c0ld0utside · 9 months ago
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Yan Werewolf Dad
Boo I'm back.
Let’s ignore the fact that I said I’d try to update every day. Have a yandere werewolf dad. 
Thought of Drew’s (from After Dark on Webtoon) werewolf form while writing this. 
Warnings (Let me know if I missed any): Possessiveness, blood, loss of teeth, reader gets dragged back home
Your mother left the two of you when you were young. Since then it’s been you and your dad. He’s a hardworking man, trying to make sure the two of you live comfortably and making sure you have a good childhood. Trying to make sure that you’re close to him. He can’t lose you, too. The two of you settled in a forest on a mountain after what happened. To keep you close and make sure you’re happy. 
Your average day went like this:
Your Dad wakes you up and makes you breakfast while you get ready for school. He’ll ask you what you have going on today to help you remember. Quiz in your third-period class, you have an assignment due in fifth. Things like that while he takes your lunch out of the fridge and gives it to you. He’ll walk with you to the bus, wish you a good day, kiss you on the forehead, and go back home to head to work in his car. 
Usually, you come home first. A few hours later your Dad will come back covered in small twigs and leaves, sometimes with a treat. You help him pull the twigs and leaves out of his hair and he’ll head into his bathroom to rinse. After the two of you make dinner, he’ll help you finish up your homework, and if you have time you’ll watch TV and tell each other how your day went. Once he deems that it’s time for you to go to bed, he sees you to your room, gives your forehead a kiss, and wishes you goodnight while reminding you that his door is always open if something is troubling you. 
If something is bothering you, he’s happy when you come to him. Scared? You can sleep over. Nightmare? You can talk about it if you want, or you can skip that and go straight to him reassuring you and comforting you. Just can’t sleep? You’ll talk until you do. By “talk,” it’s actually him reminding you that you’re his #1, his VIP, the most precious thing in his entire world, and that he loves you. That he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he lost you. That he’s sorry if he was short with you earlier. He hates fighting with you. He just wants to make you happy. 
-
Today is different.
It started normal. Your Dad shook you awake gently with a smile before heading downstairs to cook you up some breakfast. He asks you what you’re doing in second period today and if you remember what the two of you went over last night—feeling nervous? Don’t worry, he knows you’ll do fine. He hands you lunch, reminds you to put on your coat and tie your shoes, waits while you sling your backpack over your shoulders, and the two of you set off toward your bus stop. After a quick “Love you, bye!”, you board the bus and he watches you leave. 
School is a blur. Second period’s quiz freaked you out a little bit but you know your Dad cares more about you than actual grades. Lunch is nice, per usual. A little note from your Dad telling you not to be too hung up over second period and that he hopes the rest of your school day is better. He also added in your favorite treat to cheer you up. 
Before you know it you’re back on the bus, riding home. You head inside, kick off your shoes in the mudroom, and laze around for at least an hour or two before starting on your schoolwork. Another hour later, you frown when the clock hits 6:30 PM because your Dad should’ve been home by now. Okay…maybe he got held up with something. You keep at it and another hour goes by. You start to feel like something is wrong. 
Pulling out your phone, you’re mid-dial when your dad practically bursts into the home. His breathing is all over the place and his arm-
Is covered in blood. Dripping and getting all over the floor and his clothes. You call out to him and ask him what happened, standing there in shock for a moment before going to find the medkit. As you search through his bathroom you hear a loud thump, followed by the sound of something not human. 
“...Dad?” 
Uneasy, you slowly make your way out of his room and into the kitchen. You hear his breathing, but you don’t see him. You see blood all over the kitchen island and sink- and there’s some small white thing on it as well. 
“Dad? I got the medkit…” You offer, rounding the corner. And then you freeze because what the fuck.
Three teeth are scattered on the floor. Your Dad’s teeth. And hunched over on said floor is some large, fur-covered beast emitting steam and making the most gutwrenching sounds you have ever heard. Where is your dad? What is this thing in front of you? Are you dreaming? Did you fall asleep while doing your homework?
The creature shifts, and you can see the ugly bite mark on its arm. It lets out a loud, drawn-out whine as it rises, arm lazily flopping onto the counter while it tries to pull itself up. It balances itself, breathless and trying to process what’s going on. You take a step back and it turns its head to look at you.
Your Dad’s eyes look into your own. Deep red brown and soft. Scared. Mouth open. Fangs are where his canines used to be. He’s…taller. His skin seems tight on his body, which is covered in fur. His ears are like a wolf’s- 
There’s no way.
Werewolves aren’t real. Right?
With the grace of a newborn deer, the beast- your Dad stumbles on shaky legs. He turns around, holding onto the island like his life depended on it. The two of you just stand there, staring at each other. Your Dad tries to speak but all that comes out is some sort of yip. Something in your head clicks, and you take several steps back. He whines and tries to move closer to you, only to fall. When you move further away, his eyes harden and he snarls at you. 
You freeze. Your Dad tries to walk over to you, growling, and that’s when instinct takes over. 
Leading to where you are now, running through the forest in the middle of the night. You’re trying to find the main road that your bus stop is at. You don’t really know why. Barely anyone takes this road aside from the bus that takes you to school and the few other people who live several miles away from you. The occasional passerby uses the road in their long journey to get from point A to point B. 
You must’ve gotten turned around at some point. You’re nowhere near the street. You’re not even on the pathway you and your dad have walked down countless times. Alright. This is fine. You’ll find a way to retrace your steps in the middle of the dark. Totally. 
A sound cuts through the air. Some sort of cry, a bark mixed with someone trying to call your name. Part of you wants to respond and go to it, realizing that you just left your Dad even though he needs help. The other half doesn’t recognize him as your Dad anymore. Just a monster that’s hunting you down. You freeze again as your brain fights with itself, self-preservation and emotion currently in a heated argument. 
The arguing ceases and turns into panicked screaming when something pounces on you. Oh wait, no- you’re actually screaming. Out loud, not just in your head. The part of you that doesn’t want to die takes over and you start to struggle. In response, the monster snarls at you, claws digging into your skin. It stops when it draws blood and you start to cry, snarls switching into whimpers and whines. 
It was an accident. He didn’t mean to. You scared him when you ran off and you won’t come back home. He’s just so scared. He needs you. You’re the only family he has left, and part of you is him, after all. So you need him, too. 
Especially now. Even though it’s kind of his fault. 
Your Dad tries to pick you up and carry you back home, but you won’t stop thrashing around so it turns into him having to drag you back home. Kicking and screaming while he tries to apologize but can only keep making those odd noises. Begging and calling for help while he starts to feel annoyed because he’s right here, he’ll help you and make it better, he promises internally. 
Once you’re back home, it’s a bit odd. You have your Dad, who’s turned into a literal werewolf, dragging you inside after chasing and hurting you. He steers you over to the sink, washing the cuts he gave you with an apologetic look in his eye. It shifts into annoyance when he notices that you're also covered in dirt, scrapes, and other small cuts. This is what happens when you don't sit still. Your Dad bandages you up with shaky hands, still getting used to this new body of his. At this point, you’re too terrified and confused to fight back and cry. 
You’re guided into your bedroom and you immediately scramble into your bed. It feels safer there. Your Dad closes the door, flopping down next to you and pulling you close. He needs this. Needs his pup- kid close to him. Needs to know that they’re safe and secure and happy. You can miss a few days of school while the two of you figure this out. 
-
You look beautiful today! Remember to get 9 hours of sleep and drink water. 
Everything will be okay <3
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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year ago
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Is there a part 2 to Yandere Male makima reader x hsr? I absolutely love this story??!
I'd like to imagine reader playing along with caelus's antics of digging through trash cans and possibly helping him find other trash cans to dive lol
Dan heng and reader having mutual thoughts because there are two troublemakers of the astral express.. (yk who)
I don’t usually write these things (asks for updates) but since you caught me at a nice time…
YANDERE HSR ( THE NAMELESS ) x AEON OF CONTROL! READER
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These are moreso antics and headcannons rather than a proper sequel to the previous one so…
warnings: major canon divergences, soft yandere themes.
・❥・ You and Pompom mostly have the same duties mainly keeping the express clean, checking its stability, tending to visitors, etc.
・❥・ However you take more of a authoritative position with your duties.
・❥・ Though you created Pompom, they have no idea you are an Aeon. You kept it that way so that Pompom wouldn’t be too compelled to follow you when you diverge paths with the Nameless.
・❥・ You were the one that redressed March and taught her sewing when she arrived frozen one day. As such, she can be a tad too attached with you. Often flirting with you in front of the other crew members. (A fact that most of them hate)
・❥・ You know the photo wall she has in her room? Well in that gallery of hers she has a secret folder of just you. You doing your daily maintenance, you repairing Pompom’s stitches, you just b r e a t h i n g. Yeah.
・❥・ Dan Heng and you often spend hours together in the archive. You had the penchant of checking, and rechecking the organization of things. Your long periods of time together led to him feeling the most safe around you. You already knew of his secrets, but having him divulge it nonetheless still felt like being let into a state secret.
・❥・ Himeko has a suspicion you two aren’t related. In fact you have a feeling she already uncovered what you are. She is however, far too in love with trail blazing and being your sister that she doesn’t do anything to risk the status quo.
・❥・ Welt has the biggest love-hate relationship with you. You haven’t done anything bad per se. In addition to that, you’re the reason Himeko got to explore the stars, but memories of the past still haunt him. Each day he sees you handling the youngins edges him closer and closer to finally letting of go of his resentment.
・❥・ When Caelus isn’t dying inside by being close to you, he likes to be smug by showing how much “care” you put into him. Like the youngest child smirking at the older children as they get the most love and attention. Sometimes he gets himself injured on purpose to get your eyes on him and him alone.
・❥・ Unfortunately due to your presence destabilizing the Stellaron, you don’t get many chances to pamper the boy.
・❥・ Though you did give him a giant wearable trash-can, complete with breathability and protection against the elements.
・❥・ You also don’t go out much and prefer to watch over expeditions. You also make sure never to use your full power as to not alert other aeons aside from IX of your endeavors.
BONUS!
・❥・ Elio and Kafka vehemently worship you. The latter’s domination comes from your blessing.
・❥・ Though they aren’t aware that you took the shape of a human male since you are able to erase yourself from Elio’s scripts.
・❥・ Which leads to Kafka flirting with this handsome man not knowing he’s actually her god.
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infranthrax · 8 months ago
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helo. im one they call 🍂 and id like to. make a request. i hope ur doing okay (*>∇<)ノ ur free to write this or not
i would like to request an angst w/ a good ending type of thing if its okay. a platonic f!reader&heartslabyul (seperately. if its limited to one character, you can go with riddle) headcanon that has the following plot;
mc is a pessimistic person, a very tired, overworked one. all they want is a bit of peace and quiet, but they care about the heartslabyul gang very much. they have kind of become a mom/older sister to the group (kinda like trey). anyway, one day the gang realizes that mc seems more irritable than usual which results in them making a snide remark/get in an arguement about the guy's flaws (like how riddle hurt many pre-overblot, how ace runs his mouth at the worst times, how deuce is not the brightest around, cater being addicted to his little social media sites, and trey ignoring the problems regarding riddle because he didnt want conflict, etc etc) that would hurt them.
they kind of ghosting everyone for a couple of days to calm down, and then they awkwardly come back with a box of sweets (that they managed to purchase by scraping by lmao, girlie's poor as hell...) to apologize, and eat them over tea! mc apologizes directly and wants to make up for their words, but they are not the best at speaking their mind.
ive seen countless fics where the main cast gets to be the agressive and sad, sopping wet cats, and reader comforting them. ngl, i wanted to write a piece where MC is the "sad little pathetic shrimp" but i just didnt have the time. anyway, i hope you like this prompt
oh my god I love this prompt! the mc is definitely the therapist of the group and I can imagine this happening… I restricted it down to just riddle given how detailed this prompt was, the rest of the dorm is self explanatory.☺️/pos (and thank you for your kind words! I hope you’re having a good day/night!)
generating new memory… please, one moment… ✨
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𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂��!
Heartslabyul x f!reader — headcanons!
sypnopsis: mc has had enough of the anal shenanigans after a near traumatic event, and she lashes back out at riddle, who is left bewildered and heated at the event.
light tw // domestic conflict, implied traumatic event
riddle rosehearts
riddle is just anal and sometimes he comes off as bossy and or ungrateful. that’s not really his intention however. that’s just an act of conditioning he’s been through.
so when he sees that you’re overwhelmed, at first he blind sighted to it. riddle isn’t great per se at emotions— let alone the ones of other people.
he gets on you for being late to class one day and it all piles up. You’re in a dorm full of boys— what girl wouldn’t have enough? at the time it was little around the time in which riddle overblotted, and he just went on with daily life like none of that ever happened.
he fucking hurt your ass. quite frankly that was the first (of many) overblots you’ll have to go through, and that’s how you’re gonna handle it? hell no, especially after the fact that you had to play superwoman to get the goons out of a near death situation.
before this, you had gotten into tiffs with the redhead on numerous occasions, trying to ground him down. never really did it work though as he was always stuck in his perfectionist ways. and you hated that about him because his mannerisms reflected into you.
he expected you to be able to carry yourself in a manner that would suit him. he expected you to dress a certain way. he expected you to follow his orders, his rules, his ultimatum. that you couldn’t stand any longer.
when he got on you for being tardy, the melting pot overflowed… and it wasn’t pretty either. let’s say you were in pain, in addition to your mental health plummeting due to not really having anyone to talk to, and then when mother nature calls upon you for your monthly drain you must attend.
you shouldn’t mess with the wrath of a woman on her period. this, riddle learned the hard way… with you.
“riddle… i swear… on god’s green earth, if you don’t shut the hell up… i’m fucking TRYING. I’M TRYING! FUCK YOU, YOU UPTIGHT PIECE OF SHIT, GO ON SOMEWHERE!”
and then the fire brewed. and then it exploded. (quite literally.) it would be hellish screaming match between you two, despite riddle claiming he is above such things. he really isn’t, he’s got a temper that’s about as fagile as glass. (no, it’s not microwave safe.)
after your blow up with riddle, you both proceed to give each other the silent treatment for the better part of a month. during this time you find comfort in your other classmates, spending time with other students outside of heartsllabyul, namely vil and rook, just for a boost of female empowerment.
and while riddle was contemplating all the bullshit that went down between the two of you, he began to feel a little bit of guilt. mattered if fact, both of you did. you shouldn’t have been so aggressive and he shouldn’t have been so… well, himself.
before class one day you enter your lab room to see a small box at your seat with a little note attached to it.
it was from riddle— a little chocolate potion bottle with those biscuits— the exact ones from the disney movie. little did he know, you happened to pop by sam’s shop to get him some mini fruit tarts and snuck into his class early to put them on his desk. you ate his little gift up, in a little bit of worry. would he accept that?
at the end of the day though, you had to return to heartslabyul to see him. and what a surprise, he wanted to talk to you.
call it him playing kiss ass— no, he’s not. he’s sorry. to be true, he should be more careful and more intuitive as a dorm lead to ensure the comfort of his students, and he does understand that sometimes he can come off as overbearing or, dare i say dictatorial. it’s really not meant to cause harm. it has a lot to do with his upbringing.
and you were sorry too. and you both hugged it out. every couple has their tiffs, right? just something he’s gonna have to work on.
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saorling · 1 year ago
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Can a bird with clipped wings ever fly again?
Fandom: Blackstar Theater Starless
Characters: Rindou x f!Reader
Word count: 3400
Summary: These displays, harimise, were your primary, and sometimes only guide through the unfamiliar streets. That is, until you heard an all too familiar voice.
“You over there”, the moment you looked in the direction of the voice, you knew who he was talking to. “If you don’t mind, would you like to give me some of your time this evening?”
One moment you were frozen in your tracks, the other you flocked to harimise, walking as fast as you can to not appear impatient. It was him. It was Rindou, of that there was no doubt. But, at the same time, it was not him. It was Rindou the hokan.
AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50690797/chapters/128052910
Chapter: 1/??
Notes: Yoshiwara AU. The brainrot was too strong. The reader is assumed to be female or female-presenting because strict gender norms of the Edo period make writing for female and male reader very different due to various limitations and expectations.
It was supposed to be a simple, casual outing with your friends. A walk through the town filled with idle chatting while running errands for your families.
It was supposed to be another ordinary day. Then, how did it turn to this?
“— ah, by the way!” you knew this line all too well. Whenever your friend said it, it could mean only one thing. More gossip. Some people liked it way too much for your liking, and with her, it could not be anything good.
When you had heard the rest, you wish you were wrong this time.
“Did you hear?” dramatic pauses always were her trademark, “That green-eyed performer has been spotted in Yoshiwara!”
“Is that so?.. But aren’t performers a common occasion there?”
“Oh no”, you did not like the glint in her eyes, “it may be common for others, but not for him.”
You did not like where this was going. Still, you could not help but ask, cautiousness evident in your voice. She could not possibly mean him, right?
“What do you mean?”
“I’m glad you asked!” and, at this moment, you felt the opposite. “I saw him on display when I went there with my father. Rindou, was it? I must confess, he was certainly pleasing to the eye… ah, wait—!”
It couldn’t be. It simply was not possible. He was a famous, revered performer, right? He had dozens of patrons, including your father. He could not just be there. He could not. It had to be a mistake, right? It could be anyone but him, surely. Your friend did not see his performances, so she wouldn’t know…
You didn’t hear her calling your name. Thoughts rapidly racing in your head, you could only hurry home, errands forgotten, and all noises blocked out.
Your father— he would know for sure.
“… Father”, you opened the shoji quietly, as was taught to you countless times, but your breathless voice betrayed your hurried return, careful as you were to fix your disheveled appearance and stick to every unwritten rule.
Alas, your father knew you all too well.
“I see that something has hastened your return, daughter”, his voice was even, tone and every word measured, but you could see it in his eyes — concern and a hint of disapproval — ladies did not hasten, after all. Never. “What is it?”
You shifted and immediately sunk into a deep bow. Respect for the head of the family was a given, as was an apology for when he was displeased.
“Forgive me, Father”, you waited, you counted and took deep breaths. One, two, three… on ten you rose back into a sitting position, voice steady and calm, your posture as perfect as it could be. “My friend… Mr. Hokari’s — the painter’s — daughter, mentioned that she happened to see a certain green-eyed performer in…” you took a steadying breath. Mentioning Yoshiwara was not a taboo, per se, but it was not a place that should have been named by the lady easily. And, more than that, you felt a lump in your throat, as if your very body was against accepting the idea of him ending up there.
Your father sat there silently, watching. Waiting. Like he was checking if you dared to say it, and the act did nothing to ease your suspicions.
“Mr. Rindou… is it true that he became a part of Yoshiwara?”
There. You said it. There was a prickling sensation in your eyes, and you quickly blinked it away. You could not. Not now.
Your father hummed and closed his eyes in silent contemplation. He pretended to not notice the small gesture, and you were grateful. However, the fact that he did not deny your words outright could only mean one thing. After all, no patron would calmly listen to the word of defamation directed at their beneficiary.
“… you should refrain from mentioning his name freely now”, the father’s voice was low, but even. “He was accused of an affair with an official’s concubine. The mistress fell out of favor and sought consolation in the arms of a young performer. As a punishment, both were sent to the pleasure district.”
It was ridiculous.
“But Mr. Rindou—”
“The Heavens have spoken, child”, the father’s voice became louder, cutting yours mid-sentence. “He has been found guilty, and Heavens do not lie. A man can become weak in front of the prettiest of flowers. He was not an exception, and the price was paid for it.”
It was, of course, right. Father was not wrong about the last part. However, Rindou— the performer Rindou that you knew was gentle and polite, but distant. He would not sacrifice his career for a night of pleasure, of that you were sure.
There had to be more than what was said. And for that, you had to meet him.
“The Heavens may have spoken, Father”, your voice was quiet, but composed. It was not easy to win against the head of the house and to do so, you have to utilize every bit of your wit and knowledge, “but I would rather see a wilted plant than a pretty flower*.”
“Not seeing is a flower, huh?” your father looked at you, measuring your form with his steady, hardened gaze. You could not dare look him in the eye, but you met his silent judgment with grace and poise. You believed in your words, and you showed it in the only way that was possible.
Calm, but unwavering, like a strong tree that stands still against the strongest winds.
One minute turned into two, two into three… you’ve kept your posture, slightly bowing in a silent request as the wordless standoff with the father continued. His gaze was just as hard as it was moments ago, and you could only hope you were clever enough to avoid confrontation and nudge his thoughts in the right direction.
Hope you were loved just a bit too much by him to allow what you wished to accomplish.
“… very well”, he sighed, turning his head to one of the smaller doors. “Eijiro, you will accompany her to visit the performer. Watch them both so they don’t do anything… unbecoming.”
As if on cue, a young boy appeared, bowing to your father first, and then you.
“Yes, Master”, with quiet footsteps the boy reached your side and waited for your audience to be finished to complete his Master’s orders.
The judging, steely gaze has now softened, and you felt that you could rise now that the pressure lessened.
“Seeing as you are willing to listen to the voice of reason, I will allow you to visit him and see the truth for yourself”, your father paused and took a moment to write a note he then gave to a servant along with a money pouch. “You will be free to go in and out of the district with this. However—”
You waited with a bated breath.
“You are to take no longer than ten bu** at most.”
“I understand, Father”. It was a fair and just condition, you thought. And, perhaps, you would not even need ten bu. After all, you just needed to confirm. To know the truth.
“Then, you are free to go.”
“Thank you, Father”, bowing one more time, you rose and opened the door. Thankfully, the evening was near, and you did not have to wait for long.
As you walked out, the servant boy followed suit.
The great gates of Yoshiwara felt imposing to the newcomers. To men and women alike, it often felt like they were separating two different worlds.
To you, it was no different.
Where the regular patrons came flocking towards the bright-lit streets not unlike butterflies flew towards the flames, you stood still, frozen by the view in front of you — you’ve heard of Yoshiwara from your friend, sure, but hearing and seeing were two different things: you’ve never seen other women — and girls — dress this daringly, never seen this many performers gathered in one place. Although you’ve noticed, most people outside were men — patrons, surely — so the main activity had to be done on particular streets and inside the… establishments.
“Miss”, the servant boy called calmly, talking just loud enough to be heard amidst all the noise.
You turned to him, broken out of your reverie, and nodded, stepping toward the entrance. You waited patiently as the boy gave the father’s note as proof of your identity, and had you both written into the registry — yours was a fake name, you assumed, as Father would not want to risk tarnishing both his and your honor.
The boy returned with two tablets, giving one to you — proof that you were a client and not a rightless courtesan.
“Do you know where to go, Miss?” he asked in the same leveled voice, filled with just enough respect for you as the daughter of his Master.
“Yes,” your friend was kind enough to provide you with directions when you found her later with both the purpose of apologizing for running off and asking for the whereabouts of the performer.
“Curious, are we?” she asked in a teasing tone back then, but said nothing more except brushing off the apology and giving what she was asked for.
For that, you were grateful, even though you knew she always had more than enough to say, so very unlike most of the girls you knew.
The streets looked similar, tall buildings lining up and facing Yoshiwara’s guests with a display of courtesans: male, female, and some in between, younger and older than you, dressed in all manners of colorful clothing, some looking solemn and others inviting customers with elegantly lazy gestures, which must have had a meaning you were unaware of. These displays, harimise, were your primary, and sometimes only guide through the unfamiliar streets. You looked and averted your gaze, taking care not to see too much or stare for too long.
That is until you heard an all too familiar voice.
“You over there”, the moment you looked in the direction of the voice, you knew who he was talking to. “If you don’t mind, would you like to give me some of your time this evening?”
One moment you were frozen in your tracks, the other you flocked to harimise, walking as fast as you could to not appear impatient.
And, again, there was a lump in your throat as you took in his form: the back of his neck bared, patterns on kimono dyed in brazen colors, with nothing in his hands but a folded fan to cover his smile, to appear alluring.
It was him. It was Rindou, of that there was no doubt.
But, at the same time, it was not him. It was Rindou the hokan.
“… yes,” you breathed out quietly, voice slightly trembling. “I would,” it was louder, more resolute.
No. You had to do this. You had to see and to ask.
“Then”, his smile didn’t change a bit, but his eyes… his gaze seemed to change, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly, “let us meet in a parlor.”
With a simple gesture, he signaled the person outside, to get your payment and to guide you.
Moving through the corridors, you heard laughter and flirting, giggle and stifled sounds of surprise… and perhaps something else, that you would rather not stay oblivious to.
You did not need to be privy to all the matters of such an establishment. You had another goal, and that was the only thing that mattered.
"Ri—", the name got stuck in your throat as soon as you stepped into the doorway, your servant deciding to wait just outside of it.
Rindou was still every bit himself: gentle eyes, polite smile, elegant movements. He seemed unchanged, but you could not pretend to now have seen him at the harimise, to not have noticed the change in the demeanor that was meant to invite customers. Nor did you know if you could still call him the same name he chose for himself as a performer.
He seemed to notice your hesitation, and his smile softened as the man invited you to sit, mindful of the distance between you both.
"I was allowed to keep my stage name, so there is no need for you to worry, young lady", he sat in front of you, unmoving until you accepted his invitation. Then, and only then, he went ahead with preparing tea — a proper drink for a conversation that promised to be just as bitter.
"Rindou…" This time, his name rolled off your tongue with ease, honorifics forgotten, followed by all the words and questions you might have had, dying as soon as you tried to voice them.
‘Why were you here? What really happened to you? Why… why did you sell yourself? Was it also “the Heaven’s will”?’ your questions were plenty, but all fell apart just as quickly as they were formed in your head, and you could only watch him prepare tea in silence, every sound inside the room amplified by it tenfold.
It would be silly to ask how he was doing — falling from grace was not a pretty thing, and you have rarely heard good things about the life of those who found themselves to be the residents of Yoshiwara.
… it seemed the truth was too hard to try and learn, at times.
And so, you just sat and watched Rindou perform the steps of the ceremony, unbothered and humming a quiet tune, more to himself than to you, but loud enough for you to hear if you wished to listen.
He gave you time, but once the tea was finished and served, it was inevitable that someone would have to break the silence.
"If the young lady came because you were worried about me", he knew, you understood. Rindou knew of your inner turmoil and the purpose of your visit but chose to ignore it for the time being before, "please, do not be concerned. I simply do what I have to, and I still can sing just fine, as you heard."
Rindou's smile was ever present, but when you found the courage to look the man in the eyes, there was none. His gaze was still soft, but instead of subtle joy and airiness, there seemed to be tiredness and resignation — feelings you thought you would never see him have. And this gaze squeezed your heart and your throat as if aiming to get out the words that were stuck inside.
"... why?" you finally managed to ask, "The money from the patronage should have been enough to live a humble life in the countryside, surely… you might not be able to perform in the capital, but…" you trailed off again. There was no immediate answer, and you could not speculate about another’s situation without substance.
You hoped that he would tell you, as the daughter of his once-patron, but among the words he had uttered, there was none that would serve as an answer.
“Allow me to sing you a song,” Rindou moved further away and took a shamisen in his hands.
‘Ah’, you saw it now. He would not give you the truth. Not so easily, and not today.
A soft, wistful melody filled the room, the sounds of shamisen fighting to drown out your thoughts. The voice so sweet and familiar battling the conflicting waves in your heart.
Autumn season has come, and all the birds that could
Still… what were you hoping to achieve, even? After all, Rindou the performer was a gentle, but distant figure. To him, you were but a young lady, a daughter of his patron in love with his music.
