comptine d'un autre été, l'après-midi
or: yoongi's song
Pairing: yoongi x reader
Genre: meet-cute, slow born, fluff
Wordcount: 13.7k
Summary: when your favourite study spot is suddenly unavailable, a fit of annoyance and the tinkling of piano keys lead you to discover an entirely new space.
and along with it, someone to keep company.
The library's secretary looked down her nose at you, standing half a step below the desk.
Her voice was notably cooler as she spoke again.
"The section you would like to access is closed for cleaning for the entire week from today on. We apologize for any inconveniences, but there's nothing to be done about it. You will have to go and study elsewhere, I'm afraid."
The old crone leaned back in her chair, her beady eyes fixated on the screen of her computer once more. The chain on her glasses jingled softly.
You turned away from her, staring into the rows of bookshelves accusingly while the fingers around a stack of papers holding it up to your chest tapped furiously.
No studying in the library today.
Great.
There was no other place as good to study in as that particular nook you'd found while one day idling between the rows; nowhere else could you focus so well, so thoroughly. Hours could pass while you were engrossed in the material, and the prospect of being robbed of that, today of all days - and furthermore, for the whole week?
The sun falling through the narrow, high windows suddenly didn't seem as bright and cheery anymore.
Briefly you debated just sitting at one of the long tables in the main area, with everyone else - but quickly scrapped that thought. There were more people than usual there, courtesy of the partial blockage no doubt, and you knew it just wouldn't work out.
Still steaming, you turned a corner and pushed through the first set of doors you could find, really needing some air after this monumental setback.
The fresh breeze hit your face. It slipped through your jacket and caused a shiver to run down your entire form.
Blinking against the light you tried to orientate yourself.
A few steps forward on the stones surrounding this entrance, green with moss here and there, didn't bring the expected clarity concerning your surroundings that you'd hoped for; but instead you realized this was simply a part of campus you apparently had never seen before.
The curiosity about this new, uncharted area grew into the hollow left by the frustration. If you wouldn't be able to study in your favourite spot, you could at least roam the area here and see what mysteries might be hidden.
There was a lot of grass between the occasional tree, on a long hill softly sloping down into the residential area across a street down below. Then there were the campus buildings with their windows. Most had their blinds drawn, and only those on the higher floors were cracked open to let some air in.
It was so quiet.
Somewhere almost out of hearing range was a tingling sound, like windchimes.
You took a deep breath.
There was nowhere specific to go.
Already the stress about meeting your deadlines, the library closing down, it began to lose its edge.
The tinkling came wafting over with the breeze again and you turned your face towards it, feet beginning to move before you'd fully settled on what to do, where to go next.
The stones forming the path around the building were barely visible under the encroaching greenery. They cushioned your steps and softened the ground. A corner lay ahead, and after turning you were presented with more green space between two buildings, eventually ending in a wall that was most likely part of the ancient university campus, overgrown with ivy but still standing strong against time.
The tinkling had shifted from vaguely sounding like windchimes to definitely piano tunes, but it was still nice.
About three quarters to the wall stood an old picnic table under a maple tree.
The surface was a bit uneven, the table was made out of wood and students and time alike had both carved into the soft material.
The seat was slightly damp as well - you remembered the few drops this morning on your way to your lecture - but with your jacket placed over the seat it was a nice spot.
Great, even, as soon as the sun peeked through the clouds again, bringing warmth into the still air of the secluded spot.
Whoever was playing piano was probably close by, you thought after working on the sheets you'd brought for a bit.
The tunes perfectly fit into the overall mood resting in this place, underlining the tranquil state lasting over it.
It was like you had stepped into a pocket universe, with the general buzz of campus being left behind.
The chiming of a bell tower roused you from your work pace. Not having fully arrived in the real world yet you reached for your phone to check the time after counting the rings of the bell - was it really 5pm already?
Apparently it was, and you hurried to collect everything and stuff it into your bag.
Shouldering it, you brushed off your jacket and looked over the place to make sure you hadn't left anything behind once more before it really was time to leave if you still wanted to catch your usual train home.
The music was silent as you took your leave, and you wondered for how long it had been like that already.
Pushing through the doors back into the library was like waking from a pleasant dream. Even though it was the library, and as such calmer than the rest of campus, there was still the usual ruckus. A myriad of voices whispering and creating the white noise backdrop for shoes squeaking, chairs dragging over the floor, doors closing and the occasional shout.
The big communal university spaces were almost too loud to bear and you squinted your eyes at the air saturated with sounds.
Once the entrance hall gave you free and you were hurrying towards the public transport stations it was better again, but there was still a lot more technical sounds digging into your ear drums. You resolved to plugging your headphones in and were able to breathe a little easier while on your commute home, even without music playing.
The next day was free, no lectures to attend, but you still returned to get some more work done.
For a while you were afraid you wouldn't be able to find the picnic table under the maple tree again; that it had all been a wonderful, too good to be true, dream - but your nook in the library was still closed off and there was the door you'd gone through yesterday.
The table was still there, as was the tree, and today the wood was fully dry and birds were chirping in the ivy on the wall.
With a drink in hand and happiness upon finding the wonderful small place again in your heart you sat down to work again, and even though it was tedious and required a lot of forced attention, it somehow felt a little better doing it out here.
Every once in a while you had to make a break and go for a toilet run, refilling your water bottle or simply eating a snack you'd brought.
Between yesterday and today you hadn't seen anyone else out here, and so had little qualms about leaving your stuff unattended. Safe your phone and wallet, of course.
The sun, blinking through the clouds now and then, slowly wandered over the sky.
It must have been early afternoon when you lifted your head after a particularly nasty paragraph and heard the piano play again.
A smile spread on your face as you stretched your arms and allowed yourself a break, sat back and just listened to the notes.
Whoever was playing was good.
Not that you were an expert, but your ears liked it and that was what primarily counted.
Occasionally there was a break in the flowing tune, when whoever was playing went back and redid a couple notes, sometimes once, sometimes needing two attempts, until they were satisfied and continued.
You smiled and let your thoughts wander, momentarily forgetting about your work.
The week of not having access to your library nook went by much faster than anticipated.
On the following monday you stood in the foyer, waiting for a friend, when the small sign "Library fully open again!" caught your eye.
You stared at it for a moment longer, suddenly remembering that you had only found the almost magical table away from the craze of reality solely because there had been cleaning business at work cutting you off your old favourite spot.
You were still mentally trying to puzzle everything out when Jin came floundering around the corner, steps wide and an easy smile spreading on his face at your sight.
"-to one~!"
"What?" You looked up, and the expression on the other's face fell a bit.
"Aha! So you weren't listening at all, after all."
"Sorry. Bit caught up in my thoughts. Was there something you wanted to say?"
"Will you be telling me your secret how you worked through the entire material to that first book we're reading, already? Like… That was inhumanely fast. I know you're good, but honestly. Tell me your secrets." He poked a finger into the soft area between ribcage and belt, and you swerved to the side and away from him to escape it.
"A brilliant work ethic and iron self-discipline!" You chirped and Jin rolled his eyes with an overly dramatic sigh. He hooked an arm around your shoulder and dragged you into his side.
"If the Prof is threatening to let me fail this course, will you tell me then?"
"Kim Seokjin you better not be deliberately slacking off."
"I wasn't!" He pouted, steering you into the right hallway. "Not before, anyways. But if there's a cool new drug like Why-Phy that you're taking to get done sooner, you'll tell me, right?"
"Of course. It's either Why-Phy or blue crystal meth, Jinnie, you know me too well."
The brunet laughed and pressed a kiss to your temple.
Three weeks since the library had reopened and you still had yet to return to the comfortable little chair next to the table with its small reading light.
You'd been lucky with the weather.
So far it had only rained or been too windy to sit outside longer on days you were too busy to get work done next to the lectures, or had to go early because of your job on the side.
Looking up through the leaves on the tree, blinking against the sun, you hoped it would continue to stay like this.
It felt so nice to be here, so private.
The windows leading into the yard were never not covered with blinds, at least the ones in the part of the building you were looking at frequently whenever your eyes needed a break.
The most noise was the wind in the tree or the ivy; occasionally students would sit on the other side of the wall and have a chat but that was about it.
That, and the piano music.
By now you were fairly certain it came from a room on the first floor, somewhere above the place you were sitting at, but there was no way to look into any of the rooms there.
As you turned and squinted up to them once more, not really seeing them but more wondering what might lay beyond the glass, something moving caught your eye.
Had it been an animal?
You blinked to clear your vision, but by then whatever had caused the disturbance had disappeared.
Maybe someone had looked down?
The uncomfortable feeling hadn't taken root fully before you shooed it away; surely it had been something else, a reflection of a passing bird, probably. And even if someone had looked out and seen you sitting here, so what? It wasn't illegal.
You ended your self-assigned break and went back to the material, but the thought of someone watching you, intruding on the privacy you'd enjoyed here, didn't fully leave your mind.
After finishing up early for the day you decided to go try and see if there was a way into the building you'd sat in front of so often now, and if, maybe, you'd be able to find the room the music was coming from every other day.
By the time you had bested the maze of hallways and never before used by you doors leading into other unknown parts of the campus, it was late already.
You tried some of the doors that you thought were on the right floor, but all of them were locked and there was no music coming from anywhere, either.
Disappointed, you went home.
It was the weekend afterwards, but on the next monday you were back, now finding your way to the remote, barely used building a little easier already. There was a nice long break before your next lecture and you were curious to explore more.
You held the door open after passing through as someone approached from the inside, and then went on. Silence lasted on the hallways here.
A window going out from the staircase showed the familiar corner, with the last bit of the library barely visible behind it, and you felt satisfied knowing this was where you'd wanted to go.
On the first floor you paused to catch your breath.
The lights were on overhead, but no other person was in sight.
The doors were locked as well, much like they had been on friday.
You had almost given up hope when a knob turned in your palm and you almost fell into the room behind it as the door gave away.
Dust danced in the spare light that fell through the windows.
Sheets of paper littered the floor. A few tables were pushed to the walls, there was an old cupboard missing its two front doors. More paper and empty binders were stacked in the exposed compartments.
What dominated the room though was the grand piano in its middle.
The shiny black surface beckoned to be touched by your fingertips, and you couldn't hold back from running them over the sleek paint.
It seemed old, if the slightly rusted wheels at the bottom of the pillars it was standing on were anything to go by, but it looked very well kept.
The cover lowered over the keys opened without sound. Black and white keys shared the space underneath it.
It felt wrong to push them, entice sound when you knew there were usually much more skilled hands at work here, and so you gently put the cover back and let your gaze explore the room more.
A big sheet covered a mixpult along one of the walls, several electric keyboards were stacked on the floor beside it.
The walls were a faded yellow which must've been nice once but now looked stale.
There was more paper around the piano, discarded sheet music, printed and self-written, you noticed with surprise as you bent down to inspect it.
Maybe a handful were pinned to the wall closest to the piano, exclusively hand written and, by the looks of it, self-composed.
Whoever was working their magic here so often really had a passion, it seemed, and it made you wonder why they weren't busy doing this over in the faculty for music.
Then again, you mused while stepping up to the window, this place was incredible in getting creative juices flowing. You'd experienced it yourself with work, could only guess at how it must be for someone so musically inclined.
Your picnic table under the maple tree was maybe three steps to the right underneath the window, in direct line of sight from where you stood.
