#mans gel game must go so hard

[thespineoftherighteous]

reminder reminder reminder that when we meet him Matt Boyd is going through a spiking his hair phase. go on. be fucking endeared.

[fineprintedsunsets]

JAWBREAKER

This Is For Haunted Hoedown Day 1 | My Haunted Hoedown Master-List

Synopsis: Bucky's been hired to watch you as a favor to his best friend; your father. But when a game of spin the bottle has Bucky choking on his words, he just can't help himself anymore.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: age gap (both are consenting adults). dbf!bucky x f reader. mentions of violence against others (nothing undeserved) jealous bucky. unprotected sex. (wrap it before you tap it.) dirty talk. possessive bucky. p in v sex. is a hired bodyguard a stalker? maybe? idk. lots of praise + pet names.

taboo au + "this is fucked up" "you like it"

How Bucky ended up at a Halloween party for drunk teenagers was a mystery. A ghost-themed one at that. Kids who he wasn't even sure should be drinking clutched red solo cups filled with various alcohol, laughing obnoxiously and passing hushed whispers.

He rolled his eyes.

Teenagers.

He was sent here by your father, and although he loved the man (practically his best friend) this was the one event he regretted agreeing to accompany you to. You were 19, and why you wanted to go to a ghost-themed party with sixteen and seventeen-year-olds was beyond him.

Nevertheless, he agreed to supervise you for your father's sake. The second he steps foot through the frilly-decorated entrance, he smells the overpowering scent of marijuana and Axe cologne.

Thank god he didn’t grow up in an era where boys would wear that shit and think they were the coolest fuckers around. His nose turns up, turning to its source. It was indeed three teenage boys with what must have been a gallon of gel in their hair and crooked smiles splayed on their features.

They accompany a girl at the table, he can't see her features due to the blocking backs of the boys, but he can see one of them lift their fingers to brush ever so slightly against her arm.

The girl moves away, and when she does, Bucky's eyes catch on her.

It’s you, his best friend's daughter. He tries hard not to let his eyes linger on you, knowing he has only one job here tonight, and it’s to keep you out of harm's way. There was only one problem with that. Your father kept most of his work life hidden away from his wife and since he worked with a lot of cruel people, he decided not to involve you either.

Which means you had never met his best friend. You didn’t even know he had one. Bucky was sent here to watch you from afar, your dad didn’t want you to know he sent someone to supervise you every single time you went out.

You pass the boy a look, awkwardly shaking your head. You attempt to laugh it off and walk away, but the boy grabs your wrist. Bucky bristles where he stands against a wall, having just entered.

He can’t approach you, he couldn’t risk you finding out who he was. But oh how he wanted to break all twenty-eight of Jelly Hair’s pitiful knuckles.

“Let go, Jake.” You growl out, but Jelly Hair won’t let up, wrapping his digits around your tiny wrist and forcing you to sit back down. It angers him, how the other boys he’s sitting with laugh at his antics.

A loud crunching sound echoes from someone over at your table and Bucky leans away from the wall, getting ready to intercept, thinking he may have hit you. He should be ashamed of the anger that blossoms through his chest.

Jake’s fingers slip from your wrist as the other boys jump up. Jelly Hair turns toward the door where Bucky is standing, allowing him to spectate the blood now running from his nose.

He can’t help the smile that graces his features.

You hit him.

“My girl” Bucky finds himself whispering. He tucks his hand in his pockets, moving away from the entrance and more profound into whoever's house this is. White lights flash from the rooms as music blares from speakers in the living room.

Everyone is dressed like a ghost, some people; like you are wearing a t-shirt that displays a cute drawing of a supernatural creature. Others wear sheets with glasses placed overtop of them, or uneven eye-holes cut out of the white fabric.

Bucky grabs a solo cup and fills it up with Cola, the only non-alcoholic drink on the ping-pong table. His metal fingers grip the cup and bring it to his lips, only to spit it back into the cup.

“What the fuck.” He mutters, scrunching his face in distaste. He does a double take on the bottle, bringing the contents up to his nose, Rum.

It’s fucking Rum Coke.

He takes the cup anyway, having no intention to sip from it anymore. He blends in this way, holding a solo cup just like the other hundred people here. His blue eyes search for you in the crowd, spotting you right away, your body settled on the lap of a man, early 20’s he’d say.

A feeling he’s all too familiar with when it comes to you surges through his veins, seeing the white skirt you're wearing hike up, allowing him and everyone else to see his hand knead at your ass.

Bucky’s jaw clenches as he watches you lean into the man, your lips wrapping around his, your eyes closing. Bucky has no idea who he is, but whoever he is, his dick is growing hard under you, having very clear intentions of what he’s about to do. And Bucky will be damned if he allows you to get fucked by this piece of shit.

Not that it should matter to him. You should have a man that would treat you right, protect you, pleasure you. Not this dick-wad who wants a quick fuck. Your father wanted him to keep you out of trouble, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.

At least, it’s what he tells himself.

Bucky watches for a few more seconds as you rub yourself over his cock, painfully humping it. He knows you aren’t getting any pleasure out of it, it’s evident on your face. The dick-wad beneath you is, and that’s what makes Bucky’s fingers ball into tight fists, making him grind his teeth down again, on the verge of breaking his goddamn jaw.

That’s what you were.

A fucking jawbreaker, surely you were smarter than this. You had to have known you were worth so much more. You had to know dick-wad couldn’t make up for a quarter of that amount.

“Spin the bottles starting downstairs!” A girl announces from the banister. She’s drunk, very drunk, Bucky notices. She also must be the owner of the way her fingers wrap around the railing.

He could just tell.

Bucky feels the relief flood his chest when you turn away from the man, clearly seeing a good excuse for escape. He growls but lets you go as he soon follows suit. Bucky has no interest in watching you play spin the bottle, but of course, he has not all a choice.

He couldn’t decide whether it was his job, (why he was here in the first place, he’s had to repeat that to himself a few times throughout the night.) Or because he didn’t want to watch a bunch of horny teenagers shove their fucking tongues down your throat, heat bloomed in his chest, mixing with anger.

Either way, he would have to break more than fourteen knuckles tonight.

✪

Bucky’s already taken his place on the wall, going unnoticed as the kids gather around in a circle, sitting with their legs crossed, fixated on the bottle that is situated in the middle.

You sit on the right side, next to some other girls he recognizes.

Women.

You were 19 years old for god sake.

The woman from earlier, the owner of the house, Bucky had now learned the name of, Jess plops next to the man from earlier, her eyes analyzing all the players. Other people stand, just here to spectate the game, giving Bucky plenty of cover.

“We need one more player!” Her voice slurs, looking up from her sitting position, searching for the correct person to fill the gap right across from you. Your eyes search around with Jess’s until both pairs land on him.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

“What’s your name?”

Bucky grinds his teeth together again, he’ll be very surprised if he has teeth after tonight.

“James.” He grits out, trying his very best to seem like he doesn't want to be here. Which isn’t very hard.

He doesn't.

“You look a bit old to be here, James.” Jess' eyes roam the others, looking for the attention she so desperately wants. The others let out faux chuckles. Bucky can still feel your eyes burning through his, even though over fifty pairs are now aimed at him, you stick out.

You always have.

“Who invited their dad, guys?” Jess pokes again, her ghastly features twisting in a terrible laugh. Other people laugh now, but Bucky doesn’t mind. You don’t laugh, your features scrunch at Jess’s words. The man didn’t look old at all, older than a teenager sure, he was quite handsome.

“Come on, James. Join us!” You call, and the man's eyes immediately meet yours. You can’t help yourself, you gasp at the intensity of them, the beautiful blue irises that stare back at you.

Bucky still didn’t move from the wall, it was very evident he had no choice in this matter. “A little party never killed anybody, James.” Jess’s cat-like mouth squeaks.

“Bucky-” He corrects, heaving a sigh. “Just Bucky.” Bucky walks over to the circle, watching the gathering crowd part. Allowing him to sit like the rest of them, occupying the spot across from you.

“Let’s get started, Anon, Why don’t you spin first?”

Anon, a very stereotypical frat boy reaches for the bottle, his companions cheering behind him. The glass spins as everyone's eyes follow it, even Bucky’s.

The end lands on Jess, which is ironic. Bucky is checking off his mental checklist, he’s no matchmaker but..

Obnoxious Voices. Check. Annoying Presence. Check. Feline Like Faces. Check. Rich Pieces Of Shit. Check.

Those two were made for each other.

The two kiss awkwardly, the whole crowd kicking and screaming taunts, acting like children who just touched a deceased insect. Bucky settles into the hard-concrete floor, getting ready for a very excruciating game.

✪

It’s about an hour before you finally get the bottle in your hands. Everyone waits on bated breath as you capture your bottom lip between your teeth. You grab the bottle and spin, watching the glass glide across the concrete floor.

It clicks and clanks before it stops, and the endpoints to the stranger.

The older man that’s been stuck to the wall the whole party. You’ve never seen him before but were quite intrigued when you caught him looking at you during the game, pretending as if he wasn't.

The stranger's eyes flick open, looking at the end pointed towards him and then where you sit across from him. You smile to yourself as Bucky stays in his position.

The chanting starts when Jess’s voice echoes through the room, “You have to kiss the old man!” She’s 20, but acts like a five-year-old.

“Kiss!”

“Kiss!”

“Kiss!”

People around you repeat, and so you do the only logical thing to do. You place your hands in front of you and crawl to Bucky, knowing full well your skirt is riding up as you do so.

You can see his jaw clenching. You arrive in front of him, propping yourself up on your knees, Bucky's eyes look up at where you slightly tower over him.

You reach your fingers to graze his jaw, and when your fingers meet his subtle, the fifty pairs of eyes disappear. Right now, it’s just you and him. “Come here.” You mutter, bringing his face to yours.

Bucky hesitates, but lets it happen anyway. He’s captivated by you, you can tell. He wants to pull away but can’t.

Time seems to slow as your eyes close and your noses touch, stopping before letting your lips meet each other. Heat builds in your stomach, anticipation and want bubbling deep inside your core.

“This is fucked up.” He whispers, his breath grazing your wet lips.

“You like it.” You answer, before pulling his face to yours, your lips colliding in perfect harmony. Heat fills your stomach, settling itself between your thighs. Bucky’s hand comes up to cup your scalp, molding his palm to your head, crushing his lips against yours.

Your tongue slides into his mouth, entangling with his own. Your breath heaves as your stomach urges for more, your thighs pressing together in your kneeling position. You pull away before you can go any farther, breath heaving, a string of saliva still connecting your puffy lips.

The words that exit his mouth are barely audible, but you catch them. “That’s why it’s fucked up.”

“Get a room, lovebirds,” Jess calls, laughing with the others. But you ignore them, your eyes are still pulled into that trance, still feeling Bucky’s lips on yours.

The next thing you know, Bucky is getting up, his hand reaching for your own. You gulp at his gaze now, seeing the intensity switch to something different.

Something primal.

✪ Somehow you ended up in a closet, with Bucky’s breath fanning over your neck, his cock painfully straining against his jeans. It took all but four seconds for your clothes to be off, Bucky’s joined yours short after, pooling on the floor of the large closet.

“Sweetheart-” Bucky sounds breathless as he reaches out, his metal hand (which you okay with, apparently) running down the curve of your breast, dipping in your bra to twirl a cool digit around your semi-hard peak. (Especially when they made you feel like that.)

“How old are you?” You press, moaning as Bucky’s other hand cups your waist, making sparks fly up and down your skin. This closet, which is bigger than the master bedroom, has suddenly gotten small.

Bucky fights the urge to smack your ass in response, you didn’t care about age when you were grinding on that man’s cock.

“106.” He answers thoughtfully, but you only laugh, catching he wasn’t going to tell you his age. Bucky’s face scrunches in wonder, but it quickly fades when you press your body into his own, running your smooth fingers over his muscled abdomen.

“You sure you want to do this, baby?”

“Positive.”

