#let me introduce you to the man I have loved for nigh on ten years now

[jubaer01]

Drug Abuse and Addiction Story - Coma Ten Days

Heroin is a substance that contains opium, codeine and morphine. This drug does its damage through mental and physical dependency. Due to the compulsive use of Heroin, the addiction becomes so over-powering. The central nervous system (brain) is soon brought under the chemical's control. Once the Central Nervous System is operating under the influence of Heroin, or any other chemical controlled substance, the body becomes the drug's puppet. People lose control of their decision making. Most drug addicts have seen, as well as felt the pain that Heroin and other chemical controlled substances have brought upon families, communities, schools, and personal lives. Help me free people from the chains and bondage of opium, codeine, and morphine.

Our world is so violence filled due to the use and abuse of illegal controlled substances. Now that we all have seen and heard how sick the land is, let's draw nigh one to the other, and strengthen our war on drug abuse. We all know this is no easy fight. I heard the people say, "it takes a community to raise a child". We believe persuasion is the "Gospel's tactic to win this war.

Every user of Heroin, Cocaine, Marijuana, Crack, PCP, Alcohol, Inhalant, Ecstasy, Crystal Meth, Prescriptions, or any other chemical controlled substance, was persuaded into using one of those drugs. If you are tired of watching drugs/heroin destroy, then you must get involved and fight with me. Share with me a remedy God has given you. Support anywhere possible. It is your calling! Let's draw nigh and persuade them Love!

Whether behind closed doors, or in public areas, drugs have caused many to experience the worst. Drugs are widespread, and somewhere in the USA, hundredths of people have just been introduced to a chemical controlled substance in the past hour. In one whole year, more than 25,000 Americans have died from a drug overdose. If God hasn't given you a land healing ministry; you must consider helping one. It takes a community to raise a child!

2 Peter 3:9- The Lord is not slack concerning His promise, but as some men count slackness, but is long-suffering to us-ward, not willing that any man should perish, but that all should come to repentance.

Psalms 107:20 He sent his word and Healed them and delivered them from their destruction. The Word of God can heal and deliver people from their addiction/destruction.

Romans 6:23 For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord

Romans 6:23 For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord

Full Video is here: Drugs Destroyed My Career

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Late Fees // D.M.

Summary: Draco moves to a sleepy village after the war, wanting some time away. To keep himself busy and his mind occupied – away from the terrors lying in wait – he volunteers at the local library. There, he meets all sorts of characters. Mrs Taylor who has a love for trashy romance novels, Mr. Roth who is more than happy to be left alone with his books, and you.

A/N: A Librarian AU that absolutely no-one asked for.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Muggle!Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of food and drink, mentions of nightmares, flirting, pining, cuteness

Word count: 7k (this got away with me)

The sleepy Yorkshire village never changed. Perhaps that is what Draco liked so much about it. Routines established and set in stone; everyone knew everyone and what they did every day.

The decision to move to Yorkshire from Wiltshire had been made overnight. Draco had sat through another painstakingly awkward meal with his barely-keeping-it-together parents and decided that he had had enough. Draco had returned to his room; hands shaking as his mind raced through the pros and cons of his decision. He needed to leave; he had to – he was injuring himself further the longer he stayed, yet he had nowhere to go. The Malfoy name was not one to be greeted with open arms and warm smiles.

He had chosen Yorkshire for the fact that other than Neville Longbottom; he didn’t know of anyone from there. With Neville training under Professor Sprout at Hogwarts, Draco had high hopes that he would run into the Gryffindor there. He was not yet ready to confront the sea of apologies he owed Neville.

So Yorkshire it was and Yorkshire it is.

He had moved in the spring; the fields surrounding his sleepy village finally turning green after the winter’s frost, fresh blooms on the trees lending the air a floral scent. The house in which he chose was relatively smaller to that of which he was used, but that was what he wanted. He wanted a complete change from what he had grown up; from what he was accustomed to. Draco needed to shake up his life entirely and his three bedroomed cottage in the Yorkshire Dales would do just nicely.

It takes six months for Draco to become bored of the same routine. He wakes on the couch after another restless night, he makes his first coffee of the day as he cooks his breakfast and then he leaves the house. He tries to spends as much time as he can outside; believing the fresh air to be doing him the world of good as he follows the well-worn paths through fields and forests, the temptation to get truly lost almost too much as he ambles aimlessly.

It takes six months for Draco to give into the desire to find something to do. He needs a job, he tells himself. Not for the money – no, Narcissa Malfoy had ensured he would be set for life when he moved out. He needs to a job to keep his mind occupied; to keep his body busy and his mind on other topics so he doesn’t continue to focus on everything that happened before. The Second Wizarding War had destroyed so many lives, and he bitterly regrets the part he played in destroying those lives. The survivor’s guilt mixed with the guilt by association is a nauseating concoction that leaves him unable to sleep, paralysed with the fear of what his mind could conjure once his eyes slip closed.

The sighting of the job advert in the window has Draco feeling as if all his Christmases have come at once. It was on his daily walk through the centre of the village that he sees the sign hanging in the window of the small library. A place he hadn’t yet ventured for fear of the silence, but a place he would happily enter if it kept him somewhat busy.

He had rushed inside; striding quickly up the small ramp and grabbed the ‘Volunteers Needed’ sign from the window, barely stopping himself from slamming it down onto the counter.

It was almost laughable; his desperation for the job, but he didn’t know how long he could continue the same mind-numbing routine. He didn’t know how much longer he could explore the forests of Yorkshire and not want to scream; he had seen vista after vista, his breath stolen at some of the views, but he wanted something else. He needed something else.

The grey-haired lady behind the counter jumped as Draco cleared his throat. “Morning dear,” She greeted, “How can I help you?”

Draco pushed the sign across the counter, “I’d like to volunteer with the library, please.”

That had been that. Madge, the elderly librarian, was wanting to retire. She had been a volunteer with the library service for nigh on forty years; her love for books something else entirely as she dedicated her life to lending them to others. After a brief conversation over the role in which Draco would take, she had given him his start date and that was that.

Draco had left the small library feeling lighter than air. The usual pressure upon his shoulders and behind his eyes barely there as he sprinted home; wanting to write a letter to his beloved mother to tell her of his news.

-----

The library was situated in the centre of the village. On its left sat the only pub, a large building that exuded nothing but happiness as it opened at noon on the dot. On the library’s right was one of the few general stores – it held everything. In his first few weeks in the village, Draco found himself spending his money there rather than travelling to other towns and cities. It had everything he could possibly need.

From his position at the desk, Draco had the perfect view of the village green along with the sole church in the village that catered to nearly every single resident. Day in and day out, Draco sat happily at his desk, sorting through returns and library catalogues as he ambled through the aisles when he needed to stretch his legs.

It wasn’t a large library. He felt certain that the library at Malfoy Manor was twice the size of the one he finds himself standing in now, but nevertheless, he appreciated this one just as much. Books had been his solace for much of his life. The library at the manor becoming his safe space at the age ten to the age of twenty. He had never worried when he was there; he could find an escape in the pages of an ancient tome explaining the histories of spells and charms, or he could find solace in one of the risker muggle books his mother kept hidden away from his father.

He doesn’t need to spend too much time inside to know he loves it. It was an oddly shaped building; octagonal with a shoot off where Draco’s new desk sits. The shelves line the walls; each one titled clearly with its genre and then books sorted alphabetically by author. The building itself was just over a century old; having seen two world wars and survived to tell the tale like many of the residents of the small village.

As Draco wanders the library, running his fingers over the spines of much cherished books, he knew he was going to be very happy within these walls.

-----

Draco meets Mrs. Taylor on a Wednesday morning a month after he started working at the library. It had not been a very busy morning; Draco spending most of it going through the ancient catalogue system and wondering whether it would be worth it to apply for a grant with the local council to get a computer. He’s thinking of his very first day in the old library, staring at the shelves and shelves of loan records when a loud cough breaks him from his daydream.

“You must be Madge’s replacement?” A feminine voice chimes: there’s no hint of the Yorkshire accent that Draco has come accustomed too in his time up north. Her accent is southern, but whereabouts, he couldn’t place.

He smiles politely at the grey-haired lady. “That I am,” He confirms, “I’m Draco. How can I help you?”

The elderly lady doesn’t reply. Instead, she rakes her eyes from Draco’s face down his body, leaving him feeling like a piece of meat rather than a living and breathing human. She must like what she sees, Draco thinks, as she smiles broadly, stepping closer to the counter. She holds a hand out to Draco, expectant in his taking of it. Draco shakes her hand once before letting it drop as she introduces herself, “I’m Mrs. Taylor, dear. I’ve been visiting this library for nearly forty years now.”

Draco blows out a puff of air; impressed with Mrs. Taylor’s dedication to the library. “So you’ll have known Madge well then?”

“Oh yes, but I can’t help but wonder whether I’ll get to know you just as well too.”

Draco reels back at the obvious meaning to her words. He raises a single eyebrow at her tone, replying carefully, “I plan on being in the village for some time. I’m sure you will see me around.”

Mrs. Taylor nudges her rounded glasses further down her nose; resting them on the tip, “I hope I do.”

Not knowing what else to do, Draco laughs, “How can I help you today, Mrs. Taylor?”

Disappointment evident in her tone, Mrs. Taylor drops a tote bag onto the counter. The bag is full to the brim with books; all returns for Draco to sort through this afternoon. He has to resist the urge to give Mrs. Taylor hope in the form of a loud kiss on the cheek; she had just sorted out his plans for the afternoon to keep his mind deliciously numb from the panic that had started to creep in once more.

“These are all to be returned, lovie,” Mrs. Taylor states, pushing the bag closer to Draco in the effort to get their hands to brush like in the romances she adores so much.

“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. Will you be taking anymore out while you’re here?”

She laughs; her hand on her chest as if Draco had asked the most ridiculous question known to man. “Of course, I always take out new books. I shall see you in a bit, lovie.”

Mrs. Taylor toddles off, her red polka dot skirt swishing with every step. Draco shakes his head, amused by the older lady before getting to work on her bag full of returns.

It takes three books to realise the genre Mrs. Taylor enjoys reading. He catalogues romance novel after romance novel; each with a title that leaves very little to the imagination. Seducing The Viking and Romancing The Cowboy make their way to the returned stacks as Draco continues to work on the bag of books.

The more books she returns, the more he gets an insight into Mrs. Taylor’s mind. Draco has nothing against romance novels; he’s read a fair few in his time, but he had never read books with titles such as Taming The Pirate and Teasing The God.

Hurriedly, he makes a mental note to visit the romance section of the library to get a peek at any further books with such titles. He could see exactly what the appeal was; half naked men with ripped abs on the cover promising romantic liaisons in the rudest of manners. He understood why they were so popular despite having not ventured into the genre himself, preferring classic romances like that of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.

Mrs. Taylor returns to the desk; her arms full of new books to read. At the sight of her struggling, Draco rushes out from behind the counter, “Let me get those for you, Mrs. Taylor.”

“Oh… thank you, lovie,” She responds, smiling, breathless from the walk around the library but also from the weight of the books.

Draco leads Mrs. Taylor back to the desk where he spies the title of the first book in her large pile. Bewitched By The Billionaire stares up at him as he writes out the title and stamps the return date in the designated section of the book.

To help, he places all the newly borrowed books back into her tote bag, smiling politely at the grey-haired lady as he does so. “There you are, Mrs. Taylor, I hope to see you again soon,” Draco comments, handing her the full bag of salacious books.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Draco,” Mrs. Taylor croons; hoisting the tote bag full of new books onto her shoulder. She waves at him so flirtatiously that Draco cannot help but respond with a wave of his own as she leaves the library.

He feels amused long after the pensioner leaves; her overly flirtatious manner and her taste in books providing Draco his afternoon entertainment as he returns books to shelves and goes through catalogue records, trying to make some sense of the librarians that came before him.

All too soon, however, the light of the day fades behind the clouds as the sun sets. Draco releases a shuddering breath, going through his routine for closing up the library – making sure all records are locked away along with any money. He locks the door behind him, pulling down the shutter and shoving his hands into his jean pockets, setting off up the road in the direction of his home.

He dreaded this part of the day. In the daylight, he could keep himself occupied with the shelves and shelves of books, organising and recording. He could keep his mind busy, away from the terrors that lurked on the sidelines – waiting for the moment in which they could invade.

That moment is always comes. Draco tries to avoid it as much as he can; does anything he can to stave off the inevitable, but it always arrives, and it always catches him off guard.

Tonight, it’s as he’s sleeping. He’s pulled from a nightmare; scream lodged in his throat so tightly that his throat aches from the power of it. Tears trail down his cheeks as he tries to catch his breath; tries to slow his heart rate to an acceptable rhythm.

Draco looks around his bedroom; counting whatever he sees. Two bookshelves, one dresser, one wardrobe. He counts them all over and over again until his mind has cleared of the paralysing terror he had just experienced.

Nightmares came often. They started after the end of the war, and for now, it seemed like they were here to stay. It was never the same one, however. Draco had experienced so much trauma through the events of the war that his mind constantly replays them like a film; choosing a select memory and letting it play as he sleeps.

He settles his face in his hands, counting to ten as he inhales and exhales. He has to calm down; he cannot focus unless he calms down.

What feels like a lifetime later, he pulls his face from his hands, letting the inevitable wave of tiredness wash over his body. His body is tired; it’s dead tired and screams for rest, but his mind. His mind is awake and it’s restless. Draco sighs heavily, glancing at the clock on his bedside table, noting the early hour and knowing he would not be able to sleep anymore.

He flips on the light to the bathroom, turning on the shower before getting a look at himself in the mirror. skin pale save for the shadows under his eyes; whilst his sleep pattern had improved since moving away, there were still nights where Draco struggled to get more than three hours sleep. He tugs off his t-shirt, his eyes running over the pale pink scars that could not be wholly healed by Snape and Madame Pomfrey. The curse he had been hit with was brutal; only to be used on the worst of people and he understood why now. He had healed wonderfully; only a few scars remaining, but it would take longer to recover mentally from what had happened. His most common nightmare revolves around the pain he felt after the duel in the bathroom.

A shive runs through his body as he steps into the warm spray of the shower. Lavender is his body wash of choice as he squirts a large glob onto a sponge. He refuses to think as he washes himself; refuses outright to think about a thing other than what he needs to do next. Now you need to wash your hair Draco, grab the shampoo and wash your hair. Then you need to rinse off, Draco.

He talks to himself, getting himself through the aftermath of the nightmares just like he has always done. He brushes his teeth before leaving the bathroom; hoping that the spearmint of the toothpaste will overcome the acrid aftertaste of the scream that was lodged in his throat for Merlin only knows how long.

Draco dresses robotically; going through his list in his head to make it easier to cope with the fog that feels like it will be staying with him all day. He gets downstairs, only managing a cup of tea before deciding to head out.

The brisk walk to the library has Draco’s mind starting to clear. The early morning air tied with the frost has Draco startling awake even further, rejuvenating the blood in his veins and making his steps faster.

He barely looks around on his walk to the library; too used to his surroundings to be in awe of the rich landscape around him.

It’s why he freezes when he spots you.

You stand outside the library; breath nothing but white puffs in the air as you huff into your hands, trying to warm them up. You feel someone watching you; startling slightly when you catch Draco’s eyes on you.

You smile at him, “Please tell me you’re opening the library.”

Draco nods; holding up his keys as evidence, “How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long. Fifteen minutes at the most.”

“That’s not so bad if the weather wasn’t this cold,” He comments, unlocking the shutter and then the door, turning back to face you, “Are you coming in or what?”

You come back to life; dragging your eyes from the lithe figure of the man before you to meet his eyes with a sheepish glance, “Let me unfreeze and I’ll follow you.”

Draco laughs, he truly laughs. He opens the door to the library; glad to hear your footsteps following close behind him. Draco doesn’t take off his coat, he heads straight to the desk where he counts down the seconds for you to join him.

Timidly, you hand him your return. He takes it from you, automatically flipping to the record at the front of the book. “It’s two weeks late,” He comments; eyes wide, voice aghast.

You purse your lips, “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that.”

His eyebrows raise in shock, “How could I not notice that when I have to check the return dates?”

You shrug, “I’m not sure, but is there any way I can get out of the late fee?”

“What?” Draco asks, voice loud and in shock once more.

“I’ve never returned a book late. This is the first time this has happened,” You defend, crossing your arms across your chest.  

Draco hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip. He had seen the late fees waived before; had seen Madge’s notes in the columns of the records, but he had never waived a late fee before. He watches you; noting your body language as well as the dark shadows under your eyes that reflect his.

He nods twice, “I’ll waive the late fee this time.”

“You will?” You ask, your voice breathless, your eyes wide in shock.

“Yes, I will.”

“Thank you,” You say; repeating the words over and over as you smile widely at him.

Draco waves away your thanks with a motion of his hand; he’s simply happy he could bring a smile to your face.

With another smile, this one smaller – more genuine, you gesture towards the shelves, “I’m going to find something else.”

Draco nods, “Of course. I’m here to help if you need anything.”

You nod your thanks, turning from him and heading towards the stacks of books. Draco watches you walk away, unable to truly comprehend the conversation. He should have charged you the late fee; he knows he should have, but he took one look into your eyes and knew that he wouldn’t be charging you much of anything.

Clearing your throat, you bring back Draco’s attention. He smiles at you, “Did you find something?”

“I did. I’ve had my eye on this for a while,” You reply, holding up the cover to a fantasy novel, “I’m glad it’s finally available.”

Draco smiles, taking the book from you. No words are spoken as he records the borrow along with the date it needs to be returned. On a whim, he underlines the date twice before handing it back to you. You tuck the book in your bag; smiling gratefully at the blonde haired man before a laugh escapes your mouth,  “You’ve met Mrs. Taylor, haven’t you?”

Draco averts his gaze; feeling the familiar blush creep onto his cheeks, “How did you know?”

You point towards the stack of romance novels behind him, “She’s the only one in the village to read them. Madge would order them special for her to save her travelling to the next town.”

Draco feels oddly touched on behalf of Mrs. Taylor; that Madge cared that much for her to order books to save her travelling so far. He smiles softly, “I’ll have to see if there’s any new that have been published to save her reading Seducing The Viking again.”

You snort, “From what she’s told me, that one is her favourite. She would love you very much though if you were to order some new novels for her.”

“I’ll have to have a look into it though she might love me already.”

A fond grin makes it way across your face, “She’s a regular flirt, but she means well. If you’re ever in a pickle, it’s Mrs. Taylor you need.”

“How long has she lived here?” Draco asks; curiosity getting the better of him.

“All her life. She was born here in the forties and never left. She met her husband, had her family and that was that. She was settled. She’s like the village’s grandma.”

“She sounds like she has lived a whole life,” Draco murmurs, hoping slightly that the elderly lady would pop into the library today so he could hear some of her stories. It makes him miss his parents bitterly; they had their mistakes, but they loved each other wholly with a passion entirely encompassing.

“She has,” You utter, “I have to get going, but it was nice meeting you…”

“Draco,” Draco supplies.

“It was nice meeting you, Draco. I’m (Y/N).”

“It was nice to meet you too. I hope to see you soon… minus the late fee.”

You laugh once more; promising him that there would be no more late fees. Draco watches you leave once again, shouldering the bag on your arm. You tug your coat tighter against your body, shivering against the bitter cold air.

As he watches you walk away from him, Draco briefly wonders how long it would be until he saw you again, and just how much he was looking forward to it.

-----

Three weeks later and the library is the busiest it had ever been. Not only does Draco have a slew of new orders to get ticketed and on shelves, he has three people wandering the shelves.

Mrs. Taylor returned first; her tote bag once full to the brim of her returns. She had shamelessly flirted with Draco some more, stating that it was his grey eyes that did the trick. She had never seen eyes like it. Mrs. Taylor grasped Draco by the cheeks and kissed him on the forehead when he showed her the new delivery of romance books. At one point, Draco swore he saw tears in her eyes as he let her delve into the new books.

Then entered Mr. Roth. Mr. Roth was a man he had only met twice in the whole time Draco had been working at the library. He was a man of few words; happy to keep to himself and his demeanour reminded Draco too much of his own grandfather. A man he had only met a handful of times yet knew he was happy to never meet again.

Mr. Roth nodded at Draco in greeting before making his own way to the military history section, browsing the titles silently and happily. Draco had left him too it; too nervous of Mr. Roth’s reaction should he be asked for any help.

For a time, it was those two. The both of them milling about the library, adding more books to their pile to be read.

However, they are soon joined by Madge herself. She smiles widely as she enters the library; rushing over to Draco to sing his praises for how well the whole place looks. Draco blushes something silly at her words; he hadn’t heard much praise through his life, had needed to for the perfect mould and was disciplined when didn’t. For Madge to praise Draco over the care he takes with the library, it isn’t something he’s likely to forget anytime soon.

Madge leaves Draco after that. She dawdles through the shelves, knowing the exact layout like the back of her hand. She spies Mrs. Taylor by the romances and Mr. Roth by the history section, but she herself, heads towards the classics. Having read them all multiple times, Madge was always happy to revisit her favourites whether it be Pemberley, Wuthering Heights, or Thornfield Hall.

All the while, Draco couldn’t help but hope that you would walk in through the door. He had met you once, spoken to you once but he longed to see you again. Twice now he had seen you walking past the library; earphones in and nodding your head to whatever song you were listening to. He had raised his hand both times, waving to you. You waved back, smiling gently to him.

He didn’t want to tempt fate; didn’t want to harbour feelings for someone he had only met once, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling deep within his gut that you were going to mean something to him one day.

If only you would enter the library.

----

It takes another week.

It’s another week of wondering and wishing. It’s another week of nightmares and early starts.

At this point, Draco has been living in this sleepy Yorkshire village for a year. He celebrated by working late at the library; organising new stock and creating a new display depicting the best reads of the month as voted for by the residents of the village. He had unashamedly added Mrs. Taylor’s newest favourite book at the top; that alone had earned him a wet kiss on the cheek.

You enter the library on a slightly warmer day in March. The month had begun frigid and frosty, but now closer to the middle, it seems that spring had finally taken its hold of the village.

You enter with yet another sheepish smile on your face, an apology already falling from your lips as you hand Draco the late book. “I know it’s late,” You ramble, “But I really haven’t had the time to sleep never mind drop it off considering the commute to work and back and the weather.”

Draco stops you by raising his hand, “It’s okay. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

You chew on your bottom lip, “Are you sure? I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine. You don’t need to pay the late fee either.”

“What?” You ask; hand already reaching for your purse.

“You don’t need to pay the late fee.”

“Why?”

Draco sighs, “Can I be honest with you even if it’s only our second time talking to each other?”

You nod wordlessly; nerves beginning to settle in your stomach in response to whatever could come out of his mouth.

“You look like you have a lot going on right now. You mentioned the commute to work and back, but you also look shattered, so I get it. I get what you mean when you haven’t had the time.”

You blink, the familiar burn of tears starting at the back of your throat. “You get it?”

Draco nods, “I get it. I know what it feels like to be so tired you feel like doing nothing else. I don’t know why you’re so tired, and you don’t have to tell me, but if you need to talk, I’m here.”

He’s stretching his neck out. It’s only the second time he’s spoken to you, but he doesn’t like the way the shadows under your eyes are looking. They seem to suck any happiness out of your face, leaving you almost gaunt looking.

“Can I repay you?” You ask suddenly; voice determined.

“What? Why? How?” Draco asks in a barrage of questions. He doesn’t need repayment; he would never ask for such a thing in the first place.

“You’ve shown me kindness. Can I repay that?” You state; voice clear as it rings out across the empty library.

“How?” He repeats; still unsure as to just how you would repay his kindness.

You glance at the clock; it had barely past ten am. You smile at Draco, “Would you like a late breakfast?”

It takes him less than ten seconds to answer; of course he would join you for a late breakfast. Draco grabs his coat; scrawling a sign for the door stating that he would be back in less than an hour, but truthfully, he didn’t think anyone would be in today.

----

Breakfasts consists of a full English rounded off with a pot of Yorkshire Tea. You argue stubbornly over brands of tea; yourself choosing Yorkshire as Draco opts for another brand.

Conversation never stops flowing; any silence is filled with a question or a story that always seems to lead to laughter either from Draco or yourself. Draco sits through the whole breakfast with a smile; he hadn’t felt this good in a long time. He had spent such a long while dealing with the guilt he harboured for surviving a war he was on the wrong side of.

It’s over this breakfast that he realises he needs to tell you. He needs to explain to you who he is and why he is here. Draco could talk to you all day long about tales from his education and his childhood, but they would all continue to be half-truths if he never told you about the magic that flowed through his veins and made him capable of incredible things.

Walking back to the library after breakfast, he resolves to tell you if he sees you again. You hadn’t taken out another book so he doubted he would. However, the small voice in the back of his head and also resided in his heart hoped that you would so he could confess.

-----

Draco does see you again. You start to frequent the library; wandering the aisles in search of your next read but also to spend time with Draco. You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t find him fascinating and handsome, but he had an air of mystery around him that you were desperate to get to the bottom to.

A friendship forms. The both of you finding yourselves better matched for each other than anyone else; becoming close and confiding in each other when things seem darkest. You confide in him your deepest secrets, explaining the nightmares that hide behind the dark circles under your eyes. Draco confesses much of the same, but his desire to tell you about the magic he can wield remains on the tip of his tongue, turning more bitter the longer he waits to tell you about himself.

He tells himself excuse after excuse: it’s too soon, it would scare you off, he isn’t ready. In actuality, he is ready, and more than enough time has passed for the relationship to be so firmly cemented that it wouldn’t scare you off.

Yet he panics, and it keeps him up more often than his nightmares. How does he tell the one he’s closest to that he can form light with a whisper of a single word? That he can brew potions to not only heal but to incapacitate?

He hasn’t neglected his magic whilst he’s been in Yorkshire; he’s used it well enough. To dry himself off if caught in the rain, to send books back to their shelves if he’s comfy in his seat. However, he has always been wary of his talents around you, too worried about being caught out and destroying the one positive friendship he has had since he was fifteen years old.

Draco needs to tell you. He knows he does; he’s let his feelings get in the way of confessing who he really is and what he can do. His feelings for you hadn’t crept up on him; he had constantly been aware of his changing emotions. As the friendship progressed, he found himself wanting to reach out and take your hand randomly or wanted to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and then stroke your cheek. These hadn’t been the ponderings of someone who held platonic feelings; they were entirely romantic, and Draco wanted nothing more than to pursue that option with you, but he didn’t know how you would feel after he confessed his magic.

Truthfully, he didn’t want to tell you because he didn’t want to see the fear and disgust in your eyes as he had so often seen reflected in the eyes of witches and wizards around him. To see that in your eyes, it wasn’t something Draco could ever be prepared for.

How long could it last though? How long would he have with you before you sniff out the lie and the friendship falls apart from there?

Draco ponders these questions as he tidies up the library; new books on shelves along with freshly returned ones. The two questions float in his mind as the late afternoon turns into the evening and Draco readies himself for closing.

He startles slightly as you enter the library. You look lovely this evening, and everything Draco wants to tell you sits perched on his lips, waiting to be screamed into existence.

“Are you ready?” You ask, leaning forward on the desk.

“Ready? For what?” Draco questions, confusion lacing his tone.

You frown, “We’re eating at your place tonight? You told me to meet you here and we’d walk there together?”

Draco’s eyes widen as he suddenly remembers the promise he made you last week; to cook for you one evening so you could eat something other than pasta and noodles. “Of course I remember,” He covers, laughing nervously, “I was just messing with you.”

Your frown deepens, “If you don’t want to do this Dray, it’s okay, we can reschedule or something.”

Draco shakes his head rapidly from side to side. “No!” He all but shouts, “Let me grab my coat and my keys and we can go.”

You laugh; feeling the awkwardness that had quickly settled between you, “Are you okay, Draco?”

Draco nods: gulping as he herds you out of the door so he can lock up. “I’m fine, I just have something important to tell you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

He nods once more; the words stuck in his throat. The decision had been made; he would tell you tonight and then deal with the consequences afterwards.

The walk to his home is silent; nerves settling in both your stomachs as minds run into overdrive over what could be said tonight. Draco – terrified for your reaction. You – terrified for what he has to say, wondering nervously whether your feelings for the blonde had been too obvious from the beginning and he was going to put an end to your friendship.

It didn’t matter how often you visited his home; it would always leave you breathless at the sight of it. It had been a home you had admired for years, knowing the family that had lived there before Draco. They had moved to the next village over, wanting to downsize after their children had left home.

The large cottage had always been gorgeous but seeing Draco in a domestic element added more appeal to you. He takes your coat from you, hanging it up before doing the same, toeing off his shoes as he does so.

You expect him to lead you to the kitchen where you had watched him cook so many times before. An expert chef as demanded by his mother, you loved to watch Draco cook and bake. He could create marvellously tasty dishes from just a handful of ingredient – a talent you wished you possessed.

However, he doesn’t lead you to the kitchen, he leads you into the living room where he switches on all the lamps in the room without touching a single switch.