It felt almost weird, knowing that if whoever was practicing here so often had even only once stood up and walked towards the window to look outside had most likely seen you sitting under the tree.
A moment longer you hung after your thoughts.
Then you blinked and remembered that you were probably not welcome here, with the expensive piano and the private compositions, and quickly and silently left the room again, making sure to close the door behind you.
You didn’t go back again in the afternoon, but as you sat down two days later, the tinkling of the keys was drifting down to your spot once more. Smiling about their company, you focused on your work.
It seemed like good things wouldn't last.
The professors heaped enormous amounts of extra essays, excerpts and transcriptions upon each of your heads, and caught between balancing your work and study life, along with having to prep multiple presentations, you were left yearning for the calm spot beneath the tree.
Namjoon had managed to get you to admit where you'd been vanishing off to over the past weeks; after loudly proclaiming that even though the library had been squeaky clean for weeks now he had yet to see you return to your spot.
"Well maybe I found a better spot!" You defended your absence, over lunch in the cafeteria.
"Aha!" Jin yelled, making everyone in a five meter radius around him flinch. "So you have been hiding! I knew it."
"It's just a tiny spot under a tree, outside the old Uni's wall. Stumbled upon it by accident, but a total good find."
“I see.” Namjoon was too intelligent to not notice you didn’t really want to talk about this and soon after dropped the topic.
Rain ran down the windows in streams and you sighed at its presence.
Like this there was no way to get out to the table, and even if it would have cleared up instantly - the wood would need at least several hours in direct sunshine to dry.
Seemed like the last of your luck had run out.
With the lighting from inside the hallways the world outside was hardly recognizable.
You loved the library, and especially the little nook, but there was just something about that table and the tree out among the downpour that was a lot more appealing now than your old favourite spot.
Sitting down anywhere else seemed impossible. Especially, you dimly thought to yourself, especially because the music would be missing.
It was ten times better than listening to your own stuff, because you didn't have to choose what to hear and couldn't simply skip tracks. A little like radio; you could just hear what was given to you, but unlike radio there were no ads.
You found yourself on ground level of the deserted building, hand on the railing and foot on the first step of the stairs before you realized - you could just sit down somewhere close to the room, listen if someone was playing today and do your work there.
Fuelled by this revelation you took the steps two at once and arrived in the hallway a little out of breath, with your heart pounding not only from the exercise.
There it was. The music.
Inexplicably content about the recent developments you picked a clean enough looking spot on the floor, opened your bag and pulled out your notes.
It wasn't as nice as sitting outside, you came to see. Natural light was a lot better to read and work alongside texts with, and the artificial kind provided here could simply not compete.
Still, with the musical undertones, you were able to cross at least some of the workload off before you allowed yourself to sit back against the wall, ignore the stupid pages in front of you and simply listen to what was being played.
It had shifted in the last days. Had it been pieces vaguely familiar to you at the start had the melodies become more and more unrecognizable over time, and now you sat a few steps from the door, eyes closed and listening, thoughts drifting further from the sheets surrounding you by the minute.
The melody was low, subdued but still driving. It sounded like something that would play at the start of a movie, a car ride maybe, with the glowing lights of a city pouring through the windows but no sound audible but this song.
It felt like the car was on its way somewhere, somewhere important, and the people inside the car knew of the importance of this destiny but were too overwhelmed to talk about it.
Maybe the scene would end at the sea, the viewer expecting to hear the ocean's waves crash against the cliff, the gulls crying overhead, but the song would continue playing.
Softly, the tune changed, and you furrowed your brows.
The melody gradually lightened until the great weight was fully lifted from it and the scene with the car and the lights and the muted ocean seemed entirely unfitting. This was more like spring, breathing in the warming air, seeing the sun again after months, that kind of stuff.
You were still drifting, trying to think of what else it reminded you of when the silence became more pronounced. Whoever it was had stopped playing, and you opened your eyes, falling from the small clouds of dreaming back into the shabby hallway.
Steps rang out behind the door, a window closed and you stared at your bag and the spread out work in horror. There was no time to pack it all up.
The door clicked open.
A pair of dark eyes stared into yours, the look of surprise at so unexpectedly seeing the other on both your faces.
Black hair reached over eyebrows, barely visible through a split in the strands.
A hand clutched what looked like a set of keys, the sleeve of the dark hoodie almost slipping over it.
He was first to break the moment of pure surprise. Clearing his throat he stepped out of the room fully, pulled the door shut behind him.
By then you'd managed to look down on the orderly mess you'd made and back up.
"I really like your music." You attempted a smile. The guy, likely not much older than you, pressed his lips into a line.
"Thanks."
It sounded softer than his expression had led you to believe. His eyes flitted over the floor for a bit before he spoke again, not having moved much more than a step. "You really shouldn't be sitting around here, I don't know when it got cleaned last."
"Ah." You twirled your pen. "Well…"
The dark haired stranger sniffed and buried his hands in his pants’ pockets, squaring his shoulders in a way that made him look incredibly uncomfortable.
"Did I interrupt something? Do you need me to move or-" You trailed off.
"No! No, no." He was quick to interrupt, one hand stretched out to halt your beginning frenzy of packing up. "No, it's alright, you weren't- doing… anything." He coughed and rubbed his neck with the free hand. "You… You usually sit outside, under the tree, right?"
You met his gaze, saw his eyes glinting once before he looked away, scuffing a used Vans sneaker on the floor.
"-Yeah, that's true. Couldn't really, today…" Gesturing towards the rain-streaked window, the other followed your line of sight and huffed.
"Yeah, weather's been shit all day. The library's probably chock full, too." He trailed off, and you observed with interest how he seemed to build himself up to the next thing to say.
"I've been… seeing you. Not wanting to sound like… a creep or so, I just- I noticed you sat outside quite often."
You smiled, and his shoulders relaxed a bit.
"Yeah! I wandered around after the library was closed for cleaning the other day, and came across this place. It's amazing. So quiet and basically nobody around… and the background music is great, too."
He looked down on his shoes at your words but you could see how one corner of his mouth twitched upwards.
"This was by the way a major factor for coming here today. It's just- Quiet, void of any people? Very few distractions? Plus free music? There's just no other place where I can get all that."
He rolled his eyes but the smile on his lips broadened. When he moved his head you could see the tips of his ears peeking through his hair, both a healthy shade of red.
"Min Yoongi." He held out his hand after studying you for a moment. "Resident ambience dealer, apparently."
Grinning, you took his larger palm, feeling the bones in his thin fingers as you told him your own name. "-Resident study freak and avid listener to Min Yoongi's compositions."
He grumbled at that. "You listen to piano a lot?"
"Not really. Only when I come here."
This time his eyes stayed on you for longer, and he leaned his back against the opposite wall while slowly easing closer to the ground.
"Then how did you know it was my own stuff I was playing?"
You tugged some papers closer by their corners, beginning to shepherd them together.
"I was in there some time ago, when you weren't there. Wanted to know where the music was coming from, took me ages to even find a way into this place. Your room is really messy, you know that?"
His face was halfway turned away again but at the humour in your voice he looked back, pout on his features.
"I never meant for anyone else to see in the first place! You don't get to complain!" He huffed, glancing at where you were chuckling across from him at his indignant outcry.
"Okay okay, I promise I won't go back inside. But that what you played last today, that was really good. Is that one of yours, too?"
He bit on his bottom lip and nodded, fingers rubbing over the fabric of his pants stretching over his knees.
“What’s your major? Music?”
“Something in that direction, yeah.” Then, after a pause in which he seemed to realize it would be the polite thing to do, he asked: “You?”
The rain continued to run down the glass as you spoke, telling the other about your plans with studying, and the hopes you had. He listened intently and only rose his voice after it was obvious you had ended, and it created a nice back and forth. Thunder clapped outside, growling and forcing him to speak up a little more.
You sighed.
"Guess I better head back if I still wanna make it home today." You swept the last of the sheets together and put them into their binder, shoving the concoction unceremoniously back into your bag.
You brushed a bit of dust off your pants and quietly pulled a face as you peeled a long hair with cobwebs off your pants.
When you met Yoongi's eyes he looked off to the side, softly shrugging. "Told you…"
"Are you heading back, too?" Now it was him looking up at you, hands linked over his knees.
"Yeah?"
You held out your hand, and after mustering it for a moment, he took it.
Either he had a lot of self-control over his body or he wasn't weighting much; either way you pulled him up and then he was towering over you once more.
"You have a car?" You asked him on the way down, looking up from the keys in his hand.
"Hm? Oh. Oh yeah. Just- It’s a hand me-down from my brother."
He cleared his throat.
"Aren't you afraid someone's gonna steal your stuff?"
He turned his head towards you, his eyebrows creasing the skin between them.
"Because you don't lock the room?" You elaborated. Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, focusing on the steps down.
"Not really. As far as I know it's only us knowing of these rooms even being here, and most of them are locked, so…"
"But you keep copies of your songs, right? Photos or some app to write it down with?" He looked at you like you had just proposed to assassinate the Dean.
"No?" He held the door open for you and then you were out in the main part of campus again.
Part of you had wondered if Yoongi would just straight up disappear as soon as you crossed the threshold, but it appeared he was very much real as he fell into step alongside you.
"Then what if someone does get in? And steals them? Or you forget to close the window and rain gets in and ruins the sheets?"
He shrugged, and the way he seemed to care so little frustrated you.
"But it's such great music!"
He shrugged again but looked on his shoes while doing so.
For a moment you were quiet, staring straight ahead while the thoughts were racing behind your forehead.
"-"
"No."
"I haven't said anything!"
He glared at you from the corner of his eyes. "But you were going to. Whatever it is, no. If anything happens to my music, that's my business, okay? Don't worry about it."
His resolute tone halted every attempt at clapping back in its core, and the few minutes it took until you were out in the entrance hall that was swimming with how many students came in and went you spent in silence.
Yoongi half turned towards you when you were already beaming up at him. "I'll hear you around?"
"-Fuck me." He covered his face with a hand and you laughed at his exasperated groan at your joke.
"Bye Yoongi!"
"Honestly, get lost..."
You were on your way to the table again, binder under your arm. Rounding the corner and you would have almost slipped on the moss growing over the path; you stared back and silently cursed while being glad you didn't actually fall.
The surface of the desk was wet when you reached it.
"It's been like, an entire day, why are you not dry." You said lowly, feeling the top down. Definitely too wet for anything paper related.
"You're late."
You looked up at the drawl, only needing a moment until your eyes fixed on the mop of hair peeking out of the window.
"Oh, yeah?" You looked down on the table, not really knowing what else to say. "Well... your ass is late, too."
"The fuck."
The confusion on Yoongi's face was a delight to see. A moment longer you stayed rooted to the spot next to the table, then his voice came again.
"You wanna come up here now or what. That desk won't dry up until tomorrow. If you're lucky."
Squinting up you shielded your eyes against the glare of the bright clouds overhead.
"You won't mind?"
Yoongi seemed to momentarily contemplate it, looking straight ahead. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Look, you can either get your ass wet sitting outside, or get it dirty sitting in the hallway, but if you enjoy my music really that much it'll be a total experience sitting in the same room while i play. Your choice."
He vanished from the open window and closed it, only leaving a crack open.
Your fingers tapped on the binder.
Five minutes later you knocked on the blank door, waiting patiently in your spot until steps sounded out and Yoongi opened.
He was sporting the same dark hoodie today, fidgeting with the sleeves of it.
"May I come in?" You inquired, and he wordlessly stepped aside.
