#in this case it was just me realizing 'hey laurent has been calling him the prince a lot and i had been usng the akielon earlier'

[altruistic-meme]

i love subconsciously doing things in my writing it’s so fun :)

[threadsun]

The bell above the restaurant’s door rings as Joseph holds it open for you, the wonderful smell of freshly baked bread and something sweet surrounding you as you walk in. It’s a quaint little restaurant, more the size of a café than anything. A few booths and tables are scattered about in an area off to the side from the main counter, above which are prices for various frozen treats, and below are display cases for baked goods

Behind the counter is a very… normal-looking man. You don’t mean that as an insult it’s just the best way you can describe him at first glance, besides being ginger “Hey, Berry, someone sick or something? You usually don’t run the counter” The man behind the counter, who you now know as Berry, just shrugs “I thought I’d take Mariah’s shift, something told me today would be rather interesting. Who’s this?” As he looks at you you can feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up, you swear you’ve heard his voice before

“Oh, right, Berry this is the founder’s child” The way his eyes widen almost looks practiced “Really? Well, welcome to Laurent’s Place. Would you like some froyo? I’ve actually been working on a new flavor just for you” You try to decline his offer as politely as you can, saying you’d prefer something warm. Berry pouts at this “Oh, well maybe next time. As for warm foods, I’m afraid Jean’s still in his cast after the scene at the funeral. I’ll talk to Rory about making something, I’m sure he wouldn't mind if it's for you” You could swear his smile got a bit wider when he talked about whatever incident left one of the chefs in a cast, but you shake it off, there’s no way, right?

Berry exits through a door to what you can only assume would be a kitchen as Joseph walks you to one of the empty tables “...So, I know you haven’t been here long, but do you like what you’ve seen so far? The town, I mean, you know I wasn’t talking about me or anything, just, um, yeah” Poor guy, you can tell he’s nervous, his blush starting to spread to his ears at his clunky attempt at small talk

You give him a reassuring smile and say everything you’ve seen so far has been great, the people too. His smile is so wide, it’s like he just can’t contain how happy he is. He looks away bashfully and you notice just how small he looks like this, just how cute he is burying as much of his face as he can in the hand he’s propped up on the table. You didn’t have long to admire his blush, his face paling as he saw Berry bringing you food over

“Here you are! Hope you like them” Berry sets a stack of pancakes on the table, made exactly how you like them. It’s almost scary how perfect they look, and taste you find out as you take an experimental bite. You thank Berry and give your compliments to the chef “Of course, I’ll let him know” Berry turns to leave before Joseph stops him “Actually, I know you’re busy today but their car broke down and I was hoping you’d help haul their stuff to the founder’s house, or, old house, I guess”

Berry’s eyes light up at this “Of course, anything for the child of prophecy. I’ll get on that right now” Joseph stands up a bit too quickly “I’ll come too! I mean, you know, cuz I know where their car is” You only now realize how pale Jo’s face gets while talking to Berry, how tense he seems. You tell the two that you’ll need a minute to finish your food “Oh, don’t worry, we can handle it just fine. You just relax here while we go move your things, we won’t look into anything, promise” The way Berry says it is almost sarcastic, like he’s just waiting for you to call him out on it. You just nod and thank them for the help

Berry sticks his head in the back and yells something before leaving with Joseph to move your things for you…to move your things for you. Wait, why the fuck would you ever agree to that? This is nuts, you don’t fucking know these people why do you just keep saying yes to them??? Because they’re hot. Yeah, ok, what’s a good reason you keep saying yes? … Yeah, that’s what you thought. God damn it, at least the pancakes are good, a bit salty but it’s a welcome addition to be sure

Everything just keeps happening, it’s a little hard to keep up. Most of your day has been on the road in your own little world, only stopping once or twice for gas and bathroom breaks. While this all sounded new and existing on paper it’s a little terrifying in practice, you’re already getting a little homesick, though the pancakes do taste like the ones your mom made for you. Yeah, your mom’s awesome, you wish there was just one familiar face around here. As you’re about halfway done with your stack the front door rings

What do you mean you read it aloud to your partner? that’s nuts, you’re nuts, I love you, fuck! I hope you enjoyed this second part just as much or even more than the last, and I hope you have a wonderful day :D

I READ THIS ONE ALOUD TO THEM TOO they literally stopped in the middle of their work to listen to it and now we're both screaming!!!! It's soooooooo good, your writing is so good and your ideas are so good and I'm losing my mind I want to know every single thought that goes through your brain about this AU it's fucking incredible!!!!

Also god you did such an amazing job of balancing Barry being an absolute freak and terrible with the founder's kid being suspicious but not immediately picking up on all of it :3c Also Joseph is so cuteeeeee I'm losing my mind he's adorable and I wanna wreck him soooooo bad!!!!

[northisnotup]

Continuation of the amnesiac!Damen fic 

"I don't know how to do this."

It’s been a long day. Nik went home hours ago, with the firm instruction to text if he needed anything, both Egeria and Hypermenestra have called to wish him a speedy recovery, the sun is setting...and Laurent shows no sign of moving anytime soon.

He came back at three and has stuck like a burr ever since. Through the blood work, the scans, the neurological tests. Everything. Laurent knows things about Damen’s medical history that Damen doesn’t even know - and not just the things he wouldn’t expect to know, missing almost four years of memories. But things that Damen himself forgot. Like the concussion when he was thirteen from when Kastor pushed him down a flight of stairs. Or the bumpy keloid scar behind his ear from a dirty hit during high school gym class. The way he found out he was allergic to a certain type of sedative by experimenting...also during highschool. 

"Do what?" Laurent says, paging through the book in his lap too fast to really be reading it. Damen almost frowns. It's a good book. 

He makes himself consider. The spine is cracked, the pages dogeared, it's missing the jacket entirely and there is a stain on the cover which marks this specific book as the one Damen has had for years and years because that stain is mid range scotch from the time in his life that Damen was trying to drink scotch. He thought it would impress his father, but all it really did was give him wicked hangovers and mess up his insides. 

According to Nik, corroborated by Jo, Damen’s known Laurent for three years. They met in college. They dated for one year, and have been engaged for another. The wedding is set for next year at Damen's mother's summer home. 

So. It's entirely possible that Laurent has read this book before.

That's...weird.

He's had lovers before who knew his favourites. Jokaste would often order for him when they went out just to get him to try something new. But Laurent caresses the worn, scratched cover with gentle fingers. He pauses every few chapters to linger on a page or two before he continues to browse.

Laurent knows Damen's favourite novel well enough to have favourite scenes, and there is no reason why that should steal his breath. 

"I didn't like you, this morning," Damen says. He feels like he should be apologizing for it, but it just makes Laurent bite back a smile, finally looking up from the liquid warped pages. He looks rumpled, in leggings and what is probably one of Damen's t-shirts, his hair mussed and finger combed into a bun. He looks exactly like someone Damen would have been happy to take home.

And Damen was going to marry him. Or he is, when he remembers him.

Things are coming back already, a slow trickle of knowledge that appears without strain. Kastor texted him and he remembered the heavy emotional weight of sitting next to him at their father's funeral. Their mother's side by side in front of them, clinging to one another and crying quietly. He can remember the way Kastor grabbed his hand during the eulogy and hadn't let it go until they were following the procession.

“You don’t like me now,” Laurent says lightly, unfolding one of his long legs and poking his bare toes into Damen’s side. He’d kicked off his shoes to contort himself into his current position in the visitor’s chair and looks effortlessly comfortable, though Damen’s not sure how that’s at all possible. 

He swipes at Laurent’s leg, hand closing around his ankle and is hit with the sense memory of holding it before. Of pressing his lips to the delicate looking arch of that foot, wet and sudsy and of Laurent swearing at him for it.

“Damen?” all mirth has drained out of Laurent’s face, and the ankle in Damen’s weakening grip flexes and strains. “Damen, let go, I’ll get one of the nurses.” 

“Did I call you Achilles? Was that,” Damen blinks, trying to focus his blurred vision. His head hurts, but he’s had a low level headache all day. “Was that seriously the pet name I chose?” 

Laurent’s pale skin hides nothing when he blushes. Pink glows out from the high arches of his cheeks and across his nose. The tips of his ears look like miniature suns, rising. “Once,” he rasps, and clears his throat, tugging his ankle out of Damen’s slackened grip and curling himself back into a ball. “You compared me to him, once. Golden warriors both, I think were the words you used.” 

“I love the Iliad,” Damen says, helplessly. 

“And you don’t even like me,” Laurent returns. 

Damen thinks he’s starting to understand Laurent’s sense of humor, as sharp as the rest of him and dry as a desert. But that wasn’t a joke, that wasn’t even an attempt at a joke. “You probably already know I was planning on asking Jo to marry me,” he says. It’s a poor olive branch, but it’s about all he has. 

They both woke up this morning and had their hearts broken, so, they have something in common. 

“I was your rebound fling,” Laurent surprises him. “You didn’t like me then, either.” 

Damen opens his mouth to deny it, and then shuts it without speaking. Laurent would know better than he would, but… he doesn’t sleep with people he doesn’t at least like. Other people can. He tried, once - Kashel broke up with him for being clingy, which, in that case, meant wanting to get dinner before they fooled around. 

“We don’t have to talk about this,” Laurent drops his eyes back down to the book. 

“Maybe I want to talk about this,” Damen says it on impulse, just to be contrary but he’s surprised to find that he means it. 

“You shouldn’t be taxing yourself.”

“Laurent -” Damen watches him startle, and to his shame he realizes why. They’ve hardly been apart all day, and it’s the first time Damen’s called his fiance by name. “I asked you to marry me.”

“You did,” Laurent agrees, voice tight.

“And you said yes,” Damen wonders for the first time if Laurent has spent all day wondering when that would be taken back. “help me figure out why.”

“You were kind to me, back then. Kinder than I deserved.”

Maybe he got better about being casual, about feelings - but looking at Laurent in this light, the ring on his finger, the one Damen put there...he doesn’t think so. “Kindness isn’t something you can deserve.”

Laurent stills. Damen hadn’t even registered the jiggling of his knee until it stopped. “I’m going to go get a coffee,” he says, standing suddenly.

“Hey, wait -”

“No,” 

“I just -”

“I said no.”

“At least take my wallet,” Damen sighs, gesturing at the small pile of personal effects Laurent had grabbed this morning. 

It was only this morning.

Laurent sneers, looking down his nose like he always does when he’s upset. “Why would I need your wallet?” 

“Because…” Damen trails off, the trickle of memory becoming a flood, until between one heartbeat and the next, his life goes from greyscale to full colour. There are a million ways he could answer that. ‘Because you always put your debit card in your pants pocket and forget it there if you don’t have time to plan your outfit.’ ‘Because you never carry change and will talk yourself out of using your own money for a coffee, but using my money is fine.’ ‘Because you’re not really getting a coffee anyway, you just need an excuse to step out for a second.’ 

Looking at Laurent is like finally finding meaning in abstract. 

Laurent hates that book. Specifically, he hates the wildly popular movie that was made out of the book which tramples all over the themes and reduces the narrative to a cheap trope that people fight about on the internet. But when Damen is sick, or he’s had a bad day, Laurent will leave the book on his nightstand, along with a cup of strong tea. 

He can’t help the softness of his voice, “Because you don’t drink coffee after noon, sweetheart, and if you’re getting a tea, I want one too.” 

“What did you call me?”

Damen smiles, lopsided, and pats the side of his cot, which has felt Laurent’s absence since his goodbye that morning. He did too, even if he didn’t know it. “Hi, sweetheart. I missed you.” 

[frenchly-anxious]

If James Bond was French, she would be a 54 years old woman working as a business coach, and there would be no movie because all the villains would be insanely bad at their job

Or: if we French people can’t make good spy/mercenary movies, it’s simply because our real spies/mercenaries absolutely suck.

Story time.

A few months ago, I stumbled upon the craziest news report of my life so far. It started small: an assassination attempt last July, just outside of Paris. Like, wow, that sucks, but okay. Yet as I’m watching the news, I realized they made a full documentary on that. Weird, I thought.

Except no, it made perfect sense to make a big deal out of it because seriously, that story just keeps on giving to the point I'm still waiting to be told it was a joke. Let me share this masterpiece.

The story starts unexpectedly with... a father driving his son to daycare. And as he’s driving, he spots a car haphazardly parked, with 2 men inside. As soon as he meets their eyes, they seem to panic: one feigns to sleep, while the other ducks forward to hide his face. They’re both dressed in black and are wearing gloves in the middle of July. The father drives on, stops a few streets away and call the police.

At this point, I was like “Who are those 2 buffoon? They reacted the way a child does when he knows he stayed up past his bedtime”.