“How did you do that?” You demand, wonder and curiosity making your tone sharper than you intended.

“This is where I need to you to not lose your mind,” Draco whispers, his hand reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a long stick.

“Why do you have a stick, Draco?”

“It’s not a stick. It’s my wand. Hawthorn with a unicorn hair centre.”

You frown, puzzled, “A wand? As in a magician’s wand?”

Draco nods, “If you need to sit down after I tell you, I understand.”

“Tell me what?”

“I’m a wizard,” He states bluntly, no room for argument.

You laugh; it’s breathless from confusion, “I don’t get what you mean.”

“I’m a wizard. I have magic. I can turn on the lights in any room without saying a word or touching a switch, I can brew potions that heal injuries, I can fly a broomstick and I’m pretty good at it too.”

“So you’re a wizard and you can do magic?”

Draco nods, “Would you like me to show you?”

You nod wildly; the action sending your hair flying into your face. You push it away, not wanting to miss a moment of this.

Draco sends you a bashful smile as he holds his wand out, pointing it at a lone book on the coffee table beside the couch. In a clear voice, he calls, “Accio!”

In a single instant, the book flies across the room and lands in his outstretched hand. He holds the book up to you as evidence. Your mouth drops open; in shock at what you have just witnessed. Draco represses a laugh at the look on your face, knowing how hard it must be to comprehend all of what has been unloaded on you.

“Then why are you here? In Yorkshire of all places?” You ask, even more curious for his life in Yorkshire.

Draco sighs, “There was a war. I found myself on the wrong side and I saw too many people I know die. In the aftermath, when everyone was healing and starting to live their lives again, I couldn’t move on. I left home so I could start to heal and find myself, find who I want to be.”

“And have you now?” You ask; hope shining in every word.

Draco nods slowly, “I think I have. I think I’ve started to heal at last.”

“I thought you wanted to end our friendship,” You confess, your voice no higher than a whisper.

Draco steps closer to you; dropping the book and taking your hands in his. “Never,” He promises, then he takes a deep breath, “If anything I want more.”

“What?” You gasp.

Draco bites his lip, feeling the all too familiar blush creep its way up his neck. “I want more,” He repeats.

He waits for your response, desperate to know what you think about everything else he has just unloaded on you. You open and close your mouth a few times; words failing you. Draco starts to panic, starts to form the words to take pressure off you when you step forward and kiss him.

It starts as a gentle brush of lips, but then the pressure becomes firmer, and Draco starts to respond. He gathers you in his arms, tugging you tight against him as his mouth memorises yours and every whimper that leaves it.

Your lips part under his and Draco takes every opportunity to deepen the kiss; relishing every second of the kiss and the way you feel pressed up against him. Your hands find themselves in his hair; carding through the blonde locks before tugging gently, smiling against his mouth at the groan the action elicits from the back of his throat. His hands start to wander; memorising the expanse of your body as he dips you slightly, wanting nothing more than to lay you out on the floor where you stand.

He doesn’t. Instead, Draco breaks the kiss. Pulling away with one, two, three pecks to your lips, grinning widely when you chase him for more. “You don’t care that I have magic?” Draco asks, gasping from the kiss.

You shake your head; tears shining with happy tears, “I couldn’t care less. I thought you were going to end our friendship because you figured out my feelings for you.”

Draco reaches up; tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, “Never, darling.”

You feel your face flush at the use of your new pet name. Draco choosing then and there to refer to you only as ‘darling’ if your response what to be that every time.

He dips his head once more; kissing you for all that he is worth. Pouring every ounce of emotion he has in his body into this kiss; hands grip you tightly as your hands start to wander, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and skirting the flat plains of his stomach.

“One condition,” Draco whispers against your mouth.

“Name it,” You whisper, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth.

He groans; low and throaty as he kisses you deeply, barely remembering to break the kiss so he can mutter, “No more late returns.”

The laugh that leaves your body has you shaking in Draco’s arms. He swallows your laughter with his mouth; silencing you effectively as he leads you back to the couch where he politely persuades you into no more late returns.

********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen​ @theweasleysredhair​ @harrypotter289​ @kalimagik​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @figlia--della--luna​ @idont-knowrn​ @birdie-writes​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @black-lake-confessions​ @annasofiaearlobe​ @imboredandneedalife​ @levylovegood​ @mytreec​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @teheharrypotter​ @chaoticgirl04​ @accio-rogers​ @starlightweasley​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @lestersglitterglue​ @msmimimerton​ @obx-beach​ @izzytheninja​ @slytherinprincess03​ @bbeauttyybbx​ @breadqueen95​ @acciotwinz​ @kashishwrites​ @slytherinsunrise​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @remmyswritings​ @xfirstfemale-marauderx​ @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon​ @ria-rests-here​ @superbturtlemakerathlete​ @inglourious-imagines​ @ithilwen-lionheart​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @ilovejjmaybank​

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @minty-malfoy @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @fallinallinmendes @ochrythum @gryffindors-weasley @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @reaganwonders @lahoete @beiahadid @ravenclawbitch426 @detroitobsessed

[scrawnytreedemon]

Shit I’ve Been Winding Up For A Long Time Now But Am Very Aware Will Probably Hold No Relevance Should I Actually Go Into This More--

This is about Bhunivelze.

I.

You know, when I was chilling out, on my bed, that evening on that half term in early June, deciding to check up on ClementJ64′s FF retrospective because-- Hey! It’s been awhile, I wonder if he’s got around to doing the final bit of the FFXIII saga --You know, I was there, chilling, just for a laff. Just a laff.

The rest of that week was spent spiralling into a hyperfixation I absolutely did not anticipate in any way, shape, or form, because the way they introduced that character was “wwhdhfjjhHJDFJKHKJHW H A T??”

That retrospective and a good amount of wiki-scrounging is all I have as a basis for this. This is not a coherent character analysis-- Though I might tag it as that for ease of access. This is not, by any means, the thoughts of someone deeply familiar with FFXIII on the whole beyond plot synopses and overarching themes.

I don’t think I’m brave enough for that.

Reading the vast yet surface-deep lore on those wiki pages on my birthday while in a delirious state of mind was enough to make me somewhat nauseous.

Do you think I’m going to go through all of that in real time?

(Someday, someday.)

Ugh, I don’t know how to begin, but let us, I guess. I’d recommend you read this church-mime-demiurge’s FF Wiki page if you want the same level of base-knowledge I had, and maybe the aformentioned retrospective if you want the experience, because I don’t think I have the wherewithal to get into all of that from the bottom-up.

I am also, so, so fucking sorry for any remaining FFXIII fans in advance. There is like, a good chance I may be butchering the characterisation completely, so bear with me here.

With that... we begin?

Where do we even start with this guy?

How on earth to you begin to explain the absolute monolith you’ve constructed from crumbs of a Guy, some material no doubt spliced in from the Pale King, Sephiroth, y o u r  o w n  G o d  O C and other characters, and the mountains of religious trauma you carry around at all times that is probably the only reason you’ve been able to latch on as hard as you did?

I’m going to try.

What gets me, in summary, about Bhunivelze is how he’s a prime example of how love and concern can become deadly forces if in the wrong hands. His first acquainting with human emotion was by deceiving and possessing Hope, reverting his body to a teenage state, and planning to live among humanity through him. He sees human sorrow and suffering, and decides that, to End This(because it must be ended, you see) he’s going to destroy all the souls of the deceased that make up the Chaos that’s been eating this world for the past five-hundred years so they all forget and Are Happy. :).

Capital G God here hasn’t been present for the vast part of human history because he’s hidden himself away from Everything due to paranoia from killing his own mother and throwing her body into the Cosmic Basement, THEN creating the beings that would come to create humanity and OTHER beings because he didn’t have the keys to the cosmic basement. And also he believes death is a thing because she’d’ve somehow cursed all things to pass(including him) out of Spite.

Which explains why he’s so fucking averse to it and anything to do with it.

Bhunivelze, to put it lightly, is Shit at stepping into others’ shoes and Getting their experiences-- All the FalCie in FFXIII are, but him especially. It’s clear(again, in the f u c k i n g JP--) that he makes attempts to sympathise with them and does what he can to help, but it’s with such a loftiness and a complete inability to Understand why anyone would want grief, The Worst Fucking Experience In Existence, and even less why they’d be willing to Go Up Against Him And HisThe New Perfect World just for it-- And what would it matter, anyway, forgetting their loved ones. It’s not like you can grieve lost memories, right?

Right.

It reminds me of when at the end of the story of Job in the Bible, where, after putting this man through hell on earth, God rewards Job by giving him ten new children to make up for the ones that he lost. I. And that’s fucked! Nothing can replace the sheer uniqueness of each individual person you loved so dearly! But if you were a nigh-omnipotent deity high and mighty, with a cursory, almost mechanical knowledge on the functionings of the human psyche, that would seem adequete; enough.

Bhunivelze is doing that on a cosmic level.

I now want to get onto the romance: that being, his affections for Lightning. I don’t know how much I’m going to say, but it’ll probably be alot. It’s something that hits very close to home.

There is this... thing, within certain branches of Christianity, perhaps even in those of various Abrahamic faiths, where God’s love is posited to be the love-- The ultimate, most-fulfilling, all-encompassing love you could ever imagine --Because, well, he is love, so the story goes, and so often the best way to convey that is through the imagery of...

Marriage.

Giving up yourself so completely, to serve, to be the Bride; to be bound by him for all eternity; and for there to be no higher bliss than this.

This angle is pushed on young girls and women the most; from the mere parallels to the woman’s role in marriage, all the way down to downright-horrifying ultra-Evangelical purity pacts. With men, God is your dad, your best bud and confidant, your boss, your king, your this, your that, and the ‘marriage‘ as it were is relegated to a sort of half-thought; a metaphor.

For me, God was an attempt at all that, and my arranged groom.

(It was almost incestuous; was incestuous, that my own Divine Father would reach for my hand in marriage.)

Bhunivelze experiences Emotions™ for the first time through Hope, experiences Hope’s sheer overwhelming admiration for Lighting(whether there were any baby-crush feelings mixed in, I can’t say), and promptly falls into a nigh-romantic obsession with Lightning, deciding that she will be Etro(his all-but daughter)’s replacement, will be his Goddess of Death to-be-- He even calls her as such, before the final boss-battle--

...In the JP.

What happened in localisation, probably due to a number of factors, all the way back in early 2014, was that everything emotionally challenging about Bhunivelze was scraped off, like it was extra fat, and tossed aside, leaving us with the bland, clichéd shell of a foe-god we’ve seen time and time again. And I mean everything. I mean his very love for humanity; the fact his ploy was, in his eyes, to save them. Because if they’d left that all on, then it would raise the question of even if there was such a seemingly pure, all-knowing, loving being hell-bent on setting things “straight,“ would they truly be unquestionable? Would we have the right to fight for our humanity in the face of the Creator of the Universe?

To reject a love so personal?

That’s what gets me about FFXIII’s tackling of God, no matter how hackneyed and poorly-executed. It’s personal.

It’s from a feminine experience.

I know that terming is... vague, and problematic, but the way Christianity and much of the video game industry handle femininity itself is weird and problematic, so as it stands, I’ll have to simplify it. Apologies.

What sets FFXIII’s Let’s Kill God™ plot aside from most JRPG Let’s Kill God™ plots is that with our protagonist being a woman, and one who is very in touch with her femininity alongside her sheer strength; often, in these stories, God is reduced to Yet Another Foe, expected or unexpected, and you are tasked with taking him down unquestioningly for the Good of Mankind-- You will fight God, because you are right to, and you will go man-to-man-to-however-many-men you decide to bring along for the bloodbath.

And that just, doesn’t speak to me.

Even as an Extian.

Especially as an Extian. And an AFAB one with a deeply complicated experience with my gender, at that.

Leaving Christianity was painful. Questioning God was painful. Coming to terms with the fact that I had been mentally, emotionally, and spiritually traumatised under the guise of All-Encompassing Love was so, so fucking painful. I had been taught since I was five years old to devote myself to him, spent my life desperate to feel something, anything, to stay connected because I just, I never could Feel It on a deeper level, never could Give Up Myself, all I was, couldn’t Die A Spiritual Death And Be Reborn As His Eager Vessel, thus deeming myself to be worthless and a broken vessel for years and years on end... And for all that to have been... Nothing.

Lightning is hollowed out, the shards of her dead sister ripped from her in-stasis, leaving her emotionally numb for the majority of the game, Bhunivelze sweeps it under the rug, pretends he’ll perform a miracle and return Serah to life in exchange for her compliance, then sends her on her way to do his work, all the while knowing he’s going to pull said-rug from under her and elevate her such dizzying heights in the aftermath--

That he’ll deny her humanity.

Sand down all the rough edges that make her her, and polish her up afterwards, gild her as he is gilded, make her a Goddess.

And he’ll do it all because he loves her.

You can’t fight God like you can everything else. To fight It is the fight Existence Itself; FFXIII even conveys that by making Bhunivelze’s model part of the arena; it’s baked into the fabric of the game, no matter how minute.

While Lightning Returns is far from perfect in its execution of this concept, and that in itself makes me wince, not even taking into account the horribly botched excuse for a localisation Bhunivelze endured, it speaks to me more than anything else I’ve seen so far.

And it’s helped uncover some things within me. Helped me untangle them, just a little more.

So, yeah. I have alot of Thoughts on Bhunivelze, I want to share them, and I’m kinda really sad I have no one but my currently-absent friend Vee to share them with. I could get into alot more, like his very Fucked relationship with familial bonds, and how Lightning’s role as saviour so deeply parallels the overwhelming panic and never-ending guilt of Evangelical proselytisation, but I think I’ll leave those for another time.

In short, Bhunivelze is the epitome of Divine Love gone deeply wrong; on all fronts.

And if all of that isn’t enough to intrigue you, then, in Vee’s words, Lightning and Velze are literally canon endgame Sefikura lmaOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--

[hongism]

feels like floating (when i’m with you) - j.yh x k.hj

↣ pairing: k. hongjoong x j. yunho ↣ genre: angst/fluff/sfw, single dad!yunho, teacher!hongjoong ↣ wc: 27.2k ↣ ao3 version here (contains smut) ↣ summary: liking yunho is akin to the smell of rain after a bad thunderstorm, the first star that appears in the night sky, and the last drop of sunset before the night descends. hongjoong isn’t sure if it’s his favorite thing or the one he fears the most.

​​​

Kim Hongjoong starts his days alone. Gets out of bed, does his morning routine, then goes to the elementary school ten minutes from his apartment all on his own. He runs through the monotonous and unending routine of teaching classes and watching the children on his own, sometimes stopped by another teacher in the hallway for a small chat but they never last long. Afternoons see Hongjoong watching the kids leave the school and staying in the classroom for an extra two or so hours for the one student who doesn’t get picked up until far later than usual. Then he heads home alone and concludes his day in the all too small apartment that is perfect for someone like him. “Someone like him” being a person who doesn’t need a lot to live happily or a lot to take care of himself. He has friends and family, people around him that he talks to on a daily basis, but there’s always something lacking and a certain feeling that nags at his heart when he sees parents with their children or couples in the street or his two best friends fawning over each other because they couldn’t be more in love.

And so, Kim Hongjoong starts his days alone and ends them lonely.

“Akemi darling, did your father say when he’s coming to pick you up?” Hongjoong squats down to be eye level with the little girl, bringing a hand to brush over her jet black hair and comb through the slight frizz in it. She shifts to grin at him, crooked little teeth gleaming like pearls in the yellow sunlight.

“Daddy said he’d be late again today!” She speaks with such enthusiasm and brightness, as though without a care in the world, and Hongjoong half-wishes he could hold the same optimism that all his students have. Akemi always has had this attitude about her — a never-ending joy to her disposition that Hongjoong can’t place. One would think that the little girl would at least be bothered by the fact that her dad can’t seem to pick her up on time no matter what. However, she just skips around the classroom once all the other first graders have left and waits patiently as Hongjoong conducts his afterschool work. Then roughly around five o’clock – a little over two hours after school finishes for the day – a tall, young man who can’t possibly be much older than Hongjoong (if older at all) rushes through the hallways and raps at Hongjoong’s classroom door to pick her up.

Jeong Yunho. A strangely Korean name for someone whose daughter bears a Japanese one, but Hongjoong assumes that’s on account of Akemi’s mother and the fact that they live in Kyoto. Speaking of the girl’s mother, Hongjoong has never seen the woman before. She has never come to pick Akemi up from school, never come to school functions, parent-teacher meetings (not that Hongjoong has ever had to have one with Akemi’s parents since she’s his best student), and he has never heard any mention of her in the slightest. He has Yunho’s contact information and nothing else, so — and it’s not any of Hongjoong’s business honestly, just a thought that nags at the edges of his mind — he can only assume that Yunho is a single father.

That thought is the only reason why Hongjoong even considers staying so late after hours to look after the girl. That along with the fact that every single time Jeong Yunho comes bursting into his classroom, the man looks like he has run three marathons in a row and has no time to remember to put his ass on in the morning. (He never forgets to though. Hongjoong has checked. On occasion. Discreetly, of course, he can’t very well ogle his student’s father in plain daylight.)

But in any case, the man seems to have a hard enough life, so Hongjoong doesn’t mind looking after Akemi. It’s not like he has anything else to do with his life outside of the elementary school; all he does is go home, do some planning for future classes, maybe watch some television or read a book, then go to sleep. On weekends, Hongjoong might get daring enough to go to the bar with his friends Wooyoung and San, but recently that has been nigh impossible since he can’t bear to see them fawn over each other for more than ten minutes. He only has himself to blame for that at the end of the day. He was the one who introduced the pair and set them up on a date together, so yes, mistakes were made, Hongjoong admits it, and he regrets it only half-heartedly because they are genuinely happy together.

Back to the matter at hand though, Hongjoong just genuinely enjoys his job as a teacher and taking care of his students no matter what. Even if it means losing a bit of time in his all too small and dingy apartment once school is over.

“Same time as usual?” Hongjoong inquires, tilting his head a bit to the left. A soft smile creeps onto his lips, an attempt to comfort the girl even tho it’s unneeded since she still bears the same smile as always.

“Maybe!” Akemi pulls her head up and draws the colored pencil in her hand, scanning her little drawing with critical eyes. “Do you think Daddy will like it, Mr. Hong?”

Hongjoong releases a loud laugh at the girl’s nickname for him, and Akemi grins back as bright as ever. She adopted the nickname at some point during the first term, maybe back in May once it started becoming a daily thing for him to look after her every day once school concluded. She didn’t miss a beat during summer break either, coming back in September to continue with the same schedule and nickname.

“I’m sure he will love it, little butterfly.” If possible, the girl positively glows at the nickname, one that Hongjoong gave her quite some time ago on a whim.

“I think we’re running out of room on the fridge. But Daddy loves hanging my pictures up.” Akemi hums to herself and lifts the colored pencil once more to continue her work. “Mr. Hong, when can we do lessons again?”

“Hm? We have lessons every weekday.”

“No! Piano lessons! We haven’t had lessons in a long time!” Akemi protests, slamming her little hand flat against the desk with a small huff. She whips around to face Hongjoong, and in that moment Hongjoong is taken aback by how brightly her eyes shine at the thought of the small lessons.

In another life, perhaps Hongjoong would have been a professional pianist since that is what he studied and labored after in university, but those dreams eventually fell flat and he traded them for the thought of being a teacher instead. Being able to teach Akemi… it lets him get to have one last glimpse into those dreams and think about what it could have been like to fulfill them, to see himself in her and watch the way her eyes light up when she plays a certain passage correctly. Hongjoong has never dreamt of having children himself – being a teacher is more than enough exposure to kids as it is – but he thinks that having a kid like Akemi would make the experience quite a bit better.

“Maybe tomorrow? Your dad will be by soon to pick you up so I don’t think we have enough time today.” Hongjoong offers through a small smile, and Akemi just bobs her head in agreement. She brings her blue colored pencil back down to her little drawing and continues to color without a care in the world.

And sure enough, it’s only seven minutes later that a hand comes down on the door to the classroom, rapping at the wood frantically until Hongjoong moves to open it.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Kim. I had a meeting run late, then got caught in some traffic because there was an accident on the highway. I tried to get over here as fast as possible, but I know I’m still pretty late. I’m sorry for keeping you late. Again. As usual,” Yunho rambles as he comes face to face with Hongjoong. The rant is a typical one, one that both isn’t necessary and is entirely understandable so Hongjoong doesn’t feel a need to hear it. Still, he responds with a wide smile and flashes his teeth.

“It’s perfectly alright, Mr. Jeong. Akemi is a delight to be around as always. We worked on some drawings today! I believe she has one for the fridge at home.” Hongjoong steps aside to let the man step into the classroom, willing himself not to look at the way his white button-up clings to his body and strains around his broad shoulders. Yunho leans over the desk Akemi sits at. A grin pulls at his lips in an instant, a quick change to his demeanor as he sees his daughter that causes his cheeks to glow with joy. There’s something so raw and beautiful about the love in his eyes, a kind of love that transcends the need for words, and Hongjoong can see it often in the parents of his students. Fascinating. He doesn’t know how else to describe the emotion but in his twenty-six years of life, he has seen a multitude of different loves. This one is the most fascinating to him since he doesn’t have a child of his own to experience it with.

“Daddy, daddy! I drew a butterfly today! A pretty blue one! We can put it at the tippy top of the fridge like it’s flying, right?”

“Of course, Mimi.”

Mimi. Huh. Hongjoong definitely does not think about what it would be like to call the little girl by that name. That would be something too grossly domestic and beyond the line of things that are okay for him to say as a teacher. Because that’s all he is. A teacher. Yunho’s daughter’s teacher. Yeah. He’s doing great, by the way, just peachy.

“Why’d you draw a butterfly, little one? Hm?” Yunho runs his all too long fingers through the little girl’s hair as she shows off the drawing to her father, smiles nearly identical in the way they scrunch their cheeks and noses.

“Mr. Hong calls me little butterfly! So I wanted to draw one!”

“That’s…” Yunho shifts to look at the much shorter man, and Hongjoong just about throws up on the spot. The man sinks his front teeth into his lip, biting back a smile that has Hongjoong’s insides turning to mush.

Fuck, he has a really nice smile.

Like a terribly nice one that is exactly the kind Hongjoong would fall for in seconds back in high school or college. He blanches. All the color leaves his cheeks and blood rushes down to his toes. It’s not weird to give students nicknames, right? Why does it feel like Hongjoong is overstepping his boundaries? It feels like he’s done something wrong and–

“Her mother used to call her that.”

Oh dear god. Hongjoong has truly fucked up beyond belief. This is the end of him. He had no way of knowing – how the hell would he have figured that out? – but he still feels like he has walked to the end of a plank and leaped into shark-infested waters without anything to protect him from their sharp teeth. Maybe being eaten alive would be better than this awkwardness though. Maybe Hongjoong needs to see someone for thinking such a thing.

Yunho seems to catch what he has just said a moment later and shakes his head fervently, brown bangs fanning over his forehead with the movements.

“Ah, sorry, why – why did I say that?” Yunho huffs out a shaky and nervous laugh that somehow still sounds pretty to Hongjoong’s ears even though it shouldn’t. “Um, thank you again for… yeah, uh, for watching her as usual. Um, I tried to call the school and let you know that I would be late again but I forgot the whole ‘no calls after school hours’ part!”

“I can just give you my cellphone number?” The words are out of Hongjoong’s mouth before he can stop them, and damn, he really needs to learn how to hold his tongue around this man. His jaw stays hanging open well after he finishes speaking, but he’s still reeling from the shock of hearing himself say such a thing. Yunho blinks back at him with wide, doe-like eyes. Somewhere in the back of Hongjoong’s mind, he distinctly thinks pretty, but that thought is rudely shoved aside as he tries to recover the situation. “Like, I mean, so you can – to tell me if you’re going to be late. On a school day. So I know if I need to watch her.”

Good riddance, Kim Hongjoong. Like you don’t watch her every day regardless.

“Um, yeah, only if you’re sure? I wouldn’t wanna intrude into your personal life or anything. That would be inappropriate of me…” Yunho trails off to look at some random piece of furniture in the corner of the room.

“I’m sure! That would – that would probably be best honestly. I mean, the receptionist leaves so soon after the school closes that you wouldn’t ever be able to reach me if you’re running late. You wouldn’t be intruding. Not like I have much of a personal life outside of teaching anyway, uh, why am I telling you that? That’s not important, um, phone number! Let me write it down for you!”

Hongjoong turns on his heel to go find whatever he can to scribble his number on before he chickens out too much, head reeling and spinning. He knocks into one of the desks along the way and almost trips over the chair, which causes Yunho to lunge forward in a rush to catch him, but Hongjoong flings a hand up to ward him off.

“I’m fine! Ha, should watch my step! Might knock into a table or something, right?” Hongjoong tries to flash a toothy smile, eyes turning into soft crescents just before he knocks into yet another desk.

“Mr. Hong! You’re so clumsy today,” Akemi giggles. Hongjoong’s embarrassment surges as Yunho looks over him with nothing but sheer concern, and the temptation of crawling into a hole for the rest of his life sneaks up. He can almost hear San chastising him for thinking such a thing though, a small nagging voice in the back of his mind saying ‘no, Joong, you can’t just become a hobbit even if you are the size of one’. Rude as hell, first of all, because hobbits don’t really live in holes, and Hongjoong is not the size of one but that’s beside the point.

Hongjoong finally reaches his own desk in one piece and tugs out a plain sticky note to write his number down as hastily as possible. Akemi continues speaking to her dad, telling him some story about what she did on the playground during recess today and how another student’s mother came to pick him up early. Hongjoong really tries not to listen in (because again not his business!) but there does lie a distinct sense of longing in Akemi’s tone, even if she’s too young to truly understand what that longing is. Whether it’s a desire for her father to come sooner when he picks her up or an inherent desire to have another parental figure in her life, it’s present and there and hurts Hongjoong’s heart a bit more than it should.

He pushes that to the side in favor of carrying the sticky note, which now holds his cell number of all things on it, to Yunho.

“You can just, uh, call or text whenever. On weekdays of course.”

“Yeah, on weekdays, schooldays, yeah.” Yunho bobs his head while speaking, hastily agreeing with Hongjoong before taking the sticky note from his hands. Their hands may or may not make contact when he does so – one of Yunho’s long and spindly fingers running over Hongjoong’s knuckles – and Hongjoong full-on panics at the small contact, yanking his hand away in a rush with an embarrassing blush creeping up his neck. At this point, Wooyoung would probably point and laugh at him then call him a whole gay disaster and a half.

“Well, I hope you have a good evening!” Hongjoong blurts to break the tense silence.

“Thank you, yeah, thank you. Um, you too! And thank you again for always staying late for her. I know you aren’t paid for that and it’s probably a burden.”

“It’s – look, it’s no issue at all, I promise. I wouldn’t be a teacher if I didn’t enjoy spending time with kids, and Akemi is a delight to be around as always. She’s so well behaved and wonderful. Reminds me of myself when I was her age!” Hongjoong reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, laughing off Yunho’s concern as best he can.

“Are you saying you’re well-behaved, Mr. Kim?” Yunho chuckles a bit under his breath. There’s no alternative meaning to his words. There is not. Hongjoong cannot read into that. He refuses to think too deeply about it. So why does his brain go straight to the bedroom? For fuck’s sake, Hongjoong needs a drink, and preferably the strongest one imaginable.

“I used to be, at least.” Hongjoong really needs to stop putting his foot in his mouth like this. Yunho most definitely picks up on the possible innuendos in the topic at hand because his eyes grow a bit wide with each passing second, then he chokes on a cough, dipping his chin to his chest in a hurry to hide his embarrassment. “Uh, in any case, don’t feel bad about being a bit late to pick her up. I get the sense that you have a very busy life on top of being a father. I don’t want you to feel rushed if you have more to deal with.”

“I mean, that’s life, isn’t it?” Yunho reaches down to comb his fingers through Akemi’s hair again, a soft and fond smile painting his lips as he looks at the little girl. “Alright, Mimi, let’s get home. I still have to cook dinner and get you in bed on time.”

Hongjoong would be lying if he said that he isn’t bothered by those words. Because they nearly confirm that Yunho is taking care of Akemi on his own and without help. He’s the one to bring her to school, pick her up, take her home, cook dinner, tuck her in, and work late hours. Hongjoong doesn’t understand how he can do all that on his own. He can hardly take care of himself and remember to put food in his body; he can’t imagine having to be fully responsible for another human being the way Yunho has to. If he were more bold and perhaps less of a disaster himself, he might offer to do more to help the man. It isn’t his place to offer, however, and he is still making presumptions with all this.

“Can we invite Mr. Hong to dinner, Daddy? As a thank-you gift like you mentioned?” Akemi whips to face her father, bright eyes stretched impossibly wide.

Cue the alarm bells and sirens of panic. Hongjoong is just about losing his mind, in case you couldn’t tell, and he should not be so thrown into disarray the way he is. Maybe it has just been that long since he had even an ounce of mediocre human contact with anyone outside his immediate friend group that the idea of spending time with a new person sends him into an alternate dimension of extroversion.