Together with Yoongi's help you pulled one of the overturned tables right way up, found a suitable chair and then wiped the surfaces off. There was a small sink in the adjacent storage room, with running water and all, and eventually your new desk was in a condition you deemed okay.
You sat down on your chair and Yoongi, who'd been brooding over his sheet music since you'd shooed him off to clean everything by your standards, looked back down on the floor. He perched on the run down piano stool, elbows on his knees, and peered on the papers strewn across the ground.
Occasionally he'd bend down to pick one up but you had too much to do to really watch him for longer.
At one point he turned and you allowed yourself a moment of rest. He pushed the hoodie up his arms, almost to his elbows, before his fingers placed themselves on the keys and he started to play.
He had been right. It was something entirely else to sit in the same room with him while he played.
Like this the music drowned out any other sound that may have sailed in from outside; whether it be the call of bird or bell.
It was nice.
Your thoughts calmed down until they ran smooth, circling around topics once or twice before moving on.
The world existed only in this room, the music filled your ears and the shabby lighting overhead concealed the darkening sky outside.
At one point Yoongi stood in front of your table, fingers curled around the hem of his hoodie once more. His knuckles pushed at his skin. The edge of one sleeve was beginning to fray.
Mildly irritated, you looked up and met his eyes.
"What?"
"Uh isn't this the time you usually leave?"
You held contact a moment longer before looking down on your watch and tsking disapprovingly. Yoongi's shoulders twitched up.
"Shit, it is."
Ripped out of the peaceful mood you began to collect pages and close books, mentally going through the timetable and if you’d still make the train. "Are you heading out, too?"
He nodded and, growing braver again, stacked a few materials while you shoved everything in your bag. "Thanks." You hurried.
It'd be a bit tight, time-wise, but Yoongi's long legs effortlessly kept pace with your quick steps.
"How'd you know this was my time to leave, anyways?" You narrowed your eyes at him, not hiding the smile on your lips. "Have you been stalking me?"
Yoongi opened and closed his mouth without saying anything once or twice before he looked ahead and said "It was the time you left, last time." His shoulders were still drawn up as he peeked at you from the side. "I'd never-"
"I was kidding." You took half a step to the side and bumped your elbow into the general area of his arm. His hand reflexively came up and clutched the spot.
“I'm a creature of habit. If I miss this train I'll have to wait forever until the next one comes and that's always a huge pain."
He nodded, and shortly after, bid you farewell before you parted behind the front doors.
It had rained the entire weekend long and you didn't bother to go outside to the table, instead turning left before the library even came into view and headed straight for Yoongi's hideaway.
He didn't open when you knocked and you found the room empty after peeking inside.
He came in half an hour after you, in a dark blue hoodie this time, and looked a bit startled at seeing you there.
"Hi!" You smiled at him, over the backrest of the chair. "I hope you don't mind, it rained again and I-"
He shrugged and shuffled past you, heavily slumping down in front of the piano.
He didn't say anything and his melodies today were slow and deep.
Before you could turn to leave after the clock had well advanced, his back straightened and, anticipating him speaking up, you paused; jacket already on and bag in hand.
"Thanks for not asking me what's wrong."
He was talking to the piano, but you still smiled a bit.
"Of course."
"I don't know, if, I said it already but, you're very- welcome to come here if, you know, the weather…"
You looked down on your shoes. Only after it didn't seem like he was going to finish his sentence did you raise your voice.
"I don't think you did, but I really appreciate it. Thank you. Will you stay a little longer today?"
His gaze fled your face for his piano again after you raised your head.
"Yeah."
"Take it easy, Yoongi."
"Whatever."
You smiled at him even though you didn't know if he'd see, and then headed out.
You'd gotten ahead of homework and so could ease a little during your work sessions in Yoongi's piano room now, and during one of those easier days decided to finally ask the question that had been bouncing around your head for a while now.
"How'd you get the piano tuned? And isn't it really old?"
He didn't look up from his sheet, brows still furrowed at something he'd probably written down a few days ago and now wasn't satisfied with anymore.
"I watched a few Youtube tutorials."
You put your chin in one of your hands and grinned, but Yoongi broke eye-contact quickly after glancing your way.
"You did it yourself?"
"Yeah? Wasn't. Wasn't that hard."
Your grin widened and his glare intensified at its presence. "Min Yoongi. Musical Genius."
"Shut up."
His ears coloured red and gave him away, and you'd have loved to go over and give him a quick hug.
You didn't know how many other people got to appreciate him, but if his hideout here was anything to go by it weren't many. Probably.
He was adorable.
Even when the sun was shining outside and it had been dry for several days you wouldn't go to the little desk, favouring the clear sound of Yoongi playing and his occasional comment, mumbled to himself. It was far too cold now, anyways. Winter was fast advancing as November went on.
He had a way to be in the same space with you while not demanding any of your attention - which made it incredibly pleasant to have him around.
If you weren’t spending time together in amicable silence he was surprisingly easy to talk to. Most of his answers were short, or mumbled sounds, and yet you never got the impression he was fed-up or annoyed. He asked things too, occasionally; and though objectively you hadn’t known him that long, it still felt weird to remember there had been a time without him in your life.
Once, after you'd struggled with a particularly boring part of a required text that your brain just wouldn't process at all, he'd quietly asked if you could come over and take a look at something he'd been working on.
You stared at him, the skin between your eyebrows creased.
"Yoongi I don't know anything about music. Do you really-"
"Please?"
"...Fine."
You were standing next to him already, preparing to sit, when he parted his lips and looked up at you.
"Could you… sit with your back to the keys? It's just, I…"
It wasn't his fault, you were frustrated by the text; but you couldn't help the forced exhale of air that left your nose.
Yoongi's shoulders twitched. You hesitated, wanted to say something, didn’t find the words and then made an effort to move as calmly and quietly as possible to not upset him further.
"Sorry. Long day.” You said in a low voice, feeling strangely raw. “Play, if you… if you want?"
You could see him looking at you, through the corners of your eyes, and part of the tension left his form again at your words, underlying tone asking for forgiveness.
"S'alright." He breathed, just before clearing his throat and placing his hands on the keys.
As he played, the tight knit ball of jumbled thoughts behind your forehead stopped growing.
The longer you listened, the more tension left your brain; the cramped thoughts and need-to-do’s losing their alarming vibrant colours.
You felt yourself calm down.
He broke off playing and coughed nervously.
"So that- was version one. This is version two."
And he began to play again, the same piece, though slightly different, and this time you reminded yourself to pay more attention and really listen.
After he'd finished, the frustration over your text had thinned out and you were fully focused on the task at hand.
"So?" He asked, nervously rubbing his hands together.
"Can you play the first one again? Just for comparison?"
He nodded and went back to it.
"I think I like the first one better.” You decided. “The second one… implies something darker lurking beneath, and, I guess if that's what you intended it's executed well but the rest sounds lighter and so-"
He huffed out a laugh and dropped his head, hands sandwiched between his thighs.
"Hm? Not good? What I said?"
"No, no," He hurried to reassure, eyes gleaming under his fringe. "No, it's… I was hoping you'd say that, I guess. Gives me a reason to scratch this part. Didn't even like it much, I just felt- Yeah. Thanks."
At the almost-grin spreading on his lips you had to smile as well.
Had your shoulders touched during the entire time you'd sat here?
He broke the eye-contact first, looking back towards the keys once before meeting your gaze again.
"Rough day hm?"
"Yeah." You looked ahead, not really seeing the wall there. "Yeah, you could say that…"
Another sigh and then you were feeling the exhaustion more and more.
It was a spur of the moment thing, really, and you asked before you could hold yourself back.
"Are you okay with touches?"
"Ha? What do you-"
"Can I put my head on your shoulder?"
"Oh. Uh-"
"It's- It's fine if you don't want that," You hurried to backpedal, already mentally chiding yourself. "I'll be o-"
"No, it's, uh, you, ah, you can! Put your head on… yeah. I don't mind."
His voice got quieter and quieter until he was mumbling the last sentence.
His shoulder, although cushioned by his hoodie, was bonier than you'd thought. But it was nice, to rest for a moment, and you closed your eyes, exhaling slowly.
Yoongi's breathing had his shoulders rising and falling, and unconsciously, you adapted your rhythm to his, until you were breathing in synch.
"Thank you." You mumbled, adjusting your head and feeling your forehead brush his hood.
"Don't worry about it." This up close his voice was even deeper, and the low tone soothed the rawness your ears had suffered under for the past days in crowded lecture halls and hallways.
Ever so softly his cheek came to rest against the top of your head as he gave into the shy touch.
"Do you sing, Yoongi?"
You still had your eyes closed, listening to Yoongi's breathing and the sound his clothes made when they rubbed against themselves, against his skin.
"Sometimes." He answered after a pause. "More rap than… singing lullabies."
"I bet you sound good doing either."
He snorted, which pretty clearly gave away how little he thought of your compliment.
A moment long neither of you spoke.
Then he let out a heavy sigh.
"Why exactly do you think that?"
Your left arm was slightly pushed forward as he moved his left arm, from where the backs of your forearms were pressed against each other.
"You have a very nice voice, deep, and steady, and- It has that ring to it, you know, the same undertone. Some people speak and you can't really make out the tone or… colour… of their speech, but your voice doesn't jump around. You could probably read a phone book and make it sound nice."
"Okay that just ruined everything you said before."
"Oh fuck off! You asked!" There was a laugh in your voice as you lifted your head to look at him exasperatedly. He blinked, looking a bit sleepy, as if he had rested his eyes a little, too.
At your expression he hollowed out his cheeks.
"Jeez, don't behead me. I'll take it, okay? Happy now?"
"Yes. Thank you."
You pursed your lips and waited, until Yoongi would break eye-contact, but he didn’t surrender as quickly. He blinked and kept looking, and everything in you wanted to put your head back down, back on his shoulder, and stay like that a little longer, talk a bit more.
But this small break had gone for a bit too long already and you knew you should get back to work. That text sadly wouldn't read itself.
An unfamiliar touch on your arm held you back.
"Can you stay a bit longer?"
Half standing above him already he had to tilt his head so he could look at you.
"I really should-" You began, and then sighed, admitting that you really didn't want to move to yourself, and sat back down. "...Screw that text."
Yoongi's shoulder bumped yours, almost like an invitation, and you gave in without much thought.
You felt the bones shift as Yoongi lifted his hands and began to press single keys, filling the silence of the room with tunes.
"That text got you all worked up, hm." He spoke again after a while.
You frowned at nothing.
"It's just so dull. The professor said it serves as an example of what not to write, so it's basically just- we're just supposed to read it and mark all the mistakes, to avoid doing the same mistakes, but honestly… I know how and what I have to write, I shouldn't- Ugh. See? It's annoying me again already."
You huffed, leaning a bit more on Yoongi.
His cheek found your hair again and he chuckled.
"What's that idiot done wrong in his writing then?"
You weren't so sure afterwards, if he really had wanted to know or if this was just Yoongi's way of getting you to review the material differently, but you supposed it had worked out.
It was a lot easier to read and complain aloud while he sat next to you and listened to you rant, even though the finer nuances were surely lost on him since he wasn't studying the same thing.
On your way back to your flat you held your left arm with your right until you saw yourself in a reflection and noticed it.
Sitting next to Yoongi like that had only further proved how comforting his presence was, and now, without anything like that to be repeated in the foreseeable future, the missing touch felt a lot worse than where you had been before.