The police arrived and searched them. They found out the car had fake license plates but more than that, they found a bag containing a loaded gun and its makeshift silencer, as well as 2 army knifes. The men were obviously arrested on the spot.

The police, expecting some kind of burglars, was in for quite the ride.

Very quickly, one of them started talking. He told the police he was a member of the DGSE (= kinda the French equivalent of CIA, in less popular), and they were on an official mission. In what I can only assume was an amazing show of self-control, an officer succeeded in not laughing out loud and instead asked him to elaborate. Which he did. He calmly explained they were on a mission to assassinate a woman who was actually working as a spy for Mossad.

I imagine the officers politely nodded as they were taking notes and then after leaving the room they started laughing hysterically while filing papers for a transfer to a psychiatric ward.

Except than when they checked, the 2 men were indeed working for the DGSE.

The what the fuck intensified, but not in the expected direction.

The police obviously turned to the woman they said they were about to assassinate. The victim indeed lived right where the DGSE agents were waiting. She was a successful “business coach”, living a quiet life and was absolutely not expecting to see police show up at her doorstep saying “hey, so, you basically almost got killed by two men waiting in front of your house, who had been following you for a few days and had also put a tracker on your car, and, well, they’re saying you’re actually working for Mossad. Can we come in?”

I can’t imagine how baffling that conversation must have been.

That 54 years old woman, Marie-Hélène Dini, had obviously no link with the Mossad. At all.

In this story of ridiculously bad mercenaries, the only one who acted correctly was her: after answering to the police, who probably told her “well that was unexpected. Better be extra careful from now on. Have a great day, ma’am!”, she turned off her phone, packed a few things and left her home, not telling anyone where she was going, and kept moving from place to place every couple of days to make sure no one could find her.

She was scared and confused, because who could want her dead?

The answer to that question is as baffling as the rest of the story: it was another “business coach”, who didn’t appreciated the fact she wanted to regulate their profession and thought the appropriate solution to that what to eliminate her.

But that’s not all! How did this guy found mercenaries to begin with? Well that’s easy: he had contacts because he was part of masonic lodge, just like our two stupid mercenaries.

Yes, freemasonry has entered the chat.

The story just shifted from mercenaries to secret organization.

One of the suspect, who was seriously talkative for a secret agent from a secret organization, explained they had other contracts like that. Only one resulted in an assassination so far: Laurent Pasquali, an ex-driver of the 24 Hours of Le Mans. He had indeed suddenly disappeared in 2018, his squeleton only found a year later without much clues of what had happened. Well, he apparently scammed the wrong sponsor, who decided to engage someone to bring back their money... and that someone apparently failed spectacularly because “the contract went wrong” and they killed him. Talk about going wrong.

The police linked a few other cases to these guys and a few of their “friends”: arson, violence, assassination attempts,...

All eyes obviously turned to the DGSE. Who went: “We can’t deny a few of those lunatics were working for us, but we don’t have ANYTHING to do with their mercenary/freemason job on the side!”

And if it looks like they’re not lying, it still isn’t very reassuring to see who is working for our foreign intelligence agency (granted, they were apparently just security guards for a DGSE site, but still)

So anyway. As I was saying:

James Bond isn’t French and there is a reason for that.

(because if she was, she would be a 54 years old woman working as a business coach, and there would be no movie because all the villains would be insanely bad at their job)

[rae-arts777]

Sorry, but I called dibs

Notes: Everything else is the same, expect Dorothy is still part of the team (she didn’t “die” or lose her memories) and her and Laurent aren’t a thing anymore, but Laurent is still has some feelings for her

