#i swear ill make something more than a text post someday

[ride-a-dromedary]

Halsin's biggest muscle is his heart, and that's the only thing that matters

[teamhook]

Finding Hope :: A CS August Rush AU birthday fic

Hellol! Okay, before I go on. I swear this will be the last WIP I start. I had to. This story is for my favorite dork @hookedonapirate cause I love her to death. She had asked me to write it before but at the time I was writing the Forever My Girl CS AU.

Happy Birthday!! Hope you like your present.

Thanks to my beta @ultraluckycatnd she is the best!!

FFN

AO3

A love for music unites an unlikely pair. The rhapsody they unknowingly created will give life to the hope they still have in their hearts.

Killian Jones and his older brother Liam had arrived from London with nothing more than the clothes on their back to pursue a music career. The lives of the Jones brothers had been difficult since the beginning. Their mother died at a young age and their father had decided he was not made to be a family man.

The Jones brothers had formed The Outlaws with some fellow expatriates they met along the way. The venues they played weren't the best, but they managed to make a name for themselves enough to have steady gigs.

Emma Nolan had grown up with loving parents but after an unfortunate accident, she was left alone. Afterwards, her grandfather took her in. George Spencer was an ill-tempered man. He wasn't a doting person, which caused Emma to become closed off. She focused on solace in the cello. Thankfully, the man valued pomp and grandeur so, at the thought of his granddaughter attending Juilliard, he eagerly made it possible.

On a rare night out with her best friend Elsa, they decide to go to listen to a little-known rock band called The Outlaws they saw fliers for. It was love at first sight. The lead singer mesmerized the young cellist with his voice. The girls waited for the band to finish their set to introduce themselves to them. Elsa and Emma fit in with the band perfectly. The Jones brothers had quickly gravitated towards the blonde beauties.

Emma and Killian had slowly drifted away from the group. It ended up being the most magical night for the young lovers above New York's Washington Square.

Months later, Emma finds out she is pregnant. Somehow, she already loves her kid so much. Her grandfather makes his displeasure known, however, every moment of her pregnancy.

The day her life changed was gloomy and rainy. After an argument with George, Emma had gone to the store to buy some last-minute things for her baby. The drunk driver came out of nowhere. When she gives birth prematurely, her grandfather takes advantage while she is unconscious and gives the baby girl up for adoption. The moment Emma wakes up, she is told the news that her baby is dead. The news shatters her musical dreams and any hope of happiness.

You're not special. You're just like the rest of us... alone, nothing but an orphan.

The music... Can you hear it? Listen... I can hear it everywhere.

It's in the wind ...

in the light...

It's all around us.

All you have to do is open your heart and listen.

Sometimes the world tries to knock the hope out of you.

They tried to stop me from hearing the music...

I believe in music the way others believe in fairy tales. When I'm alone it builds inside me eager to erupt into a melody. I like to believe that what I hear came from my parents. That the music I hear is the same one they heard the night they met...

Maybe that's how they found each other and that's how they'll know I am theirs and find me...

Hope Swan had grown up in foster care. As a baby, she had been adopted but returned once the couple was blessed with their own flesh and blood. After that, she bounced from foster home to foster home.

In her shared room at the group home, she's currently at, Hope records herself humming a song that keeps playing in her mind, but is rudely interrupted by her roommate who mocks her. "You are not special. You're just like us, an unwanted orphan."

The girl walks away, slamming the door.

Hope's eyes water at the mean girl's words. She knows it in her heart that she is wanted and someday she will find her parents. She continues recording her humming of the song in her heart.

Hope is now eleven years old. She stands in the back of the group as one of the younger girls is adopted by a couple. Maybe she should be bitter and want to be adopted but if she was, she would never find her parents. They're out there and she will find them.

Hope runs away once more from her group home. Living on the streets she makes friends easily, but is still guarded. She knows that someday her parents will come looking for her. All she wants is to go home.

As she wanders the streets, runaway Hope Swan is getting closer to find her home. She knows she will find her family. All she has to do is listen to the music in her heart and follow it.

A kind man, Merlin, is assigned Hope Swan's case. She wasn't a trouble maker, but she was reportedly closed off with the couples. He is notified that she has run away. She has a history of running away. The picture of the young girl saddens him. He wishes he can find her and place her in a good home. She is a pretty girl, with blonde hair, vibrant sea-blue eyes, dimples, and a slightly dimpled chin. He posts her picture on the board.

Emma Nolan had moved away after losing her daughter. Her little girl, her grandfather told her the baby was a tiny girl. The heartbreak led her to become a music teacher to kids. She was always surrounded by children and music. That was the way she chose to honor her child. An unexpected call from her grandfather's doctor makes her break a promise she had made to herself years ago. He is the only family she has left.

Once she arrives at his house, she is summoned to his death bed.

His eyes tear up. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"I don't hate you Grandpa, but my heart hasn't healed. Time will never heal this wound," she sniffled.

He closes his watery eyes. "I think I can help with that."

Emma gets closer to his bed, confused. "How can you say that? My child is gone! You didn't want her, so you threw her away while I slept. You took that away from me. I couldn't hold her!"

"Emma, enough!" he screams, then immediately starts coughing from the effort.

"I'm sorry, I made a mistake. I know now that family is precious, that image doesn't matter. Emma, I have a confession. I hope it's not too late and that you will find it in your heart to forgive me."

Emma stares at him.

"She's alive. Your little girl is alive."

"What? How can you be so cruel and say that to me!" Emma says with disbelief and tears pooled in her eyes.

"Because it's the truth. She is alive. I gave her up for adoption, and I was the one who signed the papers. I was your next of kin since you weren't married."

Emma gapes at the old man as she let her limp body drop to the chair next to his bed. "You gave my daughter away as if she was property because I embarrassed you?"