Technically you'd see him again tomorrow, or the very least Thursday.
But who was to say he'd ask you to sit with him again?
You ran into him during lunch the next week after not making it back to his room before that.
He was looking off to the side, in the direction of the lousy holiday decorations that had popped up in the major community spaces - You needed a moment to recognize him as the same guy who was playing piano while you studied. His bare arms, sticking out of a black shirt that hung from his shoulders, were almost shocking. That, and the surroundings clashing so harshly with what you were used to see him surrounded by.
“Hey, Yoongi!” You called out after the realization had sunk in, and turned with the tray in your hand.
His shoulders jerked up, but as his searching gaze connected with yours he relaxed.
“Hi.” He rubbed over his neck. “What are you…” His eyes fell on the food you were balancing in your hands. “Right. Lunch.”
“Are you headed somewhere?” You shifted your weight from one leg to the other. Yoongi shook his head slowly, hands clenching around his hoodie he carried in them.
“Wanna sit with my friends and me? They’re just over there, next to the pillar.”
“Uh-”
“They’re all really friendly and don’t bite, I promise.”
“...Fine.” He sighed and trudged after you as you turned.
Whenever he agreed to do something you had proposed to him he made it out to seem like it was a decision that had taken him weeks to arrive to, or if it was something incredibly heavyweight he couldn’t just agree to, but whenever you offered him to go back on saying yes, or reminding him he could opt out any moment, he was always vehement to defend his point. It almost looked like he did things purely out of spite even when you’d meant well to second-guess his willingness to cooperate.
It was the same today, as he followed you through the rows, and then pulled out a chair next to yours as you put the tray down.
“Friends, this is Yoongi. He plays piano.”
“My most defining feature, apparently.” He grumbled in response and sat down, not after shimmying into his hoodie.
“Oh hey Yoongles!” Jin perked up, the burrito in his hands falling apart. “You two know each other?!”
“That does surprise me, I agree.” Hoseok added, stealing bits of the filling of Jin’s food that fell to the plate below. The quirky guy had one day invited himself into your circle of friends and nobody had had a heart to kick him out, but apparently he did know other people on campus save your group.
“You know him?” You retorted, pulling out your water bottle before starting on the food.
“Some people socialize, my dear friend.” Jin said, swatting at Hoseok’s hand.
“Yeah I know, I wasn’t aware Yoongi did that.”
“Ouch?” The black haired guy next to you said and got a round of laughs back.
“Sorry.” You apologized. He stole the small package of chips from your tray and opened it.
“I mean, it’s kind of true, I suppose.” He relented.
“Did you write down what the Prof wrote on the blackboard last Monday?” Jin had given up on his burrito and was furiously wiping at his hands while a happy Hoseok gleefully dug into the scattered remains. Jimin next to him made grabby hands and the plate got pushed over so he’d reach it too. Jin pursed his lips.
“Yeah. You need them or what?” Yoongi dropped a chip in his mouth and chewed slowly.
Jin turned his head and a more up-beat expression settled on his features. “Pretty please!”
Yoongi groaned.
Around half an hour later the cafeteria filled up as more and more students took their break, and soon enough your group rose to make room for the people who actually needed the space to sit down.
“You going to practice today?” You asked Yoongi as your group made its way towards the exit. He nodded absentmindedly.
“Oh, can I come?” Hobi suddenly appeared by Yoongi’s other side, apparently having overheard the conversation.
Yoongi glared.
“And have you leave prints on all my shit? No thank you.”
“Excuse you these sneakers are brand new! Not a single speck of du- Hey!”
To your utter delight Yoongi had stepped on the brilliant white of Hobi’s new shoe and left a dusty brown mark.
The sputtering outcry got the attention of Namjoon and Jin who’d been walking ahead, and after placating words and a glare from Yoongi you all parted ways, Hobi notably not tagging along with you.
“That was mean.” You told him, still laughing over Hoseok’s exasperation.
Yoongi shrugged, hands in his pockets, but you saw the smile on his lips just before he angled his face in a way that didn’t allow you to observe his features any longer.
The days until the short christmas break were counting down.
One weekend you spent baking with Jimin and Rose, and were left with so many cookies you put a good amount in a box, wrapped it in newspaper and brought it with you to give to Yoongi as an early present.
You could pinpoint the exact moment he saw the gift sitting on his chair after he had come in, because he stopped dead in his tracks.
“What?” He asked, and you looked up from the transcribing exercise.
“What what?”
“That.” He pointed, as if a motion detection sensor would go off if he took only a step closer.
You clasped your hands under your chin and looked from the chair to Yoongi.
“Didn’t you see the elf that came in and dropped this off?”
His eyebrows drew together and he glared at you.
“I have a feeling I’m looking at this ‘elf’ right now.” He crossed his arms. You shrugged.
“If you don’t want it, I’ll find someone else to give it to.” That cute first-semester from Jimin’s Survey of Linguistics and Languages class maybe, Jungkook.
“No.” Yoongi grumbled, and you mentally scratched having to rehome the box of cookies. Although, come to think of it, there were probably enough cookies left at home to pack another box. Maybe you’d ask Jimin if he could ask Jungkook if he’d like some.
He sat after picking the present up, hesitantly, and weighted it in his hands.
“What’s in it?” He turned to you.
You lifted an eyebrow. “Wait until the evening of the 24th and find out. Or abandon all social norms and just tear into it now, I wouldn’t judge.”
“Like fuck you would.” He huffed and then looked from the patched up paper to you. It seemed like he wanted to say something, and then decided against it, only placing the gift on top of the piano, in a spot where it wouldn’t be in the way.
You got up earlier than usual, wanting to get a bit of shopping done before leaving for your parent’s home for the holidays.
Yoongi’s head jerked up, and the pencil he’d twirled in his fingers clattered to the ground.
“Is it five already?” He asked, hands reaching for his phone.
“Nah,” You slung your scarf around your neck. “I’ll run some errands.”
“Oh okay.”
To your surprise, Yoongi started grabbing his things as well.
You paused.
“Yoongi, what…?”
His gift under his arm, the other froze.
“Huh? Didn’t you ask if I could drive you today?”
You blinked.
Dim, very dim was the memory, of having asked him, a week ago. You hadn’t decided to do the shopping today, back then.
“You- You don’t have to. Sorry, I forgot, my bad-” You bit in your lip. “You, uh, you stay, and… Compose a while longer. I’ll be fine.”
In the silence between you, you could hear the wind whistling around the corners of the building.
It was dark outside already.
Yoongi was still looking at you, and though you’d come to understand his expressions a bit, this one was undecipherable.
“So you… Don’t want me to drive you?”
He looked weird, the newspaper wrapped box under his arm, his jacket slung over the other. Ready to go, at your convenience.
It twisted your heart a little.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t remember you saying yes, and my shopping-”
“I could still drive you. It’s faster than the train?” His eyebrows twitched upwards in the middle, just a tiny bit.
“-Okay.” You agreed, and his posture relaxed at last.
His car smelled new, even though everything in it was carrying marks of the years it had been used.
You stayed silent, unsure how to proceed, and as the lights of downtown illuminated the inside of his car, you turned your head to look at him.
“Would you like to come do the shopping with me?”
The car rolled to a stop at the next red light, and in the low light, Yoongi’s eyes glinted as he looked over.
“If you want me to?”
“Yes please.”
“Okay.”
"I bought an iPad."
"You what?" You looked up from your work, across the room and met his eyes over the piano. He was glaring.
"You heard me."
"I did. Why though?"
January was almost over by now, but it would take a while longer until the sun would win back her intensity, and not let the daylight fade this early in the afternoon. Though, clouds littered the sky today, which was probably the main cause why the lights overhead reflected in the glass already at this hour.
Yoongi looked down on the keys, his hands rubbing over his thighs.
"You won't stop nagging me about losing the sheets or forgetting the tunes, so I thought… I could record some of the songs. Scan the sheets. That kinda stuff."
You smiled, unashamed and wide, and Yoongi's glare intensified.
"You're gonna come have a look or what."
He sounded a little pressed and without any more words you left your desk and crossed the room.
He shuffled aside so you could fit yourself next to him.
The tablet wasn't the latest model - which would have really surprised you, otherwise - but there was something like a microphone plugged into the lightning port and clipped to the edge.
"Is that a mic?" You leaned forward, having had half the mind to sit on your hands to not accidentally touch anything and ignite Yoongi's wrath.
"Yes." He grumbled, still a bit more fidgety than usual. "Cost almost as much as the damn thing so I hope you're happy."
The grin stole into the wonder and awe that had captured your expression before.
"I am. Very. Recorded anything yet?"
You'd arrived a bit later today, courtesy to an extended lunch with Namjoon and Jin.
Yoongi's eyes glinted when he looked from the keys to you.
"And have you chewing my ear off for not letting you be there? Fuck no. Was gonna wait until you got here. -Shut! It."
You bit your lip to keep the cooing at bay, opting to gently nudge his shoulder with yours instead.
"I appreciate it. Wanna play now?"
The nervosity was back, the way he bounced his leg so uncharacteristically agitated for him. He was more like a pond usually, calm and undisturbed.
"Keep quiet alright?"
You nodded.
He sighed and rubbed his hands one last time. Then he extended one, woke the screen and unlocked the tablet. The recording program was already open.
He clicked the red button and instantly a flat line appeared, only beginning to curve up and down as he shifted and began to play.
Keeping your breathing flat was probably unnecessary and yet you couldn't help it.
Yoongi's hands danced over the keys, pushing down and lifting in such rapid succession you could hardly keep up with. It was mesmerizing to observe, but not only that.
With his eyes closed and his head angled he gave himself to the music completely, feeling every note.
There was a small pulling in your chest, from the area around your heart, at his sight.
It must feel good to be able to zone out this much doing something you loved and were good at.
Only after he'd repeated the chorus did you notice what he was playing - the melody that had initially drawn you in and led you to the table outside.
Your heart in your chest grew with every beat, until it felt like it pressed against your ribcage from the inside.
Yoongi slowed down, the notes came a little wider apart, and then he let the last chord ring out. Fingertips still resting on the keys, you looked between them, waiting if he'd play another song.
When he slid them down on his pants it became clear he didn't intend to.
Silence enveloped you.
"That's my favourite song. That one. I only found you because of it."
Your eyes went back to his face and caught him already looking. His eyebrows drew together.
He tapped the little square and the program stopped recording.
"Now you ruined the first ever song I played for the record, idiot."
You scoffed.
"I only spoke up after it was all done, you can easily cut that out, genius."
He huffed and you rolled your eyes.
"Not everything has to be perfect first try. Thought someone like you would know that."
He just shook his head, still frowning.
"Hey, I'm sorry. I'll keep quiet now." Thinking he was honestly upset, you apologized, hoping it'd sooth his temper.
But it didn't seem to be the right call as he buried his face in his hands, shoulders rolling forward.
"Just… Nevermind."
"Do you want me to get out of your hair?"
Your butt had already lifted from the chair when his reply came, mumbled through his hands.
"No."
You sat back down.
Dark eyes glinted at you through his fingers, then he combed through his hair and pushed it back from his face.
It was the first time you could really see his eyebrows well, and the expanse of his forehead.
You'd known he had one, of course, but seeing it was something else.
He woke the tablet again and started a new recording.
You smiled.
You didn’t get any work done that afternoon, but then again listening to a fraction of the repertoire that Yoongi had to offer was phenomenal compensation.