Bucky brings your lips to his, all while taking hold of your hips, backing you into one of the closet's white walls. You engrossed in his touch, the feel of his fingers on your bare stomach, pushing you against the wall.

“I’d make you hump my cock, ‘show you what real pleasure is. But there’s no couch in here, sweet girl.” You feel your pussy clench at his words, you hadn’t known he was watching you then.

“Just gonna have to take me bare,” Bucky mutters, his hands grabbing your back, flipping you around so your palms are planted above you, your ass jutting out. His fingers knead at the meat of your ass, making sure to erase any hand-prints dick-wad may have left. You moan, bucking into his touch, wanting more.

“Greedy girl, you think you deserve my cock? Bare, too? You think you can handle that type of pleasure?” His fingers ghost over your panties, barely hitting your clit.

“Bucky! Please.”

Bucky smiles, knowing what he’s doing to you. If he wasn’t about to fuck you in a closet at a party he would tease you a lot more, and make you pay for letting that man touch you. You both knew you couldn’t wait that long, and neither could he.

Bucky pulls down your panties, noticing how your slick coats the fabric. “These are drenched, all for me, hmm?” He was so hesitant at first, to kiss and touch you, but now he didn’t give a shit.

You were his now.

Your panties soon joined the rest of your clothes. Bucky’s breath caught when he looked down at you, making your thighs clench together. He runs a metal finger through your folds, collecting your slick.

You cry out from the spark of pleasure, attempting to keep yourself up against the wall.

“You're so wet for me, sweet girl.” You feel lightheaded as Bucky releases himself from his boxers, you can’t see anything, only the white paint of the wall.

You can feel his tip nudge at your entrance, as he leans down, placing soft kisses along your back. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby. Okay? You want to be filled with my cock?”

“Yes!” You buck your hips, your eyes tightly closed as you feel his cock slide itself to the hilt, using your gathered arousal to aid in his thrust. You cry out, the stretch is both painful and pleasurable. Bucky groans, feeling the way you clench around his cock, feeling the tightness of your cunt.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Taking me so well.” For a few moments, you just stand there, Bucky letting you adjust to his cock, to the feeling of being filled up completely. You had sex before, plenty of it, but you never took a guy bare.

But Bucky, the way his cock sat inside of you, not even moving and it still shooting sparks into your stomach, was something you’d never thought you’d experience.

“Can I move, baby? You alright?” You nod your head while Bucky places another kiss on your back, pulling his cock out to the tip, and pushing back in.

“Ahh-”

“Feel good, sweetgirl?” Words simply do not exist anymore, Bucky whispers against you with each thrust of his cock, his movements slow at first, allowing you to take the most pleasure out of it, trying so hard not to cause you any pain.

The wet noises of your body's meeting over and over again fill the air, and somehow it drowns out the music of the party. Bucky’s groans and your moans tangle together as you buck your hips to meet his thrust, accommodating his cock.

“So good, baby.” You clench at his words, milking his cock. Bucky smiles, looking down at you.

Bucky’s metal arm comes around your bare stomach, making your thighs fall open wider, “Like when I praise you? Your pretty little pussy loves when I tell her she’s doing a good job, baby.”

A single digit finds your clit, Bucky rubs at it, slow tantalizing circles as you buck into him.

“I want you to come on my cock, I need to see this pussy clench around me harder.” Your body involuntarily does as he asks, your cunt clenching down on his cock as his thrusts speed their tempo and his finger matches the torture at your clit.

“Fuck!” You cry out, feeling your orgasm stirring deep in your belly, the heat from the room going straight to your head, encasing you in its bubble.

“That’s it.” Bucky praises, dragging out both words, “Good girl, come for me.”

You do, moaning loudly as your orgasm rushes through your veins, as Bucky chases his release, making sure you get over the edge first. His breaths come out in pants as his cock pushes into your cunt at a punishing speed. “I wonder how your daddy would feel if he knew you just came on his best friend's cock.”

“What?”

[snaillock]

I have mean request ( ≖‿ ≖ )

could you write something about ubers + reader taking Barou to the beach? this man DEFINITELY hates beaches. the sand that constantly sticks to his body and spills onto his things will absolutely scratch his perfectionist soul

barou + ubers beach trip

that fucking photo man im cryingggg😭😭 also thank you for feeding into my current barou brainrot

tags: gender neutral reader, written with a platonic friendship with barou in mind, typical ubers shenanigans

when snuffy announced that the team will be taking a beach trip as a treat for their hard work and victories during NEL, barou was IMMEDIATELY against it and just wanted to stay behind in the blue lock facility

from the wet sand sticking onto him everywhere to god knows what’s in the ocean (fish piss in there ya know), he was completely out.

he eventually relents when snuffy convinces him to go as it would be a good team bonding experience. and i mean who would say no to the team dad coach

barou also gets instantly annoyed that he can’t gel up his hair since the salty air and humidity will just ruin it so he’s gotta wear it down the whole trip. yet another reason for him to hate the beach

you sit next to him for the entire bus ride to his dismay and laugh at how much he overpacked for a simple day trip. he tells you to shut up to no avail as you keep cracking up at some of the things he brought.

when everyone gets there, barou sits under one of the umbrellas, far away from the tides and the wet sand, right next to aryu who’s trying to preserve his oh-so-fair skin away from the sun.

soon you ask to borrow his sunscreen since you somehow forgot your own. he does end up lending some to you while grumbling about how stupid you must be to not bring yours. then eventually you keep coming back to ask him for more things out of his heavy beach bag despite teasing him earlier because of it.

this does lead to the rest of the team asking for his stuff. oliver borrowing his extra pair of sandals. niko needing some burn gel since he accidentally fell asleep in the sun for five minutes and now the lower half of his face is sunburnt. sendou straight up taking some of his lip balm before he could even say no. lorenzo somehow eating half the snacks barou brought without him noticing.

later the team has a beach volleyball match and you invite him to join. he, of course, says no mainly because he’s disgusted by the feeling of the sand in his toes (and he’s also still pissy at everyone for taking his stuff).

so you gotta drag him out to play. and by that i mean physically drag him out by his arm while he doesn’t budge from his beach towel at all and looks at you crazy for even trying.

eventually snuffy tells you to stop and makes barou join the game to have fun with the others.

since no one in blue lock is normal, you guys play the game like your damn lives depend on it. with how egotistic the match goes, barou actually ends up enjoying it a lot. especially since he now has an excuse to finally destroy his own teammates.

(this also confuses and lowkey scares other clueless beachgoers who had the misfortune of witnessing you maniacs play)

after the game, you notice barou’s attitude and mood have greatly improved. most people wouldn’t even have noticed the change but you know him well enough to catch it.

you once got pinched by a tiny crab and placed it in barou’s hand, telling him it’s pretty crabby… like him…

he just stares at you before walking away with it, planning to release the teeny crustacean back into the water

later during the trip, he immediately jolts away when he sees your fingers covered in wet sand after making sand castles with niko with just your bare hands alone (they honestly ended up turning into sand mounds more than anything).

when you flick some of the sand onto his cheek as a joke just to see how he would react, you would think he saw the literal devil. the literal mortification on his face. thankfully he was petrified for a good few seconds which gave you plenty of time to run, living to see another day.

when everyone gets back, barou will never admit how much he actually enjoyed the trip and hanging out with the team. instead, he will grumble about how much sand got into his swim trunks and hair when he gets ready to shower.

but everyone knows he actually had a blast hanging out with the team for a day.

taglist(sign up): @userwithlotsoftime @lucas2060 @kiiyoooo @maochira (figured you would like this :3)

[protect-daniel-james]

i’m sending you a character (he is a *character*) - 🧛‍♂️ pls?

My favorite blorbo of them all :3

favorite thing about them

Oh boy where do I even start:

he's a hard worker and deserves all the success and opportunities he gets. he worked hard to get from humble beginnings to managing some of the big European clubs, coming from "nowhere", with barely any playing heritage

he's extremely polite and humble, doesn't whine and moan about decisions going against his teams or referees not siding with his team, or his team struggling with injuries

but most of all his LOVE FOR FOOTBALL oh my god do I even have to say that? the man absolutely LIVES for football, when you hear him talk about it, you can see how his little eyes just lit up, how excited he gets... I bet his heart beats faster, and maybe he gets a lil' hard as well - football, football, football, it's always football. I wish I could see inside his brain but I assume it's literally 100 % football 24/7, it's always on his mind - and it's just such a pure love and adoration, he doesn't care about fancy expensive players and watching the most promising stars - he just loves the concept??? man has been turning up to the most random matches in Carabao Cup and the Spanish Cup and just watching whatever team he could (he even went to see the Legia Warsaw Women's team play when he was in Warsaw?), he just needs football, it's absolutely his drug. I bet he gets high off it, and his perception of the world changes, he feels calmer when he's at a game of football... He loves a big match of big clubs just as much as a local Gipuzkoan derby or something. He loves how football can be literally a multibillion thing, just as well as a nice local pastime in the countryside...

I just genuinely believe he's a good person who tries his best to be able to look at himself and say "I tried my best".

least favorite thing about them

The fucking hair gel, no doubt.

favorite line

"I like the smell of the pitch, it produces a sort of comfort within me." I think this is honestly such a cute sentiment that captures the carnal nature of his love for the game...

"In England that identification with your team brings the game alive. It’s deeper there, like a church. I was born in San Sebastián and my team is Real Sociedad. That feeling is in my heart and that’s what you find in England. It’s marvellous, the loveliest thing there is.” - this was the ending of an interview with him, and I absolutely loved it. The loveliest thing there is.

Also, his villainous arc:

brOTP

I don't even think Unai has any bros :') No, honestly, I think Klopp kinda likes him (as you would like a sickly wet skrunkly cat), and Marcelino probably does as well, as does Andoni Iraola. I can see all of them looking at Unai with a combination of admiration and pity. I think it would be lovely if he and Andoni could go on a biking trip together.

OTP

Unai x Football is the one ship to rule them all. I love the potential of Unai x Mikel, because for Unai, Mikel is...the one to be jealous of, the one who got what he himself did not, and looks so good as well - Unai must feel such a strong emotion about this all, I can imagine him wanting to just.....tear Mikel apart, maybe physically, maybe sexually, maybe psychologically torture him, maybe suck his blood to have at least something from the perfection that Mikel is to him. But also, he's terrified of his not-very-christian thoughts (well, at least if he's not a vampire), and he has to turn them into something better.

nOTP

I don't think I have any tbh! There's not many ships for Unai, and I actually quite like all the potential in those I have seen around AO3... Including Unai x other managers, Unai x players, Unai x club owners... I think the humble, polite way he presents himself, combined with the dark, vampire-like elements of him (the cruel smile he's capable of, the way his mind can calculate) make him perfect for all sorts of ships and set-ups. Although I love skrunkly blorbo wet cat (or bat) Unai who struggles and panics and breaks down and gets humiliated and loves it the most.

random headcanon

He's struggling with taking care of himself :') I know he said in an interview he's a decent cook (decent enough to invite friends over for dinner), but I just love the idea of him being extremely incompetent with taking care of himself (like, resting when sick, cooking proper meals, drinking enough water) - he's just BUSY with FOOTBALL, okay. That's why having someone like Klopp or Ange taking care of him also works well for a ship. And that's why I don't believe him and Mikel would survive for long together.

unpopular opinion

He's cute!!! I don't think that's a particularly unpopular opinion in our little corner of the internet lol, but ... when he loses the hair gel, he looks incredibly soft and sweet!

song i associate with them

En algún lugar by Duncan Dhu. Canonically Unai's favorite band of his youth - I think it captures beautifully the Emery sadness and everything it's about. Also, Txoria txori, because he and his brothers actually sang it in Hondarribia when Unai received some award at the townhall. Once again, perfect for the Emery sadness - the longing, the devotion, the hidden, repressed true self.

favorite picture of them

God, it's difficult to choose one! But I think one of his youth pics full of Emery sadness gotta do:

Just, there's this sadness about him...like, he's doing the one thing he loves the most, Football, and yet he's scared...afraid that he will not be enough. He just wants to be enough.