“A-Ah, I couldn’t intrude in such a way.” Hongjoong shakes his head even though no one is looking directly at him.

“I’m, uh, I’m sure Mr. Kim has other plans for dinner. We shouldn’t spring plans on him like this, darling. Maybe—” Yunho shifts to look at Hongjoong with an imperceptible gleam to his eyes that will have him thinking for weeks about what it could mean “—maybe some other time.”

“Maybe some other time.”

“Like you mentioned.”

Hongjoong really doesn’t have a crush on the man or anything like that; Yunho is merely a rather attractive man and happens to be his ideal type. But the prospect that the comment has does make his stomach do a little flip and turn every which way, and that is dangerously close to developing feelings for the man. So, he does what any logical anxiety-ridden human being would do.

“I’m free on Friday. If, well, if that might work for you.”

Yunho’s thin lips fall agape, tongue poking forward to swipe over the front of his teeth.

“That… actually, yeah, that would work. Are you sure though? I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything. I could always get you a gift card if you’d rather.”

“No, no, I’d love to come for dinner. If you’ll have me that is.” Hongjoong, you dipshit, he literally offered.

“Of course we will. I would really love to thank you for all you do for Akemi and me. I just… don’t how else to do it.” Yunho motions towards the little girl, who now hums happily to herself and collects her belongings into her school bag. “She’s been wanting to invite you for quite some time but I was, uh, nervous about asking you to do more than you already do.”

“I can’t think of anything better than a nice dinner.” Hongjoong offers up a small shrug if only to quell the churning of nerves in his gut that only heightens when one side of Yunho’s lips quirks up into a smile.

“Well then, I’d better hope my cooking can live up to those expectations.”

I’m sure it can. Hongjoong has to bite the tip of his tongue to keep the words from slipping out but he manages to return Yunho’s grin with one of his own.

“You can let me know a good time that works for you whenever we’re closer to Friday. I’m sure my schedule will be clear.”

And maybe when Hongjoong breathes the words out in a tone that is a bit airy and light, Yunho’s wide eyes blink back at him with as much gratitude as those dark orbs can hold. There’s such a gentle warmth to them that Hongjoong truly feels like he is the one doing something nice for the man rather than the other way around.

…

“So let me get this straight, even though this is far from the straight category,” Wooyoung starts, palms facing Hongjoong’s exasperated expression as he mulls over his next words. San sits at his side with an equally perceptive stare, but Hongjoong doesn’t bother to look at the latter man. “You want your student’s father’s dick up your ass?”

“Wooyoung, no!” Hongjoong protests in an instant, already midway to dropping his head on the granite countertop. How he could afford an apartment with such granite is mind-boggling, but he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, as the saying goes.

“Then you want your dick up his ass? Look, hyung, it’s either one or the other. You can’t have both at once, maybe you can alternate days or something but—”

“I wonder if you could though,” San chirps. He shifts to look at his lover who sends a confused glance in his direction with little other acknowledgment. Hongjoong already knows where this conversation is headed without needing San to continue it at all, but the man must not pick up on Hongjoong’s mental screams for him to stop. “I suppose the actual asshole and dick are too far apart for that to be probable… unless you’ve got a toy. Then you can simultaneously ride a toy and fuck someone and have the best of both worlds.”

“Why are we having this conversation? We do not need to be having this conversation! At all!”

“Dipshit, just have a threesome at that point,” Wooyoung remarks before shifting to smack San’s arm hard with the back of his hand.

“Is that your way of saying you wanna invite Seonghwa over?”

“No, you idiot, Seonghwa is engaged.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes as though San has just said the unspeakable, then returns to staring Hongjoong down with sharp eyes. He pauses a moment there, seeming to remember something, and chimes up once more, “Besides, I dipped my toes in those waters, and Seonghwa is far too gentle and vanilla for my liking. I’m sure Yeosang absolutely adores that himself, but I need to be demolished in the bedroom.”

“Gross, just – too much information, Wooyoung!” Hongjoong groans. The man in question just lifts his hands to his head as though to defend himself.

“Okay, first of all, I will personally body you just for saying that in front of Hongjoong. Secondly, when the fuck did you sleep with Seonghwa?”

“Like… um, a couple months before he and Yeosang got together? I don’t really remember it all too well because – well, it was boring, okay? Don’t tell him I said that, he’ll rip me a new one.”

“I would pay to see Seonghwa fight you honestly.” San glances over Wooyoung’s smaller frame, eyes narrowed in a way that shows he’s mentally measuring Wooyoung up with Seonghwa, who is far taller than him to begin with so that’s just a disaster waiting to happen.

“I know you would, which is why I’m not giving you head for the next three days just for that.”

“God, you two are so gross.”

“Three days? Come on, isn’t that a bit harsh?”

“Hello, um, can we talk about my gay panicking instead?” Hongjoong pleads, motioning towards himself with flopping hands, and Wooyoung only snorts in response at first. San huffs out a sigh but relents in the discussion. He leans towards Wooyoung, chin coming to a rest atop the man’s shoulder, and despite all Wooyoung’s insistence that he was annoyed, he just leans into the touch. A hand reaches up to comb through San’s black hair.

You see, Hongjoong might be fascinated by the love a parent harbors for their child, but there is something else that sends him reeling far more often. The most daunting and terrifying kind of love is the romantic one that he runs from so often. Maybe that is why he can’t bear to be around Wooyoung and San as much as he used to because they display it with such ease and carelessness, like love doesn’t hurt or burn or ache the way Hongjoong knows it does. He has had many a relationship in all his time on Earth, and unfortunately, they have all ended in a crashing burn of flames and chaos – quite literally for his last relationship – so forgive him if he is a bit bitter and scalded by those failures.

It isn’t that he is not happy on his own. He has a nice apartment meant for one and that’s lovely, along with the betta fish Seonghwa and Yeosang bought for him as a moving-in gift named Karl, who is cherished company even if he just swims around his tank without doing much of anything. The point being that Hongjoong has never actively sought out a relationship or a special someone because he has never thought that he actually needed it.

Why seek something that could hurt you when you’re perfectly fine on your own?

“Listen, this is all beside the point,” he starts, waving a dismissive hand through the air in an effort to shut the other two men up. “We’re here to talk about how I accidentally agreed to go to his house for dinner knowing damn well that I don’t know how to socialize with a stray cat in the street let alone a very cute man who happens to be my type.”

“So you have a date.”

“It’s not a date, Woo! It is a somewhat casual thank you dinner that is… quite casual.”

“Date or not, you better not wear that fucking sweater vest that you insist looks good,” San remarks. His lips curl into a scowl, and he shakes his head ever so slightly at the mere thought of said article of clothing.

“Hey! It does look good!”

“It makes you look like you’re going through a midlife crisis!”

“Well, maybe I am!”

“You damn well must be if you’re behaving like this but still insisting that you aren’t even a little bit attracted to this man and don’t see potential in him!”

San’s words shut Hongjoong right up in an instant. Of course, the man isn’t wrong about the statement. Maybe that is what Hongjoong has been adamantly avoiding since Monday, and these past four days have just been a blur of anxiety surrounding the potential of falling for Yunho. Wooyoung must read the distress on his features.

“You can always back out and say that you need to raincheck. You shouldn’t cause yourself any extra worry over something like this.” Wooyoung draws his brows together to add to the concern already on his features.

“Kind of shitty of me to cancel an hour before the dinner,” Hongjoong grumbles, bringing his arms up to cross over his chest in a defensive manner that Wooyoung picks up on instantly.

“Joong…” There is far too much sympathy in his stare; maybe if Hongjoong were feeling particularly self-loathing, he would go so far as to say it looks like pity. He knows deep down that it isn’t pity. Wooyoung has been with him for every breakup in the past eleven years, they have been best friends for longer than that, and perhaps at one odd point during their teenage years, they had an escapade of their own that caused issues in some of Hongjoong’s relationships before. Yet even though Wooyoung knows him better than anyone on the face of the planet, it is always San who picks him apart like he’s a book. Hongjoong feels his prying and perceptive gaze on the side of his face before he says a word, and he makes the impulse decision to spew nonsense just to save himself from San’s impending lecture.

“I’m not interested! I’m not, and I don’t want to be. I will do this one dinner so he can feel fucking better about himself, then I will put all thoughts of him behind me.”

San draws his lips into a tight purse.

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t see any hint of potential in him.”

Hongjoong jerks to look the taller man in the eye, gaze wavering a bit as he tries to come up with a reasonable and believable response. That is answer enough for San, and he shakes his head with a frown painting his features now.

“Don’t throw away something good just because you’re scared, Hongjoong.”

“I’m not scared.”

Lie. They all know it too.

“Then promise to see this dinner through without trying to sabotage yourself.”

“Fine,” Hongjoong relents. That must be enough for San because he flips his frown into a soft-sided grin and nods in his direction. As though on cue, his phone dings with a notification atop the counter, and Hongjoong glances down at the device at the same time that the other two men do.

“Prince Charming awaits!” Wooyoung chirps through a toothy grin. Hongjoong has half a mind to lean across the counter and smack him upside the head, but instead, he snatches up his phone to read the message that just came through. It is, as expected, an address complete with an all too cute smiley face emoji at the end that makes Hongjoong want to scowl just because of how damn adorable it is. He hastily types out a ‘thanks, I’ll be there soon’ response and hits send before Wooyoung can tell him to play up the flirting and hit on him. “Okay but seriously don’t put on that sweater vest!”

“Jeez, I won’t!” Hongjoong waves the man off as he retreats to his tiny bedroom only to have Wooyoung trail after him with shuffling feet.

“Do you still have that leather jacket I got you last year?”

“I’m not wearing a leather jacket to a dinner with my student and her father.”

“Can you at least wear something a little less… teacher-y?” Wooyoung runs a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping him as he glances over Hongjoong’s closet in dismay.

“What are you trying to say?”

“You dress like an old man. I want you to at least look cute.” Wooyoung hums a little to himself while drumming his fingers over his chin. “White button-down with that brown cardigan you have and some cuffed jeans. And the black oxfords that you redesigned. So you can show off how cute and artsy you are! Oh, do you still have those wireframe glasses you used to wear so much? Let’s get those too.”

“Isn’t this too much effort? What if he’s just – I don’t know, wearing sweatpants?”

“You really think he’s gonna be wearing sweatpants?”

“I, well, maybe not—” Wooyoung interrupts him with a harsh slap to the back of his arm, knuckles hitting his skin so hard that it burns a bit.

“Good, now go get changed. No complaining or I’ll bite your armpits.”

“That’s an oddly specific threat…”

“I said no complaining!”

Hongjoong grumbles a little under his breath as Wooyoung tosses the closes he picked out at his chest, then he slips into the bathroom to quickly slip into them. He shouldn’t even be putting this much effort into the outfit or reading too much into this dinner because it’s nothing more than a simple thank-you dinner. He keeps reminding himself of that fact over and over. It isn’t an invitation to be friends or to have some semblance of a casual relationship, even if Hongjoong would kinda like to be at least friends with Yunho. He’ll probably get there, talk with Yunho about Akemi’s schoolwork, then leave.

Wooyoung springs on him the second he steps out of the bathroom in the new outfit, hands pushing the wireframe glasses he mentioned earlier onto the bridge of Hongjoong’s nose and setting them straight. The man’s lips twitch into a smile as he leans back to admire his work.

“Perfect. He won’t be able to take his eyes off you.” Wooyoung presses the pad of his index finger against the tip of Hongjoong’s nose, leaving him with that before stepping away and motioning towards the door. “Now go have fun, and try not to overthink this whole thing too much.”

“You do realize who you’re talking to, right?”

“Oh hush, you twat. If nothing else, just take it as an opportunity to do something nice for yourself. I know clubbing with Sannie and me isn’t always your favorite, so here’s a chance for you to do something else. And! Since I know you and I know you would do something stupid, if he invites you to stay for drinks after his daughter goes to bed, you fucking say yes, okay?”

“He most definitely won’t do that but whatever.”

…

As it turns out, that is exactly what Yunho does. He corners Hongjoong while the shorter man stands at the sink, washing the plates used for dinner by hand because he demanded that Yunho let him do something in return for the incredible meal Yunho prepared for his visit. Perhaps Hongjoong just takes so little care of himself that any homecooked meal is a good one though; he is far too used to eating instant ramen on the couch after work and calling it a healthy diet by eating a handful of blueberries afterward. He couldn’t put a name to the dish Yunho made even though Yunho mentioned it when he walked in the door. His mind was too addled with anxiety because there the impossibly tall man stood with a crisp white button-up and really nice black trousers that definitely show off how good his ass is (not that Hongjoong could look for long because Akemi came rushing to the door as well).

All throughout dinner, Yunho kept him occupied with questions and menial chatter, things about the school and what the curriculum for the year is. It added up in Hongjoong’s mind; he had already figured that Yunho would wanna talk a lot about Akemi and school rather than anything personal. The scene was oddly intimate despite the less than personal questions. Just the three of them – Hongjoong, Yunho, and Akemi – seated around a small wooden table in a pretty standard suburban home. That was the moment Hongjoong got the nonverbal confirmation that Yunho is indeed a single father, then the verbal confirmation came when Hongjoong slipped his shoes off by the door upon Yunho’s prompting.

“It’s just the two of us, so I apologize if the house is a bit of a mess. I only have time to clean after work.”

Hongjoong insisted that it was fine and that he could not even see a single speck of dust in the house, which Yunho had laughed too loudly at and the sound rumbled in Hongjoong’s gut for too long.

Yunho is smart, Hongjoong will give him that. He makes sure to snag Hongjoong when he has no escape, hands coming to rest on the edge of the counter as he looks to the shorter man with wide and hopeful eyes. Hongjoong nearly drops the plate in his hand because of the way Yunho’s eyes seem to twinkle under the yellow lights of the kitchen.

“Um, you don’t have to say yes, but I got a bottle of red wine for tonight if you’d like to stay and have a drink? I’m about to put Akemi to bed. I normally, uh, drink alone on Friday nights.”

Well god fucking dammit Jeong Yunho, why did you have to say it like that? The man could probably weave the saddest sob story in existence with just those gleaming eyes, and Hongjoong would bend over backward for him because he can’t help himself. And Wooyoung’s words are ringing so loudly in his head that he can hardly think straight. He’s willing himself to say no despite what his friend said and the look in Yunho’s eyes, yet the words that actually come out of his mouth are —

“Yeah, I’d love to!”

Maybe the smile that decorates Yunho’s lips afterward makes it worth it.

“Cool, yeah, I’ll be quick I promise. She normally doesn’t take long to get tucked in.”

“That’s fine. Take your time!”

Yunho leaves with a nod, and it gives Hongjoong a moment to breathe easy while he’s gone. He takes his precious time in cleaning the remainder of the dishes just so that he can stay busy and not have to stand around waiting. In all honesty, this is a disaster waiting to happen. Wooyoung made sure to drive him over both because he wanted to see Hongjoong off and insisted that Hongjoong would get wasted while at Yunho’s so he had to be the responsible one. (As though Wooyoung has ever been responsible a day in his life; Hongjoong is always the designated driver on club nights because the man throws alcohol back like it’s his job). His alcohol tolerance could prove to be an issue though, so it’s probably for the best that Wooyoung drove him. Even a single glass of wine could make him tipsy, and he is a nervous drinker on top of that.

It’s fine, it’s fine. It will be fine. Just one glass of wine then you can tell him that your friend is waiting outside. Is it lame to have your twenty-five-year-old friend pick you up when you’re twenty-six? Why does this feel like high school?

Hongjoong doesn’t realize he’s standing at the sink and scrubbing a wet rag over the same plate over and over again until Yunho comes up on his right.

“You good?”

“Fuck – I mean shit, damn, um, fudge! Fudge. Yeah, fudge.”

Yup, there’s a great example for your kid, Yunho! Hongjoong mentally uppercuts himself in the nose as he sets the last plate on the drying rack and fumbles to put everything back in its proper place. Yunho huffs out a loud laugh, chin tipping back to expose the long column of his throat, and Hongjoong most definitely spends far too long staring at the way his tendons twitch.

“Well, that explains why Akemi always tells me to say fudge when I cuss in front of her.” He shakes his head, still laughing a bit under his breath. He slips away from Hongjoong’s side, and the shorter man uses it as an opportunity to catch his own breath and calm his racing heart. “You big on wine, Mr. Kim?”

Mr. Kim. The name sounds a bit odd and foreign on Yunho’s tongue in such a setting, and Hongjoong has to tell himself that that discomfort is the reason why he says what he does next.

“You can call me H-Hongjoong if you’d rather.” He can’t keep from stuttering in his sudden state of nervousness, and Yunho twists to look back at him from the other side of the kitchen.

“With the stammer and everything?” Yunho jokes through a hum. Hongjoong whips around to face him, a bit of disbelief coating his expression, and the other man just lifts two empty wine glasses and motions back towards the dining table. “You can call me Y-Yunho then. For solidarity.”

Hongjoong would really love to punch him in that pretty mouth of his because curse him for being the entire package. Was being tall and attractive not enough? God had to make him cute and adorable, along with having a beautiful natural flush to his cheeks that comes out when he smiles or laughs? And he has a nice ass and a good sense of humor? Hongjoong is absolutely screwed and not in the way he wants to be. He is gonna leave this dinner tonight fully whipped for this man. The brief and fleeting thought to call Wooyoung for backup and get the hell out of here earlier than intended crosses his mind, but that is swept away when Yunho straddles a chair and spreads his legs far wider than is even remotely necessary. Hongjoong’s body just moves on its own at that point, and he finds the seat on Yunho’s left.

It feels like there is lead rushing through his veins rather than blood. Almost a heady sensation like Hongjoong is already drunk despite not having had a drop of alcohol yet. Yunho rectifies that quickly though, pouring a glass of the dark red liquid and passing it over to Hongjoong with long fingers splayed over the bottom of the glass. He doesn’t drink from it right away as much as he wants to. It would be bad etiquette to start drinking before him surely, and the stretch grin Yunho wears when he notices the gesture almost hurts Hongjoong’s heart.

“So, Hongjoong, I don’t believe I know how old you are.” His name sounds really wonderful coming from Yunho’s lips, but that is a dangerous thought. And Yunho looks dastardly good taking a languid sip from his wine glass. Focus, Hongjoong, focus.

“I’m, uh, turning twenty-seven in early November.”

“Oh?” Yunho sounds genuinely surprised by that, head tilting to the side to accentuate his shock. “I would never have guessed. You hardly look twenty-three.”

“I get that a lot. Youthful genes blessed me.”

“Apparently so. I swear I’ve got to look older than you and I’m twenty-six.”

Ah. Younger than expected. Hongjoong honestly assumed the man was older than him simply because he has Akemi, and while the girl is only six, he figured Yunho would at least be upper twenties. He hopes that the shock doesn’t read too well on his features but he has no such luck.

“Shocking, I know. Had Akemi early while we were still in college. Lots of… it was both good and bad, but it turned out to be more than worth it in the end because she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Yunho stares at the table while he speaks, but Hongjoong can see emotion shining clearly in his dark eyes regardless.

It’s that same raw and open one he saw before, the purest form of love he can think of, and he has to gulp down some wine to keep from getting overwhelmed by the mere sight of it. Despite having technically known Yunho for five (nearly six) months now, Hongjoong still can’t find it in him to think it’s appropriate to breach the subject of Akemi’s mother. This is still their first personal one on one conversation, the first time they’ve exchanged names, and Hongjoong can’t very well ask something so personal this soon.

“I’ve been a bit curious, so I hope you don’t mind me asking,” Yunho starts, looking to Hongjoong with a bit more fervor in his movements. “What made you think to call Akemi butterfly? I don’t think I’ve ever come across another person who calls her that.”

“Her mother used to call her that.”

Hongjoong should have prepared himself for the question because that statement Yunho had made earlier in the week opened a door that would come back to bite him later. This must be later.

“Um, I hope this doesn’t… sound odd or anything, but the first day she came to class, she had a clip in her hair. One with—”

“A blue butterfly on it,” Yunho finishes for him.

“Y-Yeah. It stood out to me since I’ve always liked butterflies myself.” Hongjoong thinks back to the pair of shoes he left by the door with small blue butterflies painted along the sides. “You probably didn’t see them when I came in, but my shoes – uh, they have butterflies on them too.” He motions past Yunho’s shoulder and towards the door, but Yunho only stares directly at him and nowhere else.

“I noticed that! It look hand-drawn too, or maybe painted?”

“Painted, yes. I reform clothes I own sometimes and shoes as well if I come up with a cool enough idea. Just a side hobby, I guess, like piano.” Hongjoong sips at his wine to busy himself and not focus on the way Yunho gazes at him intently. He isn’t used to this: talking about himself, his interests, things he does in his spare time. Wooyoung and San know him well enough to have witnessed his growth into those hobbies, and he doesn’t really have discussions like this with his fellow teachers. Maybe he mentioned it once or twice in passing to Seonghwa, but he and the man likely changed the topic quickly. It’s a little bit embarrassing for him as a twenty-seven-year-old to talk about what he enjoys doing like he’s back in high school or college. Something about the way Yunho offers an encouraging nod shoots that insecurity out the window.

“You know, Akemi talks about you a lot when I pick her up.” He drags a finger over the rim of his wine glass, eyes trained on the liquid inside. “She loves talking about you more than what she learned or her friends in the class. This is probably weird but I think I’ve learned a lot about you through her. The piano lessons and drawings, how you’ll sometimes draw pictures for her or show her your reformed clothes and shoes. I’m seriously grateful that you’re her teacher and that she has you in her life.” The words are spoken with too much emotion for Hongjoong’s liking, and his gut melds into a deep pit of growing agony.

“You don’t have to…” Hongjoong can’t even finish the thought. You don’t have to thank me, he wants to say. Yunho shakes his head.

“As much as I do to support us as a family and provide for her, it still falls short more often than not. Maybe this is too open of me, but I work a typical nine-to-five job as a business firm. Most if not all of my friends live out of town or work in similar fields and have lives like mine. When I have to go out of town for business trips, I have to leave Akemi with a friend in the next city over. I don’t – I don’t get to be the dad that she deserves to have. I can’t teach her new things, play with her in the park, and sometimes I can hardly… hardly spend time with her in general because of all that. The fact that you are so ready and willing to sacrifice your time for someone who isn’t even your kid or responsibility is quite telling of how good you are as a person. I am glad that she can have you as some sort of father figure in her life.”

“I can – I can hardly take any credit,” Hongjoong whispers, not daring to raise his tone any higher than that.

“You don’t need to,” Yunho replies in a tone just as quiet. “This dinner… I know very well that there is nothing I can do to repay you for what you are doing for Akemi. My heart will never be satisfied no matter what because you – you are doing something that even her mother refused to do, and that is simply to not leave her alone. I guess that’s my way of saying that I admire you quite a bit, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong’s heart is in absolute shambles. Yunho is being too open, too raw, too giving in his emotions. It’s like Hongjoong can see straight through his chest and into his heart, pull the organ out and listen to every pang and stitched scar over it with ease. He is merely being genuine with Hongjoong, yet that one thing is more than all of Hongjoong’s exes combined could not do. He wills his mouth to work properly, jaw stuttering and wavering without purpose for too long before he can speak again.

“If y-you ever need someone to look after Akemi while you’re out of town, I would be happy to do so. My apartment – where I live, I mean – it’s not too big, but I would gladly sleep on the couch so she can sleep in the bed, and I live alone so it’s not like there would be anyone else with us and—”

“You’d truly do that?” The shock in Yunho’s voice almost hurts to hear, like he can’t believe anyone would do such a thing for him. In the back of his head, Hongjoong internally questions those friends that Yunho mentioned and how reliable they truly are. It catches him off-guard though. He isn’t making the offer because he wants Yunho to like him or trust him or anything unsavory. He would make the same offer to any parent who needed help; Hongjoong truly values his job but he cherishes each student of his even more than that. Seeing people struggle on their own is never pleasant – a thing he recognizes in others but refuses to recognize in himself – so if he can make Yunho’s day to day life even the tiniest bit easier, then he would jump at the opportunity.

“Of course.”

“Are you truly real?”

Hongjoong needs at least another glass of wine in him before Yunho starts having an existential crisis, but this sort of disbelief seems a bit different, something that stagnates the air between them and lets them hover in each other’s breaths like it’s the only thing that matters.

“I would hope people value you enough to give you the bare minimum of what you deserve, Yunho.” Hongjoong doesn’t realize that it’s the first time he’s used the other man’s name until he folds his lips into a soft grin.

“You forgot the stutter.”

Hongjoong dares to smile back, nose scrunching up and cheeks rounding under the wire frames of his glasses.

“My apologies, Y-Yunho.”

Yunho doesn’t respond this time, but there doesn’t seem to be a need to. The air returns to its pleasant trill, alight and humming with the beads of anticipation, and Hongjoong settles into the cloud with a newfound sense of ease and comfort in front of Yunho. There remains a stark sense of fear in his bones, one that does not care for the thoughts of where this might lead, what feelings will bud in his chest as a result, or how hard Hongjoong will recklessly fall because that’s how it always is.

“I don’t know if — this may be too bold but, uh, would you like to come for dinner again?”

This is a slippery slope and Hongjoong is already in the midst of falling.

…

It’s October now, nearing November in less than two weeks which will mean another bland birthday for Hongjoong to pass through with little interest and lots of enthusiasm from both Wooyoung and San. In the past six (yes, six) weeks since his first dinner with Yunho and Akemi, Hongjoong has been over to visit at least eight times. Once a week was the agreement he and Yunho came to after the second visit, the kind smile splayed over Yunho’s lips too much for Hongjoong to say no to, but the spare two visits came as a result of a spur of the moment decision on weekdays where Akemi begged for more time with Hongjoong and Yunho demanded to treat him to dinner as thanks. It is pleasant. Too pleasant. Hongjoong already knows that he has tumbled into a dangerous territory that consists of feelings of euphoria and happiness, butterflies churning in his stomach every time Yunho’s tinkling laugh graces his ears, and no matter how much he tries to push it out of his mind, he can’t.

Hongjoong likes the man. It would be much easier if he knew that Yunho did not like men at all, but alas he learned of that a while ago, maybe on his sixth visit to the Jeong household. What had they even been talking about again? Oh, right it was about being a disappointment to their families.

“You don’t talk much of your own family, Hongjoong. Is that a… sensitive topic?”

“Oh, uh, no. It’s not that I have a bad relationship with them or anything like that. There is a bit of tension? I guess you could call it that. I stopped going home to visit them because the plane tickets were getting to be too much and every time I walked in the door, I would just get an earful about how I never bring a wife home.”

“Not into marriage?”

“Not into women.”

Yunho had choked midway through a sip of wine, and Hongjoong thought the man was going to keel over on the floor with the way he was coughing, cheeks blazing red in embarrassment. Once he had finally recovered enough to speak again, Hongjoong’s heart plummeted, but only because he knew there was no way for him to back out of the crush that had formed.

“Well, we have disappointed parents in common then. Mine couldn’t believe I had a kid before marriage, then just about had a heart attack when Akemi’s mother walked out. Made things even worse when I brought my first boyfriend home for the holidays when Akemi was three. They were at least glad when the next girlfriend came around, but I can’t seem to make a relationship stick enough to live up to their standards. They at least love to dote on Akemi and look after her when they can, so I guess I can’t complain all too much.”

Hongjoong hadn’t let the conversation go any further than that, swiftly changing the subject because he was terrified of letting it continue and exposing the ugly and gross bits about his own past to Yunho. He isn’t ready for that. It would be too intimate and vulnerable. That’s what he has to tell himself at least.

Now Hongjoong finds himself yet again in Yunho’s house, but this time the situation is far different. First of all, it’s a Sunday night and not a weekday. Secondly, Yunho is not home. Hongjoong did not break-in, as suspicious as it sounds. The previous Tuesday evening found Hongjoong over for dinner and Yunho mentioned that he had to leave in the morning for a business trip so they wouldn’t be able to do their typical Friday dinner.

“Do you need me to watch Akemi?”

Hongjoong hadn’t even hesitated to ask the question.

“I was hoping to ask if that would be too much actually. I… I would really appreciate it. I’m not used to midweek trips, but I don’t want her to miss school because of this.”

“I’d be happy to look after her while you’re gone, Yunho. I can bring her to school with me in the mornings.”

“Would you please? I can – I can pay you for it or something. I wouldn’t want you to do it for free or–”

“I want to do it for free. Please, Yunho, it’s a – it’s what friends would do, right?”

Friends. Yeah, Hongjoong had breached the invisible line and defined their relationship then and there. Before then, they hadn’t spoken of it or said anything definitive about what they are. Hongjoong couldn’t very well say yeah it’s because I have a crush on you actually so don’t worry about it.

But in any case, that led to Yunho dropping Akemi off for school on Wednesday morning with a little travel bag of clothes and belongings so that she could have her things while she stayed at Hongjoong’s. Hongjoong brought her home in the evening right after school, which was quite the fever dream because he hadn’t gone home on time like that in months.