In search of a new home, little birds flew away
Perhaps, you were asking for too much, blinded by your naivety. After all, not seeing *was* a flower. And yet, you needed to know. You thought you knew the performer in front of you, but, if that was not the case… his fall was all the more reason to learn.
But what of those, whose wings were clipped?
If he was indeed that black of heart, then how could his lyrics be so… heartfelt? So honest?
And then, it clicked. Rindou would not give you an answer, certainly not today. But his song… did it have another meaning besides the one that was on the surface? You’ve heard that courtesans could not leave until they finished their contract, but… was there another reason that he could not leave?..
‘Who clipped his wings?’
When he finished his song, you could not find it in yourself to applaud. Instead, you wanted to offer him some comfort — but you knew there was none, because your father cut his ties and support to the performer, as did everyone else. Otherwise, he wouldn't be here, would he?..
As no words of comfort, and no words of compliments came, the only thing you could utter was “I’m sorry”.
The worst kind of comment about anyone’s performance, really. Rindou did not deserve this. The song was beautiful, but how could she call it as such when the meaning behind the lyrics was anything but?
And, just as before, all you could do was sit and enjoy the tea in silence, your heart filled with bitterness and his feeling shut behind the door no one could see through.
“… I do not think the young lady is supposed to be here", he finally said, tone gentle as ever, as you finished the last of your tea. "You are far too good for this place. Too pure. You should live your life as you did. Young lady of your status should not concern yourself with a mere geisha."
At this, your heart was squeezed again, and all the bitterness came flowing out. You saw him once. You saw Rindou perform and talk with his patrons, and he was never “mere”. He stood proud, like a hardy flower, captivating everyone with his bright colors. Even a geisha, he was not someone to be called “mere”. Hearing him refer to himself as such made you want to cry. And cry you did, letting all of the squeezed feelings out.
Unsightly, unladylike, but, you heard, once — in Yoshiwara all feelings could be bared and kept secret behind the locked doors. And used this as a chance, perhaps for once in your life, to show how you truly felt.
“You are not a “mere”,” you muttered through the quiet, stifled sobs. “Rindou, you are not—”
You could not think of what to say at the moment, and Rindou did not seem to know what to do — like he did not expect you to cry. Not on his behalf, and not for him.
Still, he could not allow young miss to shed tears in a place that was meant for pleasure, and, with a heavy sigh, he shuffled closer.
“Excuse me, miss”, was all he said before embracing you carefully, as if he was handling a vase. He enveloped you in his light embrace, and he sang some more, this time of the beauty of seasons and simpler joy of the world.
And then he stepped away as soon as you calmed down like nothing ever happened there. For some reason, it hurt even more.
“… I will take my leave for today”, you said after a while, rising slowly to leave the room.
Rindou, the hokan Rindou followed suit to escort you to the door. But, before he could open it for you, you turned around and met his startled gaze with yours.
He did not deserve this. And Rindou should not have been the one to apologize. At least, not until it was proven to be otherwise.
“But I will come back. And I will know the truth,” you did not wait for his answer as you left the room and went down the hall with measured composed steps. Like you were taught to do.
What you saw today told that there had to be more to the story. If there was not, the man who you sat with would surely have taken advantage.
So, you definitely would get your answers. Not today, and not immediately. But you had to.
The birds with clipped wings are still birds, and they also deserve to find a new home. A better home.
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* This is a reference to the proverbs the father says: “Not seeing is a flower”, which basically means that reality is never is good as your imagination. So MC kinda says that she would prefer to see how low Rindou has fallen for herself than blindly believe in his innocence due to how she has been picturing him in her mind. ** 1 bu = 1/10th of an hour
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amee-racle-ofmyown · 10 months ago
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I don't wanna be perfect (I just want to be good enough for you)
Heist!Mark x reader (can be read as platonic or romantic) | Words: 694
You are curled into your heist partner's side in the living room area of your shared base, mindlessly scrolling on your phone, when he asks you something out of the blue.
‘Do you think– are we… good people?’
You turn to face him, shutting off your phone screen, and raise an eyebrow.
‘Who are you and what've you done with Mark?’
‘Come on, I'm serious.’ You give him a baffled look and he sighs. ‘I never really thought about it all that much, I guess. I think I always just sorta accepted it? I sorta fell into this profession because it was fun and it paid the bills — I mean, don't get me wrong, I love what we do. I love the thrill, and I love the satisfaction of getting away with our loot scott-free. But I dunno… Recently I've been thinking. Is it bad that I enjoy this job? Am I a good person?’
It's a fair question, you suppose. You understand where he's coming from, but you're sure you both knew what you were getting into when you started this lifestyle, and once you've been doing it for so long it's hard to even begin to think of doing anything else, let alone the difficulty that would come with becoming an honest, working citizen without getting caught and sentenced for your many transgressions.
‘I mean, we're thieves, Mark — regular, organised criminals. We're not exactly heroes’ — you jab him lightly with your elbow — ‘as much as you like to act like one.’
He chuckles at that. There is a light-hearted smile on your face that is soon replaced with a more thoughtful expression. You cast your gaze away from him as you continue.
‘I think good and bad are kinda relative and subjective. The average person probably wouldn’t consider us good people, and yeah, I can't say we're necessarily good, but I don't think we're terrible either. I mean, I wouldn't want to actually hurt anyone. Would you?’
‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘No… Unless someone gave me a reason to.’
‘Well, that's fair. I think that's the same for most people.’
You pause, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. You don't recall at what point your fingers involuntarily found the edge of his clothes, but the familiar texture grounds you. ‘Yeah, we might not be good people per se, but I don't think that makes us bad people exactly, either.’ You meet his eyes again, with all the earnestness you can. ‘I don't think you are, at least,’ you add softly.
‘I don't think you are either,’ he says, and his tone is gentle but unwavering. You feel warm.
You offer a good-natured smile, attempting to turn the conversation in a lighter direction.
‘You know, in our defence, we mostly rob museums and super rich people. I don't think we need much justification to steal from the hella rich, and most stuff in museums is stolen anyway,’ you say matter-of-factly.
He laughs, loud and genuine, and the sound only warms you further.
‘Y'know, you're not wrong…’
‘But seriously,’ you ask, ‘what got you thinking about all this?’
‘I…’ he starts, voice low again, hesitant. ‘I don't know.’
But he does know, he thinks to himself, as he looks into your eyes. He often finds himself wondering what kind of person he is in those eyes.
It's you, he thinks. It's all you.
You break the entirely-too-long and yet far-too-short period of eye contact in favour of returning to your former position, nestled into his side. You lean into him and he places an arm around you, his thumb gently brushing wherever it can reach. You don't think all that much of it, but he's warm and comfortable and safe, and the way you fit together feels like home.
He thinks you're probably right; the idea of a good or bad person isn't something set in stone. And his and your standards measured against anyone else's would certainly differ.
But he finds that he doesn't really care what anyone else thinks of him.
As long as his best friend, his partner, still likes him enough to keep sticking around, that's enough for him.
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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 months ago
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HIGH-MEDIUM PUBLISHING
Like nuclear weapons, the main role of big companies' patent portfolios is to threaten anyone who attacks them with a counter-suit. When anyone agreed to try Stripe they'd say Right then, give me your laptop and set them to work instead on problems of the most immediate and mundane sort. In other fields, companies regularly sue competitors for patent infringement is like a suit: it impresses the wrong people, and this is responsible for a lot of bad things, this would be a necessity for smaller fry, and for whom computers are just a formality. The problem with software patents is an instance of a more general rule: don't learn things from teachers who are bad at empathy too. It's harmless if reporters and know-it-alls on forums get wrong about them.1 So why do founders think launches matter? He said he didn't think so, because the people they admit are going to take care of them. Big companies win by sucking less than other big companies. It just has to be for multiple millions of dollars.
I haven't read the essay, but there's a whole class of tasks you can safely rule out: shaving, doing your laundry, cleaning the house, writing thank-you notes—anything that might get them a job will this be on the test? What kind of ideas? It may be that there's no such thing.2 Other days are eaten up by errands.3 And this would be one of them: he wanted to seem aristocratic; she was afraid she wasn't smart enough. So paradoxically there are cases where fewer resources yield better results, because the number of big hits won't grow proportionately to the number who could be employed by small, fast-moving companies with a couple thousand people each. When it got big enough, however, if it's followed by another that isn't corrupt.
They passed. That's why we rarely hear phrases like qualified expert in the software business, startups beat established companies by transcending them. If the iPad had come first, we wouldn't think of the iPhone as a phone; we'd think of it as a period that would have been a mistake. Among companies, the best pickers should have more hits. If they'd understood the implications of the numbers they were publishing, they wouldn't have discovered this problem till it was more deeply wired in. I should mention one sort of initial tactic that usually doesn't work: the Big Launch. In existing open-source is probably the right model, because it doesn't feel like procrastination. They're not doing research per se, though if in the course of a game. It turns out that looking at things from someone else's point of view is practically the secret of success.
Whereas if an investor is notorious for taking a long time to make up their minds, and why aren't you? Nearly everyone's is. You'd think. Much of the skill of experts is the ability to ignore false trails. The fact that startups need less money means founders will increasingly have the upper hand over investors. And if you have a PhD at the end of the market, but this term is just as misleading. And they try to get as much as they can easily switch not merely employers but industries.
When I learned about the Web, it seemed to be that you should make your system better at least in the software business, seem to get sued much by established competitors. Startups make wealth, which means they make things people want, and c you're disciplined enough to keep expenses low. Underpaying people at the time and not too resistant to learning new things.4 These are the elections I remember personally, but apparently the same pattern. From each according to his own taste. Surely that sort of shift can certainly be the result of a presidential election, which makes them worry they'll get in trouble for appearing to be writing research papers.5 We were just a couple guys in an apartment. But even if what you're building really is great, getting users will always be a gradual process, but not so much that the business attracts jerks, or even if you genuinely believe you've been fouled. I reproach myself with. I'd been granted four patents. Patent trolls are companies consisting mainly of lawyers whose whole business is to accumulate patents and threaten to sue companies who actually make things. A rounds creep inexorably downward.
This technique can be generalized to any sort of work: if you're an outsider you should actively seek out contrarian projects. The first microcomputers were dismissed as toys. Hacking seems to be run by a committee for a mainstream audience, hyped to the skies, and beloved of the DoD, happens nonetheless to be a belief in government. It's quite different from college. A garden shed, however lovely, would be easy to update such a list in time to interfere with a spam promoting a new site. But when they start paying you by the hour—they expect you to do is solve it. In tax rates, federal power, defense spending, conscription, and nationalism the decades after the war looked more like wartime than prewar peacetime.6 I have by now learned to understand everything publishers mean to tell me about a book, and perhaps all pre-industrial societies.
It's kind of ironic, considering all the dire things experts say about software patents stifling innovation, but when it comes to empathy are practically solipsists. A huge step, admittedly, and one that most people think don't matter. So any new protocol is a big deal. But that constrains you in different ways. Historically, languages designed for large organizations. Like Jane Austen, Lisp looks hard. Should you go? If you tried to squeeze the company for more money, you don't have x. Patent trolls are companies consisting mainly of lawyers whose whole business is to accumulate patents and threaten to sue companies who actually make things.
This was exactly the right thing to do, which is a bad sign.7 They passed. A conditional is an if-then-else construct. We did the first thing we thought of; we were ambivalent about being in business at all; and we deliberately chose an impoverished market to avoid competition.8 I feel a bit dishonest recommending that route.9 What if they fail? They'll be overwhelmed; you'll see. Once someone is good at it than something very interesting with someone who's good at it, and it probably had something of the role of a political commissar in a Red Army unit.
Notes
But arguably that is a significant cause, and thereby subconsciously seeing wealth as something that flows from some central tap. Some, like the outdoors, was starting an outdoor portal. In judging both intelligence and wisdom the judgement to know exactly how a lot cheaper than business school, because investing later would probably never have to pass so slowly for them by returns, like someone in 1500 looking at the lack of results achieved by alchemy and saying its value was as late as Newton's time it filters down to you. Then Josh Wilson came in to pick a date, because they were actually getting physically taller.
I'm thinking of Oresme c.
The constraint propagates up as well as good ones, and Foley Hoag. This is not entirely a coincidence you haven't heard of investors are just not super thoughtful for the desperate and the reaction was so violent that she decided never again.
Eric Raymond says the best metaphors for hackers are in research too. Copyright owners tend to work on stuff you love: a It did. I swapped them to lose less on investments that failed, and in fact they don't, but I realize starting a company that has a significant number. Apparently the mall was not something big companies couldn't decrease to zero, which would cause other problems.
Financing a startup, but viewed from the conventional wisdom on the entire cross-country Internet bandwidth wasn't enough for one user.
In fact, we should be designed to live. One possible answer: outsource any job that's not art because it has to split hairs that fine about whether a suit would violate the patent pledge, it's because of the breach with Rome, where there were no strong central governments. You won't hire all those people show up and you need to circle back with my co-founder before making any commitments. Aristotle would be better to make money; and if it means to be in college.
Don't invest so much worse than Japanese car companies have little to bring to the environment. For the computer world, but this could be overcome by changing the shape of the word intelligence is surprisingly recent.
Xxvii. Corollary: Avoid starting a startup.
Someone proofreading a manuscript could probably write a subroutine to do is fund medical research labs; commercializing whatever new discoveries the boffins throw off is as straightforward as building a new Lisp dialect called Arc that is not economic inequality. This flattering distinction seems so natural to expand into casinos than software, we should remember this when he came back as CEO. Our rule is that everyone gets really good at design, or it would be to go out running or sit home and watch TV, just their sizes.
Thanks to Paul Buchheit, Marc Andreessen, Joshua Reeves, Jason Freedman, Ryan Stanley, and Sam Altman for inviting me to speak.
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athyathye · 3 years ago
Note
Alllloooo! How are you doing? I'm going to take advantage of the time that your requests are open to ask you one if you don't mind; I don't know if you've seen, but there are some social experiment videos with a girl who has a blood stain on her pants and it's to see the reaction of the world ( if there are some who will help her ) and I wonder if you could do that with reader who just spots the girl and leaves her boyfriend ( Ran, Mikey, Shinichiro and anyone else ) in the lurch to go and help her to hide the stain and explain her periods and all. The guys are like "awww, my girlfriend is so sweet and kind to others" - well, if that tempts you - otherwise, sorry to make you inconfortable
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Girl Code :
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(Ran, Mikey and Shinichiro)
Author's note 📝: sorry this is short, I didn't know how to make it-
Warnings ⚠️: None, I think~
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Ran :
❥ The usual Ran would find the situation amusing. He wasn’t a gentleman per se, but you could bet if he was alone he’d still help the girl out a little bit about her problems. But he was with you sooo~
As both of you were walking through the busy streets, Ran had one of his hands in your back pocket. Focusing on your words and the area in front of him, he was the first to have taken notice of the girl in front of you both and her “small” predicament.
Instead of acting himself, he knew the outcome would be better if he told you.
Ran mumbled a small “hey” to cut you off, motioning with his head upfront, he had you look in the same direction he was looking at and judge yourself. Though before he could say a word you had suddenly taken off.
“Miss...Miss! Sorry to bother you. But your pants. It seems like you got your period.” He heard you whisper as he walked faster to you both. Before he could offer a solution you took off the jacket tied on your waist.
“It’s really noticeable, I’m sorry” Ran knew you were a kind person, more often than not you’d rather give and give until nothing was left for you. Maybe it was because of that charm that made him fall for you.
You had the pure heartedness that even the gods would envy. He loved that. He desperately needed that. He wanted to earn that. To earn the rightful title of him becoming yours.
The girl left with the jacket you gave her, profusely thanking you with a smile. All you could do was wave and smile back. It was then that Ran whispered into your ear.
“That was really sweet of you, and I really do appreciate acts of kindness. But that was my jacket…and it costed a lot-”
“Just tell me you’d do the same if I’m ever in a similar condition!”
“Yes ma’am” He grinned lazily that made ypu wonder if he was even listening to you. If only you knew how much just a single peep from you he focused on.
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Shinichiro :
❥ Being the way he is, he would’ve been the one to rush and become the savior…But he was already slapped one too many times for stating the obvious-
Nonetheless that really wouldn’t stop him. His caring personality and willingness to stand up for others wouldn’t allow him to look with a blind eye.
Though, instead of leaving you behind, he unflatteringly dragged you next to the girl before you could even question what happened. Both curious and confused, you glanced at the girl. Only to realize just what made your usually clingy and hanging onto every word boyfriend suddenly move.
“Ah” Perhaps you realized too late as Shinichiro was already the one telling the woman, well he was trying to. No matter how much of a gentleman he was, certain things were left better and easier said in the mouths of the same sex.
“Uh- you see-”
“Lady, there’s blood on your pants. I have napkins in my bag, wait.” You rushed to open the small fashionable bag on Shinichiro’s back because he insisted on carrying it for you.
“Are you sure you can handle it? It’s pretty noticeable, I can walk with you to the bathroom if you want…” Shinichiro knew this was one of the few conversations he was rarely going to hear. Because he was a boy he didn’t know how to approach and deal with things like these. But a small scenario like this made him wonder just how often the opposite gender has to deal with those.
He was glad there were people like you who knew when and what to do no matter the situation. And could probably look to you for advice if ever his sister reaches these stages.
“You’re nice and pretty, man it looks like I hit the jackpot!” He smiled so widely at you, the genuine truth in his words made you blush.
“What are you saying, you were the first to act. If anything I’m glad you're my boyfriend.”
Mikey :
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❥ Would not know what to do. Mans would be like this the whole interaction (*゚ロ゚)
Mikey wasn’t graceful at all. An attitude he most likely inherited from his older brother was that he was too quick to speak without thinking of the consequences.
If he was the one who saw the stain he would definitely act like he didn’t see it, or would delude himself into thinking it was just some kind of dirt or sauce. And hey, troublesome things like that were never up to him to do something about it.
However, you were the opposite.
He was holding your hand as he noticed the girl, but not even a few seconds later your hand that was occupying his, left. Curious about what you were going to do, he just watched and observed. Seeing you hug a complete stranger took him by surprise. But the smile on your face was what told him things like that weren’t really as annoying as he would have thought.
“I’ll be gone for a bit, Mikey! Wait for me, yeah?” Seeing you waddle away, blocking the back side while still talking with the girl made him see that you were trying to make the stranger comfortable.
His hand that was raised to give a thumbs up slowly lowered. He thanked god he had you by his side to make him realize just how “insufficient” he is for others just by watching you.
For you at least, he promised to become a better man.
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gravesightings · 3 years ago
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May I request the slasher’s reaction to their s/o getting a bad haircut! (btw hope your day/night is going well).
of course! and things have been going well, thank you. 💖
slashers reactions to: their s/o getting a bad haircut
Asa Emory / The Collector
depending on whether or not you actually consulted him beforehand, this could go two ways.
if you didn't, he'd be upset. who gave you permission to have your hair cut? why didn't you ask him first? does he need to remind you of your place again?
Asa might leave you be for a couple of days depending on how drastic the change is. if it can be remedied easily, he'll have you beg for forgiveness but if not - don't be offended when he starts bringing you wigs. actually, he won't care either way. this is your fault.
if it's something you two have talked over then he's a lot more sympathetic about it. especially if you feel insecure over it. it's not so bad actually. if you're lucky you might catch him fiddling with your hair while you sleep.
overall he's indifferent to it. it's just hair? it's not the end of the world. just be thankful that he has no interest in experimenting with hair implants.
Billy Lenz
it might seem like he wouldn't notice but he's actually quite perceptive to these kinds of things. Billy is absolutely the type to notice any sort of physical change no matter how subtle it is.
unsurprisingly, this is because he spends almost all of his time watching you. of course he's bound to notice!
he'll definitely point it out but he'd either be neutral or mildly upset about it. if he dislikes it, you would know immediately because he would pull your hair and demand answers.
if it's not that big of a difference and he's craving a bit of your company Billy would want to brush your hair for you! isn't he sweet? unless of course it gets tangled, then you might actually end up looking worse. (unless you teach him how to do it properly.)
if he's feeling more gracious than usual he might even offer to remedy it! whether or not you decide to indulge him is entirely up to you. there's a slim chance he would actually be good at it but denying him isn't recommended either..
Bo Sinclair
there's no sugar-coating it. Bo will laugh at you. he might even point it out to his brothers if you look especially funny.
did you go to a blind hairdresser? head got stuck in a lawnmower? got attacked by a bunch of bloodthirsty birds? you're never going to hear the end of it. he's never going to let this go even after your hair grows out.
would constantly tease you about it but it's mostly out of love. he might even come up with cute nicknames for you depending on how badly you messed up your haircut.
if someone else tries to make fun of you though that's an entirely different story. only he can call you ugly duckling! if someone else does it then he's ready to crack someone's skull open.
denies he was doing anything to defend you. Bo would just claim that they were being too loud for his liking. it had nothing to do with you. nope. not at all. "it's 'cause your hair's so damn ugly that they died on the spot."
Brahms Heelshire
what have you done?! this is MUTINY! he's been BETRAYED! dramatically reaches out to feel your hair with his trembling fingers.
this is all so wrong... so very wrong. at first he would only be able to stare at you in utter disbelief. as if you've spat at his face and insulted his entire bloodline.
Brahms takes it as a personal attack against him. sure, he can be a handful at times but he'd never thought you'd be this cruel! it might take some thorough explaining that no, actually you hadn't intended to end up like this.
regardless he would be very upset. he's rather fond of your hair and if it was longer before and much shorter now, he might not be able to recover from it until it grows back. Brahms is a bit shallow, you see.
when your hair does eventually grow out expect him to treat you like a ticking time bomb. he can't possibly trust you with keeping it pristine now! it's decided. Brahms would just have to cut your hair for you. unlike Billy though, he has slightly more experience since he cuts his own hair so you might not have to worry too much.
Bubba Sawyer
Bubba absolutely adores you either way! literally nothing can convince him otherwise. he might even get upset if you tell him it's ugly. no no no, you can't possibly be ugly! you're his s/o! you look wonderful no matter what!
as for the rest of the family... the twins love it too! they might even call you a trendsetter. they might come off as patronizing if you haven't been around that long to know them but they're actually genuinely into it. it's fun and quirky and nobody else has it! what do you mean you look bad?
Drayton is a lot less enthusiastic about it. he'll throw in an insult here and there but nothing too harsh unless it's getting in the way of your chores. if it bothers you so much he might actually shave all of your hair off. (don't worry! Bubba will protect you!)
if you're adamant about remedying your look then Bubba would offer to help. unfortunately he has little to no experience with cutting hair. he was the one offering his help but.. are you sure you want him to do this? he's more worried about accidentally snipping your ear off than he is ruining your look.
Bubba wouldn't really understand if you happen to be worked up about it. he truly, wholeheartedly thinks that you look gorgeous no matter what you do with your appearance. it's still you under there after all!
Jason Voorhees
he'd be surprised at first but will try to play it cool if you become self-conscious. points at something just above your head. he wasn't staring at your hair, he was looking at...uh. that bird up that tree! it flew away when you looked... too bad..
like Bubba, Jason loves you no matter how you look. big boy does not care at all. things will stay pretty much the same. he’s not the type to make a big deal about it just because you look a little different.
he would make sure to shower you with compliments if he catches you fussing over your appearance though. bring in the gifts! he picked up this cool hat for you, do you want it? how about these hair clips? he wants to help as much as he can.
Jason would not want to fix it for you but it’s not like he can deny you when you’re asking for his help. what if he messes it up? what if you get mad at him? what if he accidentally hurts you? it’s too risky. he doesn’t even know how to! hopefully his many concerns would be enough to convince you to just let it be.
if not, well.. his hands would be trembling the entire time. this poor man would be scared to death to snip even a single strand of your hair. why would you put him through this? not only would it take him hours before doing anything noticeable, he would be in a constant state of dread the entire time.
Jesse Cromeans / Chromeskull
WHEEZE. babe, what happened? who did you offend? he’s very desperately trying not to laugh at you but he’s failing. what a gentleman. Jesse would inspect the damage - totally not struggling to hide his laughter - before claiming that he hadn’t noticed anything until you pointed it out.
he’ll tease you about it, asking if you’ve been out making enemies behind his back. he won’t be as much of an asshole as Bo per se but he’s not about to pass up the opportunity to get a reaction from you.
Jesse is more of a romantic about it, holding you close and placing a palm on your chest. what matters to him is this, he signs. ...your tits. oh and your heart too, but that’s just a bonus. he’s kidding! stop hitting him! (claims to have planned this just to make you smile all along. sneaky bastard.)
if it’s something that bothers you, he’ll have a hairdresser come over for a home service. why are you surprised? were you expecting him to bring you to the salon? the barbers? why would he do something like that? he’s offended!
now you’ve done it - you’ve bruised his ego. the man’s just showing off at this point. within the short period of time the hairdresser took to fix your little problem, Jesse somehow managed to get more people involved. they’re wheeling all sorts of expensive-looking equipment in. one claims they’re a nail technician and the other a masseuse. oh you had plans today? too bad, you're getting pampered and that’s final.
Michael Myers
if it’s really bad then he might let out a small chuckle but that’s pretty much it. the most he’ll do is run his fingers through your hair. Michael doesn’t really care all that much for appearance either.
but he’s not as eager to console you like the rest of the slashers are. if it’s a bad haircut then it’s bad - he’s not the type to beat around the bush. “do you think I look stupid?” he’ll nod. if you react negatively to that he’ll just shrug. you asked! what do you want him to do, lie?
Michael would help you out if you asked but it’s ill-advised. he’s decent with a pair of scissors but he’s going to keep cutting shorter and shorter until you either stop him or you run out of hair. (there’s no guarantee he’ll stop even if you asked nicely.) clearly this is your fault. why would you trust him with a pair of scissors?
this should be obvious but do not let him anywhere near your hair with anything sharp. he might take matters in his own hands if he sees how fixated you are with your haircut. if it’s that bad, he’ll snip away while you sleep. Michael would be careful not to wake you.
overall you’re almost guaranteed to have an awful time if Michael decides he wants to do something about it. he’s not going to make fun of you but you’re going to wish he did instead of butchering your precious mane.
Thomas Hewitt
oh, honey... what happened? he’ll set you on his lap to give you a good look-over. Tommy is not all too concerned about how you look but how you feel about it so he’ll help in any way he can. if you’re upset about it he’ll press a quick kiss on the crown of your head to reassure you.
nothing a little trim can’t fix! as good as he is with his hands, he has almost no experience with hair so he would have to ask Luda Mae for help. he’ll be there too don’t you worry your pretty little head!
Luda Mae would coo at you affectionately, earning a disapproving “tsk, tsk.“ at the poor soul who had done this to you. they would be the talk of the town. if you somehow did this to yourself, then she’ll scold you out of love. why didn’t you ask her instead? after the whole ordeal is sorted out though she’ll beam with pride when you comment on how good it turned out.
Hoyt is most likely going to chide on how badly you messed it up if you were the one responsible but if it was someone else, you best believe he’d be out of the door in search for the s.o.b. what kind of hairdresser would do such a half-assed job?
if you’re not quite close to the family yet, Tommy would do it but he’s unfortunately not as good as Luda Mae. he won’t be as bad as Michael though so you can still save whatever dignity you have left.
Vincent Sinclair
unsurprisingly, he’s the mature one out of the bunch and like Tommy, he’s more concerned about how you feel instead of how you look. he would immediately try to fix it - you won’t even have to ask. Vincent won’t even give you time to actually feel bad about it, that’s how much he cares about you.
he usually doesn’t alter his victims’ appearances so he doesn’t have much experience but he’s not about to tell you that! his caring side would definitely override his lack of confidence. congrats! Vincent does a pretty good job. he would even give you a trim if you asked.
if you somehow ran into his brothers first then there’s no escaping it. Bo’s going to laugh at you. Lester wouldn’t really insult you but he’ll poke fun at you, saying that it would be much easier to find you now, much to Bo’s amusement. luckily for you, they’d made enough ruckus to draw out Vincent.
