#i hope y'all get saturday sun stuck in your heads now

[braceforchaos]

mitchell’s the name, power’s the game (see what i did there? i’m punny at least). ex competitive swimmer turned fortnite twitch streamer and content creator. master of rambling, hater of zero build tourneys (or well, fortnite tournaments in general).

saturdcysun, come chat with me about your favourite fortnite season. 💛

[bump1nthen1ght]

I’m Still Hurting (Orc x Reader) Part 2

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2107 words

Summary: You and your boyfriend establish a new normal

A/N: At long last, the highly requested part two! I had a bit of struggle coming up with a proper followup to the first part (which was part of why I left it with an open-ended ending in the first place lol). Little less angst this time, I felt these two deserved a little sweetness after the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

Part 1

The first thing that caught your eye when you walked by the music store was the Grand Piano. It was gorgeous: Polished mahogany, a nice velvet seat, and keys that looked like they had never seen the sticky fingers of a curious 8 year old.

“Wow, is that new?”

You nod, admiring the old-fashioned air of the instrument. You knew jack shit about music, but even you could tell that this piano was an antique, one probably worth a good chunk of change.

“Must be. I’ve never seen it before and this place is on my way to work.”

Waruck hmms, pressing his hands up against the glass. His eyes sparkle when he sees the “Free to Play” sign right next to the piano. It probably reminds him of his Grandpa’s, the one he played when you guys visited his family for Christmas.

That was a long time ago.

“Want to go in?”

Waruck pulls away from the glass, eyebrows raised. He rubs the back of his neck and steps a couple feet back, trying to curb his enthusiasm.

“Uh, we don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind. It's been a while-” You pause, the slight-anxiety in the air making every casual word difficult, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard you play.”

Waruck smiles, small and polite, and opens the door of the shop for you. Before, he might have done a little bow and said “Ladies First” in a British accent.

But that was before, and this is now. Now, every comment is walking on eggshells, whispered tentatively and under your breath. Testing the waters for how comfortable you two could get around each other.

Still, it was exponential growth from two months ago.

--------

After your meeting at the coffee shop, you had asked Waruck for a month; A month of privacy, for you to collect your thoughts and feelings, to be alone for a bit. He had agreed immediately, shuffling out of the cafe with a hunched back and a melancholy air, but he had kept his promise. You took the time to focus on other things, shifting your relationship to the back of your mind and enjoying the day-to-day.

But a part of you felt a little bad, like maybe you were stringing Waruck along for an inevitable breakup. Getting his hopes up for an extra tortuous punishment that left a sour taste in your mouth. So on one brave Saturday night, you sent him a meme you saw on Instagram, one that reminded you of him.

That second month saw the two of you texting more and more frequently, sending little jokes, asking how your day was, so and so. Each week rebuilt a little bit more of that familiarity, that comfortableness. It finally got to the point where Waruck asked if you were free one weekend. He just wanted to get some lunch and stroll around the neighborhood for a bit. For the first time in a while, that idea didn’t seem too bad.

--------

The air is considerably cooler inside the store, a tiny bell ringing as a rush of air-conditioned air hits both of you. Waruck makes a beeline for the piano, his footsteps short and quick. You feel a smile crawl on your face; He always acted like an excited kid when it came to music.

Waruck plops down in the center of the stool, fingers lightly brushing over the keys in awe. You walk up the piano’s side, laying your hand on the wood and admiring the lack of smudge marks on the polished wood. Waruck tests out a G note and although the sound is short, it’s extremely pleasant. Waruck’s smile grows even larger.

“When I was a young boy…”

You mutter under your breath. Waruck chuckles, quickly continuing onto a G flat.

“My father took me into the city,” Waruck hums

“To see a marching band.” The two of you sing together, laughing a little bit too loudly and gaining a sharp look from the tired sales clerk. Waruck waves a little apology, but that playful grin stays on his face.

“Wow, that brings back some repressed Hot Topic memories.”

“Seriously. I can almost feel the book my band teacher used to thwack me with. Me and my buddies would sneak into the choir room and play that all the time.” Waruck’s fingers dance over a couple more notes, aimless.

You’ve always liked watching Waruck play. His fingers were so dextrous and controlled,  not to mention long and nicely articulated. He’d probably make good money from a hand-model side-gig.

“Want to take a seat?”

You shift your focus away from Waruck’s hands. He’s made space on the bench and pats the open space next to him.

“Yeah, sure.” You say, despite the fast pace your heart is now beating.

You keep a solid two inches of distance between your bodies, keeping your thighs together as to not brush your legs with his. It felt like a middle school dance, keeping a bible length away from your partner to avoid the disapproving stare of the chaperones.

Waruck nods, absentmindedly running his fingers up the scale. “Any requests?”

Immediately, all non-love songs depart from your brain. One of your favorite pieces sits on the tip of your tongue and your brain refuses to let it go. You shake your head.

“Nope. It’s all yours, music man.”

Waruck chuckles, a little louder and a lot more comfortable, as he sits deeper in his seat.

“Prepare,” Waruck cracks his knuckles, “to be amazed.”

You bite back a laugh. He’s still such a dork.

He starts to play, his hands easily finding the right keys, moving like a well-oiled machine. Your heart nearly skips a beat before it melts into a puddle of sentiment.

It’s your favorite.

The song brings back memories of your childhood, a rainy day in, and delicious food. It’s like chicken soup for the soul and you can feel any of the left over tension leave your body.

Waruck’s eyebrows furrow with concentration, but he has a large smile on his face, his large tusks peeking out from his lips. His arm stretches across the piano as the song hits its most fast-paced part. His biceps and shoulders lean more into your space, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome. It feels natural, as if his presence and yours is part of the piece itself.

Waruck’s thigh brushes against yours, but his pace doesn’t falter and neither does yours. You stay enraptured, watching how easily he slips into the music. You barely even notice how you have begun to lean closer to his side; Your mind says it’s to give his arms plenty of space to play, but it’s still far more comfortable than you are willing to admit.

How easy it feels, in the moment, to fall back into routine.

The song begins slowing to a stop, only a couple seconds left, when the sounds of the music shop return to you. A giggle from not too far rings discordant with Waruck’s piano.

Three girls stand not too far from you, watching with fascination as Waruck plays.

“Wow, he is so good!” One whispers to her friends.

There is nothing even remotely lascivious in their eyes or in their words, but a knife still twists in your gut. Your throat constricts as flashes of your bedroom, of unanswered texts, and a picture of a bar corner booth send needles down your spine and into your heart.

Is this wrong? Is this giddy feeling you have only distracting you from reality? Is it like this song, Waruck’s playing, beautiful but temporary?

“Ugh, I want what they have.”

“I know, right? How romantic.”

They’re wrong, you’re wrong, this is wrong; It’s fake, fake, fa-

Your eyes dart to and fro, trying to desperately avoid Waruck’s quickly overwhelming body heat and your audience, before it catches on the distorted shape of your reflection in the window.

The glass is old, slightly drooping, even the golden lettering of the music shop’s name looks dusty and sun-bleached.

But what is unmistakable is you and Waruck. Waruck, playing piano, and looking at you. Looking at you with the love in his eyes you thought had died, or had never been there at all. The group of girls stands in the background, small and out of focus.

And Waruck is staring at you.

“Are you okay?” Waruck asks, his warm hand on your shoulder.

You whip your neck around, almost getting whiplash.

You’re here, in the music store, with your boyfriend. He looks at you, brow slightly puzzled from your wild eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I,” You suck in a deep breath, “Sorry, I guess I got lost in my own head. That song gets me kind of nostalgic.”

Waruck pats your shoulder and you miss it’s heat when he pulls it back to his side. He smiles, but you can tell he is still slightly worried.

“No problem, I get it.”

You notice now how much closer Waruck is to you. His chest has shifted towards yours, the fabric of his shirt sleeve pressing against the skin of your bicep. Waruck’s knee absentmindedly knocks into yours, but the contact doesn’t sting or jolt you. Not even the continuing silence makes the situation awkward.

It’s nice.

“Do you want to check out the record aisle? They might actually have that piece on vinyl.”

Waruck gestures with his thumb to the piles of CD’s and records not too far from you two. You nod

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

--------

The two of you spend about an hour in the music store, pointing out hilarious cover art and admiring some vintage finds. Waruck even gets you to chuckle a couple of times, slowly bringing out his old cheesy puns.

Waruck’s missed this.

You two walk out of the music store at the tail end of one of Waruck’s jokes, you playfully punching his shoulder.

The two of you wander, in the opposite direction of your cars, for a little while. But Waruck hasn’t lost track of time; No, he’s soaking in every moment he can, every smile and lingering look you give him. Every reminder that this is real.

He spent a week agonizing over what he did. Stuck in silence as he gave you your space. His friends (His real friends, not those assholes from the bar) had offered to come by and keep him company, but he turned it down.

When Waruck got back into routine, it was slow-rolling. It was difficult to fight the instinct to check his phone for a good-morning text, or check your Instagram for any ‘post-breakup’ partying.

No, he had already broken your trust once. The least he could do was give you some time. Spend some hour not wallowing in self-pity, but actively make a change.

Waruck began to accept those invites to a chill hang out, playing some poker and sipping on beer with the gang. He played his keyboard when the thoughts got too loud and went jogging when the music wasn’t loud enough. He called his mom a couple of times, even sent his sister a  couple of texts to catch up. They hadn’t spoken outside of holidays for almost three years.

Maybe he was the one that needed time.

God, why did you have to be so smart?

“Oh shit, how long have we been walking?” You mutter, checking your watch for the time. Waruck turns around you, already knowing the answer was 27 minutes, exactly. The both of you were nearing the edge of the neighborhood, cafes and shops turning into residential suburbs. “Dang, time really flies, huh?”

Waruck smiles.

“With you? It always does.”

You give him a half smile, patting his bicep. “Oh my god, you’re such a cheeseball.”

Waruck winks and shoots you some finger guns.

“You know it babe.”

You giggle, checking your watch once more, face turning just a little bit.