It was a steady process they formed: go to school a bit early for Hongjoong to prepare his things for the day, leave right after school ended, spend time doing fun things a kid would normally do after school, eat dinner, and go to sleep in Hongjoong’s all too large bed while the man slept on the couch.

On Friday after school, Hongjoong dared to take Akemi to the park to go cloud watching, then they went and bought matching pairs of shoes to bring home and reform together. Hongjoong had drawn small butterflies across the side of Akemi’s white sneakers and told himself that he wouldn’t get too attached to the little girl. That would make the end of the school year far too hard to handle because he wouldn’t get to move up with her to second grade.

For Saturday, he took Akemi to an ice skating rink and held her hand tight against his as they slid over the ice together. An elderly couple watching their grandchildren from the side of the rink asked if Hongjoong wanted pictures with his daughter. Akemi begged for him to say yes with such big and bright eyes that he couldn’t even bother correcting the couple. His cheeks still hurt from laughing and smiling so much even though several hours have passed since then. Hongjoong brought Akemi home to her house rather than his afterward since Yunho said he would be coming home in the evening, and they agreed to meet up after so Hongjoong could return the spare house key.

That is why Hongjoong finds himself seated on the leather couch in Yunho’s living room, thumbing through the channels mindlessly to keep himself busy as he waits for Yunho to get back. Akemi has already been put to bed since she was tired after ice skating, and Hongjoong managed to make a pot of mac and cheese without burning the kitchen down, which is good by his standards. It’s well past eight o’clock, and Yunho said he would be home by six so Hongjoong is maybe sorta kinda starting to get extremely worried about the man’s whereabouts. In fact, he’s about to try to call the man to see if everything is okay when the door handle jiggles. Hongjoong jerks to shut the television off, eyes wide with a nagging panic that someone is trying to break in, but the door swings open to reveal Yunho at long last.

Saying he looks exhausted would be a gross understatement. He looks worse than ever, tired and overwhelmed in every way, but as his gaze falls to where Hongjoong sits on the couch, a shaky sigh slips from his lips, almost as though he is relieved to see the other man sitting there. It tugs at his heartstrings, makes his stomach drop a bit too much, and Hongjoong inhales sharply to bury the feeling.

“I already put Akemi to bed,” Hongjoong whispers, scared to speak any louder than that. Yunho offers a nod but nothing else in response as he shuts the door behind him and drops his travel bag to the floor. He doesn’t even smile, which is something Hongjoong has never seen from the man. He seems to always be wearing a smile no matter what, and Hongjoong can’t describe the odd, misplaced pain in his chest that comes with seeing the blank slate that is Yunho’s expression. “How was your trip?” Careful, calculated, wary. He isn’t sure what is overstepping, but this is the best he can do right now.

“It was… it was fine until the end. I’m sorry I’m late. Stopped at the store to get some groceries and uh—” Yunho stops himself there, hand coming up to run through his dark hair. Hongjoong feels compelled to get up. His legs work before his brain does, and all of a sudden, he is on both feet and moving closer to Yunho for some godforsaken reason. He doesn’t even know what he intends to do until his hand reaches up to grasp at Yunho’s shoulder, shaking the man from his thoughts and offering the faintest bit of comfort.

“I’m here.” Yeah, you’re right in front of him, idiot, I think he knows you’re here.

“I ran into Akemi’s mother.”

Oh.

“She was with the – the guy she cheated on me with.”

Oh. Hongjoong didn’t know that was what had happened between the two of them. He didn’t think to ask, and it wasn’t his business too either, but it makes his heart go out even more to the man because damn. How shitty of a person do you have to be to cheat on your partner after having a damn kid with them?

Hongjoong doesn’t know what the right thing to do is. He racks his brain and tries to find some hint as to what the best idea is, but all he can come up with are memories of how Wooyoung would envelop him in a tight hug after a rough night of memories full of exes and pain. So that’s what Hongjoong does. He leans into Yunho’s space, slots himself in that tiny crack in Yunho’s heart, and wedges himself there. Arms reach higher to fold around the back of the man’s neck until Yunho is forced to bend down a bit and accommodate Hongjoong’s much shorter form, but the taller man hugs him right back in an instant. His breath is hot on Hongjoong’s neck as he releases a shaky exhale, burying his nose deep into the shorter’s neck. It’s all he can do right now, yet it still doesn’t feel like enough.

“She had the audacity to ask about Akemi.” Yunho’s tone is nothing more than a whisper now, like he couldn’t speak louder if he tried, and Hongjoong has a sneaking suspicion that it’s to keep from crying. “Asked if I’d given up on her yet and when I s-said no, she… she said Akemi would be better off if I did give her up.” Yunho tightens his grip on Hongjoong’s waist, arms enveloping him so deeply that Hongjoong can feel his palms squeezing all the way around his sides. If not for what Yunho said, Hongjoong’s mind might drift into unsavory territory. “Am I a bad father, Hongjoong?”

That question hurts so badly to hear. It’s like a knife in his chest that sinks deeper and deeper with each passing second. He doesn’t need time to come up with an answer though; the words are already waiting on the tip of his tongue before Yunho even finished the question.

“No. You’re the best father in the world, Yunho. You do so much for Akemi. You work long hours to provide for her, bring her to school and take her home for education, give her toys and let her do things she enjoys. You take care of her, love her, cherish her the way a father should. You don’t let her want for anything. You give her your absolute best, and that makes you a good father.”

“Yet I can’t give her a mother. I can only give her me.” Hongjoong can’t take the tone of his voice. He pulls back a bit, hands still wrapped tight around Yunho’s neck, and he tugs Yunho until they can look each other in the eye.

“There is no rulebook for parenting, no matter what the internet says or what other parents might say. No commandment says that a child must have two parents to grow up well and have a good life. And it isn’t your fault that Akemi’s mother made those decisions or walked out on both of you. You were the one who stayed, who continues to stay and fight for her still. I wish you could see through my eyes and know that you are doing well.”

“I-I don’t know what to say, Hongjoong.” Yunho’s dark brown eyes swim with unspoken emotions and gratitude, along with some other quivering feeling that swirl amongst them, but Hongjoong can’t place what it is or whether he wants to figure it out.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Hongjoong lets a smile tug at his lips. It’s an invitation for Yunho to do the same, and this time he does, gracing Hongjoong’s eyes with the sight of that precious smile. It sends his stomach spiraling as always, and he has to internally fight the blush that threatens to creep up his neck.

“I need a drink. Or thirty.”

“You can put yourself to bed with one,” Hongjoong huffs. The minimal space between their chests is suddenly making itself known, and he vaguely registers how neither of them have pulled completely away or moved back yet. Yunho’s fingers twitch at his hips.

“Can I convince you to stay for one?”

How can Hongjoong say no to that?

His response to the question is to detach himself from Yunho’s body and move back towards the couch, sending a quick look over his shoulder to see if the man will pick up on what he’s insinuating. Yunho blinks at him in confusion for a few moments. Realization only hits when Hongjoong plops down on the cushions, and he jumps into action, rushing to retrieve some glasses and the wine bottle from the fridge. The look of pure relief on Yunho’s features when he comes to join Hongjoong makes the decision to stay more than worth it.

Over the past few weeks, Hongjoong has come to realize that these moments – the ones where they drink and talk over menial things – are the only ones Yunho has to himself. It’s the only time he gets to do something for himself that isn’t work or taking care of Akemi. Hongjoong briefly wonders when the last time the man went out on his own for fun was but ultimately decides that he doesn’t want to depress himself with the thought.

“Did Akemi behave okay while I was gone?” Yunho inquires, glancing at Hongjoong out the corner of his eye as he pours the drinks.

“Like a dream really. I have no complaints.” Yunho’s cheeks bunch up a bit, and he passes Hongjoong a glass that is far too full of wine but Hongjoong drinks it regardless.

“The pictures you sent were nice to see. I was missing her when you sent them so… perfectly timed.”

Pictures? Hongjoong doesn’t recall sending pictures. Oh wait, yes he does. He sent some as soon as they got home from the ice skating rink, some that the old couple took as well as pictures of Akemi at the park and the shoes they painted together. He tried to push that out of his mind because it felt too domestic for his liking, but it also felt wrong to keep those pictures from Yunho.

“Ha, yeah, the couple who took the pictures at the rink thought I was her dad.” Fuck. Shit. Kim Hongjoong, why the hell would you say that? You aren’t even drunk yet. Hongjoong drinks at his wine with more intensity now, nervously trying to drown his panic in the red liquor in the hopes that it will help somehow. Thank goodness Yunho just smiles wider with nothing but a joyful mirth to his gaze.

“You would be a fantastic father.”

“There’s a difference between being a good teacher and a good parent,” Hongjoong mumbles into his glass.

“I know.” Yunho’s gentle gaze is turning him to jello, or maybe even better, a melted pile of ice cream on the floor. Hongjoong is internally begging for him to change the subject and move onto something else so that Yunho won’t keep staring at him in such a way. He has no such luck. “Do you wanna be a dad one day?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure. Sometimes I feel like being a teacher is more than enough but it would be nice to get to do things like go to the park or paint or something like that with a kid of my own. I barely have my life together as it is, I can’t possibly imagine trying to raise a kid on my own. T-That’s kinda why I admire your efforts so much. But I gotta… gotta find someone who will put up with me long term.”

“You don’t have anyone?” Now that question shocks Hongjoong. He has always pinned himself as the type who is very obviously single and alone, but Yunho sounds like he truly believed the opposite.

“You thought I did?”

“I just – well, I – someone like you, I just figured that you’d be taken.”

Someone like you.

Taken.

Oh dear, Hongjoong needs more wine. He lunges forward without thinking after downing the rest of his glass, refilling it to the same height that it was when Yunho initially filled it. There is no negative connotation to Yunho’s statement, and that is what scares Hongjoong more than anything else. His brain’s first reaction is to think of all the ways he could ruin this here and now, how best to run away, how to set his relationship with Yunho aflame before there is even an opportunity for it to go anywhere, and he hates himself for that but it is to protect himself from the pain.

He knows how this ends, and he would rather destroy it himself than wait for Yunho to leave him.

“Nope, not taken! Can’t keep a relationship to save my life actually.” Hongjoong silently begs that Yunho will understand that he means that he is the problem, not all the exes in his past relationships.

“Any terrible exes I need to know about?”

Why would you need to know about them? Hongjoong wants to ask but he bites his tongue and tries not to think too hard about it.

“Uh, just that all my relationships have ended in flames. Quite literally for the last one.”

“Oh? That sounds like an interesting story.” Yunho hums a little to himself, eyes darting from the ceiling back down to Hongjoong’s face.

“It’s really not… just one bad relationship after the other honestly.”

“I can relate to that quite well, I think.” A deep sigh falls from the man’s lips. He swirls his drink around and watches the liquid toss and turn in the glass for a few moments before Hongjoong finds it in him to say something.

“You’ll find someone who will do right by you.”

“Perhaps, perhaps. Maybe I’m just moaning because it’s been over a year since my last relationship. Haven’t really found the time to go out and meet new people this year.”

“Better than me,” Hongjoong mumbles against the rim of his glass before taking a long drag of the liquor. Curse him for being such a damn lightweight because he can already feel a bit of a tipsy haze slipping over his mind and clouding his thoughts. “It’s been two years since I had a stable relationship.”

“How many unstable ones did you have in-between?”

“Why do you ask?” Hongjoong can’t keep the question off his lips.

“Curiosity?”

Hongjoong waits until he has swallowed another half of his glass before mustering up the courage to answer Yunho’s question, but that proves to be a mistake because the quick intake of alcohol makes his head swim.

“Three or four undefined sexual relationships maybe? All left when I got too attached or because they found me boring outside the bedroom.” He could have done with better phrasing than that. The way he said it makes him sound like an absolute sex demon, which Hongjoong doesn’t think is appropriate to talk about or mention to Yunho, but again his reason is quickly leaving him thanks to the wine.

“They have bad taste then. You are by far one of the most interesting people I’ve met, and I mean that in the best way possible.” Yunho gnaws on his lower lip after speaking, and the corner of his mouth twitches up into a strained smile. Hongjoong mimics the smile with equal awkwardness. The action draws a throaty laugh from Yunho, a sound that reverberates in his chest and sends Hongjoong’s heart into a mad state of gay panic. “Hongjoong, are you already tipsy?”

“Hm?” In Hongjoong’s defense, the most he’s had while at Yunho’s place is one glass of wine and nothing more because he usually is careful enough to watch his alcohol intake. Maybe it’s the mixture of his poor panic-riddled heart and the drinks? Is that possible? He doesn’t even know.

“God, you’re so — you’re already tipsy, aren’t you?”

“I’m not tipsy!” He refutes in haste, but there is already a heat rising up his neck and cheeks that betrays his state of slight inebriation.

“Oh, you’re not?” Yunho tilts his head to the side, exposing the long column of his neck to the yellow light above them. Hongjoong spends too much time eyeing that exposed bit of skin. “You seem a little tipsy to me. You look a little flushed.”

“That’s not tipsiness.” Hongjoong presses his lips to the side of his glass as though it will hide his blushing cheeks. Yunho’s next laugh is an endearing one, and Hongjoong drinks it up like it’s his wine.

“Low alcohol tolerance?”

“I’m short. And petite. And small. Not a lot of space to put alcohol in my body. Besides you’re so—” Hongjoong gestures wildly with his free hand to Yunho’s form before him “—big and broad and wide so you can fit a lot more liquor in there.”

“I do have rather high alcohol tolerance, I’ll give you that. Because I’m… big?” Yunho lets his words trail off as a smirk overtakes his lips. Hongjoong’s cheeks could not get any redder than they are in this moment. The other man must find this absolutely hilarious because he releases a laugh that is far too loud and will most definitely wake Akemi up, and he realizes this a moment too late, hand flying up to cover his mouth. Hongjoong breaks into a fit of laughter with him, falling into Yunho’s space without thinking. He’s caught by gentle hands, and one of those hands moves to catch his teetering wine glass before it can tip over onto the couch. They laugh like that, together, full of each other, pushing themselves closer and closer into one another until every sense is so full of Yunho that Hongjoong thinks he could get drunk off that.

“Daddy?”

Hongjoong moves back so quickly that his vision blurs into a hazy mess. Yunho is still chuckling under his breath even as he turns to look over the back of the couch.

“Mimi baby, why are you up? Hm? Was Daddy being too loud?” Yunho places his glass on the coffee table and pushes himself to his feet, hastily rounding the couch so that he can meet Akemi by the stairs. Hongjoong feels useless as can be, but he just continues to sit where he is and watch the scene unfold before him. Yunho squats down to be eye level with the little girl and brings his hands up to comb through a few stray tangles in her hair.

“I heard you laughing with Mr. Hong!”

Yunho’s chin dips to his chest as he laughs again. He pinches the tip of Akemi’s nose between his index finger and thumb, reveling in the way the girl squeals in delight.

“Yes, well, Mr. Hong and I were laughing about a joke Daddy made.” Yunho glances over to where Hongjoong is sitting. The mirth in his eyes makes Hongjoong take another long sip of wine, but it’s not enough to drown the butterflies flying through his gut. “You should get back to bed, angel. We can’t have you going to bed too late or you’ll be sleepy in the morning!”

“Can you tuck me in, Daddy? Pretty please?”

“Of course, Mimi, I missed tucking you in at night the mostest of all while I was gone.”

“Mr. Hong tucked me in every night! And he would show me the pretty butterflies he painted and would read me a poem to help me fall asleep.” Ah, Akemi, why would you mention that? Hongjoong hides his face behind the safety of his glass and tries not to see whether Yunho turns to look at him or not.

“Hm, yes, Mr. Hong is quite the angel, isn’t he? We gotta go to bed though! Come on, up, up! If you don’t hurry your little booty up the stairs, Daddy is gonna catch the little butterfly and gobble her right up!” Yunho leans in to pinch her sides, but Akemi squeals and darts out of the way, her short and stubby legs flying up the stairs and out of his reach. Yunho moves with her, and Hongjoong can’t keep himself from laughing as he watches the scene unfold before him because it’s just so damn cute and domestic. He couldn’t be more whipped if he tried.

Against better judgment, Hongjoong decides to pour himself one more glass of wine and tells himself that it’s because the cheap store-bought wine is good enough to indulge in more (but he knows it’s to chase the feelings away instead).

“Okay, one little butterfly safely put back to bed without any issue.” Hongjoong doesn’t even hear the man come down the stairs, too busy reclining against the couch cushion and mulling over his drink like the lonely gay he is, and Yunho’s sudden presence behind him startles him more than he’d like to admit. The man stands right behind the back of the couch leaned over it so he can speak into Hongjoong’s ear with too much teasing joy to his tone. Hongjoong just about melts on the spot because holy hell the feeling of Yunho’s warm breath cascading over his ear and down the side of his neck makes him feel even hotter under the collar. He tries not to think about how if he turned his head just a little bit to the left, their lips would touch, and he truly tries not to cave in to that desire and do so. Yunho lingers there, pressed into Hongjoong’s space without moving.

“So.” He isn’t sure what possesses him to say that or where the thought is going. Yunho dips his head as he laughs, and Hongjoong swears up and down that the man accidentally brushes his lips over the bare skin of Hongjoong’s neck. He pulls away too quickly for Hongjoong to process it any further though, sliding back around to the front of the couch to sit down beside him again.

“So, two glasses is all it takes to get you drunk?”

“Tipsy.”

“You admitting it?”

“Fucking smooth, Jeong Yunho.” Oops, did Hongjoong say that out loud? He could have swore he said it to himself only, but the way Yunho is smiling at him tells him otherwise.

“I can be much smoother than that.” Now, Yunho isn’t drunk in the slightest. He doesn’t seem tipsy or affected by the alcohol at all, and he claimed to have a high alcohol tolerance so Hongjoong knows that he isn’t saying things in a drunken haze. So why does it sound like he is flirting?

That’s just how he normally is. It doesn’t mean anything. He talks like that all the time.

“Doesn’t sound convincing, but okay.” Hongjoong gives a small shrug of his shoulders before mentally punching himself in the nose. Tipsy Hongjoong is a menace who should not be allowed to speak for more than two seconds.

“Oh? Should I be convincing then?” Yunho twists to look at him. Hongjoong’s heart stops dead in his chest. One large hand stretches out to take his wine glass from his hands and sets it on the coffee table beside the bottle. He is leaning back into Hongjoong’s space again, this time pushing so close that Yunho’s hip brushes against his knee. Hongjoong could fall forward and —

“I wasn’t done with that,” he protests instead, watching the glass rather than Yunho.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Yunho murmurs back. His tone is much gentler and less teasing this time, and Hongjoong might even go so far as to say that Yunho seems to genuinely care. “I shouldn’t have let you have any if I had remembered that you would have to drive back. I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine!”

“Yeah?”

“Tired. Really tired. Like this couch is way too comfortable and I will fall asleep if you don’t stop me,” Hongjoong babbles. He’s all but forgotten about the flush on his cheeks and how foolish he must look right now. For some reason, the only thing his brain can manage is the thought of placing his hand on Yunho’s knee and leaning against his shoulder. The man shifts before he can do that though, pulling a leg up to mimic Hongjoong’s position. Oh. Now Hongjoong really could fall against his chest and just take a nice nap there—

“Maybe you should stay the night.”

“Yunho.” Why is he saying the man’s name?

“Hongjoong,” Yunho responds with a slight smile. Gonna kiss that stupid pretty mouth one day, Hongjoong thinks to himself, eyes narrowed on the man’s lips. “Can you please stay the night? I don’t think you should be driving in this state.”

Hongjoong tells himself that he needs to say no because staying in dangerous and will only make his feelings worse. Instead, he drops a hand to Yunho’s knee and smiles so wide that it hurts his cheeks.

“Okay.”

Yunho exhales a sigh of relief. His hand falls atop Hongjoong’s, the weight so heavy and warm over him that it makes him see stars. Hongjoong twists so that he can slip his fingers over Yunho’s.

“I-I can let you sleep in my bed. I know you’ve been sleeping on a couch for the past week. I’ll take the couch instead.”

“No, no! Noooo, Yunho, you don’t have to!” Hongjoong protests quickly. He flops back on the couch, forgoing the fact that he still has a grip on Yunho’s hand, and the man moves with him, his other hand flying up to steady himself on the pillow that Hongjoong lands on.

Their noses bump against each other.

Yunho doesn’t move away.

“Hi friend,” Hongjoong whispers to quell his rapidly beating heart. Friend. Friend? Hongjoong, are you serious? The man hovering above him can only laugh.

“Hi Hongjoong.” Is Yunho looking at his lips or is Hongjoong seeing things? The man seems to shake himself out of whatever is plaguing him and pulls back to a sitting position. “Are you okay to walk or should I carry you up the stairs?”

“I’m fine!” Hongjoong insists, slipping off the couch cushions and standing upright. He moves far too soon because blood rushes to his head and makes his vision go spotty in the edges. His legs turn to jello in the blink of an eye, but there goes Yunho again, hands finding Hongjoong’s hips and keeping him upright without hesitation. Hongjoong has to keep telling himself that this is what friends would do, Yunho is just doing this as a friend, he is only helping Hongjoong out because they’re friends.

“Next time, I’m watching how much you drink like a hawk.”

“Next time, I’m making sure you get drunk,” Hongjoong grumbles as Yunho loops an arm around his waist and slings one of the shorter man’s arms over his broad shoulders. The heat of his body is too comfortable. Hongjoong debates falling asleep standing up like this but Yunho squeezes his side a little tighter to keep him awake.

“Good luck with that. I’m a tough nut to crack.” A laugh slips from Hongjoong’s lips, and he turns to push up closer to Yunho, caressing his ear with the barest touch of his mouth, and he can feel the way the man quivers under the touch.

“Nut,” he whispers, stifling a giggle.

“How immature, Mr. Kim.” Yunho clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth but still manages to smile as he walks Hongjoong to the edge of the stairs. Hongjoong has to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from saying something much worse. He would preferably like to kiss Yunho on the same spot of his ear, work a path of wet kisses down to his neck and kiss him there as well, but he convinces himself not to.

Yunho drags his slow ass up the stairs with quite a bit of difficulty since Hongjoong’s drunkenness is apparently bad enough for him to struggle with even moving his legs properly. Yunho doesn’t seem to mind, nor does he complain about it either because he lugs Hongjoong until they reach the top of the stairs, pausing to pass him a smile that makes Hongjoong giggle like a schoolgirl in an embarrassing way.

“Mr. Jeong, you’re so cute,” he whispers as he lets his cheek rest against the man’s arm.

“From where I’m standing, you’re much cuter, Hongjoong.”

“Oh?” The sigh slips out without him intending for it to, but he doesn’t bother to correct himself.

“Do you need me to repeat myself?”

“Will you?” Whatever possesses Hongjoong to say that is unbeknownst to him because he had no clue where they come from or why they fall from his lips.

Yunho pauses, looks to the ceiling, then offers a small shrug of his shoulders. His voice is still hushed, no doubt because Akemi is sleeping behind one of these doors.

“Only if you want me to.”

What? Hongjoong catches that much through his dizzied state. Yunho hoists him forward, pushing his way in through one of the doorframes at the top of the stairs. It’s a bedroom, Hongjoong can see that much out the corner of his eye and in the fuzziness of his vision. Yunho pulls him forward a bit more, hands still secured around his waist, and Hongjoong feels like he’s positively floating under the touch.

“Please?” He typically isn’t one to beg or be desperate, but just this once, Hongjoong finds himself wanting to hear the words again.

“I find you quite cute, Hongjoong.” Has Yunho always been this close to him? Hongjoong’s head is no longer pressed to his arm, and Yunho has turned his chin so that he can properly look Hongjoong in the eye.

“I like that.”

“What do you like?” Yunho unravels his arm from Hongjoong’s shoulders, shifting the man so that he can set him down on the edge of the bed. Hongjoong lets him, eyes wide and glassy as he looks up at Yunho.

You.

“You calling me cute,” Hongjoong slurs. A lopsided smile takes over his lips. “Friends can call each other cute, right?”

“…Sure.” If Yunho hesitates in his answer, Hongjoong doesn’t have enough brainpower to process it.

“Cute,” Hongjoong coos moreso to himself than to the man beside him. “You’re so cute, Yunho.”

He can’t help himself any longer. He grabs for Yunho and plants a hand on either side of his face, pulling his head towards his own. He tugs with a bit too much force though because Yunho’s forehead smacks hard on his and knocks Hongjoong back. Yunho is forced to throw his hands down on either side of Hongjoong’s body to stabilize himself before fully crushing the shorter man.

“Ah, I’m such a mess. I’m a tipsy mess. A mess, Yunho, an absolute mess,” he mutters, eyes searching the other man’s face for a sign of discomfort. He finds nothing except a slight red tinge to Yunho’s face and drags his thumbs over the balls of the man’s cheeks.

“An adorable one nonetheless.”

Hongjoong finds himself stretching his neck up a bit. Yunho’s tongue darts out to drag over his lower him, eyes flitting from Hongjoong’s down to his lips and back up again. The visual clue is there, Hongjoong sees it, it’s impossible to miss even while drunk. Yunho’s next words only confirm his suspicions.

“I-I… Hongjoong, I – I want to kiss you b-but—”

“Do it,” Hongjoong blurts before he can stop himself.

“You’re drunk, Hongjoong. I won’t – I won’t take advantage of you like this, not while you’re drunk.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

“Maybe when you’re sober,” Yunho whispers. He hoists Hongjoong further up on the bed with such little effort that Hongjoong’s heart soars in his chest. “Do you want to change clothes?”

“Don’t have anything to wear,” Hongjoong grumbles back. The sudden change in topic hurts him more than he’d like to admit, and the thought of having Yunho so close yet so far away makes him want to sob.

“I have clothes.” The words are stilted and cut short like Yunho wants to say more but can’t bring himself to do it. Hongjoong refuses to move or react. Yunho takes it as an unspoken agreement and slips off the bed to stand up straight. “Let’s get you changed, Hongjoong. I’ll set out some clothes for you.”

When Yunho’s warmth disappears from his side, Hongjoong stretches a hand out after his back but ultimately lets it fall to his side uselessly. He can only watch on with tired eyes, growing more tired by the second as Yunho pulls a shirt and pair of pants out of his dresser. Hongjoong forces himself to sit up and takes the clothes from Yunho’s hands.

“Do you need help changing? I can—”

“I got it, I got it,” Hongjoong interrupts with a small wave of his hand.

“I’ll step into the bathroom then.” Yunho grins a bit before disappearing into said room so Hongjoong can stumble around and change.

“Yunho!” Hongjoong calls out as he’s switching out shirts. “Are you still there?”

“Do you need help?”

“Hm, no, no. Just checking to see if you’re still there!”

The sound of a huffed out laugh echoes through the door.

“I’m still here, Hongjoong.”

“I’m done changing!” It’s a half-truth, but it’s technically a full truth for Hongjoong because he only sleeps in a shirt regardless. He doesn’t bother putting the pants Yunho gave him on mostly thanks to the ridiculous length of them but also because Hongjoong never sleeps with pants on so it seems pointless. He throws himself back on the bed, rolling over to one side of the overly sized mattress as Yunho comes back into the bedroom.

“I – oh, um, Hongjoong, you… pants?” Yunho motions to his all too bare legs.

“Don’t sleep in them,” he mutters back, words still slurring a bit.

“Fair enough, uh, I suppose.” Maybe Yunho’s gaze is lingering a bit too long on the exposed skin of Hongjoong’s thighs, just at the midway point where Yunho’s shirt stops and skin begins. Yunho jerks his head to look in the opposite direction. “If you need anything, just let me know. I’ll be – be downstairs, yeah.”

Yunho doesn’t leave right away. He lingers by the bed, long fingers tracing over the edge of the mattress and eyes staring holes into the side of Hongjoong’s head.

“Can you… would you stay, Yunho?” Hongjoong dares to murmur. He’s too afraid to look Yunho in the eye, too scared of what he might see there (read – rejection). Yunho’s jaw stutters.

“I want to b-but that would be inappropriate of me,” Yunho whispers back. Hongjoong isn’t sure what he wants. He extended an invitation not once but twice, all that’s left is for Yunho to quit stalling and talking himself out of it. He just needs to commit, which is a cruel irony of Hongjoong to say because he can’t commit to even having feelings for the man as it is. Still, Hongjoong can’t be the only one pulling if Yunho isn’t going to move with him.

“Goodnight then, Yunho,” he says through a slightly bitten back tone that conceals his true feelings.

“G-Goodnight, Hongjoong. I hope you – please sleep well.”

Hongjoong is passed out under the sheets before Yunho can even get out the door. The only dreams that plague him that night are the thoughts of what might have happened if they spent the night crammed into each other’s space with little regard for what lines they were crossing or what boundaries they skipping over in Hongjoong’s drunken rush. Every dream he has ends in a nightmare.

…

In the week that has passed since Hongjoong’s drunken night at Yunho’s house, Wooyoung has warned him about getting too attached to the man at least three times. Hongjoong wishes he could say that he doesn’t remember a thing from that night but he remembers it all. The lingering touches, the laughs exchanged in breaths that mingled together, the near kisses, and most of all the way Yunho was so close within Hongjoong’s reach yet so far away at the same time.