Still he looked a bit rueful, standing next to your desk while you packed your stuff, the iPad with its closed cover and Mic securely stored in the small bag over his shoulder.
“Sorry I… Kept you from your studying.”
You looked up while zipping your pencil case shut.
“It’s okay. Think I needed that, anyways. A break from all those words. It’s me who should thank you, really.”
He wrinkled his nose and kicked at a speck of dust, following you out the room once you were done.
“Still. Can I… Do you want a ride home? I know you missed the bus you usually take.”
“You’d do that?”
“It’s the least, really…”
A smile spread on your face. “Who am I to say no to such a gracious offer, why yes, thank you Yoongi.”
“Don’t make me regret it.” He grumbled, pushing ahead with a frown on his features.
"Play for me, Min, please." You sat next to him on the stool, hands underneath your thighs and gaze swimming from exhaustion.
Yoongi's shoulder softly bumped into yours as he repositioned himself.
"You okay."
"Yeah. Just. Please play."
"Alright." He looked at the keys, fingers caressing them but not pressing down hard enough to evoke the notes. "Anything in particular?"
"Can you play my favourite piece?"
His eyes stayed on yours and you grew almost uncomfortable by their scrutiny.
And then he blinked and turned back towards the keys, rolling his wrists once and setting his fingers down.
"As you wish."
As he played you watched his fingers move, trying to lean away whenever he came near you to avoid bumping into his arm. His skin looked healthier now, now that the temperatures were rising again and there were no angry, painful red cracks lining the back of his hands anymore.
It was like his body had its own gravitational field, drawing you in.
When he ended, your side was leaned against his, your heavy head teetering on the edge just before dropping to his shoulder.
The arm he wrapped around you would have come as a surprise, eliciting at least a twitch out of you, had you been a little more coherent.
As it was, your body sighed and curled into his, head tucked into his shoulder, while his hand pulled you closer by your side.
"Long day."
It wasn't a question, but you understood the offer he was making.
"Yeah." You sighed, the hoodie-clad shoulder pleasantly soft under your cheek. "Finals will kick my ass. Didn't want to do an all-nighter ever again but got peer-pressured into it anyways… Sucks."
Yoongi hummed, playing this and that note with the free hand.
"Didn't peg you for someone giving into that kind of thing."
You grumbled.
The impending doom of the next test hung low over your head, and still you couldn’t peel away from your spot next to Yoongi, wedged on the chair, with his arm around you. Didn’t want to. Felt like maybe if you’d made an attempt to get up, he might even have pulled you down again.
"Want me to drive you home?" He mumbled, an indefinite amount of time later.
"You're really nice today. Or is that just me being tired."
He chuckled, and you felt his cheek come to rest against your head.
"Don't tell anyone, okay."
"Okay."
You adjusted in your spot and snaked both of your arms around his torso.
He didn't flinch.
It was quiet for a moment.
"Hm?"
He hummed.
"What?" You lifted your head. He glanced at you from the corners of his eyes.
"Didn't answer my question."
"Which one?"
"If you want me to drive you home."
He jostled your shoulder.
You debated it for a moment.
"Alright. Yeah, okay.”
You put a hand to his shoulder that quickly morphed from a gentle pat into holding on for support as your quick standing up led to some instability in your legs.
He looked up at you.
"Okay then. Let's go." You repeated.
It was like the world was wrapped in cotton.
It was silent in the car. The radio didn't look broken, but Yoongi slapped your hand away as you wanted to poke it and see if you could turn it on.
"Nu-uh. No touchy." His eyes never strayed from the street.
"Next one left." You informed him, pouting.
"I know." He said.
Your hand was on the handle even before his shabby car rolled to a stop in front of your place.
It was unusually warm for the month, and you’d rolled the window on the passenger side down to breathe in the mellow spring breeze.
Now outside, you leaned your arms through it.
A grin spread on your face.
"Say, isn't it weird that you know where I live and I still haven't gotten your number?"
A rare, gummy smile appeared on his face, slowly.
"Please?" You jutted out your bottom lip.
"...Fine." He reached into the back, patting his jacket down.
He pulled his phone out of one of the pockets, handing it to you after unlocking it.
"'Musical Genius #1 Fan’?" He read out the contact name you’d given yourself. He glared at you.
You shrugged.
"If you don't like it, change it, genius."
He snorted and gripped the steering wheel tighter with his left hand.
The world was beginning to get very fuzzy beyond a two step radius around you, and you took that as a sign you should definitely head into your room now.
“Thank you for the ride.”
“Always.” He smiled again, his usual, small one.
You patted the hood of his car twice after leaning back.
Texting Yoongi was almost alarmingly normal.
Despite the fantastical circumstances of meeting him, you found he was very much engaged in normal life on campus, too. Occasionally.
He wasn’t much for the polite small talk to start a day, rather than just sending a text saying ‘There’s a lizard by the parking lot and ppl r clogging the way, will be late’ first thing.
You hadn’t believed him when he’d said he wasn’t much into memes, but send him a couple vine compilations anyways.
By now he was fully fluent in both them and most current memes floating around, further adding to you not really believing he hadn’t had a speck of an idea before.
The definite end of the semester came into view, but it meant every final was crammed into the space between then and now, which resulted in more studying and less listening to Yoongi playing.
You were brushing teeth one evening when your phone’s screen lit up with an incoming video call from him.
Placing it on a slightly elevated spot inside the small cabinet above the sink, you accepted it.
“...Oh wow look at that, who is that raccoon?”
Your reply telling him to fuck off came warbled by the white foam spilling over your chin. He smiled, wide and easy.
“Wanted to ask what you were up to this evening but I guess I don’t have to anymore, huh.”
You cleared your mouth and dabbed a towel around it afterwards.
“Not really. I’m super tired, so I think I’ll just go to bed, honestly. Did you want to do something? In that case I’m sorry, but no.”
He rolled around, and only then did you see he was in bed, with the covers drawn up already and all.
“Uhh, no… Just wanted to check in. But now that you mention it… How about some music to help you relax?”
You took him from his spot on the shelf and flicked the light off before moving into your bedroom.
“I think I have enough music here, thanks…” Distracted by the device, you almost forgot to take your refilled water bottle. When you looked at the screen next, you could see Yoongi with his arms on his keyboard, phone propped up in a way that allowed you to look down the length of the keys. He was pouting.
“Not even a personalized little concert?”
You sat back on your bed and smiled at the screen.
“Okay. Just this once. And only because it’s you.”
“Yes!” He punched the air and grinned down at the camera. Lying on your side with the screen being the only thing illuminating the room, you watched and listened to him play, allowing yourself to breathe slowly and let go of the troubles that were plaguing you during the day.
You were almost gone, eyelids heavy and grasp on your phone slipping, when Yoongi picked his own device up.
“Sleep well.” He mumbled.
You hummed in response, eyes shut.
It was the last day of school before the semester ended. Technically it had ended already; The clock on the wall read something around two in the evening, and in any other case you’d be furious as to why you were still stuck here. As it was, you were sat next to Yoongi once more, in front of the piano, one last time before the break.
The window was wide open, letting in the chirps of birds and rustling of leaves.
"I'm not so good. With words." He looked up after a moment, the tips of this pointer and middle finger gently running up and down a crack between the keys.
The world outside was sunny and looked much warmer than it was, but in here, out of direct sunshine, it was still cool. Yoongi’s body next to yours was the only source of immediate warmth in the almost clammy air.
"I can speak better through the music. I think that's why… I think that's why you say my songs are expressive." His voice died down, but his eyes, glued to yours, won in intensity.
Even this close up you couldn’t tell where his iris ended and his pupil began. "Sometimes I wish I could be better with words. At least a little bit."
He looked down, where your hand lay on your thigh, with the fingers curled in and under the palm, to prevent from reaching out and touching the piano while he was playing it. Touching the piano or him.
With bated breath you watched him move, slip his hand from the keys, to then, lightly, as if you'd break at the slightest of pressure, cover yours.
Not taking your eyes off the palms, you turned your own around until you could slip your fingers between his.
You heard him swallow thickly when you squeezed your conjoined hands. Were acutely aware of how his thigh felt pressed against yours, him next to you.
Your eyes met again, but not for long. He looked away again, oddly reminding you of the first times you’d seen each other; him unable to look at your for longer than a second.
His tongue swept over his bottom lip before his teeth got a hold of it and he stared down on the piano. When you readjusted in your spot his fingers flexed and squeezed your palm, as if to prevent you from letting go. You saw his jaw ticking as he continued to avoid your eyes, the way his eyebrows furrowed, a tell-tale sign for the inner turmoil.
“Sometimes you don’t have to say much, you know. Sometimes… Sometimes I think I understand you just like that.”
“Oh yeah?” It would’ve sounded condescending if you hadn’t been able to filter out the self-deprecating downtilt of his words by now.
He glanced up at you before shuffling in his spot, twisting as best as he managed to be able to look at you without getting up. His knee dug into the dent in your leg just above your own, but you ignored the slight discomfort.
He lifted your joined hands briefly, letting them fall on his own thigh before his whole body calmed down and his eyes finally steadied on yours.
“Tell me, then. What am I trying to say?”
You let your eyes rise from his, into the mussed hair, to the one strand that was still sticking up from where he’d exasperated ran his hand against the growth earlier.
His eyebrows were still furrowed minimally, and only under your watchful gaze did he stop chewing on the inside of his cheek.
For several minutes you looked him over, observed the uneven rise and fall of his chest, in that old black shirt - it span over his chest now, its fit almost snug when it had been loose before. He’d really filled it out.
Eventually you sandwiched his hand between the both of yours, looking down on his fingers between yours.
“I have no idea.”
It was the truth. No matter how hard you looked, no matter how many clues you believed to see, it was impossible to tell just where his mind had taken him this time.
He swallowed and looked down, nodding once.
“Right. A-”
“If-” You interrupted him, looking up through your lashes. His shoulders were still rising along with his breathing, but now you had his undivided attention. “-you’re going to say something mean now, against you or me, don’t. Please.”
He bit on his lip and ducked his head to the side, obviously displeased.
“See?” He leaned back, balling his free hand into a fist. “You can do it after all! Somehow you got into my head. Don’t do that.”
“So?” You ignored the interruption, tone having shifted in the slightest. “Tell me. What...?
Two heavy breaths in which he kept squinting at you, attempted to speak up and then averted his gaze again.
When his eyes came back down from the ceiling his hold on your hand tightened.
“A hug.”
You were sure, if you hadn’t been holding his hand, he would’ve backed off as soon as the words had left his lips. But he couldn’t and so he stayed in the same spot, leaned back as far as he could, blinking and looking at you like you would start smacking him any moment.
“Please.” He added, and it had been almost too quiet to hear.
With only a nod as an answer, he relaxed a little, but the tension wouldn’t leave his shoulders.
“Here?” You asked, and he nodded, eyes flitting around. His left leg started jiggling, but before the nervosity could take more hold on him you disentangled your hands and opened your arms. He hesitated a moment longer but you didn’t rush him, waited, let him take his time. Let him come to you.
And he did.
With slow, careful hands that touched the lower part of your ribs cautiously before they slid around to your back, one upwards between your shoulder blades, the other down to the small of your back.
It was like someone that had been starved of water being allowed near a clean river - someone that had been deprived for so long that the madness of thirst had subsided into tired resignation already. When faced with the thing he’d been hungering for most, he didn’t run in blindly and submerged himself at once.