Summary: Dorothy is obsessed with Makoto, in the, mentor and underling mixed with owner and babying/spoiling their cute pet kinda of way. Laurent is jealous and wants a shot with Makoto, but Dorothy already called dibs (platonic Dorothy X Makoto )

~~~~~~~~~~

Case 1

As they sat eating in one of the fanciest restaurant in Los Anglos, Laurent watched as Dorothy still checked Makoto’s head for any wounds.

“Aw you poor baby!” Dorothy cooed him “I’m so sorry, maybe hanging you from the Hollywood sign was a bit too far”

“The crane kick was a bit too far!” Makoto glared at Abby, who flipped him off while she continued to eat.

“Laurent apologize!” Dorothy pointed to him.

It took Laurent a few seconds to registered what Dorothy commanded him to do.

“I’m sorry my darling” he chuckled “it seems I didn’t quiet hear you” he smiled

“Apologize to him. I mean it.” Dorothy’s face dropped to a cold stare.

Abby looked at Laurent to see what he would do. Makoto smirked, enjoying the shocked look on Laurent’s face.

“Very well...I am..sorry for having you suspended from the Hollywood sign” Laurent apologized

“Apology NOT ACCEPT!” Makoto growled

Dorothy didnt force, Makoto to accept his apology like she had forced Laurent to apologize. Instead she made sure Makoto ate and enjoyed himself at dinner.

Laurent watched in jealousy of how Dorothy would pinch his cheek, gush over how cute his face or accent was.

Laurent was jealous, but not in the way he thought.

Case 2

“Hey! Hey! Why you did you even go to prison? For being adorable?” Dorothy squished Makoto’s cheeks together.

“Stop that!!” Makoto smacked her hands away.

“Awww! I made him mad!” Dorothy laughed “come on! I’ll make up for it, you like bubble tea right?” She asked walking off with him into the crowd of spectators.

Laurent watched as they walked off. Dorothy had a hand upon Makoto’s shoulder. He felt that jealousy rise again in him. He knew he wasn’t jealous that Makoto had Dorothy’s attention, he was jealous that Dorothy had Makoto’s attention.

After Makoto had left back to Japan, Laurent realized what he was really jealous of. When he saw Dorothy gushing over Abby looking pretty, he wasn’t jealous. When he saw Dorothy and Cythina getting flirtly with each other, when drunk, he didn’t get jealous. When he had to watch and listen to Dorothy pulling a honeypot move, he didn’t get jealous. Every since Makoto walked into his life, any small feelings he had left for Dorothy seemed to finally disappear.

He walked up to them as they chatted. Dorothy grabbed his chin and squeezed it a bit “you are just so cute edamame!! I want to put you in my pocket!”

“Stop! I’m not cute!” Makoto protested.

Dorothy laughed and patted his head “anyways we need to talk your role in this.”

“We do?” Both Makoto and Laurent asked in surprised

“Yes! Because Clark is pretty hot, and if you play your cards right, you might score with him” she teased

Laurent tighten his grip around the umbrella “darling, I don’t see how that’s essential to the plan”

“Well, it’s not really, just a change for edamame to get lucky!” she giggled

“I am not sleeping with a target” Makoto growled

“You don’t have to, but if you want to kiss him, I’ll allow it, and if kissing leads to more-“

“SHUT UP!” Makoto shoved her face away embarrassed.

Dorothy laughed again “awww my little virgin edamame is shy!”

“IM NOT A VIRGIN!”

Laurent watched as the two went back and forth. He made a mental note to beg Abby to seduce Clark so he keep his eyes away from Makoto.

Case 3

“Your first con! I’m so proud of you!” Dorothy hugged Makoto “my little student is growing up, you’re going to make me cry” she sniffled.

Makoto rolled his eyes and hugged back “well..I learned from the best”

“Ok seriously stop! Cause I will actually cry and I’m not wearing waterproof mascara!”

Makoto laughed and got some tissues for her.

It was time to set the plan into motion, Makoto, Cythina, and Abby left. Dorothy decided to sit out, not wanting to distract him in anyway, Laurent of course was not of the plan since Makoto booted him out from the beginning.

Laurent and Dorothy remain alone in the hotel. Dorothy got up to pour herself a glass of wine, Laurent watching her walk from the living area to the kitchen.

“Just cause we’re alone doesn’t mean we’re going to hook up” Dorothy told him “you know why it’s a bad idea that we-“

“I actually have feelings for someone else” Laurent confessed.

“Oh! Tell me!” She rushed over and sat next to him. “Who the lucky person?”

“Take a guess”

Dorothy thought for a moment “mmm, I don’t know, Cythina?”

“Nope, not a bad guess”

“Abby?”

“No way, she have my head”

“Shi-won?”

“Nope, though she is like a fine wine is she not?”

“Oz”

“Ok know you’re just being mean”

“Tell meeeee!” Dorothy whined

Laurent chuckled “it’s edamame”

Dorothy stared at him for a few seconds blankly.

Laurent was expecting more of a reaction from her.

“No.” Dorothy spoke

“I’m sorry what?”

“I said no”

“Why not?”

“I called dibs”

Laurent stared at her after what she said “I’m sorry...you said you called dibs?”

“Yeah I called dibs”

“So you have feelings for him as well?”

“No i don’t. I mean..nah, I love him more in my little precious baby friend I must protect”

“So, I don’t understand why you’re calling dibs if you don’t have feelings for him”

“Because. I just called dibs. So he’s off limits”

“I don’t think that’s fair”

“It is fair, cause it’s dibs” she sipped at her wine.

“I don’t-“

“I think this conversation is done” she got up and headed to the balcony, leaving Laurent bewildered at what just happened.

Case 4

They were on the boat, celebrating their biggest con. Dorothy and Makoto wiped the blood of themselves laughing.

Laurent face was still a bit distressed after their fake death.

Dorothy and Makoto had been “shot” by Casano’s men after “betraying” their word, and fell out the window to their “death”.

To their targets, it was assumed they fell out onto the busy streets of Japan. To TC, they had fallen into the ocean bleeding out.

When they were forced onto the boat by Casano’s and his men, they were surprised to find Dorothy and Makoto sitting there, alive and well, already drinking.

“Man, we really thought you were both shark food!” Kudo chuckled “you gave everyone quiet the scare”

“Consider it pay back for Los Angelos” Makoto chuckled, Abby kicking the back of his leg out.

“What was that for?!”

“Making me think you were dead.” She kicked him again.

Dorothy laughed “come on! Let’s celebrate until the sun comes up!!”

So they celebrated until the litteral day break. Dorothy was passed out on one of the couches snoring. Makoto covered her with his blazer and went to watch the sunrise, Laurent joining his side.

“I’ll be honest, you did really scare me” Laurent chuckled

“That was the plan” Makoto smirked “again, pay back”

“Heh, I guess I deserve it”

“Hey Laurent.”

“Be honest, are you still in love with Dorothy?”

Laurent was a bit taken back, “No, for a while I was, but those feelings are long gone. Why do you ask?”

“Just, every-time her and I are together, I can sense that you’re, umm..well jealous”

“I am jealous” Laurent admitted “but not for the reason you think”

“God damnit” Makoto mumbled “just say it already”

Laurent looked at him confused “I’m sorry what?”

“Just say it”

“I...” Laurent thought for a moment “I don’t think I can-“

“What? Cause Dorothy called dibs? Be a man”

“You know about that?” Laurent asked

“Yeah, Dorothy told me all about it one night when she got super wasted” he chuckled “she said it’s cause she’s looking out for me. And she doesn’t trust you with my heart I guess”

Laurent sighed “well I can’t blame her, there was many reasons why her and I didn’t work out. I believe she is right in assuming the same will happen to us”

“Well it won’t”

“How do you know?”

“Cause I’m not Dorothy. And you’re not the same person you were when you fell for Dorothy” Makoto yawned

Laurent knew Makoto was right but he was still scared. “Dorothy will be mad I didn’t uphold dibs” he chuckled

“She’ll get over it. Plus, I don’t need her to always guide and protect me, and she needs to know that”

Laurent chuckled again.

“So.”

“So.”

They walked as the sun started creeping over the horizon line.

“Can we talk about this after we both gotten some real sleep?” Makoto asked

“Yes, I like that very much” Laurent smiled

[nomnomsik]

Tinge Me in Love

Synopsis: After two years of separation, Kim Namjoon takes a step back into your life. Rather than the bad boy punk who got into several physical fights with you during high school, he returns somewhat changed. And before you can sort out your feelings from this sudden disturbance in your life, you’re faced with yet another interruption: Photographer, Kim Taehyung, and his confession.

Pairing: Idol!Namjoon x Artist!Reader, Photographer!Taehyung x Artist!Reader

Genre: Yandere!au, Idol!au, Love Triangle!au

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: Part 1 of 2. I hope to explore more about Taehyung and OC’s past as well as Namjoon’s buried memories and the cause of OC’s nightmares. I hope you enjoy. Please let me know how you feel as it gives me the motivation to quickly write the second part!

Trigger warnings/Tags: Profanity, yandere-themes, possessiveness, physical violence, misogynistic remarks, insinuation of sex, descriptions of depression, unhealthy relationships. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Every day above the clouds, every day above the clouds. 

My feel above the clouds, check it above the clouds. 

Chemistry with the clouds, a day with the clouds.

First-class has never felt so relaxing in his life before. Maybe it was the warm temperature of the plane or the view from his spot by the window that displayed the sparkling city of Seoul underneath him, bathed in the violet-colored sky. 

Or maybe it was because of the sparkling champagne that tingled in his mouth, putting him in such a good mood. But he knew these weren’t the reasons why. He couldn’t hide the excitement in his face, giddy to finally be returning back home.

He was floating. There’s no other way to describe what he’s feeling. When he lets out a relieved sigh, planting a foot down in Incheon airport, he feels like he’s dreaming. Has it only been three weeks? Four? His painstakingly long schedule itched him to where he was begging to come back home, tired of waking up at ungodly hours for photoshoots and interviews. But now, none of that matters.

He has one night of relaxation for sure back home. 

It’s only when his manager comes up to him, tapping him on the shoulder that he’s flung back to reality instead of the thoughts inside his head, trying to hide the scowl on his face as he spots whispering fans behind him. His beige-colored trench coat flows behind him as he takes large strides to the parked van waiting for him at the front of the terminal, promised with privacy.

As his manager steps in the driver’s seat, Kim Namjoon is driven off. The gentleman awakens his phone, his lips pulled up in a tight smile. 

One call couldn’t hurt, right?

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Ma’am? Ma’am?”

You stir, groaning as you struggle to grasp where you are. It’s dark with the only light coming from the headliner of the car, casting yellow rays around you. It’s warm where you are, hot air blowing over your skin as your heavy coat signifies otherwise. 

The back of your collar feels somewhat wet, as you realize, sighing in irritation and cursing yourself for not properly blow drying your hair before you left. As you blink several times, rubbing your tired eyes, you’re able to make out the face of your cab driver, shaking you awake.

“We’ve arrived at the destination.” 

“Ah, thank you.” You murmur, clumsily handing him the payment from your pocket as you open the door and step into the chilly and poorly-lit streets. You stumble at first, shivering in the dark as you hug your body despite the coat that you had worn that day. Once you recover, you take slow steps, only to stop and shake your head repeatedly. Seconds past before you finally and fully wake up from your drowsy space, looking up at your apartment complex. 

With your head downward, you stare at the shadow underneath you from the illuminated street light above. You’re so concentrated that it isn’t until the smell of cigarette smoke reaches your nose that you look up, spotting a familiar figure off in the distance. 

You stop dead in your tracks, feeling chills and grimacing as the man catches your figure from the corner of his eye. 

“Miss me?” He calls out in the quiet night.

“Absolutely not.” You spit like venom, walking past him as he follows you, taking a drag of his cigarette as you both turn the corner. Namjoon closes in on your right side, extending his arm for an embrace as you shrug him off. 

“It smells terrible.” You complain with intentional annoyance, signaling the cigarette as you carry on into your apartment, waiting outside in the chilling cold for the elevator to bring you up to your floor. When you look over, Namjoon digs the cigarette into his ashtray, pocketing it back into his coat and meeting you by the elevator doors. 

“Hey.” You start, drawing Namjoon’s attention who only smiles, those stupid dimples on him poking through his cheeks. 

“Hmm?”

“Didn’t I tell you that you have to let me know before you come to my place?” You huff, clicking your tongue when he gives you a deadly smirk. 

“But I did.” Namjoon insists. “I called you, but you didn’t pick up. So instead, I opted for a text, which again, you didn’t respond back to.”

You roll your eyes as you pull out your phone, stepping into the elevator as you irritatedly punch the number to your floor. He did call you, as well as text you, but there was a more important problem. 

“That doesn’t just mean you can come over. If I don’t respond, maybe- Don’t come to my home? And invade my space just because you’re bored all the time?” You question in frustration as your nails dig into the back of your phone case.

“Oh, c’mon. Lighten up. You haven’t seen me in so long. And I missed you.” 

You scoff, brushing him off for all the time he did the same to your feelings. If Namjoon wanted something, then you obliged. There’s no use arguing with him. Not when you’re tired. And definitely not when your whole floor is sleeping. Why give them more reasons to hate you as you bicker with him in the hallway?

Your mouth and lips feel dry as you nervously take a glance at Namjoon who just hums to himself. Next comes the jittering of your fingers as you clasp them together, balancing the weight of your feet as you step out of the elevator. 

“Have you taken your walks by the Han River lately?” You mumbled, trying to fill the empty air.

“How could I walk there when I haven’t been in Korea?” He asks confusingly, scratching the back of your head. 

“Ugh, you’re so annoying, you know that?” You roll your eyes. “Y-you want to go with... ”

Namjoon smiles as your voice trails off, your eyes meeting his as you rashly turn your head in the other way. He can't help but smile at the way you still think about him no matter how much he seems to annoy you. 

“I'll think about it.” 

You chuckle at his response, eyes closing as you shake your head in agreement. The conversation dies out once again as you approach your apartment room, rummaging around for your keys. 

When you slide in your key and unlock the door, you look over your shoulder as Namjoon waits for you, raising an eyebrow as you just stand there. You reluctantly push it open, sighing as you step into your abode, sliding off your heels and walking to your thermostat, bringing in warmth. 

As you approach your closet, you slide off your padded jacket, fixing it on its coat hanger and placing it in with all the other coats. But as you close the door and turn around, you flinch. You barely stop yourself from colliding into Namjoon’s chest, halting your feet as you instinctively meet his eyes.

He’s close. So close that he casts a shadow on you from the lighting fixture above the two of you, expression puzzled. 

