his cheeks.

Oh dear...

Azira looked down at his book again, trying to shake off his blush.

The bell rang.

The teacher, Miss Device, stood up and took attendance. Each student said (or at least, something along the lines of) "here" as their names were called.

"Next..." Miss Device thumbed the next name on her roster. "Anthony Crowley?"

She looked up and scanned the room for Anthony Crowley.

The boy in front of Azira rose a nonchalant hand, silent.

"Right," Device thumbed the next name.

So that's his name, Azira thought. It suit him, if he was being honest. He definitely looked like an Anthony...

"Azira Fell?"

Azira looked up with a start, caught off guard.

"Here." Azira raised a hand to make his location within the class known.

He glanced back at Anthony. Then back down at his book. He thought it was best if he continued reading.

"So," Miss Device set down her roster, "We're going to a little activity in pairs, and I'm going to assign partners for you to work with."

She started assigning partners, which was simple and straightforward. The desks were organized in rows of five, and she assigned them within those rows. The first and second desks in that row were partners, the third and fourth desks were partners, and the back two desks were partners. The next row, the fourth and third desks were partners, so on and so forth.

There was one desk left empty, so everyone got a partner, with no odd groups of three.

As it turns out, Azira was paired up with Anthony. Wa-hoo.

The activity was another get-to-know-you activity, but it was the slightly cheesy questionnaire type. It was fun enough, one would think.

Miss Device passed out the papers with the questions on it, and everyone had started once they got their papers.

"So, who's gonna go first?" Anthony asked, turned the wrong way in his chair (sitting chest to the back of the chair).

Azira straightened up a little bit. "I suppose I will."

"Mmkay," Anthony looked down at his paper. "Question one; what's y'name?"

"Azira," He responded. "I can spell it if you want."

"'S all good," Anthony wrote down "Azira" under question one on Azira's desk. "Favorite color."

"I do like yellow quite a bit."

Anthony raised his eyebrows in interest. Or acknowledgement, either one. He continued.

"Favorite school subject?"

"Art, I suppose."

Anthony looked up. "You're an artist, I take?"

Azira nodded.

"Hm," Anthony nodded. "Favorite food."

"I don't really have a favorite."

"Well ya gotta have a favorite," Anthony looked up again, grinning. "Everyone has a favorite food."

"Well..." Azira trailed off, thinking of a meal he enjoyed most.

"Eh, don't matter," Anthony continued on. "How 'bout favorite hobby?"

"Reading," Azira said, before quickly adding, "And drawing too, if you'd like to write that down."

"Hmm," Anthony wrote down both.

There were more questions, about 10 in all, and Azira answered all of them. The rest of the questions included favorite movie/tv show, place, celebrity, book, and animal. They were, as aforementioned, cheesy, but who's one to judge.

It was Azira's turn to ask questions.

"Your name?"

"Y'can put down Crowley."

So he did.

Why his last name? Azira decided not to ask.

"Favorite color?"

"Eh..." Anthony thought some. "I think red. Red."

"Favorite subject?"

"Band, prolly."

Azira looked up with mild surprise. "You're in band?"

"Yeah."

"You don't strike me as the type."

Anthony smiled. "I tend to defy expectations."

"I suppose..."

The two went back and forth, answering the questions for Anthony.

Curiousity got the best of Azira.

"Erm, Anthony-" Azira asked.

"You can just call me Crowley."

"Yes- uh, Crowley," Azira folded his hands together somewhat nervously, afraid he was going to over boundaries with his next question. "Why do you prefer to be called by your last name?"

Crowley gave an amused snort.

"Funny story. Basically, when people want t' really vocalize their hatred or disgust f'r me, they resort to sayin' my last name. Like, oozing with vile hatred sayin' it. It kinda stuck. I like the ring t' it."

"Hmm..." Azira nodded in acknowledgement.

"Okay," Miss Device stood up from her desk. "We're now going to share our answers."

She looked at the class. "Does anyone want to go first?"

~~~

The day went by fairly quickly. Each class was relatively easy to find, and come to find out, Crowley was in most of Azira's classes.

Azira was at home sitting at his desk, drawing. He enjoyed drawing, quite a lot, actually. He felt as though drawing was more of a way to explain many feelings at once in an abstract form, rather than writing paragraphs of diary entries. He did have a journal, but more or less to keep important notes.

He was drawing a portrait of a fictional character. Not any particular character, just one that came to his mind as he went along.

"Azira! Dinner!"

"One moment!"

He closed his sketchbook and put it away in a drawer. He would come back to it, for sure, to finish his drawing. He always does.

He thought about the day at school.

And with that, he thought of crimson hair and yellow eyes, and their unintentional beauty. The image of a what Azira thought was a handsome face came to his mind; the edges of his jawline, the large, slightly pointed nose.

He shoved those thoughts away. He didn't think like that, right? How embarrassing.

Azira went downstairs and sat at the table, where dinner lay waiting and hot.

A steak dinner with potatoes and green beans.

"How was school?"

"Good, I suppose."

Traunn had changed from a full suit to just his shirt and pants. He had already started working on his plate.

"Anything interesting?"

"Not really."

"Oh."

The two mostly ate in silence for the rest of the meal.

~~~

Azira lay in bed, awake even after he was supposed to be asleep. He was just staring at the ceiling. Crowley's face flickered in and out his thoughts.

Wavy locks framing the face. Dark sunglasses hiding barely visible yellow eyes; you really had to look to see em. A grin that radiated smug energy. Surprisingly enough, a band kid. I wonder what instrument he plays...

He really did try not to think about it. But, God damn it, what was the point in trying.

He was thinking on how he would see him again tomorrow. Admittingly, he was looking forward to it. Even just a glance at him, he was looking forward to it.

Well... this certainly isn't unfamiliar territory.

Bugger, Azira thought as he turned over to try and get some sleep. Here we go again.

He closed his eyes, and sleep came to him.

#fhshdjdjsjdjsjdjfhdhdhdhdhg #I'm not much of a writer but I try XDD #good omens #good omens au #hs!au #high school au #ain't no way I'm gonna tag characters 💀#hs!go #high school!good omens #God I'm so cringe 🤣🤣#also if the endings a bit wonky it's because I couldn't just ramble on and on its long enough already.#fuck I'm horrible at this (I'm getting better every time I wrote hush)#RHDHDHSJDJDJFJDJFIFJFUFJ

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