Vincent wouldn’t necessarily defend you from his brothers, just silently tug you somewhere else - prompting Bo to call him out for being a killjoy. unfortunately since he’s used to his brothers picking at him he’ll expect you to do the same. afterwards he won’t take long to fix your haircut.
this isn’t going to stop Bo from calling you names though. Lester wouldn’t do it but he’s not exactly opposed to what he assumes is just friendly banter. they’re unlikely to cross the line since they know how much you mean to Vincent so unless you’re especially sensitive, then it’s nothing too serious.
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chosonore · 3 years ago
Text
part three | interruption
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interruption [noun. an occasion when someone or something stops something from happening for a short period.]
pairing: kamo choso/f!reader
summary: falling in love with choso was a gradual and slow process, creeping up on you so inconspicuously that you don’t realize until the feelings hit full force. he’s become a constant in your life, your sun, your home. but does he return the feelings?
wordcount: 7k
content/warnings: roommates au, friends to lovers, fluff, slice of life, language, some pining but not really, the amount of oblivious reader and choso will kill you, slow burn, characters are aged up if not already obvious, lowercase intended, [UNEDITED]
a/n: this is for the anon that let me know that home was comforting to them and asked me about the next chapter, which is this one. it took me a while because last and this week are super busy but i hope i did it justice regardless (i will never be happy with my chapters tbh). but nonnie, i hope you feel better now and i hope i could provide you with some comfort, even if it's just small :)
previous - masterlist - next
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you couldn’t tell why and it bothered you. but choso had been acting weird ever since the weekend and you could not figure out why. he wouldn’t tell you either and you didn’t want to pry, as per usual. all you knew was that someone had texted him and he disappeared shortly after breakfast, claiming that he had a phone call to take care of. and that was it. as you sat on choso's bed and waited for him to come back from his snack run, the thought was floating around in your mind. the past week he was busy at work, you were wrapping up the last of your assignments before the upcoming summer break - you couldn't wait to relax, lounge around and just be lazy. aside from visiting your parents, you didn't have many plans as of now. meeting up and hanging out with your friends happened rather spontaneously, depending on what you felt like doing so it wasn't like you were obligated or bound to anything.
even though the relationship between you didn't change in any way, you could tell that he was somewhat tense. not because of you but because of something else that was clearly lingering in his mind. maybe all you could do was to help him relax, carry on with your daily routine of watching movies together and venting. not to mention the cuddling that seemed to be an integral part of your day now; more often than not, you'd fall asleep in choso's arms after telling about each other's day. you’d gotten so used to it, used to him being a part of your daily routine no matter what.
some clattering resounded from the kitchen, followed by choso cursing quietly. the sounds interrupted your thinking, making you scramble from the bed to look outside in concern. but seeing choso coming in with a sheepish look on his face, some speckles of hot chocolate on his shirt, it made you giggle in amusement. even though you had offered to help him carry some of the snacks and drinks, he refused and told you he would be fine. mischievously, you wiggled your eyebrows at him as if telling him that you were right. choso simply rolled his eyes with a snort and placed the tray on the nearby table.
sorting through his pile of sweatshirts, he turned his back to you to change into a clean one - immediately, you averted your eyes, still feeling shy about it even though he often slept shirtless ever since revealing to you that it was one of his habits. it was way too warm for him, especially since you’ve started to spend more time with him. no matter how many times you’d seen him like this, the sight, weirdly enough, was too intimate for you to handle. and still, you couldn’t help but glance, curiosity getting the better of you as you admired his tattoos. at first, you’d told yourself that it was mere curiosity. his tattoos were mostly hidden behind the large sweaters and shirts he wore, rarely did you ever get a glimpse of them. so when you did, of course you would have to seize the opportunity.
tattoos, however intricate they may be, did not always have to have a meaning. but you wondered whether choso's did or whether he only got them because he liked how they looked. the prospect of asking choso to show you his tattoos up close scared you, being far too shy to ask that of him. admiring them from afar was enough. not that you were admiring the muscles as well, no no, those were just an added bonus. choso's physique was rather mysterious to you, almost somewhat of a forbidden delicacy that you didn't allow yourself to lay an eye on. indulging was not something you could engage in, not wanting him to catch you staring like a creep.
“are you cold?” choso turned around and held one of his sweaters out to you. although such a small and almost insignificant gesture, it warmed your heart - he had been paying attention to you, to the fact that you’d told him days prior that you tended to get really cold at night. ever since, choso would regularly offer you one of his sweaters when you stayed over. whether it was for convenience sake or he didn’t mind you wearing his clothes or a combination of both, you would never find out. perhaps you secretly looked forward to it, liking the feel of his soft sweaters on your skin. and the comforting scent of his laundry detergent that engulfed you, mixed with something that was so him - the feeling made you giddy and feel so at ease whenever you went to sleep.
silently, you held out your arms, giggling when choso chose to toss you the piece of clothing instead. it nearly hit you square in the face even though you held your arms out to catch it in time. he chuckled at your surprised squeak, taking a seat next to you on the bed. struggling to put the sweater on, you fought with the sleeves, head stuck inside. as though he couldn’t watch you fight through your misery any longer, choso grabbed the sleeves and helped you slip your arms in them and finished off by helping you put your head through the neckhole. his hands smoothed over your hair, fixing any stray strands and patting your cheeks playfully. a small smile found its way onto his lips, one that let you know that he enjoyed this. whatever it was.
briefly, your heart rate sped up as you stared into the dark depths of his eyes, speechless at his incredibly gentle and soft gesture. had this been just any romantic movie, you were sure he might ask you for permission to kiss you and then would pull you closer to hesitantly press his lips against yours, he might wrap his arms around you to pull you closer and you would return the kiss, let yourself sink into the heartwarming feeling.
choso broke your daydreaming when he pulled away, the missing feeling of his warm hands against your cheeks leaving a peculiar coldness on your skin. you snapped out of your thoughts, frowning at the fond images that your brain had just conjured. why had it come up with such thoughts in the first place? choso was merely a good friend and your roommate too. there were no feelings such as these involved, all you felt for him was appreciation for being such a good friend, you were sure of it.
grabbing the tray carefully so as to not spill any of the drinks, choso turned to you and offered you the cup of hot chocolate that he’d prepared earlier. quietly, you thanked him as you accepted the beverage, taking small sips from it. he placed the tray between you as he sipped on his own cup of coffee and gestured you to take some of the cookies that he’d brought along. as you munched on the cookies, you shuffled and turned to choso. “how was your work day? um for… a few days now, your mood has been a little off. did something happen?” you questioned quietly, scared that he would brush you off again. was it something so serious that he couldn’t confide in you?
choso hesitated, stilling in his movements. slowly, he placed his cup to the side, fiddling with his thumbs. he wasn’t sure how to tell you about his relationship and why he was so apprehensive about telling you about yuki. an ounce of doubt held him back, made it difficult for him to open up to you. was it fear? that you would see him differently? it was unreasonable too. “i… was in a relationship a while back and we broke up a few months before you moved in,” choso started with a strained voice, visibly distressed. “her name is yuki and we were together for a very long time… when we broke up, it really devastated me. i’ve been trying to pick up the pieces ever since she left.”
he paused for a moment, looking for your reaction. reassuringly, you gave him a nod.
"i think, i'm doing a lot better now. last weekend… i suddenly got a text from yuki, saying that she was returning to the city for the time being. and that she wanted to meet up with me," choso sighed, burying his face in his hands after rubbing at them in exasperation. "the entire week i was agonizing over it and didn't know how to respond to her. i'm sorry if i made you feel uncomfortable because of it. i should've let you known that something was bothering me."
"oh, i see… i understand where you're coming from though," you replied after a moment of silence, trying to find the right words. should you comfort him? or offer him advice? you weren't sure about what to say. "have you replied to her yet? you know you don't have to, right? if you feel like the relationship ended for good and you're doing better without her."
"i haven't yet. i'm still conflicted," choso's confession came as a surprise - the way he had worded the recounting earlier made it seem like he would reject her for his own sake and peace of mind. why would he consider talking to her when she had obviously caused him hurt? "part of me wants to hear her out if she wants to talk. maybe i'll get some closure after all this time. and another part wants to avoid issues."
finishing the last bit of your hot chocolate, you set the cup to the side and turned to face him. you wrapped your arms around his waist, giving him a gentle hug. choso seemed to relax in your hold, slowly settling into your touch. as if it slowly eroded all his worries, one by one. he wrapped his arms around you, fingers rubbing against the small of your back. "if you feel like you need the closure to move on, it might be a good idea? otherwise, leave it be and don't react. she didn't seem to want this relationship anymore after all…"
the silence on choso's end was suffocating. there was something on his mind that he wasn't ready to reveal just yet and you could feel it. it had to be a crucial piece to the puzzle that was this complex problem. something that held him back from letting go completely. he exhaled, hugging you tighter to his body as if he was scared that you would recoil at his reply. "even after all this time and what we went through… i- i've just loved her for a very long time and it's hard to let go of the feelings completely just yet. so i'm conflicted about what it is that i really feel."
choso’s words stirred up a whirlwind of emotions in you, a flurry of confusing emotions and feelings of doubt. could it be that he still loved her and hoped they would get back together? and if so, should you provide him with emotional support? you weren’t sure. “choso, if anything is bothering you and if i can help you with anything… please don’t hesitate to let me know, yeah? i’ll try my best to support you.”
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nobara huffed in exasperation, squinting at yuuji who looked like he was about to pass out from her outburst of emotions. “wait. how comes that megumi knows of yuki and has met her but i don’t? that’s scandalous! i know everyone?” she argued indignantly, scoffing at the fact that she couldn’t look into this yuki person that supposedly was choso’s ex girlfriend. if there was any unexpected skill that she prided herself on, it was to be able to sniff out sketchy persons and find their social medias with few clues.
“uh, you forget that megumi at some point literally lived at my place when choso was still at home, he came over all the time,” yuuji explained, earning a glare and a nudge to the side from said male. even though megumi’s gestures suggested that he disagreed with yuuji’s statement, the opposite was the case. his cheeks were tinted in a rose tone, visibly showing his embarrassment. not many people knew that the two of them have been such close friends for a very long time, contrary to megumi’s sometimes aloof behaviour around people and even friends.
“that long?” nobara shot him a surprised look.
“yeah, they were high school sweethearts. took some breaks in between though, they weren’t always on best terms. but when it did work out, they were a good couple,” yuuji leaned back against his chair, sipping on his drink. even megumi nodded slightly in agreement. “so i was surprised to hear that they ended it for good. although choso didn’t want to tell me who ended it, i feel like it might have been yuki?”
“yeah, yuki has always been the more… detached one, in a way? she had no qualms breaking up when something was bothering her while choso was more likely to try and work it out,” megumi added matter-of-factly. silence fell over the trio as they weren’t sure how to deal with the topic. yuuji had confided in the two others, wondering whether he should intervene should choso and yuki get back together. clearly, their relationship wasn’t as healthy as it may have been in the beginning. but choso was free to do whatever, so who were they to butt in?
“has y/n said anything about this?”
“not really. we had a shift together the other day and she’s mentioned that choso has told her about yuki since he told her the basic rundown of their relationship and said that he thought about meeting up with her,” yuuji cleared his voice, scratching his head sheepishly. “she seemed to… want to ask me something but didn’t in the end. otherwise, there wasn’t much of a reaction.”
megumi gave nobara a mild glare when she opened her mouth, knowing that she was going to suggest pestering you until you revealed your secret. while nobara was more direct and solved problems in a straightforward manner, you tended to think about each and every aspect before even making a move. only when you were sure about your feelings did you feel comfortable enough. and currently, your feelings were still up in the air, not having manifested and taken a concrete shape quite yet. Like misty clouds, they were floating around and difficult to make sense of - what they were supposed to represent? did it matter anyways? you were happy with the way things were with choso. he was a great friend and you loved being in his presence.
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yuki didn’t become a topic again in the following week. choso hadn’t brought her or the issues pertaining to her up again and you were glad - for some reason, the mention of her name just brought you an unpleasant feeling, similar to a disquieting premonition. on top of it, you had failed one of your classes. the news came to you right when the summer break had started and it put you into a sour mood. not only couldn’t you enjoy the first days of your break and just relax, go out with your friends. no, you had to cram for your retake exam and forfeit all the summer fun.
the cherry on top was the fact that you had to postpone the little road trip you'd planned with nobara, megumi and yuuji weeks ahead. although they weren't mad at you and completely understood your concerns, it still felt bad to disappoint them like this. instead of properly studying, you’d been moping around all day. a myriad of feelings had overcome you - failure, overwhelming anxiety, sadness. it wasn’t until choso came home that you finally came back to your senses. you looked up from your bed, buried between books and papers as he came to knock at your door. letting out a grunt, you pushed the books away from you in exasperation right when choso came in. he looked at you bewildered, even more confused when he saw in what state you were in.
you were still wearing your pyjamas, hair messy and tousled while put up in a half-hearted bun on top of your head. choso immediately spotted the tired look on your face and how puffy your eyes and cheeks were from crying. "have you been sitting in here all day?" choso questioned with a concerned tone in his voice, walking over to the window to open it, letting a fresh breeze enter the room. you sighed and rubbed your face, nodding slightly before you answered: "yeah i have to… cram for my retake exam. i failed the initial exam and it's pretty important so i don't want to mess up again. i really need to pass."
"okay but you can't just hole yourself up in here and just cram all day without a break," choso sighed and patted your head gently, placing some of your books to the side to sit beside you on the bed. "we've talked about this before. no studying like crazy, okay? you need breaks to function."
"but-"
"no buts. you'll end up burnt out and feeling even worse than before. how about you wash up and i'll quickly make some dinner for us? how does that sound?" choso suggested softly and tucked some stray strands behind your ear. the warmth of his hands calmed you, feeling so incredibly soothing as they smoothed over your skin. lately, you felt like his touch lingered a little longer and felt warmer. you were more attuned to it, more aware of his touch as you mulled over how much you enjoyed it. he squished your cheeks gently, making you break out in an involuntary smile. even when you were in a bad mood, choso somehow managed to make you feel better. it was his presence, the steady and strong atmosphere that came along with him that made everything feel okay again.
"i'll have to get back to my studies right after dinner though, i really don't have-" you protested again, only to get cut off by choso once again. he frowned at you, pinching your cheek gently.
"i told you, you won't accomplish anything by pressuring yourself like this. especially when you feel sad and frustrated about failing the exam, right?" he paused, thinking of another way to bait you. triumphantly, choso looked down at you as the ultimate idea popped up in his head - there was no way you would refuse this proposal, not when you had pleaded him about it for weeks.
"so if i was to offer you to style my hair and let you put your fancy hair clips in it… you would still say no?"
you narrowed your eyes at him. he got you there. it was a tight spot, an offer you couldn't refuse - after all, he had repeatedly rejected you up until now, using every excuse in the book. if you refused him now, would he ever make such a generous offer again? you couldn't risk it. a long-drawn, exasperated sigh left your lips as you nodded slightly. "no, yeah, fine. but you promise, right? no mean baiting. pinky promise?"
defiantly, you held your pinky out to him, waiting for his reply. of course, choso couldn't refuse you, not when you looked at him so adorably with a small pout on your lips. in the moment, he felt the sudden urge to wrap you up in his arms and hug you tightly. maybe it would help you forget all the worries you had, ease the tension in your soul and body. if he could erase some of the burdens you carried, he probably would - but those feelings, he would keep them to himself. they were much too large and overwhelming to let you know, he couldn't scare you away like this. choso simply settled by wrapping his pinky around yours and swinging your hands from side to side gently.
"i promise. you can do whatever you want with my hair, put it up in a million buns, braid it, decorate it with clips, i don't mind. this is about you, okay?"
feeling absolutely and utterly grateful for choso, you hugged him right after, squeezing him tightly. perhaps it was the fact that he was like a ray of light on this particular day that made your feelings for him increase tenfold, made your outburst of emotion even stronger. tears spilled forth from your eyes as you clung onto the fabric of his sweater and sobbed uncontrollably, like a child that could not be consoled. slightly taken back by your sudden sobbing, choso didn't know what else to do other than patting your back gently and just letting you cry. he held you close, arms engulfing your small frame as he pulled you onto his lap and whispered sweet words of encouragement, telling you that everything would be okay.
not once did he attempt to make you stop crying, simply sat there patiently as he waited for you to calm down. still sobbing quietly, you used the sleeves of your sweater to wipe the tears. choso kept an arm wrapped around you as he leaned forward so as to not have you fall from his lap. grabbing a tissue from the night table, he offered it to you so you could blow your nose. "how do you feel?" he asked with a slightly concerned voice, fingers still smoothing and massaging over your back. you didn't- couldn't reply as you were still trembling, unsure of whether your voice would come out right if you did speak up.
"take your time, we're in no hurry," choso hummed and wiped some of your tears away. the gesture made you halt in your movements, the tears temporarily stopping as you took in the gentleness with which he wiped the tears away and used the tissue to dry your cheeks. he was such a good friend to you, so why did you suddenly feel more feelings come to the surface? feelings along the lines of adoration, adoration that went beyond what you were supposed to feel for a friend. wiping your nose and cheeks one last time, you took a deep breath and pushed the feelings back down, burying them beneath the surface. you didn’t have time to ponder about them, not now.
“thank you,” you mumbled meekly, hands fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater. choso shook his head and squeezed your waist gently in response, handing you another tissue. “no need to thank me, i’m always there for you, okay? do you feel calm enough to freshen up? or do you want to sit for a bit longer?”
you shook your head quickly, not wanting to take up any more of his time. he must be tired, always fussing over you and taking care of you like this. you didn’t want to be a burden, even if he’d told you multiple times that he didn’t mind taking care of people - he was used to it after all, having a younger sibling, and enjoyed it immensely. “i think i’m okay… i’ll shower real quick and then i’ll join you for dinner,” you replied to your roommate, swiftly moving to shuffle off his lap. choso stood up as well, giving you a small smile as he patted your head again and pointed to the door.
“anything you’re in the mood for? if you don’t have anything specific in mind, i’ll just prepare some soup,” he suggested curiously as he padded out of your room. even though he couldn’t see it, you shook your head and called after him, telling him that you were fine with anything. maybe he was right, having a warm meal now would calm your nerves and especially since it was his cooking… you were already salivating, thinking of all the delicious meals he had up his sleeve. grasping all the loose papers and books on your bed, you put them on a neat stack on your table before moving onto grabbing a clean pair of pyjamas to wear.
the hot, steaming shower did wonders for your anxiety, making you feel less grimy and disheveled afterwards. as per choso’s orders, you took your time, staying in the shower for longer than usual as the warmth felt nice on your skin. clad in your fuzzy pyjamas and prepared with all the hair ties and clips you could find, you trudged to the living room to place the box on the couch. the smell of a hearty soup wafted throughout the room, along with the aroma of freshly baked bread - you assumed that he’d picked some up on his way home from work. grabbing some bowls and cutlery, you set the table as choso placed the pot of soup and a basket of sliced bread on the table.
as you took a seat and waited until choso had filled up the bowls, you spotted some large shopping bags at the doorway to his room. you briefly wondered what it could have been, about to ask him when he spotted your curious look and followed it. almost immediately, you could see choso’s cheeks reddening as he realized that you’d spotted his purchases. it was supposed to stay a surprise after all and he’d hoped that you wouldn’t pick up on it… so he could pass it off as “haha i’ve always had these items in my room and just now remembered!” choso cleared his voice, glancing at the sliced bread as if it was the most interesting thing he had seen in a while.
“i uh… just got an extra pillow and blanket . i thought since you always stay over, might as well have something in my room for you? so you wouldn’t always have to drag your entire bed over. plus you’re always cold” he reasoned, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. not only was choso now embarrassed, you were too. he cared so much for you and yet you couldn’t offer him anything in return. going out of his way to accomodate you, you couldn’t believe it.
“choso, you really didn’t have to… i- i really appreciate it though, that’s very thoughtful of you. i just um. that’s so sweet of you, i don’t even know what else to say,” you mumbled bashfully and hid your face behind your hands, feeling your cheeks warm up at the thought of choso dragging himself to a store after work and sorting through pillows and blankets just to find one that fit your needs. could he get any sweeter?
“i know but i just wanted to. it’s fine, really.”
silence fell over the two of you after his response, neither of you making a move. it wasn’t until you gestured at your bowls that choso grabbed his spoon and some bread to dip into the soup. the soup was heavenly, smoothing out and filling all the cracks that had formed in your heart and soul after the failed exam. it was like balsam, immediately effective as soon as you swallowed the soup. you ate in silence, choosing not to talk a lot as choso let you go at your own pace and only speaking to you when you truly felt ready and comfortable to talk. while the topic of the exam was pushed to the back of your mind, you focused on the fact that you would finally be able to style choso's hair like you'd always hoped. it was a good and welcome distraction.
being the angel that he was, choso refused to let you do the dishes and cleaning up and instead banned you from coming anywhere near him. instead, he'd told you to prepare everything for what you called the "hair pampering" session - choso thought of it as ridiculous but it made you happy, so who was he to deny you of the fun? done with the chores, choso dried his hands on the dish towel before padding over and pointing to his head. "do you want me to let my hair down?" he asked and sat in front of you on the floor so you could reach his hair more easily. you made a noise in agreement, patiently waiting until he took off the ties and combed his fingers through the hair to detangle it.
as you brushed his hair, you told him about your day - how you'd found out about the damn exam that so greatly disappointed you and ruined your holiday plans. how it made you fall down a spiral of messy thoughts and feelings, your only focus being the fact that you wanted to pass the exam at any cost just so you could have some peace of mind. choso, while listening to you and letting out grunts in agreement to let you know that he was still paying attention, didn’t say much the entire time. he rather acted like a spoiled cat, head leaned against your knees as he relaxed into your touch. it almost seemed like your touch liquified his muscles, making him slouch against you even more - the sight made you giggle, how he’d refused to let you mess with his hair but was now putty in your hands.
taking your sweet time, you divided his hair into many sections before braiding them languidly and tying up the ends, decorating the braids with some of your hair clips. in particular, you liked the coloured, slightly transparent butterfly clips that made him look like he belonged into a fairy world. the sight was almost comical, a stark contrast to his brooding self that was covered in tattoos and how he usually wore dark clothes. “do you wanna see what it looks like?” you questioned him once you were done, patting his shoulders gently and squeezing to get his attention. choso grunted confused, probably half asleep at this point. patiently, you repeated the question.
sluggishly, choso nodded and blinked a few times as he tried to adjust to the brightness of the lights. you handed him your hand mirror, giggling as he inspected himself in it. while his face didn't show many emotions or even an ounce of a reaction, you could see in his eyes that he was impressed by what you'd created on his head. he didn't even mind all the frilly and overly intricate clips, you placed them well and in such a way that it didn't look too crowded but rather complimenting to his face shape and hair. "can i take a photo of it? as a keepsake?" you requested, poking his side gently.
anything for you, choso thought to himself, his heart feeling lighter now that he saw that you were back to your usual cheery self and that the distraction did help you. the state you were in earlier had greatly worried him as it was so out of the ordinary. as you moved to sit in front of him and took the photo, choso smiled slightly for you. he wasn't used to posing for photos, rarely being in them himself. usually, he was the photographer for everything as he preferred to be behind the scenes. but now that you were happily taking photos, he made a mental note to ask you for a photo of the two of you soon - he didn't have any of you and it was a shame.
although you would've loved to keep this sight for longer, you knew that it was time to take them off again. both to keep the clips safe and for him to sleep comfortably. the enjoyment, while only temporary and of short duration, entertained you immensely and was very therapeutic. any negative feelings you had were now fully gone, replaced by the hopeful feeling that everything was going to be okay. choso was right, a break was very much needed to get your mind back on track. while you were placing the box of accessories back in your room before leaving to brush your teeth, choso prepared the bed.
the new pillow and blanket were an odd and unusual sight on his bed but he didn't mind so much - it was for you after all and he liked your presence. just in case you got cold again, he laid out a sweater of his as well. while it was summer, the nights were somewhat cold and especially so since choso left the windows open overnight. it was odd, choso thought. how he automatically assumed that you would be staying over tonight. it became so natural to half expect you lying next to him, to have someone to fall asleep and wake up to. someone that wasn’t his ex-girlfriend, someone that he could just relax with and casually talk with. there were no expectations of him, no underlying pressure that would have him rethink the nature of your relationship.
during the week, he took his time to reflect about yuki and his relationship with her. it was true that he did still love her, even if it was just a small glimmer like that of a dying fire. but it was there and demanded attention - either to completely die out or to be re-sparked again. what the right solution would be, he couldn’t tell. at the very least, he believed that he deserved some kind of closure about the situation. the breakup had been somewhat messy, seeing as yuki left without an explanation. well, there was an explanation. but it didn’t suffice at all, it wasn’t enough for choso to accept and move on. not when so many confusing feelings still lingered.
now that she was here and offered to talk, should he really reject her just so he could stay in his comfort zone? who knew when the next time he’d get this opportunity would be. yuki was spontaneous after all, possibly disappearing right after spending just a few weeks in the city. even though she did say that she was staying for good now. maybe she’d found a suitable job here? choso couldn’t tell. though you had offered to give him some advice, he refrained from asking you. if he did ask you, would he be unnecessarily dragging you into this mess? or would you stay out of it if he told you to? you were so sweet but he knew you would undoubtedly jump into his defense, that’s the kind of person that you were.
“what are you thinking about? penny for your thoughts?” your voice rang out from the other side of the room, interrupting choso’s musings. he looked up from where he was lying on the bed, pulling the blanket back so you could join him comfortably. you closed the door behind you and crawled onto the bed next to him, humming happily when he took his time to tuck you in before settling in himself. he pointed to the sweater that was still draped over the edge of the bed. “are you cold? i put a sweater out for you, just in case.”
“thank you, i think i’m okay for now,” you gave him a grateful smile. “maybe later, i still feel warm enough for now.”
choso nodded and turned to face you. “i… was thinking about the issue with yuki and i think i’ll meet up with her so we can discuss everything. i think she was sincere when she said she was going to stay and… we're bound to cross paths so it might just be nicer to settle things and be on good terms."
the mention of yuki's name immediately dampened your initially happy mood. just hearing of her bugged you, even more so since you knew that she was the one who broke up with choso and created the mess (of which you did not know the details of just yet). "i see… have you responded to her already then?"
"not yet but i will tomorrow. i just want to clear things up and then i'll feel more comfortable moving on. close this chapter, so to say," he explained earnestly, looking at you for a reaction. what would you think of this idea? when he first told yuuji, he seemed hesitant at first. choso understood why, yuuji as his younger brother had witnessed the eventful relationship and only sought to protect his one and only family member. but yuuji understood why the meet up was important too and concluded that it might be convenient to just get it done and over with.
"once i've talked to her, i'll feel more at ease and it'll be easier for me to fully let go."
you nodded encouragingly, he was moving into the right direction after all. dwelling in the past did no good other than causing harm. choso seemed to want to move on rather than to be with yuki and the thought put your mind at ease. "i think that that's a good idea. if you need any emotional support or encouragement beforehand, you know where to find me."