“I should probably head back, I’m getting dinner with some friends tonight.”

A small part of Waruck yearns for more time, but he lets it go.

Space, this was about establishing space.

“I had a lot of fun today, Waruck.” You step a little closer, Waruck’s heart skips a beat.

“Me too.” He whispers, his breath catching as your fingers brush against his.

It’s a simple gesture, one you’ve down a million times. But when your palm slips into his, your finger’s interlocking, it’s like fireworks have gone off.

“Same time, next week?”

Waruck nods, not trusting himself to speak without a voice crack.

That’s all he needed, all you wanted; The promise of the future.

“Yes, I would love that.”

[softsakusas]

MORNING HAPPINESS

Ship: Suna x GN! Reader

Type: Imagine

Genre: Fluff

A/N: I've been thinking about this for a whole , when suddenly an idea got in my head, so why not right it and share it. Song inspo is from Kiss Me More by Doja Cat ft. Sza, this song has been stuck in my mind like obsess with it and I'm having LSS with it xianidhsiz. Hope y'all enjoy this and stay safe as always. Don't forget to leave feedback or anything, it means a lot and LOVE YOU ALL

Saturday was the best day, in your opinion. No work, stress-free and more time with your dear, Suna. The sun was peeking through the cream-colored curtain of the bedroom. Legs tangling with each other, soft snores resonating throughout the room. Y/N being the first one to get up as usual. Admiring the soft features of Suna, knowing the tiredness of his body practicing all week. Worrying for his health and distracted with their thoughts not noticing Suna waking up.

Startled at the sudden contact, bringing back to reality noticing he finally woke up. Immediately smiling down at him, Sunas face softened, with a whispered greeting of good morning to each other, Suna snaking his hands on their waist then bringing his face on the crook of their necks, just after kissing their side of the jaw, enjoying the peaceful morning.

As both decided it was time to get up, then proceeded to prepare for breakfast. It was as if time was being nice to them bringing them as slow and needed morning just for the two of them.The sound of oil sizzling, the smell of eggs being cooked, orange juice being poured, and the click of the rice cooker.

With music in the background, both of them continue to sing-a-along with their fave music playlist. When suddenly, Y/N wrapped their arms around who was cooking eggs.

As a new song play, and might I say one of their favorites at the moment, singing along to the lyrics. A few seconds later, their awaited chorus plays, it goes “Boy, you write your name, I can do the same. Ooh, I love the taste, la-la-la-la”. When Suna suddenly inserted “Then why don’t you write but instead, with your name and my last name on it” with a smug looking back at them.

Shock at those words, immediately hiding their face on his neck, ashamed of their noticeably-red face. Suna then proceeded “I’m serious, I’ve been thinking of this for a long time now and I think its the perfect moment”. Looking up at him, grin on their face “ Are you serious, Rin? Like for real?” replying back to him. Suna then answered back “ Why would I joke about this?” truly looking serious.

With a smile reaching their eyes, crescent eyes looking up at him” If that’s how you ask me to marry then yes, yes I will”.

Overjoyed by their response, Suna can;’t but let go at what he was cooking, holding both of their faces, lips meeting together both were smiling as they did it. Stopping for a moment to catch their breath,” I really want you to kiss me more, but the egg is burning, Rin''. Looking back at it, Suna immediately attends to it, laughing behind him, Y/N then proceeding making fun of him.

All in all, their day was spent with too much laughter and celebrating as a newly engaged couple. It might not be romantic as he wanted but at least they are happy and have said yes to his most awaited question.

© of megumiisee

[ephemerlskies]

in the stars tonight | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader

[other members - seokjin, taehyung, namjoon]

⇢ genre: series, ANGST, enemies to lovers au, actor!jimin, actor!oc, (eventual) fluff if you squint

⇢ word count: 8.4

⇢ genre: Landing a role that might launch your entire career as an actor had come with the most unpredictable and daunting circumstances: grappling with the tragic loss of your boyfriend, Namjoon, and co-starring in a film with the vexing yet enchanting (and famous), Park Jimin.

⇢ warnings: explicit language, themes of grief/loss, themes of depression, (many) mentions of death, mentions of driving under the influence (please stay safe!!), themes of alcoholism, themes of escapism, mentions of alcohol, mentions of marijuana, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of internal dialogue with one deceased boyfriend, arguing/bickering, seokjin being seokjin, eventual love triangle (ish) feud

♪ playlist: dynamite - bts, move! - niki, saint nobody - jessie reyez, through the night - iu, ilomilo - billie eilish, the truth untold - bts, slow dancing in the dark - joji ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: i, and i cannot emphasize this enough, can't believe this came out of me.... it was just a lil idea in my head, but then it expanded into this entire story that was way too long to fit into a one shot. so, here's me serving up a hot plate of enemies to lovers with a generous side of angst and longing!!! i hope y'all enjoy (and hate) arrogant jimin as much as i did hehe <3 ps i have no idea how long i want this series to be i'm lowkey winging it

The world does not slow down for anything. Not for catastrophes or miracles or even something as devastatingly common as death.

When your boyfriend of three years, Namjoon, lost his life due to another's drunken mistake, you realized this. The world revolves on a scheduled orbit, and not even your tragedy wedged a wrench big enough to halt life just a moment. Just to let you breathe and grieve without feeling left behind. However, you were left behind, both by the world and him.

Every sun and moon, every skipped meal, every unfulfilled rain-check, every isolated Saturday night, and every cancelled audition that came as quickly as they left paid tribute to this merciless phenomenon. It seemed you now existed just to watch the days pass, just to balefully relive the moments before Namjoon's passing. And that seemed to have been the only way you could have survived. To make a recluse of yourself because if the world was careless enough to let someone as amazing as him go, then what held it back from spilling even more wreckage into your life? For the past six months, you stuck to the cold, dead past. It was all you had to hold onto; letting go meant plummeting into a depth far too unknown and inescapable.

You and Namjoon were steadfast. You were still steadfast, or more appropriately, stuck now that you had no one to be loyal to anymore.

You and him were one of those couples other people saw and wished they could replicate into their own lives, but when it came down to it, rooted for your happy ending with him. The type similar to that of highschool sweethearts who beat the odds, or the type whose encounter fell along the silver lines of fate. Something beautiful that automatically made all the love poems authenticated by you and him. And when he held you, the idea of worry or evil seemed like concepts that did not exist past fictional tales. So warm, so loving, now gone.

The way in which you and Namjoon grew over the three years you were able to love him was in a convergent manner.

Your branches and vines were woven into his, and his into yours. Even your roots, the elements of your past, began to entangle beneath the soil. To root between each other meant there had been a foundation from which you grew, a stability that was once neat. There was no boundary of which would discern your life from his. And at one, more favorable, point in time, your life did belong to him. Namjoon was someone you only knew for a mere fraction of your life, however the moment he wandered into it, you had unlearned how to continue without him.

You didn't think you would have to relearn.

But then one decision forced you to do so. One person, who decided paying fifteen bucks for an Uber was not a wise enough investment, ripped out the plant of his body from your shared soil by means of inebriated judgment and a missed red light. You had no choice but to absorb the cruel sustenance of the sun completely alone. Most of your branches of life were left barren, with torn twigs where your body once borne fruit and leaves and beauty. But the roots were where most of the pain inhabited. A stubborn, sharp ache resided in your chest, deep enough that you might have had to be cut open and searched through to find the source.

It had been six months of 'Sorry for your loss' and 'Gone too soon' and your personal least favorite 'He's in a better place now'. It made you angry, because was there a place better for him that didn't have you in it? How could anyone know what was better for him when they didn't experience something as tender and gentle and loving as your relationship?

But none of the sympathetic smiles or half-hearted condolences made you quite as angry as the monster who was too selfish to call someone to drive them and consequently punctuating the eternity you were meant to spend with Namjoon. You always followed the virtue that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Forgiveness was a sweeter release than anything else, but if you could, you would take that drunk driver's life in a heartbeat. You would have gauged out your own eyes if the chance fell into your reach.

Though, no matter how hard you screamed at the universe for hurting you, despite the countless pleas to somehow retrospectively tell Namjoon not to go out for something as trivial as toothpaste so he might be alive today, holding your hand in this waiting room, telling you that you're going to do great, you knew the world wouldn't stop for you or your sorrow.

It revolves, waits for no one, and you had to pace yourself to jump back into the turning carousel of life.

"___. We're ready for you!" His voice was ten notches above a volume that wouldn't irritate you. The only hint you let slip that his tone made you want to throw this script at his crotch was the muted sigh.

You knew this audition was going to play out like the rest. They would ask you to read, stop you in the middle of your monologue, then say something like 'Thank you for your time, we'll get back to you soon' which was show business code for 'We are not giving you the role'. The only reason you were here was because you had been out of work for too long, the piles of overdue bills on your kitchen table a cruel reminder of that. Plus, you knew Namjoon would have told you to go.

He would have said something like, 'Get your lazy ass out of bed and go to that audition! You don't want Hollywood to miss out on a star just because you want to sleep in fifteen more minutes'. And it would have worked. It always had. Now, the only motivation that came to your aid was the echo of his voice, and even that had begun its slow descent into forget. Other than that, guidance of your own volition was as fleeting and disarrayed as a violent wind.

"Hi, my name is ___, and I will be auditioning for the lead. Jordan." Your hand must have been fielding its way through a nervous tick. The person you assumed was the director was eyeing the way it had been contorting at your side, and you hated showing that you were nervous.

"Perfect! We've already casted the other lead role. This audition will mostly be based on whether we think you'll have good chemistry with him." Him. So your possible running mate was a man. Before a list of names engraved on rows of stars cemented into the Hollywood walk of fame ran through your head, you lifted the script and collected all the air your lungs would allow.

Maybe, you thought, my courage and passion might come with it.

And when you opened your mouth, something magical that you credited to talent claimed sovereignty over your body. Now, you were Jordan. Jordan didn't have a dead boyfriend, now ex boyfriend, or luggage enough grief to sink a depression into the crust of the Earth. Jordan was a kind, low-energy, and sentimental artist coming into an age of overwhelming success and fortune —and love.