“Why do you smell like that?” Namjoon’s face morphs in confusion as he tries to take a better whiff of the aroma floating in the air. You can feel your legs trembling as you look away, a dead giveaway from the guilt on your face, lips shut tight.

“...”

Namjoon hums, his eyes scanning your body and facial expressions, a finger coming down to tilt your chin up. You hate how he can easily read you like this, like he knows everything about you. You can’t help but gulp, only to feel a rush of anger, pushing him at his chest and brushing past him.

“...”

“Well?” He shouts as you walk away from him and into your kitchen.

“I’m bound to smell like acrylic sometimes. It comes with the job of an artist.” You shrug, feeling his presence behind you as you dig through your refrigerator for a drink. Maybe a beer would help unwind your nighttime stress.

“No, it’s more of like…” He chuckles. “You smell like nasty Saint Laurent cologne and cheap conditioner from those hotels near-" His fingers brush through your hair as you flinch, standing up straight and pushing him away from you. “Your hair is somewhat damp…” He whispers under his breath. 

“Don’t touch me like that… And it was…  raining earlier. Why does it matter?" You mutter, standing awkwardly in your spot as your refrigerator door swings open. Why were you so terrible at lying? Why did you even feel the need to lie in the first place? 

Ugh. Your arms wrap around your body as you suddenly feel exposed in front of Namjoon’s gaze, his eyes and mind whirling as he predicts his next move to be one step ahead.

“Didn’t have enough time to blow dry it? Were you that much in a rush to leave?” He laughs, knowing the floorplan of your apartment like the back of his hand and walking into your bathroom, only to come out with a towel in hand, throwing it which you begrudgingly catch. You toss it over your head, letting the edges fall and cover parts of your vision as you lazily dry your hair. Namjoon comes over, gently running the towel and watching it absorb in the moisture. 

You want to swat his hand off, but you let him run the towel through each section of your hair. It’s somewhat soothing, feeling him be so gentle with you for once. Not yelling, shouting, intimidating, or intruding. And he could’ve kept the tranquil mood if he didn’t open his mouth.

“Y’know, y/n… It’s cute that you think you can get away with your lies.” He smiles, amused as he backs off and opts for a seat on your couch. “Don’t be a bad girl.” 

“Ugh.” You groan, grabbing two cans of beer out of the fridge, setting them onto the counter. A crack echoes in the room as you bring the cold aluminum to your lips. You chuck the other can over, which Namjoon swiftly catches, cracking the lid open. 

Humming, you take slow steps into the small living room, the hard can still on your lips as Namjoon follows with his eyes. You collapse onto the soft cushions, feeling somewhat refreshed as Namjoon sits to your left, looking at you from the edge of his peripheral vision.

“How was your overseas schedule?” You ask, slouching as you stare at the blank ceiling above you. It’s better to say something than keep the awkward atmosphere.

“Boring and tiring. I was running around everywhere and I kept thinking about you the entire time.” Namjoon sighs, leaning back against the soft couch as he takes a sip of his drink. 

“Right.” You deadpan.

Namjoon’s face erupts in a mischievous smile as he scoots closer to you, yourself taking two scoots back. You look up at him, face scrunching up as you give him a cue to stop.

“You should pick up my calls more often. I get lonely without you.” Namjoon murmurs, nearing close to your ear. You remain stoic, pushing him away as you clear your throat.

“I’ve been working late.” You shrug, feeling the alcohol slide through your throat with ease.

“Clearly not.” Namjoon chuckles, finishing his can of beer as he watches in amusement with how you glare at him, your lips quivering as if you were going to curse him out. “So, who was it? Did you happen to get a boyfriend while I was gone?” 

“What’s it to you?” 

“What’s the harm of me knowing?” He chuckles again, that smirk still plastered on his face.

“It’s a rude thing to ask.” You put simply. “And this isn’t the first time you’ve asked either. You always want to know.”

“It’s not my fault you lose interest easily and move onto another guy so fast.” He retorts. “I can’t even keep up with you sometimes.” 

“Can you stop your stupid competition?” You spit immediately, feeling anger begin to build up in your head as if your brain was about to explode on him. Maybe, you shouldn’t have drunk alcohol. God, you could feel your body loosening up, losing that restraint that let you bottle up exactly how you felt.

“Huh? What’s with that?” He questions, throwing you an irritated look, his legs crossed in front of him. 

“You love it, soooo much. Don’t lie to yourself. You just know- you’re so sure of yourself that nobody will be better than you. Aren’t I right?” 

“Is this how we’re going to spend the first night back together from my long trip? If so, forget it.” Namjoon sighs, placing the can onto the coffee table.

“Don’t you dare try to end this conversation again, Namjoon. Explain to me why you always do this! Do you enjoy humiliating me all the time? Why don’t you ever want to respect me? I never ask for much.”

“Not respect you? What nonsense? This is how we’ve always been like.” He spits back, now glaring at you. “Since when has our relationship ever been normal? Ever been centered around respect? Why are you complaining about it now?” He retaliates, feeling the growing frustration emanate from his body. "You told me how many times you hated me and I told you I wish you could just die, and now you're trying to tell me that I'm bothering you? With something so small too... How idiotic." 

Your knuckles shift white as you seethe in anger. It was true, high school “you” did have a different way of thinking. It didn’t matter how many times you got into a fight with Namjoon, he liked you and you liked him. There was spunk and defiance that both of your teenage selves looked for. So much so that the two of you were attached at the hip, not one without the other. 

You and him didn’t care about either person’s feelings. It didn’t matter. To you, Namjoon was attractive, well-built, and a boy that fluttered your heart. Whether it would be his cheeky grin or his secret soft side that he only showed you, it was almost like your relationship was normal. 

Did he have a valid point? When did your relationship ever have boundaries to not cross? Both of you were too stubborn to ever admit "I love you." You weren't going to be weak and vulnerable in front of each other in high school. How could you ever be normal when the two of you even threw curses at each other in bed? 

You stand up, huffing in anger as you stomp your feet to the kitchen, slamming your aluminum beer can down on the counter and crushing it in your hands. This isn’t high school. The two of you are adults, twenty-three years old! You should be mature, voice how you feel, but you can't. Not when you fear the nightmares you wake up from, face covered in sweat and arms holding onto your trembling body. 

But just for tonight, you’ve had enough. You can’t even be in the same room with him for an hour. Forget about it. You can’t keep peace with him. It’s like you were bound to fight, only to be pulled back into each other. It was a vicious cycle that you couldn’t fully separate Namjoon from your life. Not when he looked like that in your mind. 

But more importantly, the alcohol was slowly giving you a headache, your face hot and thumping loudly in your ears.

"Fuck…" You mutter, steadying yourself against the counter. “I-I’m going to bed.” You whisper, wobbling your way into the hallway as Namjoon quickly stands up from his seat, concerned and coming to support you up from the side. "Ugh, d-don't touch me… I can't stand you-"

"You can barely walk," Namjoon argues, leading you down the hallway. He opens the door to your bedroom, helping you as you tiredly fall onto your single-sized bed. 

Namjoon haphazardly throws the blankets overtop your body as you immediately bury your legs underneath, growing comfortable. Staring, he watches as your tired eyes close, your hair sprawled out messily over your pillow as his fingertips rest against your cheek. 

He takes slow steps away, extending his arm as his hand finds the doorknob to your bedroom. There’s only the ticking of the clock in the living room now as Namjoon stands by the door, looking over at the bed and quietly exiting. 

All the lights of your apartment are off except for the dim lighting fixtures in the hallway. Slowly and carefully, Namjoon makes his way into the darkened living room, beelining toward the couch. He takes off the bottom cushions, scooching the coffee table back and extending a makeshift bed from the contents inside the couch. He throws a cover over top and plops down, letting the back of his hand rest overtop his face. 

The smell that you carried in still lingers in his mind, as he uncomfortably turns in his spot. He doesn’t even realize that his knuckles had buckled into fists, tightly pressed together. A yawn escapes his lips as he begins to settle down. He doesn’t even realize that his breaths even out as he drifts into a peaceful sleep.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Good morning.” 

“...”

Tight arms wrap around your stomach as you grimace, looking over to see Namjoon, his chin resting on your shoulder. 

“Stop. Or I’ll purposely spill this latte all over you.” You threaten, shrugging your shoulders as Namjoon continues to latch on. 

“Are you ever in a good mood?” Namjoon muses, leaning over you as he takes a quick sip from your cup. You scowl, moving the cup back away from him and onto the counter. Namjoon wipes his lips with the back of his hand, looking at your irritated expression. In a split second, a chill runs through your body as something wet meets your cheek, your feet rapidly taking several steps back as your hips crash and bruise into the counter behind you.

You wince in pain, buckling over, slapping your hand in front of your chest as the other caresses your cheek. Namjoon shakes off the stinging pain of his hand of where you hit him, slowly looking at you with an expressionless face, eyes blank.

“Don’t. Do that.” You whisper, fingers steadying your body on the counter behind you as your face grows hot. Whether it’s from embarrassment or humiliation, you aren’t sure. But, you can’t stop the memories that rush through your mind as Namjoon simply nods. Surely, he’s having the same thoughts as you.

But, you’re wrong. It’s almost like he changes his mind, tilting his head back, chuckling, arms crossed in front of his chest, rose gold blonde locks parted to the side of his face.

“Actually… Tell me why.” He sneers. “You couldn’t get enough of me, before.” 

“Does it look like we’re in high school?” You grit, brushing past and bumping shoulders with him as you storm from the kitchen. “I hope you’ve had enough fun toying around with me. Just leave before I get mad.”

Namjoon remains still, exasperatedly sighing and walking over to the door, sliding into his shoes as he turns the doorknob, taking a single step out. 

“Also, asshole! Don’t come over without giving me enough time, again!” You yell from down the hall. 

She's acting like her highschool self...Who is she kidding? 

“Why? Are you going to bring your new boyfriend home?” Namjoon laughs obnoxiously, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.

“Yeah.” You mutter, another lie slipping through your lips. “Yeah, so don’t just come whenever it’s convenient for you.” 

“Hey, y/n…” Namjoon steps back into the apartment, letting the door shut close. “Is your offer to visit the Han River still standing for tonight? We should go together, like good old times.” 

“Huh?” You call confusingly, walking back into your living room, your temper having died down as you turn the corner. 

“Do you want to go to the Han River together tonight?” He asks again, reaching for your hand as he successfully interlocks fingers. There’s a small smile plastered on his face, his dimples embedded in his cheeks as you pause, only to snap back and slowly pull away from his grip.

“I-I might have plans. I’m not sure. I’ll let you know after work…” You trail off, looking away as Namjoon glares for a split second, only to nod when you look back. 

“Hmm, alright. Bye.” He finally leaves his time, letting the door shut as he steps into the hall. 

You take a deep breath, scratching your scalp as you go back into your room, packing your purse and heaving your tote bag over your shoulder. As you take a look at your reflection in the mirror, you smile, giving yourself a cheeky wink and rushing to your door. Sliding on your heels, you lock your apartment door and make your way down the elevator. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

The first thing your ears pick up is the sound of the shutter of a camera, opening and closing, opening and closing, at incredible speed. The next is the bright flashes of light as your heels clack against the concrete ground, and then the large lighting equipment around the photoshoot. 

“Good morning.” You say loosely, watching as the photographer keeps his eyes solely focused on his viewfinder, eye pressed against it as the sound of the shutter goes off, and then the bright flash. When he looks at the result and seems somewhat satisfied with a nod of his head, he turns around, his blue hair with a hint of green shifting and bouncing.

“Good morning.” He replies quietly, looking over his shoulder at the model, whose skin was porcelain and pale, arms and legs thin with a bob of black hair on the top of his head. The gentleman was wearing tight jeans and a jean jacket, denim on denim. “We’ll take five.” 

The model simply nods, stretching his arms above his head and falling onto his side as he lays down. You notice Taehyung’s purple turtleneck that hugs his body tightly, an odd choice given his undeniable love for baggy sweaters and shirts. But you have no time to question him about it as he pulls you into the secluded hallway of his studio, your feet struggling to keep up with his pace as he corners you against the door. 

"What-"

His forehead is against yours, his breath fanning your face as his hands are roughly pressing against both of your shoulders. 

“Can I?” He whispers as you shudder, immediately understanding his innuendo as you nod, his lips meet yours. It’s sloppy and messy, with Taehyung’s tongue swiftly getting inside your mouth, making your legs weak. It was almost like Taehyung was going to devour you, as you struggled to keep your breathing straight, his passion intense as your back pushed against the door.

As you parted, his tongue trailed on your upper lip, slipping back into his mouth. 

“T-tae…” You gasp, burying your head into his shoulder as he hums at the nickname, continuing his trail of kisses from your ear and down your neck. His hands hover against your hips, one of his cold fingers slipping underneath your blouse as you jump, cheeks inflamed. “Not here…” 

“I missed you.” He simply replies, finally letting go and taking a step back. His hands now ruffle through your hair as you feel his concentrated gaze now on you. “Why’d you leave last night? You shouldn’t have left.” 

You can’t reply as you swallow thickly, only for Taehyung to cock his head to the side.

“It’s alright. I’m not mad. It’s just… lonely to wake up to an empty bed.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have left.” You mutter, Taehyung’s interest piqued as he stays silent, only judging. “I’ll stay next time, Mr. Kim… er-” 

An awkward silence falls between you two as Taehyung feels suddenly embarrassed, the first time his gaze breaks today. You watch as he opens his mouth, about to say something, only to close it. His eyes look as if they’re pleading with you, but he just shakes his head. 

“It’s fine. You can call me whatever you want. Professor, Mr. Kim, Taehyung…” His voice grows quiet as he checks the watch on his wrist, giving you one last kiss on the lips. “Break’s over. Work hard on your part of the exhibition. And- If you want, come over to my place tonight?” 