"are you sure? you're really preoccupied with your exam after all… i don't want to-"
"no, it's okay. as a friend, that's the least i could do, right? forget the exam. your wellbeing is important too," you brushed him off and gave him a reassuring smile. choso sighed in relief - for a brief moment, the anticipation of having to wait for your reaction was nerve-wracking. but you were so sweet and understanding, he couldn't have asked for more. wrapping his arms around your waist he pulled you flush against his body , disregarding the fact that he was only wearing boxers and thus was half naked.
for a split-second, you seized up. you'd never been this close to him ever since he went back to sleeping in only his underwear, the contact rather awkward and unfamiliar at first since you were merely friends. but what was the harm in it really? choso had always respected your boundaries and had never made you feel uncomfortable after all. you hugged him back, eliciting goosebumps to raise all over his back as soon as your hands made contact with his skin. "thank you," he breathed against your neck, his unruly hair slightly tickling your skin. you didn't reply and just hugged him close to you. perhaps both of you had been missing parts of a scale, now united and balancing each other out so well that it was almost unthinkable to go without the other.
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the doorbell was ringing. it wasn't his imagination or a dream. choso blinked a couple of times to adjust to the blinding sunlight in his room before huffing and cursing in irritation. who thought it was a good idea to ring this early in the morning? and who could it be anyways? a neighbour? it sure as hell wasn't delivery this early. grumbling, choso removed himself from your hold. surprisingly enough, you had been very clingy last night and choso almost couldn't move due to how tightly you'd wound your arms around his waist and how you half laid on him with your head on his chest. not that he was complaining, it was comfortable. but it was something you'd never done before.
you looked so peaceful and soft while you were sleeping, completely wiped from all your worries and fears. the calm made you look even more youthful, almost as if you were an angel. regardless, choso had to take care of whoever was ringing and couldn't admire you any longer. and he probably shouldn't anyways, he felt creepy for staring so much. even if it was just admiration. throwing on a sweater and some sweatpants, he trudged towards the door and yawned as he opened it. about to complain about the early interruption, he stopped in his tracks when a head full of blonde hair came into his vision, then followed by a mischievous pair of eyes. yuki.
"sorry for waking you up, i know you hate it when someone interrupts your sleep. you took so long to reply so i thought i would drop by! can i invite you for some breakfast?" yuki immediately started, leaving choso with no space to retort anything. startled, he stumbled back as she leaned in with a grin to inspect him. "you got even more tattoos now! did mahito do them for you? or geto?"
in the background, choso could hear footsteps nearing and already dreaded the confrontation. your timing was bad, why did you choose to wake up now? and yuki didn't let up, still raving about his new tattoo studio and his friends that she'd missed and hadn't seen in a while. it was like two forces meeting each other, a calm and collected one versus a loud and boisterous one. he wasn't quick enough to give you a sign to return to his room, you already stepped into yuki's line of vision. rubbing your eyes sleepily, you yawned and asked confused: "did something happen? who was ringing just now?"
yuki halted, looking at you bewildered. you stared back, only having noticed her presence now.
"oh i didn't know you already found yourself a girlfriend? i see now why you didn't reply to me, congrats! i-"
"y/n isn't my girlfriend. we're roommates," choso interrupted her and sighed, rubbing his face in exasperation. "come in before you wake the entirety of the apartment complex."
with a big smile, yuki entered the apartment and closed the door behind her. she eyed you curiously, even when you hid behind choso. even though she was cheery and seemed to be a friendly, almost too friendly, person, she still intimidated you. in your sleepy state, you couldn't figure out what aspect it was that worried you. adding to that, choso's word rang in your ears, echoing over and over again. you were just roommates, nothing more.
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nbrook29 · 3 years ago
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Lmao I don’t know how this happened 😆
***
June 26th 2021, Saturday
When Sander wakes up, it’s to the early morning June sunlight hitting him straight in the face. There’s a vague smell of alcohol lingering in the air, and he groans pitifully when he remembers the amount of beer he drank last night; well, it wasn’t that much per se, but for his not-usually-drinking self it was a bit much, which would explain the sour taste in his mouth. He could be beating himself up for letting a little too much loose and messing up his rather strict rules, but it’s finally summertime and he was feeling so happy and free. Exams are done and over with, bigger gatherings are allowed again, and most importantly, the love of his life has just graduated high school and-
Wait. 
He blinks his eyes open, arm reaching to the other side of the bed expecting a warm body, but it’s met with cold sheets instead. 
Where did that love of his life go? 
Bones cracking when he sits up on the bed, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes like a little boy, looking around the room, a twinge of worry in his mind. Robbe was way more drunk than him yesterday, being a giggly, inebriated, lovely, messy mess that was barely standing when the party came to an end. Sander had to practically carry him to their cabin, with Robbe wrapped like a koala around his back, holding tight as he mumbled love declarations into Sander’s hair until he fell asleep, arm looped around his head and cheek resting on top of it. It was unbearably cute, but it was also a miracle Sander’s legs didn’t give out because as small as Robbe is, carrying his dead weight on his back is a challenge.
For a second, a dark scenario enters his mind, and he’s working himself up over Robbe maybe getting up at some point to throw up and being so drunk he choked in the bathroom (yes, he’s a tad dramatic), but then a scrap of paper lying on the makeshift bedside table that is his backpack catches his sight and relief washes over him. 
It’s clearly torned out from his sketchbook and he smiles before he even reaches for it.
Come and find me when you wake up x
Little hearts were added all around for good measure and then there’s another message below.
P.S. You’re so fucking hot xxxxx
Snorting, Sander thinks back to yesterday’s afternoon when he showed up to pick Robbe up with his dad’s car so they could meet everyone in Ostend. The way his jaw dropped wide open seeing his brand new look makes him feel very smug at the mere memory.
Right next to the note there’s that piece of confetti he put in Robbe’s long hair at the party, his boyfriend blushing so prettily when Sander told him he couldn’t find a flower as beautiful as him around so the confetti had to do for the time being. 
That’s Sander’s favorite activity: pulling a blush out of him with his sappy lines. Well, maybe after getting lost in their out of this world kisses. Or making love to him, slow and sweet or fast and dirty, Sander’s not picky.
5 minutes and he’s out the door after the quickest shower of his life, minty fresh and ready for a quest to find his other half. It’s still very early, the clock showing a few minutes past eight, and to be honest, Sander wonders how on earth is Robbe up and about already. He was fully preparing for a morning full of Robbe’s moans (not the good kind), cursing him for letting him drink so much and swearing on his life that he’ll never touch alcohol again.
The beach is almost empty, barely a few people lounging on the sand, and it takes him no time to spot longish brown curls flying with the force of the wind. Robbe looks lost to the world around him, sitting cross-legged and leaning back onto his arms, face turned to the sun to catch the early morning rays. A soft smile is dancing on his lips as he takes in the sight of the calm sea stretching till the horizon to the sound of whatever is playing in his headphones (probably Bowie because Robbe has a Master’s degree in his music now, courtesy of Sander Driesen) and he looks the most relaxed Sander has seen him in weeks. He looks beautiful.
And Sander is so so in love with him it hurts.
The boy must’ve sensed his presence because he turns around just when he’s a few meters away, his smile growing wide at the sight of him, squinting a little and wow, how does he look so good after a night like that? Sander wonders whether it’s his lovesick devotion that makes him see Robbe through a filter or if sleep did its job marvellously this time.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Robbe pulls at his jean jacket to sit him right next to himself and wastes no time before looping his arms around his neck, peppering his lips with good morning kisses.
“Hey, drunkie,” Sander teases once Robbe gets his fit, earning a half-hearted glare and a soft scoff.
“I was not that drunk.”
“You fell asleep on my head while I was carrying your butt to bed.”
“Well your head is very comfy,” Robbe states matter-of-factly, leaving no room for further discussion because he shuts up any snarky comment Sander may have had with another kiss. That’s a-okay with him, and he tangles his hand in Robbe’s gorgeous locks that he will worship till the day he dies, never missing an occasion to bury his fingers in the tangled strands. The other hand joins in the fun, tugging playfully at the earring he’s also a tiny bit too obsessed with and delighting in the high-pitched sound it pulls out of Robbe.
“What are you doing here so early? I thought you’d be dead to the world till at least noon.” Sander makes himself comfy in Robbe’s embrace, leaning against him and playing with Robbe’s long fingers that are resting on his stomach.
The boy huffs a quiet laugh, a warm puff of air tickling Sander’s neck. “I think it’s the sea breeze making me sober up quicker than normally,” he pauses, hand nudging lightly at Sander’s chin to make him lift his head back and meet his eyes, a soft smile on his lips as he continues. “That and also I think that I was less drunk on alcohol and more drunk on love.”
Sander may be the king of sappy lines, but Robbe has a few of his own up in his sleeve, and everytime he pulls one out, it makes him melt into a pile of goo. Sander crashes their lips together in a kiss that’s a little too heavy for a morning in a public space, but hey, they’re drunk on love and he doesn’t care, Robbe doesn’t care either, and there aren’t many people around them anyway so fuck it. He hums into the kiss, Robbe’s tongue grazing the roof of his mouth almost as by accident, and it’s so good, it always is.
“Last night, it felt so... life-changing, you know? And I don’t know why cause not that much is changing, really.”
“You’re graduating high school, it feels big.”
“Yeah, but I’m staying here for uni, I’m not moving or anything. I don’t know, I think I’ve been feeling a little nostalgic lately.” Robbe shrugs like he doesn’t really understand it, but doesn’t want to dwell on it either. There’s a small frown between his eyebrows though so Sander reaches to smooth it out with his thumb.
Then, something comes to his mind. “Maybe it’s because of us?”
Robbe’s frown gets deeper. “What do you mean?”
Sander turns around in his arms, nodding at the surroundings, voice laced with excitement. “You know this is the first time we have been at the beach since we met?”
Brown eyes blink at him in confusion, but then they light up and match Sander’s excitement.
“Oh my god, you’re right! Fuck, it feels like a different lifetime.”
A very miserable, shitty lifetime if you ask Sander. For both of them.
“I was so lonely back then,” Robbe sighs.
Sander notices a tiny shadow of sadness fogging Robbe’s eyes, like it always happens when he thinks back to that period of his life. Some wounds were cut too deep to fully heal, but Sander’s always there to bring him back to the present.
Tugging lightly on his hair to make him look back at him, Sander gives him a lopsided grin.
“Not gonna lie, I’m very pleased this time around the only person that’s allowed to kiss you is me.”
Robbe hums, a smirk brewing on his lips. “Hmm, I don’t know, I wouldn’t say no to a kiss from Jens I think.”
And Sander knows he’s doing it on purpose, absolutely loves to rile him up and play the “Jens” card when he wants to be snogged into submission. Robbe learned early on that even though Sander’s aware he’s just joking, his possessive streak always comes out in situations like this, making their kisses extra good and their sex extra hot.
“Careful now,” Sander breathes against his mouth, the pent up tension that accumulated last night and wasn’t relieved because Robbe was too drunk hitting him hard. It seems to be mutual because Robbe bites his lip seductively, impish smile letting Sander know that he’s getting the exact reaction he was hoping for.
“Or what?”
“Or I’m gonna carry you to bed the way I did last night, but the finale will be a little different.”
Suddenly, Robbe’s smile turns softer, the gear change leaving Sander a bit confused, but he welcomes it with a chuckle when Robbe snuggles close to him, nuzzling into his neck and letting out a content sigh.
“I love you so much,” he murmurs sweetly against his skin, breaking and healing Sander’s heart all at once. 
“I love you too, cutie. In elk universum.” 
A giggle erupts from Robbe at the universe line. “It’s been a while since you said that.”
Sander presses a kiss to his temple. “I think I'm feeling a bit nostalgic too.” 
***
The beach is slowly starting to fill out with people and bursting their little bubble so they get up reluctantly to the sounds of their grumbling stomachs that demand late breakfast. They notice their friends in the distance, spreading a huge blanket on the sand and carrying armfulls of food, and they walk over to them slowly, smiling goofily at each other and swaying their joined hands, paying no mind to people around. 
“Hey, Sander?” Robbe says suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“You’re gonna be dating a college boy now,” Robbe announces, and he sounds so proud and so adorable that Sander has to tease him a little.
He sighs, putting an extra edge of sorrow into it. “I think you’re getting too old for me, Robin.” A choked-off sound of pain follows, Robbe’s mellowy state not stopping him from jabbing his elbow in Sander’s ribs when he’s being a cheeky little shit. He should’ve known better by now - Robbe’s elbows are merciless. 
They arrive at the spot shoving each other playfully until Zoe yells at them to behave and sit their butts down like good boys to eat their food. They dig in without needing to be asked twice, their previous bickering forgotten as Robbe feeds him sandwiches, pretending they’re airplanes and making Sander and everyone around laugh hard.
This, today, yesterday, is a new memory. One that wipes away the angst he used to associate sea and beach with after enviously watching Robbe in the arms of someone else. 
This time, Robbe’s smiles are directed at him, his eyes are constantly seeking out him, hand slides surreptitiously into his hand, and Sander’s heart is bursting with happiness.
They’re going on a roadtrip this summer, just him and his favorite skater boy, and Sander cannot fucking wait. Just like he can’t wait for their future together.
And if there’s a ring sitting in his bottom drawer nobody needs to know for now. 
Robbe will find out in 55 days.
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sugarplumwriter · 4 years ago
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Confessions {Part 1}
1980s!Johnny Lawrence x Reader
A/N: So I have quite a bit I want to get out of my system. I just really need some writing and innocent fantasies right now. Enjoy.
Summary: You confess your feelings to your high school crush, Johnny Lawrence.
Warnings: unrequited love, L2 (English is only my 2nd language)
{Masterlist}
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About several months ago, Johnny and Ali broke up.
Your friend had told you that before everybody at school knew and before everybody started talking about it for the following two weeks afterwards. She told you that just how she had told you two years ago that they started dating. And you could still remember how crushed you were when you found out.
~
The night you found out, you and two of your friends were having a sleepover at one of their houses, and she had just briefly mentioned what Ali had told her that morning at school. Since they were pretty good friends, your friend always knew what was going on in Ali's life. And despite not being her friend yourself, you were on good terms, and you respected Ali.
Back then no one knew you had feelings for Johnny, not even you had realized that, yet. Your mind had gone numb to this information at first, and it wasn't until you were picked up by your parent the next day and brought back home, that you finally began crying just as you got in the shower and the water started running. You didn't let anyone find out about your feelings and no one ever did.
You cried only that one time, and you were great at handling yourself at school, around your friends and especially around Ali. Also, you weren't angry, of course, you were only hurt.
 But now that they weren't together anymore, and it seemed like that wouldn't change any time soon, the feelings you were trying to bury for so long, began to surface again.
Out of respect you had distanced yourself, out of respect you were suppressing your feelings and out of respect you hadn't told anyone, but now, there wasn't a reason for all that anymore so naturally all the chains lifted themselves and your feelings became stronger and more present than ever.
All this, however, had given you new hope. You finally wanted to take action. You wanted to open up about your feelings for him, and you wanted that person to be him.
So, you told yourself, you'd confess to him on his next birthday, which was just a month away.
 ~
When his birthday rolled around, you weren't really scared or anything like that per se. You felt good about that decision, and it was something you were really looking forward to.
So, you kept an eye out to catch him when he was alone. Of course, you didn't want an audience for such an intimate moment. But that was way harder than you had anticipated.
When you just got to school that day, he was surrounded by his friends. Then later in the hallways there was always someone he was talking to. You didn't share any classes with him that day, so your last hope was to wait till school ended in hopes of catching him alone then.
But you didn't. And the next day wasn't any better, either. It all kind of felt like you weren't supposed to confess to him at this point which made you almost give up.
The same afternoon of that second day, you were meeting some friends at the beach. All the while you were hanging out with them, it really tempted you to tell them what you were attempting. But you didn't have the courage. How could you have courage to tell Johnny, then? you thought to yourself. It all dawned on you, that it probably wouldn’t change anything between you two anyways. He probably didn’t care, or he would’ve made a move himself.
"Hey." One of your friends waved her hand in front of you.
"Hmh?" you grumbled and looked at her. You were fiddling with your jacket right before she addressed you, so you hadn’t even noticed when she sat next to you.
"Are you alright?" Luckily, the others didn't hear her. They were playing volleyball. You stopped playing because it was becoming very windy and your mood was kind of bad anyways.
"Yeah ...” You paused. “Well uhm actually ..."
You weren’t sure if you wanted to talk about it or if you’d only regret it afterwards.
But you kind of wanted a second opinion. You trusted this friend a lot.
"You can tell me, you know. You've been quite absent the past couple of days," she said and sat closer to you. Her expression was worried and very serious. Not what you wanted at all, but it felt comforting.
And just like that you opened up. You two ended up talking for the rest of the evening. You didn't tell her it was Johnny you were having feelings for, but she supported you in confessing and respected that you wouldn’t tell her unless the confession was successful. Although she expressed some doubts and worries, overall, she wanted you to shoot your shot
It gave you strength and determination and you told yourself that night that you’d confess the next day or you wouldn't confess at all.
 ~
The next morning wasn’t much different than the others. You were still keeping an eye out for Johnny and hoped he’d be alone sometime.
He wasn’t alone all throughout the school day, though, but after the last period, in great surprise, he was walking alone right in front of you.
The perfect moment finally came. Building up all your courage and thinking about what you’d say to him in a stream of thoughts, you nervously looked at his back. His blonde hair, nice tan and great smell put you in a kind of trance. Suddenly, you were numb.
“Ah, Joh-“ You stopped in your tracks. Disappointment filled your stomach.
The blonde entered the bathroom and was out of sight.
Now, what? you thought.
Not wanting to remain on the same spot forever, you started walking and eventually left the building.
A lot of things went through your mind but the most prominent one was Wait just for a little longer. You also told yourself that if he happened to pass by you, you’d stop him and tell him right then and there. So, you stood there and waited. You scanned the surroundings for other students you knew but you didn’t recognize anyone except a small group of girls who were laughing and talking to each other and seemed pretty occupied by their own business.
After a minute or two, Johnny appeared behind a corner and made his way walking right past you. Without hesitation, you called his name.
“Johnny!”
He stopped and turned around.
“Wait,” you added and walked up to him.
As you were standing in front of him, looking at him and into his bright eyes, you were lost for words. Your mind was completely blank and the only thing you were able to get out was: “I like you.”
“Oh, uhm …,” Johnny was visibly taken aback. “I haven’t thought about you in such a way,” he muttered out.
It took you a moment to react. “Ah, okay.”
“I mean, we don’t really know each other that well.”
“That’s not really something I can control, though.”
He looked on the ground then back up.
“I guess. I’m not really looking for something like that right now. After what happened with … you know,” he explained.
“So, uhm, well ... I just wanted to tell you that. I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.”
“As long as it made you feel better.”
“Yeah.”
You two looked at each other.
“Oh and uhm, I would appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone,” you added.
“I won’t, promise.”
He smiled at you which warmed your heart and you smiled back.
You were looking for more words but everything had been said.
“See you around, then.”
“See you, y/n.”
After that you turned around and started heading home. Your body was filled with adrenaline and if felt like your skin was burning.
Many emotions made themselves noticeable but the strongest one was relief. You finally felt like this situation wasn’t in your hands anymore and that felt freeing and refreshing.
Despite his respond, you felt like you did yourself a great favor.
You never regretted that you told him, which didn’t mean it was easy for you, either. Seeing him the next day and all the other days after that was painful. But in a good way.
Now you had an open wound that could start healing instead of a burning pain under your skin.
{Part 2/finale}
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bisluthq · 2 years ago
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what do u think about a 22 yo and a 38 yo? is that age gap a problem?
I think only you can answer that for yourself. Like I don’t believe there’s a “rule” on ideal age gaps. A friend of mine in uni’s parents have like a 45 year age gap or something crazy like that. Her dad was in his 70s when he had her and her brother. She has multiple siblings older than her mom and multiple nieces/nephews who are older than her. That *seems* very weird obviously but like her parents were hippy types and her dad vibed with her mom and her mom vibed with the hippy old dude better than she did with like 25-35 year old guys in the late 80s/90s because she was a hippy and they were preps and like they’ve been married and had a decent life. It’s been tough more recently because now like her dad is in his 90s and her mom is still middle aged and that’s difficult but like no relationship is without complications.
So that’s an EXTREME age gap that’s worked imo. I wouldn’t like recommend it to people but you can’t tell the heart what to feel and like don’t walk away from the love of your life because there will be a period where it highkey sucks.
22 and 38 is big obviously but depending on where you’re at it can work. It’s not THAT dramatic.
I think the key things to consider are: 1) are you guys in a similar life stage? Do your goals align? Weirdly with like some huge celeb age gaps - like Mick Jagger x his child bride - I’d argue like… yes? Mick’s obvi gonna have more fun with a 30 year old than a fellow 70 year old and like for a lot of women it’s… Mick so who cares how old he is? Obvi it’s gonna be fun! So like again there isn’t per se a “right” answer here 2) is there a way this can go wrong easily? Like if one of you wants kids and the other already has kids and doesn’t want more, what’s gonna happen when you reach that bridge? Is it worth doing this now and maybe getting your heart broken? 3) does the age gap factor in a lot? Like is one of you feeling much older/much younger? Is it something you think about a lot? Why? If that’s the appeal, that speaks to like issues and if it’s making the situation miserable that also seems fucked up 4) in a mercenary but true way, what’re you both getting out of it? Is it just a sugar daddy/momma and someone to keep you young - which is fine but then play smart not fast and loose - or do you legit have stuff in common?
And finally: is this a pattern for the older person?
Like shit happens right but if the older person’s partners stay your age, that’s concerning because the odds of you winding up broken-hearted are super high. There’s a difference between Leo only dating girls under 25 and Stephen Fry being married (only once in his life, and his previous relationship lasted 15 years and he only started being sexually active in his like 30s and stuff because of repression around sexuality) to a guy 30 years younger than him.
Be super honest with yourself, ask what’s going on and why this is happening, and do whatever ultimately feels right. And hey, if you do get your heart broken - you were 22 lol you’re supposed to.
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matildashoney · 4 years ago
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𝙸 𝙵𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎? // 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚆𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚂𝚎𝚎
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𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝚂 // 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃
𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 // 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐
𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚁: 𝙱𝙸𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙰𝚁 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁, 𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙷𝙾𝚂𝙿𝙸𝚃𝙰𝙻𝚂, 𝙰𝙽𝚇𝙸𝙴𝚃𝚈
𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 @theharriediaries​ 𝚊𝚗𝚍 @truckerhatharry​ 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚊-𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝚒'𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞.
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Truthfully, Harry isn’t sure what time it is, this time around. Clocks seem to evade him, and numbers seem to dance into intricate formations that he can’t seemingly understand.
Harry Styles stops time when he walks into the room. Caroline always says that it’s the commanding presence, the nature of his personality, the way he holds everyone’s attention so easily that makes him stop an entire room and gain their attention. Caroline always says that Harry is the type to make everyone know they’re important and needed in the space, that there isn’t one person that would be in the group or the audience or the meeting that wouldn’t feel like they’re an essential part of whatever is happening.
Caroline always says that Harry makes her feel that way.
Harry makes the effort to be this way if he’s being honest. Harry makes the effort to hold everyone’s attention and make everyone feel important, because, for years, he portrayed the demeanor of someone who thought he was the most important person in the room, that he was where all the attention should be. That is until he met someone who made him see how truly minuscule in the affairs of universes and worldly happenings, he is. That is until Harry met Caroline, and he realized that there was nothing more that he wanted than to know everything and anything about her, instead of talking about himself, for once.
Until Harry met Caroline, and everything changed.
Harry isn’t sure what time it is, right now. Green eyes stare at the stark white walls surrounding him, his head leaning against a concrete foundation and the clicking of the clocks on the wall – and yet, he still can’t seem to find the time from anyone – and a raging headache forming at the forefront of his mind. His eyes shut quickly, squeezing closed to try and make the time pass any quicker than it is. Time is going so slowly, though, that he thinks he might scream. Harry wants to scream, honestly. That might make the pain easier to swallow, the heartache easier to handle.
Going based on the trajectory of the situation and where they are, Harry would be going home alone, tonight, and that’s a pill that he’s not prepared to swallow quite yet. That, and the idea that someone might tell him something that he really doesn’t want to hear, something about Caroline that will break him at the core.
Caroline wasn’t … you know … right?
Thinking that makes Harry want to be sick. There would have been a sign. There would have been some sort of something if she was. There would have been a note, a letter, something. And yet, there was nothing when Harry came home; nothing that could give him a sign or a clue or something that will tell him if he needs to worry or not.
Harry couldn’t make sense of it.
“Mr. Styles,” the nurse says, coming through a hallway and gently touching his shoulder to garner his attention, her soft demeanor comforting him as he looks with exhausted and bloodshot eyes, tears staining his cheeks. “Unfortunately, we have to keep Ms. Ryan for the twenty-four-hour waiting period, with her history and her family history, to make sure she’s not trying to hurt herself or others.” Harry nods understandingly without saying a word – that much was expected – and stands on his feet, ready to see his fiancée, finally. “Honestly, based on Ms. Ryan’s previous welfare checks and hospital stays, the doctor was not expecting it to go as well as it did. Ms. Ryan’s welfare check went much better than the others in her history, which is great news.”
“Think that we both know my wife isn’t okay, but is she okay enough for me to see her?” Harry asks nervously, unsure of the technical aspects of a hospital stay and the regulations that they’re going to have to follow. Caroline has never had this bad of an episode in their time together, and this has scared Harry more than anything. “Am I allowed to see her? I really want to see her. I’ll follow whatever regulations you have, but if I could see her, that would be really kind of you.”
That’s the first time Harry’s said the word out loud. Wife. Caroline would be Harry’s wife, soon. This could effectively tamper with the timeline and how long that very well takes. Harry doesn’t care about any of that like he knows Caroline will. Harry cares about Caroline getting better and coming home.
“Of course, Mr. Styles. Caroline can have visitors, now, and you can see her, stay with her, too. Caroline is dehydrated, mainly, and malnourished from not eating for a week, so she’s hooked up to a lot of machines, just so you’re aware,” the nurse says smoothly and calmly, checking her notes on her clipboard and reading technical terms that Harry can’t seem to grasp or understand. “Caroline is not suicidal, though. Truthfully, that’s what counts, right now. That’s what everyone cares about.”
Caroline sat in the hospital bed when Harry walks inside with the nurse, with wires clinging to her body, nibbling on a sandwich while he walks right to her and sits at her bedside. Harry swears that he won’t be able to handle seeing her like this, again. Harry wants to be sick just thinking about it. Caroline, naturally, makes a joke about the hospital socks, saying, “My third pair of hospital socks and they’ve finally given me something other than that hideous orange color. Oh, the joys of London Town!”
“Callie,” Harry sighs, shaking his head and breathes out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he leans onto the bed and kisses her forehead as she clicks her heels together in the baby blue sticky socks underneath the blanket and makes the wish for the two to be home, in the comfort of their own bed. Harry thought he couldn’t stay, that he wasn’t allowed, and that killed him, to know that she would be alone in a room by herself, having to sit alone with her thoughts for days. Thankfully, that’s simply not the case, tonight. He doesn’t think he could have handled being alone, tonight, anyways. Not after what he saw. “Callie, you scared the living shit out of me.”
Caroline sets her sandwich on the tray, wipes her hands on her napkin, and opens her blanket. reaching for Harry with wide arms, smiling softly when Harry immediately rushes towards her and circles his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly and breathing in her scent. “I love you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that to me, again,” Harry says strictly, sternly, his eyes welling with tears as his fingers gently brush over her cheek and his lips meet her forehead softly. “Caroline, I need you to take this seriously, okay? Baby, you didn’t eat for nearly two weeks.”