That's what alluded you in acting. For a moment, you could escape your life, leave your pain on the back burner while you emerged into someone who was unacquainted with the pain of losing the love of your life. It was akin to a drug, administering an intoxicating fill of temporary serotonin. Instant relief, and if you got this job you would have your fix of this twisted sort of high that tempered the Namjoon-sized void in your life. And Jordan's life definitely seemed to have, quite literally, all the things yours lacked.

"Wow, ___, was it? That was absolutely incredible!" The hand-covered whisper that followed this appraisal gave you time to begrudgingly peel of the Jordan mask. Within a half second, all the pain seemed to compound into your body. If you hadn't already shaped your entire life around that weight, you would have fallen over. Though you had done this, and even worse, you had been shouldering it for so long, you would have felt naked without such a burden. "Okay, well, we have a few more auditions but I think we have our Jordan! We'll send your manager the full script along with the schedule for the first week of shooting in about two weeks."

"Uh-" If you had not said something quick, the opportunity might have slipped away all too fast, the way Namjoon had. You vowed to grab hold of anything remotely good that arose into your life, giving you more than late nights of choked sobs and transfixed gazes out of half-curtained windows. This offer was clutched tightly in your fist. "Oh... Th- thank you! Thank you! Fuck, thank you so much. This means so much to me, thank you!"

Before you proliferated the meaning of the words thank you and the director's smile turned into rolled eyes, you stumbled your way out of the door. Waiting on the other side was a world that might strike against you with partially docile cruelty. The wind pressed against your skin, almost blowing away all your grief with the help of this successful audition.

That feeling, as always, was as comforting as it was fleeting. Because the scars of your past would not have budged for any brash current. Because your next thought disrupted the scant flourish of joy. It was the thing that came easier and sooner to you than eating and blinking; telling Namjoon any news of both good and bad ranks, sharing your life to celebrate or stress over. One of the many things that remained by an undissolvable adhesive along your mind. You tried to soak it away with liquor or smoke it out with weed, but there was no breaking of habits you loved almost as much as Namjoon.

I did it, Joon. I landed my first role. You thought, because that was the closest you could have gotten to relaying the news.

Your heart began to physically hurt. Heartaches were literal in your case. Literal and grim. You felt the grip of loss pierce its sharp thorns into your flesh. It had nearly been as painful as all the times your words were met to deceased ears, speaking to someone that had not belonged to you anymore. Six months had passed and pain cannot tell time in the way people can. So, you knew the marathon of your grief was one that followed its own metaphorical clock. You just had to keep running in hopes you could make it out alive.

Though, being Jordan for the next six months would help momentarily satiate your grief. If there were a remote for your emotions, this role would be the mute button. Your pain would still move as it usually would, but now it would be silent. You wouldn't have to listen to its unforgiving taunts and crippling obscenities. It was only just that you were paid reparations for six months of utter misery with six more months of narcotic, soundless distractions.

Two Weeks Later

If the universe had given you one good thing, it was skill and dedication to your craft. The script was memorized in just short of four days, and even a sizable amount of lines of the other characters had been stacked atop your memory. Doing an acceptable job at this role wasn't something that was worried you. In fact, the idea of wearing another's life on your body and on your heart was something you looked forward to. 

It was a bit difficult to convince yourself how good this natural born gift was when the universe took something that felt a thousand times more crucial to your existence. Acting, or anything else that planted joy in you, was a consolation prize for merely participating in life. Namjoon was the reward you were meant to win in the end.

And you had no idea what the hell to do when the prize becomes in all of the sense of the word unattainable.

You hadn't driven in six months, despite the run-down Honda parked in front of your street, desperate to be given some sort of purpose. It was too much. Ever since the accident, the idea of manning a wheel that could take away more than it could ever offer was a responsibility you felt entirely too daunted to assume. Even though seat hogs, missed busses, and overcrowded walkways had been inconveniences of an indescribable level, it wasn't enough to put your body into the same vehicle that derailed your life.

Luckily, the bus stop was only three blocks away from the studio. It gave you plenty of time to get into character, however it also nestled in a span of time for Namjoon's voice to filter in and out through running your lines.

He talked to you a lot. As much as it made you want to cry, you held onto it, feeling as though it might be the last of his voice you'd be able to recall. If Namjoon's internal commentary were to suddenly disperse, you might forget his voice entirely. And you wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but you would always answer back. Sometimes out loud, and sometimes, when company forced you into sanity, you responded mentally. It kept you separate from life and any form of interaction with actual people, but it felt better than living in a world without him. Additionally, it helped keep his voice alive, which when you thought about it, was such sick irony. His voice, alive, his heart and mine and soul, dead.

And that was the only downside to acting. When there was another mind you had to engage in, Namjoon couldn't have broken the barrier and his voice wouldn't even register as an echo. Perhaps that was why you waited so long to dive back into your job. It felt synonymous with betrayal to do anything that would sever your connection already hanging by a single, fragile thread.

"___? Hello?" You were immune to every condescending gesture or vernacular weaponized in Hollywood by now. Your makeup artist's snaps fell into the base of annoyance you had grown used to. "Did you hear me? You're all ready."

Her voice wasn't too abrasive. If anything, you should be the one apologizing for dazing in and out of consciousness. Though, Namjoon's sweet compliments about how beautiful you looked with your stage makeup should have been the one to acquire this remorse.

"Sorry. I'm, uh, tired. Not used to waking up at six in the morning quite yet."

"Well, get used to it, or you'll have a rough few months ahead of you." Her laugh had shed whatever shell of pretentiousness once veiled her previous impression. "I'm Nayeon, by the way. I've heard many great things about you, ___. Let's hope you live up to the hype."

Nayeon's nudge was friendly, and it comforted you that within the first day you hadn't pissed off the person who could easily turn your face clown-like with a few heavy strokes of her brush. She was beautiful, too. If she hadn't been dressed in a black T-shirt strewn with foundation and powder stains, then you would have mistaken her for an actress.

"Let's hope so... I guess the director was selling me better than myself." Your eyes scanned the area, though no one seemed a fitting candidate to be your lead. "So, who's the other lead?"

"Park Jimin. I'm surprised they didn't tell you yet. I guess it's some obscure, artistic director decision to keep you in the dark. I’m lowkey fangirling right now… But, don't tell anyone that." Before you could respond, let alone react, Nayeon had collected all the products she needed for her next subject and was about a yard away from you. "Good luck, rookie!"

Park Jimin. You've definitely heard of him, but it surprised you that someone like him accepted a role in a romantic, indie, coming of age film that had not the budget to pay half of what he usually made in his repertoire of previous movies. He was certainly what one would consider an 'A-list' celebrity. The type paparazzi actually cared to stalk, and fans recognized in public, but were too shy to approach due to his sheer intimidation. It hadn't eased your nerves that he was notoriously withdrawn when it came to the behind the scenes portion of shooting a movie.

And, like any decent person, you did your very best to refrain from placing judgments without the opportunity for them to fill in their own narrative. Most of what you ‘knew’ of Jimin had been hearsay. However, you had some hunch Jimin wouldn't qualify as one who labored tirelessly for the roles he had landed or authenticated any sort of compassion with his rising fame.

See, acting and snagging a big role in a movie was characterized as a tall building for you. If one reached the top floor, then they would assume a wealth of opportunities and Oscar nominations and acclimation. Of course, this film industrial structure had various modes of climbing to the top. Some had stairs which called for more excretion and effort but still, all you needed were persistent legs, then each step would eventually get you where you wanted to be.

You had more of a ladder. Each wrung was slanted at an angle of which only deepened your brawl with success and had not been sanded down enough to save you from a generous supply of splinters. After a while, your hands began to ache and the fear that some high-society type would kick the base of your ladder always stalked the forefront of your worries. It certainly had not been a choice means of arrival to whatever awaited you on that top floor, however it was the only one available.

And while you had a ladder to overcome, Jimin had an elevator. The most he'd ever expend to reach that coveted floor was a few presses of a button. And perhaps his only sacrifice would be sharing the elevator with one or two others. Things just worked out for people like him. And an elevator’s delivery was always in a manner that was quicker than the likes of a staircase or a ladder.

When he arrived on set, dragging himself like his own body was a weight he shouldn't have to carry himself, you fought that instinct of yours to assume everything you needed to know from him.

Just because he's wearing sunglasses inside doesn't mean he's some arrogant asshole, even if that is the most cliché character trait of one. This internal lecture was certainly of Namjoon's doing, since he was always one to never run out of allotting the benefit of the doubt.

Yeah, I guess. But, come on, he looks like a fucking idiot. You replied as if he were really there before walking up to the callous man with your gauntlet thrown down by default. No need getting on Jimin's bad side, because you were sure it's complement was being blacklisted from the film industry. Instead of sharp edges you offered him a non-threatening smile and handshake.

Play nice. Namjoon reminded you before you had the chance to decide what you wanted to say.

"Hi! It's such an honor to be working with you. I'm ___." Jimin looked at your hand like you had filled it with mud and were intending on smearing his Gucci jacket, which you assumed was worth more than your monthly apartment rent. "Um, wanna touch base before we start shooting or..."

If his admonished glare at your hand wasn't encouragement enough to retract it back into yourself, then what he said, or more fittingly, what he didn't say next was.

The way his sigh infused a scoff within it made you feel small. It felt like fire, how thoroughly it burned you into a pile of ash, but then it felt like a gust of prickled wind that would scatter your remains completely. If it had not been for the way his head shifted from your head to your toe, you wouldn't have known that his shielded eyes were trailing the length of your body. Such a glare seemed like a calculation of your worth; it must have totaled out to that of a fly he had to swat away because the second you stood on the outside of his peripheries you stopped existing in his world altogether.

His back made a longer impression on you than his eyes, and that was your que to huddle yourself in the corner and stick to the two things you were best at.