[writteninsunshine]

He’s Going The Distance - Chris Redfield/Ethan Winters - SFWish

Title: He’s Going The Distance

Author: Reno

Fandom: Resident Evil 7: Biohazard

Setting: Medbay, Post-Dulvey Incident

Pairing: Chris Redfield/Ethan Winters

Characters: Chris Redfield, Ethan Winters, Random Nurse

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Rating: M

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1386

Type Of Work: One-Shot, Part of the For All These Times series, Whump Bingo Fill #2

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Pre-Slash, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociating, Blood, Deep Wounds, Trans Male Character, Trans!Ethan Winters, Possible OOC for Chris, Medical Equipment, Medical Treatment, Stitches, Sutures, I.V.s, Pain Meds

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.

Summary: Was Ethan truly so used to pain that he didn't notice that?

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Twitter!

More whump fic bingo! I’m really enjoying these, they’re too much fun to write. Oops, I like to punish Ethan even if he doesn’t deserve it. He’s so whumpable. I hope you guys are enjoying this, I know I sure am. This one is for my editor, Gryph, who is the best editor I could ever ask for. MAJOR shout out to her!

Resident Evil Fic Masterlist

Ethan Whump Bingo Fic Masterlist

He’s Going The Distance

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was an old thought resurfacing as Chris looked at Ethan. A man who could live through anything was what S.T.A.R.S. had wanted, Ethan would have been welcomed into the fold. The man was a machine when it came to surviving anything. Despite this, he seemed too oblivious to notice when something was wrong with him. All the healing fluid in the world couldn’t help the man with how much constant pain wracked his body. It was almost impossible to discern one pang of pain from the rest. That hand was a nasty wound, the staples not quite sanitary when they’d been secured into his skin.

But that wasn’t what he’d noticed just now.

“Ethan,” He began, his voice soft and wary as if speaking too loudly might shatter the other man. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” His voice sounded exhausted, hoarse, and so soft Chris barely heard him.

Tugging him closer for inspection, he unbuttoned Ethan’s shirt and pulled it away like a pair of curtains. Yanking up the undershirt he wore, Chris paused a moment to stare. Unable to help how his fingers splayed over the other’s stomach, eyes taking in the thick scars beneath his pecs. His thoughts turned away from the injury for a second, he only stopped when he reached the center of Ethan’s chest. He took in the soft peach fuzz there with a quirk of his lips he wasn’t in control of. Finally, his fingers fell over the thick gash leaking over Ethan’s pale skin, and the touch made Ethan recoil some. 

“Don’t,” Chris warned, eyes narrowing a little as he reached around, pulling Ethan close again by his waist, a hand on his middle back, “You’re hurt. I’ll fix you right up.” 

Leaving Ethan for a moment, he returned with a basin of warm water and a few washcloths. Where he’d gotten them from, Ethan didn’t know, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Dragging one wet cloth over the blood, he cleaned Ethan up despite his hisses and gasps of pain. What was the best option was going to hurt, so Chris started by applying a local anesthetic gel to the area around the wound. He must have found it when he brought the rest of his supplies, Ethan figured. He winced, flinching when Chris’s hands got too close to the weeping injury, but he sucked in a deep breath and bit the thin skin on the inside of his lip. It was all he could do to keep himself from making any more noise.

“I’m going to have to give you stitches.” Honestly, Chris was worried that Ethan was going to start leaking organs. It was deep, and he could almost touch the other’s rib bones. Ethan had really taken a beating, and it was hard to fathom how he hadn’t noticed this. Then again, he was in shock after everything that had happened, after all of the mental and physical trauma he had taken. Maybe it wasn’t such a strange occurrence. 

After all, he was a civilian. He hadn’t been meant to find these kinds of things. If he had stayed away, he would have been blissfully unaware, but there might have been a worse problem on Chris’ hands by the time they arrived at the scene.

“Okay.” Letting out the breath he’d been holding, Ethan nodded just slightly to save him from aggravating his pounding headache, “Just… Do it quickly. I don’t feel good.” Swaying, he felt his knees begin to buckle, and Chris caught him in a tight embrace. This wasn’t going to work with Ethan standing, anyway.

Hefting him up bridal style, Chris carried Ethan like he weighed nothing. Sitting him down on a nearby gurney, he removed his shirts and set them aside. They were stained, torn to hell, and bloody. He’d have to get him a change of clothes. Helping ease him to lay down so that his right side was facing out, he ran a hand over the other’s chest in a hope to help calm him. Maybe it wasn’t entirely innocent, but he was trying to stay focused here.

“This might hurt, but I promise I’ll be quick.” All Chris got in return was a soft murmur he couldn’t hear, let alone understand. If nothing else, Chris was efficient, and Ethan looked like he was going to faint. That might help him do this without Ethan bellyaching the whole time. Stepping away, Chris grabbed a first aid kit, opening it up and setting it beside Ethan on the cot. Digging out a needle, some antiseptic, and surgical thread, he worked the thread through the eye of the needle and set to work.

The laceration was likely already infected, if not by something typical, then by the mold Ethan had been exposed to. With a little sigh, Chris poured some of the liquid over it, making sure to use gauze to get it inside. The forceps he had grabbed entering it made Ethan grunt, but he was too tired to try and fight it. Chris diligently worked on cleaning him up, wiping at more blood before grabbing the sterilized needle. He wiped it down again with a clean antiseptic wipe before starting with the initial stick. Ethan didn’t seem to notice this, due to the numbing gel, and Chris was glad for it.

With the easy glide of the needle and his skillful hands, he made quick work of the stitches, hoping not to bother Ethan too much. Once they were tight, he cut the cord and cleaned up the wound once more, wiping away the gel with a few medical towelettes, before drying the area. To make sure it would stay clean, he rubbed another cloth damp with warm water on the site before running more of the wipes over it. A dry rag then worked over the glistening flesh, and he didn’t stop until he had patted him dry.

“Ethan, I need you to sit up. I have to wrap this.” Chris spoke, breaking the silence in the room they were in. Unfortunately, it seemed that Ethan had fallen asleep, or maybe passed out, so he had no choice but to gently shake him awake. “Ethan, you have to sit up.”

Ethan nodded absently, slowly pushing himself up with the other’s aid. Bracing himself on his shaking arms, he let Chris wrap him up with gauze from his stomach to his shoulders, surprised by his gentle hands. Once Ethan was bandaged up, he was allowed to lay back once more, and Chris didn’t think about his next action. Kissing Ethan’s forehead gently, he petted a hand over the skin and the other’s sweat-damp hair.

“You should be alright, now. I’ll keep an eye on this.” Voice quiet, he smiled slightly, hoping to keep him at ease. It didn’t seem like Ethan was going to panic, though, too worn down to do much but flutter his eyelashes. “Sleep, now. I’ll get you some pain killers when you wake up.” God knew he’d need them. Moving the gurney around so that he could be more comfortable and closer to the setup for the I.V., Chris sighed in relief. Already asleep, or so he hoped.

Settling in a nearby chair, Chris pulled out his phone. He’d be stuck here for a while, for sure. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, he’d been set to guard Ethan while his tests were being done.

Ethan didn’t wake for what felt like hours, and when he did it was with a groan of pain. Chris was quick to give him water and a shot of morphine that he was instructed to administer through the I.V. that a nurse had given Ethan. At the very least, he was going to be taken care of.

“Thanks.” Ethan managed, his voice cracking halfway through. 

“You need care.” That much was obvious. Chris combed a hand through the other’s blond locks once more. “If that means I have to do it, then so be it.” There was an odd fondness he felt for Ethan in this moment, watching him nod, his eyes glassy and distant. “You’ll be okay.”

With any luck, he’d bounce back from this. He’d been through hell already, what was another ordeal to save him?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

AN: There we go! It’s not super shippy but I’ll still tag it, just in case. Also, this probably makes more pain for the start of The Village, but that’s okay. I might write something about it when I’ve seen more of the game. I got it preordered for my birthday but it’s at my friend’s house until I can see her again. I’ve been watching it, however, so I’ll get there eventually. I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Prompt: Ethan Doesn’t Realize He’s Injured

[wowtobio]

Could I get Noya, Kenma, Kuroo, and Oikawa with a S/O who's always wanting to play with their hair? Please and thank you💕💕

Kuroo, Kenma, Nishinoya, and Oikawa react to s/o who wants to play w/ their hair 

oooh this is too cute! hope you like it :) thanks for the request !

genre: fluff

warnings: verrrry slight suggestions

Kuroo

Kuroo’s hair is just so mesmerizing. Like it genuinely amazes you how it can get to that shape. Is it gel? Is it really a wild, natural bed head? 

Most people argue that he definitely styles it like that, others don’t believe it. I will be the one to believe that it is all natural. Kuroo just strikes me as the character who probably doesn’t give much effort for his looks mans knows he’s hot smh 

Kuroo is all up for it, it honestly is one of his favorite ways you show your affection to him. Whenever it’s downtime, expect him to rest on your thighs while you pet and play with his wild bedhead.

Being a huge tease, he would purposely take longer than usual to actually lay his head down in your lap for the first few minutes of chilling with each other. He smirks as you whine and cling onto his arm cutely, but it takes a lot of self control in him to not tackle you onto the bed and cuddle. 

Eventually he gives in, because who can resist your pouting face? He sighs in content as your hands rake through his scalp. His hair is very soft near his roots, while the edges of it are more rougher. The spikes in his hair always tickle you whenever he embraces you lovingly. 

Kuroo finds it so relaxing, laying in your lap as you massage his scalp, engulfed by your presence. He lives a pretty stressful life as the team captain, practices seem to be never ending. So when you both make time for each other like this, he loves to just let his guard down and let you pet his head as many times as you like. 

Whenever you get caught in one of his many passionate kisses, your hands naturally find themselves in his hair, playing with it as your lips are intertwined with his soft ones.

If Kuroo was given the chance for a whole lifetime of you playing with his hair, he’d accept it in a heartbeat. 

Kenma

Kenma definitely would feel super flustered whenever you played or complimented his hair. His hair is a small insecurity he had, mirroring why he dyed it in the first place so whenever you shown you had a liking to it he would feel a little shocked. 

Probably thought it was weird when you asked him politely to play with his hair. But he couldn’t say no to your cute puppy eyes so he just mumbles a hushed “okay” and you cheer with glee. 

Did not admit it at first but he absolutely loved it when you played with his hair. Your fingers lightly combing through his blonde locks as he played his games was pure bliss to him. 

“is this what heaven feels like?” he pondered to himself. 

His roots are for sure the softest, although his dyed parts felt different from his natural hair, it was still smooth and pleasant to your fingertips. 

Now playing with his hair is an absolute must. But only when you’re alone, he could not stand the comments and teasing his teammates would have towards him if they spotted him being so intimate. 

Seriously like a cat, he would whine quietly if you stopped your little ministrations. And you swore you heard him purr a few times. 

It’s gotten to the point that any alone time with him, he’ll be lying on top of your chest playing with his games while your hand is found on top of his head. You blushed like crazy whenever he would nuzzle further into your chest and subconsciously lean into your touch. 

You definitely have attempted to braid his hair and tie it up in cute little pig tails. There’s a certain picture of him on your phone that he’s been trying to get rid of for the life of him...

If you aren’t giving him that special attention, he will wordlessly tug at the bottom of your sleeve towards his hair. In rare moments, if you still didn’t start he would even put down his game and mumble your name out stubbornly, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks as he tugs harder on your sleeves hehe.

One time he just pounced on you when you were teasing him, knocking you off his bed. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, arms tight around your waist as he straddled you. After the initial shock cleared you ran your hands through his hair and you both fell asleep like that on his bedroom floor ❤︎

Nishinoya

Dating Nishinoya meant you had free access to see him with his hair down. (omg you lucky girl!!🥺) So every time you two were alone you would eagerly ask to play with his hair. 