“Y-your place?” You feel breathless. “It’s not good if the paparazzi find out... You can’t just invite me to your home, Taehyung.”

He smirks, patting the top of your head. 

“I just did sweetheart.” 

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Explain to me why you always do this! Do you enjoy humiliating me all the time? Why don’t you ever want to respect me?”

Shut up. 

Namjoon groans in the backseat of his manager’s van, punching the cushion of the headrest beside him, retracting and placing it on his forehead. There were vibrations from time to time as he watched the usual scenery to his agency building. 

We were everything to each other, y/n.

“That’s just how dumb teenagers think, Namjoon!” 

Stop coming into my head.

He scoffs lightly, eyes creasing as he drifts into the back of his mind, seeing a small glimpse of high school memories pop and burst. Though, he didn’t mind that part of his life that much, having met you from all those bothersome days. But, you weren’t some guardian angel either that had “rescued him”. 

“They’re posted! They’re posted!” 

“What? Already?” 

There were several conversations in hushed whispers through the senior hallway, students scrambling and others full-on sprinting to see the test scores posted on a bulletin outside one of the classrooms. While Namjoon took lazy steps, yawning with his hands shoved in his pockets, he merely watched the hoard of people surrounding the sheet of paper tacked onto the board. 

Some groans could be heard and others gazing in awe. While Namjoon popped an eye open, he was greeted with a pat on the shoulder and thumbs-up.

“Dude! You got the third highest score, congrats!”

“Really? Damn, I hoped to get higher.” He smirked, getting a playful punch to his side. 

“Cocky bastard, be grateful! Some of us wish we could even get onto the list.” There was a chuckle and laugh as Namjoon approached the board for himself, humming and walking off a second later. “Going to get lunch, Joon?” 

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He nodded nonchalantly, digging through his bag for a smoke and lighter. 

As they made their way outside, Namjoon walked to the back of the school, leaning against the brick walls, hanging the flame underneath the butt of the cigarette. The wind was strong, blowing his rose-gold locks back and ruffling his thin dress-shirt uniform. 

“Who is she?”

“Huh?” Namjoon asked confusingly, looking dejectedly off to the side. The person, his “friend” had implied was you, your mouth moving as if you were giving orders, clipboard in your hands, and hair blowing behind you. “I don’t know, nor do I care.”

“Hmm… She's really hot, don’t you think? You think I got a chance?” The other pondered, until he put his fingers together, letting out a loud whistle that even made Namjoon flinch. “Hey, you!”

Namjoon almost laughed, jamming the cigarette back into his mouth as you paid no attention to his friend. There was no indication of whether you actually heard the sound or not, but there was clear embarrassment in the other guy’s face. 

“Hey!” His friend shouted again, this time taking the incentive to walk up to you until you finally looked at him. "Do you need some help or anything? You seem to be giving directions to some students and all..."

"Um, no? Who even are you?" You smiled, trying to hide your offense and questioning the gentleman. 

"You don't have to be so rude, y'know. I was just trying to help." 

"I don't think I ever asked for your help, though? So who are you, again?" You continued to smile even though your passive-aggression was bleeding through, continuing to piss off Namjoon's friend. 

"Ugh, I hate chicks like you. You take attendance for homeroom and you act like you don’t know who I am?" He groaned, throwing his hands up as he walked back to where Namjoon stood, who didn’t even look at the pair. "Why do the pretty ones have to be such bitches?" He complained as Namjoon gave him a dirty look. He could feel the glare that was currently being thrown in his direction by you because of this idiot. 

Why am I getting targeted? I’m not even doing anything. 

“Hey, what's your problem?” You yelled across the courtyard. “Just because I didn't need your help, you're calling me a bitch? The hell is wrong with you?" And you would’ve left it alone at that until you heard the next thing that came after.

“Such a fucking loudmouth. If she wasn't so nasty I'd put it to good use, to be honest.” 

“Dude, gross.” Namjoon spat in distaste. He looked back over to where you should've been standing. But instead, he saw you slowly approach the two of them, underneath the shadows. There was clear disgust in your expression and the consistent clicking of your tongue as Namjoon rolled his eyes.

Great. Just great. 

“You should learn to shut up sometimes, dude.” Namjoon angrily muttered, leaning his head into his palm. “Always giving me problems.”

“Hey, asshole.” You called, finally closing the distance and pointing to the guy beside Namjoon. “Say that again to my face next time.” 

“W-what? Pff, don’t make me laugh.” 

“No, c’mon. Do it.” You hastily reply back. “It’ll give me a good reason to beat the shit out of you.” 

“Dude, can you hear this? These edgy girls-”

Namjoon just rolled his eyes, taking another inhale of his cigarette until he heard a loud thunk beside him. 

His fingers almost fumbled his cigarette as his mouth gaped open, taken aback by the scene in front of him.

You had slammed your wooden clipboard on the guy’s head, hearing it pop and crack. 

And then again. 

And then again. 

He watched as the guy’s legs gave out, falling onto the ground as Namjoon took two steps back, eyes widening. Shit, what the fuck?

Then, you tossed the useless and broken board to the side, kneeling down beside his friend and flicking the side of his head. “Stop struggling and crying like a baby. I’m not into such things.”

“J-Joon, hel...p...”

Now that he thought about it… This wasn’t his problem really. Maybe, he should just give his "buddy" a few words of advice. 

"You have no one to blame but yourself, so don’t even start complaining to me. There was no reason to mess with someone, but you still did.” Namjoon voiced out, letting a deep exhale and watching the cigarette smoke drift into the air. 

But as he was about to take another inhale, he failed to catch the grimace on your face as you rashly stood up, swiping the smoke out of his mouth and stomping it dead on the ground.

You came up to him, tugging his collar forward and looking him in the eye. "Are you trying to kill us all with this shit?”

He paused for a moment, stunned. But then, he could’ve died laughing at that moment. A stream of hysterical laughter left his mouth as you gave him a confused expression, nervously letting go and stepping back. 

Wait, he hadn't laughed his hard before in ages and he barely knew why he found this situation so funny in the first place. But, the more he thought about how you were an unfiltered asshole who seemed to lack obvious social awareness and respect, he cracked up. 

“Hey, hey…” Namjoon started after clearing his throat from cackles. “At least tell me your name.” 

…

...

He was glad that he got to know you him that day, not that you could define what you had as typical friends were. You would watch on as he got scolded, the first time being caught with a cigarette on the school property and the second for teachers insisting he change his hair back to his natural black. 

There were other times too, like when he flipped off a teacher for being sassy with him or when he would brawl with his fists behind the school with other students he had a problem with. The teachers and staff who saw his potential pleaded with him for a compromise, but all he saw were threats.

Namjoon only had a small glimpse into your life, finding you one day in the afternoon. You had found solace in the empty art room and drifted off, leaning your head onto your easel as the orange color of the sunset seeped into the dark classroom. He watched you quietly for a second, then gently closed the door shut and left. Often, he would stop by without letting his presence be known, looking through the tiny window of the door. 

“Ugh-” You coughed, covering your mouth with the back of your arm. A lit cigarette had been propped in between your fingers until you threw it on the ground outside, stomping it out. “Tastes like shit…” 

“What are you doing?” 

You flinched as you heard Namjoon’s voice in the distance. As you turned, his arms were folded across his chest. “Nothing.”

“Hmm…” Namjoon pondered, then turning the other way. “C’mon, let’s go.” 

Were you worried that you’d look weird just waiting around for him and doing nothing? You had grown to the habit by the time a month had passed. The more times you planned to meet him, the more times he found a cigarette stuck between your lips. Perhaps you were easier to manipulate than he thought.

… 

… 

Who is that? Who’s that standing next to you and why are you smiling like that?

Namjoon paused in the middle of the second-floor hallway, feeling his heartbeat speed up. There you were, conversing with another guy when you already had him. There was no need for you to even want to have a conversation with someone else, so why? Did you forget that you planned to meet him after classes?

“Ah, it's you. What a coincidence.” The underclassmen gave you a wave. “I didn't think that I would run into you here. I was just about to go home, would you like to come with me, sunbae?”

You weren’t going to say yes, were you? Shit-

“Y/n!” Namjoon shouted loudly enough to get your attention. He came up beside you, giving you an innocent smile and hug, only to turn his head to the younger male. “It’d be good for you if you’d stop thinking what’s mine as yours, asshole.” Namjoon spit in a low voice. 

“Is there some problem with me being next to her?”

The light in Namjoon’s eyes died out as his arm lunged forward, pushing the guy off to the side. He watched him trip, losing his balance and toppling down the staircase. The chatter in the hallway immediately died out as soon as multiple screams echoed out.

“Namjoon?!” You shrieked, attempting to run down the staircase. But, before you could even put your foot down on a step, Namjoon grabbed your forearm, pulling you back harshly and colliding into him. Why couldn’t you just forget about everyone else but him? Did they truly matter?

“What the fuck?!” You grabbed him at the collar, slamming him into the wall as students shrieked and moved out of the way, rushing down the staircase. Others, trying to help the underclassman up. “Why’d you do that?! Huh? Why- Stop fucking laughing! I swear I’ll-”

Namjoon only buckled over and laughed even harder, clutching his stomach as you dropped him onto the floor. “What? You’ll do what?” He snickered, taunting you further. “Don’t tell me- don’t tell me you're mad at me? Hahahaha! How ridiculous...” 

“What the fuck is your problem?! What the hell was that for?!” You sneered, looking at Namjoon who sat comfortably with his bottom on the floor. 

"Listen up, princess, because it seems like you don’t know your place in our ‘relationship’. Tell me, right now, who else you have?” He taunted and grinned, rising to his feet as you threw him a dirty glare. 

“Piece of shit.”

“As per usual, you can’t even answer me.” 

… 

… 

"What the hell are you doing? Hey, I’m talking to you… Helloooo?" 

"Nnnn…?" Namjoon groaned, shifting uncomfortably on the couch in his empty living room. He was still in his uniform, hearing the clock ticking in the hallway. His hand came up to his head as he gave it a violent shake, ruffling his messed up bedhead. Ah right, he had just come back from Saturday tutoring… Jeez, what time was it?

"You told me to come over and yet your ass is sleeping? You really are annoying." You sighed, plopping your school bag onto the wooden floors. “And you snore so loudly, shut uppp.” 

"Nnn…" Namjoon groaned again, shifting away from your loud voice. 

"Hey… Hey!! Wake up!! Namjoon!!” You whined, leaning over to shake his shoulder. “You know what? Fine, I’m leaving. Why’d you even text me if you’re just going to- AH-”

Namjoon grabbed your wrist, pulling you down with him. There was a smile on his lips as he chuckled, his eyes still closed. He poked one open, leaning forward and pressing a kiss on your lips. You flushed, eyes wide as Namjoon stared straight at you. And as he pressed harder, you could feel the smile that formed as he smirked. 

Not pulling away, huh…

“Hey! I’m was talking- Mmpf-” 

Namjoon grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you harder into him as you struggled in his hold. You couldn’t help but thrash, trying to get words out of your mouth until you finally kicked him in the knee.

"You…!! Asshole!" You cursed, pushing him off. “Are you trying to make me angry? I told you to stop.” 

“Sorry.” He muttered, sitting up straight and staring up at his blank ceiling. Several minutes of silence passed between the two of you as neither could form words. Your own hand came up to your lips as you realized Namjoon had taken your first kiss. When you looked over at him, a part of you wondered if it was the same. 

Seeing Namjoon so quiet and calm always made the atmosphere feel like a lucid dream. If you interfered, it would burst back to reality. 

“Namjoon, someone like you will never learn what it’s like to be in love.”

“...”

“You’ll be lonely till the day you die.” 

“You’re not good enough. You never will be. Your family is better off without you. Even I don’t need you.”

That wasn’t your voice. That wasn’t something you would say to him. Yet, he could imagine those words leaving your lips. It was simply his own whispering to himself, smirking in its intangible form as he pinned you between his arms, breath fanning over your face.

Just after twelve in the afternoon, you both were each other’s first. Normally, he would’ve expected it to be more romantic, filled with praise, gentle touches, and kisses. But instead, it was full of sneers and snide comments, hair pulling, scratching, and fighting for dominance. Neither of you knew what you were doing, but both were too stubborn to admit to the other. 

In the aftermath, you both laid exhausted, marks and bites littered over your neck and shoulder. Namjoon adorned bruises and scratches, but he merely stared at his empty palms. 

He didn’t feel anything...

Namjoon had unexpectedly cut you off after high school graduation. He had planned it for a while, telling you with an unmoving expression as you tried to hide your own bitterness. But what could you even say anything when he asked mockingly, “Don’t tell me… Did I mean something to you? Because you were nothing to me.” 

He had learned something after having you in his bed, not all at once, but slowly. It took him months to figure out what he felt, leading himself to the conclusion which he struggled to carry out to the end. Did he seriously think love and affection could solve everything wrong with him? Why did he expect you to just sweep him off his feet and suddenly cure him as if you were his savior and protector? 

No, there was something very wrong. He knew he couldn't cling onto you, like that. He knew he couldn't completely revolve his entire self-worth and survival solely on you. He knew that there was something wrong with the way he felt when he saw himself getting replaced. It was wrong, putting you on this unreasonable pedestal... But, he felt so good with you… 

Maybe he took everything for granted. Staring at his reflection in the mirror and seeing the spark in his eyes gone. Like he became the shell of Kim Namjoon, disconnected from the motions, from life… from you. 

And he fell. Deeper and harder. It felt like he splashed into a crashing river, letting his body fall under and drown beneath. It weighed him down and dragged him further, almost as if his fingertips couldn’t reach above the water. 

“I want to see you… P-please…” 

Namjoon spings awake, panting in the back of the van as he realizes they were still driving on the road. He could see his reflection off the glass window, his heart rapidly beating in his chest. He knew what happened next in the memory, his hand digging from the bottom of his roots to the fringe. 