Imaginary conversations with Namjoon and rerunning through your already memorized lines.

Before you say anything, I already think he's a prick. It might be pathetic to have instigated theoretical conversations with your dead boyfriend, but the world wouldn't know he would have scolded you first for already constructing an agenda to avoid Park Jimin whenever you could. You just felt an itch to lay down the first word.

You never know, maybe he had a bad day.

Yeah, well people like him don't need to be professional unlike the rest of us. I mean, I'm on the verge of openly conversing with you and I'm the one that has to turn the other cheek? Your script was decorated with a number of wrinkles. Proof that your anger was sleeping from your insides in the form of tightly gripped hands that were pretending to pinch Jimin's skin instead of the script. For once, you felt some grain-sized semblance of luck for having a grasp of acting to pull off pretending to love Jimin.

"Hey." You weren't quite thrilled to meet the person you had imagined pushing down a staircase standing over you. Without his glasses, it was difficult to remember why you had been so angry with him and you hated that. His eyes consisted of more than just irises and pupils, though you would not have been able to place what exactly accompanied these features. They were just eyes, after all, parts of a body. Functional. Mechanical facets of being. And yet, his seemed more than that. More than just sense mechanics. Perhaps beauty. 

But for him to have been beautiful, it would have tainted the very idea of beauty.

"We're about to start shooting. Don't make this difficult, I'm trying to leave on time." 

"Okay... Sure." Those were the two words you substituted for the 'fuck you' itching to crawl from your throat.

"I'm Jimin, but you know that already." The way he spoke was punctuated as though it was a waste of his time to spend any attention on you. If you weren't already drained of your strength from that tube of toothpaste that was some sort of paraphernalia of the night Namjoon became an article of your past, then you would have rolled your eyes or retorted with something that would knock him down a peg.

"I do." Your own weak will bothered you more than Jimin. "Um, I-"

"Let's not." Though he had no idea what you were about to say, a part of you agreed to not even indulge in small talk with him. It would be too forced and uncomfortable and that might leak into your performance on camera. Still, he had an abrasive way of going about it that made you want to disagree with him just to be able to lie contrary to him.

"Fine." It rolled off your tongue easily, like silk. His lingering eyes had you wondering if you somehow impressed him with your passive agreement or insulted him for not groveling for his approval. Either one would have satisfied you.

"Alright! Looks like you two got acquainted. We're jumping right in." The director, Kim Seokjin, was chirpy. Even if this project wasn't necessarily mainstream or highly anticipated, he was the type to salvage all his passion and pour it into anything he created. It comforted you knowing someone other than you found this to be somewhat life changing. "Please, Jimin, ___, on your marks. This is the scene where you two meet, so we're hoping you two can infuse that feeling of being slightly awkward but nevertheless enthralled in each other's presence. Got it?"

"Yessir." You said, and Jimin only produced a nod which seemed generous for him. Fighting the urge to snarl or squeeze your brows together came as a difficulty you had to practice at.

"Slate! Quiet on set..." Seokjin’s voice filled the empty space of the entire studio.

"Scene one, take one." Just as the snap of the slate reverberated through the room, your eyes changed just as abruptly. Your gaze upon the set transformed it into your reality. You looked at Jimin and now saw Laurie, a young soul filled with enough dreams and kindness one could have mistaken him for a cloud; the kind that spoke in loving whispers and gentle caresses. He reminded you a lot of someone else you knew.

You tucked Namjoon's voice away with the rest of your grief and became Jordan.

Amazing things seemed to happen when you least expected them too. You guessed that was the nature of amazing things, for if you expected them then they probably wouldn’t feel so amazing. About halfway through the scene, after a number of cuts, re-shoots, directorial notes, you noticed something. Or more so, this something willed you to notice.

Once you fell into stride with your character, it became easier to pick up on the person acting opposite of you. Maybe you hadn't given Jimin enough credit before. You knew maybe was an understatement, though you felt a sting admitting talent had fallen into his hands just as all his accomplishments had.

Jimin's acting rested on the side most polar to your own. You replicated, he revolutionized. You became your character, shrinking yourself enough so that one wouldn't have been able to tell who you were beyond who you were playing. Jimin, however, made the character his own. There was no minimizing his own body to fit into the mold of the character. Jimin was the mold, and he sculpted the character to fit along himself. He forged his movements, voice, and confidence into whichever role he played and brought life to someone strewn with a signature of his own soul polishing said character. All the while, he was inventive with each intention and emotion that were strung into his lines.

It was difficult to pull this off, being that you could easily begin to just play yourself in a movie and neglect any character mannerisms that you were supposed to portray, however Jimin seems to slip in and out of his role with ease. And with each take, he peppered in more dimensions to a character. He gave meaning and depth to a person constructed onto a paper script until you couldn't believe this person didn't exist in real life.

That was the amazing thing that kept your well-rehearsed lines behind an impermeable wall of reluctant admiration.

What hadn't helped, though seemed to have been timed to a tee to unwind your sensibility, and timing had always worked against you like you had done wrong to it, was the part when Laurie was written to sneak his hand along your waist after Jordan stepped backwards into his body.

His palm felt so warm. So warm that the entire world felt too cold for you to be anywhere but apart from his touch. Then, all your lines spilled from your recollection. He was standing close behind you, the plush of his cheek tickling your ear and sending the entire world away so you and he could reserve this moment just for yourselves.

"Your line." His whisper wouldn't be picked up by the mic, though it had no trouble debilitating the rest of your senses. Did he intend for it to blur any sort of attraction his character felt for you into the life beyond the camera?

The director called cut to the scene, and it felt like a lifetime before you were released from the entrapping heat of Jimin's body. When you spun around, hoping you could at least dig through your throat to pull out a deflated apology, the smirk laced along his lips illustrated every bit of his arrogance and once again shut you up.

From the way his eyebrow was arched, you assumed he must have read your mind. He knew what he did to you, and it reminded you of everything you disliked about Jimin. Presumptuous, prideful in his taunts. It also reminded you that he stood many floors above you in this architectural competition of acting. You were grabbing hold of each wrung as you went, unprepared for something as disarming as Jimin. All he had to do was peer down at the sight of you to make you feel a hundred times lower than him. 

“___? What’s wrong?” You looked over to find Seokjin’s half worried, half irritated expression. 

“No, nothing. Sorry, I just blanked for a second.” Jimin’s snide chuckle at your confession to a faulty performance didn’t help simmer the burn of embarrassment.

"It’s okay, I get it.” The director offered a smile as a peace offering, and since he looked not seven years older than you, it had you assuming he was the laid-back type. “Let's take five. We'll block a few of the scenes and finish the rest of this and we'll call it a day."

You made your nest over at the snack bar. Shoving half of a donut into your mouth had almost resurged your energy. Nayeon made a swift return to pat your face with more powder.

"Hey, you're pretty damn good." You were stuck with a mouthful of donut to null any chance of responding. "Except for when you kinda just shut down at that last scene."

You would have felt embarrassed, or rather more embarrassed than you currently did, if it weren't for the light laugh that followed. All you had to reply with was a shrug.

"I mean, I don't blame you. Jimin's pretty hot and if I were cozying up to him during a scene I'm sure I would also fuck up my lines." Nayeon finished applying whatever touch ups she felt necessary, not without a suggestive eye arch. This either meant she was going to shuffle over to another actor in need of visual repair or she would stay and talk. Her continued monologue advocating for Jimin's talents and good looks proved the latter was what you had in store. "I mean, damn. Also, I'm pretty sure he's got abs under that shirt. So, are you into him? Is that it?”

"It's not like that." The harsh delivery gave an impression contrary to what you said. "I mean, I just... He's just really good at this. I guess I got kinda intimidated."

Normally, you would have sought Namjoon's voice ringing in your head about how you could do this, reminding you how he believed in you. It would have gotten you through the scene however, Jordan didn't know Joon.

"Well, he won an Oscar for a reason, babe." You finished the rest of your donut and begun a prowl for another savory comfort food. "I mean, damn, twenty-five and already winning Oscars and getting nominations. It ain't for nothing."

"Yes, this is helping so much, thank you." You twisted in sarcasm as if that would make you seem any less intimidated. Again, Nayeon laughed off any shroud of roughness coating your words.

"What, do you want me to lie? Is that how you want to start this friendship, with lies?" Her elbow nudged you, and that alone communicated more than the brief exchanges you two shared. Now, you had a friend. Someone else to talk with that wasn't a figment of your own imagination.

Look at you, already making friends. Your smile was not as hidden as you attempted for it to be. Namjoon's little encouragements had that effect on you.

"What's that smile for?"

"Oh, nothing." You scarfed down the mini muffin, turning towards Nayeon. "Just happy my makeup artist goes easy on the blush."

She winked, and you felt ready to be sent back into the throes of this film. You weren't keen on Jimin feeling closer to a competitor than a partner in this project, however if that is how he wanted it to be, you were never one to submit so easily. You were determined to level this playing field, and your communion with victory felt like a well-deserved birthright.

"Thought I told you I wanted to go home on time, rookie." You watched his lips shape such venomous words, since his eyes, the unnamed, nearly beautiful presence, might have sunk you back into that state of speechlessness.

"I take it you're not a method actor, since Laurie is so sweet and you're a fucking ass." It felt good for all of one second before a series of reprimands fueled by none other than Namjoon now had you on the brink of apologizing.

"Feisty, huh?" Again, his lips eased out sharp words as if they would not nick the plump skin as it went.

You hoped Joon had nothing to say about how you were now tracing the lush of Jimin's lips. And yes, it had been six months, though you knew your love-ridden heart had yet to free its hands from grabbing hold of Namjoon, still, the feeling of attraction, no matter how brisk it might have been, felt like you were committing adultery. Adultery, over someone who was dead. You weren't the one who left him behind, and at the same time, you never got that shiny patent of closure. There was no break-up, so perhaps that was an explanation as to why your heart was foolishly stuck in love, never realizing its oath to loyalty was graced upon the deceased. 