He would smile brighter than the stars and he is more than happy to comply to your offer. And you both would lay down entangled in each others arms and then you begin your hair-playing once you both are relaxed. 

Half of the time, Nishinoya’s probably the little spoon. So while he’s cuddled up on top of your chest, you would cradle his head closer and allow your fingers to fiddle at his hair and play with it. 

Noya’s hair is surprisingly really soft despite it being gelled up for a majority of the day. From his roots to the tips, even the little bleached part of his hair was surprisingly soft. 

I can see Noya honestly asking you to play with his hair haha. No shame from this boy, he gets what he wants at the end of the day. 

In public, you feel the urge to touch his spiked up hair because it just looks so cool when styled like that, but apart of you is worried it will get ruined or you’d mess up his hair. 

ofc Nishinoya notices your stares and he just chuckles at your curiosity when he asks about it. 

“Haha don’t mind (y/n)-chan! Go ahead and mess with it, yah won’t see a hair outta place after!” 

And he was right, you ruffled his hair with your hands and were amazed and how it managed to keep its shape. He beamed as you giggled like a child in a candy store, your hands continued to run through his spikey hair. You both ignored the confused looks his teammates gave you two. 

Oikawa

this doesn’t matter but i really like oikawa’s hair idk why??

Probably when you first asked to play with his hair was when you two were in class and it just came out suddenly without you realizing. Annnd Oikawa refuses. 

“Ehh but, (y/n)-chan you’ll mess up my beautiful hair!” 

He probably takes forever in the morning to style it, so you are not too mad at him about it and let it go. However it is a different story when you both are alone together. 

He’ll grasp your hand and slowly trail up to his hair, a smirk plastered on his face as yours contorts to one that’s in awe and a shade of red. You can’t help but smile at the feeling of his hair and you bring up your other hand to pet his brown locks. 

Is so soft!! And his hair lowkey probably has a nice scent to it. 

You purposefully mess up his hair by ruffling it at random times and you snicker at his cute complaints. But you make it up to him afterwards with a sweet, slow kiss. One involved with tongue that may or may not have led to something else. 

It’s now a normal thing where you purposefully mess up his hair just to get him worked up. Even at school. When he’s paying a little too much attention to his fangirls, you make sure to really ruffle up his beautiful hair after the interactions are done. 

When Oikawa’s upset and there seems that nothing will help his current state of mind, he’ll be sitting down on the locker-room bench, with you sitting in front of him, he’s leaned forward head down. It doesn’t hurt to at least try and run your hands through his hair. 

He leans into your touch and just breaks down, quiet sobs erupt form his mouth as you hug his head close to your body. He can cry so hard to the point he’s shaking, but you’re able to calm him down by stroking the top of his hair, massaging his scalp, and playing with the tips of his hair. 

It’s moments like these where he remembers how much he loves you and how happy he feels from even the smallest gestures from you. 

- 

a/n: ajkjsjasdsj sorry for that small angst at the end for Oikawa i just felt like it LOL but i hope y’all enjoyed, stay healthy and happy i love you guys! 

[uw-us-stuff]

Kaidou Shun

The Jet-Black Wings!!

Warnings ⚠️ - there's some angst here, mention of neglect/ being abandoned.

I feel like he came up with the dark reunion because he wanted to have a reason as to why his dad walked out on them.

I honestly feel like the dark reunion was created to explain any bad thing that happened to him.

For awhile he thought that he was the reason his dad left in the first place. He was a really needy child, maybe that was it? Coming up with the dark reunion really took that "guilt" off his chest.

He loves his younger brother! He always plays with him and hangs out with him whenever he can. He's a really good older brother and he's never too busy to hang out with him.

He doesn't have the best relationship with his mother. She just really cares that he does well academicly. She's really hard on him. When he was younger he really did try to make her proud of him, it... didn't work. When he tried to make her proud in his own way and that never worked. At this point he knows he's just a dissapointment. That's why he's so adamant in being there for his brother, and supporting him with everything.

He's a little embarrass to wear his glasses so he'll normally just wear contacts. If he does have to wear glasses he's going go try and customise them so it looks cooler.

Also, he gels up his hair to be all spikey. Naturally his hair is really soft and straight. I imagine his hair almost reaches his shoulders? Or at least his jaw.

He actually has a really good sense of fashion! It's an easy way for him to express himself (and he looks really cool). I also feel like he enjoys wearing jewellery!

He definitely wears make-up. He can do the basics but for the most part he just wears eyeliner.

I feel like he definitely tried to start a secret club in middle school or something. He tried to make it seem so mysterious but no-one ended up joining so... It was just him.

His mother doesn't do the while birthday party thing. So if he wants one he has ro organise it himself. When it comes to his brother, he throws the biggest coolest party ever. He makes sure all his favourite food is there, his friends are invited, he gets a bunch of awesome gifts! He loves seeing his brother so happy!

He's a big fan of the supernatural, folklore, mythology- he's a big fan of all the classic monsters. (he prefers watching old horror movies because the newer ones are too scary for him). Holloween is his favourite holiday, of course.

Speaking of, he cosplays. He absolutely cosplays some sort of OC or something. (that's why he's so good at costumes).

He loves playing games with his friends, specifically, boardgames! He's actually really good at them too!

He's a romantic but secretly he wants to be pampered, surprised, fussed over- he's going to do all of those things for you of course! He does want to lay on your lap and be fed strawberries though.

If he ever gets married he's become a house husband ✋🏻I'm not taking any criticism. Especially if he has kids! He wants to spend every second with them!

This man is skinny and short. He's going to sit on you lap. And he loves it because he gets to wrap his arms around you and plant kisses all over your face!

Whenever he gets jealous, sitting on your lap is his go-to move. He'll also try and intimidate the other person which is just going to look more like a mildly upset pout.

He has a great imagination. Just say the word and he'll come up with a story. If he notices that you're struggling to fall asleep or if you call him in the middle of the night- he'll just start telling you a story in hopes that it'll help you drift off to sleep.

He doesn't forget birthdays or anniversaries. They're really important to him!

He definitely thinks you two were god-like warriors in your past lives and being together is fate! You two must work together to end the reign of the dark reunion! He just believes in soulmates and that you are his

a/n - I hope you guys enjoyed! Kaidou has always been a favourite of mine! Thanks so much for reading 💖 <3

[hhjs]

summary ➝ "I don't get it." You cock your head to the side and investigating the painting at your feet with an obstinate want to understand how it's supposed to depict love. "It just looks like they slapped on paint."

"Look here, dummy!" He slaps your pointer finger jokingly, grumbling under his breath.  Taking your palm and slowly splaying out the digits. Traces the rough pads against its silky texture, a map to somewhere, a blend of blue and pink, silhouettes reaching out for each other when the world intends to tear them apart.

You sigh, contentedly and think this must be it; because never was love meant to be understood.

It was meant to be felt.

word count ➝ 16.6k words.

alternatively➝ university premise.

genre ➝ angst, romance??? comedy??? a smidge of drama??? idk

pairings➝ han jisung. x fem reader.

warnings ➝ recreational drinking, use of profanity, suggestive.

note➝ i suspect that i have a vague emotional attachment to this. Please note that it used to be a jeonghan fic originally but is now rewritten.  i've been toying around with my writing style, idk if this has met what's expected :c but... this piece is a proper example of the idiots to lovers trope. 

a huge thanks to @emhpathy​ for beta-reading. 

 also i felt indolent and didn’t edit. :(

loosely based on the Coldplay song in question, ‘A Message’.

After. 

The air smells like seasalt. Like having a foamy blanket of  waves draped over your face until you let go, slowly, let all the air leave your lungs. 

In the distant rhythm of the rattling wind, you can barely hear the ring of childish laughter. It's an old bicycle Minho last rode when he was 13. Jisung's driving too fast. But you don't care, you don't care because you feel just so alive. You can feel your heart on your tongue. Under your fingertips. Inside your chest.

You can't believe it's true. Can't believe this is your life. Can't believe you're real.

The city is a haze of blue and yellow and red. Jisung slows down by the sidewalk, leaning into the wash of colours and it  stains the side of his face a little. The breeze is caressing his hair. Patting stubborn gelled strands out. His shoulders rise and fall with every little movement, upwards and downwards. When he breathes in and when he breathes out. Everything seems to slow down. Every second feels like a minute. Every minute like an hour.

 Then suddenly- and it surprises you a little - Jisung pauses, cranes his neck back to smile at you. It's lopsided, toothy. He looks so much younger. Suddenly, so utterly boyish. You commit the sight to memory, the sliver of his teeth, the glint in his eyes, the curl of his mouth -

You hope you never forget this.

 Because this is how you know. This is how you've always known.

You wouldn't change anything. Even if you could go back.  

Not for a second. Not when it hurt. Not when it was hard.

Not even once.

...

Bach's  Toccata & Fugue in D Minor. 

You're in your bedroom, you can hear the music in your head, the crescendos and diminuendos, the feather light piano, the strum of a guitar and the gargling of a trumpet, fingers buzzing with an intense desire to write it all down. But then the sound of an organ rips through the air, the curtains pull apart. Your bedroom floor gives away from under your feet. There is a stage, there is an audience impatiently staring up at you, watching you, measuring you and you don't know what to say.

So you run, run, run home.

You remember standing in front of your mum's bedroom. Knocking. When she lets you crawl back under the covers and she runs a caressing hand down your back, you say nothing. (There seems to be a gaping hole in your chest. And you don't understand it. Like something's missing.) . When she traces the shape of your jaw and says trouble sleeping? you say nothing. Then the rain pelts the windows, the curtains are  pulled; suddenly it's so much darker, so much colder, you place a hand over your heart and then look up at her, up to her large, concerned eyes and say, "It hurts."

 But it's okay. It's okay. You'll forget all about it by tomorrow morning.  Because your mum smells like home, like the earth after it rains. It's okay because the world is less scary when you're a kid. When you don't understand.

 Then you're on a train, it skids against its tracks and your hand hurts from holding onto the handle for too long. You hold your draft against your ribs.There are too many people. Shoulders. Heads. Standing. Sitting. Their lives are different. Even when they're together. 

From here, you can make out a woman stroking her toddler's cheek, a teenager with a copy of A Tale Of Two Cities in hand, a tall man, with his head hung low. He is smiling down at his lover. His fingers splay against her throat. She is looking at him. They say nothing. 

 She stands on her toes and kisses him. And something inside you suddenly comes alive, an absence, tries to gnaw its way out of your ribcage. Tries to tell you I've never left. 

The train finds itself in the belly of a tunnel. Outside, it's so much darker. So much colder. There's a blinking streetlight ahead. Yellow and lime green. It must have been raining. You don't know your stop.     

All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players. This is a stage. 

The passengers are impatiently staring up at you, watching you, measuring you and you don't know what to say. You can't run this time.

(You need to get out of here. You need to get out of here. You need to get out of here. This city. Something is missing. Something is wrong. You need to get away.)

Now you wait for a room. A door. A bed. And miss your mother with an intensity that's akin to taking a punch to the gut. You don't remember what the earth smells like anymore. Everything in the city is platform and concrete. And soot rising from tall  chimneys.

Suddenly, you can't believe childhood is over.

Spurts of light found themselves against the hallway ceiling, you wondered how long you'd been thinking about that nightmare for it to take so much of your attention. A mic involuntarily roars to life, reminding you that you were still at the varsity and you had to find Jisung. 

Which sounds easy, had it not been for your history with him. Avoiding him was getting progressively hard a task to maintain because you were in the same department, sharing minor courses that prompts you to think that nothing much had changed and you'd be lying if you said you mind. He is a stubborn page which keened on flipping over in the youthful chapters of your life, refusing to be left behind and some part of you is too scared to know what would happen if you had.

You sigh, looking at the clock nailed to one of the pale yellow pillars and then close your eyes to try to ease the tension in your shoulders. Breathing in. Breathing out.  This morning, you put on a thin cotton dress but the humidity had somehow prompted it to appear somewhat translucent.