George Spencer can't keep his eyes on his granddaughter. The once-proud man weakened by age and disease casts his eyes down in shame. "In my safe, you will find the documents."

"What good will that do me?" Emma asks.

"Emma, my attorney can help you find her," he says quietly.

"But-"

"Emma, if your parents were here, they would tell you that you should never lose hope," he says.

Emma stands up. "You're right, I'm going to find my daughter."

George sighs as he falls into a deep sleep, his machines flatlining. The nurse that had given them privacy to talk rushes in as soon as the machine goes off.

Emma finds the papers and with trembling hands, calls Mr. Gold, the attorney.

The man is a ruthless slimy bastard. He tries to convince Emma that her kid is better off where she is. Of course, he would say that seeing he had helped her grandfather do this to her; he was just covering his ass. She doesn't care about that. All she wants is to get her kid. She has a daughter and she is out there. She hopes to God that she is being taken care of.

Killian Jones had moved to California not long after The Outlaws broke up. He had given up his dream of singing, but somehow had managed to gain a thriving career as an agent.

He had also distanced himself from the memory of Emma. After the band broke up, his brother and former bandmates had moved to Boston. Killian thought the further away he could get would be better, though. He tried forgetting her, but he knew he could never forget her. It was only one night, but he would belong to her for the rest of time.

Liam had called him a few days prior to ask if he wanted to join them in a reunion of sorts. They were going to play at the little place where he had met Emma. The joint was going out of business so in an effort to raise money to save it, The Outlaws had agreed to come out of retirement for one night only.

Killian had yet to agree, but 'what if' rattled in his brain. Something inside him tugged at his heart. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants gets what he deserves, Liam had told him over and over. He decides he will do it. He will fly to New York and look for Emma. He prays to every deity he can that she is not married. It's a selfish thought, but he couldn't bear it if she isn't meant for him.

Killian picks up the phone and dials his brother's number. "Liam, I'll be there."

"Brother, you'll do it? What happened to never setting foot in New York?" Liam asks.

"Liam, are you going to question my decision? I thought you would be happy," Killian says through gritted teeth.

"I am, I am. I'm just surprised. Killian, this doesn't have anything to do with her, does it?"

"Brother," Killian sighs, "Even if it was, I don't have a way to contact her." Sure he was lying, but his brother didn't have to know all his reasons.

"We are driving out there," Liam says.

"I'll fly. I will text you the details once I've made arrangements," Killian says.

"Alright, see you then," Liam adds. "Brother, it's going to be good seeing you after so long. I miss you."

Killian sighs. "I miss you too."

The line disconnects. Alright Emma Nolan, what have you been up to? he thinks as he enters her name in the browser's search engine. He had thought of looking for her before, but he had never found any sign of her online. He knows her family has money but somehow she has managed to stay hidden. The only information that would come up was of her grandfather's business deals. His heart tells him that this time, though, things would be different.

Sure enough, he finds one headline: "George Spencer dies at home after a long battle with heart disease."

Killian reads the headline carefully and his heart sparks with hope to see Emma again. The newspaper lists her as the sole survivor of her grandfather's Estate. That means she would have to be at his home. He winces at the thought. He knows that his method to approach her while grieving will be considered to be in bad form, but if it is the only chance he has, he has to make the best of the situation. He takes a deep breath and alters his flight plans so he can arrive a couple of days earlier.

Mr. Gold had changed his tune when Emma didn't fall for his manipulations and offered his services. Emma reluctantly accepted his help. He told her to give him a couple of hours and at that time, he would have information to make her search easier. He quickly found out that her daughter had ended up in foster care. He gave her the name of the caseworker assigned to Hope Swan. That was her baby's name. Emma tries to ignore the fact that her daughter is in the care of the state. She wonders what she looks like? Does she take after her or him? Killian Jones, he had never left her thoughts, but before it was painful to think of him because inevitably her thoughts would end on her daughter. Emma smiles, realizing how fitting the name Hope was for their daughter. Emma thanks Mr. Gold and goes to see Merlin Wilde.

Emma arrives at the CPS office. Her nerves are getting the best of her. She approaches the information desk. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Mr. Wilde?"

The woman looks bored. "Do you have an appointment?"

Emma shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry. I must speak to him, though."

The woman rolls her eyes. "Fill out the sign-in sheet. I will see if he can fit you in today." She gets up and heads to a door behind her desk.

Emma is about to sit down when something catches her eye. Pictures of missing kids. Runaways. She gravitates to the board. Her heart is beating so fast as her eyes land on a name, Hope Swan. Emma smiles as she stares at blue eyes that reminded her of the pair that stole her heart all those years back. The sound of someone clearing their throat startles her.

"I'm sorry for startling you, Miss Nolan. I'm Merlin Wilde." He smiles at her as he looks over her sign-in sheet and signals for her to follow him.

"Oh, no it's okay. Yes, I wanted to speak to you in private. My situation is not a common story," Emma says as she follows him to his office.

They enter his office and he kindly motions for her to take a seat.

Emma looks around the office. She tries to get a feel for the man. He seems kind, but looks can be deceiving.

"Miss Nolan, how may I help you? Is there a child in a situation you are concerned about?"

Emma nods. "Mr. Wilde, yes, in fact, that is the reason why I'm here."

"Alright," he starts taking notes. "May I have the child's name?"

"Hope Swan," Emma says. "I'm her mother."

Merlin looks up from his computer. "I'm sorry," he says as he types rapidly on his computer keyboard, before looking up quizzically. "Her case says she is in the care of Mrs. Emerald."

"I'm afraid you misunderstood me. I'm Hope's biological mother." She takes a deep breath. "I was young and unmarried when I got pregnant with her, and my grandfather didn't think having a child was appropriate." Her eyes begin to sting because of the tears. "He took it upon himself to decide that giving my daughter away while I was unconscious because of an accident was the appropriate decision to make. Until recently, I thought Hope was dead. I'm here because I need your help getting my daughter back. I understand she is in foster care, so it shouldn't be a big deal, right?"