“Fuck…” He curses, gripping onto his hair. “I’m so screwed…” 

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Y/n, are you coming tonight?” 

You look up from the enormous painting you hover over, setting your paintbrush down to the side. As you take a brief glance outside, you realize just how dark it had gotten. How late was it? Your first instinct is to grab your phone, seeing 6:30 pm on the clock and bringing up Namjoon’s contact. 

“I- Um…” You stumble, tightening your grip on your phone case. “I was going to see my friend today, ah, I guess not really my friend, just an acquaintance of mine, so-” 

You stop yourself, feeling somewhat embarrassed by your rambling. Taehyung just smiles from the door of the spare room he lent you in his studio. After all, you were his partner for their collaboration exhibition who deserved the best. 

“If that’s the case, come with me.” Taehyung smiles, picking up a clean cloth from a stack and wiping the paint off your hands. “You’re not friends… so…” 

“R-right, I just… I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in a month…” You answer weakly, letting Taehyung hold onto your hand. You couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach. It was kind of embarrassing speaking about these kinds of things with your professor who had taught you in college, not to mention him being so much younger and smarter.

“You’re really indecisive, you know?” 

Your head shoots up, expecting to see an irritated expression on Taehyung’s face, almost imagining how Namjoon would’ve looked like. But instead, he’s rather calm, his shoulders relaxed and his eyes honestly staring back at you. There was strangely, kindness behind words that seemed to be more of an insult. 

“You also don’t ever seem to believe me or trust me.” He continues, watching as you flinch and gulp. 

You look at him with wary eyes as you slowly pull away, folding your arms across your chest. The atmosphere is still somewhat calm, but you can feel the discomfort slowly growing. 

His emotions are unreadable, his face always stoic and his tone soft. You can’t predict what he’s thinking, you can’t get ready for what he might say next, you can’t-

“So, did you not believe me when I said I love you, either?” He whispers, closing in on you. “Because I’ve loved you for so, so, so long…” 

[whoacanada]

First thing, THANKS I LOVE YOU TOO, second, like most of my fics, there were two drastically different draft versions of 52-Hertz. 

The one that ended up scrapped was a version where Jack attempts to come out to Bitty several times after he joins the Falconers, and the message never seems to take (miscommunication, the whale metaphor, etc.). Finally, he attempts a graduation-style kiss to declare his love and Bitty blows him off. 

Eventually they get together when Bitty finally reveals he’s known Jack’s proclivities for years, but his Falcs contract has a no fraternization clause and Bitty can’t risk a relationship so he’s been trying to gently guide Jack elsewhere to protect them both. In the end, I figured this was a little too angsty so I switched it up! However, angsty reveal is below for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!

(Also here’s a link to the fic in question on Ao3)

__________

Jack’s had a few drinks, just enough to take the edge off, but not enough to incapacitate him, and he’s found the courage to pull Bitty aside, away from the handful of Blue Jackets and Falcs still mingling in the nightclub.

"Hey, what is it?"

He's going to do it. He's been waiting, and it's time. He has to say something or he's going to go crazy.

More crazy.

"Bits, I —” the kiss is gentle, as soft as Jack can manage, trying to convey as much as possible without the words that keep failing him. I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.

Bitty leans into the kiss, returning it, curling into Jack like he’s wanted for so long —then there’s a soft pressure on his chest, a hand, pushing him away, and “Oh, honey, how drunk are you?”

This was supposed to be it. His big declaration. Except he hasn’t said anything and Bitty doesn’t understand. “I’m bi,” Jack forces, and Bitty’s smile is so blinding Jack thinks he might be having a stroke.

“Oh, honey, I know, you told me, remember?” Bitty presses a kiss to Jack’s cheek and winks at someone over Jack’s shoulder. Probably Tater. “I’ve been waiting for you to say something, god knows you need to get laid. If you’re horny, let’s find you someone…”

Jack tries to say he isn’t horny but the words won’t come. This is a rejection. Bittle doesn’t want him or he’d at least be pretending. How many times has he told Jack he’s slept with closet cases and bi-curious players just because he could? What does this make Jack, if he can’t even rate a pity-fuck?

Oh. A friend. They’re friends. Bitty’s his best friend. 

“Oh, just wait until you’re sober, you and I are going to laugh about this.” 

“I am sober —” 

Bittle doesn’t hear him, already turning away, and Jack feels something he hasn’t felt in years: a depression that comes with the knowledge the people closest to him don’t really know who he is. And what’s worse, it’s entirely possible they don’t care.

Bittle doesn’t care.

He knows this is his anxiety running away with his sanity, but he can’t calm down.

He allows Bitty to push him away.

“Stay here, I’m going to get Poots and then we’ll grab an Uber.”

Jack nods, but watching Bittle walk away is difficult and he knows he's fighting a losing battle to stay calm. He can't be around people right now. He can’t wait for Bitty, he can’t let anyone else see him. He pushes past the crowd at the bar and when he hits the exit, he shoves past the bouncer and runs.

Just puts one foot in front of the other until the music fades and the lights dim and by the time he realizes he's hit the park near his apartment, he's miles away from the club.

He shucks off his sweaty blazer and drops onto a bench near the duck pond, trying to ignore how badly his feet are throbbing in his dress shoes and instead focusing on how incessantly his phone is vibrating in his pocket.

He knows before he taps the screen what he’s going to find: a slew of texts and missed calls, most of which are from Bittle.

2:17 - Where did you go? Are you in the bathroom?

2:26 - Tater said you left, but Poots says you just 'took off'? Did you get a ride?

2:30 - Jack?

2:46 - No one knows where you are please call me

2:58 - if this is about setting you up with someone I promise I won’t say anything just let me know you’re okay

3:12 - Seriously, this isn’t funny

3:28 - Jack Laurent Zimmermann you answer me right now.

Jack stares at his phone, listens to the frogs croak, texts back: phone died, caught a ride, sorry to make you worry

Bittle sends back a prayer hands emoji almost immediately, followed by ‘thank god you’re okay. don’t scare me like that again!’

Jack turns his phone off and sits in the darkness watching the moonlight reflect on the water, contemplating missed opportunities. When his vision blurs with tears, he pretends it’s raining. 

The Falconers might take the cup this year, and Jack couldn’t care less. He just wants to stop feeling this persistent loss. He can’t keep his therapist on speed-dial. He can’t keep drinking and he can’t take more medication.

His coping methods are tragically familiar.

He’s up for a contract renewal at the end of the season.  At some point between weekly calls with his agent he realized he doesn’t want to be here anymore. He thinks about his father’s outlandish offer. Getting his Masters. Maybe teaching. He thinks about Montreal, rehab, flaring out again; this time in Providence, living with Bittle, hiding, completely ruining what tenuous friendships he’s built in the last few years.

He’s miserable and alone and he can’t possibly make his life any worse, so he texts Bitty. 

‘I’m in the park near the fountain. Please come get me.’

It’s almost four am when Bitty writes back that he’s on his way.

[slytherin-puffskein]

Waiting for Sunday

Random Sentence Starters | Requests Closed

From @cervo-live-in-arts: What did you just say?

- - -

Featuring @thecursedvaultchild‘s MC, Summer Charn.

Special thanks to @caustic-curses for helping me finding a title.

- - -

“This is getting ridiculous.”

Tearing his gaze away from his book, Laurent shifted his attention to Summer with a frown touching his lips. “What do you mean?”

Summer let out a deep sigh, as if she was getting ready to tell an entire monologue. However, once she leaned forward and pressed her chin against her palm she only looked at Lau with an expression he failed to decipher. “You know exactly what I mean, Berry. This has been going on for two months and you haven’t even made a move!”

“Oh come on, Sum!” The redhead exclaimed, putting his book away. “I got more important things to do than this! I have an exam next Friday, in case you forgot!”

Upon her friend’s reaction Summer couldn’t help but snort, getting off the couch in order to settle on his lap, arm snaking around his shoulders. “Forget about the exam. Lemme think... what other things can you focus on, hm?” She gently pressed her fingertip against Lau’s nose, earning an irritated sigh from him. Suddenly, a glint passed through her eyes. “I know! It’s Sunday.”

Which only meant one thing: Pizza Night. Lau’s face immediately turned as pale as a sheet and he awkwardly shifted on his seat, blushing furiously. Fuck, she knows exactly what she is doing.

Summer tilted her head innocently. “Do you call, or shall I do the honours?”

- - -

Working part-time in a flower shop definitely had it's perks, Laurent couldn't deny it. Each day was filled with beautiful flowers surrounding him, as well as customers sharing the same passion as him. What was there not to like!? It almost, almost appeased him from all the stress college gave him. However, dealing with a job as well as school also had downsides that were most apparent when it came to meals. Laurent adored cooking and Summer definitely enjoyed whatever he whipped up, but sometimes he was just too tired to come up with something. A fact that led to Summer deciding on one thing: Wednesday is Chinese takeout night, and Sunday is Pizza night.

“What did you just say? This is useless, Sum. I can handle some cooking.”

“No you can’t! Now let me call that Chinese restaurant, I heard that their food is amazing.”

He had no choice but to listen to her, and now here they were having takeout nights. While he could tolerate Chinese food, he drew the line at greasy and unhealthy pizza. Why get pizza when you can have something much more tastier? Why would people prefer pizza? The answer was beyond Lau... but he was willing to make a sacrifice for Summer’s sake and let her order some. The first few restaurant have been disastrous, but they eventually settled with one that actually had decent food (it was actually excellent, but Lau was too proud to admit it to Summer and her smug self). 

And so, they ordered from that place every Sunday, because he liked the pizza. It wasn’t too greasy, nor too hot, it was just right... so that was definitely why he was always looking forward to Sunday. Why he was always jumping with excitement when the doorbell would ring. Why he always had a smile on his features. Never the thought of the handsome delivery man being the cause of these reactions crossed his mind.

It did cross Summer’s, however. That guy is dafter than I thought if he assumed I wouldn’t notice how starry eyed he gets whenever that delivery man is around. The first few times he came, she had decided to let Lau make a move without her help, but... she quickly realized that he was hopeless. Memories from the last time he came surged back to her mind.

“Hey, Lau!” Barnaby had come to know his name, and vice versa, due to many conversation by the doorstep. “I got your pizza! And, uhm...” He shyly pulled out a flower from his jacket, pink taking over his cheeks. “I found it on the way. I remembered you said you liked flowers-- I actually remembered something, isn’t that amazing?” He quickly shut himself up before speaking again. “A-Anyway, here!”

Taking the flower as well as the pizza box, Laurent was blushing as well, and he awkwardly stood still for a few seconds before finally smiling. “Think goo! I mean, thank you! Au revoir!”

With that he closed the door, his cheeks as red as his hair. That was when Summer finally realized he needed her.

- - -

And she was going to help him, whether he liked it or not. While Laurent ordered on the phone she was crafting a plan, and she adored it. This is going to be absolutely perfect, and while he might hate me at first he’ll thank me a few days later... or weeks. As Laurent hung up, she pulled on an innocent smile, crossing her legs and acting like her most innocent self. “So? How long?”

“They’re in a rush.” He replied while plopping down next to her on the couch, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “But they guaranteed at least fifteen minutes”

“At least fifteen minutes? That’s perfect, we’ll have time to watch a few Youtube videos.”

Laurent was quick to pull out his cellphone.

When the doorbell finally rang, Summer gestured to Laurent to go take it, and he reluctantly did so. The whole thing with the flower was still fresh in his mind and his thoughts were basically clashing against each other. He’s gonna be so weirded out by you, it’s going to be RIDICULOUS. Couldn’t you have just thanked him like a normal person? AND NOT SLAMMED THE DOOR ON HIS FUCKING FACE?

Sucking in a deep breath, he opened the door to be greeted by Barnaby who was adorning his usual smile. Customer service smile, or he actually likes me...? No. He definitely changed his mind and began being into Summer, I wouldn’t blame him.

“H-”

But before Laurent could speak, Barnaby interrupted him: “Hey... erm, listen...” He nervously bit on his lips and Laurent’s heart skipped a beat. He’s gonna confess how much he hates me now. “I... If you weren’t comfortable with the flower, it’s-it’s ok! I guess it was a bit too much... so I wanna apologize! I won’t do it again and-” He trailed off, blushing. “I’m sorry...”

God, he’s adorable. Now it was Laurent’s turn to blush and bite on his lips. “I wasn’t... I didn’t...” He kept stammering for a while before finally speaking properly: “I liked it...”

They were now both looking at each other, blushing. Not saying anything because not a single word felt right in this situation. That was when Summer decided to get up and literally run to Lau, leaping at him and grabbing his shoulders with an excited smile plastered over her face.

“PIZZA!!!”

And just like that, her plan was set into motion as her friend tripped and lost his balance, resulting with him landing right on Barnaby’s chest. Out of reflex, the delivery man wrapped his arms around Lau’s waist in order to prevent what could have been a bad fall, but unfortunately that meant letting go of the pizza box. As he pulled Laurent closer, it smashed between their stomachs and dirtied their clothes with red splotches.

Summer was quick to wipe her smile off her face and pretend pure shock. “Oh my god!” She exclaimed, slapping her hands against her cheeks. “I am so sorry, I totally didn’t--”

Barnaby, however, was too focused on Laurent to listen to Summer. Oh god, oh god, I’m holding him. He’s so... short and pretty look at his HAIR. “A-Are you ok?” He squealed.

Laurent raised his head and their gazes met, resulting with shivers taking over his entire body. “I-I’m ok, don’t worry. Are you? You’re not hurt, right?” And then, looking down. “Ack! The pizza!! I’m so, so sorry!”

And then it was Barnaby’s turn to react to this disaster as panic started spreading over his features: “Ah! My boss is going to kill me! Look at my uniform! Look at your clothes! Your outfit looked so good, and now--” He forced himself to stop speaking. Idiot, it’s not the time to compliment him! Now was the time to find a solution!