Summer brushes up against the back of your neck, you rub your eyes vigorously, placing your sweaty palms on them, dapples of light settled atop  the lids. Coating the little twists of purplish veins pink and white, becoming brighter and brighter and brighter. Any minute now and you would muster up the courage to face him.

You push the field door open.

Football players for the born-again team are loitering about in the heavily populated room, expectants look on most of their faces. You begin to feel twice as much nervous than you did before. 

See, the possibility of stuttering nonsensical sentences and potentially embarrassing yourself in front of Jisung and nameless strangers, again, wasn't the most thrilling idea for you but if you don't make the deadline this time on this group assignment, you'll fail your linguistics course, so it  would be tough to bounce back from for the both of you.

The coach, who is a lanky man, with an alarmingly ruddy face and tufts of snow white hair spiralling out of his head, experienced a lot of difficulty blowing it away from his line of sight. With the  door held back, pressing a curious looking opaque board to his chest, he scans the entirety of the team with an owlish stare, when he was satisfied with the number of persons attending, he stepped in.

"Game starts in 10 minutes." he pauses, allowing the candidates to settle in. A feet away from you, Changbin produces a series of garbled profanities before going back greedily guzzling down the rest of his gatorade.

Once the coach clears his throat, his beady eyes travelling from one curious face to another, flitting between each person, it finds you briefly then it darts curiously across the scenery behind you, as though an explanation for your presence is out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered.

You hold the assignment packet against your chest, feeling the weight of gel blue letters under the rough pad and then slowly fold it open.

Han jisung. You tell him, that's who I'm looking for. 

It takes you awhile to navigate your gaze to the owner of the name amidst the maze of students huffing and puffing about schedules and missing lectures and deadlines, some shouldering their way out in bored frowns, some smiling excited smiles, rushing to grab a suitable seat. Like a blur of faces you catch on the subway and eventually forget, the little snippets of another person's life. Glimpses of them from car windows pressed together in traffic, just a few seconds before the light turns green. One minute you think you know them, put yourself in their shoes and imagine their life for them and the next, you go back to being strangers. 

To you, Jisung's face is an unmistakable, unforgettable kind of face. 

Taunting you from posters of his many swim team accomplishments, under which his name stood in big bold yellow letters, plastered on the noticeboards, on the  walls where the paint was starting to crack. The search didn't prove to be very difficult even though he didn't stick out like a sore thumb without his signature bleached blonde hair.

A varsity jacket is discarded on his body. Under the blue and yellow fabric, Jisung's chest rises and falls with every breath, his lanky legs perched up on the bleachers.  You wonder how he managed to doze off in the face of all this tension about getting clocked in face with a football. 

Aside from by accident, you were positive he hadn't tried to speak to you ever since your previous, unspeakably embarrassing encounter. 

That was a long time ago. 

It was certain that had it not been for this assignment, things between you would remain that way. In spite of this, you've gathered, because people never stop fawning over this prominent character, that not much has changed since you were in school.

Jisung managed to secure an attention drawing position wherever he went and upperclassmen wanted to be his friend even though he mostly indulged only in his own company. 

His head rests on folded arms, his foot is propped up on his knee, which he keeps shaking.  Sunlight crawls up the expanse of his exposed cheek, allowing burnt orange to  bathe half of his face, ribbons of liquid light tapering to smudges down the side of his jaw and disappearing.

Jisung has a boyish face, his eyes are big and kiddish, paired with a sharp nose and a convenient, small, pinkish mouth inherently pouted out to accentuate his puffy squirrel like cheeks but slimming down around his jaw. His raven hair falls in sleek, wet tufts clinging to his forehead and grazing his rosy cheeks, giving him a strange resemblance to a cherub loitering around in the real world.

Come to think of it, Jisung looks, like he invariably does, just slightly out of place.

You drop your bag on the grass. The action makes an unexpected thump. His eyes stir  faster behind closed eyelids, as though he were stirring awake from an ardently produced dream, like a newborn baby, divorced from the worries of the world. Jisung opens one of his eyes, then another, glaring confusedly, his lips pursed in unspoken surprise.

What's the big deal, right? At best, he'll start cooperating with you. At worst, you imagine, he'll toss you across the field for disrupting his sleep.

Of course, no one in their right minds would opt for the latter option, the rational part of you reasons - but you show him the packet,  just for safety measures.

"I thought we ought to go over how we're going to work around this assignment and you weren't in class so..."  You explain. When Jisung just blinks up at you in a curious fashion, you consider that he might not recognise you at all, that, for some reason, bothers you. "You probably don't remember me I-"

"I remember." He interjects firmly, acknowledging you with a fluent utterance of your name that gives you enough evidence of his claim, followed by a watchful, stoic gaze, he motions for you to take a seat beside him. 

You hesitantly sit at the end of the row,  keeping a calculated distance between your bodies. You find that even after all this time looking him in the eye was just as unnerving as it had been the first time they shyly flickered back to yours from across a thick spined A levels Calculus textbook. There's still an intimidating air about him, something that seeks to be constantly impressed without asking to.

Jisung sits up straighter, setting both his legs on either side of the bench, he keeps his gaze trained on your face, not looking away once. "Go on." He suggests, his voice low, "What do we have to do?"

You perk up at this, taking the contents out of the packet. Setting them down before you, you reiterate the instructions rendered in class, trying to include every important detail which contributes to the making of the project.

"We have to attach a PowerPoint part too." You paused, "Let's do that bit today."

Jisung listens intently, never cutting you off, he nods occasionally, making suggestions when you were trying to look for suitable loops in your schedules to work on the scheme, you recommended  several premises, ranging from cafés to parks to libraries to food courts, even your place because it's the closest from Jisung's flat and he refuses go beyond the distance on a Sunday morning. You casually let in the fact that your flatmate would be there in order to insinuate that you hadn't made the offer because of your previous feelings for him.

 You sigh, taking a minute to stretch back and take a deep breath. The bench is cool under your thighs, soft caresses of a warm summer breeze brushing the hair from your face away, pale yellow pours from the canopies, staining the grass, football players prepping in the distance, their zealous partners egging them on with excited smiles, shouting encouragements from the other end of the court.  You imagine lying down on the grass, spreading your arms out and not having a care about anything.

"You still wear that bracelet." 

"What?" You yawn, brows furrowed in confusion. You look at him from the corner of your eyes,  finding that his brown orbs motion to the source of comment, they dart from your cheek to your wrist, where surely the platinum accessory is tied to its loosest hoop, it used to be your go-to add-on in school. 

Surprised, you touch the item briefly, before retracting your hand slowly. All you can think is he remembers, he really remembers,  "...Yeah."

...

Instead of running about playgrounds with a mouthful of kiddish laughter and building cartoonishly  architectured sandcastles, you remember spending most of your childhood with your nose dug deep inside a fairytale, splurging much time on committing the glide of milky pages to memory, eyes widening, face twisting with each vicissitudes of emotions that would come over you with each stage of exploring a story. It was your own little world, a catharsis for all that you were holding inside, a window you could crack open and when the real world felt stuffy. 

Fancying Jisung was, your younger self imagined, fantastical, like something out of those fairytales.

You don't know when you started liking him, maybe it was the first time you saw him. It was your last year in school and Jisung's unfamiliar face was a new sight against the fuzzy background of sleepy students pouring into the hallway, it was the kind that demanded to be noticed, even though he simply  looked bored with an enormous pair of headphones looped around his thin neck.

Jisung was born to go through life being the embodiment of an all rounder, now that you think about it, there's not a thing he wasn't good at, always  having a proclivity to outshine others.

 He was a transfer student with stellar grades in spite of mostly routing his interest  towards composing  obscure music you'd found floating about the net. In all honesty, he truly was the master of all trades and the jack of none and every room was a keeper of attention, enveloped in an intangible but unanimous, wordless veil of interest towards the new character.

But  maybe it wasn't as theatrical as you remembered; maybe it was the love at  first sight nonsense, maybe it wasn't something you realised overnight, out of the blue, maybe it all happened at a slow, infuriating pace, maybe you started liking him for the small, stupid and unimportant things, like when you dropped your pen, the thin stick rolling away between your desks and he picked it up, flicking it between his fingers curiously, carefully curling his fingers around the metal, observing it before putting it back on your desk, maybe it was in class, when he zoned out in class, not bothering to look apart until he realised it had caught your attention, he then blinked away, the rosy hue of his cheeks more prominent with each passing second,  maybe it was when you were sure you were about to flunk the history pop quiz and Jisung whispered the names of warriors and poets and the fallen while keeping his gaze firmly poised on his paper.

You were so shy, cloistered, intensely egregious and he kept seeking you out in some new manner, causing you to be an element of mild interest not only amongst your peers but also people who actively seeked his romantic interest.  Although, conversations  on your part never stretched beyond differentiation and stealing cautious glances at one another, (which wasn't a shocker because you didn't know how to compute a chat with him and Jisung was unusually timid for someone who acquainted himself with well known rambunctious personalities), you genuinely enjoyed his company.

So you obliged. Even though it was utterly improper and you were sure he liked someone on the cheer squad. It was just that you were a kid and you wanted to wear your heart on your sleeve just once before tucking it away forever.

He poked his head out from the water, wordlessly upon hearing his name, looking at you with a cocked brow and you were quick to say it, like you had to before you ended up changing your mind, it took a lot of courage to mutter a simple confession after all,  in spite of the fact you didn't at all picture him reciprocating, whisking you off of your feet with a wide grin, in a grand affirmation of all the rubbish pop culture has spoon fed you. 

It was a stereotypical teeth rotting, sweet crush that bound you to want to be around Jisung in a way he didn't, something lodged deep inside of you, the same thing that was childish and clung onto its fairy tales for dear life, hoped that he would share the same feelings, in spite of knowing it was undoubtedly unrequited. 

 Jisung had an indecipherable look on his face, he parted his mouth to say something but paused as if looking for the right words.  He simply settled with a sigh, before lowering his body down into the pool. You replayed the scene over and over again for the rest of senior year, until it drove you to a point of absolute insanity. You even considered googling what a sigh was supposed to convey, if fishing through dictionaries wasn't going to tell.

That was notably the last time you spoke in school.

But your strained relationship stayed with you like an embarrassing tattoo  and in trying desperately to  conceal it, afraid someone would see too much, know too much, you would only make it more apparent. 

You had to push him away to the farthest corner of your mind so you didn't have to wonder anymore, didn't have to interpret every action like your life depended on it - because love to you was so immense that it was overwhelming. You've wanted love to rescue you in some way, looked for it in the soft murmur of pages, in the chilling words to a song you can't seem to forget, you've waited for love like an impatient eagle anticipating its opportunity  to leap in and swoop up its shot at satisfying its undying hunger. You needed to uproot those budding feelings before they took abode inside your chest, grew stronger, into something massive, unignorable, something like love.

Avoiding Jisung in hallways, in class and really everywhere was some form of a habit you were developing - but that didn't stop him  from entangling himself with your ponderings; you thought of all the things he did without paying much attention to the act, like his petulant whining when he wanted something he wasn't getting, you thought of the way he tapped his pen against the wooden desk, silently eyeing chalky math problems on the board before uttering the answer with an ease only he could carry, you thought of his petulant front during arguments and how he always ended up winning, you just missed being around him without the added tension - which was funny because you're the one to blame for it. 

To your knowledge, Jisung didn't know to speak in puzzles, even when he didn't want to say something, he always found an agreeable way to deliver it,  often unknowingly wording them as they were, he didn't understand the complexities with which people conversed, needing everything to be black and white, as clear as the summer sky, so everyday felt like he owed you an example of his unintentional transparency, a explanation even though you knew he didn't.  

Maybe that's it, you thought, maybe that's all. 

(Sometimes you would sense his gaze searing into the side of your face, as if he was on the verge of uttering a greeting.

But graduation came along. And you never heard anything from him.)