Merlin keeps his eyes on her and laughs. "She is a good kid, the people that had fostered her before never had a complaint about her. She loves music and she always hummed a melody to herself. She was just not open to letting them in. It's like she knew she didn't belong there. I'm afraid that has caused her to run away on several occasions. I was just informed she ran away from the last home."

Emma's eyes tear up. "I loved my daughter from the moment I knew she was there. I used to play a song on the cello for her that her father sang the night we met. Until the day I thought I had lost her, I played the same song. I need to find her."

"And we will, Miss Nolan. I have put up fliers all over the city."

Emma nods. "I will look for her myself. I plan on hiring a private investigator. Could I have a picture of her?"

"Of course, Miss Nolan. I will do all in my power to help get your daughter back. I'm going to go looking for her at Washington Square Park. That is a hot spot for runaways. If you would like to join me? We might get lucky," he says as he hands her the picture of Hope from her file.

Emma smiles. "Sure, I will. Thank you for asking."

Hope is sitting on a bench at Washington Square Park and then she hears some music playing. Instantly, she is drawn to it. A boy around her age is playing the guitar. She smiles wide and sits down to enjoy the show. People surround the boy as he plays and they drop change on a baseball cap on the floor. Once he finishes playing, the boy picks up his cap and puts the money in his pocket. He grabs his guitar and thanks the crowd before leaving.

Curious, Hope follows him to an abandoned theatre.

Killian arrives on the first flight of the day. He rents a car and makes his way to the Nolan Estate. He is a nervous wreck. What will Emma think of him showing up unannounced? He hopes she will be happy to see him.

The boy Hope was following introduces himself as Henry. She likes him. He is nice and he promptly explains that all the runaway children live there. They had been taken in by Walsh Oz, the "Wizard". The man provides a roof over their head and food.

"Don't worry, Hope. He will teach you how to perform in street corners to pay for your part. If you're lucky and any good, he will let you use one of the park's spots," Henry says. "When he gets home with food, I will introduce you."

Hope thinks to herself it couldn't be that bad. This way, she won't be picked on for playing music.

Henry smiles fondly at Hope. "So why did you run away?"

Hope smiles back. "I'm going to find my parents. How about you?"

"My adoptive mom didn't love me." He shrugs. "Hope, I know you will find them."

Hope beams. "Thank you, but how can you believe so?"

Henry smiles. "I have a feeling that you will find them and then you will have your happy ending."

The Wizard hadn't always lived in condemned buildings. He once had been a success in his art but lost it due to some scandal years ago, but he could still spot talent. The young girl Henry had brought to him had loads of talent. She had played a song that most of the other kids couldn't play. The girl was magical. She appeared to be a musical genius with savant-like abilities and perfect pitch. He knows he could make a good living off of that girl. He smiles wickedly as the girl plays with his prized guitar, Roxanne. "Well, looks like we found our top earner thanks to Henry," The Wizard says to the group. He pulls Hope to the side. "Alright, you are going to be in my old spot at the park and you will be using Roxanne." He scrutinizes her. "Now what should we call you?"

"My name is Hope," she says.

He walks back and forth contemplating and shaking his head. "I know, I shall call you Odette."

Emma and Merlin arrive at the park. They split up in the hope to cover more ground.

Merlin posts missing posters of Hope on every corner he can; he even hands some to the people walking by.

Emma is walking around the corner when something catches her eye. They have some posters for an upcoming event displaying some talent from Julliard. She smiles wistfully, she misses her music. She takes out her phone to call an old friend. Elsa had ended up at their old school as a teacher.

Somehow her connection is stronger now. She has a sudden need to play. She feels it will help her connect with her daughter.

Tag list:

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera  @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615  @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713  @donteattheappleshook @reggieshamster @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes  @demisexualemmaswan @queen-serena88 @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @bethacaciakay @ohmakemeahercules @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @mariakov81 @sals86 @elizabeethan @brooke-to-broch​ @hookedonhiddles​ @onceratheart18​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​

[yoon-kooks]

Witch Hazel- Pt.6

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: FanficWriter!Jungkook, Idol!Reader, College!AU, Angst, Fluff

Summary: There are two students in your art class with a secret: you and the quiet Jeon Jungkook. You’re a problematic idol singer, infamous for your ice cold reputation and perpetual resting bitch face; he’s the artist and author behind the viral comic series based on a certain ice queen idol. After a blowup of destructive rumors, lost motivation and inevitable solitude, you stumble upon Jungkook’s comic and find a new and unexpected light.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: none

Parts: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // ?

A/N: i’ve had mixed feelings about the tumblr fic community as of late :/ but heres something to read🥺

-

Holding the boy’s pinky in your own, you stare once more at his drawing of you with your guitar and flower crown—a superhero to those whom you shared your music with.

No. Your music hasn’t saved anyone. You’ve never been a hero to anyone. If anything, you’re the one who needs to be saved. You’d always thought you could grow strong enough to save yourself if you just closed yourself off from the world and did everything on your own. But in the end, that only seemed to hurt you more.

You should’ve known. It’s okay to ask for help, to reach out, to let him in.

“A few years ago, I had a thought. It wasn’t a very smart thought, but I decided I wanted to share part of myself with the world. I thought about the different ways I could go about that, but the way that made the most sense for me was music,” you say, finally letting go of Jungkook’s pinky and making yourself awfully comfortable on a bed that doesn’t belong to you. “So I auditioned for Polar Entertainment. Not to be an idol, but to be a songwriter.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything, but he nods as if it’s not a shock to him, as if he saw it as “a Y/N thing to do.” At the same time, his gentle eyes wait for you to continue, curious to know what’ll happen next.

“Do you remember the song you heard me singing the other day in the music room?”