It was more like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to, was able to touch you sat next to him, that you let him close his arms around you.
His chin bumped into your collarbone as you lifted your own arms a little to lay them over his shoulders and hug him back, and he whispered a small “Sorry” before his head nestled into place next to yours.
He had to bend down and you stretched up a bit, and for the first moment you felt how uncomfortable he seemed with everything.
With a single, long sigh, he relaxed.
Gave into the hug, completely, and without holding back anymore.
Every breath he took you felt, were made aware how he drew his breath in several steps, as if he didn’t possess the strength to do it at once.
There was no more room between you but you felt his hold tighten, drawing you in closer.
This wasn’t a quick hello-or-goodbye hug, and it wasn’t a bear-hug, either. It was something entirely new and yet you felt incredibly safe.
There was no clock anywhere in sight and you closed your eyes.
Minutes passed. Eventually the desperateness fled his system, and then you were just holding the other.
At half past four, the bell rang again.
The sound drifted over the campus and reached you just as you entered the deserted lot, where only Yoongi’s shabby car still stood, under the trees, half hidden by bushes.
His thumb slid over the back of your hand as he lightly tugged on your connection.
“Can I come visit your place?” You asked, once you’d sat down. He’d been to your tiny flat a few times now, but had never asked if you would like to see his.
“Are you sure?” He turned the key and glanced at you before backing out of the spot.
“Of course! I want to see the musical genius’ living space. Pretty please.”
“Don’t remind me of that dumb nickname…” He groaned, and you laughed, turning the radio up and the window down.
Warm air came rushing in, and together with the upbeat song currently playing, it felt a lot like a scene from a movie.
For the first time in weeks you felt fully free. Able to smile at the wind touching your face, knowing Yoongi was there with you.
You sat on his couch together, scrolling your phones aimlessly after thoroughly inspecting his space.
The pizza he ordered in the evening was fluffy and sated your hunger, and afterwards you were too tired to move much.
“I think… I’ll just stay here.” You gesticulated around the room, stretching and placing your legs across his lap.
He wiped his hands clean of the last grease and tugged on your shins.
“Here? You sure? I can always-”
He pressed a hand against his mouth and burped. Afterwards he groaned and fell back against the backrest.
“No, you’ll have to stay. There’s no way I’m leaving this flat again today.”
You grinned and made grabby hands for the pack of cherry gummies.
Your head was buzzing with how late it was, and how tired you’d become.
With teeth brushed, the sweet taste of cherries was long gone, but in the dark of the room, it wasn’t unwelcome.
Yoongi was lying just a little away from you, head half buried in one of his many pillows.
“Is this weird?” He asked. You heard his palm slipping over the mattress, before his fingertips touched your arm and he momentarily pulled back.
Until you put your hand out, and he curled his pinky around yours.
“Hm?”
You asked.
“I mean this… We… We’re not…” He trailed off, his other hand covering yours as he rolled over. In the darkness you could only make out his eyes by the reflection of what little light there still was, in them. “Other people our age have been partying since noon, and we…”
“Is that bad?” You asked, turning on your side to fully face him.
“No, don’t think so.”
“Do you want it, any other way?”
He shook his head.
“I just wonder… Jin asked me if we were dating the other day. I didn’t know what to say. It doesn’t feel like we are, but I also… don’t feel like we’re not doing that. It. Something. I mean we’re not doing that, either, which I never thought about, and-”
He huffed. “It feels weird, to lie here, with you, and not do anything. But I’m glad. About it. In a way.”
You smiled and squeezed his hand.
“Then that’s enough for us. Isn’t it?”
He hummed, and slowly leaned his forehead against your joined hands.
Your phone binged with an incoming message from Yoongi.
It was two weeks into the break, and after staying over at his place, you hadn’t heard or seen too much of him.
His message read 'I uploaded it.', and a link to Spotify.
You clicked on it.
A playlist opened, and you bit on your lip at the name - He'd titled it 'Your Playlist'.
While you cleaned out your notes and organized your room, you listened.
It was a mix of his self-composed piano pieces, acoustic, or electric, with mixed other instruments and occasionally his voice.
The melodies came easy and wound their way in your ears, and it brought a smile to your face at the warmth you felt at their sound.
The last one was titled “My Favourite”.
You watched as the song’s covers changed, and sat back on your rug.
What unfolded in front of your ears was different than the rest - it was a blend of sounds, playing to support your favourite song of his, but a remix version. The beat slowly wound up higher, coming faster, until it dropped - to your voice, filtered and a little tuned, to fit the short space.
‘My favourite’, you heard yourself say, and then the whisper of Yoongi’s voice answered, ‘Just for you’, and you bit down on your lip.
He sung and rapped more, and you needed at least five listens before you’d caught it all.
‘Can I come over?’ You texted him, burning with energy and the deeply rooted wish to see him.
‘ofc’ came his answer, and you were out of the door.
Not much later, halfway across town, you hugged your arms around him as tight as you could, smiling so wide it had your cheeks hurting, and yet not able to keep the tears escaping your eyes.
“I love you, too.” You mumbled into his shoulder, feeling him tense a little.
“I’m so glad you understood.” He whispered, and leaned his head against yours. “I’m so glad you understand. Me. I’m so glad you. Found me.”
notes: for alex, who i send an ask wondering if she might know how to title a story i was writing and if she'd ever heard of this weirdly specific song i could not name?
and then told me i should check out this song (the title of this fic) - which ended up being the very one i'd been searching for for four days. thank you.
86 notes
·
View notes
The Art of Renegotiation
A/N: Part 6 of The Debt Collector Series.
A/N 2: Thank you everyone for sticking with this sometimes brutal ride. This was hands down my favorite project and is left intentionally open ended in the event that I revisit this world.
Super big thank you to my bestie and beta @chloes-yellow-cup who puts up with me when I’m annoying (which is all the time), and STILL is kind enough to read and edit for me.
AAAAAND a very special thank you to @kate-harper because look at what she made!!! It is the greatest thing I have ever seen. It’s beautiful and I love and I have it saved as my lock screen so I can stare at it all day at work.
Aubrey
Aubrey paced the length of her bedroom, hands in her pockets and brow furrowed as Doc Beale looked Stacie over. Her pulse was thundering in her own ears and she was working hard to control her breathing and tightening her control on her rapidly growing anger. It wasn’t just anger at Weston, she was pretty pissed at her own stupid arrogance. She had pushed too hard, worked him a little too close to the line without thinking about how he would react. It was sloppy work and her dad would be disappointed. His voice was so clear in her head she could have sworn he was in the room with her.
‘Shit rolls downhill kiddo. Sometimes it’s not about the power in the punch, it’s the way it’s delivered. Keep it tight, keep it close, keep your target focused on you.’
Her delivery was for shit and she had given Weston too much slack to maneuver with. And her arrogance had cost a heavy price that Stacie ultimately paid. She was sick to her stomach over it and wearing a track in her plush dark gray carpet. Aubrey turned and paced the other direction the weight of her guilt making every step heavier than the last.
“If you don’t stop pacing I’m going to drug you into a three day coma.”
The blonde stopped in her tracks and turned to face the doctor shining a light in each of Stacie’s eyes. Doc Beale didn’t look at Aubrey as she worked competently to diagnose her patient. Aubrey could respect that and settled onto the chaise in the far corner of the room. Stacie tried to smile but she could see that the movement hurt and the knot in Aubrey’s stomach tightened again making her look away quickly.
“Good, no concussion. Let’s take a look at your hip.” Doc made a few soft humming sounds as she quickly checked the area and tested Stacie’s mobility, range of motion, and ability to bear weight.
“So what’s the damage Doc?”
She knew Stacie was kidding and trying to make the situation lighter but her anxiety ratcheted up another notch and she realized she was convulsively clutching her fists. Aubrey forced herself to stillness, needing to close her eyes for a moment to create that calm center. It was more of a struggle than it had ever been in her life.
“Well you’ll be sore for a few days, at least a week with the hip, but you’ll live.” There was a long silent pause as she cleaned up the blood on Stacie’s forehead and addressed the laceration there with careful, gentle hands. “This isn’t too deep. A little Dermabond and you should be good to go. So you want to tell me how this happened?”
Aubrey frowned slightly when the doctor, while talking to Stacie looked over her shoulder directly at her. Her normally laughing blue eyes, cold and angry in a way she had never seen before. Shame made her face hot and she looked away quickly unable to meet the fury on the doctor’s face. This was why her mother had left her father, someone was always caught in the fallout and it was entirely her fault that this time it was Stacie.
“Not particularly.”
The good doctor was used to seeing Aubrey and her crew a little messed up from time to time but this was the first time that she’d had to patch up an innocent bystander before. The redhead’s shoulders tightened as she worked at sealing the cut cleanly. But she was bothered and it was obvious. As soon as she was done, Doc pulled her gloves off and tossed them in the trashcan, her gestures suddenly sharp with a quiet rage.
“Are you protecting the person that did this because you’re afraid?”
It was said so quietly that Aubrey almost didn’t hear it making it pretty clear that Doc assumed Aubrey had done the damage herself. While she didn’t actually raise a hand to Stacie she might as well have because it was her choices and actions that had led to this moment. Aubrey’s shoulders slumped and she stood slowly to make confession of her sins.
“No. Not once, not ever. Aubrey didn’t do this to me.” Stacie’s voice was sure and clear and she held Doc Beale’s gaze for a long time before she sighed and let her shoulders roll in a slight hunch. “My husband is…”
“A dead man.”
It was the first time that Aubrey had spoken since she had called for the doctor. She had wanted to play him, run him down and break him, but now she just wanted him dead. Doc Beale looked at them both evaluating the truth before she nodded and relaxed.
“Well, as a doctor I’m bound to do no harm.” Doc Beale tucked her equipment back into her bag and closed it firmly. “Maybe being stuck in this life has fucked me up but…good. He isn’t a good man and he deserves what’s coming to him.” There was still a hardness to the doctor and Aubrey knew the red haired woman wasn’t quite done yet. It was the first time she had ever stood up to Aubrey in such a way and they had a long shared history.
Dr. Chloe Beale was a brilliant surgeon, well known and well-liked by patients and staff alike. But she had her problems like anyone else. Problems that had brought her to Aubrey’s door in need of a big favor. Some people like gambling, some liked sex, some, like Doc Beale, liked booze. It had landed the doctor in bad hit and run situation that could have cost the woman her practice, her license, everything. Aubrey had paid off someone with nothing to lose and only money to gain to take the fall for ‘stealing’ Chloe’s car and committing vehicular manslaughter. Doc Beale had been grateful and Aubrey had taken advantage of that gratitude by having the surgeon on call for times when things went sideways.
It hadn’t helped Doc’s drinking problem any and Aubrey maybe felt a little shitty about that. Sometimes. It wasn’t the easiest of working relationships at times but it had led to something deeper when work didn’t get in the way. Chloe was the only person Aubrey actually trusted with her life. Sure she trusted Happy and Lilly but they were practical people and business was business. The Doc however…she was all heart, and Aubrey trusted that. They’d become friends even if Aubrey did occasionally use her leverage to coerce the doctor into helping them.
“Walk me to the door Posen.”
Aubrey nodded and reached out to bring Stacie’s hand to her lips to kiss softly over the other woman’s knuckles. “Be right back.”