You began to understand that all those tear jerking, unhappy endings were inevitable, like not being able to take your eyes off the stage during  Giacomo Puccini's Sono Andati, like being exposed to Mimi's excruciating death, losing something you can't put a finger on - and suddenly, the plays, the window, the catharsis wasn't enough, the child in you wanted to scream and  kick and throw, the child in you wanted to forge her own ending, the one that made sense, the one you could anticipate.

Running his palms along the cool glass, Jisung pauses from time to time to look at you, as if expecting you to address the elephant in the room, the same elephant that followed you all the way from campus, to his car, to the café downtown. It wasn't until the waiter went away in the pursuit of getting your order did he pose the inquiry. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

You shake your head slowly, a nervous laugh escaping your lips.

 "What's there to talk about? It was a long time ago and I'm over it."

 Saying it out loud like this feels weird, it feels so real and disappointing and embarrassing, you feel reduced to a child coming clean about that one time they tipped over a vase and dusted the debris under the rug he is about to step about on, hoping he wouldn't notice. 

The statement makes you feel guilty, like you're lying. You don't want to know if you really are.

"Well, does that mean we can be friends?" Mutters Jisung against the opening of his straw, sipping miserly as though not wanting to finish the rest of his Americano. He opens his mouth to say something but stops, looking blatantly confused, like that was the only explanation he had for your fallout. "I don't understand." 

Not having thought that far, you stop typing, the click clack of keys muting, Jisung's thick rimmed glasses rest atop the jut of his nose and he's peering over them to look right at you with big wide eyes, genuinely interested in being supplied an answer.  The sixteen year old you would be overwhelmed with bouts of fluster right now. But you stopped being that person a long time ago, in fact, that person is to you a bleary recollection of a mere stranger who you thought you saw somewhere but couldn't put a finger on the location.

Shrugging, unsure, the question comes after a lengthy pause, "I guess it does?"

You sit in temporary silence after the short conversation ends, never going off topic again and giving into irrelevant chats even though Jisung is actively trying to initiate conversation about things which had nothing to do with work. You wonder why, wordlessly admitting that it was getting harder to resist the urge to talk to him with every passing second.

His car was parked a few lanes away from the café so you were obliged to walk after getting through the first portion of the assignment.

"So." Jisung starts, biting the side of his cheek, "What have you been upto lately?"

Talking to Jisung isn't as difficult as your younger self made it to be, he could hold a conversation well, jumping from serious topics to lighter ones to keep the balance, making witty comments here and there that had you laughing without really meaning to and every time, you'd catch a look of satisfaction glinting in his eyes. 

 The pair of you walk by an ice-cream parlour where a short bald man with a perpetually happy  face is handing out samples. A mint green board is attached to the appendage of a stall, outstretching from the original store, it says La Petite Glacière. 

You raise your brows, literal nomenclature.

"Journalism could suit you." The comment is off-handed, a product of you thinking out loud, imagining Jisung running around with a recorder, with his big, friendly eyes, queries posed with an an easy jovial attitude; it's so befitting, you just couldn't help but notify him. Even if it was an involuntary notification. You left out the part where you always pegged his love for composing would eventually materialise instead, this was unexpected to say the least. But Jisung described music as a getaway, something he was willing to do out of passion and not duty.

It was to his credit that he didn't laugh in your face when you said you wanted to be a playwright, specialising solely in the field of fiction. That's one thing he doesn't have in common with your parents. (Who didn't hesitate to point out that it was an obsolete branch of writing.)

"Yeah?" Jisung grins archly, glancing at you, as insinuating the memory of you playing Iago when you were expecting to land Desdemona is still impressed on him. "I could say the same for you."

You only wave him off, rolling your eyes. Some things are better left forgotten.

It's hot and you're really thirsty. You're knee deep in lengthy conversations engineered to catch up with one another, which consisted of ping-ponging inquiries about everything and anything, like how it was moving away from your family and new hobbies and pet peeves and casual strolls down memory lane but then the tension would settle and you would grow awfully quiet, like you're doing something you aren't supposed to, like you're walking into the inviting mouth a ginormous tiger whilst convincing yourself that it won't gobble you up.

"Okay. I have one." you start, he's nodding in encouragement,  "Have you been dating a lot?" 

Jisung laughs at your obvious curiosity, wiping his sweaty forehead with a spare napkin, strolling really fast, long legs promoting his speedy gait, you have to jog from time to time to keep up.

"Why?" 

He tilts his head to you, the teasing spark in his eyes glinting knowingly, he becomes shorter and grows taller walking up and down the slopes of the bumpy road.

  Your eyes widen. You were curious! You haven't spoken to him for a long time and you're just catching up. Exactly, you tell yourself,  that's believable, that, you think, makes sense. The other explanation, the one you're deigning to not look in the eye, that a part of you would be disappointed if he had said yes doesn't.

You flounder for a response, something, just a word or even an awkward noise, anything to formulate a proper retort. When that proves to be delayed and difficult, heat begins to pool into your cheeks, shooting up to the back of your ears and budding under the skin of your neck.

"Just asking."

 He hums, ghosting his fingers along the small of your back, careful not to touch you as he shoulders his way to your side without bumping you off of your feet, the gesture prompts something inside your gut to twist and twist and twist. "Well...yeah, but it's never been serious."

You're waiting for the red light so you can cross the road to the parking area. Jisung is towering over a sea of the heads, he's not much taller than the average person, hands tucked in his pockets. The wind is messing his hair up to the side, he keeps running his fingers through the stubborn strand to get it to sit right but when the endeavour proves to be futile so he just scoffs, as if berating the strand whilst stubbornly repeating the action. 

Looking at him like this, you imagine falling in love with Jisung is easy. Like gliding a hot knife through butter. It must feel just right, even if it doesn't last long, like holding fire in between your palms and pretending you own it, feeling the warmth kissing your skin before it nips and burns, like speeding across comets, stars and the moon, waging wars in the name of romance and producing litanies about love and then - finally, inevitably, unwillingly - letting go, like you always knew you would.

 You imagine the aged memories of blurry faces behind cobwebs of raindrops and curtains of mist, the faces of people who he could've loved but hadn't.

And it scares you for some unknown reason.

There's something inexplicably lovable about Jisung, his babyish features have always possessed the tendency to catch you off guard, even though you've known him for a long time; it's gobsmacking and too winning to be real, like something out of a dream, the milky planes of an acrylic face. The smooth buttery texture of his skin, the subtle, narrow jut of his nose, the pouted shape of his mouth and pearly teeth. You think he doesn't know this, doesn't see himself the way you do even when he pretends to be confident with his boastful jokes, they are just jokes after all. Only further evidence of how he doesn't want to believe any compliment rendered his way.

"What about you?" He poses, looking over from the hood of his car while unlocking it from the driver side, "Dating anyone?" 

The truth is, you've tried the atrocities of blind dating and online dating and casual dating but they all have been deficient and you're too tired to go through the never ending cycle  of being on disappointing dates again: your expectations are too high, some might even say, for the way you seek familiarity with absolute strangers; you're stubborn, awkward and sometimes, simply unapproachable,  but for the sake of not deflating your ego, you decide that Jisung doesn't need to know this. 

You shake your head, failing to understand why Jisung is grinning through the cracked window, whilst you're pulling the door open and plopping down on the passenger seat.

"Why are you smiling?" You furrow your brows, watching as the lopsided grin grows bigger. 

"Because." He shrugs, tucking his hands in his pockets.  

"Because?" You look at him expectantly, but he just looks back at you without expanding the brief explanation. You're so close that you can make out the thin layer of mist collecting on his eyelashes, his arched cupid's bow, his eyes have so much brown in them. You'd liken the colour to that of a muddy lake, like the bare earth, they catch sunlight and turn golden, just for a second, for just one second, it looks like what magic must be like. Realising that you have been staring at him for quite long, you tear your abashed gaze away. Piloting it to shift from the buskers to the other cars, buses, pedestrians, traffic lights, looking for a sight distracting enough.

"I'm not telling you!" Jisung mocks your tone like a child with a violent shake of his head, putting his keys in ignition. The engine roars to life, wheezing like a kettle. Why he drives a Comet Convertible when he could've gotten any other alternative is a wonder; not that you mind, you like it, it’s  like sitting  inside a giant jewelry box, the inside is smooth red leather, velvety smooth black paint on the outside.

"Why not?" You frown.

Jisung rolls the steering wheel with one hand, keeping his eyes trained to the approaching traffic while turning lanes, he giggles, "Because."

...

You'll have to admit that it's quite... challenging coming to terms with being friends with Jisung. Not because he's practically everywhere but  just since Jisung tends to demand your attention when he realises he's not getting it.

When you try to dodge him on mornings after he cheats at UNO, scurrying away behind swathes of sleep deprived university students, hoping you don't catch his eye, he calls your name in that  loud, clear and intentional way that he does, dragging a heavy arm around your shoulder to squeeze it against the back of your neck before tousling your hair or some other action to effectively ruin your get up. When you zone out in class, musing absently about something that has nothing to do with scale efficiency and accidentally catch his gaze, he winks at you, snapping you right back into attention. 

Your friendship is, to say the least, interesting, for everyone around you.  It's like everyone is always on the edge of their seats, waiting for a chance to poke fun at your apparent chemistry. It means nothing, you're just friends, you remind yourself over and over again, defensively, succumbing to the urge to grow closer and closer to him without paying mind to the annoying voice in your head.

Jisung texts you in the middle of the night, when he's parked out front, to meet him for a midnight drive out that you're sure no one knows about and you tell yourself you're getting away with it - only to be confronted by a smirking Sunwoo in the morning, likening the situation to a teenager  caught red handed sneaking in through the window after a clandestine night of partying.

 But you're not spared the teasing even out in the open. Though while you squirm awkwardly, sink into your seat and refute offendedly, Jisung doesn't have a lick of such knowledge or care, he easily slumps against you, resting his head on your shoulder in class and dozing off, indifferent to the multiple pairs of eyes zeroing in on you.

Even though the bartenders smile their coquettish smiles, offering drinks on the house and people laughed a little more than necessary, twirling their hair around their fingers at anything and everything he said, thence offering proper chances to ditch you completely, he remains close to you at pubs, putting his long fingers on your shoulders and resting his chin on your head, shooting some creepy guy who just wouldn't stop insisting on buying you a drink a look that said he wouldn't mind taking a stronger stance, had the creep not backed off. It was what anyone would have done, you tell yourself, ignoring the underlying pang of a gut feeling that begged to differ.

You envy the obvious charm Jisung holds over everyone, easing his way out of the jokes to do whatever he wants, you wonder what he would do if someone asked him if you were just friends, if he would dismiss them with a wave or provide a positive response, if it would hurt, if it would matter.

"Hey!" 

You jump at the tone. It's breezy, light and followed by a scoff at the end, you recognise it, sighing once the initial surprise oozes out of you to be replaced with familiarity, Renjun is halfway through a complaint about acrylic paint, his mouth half open while his eyes travel over your head, where you're certain the owner of the voice is jogging up to the pair of you. 

"I'll er...catch you later." Renjun purses his lips, while you turn your gaze back to Jisung, he's coming from practice, so his hair is wet, cheeks flushed red, he looks younger like this, completely barefaced. He's wearing a  plain white t-shirt and light wash jeans, even in such an ordinary attire, a few bypassers' attention latch solely onto him.

The sun has long laid on a cotton soft sheet of clouds, letting a blue evening straighten its back against the dark firmament, the crowd at campus is reducing dramatically, you were walking to the metro, deciding to rest by the park bench as he mimics the pose, sliding from the opposite end when you try to keep a distance.

Jisung nudges you with his shoulder. "We’re having a party at our new place. You should come."

It wasn't willingness that took you to loud premises. You aren't exactly a party animal, far from it, maybe an animal that blends into the background, wordlessly observing  masses of sweaty people who will wake up with horrible hangovers the next morning, wishing the night before had never happened. If such an animal exists. 