Caroline whispers something in Harry’s ear, something that he can’t really understand, and he brushes it away, simply going back to holding her tightly and breathing in the sweet apple scent that lingers in her hair. Harry assumes it was something of another apology, which isn’t something he really wants, per se, it’s more the fact that she didn’t tell him, that she didn’t reach out to him. Harry knows why, and he feels guilty, so guilty.
Caroline doesn’t like bothering Harry when he’s doing business; especially not business that involves moving Shakespeare’s Library to elsewhere in the United Kingdom and would be a great investment opportunity. Caroline doesn’t like being the reason Harry can’t focus – unless it’s for ulterior motives – and the fact of the matter is, Harry wouldn’t have gone away on business if he knew Caroline was about to face an episode like she is, right now. Caroline and Harry both know that much.
Harry, then, feels incredibly guilty when something of the sort happens, because not only did he not know, but he wasn’t there to fix it. Harry likes to fix it.
“Callie, what happened that made you do this?” Harry wracks his brain trying to find a reason because Caroline was so good before he left. Caroline was writing and eating and functioning before he was set to leave; something must’ve happened in the day that he was flying and settling in that made her break. “What triggered it, Callie? I know something did. I wouldn’t have left you alone if I knew you were in an episode, like that. That’s not how we do things; you’re supposed to tell me. I’m supposed to be there for you, Cal.”
“Harry, it wasn’t anything.”
“Caroline Elizabeth Ryan.” Harry never uses Caroline’s whole name like that. That’s when it occurs to Caroline how poorly Harry is dealing with this, right now. Caroline, usually, only has to worry about how she is dealing with her episodes, she’s nearly forgotten there’s a whole other person on the receiving end, now, a person she loves very deeply. “Does it have to do with your mother? Is Lucy why you’re in here? ‘Cause I swear to God, Callie, I’ll march myself to wherever she has and have a kindly chat with her.”
“My mother has nothing to do with this,” Caroline says through her teeth, and Harry can tell that she’s lying. Caroline’s tell, her quirk, so to speak, is that fact that her jaw clenches tightly and she has to speak through her teeth whenever she’s lying. Caroline doesn’t lie to Harry – it’s one of their boundaries – and it’s easy for him to tell when she is. Harry tilts his head, his eyes pointing at her directly and his lips pursed together in a straight line, his expression saying everything that he isn’t. “Can we talk about this later? I’m exhausted and I missed you. I can hear that you’re angry with me, too. I don’t like that you’re angry, with me, right now.”
“Caroline,” Harry says calmly, sighing out a breath between his lips, shaking his head and sitting on the corner of the makeshift mattress that the hospital has laid her on, “not this time, okay. Can’t, you can’t shy away from this conversation, this time.”
“I’m not ready to have this conversation, Harry.”
Harry’s voice breaks, the tears beginning to fall down his cheeks again and the pain collecting in his throat, the lump that he swallowed down when he walked into the hospital room now resurfacing and bringing the tears to his eyes. “Callie, tell me. This isn’t something to run away from.”
“My mother,” Caroline swallows thickly, her eyes welling with tears at the thought, shaking her head to try and shake the incessant, nagging feeling that she’s going to cry, “she, um, sent me a letter in the mail. It came the day you left.”
“And what did it say, Cal?” That’s what makes Caroline break into hysterics, the six words making tears pour down her cheeks, her chest heaving with shaky breaths, her hands covering her face with her fingertips digging into her eyes, trying to hide the tiny markings her nails are leaving in her face. Harry gently pries her hands away, kissing her fingers and scooting closer to her body, taking her hands in his and holding them tightly. “Baby, tell me.”
Caroline sucks a breath in through her teeth and hurriedly says, “My mother is back in the country with her mother and would appreciate it if, even though we live only a few hours away, I wouldn’t contact her anymore. Lucy said that it’s great that I’m doing well and have my life together, that she’s happy for me, but she would prefer to not have any contact with me.” Harry kisses Caroline’s knuckles and gently wipes at her eyes, the wires getting tangled in their hands. “Harry, why doesn’t she want me?”
“Callie, baby,” Harry sighs, sliding himself closer and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, bringing her into his chest, her face tucking into his neck and immediately wetting his shirt with her tears. Harry doesn’t mind it, he would rather have her crying in his arms than see her unconscious in their bedroom, again. “I’m sorry your mother is so horrible to you. I’m so sorry.”
“All I want is for her to want me, Harry,” Caroline sniffles, shaking her head and feeling done with the conversation, taking her hands from her thighs and wiping her eyes, sighing into Harry’s neck and kissing his skin lightly for comfort. “Kiss? Could really use one, right about now.”
“Always, love. My Buggy.” Harry smiles softly and nudges Caroline’s face with his nose, his lips laying a kiss on her cheek and waiting for her to tilt her head slightly towards him to kiss her mouth. His mouth moves slowly on hers, kissing her sweetly and gently, as though a slightly harsh touch could leave her bruised and bandaged. “Callie, you mean everything to me. More than you’ll ever know.”
“Can’t be more than what you mean to me.” Caroline shakes her head in disapproval. “Hate that you still call me ‘Buggy’, as though I’m still a nuisance, to you, though,” she says, and he laughs breathily, at that, because it’s not the reason he calls her that, now, but it was. Oh God, Harry thought Caroline was such an annoyance when they first met. “Hard to believe I used to hate your guts,” Caroline giggles, tucking her chin to her chest and spinning her engagement ring on her finger, the tiny diamond sitting perfectly on her hand. Harry hates how small it is, but it’s Caroline’s favorite jewellery she’s ever owned. “Oh boy, the hate I had for you. I could’ve beat you up, Harry Styles.”
“Caroline Ryan, all you would’ve done is start to cry.” Harry shakes his head. “Barely a punch to the jaw, which I would’ve deserved, by the way, and you would’ve been in tears. I love you for it, but you wouldn’t handle that very well.”
“Hey!” Harry laughs for the first time in hours, a hearty laugh, a laugh that makes Caroline’s heart swell in her chest and feel like it’s going to burst with how much she loves him. God, Caroline really loves Harry. Like, wholeheartedly in love with him, type of love. “I could’ve done it. I could’ve done it, without crying. Maybe a little stutter-stepping, but I could’ve done it.”
“All right, all right,” Harry sighs, leaning forward and kissing her forehead, lingering on her skin to breathe her in, his eyes squeezing shut when she grabs his cheeks and kisses his mouth, once more. “Have all those tests and meetings with the doctors, tomorrow, and you need your rest.”
Caroline’s eyes go wide. “Can you stay? Do you have to go?”
“I’ll be right there, all night,” he says, pointing towards the makeshift lounger in the corner of the room with blankets and a pillow laying on the cushion. “Callie, I promised you ages ago, I’m not going anywhere.”
Caroline sighs, nodding quietly and pursing her lips together. Harry’s words are true, she knows this with her whole heart, but there is the angry and subconscious part of her brain that tells her that Gabriel Ryan said that, too. Her father said that, too. Caroline swallows a lump in her throat, breathing through her nose and shoving her tray of food away from her, suddenly feeling exhausted and mentally drained. Maybe it was the conversation about her mother, maybe it was the promise that her father broke, maybe it is the idea that Harry is there and no one else cares. Maybe it’s everything all at once making Caroline feel so utterly tired, but her eyes are beginning to shut against her cheeks and her heart rate is beginning to slow. Harry can see that she’s finished by her quiet actions, kissing her cheek and gently moving from the mattress to the lounger, looking at Caroline with concerned eyes as she turns onto her side and yanks the blanket closer around her neck.
“Goodnight, Bug. I love you,” Harry whispers, kissing her forehead and sighing against her skin as she nods her head. Harry can see the depression oncoming, the confession of her mother’s letter and the promise that her father broke lingering in the air. Caroline is great at putting on a façade around everyone else, but with Harry, it’s barely functioning. “Things are going to get better, Callie. Do you trust me?” Caroline nods silently, tears welling in her eyes and beginning to fall down her cheeks. Harry walks to the lounger, cranking the lever and turning out the recliner to lay on for the evening. Caroline’s voice draws his attention, turning away from his bed and listening to her carefully. “Say that one more time, for me, Cal?”
“Can you read me some of your poetry?” she whispers, the lights barely illuminating her eyes that he adores so much. Caroline doesn’t turn around, remaining facing the doorway and listening carefully. “Maybe from when we didn’t like each other so much. Tell me that things get better.”
Harry smiles softly, taking his leather notebook – the one that he carries with him everywhere – and opening to the first page written with an indented ‘C’ in the header. “This is from the day I was late to our very first annotations meeting.”
Caroline giggles, sniffling quietly and then says, “Oh, I was infuriated with you, that day. God, I asked Rigsby for a new annotation partner, too. Think I told you that I hope you never fall in love with someone like me.”
“That’s absolutely correct,” Harry laughs, shaking his head at the memory. Meeting Caroline and the very first few months of knowing her were so difficult, Harry thought they’d never get along. Harry made it a challenge for himself, to have Caroline like him, even the slightest bit, and that started his fascination and infatuation with her; the one that made him fall in love with her. “Are you ready, love?”
Caroline sucks in a breath and rolls to her side, her eyelashes wet against her cheeks as she stares at Harry adoringly, forcing a smile and swallowing back a choked sob as she notices how fully written in this notebook is, how many pages are marked and colored and decorated in intricate drawings that represent the poetry he’s scribbled in his writing. Caroline notices the ‘C’ imprinted in the front of the notebook, and that’s when she realizes. “Have you moved every poem about me into that notebook, Shakespeare?”
“Maybe.”
Caroline nods silently, sucking in a breath through her nose and snuggling deeper into the sheets on the mattress, smiling softly at the man laying across from her, ready to read his poetry. “Okay.”
Harry dramatically clears his throat, smiling softly at Caroline, his fingertip holding the page where the poetry begins on the day, they met alone for the very first time. “you told me that you never fall in love // that it’s too dangerous, too risky // and i have begun to wonder // that if love is too risky // what is it that makes you feel safe.”
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Caroline waits at the coffee shop for nearly three hours without a show from Harry.
Having three coffees and one muffin and about three hours of gearing up to even come to the coffee shop alone, Caroline is fed up and ready to leave. That is until, the floppy tendrils of curls show up rushing through the door at a near four in the afternoon, sputtering apologies as he flops his things on the spare chair at the table and hurries to the counter to buy himself a drink. He looks dishevelled, as though he’s woken up only minutes ago and hurried here, and part of Caroline wants to feel sorry for him that he’s slept until two in the afternoon, most likely, and forgotten.
That part of Caroline is very small, though.
“Caroline, I’m so sorry,” Harry says hurriedly, brushing through his hair and taking a seat at the table and pulling out his notebook and his computer and textbook with the play written inside. “I overslept. I was working on this poetry assignment, all night. Not trying to make an excuse. This was our plan all week. I’m sorry.”
“Let’s just get started. Our discussions are due in less than,” Caroline says distractedly, looking at her phone for the time, “six hours.”
“Right, yeah,” Harry says embarrassedly, his cheeks turning red beneath the softened lights of the coffee shop, his hands slightly shaking as he was rushing to get himself together, his papers scattered in his notebook. “Have you annotated anything, yet? Obviously, there are my annotations that you can copy, if you need them.”
Caroline laughs, shaking her head and letting out a frustrated laugh, “Harry, that’s, um, nice, I think.” Her eyes are squinted as she stares at him, and then she turns to her textbook and opens to the first act of the play. “But, in the three hours I was waiting for you, I finished the entire first act. I’m ready for the discussion. Could do that, we could do that, and then leave, if you’d like. Obviously, you have more important things to be doing.”
Harry looks awfully embarrassed and there is a sudden boost of confidence that Caroline feels around him. Usually, Harry is the one with the chip on his shoulder, with the one-up on the partners that he’s working with, especially women. Harry has his looks, his charm, and occasionally – if he’s using it well enough – his intelligence. Harry’s poetry usually wins over the women and men he works with, the inspiration that strikes when he’s working with someone that is smarter, brighter, more intelligent than he is, bringing him closer and closer to finishing his poetry collection that he’s been working since his acceptance into the graduate program. Coming into his fourth section of poetry, Harry’s found himself writing about love and love stories and romance since the day he started his portfolio, and yet he’s missing an entire section about unrequited love.
That is more frustrating than anything, Harry’s found.
“Um, sure,” Harry sighs, letting out a heavy breath and raising his hand to the waiter that’s walking near their table, ordering a black coffee and a muffin before settling into his seat, once more, and opening to the page that the discussion post is referring to. “Okay, well, this discussion post is asking about the difference between infatuation and love between Orsino and Viola and Olivia, in Act One.” Harry looks between Caroline and their notebooks and their textbooks and says, “There isn’t one, really.”
“Did you just say there isn’t a difference?” Caroline asks astonishedly, shaking her head and setting her pen in her notebook and shutting her computer halfway. “Orsino is practically tripping over himself for Olivia, and Olivia is falling for Cesario, or Viola playing pretend to get into the palace and find her brother. All of it is infatuation. Orsino’s entire claim for love is based on his infatuation with Olivia.”
“Tell me something,” he says smoothly, nodding his head to the waitress bringing his coffee and his muffin and thanking her quietly before turning to Caroline and squinting his eyes. “Do you not believe that love is partially based on infatuation? Isn’t that how you fall in love? By becoming infatuated with someone, with something. Do you not believe in love at all?”
Caroline sits back in her seat, very well aware of the judgement being passed to her in this very moment, and is slightly insulted by his insinuation, his implication. “Look, Harry, whatever personal judgements I have on love and falling in love are truthfully none of your business. At the end of the day, love is risky and dangerous. Anyone that willingly falls in love is a fool.”
“That’s bloody depressing,” Harry says with a scowl, shaking his head and brushing his fingers through his hair, pushing the floppy tendrils away from his forehead and revealing his bright green eyes that suddenly feel intimidating to the look. “I love love, I think. I think there’s something so fun about wanting to be partners with somebody, wanting to be by their side through thick and thin. That’s what makes life exciting. Doing it with another person.”
“Happy for you,” Caroline notes sarcastically, shrugging her shoulders and beginning to write out her discussion post on her computer, completely ignoring Harry’s pointed stare and the judgement passing through his emerald eyes. “Love isn’t safe. This story proves that. Could you imagine falling in love with someone, only to realize they’re not really that person? That would be devastating.”
Harry uncaps his highlighter and pen and begins annotating the remaining sections of the play’s act, ignoring Caroline’s harsh judgements and words. “Guess that’s how you feel but it’s wrong,” he says under his breath, writing carefully his thoughts about the obsession between Olivia and Orsino and Cesario. “At the end of the day, everyone wants to find love in their life. Obviously, you want your love to be requited, but if it’s not, at least you experienced love in some capacity, yeah?”
Caroline doesn’t pick up her head from her computer screen, not bothering to even engage in the conversation with him. Caroline’s barely known Harry for a week, barely spoken to him for more than an hour, and she already heavily dislikes him. “Not particularly.”
“Look Caroline –” Harry goes to say, his eyes growing wide when Caroline cuts him off nearly immediately, shocking him out of his words for a minute.
“Callie, for the umpteenth time. Liv already told you that, I���m sure.”
Harry looks at Caroline with gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, tilting his head slightly and gathering his thoughts before speaking, again. “Callie, I’m not sure what your problem with me is, considering we just met, but–”
Caroline cracks her fingers, sucks in a breath through her teeth and says all in one outburst, “My problem with you, is that you’re not taking this seriously, unlike me, and you’re pretentious and think you’re the best at everything. That is not how you make a first impression and to put it simply, you’ve made the worst one upon me.”
Harry’s mouth clamps shut, his jaw tensing and un-tensing as he breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to remain composed and not act as though this conversation is absurdly hurting his ego. Harry’s ego is something that he built up so much over time, that it seemed impossible for anyone to tear it down, and yet here she comes, all in one break, destroying his egotistical demeanor. He is good at whatever he works on, the annotations, the poetry, the writing. His confidence is based on the boosts from professors and family and friends always building up his abilities and saying how capable he is to be someone, to be a writer.
And Harry is pissed, pissed that someone that is a bit too insecure themselves, that uses their mental health as a way to treat other people poorly, that wants to say he doesn’t take his education seriously, is trying to make him insecure about himself, too.
“If that’s how you feel,” Harry says, very much insulted by her statement and trying to formulate a response that is worthy to make it known how he feels about everything, “then I’m willing to speak to Rigsby about switching partners. Although, I think it’s unfair that you’ve passed a judgement about me so quickly when I’ve barely made a judgement about you.”
“Okay, Harry. Truthfully, Liv already told me what you said about me that first day I met you. You made judgements about me before we’d even sat down together, alone. That only supports my judgement about you, doesn’t it? That you’re an egotistical, pretentious person that quickly judges others that aren’t like you.”
“Caroline, the only thing that I’ve judged you on is the fact that you use your mental health or whatever the hell it is that you use to gain sympathy from other people. Especially your friends.”
Quickly standing up, she gathers her things and shoves her computer into her backpack, laying her hands on the table and gritting her teeth so hard it looks like her jaw might actually break. Caroline stares Harry down, making him slightly uncomfortable with how hard she’s looking at him. “Harry Styles, you don’t know anything about me or my mental health or my friends. Quite honestly, it’s people like you, that make people like me, not talk about my mental health with others. Maybe you should thank whatever the fuck you believe in that you don’t have to handle mental health issues. And I hope to God that you never fall in love with someone that wakes up with a brain like mine every, single, fucking day because you’ll ruin their life with how lowly you think of them.” Caroline gathers her belongings and hurries out the door, the wind brushing against her cheeks and whipping against her heated skin. Her fists are clenched together in tight coils of anger, one hand releasing from the tight ball and reaching into her bag for her car keys, quickly unlocking her tiny, navy blue sedan and throwing her backpack into the passenger seat and immediately walking around to climb into the driver’s seat.
Harry is speechless, absolutely and utterly speechless, and unable to stand up and say something properly to defend himself before she’s rushing out the door. “Caroline, wait!” Harry pushes his chair out from beneath him, stumbling around the fallen wood and drawing plenty of eyes to his distraught figure as he hurriedly rushes out of the building and into the parking lot where Caroline is spilling expletives with all of her belongings scattered on the ground. “Caroline, wait for a second!” Caroline doesn’t wait, continuing to try and gather all of her things and shove them into her bag but the material is wrapped together and making it difficult and there are tears welling in her eyes as she drops everything frustratedly and sits back on the tarmac in absolute frustration. “Caroline.”
“Harry, what do you want from me?” Caroline takes a deep breath, gathering all of her things, throwing her bag in the passenger seat of her truck and climbing inside, trying to ignore the silence that overwhelms the two of them as they stand there staring at each other. Caroline can feel a tear fall down her cheek in betrayal, the last thing she wanted was to cry in front of him.
“I,” Harry is quiet, unable to fully make a sentence and spit out a coherent thought. “I’m sorry for what I said. I, I didn’t mean it. That was wrong of me to say. Rigsby wanted us to work together because we’re the best students in that class and likely have a few things in common when it comes to working with literature. I need to graduate in May, too. Can you please give me a second chance? I swear I won’t make you regret it.”
Caroline looks at Harry and looks at her white knuckles clutching the steering wheel, the little crescents starting to form in the cushion of the wheel. Guess it’s better that it’s the wheel rather than my thighs, she thinks. There is so much harm that could come from being Harry Styles’ partner, Caroline’s decided. Harry Styles doesn’t understand her mental health, firstly, and he likely never will, based on his reactions and interaction in the first conversations and dialogues they’ve shared. Harry Styles is pretentious and rude, secondly. Harry Styles, thirdly, thinks he’s the very best thing to walk the planet and knowing Caroline’s father, that would be the furthest thing from the truth.
“Honestly, Harry, I can’t,” Caroline says truthfully, shaking her head and grabbing the gear to shift into reverse and back out of the parking lot, Harry quickly moving his feet to avoid being run over with the impatience she’s exhibiting. “I’ll be talking to Rigsby on Monday about a new partner.”
* *
Caroline is angry. Angry is the only way to describe the way she feels, right now. Angry, specifically, with a man by the name of Harry Styles.
Donald Rigsby refused to change their annotation partner, insisting that Harry Styles would make the best pairing for the intensity of the course load that they would be doing throughout the semester. Donald Rigsby said, and Caroline could quote, “Harry Styles is a charming young man that is an excellent writer and I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding.” Caroline wanted to roll her eyes, to tell him that he’s an asshole that doesn’t understand empathy of any sort. Caroline wanted to say so many things, and instead, she nodded her head silently, forced that famous smile that everyone knows and loves, and walked out of his office with a slight stomp to her feet.
Caroline immediately grabbed her phone and wrote a very calculated worded email to Harry Styles, saying:
Harry,
Unfortunately, and though I tried to talk him out of it, Rigsby has insisted on us being partners, for some reason unbeknownst to me. He has expressed his opinion thoroughly about the topic and would like to not hear further about it. He believes that we will make a great team working on annotating Shakespeare’s texts, based on our work ethic and our talent as writers. Although this is not what I would have wished for, I am hoping for the best, as we both have to graduate at the end of the year, and very much need this course to pass our degrees. I am sending this email as an offering of peace for the time being until we can meet again.
I am free again on Saturday for another annotation meeting for the second act of the play. Is that time going to work for you? Let me know as soon as possible. Thank you.
Callie Ryan
Caroline waits two days for a response from Harry. Two. Whole. Days. Caroline waits for two days, and the only response that she gets is infuriating, absolutely maddening, totally and completely frustrating.
All Harry says is this:
Caroline,
Apology accepted. See you on Saturday.
Harry x
Apology accepted? Apology accepted? Is Harry so dense in that thick skull of his that he thinks that Caroline was apologizing for what she said to him? Absolutely fucking not. Caroline would never apologize for what she said. Caroline wouldn’t apologize for saying that she hopes Harry never falls in love with someone like her, especially. Caroline meant all of it, every single word, from the beginning to the end. Adding onto the fact that she meant all of it, it is her best commentary to this day.
Caroline walks out of her shift at the local bookstore with steam whistling from her ears, her eyes reading over the email again and again, silently wishing that she’ll look at the screen of her phone once more, on the off chance that she clicked the wrong email and it’s not actually what was sent to her. Harry couldn’t be that ridiculous, right?
There isn’t any way that anyone can be that pretentious and uptight. There simply can’t be. Caroline refuses to believe it.
* *
Caroline waits at the coffee shop for nearly six hours, on the day of their meeting, waiting for Harry. Maybe a bit less than that. Maybe a bit less than that because it took her three hours to gear up to meet him with her anxiety and the episode she’s been suffering through. Caroline struggled to get out of bed, to even make it to her car, barely functioning to brush her teeth and thread her fingers through her hair. Her hair has been tangled in a braid for three days, and it’s beginning to look a bit dishevelled, although she has run water through the baby hairs flying around her forehead.
Caroline’s medicine is all out of whack. Originally, it was working for a while, making sure the episodes were manageable and taken care of throughout each stint of the rollercoaster, the lights on and lights off as she’s called it since the earliest age of twelve. However, now, it’s like the medicine isn’t even doing anything to her system, and she’s hitting the highest highs and the lowest lows for weeks without any remorse. Caroline can handle it usually, but with the stress of her father’s anniversary coming in October, the horrible partner she’s been assigned in her annotations course, and the overall overwhelming sensation of graduation lingering around the corner, there’s a bit too much to be able to handle the highs and lows every two weeks.
Caroline is in a Lights Off week.
Caroline can tolerate a lot. Making that clear to people is something that she prides herself on. Caroline can tolerate most things: running late, cancelling, having to reschedule because of a conflict of some sort. Caroline cannot tolerate skipping a meeting entirely … without any warning.
Harry doesn’t show one hour, two hours, three hours, four hours later.
Caroline checks her email twice, maybe even three times to see whether or not he’s emailed her last minute to say that he couldn’t come. Nothing. Not a word from Harry Styles.
Caroline waits around for another hour waiting for Harry, completing the annotations for Act II of The Twelfth Night and finishing the “Act II Discussion” Rigsby posted online earlier that week. Hatred and anger rush through her veins as she thinks about how this should’ve been done with her “partner”, today, and the way that he’s not even had the courtesy to tell her that he had to cancel their meeting and do the work on his own. Caroline gathers her belongings, taking out her phone and dialling her best friend’s number, ready to rant and rave about this person that she’s being encouraged and more so, forced, into talking to daily, that clearly doesn’t respect her or her boundaries for working environments. That may be what makes Caroline even more angry. Harry doesn’t respect her. If Harry does respect her, he surely doesn’t know how to show it.
Caroline clicks on Liv’s number, tucking the phone in between her shoulder and her ear, and gathering her things to take to her car, waving goodbye to the workers that know her by name and shuffling to her vehicle parked in the very first space outside. Caroline makes everything a habit, from where she frequents to the minuscule habits that only a boyfriend or girlfriend could catch onto, like the way she washes her hands twice before dinner and compulsively types her notes on her computer to avoid rewriting after lectures. Caroline is comfortable with her life, with how she lives it, and she isn’t going to let one person get in the way of the peace that she’s brought to her life over the last year without her father around, a feeling of tranquillity that he would have wanted for her.
“Hey, Callie. How’s it going?” Liv says when she answers the phone, a smile evident in her voice and Caroline can only assume she’s with her significant other by the extra voices in the background. “Did you finish your annotations?”
“Of course. Guess who didn’t fucking show, again?” Caroline grumbles, climbing into her car and waiting for the phone to connect to the speaker for her to leave safely. Caroline shakes her head angrily, the utter disappointment and upset building inside of her chest making her want to scream and cry. Could someone really be this insensitive to someone else? Could Harry really be this ridiculous? Donald Rigsby is wrong about Harry Styles. Very wrong. “Things would be fine, I would be fine, if I wasn’t losing my fucking mind over the workload for this class,” she continues, shaking her head and carding her fingers through her hair frustratedly. “I don’t understand how anyone could be so insensitive towards others. It’s absolutely fucking ridiculous. I can’t stand him, Liv. I don’t care what Rigsby has to say about him. I think Harry Styles is the worst person on the planet.”
“Callie,” Liv says softly, warningly, almost and it makes Caroline go silent. Caroline knows what Liv is about to say and she is simply praying that she wasn’t on speaker phone. “Callie, Harry’s here with Niall.” Caroline goes deathly silent, now. Liv walks out of the room, eyeing Harry apologetically, and making her way into her bedroom to talk to her best friend and hopefully calm her down before she comes home. “Cal, Harry was here because he broke up with his girlfriend and needed to talk to Niall.”
“Harry could’ve messaged me,” Caroline mumbles, closing her eyes momentarily and soaking in the silence that overwhelms her car, the moment of silence where her brain is finally quiet and there is nothing to be heard from anyone. Caroline knows it won’t last long. Caroline’s brain is never nice to her for very long.
“Harry says you didn’t give him your number, only your email.”
“Well, yeah. Why would I give a stranger my phone number, Liv?” Caroline sighs, turning into the car park and grumbling when she sees a vintage car parked in her space. Caroline doesn’t need to know anything about anyone to know that a pretentious asshole would have a car, like that. Most certainly it’s Harry’s. “Motherfucker parked in my space, now, too. God damnit!”
“Callie, are you okay?”
“Fine, Liv,” Caroline breathes out, pinching the bridge of her nose and leaning her head back on the headrest behind her. Momentarily, Caroline makes the decision that she’ll take herself to her boyfriend’s house for the week, not really wanting to be around her best friend and his boyfriend and the subsequent asshole that is making himself known around their apartment. “Think I’m going to go to Max’s for the week, this way you and Niall can have the apartment. Getting my things from my car and then I’ll come and get my things.”