Jungkook cracks a smirk and starts singing your song word for word in a surprisingly in-tune whisper. Oh, he remembers it alright, and he’ll apparently never let you live it down. He doesn’t stop until you throw one of the balled-up blankets at his face.

“That was the first time I picked up my guitar and sang that song since being rejected at the audition.”

“I can imagine how scarring that would be. Rejection,” he shudders at the word, though you’re sure he knows little about the feeling with art skills as professional as his. “They really didn’t like you though?”

“They liked certain parts of me.” Your vocals, your beauty, your body. “But not the ones that mattered.” Your music, your creativity, your personality. You.

“That’s their loss,” Jungkook says in the midst of a yawn, practically inaudible. But you heard him.

“Maybe they had a point,” you say, looking up at the ceiling. “Because when I look back to that time, it was quite foolish of me to believe my music would reach anyone when it came from a place of desperation, not my heart. The song was a plea for help, not one that would save others.”

“What made you suddenly sing it again after all this time?”

You grab hold of the boy’s hand and form yet another pinky promise. “Promise you won’t laugh at me for my reason.”

“I can’t promise you that,” he says with the straightest face. He’s ready to burst out laughing again and you know it.

“Then I won’t tell you.” With a hmph, you bury yourself under the fluffiest blanket. You wonder how he would’ve reacted if you told him it was that dang jk.seagull and his fanfic that gave you the courage to sing again, to go back to your roots, to follow your love of creating music. It’d obviously sound ridiculous to admit it out loud, but the joy you feel from reading Witch Hazel is what reminds you of the very thing you want to provide others with—happiness.

And that’s perhaps all the encouragement you needed to start sharing your music again.

“I won’t tell you what it was exactly that made me do it, but I’ll tell you why,” you peek your head back out of the blankets to see the boy still waiting patiently for an answer. “I wanted to move on… from the failure I faced that day. That way, I can finally become that superhero you speak of.”

You place the drawing of your superhero self onto the nightstand so that it doesn’t get crinkled up on the bed. No, she’s not a superhero yet. But she will be someday.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“You better not tell anyone,” you remind him. “This isn’t something I share with other people. Ever.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he assures you, with not only his words but also his warmth.

“Good.” You smile whilst closing your eyes. You meant to tell him that he could confide in you too, but the warmth pulls you into a deep slumber before you could do so.

-

It’s been a minute since you’ve awoken in someone else’s bed, though this is the first time you aren’t all wrapped up in their embrace. Rather, half the boy’s body is hanging off the side of the bed for dear life while you’re right smack in the middle, all bundled up in one of the blankets.

If you wanted to, you could push him over the edge with the tiniest tap of your foot—that’s how close he is to falling. But as tempting as it would be to get even with the boy who teases you to no end, you opt to quietly check your phone without disturbing him.

To your surprise, you have two new notifications: a text from Seokjin earlier this morning and a late-night update from jk.seagull posted sometime after you had passed out. You’ve always been the type to take care of work obligations before indulging in guilty pleasures, so you open Seokjin’s text first.

6:04AM jinnie “so jimin’s manager reached out to me”

6:05AM jinnie “and you want to collab with jimin?”

7:12AM Y/N “oh yeah i asked him to have his manager contact you”

7:13AM Y/N “but i guess i forgot to tell you LOL”

It’s not that you forgot. You were just hesitant to tell your manager about it yourself. Because if possible, you’d like to minimize your own company’s involvement in this top-secret scheme of yours.

7:15AM jinnie “are you up to something?”

7:15AM Y/N “mayhaps”

7:16AM Y/N “but dont tell boss lady pls”

7:17AM jinnie “shes going to find out one way or another”

7:19AM Y/N “thats true 🤔 ”

7:20AM Y/N “well tbh knowing her, she’d probably approve of the collab anyway since it should clear up those dating rumors while (hopefully) appealing to jimin’s fanbase”

7:21AM Y/N “just dont tell her the logistics of the collab”

7:21AM jinnie “what are you scheming lmao”

7:22AM Y/N “youll see”

7:22AM jinnie “ 😒 dont get me or yourself in trouble Y/N”

7:23AM Y/N “i wont! i promise! 🥺 ”

7:24AM jinnie “okay fine”

7:25AM jinnie “ill arrange a meeting with jimin and his manager to discuss everything formally”

As you move on to the more exciting notification on your phone, you see that the sleeping Jungkook has slipped several inches closer to falling flat on his face. Maybe you’ll save him from his impending doom. Maybe you won’t. But that’ll have to wait until after you see what jk.seagull had to say on his blog.

“do you ever think back to that one time in math camp when a little girl screamed in your face that she hated math and wanted to become a musician instead? apparently she somehow confused ‘musician’ with ‘mathematician’ LMAO”

You aren’t sure what provoked the silly seagull guy to share such a random thought, but you do get a good laugh out of it. After all, you can totally relate as someone who went to math camp one summer despite knowing in your heart what you truly wanted to do-

Wait.

“Jungkook,” you say in a half-hushed, half-urgent tone, though calling his name wouldn’t be what actually wakes him from his slumber. “I think I know who the seagull guy is.”

Thud. You swear on your life you didn’t lay a finger on the boy when he fell, despite all the devilish thoughts you had about it earlier. He fell on his own. You’re innocent. Therefore, you have a right to laugh.

“Are you okay?” you snicker, peering down from the bed at the dazed boy. He might have been the biggest klutz for rolling off the bed and stumbling around to find his glasses, but holy shit. His wild bedhead and scattered blankets across the floor make it seem as though the two of you had a lot more than just an innocent heart-to-heart in his bed last night.

“I’m fine,” he stretches his arms and combs the bedhead out. Yes, he is fine. “But, uhh, what’s this about that seagull guy?”

“I think I know him.” You expect Jungkook to be as excited as you are, but he just seems kind of puzzled—perhaps from his lack of sleep.