Summer Charn, sitting calmly on the nearest couch, tilted her head. “I can clean it for you, meanwhile you just wait for me to be done. I swear, it’ll be so quick you'll have time to get back to work without your boss yelling at you.”

Barnaby blinked, trying to register Summer’s words. “You would? That’s so kind! Thank you, thank you!”

“Alright, then. You can chill here. Lau, go change.”

- - -

And that was how Barnaby Lee ended up wearing one of Lau’s oversized sweaters. Sitting together, they were watching Youtube videos and silence was latched into the air. Barnaby finally broke it, however.

“I’m sorry, you know, for the pizza. I, er...”

“Don’t sweat it, Barnaby” Lau reassured, selecting a cat video. “If... If I have to be sincere, I’m sort of glad it happened. We’re spending some time together, now.” Only saying this reddened Laurent’s cheeks, as well as Barnaby’s.

“Speaking of spending some time together... this is why I’m apologizing for the pizza. I... I had written my number under the top lid”

Laurent’s heart jumped inside of his chest, and he nervously twirled a strand of red hair around his finger. “I-Is that so?”

“Yes.” Barnaby confirmed. “I... I didn’t know if you would forgive me for the flower, but I wrote it anyway so that you could read it once I’m gone, and with a lot of luck c-call me so I can... ask you out. But I suppose things didn’t turn out as planned”

“A lot of things didn’t turn out as planned” Laurent giggled softly. “In fact, I’ve been meaning to.. ask you out as well”

Watching from afar, hiding behind a wall, Summer Charn was here. A smile curled her lips as she listened to their last words:

“So...” Barnaby sucked in a deep breath, as if to gather some courage. “When are you free?”

[hiyadarlingirl]

EVERGREEN LOVE, part 8

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

Summary; You have some free time from uni so you visit your parents who live in gloucestshire for a week and study for your upcoming finals. When you get back to London it has started to snow. After your last final,  adventure with Rog awaits you!

I strongly suggest listening to the pride and prejudice soundtrack  ‘The living sculptures of Pemberly “ as it matches the tone of this part perfectly.  

wordcount; 1,9k

Warnings; fluff

Disclamer; I wanted to give reader a bit of a backstory, but if you want to keep reader neutral, I suggest skipping to the last part (under the -----line)! Thanks for reading y’all! Tell me what you think! Request are Always open! :) 

‘Can you tell mom I’ll come home this Tuesday?’

You were on the phone with your younger sister Mia who still lived at home. It was Friday evening and you were sitting in the windowsill of the library with your knees pulled up, talking quietly to prevent people from getting angry.

‘Sure thing. Having dinner with us too?’

‘Yeah I think so, yes. Will Jane be home too?’ Jane was your older sister and studied English Literature at Cambridge.

‘Not sure, I’ll ask mom.’

‘Thanks.’

‘No prob. Glad you’re coming home Y/N, we missed you.’

‘Missed you too sis.’ You looked through the window over the courtyard of the library. It was minus 5 degrees outside and it would get even colder over the weekend. You looked forward to going home. You truthfully had missed them a whole lot, having seen your family far too little in the past couple of months.

Your parents lived in the Glaucestshire countryside, twenty minutes out of town and it was honestly the calmest place on earth, especially compared to crazy London. You could study undisturbed in your room overlooking the fields and help your mom making the garden ready for spring. You were yearning for some time away from the chaos and also some time away from Roger.  

You had seen him at class earlier today. He was late for the lecture and stumbled in while muttering apologies to the teacher. He then sat next to you and gave you a tired smile.

‘So how was the date?’ You asked

‘Splendid. Great fun.’ He answered, then leaned over you to read your notes, face close to the paper. ‘What is it about?’ He tried switching to a different subject.

‘Photosynthetic electron transport.’ You answered, tagging along and dropping the Christina thing.

 You wondered if they would start dating properly now or if it was just a one time thing. Either way you were glad you could spent some time away from it all. You had finals in a week and couldn’t use any distraction. Especially not from the worst distraction of all.

 That Tuesday morning you packed your suitcase with some essentials and said goodbye to Ally and Sam.

‘If Rog calls, can you tell him I’m at my parents and I’ll be back for finals?’ You asked, just in case.

‘Sure thing babes.’ Ally answered and hugged you goodbye. You then took your suitcase and headed to the train station.

It was freezing cold and you were glad you were wearing a thick parka and knitted hat, but cursed at forgetting to take gloves as your hands were icy-cold. You blew little white clouds in the air while you waited for the train to arrive.

When it did you walked to second class and sat down in a small four-seat compartment next to the window. You put your bag next to you on the seat and made yourself comfortable for the three-hour trip. You loved train rides, always had. When you were little your dad would take you and your sisters out for little trips to villages across the country. Those were the days of building campfires from driftwood at the shore and camping out in the wild. But also the days of being stuck in swamps and wanting to go home. Days of excitement and days of tears.

    When you arrived at Bibury your mom picked you up.

‘Hi sweatheart.’ She gave you a hug and helped you carry your suitcase to the car. Mia was in the backseat and wrapped her arms around you when you sat down in front.

‘Ahh you smell so good! What are you wearing? Is it new?’

‘Yes, it’s Yves-Saint-Laurent.’

‘Can I borrow it?’ She asked cheerful.

‘Steal it, you mean? Sure but I don’t have it with me so you’ll have to come to London.’ You said smiling.

Mia groaned and let you go form her grip. ‘Ugh, alright…’

‘Sorry Mia.’

‘No boys to impress here huh?’ She jokingly added, not knowing there was truth in her words. You rolled your eyes at her, just like when you were younger. Some things just never changed. 

    It was a short drive to the house and Mia chatted away from the backseat about a winter ball at school and her dress and how Jane was coming home tomorrow and how glad she was you’d all be together again. 

    When you arrived at the house and the car-engine was turned off the silence was almost overwhelming. There was no sound apart from  that of nature and you had forgotten what it felt like.

You carried your suitcase to the porch and took a moment to look out over the fields. Everything was sober, from the white walls of the house to the fields and the empty garden. The white formed a big contrast with the forest behind it and you realized how much you had missed the place.

‘Your dad is  in the back chopping wood, go say hi.’ Your mom said and pointed her chin to the side of the porch. ‘Oh and tell him dinner is ready in an hour.’

You nodded and walked around the house, indeed hearing the sound of an ax hitting wood in a controlled manner.

‘Hi dad.’ You said and waited for him to stop chopping before you came closer.

‘Hi sweetheart!’ His face lit up. You really had been away for far too long, you felt as if he looked older than you remembered.

‘Dinner is ready in an hour, need help?’

‘Help me carry in a bit?’ He said and gave you a smile.

 That evening you spent catching up with your parents and sister. Your mom made soup and fresh baked bread and you talked about life in London and university. You also talked about your friends but chose your words carefully not in the mood to talk about Roger.

 The rest of the week you spent working in the garden and studying in your room. Your sister had come home but you hadn’t talked to her properly yet when she knocked on your door one evening.

‘Hey, how’s studying going?’

You shrugged. ‘Can’t concentrate.’

‘Feel like having a sleepover in Mia’s room?’

‘Ah I could’ve predicted she wanted one of those.’ You said.

‘Not to get out of.’ Jane said and laughed. ‘Come I’ll help you carry your sleeping stuff to her room.’

    That night you spent in Mia’s room braiding each-others hair and talking about boys.

‘How is Charlie?’ Mia asked Jane.

‘Ah, we broke up like three weeks ago.’

‘Why?’

‘He… cheated.’ She said quietly and shrugged.

‘Oh shit. That really sucks.’ You said, surprised they weren’t together anymore.

‘Yeah it does, but I’m okay really, I wasn’t that in love with him anymore anyway. He turned out to be pretty…’ She stopped to look for the right word. ‘…Boring.’

‘Yeah I never liked him, Jane.’ Mia said.

‘I know you didn’t sis.’ Jane said and threw her a meaningful look. ‘So we’re all single girls now then huh?’ She added with a melancholy smile. ‘Unless…. Our mysterious sister Y/N has a secret lover.’ She looked at you expectantly, eyes twinkling.

‘I don’t. Sorry to disappoint you.’

‘So where’s your mind then? You seem so distracted.’

You sighed. Jane had always been able to read through you.

You decided to just be honest. ‘You remember Roger right?’

‘Of course, the bambi boy?’

‘Bambi boy?’

‘Yes, because of his big eyes. Bamboy.’

‘Yeah right… that one.’ You said, then continued. ‘You know, I try really hard to not think of him and focus on my finals and understanding the processes in prokaryotic and eukaryotic cells, but all I end up thinking about is how beautiful Rogers hands are.’

‘Well I can see why.’ Mia said. ‘That sounds bloody boring.’ You laughed but Jane’s face turned serious.

‘Roger is in that band right, smile?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You are not in love with him, are you?’

‘No I am not.’ You said. ‘But I could be. Oh Jane, I really could be.’ You noticed there was a longing in your voice.

‘So why don’t you let yourself fall in love with him?’

‘Because… he doesn’t love me back and he can be a really arrogant self-righteous prick sometimes.’

‘How do you know he doesn’t love you back.’

‘He doesn’t act like it, not in a romantic love kind-a-way anyway.’ You said. ‘And he’s dating a girl now. A really pretty one.’

‘Well you are very pretty too you know.’ Mia said. You smiled but shook your head a little. ‘I’m afraid that if I fall in love with him, and even if we end up dating, he will crush my heart by falling for a different girl in a heartbeat.’

‘You know,’ Jane started and shifted her weight so she was lying next to you. ‘I’ve only met him once at that garden party of yours last May, but he seems very, very fond of you.’

‘He does huh.’

‘Yes!’

‘Hm.’

‘I think you should consider telling him. It’s worth the risk don’t you think?’

‘The stakes are pretty high, I might lose my best friend.’

‘Yes, or you’ll gain a love of a lifetime.’

‘I don’t know.’ You said, your heart racing at the thought of having to tell him. You were too afraid to lose him.

 After the weekend you had to get back to London to take your exams and hugged your sisters and parents goodbye. 

---------------------------------------------

Sitting in the train you looked out of the window, lost in thought. It was still incredibly early, the golden morning sun barely giving off any warmth. Your warm breath made a white haze on the window and without thinking you bended forward and pressed your lips to the cold glass. You wondered what Rogers lips would feel like and felt rosy by the thought of kissing him.

When you arrived in London you rushed to university to take your first exam.

The following days were filled with late night studying and more finals and you were glad when it was Friday and the last one had arrived. It had started snowing that morning. Thick snowflakes came falling from the sky and wrapped London in a thin white blanket, getting thicker by the second.

It muted every sound and it was completely silent in the exam hall apart from the sound of turning paper and sniffling and coughing.

You hadn’t talked to Roger over two weeks now, having only seen him once that week at an exam on a subject that you shared. He followed a different major which gave you partly different courses so it wasn’t strange you hadn’t seen that much of him. You had missed talking to him though.

You looked at the clock. Two hours left. You turned back to your paper, focusing on the questions.

When you were finally done you handed it in, a feeling of relieve came washing over you.

 You walked out and went looking for your jacket when you suddenly saw him. 

Roger. 

He was leaning to the opposite wall, wearing a huge jacket and a red knitted hat, completely covered in snow. He smiled brightly.

‘Hi love. Up for an adventure?’

‘Hi Rog. Always.’

‘Good. We’re waiting outside with the van. It’s time you met Freddie.’

He slung his arm around you and pulled you in for a side-hug.

 ‘We’re going on a roadtrip babe.’ 

TO BE CONTINUED

previous part, next part

taglist; @fics-for-my-heart, @midnightloversville, @killerqueenbucky, @fallinginlovewithwhereyouare, @about-aphrodite, @juliet-taylor, @rogerrrinaaa, @mercuriangel, @daarkdreamy, @fanficsupporter, @rogahtaylahthedrumah, @fortuneboldlyfavors, @int0-you, @sleeping-bobcat, @bensroger, @katexxr, @whitequeenwalks, @bulsaratheopera

[sir-pyllero]

Keeping Score, part 2

Nik’s moving in with Auguste, and Laurent’s moving out to move in with Damen.

Or that, at least, is the plan...

Part 1

“I need to talk to you.”

They said it at the same time, causing both to pause. “You first,” Auguste chuckled and sat down on the couch.

“No, you go ahead,” Laurent replied.

“Okay, well. How would you feel if Nik moved in?”

“Feels like he already has, to be honest,” Laurent said as he sat down, too. “Might as well make it official. At least Damen won’t have to bring him his mail anymore.”

“So, you’re fine with it?”

“Yeah, sure, I mean… actually, that’s what…” Laurent cleared his throat. “Damen asked me to move in with him.”

Auguste raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Well, his exact words were ‘we should totally live together’ but that’s the most logical option, isn’t it? That I move in with him.”

“And you’re nothing if not logical,” Auguste said. “Do you want to move? In with him and… leave the nest, so to speak?”

Laurent sighed, looking around their spacious living room. Their dad’s armchair was still in the corner and their mom’s bookshelf was practically untouched. Nicaise had picked out the couch they were sitting on when he was 7, his main criteria being that it was comfortable. It was too soft for Laurent’s liking, but he had never complained. This is where Laurent had learned to read and Nicaise had learned to walk. This was where Auguste had received the news about being accepted to his dream university. This was home.

“I want to live with him,” Laurent finally said. “All the cliché stuff, I want them all. Waking up together, coming home to him, hearing him yell “I’m home!”. Cooking together. It all sounded so boring to me, but with him, it’s… what? Why are you laughing?”

“I’m not laughing, Lou,” Auguste said. “I’m just so happy you found him.”

Laurent blinked, because for a moment it looked like Auguste was close to tears. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“He’s scored plenty of points.”

“Ha ha.”

“It’s a little heart-breaking, though,” Auguste admitted. “It’s going to be hard, getting used to you not being here.”

“I’ll probably be here all the time,” Laurent chuckled.

“Have you told Nicaise?”

Laurent’s heart sank. “No.”

“Want me to be there?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then.”

“Do you think he’ll hate me?”

“You’re his best friend, Laurent. I’m not saying he won’t be upset, but he’d never hate you.”

“Mm. I hope you’re right.”

--

“When are we getting the puppy?”

“I have not agreed yet.”

“But Nik wants one, too!”

“Nik’s still trying to win you over. He’ll agree with you on anything.”

“No, he doesn’t. He thinks the Solo movie is better than Rogue One.”

“He’s allowed to have his opinions.”

“Rogue One being better is not an opinion, it’s a fact. You know, like how children benefit from having a dog is also a fact.”

“They do, huh?”