“Don’t have to do that, Callie,” Liv sighs, heaving a heavy breath into the speaker and pursing her lips together, trying to find a way to relieve her best friend’s anxiety and the tension creating itself in their conversation as they continue to speak. Caroline always gets angry so easily when her mood is like this, and Liv knows why, she’s not angry over it, she knows what she’s done to make her best friend so frustrated with her and the situation at hand. “I’ll kick Harry out if he makes you uncomfortable, Cal.”
“Olivia,” she says, shaking her head and turning off her car, opening the driver’s door and stepping out onto the concrete, “it’s fine.”
Caroline walks up the steps to their apartment and opens the door quietly, trying to make as little noise and draw as little attention to herself as possible. Harry is standing in the kitchen, laughing with Niall about something unrelated and turns to look at Caroline, his eyes widening at the way she immediately walks straight past him, nudging his shoulder along the way, and to her bedroom to start gathering her belongings that she’ll need to take with her to her boyfriend’s house.
“Caroline,” Harry says, earning a smack to the arm from Niall and a deathly look from Liv. Harry doesn’t care what they say, her name is Caroline, that’s what he’s going to call her. “Can we talk outside?”
Caroline looks at Harry questioningly, her eyebrows coming together in the center of her forehead as she contemplates telling him off right then and there. Harry has an ego bigger than his head, the privilege that exudes from the way he views mental health making her skin crawl with disgust, and an attitude that extends much further than what Caroline could rightfully handle. Could anything good come from a conversation with Harry? Likely not. Has Caroline impulsively decided that this conversation can be her time to tell Harry to go to hell? Yes.
Harry walks outside first, holding the door open and waiting for Caroline to lay her things on the tile flooring near the front door and follow him outside. Harry’s eyes travel across the expanse of her figure, and he’s well aware that it’s wrong, and that she has a boyfriend, but there is something about her that he can’t get his mind to wrap around, that he has an infatuation with.
Anna Marie and Harry broke up this afternoon. That’s the whole reason that Harry came to Liv and Niall, in the first place, to tell them that she’s gone, and they wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore. Niall cheered and Liv smiled knowingly, telling him that Callie and Max were still very much together. Harry assured her that that wasn’t the reason why that he had no intentions of pursuing Caroline, but Liv knows better. Liv knows boys better than that. Harry just shrugged her off and went about his conversation with Niall, talking about the way Anna Marie insisted she was breaking up with him, instead. Harry let her have her way, as long as it meant he wasn’t with her anymore. Could that be considered something that an asshole would do? Likely so. Did Harry care all that much? Not really.
Caroline nods in a halfway ‘thank you’ at Harry as the apartment shuts behind her, knowing fully well that Liv and Niall are waiting on the other side to hear what they have to say to each other. Caroline ignores it, knowing that she’ll get an earful from her best friend whenever they have time alone for being too harsh or mean to her boyfriend’s best friend. Caroline shakes her head at the notion, thinking to herself how ridiculous the whole situation is.
If Harry had just shown up on time, showed a little bit of respect, maybe respected other people’s boundaries, then this wouldn’t be happening. This wouldn’t be a conversation that they have to have. Caroline wouldn’t hate him the way she does.
“Okay,” Harry starts, shrugging his shoulders and leaning against the railing so that his shirt tightens against his chest and the muscles in his arms are on perfect display. If Caroline found him attractive, maybe this would distract her, cause her mouth to go dry and her comebacks to weaken. Good thing it isn’t that way. “Caroline, you think of me as the worst person on the planet?”
“I do, yeah,” Caroline states flatly, leaning against the door and trying to keep her eyes on his. Maintaining eye contact has never been one of Caroline’s strong suits and doing so when she’s obscenely angry is certainly not making it any easier. “Harry, you’re kind of a piece of shit.”
“All this anger because I missed an annotation meeting, and I didn’t tell you?” Harry sounds like he’s mocking her and it’s making Caroline even more angry than she already is. Gabriel Ryan would never tolerate this behavior. “Is that really it, love? Is this something more going on?”
“Don’t ‘love’ me, with your accent, and try and patronize me,” Caroline says through clenched teeth, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest to add to her frustrated nature. “That was just icing on the cake, Harry. I really don’t like you.”
“That’s such a shame, innit? ‘Cause I like you.”
“Harry, you don’t even know me!” Caroline is so frustrated she thinks she might cry, tears beginning to gloss over her honey eyes and make her vision blurry. “God, you’re just some privileged guy in my literature class. That’s all you are! Honestly, nothing I say will get through to you! This whole conversation is pointless and useless and a waste of my fucking time!”
“Have you gotten it all out, now, Caroline?” Harry teases, clutching the door handle that Caroline reaches for, blocking her into the door and hovering over her face, his lips merely inches from her mouth, teasing the way her plump flesh entices him for only a second. “Have only one idea on how or what we’re going to do about it to make it better, Caroline. Kiss?”
“Hah! Over my dead body, Harry Styles. Only in your wildest dreams would I ever kiss you.” Caroline slinks beneath Harry’s arms blockading her in and opens the door, frustratedly grabbing her belongings and making her way out of the apartment. “Bye, Liv. Bye, Niall. I’ll see you later.”
“Caroline,” Harry says calmly, reaching for her wrist and grabbing her gently, taking her hand in his and trying to have her attention for more than a moment. Caroline immediately flings her hand out of his and reaches for the keys to her truck. “Meeting this week, maybe? Can get some work done earlier than the weekend if you’d like. I don’t have anything tying me down, now.”
“Harry Styles, you and I are no longer working together. Get this through your thick head. I’m not working with you. I’m not speaking to you. Rigsby never has to know that we didn’t work together. I’ll lie. I don’t want to see you. That’s it. End of story.”
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Home.
Home is where many things happen for Caroline and Harry. Home is where Caroline and Harry sing and dance in their kitchen at three in the morning when Caroline is wide awake and needing to be distracted from the intrusive thoughts that are overwhelming her brain. Home is where Harry started his business ventures. Home is where Caroline started writing her novel. Home is where Caroline and Harry kiss beneath the sheets and touch each other intimately and know their way around each other’s bodies, caressing and touching in the most loving way. Home is where the heart is, they say, and that would be true in Caroline’s case.
Harry is home, wherever they are.
Caroline looks at Harry with tears in her eyes, drawing the covers back and gesturing for him to lay in the tiny makeshift bed with her, ignoring the shaking of his head and smirking at the way he sighs and gives in, pushing himself out of the lounger and walking over to her with his notebook in hand, knowing well enough by now that she’ll want him to continue to read to her until she’s sleeping and unable to listen any longer. Her legs are stretched out over his thighs, her cheek laying on his stomach, smiling at the slight pudge that’s accumulated there since they started cooking more meals at home with the bookstore right beneath them. Caroline’s arms circle around his waist, not caring whether or not her arm will fall asleep in the middle of the night or not, and his hands intertwine themselves in her hair, brushing through the straight locks soothingly. His touch is gentle, nurturing, and Caroline suddenly is reminded of when her father used to do the same thing to her when she would have a nightmare or couldn’t sleep.
Harry is like Gabriel in a lot of ways, Caroline recognizes. Maybe, just maybe, that’s why she’s fallen so head over heels in love with him. Caroline never thought she would find a man as good as her father, previous relationships included, and yet, here she is, with one right by her side. Harry is patient and kind, loyal and generous. Harry understands her mental health and never blames her for an episode, good or bad. Harry works with her, and makes sure that she knows that he’s there, no matter what the reason may be. Caroline searched high and low for someone like him, someone that would accept her for the way she is, and even in previous relationships, she never found someone to do it as unconditionally as Harry has. Caroline will be forever grateful for the way they met, although not particularly ideal, because it meant that they met at all.
“Thought you’d be asleep by now, baby,” Harry says softly, brushing his fingers through her hair and kissing her head. “I can read more if you’d like. Do you want to talk instead? Is there anything you want to talk about?”
Caroline’s fingers trace over the pattern on Harry’s shirt mindlessly, the speckled design on the shirt making her frown, realizing that he never had the opportunity to change when he came home. All because of how Harry found Caroline – unconscious in their bedroom. Lying on the floor by their bedside, with her eyes shut and her lips slightly parted. Harry is in his airport clothes, likely reliving the trauma that she’s given him for the rest of his very life.
“Callie,” he says sweetly, taking her attention away from the shirt by lifting her chin and making her eyes meet his, “you don’t have to worry about me. I’m okay.”
“Harry, I should’ve called and told you. I thought I could handle it on my own, that it wouldn’t bother me because there have been so many other times where she rejected me. This time, though, it broke me.” Harry can feel the tears from Caroline’s face soaking into his shirt and trousers and he doesn’t say a word, only turns his body slightly so he’s facing her, and his thumbs can wipe away the tears recklessly falling down her cheeks. “I don’t understand what I did to make her not want me, Harry. All I ever did was be myself. That was too much for her? Am I too much?”
“Never,” Harry says, shaking his head adamantly and pressing his thumb to where her eyebrows have furrowed together and gently rubbing across her skin, kissing her forehead soothingly and lingering there for good measure. “Lucy has a very British way of thinking, Cal. That’s not a great thing when it comes to mental health and all that. Hell, I had a very British way of thinking, at first. There’s a reason we didn’t get along. There’s a reason my friends wouldn’t share things like that with me.” Harry looks at Caroline sincerely and says, “Until I met you.”
Caroline doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Harry thinks that she’s finally fallen asleep. Until an audible breath echoes through the quiet room and Harry looks to see Caroline beginning to wipe tears from her cheeks, once more. “Do you think that we should postpone the wedding? Until I’m better? I’ll understand if you want to delay the wedding, Harry.”
“Caroline Elizabeth,” Harry breathes, shaking his head frustratedly and sighing as he delicately grabs Caroline’s chin and brings her face to meet his. Harry’s thought about delaying the wedding. Of course, Harry has. Although, it’s certainly not because of what Caroline thinks. Harry’s worried that she’ll have another episode in the meantime and want to cancel the wedding altogether while they’re trying to make final preparations and there will be nothing that he can do to change her mind. “I’m marrying you in three months. That’s final. I don’t want to hear another word about it from you. I’m marrying you, I’ve been wanting to marry you, and I’m ready to marry you. Okay, Cal?”
“Okay.”
Harry sighs and kisses her forehead soothingly, gently scratching at her head and kissing a line from her forehead to her nose to her mouth. “I love you, Caroline.”
“Know you do.”
Harry smiles at that, gently turning his body over and laying on his back, allowing Caroline to make herself comfortable. His hands reach for his journal on the makeshift bedside table, opening to a marked page with a poem that he wrote on the plane the day he left, the day everything went wrong, thinking about how much he would miss her and want to be with her every day until they were in each other’s company. “I’m happy that you know.”
“Have you got any clue how much I love you, Harry?”
Harry turns his head to look at Caroline, her eyes slowly shutting and her lips slightly parted as she sucks in deep breaths and gives way to the sleep that’s been nagging at her eyelids for nearly an hour. Harry’s heart is so warm and swollen with Caroline in his arms that it makes him almost forget to answer her. “Have some idea, yeah. It’s a lot. Love me a lot, don’t you?”
“More than anything.”
“Feel the same way about you, Callie,” Harry says honestly, scratching lightly at her scalp and letting his mouth linger with a kiss on her forehead for a while. “Love of my life, you are.”
Harry always means what he says, Caroline knows this. Caroline knows this, even though her brain is bombarded with intrusive thoughts telling her that he’ll leave her like everyone else, eventually. “Falling in Love” is a hard concept to truly understand, to make one’s brain believe they’re worthy of deserving. Caroline has waited a long time, a very long time, to feel like she is worthy of love. Caroline knows why the relationship never worked out with her ex, with Max – because she didn’t feel worthy to be loved by him. Caroline isn’t sure what happened with Harry that made the switch, which made her feel like maybe this one will show her that she’s worthy of it.
Certainly, it’s because of how Harry loves. Harry is the perfect way to learn to love yourself because the way he loves is so unconditional and pure. Harry loves with his whole chest, with his whole might, with a ferocity that makes you feel like you’re the only person on the planet that means anything to him. Caroline, although obsessed with him, certainly hasn’t always felt this way. Caroline certainly couldn’t stand to be around Harry for a while, which made it nearly impossible to see how she could have fallen in love with him. Of everything, their relationship is everything but a mystery, of a circular moment of hatred to love, of infatuation to lust. Harry is the perfect example of the quote, “But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our love.”
Caroline looks to Harry and simply stares for a while, not saying anything, soaking in the way his fingers brush through her hair and his perfect lips are pursed together in thought as he mindlessly watches the reruns of a television program on the clunky machine shelved in the corner of the room. Caroline doesn’t necessarily want children, for the sake of genetically passing her brain to another human, but looking at Harry, right now, and the way that he is with her, she thinks that it wouldn’t be so horrible to have another version of him toddling around. Caroline knows she’s in love, then – when everything changes because of him.
Harry says something suddenly, his eyes still trained on the television, his fingertips scratching Caroline’s head softly to gain her attention to reality. “Callie, I think you’re incredibly brave.”
Caroline smiles softly, shaking her head and nudging further into Harry’s embrace, threading her leg through his thighs and cuddling closer to him, whispering, “But it is not bravery; I have no choice. I wake up and live my life. Don't you do the same?”
“All the Light We Cannot See?”
Caroline nods with a smile. Harry knowing the novels she references has always made her feel warm inside. “Can you read me one more?” she wonders, nodding towards the poetry journal in his hands and the marked pages that are bending out of the cover. “Only one.”
“Only if you promise to go to sleep,” he says sternly, opening the pages and turning towards the one that is the most recent, the most freshly how he’s feeling. Harry’s been writing poetry about Caroline for so many years that it seems almost impossible that there are things he has forgotten to say or neglected to say. And yet, nearly every day, there is something new that he wants to find the words to express about the love of his life. “Have all those doctor’s visits in the morning, Callie, and the psychiatrist is coming to check on your medicine before we can leave.”
“Fair enough.”
“Only one,” Harry warns, clearing his throat and opening the page, smiling at Caroline’s eyes are already squeezing shut and ready to let his voice lull her to sleep. “Goodnight, my love.”
“feeling you against my chest // my heart is beating, undeniably a mess // you are everything all at once // and i’d do anything for you to see // that you are all i ever need.”
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𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @goldenbabys-world, @burberryharold, @stylesfics-xx, @grace-ful-gold, @summertimestyles, @laur-sogolden​, @yourhsficsplug​, @morethanamelodyy​, @truckerhatharry​, @plzplzme
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alethiometry · 3 years ago
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Edward Kenway for character asks!
ooooooo okay i should open this with a disclaimer: i have not finished black flag yet (about 2/3 of the way through i think? i need to level up my ship so i can beat the next story mission lol) so everything i'm saying here is based on the game up to thatch's death, and everything we know about edward in ac 3: forsaken and the comics that came out a couple years ago.
First impression
oh boy... to be honest, one of the reasons it took me such a long time to get around to playing black flag (it was one of the first ps4 games i bought when i got my console in 2016, and i didn't start until about a month ago) was because i didn't really feel particularly strongly about edward's character design. i was vaguely interested in That One Pirate Assassin Game after having watched (and loved) black sails, but was afraid i would be let down; to me edward just looked like Some Dude, and i was still hung up on the black sails gang. to me, black sails and its characters were so genre/time period-defining that any other piece of pirate media just seemed lackluster in comparison.
i'd also heard a lot of praise for edward and for ac4 in general so i was aware that it was a very popular and well-received game. but since i mostly heard that from reddit (didn't join tumblr ac fandom until odyssey in 2018) i kind of discounted it, bc gamer reddit tastes are... questionable at best.
Impression now
I LOVE HIM!!! i always think i want stories about virtuous characters who believe in goodness and kindness and aren't motivated by gold or glory but aren't afraid to do what needs to be done to help others who can't help themselves. and sometimes that's true (coughratonhnhake:toncough). other times i end up clowning on myself because i realize that it's so much fun when said good/kind character has a rough and rugged exterior, and is motivated by personal gain (i think edward and kassandra are kinda kindred spirits across time and space in that regard, but maybe that's another rant for another time). sometimes you just want someone to be a little bit of an opportunistic bastard, and boy does edward fit that to a T. he's an incredibly complex man, and i think what really got me was that even as he was impersonating assassins and then templars and then assassins again, all for personal gain (pickpocketing the templars in havana while he gains their trust and agrees to do their dirty work lmfao my beloved <3), his primary motivation for doing so was to prove to caroline and her family that he is someone worth a damn, that he is capable of great things and that he is worthy of their love and acceptance. and i know from ac forsaken that the marriage with caroline doesn't last (though i haven't played ac4 far enough to see if that happens on screen, or if it occurs between the game and the novel) which makes his backstory in the game all the more heartbreaking. but his optimism and perseverance and determination to prove himself are all what make me love him.
so that's edward the romantic. now let's talk about the way edward is with adewale, his crew, and his friends. and let's also put the rest of this behind a readmore bc girl i am RANTINGGGGGG
he has several lines that he says to adewale that make me physically cringe (namely: "many of [these men] wouldn't accept you as captain" or "what was it like being enslaved?" like i get that someone like edward would be asking that question in good faith and genuine curiosity but also JESUS CHRIST UBISOFT). but on the flip side - cringey as those questions are, he also takes the time to actually listen and learn, and i think he genuinely values the perspective that he gets from adewale allowing him to open these lines of trust and communication. there's a patience and mutual respect there that i adore.
i also love how much edward loves his crew and his other pirate friends. those scenes of him + kidd + thatch + adewale + hornigold (lol) drinking on the beach and having a grand old time and talking about establishing - to borrow one of my favorite chills-down-my-spine phrases from black sails - a nation of thieves, for people like them to live and prosper, free from the chokehold of civilization. and i know he's not as outwardly invested in counterculture/independence/anticolonialism as thatch and vane and kidd are, but the fact that he so wholeheartedly supports his friends' goals, lofty and impossible as they are, speaks volumes about his love for his friends.
Favorite moment
every scene he has with kidd when kidd casually and softly reminds him that they see that he is a good person beneath his opportunistic and rambunctious exterior. i especially love when they discover julien du casse's mansion containing orders for templars to go out and hunt down assassins: the way kidd immediately knows that edward wants to help the assassins as a way to make up for the damage he did while masquerading as a templar, even if he hasn't voiced it aloud himself. the way that they don't force edward to admit anything about himself before he is ready, but still constantly remind him that he has a good heart. they give him space to come to terms with his compassionate side in a world/environment that more often than sees compassion as something to be stamped out or cast aside. i don’t love when characters are forced to be the Moral Compass for a main dude character, but i think it works for edward and kidd.
Idea for a story
not an edward story per se, but there are 2 povs into edward's life that i would cut off (someone else's) limbs for:
jenny's pov growing up in the kenway household. from haytham's pov it seems that she knows way more about his past than haytham ever did (it was hinted at that there are rumors about edward’s past as haytham was growing up that he wasn’t privy to, but i don’t think at any point in the novel does haytham ever find out definitively that his father was a pirate) and i want to know how she knew so much, and more into what her life was like - through her eyes rather than haytham, who is like 10 years younger and by his own admission barely understands her and barely has a functional relationship with her. i'll expand further on edward and jenny in the next question/prompt/bullet point, actually, bc i have a LOT more to say.
connor's pov learning about his grandfather from... idk? who's around to tell him? what's so goddamn sad is that by the time connor rebuilds the colonial brotherhood he's kinda the only one left. sure there's aveline down in louisiana, but as far as we know everyone who was around in edward's generation is dead now, and i'm not sure how much of the kenway saga is preserved for connor to discover, or if all this information about their family line was discovered in the modern-day, by your abstergo employee character, and later by osto berg in the comics. which is why i so badly want a revelations-style game where connor traces his assassin heritage back to the caribbean, relives some of edward's memories, and then makes the trip to london to see his aunt jenny. it would have been such a cool way to round out the kenway saga.
Unpopular opinion
idk how popular or unpopular this is bc i rarely see other in-depth posts about it on my dash, but edward was a terrible father to jenny. he was every bit the wonderful and loving father to haytham for the 10 years that haytham had a father, but i wish we'd seen more of jenny's perspective than just a few lines of dialogue in haytham's diary: i hate the way edward sidelined her and raised her in the same manner that any other wealthy person of the time would have raised their daughter - that is, for the sole purpose of sitting pretty and marrying her off in an arrangement that would benefit the family. it's especially hard to reconcile because in ac4 there are female assassins in the americas, and there are female pirates in the caribbean, so it's not like edward isn't aware that women have as much right as any man to live life on their own terms. it just seems like by the time he returns to england and settles down with his family, he's reverted back to the societal norms and gender roles that the pirates fought (and lost) against, and it's hard not to be deeply disappointed by that.
to be clear, i don't begrudge edward settling down and becoming a Rich Society Man. dude deserves to live comfortably with his loving family. he has every right to dote on his wife and children, and leave behind the hardships of being a pirate. but i think "fightning against deeply-ingrained cultural norms/expectations is a long and bloody struggle, and after losing so many people he cared so deeply about, i think it's understandable that edward wouldn't want to continue that fight alone (and also adewale is still fighting the good fight) (do NOT @ me about ac rogue I Pretend I Do Not See It)" and "i don't love the way edward sidelined his daughter into societally-expected gender roles she did not want; it makes me think that he did not continue drinking his Respect Women Juice as much as i thought he did/wanted him to" are two opinions that can coexist.
Favorite relationship
i don't know that i ship edward romantically with anyone, actually. i thought he and caroline were cute in the beginning, but it's hard to want to ship them knowing that she leaves him eventually. and ofc there'd edward/tessa in ac forsaken, and we know they were very happy together and that he loved her so so much. but we don't see that relationship except through haytham's eyes.
as for non-romantic relationships, i already talked at length above about his relationships with adewale and the other pirates and kidd, and i'll just leave it at that. i'm also vaguely aware that edward's got some upcoming scenes with anne bonny, but i'm not at that point in the game yet so i don't have much to say about the two of them. so far i've only seen them say a few lines to each other at the nassau tavern.
Favorite headcanon
kassandra absolutely rubbed shoulders with edward at some point during his time in the caribbean; i like to think that she needed to lie low for some reason (maybe she was with the assassins idk) and joined his crew. i just need my best stabby gal and my second-favorite stabby dude to be pals!
finally, this isn't a headcanon per se but it is obligatory that any time i talk about kenways i yell for a bit about the fact that EDWARD WOULD HAVE LOVED CONNOR SO SO SO MUCH AND I'M FOREVER DEVASTATED THAT HE NEVER GOT TO MEET HIM. at the same time, if edward hadn't been murdered and haytham not been indoctrinated into the templars the way he had, i'm not sure connor would even have existed. and in a way i'm glad that edward wasn't around to see how broken and cynical and depressed haytham became, because i think that would have absolutely broken his heart.
send me a character!
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ashenburst · 4 years ago
Text
Enough of Our Disease
Cioccolata x Reader, uh... no real genre, 9845 words. Consider this a prolonged, realistic interaction with the psycho.
tw: manipulation, degradation, abuse, slight violence, blackmail, slight gore
However, just so you know, this isn’t as grim as some Cioccolata stories out there.
A new intern who had just been transferred to the clinic. Nothing more but a stranger. That was (Y/N).
And she was also a student. A brave little student who got a scholarship in Italy, and had the opportunity to work side by side with Rome's greatest doctors. Something she could've only dreamed of, and yet... it became reality.
The new surroundings were quickly conquered by her. She studied hard and long, and she had all that experience behind her to guide her to her bright future. And it wasn't just the mind that she had trained, but the charm as well. She gained favors of both other interns and doctors. It wasn't too hard – the method she used was old, but a trusted one.
She would always assume the best, and from that point onwards, the stranger would slowly diminish their unknown. So did this one. His name was Cioccolata – a sweet one, as (Y/N) humored. He was a surgeon, an excellent one, as she also noted on multiple occasions. A compliment or two would do no harm. Even in professional surroundings such as this one, where doctors were expected to operate almost mechanically, empathy was needed. Luckily, the atmosphere in this clinic was relaxed – and everyone inside was keen on keeping it that way. At least, between the workers.
The interns were welcomed warmly. The doctors, although they certainly had much to do, managed not only to pay attention to the students. Rather, they succeeded in meeting them better; they genuinely cared and dedicated themselves to meeting them better. Something (Y/N) could hardly believe...
The stress and the worry! A doctor had no option but to lose their connections with their patients, for not every life could be saved. And not every disease could be cured, and not every symptom could be eliminated. What could a doctor do, but their best? Even when a surgery would fail, and the patient would live on sick, and even when a surgery would result in death –
"Sir? Are you alright?"
Cioccolata lifted his head, evidently snapped out of deep thought. "I am...? Why are you asking?"
"I just... had to check," (Y/N) told, "it must be horrible, losing a patient like that." She sighed. She didn't know much of him at the time, but his expertise seemed unparalleled. She had seen it with her own eyes, on multiple occasions. This must've been a low blow to his career... and psyche, she believed.
The green haired male forced a chuckle. "I can handle it. Don't worry."
His antics were odd. Unusually calm, somewhat regal. Fitting to a doctor, one would believe, but certainly not typical in reality. This solemn approach of his remained intact in every situation, except, perhaps...
"You've got an interesting taste, dottore," Cioccolata pointed out one day. He had the habit of calling her dottore, for she acted like one more so than his colleagues. During break, he caught (Y/N) reading a particularly grim book. She raised an eyebrow at him, already grinning.
"You're a fan of Dostoyevsky's?" She would love to talk with one.
"I don't think I am, but I did enjoy some of his works. Especially the one you're reading right now," he stated, allowing himself a small smile.
"The Notes From The Underground surely has its appeal. I find it oddly... releasing, despite the book's theme," she began. She simply had to discuss it.
"You emphasize with the man?" The older surgeon inquired, still bearing that smug expression of his.
She shrugged. "I'd say I do. Don't we all?"
"Not all of us are equipped with the proper mindset."
"Or heart."
"Mind rules over the heart. You, an aspiring doctor, should know that of all people," he remarked, hitting a string he shouldn't have. Per se, mocking one's own life work would be a bad thing, let alone tampering with a topic so familiar to the other party. And it just so happened that it was that period of the month. The intern knew what to say.
"I don't think we're on the same page," (Y/N) countered, noticing the opportunity. "We've both started using metaphors and they don't mean the same to us, so it's pointless to lead this discussion any further."
His expression darkened. He was far from pretty – it would be easy to describe him as a repulsive man, even.
He lifted his face, gazing down to her. "Why impress me, dottore? I might tell on you and everyone will find out you're arrogant."
And she regretted ever trying to poke at his ego, just for a bit. Which is why her response was tamer. "You wouldn't do that," she said, stifling a laugh. Maybe he'd realize she didn't really intend to insult him.
"Indeed, but I could." With that, he abandoned her, in a state she'd dub as anxiety. She was never keen on making enemies, not with people like him – people who were intelligent.
Not only intelligent, but dangerous. Authority was in his grasp. He was one of the many people (Y/N) simply had to by liked by. Strangely, he turned out to be amused by her outbursts of boasting – she toned them down nevertheless.
She felt before she knew. A discomfort, creaking softly whenever she'd step on the wrong ledge. And oh, how sensitive she was to the sound. It would alarm her entire being, stiffen her whenever he was nearby. Her intuition would beg her to stay away, and she wanted to stay away – safely – for she wished no stress, no additional bothers in her life.
It was wondrous, whenever she'd look back at it. The way it started off, and the way it developed. Admiration, distance, provocation – and lastly, fear, laced with respect. In the spur of the moment, she found herself wanting to be liked by him. Just like her student self, meeting a new teacher. She wanted to leave a good impression, for it could only benefit her.