“…and how did you come to that conclusion…?” he asks. Or maybe he doesn’t believe you.

“You didn’t see the post! Look at the post.” You join the boy down on the floor and make yourself at home there with your phone and some of the fallen blankets. He leans over your shoulder to read the infamous post you won’t shut up about.

“Math camp?” Jungkook continues to squint at the cryptic message before chuckling. “Also, did that girl seriously confuse musician with mathematician?”

“Stop laughing! That dumbass was me.” Now you wish you had kicked his ass off the bed.

He stops laughing, not because you told him to but because he’s mildly shook. “What?”

You take a deep breath in because you know you’re setting yourself up to be clowned for the rest of your fucking life. “When I was like ten, I told my parents that I wanted to be a mathematician, thinking that word meant musician. So they signed me up for camp that summer.”

“Did you ever stop to think that mathematician has the word math in it and not mu-”

You interrupt the boy’s unwelcomed commentary with an air-punch to his guts before continuing on as if nothing happened. “I was so excited until I got there. It was absolutely mortifying to learn that it was a math camp, not a music camp.”

“I like this story,” he nods with his arms guarding himself in anticipation of another air-jab as you square up.

“Still, I tried to make the best out of the situation since I was actually kind of good at math,” you say. “The camp director even told me I’d make a great math professor one day.”

“I can’t imagine you as a math professor.” He settles down with all the chuckling.

“I couldn’t either, so I ran off to an empty room where I thought I could escape without anyone finding me,” you soften your tone. “But somehow a crying, wandering boy found me.”

“Was it the seagull?”

“Maybe. All I remember was hearing music playing from somewhere outside. I sang along as a way to comfort and distract myself from the whole math situation, but it seemed to cheer up the boy as well.”

“Your voice does have that effect, you know.”

“He told me the same thing.” You can’t help but smile a little at the compliment. “But in that moment, it felt like my dream had a purpose beyond fueling my own desires. And I needed to share it with someone. Anyone.”

“So you shared it with the boy?”

You nod. “I told him my dream was to be a mathematician, but he knew what I meant.”

“Did he at least clown you first?”

“He did. He laughed right in my face, and at first I thought he was a jerk for making fun of my dream. But after he kindly taught me the difference between musician and mathematician, I announced my actual dream to him and him alone.”

“And how’d he respond?”

“He said it was cool beans.”

“He said cool beans?”

“Those were his exact words, yes.”

“And that was it?”

“That’s all I can remember.”

“So you don’t even remember his name or anything?”

“We never introduced ourselves,” you shake your head. “I don’t remember his face either because it was covered by a hood and long hair.”

“That’s too bad,” Jungkook sighs. “I bet it really was that seagull guy after all.”

“I have a feeling it was him, too.”

It would be nice and awfully romantic if you had somehow crossed paths long ago with the very seagull who continues to inspire your craft with his own. But even if that isn’t the case, you’re content with having that memory and entrusting it with another boy who has done nothing but lift you up.

You lean yourself gently against the Jungkook’s shoulder as you slip your phone back into your pocket, debating on your next course of action. The two of you should be getting ready for class, but that doesn’t sound very appealing. There are other things you’d much rather be doing, like maybe thanking the boy for lending his ear. But for some reason, it’s still difficult for you to say those two simple words of gratitude.

Perhaps it’s difficult because there’s a lot more you’d say than just “thanks man.”

“Can we just cut class and get coffee instead?” Yes, you’ll thank him for his service by treating him to coffee. Unless…? What if this is just your subtle way of asking the boy out on a date? What if he says no because you’ve already spent way too much time with him in the past 24 hours? What if he hates coffee? What if he-

“We should probably go to class to turn in our project, yeah?” Jungkook brings up a good point. But the thing is, you don’t really have your priorities straight at the moment and your mind has only two things consuming it: coffee and boy. “But we can get coffee after class.”

“Ooh, good, because there’s this one coffee shop I want you to try!” You chirp up despite your nonexistent dose of morning caffeine. “It’ll be my treat as thanks for… letting me hog your bed.”

“Oh right... that,” Jungkook hops to his feet and starts tidying up said bed. You help by picking up and folding all of the blankets. “I nearly froze and fell to my death because of that, you know.”

“I saw,” you bite your lip, trying to mask any naughty thoughts that come to mind. Because next time, if there is in fact a next time, you won’t let the boy freeze.

-

By the time art class ends, the weight of the dreaded group project has been lifted and your craving for coffee begins to settle in once more. And apparently, the hunger and excitement is radiating off you because someone has the audacity to make a comment about it.

“Why does your face look like that?” Taehyung teases, but you’re mildly offended.

“Because I’m getting coffee from my favorite café. That’s why,” you hiss but there’s still a hidden glow about you and your excitement. “Coffee is to me as girls are to you, Taehyung.”

“Ooh, speaking of girls, do any cute girls work there?” He strokes his wise man beard. “Maybe I’ll tag along.”

“I don’t fucking know.” And even if you did know, you wouldn’t say yes.

“How boring,” he yawns while nudging the boy next to him. “Hey Jungkook, wanna go on a double date with me? I met a pair of gamer girls, but I don’t know all the nerdy gaming stuff that you know. And think about it, this could be the first time you get laid since-”

“Actually, Jungkook’s getting coffee with me,” you interrupt. And if you had been brave enough to look up at the boy as you spoke, you would have seen the healthy pink radiance on his cheeks.

“Oh, so the two of you are dating all of a sudden?” Taehyung nods, as if he had hit the mark.

Neither you or Jungkook give an immediate answer, probably due to the unspoken yet very apparent shift in dynamics between the two of you as of late. Yes, you’ve developed certain feelings for the boy, but no, you aren’t technically “dating.” You just hope he’s on the same page as you.

“It’s just coffee,” you want to say, but it comes out of Jungkook’s mouth instead. And even though you would’ve said the same exact thing, it hits a little different hearing it from him.