You thought of love now, while you were supposed to be getting into character. You thought of the one thing you once had held worn so easily, and now you had been chasing it knowing your legs weren’t enough to catch up.

There was a well in your eyes, supplied by the same source which fossilized a ragged lump in your throat. And you must have blinked twice as many times as you normally would since Jimin's eyebrows met halfway between his forehead as he watched you. Or, more disappointingly, he might have noticed your tendency to grow red in more places than just the whites of your eyes when you were about to cry. Holding those tears in hadn't helped with keeping your skin less flushed.

It frustrated you that he might have noticed, which only twisted you tighter into the verge of crying. You knew it was unlikely that his watchfulness of your pre-breakdown expression was due to a lapse of genuine concern. For all you knew, he was subtracting even more value from your worth, plummeting you into negative integers.

And if you weren't so dedicated to your craft, then you wouldn't have the ardor nor the ability to pull off acting like you loved him.

Nayeon is a good makeup artist, I think you have a thick enough cover of foundation and powder to hide it. That of course, along with any sliver of light in this dark tunnel, had always been attributed to Namjoon. He was the reason you kept going, the reason you had been able to get out of bed to drink a glass of water once in a while, the reason you did not completely break down every time a tube of toothpaste fell into your line of vision. Him and the memorialized voice was what chipped the lump free from your throat and dried your tears before they had the chance to spill.

"What-" Whatever motivated Jimin to ask you something had been gone almost immediately after it sprouted.

"Quiet on set!" There was no way you'd figure out what he was going to say if the director had mandated pre-shooting silence.

The rest of your day went accordingly. Nothing too devastating happened that cleared away the momentum of excitement of this being your first big role. Though, not that you weren't beyond grateful for this chance, you made a chore of reminding yourself to be aware of your good fortune.

And, with the help of a few well-placed improvisations that made you seem somewhat of a visionary in your craft, your previous mistake had been washed with water under the bridge in the director's eyes. It escalated your ego and confidence to watch Jimin scavenge for an unpracticed reaction to go along with the slight details or lines you infused into the scene. At a certain point, you could almost describe him as impressed with your acting. Maybe enough to bump your worth up a few decimals, not that that should be occupying your worries.

"Wow, ___! Look's like we hired the right thespian. Great work! By the looks of it, things will flow easier from here." The director, who you finally felt on a first name basis with, approached with a hug. Though, usually this would have sent red alerts, you could tell Seokjin had no ill intentions of the predatory type. "Also, you two have chemistry, but it's not quite there yet. I want this to be believable. There has to be some real life element of camaraderie if this story is going to be genuine."

"So, what exactly are you asking of us?" Jimin, of course, sounded all but thrilled with whatever Seokjin was suggesting even when it hadn't been specified yet. And though you hadn't expressed it outwardly, this aversion for what Seokjin has been suggesting was shared.

"I don't know, get to know each other? Method acting works usually. I mean, Jared Leto did it for that movie and he seemed pretty crazy." The attention was never yours to claim once Jimin had already pressed his phone to his ear and Seokjin was off reevaluating the shots taken today.

You were alone again. Surrounded by an entire crew and cast, but alone nonetheless. Your version of escapism was never as consistent as you needed it to be. All it took was a moment of stillness for you to drift into some place much darker than your current reality. Jordan was sealed away for now, and you were trapped in your own body. It felt horrible. Being you without the man who loved and cared for such a kindred soul felt no different than writhing in pain. Being you without him was empty. Before long, you might have fallen faint in front of your coworkers.

The only target you could acquire as of now was Jimin, taken away from the world for reasons much less burdensome than your own. Where you had a plight of grief to sift through, Jimin had a phone and most likely a supply of friends to text and busy himself with. Seokjin wanted you to get to know him, try your hand at method acting so to speak, and that was the excuse which allowed you to walk over and try to kindle some sort of conversation.

"Hey, so, uh..." The pause came to no avail, since it seemed as though you could have said nothing at all judging from his reaction. "Hey."

It took a fictitious clearing of your throat and three more seconds of unwavering silence to lure his eyes from his phone.

"What?"

As it had been for this entire day, everything involving Jimin was made to be some sort of challenge. A feat you had to overcome without an ounce of reprieve, just to remain standing.

"Seokjin said we should, like, get to know each other. Or, at least get along. I think that's a good idea." His eyes gave absolutely no clues to anything below the exterior of an expressionless face.

"Why are you trying so hard?" You waited for him to laugh, or even for a laugh of your own to slip and loosen the tension. A laugh to make what he just said a joke, victimless banter, because it would have been wildly insulting if that were the most genuine thing he had said to you all day.

"What the hell does that mean?" Your arms were crossed as if that would keep your heart safe from his cruel tactlessness.

"I'm not taking this shit seriously." He laughed, but it wasn't the one that you wanted previously. It sunk wounds deeper, with such a dull edge too. "It's just a side job so people think I'm humble, or whatever my manager said."

The puzzle began to piece together, it took this admittance from Jimin for the picture to emerge from ambiguity. This movie was some form of damage control for his reputation, and that might be because your accurately placed criticisms of his lackluster humbleness did not stand solitarily. Your big break had been reduced to a convenient plot of image reconstruction. You were familiar with anger, it was one of your trickier stages of grief to surmount, but it still affected you to the same degree as before.

He didn't expect a response. You could gather that much from the way he instantly turned back to his phone, rendering you nonexistent once again. Namjoon would have told you to remain civil. But Namjoon was gone. It hurt to think that way, but if his voice hadn't emerged to mitigate this situation now, then Jimin was yours for the taking.

"You're a fucking ass." It seems brash was the only approach to seize immediate attention from Jimin. His eyes widened as if you had grown twice as large and the vision of you wouldn't fit in his narrowed, judgmental glare. "This may be a joke or a throw away gig for you, but this means a lot to me."

"Wanna back off, Jesus. I only-"

"No, I don't wanna back off. I haven't had the best year, and having a co-star that treats me like shit isn't really helping either. And, I get it, you're some sort of elitist who thinks they earned their success." You scoffed, tethering his eyes with yours as though there were a string tying them together. And with each step closer you took, the knot only secured tighter. "But people like you, men like you, don't do shit to earn where they are. But it's so cute the way you think you did! Truly, it's embarrassing watching you flaunt your ego around like you actually have something to be proud of."

"So it's like that, huh? You know, I was almost starting to respect you." The fact that his delivery suggested this was some sort of badge of honor made him all the more pathetic. You should not have put it past Jimin to boast over paying a fundamental level of respect where it's due.

"Wow," You doused a generous layer of sarcasm over your throat so the words came out so. "Basic human decency? From you? How can I ever repay you for such kindness?”

"I said almost."

"You're pathetic."

"Like you're one to talk."

"Yeah, well at least I don't pretend I'm hot shit." The tip of your shoes finally closed the gap between his. Again, you were snared in his warmth, however it didn't feel as tranquil as before. Now, it was closer to a pot of boiling water, evaporating flesh and bone until you were steam floating along the air, bendable and displayed out thinly.

"You don't pretend because you're just that bad of an actor, huh?"

It suffocated you, being this close with him; the blurry details of his face became sharp this way. His eyes were hypnotically watchful of your lips, preparing for your next gambit. You surrendered only a smirk, hoping it would antagonize him. And you could have sworn standing at the furthest point of the Earth from Jimin wouldn't appease this invasive thronging. The universe had yet to expand wide enough to provide an acceptable distance away from him. Until then, you were left with shallow bouts of breath tasting of metallic hatred, hoping those would alchemize into words that would make you seem more intimidating that you really were.

"Please, I could act circles around you. Your performance is transparent. Anyone with a scope of the basics of acting could see through you."

"Is that so?" You hated how quick you had been to notice his tongue slip along his lower lip. He must have found this delicious, patronizing someone who only had 'friend number five' or 'cashier' as proof of their employment. Jimin was greedy, devouring all the blood spilled from his wounding retorts.

In some perverse way, being the focus of his attention had you feeling fulfilled. Jimin, the man commonly sought after among the demographic of teenagers and middle-aged women. Not only were you proving your merits of qualification to act alongside him, but you had something to prove to yourself. You weren't going to let Jimin push you around without pushing him right back. You were strong enough to fight. It seemed to have come natural to you to enjoy provoking anger in him. It felt as if you were finally accomplishing something that was unattainable to anyone else. 

And even if you wanted to retreat, his gaze guaranteed your obedience. It was a battle, along with every other exchange you have had with him. Even when silence was the only parcel between you two, when the only semblance of noise was heavy, jaded inhales, it felt as though you and he were at wits to gather more air than the other. To see who would fall breathless first.

"You're pathetic." His words hit like physical blows, and you might have had to check for bruises along your ribs and torso from the churning sensation in your stomach.

"If I'm pathetic, I don't know what that makes you." You wanted your rebuttal to feel like fire. You wanted to scorch and sear blisters along his flawless skin for proof of any successful hit. “A privileged boy with enough of daddy’s money to get him any job he wants. But, I’m the pathetic one?”

He appeared unscathed, with one end of his lips rugged upwards, mocking you without needing any of the words to do so. Perhaps he'd gotten the best of you, as you were searching through your arsenal of refutes only to find it overspent. It would not have surprised you to discover his supply of acidic insults piling without a visible dent. 

His eyes looked fully employed in studying you, and you felt disrobed to be under such scrutiny from a stranger. Jimin seemed to have been reading you like words on a page, armed with a twisted smile that was unnervingly addictive, but you tried your hardest to keep your book closed. You didn’t want him to know how weak you really were.

"God, you're so-"

"Oh, great! Both of you are still here." Seokjin's voice reminded you that there was a world of events beyond you and Jimin. For a moment, you had felt secluded into a universe constructed especially for any collateral destruction that might have come of whatever war was about to be waged. "I have some notes for you two. Go home, read, digest, and come prepared tomorrow! I have full confidence in the two of you."

"Thanks." Succinct yet not lacking any tonal sentiment, Jimin got the first word in with the director, leaving you scrambling to find yours.