“Maybe you aren’t ready for this.”

“For what, Wooyoung?”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. I’ve seen enough people hurt you, and I do my best to help you recover every time, but I’m always scared that there’s gonna be one worse than the rest. One I can’t fix.”

Yunho is making conversation with Akemi on his right. Hongjoong can barely touch his food thanks to the uneasy feeling settling in his stomach, but he forces some food down just so that Yunho isn’t offended. He can’t quit thinking about that damn conversation with Wooyoung, the latest one that had the most lasting impact on his damn overthinking brain.

“Do you want this, Hongjoong?”

“He doesn’t.”

“How do you know that? You said that he literally wanted to kiss you.”

“I was drunk. Probably only said that because of the way I was acting.”

Maybe Hongjoong can move back home and find a job there. Or he can find a different school so he doesn’t have to see Yunho and his stupidly perfect face anymore.

“Are you tired, Mimi?” Hongjoong pulls his focus back to the scene before him, trying to shake the memories of that conversation out of his mind. Akemi nods her little head in agreement, and Yunho reaches out to comb his hand through her hair. “Okay, butterfly, run upstairs and brush your teeth. I’ll be right there.”

“Can Mr. Hong come tuck me in please?”

Hongjoong’s eyes widen a bit at that. Yunho twists to look at him, lips parted a bit in disbelief, then he returns to smiling at Akemi.

“We’ll see, angel. Head upstairs first.”

Akemi gets up from her seat with a loud giggle and darts around the table within seconds, gone from sight before Hongjoong can even blink. Yunho stands as well, albeit much slower, gathering his plate and Akemi’s from the table to head into the kitchen. Hongjoong follows suit with his own plate. His gaze finds the back of Yunho’s head.

“Do you want me to tuck her in?” He asks once Yunho sets his plates in the sink.

“Would you please? She will probably refuse to sleep unless you do it.”

Hongjoong replies with a smile and a nod, placing his dish on the counter and pulling away to follow Akemi up the stairs. Maybe it’s because he was already too deep in his thoughts but the act of tucking Yunho’s daughter in and putting her to bed before they indulge in some wine feels grossly domestic. It’s funny how much he hates the thought of it because this is what he’s always wanted: a family to come home to, spend time with, and be loved by. If it’s what he’s always wanted, why is his mind telling him to run away?

Akemi is crawling into bed when Hongjoong arrives in the doorway.

“Mr. Hong, Mr. Hong! Do you have a new poem for me?”

“Where did we leave off last time, little butterfly?” Hongjoong hums, stepping further into the room as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“You read one about stars and wasting time!” Akemi tugs her sheets up to her chin, bright eyes blinking at Hongjoong with endless wonder, and he grins at her enthusiasm.

“Hm, I have one about love but it’s a bit sappy.” Hongjoong squats beside her mattress and rests his elbows on the edge. Akemi twists to rest on her side.

“I wanna hear it!”

“Okay, okay, close your eyes and listen closely. This is a word we use to plug holes with. It's the right size for those warm blanks in speech, for those red heart-shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing like real hearts. Add lace and you can sell it. We insert it also in the one empty space on the printed form that comes with no instructions. There are whole magazines with not much in them but the word love, you can rub it all over your body and you can cook with it too. How do we know it isn't what goes on at the cool debaucheries of slugs under damp pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-seedlings nosing their tough snouts up among the lettuces, they shout it. Love, love, sing the soldiers, raising their glittering knives in salute. Then there's the two of us. This word is far too short for us, it has only four letters, too sparse to fill those deep bare vacuums between the stars that press on us with their deafness. It's not love we don't wish to fall into, but that fear. This word is not enough but it will have to do. It's a single vowel in this metallic silence, a mouth that says ‘oh’ again and again in wonder and pain, a breath, a finger grip on a cliffside. You can hold on or let go.” Hongjoong concludes with a small sigh, thumb dragging over his screen and blinking down at the typed words with a painful burn in his chest. Akemi’s eyes are squeezed shut, and he thinks the girl is asleep so he slowly gets back up and stands straight again. Before he moves to leave the room, he bends over Akemi’s bed and presses a soft kiss to the girl’s head.

“Is that how you and Daddy feel about each other?” Hongjoong’s heart almost stops dead in his chest. He chokes on air. What does Akemi know about love? About their feelings? About Hongjoong’s feelings?

“Go to sleep, little butterfly,” he murmurs before retreating for good, this time with heart heavier than lead.

Love. Hongjoong doesn’t know if he’s ever been in love. He hasn’t stopped to wonder if he has or not, hasn’t bothered putting certain labels on his past relationships out of fear of greater heartbreak.

He runs into something on his way out of the room, arms swinging up to lessen the blow only for his palms to land on Yunho’s chest as he hits the man. A small curse slips past his lips but it’s thankfully spoken too quietly for Akemi to stir in her bed. Yunho’s expression is unreadable in the darkness. Hongjoong can’t move his hands away from Yunho, and the man doesn’t ask him to, merely placing his hands over Hongjoong’s. He pulls the shorter man out of the room like that, and once they’re fully in the hallway, Yunho reaches around his shoulder to shut the door to Akemi’s room.

“This word is not enough but it will have to do,” Yunho murmurs. “What poem is that from?”

“Variations On The Word Love by Margaret Atwood.”

Yunho sinks his teeth into his lower lip. So close. Hongjoong tries to pull his hands away but Yunho keeps him in place, slowly guiding him to the stairs with little effort.

“We’ll fall down the stairs, Yunho.”

This word is far too short for us, it has only four letters, too sparse to fill those deep bare vacuums between the stars that press on us with their deafness.

“Right.”

“Let’s go downstairs,” Yunho mutters, finally releasing Hongjoong so that he can walk on his own. So far away.

It's not love we don't wish to fall into, but that fear.

Hongjoong’s legs are wobbling on his way down the stairs. This intimacy is foreign. It feels too much like a dance, one that only Yunho and Hongjoong are aware of and only they know the steps to, and Hongjoong can’t recall a time when he ever danced around a person for so long. People take what they want from him and leave him. That’s what Hongjoong is used to, and that’s what he knows how to handle after all this time.

Why is Yunho different?

It's a single vowel in this metallic silence, a mouth that says ‘oh’ again and again in wonder and pain, a breath, a finger grip on a cliffside.

They find their way to the couch where Yunho already has wine out on the coffee table, their unfinished glasses from dinner there as well. Hongjoong sinks to the cushions with a slight exhale of breath. He reaches for the wine immediately like the liquor is an extension of his body.

You can hold on or let go.

Hongjoong is afraid more than anything else that these feelings will ruin him forever, that Yunho will ruin everyone for him because he just seems too perfect. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, slotted in each other’s space even as Yunho sinks down beside Hongjoong and their thighs brush together. Hongjoong wants to let go, to see this fail if only to prove that he was right about it all along. His heart is holding onto Yunho like he’s a lifeline.

“I wouldn’t expect you to read love poems, Hongjoong,” Yunho hums before taking a long drag of wine. “Are you secretly a hopeless romantic?”

“I’m not even sure I can make myself believe in love at this point.”

“How badly have you been hurt in the past? To think like that?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I used to think like that myself. Right after Akemi’s mother… after I found out. There was a short period of time where I knew she was cheating but couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I wanted to try to make things work for Akemi b-because I wanted so badly to give her two parents. I wanted to do everything in my power to make sure that she could have both of us growing up and that she wouldn’t be left with just one of us. Guess I failed her the minute her mother decided to walk out.”

“Yunho,” Hongjoong starts, voice hitching a bit in his throat.

“I’m not — I don’t say this to have your pity. I don’t want that. I guess – part of me wants to open up to you because I care about you but also because I can’t help myself around you. Maybe I’m just a fool though.”

“No, Yunho, I—” Hongjoong can’t finish the thought. Why can’t he give? Yunho sits there and pours his soul into every word, bares the most painful parts of himself without hesitation, and Hongjoong can do nothing but whine about how shitty his life is. “I’m the fool,” he whispers after some time has passed. “I’m scared. My last – my last relationship was s-so perfect up until the end, and I’m so afraid that it will happen again. I’m terrified of letting myself g-go enough to let someone in that way.”

“It’s okay to be afraid, Hongjoong. No one is asking you to stop being afraid. Even I’m still fearful of what could happen in the future or if I try again.”

“I guess it’s because I’m used to the pain of heartbreak.”

“That doesn’t mean it will always be that way though,” Yunho whispers, and Hongjoong dares to make eye contact with the man. The stare doesn’t hold for long though because Yunho moves to pour himself another glass of wine, and Hongjoong watches the liquid pour into the glass in silence. Yunho doesn’t speak again until he’s filled his glass and taken a lingering sip from it. “You deserve a chance at happiness too, Hongjoong.”

His response comes in the form of a small choking sound as he drinks too quickly from his wine and inhales the liquor on accident. He coughs his way through it, waving Yunho off when the man leans across the couch in a fit of worry, but Hongjoong really can’t handle him being any closer than he is.

“I-I am happy,” he finally manages to say after clearing his throat.

“Alone?”

“I’m fine on my own.”

Why seek something that could hurt you when you’re perfectly fine on your own?

Hongjoong finds himself asking the question again, though this time he can come up with many more answers than he is willing to admit.

“Every time I look at you, it’s like seeing a reflection of myself. I can see how lonely you are behind that mask you wear.”

“I have friends.” He sounds defensive, and it’s because he most definitely is getting defensive.

“You know that’s not what I mean, Hongjoong.”

“I don’t need to risk being hurt again,” he counters, pushing a bit of vehemence into his tone.

“By that logic, I don’t either but here I am, trying to rectify all the emotions in my body and make sense of them somehow. No matter how many times I’ve been hurt or how badly I’ve been hurt, I still want to keep trying because I truly believe I can get it right one day.”

Why does Yunho have to be right? Why can’t he just be an asshole and break Hongjoong’s heart that way? It hurts knowing that Hongjoong is gonna fuck this up somehow, these lingering feelings have tumbled out of control and he can’t pull them back into his stone-cold heart any longer. A second later, his vision begins to blur. He can’t pinpoint why or what’s going on until Yunho reaches a hand out and places it atop Hongjoong’s knee. Fingers splay over his clothed skin, swamping Hongjoong in the warmth of the touch, and he can’t help but notice how small and fragile he looks under Yunho’s grasp. Something wet falls atop one of Yunho’s fingers, and it’s not red so it can’t possibly be wine but Hongjoong can’t figure out what — oh. He’s crying.

“Hongjoong…”

He must look absolutely pathetic sitting here on Yunho’s couch, fat tears rolling over the balls of his cheeks with an unfinished glass of wine in his hands, but Yunho doesn’t chastise him or ridicule him in the slightest. He merely moves his free hand to take the glass from Hongjoong’s hands, placing it on the coffee table beside his own that somehow ended up over there without a word, and when he reaches back towards the shorter man, he catches Hongjoong’s face in his hands. Yunho swipes his thumbs over the balls of his cheeks with such gentle and caring fingers that Hongjoong can only cry harder because fuck, he’s touch-starved and even a hand on the knee sent him spiraling. Yunho keeps catching each tear that falls without complaint, hands never leaving Hongjoong for a second, and it causes a painful burn to blossom in his chest, one that grows and festers like a wound until it’s all he can feel.

This kind of weakness isn’t one he’s used to. Hongjoong doesn’t let the cracks show in front of other people like Wooyoung or San so they won’t worry about him not being okay, but Yunho just barged in and knocked those brick walls around Hongjoong down as though they were nothing. How does he do it? This damn blundering giant who has stars in his eyes and a laugh so bright that Hongjoong could gladly listen to it for the rest of his life is gonna ruin him forever. He won’t be able to look at anyone if they aren’t Yunho. Hongjoong wants to trust that Yunho will be better to him than all his exes were, but he can’t shake the fear gnawing away at his bones or the nagging sense of inadequacy when he looks in the mirror. Isn’t it too much? Can’t he just have this one nice thing?

Hongjoong wants so badly to throw all caution to the wind and close the distance between him and Yunho right now, kiss the man right on the mouth and tell him how he feels, but all he can do is mumble broken apologies in a choked tone.

“Don’t apologize, Hongjoong,” Yunho whispers back. The way he’s cradling Hongjoong’s face feels like too much, too intimate and too precious, something he shouldn’t allow himself to have, so he reaches up to push Yunho’s hands away from him like the touch is offensive. Hongjoong is good at only one thing and that’s ruining the good he has in his life.

“I – I should g-go. I need t-to go.” He barely remembers to place the spare key on the table beside his glass of wine as he stands up. Yunho moves with him. Hongjoong just wishes that he would stop being so damn considerate and kind and perfect. Stop being everything Hongjoong wants and needs in his life because it hurts too much. He doesn’t even get around the coffee table before Yunho snatches him by the wrist.

“I don’t want you driving in this state, Hongjoong. It’s not safe,” Yunho pleas. Anger bubbles up in Hongjoong’s gut. He’s been in this position before. He has stood in the center of a room with tears running down his cheeks and begged for someone to make him stay. No one ever did. His exes never stopped him or held onto him or asked him not to go.

“Why does it matter?” He spits back in response, and Yunho’s face blurs before him because of the tears. That question seems to catch Yunho off-guard. Hongjoong takes it as an opportunity to escape, slipping his wrist free of Yunho’s grasp and making for the door while he can, but Yunho snaps back to reality too quickly. He’s there to stop Hongjoong at the door; his hand slams against the wood just as Hongjoong turns the handle and cracks it open, pushing it back shut in an instant.

“It matters because I… it’s not safe. I can’t let you go like this in good conscience.”

“So this is about your conscience then?” Reason has left Hongjoong’s body, and at this point, his self-destructive nature has taken the wheel and is ready to drive him off a cliff. Hongjoong just might let it.

“No, I – Hongjoong, please. I c-care about you. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to go out there and be alone.” Yunho’s arm stays planted against the door as though he’s afraid that Hongjoong might try to leave again.

“Can’t you be a fucking terrible person for one second?”

“I don’t know what you want me to do, Hongjoong, but I’m here for you. Please, just stay. I need you to stay, and maybe it’s selfish, yeah. Maybe I’m thinking too much about my own feelings and reading into things too much. But I know that you don’t want to be alone right now.”

“What I want is for you to be like every other person in my life and leave me when I need you most because that hurts less in the long run!”

Yunho’s fingers curl against the door until they’re tucked into a tight fist. His jaw stutters as he tries to come up with some sort of reply, one that will make Hongjoong feel better no doubt, but all Hongjoong wants is to run away. He’s nearing the edge of this cliff and it won’t be long until he tumbles over it, entering a freefall that will result in a dragging sense of pain only to land on another cliff. It’s a sick cycle Hongjoong lives in, but it’s what he’s used to and it’s what he knows how to handle.

“I don’t know what you’ve had to suffer in the past, Hongjoong, or what your past relationships have put you through. I’m not asking for you to tell me either. I just want to give you what you deserve now. You said you had friends so what does that make us? Am I not your friend too? Can you not rely on me too? I want to be close to you, but if that isn’t what you want from me, just say the word and I’ll back off.” The words roll off Hongjoong’s shoulders like they’re nothing, only one having a lasting effect on him in the heat of the moment.

Friend.

The word is laughable on his tongue, and he releases a cruel and sadistic sound that hurts his throat.

Of course. Hongjoong should have known. He told himself this would happen, he warned himself, he looked himself in the eye and said that this was the only outcome out of all of this. So why does it hurt so fucking much? Why did he give himself baseless hopes and wishes to cling to? How could he be so stupid? He drew the line himself. He defined their relationship as a friendship and nothing more. That was what he said would come out of this, and he told Yunho that that’s what they would be. He did this to himself.

If Yunho notices the way tears are flowing harder than before, he doesn’t comment, and this time he doesn’t move to wipe them away either. Hongjoong lifts a shaky and angry hand to furiously brush them off his flushed cheeks.

“I don’t want you to be my friend.” He tries so hard to push rage into the words, some sort of verbal poison that will put Yunho off forever so Hongjoong can just get over himself, but it only comes out broken and weak, like Hongjoong has zero confidence in what he’s saying because he truly doesn’t.

“Then what do you want me to be?”

Why can’t Yunho get it through his thick skull? Why doesn’t he understand what Hongjoong is trying to say?

He pushes as much strength as he can muster into his arms, hands shoving Yunho out of his personal space. Even though Hongjoong doesn’t hit him hard, Yunho’s body moves as though he does, and the man stumbles back on shaky feet. It’s enough to give him the getaway he wants so badly, but Hongjoong just has to drive the knife in Yunho’s chest a little bit deeper before leaving for good.

“I want you to be nothing to me.”

…

Hongjoong has decided that November 7th is the worst day of the year for no reason other than that it is his birthday. He has never enjoyed his birthday; it’s always an overdone celebration that makes him feel worse about getting older, and turning twenty-seven is no different. There is a lot of self-loathing tied to his birthdays every year, but that still never stops Wooyoung or San from trying to do the absolute most for him regardless. Hongjoong woke up to a bouquet of flowers and two small wrapped presents on his counter and Wooyoung on his couch. The gifts were from Seonghwa and Yeosang apparently, small things they sent since they couldn’t be there to celebrate with Hongjoong in person, and Hongjoong is grateful for them even thinking of him today. Wooyoung, on the other hand, is on thin ice.

This year, Wooyoung decided that it would be smart to do something bigger and better than all Hongjoong’s previous birthdays, which means throwing him a party. And before Hongjoong could even say no, Wooyoung hit him with the ‘I already bought all the stuff, San is at home decorating the house, your ass is coming over for drinks whether you like it or not’, so Hongjoong found himself roped into the mess without getting to a say in the matter. Maybe secretly Hongjoong appreciates it though, because he has been doing a lot of wallowing in his miserable feelings and self-loathing since that night at Yunho’s house.

It has been eleven days, not that Hongjoong is keeping track or anything stupid like that, but he has made note of how Yunho won’t look at him when he picks Akemi up from school. They haven’t met for dinner even once in the past two weeks, they haven’t spoken even a word to each other, and Akemi is the only thread hanging between them at the moment. Hongjoong is counting down the days to the end of the school year so the miserable awkwardness can be dispelled and he can move on with his life without having to see Yunho in it. He isn’t necessarily upset at Yunho anymore; it is moreso a matter of Hongjoong hating himself for doing the same shit he always does and ruining something perfectly good and wonderful. San didn’t help either with the long-winded lecture he threw Hongjoong’s way after six days of moping around by himself.

“Just admit that you fucked up. That will help you move on faster and get over these feelings. No one is asking you to be miserable, Joong. No one thinks you deserve to feel that way either, because you don’t. You are the only one making yourself feel that way, and it isn’t fair to yourself. I hate watching you go through this as much as Wooyoung does, but I won’t sit around and watch you hurt yourself without saying anything.”

He went on for a lot longer than that, but Hongjoong has selective memory and that is the only part that really stood out in his mind. Wooyoung made him swear that he wouldn’t think about that today, and Hongjoong is really trying his best not to. Part of him hoped to wake up to a happy birthday text from Yunho even though he knows that’s the last thing he deserves.

“No one else is coming, right?” Hongjoong mumbles from the passenger seat, glancing over to where Wooyoung sits in the driver’s one with one hand on the wheel and the other fiddling with the radio dial.

“That’s a surprise, shush.”

“Wooyoung–”

“You know we wouldn’t bring anyone you hate, right? Just trust us!”

But what about anyone who hates me? Hongjoong wants to ask, mind only envisioning one tall brunette with round cheeks and a stupidly adorable dorky smile. His gut churns with unspoken anxiety as Wooyoung pulls into the driveway at his and San’s shared house. It’s a somewhat recent development for the two of them — moving in together, that is — but Hongjoong thinks the pair will be stuck at the hip forever, so it wasn’t a surprise to him when they dragged him out for house shopping with them. The exterior of the house is blessedly plain when they reach the door, and Hongjoong is glad that Wooyoung didn’t decide to plaster his name in gold across the front of the building on a banner or something drastic like that.

His hopes are shot the moment he steps through the door because rather than seeing San, all he can see are broad shoulders, a brown mop of hair, and lengthy legs standing in the middle of their living room with his back turned on Hongjoong.

He nearly turns on his heel and walks out the door right then and there because how the fuck did Wooyoung manage to get Yunho to come and why the fuck did Yunho agree to be here? Surely he didn’t know this was for Hongjoong. Maybe he somehow knows Wooyoung and San through something else. Even so, how did they convince him to come? This makes no sense, and Hongjoong is reeling so much that he can’t even try to make it make even a sliver of sense. All his brain can do is go: what the fuck Choi San, what the fuck Jung Wooyoung, what the fuck Jeong Yunho.

“We were gonna invite Akemi too, but adult drinks are involved so that was out of the question,” Wooyoung whispers, leaning in close to speak into the shell of Hongjoong’s ear. “Please don’t be too mad at us. I know it’s your birthday, and we should’ve asked to make sure about this beforehand, but we knew you would probably say no because you were dead set on him hating you. Besides, he’s the one who reached out to me and asked if there was anything he could do. Found me through Instagram and saw all the pictures we’ve got together, so he messaged me and asked after you. He… Hongjoong, he won’t shut up about how much he’s worried about you. I thought I was bad with San, but damn, this man has me beat.”

San has Yunho distracted enough to where the man doesn’t notice that he and Wooyoung have come in yet, so Hongjoong takes the opportunity to reel on the man by his side and punch him in the arm. Wooyoung winces and releases an all too loud scream that betrays their presence in the house.

“Ow, you bitch!”

“Yep, there they are!” San chirps, dimples flashing in Yunho’s direction, and the man finally turns to face the door. Hongjoong is fully prepared for hell to break loose when their gazes meet. There’s nothing he can do to prepare himself for it except hold onto his breath like it’s a lifeline and wait for Yunho to spew angry words and hatred his way. It never comes. Wooyoung slips away from his side, moving to join San at the other end of the entryway, and Yunho walks forward to replace his presence.

“Um, happy birthday,” Yunho says, tone so quiet that Hongjoong almost doesn’t pick up a single word. The taller man looks nervous beyond belief, and his gaze flits away from Hongjoong’s after a single second of eye contact, slipping down to the floor instead.

“Who’s watching Akemi?” He asks without a breath of hesitation. Yunho huffs out a small laugh.

“My parents. They flew in yesterday to visit us, so I figured I could escape for at least part of the night.”

Who knows when the last time Yunho got to see his parents was yet he still decided to come to a stranger’s house for Hongjoong? Even after what Hongjoong said to him?

“You… I-I – why did you come?”

“I selfishly wanted to see you on your birthday?”

“But what I said to you and – and how I treated you… I don’t understand.”

Yunho presses his lips into a smile.

“Don’t understand what? Why I’m here? I’d hoped the gesture would be enough to convey my feelings.”

“You,” Hongjoong exhales, but that’s all he can get out.

“I hope you won’t be too mad that I brought you a gift.”

“Just you being here is enough.” Hongjoong huffs out a laugh as the corners of his eyes begin to burn with unshed tears. Shaky hands find Yunho’s collar and twist around his shoulders until Hongjoong can properly pull him into a hug. Yunho drapes his arms around Hongjoong’s waist without a drop of hesitation, pulling the shorter man in until all their senses are full of each other. “Everything about you is enough, Yunho.”

Yunho drops his face into the crook of Hongjoong’s neck, and the younger is almost definitely crying now, tears wetting Hongjoong’s skin as he clings to the man tighter.

“I’m so sorry for making you feel like you aren’t enough,” Hongjoong murmurs against the shell of the man’s ear. He runs a hand through Yunho’s hair, scraping blunt painted nails over his scalp with no particular rhythm. “Y-You’re so much more — so much more than enough.”

“Why are you making me cry on your birthday?” Yunho laughs, words reverberating against his skin, and the butterflies in Hongjoong’s stomach flutter dangerously.

“Why are you crying on my birthday?”

“Aside from Akemi, you’re one of the only good things I have in my life. I was scared I was going to lose you by being careless. I don’t – I don’t want to be careless with you, Hongjoong. I wanted to follow you out that door but couldn’t bring myself to.”

I want you. I like you. I need you. I love you. Hongjoong is thinking of all the things he could say, and the confidence is there, the willpower to say them is boiling over in his gut. San and Wooyoung watch from the edge of the living room with bitten-back smiles and a knowing gleam to their eyes. Even if they can’t hear the conversation, Hongjoong doesn’t doubt that they’ve stood in the same position and whispered confessions and promises and apologies to each other like this too. Instead of those confessions, Hongjoong mutters something else.

“I don’t want you to be nothing.”

“I spent too long hoping you would say that.” Yunho pulls his head up from Hongjoong’s neck and furiously blinks his tears away as he looks the shorter man in the eye.

“What else did you hope I would say?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to ask for anything more than that.”

Hongjoong presses a hand to Yunho’s cheek, collecting the tears staining his skin and pushing them away with the pads of his thumb.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I hope not. I’d like to keep you around for as long as possible.”

It’s not a confession for either of them. They aren’t admitting to anything special or telling each other how they feel or if they even feel the same way about each other. Maybe there are romantic emotions behind the words or maybe not; Hongjoong doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth and call anything too early. For now, he’s content with this. This admission of needing each other and wanting to be around each other. And when Hongjoong is ready, he will dissolve the line of friendship that he drew in the sand and be honest about how he feels. This is already more than he could have hoped for given what he said and how vehemently he tried to destroy their relationship.

“Um, as cute as you guys are, can you hurry it up so we can open presents?” Wooyoung croons from the other side of the room, and Hongjoong holds back the urge to roll his eyes. “And Yunho is not a present so please for the sake of my innocence don’t do anything explicit opening up over there!”

“You whore!” Hongjoong scoffs, glancing around Yunho’s shoulder to scowl at his friend. Wooyoung simply beams back at him before making a crude gesture with his hand and giving him a thumbs up. Still, they both heed his words and untangle their arms from each other to follow the other two further into the living room while Wooyoung prattles on about the new furniture he’s planning on getting for the house to a mildly interested Yunho. San stops beside Hongjoong, careening an elbow into his side and flashing his dimples. “Was this your idea?”

“Maybe? You should be glad I didn’t decide to lock the two of you in a room so you could talk shit through.” San clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Progress is progress, I suppose, so I can’t be too mad at the fact that you two literally look at each other with hearts in your eyes yet still refuse to confess.”

“Yeah, well, took you eight months to grow the balls to ask Wooyoung out.”

“Part of that was your fault. He’s your best friend before he’s my boyfriend, and I thought you would kill me if I so much as looked at him the wrong way.”

“Still might,” Hongjoong grumbles before joining the aforementioned man on the couch. Wooyoung scrambles to the side just before he sits down, making space between him and Yunho for Hongjoong to sit.

“Okay, me first, me first!” Wooyoung insists as he passes an all too large package Hongjoong’s way with his trademark toothy smile. Hongjoong least favorite part about birthdays is the awkwardness that comes with opening presents because he is the type who needs to give in return for receiving something. And if he’s being honest, he is most nervous about whatever Yunho brought him, but he tries to distract himself with Wooyoung and San’s gifts first.

Wooyoung gets him a new jean jacket along with a set of paints that Hongjoong had been eyeing for a while, adding that he got himself a jacket as well so that they could reform the clothes together as a friend project. Hongjoong pokes fun at him for the action and accuses him of only getting Hongjoong something because Wooyoung wanted it for himself at first. Wooyoung plays along with a scrunched nose, faking offense to mess with Hongjoong some more before San interrupts to pass another gift his way. Hongjoong unwraps a new pair of shoes from the man who insists they’ll add at least two inches to Hongjoong’s height just from the insoles, and he nearly earns a boot in the face for that comment but Hongjoong holds back only because Yunho is present.

And speaking of Yunho, that’s how Hongjoong finds himself suddenly looking him in the eye as the man extends a delicately wrapped box with a small blue bow on top of it.

“I wasn’t too sure what to get you but… I hope you’ll like it,” Yunho says just before biting his lip so hard that it hurts to look at. Hongjoong exhales a nervous laugh, fingers nearly shaking as he pulls the wrapping paper away and reveals the box underneath. He knows from experience that it must be jewelry of some sort, but even thinking about it can’t prepare him for what’s inside.

“Y-Yunho,” he stammers, eyes flitting between the gift and the man’s face in absolute disbelief. It’s something small and delicate, a thing that might be insignificant upon first glance or to anyone other than Yunho and Hongjoong themselves, but Hongjoong knows the second he sees it how special and precious the thought behind it is.

“Her mother used to call her that.”

“He would show me the pretty butterflies he painted and would read me a poem to help me fall asleep.”

“Okay, one little butterfly safely put back to bed without any issue.”

On a small bed of white foam there sits a little blue butterfly. It’s attached to a silver chain at the tip of one of the wings, tilted at a slight angle in the box, and Hongjoong tilts his head to match it as he stares down.

“We should get the drinks,” San cuts in, shaking Hongjoong out of his stunned reverie.