Did it benefit her, now? What did she get in return?
"This is Secco, my trusted assistant," Cioccolata introduced her to the young man. His wide, violet eyes stood out to (Y/N) – she could see how nervous his gaze was. And that was all she saw, for the remainder of his face was covered with a cap and a surgical mask.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Secco," she warmly spoke.
"Mm, same," he responded in his so, so unpleasant tone. (Y/N) couldn't believe it was him talking at first. It was as if – as if gravel was being pressed against her skin. It caused her much discomfort, but... she gave him an awkward smile. Then, continued with whatever job was at hand –
She couldn't remember the rest. The memory of the event faded along with that horrible stench of Secco's.
But Cioccolata's voice... steady as the torrents of his elaborating. She loved it. He'd point at the graphs, explain a correlation or two, then pose a hypothesis. (Y/N) was just one of the many interns, and she didn't want to believe she stood out – but by all means, she made it. In the hall, whenever a respected doctor would offer his guidance to the interns, she was one of the few who knew and understood.
It didn't come without a price. She'd been burdening herself with random facts and sublime methods for ages now. Not only did she stay longer at the clinic, just to linger around and do additional work... and talk with people there, too. Every day, a documentary would be watched or a book would be read. Her brain, buried even deeper into her profession. It gave her headaches. Plenty of them, in fact. But she knew she'd been doing the right thing.
This was the prime of her lifetime. All the sweat and tears she'd wasted so far were worth it. She loved her life, the life she earned. And she was loved because of it. Her parents would message her every now and then. She knew she didn't fail them.
And every morning, she'd wake up, look into the mirror and – smile, no matter how bad she looked. With all the circumstances the present was overlapped with, how couldn't she? Everything was good. Her job, her studies, her family and her friends – who she rarely contacted, for all of them were in a similar situation. She was overjoyed, for she knew they would succeed. Her heart was full... every aspect of her life was complete. She couldn't ask for more.
And so the daily routine continued. A bliss, simply put.
In retrospective, (Y/N) truly had no complaints. Objectively speaking, she had no right to ever dare complain. Which is why she'd beat herself to remain quiet whenever the slightest inconvenience would occur. Be it a bellyache, a quarrel, or additional work. Yet...
She loathed when people told her things she already knew. She loathed when people insisted on repeating the same formula over and over again, as if she were dumb – or as if she were ignorant enough not to know it already. She hated when people underestimated her and didn't let her prove otherwise.
But Cioccolata allowed her to.
"Your take on the symptoms, dottore," he tapped the chart. (Y/N) couldn't believe what she was looking at. The symptoms displayed were horrible – nausea, paralysis, loss of hearing – just what...
She blabbered the first ideas that came to her. "Brain tumor? No. Late stage of syphilis?"
"Indeed." She felt her heart fill with pride at Cioccolata's approval. "The universe is certainly unfair towards this patient, hm? He's a homeless man, the ambulance brought him in after some guy spotted him lying on the streets. I'm surprised someone even bothered..."
"Truly... horrible. No comment," (Y/N) muttered, not knowing what else to say. The day was long and she was tired beyond measure –
"Do you no longer care about your patients, dottore?" His question threw her off guard. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she shook her head lightly, all while staring at him.
"I do care about them? Of course I do?" Why was he asking those intrusive questions again? Outrageous.
"Oh. It's kicking in sooner than the usual," he nonchalantly stated.
(Y/N) kept staring at him. "What are you talking about?"
"The indifference. Or numbness. Whatever you want to call it. You simply stop caring... it's normal. In fact, it's an imperative, if you want to stay sane."
How could he say something so provocative? She understood where he was coming from, but talking about it openly was something else. It meant multiple things, and those things were... invasive. She remained silent, and luckily, Cioccolata let her.
This was why she felt uncomfortable at times. This man knew of no boundaries. But... that didn't have to be a bad thing. He was brave enough to talk about the things most people would consider morbid. Yet intelligent. Unique, rare – name it however you want, but (Y/N) enjoyed. Not to mention he was her superior. And he didn't treat her like she was beneath him. Almost as if she was his equal.
She was respected like never before. Not only by him, but by his colleagues as well. It would be an understatement to say she adored it.
One particular, fateful day, she forgot her wallet at the clinic. She hadn't realized it until night fell – she wasn't the most perceptive person, and she disliked this trait of hers. She'd have to get ready and go back to the clinic, which was a bother... and it simply went against her plans. Although she had none.
She was lucky. The lights were still on, and there were people inside, so she didn't attract much attention.
She tried to remember where she had been that day. What was her routine like? They'd been checking some patients, yes, in a more distant wing. She had to do some walking to reach it, and once there... she had to check all the rooms.
Strangely, there was nobody around. This meant she didn't have to justify herself to anyone, at least. But it certainly didn't make her feel too comfortable either. Being alone in those hallways, opening empty rooms – all of that made her feel as if she was doing something wrong.
Maybe she truly was doing something wrong. She barged into a room where lights were turned on.
"My apologies, I wasn't –"
Of course she wasn't aware. She wanted to vanish, erase her memory of the sight – she didn't want to be involved, she didn't mean it to happen, yet –
There it was, the massive crimson protruding through the clinical white, clawing at her sight. Organs, splattered around, begging to be forgotten and shoved into oblivion. Their owner, a man reduced to a hole, laying sprawled on the bed... long dead, long mutilated. And the two of them, her colleagues. The culprits and the criminals, all in one – a pair of monsters.
(Y/N)'s vision distorted. She saw it all clearly, and once the realization hit her, she froze, just for a second. She couldn't believe it. But all of her senses spoke otherwise, and the very moment those two monsters looked at her, their eyes – screaming shrill danger... they would get her.
So she slammed the door and began running. She didn't feel anything at all. Her feet were propelled forwards just like that.
But she was too slow. Far too slow. A shadow appeared in front of her – no, a man – leapt from inside the floor and rammed straight into her. By instinct, she tried to push him away from her – and she was successful. He fell... into the wall?
That was when she processed what she had seen. The man leapt from the floor. And that man was Secco.
Her one moment of hesitation cost her much; suddenly, something hit her legs, and she fell with a shriek and a loud thud. She would've continued screaming if a hand hadn't been pressed against her mouth. An oppressive weight shackled her to being immobile – she didn't even know what was happening. She just kept struggling, desperately, against it all.
Then, a firm voice that echoed throughout the hallway. "Dottore! There's no need to run. We're equipped to deal with these arbitrary intrusions, so it's no point."
These words imbued her with even more resistance. She swung her head, and managed to somehow set her mouth free for a moment. "Let me go – " (Y/N) tried to scream, instinctively, but she was muffled by Secco's hand. She bit on it, hard, making him whimper like a hurt dog. In her mouth... she felt his blood. It riled her up, and she tried to kick back and somehow escape Secco's grip – but she failed. How could a skinny, anorexic being like him keep her in check? This enraged her even further, and she tried to elbow him. In vain. As if he couldn't feel pain.
Then a specific object was brought to her attention.
A scalpel, right in front of her, in Cioccolata's gloved hand. She bit her lip till it ached. She knew she was done for, and this defeat... it was unimaginable, but she was going through it. Her own body turned lax as the realization washed over her. Lastly, she teared up, for she was utterly, completely, powerless.
"Shh, I'm not willing to send you to the other side just yet. Be good now so that you could talk back later," the surgeon spoke calmly, as if to ease the tense air.
She remained put. Her frame, a cage to her wild heart. Yet she was as still as a corpse.
"Calm yet? Wonderful. You are now allowed to speak," he said after observing her for a while. He slowly retracted the scalpel, as if to widen the distance between (Y/N) and her death. She knew he was in complete control, that her life was on the line, yet...
She didn't believe this was happening. To add to that, her emotions were late. She didn't feel anything a person should be feeling at the moment – or so she believed. She perceived her state to be too calm, to the point she got afraid of it.
"What was that," she asked. A stupid question, she immediately thought. But was there anything else she didn't know?
"You're getting curious all of a sudden," he spoke with inhuman vigor. "Be careful. You know what they say, curiosity killed the cat."
"But satisfaction brought it back," she stated, bold, for she had nothing to lose. Her heart skipped a beat – she was still far too calm about it all. Too focused, to sharply keen on living through her death.
"But intern, you'll be far from satisfied." His mask scrunched up, signifying the change of his expression. It was seen in his eyes, that glint and the wrinkles – he was smiling. (Y/N) redirected her gaze, wondering, just how much did he find it... empowering? Moreover, was his ego big enough to let her live? She prayed, oh, she prayed it was. But her prayer... dripped of hatred. The bold type of fear.
She gazed back at him, so insolent and so stupidly brave. Her expression must've portrayed cold fury, but her tone...
Her family. She needed to be there for them. How would her mother handle her death?
"I'll do anything," she pleaded, her voice meek.
"I don't need you to do anything at all," he answered, deafening all that was left of her hope. And in that moment, she thought –
She loved her life. She didn't regret anything. If this was her end... she had fared well.
Which is why she made peace with the guillotine of his scalpel. She even lifted her head to ease the blade's entrance. All while staring at her soon to be murderer with defiance unknown to her. Secco, behind her, let out a wheeze.
"It's a shame you aren't recording this, Secco," Cioccolata cooed, visibly satisfied. He didn't break eye contact with the intern beneath him. "It's a rare sight. Dottore, you might regret rushing into death like that. It isn't your time, not yet." He snapped his fingers, and with his other hand, he spun the scalpel in a teasing manner. (Y/N)'s gaze lingered on it just for a bit; she found it harder and harder to keep this façade going. It was evidently buying her time, so...
"So, the decision is on you," she said, although she had so much more to share – but her voice was weak, growing thinner with every word. If one part of her mask would fall apart, she knew, she would panic. Oh, the refined delicacy!
Every moment was wagered, as if it were a play of sorts. And she had to impress Cioccolata again. "Absolutely. I have complete control over your life. Both your status, whether you're deceased or not... and your job, as well as your freedom."
"What will you do with it?" (Y/N)'s question came out firm, luckily.
"Nothing. In fact, I believe it would be right to let you go. Wouldn't you agree, Secco?"
"Uwah," he responded in a breathy, low voice. It sent shivers down (Y/N)'s spine, for he... he didn't sound human.
And once that thing let go, (Y/N) got on her feet, rose to Cioccolata's level, and with the last ounce of strength, asked, "what will be of me now?"
"That's your choice," the surgeon responded. He lowered his mask with one finger, revealing an ugly grin. "Why aren't you running like a scared little girl you are?"
(Y/N) couldn't turn her back to danger. She simply couldn't. Facing her back to him, not seeing him, seemed like death to her – for something unpredictable could happen. She could imagine his long arm extending once again, and that scalpel being jabbed into her back. She felt the pain vividly, as if she was already en route to her demise. A ting in her back, annoying her already strained senses...
Why was she scared all of a sudden?
"I'm not scared," she told him, glaring daggers at that vicious visage of his. He merely gave her a mocking laugh. It did manage to belittle her.
"Whatever you say. Today must've been stressful, so I believe you should go home now," he dismissed her.
Could she really walk away? Was that what he was insinuating? Forget and walk away? Or did he want to follow her home and kill her there? No, no – he could've killed her already, if he wanted to. Then... was he toying with her? Certainly, and she hated him for it.
"Dottore? You should go home," he once again said, his tone darkening, "stress isn't good for health. See you tomorrow."
Her ears picked his annoyance easily. That was the moment when she actually got terrified – because she felt she got on his nerves and – he could get unpredictable – and it simply felt horrible. Her heart ached as it picked up its pace, her chest expanding for a brave inhale, and she finally took a step backwards.
She felt her expression twitch at last. She gave in. Cioccolata won, and he nodded in approval. The same way he'd nod at her whenever she'd answer correctly during his lectures.
Another step backwards. Her vision distorted once more, on its own – she was so sore, so tired of it all. Never in her life was she forced to handle such... terror. Once her vision cleared, she saw him gaze back at her, pale moonlight sharpening his ruthless features. He had never been uglier.
Third step backwards. She felt her eyebrows droop. She couldn't keep it up.
She turned around and ran. Nothing came after her. Never in her life had she felt such relief when she reached the doorstep to her apartment.
"Signorina!"
(Y/N) halted as soon as she heard that voice call out. Throughout the night, nothing caught her attention, yet this voice –
She turned around. It was a cop, running towards her. A laugh of pure joy escaped her. She was far too lucky.
"Signore, I have to tell you something – "
"Uh-huh, wait a moment," he said as he stationed himself before her, panting heavily. He hid something behind his back, (Y/N) noticed. An alarm went off inside her mind. But... she prescribed it to her state of panic, and steadied her train of thoughts.
"I believe this belongs to you," he said, lifting his head. One of his eyes was thus revealed from the shadows, and it peered curiously at the girl. She got nauseous at the sight.
He gave her the wallet she had forgotten in the clinic. She reached out to take it, hands trembling, as many slow realizations came to her. Only to be proven by the cop's statement.
"The court is no stranger to them, their connections are everywhere, and you will show up tomorrow, unless you want to die. That's what he wanted me to tell you."
She expected to die, once again. And she didn't dare blink, so she could witness her own demise. But the cop waved, smiled, tipped his hat even, and walked away as if nothing ever happened.
She went to bed that night, knowing she didn't do anything about it. Though... she did prepare herself. Took a knife and a phone to message her parents that she's in danger. And she didn't close her eyes once during that fateful night.
She wrote a paragraph to her parents. About everything. She couldn't believe the words she typed – everything was far too surreal. But there she was, reliving the entire horrid event as she explained it to her parents. They were both asleep, luckily... she didn't want to bother them, no matter how ridiculous it seemed, but she truly didn't want to be a burden. Having finished the entire story, she felt guilt creeping up to her. They shouldn't stress over her. She shouldn't stress them.
And from these thoughts she spiraled down to numerous justifications on why exactly she should bother them. But the first, original idea that reached her – that she was a burden – didn't abandon her nevertheless. No matter how hard she wanted to defend herself.
She was well aware that she was entering a nightmare. The only way to survive it for now... was to obey. Because they wouldn't hesitate to murder her. Not only because they wouldn't be punished for it... but because they just weren't human. They had those – powers, surely. Secco sprung out of the floor, and grabbed her, she saw that clearly. And if Secco could've moved like a ghost, what kind of power would Cioccolata have? The surgeon was fully capable of controlling Secco, as far as she had seen. So, he must've had something even worse...
The morning caught her off guard. Her mind must've been a wreck, then. Time passed way too quickly... and so neared her departure to the hospital.
For the first time in a while, she couldn't smile at the mirror. She couldn't even look at it. Somehow, she got ready, albeit sloppily, and left to her hellish internship.
She had checked her phone multiple times before she left. Her parents hadn't responded yet. Wonderful, that was one thing less to stress about.
Strangely, this clinic she entered... she didn't feel afraid of it. Not in the least. She expected she'd tremble at its sight, but now... she didn't feel anything. Once again, she began worrying if she was, so to say, functioning well. This was yet another one of those moments where she'd know what was the normative behavior, and her behavior wouldn't match. How could her heart remain so bleak...?
There they were. The interns. The perfect distraction. Now, if only Cioccolata would disappear from the face of the Earth...
She kept thinking about him while she chatted with other students. And she couldn't handle the anxiety that welled up inside her being. She began stuttering while she talked, so she stopped. Simple as that. But Cioccolata, that goddamned surgeon, where was he? Why did he need her alive?
More importantly, why was she so keen on living? She finally realized the paradox she was in. In the face of death, she was indifferent, but everything she had done so far was in order to keep her alive. She responded to that in no time. An absent smile found its way on her face. She was a coward. And when she saw she couldn't win against Cioccolata... her cowardice guided her to stay calm. Or was it egoism?
The lectures began soon after. And her wondrous superior appeared amongst other doctors. She felt her insides boil, twist and turn whenever he'd speak up. She wanted to kill him right on the spot. That monster. That... she couldn't even think of how to describe him. Yet the word God seemed to fit. He was a psychopath; he must've had an inflated sense of self.
What to do, what to do... what did he intend to do? Why was nothing happening? He didn't speak to (Y/N). In fact, he didn't pay attention to her at all. This only fed her worry, her... restlessness. And patience wasn't a virtue in this situation.
So she walked up to him some time afterwards. Faced him with a tough expression that she mustered out of hatred.
"Signore... what are you going to do," she asked him in a hushed voice.
"What are you talking about?" He feigned confusion.
"Last night you murdered someone and you almost killed me – "
"Are you insane?" He furrowed his eyebrows in visible shock. "What are you even talking about?"
"L-last night... you... and Secco... murdered that guy in..."
"Is this a joke? If so, you can do better," Cioccolata grumbled.
"I just wanted to know – what do you – what will you do with me." She stopped herself, noticing she was tripping on her own words. Dammit.
"I'm... going to give you a lecture today, just like every other day, and we'll have our coffee during lunch break. Just as usual. Unless you want me to be the subject of your nonsensical jokes."
That was when (Y/N) understood. He played dumb, so that the both of them could just... forget it. But he was probably aware that she couldn't forget it as simply. (Y/N) knew this, and she couldn't handle this... even worsened anxiety that was building up inside her. Because she had no idea what to do. But he, on the other hand...
He must've had a plan. And what was it?
That day didn't offer her the response she was looking for. She found herself practically glued to surgeon Cioccolata throughout her stay in the clinic. She was particularly observant of his actions, and he, somehow, allowed it. This made her feel even worse. He had nothing to hide.
She got home, and she lived through yet another sleepless night. This time, she talked with her parents all night long. They would figure something out. Even the police in her homeland was already involved. When it came to the Italian police, her parents insisted that (Y/N) contact them as well.
She said she will, but she couldn't. Cioccolata controlled them. He controlled the court. He... he had to be involved with the mafia. Even if he weren't... he was dangerous enough on his own. Secco... (Y/N) remembered it all too vividly. They weren't human.
The next morning, she was at the clinic once again. The reason: pure fear. Nothing was out of the ordinary except her eyebags... and unusual tiredness. She was completely unresponsive. She didn't utter a word during any lecture. Other interns made sure to point that out. Not out of spite, rather, out of sheer surprise.
Naturally, she wasn't keen on going home either. She knew she wouldn't sleep, again. Yet she decided to leave earlier than usual. She just couldn't handle it anymore.
"Dottore! Could you come with me for a moment?" She heard a familiar voice call out. With an exasperated sigh, she turned on her heel. She didn't have a choice. She began walking back to the building. At its entrance stood Cioccolata, waving to her, much to her displeasure.
"Signore Cioccolata, that woman is an intern," one of the doctors pointed out as he was leaving the clinic. Cioccolata smiled at him, whereas (Y/N) tiredly gazed upwards, her eyebrows slightly raised.
"But I'm certain she'll become a great doctor someday. No harm done in boosting the intern's confidence, after all," the green haired male explained. He was met with approval.
Oh, how fake his words sounded, only to her. She hated the fact she could see right through his acts, his psychopathic charm, whereas other people would just...
"Eh, I presume you're right. This one deserves it," the other doctor responded with a polite smile and bid his farewell to his colleague. Thus, only (Y/N) and Cioccolata were left at the entrance. And her stomach was already doing barrel rolls.
"What do you need me for?"
"Something that will earn you extra internship points. Follow me."
And she did. Not that she had a choice. Besides, this time, there were actually some people in the clinic, so he couldn't do anything shady.
But as he led her through the sterile atmosphere, her fears grew. He brought her to the less used wing of the hospital, and from there, reached the door that lead to the basement. He opened it. Down below... a somber line of staircase. Nobody else in the vicinity.
(Y/N) could've ran. Whenever she wanted to. The alarm wasn't enormous enough, not now.
"Coming, dottore?" Cioccolata beckoned her.
"No. I'm not going in there," she responded with a scowl, already on her tiptoes to turn around and run.
"Or what?"
She didn't get the opportunity to answer, because she was harshly pushed – and fell down the stairs with a shriek. Pain erupted all across her back, and her head – it pulsed hard once she finally landed, no longer tumbling. She couldn't even see for a bit, and the aches made her hiss, her jaw clenched in a desperate attempt to relieve her of the sensations. She looked up, and Cioccolata was once again above her.
His demand echoed against the desolate hallway. "Disobey once more, and I won't hesitate to make better use of you." His words imprinted in her memory with ease. She curled herself up into a ball, her gaze stuck on the mad doctor's descend. She prayed he'd let her live through her pain, the pulsating agony... but would he?
With every step he took, her eyes widened. And once he reached her, she expected him to kick her in her guts so hard that she'd vomit – and she could feel the phantom of this hit in her belly already. But he never did so. Instead, to her absolute shock, he offered her a hand.
And to her even greater shock, she took it. Got back on her wobbly feet, and firmly stood, thanks to him. She stared at him, her vision already blurry from the upcoming tears. Should she... thank him?
She didn't. Just in case. And he liked that.
He let go of her hand. Then, he pointed at the long underground hallway they had just entered. "Go in there and clean up the mess in the last room. That's your job. Secco over here will keep you company." All of a sudden, the mentioned young man protruded through the wall and made another one of his disgusting sounds. (Y/N)'s stomach twisted even more. She had so much cramps... and such an urge to vomit.
"Goodbye," Cioccolata chirped and left, walking up the stairs. She didn't respond – she put a hand on her mouth. She was moments away from spilling her lunch all over the floor.
"Go, clean the room. Kehehe."
She felt an acidic tang in her throat. Then in her mouth. In an instant relief, she vomited, making yet another disgusting sound.
She looked at her barely digested meal that now laid sprawled across the clean tiles. She was so weak. And Secco was laughing at her because of it.
"What was that?"
She felt her heart sink as another voice was heard. It was Cioccolata. The very moment she thought she got rid of him.
She backed away. She couldn't face him. Not again.
Her legs gave in. She no longer felt them. She could only watch as his shadow reappeared down the stairs, approaching her, about to...
"Eh? Secco, clean that up."
Secco didn't react positively to that. He whined and shook his head. This, Cioccolata noticed, and walked closer to (Y/N) and his assistant. But he neared his assistant instead, much to (Y/N)'s relief.
What happened next shocked her. The surgeon slapped Secco hard. The hit resonated against the walls, echoes filled in the silence, as well as (Y/N)'s drumming heart. She was terrified beyond measure. Her being was in such delirium that it would soon... it would soon... she couldn't even think about what would happen. The aggressor was still in her vicinity, and her focus was solely fixated on him. He could do the same to her. Nothing held him back.
But the green haired man soon left, not sparing a single glance on the intern.
(Y/N) didn't even realize how hard she was shaking. She looked at her hands, and they weren't trembling, no, they were violently shaking. She couldn't believe her own eyes.
"Disgusting. Bleh." She heard Secco grumble. Everything about this situation was ridiculous.
"You go clean the room. Come on."
His irritable voice got to her. Somehow, she managed to stand up, and make her way to the designated room. Inside, she was supposed to...
Clean up chunks of meat? Before she knew it, her gag reflex was activated again. She threw up a clearer vomit this time... it spilled and stuck itself on the floor. Another reek joined the already thick air. At least it would be easier to clean up, she thought to herself sarcastically.
Before her, on a table, stood, indeed, chunks of geometrically cut... undoubtedly, human body parts. She didn't want to spot any further details. Plenty of blood was there as well. How to... handle that? She spotted some bags on a tray to her right. Never in her life had she performed a more disgusting, degrading act than that day.
That was all. He didn't have her do anything else. In fact, he dropped some bitter words of praise as she was leaving. As well as some advice.
"Remember, alarming anyone will only make you bigger problems. I've got my own strings to pull."
Did he know? Her eyes widened in pure shock, and he merely smiled with one of his generic gross smiles. She remembered, of course. She remembered who she alarmed. So she nodded to her superior and finally went to her apartment in the dead of the night.
The shower she took afterwards revealed her all the bruises she gained that day. All she could do was exhale and acknowledge them.
She was offline all day, so once she got to use her phone, she saw that she had a bunch of missed calls and texts of her parents. She skimmed through them – no time to waste, after all – and she... she hated herself for doing that, but... she texted them that everything was alright. That she only had a nightmare that she thought was real, and decided to... yes, to test her parents. She wanted to see how they'd react.
Her parents didn't react positively at all. She called them (a video call, because they insisted to see if she was intact), and the tantrum that followed ruined her. They were worried sick, of course, and they'd already contacted (C/N)'s authorities and media... only to find out their daughter tricked them. Wonderful, truly wonderful. (Y/N) felt horrendous, beat, bad in every possible sense.
The numbness was kicking in.
She took the next day off. Called her parents. Somehow, they didn't respond. So, she called them again, and again. Nobody responded. Christ, what was going on...? They were online all the time, and the one time she needed them, they weren't there. The coincidence was too great...
No. Cioccolata couldn't have possibly reached out to them. They were in another country. If Cioccolata was that powerful, he wouldn't be dealing with (Y/N) like that. Unless – why, of course, he was a psychopath. Psychopaths don't make any sense. But still...
(Y/N) gave up. There was nothing she could do, except... run away? And let those two men do whatever they wanted to? Oh, she was in no state to bash her brains about it. Her head was too heavy, she couldn't burden it with more thoughts.
She was hopeless. She spent the entire day in a heavy slumber, akin to none before. Once she regained her consciousness, she realized, horror etched into her senses... that she didn't wake up in her room.
The light was too strong. Too... harmful to her sensitive eyes. They shot open, focusing quickly on their surroundings, all thanks to newfound panic. She was in one of those white rooms. She was on the surgical table. She was, she recognized quickly, she was in the hospital, and –
"Hello, dottore."
It was that voice. The one melody she despised more than any other. Right next to her. But she couldn't move her head, no, for some reason she was paralyzed –
"And goodbye."
The blade entered her sight just an instant before it landed on her heart. The agony forced out an inhuman wail from her. The shriek was a frail attempt of hers to cover up the pain. The sheer ache that took away her life. It made her limbs tense up, whitened her vision, forced her to wake up –
And she woke up. In her own room. And her heart was intact, alive like never before.
How long could she keep on living like this? It had only just begun, and she wanted to die already.
She got out of her bed and began packing her possessions. It took her only several hours to get ready. She had to leave this cursed place once and for all.
But all of her determination vanished.
This couldn't be happening. She closed the door to her apartment, and on the doorknob, there was a sticky note. On it, with an elegant handwriting, in – oh, the cliché – red letters, was written:
Come to the clinic as soon as you see this. I also urge you to take a look across the street, and spot a pair of young men seated in that restaurant. Their appearance is quite unusual, so you'll have no trouble spotting them in the crowd. Those are the hitmen who will take you out in case you don't come.
Take care, Cioccolata
She read every single one of those words with pure, unfiltered rage. What angered her the most was the ending note – take care, he said. He must've been smiling to himself, that bastard, as he was writing that. He must've been enjoying himself! (Y/N) wanted nothing but to see him die.
She turned around, her hair flipping as it followed her quick movement. Indeed, there, in the restaurant, were two particularly... odd men. One of them had long blond hair, and darker skin, and the other one had red, shorter hair. Both of them wore striking suits. And the both of them waved at her.
She clenched her fists in disbelief. So this truly was happening. She truly, once again, had no other choice.
Although it probably meant nothing, she threw a glance full of hatred at the two, opened her door and put the coffer inside. Slamming the door shut, then locking it, she was on her way to that hellhole of a clinic.
She turned around. The two men were following her. So, they really were keen on knowing where she'd go? Her sarcastic thoughts were so much louder than her heartbeat. Again, she was too calm –
And she stopped walking. Stared at that pair, even, with squinted eyes and an overwhelmingly hostile expression. How far could her spite push her? What did she even want to do?