"Thank you." You were frustrated in how recycled your responses felt after Jimin handled them. Actors like you always fed on scraps of the higher-ups, and they were never as appetizing or filling as you would hope.

"See ya, ___." Your name sounded awful on his tongue, like his voice had filtered out the good parts of it and the waste remained spilling from his lips. Like dirt or decayed flesh, or both, and saying your name was akin to saying a slur.

"Fuck you." Those words couldn't sift through your screwed jaw or muffled throat, but it gave you satisfaction that it had been said in the slightest.

It wasn't until you were halfway to the bus stop that the realization pummeled you down a hole you hadn’t recollected being dredged. That whole time, what might have been the product of a mere ten minutes, was the longest segment you had gone without thinking of him.

It was the most intimately you had ever engaged in a conversation with someone other than the late, imagined voice in your head. And it was the most you've gone without consulting with said voice before speaking. You simply spoke, and listened, and responded; like you were normal. You couldn't tell whether that was good, because maybe you would finally be able to move forward with the world, perhaps catch up with the life you were supposed to be living. But, at the same time, the guilt festering something acrid in the pit of your stomach had you convinced this wasn't entirely sunny skies and bright futures.

"I'm sorry." What frightened you, besides your mental slip to keep the words meant for Namjoon in your head, was the unreturned sound of his ringing through. It took the longest ten seconds of your life for the mental silence to be furtively trimmed by your own train of thoughts.

Jimin had done this to you, that you were entirely sure of. Jimin and his carnivorous tongue and greedy glare had drained your head of its second conscious. The one it had adopted when Namjoon's body could no longer harbor it. And that's how he lived on, through you.

Jimin took that away, somehow. You could almost kill him for it, but you had not favored a life in prison nor tabloids that headlined the Park Jimin being murdered or 'Crazy, Jealous Co-star On Murderous Rampage Targets Jimin'. So, for the time being, all that was accessible was quiet hatred.

And you took that over nothing. You hated Park Jimin.

[nazariolahela]

Best Beloved: Chapter 5

A/N: Hey y'all! This is a PM AU I’ve been working on. It’s a bit different than my previous fic series and I’m really excited to try something new. I hope y’all enjoy it. This story is told in dual first-person narrative, from Kaia (F!MC) and Damien’s POV. The first half of this story takes place during Kaia’s freshman year and Damien’s senior year of college. The second half is two years after Kaia graduates. There will be sprinklings of canon in this fic, but we’ll try to step out of the box for the most part. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow @lady-calypso @irishwhiskys-blog @loveellamae​

Synopsis: What happens when you find yourself crushing on your best friend? For years, Damien and Kaia have been friends, while secretly harboring feelings for one another. Everything changes one night after a little too much alcohol and years of pent up feelings. Can they control their emotions and salvage their friendship, or will the feelings they hold for one another destroy everything they have?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Damien and Kaia meet for a study group, but the assignment isn’t the only thing they’re struggling with.

Kaia

“You’re late,” I said, my feet propped up on the table, as Damien shuffled across the library to where I was sitting. It was our weekly study session and we were supposed to start 20 minutes ago, but I was the only one in our group who had grasped the concept of time management.

“Yeah, sorry. This internship is kicking my ass. I had to stay late because we were setting up some new security clearance protocols. Don’t tell anyone though. That information is classified,” he replied as he slid the backpack off his shoulder. He took a seat at the table and shot me a panty-dropping grin. My body instantly reacted. Bastard. How did he keep doing that?

“Yeah, well Brad and Allison aren’t here yet either, so I guess I can’t be too mad at you.”

“You couldn’t be mad at me if you wanted to. You love me.”

I paused. Did he really just say that?  He always knew how to push my buttons. Even when we were kids. It’s like he lived to get a reaction out of me. I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Anyway. We need to get the rest of this project done. It’s due on Monday. Did you finish your part?” 

“Of course I did. What do you take me for?” he grinned, pulling his laptop from his backpack. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he set it on the table and opened it up, powering up the device. “I’m emailing it to you right now so you can add it to the final document.”

I had the unfortunate task of presenting the project to the class, so everyone sent their parts to me. It was my job to outline the project, then organize each part into our PowerPoint.  

“Not gonna lie, this is not how I wanted to spend my Saturday afternoon. I have a very pissed off girlfriend right now,” he said.

I hid my smirk behind my laptop. I know, I know. It wasn’t very nice of me, but I got a little thrill hearing that Damien and Alana were having problems. It wasn’t that I wanted my friend to be miserable, but if he suddenly became single, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I had nothing against Alana personally, but the few times we interacted, she was very cold towards me.

“Hmm...that sucks. So, I have Allison’s part. She emailed it to me last night, but I’m still waiting on Brad’s part. I put your part on slides 5 and 6 to transition from Allison’s slide, then we’ll put Brad’s part on slides 9 and 10 after my part. Then, we should be good to go.” I checked the time on my phone. Brad and Allison were over half an hour late. I sent both of them a text asking when they planned on showing up, then went back to laying out the presentation.

Damien and I worked in silence for several minutes. Occasionally, I would look up from my computer and sneak peeks of him. I couldn’t help but stare at his features. Even after all these years, my attraction for him never waned. He looked up and caught me staring; his lips turned up in a wide grin.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“Um...uh...nope. Y-you’re all good!” I replied a little too enthusiastically.

“Then why are you staring at me like that?” he smirked.

I felt my cheeks turn beet red. I quickly looked away and tried to focus on what I was working on, but I could still feel his eyes on me. My phone pinged, breaking the silence — and thank the gods — the tension. I grabbed it and saw a message from Allison. She mentioned that she wasn’t feeling well and would not be able to make our study group tonight, but that she would see us next week. There was still no word from Brad, which I was not surprised by.

I rolled my eyes and placed my phone on the table. “Well, Allison’s not coming. I don’t know about Brad, but I’m guessing if he was going to show up, he’d be here by now.”

Damien shrugged. “No biggie. That kid is a major tool anyway. Not having him here is a blessing.”

I giggled. “True, but we can’t finish without his contribution, so we’re stuck with him until we turn this stupid ass project in.”

“Yippie,” he said in a monotone voice. I rolled my eyes and went back to finishing up our presentation.

We worked for about ten more minutes until my eyes started to blur from staring at the screen. “Well, I guess this is a good stopping point for now. Until we get Brad’s part, this is as far as we can work,”

I stuffed my things in my backpack and slung it over my shoulder when Damien stopped me.

“Hey, you busy right now? Wanna go get a bite to eat?”

I cocked my head in confusion. Was he really asking me to hang out? I had offered to meet him for lunch or coffee outside of our study group several times, but he always had plans with Alana. “Uh…I guess. If that’s okay with you.”

“Obviously it is because I just asked you,” he smirked.

“Yeah, sure. You wanna go now?”

“Nah, I was thinking sometime next month. Of course, I want to go now. When else would we go?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

I looked down at the yoga pants and hoodie I was wearing. “Well, I was hoping to shower and change before I go out in public.”

“You look fine. No one’s going to give a shit what you’re wearing. Besides, you’re technically already out in public, so it’s a little late for that,” he laughed.

I huffed. “Fine. Where are we going?” 

“There’s a little bistro off-campus that has really good burgers.” He slung an arm around my shoulder, pulling me to his body. The feeling of him pressed up against me sent chills down my spine. I shuddered as he grabbed my backpack and handed it to me, then led me out of the library.  

When we reached his car in the campus parking lot, he unlocked the doors and tossed his backpack in the back seat. I stopped in my tracks. He still had the same car from high school. All the memories of us riding around in this thing on Friday nights came flooding back. He moved to the driver’s side door, stopping to wait for me. “Are you going to get in the car, or are you just going to stand there all day staring into space?” He extended his arm and tapped his index finger to his wrist. “Time’s a-wastin', Park.”

Snap out of it, Kaia. It’s just Damien. But it wasn’t ‘just Damien.’ It was the boy I had been in love with for as long as I could remember. I moved slowly to the car and opened the passenger’s side door, sliding in. He smirked and started the ignition. We drove in silence, the only sounds coming from the radio. A song from our childhood started playing and we looked at each other with goofy grins on our faces.

“Remember the first time we heard this song? You wouldn’t stop singing it for weeks,” he said with a laugh.

“What? It’s a good song,” I replied, singing along and dancing in my seat.

I smiled at the memory that song brought back. It was the summer of 2009. Damien and I were in his backyard, hanging out in the treehouse he and his dad built a few summers before. Two of his younger sisters, Isabela and Carina, were having a sleepover, so he was hiding out. His sister Carina was my age and we were in a couple of classes together, so I was friendly with her, but I spent more time with Damien. The sun had finally set over the horizon so we decided to start up a fire in the fire pit and make S’mores. We climbed down the ladder and he pulled a lighter from his pocket.

“Why do you have that?” I gasped.

His eyes met mine and a smirk spread across his face. “I was smoking a J behind the school gym this morning, so I needed it.” He stared at me for a few seconds, watching my reaction, then burst out laughing. “I found it in the junk drawer in the kitchen, you dork. You know I don’t smoke.”

I leaned over and smacked his arm. “Not funny, Dames.”

“I disagree. I thought it was hilarious.”

“Whatever. Just light the stupid fire. I’ll run inside and grab the stuff to make S’mores.”

“Watch out for the slumber party,” he called back as I walked into the house. I made it to the kitchen and started rummaging through the cabinets, looking for the ingredients we needed. I found the graham crackers and chocolate bars but had no luck locating the marshmallows. I was about to go back outside and asked Damien when I turned and bumped into Isabela.

“Hey, Kaia. Whatcha doing?” she asked, holding several bags of chips in her arms.

“Dames and I are making S’mores. Where are your marshmallows?”

She set the bags of chips down and rummaged around the pantry before locating and tossing me the bag. “So, what’s going on with you and my brother?”

My cheeks instantly flushed. “Wh-what do you mean?”

She smirked. “You know what I mean. You two spend an awful lot of time together. Are you two a thing?”