“Uh-huh. I’ve Googled bunch of stuff.”

“Well, I must say that I am impressed by your dedication. But I will not agree until I am absolutely certain I will not end up being the only one taking it out.”

“Dad! It’ll be my dog! I’ll take it out! Nik will take it out! Laurent will take it out when he’s not too busy blushing at Damen! You’ll never even have to hold the leash!”

“Uh, actually…” Laurent cut in. “There’s - there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Damen’s moving in, too?” Nicaise guessed before Laurent had a chance to continue. “See, Dad, we’ll all take the dog out! And you’ll fall in love with it, too, I swear!”

“Nicaise,” Laurent said. “I’m moving out.”

That caused Nicaise to pause. “What?”

“I’m moving in with Damen. To his place.”

Nicaise blinked. “To his place. In the city.”

“It’s just half an hour away,” Laurent said quickly. “You can come over any time you want, and I’ll be here so much that you’ll barely notice that anything’s changed. The biggest difference will be that, you know, I’ll no longer sleep in my old room. At least most nights.”

Nicaise was biting his lip. After a long moment of silence, Auguste asked: “Are you okay?” but instead of answering, Nicaise left the kitchen so quickly he was almost running.

“Nicaise… Nicaise, hey, wait!” Laurent called, chasing after him. He almost ran into the door of Nicaise’s door as it slammed shut right to his face, and he took a few seconds to steady his breath before knocking softly and entering. “Nicaise, please. Just listen…”

“No!” Nicaise was lying on his bed, face buried in his pillow. “No, just go! Go to Damen! Live in the stupid city and leave me alone!”

His heart breaking, Laurent sat down on Nicaise’s bed. “You’re still my number 1.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. To me, and your Dad, you’ll always be in number 1.”

“Then why are you going away?”

“I’m moving in with Damen. That’s not the same as going away.”

“It is!”

“No, it’s not. It’s… Nicaise, turn around. Please.”

Slowly, sniffing, Nicaise turned to lie on his back. “You won’t be here.”

“Not all the time, no. But I wasn’t here all time before, either, and you were fine.”

“Yeah, but… You always came home. This is home. Our home. Now your home will be somewhere different. Now you’ll… now you’ll just visit. And you’ll leave.”

Laurent swallowed. “Has your dad ever told you how I threw the biggest tantrum the day before he left for college?”

“…no?”

“Well, I did. I was 8 and I thought he was leaving me forever. It took him hours to calm me down. When I finally did calm down enough to listen, he promised me he’d always come back. And guess what?”

“What?”

“He did. As will I. I might leave to go home to my new home with Damen, but I will always, always come back. Okay? I promise. And we don’t break promises in this family.”

“What if I need help with history?”

“Then you call me.”

“In the middle of the night, even?”

“Whenever you want. I told you, you’re my number 1.”

“What if you have kids?”

“That’s… unlikely but if I do, then I’ll make the podium bigger so that you can all be number 1.”

Nicaise’s mouth twitched. “It’s going to be strange.”

“I know.”

“What if I have to kick Nik’s ass?”

Laurent couldn’t help but laugh. “You ask a lot of ‘what if’s.” When Nicaise pouted, he added. “If you ever feel the need to kick Nik’s ass then I’m sure he’s deserved it.”

“He is helping me get a puppy.”

“Another point to him, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind do you want?”

“A Jackrussel.”

“Good choise.”

“Will you help me name it?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.” Slowly, NIcaise moved so that he was practically on Laurent’s lap. “I’ll be fine,” he said before Laurent even asked.

Barely keeping his own tears at bay, Laurent wrapped his arms around his nephew and hugged him close.

So quietly that neither one heard, Auguste left the doorway.

--

The night before Laurent was to move, Auguste woke up – for the first time in 7 years – to Laurent sneaking into his bed.

At 21, Laurent was far from the lithe teen he had been 7 years ago, but somehow he still fit under Auguste’s arm. Maybe it should have felt awkward, maybe it was a little awkward, but they didn’t say anything. They both needed this, this little moment from years ago, before their new chapters would begin.

So Auguste let Laurent stay. They both fell back to sleep quite quickly, only to be woken up again when Nicaise joined them, forcing his way between them.

“You can have the puppy,” Auguste mumbled into his curls, half asleep.

“I know,” was the reply.

--

”Okay. All packed. Now we just have to carry everything to the car,” Laurent announced.

“How are you planning to take the piano?” Auguste asked.

“Oh, I can’t take it with me. It won’t fit anywhere.”

“You’re leaving it here?”

“Trust me, my heart is bleeding. But it’s a one-bedroom place so it was either the piano or the books. Between those, it wasn’t a hard decision. But we’re already looking for a bigger place,” Laurent said.

“Or Damen could move here.”

All four men turned to look at Nicaise, who was stirring his chocolate milk with a straw. His face was carefully blank, as if his suggestion was something between a casual remark and a joke, but his tone had given away more than he probably guessed.

“Hey. We talked about this. You said you were fine,” Laurent said.

Nicaise shrugged. “It just seems stupid. That you’d move there and then move again in a few months. We all fit here just fine.”

“Well, sure, we do. But…” Laurent paused because really, he couldn’t think of a but. “But… we… Damen,” he said, slapping his boyfriend lightly on the arm. “You say something.”

“Hm? What?”

“Something rational.”

“Like what?”

“Like how you want us to have a place of our own, so you don’t have to hear Nikandros have sex every night.”

“We don’t have sex every night,” Nikandros said.

“Fine, well, when you do, I’m sure you don’t want us to be in the next room,” Laurent said.

“We were already planning on moving to the master bedroom,” Auguste said. “It’s bigger and it’s been empty long enough. And that way Nicaise can have the room with the balcony.”

“Why would Nicaise get the room with the balcony?”

“Because Dad and I made a deal.”

“Why wasn’t I included in the deal making?”

“Because you were moving out.”

“Right. Right, yeah. And I’m still moving out.” Laurent turned to Damen. “Aren’t I?”

“I’m fine with anything,” Damen said. “It’s up to you.”

“I’ve already packed!”

“It’ll give us a chance to redecorate your room,” Damen smiled. “And we’d save a ton of money.”

“Yes, because saving money is something we have to be concerned about,” Laurent huffed, gesturing around the undeniably huge kitchen. “You realize you’d live with your boss.”

“Only until I win the court case. And I will win it,” Damen said.

“Then you’d be living with the competition.”

“Unless we merge,” Auguste put in. “Which would be a completely sensible thing to do in this situation.”

“And you wouldn’t have to give up the piano,” Damen said.

Laurent just looked between Damen and Auguste, unable to form a coherent thought. Finally, he blurted out: “Nik.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your own home,” Nikandros said immediately. “If you want to stay then that’s fine. Damen and I already know we can live together. And you’re a better cook than Auguste anyway.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry, but you know it’s true.”

“Please, Laurent,” Nicaise said then. His glass of chocolate milk was still full. “Please stay. You can have the room with the balcony.”

“I…”

“Laurent,” Damen said. “I know you want to.”

“We all do,” Auguste agreed.

“It’ll be fun,” Nikandros added.

“Please?”

Laurent sighed. In relief or defeat, he wasn’t sure. “I will not cook every day.”

Nicaise jumped off his chair and all but leaped into his arms with a woop of triumph.

[laurent-ofvere]

@howdoidemi: “this is my first time writing the CP characters, so I’m not confident enough to actually make a story, but I love this au you guys keep talking about and you asked so…”

It was hot, Laurent thought. The day, of course, definitely not the spectacle his brother’s best friend made in the pool. Laurent had come outside earlier in the day when it was still cool enough to be tolerable, intent on doing a little landscape sketching. So much of the garden was in bloom that the air was constantly laced with a warm sweetness. It was just becoming noticeably, almost uncomfortably warm when the back door to the house opened and Laurent heard footsteps. He was more focused on his shading than on who was approaching, so his attention was really only caught when his feet caught some of the splash of what had surely been an impressive cannonball. Snapping his head up towards the pool to immediately yell at whoever had nearly gotten his sketchbook wet, Laurent’s words quickly died in his throat. Damen broke the surface of the water with a gasp that was quickly followed by a boisterous laugh. “It’s colder than I expected!” He called towards Auguste who was just dropping their towels in a nearby chair. “Hey Laurent!” He waved cheerfully. Laurent frowned slightly in response. The big, beautiful oaf had nearly gotten him wet. He’d been coming to their house for years. Everyone knew how protective he was of his sketchbooks. “Are you going to stay outside?” Auguste asked as he leaned over, trying to get a peek at what his brother was working on before the page was tipped away from his view. “If so, we’ll be careful not to splash in your direction.” “Thank you,” Laurent said sincerely as his eyes fixed once more onto the paper in hand. He tried to continue with what he’d come outside for, really he did. But it was just unfair how eye-catching Damianos was. Even on a normal day just sitting around their house and hanging out with Auguste, Damen had Laurent’s attention. He had several filled sketchbooks from throughout the years to prove it. But during summer, in the sun, dripping with the crystal clear water of their pool, Damen was truly in his element. He glowed, and Laurent hated the things it did to his stomach. Without meaning to and before he was even fully aware that he was doing it, Laurent’s pencil was tracing the lines of Damen’s hair, more wave than the usual curl as it was weighed down with water. His smile was blinding in the sun, that cursedly perfect dimple standing out on his cheek despite how much darker his skin had gotten from constantly being in the sun these past weeks. He and Auguste were roughhousing, originally playing some version of water basketball that had turned into more of a wrestling match than anything else.

Laurent could hear them laughing as they played their games, but he was more focused on the cut and curve of Damen’s well-muscled frame and the shadows the afternoon sun was casing on him. Damen and Auguste were both tall and athletic, but their builds were markedly different. Where Auguste was lean muscle, strong but narrow, Damen was all broad shoulders and thick curves. Before he knew it, Laurent’s page, originally meant for the garden’s landscape, was full of Damen. Damen’s arms, Damen’s back, Damen’s smile, and - Laurent’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly - Damen’s abs, accented by a happy trail. That damned happy trail had haunted Laurent’s dreams on more than one occasion. Again: it was unfair how eye-catching Damianos was. “Laurent!” Thoughts interrupted, Laurent looked up to see his brother waving at him to catch his attention before pointing down at his arm. Laurent looked down at his own arm and almost groaned. The sun had shifted and he’d apparently been sitting in direct sunlight for a good while judging by how pink his skin had gotten. Flipping his sketchbook shut and setting it down on the table next to him, he turned to give Auguste a stern look. It was only when Auguste nodded in understanding and waved him on that Laurent headed inside to find some aloe and sunscreen. “He really does burn easily, doesn’t he?” Damen asked as he pushed his hair out of his face and watched Laurent leave. Swinging his attention back to Auguste, he asked, “Why don’t you?” “Genetics,” Auguste shrugged as he reached for the small basketball they’d been playing with. “He got our mother’s skin. You’ll rarely catch either of them in direct sun for very long.” Damen nodded with a small hum. As he thought back on it, he realized that Auguste was right. In all the years he’d known the family, he couldn’t recall Laurent or their mother being outside much. “I need something to drink,” he announced suddenly, slowly wading towards the steps to exit the pool. He wasn’t even anywhere near the chair with their towels when Auguste called out, “Be careful of Laurent’s sketchbook.” “I know,” Damen laughed. Laurent was more protective of his sketchbooks then most people were of their children. He would never intentionally do anything that could damage one. That being said… Damen looked over his shoulder, back towards the house, as he dried himself off. Laurent was extremely talented. It never failed to amaze him on the rare occasion he managed to talk Laurent into showing him some of his recent works. He had a eye for depth and detail that Damen usually didn’t even notice existed until he saw it put on paper in pencil or charcoal. But one thing Laurent never let him look at, never let anyone look at as far as he knew, was what he kept in those personal sketchbooks of his. Stepping closer to the table and making sure that his hands were thoroughly dried, Damen reached for the edge of the sketchbook that had been left behind. “Damen," Auguste warned, now leaning along the edge of the pool closest to where Damen stood. “If Laurent catches you, he may very well kill you. You are aware of that, yes?” “I’m just going to take a quick look,” Damen insisted. “The curiosity has been killing me for years.” Even as he heard Auguste saying something about refusing to take responsibility for whatever befell him, Damen flipped through a few blank pages until he got to the most recent page Laurent had been working on. There were the garden’s flowers and bushes and trees, of course, but scattered among them was something that surprised Damen. It was him. His heart stuttered a little not having expected to see himself in such finely drawn detail. Damen wasn’t exactly what he would call vain, but he knew that he was attractive. Still, there was something about the way that Laurent had drawn him that seemed to accent all of his best features. It was flattering if he was completely honest. Extremely so. He was smiling so wide his cheeks were starting to hurt. Clearing his throat, Damen quickly let the sketchbook fall shut once more and turned his attention back to Auguste. “Do you want anything to drink while I’m inside?” “No,” Auguste sighed. The smile on Damen’s face said everything. Auguste had never looked through one of Laurent’s private sketchbooks, but he knew exactly what his friend had found inside. It couldn’t have been more obvious from his reaction. With a skip in his step, Damen made his way inside, towel slung around his shoulders to catch any stray drips from his hair. He ran into Laurent about halfway to the kitchen. “Laurent,” he greeted, “I’m getting drinks. Want anything?” Laurent looked at Damen carefully. Something was different. Cheerful seemed to be Damen’s default disposition, but the way his sparkling smile stretched across his face with extra enthusiasm bordered on suspicious. “No,” Laurent answered at length. “Thank you.” Damen smiled at him even brighter - if that was possible - and continued on his merry way to the kitchen. He’d known Damen for years and even with all of their various interactions in that time, Laurent felt that moment in particular had been odd. Different, somehow. It was in the way Damen smiled at him. Not in the normal way he did, as someone smiling indulgently at their best friend’s younger sibling, but in a way that was more specifically aimed directly at him. If Laurent had to describe it, he’d probably call it dopey. An idiotic kind of smile, too bright and too honest. And it was beautiful. It really was unfair.