At the same time, coffee is coffee and Jungkook is Jungkook. You need to remind yourself that your craving for coffee with the boy will be satisfied, regardless of whether it’s a date or not. After all, “dating” is not an option for an idol who should only be focusing on her music and fans.

“Which drink would you recommend?” Jungkook asks as you lead him in the direction of the café.

“If you like coffee, all of the drinks are good in my humble opinion,” you say, though you realize you should probably give the boy a few specific suggestions to make his decision a little easier. “You can get a standard mocha or latte if you want something simple. Or, their signature hazelnut coffee is really really good. Or if you want something iced, you should try the cold brew because it’s literally the most refreshing dose of caffeine ever. Oh! But if you’re into something more plant-based, I suggest the maple oat-”

“You’re not narrowing down my options if you recommend the entire menu, Y/N,” the boy chuckles at your coffee enthusiast behavior.

“Well, here’s my thought process: if we go at least once a week after class, you can eventually try every drink on the menu by the end of the school year. Not including all the different types of milk options though.”

“I don’t know if I should be impressed or terrified that you even bothered to do that calculation.” His eyes are bigger and brighter than the sun. “But that must mean you really like coffee then, huh?”

“Of course! Is that even a question?” The snobby coffee enthusiast jumped out real quick. But even beyond the coffee, you did the calculation to see how long your little coffee not-dates with the boy could last before you have to return to your idol obligations. “You like coffee too, right?”

“Not really,” he sighs. Your jaw drops. Who the does he think he is? “Are there any tea options? Or like a banana milk or something?”

“You can’t just walk into a coffee shop and not order coffee.” Is this guy for real? No, he’s just fucking with you. Probably. “I better start reevaluating who I hang out with,” you say with a sarcastic hmph.

“I’m kidding, kind of.” He doesn’t do a very good job of reassuring you of that. “I like… coffee.”

“That hesitant pause doesn’t sit well with me, Jeon.” You raise an eyebrow at the suspicious boy. It feels nice to tease him for once. “Why are you grabbing coffee with me if you don’t love it?”

“I just curious about this coffee place,” he nudges you, “since someone seems to really enjoy it.”

So it’s because of you…

“Good to know I’ve successfully peer pressured you into consuming caffeine,” you hum, playing it off as if his words weren’t absorbed right into your heart. It was never about coffee.

It’s about you and him.

The thought of that makes your heart scream a little, so you hide your flustered face behind your phone as the two of you approach the coffee shop. You have an unread text from your manager.

2:35PM jinnie “good news”

2:36PM jinnie “i set up a meeting with jimin and his manager in an hour”

You stop in your tracks. That’s not good news. Well actually, it is good for your top secret collab. But the timing of it all is anything but good.

“Are you searching up the menu online? Oh wait, you already have the entire menu memorized from A to Z.” He thinks he’s funny. Now is not the time, Jeon. His teasing smile doesn’t disappear until the distress is written all over your face.

How do you cancel a not-a-date date without a proper explanation? How can you do that to a boy who has only ever done you right? The thing is, you don’t have to hurt him.

You can cancel the meeting, you can bail out on the collab, you can disappear from the idol world altogether if you choose to do so. And if you didn’t want to go that far, you could instead tell the boy of your deepest and darkest secret, of your idol identity, and he would surely understand your reasons for having to leave so suddenly for work.

You could do any of those things, but you decide not to. You won’t allow yourself to make such a rash decision, even if it’s the right one. So you decide to keep the meeting, you decide to keep your idol self hidden in the shadows, and you decide to abandon the boy.

[drakeblight]

Line break/read more

Do not rb

[2/2, 11:32 PM] Cristian Gómez: Ok, so here goes

[2/2, 11:34 PM] Cristian Gómez: Im sorry i talked over you and interupted you. I have this very bad tendency to not shut up when im nervous, especially around others.

[2/2, 11:34 PM] Cristian Gómez: Im sorry i had to ask you to buy me icecream, i know you said its no big deal but it is to me

[2/2, 11:35 PM] Cristian Gómez: Im sorry if i seemed boring and paranoid, ive just always lived in fear till i moved here and even though its been 2 years, i still find it hard to break habita

[2/2, 11:35 PM] Cristian Gómez: But please, i need you to tell me whats wrong

[2/2, 11:37 PM] Cristian Gómez: Remember how i told you i think of ways to escape and how could a person murder me and all that? I am very scared of the unknown and right now i do not be knowing whats up? Did i bore you, dis you find someone else, did you die? My mind keeps jumping to conclusions i know arent true but without your words i cant really kill them off

[2/2, 11:38 PM] Cristian Gómez: Im trying to be more attentive of you and stop being so self centered (which is an oximoron cuz telling other people that youre not thinking about yourself requires you to think about yourself but wrvr)

[2/2, 11:39 PM] Cristian Gómez: I watched letterkenny, i kinda spoiled that "surprise" when i texted you her face and the naked gym the frats wanted to make

[2/2, 11:39 PM] Cristian Gómez: But whatever, i did enjoy it and im thankful you showed me it

[2/2, 11:39 PM] Cristian Gómez: Also, imma pay you back that icecream 10x

[2/2, 11:41 PM] Cristian Gómez: I finally get payed on wednesday so ill buy the granpa sweater or the windbreaker or the patterned shirts, maybe ill stop by peace nook and get a candle, incense or soap you liked. Whatever it ends up being, ill make sure its shiny

[2/2, 11:41 PM] Cristian Gómez: Also, my friend said he could sneak us into his show on thursday, like i said, i really like his drag

[2/2, 11:42 PM] Cristian Gómez: If we sneak in, we may even get a couple drinks if we dont have bracelets

[2/2, 11:43 PM] Cristian Gómez: And if all you need is space, thats fine! I know i can be a bit much to handle, but please tell me so i dont go off the rails batshit crazy trying to figure out what went wrong

[2/2, 11:43 PM] Cristian Gómez: I only now realize that typing all this into a private convo is very batshit crazy

[2/2, 11:43 PM] Cristian Gómez: Remember that thing i just said about not shutting up??