“No. It’s not like that. We’re just friends,” I lied. Her cocked eyebrow said she didn’t buy my bullshit, but she nodded her head. I grabbed the bag of marshmallows from her hand and hightailed it back outside. "I Gotta Feeling" by Black Eyed Peas blasted through the portable speakers in the yard. I approached Damien sitting in front of the firepit, poking one of the logs with a stick. He was shirtless and the moonlight bounced off the muscles of his toned back. The sight made my mouth water. That was the first time I realized I was in love with him.

I was thrust back into the present by the sound of Damien killing the engine. I looked up and noticed we had arrived at the bistro. We exited the car and made our way inside, snagging a table toward the back of the restaurant. The waitress dropped off the menus and took our drink orders, before leaving us to decide what to eat. I pretended to peruse the menu, but my mind was on the guy sitting in the booth across from me.

“Order whatever you want. My treat,” he said.

“Huh?”

I looked up and he was watching me. He nodded toward the menu in my hand. “Don’t worry about paying. I’ve got it this time.”

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know,” he said softly, riling up the butterflies in my stomach. Our waitress returned a few minutes later and took our orders. Damien ordered the Maple Bacon Burger while I ordered the Mac ‘N Cheese Burger. The waitress left to put our orders in, leaving us alone again.

“So, now that we’re a month into the school year, how are your classes going?” he asked.

I shrugged, swirling my straw in my glass. “Classes are going well. I’m not ready to drop any of them, so that’s a plus. Dorm life is pretty fun, too. I got really lucky with my roomie. Her schedule is different from mine, so we don’t see much of each other, but one night a week, we hang out.” I tapped my finger against my chin. “It’s crazy to think that we’re already a quarter of the way through the semester, so that means I’m 1/32nd of the way through my college career.”

He laughed. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it. What else is going on? Any interesting guys catch your attention lately?”

My eyes shot up to meet his. Why was he asking me that? I went back to staring at my drink. “Uh...not really. There is this guy in my algebra class who asked me out, but I turned him down.” I peeked at him from under my lashes, unable to make out his expression.

***

Damien

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. On one hand, I wanted her to find someone who would make her happy if I couldn’t. On the other hand, knowing that she wasn’t involved with anyone gave me a tiny sliver of hope. I know she wouldn’t wait for me forever, but I still liked that there wasn’t another guy capturing her attention. Jesus, I was such an asshole.

“So, what happened?” the words left my mouth before I could stop them.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s super nice and really cute, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say yes. Which is weird, because there’s definitely an attraction between us. My whole goal for this semester was to step out of my comfort zone.”

She looked up at me, those big, beautiful brown eyes staring into my soul. No matter how hard I tried to fight it, everything about this girl did things to me. Her laugh was like the most beautiful music to my ears. Her sense of humor was aligned with mine. Even her looks were enough to make other girls jealous. When she complained earlier about how she was dressed, I internally rolled my eyes. Even when she didn’t try, she still looked mouth-watering. She was wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a light pink hooded sweatshirt with the words “Rosé and Shine” written in gold cursive letters across the chest. Yes, I looked at her chest. If she busted me, I would’ve just said I was trying to read her shirt.

I awkwardly cleared my throat. “You should give him a chance. Who knows? He might turn out to be a great guy. We all know those are in short supply lately.” Gods, what was I doing? I knew it was the right thing to do, but saying those words hurt.

She nodded. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe he is great and we’ll be really happy together. I just don’t know if I’m ready to start dating yet. I think… I just...I’m not over...” she trailed off.

“You’re not over what?”

“Nevermind,” she shook her head and took a long sip of her drink.

The wheels started turning. Was she talking about me? I know she dated in high school, but Nadia told me those relationships never lasted longer than a few months. She suspected I was the reason for that. Yeah, I know it sounded a tad creepy, but I was able to keep tabs on her, thanks to her cousin’s need to gossip.

One particular moment was that first Christmas after I left for college. I received a text from Nadia asking if I was coming home. She then asked that I keep my distance from Kaia. When I asked her “why,” she told me that she was still upset about what happened after graduation. 

But I didn’t care. I wanted to see my best friend. I dropped by her house to say hi to her parents. They always treated me like the son they never had. Her dad asked how college was going. I told them about my classes and the friends I had made so far. Her mom was filling me in about the neighborhood gossip when I caught a glimpse of Kaia hovering in the hallway. She looked like she wanted to talk to me, but I could tell she was embarrassed to see me.

We locked eyes briefly before she turned around and retreated to her bedroom. I waited a few moments then excused myself to use the bathroom. I stood outside her door, listening for any signs of movement, before lightly tapping on the door. I heard the springs of her mattress squeak under her weight, then the door swung open. She looked adorable in her red and white Reindeer pajama pants and white thermal top. My eyes briefly traveled down and I noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“So, you weren’t even going to come to say hi to me?” I asked.

She shifted on her feet. “I don’t know. I figured you didn’t want to talk to me after what happened last time.” I watched as her eyes traveled up and down my body. It took everything in me to keep from pushing her into her room and kissing her. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t. Not only were her parents in the other room, I knew the whole age difference was frowned upon. And what if we did get together and it didn’t work out? I’d lose my best friend forever.

“You’re my best friend, Kaia. No matter what happened in the past, that will never change,” I replied.

“Even when I get drunk and act like a lovesick idiot?” She played with the drawstring of her pants, avoiding my eyes.

I gripped her chin with my thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up towards mine. “There’s nothing you could do that would ever make me want to stop being your best friend. And hey, I don’t hold what happened back then against you. Sometimes we do dumb things when we’re drunk.”

Her face dropped and it told me I had said the wrong thing. I brought my hand up and cupped her cheek and she leaned into my touch. The moment was interrupted when her mom called from the kitchen to ask me if I wanted some hot cocoa. I dropped my hand and gave her a weak smile, then backed away slowly as I made my way down the hall back to the living room. I looked over at my shoulder to see her still standing in her bedroom doorway, watching me go.

I was pulled back into the present when the waitress arrived at our table and delivered our food. The two of us ate in awkward silence, occasionally looking up at each other. After our plates were cleared, the waitress reappeared and I ordered a slice of cherry pie for us to share. When the pie arrived, we each took a fork and dug in.

“So, tell me more about this mystery guy?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

She chewed for a few moments, hesitant to talk about it, then finally spoke. “Well, his name is Hayden. He’s a freshman and a photography major. He’s from Upstate New York and has a Border Collie named Dipper. He also has a twin brother named Harley, but I guess they don’t get along. Nadia loves him and she’s been bugging me to go out with him for the last few days.”

I didn’t know this kid from Adam, but I instantly didn’t like him. Was it jealousy? Probably. Was I going to do anything about it? Nope. “It’s obvious that you like him, so why not go out with him. You’re overthinking this, Kaia.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she sighed and took another bite of pie. At that moment, Alana’s friends Rowan and Cecile walked by. They waved, then stopped short when they noticed it wasn’t my girlfriend sitting in the booth across from me. Cecile gave me a skeptical glance while Rowan looked on in shock. 

“Hey, Damien. What are you up to?” He asked, looking between Kaia and me. 

“Hey, guys! Just capping off a little study session. This is Kaia. She’s an old friend.”

He nodded. “Cool, cool. You guys going to Homecoming next week? Cecile is a candidate for court, so we were going to have a little get-together after the crowning ceremony. You and Alana should come. It’s gonna be fun.”

“Yeah, that sounds good, man. I’ll talk to her about it this weekend.”

Cecile cocked an eyebrow as if to call me out on my bullshit, but didn’t say anything. She narrowed her eyes at Kaia, then turned back to me. “Well, we gotta go. Tell your girlfriend, Alana, hi for us.” She grabbed Rowan’s hand and they walked out. I sighed. I was sure I was going to get a phone call about that by the end of the night.

“Well, that was weird,” she said. “Speaking of, what’s going on with you and Alana?”

Shit, where do I start? “It’s complicated right now. We’re taking a break.”

Her eyes widened. “You guys broke up?”

“Eh...Not exactly. We’ve been fighting a lot, so we’re taking a few days to calm down and re-evaluate the relationship. It’s not how I would have handled things, but she thinks it will give us time to,” I held up my index and middle fingers, making air quotes, “figure things out. She thinks I’ve been neglecting her, which I kind of have been. But she also thinks I’m cheating on her.”

“Wow...I genuinely don’t know how to respond to that,” she replied.

“Yeah, me neither.”

Kaia nodded silently, setting her fork down on the plate. She rested her elbows on the table and folded her hands in front of her face. “Can I be honest with you? This whole relationship seems really unhealthy. There’s a huge lack of trust on both sides. That’s something a break isn’t going to fix. If she doesn’t trust you to be faithful, your relationship is doomed to fail. So, it’s up to you to figure out how you want to proceed. If you think the relationship is worth saving, you need to prove that you’re a reliable partner, and she needs to work through her insecurities. If not, you’re better off ending it now. Especially before you two decide to get engaged or something.”

“I kind of already proposed to her though,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Oh,” she replied. “Well, you should think about doing some sort of premarital counseling before you get married.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because she said no,” I deadpanned.

Kaia went quiet. I waited for her to say something else, but before she could speak, the waitress reappeared to drop our check off and ask if we needed anything else. Neither of us spoke as I paid the bill and we made our way out to the car. I debated asking her what she was thinking but decided against it. We rode in silence back to the dorms. When I pulled up in the parking lot, she grabbed the handle to exit the car, then stopped.

“For what it’s worth, Dames, I am sorry about you and Alana. I might not like her, but you’re my best friend. And if she makes you happy, then I’m happy for you. If you ever want to talk about it, you know where to find me. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

I nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that. And hey, let me know how things go with Hayden.”

She frowned slightly, then quickly covered it up with a smile. “Will do. I’ll see you in class on Monday. Have a good weekend.” She got out of the car and took off running towards her dorm.