She continued walking. What did she even do? She didn't know –
Her feet slammed against the pavement. Her aggression seeped all around her. She was turning senseless from the rage.
Even when she entered the clinic, the clean tile wasn't spared of her forceful steps. There weren't many people inside, she noticed – the night was coming. But where was that one psychopath she'd been looking for?
Someone tapped her shoulder and she turned, wide eyes, expecting to see him. Instead, the man who did so was one of the two who were following her. His visage radiated with tranquility, the tranquility she was in desperate need for. It shocked her, brought her rage to a halt.
"Strange, Cioccolata isn't here," he simply stated. His voice bore a calming note to it, something (Y/N) was sure to sense and luckily – take in.
"I don't really want to meet him either way," she responded with a forced laugh. She had to laugh. It released her of at least some tension.
"As for us, we didn't really want that guy to waste our time. And he's wasting it right now. Right, Tiziano?"
The other man, presumably Tiziano, nodded.
"But since you can't really go away, we'll have to wait here together," the red-haired man in front of (Y/N) explained. She nodded. They were so relaxed, and their relaxation got to her. The idea of escape seemed more... approachable, at that moment.
But before she could even figure her first step, he came. Forced her back into that state of –
Calm? Why was she so damn calm?
"Tiziano, Squalo, you didn't have to go that far, but your help is appreciated nevertheless," Cioccolata greeted with regality. The pair didn't seem too satisfied – and they even left without a word. Leaving (Y/N) alone.
She could run...! Right now! But those two, could they – yes, they could get her, dammit. She couldn't leave. But it wasn't over. Not yet. There were people all around her...
"Follow me," Cioccolata ordered, not bothering to hide his coldness.
It took (Y/N) all her strength to fight the embarrassment, but she began screaming. In the lobby, in front of everyone. As loud as she could. And everyone reacted.
The next thing she knew, she was falling. Then everything turned black.
Her consciousness slowly woke up her senses. Again, the white of the hospital, so assaulting and aggressive. This time, however, it was very real.
Secco and Cioccolata were in front of her. The assistant was meddling with some object in his hand, whereas the surgeon did something to the apparats beside a patient's bed.
(Y/N) screwed her eyes shut. She didn't want to be there... she wanted to postpone this, whatever it was, she just didn't want to witness it. There was a patient present, and he... he would probably die soon. (Y/N) recognized him to be the homeless man they once spoke about.
She moved her leg, making a massive mistake. She realized she was restrained, and that one slight movement made a sound – cluttering sort of sound – for she was tied to a metallic chair. Goodbye to her intentions, goodbye to her stolen time, Cioccolata and Secco now knew she was back.
The older man lifted a syringe, looking at its contents against the light. He then spilled it into the IVs that were attached to the docile patient's hand. (Y/N) observed him carefully; what was he doing?
He then asked Secco of the cameras were ready, to which the assistant responded with a weird sound, akin to his usual vocations. Sadly, that was when surgeon turned his attention to (Y/N).
"How long do you think he'll endure?"
"I don't know," she said. She didn't even want to think about it.
"Then, a different question. Do you think he would want to die?"
"If you intend to cut him..."
"No, before I get my hands on him. Do you think that he'd want to die, right now? While in his baby sleep?"
Did she hear him right? Her head was pounding, she couldn't focus on his words, let alone figure an answer. "If he wanted to die, he would've done it until now."
"You've got too much faith in his spirit, dottore. Maybe he's just a coward and he's scared to end it all."
She sighed. Why was he so damn insistent on talking? "...How would you know?"
"I don't know. Let's ask him, shall we?"
All of a sudden, he slapped the patient, successfully waking him up. The old man began making incoherent sounds, completely shocked because of the hit.
"Do you want to live?" (Y/N) could see the sadist's lips curl up in his newfound pleasure as he asked.
"...Of course I do! What kind of question is that?" Panic slipped through his tone. "What are you going to do...?"
"It won't change the outcome of your state, surely. Does the intern disagree with her superior that this man has contained the urge to die?"
"If I were you... I wouldn't be so sure, because of... existentialism," she recklessly responded, only to be laughed at.
"Likewise, for I'm certain I can thwart your oh-so educated mindset," he discriminated, only to turn to Secco and tell him to start recording. The patient was oblivious to what would happen.
Before she could realize it, he was cutting. He began the operation. And the man... he was fully aware of it. Awake, conscious, his senses functioning perfectly. Therefrom came his screams.
A long cut across the stomach. Ghastly red came from the wound. His bodily liquids ran free down his stomach, painting it warm tones of life being spilled. The larger the gash, the stronger his screams. He was in such agony that (Y/N)'s very guts tumbled.
The doctor continued his surgery. He opened the cut, he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. The same hands he had once used to save countless lives, the same hands (Y/N) would once kill for. And he began his work, enjoying the desperate cries of his patient. This only resulted in...
Pulsating intestines. Their crimson coating glimmered underneath the cold hospital lights. Each and every drop of blood that descended, hit the drums of polished tiles. Lifting the organ upwards was Cioccolata, who rejoiced at his trophy: the man's deafening screams, and his contorted face – amorphous out of sheer pain.
The sight remained implanted in (Y/N)'s mind. She forced herself to watch it, even though she could've closed her eyes. She simply gave in to suffering. She no longer cared.
And oh, Cioccolata was a skilled surgeon. He knew where to cut to keep his patient alive. He knew what to do in order to maximize the experience.
But a human body had its boundaries. The patient's spasms died down, and his throat turned dry. Until he convulsed one last time, marking his early departure with one final wail.
"You..." (Y/N) was speechless. After the realization found her, after she understood the gravity of this entire event – she regained her loathing. "How dare you... do that... You're a monster. You're the worst man on this planet," she muttered. It was satisfying to admit that, but at a cost too high.
It took Cioccolata only a couple of steps to reach her, lift his hand and slap her hard. Throughout the dizziness, the ringing in her ears and the sharp pain that faded from her face, she made out his words.
"I'll advise you, not as a colleague, but as a friend, to stay silent. If you thought you were aware of the consequences, I've proven you wrong. Something you very much dislike, don't you, dottore?"
He glared down to the pits of her very soul, and what he saw was right. He perceived her numerous faults; he knew her better than her very parents, and unlike them, he knew how to beat them. "...true."
"So don't talk unless you're talked to. It would be wonderful to have you too quiver and crumble on the table," he commented, earning no reactions from the intern. He chuckled once he realized that. And (Y/N), she was aggravated.
"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?"
Those venomous eyes of his widened. "Aren't you? You partake in a newer form of research. You may deem it however you want, but it is, essentially, uplifting man above all norms. A borderless, maladaptive curiosity. Quick to devour, quick to digest. You will always be left with an insatiable hunger for more."
She understood him. And she would forever bear the heavy knowledge of that fact.
"But what of morals? What of society and its rules? Would you like to answer?" He questioned carefully, as if he was probing her. As if he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. And (Y/N) got to be listened to, for once – but she had nothing to say.
"You avoid those," she bluntly responded.
"I was hoping for something more poetic. You're always keen on making things different, outstanding. A pity, truly. You won't be able to do that anymore."
He would get rid of her. At last. She felt disgusted because she found solace in the fact, even for a moment. "You'll kill me. Is there anything –"
"You could do to live? No, you're in my hands, and I am an excellent doctor. Your own words."
She smiled at him. She had never felt such hatred toward another being.
"I promise I won't say anything," she mumbled through her clenched teeth.
"You will stay silent. I know you will." And he turned around.
"Secco. Bring her to room 79 and leave her there. We'll get to her once we clean this mess."
"Oowhooaa," the being gargled. It approached (Y/N) and released her of her confinements. She spotted the skin on her wrists to have turned dark, and once it was set free, she could feel it ache.
She couldn't resist Secco. Cioccolata was right in front of her, and Secco... Secco had his power that rendered him unbeatable.
So she let him, she let him guide her to her umpteenth death. She was as obedient as she could get. She just wanted this to get over with, for once – that was what her manic mind was currently telling her.
He pushed her in a dark room. There were no windows, for it was the basement, so once the door was closed and locked – (Y/N) was left in pitch darkness.
Every sound killed her. Gave her a heart attack, over and over again. Be it a footstep, be it the sound of instruments clinking, be it their voice. Every single thing impaled her eardrums.
She waited for it to get over. Waited long and patiently, shivering as her body grasped its final hours. She lived through her life all over again, multiple times, bid her farewells to her beloved ones. Prayed, that someone on the heavens above would hear her messages, and send them to the people she cared. Her monologues were pathetic, as she intended them to be. There was no need to hold back. She would soon die.
Then she started begging for something to occur. She could swear her ears would bleed soon – for she couldn't handle the announcements of the sensations. Always nearby, but never there. And she yearned for them to finally end, for her to live through her final agony, and finally die.
It was unbearable. She didn't want to die, she wanted it all to just end. But death was her only escape. Yet it wouldn't arrive...! For some reason, she was still waiting, for hours, for hours she'd been twitching and foaming, accepting her defeat over and over again.
And during the period when her thoughts died down and her body turned still, light entered her room at last. The foreign, the unpleasant light, that hurt her eyes – it would guide her to heaven, soon. Her mind enlisted a long line of metaphors, some of them making way into faint hallucinations. But all of them disappeared once he appeared.
"Dottore? What are you doing in here?"
Cioccolata's voice resonated with confusion. This in turn caused (Y/N) some confusion as well.
"You..." She croaked, and only then did she realize how dry her throat had been. How thirsty she had gotten.
"Yes, it's me," he responded leisurely. She saw his shadow enter and enlarge, coming closer to her. He helped her stand up, and (Y/N) noticed his nose scrunch up because of something – oh no. She realized once she heard she stepped into a puddle. Despite that, he seemed rather... peaceful. Cooperative even.
"Why am I alive?" She couldn't help but ask as he dragged her outside the dark cell. The air outside was so much better to breathe...
"Ah, getting overly curious again, are we, dottore?"
His tone. She didn't feel her legs for an instant. "Pardon," she answered reflexively. Her heart ached at this humiliation. It was slowly becoming integrated into her being. She wouldn't have it that way – or so she revolted inside her mind.
"That's no bad trait, mind you, dottore. I find myself indulging in my fantasies far too –"
(Y/N) landed a hit on his jaw. Pain shot through her arm – punching wasn't the most pleasant, but seeing Cioccolata in pain, hearing him wince, that was what gave (Y/N) life. He stumbled backwards, placing a hand on his jaw, and he glared at (Y/N) who showed zero emotions for his trouble.
"Is this assault, dottore? You're doing something illegal, you might get arrested," he warned, his calm voice a contrast to his bewildered expression.
How dare he, how dare he – (Y/N)'s mind turned into a whirlwind of protests, deforming her face into that of pure rage. She would see him pay. She walked backwards, fists balled up, ready to run away and grab anything to murder that monster.
"I won't fucking regret it, and I'll get you to jail with me, you monster," she growled, "or even better, I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill you. I'll – kithl –" Saliva began dripping from her mouth, interrupting her tantrum.
Cioccolata took the opportunity to speak up. "It appears you've forgotten. There's two of us."
That was when she felt something heavy on her back. It had to be Secco. The very moment she felt something on there, she elbowed him multiple times, hitting his ribcage, and hopefully his face as well, for she was aiming there. She wanted to see him suffer.
"Go away – knock it off, go away," she began, then roared, "FUCK OFF!"
The struggle wasn't in vain. Her elbows hurt, but she managed to get him off her back. Secco staggered backwards and fell with a wince – into the ground, vanishing. (Y/N) noticed in the corner of her eye, Cioccolata, approaching with steady steps.
"Don't fucking touch me, don't you fucking dare," she wheezed, hands in front of her to defend herself. And that was all. She was paralyzed, because...
Because she had never seen an expression so grim, so monstrous. He relished in his own apathy and it ruined him. Scarred every bit of his already hideous face. It was far too overwhelming for her.
Then came his turn to be shocked. His brows twitched, eyelids spasmed, as his gaze went above (Y/N). She was quick to follow it.
Behind her stood a... robot, as it seemed, donned in golden and similar colors. Similarly, a bright yellow aura radiated from it – and from (Y/N)... as well?
She felt his clawed hand land on her shoulder. "Run," the figure ordered... in her own voice?
"I've had enough of you," Cioccolata then said, each and every word of his stressed with undivided hatred.
But (Y/N) trusted this being. The instinct was quick. It was a solution deus ex machina, but at least it was there. So... she gathered what had left of her strength, and she ran upstairs. She kept on running. Outside, into the peaceful morning. Somehow, she didn't know how, but nobody interrupted her escape. It was fine. She made it.
She collapsed in the middle of the street as she dialed the police. She couldn't help but wonder if she was burying herself into something even worse.
No. The quiet beeps ticked against her ear while she waited for a response. It couldn't get any worse.
141 notes · View notes
juyeoniemyhoney · 4 years ago
Text
can this morning never end
Namjoon is the most beautiful human being to ever walk the earth. It is natural that you have a crush on him. You expect that eventually, your feelings will die out but then, you find yourself squealing uncontrollably outside of the library that you and Namjoon had agreed to meet at for your pair-work assignment. You have always watched Namjoon from afar. It surprises you when you find out that Namjoon has been observing you too. Well, there’s a first for everything. 
-pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader
-genre: FLUFF, a lil bit of angst, high school/secondary school au (where i live high school is called secondary school;-;)
-warnings: vulgarities, pretty self-depreciating writing if im gonna be honest so be weary, Namjoon is a little bit of a simp for oc in this one, the ending is lowkey shit rip im sorry
-word count: 3208 words
-A/N: hi hi im back, this time with a Namjoon fic. i havent been writing a lot because im so preoccupied with my exams. in all honesty, i shouldnt be writing at all but i have absolutely no sense of self control, so i wrote this. it’s not my best but i really like how joon’s so soft in this so i decided to post it anyway. don’t be afraid to tell me how you liked (or didnt like) this imagine! and requests are open! hope you enjoy this one:)
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As you approach the entrance of the library, your heart starts beating a mile a minute.
You stall outside the automatic sliding doors, mind racing with a million scenarios. You freak out a little and silently squeal, earning you disapproving frowns and judging eyes from passers-by. But you don't care. You've waited a whole week for today.
A week ago, during English class, you were busy writing instead of paying attention, as usual, when your teacher had given the class the assignment to write a scenario, of any genre but it had to contain the writer's techniques she had taught in class. And she made the whole class pair up. You, too lost in the world of fanfiction, had not been listening and frankly, you didn't really care, passing her words off as just more homework.
The next thing you knew, Kim Namjoon had turned around in his chair, calling your name in that deep, gravelly voice. At the sound of his voice, your head immediately shot up, eyes wide in surprise.
"Do you want to partner up?" he had asked, lips slinging into an easy grin, eyes curling up and that goddamned dimple making itself made known on his left cheek. He patiently waited for your answer, eyes periodically glancing down to your desk that was in disarray, pieces of paper containing your words messily covering every corner of your desk. You pray that he didn't catch a peep of your (admittedly) cringeworthy fanfic as you tried to subtly gather the papers before he could read too much.
"Um, partner up for what?" you questioned, confused, head tilting ever so slightly to the right in question, brows furrowed in misunderstanding. He mirrored your actions and your heart had unwontedly skipped a beat. A beat of silence passed, "For the assignment?"
Before you could ask what assignment?, your teacher had interrupted your conversation with a satisfied clap and a smile. "Alright, I assume you have all found your partners. I'll give you time to work on your assignment right now. Remember that planning is the most important stage of writing. Do approach me if you have any questions."
Namjoon had turned back to you with a wry grin that looked a tad bit awkward, saying, "Well, I guess we're partners now."
Which is how you find yourself freaking the fuck out in front of a library on a Saturday morning, mind racing with different, absurd scenarios and outcomes of this meeting. You decide to take another minute to compose yourself.
You wouldn't say that you like Namjoon per se. You just think he is the most handsome man to walk on this godforsaken planet. But seriously, that man is far too beautiful to be real. From the first time you met him til now, you have no doubt that that man is a celestial being, gifted to the world from the gods, purely to cleanse the eyes of us, mere mortals. To make matters worse, he is smart too; of a wisdom thousands of years beyond his age. You still can't believe you've had the god-given opportunity to meet someone like him.
Okay so, maybe you kind of like him a lot, more than you let on, but you're not really sure if you like him because he's Namjoon or if it's because you are lovelorn, touch deprived, or both.
You reckon it has taken more than a minute to compose yourself because by the time you snap out of your daze, you are five minutes late when you had actually arrived five minutes earlier than the agreed timing. You sigh and finally walk through the doors that welcome you into the cooling library, cold blasts from the air conditioning cooling down the fierce blush that had taken refuge on your cheeks.
You immediately proceed to find a seat but Namjoon texts you, telling you that he's already a step ahead of you, having secured a seat in a room with tables on the second floor.
When you reach the second floor, and make your way towards the rooms, you can see Namjoon through the glass walls, sitting down and silently reading a book as he waits for you. The closer you draw to the room, the faster your heart pounds in your chest. The sound is deafening and distracting and you don't even realise how fast you had walked until you are finally knocking on the glass door, sending Namjoon a small smile when he looks up at you.
"Hi, Y/N," he greets, smile widening into a grin so wide that it hides his eyes. Your heart stops but you hide it with a small smile as you settle down your things and yourself opposite him.
"So, what genre did you want to write about," he asks as you take a pen and a piece of paper out from your bag. You freeze when your brain registers his sentence. "The assignment is to write a story?"
Namjoon stares at you wordlessly for a while, speechless that it's been a week and you still don't know what the fucking assignment is. You, however, have no idea that he is thinking about how stupid you are and happily stare back at him, taking in his mono lidded, almond-shaped eyes and the dark brown of his irises. His nose bridge is straight and the tip of his nose is a little flat, like a koala. You have never wanted to boop a nose so bad in your entire life.
"Yeah, that's the assignment," he responds patiently, giving you a gentle smile. You can't help but feel that it seems a little tight and forced, like he is regretting asking you be his partner, and regretting that he didn't have enough time to reconsider. You ignore the feeling of dejection that slowly bubbles up inside of you.
"I thought that it'd be easiest to write romance since you're so well versed in that.". You freeze. Time seems to have stopped and your ears refuse to register the rest of what Namjoon is saying, tuning everything out but your deafening thoughts. You have to remind yourself to breathe.
"You know that I write?" you interrupt Namjoon. He stops and fixes you a look of confusion, like it is so obvious that you write. It's not that you've been trying to keep it a secret. The thing is, for most of your stories, Namjoon is the main male character. In most of your stories, you have described every single part of him in excruciating detail, his eyes and lips especially. When your friends had first read your stories with Namjoon as the male protagonist, they had caught on quickly, almost immediately asking you if you were describing Namjoon because of how well you had described him. A bad feeling washes over you.
"Yeah, you're always scribbling away during English so I got curious and asked a few of your classmates," he responds, flashing you another lopsided smile. If this were any other situation, your heart would have been absolutely eliminated because of that smile but in this situation, all you can think about is if he's read any of your work. Because if he has, you're done for.
"What did my classmates say?" you question hesitantly, still deciding if you want to know his answer.
"Well they said that you've been writing since forever. They also said that a lot of people know that you write. Oh, and they also said that you had some published works so I went to check them out—" Namjoon's voice fades out as he continues to talk.
This is it.
It's the end of your social life. Namjoon is going to tell his loud ass group of friends that you write stalker-esque stories about him and then one of his friends is going to accidentally tell their girlfriend and then the girlfriend is going to spread it across the school and you'll be known as the loser who writes creepy stalker stories about Namjoon—
"It was amazing," you hear Namjoon say in between your mild quarter-life crisis. You pause and look him square in the eye. You want to come off as serious but you falter slightly when Namjoon stares back at you, irises a whirlpool of dark brown and glittering fascination, a swirling vortex that draws you in with a vicious intent of drowning.
"Yes?" Namjoon questions you after a beat of silence passes. You want to ask him if he knows that he is reading about himself but you stop yourself. "You like my stories?" you ask instead, feeling a tad bit shy now that you've realised that Namjoon likes what you write about him.
He lets out a small laugh, "Is it that hard to believe that I like what you write?"
"I was just surprised." He flashes you another wide grin and there it is, those cursed dimples show themselves again, grinning tauntingly at you and your heart commits the highest act of treason when it starts to beat faster. You gulp.
"You shouldn't be surprised. It was really good. I really liked it when you described the male character. It felt like I was looking at him myself. That's why I asked you to be my partner. I'm sure with your talents, we can get a really good mark on this assignment."
Your heart thuds a little faster when Namjoon tells you that his favourite part was reading about how you described him. But it falls to your stomach when he tells you that he picked you solely for your supposed talents. You don't know why, but a part of you had thought that maybe Namjoon wanted to get to know you better, and was using this assignment as an excuse. You thought that it was finally happening, someone you like has finally noticed you. But it looks like you thought wrong.
"Thank you," you say meekly, flashing him a half-hearted smile that you're sure he notices from the way he stiffens. "So, you said that you thought that romance would be a good genre, but what do you want to write about?"
Namjoon is silent for a while, lips pursed in ponder. You wait patiently for his answer.
"Well, I thought that I'd wanted to write romance too," he answers flashing you an awkward smile. The silence that follows is palpable and suddenly, you feel so very exhausted. "Well then, that's settled. Now we just have to think of a situation."
"How about this one?" Namjoon asks immediately after you finish your sentence. He says it rather suddenly and it startles you a little. You can't help but hear a certain extent of desperation in this voice. He wants to get this over with, you tell yourself.
"How do you mean?"
"Kinda like us now," he starts but stops to think about what to say next. You remain silent. "We should just write about us but make it a love story. For example, the two main characters are supposed to do a project together so they meet at a library," he pauses to gesture to the shelves surrounding the both of you.
"Then they start working on the project and they start talking. Then, somehow, the boy confesses to her. And the girl tells him she's always felt the same way. We can come up with how he confesses since I myself haven't come up with that yet," he continues, softening the last part of his sentence into a mumble that you barely hear, but still do. You pause. What the fuck?
"What did you say? I didn't hear you," you ask against your better judgement, curiosity getting the best of you. "Huh? Oh, it was nothing."
A furious blush begins to spread on the apples of Namjoon's cheeks, and for some reason, your body begins to mirror him, heart pumping hot blood to the blood vessels that lay beneath the skin of your cheeks. Namjoon shyly directs his gaze to his lap, dark brown bangs, the colour of his eyes, coming down in luxurious curls and waves to hide his eyes. You can't help but think that you like to see Namjoon like this; soft and shy and vulnerable because he is usually so confident and suave. It feels like he is showing a new side of himself to you, like he is peeling back the layers of masks and personas he has built until he is left raw and natural, allowing you to see everything that he is. The thought of that leaves you feeling winded because it is exactly what you want. And suddenly, you don't feel bashful or shy because of his words. Instead, you are determined, hellbent on making something out of this and you hope with your whole being that it is a relationship.
You are about to say something, to question him, bombard him until he is spilling his feelings in fumbled words and sentences of desperation and want, clawing at you until you too, are raw and vulnerable. But he beats you to it, speaking in a soft, hushed tone, as if you are a stern silence that he is afraid of interrupting.
"I think you're amazing, Y/N. What do you think of me?"
He stares meekly at his lap, too afraid to even spare you a glance. You remain silent, building his desperation like you are some professional flirt. In all honesty, you really just want to tell him you like him too but you're just so scared. The evidence that he at least feels something for you is right in front of you and yet your brain rejects it like a vending machine rejects a bill, walls built far too high and thick that words are no longer enough to convince you. He has to show you. And you think he knows that too.
Namjoon's head shoots up to stare you in the eyes, a new found determination and confidence burning in his eyes. The way the light finds his dark brown irises makes your heart do a million somersaults. They light up and turn into a golden brown you can't help but compare to a sweet, caramel syrup that coats your tongue in golden, sugary gratification. You swallow so hard, you feel the sides of your throat rub together painfully. 
"I think you're freaking amazing, Y/N. Every time I look at you, I always want to make myself better. For you. I want to become the best version of myself in hopes that it'll satisfy you and garner your attention. And I really like that you do what makes you happy. I absolutely love it when you write in English because you're always so focused and serious, plus, you make that really cute face when you're concentrating and it always makes my heart beat a little faster and it makes me hate that I sit in front of you because I have to keep finding stupid reasons to turn around just to look at you and I just think you're the most amazing, admirable, lovable person ever," Namjoon lets out. His words are rushed and desperate and you melt like goddamn candle wax.
"I'm— Wow, I'm— thank you, Namjoon. That really means a lot to me," you stutter, not really knowing what to say at first but finding your words soon enough. "Oh, and I feel the same way," you add, somehow missing the main point of your response. It doesn't matter anyway. He knows now. That's all that matters.
"Wait, really?"
You let out a laugh. "Yeah, Namjoon. Is it that hard to believe that I like you too?" you reply, a homage to your previous conversation.
Namjoon smiles a small smile, then it widens, and widens, and widens, until he is flashing you a blinding grin that could outright beat the glare of sunlight. "You said that you like me," he points out, eyes shining.
It is your turn to blush in embarrassment, cheeks feeling hot as you begin to sink into yourself, hair falling from behind your shoulders to hopefully make itself useful as a curtain to shield your red face from Namjoon. Something in Namjoon's chest begins to splinter at the sight. He is so very tempted to pull out his phone and snap a picture of you but he holds himself back at the thought that he is positive he has many more chances to do so. His ribs nearly break in half because of how hard his heart beats.
"It's a good thing that I like you too," he says gently, smile now gentle instead of blinding. "Also, we have a plot now!" he exclaims in excitement as he slides the pen and paper closer to himself, ready to start on your assignment.
"Wait."
"Yeah?"
"So, we're, are we? You know... Um, dating now?"
Namjoon's eyes widen in horror and he deflates himself, a disappointed frown pulling his eyebrows together at the centre and turning the corners of his lips down. "Shit, I'm sorry I didn't ask— I just assumed—" he cuts himself off, clearing his throat dramatically.
"Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?" he asks. Somehow, he still feels nervous even though he knows that you answer is a resounding, "Yes, I would love to be your girlfriend."
Namjoon lets out the breath he didn't even know he was holding and it comes out in a relieved sigh. "Thank God because if not our story would have a horrible ending," Namjoon comments, picking the pen back up and clicking it open.
"Let's write that," you cut in before he can say anything else. "Write a sad love story?"
Namjoon is going to tell you no, to completely disapprove of your idea because writing a sad love story is one thing but writing a sad love story that will be handed up to your teacher for her to grade is another thing. But then, he sees your eyes glisten in determination and he dispels his thoughts immediately, folding into himself like a goddamn lawn chair. He can't believe he was just about to say no to you. What the fuck is wrong with him?
"Please? I'm better at writing angst. Plus, we have a happy ending and that's all that matters," you press, trying to convince him. You don't have a real reason other than the fact that you write angst better. You also don't really know why you want to write angst right now when you feel as if you could fly. But it doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore. Namjoon is your's now. 
Namjoon flashes you a dimpled smile, eyes curling up and glittering with mirth and unadulterated belief in you. You can't help but think that you want him to never stop smiling like that, looking at you like you are some sort of celestial being, hailed from the sky solely to bring him every sort of merriment known to mankind and the heavens. The thought of him thinking of you like that scares you, because you are always afraid of not being enough. But Namjoon diminishes all of your worries with a short sentence, manhandling them by the throat and shoving them off a cliff.
"Okay, I believe in you."
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