“Okay, babe. Have fun with that!”

“No, we, Wooyoung, we should get the drinks.”

“Huh? Why we? Oh! Oh. Oh my god, yes, we should definitely get the drinks. Excuse us for a second, we’ll be right back!” Wooyoung bolts from his spot on the couch, followed quickly by San, and all of a sudden, it’s just Hongjoong and Yunho sitting in the living room. Endless amounts of empty space around them yet only mere centimeters separating their thighs from touching.

“A butterfly,” Hongjoong whispers at last, and he finally dares to look back up at Yunho. Yunho doesn’t look back at him though; he has his head hung a bit, fingers awkwardly and nervously clasped around something on his neck. Hongjoong waits as patiently as he can for the man to react in some way, and once again his heart threatens to stop in his chest. Yunho unfolds his fingers to reveal an identical silver chain with a blue butterfly pendant placed in the exact same position as the one Hongjoong holds in his hand.

“It’s a, um, it’s a custom piece. The one I have, I mean. I got it shortly after Akemi’s mother and I officially split and she moved out. I contacted the jeweler who made it for me and asked if he could make another and he said absolutely, so… yeah.” Custom piece. Identical. Hongjoong might pass out actually. Yunho continues after a quick lick of his lips. “You’ve always — you always act like a father to Akemi even though no one expects you to or demands that of you. You do it willingly and happily, and I never thought I would meet a person like you in a million years. I don’t know how to show my gratitude for that but I thought that out of everyone in my life, you deserve this the most.”

A key to Yunho’s heart, his pride and joy, and an invitation. To what exactly, Hongjoong doesn’t think he could figure that out right now, but he indulges in himself a bit, turning around on the couch so his back is now to Yunho. With a quick flick of his wrist, he extends the box with the necklace behind him, giving Yunho a silent plea to put the necklace on for him. Yunho takes it in stride and pulls the box from Hongjoong’s hand. Their fingers brush for half a second, but both chase the feeling for another half-second before Yunho dips his chin with a chuckle.

The metal of the chain and pendant is cold against his skin, slipping over his neck and under the collar of his shirt before he can stop it. Hongjoong reaches up to touch the jewelry if only to confirm that it’s real, this is real, Yunho is real.

Yunho does his best not to touch the back of Hongjoong’s neck, and the older of the two is glad for it because he isn’t sure if his heart can handle much more of this.

“There,” Yunho whispers once the clasp sits attached on Hongjoong’s skin.

“Thank you,” Hongjoong says as he turns to face Yunho once more. His hand still sits atop the pendant, and he isn’t sure he could move it if he wanted to with how touched he is by the gesture of the necklace.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

A breath of silence. Hongjoong feels like Yunho is the only person in the universe at that moment, the only other human being who knows him and understands him in ways even Hongjoong doesn’t himself.

“I want to.”

“Then I suppose I can’t stop you if it’s what you want.” Yunho’s eyes are twinkling under the fluorescent lights above them, little gems that shine with so much emotion that Hongjoong is overwhelmed just from the sight of it.

“I was engaged,” Hongjoong blurts. He isn’t sure what comes over him or possesses him to say such a thing, and as soon as he processes what he’s said, he flings a hand up to cover his mouth. Yunho blinks back in equal parts shock and confusion. “I – hold on, I m-meant, uh, let me start over.” Hongjoong is begging Wooyoung and San to come back and save him from this awkwardness, but apparently, his mouth has a mind of its own because he just keeps speaking instead. “My last relationship – the one I kinda told you about – we were together for three years then he proposed to me. We were engaged for seven months and planned the wedding and honeymoon and everything. There weren’t… any problems between us, at least I didn’t see any signs of there being something wrong. A few days before the wedding, he c-called it off and said he didn’t want to marry me.”

“Wh–Why?” Yunho exhales, and the one word quivers on his tongue.

“He… found someone else he wanted to be with more. Made more money than me, taller than me, better looking no doubt – just everything he wanted and more. He didn’t even cheat on me b-but I selfishly wished he had just so that I could justify how I felt. I wanted to hate him but couldn’t even do that because he was open and h-honest and kind even then. I get scared with you because you’re so – so kind. So giving, and I get scared that I won’t be good enough in the long run.” Scared that it will happen again. That’s what Hongjoong wishes he could say, but he doesn’t need to because Yunho understands nonetheless.

Large hands cup his jaw, and Hongjoong is forced to look up at the man across from him.

“Anyone – and I truly mean anyone, Hongjoong – would be lucky to call you theirs for eternity. I hate that someone took that away from you and made you feel like you’re less than perfect.” Yunho is pulling him closer. He is sinking into Yunho’s touch, long fingers guiding him forward with endless gentleness, and Hongjoong secures a hand by Yunho’s side as he gets closer. Their noses brush, a smile twitches at Yunho’s lips, and Hongjoong is about to risk it all for this man.

“I’m not drunk this time,” Hongjoong murmurs, hot breath cascading over Yunho’s mouth.

“You’re not.”

“So kiss m—”

“Got drinks!”

Hongjoong has never scrambled to get away from a person faster in his life, and he’s pretty sure he nearly faceplants atop the glass coffee table in his rush to separate himself from Yunho.

Fuck Jung Wooyoung.

“Oh s-shit, uh, hold on, we’ll go back into the kitchen for a second! Continue!” Hongjoong hears angry whispers, followed by a loud smack and a noise of indignation coming from San as the pair rush to get back into the kitchen. Hongjoong’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. The mood has most definitely been killed thanks to Wooyoung’s interruption, and when Hongjoong glances over to gauge Yunho’s reaction, he finds a pretty blush splayed over the man’s cheeks.

It shouldn’t change anything. Friends have their moments like this, right? Friends get each other gifts and such, and maybe sometimes they nearly kiss in moments of clouded judgment. Yunho’s expression is one that Hongjoong can’t read. It’s only after he’s been staring at the younger man for well over a minute that Yunho meets his gaze and offers a shaky smile.

It shouldn’t change anything, so why does it feel like the ground under Hongjoong has been shifted in ways that he both can’t explain or reverse? The slippery slope just keeps sending him down.

…

There is an unspoken shift between the two of them from the night onwards. Nothing else significant happened that night; Yunho stayed to eat with them and drink a bit before saying that it was time for him to get back to Akemi. Hongjoong walked him to the door, put a hand on his arm, and thanked him one more time. They stared at each other’s lips for far too long, then Wooyoung started screaming about how San spilled beer on the couch cushions, and Hongjoong let Yunho go without asking for anything else from the man.

Their dinners resume as well, and Hongjoong is more grateful for that than he’d like to admit because admitting it would mean acknowledging how intense his feelings for the man are. They don’t talk about the near kisses or lingering touches either, but that’s alright by Hongjoong’s standards. He’ll take the peace and pining while it lasts because that’s the best way for him to avoid pain in the long run. He does make certain not to drink enough to get drunk like he did that one night. Things don’t change beyond that, that is until one day in mid-December when Hongjoong is back to visit for dinner but it’s quite different this time.

First, it’s a Saturday rather than their usual Fridays. Hongjoong couldn’t make it the day before because he promised that he would go visit Seonghwa and Yeosang in the new house they bought recently.

Second, Akemi isn’t present. According to Yunho, she’s off staying the night at a friend’s house for a birthday sleepover, so for the first time ever, Hongjoong is alone with Yunho in the house. He tries to insist that this won’t make anything different between them. It’s just their typical dinner after all, even if Akemi isn’t with them.

“What are your plans for Christmas?” Yunho asks midway through a bite of chicken. To be frank, Hongjoong completely forgot about the holiday. It’s never something huge or drastically special to him, so he pushed the thought of it to the back of his mind, but he should probably start debating what he’s going to be doing since it’s less than a week away now.

“Uh, I’m not sure. I won’t be going home, I know that much. Tickets are too expensive, and it isn’t worth the hassle to go. What about you?”

“I haven’t had time to think about it. Work is always busiest this time of year, but I’ll get some time off starting next week.”

“Not going home?” Hongjoong inquires, glancing over at the man.

“No, not this year. Parents are going to France for a trip so there won’t be anyone to go home to.”

“It’ll just be you and Akemi then?”

“Yup, first time too.”

Hongjoong has an idea. A bad one, but an idea nonetheless.

“If you – I, um, it will be a bit cramped, but you two could come to my place for Christmas?” He sounds too hopeful, and he probably looks a bit desperate with his lower lip caught between his teeth. Yunho cocks his head to the side. The silence that ensues feels like a ton of bricks sitting atop Hongjoong’s chest, and he’s about to backtrack and call the idea stupid when Yunho finally speaks.

“I was going to ask the same of you actually.”

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, y-yeah, uh—”

“Do you want to come over for Christmas, Hongjoong?” Yunho interjects. His gaze pierces the side of Hongjoong’s head, and the older man is certain that he forgets how to breathe for a second.

“I would love that,” he exhales quietly. Yunho hums through another bite of food and continues to finish his meal without mentioning it again, but the smile that lingers on his lips for the rest of dinner has Hongjoong’s heart doing cartwheels and frontflips for too long. They clean the dishes side by side for once. Without one of them needing to tuck Akemi in for the night, they can get the dishes done a lot faster than usual. Still, Hongjoong cannot shake the feeling that something they’re both unaware of is about to happen. Nothing about Yunho’s behavior is different tonight. Hongjoong thinks he’s acting normally himself as well.

So why? Why does this feel so different?

Yunho puts on a movie for the two of them to watch while Hongjoong finishes his one (and only) glass of wine. He might need more than that though because as much as he tries, he cannot tear his eyes away from the man on the other side of the couch. Yunho is far too attractive for his own good, legs splayed wide open and thighs on full display with one hand pressed to his right thigh and the other draped over the back of the couch.

“Are you cold?” Yunho asks after about half an hour of Hongjoong’s wandering eyes and lack of focus on the movie.

“H-Huh?” Hongjoong stammers.

“You keep curling up further and further in that corner of the couch.”

“Oh, I’m – I’m fine. I need to run to the bathroom actually.” Hongjoong bolts up before Yunho can reply, darting away from the living room in his sudden bout of panic. He doesn’t need to go to the bathroom, and Yunho probably knows that; all he needs to do is lecture his reflection in the mirror and tell himself to pull it together. He also wants to plaster the words ‘I’m desperately in love with you’ across his forehead just so that he doesn’t have to confess to Yunho himself.

No, Hongjoong, bad idea.

All Hongjoong does is splash some water across his face before returning to the living room. Yunho has shifted a bit and now has a blanket draped over his legs. When he catches sight of Hongjoong, he offers a grin and pulls the blanket up a tad.

“Just admit you’re cold and get under the blanket with me.”

“Okay,” Hongjoong squeaks out, trying to hide his flushing cheeks from view as he slips under the blanket. The space between their bodies is absolutely minimal now. Hongjoong tries to keep himself as far from Yunho’s body as possible, but he was truly cold and the warmth the blanket provides is really nice. Between the blanket, Yunho, and the soft volume of the television playing in the background, he can’t help but to become more drowsy with each passing second. Yunho’s arm is still on the back of the couch, nearly around Hongjoong’s shoulders, and if he’s honest, Hongjoong is only thinking about that and nothing else.

“For Christmas, do you want me to bring anything?” He asks after a while in a desperate attempt to stay awake. Yunho hums a little, head tilting side to side.

“I can’t think of anything off the top of my head. We can talk about that later on though.” Yunho sounds tired as well, and Hongjoong can’t tell whether that’s a good thing or not. On one hand, if they’re both so tired, it wouldn’t be as awkward to fall asleep like this, but on the other, it would be too intimate given Hongjoong’s feelings for him. “Do you want me to put up any specific decorations?”

“Hm? I don’t have a preference. It’s your home, you can choose whatever you like,” Hongjoong murmurs back, daring to let his head fall closer to Yunho’s shoulder.

“Can I put up mistletoe then?”

“Wh-What?”  That caught Hongjoong’s attention. And woke him up quite a bit too.

“I think you’d look cute under it,” Yunho whispers through a smile, leaning in to speak the words closer to Hongjoong’s mouth. “And it would give me an excuse to kiss you.”

What. What? Passing out seems like a good idea all of a sudden.

“Do you need an excuse?”

“Depends.” Yunho shrugs. The hand resting on the back of the couch falls forward, brushing Hongjoong’s shoulder before coming up to toy with a few strands of his hair.

“What if… what if I ask you to?” Hongjoong wets his lips then drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He doesn’t intend to be so seductive in the action; it’s merely a nervous habit he has, but Yunho watching his mouth move so intently that Hongjoong might melt.

“Are you asking me to?”

“No,” Hongjoong exhales. That catches Yunho a bit off-guard, eyes blinking furiously like he’s misunderstood Hongjoong’s advances and actions this whole time, but the older rushes to finish his thought. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you to kiss me already, Yunho. I’ve waited long enough, no?”

Yunho inhales so sharply that air whistles through his teeth. His eyes search Hongjoong’s features for something else, maybe a sign that he doesn’t mean what he’s saying, but all Hongjoong wears is pure determination and pent-up frustration at taking this long to kiss the man. Yunho curls his fingers in Hongjoong’s hair, gripping it like a vice but not hard enough to cause any pain.

“I didn’t expect you to be the demanding type, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong arches a brow at that and curls his lips enough to be taunting. Apparently, that turns out to be Yunho’s limit because the man finally dips in to close the distance between their mouths. He pulls at Hongjoong’s hair a little harder to get better access to his mouth. Hongjoong is positively floating with even the smallest pressure of the kiss, but when Yunho’s lips slot against his and deepen the pressure, he thinks that there’s no way this is reality. He’s ascended to the last level of heaven and is on his way to paradise, that’s the only explanation for this.

Hongjoong doesn’t remember moving at all but suddenly he’s pushing his way out from under the blanket and straddling Yunho’s hips without missing a beat. Their lips are still connected, thin trails of spit between them that only increase in volume when Hongjoong gets bold enough to swipe his tongue over the younger man’s lip. Yunho uses his free hand to yank the blanket out from between their bodies, letting Hongjoong press closer to his chest in a heated fervor. He can’t seem to move fast enough, nipping at Yunho’s lip until the man gasps. His tongue slips in next and fills the empty space in Yunho’s mouth to clash with the man’s tongue in a show of dominance. He doesn’t get to maintain that dominance for long as it turns out because Yunho gives a sharp tug to Hongjoong’s hair, and it sends a jolt through his body so intense that he forgets where he is and what he’s doing for a split second.

Yunho takes the opportunity to push back against Hongjoong’s tongue and shove his way into the smaller man’s mouth, and fuck, if that’s not the hottest thing he’s ever done, Hongjoong doesn’t know what could possibly top that. Until Yunho slips both hands down his back to secure at his hips with a grip that’s almost bruising in force, that is. That sends Hongjoong to a different plane of existence, but he doesn’t even want to come down from there if it means kissing Yunho like this. Or maybe just kissing him in general. He hasn’t decided.

Yunho decides it’s time to breathe, unfortunately, and Hongjoong has to pull away with no shortage of internal whining because goddammit lungs, hold a bit more air so he can kiss Yunho some more.

“That was nice,” Hongjoong exhales, still staring at the soft glisten of spit on Yunho’s lips. “Can we—”

“I like you, Hongjoong.”

“Y-You what?”

“I like you. In ways I can’t explain and in ways that words can’t describe. Just saying it wouldn’t do my feelings justice, and I-I thought… I hoped to make it clear on your birthday. When you asked me why I came and I said I hoped the gesture would convey my feelings – I should have said it then. I like you, every inch of you, every part of you inside and out, maybe so much so that it’s love.”

Hongjoong huffs out a breath of disbelief, jaw unable to close in his state of shock, and all he can do is bring a trembling hand to where Yunho’s heart lies behind the confines of his chest. Yunho gnaws at his lip. The corners of his mouth turn upward.

Then there's the two of us. This word is far too short for us, it has only four letters, too sparse to fill those deep bare vacuums between the stars that press on us with their deafness.

“I-I’ve liked you for s-so long,” Hongjoong whispers once the initial surprise passes. “I didn’t – I tried talking myself out of it and convincing myself that there was no way you could ever feel the same.”

It's not love we don't wish to fall into, but that fear.

“How could I not when it’s you?” Yunho is holding his cheek now, thumb caressing his face like Hongjoong is a piece of glass in his hands. “You’re… everything I could ever have asked for in a person. Everything and more. I wish I could put it into words – how you make me feel – but the best I can do is say I think I love you.”

This word is not enough but it will have to do.

“I think I love you too.” It scares Hongjoong to admit that out loud; it’s something he could never even let himself say in his thoughts, but Yunho pulls the words from his lips with no effort at all. Like he’s meant to say it.

It's a single vowel in this metallic silence, a mouth that says ‘oh’ again and again in wonder and pain.

His chest burns a little from the heat of all the emotions running through his body. Yunho pulls him closer, one hand still wrapped around Hongjoong’s delicate waist with the other dragging soft patterns over his cheek. They have been this close for so long. They’ve worked in this standstill where they are together but apart, close but far away, and now all that’s left to do is increase the distance or close it forever.

A breath.

It is Hongjoong’s turn to inhale as Yunho sighs over his still-swollen lips.

A finger grip on a cliffside.

The way Yunho’s eyes rake over his face is intimate in a way Hongjoong can’t describe. Yunho almost speaks through only that gaze, like he’s telling – no, asking, pleading, begging Hongjoong to hold onto him and not let go.

You can hold on or let go.

Hongjoong, at last, has decided that he wants to hold on, even if the past has scarred him and the future scares him.

…

Hongjoong arrives outside Yunho’s door on Christmas day with a knot in his stomach that won’t go away. It’s not a bad sort of knot – at least he thinks it isn’t – but it is one that leaves him a bit nervous. The butterfly necklace Yunho gifted him still sits around his neck, not taken off once since Yunho gifted it to him, and the bag of gifts in his hands feels heavier than usual. He and Yunho have spoken since that night, but Hongjoong hasn’t come over again nor have they discussed what the events of that night entail for them moving forward. It would taste a lie on his lips if Hongjoong tried to say that he hasn’t been thinking about kissing Yunho every day since.

“Mr. Hong! You’re here! Mr. Hong is here, Daddy!” The door swings open to reveal Akemi, all dolled up in a precious little plaid dress with small butterfly clips in her hair, and Hongjoong’s nerves melt away at the sight of her bright smile. Then Yunho steps into view, much less dolled up and more looking like he just rolled out of bed five minutes ago, but Hongjoong can’t say that he doesn’t look damn good as it is. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks about the possibility of waking up to a Yunho with bedhead and flushed cheeks.

“Can you take the gifts in for him, Mimi?” Yunho asks, running a hand through Akemi’s hair. She beams back at him and takes the bag in Hongjoong’s hands away without complaint, which leaves Hongjoong suddenly very empty-handed and alone before Yunho. “Hi friend.”

Friend? Hongjoong cocks his head to the side.

“That’s what you said the first time I tried to kiss you,” Yunho explains upon seeing Hongjoong’s confusion.

“Hi friend,” Hongjoong replies through a stretched grin. The sight of Yunho before him is making him feel a bit bold, maybe too reckless, but he rolls with it and stretches up on his tiptoes to place a small kiss on the corner of Yunho’s mouth. “Merry Christmas.”

“We’re not even under the mistletoe yet.”

Hongjoong squints and looks off to the side, pretending to think the words through, then breaks into a broad smile.

“Need an excuse to kiss me then?”

“Never,” Yunho murmurs before dipping in to give Hongjoong a proper kiss on the lips, and it’s everything he could have wanted and more. Everything about Yunho feels safe and warm, like something Hongjoong never wants to let go of, and thankfully Yunho seems to think the same of him as his lips chase after Hongjoong’s when the shorter man pulls away.

“Daddy! Mr. Hong will get cold if you don’t let him in!”

“Yeah, Yunho! Do you want me to get all cold out here?” Hongjoong teases, stepping around Yunho to properly greet Akemi inside.

“I had to wake Daddy up because he was trying to sleep in this morning,” the little girl explains when Hongjoong squats down to be eye level with her.

“Did you? Shame on him! He should know to be up early for Christmas morning!”

“He should! He said he stayed up late, so I think he was trying to spy on Santa.”

“Spy on Santa? My goodness, Yunho, you are causing trouble left and right.”

“Yes, well, Santa and I had to meet up during the night. I had to ask him for one more gift.”

“He didn’t leave any other gifts on the fireplace though, Daddy!” Akemi protests, motioning to the hearth behind her. Yunho blinks at the spot for a moment then turns to look down at Hongjoong with a smile.

“He brought my gift to the door this morning it seems.”

Hongjoong releases a scoff to hide his embarrassment and reaches over to swat at Yunho’s stupidly long legs.

“You’re disgusting!”

“Yeah, Daddy! Ew! Don’t say icky things!” Akemi scrunches up her nose and feigns disgust although Hongjoong isn’t sure she can even understand what Yunho means by his comment, so she might just be playing along with Hongjoong’s show of disgust. Yunho shakes his head a little but relents in his grossly cheesy comments to say something else.

“Mimi, honey, can you run upstairs for a moment? Daddy wants to talk to Mr. Hong in private for a little bit, then when we’re done, we can open up all the presents!”

“Okay, Daddy! Can I play with my dolls while I wait?”

“Of course, baby, go ahead. Run, run! We won’t be long, I promise!” Yunho shoos the little girl off, watching her bound up the stairs with nothing but fondness in his eyes, and he continues to stare after her even after Hongjoong pushes himself to his feet.

“Talk in private?” Hongjoong asks.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was going to wait until after gifts and such but… you decided to kiss me right off the bat, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus after that.”

“Are you saying that I’m distracting, Mr. Jeong?”

“In more ways than one, absolutely.” Yunho draws his lips into a tight purse then presses them into a thin line in the same motion. “What do you want us to be, Hongjoong?”

That’s… not the question Hongjoong was expecting.

“I’m content with it being up to you,” he whispers in response.

“If – so if I asked for us to be exclusive, what would you say?” Hongjoong’s heart leaps in his chest.

“Say the word and I’m yours, Yunho.”

“Well, you can’t say things like that. I’ll lose all my inhibitions before noon,” Yunho chuckles, dipping his head to his chest. Hongjoong takes a step closer to him and closes a bit of the distance between their bodies. He lifts a hand in a sudden bout of confidence and cups Yunho’s cheek.

“I want to be yours and only yours. Even if I’m scared of the future and what it holds, I don’t want to lose what we have or what we could have. So if you would have me, I will gladly be yours for as long as you want me.”

“And if I happen to want you forever?”

“Then you’re stuck with me,” Hongjoong murmurs. The undisclosed promises in those words sting a bit, memories of the past threatening to resurface until Yunho chases them away with his next words.

“Do you – do you want me as well?”

“I want you,” he whispers while the confidence still lasts. He delivers a quick kiss to the tip of Yunho’s nose. “I like you—” another to his right cheek “—I need you—” one where his thumb ends and Yunho’s skin begins “—and I’m madly in love with you, Jeong Yunho.”

It’s good that Hongjoong has nothing else to say because Yunho cuts off his air, lips smashing hard against his with an almost bruising force, and Hongjoong could almost cry because of all the emotions built up in his chest. He scrambles to wrap his arms around Yunho’s neck as the other man deepens the kiss. His back curls hard to press himself fully against Yunho. There’s a certain kind of desperation in his body, one that just makes him want to pull Yunho closer and kiss him for hours on end. Even if it’s not their first kiss or their last, Hongjoong cherishes it nonetheless. They only pull apart when every ounce of air has left their bodies and they’re on the verge of blacking out. Yunho gasps for air, huffing in deep breaths stolen from Hongjoong’s exhales, and it’s too close, too intimate, too everything. Hongjoong doesn’t want it to stop even for a second.

“Good because I’m in love with you too, Hongjoong. And I plan to continue loving you for as long as I can.”

He would like to think that there are unspoken promises in those words as well, ones that only the two of them know, but for now, Hongjoong will live in this moment as long as he can without thinking about the past or the future. He has Yunho now, and that's enough for him.

..

a/n: hi wow yes you made it to the end of this fic!! this is officially the longest standalone fic i’ve ever written and god it’s long as hell and took the life out of me but i absolutely adore this fic and am very proud of it and myself for finishing it! i hope you all enjoy as much as i do :c

[eirian-houpe]

I’d love to hear about your experience teaching in Cairo. How did you come to do that? What were your favorite and least favorite parts of it? And anything else you want to share!

Oh my goodness, where would I even start? It's quite the story, and it was quite the experience.  Let's start at the beginning... that seems sensible.

Before I was able to immigrate to the USA (another long story, perhaps for another time), I used to live in England. Through a long series of circumstances, which can basically be summed up by "US immigration rules," I ended up resigning from my full time UK teaching position. Finding a new job when the promised immigration did not happen was nigh on impossible. Then, one day I received a phone call from an agency who had seen my resume online and wondered if I would be interested in a teaching position that had just become vacant in Cairo, Egypt. After much deliberation - quite angsty deliberation as it turned out, I said I would be interested, and here's where everything gets head-spinningly fast.

As near as I can remember the details, I interviewed with the headmaster of the school via skype on a Tuesday. I was offered the position on the Thursday, and accepted the day after, following more soul searching. Later that day I received the E-ticket for the flight to Cairo, which was for the following Tuesday. I basically had the weekend to pack, and prepare myself to move.

The arrangements were that I would be met by a driver at Cairo airport, and driven to the hotel where I would be living for the first few days, until the school provided accommodation. So, I arrived in Cairo close to midnight, expecting to see a little guy holding up a board with my name on.

Nope!

After much wandering around, and with fewer people at the airport, I FINALLY found a dude wearing a CES shirt. (Cairo English School). He spoke no English. I spoke no Arabic. He called someone from the school and we were finally able to communicate via the third party... and I was at last taken to the hotel.  I remember thinking as we drove along that this could all be a ruse, and I could be taken away for human trafficking or murder or whatever. So arriving at the hotel was a HUGE relief.

The following morning, I was picked up by the school bus and driven to the school, quick chat with the Headmaster, and then introduced to the team I'd be a part of. There was a British ex-pat who had married a local, converted to Islam, and was quite the whirlwind. Her name was Sarah. An older gent on the team, think... grumpy old man, and you'd be right.  (Brian) and a guy called Mark who I bonded with almost right away. Turns out that I was replacing a guy who had been fired because of parents complaints about his conduct with the kids.

Literally, I was dropped in at the deep end. Met my class and was expected to teach. Teaching was through English language. On the whole they were good kids.  There are always one or two trouble makers in any class, but it wasn't bad.  They were lively though... a lot of them wouldn't stop talking, one kid in particular, who, after a few days I grew impatient with, and just told him to "Zip it!"  After school that day, my friend Mark took me to one side and suggested that I find a different way to get the kid to shut up. He explained that (close as makes no different), in Egyptian Arabic Zip-it meant 'Penis'  Mortified.  Yes!  After that, I adopted 'Button it!' Much safer. I also decided that learning some Egyptian Arabic might be an idea, and soon!

The next problem came when it was time for me to move out of the hotel into the school provided apartment... except there WAS no apartment. Apparently someone had missed the memo and nothing had been arranged - and now there were no remaining apartments. They said I could stay at the hotel, but I'd have to pay.

Nope!  Enter whirlwind Sarah to the rescue.  She lived in an apartment in a gated community called El ReHab. (Yes, we had fun with that one.  I ended up living in Rehab). She knew a guy that had an apartment. She took me under her wing... had the guy meet us at the place, which wasn't quite ready (needed a good clean) for me to move in, but which was affordable (i.e. would be covered by the housing allowance paid by the school), was in a relatively safe area, (being a gated community and all), and wasn't bad. I have some pictures somewhere, I'll have to see if I can find them.  It had a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen/lounge separated by 'breakfast bar' It also had a washing machine - lifesaver. There was a balcony outside of the bedroom, and while we were there looking around, there was a tiny mewling sound. Turns out a kitten was stuck on the balcony. I would have loved to keep it, but I didn't because, what would I do after a year?  (Contract with the school was for 1 year). Sarah rehomed the little tyke.

The supermarket, and the Souk were within walking distance, although there was a (free) bus service within the city, and the number 5 bus went to and from the shopping district to my apartment area. (five is 0 in Arabic). I pretty quickly learned numbers. A must, because most of the shop keepers chose not to use English - and I guess why should they - even though they knew it. So, unless you could see the display on the register when you were shopping, it was hard to know how much the total was.  However, the cost of living, (in comparison with the US) was RIDICULOUSLY low.  For example, my monthly electricity bill came to the equivalent of about $5 US.

So it wasn't ALL bad - contrary to the way it might sound. Great kids, a good team, and the chance to learn another new language (and I love languages). I'd say I learned 'survival' Arabic at best, and can fully empathize with kids coming in to school as ESL. Sadly through misuse, I've forgotten most of what I learned. I remember 'I want...' and 'I don't want...' (Ana isa & Ana mish-isa respectively). I could probably still count to ten if I really think about it. But with my love of languages, I think this had to have been one of my favorite parts of being there.