Stacie nodded with a smile and Aubrey flicked her gaze at Lilly. The smaller woman nodded and settled into a chair to wait and keep an eye on Stacie. Of course they were absolutely safe in her house but she wasn’t keen on letting the brunette out of her sight any time soon. Aubrey followed Doc Beale to the front door, hesitating before opening it.
“Look Doc, thanks. I know it’s late. I’m sorry for dragging you out.”
Chloe watched her for a long moment before she took a step closer to Aubrey and let herself finally say what she had been holding back in front of Stacie.
“Let’s be clear on things Aubrey. I don’t like what you do, it’s not right, but I owe you and I’m in too deep to ever get out now so I just deal with it. But if you ever hurt her…I swear to God I will ruin you and I don’t care if I go down in flames with you. I have lines, don’t cross mine.”
It was the harshest thing she’d ever heard the doctor say and oddly Aubrey respected it. She gave a short nod and stepped back. The challenge was unexpected but it validated why she trusted Chloe with her life. Because Doc Beale was a good person, and for all her mistakes she was strongly committed to protecting the innocent ones that couldn’t or wouldn’t protect themselves. The blonde’s lips twitched in a slight wry smile.
“I believe you Doc.”
“Good. That being said…” The ice melted from Chloe’s eyes and she nudged Aubrey’s shoulder playfully. “She’s beautiful and I’m glad I finally got to meet her. I wish it had been under better circumstances. Next time?”
“Sure. Dinner. I’ll make the shrimp and vodka sauce you like, it’ll be a thing and I’ll even invite people. You could maybe meet someone.”
The doctor gave her a look and shook her head. “If you try to set me up with your crooked cop pal one more time I’m going to stop giving you anesthesia when I pull bullets out of you.” It wasn’t an idle threat, Aubrey had experienced it once before and did not enjoy it one bit.
“What? Bec is great and you know she makes good money.”
Chloe rolled her eyes, shoved her again and swung open the door. “No.”
“You could do worse.”
Doc Beale flipped her the bird as she walked out to the driveway. Aubrey watched her get into her car and drive away before she shut the door. Happy came in from somewhere down the hall and held out the blonde’s cell phone. The usual smile she wore was gone, a scowl in its place. “Whitman.”
Aubrey’s lip curled and she took the phone from the other woman with a slight nod.
“You have my money?”
There was no preamble, it wasn’t necessary and she was working hard to keep her voice even as it was. Adding small talk would just be that much more difficult. The line was silent for a moment before he spoke. He sounded so sure of himself and so sure she would be pleased with him.
“Yes, I have it here. I’m at home if you want to come pick it up.”
She didn’t like it. She didn’t have any control over the environment and this time she wasn’t taking any chances. Aubrey shook her head and sighed. “No, you can come to The Bird. Twenty minutes.” She hung up before he could answer and handed the phone back to Happy. “Call Detective Mitchell. Tell her to meet us there.”
Aubrey headed upstairs and padded into the bedroom. Stacie was standing at the bathroom sink looking at her bruised face in the mirror and she stopped in the doorway unwilling to come closer. The brunette watched her reflection in the glass somehow understanding why Aubrey was keeping her distance.
“You didn’t do this to me Aubrey.”
“Didn’t I? This blood is on my hands too Stace and I am so so sorry.”
The guilt crashed down on her and her shoulders bowed under the weight. Stacie turned away from the counter and stood directly in front of Aubrey. “Stop. Don’t you dare take responsibility for this. Do you honestly think this wouldn’t have happened for any other arbitrary reason? Because it would. Something else would have set him off if not tonight then any other random night.”
She was silent still, unwilling to give up her blame in all this. Stacie sighed and leaned into Aubrey’s body needing to feel the warmth and safety of the blonde’s arms around her. And she complied willingly, glad beyond reason that Stacie wasn’t running for the hills yet.
“Aubrey, he hurt me because I fought back. I stood up to him for the first time in years. If you want to take credit for something, then take credit for giving me back my voice.” Stacie’s lips were soft when they brushed against her own and Aubrey sighed into the kiss feeling the knot in her gut ease marginally. “He might threaten me, he might try to hurt me, he might even ruin me…but he’ll never own me. I won’t go back to being that woman and it feels so good to be me again.”
She wasn’t about to let Weston ruin Stacie, let alone try to put his hands on her again. And while it was good to hear that Stacie was slowly rebuilding herself it didn’t really absolve Aubrey of her sins. She nudged at Stacie’s nose with her own and sighed. “I’m going to take care of it, I promise.” She let go of Stacie reluctantly and backed away so she could leave but Stacie held on tighter, face buried in Aubrey’s neck, just breathing her in.
“I want to go with you.”
Aubrey held her breath at that trying to gauge exactly why Stacie wanted to go. It wasn’t going to be a fun time for anyone and she wasn’t exactly sure she wanted the brunette to witness all that. “Stacie…”
“Please.”
She couldn’t say no to the request and didn’t really want to. However bad it was about to get she didn’t like the thought of Stacie being too far away. Maybe Stacie didn’t either. So if they were going to do this, they were doing it together.
--------------------------------------------------------
“Miss Posen.”
Aubrey looked up from lining up her shot with a simple roll of her eyes. Weston stood nervously at the far end of the pool table. Her arm came back in a smooth fluid gesture to hit the ball she had previously been so intent on. The shot went wide after the bank and cue ball rolled right past the 5 and into the corner pocket.
“Scratch.”
A long breath eased out of her as she slowly stood, eyes never leaving his face. She knew he was baiting her by even commenting so she let her lips quirk into a grin that didn’t match the predatory intensity of her gaze. Aubrey tapped the butt of her cue stick on the ground as she made her way toward him, gesturing with her free hand for Happy to close and lock the door. It was after closing anyway but she didn’t want someone to randomly wander in while she was in the middle of business.
Her eyes tracked to the camera above the bar wondering what Stacie was thinking right then, or if she was even watching at all. A part of her hoped that she wasn’t watching at all, hoped that Detective Mitchell was keeping her entertained and distracted while Aubrey let her darkness bleed all over Weston Whitman. But that wasn’t the kind of woman Stacie was and even though she couldn’t know for sure that Stacie was watching she almost felt the other woman’s presence through the lens.
Her eyes traveled back to Weston then the table as she reached into the pocket to retrieve her ball. “Did you bring my money?”
Weston nodded a little too quickly, his nervousness screaming out to everyone there. He would have been an easy mark in a card game, he had no poker face whatsoever. He raised his bag and Lilly snatched it from his hand, not giving him a chance to reach into it for anything. Just in case. Aubrey gave her a nod and Lilly opened the bag and pulled out the stacks of cash, laying them out neatly on the felt top of the table. It wasn’t enough and she let out another slow breath having already expected it.
“I know it’s not everything like we agreed but I can get it. I have the money, I have plenty of it.”
There really wasn’t anything to say so she put the cue ball down lightly on the table and rolled it to bump against the money lightly.
“That’s disappointing.” Her body coiled tightly and Aubrey pulled her fist back before rocketing it forward hard into his ribs with three quick powerful jabs. Weston doubled over, wincing away to protect his injured side. Aubrey tossed her stick onto the tabletop and reached out to yank his left arm away from his body, another hard blow catching him just below the armpit so he was too hurt to pull away. “Our deal was not for partial payment Mr. Whitmore.”
He wheezed but managed to pull his arm out of her grip. Weston moved back a couple of steps and shifted his body to guard his side as she started to circle him. It was a defensive move she had hoped for. She wanted him to fight back just enough for her to break him. “I can get it. I swear I can get it.”
“You can get it? Or you have it? Which is it Weston?” She gave a testing little jab that wasn’t meant to land just to fluster. Whitman ducked and weaved a little though not as quickly as he would have had his ribs not been sore already. “Because if you have it, it would be on my table right now with the rest. So either you’re lying to me or you’re holding out on me.”
One of her testing jabs caught him on the chin and he lashed out instinctively. It was a shot she blocked easily, leaving him wide open for a hard punch to the gut that left him on his knees gasping for breath. She backed up a step and slid the jacket from her shoulders, laying it neatly over the back of a chair. She took the time to roll up her sleeves while he tried to suck oxygen into lungs gone tight and empty. This time when she grabbed his hand he didn’t resist.
“Can get. My wife…”
What little control she had gained over her emotions burst and she kicked sharply at his ribs with the point of her toe knowing it would crack the bones easily. “Lots of excuses. Sounds like holding out to me. You know what holding out is Mr. Whitman? It’s stealing.”
Aubrey placed his hand flat on the table even as he struggled to get to his feet. Breathing was still an issue for him so she didn’t expect him to chime in with anything. “Stealing is a serious offense. Stealing from me…that’s an unforgiveable sin.” She gave a quiet hum just as her long fingers closed around the cue ball. The weight of it felt good as she lifted it high and brought it down hard to smash his hand. Weston screamed out in pain and her hand fisted around the ball, bringing it around for a hard left hook that toppled him back to the floor.
Whitman tried to crawl away from her but Happy stood directly in his path, blocking his way to freedom. “You want me to finish him, Boss?”
“Not yet.” Because Weston Whitman would die, of that she was sure. Just not until she was ready for him to die. Aubrey spared another glance at the camera before hefting the cue stick. Weston curled in on himself trying to protect his soft middle but she was fine with the parts of him that were exposed. She swung the stick around in a whistling arc to land against his unprotected back, each blow falling harder than the last to punctuate her words until the stick snapped with the force of it. “Where. Is. My. Fucking. MONEY!”
He was crying and begging for forgiveness but she just couldn’t seem to find the pity in her heart. How many times had Stacie begged him to stop? How many times had she cried out in pain? Aubrey tossed the broken half of the stick away, standing tall while he cowered like a worm on the ground. The blonde woman worked the knot of her tie down and unbuttoned the top button hoping it would cool the heat pulsing in her chest like a slow thick lava.
“I swear I can get it. I swear. My wife…” She wanted to hurt him more every time he mentioned Stacie because he didn’t deserve to think about her let alone speak of her. Aubrey stalked forward and reached down to grip one of his ankles, pulling his leg taut. Weston kicked out in a weak attempt to push her away and she had to use all her strength and focus to keep her grip. When he struggled too much she landed a swift kick to his groin and jerked his leg hard, twisting the ankle and breaking it with a sick crack. Weston screamed out again, and she smiled down at him clearly enjoying his suffering. “P-please. She has it. She has all of it and more. Please let me call her.”
Aubrey considered it a moment then settled casually on the edge of the pool table. “What makes you think your wife is going to just give you the kind of money that you owe? She’s that loyal and loves you that much?”
He didn’t know, still hadn’t put all the pieces together in his head, but he was with it enough to know lying wasn’t going to help him now. Weston shook his head and laughed humorlessly. “Fuck no. She hates my guts but I have dirt on her. She’ll pay. I know she will.”
There. There it was. The one thing she’d been waiting to hear. Aubrey snapped her fingers and Lilly held out a cigarette and lit it for her while she evaluated Weston from her perch above him. Of course he would be the type of man that needed to control everyone by holding their dirty little secrets over them. She took a long drag, letting him sweat out the seconds as she pretended to think about things. “What kind of dirt?”
She could tell he didn’t want to tell her so she gestured to Happy, the curly haired woman beaming brightly when she pulled back her leg and kicked him hard enough to flip him on his back. Weston groaned and cradled his mangled hand to his chest, trying to keep it somewhat protected. “Wait wait. I have videos. Things she’d never want to get out. It would ruin her, ruin her name and all her work. I promise she’ll pay.”