[2/2, 11:44 PM] Cristian Gómez: I know theres a lot more i wanted to say but i forget

[2/2, 11:45 PM] Cristian Gómez: Oh, and i didnt really mean to be mean when i called you a nerd for tucking

[2/2, 11:45 PM] Cristian Gómez: Also, when i said you were tall, i just wasn't expecting that, cuz everyone ive ever gone out with ends up being smaller than me

[2/2, 11:46 PM] Cristian Gómez: Im sorry i behaved like a 12 yearold, i know its not very attractive to go into a relationship and feel its gonna be a babysitting gig

[2/2, 11:47 PM] Cristian Gómez: Even though im scared, i still challenge myself. Everytime i take a turn at a stoplight my first thought is how someone might run me over

[2/2, 11:48 PM] Cristian Gómez: Everytime its bellow 40, i think of that time i couldnt feel my hands for 2 hours, but i still get on my bike

[2/2, 11:48 PM] Cristian Gómez: And everytime i looked at your messages im reminded of all the sweet nothings people used to say to me to use me

[2/2, 11:49 PM] Cristian Gómez: All the see you laters and the we'll meet someday again

[2/2, 11:50 PM] Cristian Gómez: And even though im deadly terrified of typing something and losing you like ive lost everyone else, i still find the courage to send you something, anything so youd know i really do like you

[2/2, 11:50 PM] Cristian Gómez: I forgot how it felt

[2/2, 11:51 PM] Cristian Gómez: Ive been neeting people ive been interested in for 4 years now and youre the second one ive actually found that i cared about

[2/2, 11:51 PM] Cristian Gómez: Even ones i thought i cared about, i forgot in a week

[2/2, 11:52 PM] Cristian Gómez: And i know i said id stop being self centered and ill ive done is typed and typed, but i genuinely want you to give me a second chance, hopefully ill learn to shut up

[2/2, 11:53 PM] Cristian Gómez: I know youll probs only read this if i ever give you your codename, if i even post these, but this is helping

[2/2, 11:53 PM] Cristian Gómez: Also, sorry i called you adam

[2/2, 11:54 PM] Cristian Gómez: Maybe ill send the lot of these your way one day, where it doesnt matter cuz youre so close or so far appart

[2/2, 11:55 PM] Cristian Gómez: I know you dont want a psycho bf that cant be 10 mins away from you, but if youre leaving, could you please say why?

[2/2, 11:56 PM] Cristian Gómez: This is extremely pessimistic and theres that overworking brain again, but did you even care? I wanna say yes cuz you payed for my icecream and didnt just blow me off at the first chance, also you went out with me after a week or so of texts, most people would have just made something up, so i really appreciate you

[2/2, 11:57 PM] Cristian Gómez: UGHHH, i just need an answer at this point i dont mind if its yes or no

[2/2, 11:57 PM] Cristian Gómez: Did your messages get stuck? Did my phone mute you?

[2/3, 12:02 AM] Cristian Gómez: Oh yea, this goes without saying, but i dont wanna seem manipulative, these last couple day (oly shit its only been a day, why did i blow this out of proportion so damn much?!?) Have been very retrospective

[2/3, 12:03 AM] Cristian Gómez: I also dont want the gift to be manipulative, its something ive always believed in, ask my friends, no one should leave empty handed

[2/3, 12:04 AM] Cristian Gómez: And i probs would have only gotten you the candles, but bc you bought ice cream and youre so damn hot, ill bump it up

[2/3, 12:05 AM] Cristian Gómez: Im way overdue on payments and my bike insurance is almost up, but its only good for the other guy, so if i crash its very unlikely ill even need to pay them

[2/3, 7:50 AM] Cristian Gómez: Was it that i didnt try anything romantic? Didnt hold your hand or stayed away when i said goodbye? I dont know how to read limits so i just default to professional until someone tells me to do something

[2/3, 8:37 AM] Cristian Gómez: Was it the blue nails? I swear that was the jeans

[ghostconch]

Story 1/31: October Stories

Home Series

BATHROOM

Bright lights give an illusion of persistent daylight, so one can never be too sure what time it actually is in the world. This serves well to keep the crowds roaming, drinking, spending money. Losing.

The walls are mostly lined with mirrors; this gives a forced perception of far larger spaces than are actually inhabited. Doorways seem to bleed into each other, all the same while maintaining movement throughout the entire floor.

Machines sparkle and chime, constructed to entice and suck patrons of small amounts of money over extended periods of time. Cartoons or long dead film stars plaster transparent plastic sheets lit by LED flashbulbs, drawing on familiarity to separate and fade bank accounts.

The draw here is vast and powerful, if you’re so inclined. It is a strange and unspoken magic: Casinos.

We arrived unceremoniously at around three in the afternoon, but could not find parking, free parking, for the better part of the next hour and a half. Typical for the over-crowded, sand swept ocean town at the height of a particularly quick summer season.

This place is a funeral. The lighting, the glaring bright lighting, flashy colors, the faint smell of chemicals-perfumes and otherwise; cigars and alcohol filling the spaces between. Floating busy activity with a simultaneous dead-stillness; so many endless murmuring days I felt in my bones, something so straight and sudden I nearly suggested we go home.

Nature had intervened.

No longer are there any coins. Paper money changes into white strips, numbers and barcodes. All the romance is removed from the eternal hum of this place, one disconnection too far.

We’ve been together almost a year just around this time, it’s been dream-like, you know, one of those long, deep and serene. This delightful disorientation, lasting seemingly so long, end over end.