 But you're genuinely curious about meeting Minho, who seems to have assumed the position of  one of Jisung's best friends while you were absent from his life. You found yourself wondering if he was different from Bang Chan, who in spite of being the former's friend, is someone you could deem yourself more similar to than he is to Jisung; shaking your heads and groaning into your palms, Chan would pinch the bridge of his nose and cautiously glance at you as though to convey You get me, right? while Jisung showered the karaoke bar manager with grandiloquent blandishments into giving extra minutes for a lower price.

Despite this, it is the undeniable but sheer adoration for your fun-loving mutual friend that binds you two together the best, the shared looks of appreciation when Jisung  scolds you for neglecting your health, when he surprisingly remembers a minor detail about you or when he indulges in appreciative chats about crayon drawings with loquacious kids who would come running to display their paintings when you were looking to take an indolent walk in the local park, he would listen attentively, moving to a sitting position, nodding his head like he understood what the kiddish gibberish meant; one thing is certain -  there was certainly more to Jisung than people pegged and if anything, those undiscovered traits only made him more endearing.

"Okay….but make sure we don't end up playing strip poker or something." You shudder at that thought, grimacing exaggeratedly to make your point.

"Why?" He raises his brows, a small simper playing on his lips to give away that he was only teasing you, "I like that game."

But under all that banter, it was well received that Jisung would never put you to the obligation of doing anything you're not comfortable with, so you just play along, narrowing your eyes, "That's because you're a pervert." You say, stifling a laugh whilst his grin dissolves to drop to a blank face.

 Jisung glares at you, nudging you with his knee, effectively putting you on the verge of falling.

"Hey!"  You scoff, repeating the action but Jisung doesn't roll across the grass like you wanted, he doesn't even budge. Instead, he laughs at your frustration, shaking his head and glancing back at you with an entertained look in his eyes. 

(Something inside your chest is growing, like an epiphany, its vines pushing up against your lungs, your heart, its thornes prickling, injuring the flesh, something that tells you this is so much more to you than you'd admit, you press it down, ignore it; just a little longer, you think, just a little longer before you start to see this for what it is. )

"Why are you staring at me?" Jisung questions, you can't help but notice how he tilts his head, moving his curious face closer to yours, inspecting, like just before he makes his final move and mutters Checkmate but he doesn't actually know what he's doing, doesn't realise the weight of his actions.  "Do I have something on my face?" He tilts his cheek to you, as though offering you to examine it and then, immediately his mouth lowers down to form a deep set frown. Is he really that goddamned clueless? Doesn't this affect him at all? 

"No." You clear your throat and lean back, moving your weight on your palms,  "It's getting late. We should get going." 

...

The earliest memory you have is from when you were five, your parents had taken you to the beach and that day, while the sun shone brightly and the sand was warm, like home under your feet, with big curious eyes, you gazed off into the brilliant blue water. 

It was just so beautiful. 

And you so badly, wanted to wade into the welcoming foamy arms of the sea. If only the immensity of the water hadn't scared you as much as it did, you thought. It was like a blue giant that was reaching to steal the sun off of the sky and if you  dared to test the waters, the liquid Goliath could whisk you right off of your tiny feet and drag you into its mouth.

 That, you think, is what you're really afraid of, that deep down inside , you never really stopped holding back. That you'll never muster up the courage to do anything you really want.

In the midst of the chaos of an alcohol induced party, your head feels like it's about to explode.

It stopped raining. And you haven't had the luxury of running into Jisung ever since he went off to get a drink for himself.

The windows are open. Though there's not a flutter of a cool breeze or anything. But there are assortments of crisps, juices and other suspicious looking snacks. The cool curve of the stair railing pressing up against your side. It's unspeakably loud. The frat house, as typical as it sounds, welcomes an obnoxiously large crowd, it isn't surprising, considering people here have a reputation for social adeptness, the house being big enough to capacitate a crowd twice as big as its guests is just a plus point.

 Once the majority of the crowd  had  long thinned out to participate in a curious sounding game of  beer pong, the aftermath is that everything smells like sweat, vomit or both. You're tipsy, tired and alone. It's been an hour since you arrived. Your patience is wearing thin. 

 You down the remainder of the watered down scotch, even though the liquid could secure a horrible case of nausea if you couldn't hold your liquor well tonight.

In the mess of too many heads, too many hands and too many bodies, pushing, pulling, dancing and kissing  with shocking hostility, suddenly, the view starts to shift, from left to right, from upwards and downwards, like you're on a rollercoaster but without the lap bar. It's certainly a symptom of  the  splitting migraine you're sporting. It's too loud downstairs for you to summon anyone and besides, the search for a familiar face seems futile.  

You fish out your phone, wondering if you should send Jisung a text, squinting at the glaring blue screen but decide against it - hoping to God that you don't walk in on anyone shagging while looking for one of the rooms to crash in. 

Now, that...would put them in an awkward position. You mentally high five yourself for the joke. 

Though the amusement is  mostly transient, soon replaced by a rapid jerk of pain. Wincing in an attempt to stand with little control over balance, you try to ease the pain from your briefly twisted foot. 

When you've made it to your desired destination, an inconspicuous looking room at the end of the long hall, you kick off the death traps for heels off of your feet and all but fling yourself on the mattress.

Stacks of comics are carefully  placed on the top most shelf of the bookshelf pushed against the wall, their polished spines sticking out.

 The rest are overflowing with vinyls, set in alphabetical order. You can tell because each row has a tag taped over its head.

Everything is surprisingly clean, the walls are crisp white, there's a single black wall on which a large painting sits. A night light glows dimly, perched up on the bedside table. Whoever's bedroom this is, has the blandest taste in interior design. Or a lack of it since they moved in not long ago as Jisung informed.

 You stare owlishly at the blue ceiling, following the undulating spines of bricks, stacked in. Upwards and downwards. Like a map. Like a  staircase to nowhere. Then you close your eyes. 

Imagining that you're staring up at the sky at dawn, when it's  a swirl of milk tea. Golden. Buttery white. Autumnal Yellow. And pumpkin spice. Brown curls against the background of a milky white firmament and if one bothered to look closer, they'd catch stars peeking from behind slowly darkening clouds, waiting to come out. 

When you were a child, you liked to stick a curious index into filled tea cups, as if to study the khaki liquid , not quite grasping the connoisseurship of hot beverages just yet. The experience would always end with a mouthful of biscuits and your grandmum's tickles engendering your stomach to ache a good kind of ache.

Now, the memory prompts you to raise a finger to the air, as if you were dipping your digits into the whirlpool of maroon. For a moment, you feel as if you're still that little girl stuck in someone else's body, like you hadn't grown up at all. 

But in the hurtful manner that reality often made itself known, yanking you right back from your dreams, the door creaks noisily and then closes.

Out of the corner of your eye, the character looks more like a funny sketch on a chalkboard than he does a person. All blurry and messy. Like someone tried to rub him out. 

The flash of light radiating from his phone, a sliver of neon, silver, you recognise his face, you've seen the same expression right before he's about to choose between  his favourite ice cream flavour; eyebrows knitted in concentration, lips pursed, emerging from the shadows.  He's typing really fast. You blink, adjusting your vision. The unobstructed sight of his face broadens. "Jisung?" 

 He looks at you, positioning his phone towards your face to get a good in the barely there light. 

"Yeah?"

You furrow your brows in confusion, "What are you doing here?" 

"That's a good question."  He snorts.  "Indeed, what business might I have in my room?"

You jump, sitting straighter, then stand up. Just in case he thinks you're a fucking creep. He probably doesn't even want to be friends with you anymore and you understand, you wouldn't want to be friends with you either. "I...I didn't know."

Jisung laughs loudly at your fluster, rolling his eyes,  he plops down, the mattress dipping under his weight, groaning noisily. He pats the spot beside him. "Relax..."

You wear a doubtful look, under the impression that he'd break into a laughing fit with a quip about you caving in so easily.  You narrow your eyes even though you're quite tempted to take his offer. 

He tuts, yanking you by the arm so you sink down beside him.  

"I just saw you coming upstairs, wanted to make sure some asshole wasn't picking on you." He explains, his face contorting to momentary peevishness just at the fleeting thought. 

A crappy pop song is buzzing in the background, you can hear it, you can smell the salted popcorn in the air. His fringe is brushed forward, cheeks smoothed over, moisturised, in this intimidating proximity, you pick up that Jisung always smells really good. Like aftershave and something strong, woody, earthy — but just the right amount, not overpowering.

 "Have you considered trying something more...erm... colourful?" You  scan his room, deciding to change the subject, attempting to dodge the heavy feeling of fluster in your chest; you guess it was showing on your face because the corners of Jisung's mouth begin to quirk upwards. If there’s anyone more awkward than Jisung, it /s definitely you. "This isn't really you."

 With his mouth lopsided, his nose scrunching upwards, his teeth showing, his eyes turning to crescents, Jisung chuckles, as if perceiving your attempt to digress but choosing to let it slide.

 "Then what is?" He raises a brow.

"I don't know." You pause, trying to picture a suitable tint, "Something bright."

Someone starts blasting Ed Sheeran outside, putting the volume all the way. It creates a proper distraction from the conversation to go beyond simple suggestions, it was a sudden reminder of just how badly you wanted the party to be over.

 "You know the more I think about it, the more I come to acknowledge that this is really not my scene."  You confess absentmindedly, backing up on the mattress so your feet dangle, your headache kicks back, beating inside  your ears, knocking against your skull. You lie back on the mattress, curiously blinking up at Jisung's frowning face.

 "Why didn't you tell me that before?" He says, a pinch in his brows pushing the shape up in utter concern. 

"Because I wanted to come." You say honestly, prompting Jisung to heave a deep sigh, relief gradually washing over his rigid features, "I don't know, maybe I'm just not fun enough."

"Yeah. That's probably it." He jokes, grinning from ear to ear. But the shape drops immediately when you jut your lip out instead of mirroring the mirthful action. "You really think so?"

 He blinks at you, not expecting the forwardness, "No." He says, and you note that this is the most serious Jisung has ever sounded around you.

Your face is growing increasingly hot as the weight of his remark started to kick in. It’s so unfair, isn't it? He has no idea how every little thing he said to you meant so much more than it ought. It hurt when you found yourself automatically deducing his trivial actions, all the while knowing it hadn't meant anything to him.  To him, you're just a friend. And you aren't going to let your emotions ruin that, not again. 

 "What's the party for anyway?"

You furrow your eyebrows in genuine curiosity when the silence has become unbearable. Constantly needing to be disrupted. 

 "It's a stupid frat house tradition, they do it every time we move."

“Sounds like a cult activity to me."

You hear him hum, as if feigning contemplation, then open your eyes.

 "Well, that...That's because it is."

It's very typical of Jisung to try to make jokes whilst trying to keep a straight face. In most cases, he doesn't fool anyone. His voice rises  to a cartoonish volume, his mouth pouted out when he speaks as though to hold back a laugh, it’s his eyes, widened, twinkling with a notorious spark in them that ultimately gave it away. In rare instances, however, they deluded strangers into thinking he was being serious when he really wasn't; like that time he told Chan the pool was pre-heated just for the latter, who trustingly dove into the water, to swim up with clattering teeth and ice cold skin to the surface finding that Jisung was grinning deviously. It was an obvious payback for the time the older male hogged Jisung's share of cheesecake as a daring attempt at pranking.

Maybe, you guess, you just knew him too well.

  "Interesting." you raise your brows, playing along, "I'm surprised there isn't any nude dancing involved."

 "Wow...you sound so disappointed.” 

 Jisung laughs, his chest heaving upwards and downwards with every laboured breath.  It's a pleasant sight, knowing you get to have this moment to yourself. For reasons you'd like to ignore, something inside your chest begins to ache, thrumming against your ribs. It isn't until you put your hands over your face in an attempt to get rid of a thin layer of sweat, do you realise that you were smiling.