Happy brought her foot up to stomp on him but Aubrey gave a slight shake of her head and moved to kneel over Weston Whitman. The smoke from her cigarette curling around them in a pale gray haze. “It’s not about the money anymore. You see, you lied to me, you held out on me, and you come into my house and insult me by being short on what you owe. Paying up your debt doesn’t even begin to cover making us square, so unless you have something worth your life…”
Aubrey stood and turned her back on Weston, letting Happy land a few hard kicks and stomps that left him sobbing brokenly on the floor.
“Give me something worthwhile Wes.” The muscles in her shoulders twitched when he crawled the few feet to her and rested a bloodied hand on her ankle. Aubrey kicked off his hand and pushed him over with her foot. “Anything?”
“Drive. You can have the drive. It’s everything. She’s not the only one on it, you can extort very important people. People with more money than God.”
Finally. Aubrey ashed out the cigarette and smiled widely. Finally. She stared down at him, her eyes contemplative and calculating. “Where is it?”
“I can get it.” This time it was Lilly who kicked out at him and he whimpered piteously.
“You think I’m stupid? You’re going to take us to it.” Aubrey watched as her girls picked Weston up and half dragged him out the back door to the car. She waited a few moments until he was tucked in the back of the trunk before she made her way to the office behind the bar. She wasn’t sure what she was going to find when she opened the door so she steeled herself against the possibility that this was going too far for Stacie.
She cracked the door open and took a breath ready for whatever judgement she saw waiting for her. Detective Mitchell was sitting at her desk, feet propped on it, enjoying a glass of Lagavulin while watching the security monitors. Her amused smirk the only indication that she’d actually seen what happened. Stacie was sitting on the edge of the desk, close enough to the monitors to have seen if she wanted to.
“It’s time.”
Stacie turned bright eyes toward her and nodded solemnly. There was a shadow in her eyes that worried Aubrey a little and she held out a hand cautiously hoping it wouldn’t be rejected. Stacie took it, warm fingers lacing with her own and she let out a held breath.
“Okay you guys are gross.” Beca stood and pushed past them, finishing the drink as she went. “It’s making my Scotch taste bad, and the gratuitous displays of affection, jeez. Keep it in your pants maybe.” Detective Mitchell winked teasingly at them and headed out for the car, leaving them alone for a moment. Aubrey chuckled softly and turned to meet Stacie’s gaze.
“Are you…are you alright with this?”
Stacie tugged Aubrey closer, drawing her into a kiss before touching foreheads. They were still for a moment just breathing in the silence. “Not gonna lie and say it was easy to watch. It wasn’t. But am I okay with what you had to do? Yes. Yes I am. I’m with you until the end.”
It was all she needed to hear. Aubrey kissed her softly, all of her love lingering with the sweetness of the kiss. They’d make it through this and anything else that came their way. She didn’t have any more doubts about that.
--------------------------------------------------------
Aubrey looked around the plush interior of the cabin and shook her head. It was beautiful and opulent and everything that she expected from Weston Whitman. It was exactly the type of place women went to and were never heard from again. She had to hand it to him, it was pretty brilliant. No one would ever think to look on a boat for the type of evidence to prove Whitman’s crimes. And out at sea no one would ever hear the screams of his victims. He was so full of himself he had even named his boat ‘Lady Killer’, so sure no one would ever catch on to the truth.
Happy and Lilly led Weston down the few stairs to the cabin, helping him none too gently into a chair. Aubrey looked around at the living room area, reaching out to pick up a glass chess piece from the set on the table. She rolled it in her hand, using the gesture to help her keep her cool. “Nice place.”
He watched her taking everything in with a critical eye, hate etched deep in his weighty gaze. Aubrey turned to stare at him when he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Pain and humiliation making him belligerent and brooding. But she had ways of making people talk. “Go fuck yourself.”
Aubrey chuckled and pulled her gun out of the holster. Her steps brought her around in a tight circle around him and she poked him hard in the back of the head with the barrel of firearm. “Don’t get cute Whitman. You still have a lot of bones to break. Where’s the drive?”
“Up your cu…” A scream cut his words off when she aimed and shot into his knee, obliterating the cap without so much of a flicker of emotion. Weston squeezed his thigh above his knees with his one good hand, his breathing growing erratic and she wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t pass out. Steps sounded on the stairs and Beca took in the scene with a questioning raised brow. The sound of a gunshot bringing her down to investigate. Aubrey shrugged innocently at the cop and trailed a finger over the hard plastic case of the flare gun.
“Hey Richie Rich.”
The look he gave her was dark and if looks could kill Detective Mitchell would be gasping out her last bloody breaths. “You’re a cop…d-do something.”
Beca made a show of patting her all her pockets before reaching into the inner pocket of her leather jacket and pulling up her middle finger with a smirk. “Looks like I forgot my badge at your mom’s last night.”
“You bitch.” Aubrey smacked him on the back of the head with her gun.
“Don’t make me ask you again.”
Weston sighed and pointed to the wet bar along the wall. “In the cabinet, in the bag of coffee beans.”
He watched as Beca moved to the cabinet and started pulling things out and tossing the over her shoulder until she found several bags of coffee beans. She opened them and upended them until something clinked on the floor. She picked it up and tossed it to Aubrey who caught it one handed and inspected it. Two flash drives hung from a chain and she glanced around looking for something to play them on.
She spotted a laptop and quickly booted it up, placing the chess piece next to her gun on the table. Aubrey clicked off the sound and waited for all the videos to load. They were conveniently labeled by dated folder and she opened the first. Weston was watching her carefully, noting the ticks and twitches on her face as she skipped through the videos. None of them were Stacie but all of them were horrible and sick. Some of them were just Weston, some of them had his friends. Aubrey even recognized a few of them, one of them she was sure was the man that had tried to manhandle Stacie at the charity event.
Aubrey pulled the drive out and put in the other one. There were less videos but they were longer and all of them featured Stacie. She swallowed hard as she watched the woman suffer at Weston’s hand over and over again. It was disgusting and she could tell that he was waiting for her reaction, ready to savor it. Aubrey closed the laptop and pocketed the thumb drive in her vest. The blonde whistled softly and tossed the other one back to Beca before gripping her gun lightly again.
“What’s this? Christmas in July?”
“You wanted a case, now you have one.” She jerked her head in a short nod toward Weston before holding Detective Mitchell’s gaze. None of this would be happening if Beca hadn’t played her part so well and truthfully she wanted all those son of a bitches to pay for the things they’ve done. What better way than to let the law take care of them? “Consider it a bonus for a job well done.”
Beca looked at the drive and then at Weston as if she were weighing the benefit for her career versus the amount of work it would take to see it all through. After a second she shrugged and headed for the stairs up to the deck. She gave them a parting look as if she might say something but she thought better of it and kept walking, a silent testimony to Aubrey’s control. Weston watched her leave suddenly realizing he was a pawn the entire time.
“So this was the game all along wasn’t it? Get your little friend to blackmail me just so you could loan me money I could never repay? You set me up.”
Aubrey picked up the glass piece again and gestured to the game board. “Do you play chess Mr. Whitman?”
He gave her a terrified and confused look, frowning at the question. Now that she had what she wanted he was just a loose end. He probably longed for it, longed for a moment of pain free bliss of his death. She would have if she had been in his place. And there really was no reason for her to keep him alive other than the fact that she wanted him to suffer more than he had ever suffered in his life. “Are you going to kill me or what you miserable bitch?”
“I ask because I play chess. I like seeing all the pieces on the board, and moving those pieces to exploit my opponent’s weaknesses.” She chuckled softly and as she moved to the corner of the room and raised her foot to the tip the gas can over that Lilly had left for her. “If your opponent doesn’t appear to have a weakness you create one. You see Wes…I knew who you were before you even set foot in my place. And no it wasn’t your financial prowess that preceded you. I knew your face though.” She moved to another corner and tipped another can of gas. She hadn’t prepared to have this all go down on a boat but she couldn’t deny the fact that it was a convenient way to get rid of him. She stopped in front of Weston, the stairs to the deck behind her. “I knew your face because I saw it in the wedding photo on your nightstand when I was fucking your wife in your bed. I’ve taken everything you had Weston. Your car, your job, your money, your reputation, your good looks and now…now I’ve got your wife.”
The blood drained from his face and she watched as he crumbled in on himself. She could hear steps on the stairs but didn’t turn to look because she knew who it was already. She hadn’t expected Stacie to come down to face him but she wasn’t exactly surprised by it either. Aubrey didn’t blame her for needing some kind of closure to whole affair. Weston had plagued her for long enough.
“Stacie…you bitch, you goddamned bitch. I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you.”
Aubrey took the drive out of her pocket and handed it over to Stacie without the other woman asking for it. The brunette opened her mouth to say something but Aubrey gently closed her fingers over the drive and raised it to her lips for a soft kiss. They didn’t need to talk about it ever again and Aubrey would never hold it against her. It was finally over for Stacie, and she could control her own life from this point forward.
“No Wes…you won’t. You won’t touch me ever again and the memory of you is already fading from my mind.”
Stacie leaned in for a warm kiss, showing Aubrey exactly how she felt without having to say a single word. When they pulled apart Aubrey turned and placed the glass queen on the table beside him and smirked.
“I’d kill you but that’s too easy Whitman. You’ll survive this, you’ll be damaged permanently I’m sure, but you’ll be alive. You might even be able to make a deal with Detective Mitchell to rat on your buddies. It might make your prison time a little more pleasant because make no mistake, if you survive those wounds you will go to prison. Probably for the rest of your very short life.”
“You fucking piece of trash…”
Aubrey raised the gun in her hand and pulled the trigger. It was sharp and loud but nearly as loud as the wailing keen from Weston as he toppled out of the chair trying to cradle his other wounded knee to his body. She tucked the gun away into its holster and adjusted her jacket over it, concealing it from sight. Stacie turned Aubrey toward her, tightening and straightening the dark purple tie she wore. It was sweetly domestic and she liked that Weston watched every gesture between them with disbelieving eyes.
“You should be thanking me you know. That dental work I did for you will make you really popular where you’re going. If you’re real nice to the right people you can earn yourself from protection with it.” She took Stacie’s hand when she was done fixing her tie and led her to the stairs and up onto the deck. She could hear the soft sobs from the broken man in the cabin and it only made her smile wider.
Her boat was bobbing gently next to the one they were on and she led Stacie over to it. A loud thump hit the bottom of the stairs and she peered down to see him laboriously trying to climb up. “You’re a dead woman and you don’t even know it. You think you won the game Posen? You don’t even know who you’re playing with. You’re so dead.”
Aubrey nodded. “Maybe. But not by your hand and not today. There’s a flare gun in there, if you make it to the deck you might be able to signal for help before you pass out from blood loss.” She closed the hatch door on his sputtering threats and made her way over to her boat. Stacie waited by the rail at the stern of ‘The Queen of Hearts’ and she carefully made her way across to the other vessel. When she was safely on board she gave a nod to Beca who gunned the engines to pilot them away from Weston’s boat.
Stacie laced their fingers together and they smiled at each other. No matter what happened now Weston was going to suffer for it all. Aubrey slid her sunglasses on and watched his boat shrink the further away they got. “You good, Stace?”
There was silence a moment longer before the orange glare of flames tinged the horizon where Weston’s boat dipped and rolled with the gentle movement of the water. “We’re together and I’ve never been better.”
22 notes
·
View notes