I dragged my hand down my face. Get it together, Dames. She was my best friend. And I had a girlfriend. I got out of the car and headed toward my dorm. When I reached my floor, I swung open the door to my room and was met by the cold stare of my girlfriend, sitting on my bed, her hands folded in her lap.

“Alana? What are you doing here?” I asked as I moved into the room. She rose from the bed and made her way towards me.

“Cecile texted me.”

Shit. I knew this was coming. “Babe, it’s not what you think.”

Her eyes gave away nothing as she took a deep breath. “It’s not important. What matters is you and me.”

Confused, I grabbed her hand and sat down on the bed. “You know I love you, babe. And I know I’ve been a shitty boyfriend these last few weeks, but I want to make this work and I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

She nodded, but her face told me she didn’t believe me. I sighed and pressed a kiss to her temple. It was going to be a long night.

[handsome-photographer]

Quick Reflexes (but I Still Fell in Love With You Anyway)

alternate title: three times Jaehee's black belt in judo actually helped in running a café with her Strictly Business Partner and the one time it didn't. at all. A/N: hi y'all. the last time i wrote a MM fic was ages ago and now i return with a Jaehee x MC fic nobody asked for. consider this a very late valentines fic idk. i hope you enjoy this one-shot anyway and tell me what you think! (as usual, i wrote this in like hours and didn't proofread it, so apologies if there were many mistakes indeed.) -- You had known -- ever since those early days after you joined the RFA and Jaehee had opened up about herself by quite a margin -- of your business partner's skills in judo. A black belt, you thought to yourself, still in disbelief over the idea that the short woman standing in front of you, listing the coffeeshop's empty inventories, actually learned self defense at all. It all made perfect sense; judo required discipline, commitment and of course a certain toughness in spirit in order to endure the training and master the art. Jaehee lacked none of these traits. It came as a surprise, anyway, when you two were having a taste test session of a whole new menu a few weeks before, and you were saved from a trip to the hospital thanks to Jaehee snatching a scorching hot pan before it could fall on your bare feet. "MC!" she had exlaimed, although she seemed to be in pain in the short few seconds it took her to put down the pan somewhere safer -- namely, the counter beside you. "Oh my God, are you okay? Please be more careful next time!" You had been too shocked to even assure her you were fine -- how do you casually tell someone they literally took your breath away? "Thank you," you say instead, and then, "Sorry." Jaehee finally gave you a smile, her tightly knit brows loosening in what you hoped was affection, fondness, or anything else akin to that -- you're not too picky with synonyms. "I'm glad my reflexes are still quick from years of practice." The phonecall from what felt like ages ago came back to you, bringing a smile to your face, as well. "My hero," you teased, but before you can savor the blush on Jaehee's cheeks, your eyes saw a glimpse of her burning red palms. "Your hands!" Needless to say, just for her sake, you practiced extra caution in the kitchen to avoid anymore of those accidents (though you wouldn't mind being saved by Jaehee a few more times, if only it didn't mean she'd get hurt). The second time you witnessed proof of your partner's skills came about when you were called over by a customer you had just served. The loud and intimidating man was shouting at you about his cake having stray hairs and toothpicks and -- at the rate he's complaining, he might as well have said the cake contained cyanide. He rose from his seat so suddenly he upset the chair, and he was all too ready to raise his hand. You closed your eyes, frozen with fear -- "If you don't put down that filthy hand of yours," a familiar, stern voice more or less growled from in front of you. Jaehee's mere presence gave you courage enough to open your eyes. Her shorter limbs still managed to restrain the man's arms, almost without any effort at all, "maybe I would put it down for you." "You wouldn't dare," the man retorted, though with difficulty. "I'm reporting this place!" "Or, I call my lawyers and sue you for attempted assault and a factually incorrect review," she says. That situation left a bad taste in your mouth, even if you got what you wished -- you were saved, Jaehee didn't get hurt, but... you felt guilty that you had to be so defenseless all the time, that Jaehee had to be there for you so you don't royally mess up and get in harm's way every few seconds. You confessed as much to Jaehee on a quiet Saturday afternoon after the lunch craze had ended, and only the sound of the ticking ancient clock by the front door accompanied your conversation. "Defenseless?" she asked, pronouncing each syllable as if it's an alien word to her. "I don't think you're defenseless at all -- in fact, you were the one to inspire me, to be braver and more sure of my dreams, remember?" Her confused frown turns into a small smile, touching your fingers as if to convey her sentiments better. "You defended my love for coffee, that's for sure." "But..." You bite your lip and try to find the right words. "I mean literally. Like the time you defended me from that rude customer. And when you saved me from untimely death by hot pan." You tap your fingers on hers, at the very least receiving comfort from such miniscule touches. "So, I want you to teach me." Jaehee's surprise was evident. "Teach me the basics, at least," you added, since Jaehee raised her brows higher and higher with every second that passed. "I know I won't get a black belt without proper training, but at least give me some of the basic moves just in case." Although Jaehee didn't seem too sure of this idea, even after your logical explanation, she nodded. "I see. It's never a bad thing to make sure you can defend yourself." In an instant, her expression changed as she clapped her hand once, decisively. "Okay then. We have a free Sunday tomorrow. Let's get out of town and practice somewhere." Her response relieved you, of course, but you felt even more nervous at the thought of practicing -- mostly, the thought of Jaehee displaying her skills, which by now you had no doubts about. The next morning, the two of you left to a clearing on the outskirts of town. The view was magnificent, and Jaehee was a huge factor to that as she tied her long brown hair into a bun, facing you with her hands on her hips. "Copy my position," she told you, any hint of softness gone from her voice. "We should warm up first." It took about half an hour to even start learning how to defend yourself -- you stood with your feet a bit too wide and she corrects you, you didn't pay attention to her moves and she repeated herself over and over until you could follow her. By the time the sun was properly up in the sky, you were covering your face as instructed. Jaehee slowly showed you how to guard against frontal attacks, only coming into contact with you through gentle touches of her hands. "Faster," she hissed, the warning almost flying over your head just like her balled fists merely seconds afterwards. "You're too slow. Be more alert." But you couldn't keep up, and your sweat started to drip into your eyes, making further training too difficult than it needed to be. You called for a break. Jaehee stopped her moves on you immediately, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder. An apology for being so slow was on the tip of your tongue when Jaehee frowned. "I was too fast, wasn't I?" she asked. "You were great, considering this is your first time. Your reflexes still need work, but you're strong." "I am?" Your voice came out too high pitched for your liking, but Jaehee only giggled. "That's... good. Great. Absolutely -- " "I'm going to practice a few moves for a while," she said, accidentally cutting off your rambling. "You can catch your breath in the meantime." You resigned yourself to sit on the picnic blanket Jaehee had set a few paces behind you when you arrived this morning. You leaned back and tried not to stare as Jaehee seemed to return to her stance in no time. Your eyes were stubbornly stuck on her, however, unable to look away as in a flash, her foot kicked the air high above her, and then her hand came to punch the air in front of her. She moved like she was in a dance, following a music only she can hear, and you realised you had never seen her more at calm than when she was mercilessly tearing through the air. You had regained your enegy long ago, so when her back was turned to you, you stood just outside the edge of your picnic blanket and hid your grin, copying her moves in a more erratic and clumsy manner. It wasn't that easy to follow her much, much more advanced moves, but you somehow had fun secretly moving along to her fluid dance. You braved yourself to close your eyes, your hand thrusted in front of you like Jaehee's was a milisecond ago, and opened your eyes only to see her face inches from you, grinning. Inevitably, you shriek and back away before stumbling, catching her still outstretched hand, and feel time slow down as her mirth turned to fright and you two ended up crashing down to the dew covered grass. You couldn't say you regret it that much, though, since Jaehee was pressed up against you. Thankfully, Jaehee recovered sooner than you did. She pushed herself up, the absence of her weight against you not making much difference in your difficulty to breathe, at all. "I'm -- I -- oh my God, let me help you up, I -- " "You and your quick reflexes," you said, a warm blush coloring your cheeks, you were sure. "I rather enjoy the view from the ground. The sky's lovely." "S-stop being silly," Jaehee said, though you glanced at her and noted, smugly, that she was blushing, though frowning. "Quick reflexes? Seriously. Quick reflexes, but I still fell in love with you anyway." You didn't know who gasped, who sat up to get as much distance from each other as was possible in your current position, and who let out a laugh as Jaehee's words seemed to echo in those plains, to be heard over and over again by the tall grass, the now brightly shining sun, and your very own ears. "I said nothing," Jaehee said quietly, not at all returning your laugh in the form of a smile or a grin. "Please stop laughing." "Jaehee," you said, coming to a more calm and serene sense of bliss as you looked at your friend, partner, and now self defense trainer, who still refused to see the humor in this situation. "Jaehee, I'm not laughing at you, just so you know." She pouted. It was the cutest thing you have ever seen in your entire life. "Then what was it...?" "I'm merely laughing at the fact that I need self defense training in another area," you began, your smirk growing bigger and bigger. "Because when it comes to you, I'm utterly defenseless." "You're worse than Luciel," she retorted, though at least she smiled bashfully, as hard as she fought it down and failed. "I -- I'm sorry I said what I said, it was an accident, I -- " "I meant it," you said, interrupting her before she could regret her words. "I hope you meant it, too." Jaehee was silent for the longest time, looking down at the blades of grass between her feet as if they held the answer to all of life's questions. Then, she let out a frustrated sound -- reserved only for her Zen fangirling moments -- and tackled you to the ground, your eyes wide as she pressed a kiss on your lips. She tasted of the sweet leftover icing she snacked on while you were getting ready this morning, and there was a hint of her raspberry lipbalm, too. And she was soft; oh so soft, despite the tough exterior she showed during practice earlier -- she was the Jaehee she always said you had brought out over the past year of knowing each other, the Jaehee she had repressed for so long, finally living freely and easily. She pulled away a second too soon and puffed out a breath, looking at you with narrowed eyes. "Your reflexes are still slower than mine. Too slow for proper self defense." You grinned wickedly. "That just means I fell in love with you sooner than you had fallen for me."