Least favorite - being the object of racism - it's way different when you're treated that way, and makes you appreciate what others go through. I was once asked to leave my classroom (I was grading at the back of the class while the Arabic Studies teacher was teaching the lesson). The reason I was asked to leave was because I was not Muslim.

Most surprising - the cold. Say Egypt to most people and they think hot country. Deserts are DAMN cold at night... and in the winter... OMFG.  I literally had to sit 2 feet away from the space heater, wrapped in a blanket to stay warm.  Why?  Well the apartment was built to keep inhabitants cool in the height of summer... (because when it was hot, it was hot!). It was all marble floors and wall tiles, and not at all good for keeping heat in when it was needed.

Where other countries have 'snow days' etc., Egypt has 'sandstorm days'

Most disturbing - when I was there it wasn't long after the revolution, so there would be some days when we would get a call from the school to stay in our apartments and that there would be no school that day due to unrest in the society.

Also, one morning, I saw a man on campus who had a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. Of course I reported it to the headmaster right away, and it was investigated.  Turns out that it was a plain clothes policeman.

Would I go back?  I want to visit for a vacation some day, do all the things that I didn't get to do because I was too busy teaching. The most touristy thing I got to do while I was there was a boat trip on the Nile.  It was a school field trip for geography lesson, and it was in the heart of Cairo.  Let me tell you, that water was NASTY.

Would I want to live/work there again.  No, really I wouldn't. And driving in Cairo... Hell no! New York driving x10 doesn't even come close... maybe if you crossed NY driving with Stock Car racing, you'd come close. Those drivers are SCARY!

It was an experience, and I don't really regret doing it. I think I learned a lot from being there... about people, and about myself.

Thank you for a brilliant ask!

[doomedandstoned]

10,000 Years Take Us Into The "Gargantuan Forest"

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

Review by Billy Goate

Album Art by Francesco Bauso

Leaving the world For salvation yonder Quest for eternity To suns beyond

Gazing upon our past Out into forever To a future obscured What glory awaits?

To begin another week of awesome original content at Doomed & Stoned, we're getting you better acquainted with the Swedish juggernaut 10,000 YEARS.

Last summer, the band dropped their eponymous debut to welcome ears and in just a few short weeks 10,000 Years come roaring back with a follow-up. Y'all know I'm a sucker for a good concept album. The eight-track full-length record 'II' (2021) picks up the trail of the Albatross research vessel, which has been galavanting 'cross the nether reaches of the galaxy on a potent rocket fuel made of sludgy stoner rock and doom metal.

If that sounds epic, wait'll you get a load of what's next for our interstellar crew. It helps if you picture the following text as a Star Wars-style screen crawl, slowly working its way up the page against the backdrop of a starry night.

After narrowly escaping the confines of the strange planet and its surrounding dimension, the Albatross and its crew finally return home to Earth. The re-entry is rough and the ship crashlands in a forest. The earth that greets them is vastly different from the one that they left.

When the ship travelled back to earth through the wormhole, it created a rift in the space-time continuum which propelled them far into the future, as well as allowing the Green King and other ancient gods from the other dimension to cross over to our dimension. They have since taken control of not only the earth, but the entire solar system.

After various harrowing experiences and encounters, the truth finally dawns on the surviving members of the crew. They are indeed back on earth, but ten thousand years in the future from when they started their journey. And to make matters worse, they find evidence that the Green King has been known and worshipped by secret cults and societies on earth for millenia, since before humankind even existed.

The surviving members of the crew come to the conclusion that the only way to set things right again is to repair the Albatross and take it back through the rift again in order to close it.

Now that's a saga I'm ready to get invested in. George Lucas, eat your heart out!

The record revs to a start with "Descent," a track that can best be described as terrific panic. It had me thinking of KOOK's "Escape Velocity" from their recent second album, though that's an eight-and-a-half minute slow burn and this is a quick twenty-six second fall from the sky. I wish this little notion had a chance to develop into something longer, but regardless what a thrilling way to open an album!

With rapt attention, I'm waiting to hear what comes next. The ship seems to have crash landed deep inside a "Gargantuan Forest." As an aside, it would be a blast to smoke a bowl o' something (anything, really) with Erik Palm (guitar), Alex Risberg (bass, vox), and Espen Karlsen (drums) just to gab it up a bit about sci-fi lit and horror flicks. I mean, check out the trove of B-movie greats referenced in their preface to the new single (which Doomed & Stoned is debuting today):

In this ABSURD (1981) video, 10,000 Years enter a FOREST OF FEAR (1980) as they access THE BEYOND (1981) and enter a BLOODBATH (1971) with THE BOOGEY MAN (1980), otherwise known as the Espbeast. The Espbeast stalks and haunts the bodies and minds of the characters in this C-grade homage to the horror movies of yesteryear.

The characters FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE (1976) through insane NIGHTMARES IN A DAMAGED BRAIN (1981). If they survive the AXE (1974) they may still end up in an INFERNO (1980) and risk being EATEN ALIVE (1976). All the same risks face the viewer, so don’t watch with the lights out, don’t watch by yourself and DON’T GO IN THE WOODS ALONE (1981). Because after all, isn’t there an Espbeast in all of us?

10,000 Years have picked the ideal setting for the music video. The forests of Sweden stand tall and dark, the ground packed with snow. Screw you, Blair Witch Project -- this is where I want the next found footage flick filmed!

The song opens with a mysterious theme on solitary electric strings, surrounded by hazy reverberation. Drums and bass accent the motif as it's repeated several times over. Dazed by their graceless fall to earth, the crew wander about, checking one another for injuries, seeing if the faithful Albatross has even hope of another journey. As the shock begins to wear off, their hopeless plight reveals itself.

Screaming from the sky Blasting through the atmosphere

Come to rest On the forest floor Still alive What fresh new hell is this?

Surrounded by swamps A strange bleeding from the earth

Giant trees A dense horror taking root Same old sun Unfamiliar rays shine down

Is there something lurking about in the Gargantuan Forest? I'm sure no one wants to wait until nightfall to find out! The so-called "Espbeast" (which the band may actually have been first to name) is more than likely some strange amalgamation of guitar and creature, ripping through foes like a berserker of sound with scraps of High on Fire's "10,000 Years" echoing perversely through the treetops as it stalks and ultimately slays you. Nobody wants to be around when the Espbeast is on the prowl.

Now see, I'm letting my imagination get carried away! Then again, maybe that's what the band had planned all along -- for listeners to join in the fantastic adventures of these cosmonauts, to see through their eyes and feel through their body as they touch foot to strange soil. What will our adventurers find next?

The answer comes all too soon: "Spinosaurus!" This gruff beast charges angrily through the woods knocking things about, displacing rocks, snapping branches, royally pissed and ready to make somebody pay for the noise that snatched him away from a damned good nap. The repeated note riff, with its odd strumming pattern, does a nifty job of representing the crude movements of the Spinosaurus as it lumbers about the forest. Eric is a virtuosic mess of frantic tremeloes and wiry noodling against Espen's stampeding drums, as Alex narrates the scene with a terrifying shout:

Is this our earth? No time to dwell Dorsal sail cutting air Cretaceous ghost made flesh

Staring into Dead end eyes No place to hide Theropodic annihilation

Teeth into flesh!

What the crew is experiencing on their homeworld thus far seems foreign, almost ancient. Through some curse of Einstenian logic have we zipped through a wormhole only to return to the distant past? "The Mooseriders" are about to challenge our assumptions about what's possible on this Rock.

Thundering hooves crack the sky Dark robed wizards appear in the light Travellers in ether descending Protectors of the realm

These are the oath-bound eternals -- interdimensional templars, if you will -- who have arrived at this precise moment in time to take on the Green King. Complex rhythmic drumming with precisely stricken odd beats, is accompanied by a hyperactive bass and progressive metal riffmaking. Together, the band conjures the trot and hustle of the approaching entourage. A wilding guitar heralds a message from the great protectors:

The hour draws near The endgame is nigh Divine prophecy Even death may die

The mood now turns stately. A brave theme is introduced and developed with dashing prowess. This track would fit perfectly into a playlist with Mastodon, Ape Cave, and Zirakzigil. I found Alex's vocal approach especially appropriate for the frantic depiction of "antlers clashing with steel" in this battle to the finish. "Even death...may...DIE!"

"Angel Eyes" greet us on the B-side, and it's not a cover of the Jerry Cantrell song (though that would have been unexpectedly awesome). No, the hard-charging mood and raspy vocals are pointing to something far more apocalyptic.

Hooves of burning coal Let loose upon the world

Return of the warlord Eternal fire scorches the earth

Heavenly gaze Order through chaos

At times Alex seems exasperated, practically out of breath, as he gives these dire words his all. It's a style the 10,000 Years frontman owns as well as his counterpart, Simon Ohlsson of Vokonis, who has a comparable vocal attack. A bass-fortified guitar establishes a second theme that adds a Wagnarian touch of high drama, and this ushers in the song's curtain fall.

If 10,000 Years is to be compared with High On Fire at all, the rumbling riffstorm "March Of The Ancient Queen" surely merits it (to say nothing of their mutual love of alternative histories).

Her royal blood Once ruled these lands Generations Buried by time Dynasty of dust Rise from the sands Rise from the dead The Green King's servant

March!

March Of The Ancient Queen - Single by 10,000 Years

That last lyric is uttered with the most blood-curdling all-caps conviction that I was immediately drawn into its sentiment, miming "Maaaaarrrrrch!" with my ugliest war face on every time it came up in the song. The NWOBHM-style finish is so deftly executed that it comes across as orchestral. 10,000 Years paint with big, bold strokes here.

"Prehuman Walls" is a welcome shift down, with its chugging "Bury Me In Smoke" tempo. You sludge fiends will find moments of Zen here, with riffs that bend and twist and saw 'neath the summer sun. The crew have chanced upon a temple of sorts, though not one made with human hands. Nothing seems to make sense here at all. It's like Area X from the film Annihilation (2017), where everything is a contortion of reality. Then the "truth settles in." This alien monstrosity, we find, bears the mark of the sinister Green King. We thought we'd escaped him, only to find that he both followed us and was here millenia before.

Unholy worship Feed the Green King Eyes pried open Sanity stripped away

At last, we reach the final track in our journey: "Dark Side Of The Earth". So many revelations have been made in this second chapter, so many loose ends that need to be tied off. Naturally, a third chapter must be written. "We must go back, set it right," deliberates an exasperated Albatross crew. "We must go back, whence we came."

Dimension walls broken down The fabric ripped and torn apart Thread the needle once again A journey of ten thousand years

We must go back, set it right We must go back, through the tears

Insanity the only way The dark side of the earth

Following these words, the song develops instrumentally and the mood gets quite emotional. I found myself drawing parallels between this "bastard version of earth" and our own, wondering if we ever can go back and make it right. For us, perhaps it should be about moving forward, for there is no golden age or better time to which we can return. We make this world a heaven or hell tomorrow by the choices made today.

The album was recorded by Tomas Skogsberg at Studio Sunlight. Totally diggin the awesomely swamp landscape that Francesco Bauso of Negative Crypt Artwork created. It reminds the five-year old me of Luke's sopping wet landing on Dagobah, though guitarist Alex Risberg says the band's more inspired by Planet of the Apes than by Star Wars.

The album will be released on June 25th as a special vinyl "Green King Edition" by Interstellar Smoke Records pre-order here), a cassette tape "Forest Edition" from Ogo Rekords (pre-order here) and "Swamp Edition" from Olde Magick Records pre-order here), with the digital and compact disc formats handled by Death Valley Records (pre-order here).

10,0000 Years have in II their most accomplished album to date, with powerful moments that will stay with you long after the record's stopped spinning. Fans of High On Fire, Black Tusk, and The Sword listen up! You might just discover your next favorite band.

Give ear...

10,000 Years - Gargantuan Forest (Music Video)

Some Buzz

Having previously played together in the original lineup of Swedish underground heavyweights Pike, Erik Palm (Guitars) and Alex Risberg (Bass/vocals) found their way back to each other, musically, in early 2020. The creative fire reignited and stoked to a burning inferno and through a mutual love of heavy riffs and thundering stoner rock, doom, and sludge metal, 10,000 Years was born. Finding a drummer would prove to be an easy task and with Espen Karlsen the final piece lay firmly in place. The groove they fell into during the first rehearsal hasn’t stopped rumbling since.

After spending the first-half of 2020 writing and rehearsing, 10,000 Years recorded their self-titled debut EP during one weekend in June in the legendary Studio Sunlight with equally legendary producer Tomas Skogsberg. The self-titled EP was released on July 10th and immediately struck a chord with the heavy underground worldwide, and 10,000 Years garnered rave reviews and accolades.

10,000 Years by 10,000 Years

10,000 Years' musical and lyrical world revolves around the tale of the terran class III exploration vessel Albatross and its mission to explore the Milky Way and nearby galaxies in search for a possible new home for humanity. The EP tells the tale of its first foray into space and what happens when the crew accidentally travel through a wormhole and end up in an adjacent dimension populated by ancient gods and giant beings, ruled by the Green King. The EP ends with “From Suns Beyond,” where the crew make it off from the strange planet, back out into space in search of a way back home. The new album picks up the story as the Albatross blasts through the atmosphere of a seemingly unknown planet and crashlands headfirst into strange new adventures.

II by 10,000 Years

Now, less than a year after their first release, 10,000 Years are back with their first full-length effort, aptly titled 'II' (2021). Picking up right where the EP left off, II continues the story of the ill-fated Albatross mission and its exploration of time and space through a skull-crushing mixture of stoner rock, doom, and sludge metal. The album will no doubt continue to build on 10,000 Years' already golden reputation and prove to be an even bigger hit with the heavy masses.

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[rkivepacks]

TITLE: In the blurry memories from the other side of my dreams Originally posted on: AO3/dtgloss Pairing: taekook/kookv/vkook (Kim Taehyung & Jeon Jeongguk) Rating: PG13 Genre: Fluff Word Count: 2,889 Trigger Warning/s: Swearing Disclaimer: Title is from Lucid Dream - Monogram. This work is solely from the idea of the author. Should there be similarities with the works of other respected artists are purely unintentional. This also do not reflect on the real lives of the artists portrayed in this work. Comments, suggestions and any other concerns are accepted in my inbox. Thank you! 

[See all works here]

Summary: Jeongguk, Taehyung learns, has a habit of cancelling plans. Plans that were predetermined by Taehyung’s dreams. In his defense, he was not aware that Taehyung has these kinds of dreams. Jeongguk, Taehyung learns, can prove that habits, in fact don’t die hard. or the au where taehyung’s dreams become reality and jeongguk accidentally stops them from becoming a reality until one day he doesn’t that nobody honestly asked for

He remembers this. He learned the difference between deja vu and his dreams when he sees them, or dreams about them, rather. Taehyung would like to think it just happened and not some kind of accident where he hit his head and suddenly he happens to dream about things that eventually becomes real or some asteroid shit he stumbled upon when he was thirteen suddenly gave him his supposed talent. He noticed the pattern when his dreams become real, and he admits quite a handful cant be that pretty. He also learns how to use them to his advantage.

Like that one time he had a dream where his boyfriend in twelfth grade had dumped him. He had four days to prepare himself from the classic ‘it’s not working out’. Or that one time he saw Jimin getting into a compromising situation, prompting his best friend to be careful if he won’t let Taehyung stop him from going to that one club.

And this, he remembers. A dream he once had involves him performing in a theater, a full house at that. He remembers it being a musical. He also remembers the reason why he ended up as a performer is this. He also remembers the most memorable part of his dream - he was apparently romantically involved with the other lead actor who plays the role of the other half of his character.

However, this he does not remember. He does not get along with the said co-actor.

“He’s still salty not getting my role, hyung.” He grumbles for the second time when his Namjoon hyung insists the said co-actor was probably pining for him, because who the fuck goes behind your back and bad mouths about you to the director? Surely not someone who likes you, and your supposed other half as his dream told him. He feels quite betrayed that his dream did not tell him about the said asshole, or maybe he does not remember at all.

Taehyung eyes the milk he badly wants to have, weighing the pros and cons of having it the morning he needs to leave for the call time of his show that day and the consequence of being lactose intolerant before he runs up to his room to grab his bag. He reminds Namjoon of the tickets he reserved for them and that he put them inside his bag already because, hyung if you lose them I will strangle you with the curtains, and leaves his apartment.

Taehyung’s favorite part of being a theater performer is the adreline rush behind the curtains that just closed, signaling the end of the performance. It was a good mess, people congratulating each other, talks of the next performance, and the food. Taehyung was in the middle of texting his friends to wait for him in the lobby so they can all walk to dinner when Director Kang knocks on his dressing room, with people towing behind.

“Kim Taehyung, playing one of the main roles.” Said the director who introduced him to the three people standing near the couch inside his dressing room. One of them was also a director, one he recognizes from the plays he may have seen in the past, the stage manager for this very play he just performed in and -

“Jeon Jeongguk. He was supposed to play the role of Cunnings.” There was a hint of regret in Director Kang’s voice and oh, honestly.

“Really? Why didn’t you?” Taehyung asks just because, why the fuck?

“Minor accident. I insisted on pushing through with rehearsals but recovery will take up half of it.” Jeongguk explains, noticing the inner turmoils inside Taehyung’s head. “Congratulations by the way.” He offers to which Taehyung gratefully accepts with sincere appreciation.

This, Taehyung doesn’t remember. He feels betrayed by his dream because honestly, not informing me of this important information? Life threatening.

Taehyung finds himself explaining what took place in his dressing room to his friends because, Jimin, I could have saved him.

“What are you gonna do? Stop the car? Take the hit? Push him behind you?” Namjoon snorts, followed by a horrible rendition of his infamous line “Why did you do it?” from one of his plays before where he was stabbed and died.

The Performing Arts Theatre has a small community, they would see each other again. Just wait, soulmate.

_______________________________________

They had met sooner than they think. It was at the audition of the next major play for the First Quarter of next year. Going through heaps of aspiring actors aiming to earn a role for the major play.

Taehyung had a dream about this. Which is why he came prepared in the form of his best clothes he only wears for his dates. Namjoon thinks he is being a flirt and straightforward, to which Seokjin adds gayforward, Namjoon. Taehyung is gay as fuck. Taehyung thinks he is smart and Namjoon is a little bitch.

Which is why, Taehyung sits at the table with the profiles of the actors in front of him and Jeongguk to his right, in his all black glory. They have shared glances and notes in the first half of the auditions and Jeongguk even got him a water bottle that Taehyung contemplates bringing home with him, because you gotta save the environment and all that shit yadda yadda.

Taehyung had a dream about this. Jeongguk sitting across from him at the sizzling plate diner 2 blocks away from the theatre. Jeongguk talks about the newly-opened diner that was on its soft-opening that he wanted to try, and Taehyung doesn’t wonder why the other members of the panel were not invited because he honestly couldn’t care. Not when Jeongguk has been laughing at him as he blame Jeongguk for leaving him to work with an asshole.

“I met him also. Was a bit smug he got the role instead of me.” He chides.

“He sucks. I just hope he wouldn’t be in the first quarter productions.” Said Taehyung.

“You said you had a minor accident? That’s why you didn’t get to play my other half.” Taehyung bites his burger, still guilt-tripping his future man (he damn will be, Jimin. Watch me).

“I fell funny during dance practice. Therapy kind of took a long time and its compromising with rehearsals. I told them I could do it. Doctor said I’m annoying as fuck.” And maybe Jeongguk made up the last part just to see Taehyung laugh.

Taehyung can’t remember if he had a dream about this. But he doesn’t care. Not when they had to go back to the theatre to be in the second half of the auditions. Not when Jeongguk walked him to his car and got his number. Not when Jeongguk hugged him before he left. Not when he bursted through his apartment and hit Jimin’s back with the door knob and got hit by the slippers because sue him. He’s met the love of his life (My Dream, 2014), he’s happy. Contented--

Jeongguk also ignores the way he doesn’t feel guilty that his packed lunch soiled inside his bag just to get lunch with Taehyung. He also ignores the way Director Kang was looking when he said he had to be somewhere for lunch and had to quickly leave with Taehyung without them knowing. He also ignores the script he needed to memorize just to construct the first message to Taehyung.

“Taehyung what if he’s being nice. You work together.” Jimin says with a pout. The one where he’s honestly just trying to ruin Taehyung’s fun.

“My dreams said otherwise. She also said fuck you Jimin.”

“You knew each other for only a week.” Namjoon adds, breaking Taehyung’s train of thoughts where he had already planned their wedding, their honeymoon in Malta, their first two children named Taehan and Jungmin.

“He’s probably already taken or straight.”

“You’re paying for my fucking drinks tomorrow or I’m stealing your m&m’s stash” Taehyung makes sure of the threat with the force of the pillow he threw aimed at Jimin’s dick.

—————————————————————

“What’s your star sign, Tae?”

“Capricorn. Why?”

“I can trust you. Good to know.” Also good to know we’re compatible, Jeongguk adds.

“And you, Jeonniboy? You act like you’re an Earth sign.”

“Virgo.”

“Ah, kinky.” Taehyung inappropriately comments, making the two of them laugh in the middle of Burger King.

“I’d like to defy stereotypes for us virgos and prove we’re fun. Would you grant me the honor of having a drink with you this Thursday?” Jeongguk inquires, raising an eyebrow, getting too close for Taehyung’s health.

“Is that where you bring your dates?”

“Yeah I get them drunk and dump their bodies behind the bar. Don’t tell anyone.”

“You’re killing the person who’s willing to dispatch a dead body for you?” Taehyung tries his best to sound hurt.

“We’ll if you bring bleach I’ll reconsider.”

“Cut up the bodies and I’ll bring the plastic bag.” Taehyung sounds serious, earning a strange look from the table beside them.

Thursday morning comes too quick but Jeongguk doesn’t mind. He may have prayed for it to come quick but no one questions him aside from Yoongi, who has been judging him for being awake before ten in the morning.

His phone lights up with a message from Taehyung, saying ‘Mind if I bring friends? You can say no, I can tie them up and hide the keys.’ to which he replies with ‘as long as I still have your attention. And because I’m competitive, I’ll also come bearing gifts.’

Fast forward to the night they see each other, respective friends in tow, the group quickly falls deep into conversation. Taehyung sits in the outer part of the booth, with the excuse of having low control for peeing, and Jeongguk excuses himself to the bathroom and comes back to a different seat, now parallel to Taehyung. The two have been in a competition on who can stay sober the longest without having to stop drinking, and Taehyung never failed to give his attention to Jeongguk.

Their current game is a staring contest, where nobody won because Jimin just had to ask-

“do you want a separate table?” Really loudly, gathering the attention of everyone at the table, and snickering.

“Jimin, eat.” Taehyung warns, shoving a big chunk of bulgogi inside Jimin’s mouth, Hoseok laughing really loudly at him.

Jeongguk looks to his left where Yoongi sits, eyeing him that’s almost teasing.

“Hyung, also want one?” Jeongguk threatens, pulling a tight smile, as he picks up a rather bigger chunk of bulgogi.

The night ended with Jeongguk walking Taehyung, helping him pull a very drunk Jimin to his car.

“Designated driver?” Jeongguk asks as Jimin hit his head on the door and Taehyung nods. “Want me to drive you?”

“It’s fine I can manage. You need rest.” Taehyung shrugs, opening the door to his side.

“Text me when you get home.” Said Jeongguk, who later on adds, “please” earning a chuckle from Taehyung.

“You too, please.” And Taehyung would like to think he had a dream about this, of Jeongguk diminishing the space between them to place a kiss on his cheek, and he knows he did not imagine it when his body tilted back a little because of the force. He helpes Taehyung get inside, watching him drive away, before walking back to his own car where Yoongi had been waiting for him, threatening to leave with his car.

—————————————————————

Taehyung and Jeongguk have been locked up in the latter’s apartment since the latter had called Taehyung to come help him practice his lines, and Taehyung agreed, will always agree to Jeongguk’s wishes. They had been throwing lines back and forth, Taehyung looking down at the slightly tattered script while forcing Jeongguk to drop scripts.

“Hyung, do you want brownies?” Jeongguk suddenly asks.

“That’s not a part of the script.” Taehyung replies and Jeongguk throws the softest pillow. “You bake?” He gapes.

“Hell no. It’s pre-mix.” Jeongguk yelps as he gets a slap on his thighs.

The two has long abandoned the script and made a bee line towards the kitchen, where Jeongguk has started mixing the butter with the brownie mix and Taehyung sits at the counter top for moral support. His best role.

“Taste.” Jeongguk has his point finger covered in the brownie mix near Taehyung’s lips and the latter tries not to jump the opportunity that quick. “Good?”

“Tasty.” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows, earning a chuckle and a flush from Jeongguk.

Jeongguk assigns Taehyung the task of mixing the batter while he prepares the oven only to turn around and catches Taehyung dipping his finger on the brownie mix and what seems to be not the first time he’s been doing it. Taehyung has his fingers mid-way to his mouth newly-dipped, covered in brownie mix when Jeongguk gets a grip of his arm, halting his actions causing Taehyung to jolt.

“Traitor.” Jeongguk grumbles playfully, contradicting his first action by guiding Taehyung’s hand to his mouth. And Taehyung, who got a slightly horrible hand-eye coordination, missed his aim a little, a slight whip of the mix getting to his chin, making Jeongguk chuckle. Taehyung, with flushed cheeks and brownies on his chin, aims to wipe it off with his free hand, and Jeongguk with his fast reflex catches his other arm, causing him to practically back hug Taehyung.

“I’ll get it for you.” Jeongguk mumbles, leaning down to wipe the mix on Taehyung’s chin with his own lips, pausing for two seconds, before moving closer to the corner of Taehyung’s lips.

And Taehyung is glad he did not dream of this. Glad he knew he was gonna make a little mess of himself. Glad that Jeongguk was there to clean up for him. Glad of his own way of helping Taehyung. And suddenly, Taehyung has 20 ideas of ending the script he was trying to write.

The smell of the butter pre-heating in the oven pulled Jeongguk away and he’s glad. He wouldn’t know how to explain his actions to Taehyung. “Set up the console?” He asks Taehyung as he pulled away, putting a safe distance between them, before grabbing the brownie mix and turning to the oven.

Later that night, the two (unsurprisingly) are sitting too close to each other, with Jeongguk sitting behind Taehyung, who was sitting between his legs, in an intense game of the classic overwatch. Hoseok comes home and sees the two in a slightly out of context position before turning on his heels quite fast, with the excuse, oh shit, I left my wallet at Yoongi’s. Jeongguk ignores how the back pocket of the older is bulging with his said missing wallet. He doesn’t care. He’s contented.

That night, Taehyung left his apartment with packed brownies and a kiss more secured than the one they shared earlier in the kitchen and Taehyung goes home with a bounce in his steps, wallowing in happiness while munching the brownies, swatting Namjoon’s hand when he tried to sneak a small piece, claiming they are pot brownies.

That night, Taehyung dreams of a laid back date with Jeongguk, going to see a much-anticipated play that was half and an hour away from where they are and a dinner at that damn diner that was still on it’s soft-opening. Taehyung wakes up in the morning with a to-do list that includes preparing his outfit and a rehearsal to attend to. The following night, Taehyung’s dreams include Jeongguk bringing him donuts and milk tea for a working breakfast while the two sit in another auditions, and another intense game of fortnite in his apartment.

————————————————

Jeongguk, Taehyung learns, has a habit of cancelling plans. Plans that were predetermined by Taehyung’s dreams. In his defense, he was not aware that Taehyung has these kinds of dreams. Jeongguk, as Taehyung’s dream told him, had rightfully brought him his donuts and a milk tea. However, Jeongguk couldn’t attend the second half of the auditions, as he needed to oversee the technical dress rehearsal of the major play of a close friend directing the said play.

————————————————

Jeongguk, Taehyung learns, can prove that habits, in fact don’t die hard. The former had sent him a text that says I’m picking you up, is thirty minutes enough? to which he replied sure, before screaming and scrambling for his closet in panic. Taehyung sure is wearing the outfit he has prepared the morning after he had the dream where they had a date.

“Where are we going, good sir?” He asks Jeongguk who chuckles.

“Just somewhere.” He shrugs. And Taehyung knows. Knows what they’ll do, where they’re going.

The night happened just as it did in his dream. Turns out the play they have seen was the one Jeongguk was overseeing that one time they had to cancel their second date (as Taehyung’s dream called it). However, Taehyung’s dream purposely left out the part where Jeongguk has his hand wrapped around Taehyung’s the entire time. Or the random kiss he received in the middle of the play (Taehyung swore he cried because of the scene). It also left out the part where Jeongguk stayed the night in his apartment, Jimin and Namjoon caught in the act of munching over his brownies, the one he baked with the person sitting beside him, arms wrapped around him.

[end]

[ladybaelish]

I’m Comin Over (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Rating: T

MC is Alex Coleman 

It’s my first time writing something for Open Heart! Hope yall like this. :) This piece was inspired by the song I’m Comin’ Over by Chris Young. Seriously, that song has Ethan x MC post chapter 17 written all over it. 