Heather stands next to me, also in awe of the over-stimulation. Her mid-length reddish brown hair tossed left, a slight tan just above the slender cheeks and pointed nose; pale green eyes flashing like mints flecked with silver. Her sleight frame standing at 5’8, just a full inch taller than me. I loved her in an instant.

“I have to pee.” Off we were to find a restroom at once then, Heather determined to make haste. Without making another movement, I attempted to find a sign or other indication that would direct us to the restrooms. With no success, we headed to the crowded bad the end of the short main hallway.

Sure enough, just beyond the left end of the over-crowded marble counter, a brightly lit green sign indicating the bathrooms with traditional featureless caricatures of a man and woman; I follow close behind as to not lose Heather on her way to relief. She disappeared into the open black wooden door and into a line of equally agitated women patiently waiting. As I hovered around the hallway without specific purpose, I decided I too would venture the bathroom. Suffering no line, I had no trouble entering the large shining black-tiled room. Five urinals lining the wall to the left, three stalls to the right, two small sinks directly in front of me. Having succeeded in my relief, I quickly washed my hands, exiting with haste as to not miss Heather.

Back in the hallway again, aimless and holding up the wall, I felt more at ease. Calmer.

Another five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. My calm grew to mounting concern, had Heather fallen ill? Fallen in? I might have missed her entirely. After having a panicked inner dialogue with myself, I remembered my phone. I pulled it from my pocket, nearly dropping it. I punched in a short message, quick response. Oh thank Heather.

“Calm yourself. Out soon. J”

Winking from the bathroom, I thought, how grotesque and chuckled; I was beginning to calm down. Phone back in my pocket, I decided on getting a drink and returning to my waiting post.

“Couldn’t bother to grab me something, I see. Just because I had to pee doesn’t mean I am not also fiercely thirsty. I have every-mind to, to just drop you right here…” a soft, yet icy voice bled through the din of the crowd. A voice unfamiliar.

A woman stood before me, roughly five foot five, short black hair with sweeping bangs over the left eye, which I now noticed was a deep stone-like blue-gray, small frame, donning a black track jacket over an unfamiliar brown logo on a yellow t-shirt over glittering green tights and a shock of white boots.

“Excuse me, do I know you?” I inquired, a little more than simply annoyed.

“Do you know me?” Jesus, you are dense aren’t you? Get me a drink!” another thump on my chest, playful, but not without malice.

“I’m sorry, you really must be mistaken…” I began to turn and walk back to continue waiting for Heather just as the odd woman, quite possibly drunk, grabbed my shoulder, nearly knocking me over.

“We already did thank, creep!” she laughed at me.

“Heather?” The question left my mouth without much thought or intention. My mind felt as if it was dropping inward. I needed to sit down soon.

“Yes, asshole, Heather. Let’s get out of here, are you as hungry as I am?” she smiled, with an air of urgency.

I could not bring myself to speak, I needed to sit down.

I found the edge of an ornate fountain and sat, breathing deep.

“Heather” stood, arms folded, closer to me, genuinely concerned.

“Are you feeling alright? You’re looking a little green…”

My mind swirling, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was the bright bulbs, green bulbs; flashing on and off advertising some new stage show that was premiering soon. I was green indeed.

Looking back at whoever was the operator in this bizarre grand joke, I almost felt better.

“Heather,” I began, playing along. “I need to use the bathroom. Would you wait here for me please?”

A quizzical look, slow sarcastic nod “Yes, of course, stranger…” a smile.

A chill up my spine at “stranger”, I jump up, making my way back to the bathroom.

Thankfully it was nearly closing time and I could investigate without seeming too odd or out of place. I first entered the men’s room.

Clean, save for the scuffed floor and some stray coupons crumpled and strewn about, empty too. Not knowing what I was looking for, I entered and locked each of the five stalls, one by one. Nothing out of the ordinary, two of the five startled me with the auto-flush feature.

I approached the row of golden sinks, turning each faucet, watching the water, on and off, hot and cold. Feverish and feeling crazy, I washed my face, giving myself a look in the shimmering, mostly clean mirror. Making my way for the door, I exited and re-entered the bathroom several times.

Nothing happened.

I could not stop my mind from spinning.

The women’s room was much harder as I was alone, but not completely alone. I managed to make myself scarce until was sure the bathroom was deserted and did a similar, albeit much faster scan of the women’s room. Thorough, but fast and efficient, I found nothing but a much cleaner restroom.

The phone again.

“Are you O.K.?”

Heather was waiting. Heather was asking after me as she always does when I take too long away. Heather is also missing, and now without her phone, stolen by the woman I left to find the exact nature of whatever it was that has happened here. To me, but more importantly to Heather, my Heather.

“I am okay. Coming back now.” I press send and hide the phone away before I start to feel sick again.

Standing in the archway of the main entrance, I see the one claiming to be Heather standing, arms and legs stretched into a star formation of a weary stretch.

“I think we should probably get going now. I am so tiiiired.” I hear across the hall directed at me. Another chill up my spine and into the back of my throat.

“I don’t know you, I’m very sorry. I just, I need to find Heather.”

“You need to lie down, I think. You can too, I’ll drive us home.”

I swear to you I didn’t know what else to do.

I collected myself, and calmly walked to this other woman with Heather’s phone, keys and general demeanor.

We did indeed drive home, and I have gotten all the rest I need. What happened to this day I cannot pinpoint. I sometimes consider if my initial impression of who I thought to be my girlfriend, perhaps someday my wife, at least in appearance could have been completely wrong the entirety of our whole relationship up until now.

It was not until months later when I had settled myself into a reassuring and soothing routine that I was shaken from my slumber.

A text on my phone lighting the darkness as I lay next to Heather,  weary and falling away to sleep.

I grab for my phone, the clock reads 3:03 AM; one unread message.

Heather:

“Are you OK? I’m in the front lobby; I figured you had gotten tired of waiting for me and gone for drinks. Where are you?”