________________________________________________________________

One week.

It had been one week since the hearing. One week since successfully curing Naveen. One week since Naveen announced he would be coming back to Edenbrook - albeit not to his former position of Head of Diagnostics, but to Administration as Chief of Medicine. No, that burden had fallen to him. It had been one week since he had involuntarily been pushed to the position of Head of Diagnostics; and of course, it had been one week since Alex Coleman came to his team as a Junior Doctor.

Truthfully, Ethan was content with how things had turned out in the end. Naveen, his mentor and only father-figure was alive and well and back in his life; Alex’s hearing went extremely well and she had gotten her job back, but not before giving him a treat to see her docking Declan Nash rightfully in his jaw. Even now, recalling the look of complete disbelief and surprise on that cretin’s face brought a small smile to his face. The two people alive that mattered to him most were safe, and that was all it took to make Ethan Jonah Ramsey happy.

Well, mostly.

Ethan walked to the kitchen in his apartment, reaching for the bottle of whiskey in one of the top cupboards. There was a heavy sigh as he poured the rich liquid, bringing it to his lips for a much-needed gulp. It was a long day at Edenbrook today (as most days usually are), however there was an onslaught of uncooperative patients which never failed to make him a tad bit irate. The only silver lining was that Alex Coleman was there with him for the most part. It was a wonder how with her around, his mood always seems to lift.

There was a light nudge at his shins, and he looked down to see Jenner staring up at him in question and expectant. With his free hand, he brushed his fingers through his fur, giving him a good scratch.

“Hey buddy, I’ll get your dinner in a bit.” Jenner yipped in excitement which brought a crack of a smile to Ethan’s lips.

Finishing his drink, he stepped back out into the living room and switched on the radio as he undressed, loosening his tie. The sound of the radio floated into the apartment.

“-ow’s everyone tonight folks? Hope you’re all safely back from a long day of work, or if you aren’t back already, then please, have a safe journey back home. Weather’s a bit wet out there tonight and roads are a bit slippery, so take extra caution driving home.”

He moved back into the kitchen and began preparing Jenner’s dinner, much to his tail-wagging delight.

“-ing to play a couple of requests from you guys. A couple of requests, from a couple of couples. It’s couple’s night tonight so let me hear all of your sappy sweet serenades for each other.”

“Here you go Jen.” Jenner’s ears perked, and he trotted towards Ethan, his tail wagging eagerly. He set the filled doggy bowl on the kitchen floor, giving Jenner a pat on the head. Jenner ignored him, immediately digging in into his dinner. “Good boy,” he whispered.

Refilling his glass, he walked back into the living room, towards the big panels of glass he had for windows. He stared at the city-horizon. He never cared for the view, he was hardly at home and the only reason he bought this apartment was because it was the only one within a ten-minute drive from Edenbrook. He never cared for what it looked like outside his sleeping quarters, that was, until his rookie stopped by and commented on how beautiful the view of the skyline was. Because of her, he now took the time to appreciate and admire the view he was privy to. It went without question that he was completely enamoured with his Junior. Alex-freaking-Coleman. It had been 1 week since they had called it quits on their not-so-secret relationship, and he was still hung over her. No one could fault him for that though. It was nigh impossible not to find her attractive. She was brilliant; he admired her fierce passion for her career and her friendships. She was beautifully fearless, never hesitating to step out of line when she believed she was doing the right thing morally, and more often than not, she was right. She was young, and he guessed that was where her fiery energy and passion came from – naivete and belief that anything was possible. Once upon a time, he was in her place. Young, brimming with energy and passion just like her. He had believed he could do anything in the medical field. And then, the arduous years at Edenbrook came. Disappointments and failures after one another, steadily bringing him down from that youthful high…making him the cold, steely man he was today. He worried constantly that she would end up like him in the future. He dreaded to see the day the fire in her eyes distinguished. If he could, he would protect her from it. He would do anything for her.

Ethan swirled his drink, blue eyes following movements of the amber liquid. He remembered the first night they saw each other outside of the hospital at Donahue’s. She had guessed his drink correctly – Scotches, neat. And in turn, he introduced to her the Special which to his pleasant surprise, she had enjoyed. He huffed, a smile creeping on his lips. She definitely had refined tastes…

He sighed, thoughts turning towards their relationship the past year. She definitely made him happier over the year and he hoped he made her happy at least once with him. If only there weren’t the ethical boundaries of an attending-intern relationship…he scowled. He couldn’t bring himself to break that boundary even though they did stretch it quite a few times the past year. He couldn’t allow himself to ruin her career. One wrong move on either of their parts could leave another black mark on her record. Sleeping with her boss… God, no that would leave a horrible stain on her promising reputation.

“And this next one goes out to a Brian from your sweetheart Mackie. He says, “remember the song that saved our relationship? To this day, ten years on, I’m glad I made the choice and went over to your place for another try at our love even after we agreed to call it quits. Happy 10th Anniversary, my love” Aw! Ain’t that just the sweetest? Here’s to celebrating this couple’s 10th anniversary with Chris Young’s I’m Comin’ Over!”

They had the blessing of a few weeks together at least. Her suspension and his resignation from Edenbrook afforded them a silver lining: they could be together without worrying about ethics or rules. And boy did they make the most of those last few days together. Especially that last night together… he could still vividly remember every touch, every kiss, every thrust. His eyes fluttered briefly, vision going hazy from the memories. He would treasure that last night till his last breath.

We say goodbye, see you around We turn our backs then turn back around

A vibration in his pocket brought him out of his daze, and he pulled his phone out to see that Alex had texted him. They took a habit to texting, much to his distaste. However, it gave him the opportunity to feel close to her without breaking any boundaries and for that he would gladly put aside any grudges he had against mobile communications. Some nights they would call, and those were the nights he always looked forward to.

Alex: Hey, got home alright? 😊

He also took to a habit to send her home at the end of the day whenever their schedules aligned.

His fingers briefly hesitated over the screen.

Ethan: Yep. Just about reached home. Don’t sleep too late, you’ve got an early start tomorrow.

He hesitated for a moment again before deigning to add a smiley emoji. Alex had said emojis added emotions to a conversation. He stared at his phone as he watched his message send, not surprised to see that she had already read it.

I’m all alone, but you’re on my phone Tellin’ me you miss me and that you’re at home

There was a beat before his phone vibrated again.

Alex: Don’t I always? Don’t you sleep late either, we’ve got that important meeting with the Big Pharma representative again. Best be prepared to step on their grubby toes. 😉

He chuckled. Ethan was about to type out a sarcastic response when another message came through from her which halted him in his tracks.

Alex: I miss you.

He sucked in a breath. No. They agreed not to continue this. He noticed his fingers had started to tremble slightly hovering over the screen. He pulled his trembling fingers away, clasping them in a fist in an attempt to stop their shaking. He couldn’t look away from his screen, and he saw that she had stopped typing or sending messages. This was what he hated about texting. He never could know what the other person was thinking or feeling through a screen. And in this case, he badly needed to know what she was thinking…thinking of sending this message! What was she thinking? What was she trying to do? Did she expect him to reply? Did she expect him to reply a certain way?

To Hell with the closure Save it for another time Try not to think about you But it ain’t workin’ Why put out a fire when it’s still burnin’

Losing his grip on his self-control, he dialled her number. It took only two rings before she picked up.

“Hey.” She breathed.

Oh God, her voice…her voice made him feel like he was choked by velvet. He shook his head, bringing his consciousness back into focus.

“What are you doing, Alex?” His voice came out colder than he intended to.

“I- “, there was a stutter in her voice, was she trembling as hard as he was? “I just needed to tell you how much I missed you. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this charade up for, Ethan.”

He swallowed and was about to answer but was cut off by her.

“I still want you, a lot. It’s maddening for me. You’re on my mind all day and seeing you, working with you, but not being able to touch you and be with you, it’s driving me nuts.” He could hear the exhaustion laced in her voice.

She sighed. “Tell me you don’t feel the same way and we’ll end this call and pretend like nothing happened tonight. I just…I needed to let you know, that’s all.”

Yeah we said that we’re done and I know that it’s late But you already know, I’m on my way

No, he couldn’t lie to her. It would be one of his biggest lies if he said he didn’t feel the same way. It was driving him nuts as well. What was Naveen thinking, putting her in close proximity with him?

There was a long silence after that and he could tell she suspected the worse when she sniffed.

“Oh, well, I guess- “

“No!” He blurted. He closed his eyes in exasperation after his outburst, fingers rubbing into his eyes tiredly. He sighed.

“I could not lie to you rookie. And the truth is I do feel the same way. You know that. You have no idea how much I want to hold you every night. But…” He sighed again.

“Well then how about just tonight?” Her soft voice floated in the tense air.

“What?”

“Well, you can’t hold me every night because of what we are to each other professionally, right?” He nodded, although she couldn’t see.

“Then how about just tonight?”

Oh, the temptation.  

“Rookie…” he warned.

“Dr. Ramsey…” she supplied, a slight tinge of tease in her voice. Ever the cheeky monkey she was.

He huffed. “We already said the other night we had together would be our last. At least while I’m still your supervisor.” He provided weakly, although they both knew he was fighting a losing battle. He was always on the losing side with every battle with her. But he didn’t mind one bit.

“To Hell with that closure. Save it for another time.”  

That was enough for him to get his body moving. To Hell with the closure indeed. They had this fire burning between them so brightly. Why put out that fire? What they had was special and he’ll be damned if he allowed it to be doused. He grabbed his jacket and keys, body in autonomous mode.

“I’m comin’ over Rookie.” He breathed, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Alright, Ethan. I’ll be waiting.”

He couldn’t resist the smile that spread across his face either. He was going to see her for another night. It had been one week. One week they lasted. One week before his resolve broke.

I’m comin’ over Runnin’ every red light To Hell with the closure Save it for another time Try not to think about you But it ain’t workin’ Why put out a fire when it’s still burnin’ Just when I think movin’ on is gettin’ closer I’m comin’ over

Oh I’m comin’ over

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

The One That Got Away

Stiles and Derek were childhood friends, but everything changed the night they shared a drunken kiss. After that, they grew apart. Until years later, when they are reunited at a parent-teacher conference. Commission for the lovely anon on ko-fi who requested mutual pining. This got a little out of hand, sorry. But I hope you like it!

Stiles doesn’t know what it was that made him think back to high school, but lately his memories had been drawn back to the nigh of Lydia’s party, when someone had spied the punch and he had ended up in the shadows behind the house, kissing Derek Hale.

The memory was still so vivid even after all these years. He could still remember the chatter from the party and the sweet smell of petrichor that filled the air that night. He could still remember how soft Derek’s lips were, how eager the kiss was. He could still remember the taste of punch of Derek’s lips and the warmth of his hands as the slid under the hem of Stiles’ shirt. And he remembers the sickening feeling of shame as Derek pulled away from him, saying it could never happen again before disappearing into the party. He could still remember the tears and the heartbreak, how it felt to lose his childhood friend.

In the weeks that followed, Derek drew more distant. Stiles came out as bisexual and Derek started dating Paige—insisting he’s straight. For weeks, Derek wouldn’t even look him in the eye. And it went on like that until the Hale house fire, after which, Peter took his nephew and nieces to New York and Stiles didn’t hear from Derek again.

Time passed, but Stiles never forgot about Derek, or that drunken kiss.

As the years dragged on, Stiles followed in his father’s footsteps and became a deputy in the Beacon Hills police. That’s how he met Boyd.

Boyd was three years old when he witnessed his parent’s murder. It was a robbery gone wrong. When Stiles and the other deputies arrived on scene, they found the family’s bodies strewn across the living room, blood splattered everywhere. Stiles found a broken family photo and realised that one of the kids was missing. He started to search the house, only to find the toddler hiding in one of the kitchen cabinets, his face streaked with tears.

Boyd had no other relatives, so he was put in police protective custody until the case was solved, and after that Stiles fostered him. A year later, Stiles adopted him.

He grew up shy and reserved, at least until the day Stiles picked him up from school and he couldn’t stop talking about his new friends: Isaac and Erica. Boyd went on and on about how pretty Erica was and how friendly Isaac was.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile at how happy Boyd was, and he didn’t have the heart to say no when the boy begged him to meet Isaac and Erica’s dad to set up a play date.

That’s how he ended up at the parent-teacher conference. Boy let go of his hand and ran over to Erica and Isaac the second he saw them.

Stiles smiled as he watched his son hug the twins. But his joy was short-lived as their father stepped around the corner of the hallway.

It was as if he was seeing a ghost.

He was smiling at the kids who stood at his feet, his son still holding onto his hand as Isaac talked to Boyd. The man’s beige skin was as perfect as ever and he had grown into his stern features; his square jaw and high cheekbones. His hair was dark and thick, tousled by the wind. His jaw was covered in a short beard and his wide-set eyes were pale beneath his dark brows, the aventurine irises catching the light and shifting from hazel to green, to a shade of light blue – clear, bright and focused.

He wore the same old black leather jacket he had years ago, a pair of slim black jeans, and a forest green Henley that was fitted over his body, the buttons opened to reveal a glimpse of dark chest hair.

Derek.

“No freaking way,” Stiles muttered to himself as he dug his hands into the pockets of his BHPD windbreaker and made his way down the hallway.

“Dad!” Boyd called, rushing back over to hug Stiles.

Stiles braced himself as Boyd wrapped his arms around his legs, hugging his son back. Boyd grabbed his hand, dragging him over to meet Isaac and Erica. Stiles crouched before the twins, smiling sweetly as he said hello to them.

Erica held her hand out and introduced herself, but Isaac lingered by Derek’s calf, holding onto the hem of his dad’s leather jacket.

Stiles rose to his feet, smiling as he met Derek’s gaze.

Derek was staring back at him with eyes wide in shock. His jaw hung open as he stared at the young man.

“Stiles?” he gasped.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles greeted, offering the man a kind smile. “How have you been?”

“Good,” Derek replied. He dropped his gaze, hiding the pain that darkened his eyes. He looked down at Isaac, gently patting back the boy’s sandy-blonde curls. He looked back at Stiles. “How about you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, feeling the ache in his chest, the same one he had felt that night when Derek had walked away from him and left him in the shadows of the house. “Good.”

Derek’s eyes wandered over Stiles’ body, drinking in the sight of his broad shoulders, the way he had grown into his slim limbs. The standard-issue khaki shirt was stretched across Stiles’ broad chest, the fabric tucked into the waistband of his pants which sat low on his slender hips.

“You look great,” Derek said, struggling to regain his composure.

“So do you,” Stiles replied, smiling as he cocked an eyebrow. “New York did you good.”

Derek’s face fell. He glanced down at Isaac, gently running his fingers through the boy’s hair.

Stiles’ brow furrowed as he studied Derek’s face. For years, he was the only person who could read Derek’s reserved emotions; he always knew what Derek was thinking, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“What’s going on, Der?” Stiles asked.

Derek let out a soft laugh. “It’s been a while since I’ve been called that,” Derek admitted, avoiding the topic. He looked up at Stiles, a smile quirking the corner of his lips. “It’s good to hear it again.”

Stiles let out a heavy sigh. He looked down at the kids that hovered around their legs, smiling as he asked, “Do you guys want to go out onto the playground?”

Boyd and Erica nodded excitedly. Erica reached out for her twin’s hand, gently prying her brother away from their dad as the three of them went running down the hall and out into the evening light.

Stiles and Derek followed after them, sitting down on one of the benches beside the brightly coloured playground.

A moment of quiet settled between them as they watched the kids play. “What’s going on, Derek?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you come back?” Stiles asked. “You had a life in New York, so why did you come back?”

“For them,” he nodded towards his kids. He let out a heavy sigh, bracing his elbows against his knees. “I guess I should explain from the start. When I moved to New York, I married Kate.”

“Kate Argent?” Stiles asked, his stomach twisting.

“I was stupid and naïve,” Derek said through gritted teeth, pain darkening as he scolded himself. “One thing led to another and she fell pregnant with the twins. When they were born, her whole attitude changed, for the worse. She would get angry at the smallest things. I tried to step in where I could, but she’d take it out on them when I wasn’t there.”

He paused for a moment, watching as his kids ran about the playground, climbing up the ladders and sliding down the bright blue plastic slide.

“Isaac took the brunt of it,” Derek explained. “He did everything he could to protect Erica, but it took its toll. I called the cops on Kate and she’s on trial for neglect and abuse, but she’s been threatening to kill them. I had to get them away from her; I had to keep them safe.”

He dragged his hands down his face, and Stiles noticed the dark, sleepless bags under his eyes.

“I didn’t know where to go,” Derek admitted. “I’d go to the ends of the earth if it meant I could keep them safe.”

“Do you still have my phone number?” Stiles asked.

Derek looked at him, frowning at the question. “Yeah, I do. Why?”

“I still have the same number,” Stiles explained. “If she shows up, call me directly. I’ll be there in minutes.”

A soft smile lifted Derek’s lips, a sense of relief washing over him. “Thank you.”

Stiles nodded. He watched as Boyd covered his eyes and slowly counted to ten while Erica and Isaac spit to hide.

Isaac ran over to them, crouching behind the bench they sat on, giggling to himself.

It was the sweetest sound.

Derek’s expression brightened, his heart aching as he listened to his son’s laughter.

“Ready or not, here I come!” Boyd shouted as he started looking around the playground for his friends.

“You know, I never forgot,” Derek said quietly.

“Forgot what?”

“Lydia’s party,” Derek said. “Our kiss.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, feeling nausea twist his stomach. “That.”

“I don’t regret it,” Derek said. “But I do regret walking away. I regret pretending like it didn’t happen.” He turned to look at Stiles. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I walked away.”

Stiles let out a heavy sigh. “Derek-” he started.

“I’m sorry,” the man said quietly. “I didn’t mean to bring up the past. You’ve probably moved on; got someone else in your life.”

“I don’t,” Stiles admitted.

Derek turned to look at him, shocked by this revelation. “Really?”

“I never really moved on from you,” Stiles admitted. “I adopted Boyd after he was orphaned, and he’s been my whole world ever since. I did try dating, but they never understood that Boyd was and always will be my first priority.”

Derek let out a breathless chuckle. “The struggles of being a single dad.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Stiles admitted, smiling as he watched Boyd walk in circles, his face creased in confusion as he tried to find his friends.

Isaac peeked around the corner of the bench. His face was twisted in pity as he stood up from his hiding spot and ran over to Boyd.

“You’re meant to stay hidden,” Boyd told him, his voice gentle.

Isaac didn’t care; he ran over to his friend and threw his arms around Boyd’s shoulders.

Moments later, Erica emerged from behind a tree a few meters away, scolding her brother before coming over to join them.

Both Stiles and Derek burst into laughter.

“You’re right,” Derek said after a moment. “Despite everything, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The kids came running over to their side. Isaac clambered up onto his dad’s lap, curling up in Derek’s arms as Erica stood beside Boyd, looking up at Derek with puppy eyes. “Daddy, can Boyd please come over to pay tomorrow? Please?”

Derek couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t know,” he teased, turning to look at Stiles. “What do you say?”

Stiles pretended to think about it before yielding. “Alright.”

Erica looked back at her dad, her face lit with excitement. She let out a squeal of excitement when Derek nodded in agreement.

Derek fought to smother his laughter. He gave Stiles his new address and wrapped his arms around Isaac, holding the boy close to his chest as he rose to his feet. He offered his other hand to Erica and told the twins to say goodbye.

Isaac mumbled goodbye, his face buried in Derek’s shirt as he waved to Boyd.

Erica rose onto her toes and pressed a kiss to Boyd’s cheek, whispering goodbye before taking her dad’s hand and heading to the car park.

Boyd called after them, waving goodbye as they left. When they were gone, he turned to look at Stiles. “Do you like Erica and Isaac’s dad?”

“Yeah, I do,” Stiles said.

“Do you like like him?” Boyd asked, smiling at his dad.

“Yeah,” Stiles admitted before he could think better of himself. “I still do.”

[AO3]

[superjournalslibrary-blog]

Why the Kingdom of God Must Be Your First Passion

But seek ye first (PROTON) the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.

Matthew 6:33

God wants the first part of everyone’s life.  The first part of our lives is the season of productivity.  It is the period in which people abound in faith, hope, love and fertility.

Seek the kingdom of God before you seek your personal kingdom of wealth, comfort and security.  There are many reasons why the kingdom of God must be sought first and in the first part of your life.

1. The kingdom of God requires an early start.  The kingdom of Heaven also requires a lot of time and attention.

The commonest characteristic of large churches is that the pastor has been there for many years.  It takes a long time to grow a congregation from the fellowship stage to the mega church stage.  If you think that the work of God can be done in a few weeks, or months, you deceive yourself and the truth is not in you.  It takes many years for something substantial to be accomplished in ministry.

Let me give you an exercise.  Take any well known and large ministry and find out when the pastor really began his ministry.  Jesus Himself began His preparation for ministry as a child.  Samuel the prophet was brought to the temple as a child.  The preparation takes many years.

This is why Levites became priests only by the age of thirty.

From THIRTY YEARS OLD and upward even until fifty years old, all that enter into the host, to do the work in the tabernacle of the congregation.

Numbers 4:3

This is why Jesus started His ministry by the age of thirty:

And Jesus himself began to be about THIRTY YEARS OF AGE, being (as was supposed) the son of Joseph, which was the son of Heli,

Luke 3:23

Because the work of God requires so much time both for preparation and actual ministry, it must be the first thing in your life.

Many people put off the ministry because they actually despise it; they feel that it is something that can be done within a short time.

2. The kingdom needs young people.

There are many things that only young people can do.  There are things I did when I was younger that I cannot do today.  For instance, I remember when I was in secondary school, I fasted for almost one school term.  I wonder if I could do something like that today.

I used to hold “dawn-broadcasts” (open-air preaching at dawn) in many places.  As a student, I did many exciting things for the Lord.  All night prayer meetings, dawn broadcasts, twelve-hour prayer meetings, seven-hour prayer meetings etc.  Although I basically do the same things today, there are obvious changes in the intensity and style.

I really cherish the more youthful years I spent in Christ.  In those years I memorized entire chapters of the Bible.  It is the verses I learnt in those days that form the basis of my Scripture knowledge today.

Perhaps you do not know why God wants you to take Him as the first thing in the first part of your life.  Perhaps you want to give God your years of weakness and trembling.  The first part is the best part: when you are strong, energetic and zealous.  That is the part that God wants!

3. The kingdom of God needs faith, hope, and love.

Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them;

Ecclesiastes 12:1

The kingdom of God needs energetic people for the ministry.  There is a lot of stress and strain in the ministry.  Contrary to what people think, pastors are often very stressed and very tired.  They rarely have time for themselves and their families.

In the first part of your life you are full of faith, hope and love.  Watch the older people and you will notice that they have less “spring in their gait”.  Tiredness and weariness has set in.  Bad experiences have made them weary and suspicious of everyone.  They trust no one and are unwilling to try new things.  The spirit of adventure is gone.  They are hardened by their lives’ experiences.  Older people have seen pain, bitterness and death.  Yes, they believe in God but it is a little different from a younger person’s faith.

In the first part of your life, you are not yet broken-hearted.  It is this part that God badly wants.  God wants the first part of your life.  The book of Ecclesiastes, Chapter 12, aptly describes this.

Keep your creator in mind while you are young! In years to come, you will be burdened down with troubles and say, “I don’t enjoy life anymore.” Your body will grow feeble, your teeth will decay, and your eyesight fail.  The noisy grinding of grain will be shut out by your deaf ears, but even the song of a bird will keep you awake.  You will be afraid to climb up a hill or walk down a road.  Your hair will turn as white as almond blossoms.  You will feel lifeless and drag along like an old grasshopper...

Ecclesiastes 12:1,3-5 (Contemporary English version)

It is said that King Solomon wrote the book of Song of Solomon in his youth, the book of Proverbs in his middle age and the book of Ecclesiastes in his older years.  You will notice that the mood of each of these books is different.  In the Song of Solomon, he is excited and in love.  In the book of Proverbs, he shares practical wisdom for regular life.  But in the book of Ecclesiastes, his mood is quite different.  He describes many of life’s experiences as inconsequential, vain and futile.

Nothing makes senseI have seen it all––nothing makes sense.

Ecclestiastes 12:8 (Contemporary English version )

This drop in mood greatly affects the work of God.  It takes faith and hope in Heaven to take up your cross and sacrifice for an unseen God.

I enjoy the company of the younger Christian leaders in my church.  They seem to enjoy what I preach more than the older ones.  Many times they crowd around me after church just wanting to chat with me.  They seem to believe everything I say, no matter how hard it sounds.

I remember one day in particular, I was talking to a group of older pastors.  The younger university folks gathered around me as usual.  As I continued chatting with them, I noticed as the older ones slunk away one after the other until I was left with only the young people.  I wasn’t saying anything in particular that pertained to young people, but the older guys were just not interested.

In the first part of your life you are very responsive, zealous and teachable.  God can reach out to you and turn you in almost any direction.  As you get older you become uninterested and disillusioned.  There seems to be a teachable and humble spirit in the first part of our lives.

4. The kingdom of God cannot be despised.

There are many jobs that require job-seekers to be below the age of thirty.  Why do you think many companies recruit people below a certain age? Because they want to get the best out of them!

Don’t despise the church.  There are people who say they will work for God when they retire.  Which occupation can be compared with the high calling of ministry? Medicine, law, engineering, architecture, carpentry, computing, banking, journalism, research, pharmacy, mining, management, acting, singing, dancing, plumbing, masonry or piloting cannot be compared with the ministry of the Lord Jesus Christ.

But what things were gain to me, those I counted loss for ChristYea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ,

Philippians 3:7-8

The priesthood is the high calling of God.  And that is what I am involved with.  On this earth, the priesthood is despised.  I once had a pastor who couldn’t find a wife because he was a pastor.  The mother of his would-be bride, refused to allow her daughter to be engaged to a pastor.  She felt that a pastor was an aimless, jobless man without prospects.

On one occasion, she even sent an emissary to find out if he really worked with the church as he claimed.  She also wanted to find out what kind of work he could possibly be doing.  The bride’s mother’s envoy could not hide her surprise when she found out that the church actually had offices and that there was a lot of work going on in these offices.

5. The kingdom cannot be delayed.

Some people think their marriages cannot be delayed, their schools cannot be delayed and their work cannot be delayed.  But let me tell you what cannot be delayed: the kingdom of God! Jesus said we should not say that there are yet four months till the harvest.  In other words don’t say that there is more time.  Don’t introduce delays for the kingdom of God.

Say not ye, There are yet four months, and then cometh harvest?  Behold, I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest.

John 4:35

Unknown to many people, this earthly life is very time- related.  Every instruction or opportunity is time-related.  Hear this and hear it very well: every instruction that God has given to you has an invisible timer on it.  A countdown begins from the moment God speaks to you.  The available time to perform that duty reduces with every passing hour.  Many think they are just biding their time and will take God seriously later.  Do not be deceived! The expiry date of your grace period is fast approaching.

When Princess Diana was going out with her Egyptian boyfriend, she didn’t know that she had a few more hours to live.  She was oblivious to the fact that she was to be the subject of the largest funeral of all time.  She didn’t know the time.  Do you know the time? Do we know the time?

If God has called you to the ministry a clock has begun to tick.  A time will come when you will no longer be able to fulfil that instruction.  Sometimes God speaks to you, “Finance my Kingdom.” Perhaps that comes along with a five-year period wherein you can obey Him.

Perhaps He tells you, “Go out as a missionary.” Maybe that has a ten-year period wherein you could fulfil it.  Some people spend seven years of that period doing other things and then in the last three years attempt to obey God.  But their time is almost up.  Nothing effective can be done in the remaining three years.

6. Jesus rejects all those who put their family, business or personal wealth before the kingdom of God.

And sent his servant at supper time to say to them that were bidden, Come; for all things are now ready. And they all with one consent began to make excuse. The first said unto him, I HAVE BOUGHT A PIECE OF GROUND, and I must needs go and see it: I pray thee have me excused. And another said, I HAVE BOUGHT FIVE YOKE OF OXEN, and I go to prove them: I pray thee have me excused. And another said, I HAVE MARRIED A WIFE, and therefore I cannot come.

Luke 14:17-20

Many decent Christians hide behind their families or legitimate businesses to stay away from obeying God.

Unfortunately, Jesus specifically mentions these things as reasons that will not stand before Him.  Nothing and I mean nothing is more important than God and our service to Him.  When God calls you, you have no right to use your wife, husband or children as a reason to stay away.  When God calls for you, you have no right to use your business or personal wealth as a reason to stay away.

Read it for yourself.  Contrary to what many dignified and self-righteous people think, your service to God is more important than any of these things.

John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist church had major problems with his wife.  She did not want him to continue corresponding with some of the congregants in his parish.  John Wesley preached on Sunday, got married on Monday and preached the next day.  In less than a month, he was on the road again.  Neither wife nor family could stop him from doing what his heart loved most.  Today, the Methodist Church stands as a veritable testimony to the unyielding commitment of John Wesley to the things of God.

by Dag Heward-Mills