When he calms down, he keeps looking at you. "I take that you made the submission?" He presses, knowing well that you were intending to put off the matter from the dodgy look in your eyes. "Right?"

 Before, Jisung stubbornly pressed on the matter, it was unheard of for you to allow your writings to be read by anyone other than yourself; it was only fiction, your little secret, you reason, even though you knew the underlying cause of your unwillingness was that you simply cannot take rejection well, it is truly terrifying but an automatic reaction to think that your work is boring and somehow unworthy of praise every time  you are on the verge of sharing it. Your parents never showed any particular interest in it and you assumed that was a universal desire. 

But Jisung is incredibly obdurate when he wants to be.

 Sometimes, you think he's the only person in your life who's truly honest with you, he doesn't shower you in false accolades, not hesitating to rip the band-aid, to point out the less likable bits from the likable ones even if he knew it would make you unhappy. It was interesting prying your wounds open around him, he wouldn't suppress his thoughts and blurt euphemisms like it's going to be okay, he would grimace and gag and then he'd clean them, he would sit patiently with them and try to dress them up for better - and somewhere along the way, while you may have cared about other people's opinions, your concern for what he thinks of you is starting to become far more significant. And it petrifies you.  "No." 

Jisung shoots you a look of annoyance, staring at you like he's awaiting an explanation. You can sense the lengthy talk coming from the back of his throat, something which surpassed the regular limits of you should do this and you shouldn't do this, he relentlessly pushed you towards your career which you claimed you were passionate about but needed his stern berating often when you would stagger back in indolence and you'd be lying if you said it isn't effective - albeit, the scoldings sometimes led to the two of you bickering back and forth, giving each other the silent treatment until one of you would cave - whatever it was, you know you could never turn down Jisung, even if he was bruising your ego to ask you to get your shit together.  "Why not?"

 "It's just a stupid draft, Sungie..." You laugh nervously but he doesn't give into the fit like you imagined, instead, he just dons a solemn look on his face, something that seems to show that he'd been peeved by your response.

  "No it’s not." He shakes his head slowly and there's sort of a firmness in his retort that surprises you, far from how he usually jokes on about,  that tells you there's no room for argument, "It's not stupid at all."

Jisung tears his gaze away, his expression softening once he notes the worried look on your face, it's as though he had suddenly changed his mind about the lecture he was surely planning  to give you,

 "Look I don’t want to fight.” He sighs, “You’re always talking about how much this means to you and if it’s something that you really want, don't put it off. I'm your friend, I can only encourage you — but at the end of the day, it's your job to pull yourself up. Goes without saying that it’ll be a complete waste if you don’t pursue play writing because you - and I don't care if you don't agree with me -  really do have a lot of potential.”

You blink in wonder, ”You think so?"

 "I know so."

 You don't remember the last time someone said something like that to you, if at all. Tearing your gaze away from him, you’re met with the inability to shake the feeling of craving something you don't want to understand, mired in your own musings and for no particular reason but to avoid the desperation of confessing to yourself of the warm tight feeling inside your belly - you give into the temptation of placing your palm over the nightlight, watching the light turn from bright yellow to muted blue, it stings slightly. 

Too cheesy, you would groan out under any other circumstance where you hadn’t been so fazed.

Instead, you just gulp, eyes wide at his forward comment, his praise is the equivalent of being splashed with ice cold water when one is half asleep, now you're all wide eyed and incognisant of what's real and what isn't, it prompts a jolting sensation to traverse all throughout your body, "Thanks." 

This scene was no exception, Jisung tips his head back against his palms when he's thinking about something, while keeping his calm gaze posed on you, he smiles, rolling his eyes. “You’re too hard on yourself, loosen up just a little. I'm not always gonna be around.”

You muse that your mum said the exact same thing when you moved away for university but chose not to mention it, it's not true though, you want to say. Because Jisung is always there for you.

 See, the universe exists on this dreadful thread of balance  and you've been hanging on by your last finger for as long as you remember, taking every step on the basis of a fear of tumbling off to be greeted by the gasps and complaints of an imaginary audience, for the longest time, picturing  your play to be dissected like a lab rat, for a delirious critic to point their scalpel and announce, the misshapen heart is here, that's the pudgy head.

But nowadays and you'll never tell him this, when Jisung talks about you  like that, you almost believe it, believe in yourself and don't think he understands what it means to you, how grand that is  -  to imagine seeing your play come to life, something severely intimidating about watching it, spotlight gingerly kissing up the actors' newborn faces as the audience spews quiet comments, critics' expressions morphing with  nuanced understanding, the anticipation is tangible, the walls closing in by the second, tension squeezing the air out of their lungs -  until the curtains part and a story draws them into another world. Then everything falls into a formidable silence.The inexplicable feeling of being one wrapping its limbs around everyone and cradling them to its chest like a loving mother, awestruck strangers listening in on the heart wrenching dialogues, the belter of a riveting tragedy prompting their hearts to lurch forward and sit on their tongues, then they'll look around, spot bits of you in your characters and think I'm not alone. I never was.   (The people you've both never known but known your entire life.)

It's better to slip, to put everything on the line for the sake of making way to what you want on a feeling rooted deep inside your gut than to cower behind the fear of disapproval and have nothing at all. Being brave enough to tell your story is not the absence of that fear which keeps you, but it is telling the tale despite, toppling that fear.

There's something relieving about that theory.

 "I want to lie down..." You mewl, in spite of already lying down. It's a sign of how the constant toiling through exams was finally taking a toll on you, the sleepiness coupled with hours long lethargy from the party seemed to be weighing your body down, making your eyelids heavier by the second. He moves your hand, leaning into the light. A wash of colour is spreading  across his face for a brief moment, exposing the skin to scrutiny, all veins, curves and crinkles around his eyes. Jisung smiles at you. Your eyes dart all over his face, resting on the curve of his mouth briefly, then his eyes, you catch the yellow flickering in them , the brown turning to dark copper. 

Your heart drops to your stomach when he blinks away slowly, the disappointment assuaged by something foreign, dumb and utterly clichéd stirs in the pit of your stomach as his thumb briefly swipes across your knuckles,  "You don't say, sleepy girl!" Jisung scoffs, bringing his arm under his head.  

Unconsciously, entertaining the thought of staying alone in his room, you find yourself feeling safer because of his presence instead, divorced from prying eyes, "Thanks for staying." You say, wanting to talk to him more and more,  contemplating fashions  to contribute to the conversation again and again just to cut the silence.

"Well, you had a lot to drink." 

He reminds, as if the reason for his staying is that obvious;  worry laced in his voice and you understood why -   even though you aren't completely doused in a state of inebriation, you kept swaying all the way upstairs.

"But you missed out on.." you drag the consonant unintentionally, "all the fun, though."

"Do I look like I care?" Jisung snorts, staring up at the ceiling, leaning back on his hands and dropping down against the bed, he laces his fingers together over his chest, digging into his pocket and fishing out his phone. It isn’t a question.

His wallpaper is of a kid gazing up from the water, he peers up at the camera, grinning ear to ear. This is definitely Jisung. Because even with his front teeth missing, his smile is all too familiar. His cheeks were chubbier back then, face rounder, softer around the edges. Subconsciously, you rose a finger to poke at his cheek, as if to examine it. Jisung shoots you a glare.

"You were cute."

You coo, leaning onto his shoulder, the closeness should not intimidate you, given the amount of time you spend like this. But it does anyway.

"What do you mean were?” Jisung scoffs, “Nu-uh, still am. I'm the resident cutie pie, if you will."  He sings, narrowing his eyes briefly, thereon chuckling at the look of sheer disgust on your face. 

You wrinkle your nose, "I can't believe you just said that..." 

The rest of the night is spent in a comfortable quietude, except for the times when either of you perk up to initiate conversation and Jisung gives you aspirin for the throbbing migraine. 

Your shoulders are touching. Jisung breathes. Slowly. Then fast. Then slow. And then he tucks an earphone into your ear, it was an unspoken ritual you two practised when you were alone, oft in a different venue, sitting languidly about campus, while you read and he winked through the glaring sun to get a distant view of the landscape.

Jisung yawns, the grapple on his speech loosening and loosening.

You remain quiet, closing your eyes again. Words feel liquid in your mouth, letters wobbling on your tongue until you feel like you've lost complete control over what you're thinking of saying.

You can see the scene unfolding inside your head, can feel the earth under your skin, can hear birds chirping, can feel the dusty orange, morning glow kissing your faces. As if you're the only two people there. "Coldplay, right?" 

"Uh-huh..." Jisung replies, he sounds unsurprised by your aligned tastes. You look at him and find that he's mirroring you. His long lashes casting shadows on the apples of his cheeks, eyes clamped shut. 

"It's beautiful..." You murmur, dropping your head back against the mattress, you think Jisung hums in response but you can't be too sure. It's like you're slowly, slowly and slowly drifting far, far away. Letting slumber wrap its welcoming arms around you. 

For a second, you feel the weight on your shoulders lighten, you imagine that you're soaring, soaring, soaring, like you could look down and see the rivers and seas and lakes pulsing against the  Earth's body, as though they were a bundle of nerves belonging to a round, green vessel of a body, and somehow - then immediately, you're being pulled to your feet, at great speed, you're falling, falling, falling - so fast that you feel like there's a fire budding inside your lungs, budding under your fingertips, inside your heart. 

Then it begins.  This must be a dream, this must be a dream, this must be a dream. The soft murmur of scripted words. Parted curtains, an open window allowing you to stare in wonder, dusk stretching across the entirety of the landscape, blue, then pink. You think of the big sapphire sea, the warm sand and someone waiting for you before it.  You think, this is it. This is it. This is it. And run, run, run. Sprinting to the broadening view. You recognise the back of his head, the curve of his neck, tufts of raven hair fluttering about, his white cuffed shirt, his footsteps like a trail of breadcrumbs, feet dipped in frothy water, You call his name, surprised  but think I knew it, I knew it, I knew it all along. He looks back and smiles at you, offering you his hand. (You're not over him. You don't think you ever were. And this is what you want, you want it so bad, after all this time, are you going to hold back? Are you going to hold back? Are you going to hold back?)

Just for a moment, in the split of a second, just now,  just once, you aren't afraid. 

You jolt awake, the earphone straining against the sudden movement, "Hey." You whisper, looking up at him. His Adam's apple drops with a slow gulp, the rosy colour of his parted lips. The slope of his nose. You don't know when you  nuzzled your face into his chest, his long arm is draped around your waist, pulling you flush against his body.  Your heart is beating noisily in your ears, on your tongue. 

To your surprise, Jisung hums in response, eyes still clamped shut. You're so close, just so close, he brushes his slender fingers against the back of your neck, the touch feather light, as though reminding you that he had heard you. Your breath hitches inaudibly.

"Let's..." You say, with your tongue starting to limp inside your mouth, "go to the beach sometime."

...

A shower is running, loud, water gushing down and thumping against the tiles, the sound echoing and growing thinner by the second. 

You sit up on the empty bed, the recollection of last night lodged deep inside your head like a butcher knife. 

The realisation that you aren't at home isn't startling as you momentarily grow distracted in examining the room, the photos, the turntable, the white paint, the portraits, a light adjusted above, bits and pieces of a person scattered around.

Jisung's t-shirt is discarded carelessly on his reading table, your eyes widen when you acknowledge the occupant in the shower to be him, leaping up with a haste, everything comes back to you  with a force equivalent of pulling the butcher knife out and slamming it right back into your skull.

"It's you!" You gasp, partially  because the cheerful exclamation sends pangs of pain to your head, having made all the way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, only to find Minho whipping up pancake batter in a bowl. As opposed to his old Instagram photos, with the new complementing pink hair, his feline like features are even more staggering, eyes narrowed to amused slits, behind which beady black orbs stare you down in absolute curiosity.

"Right, we met last night." He reminds you, uttering your name quickly, finding that you already recognise him. He holds the spatula up, paused in surprise as if he really wasn't expecting to see you right now, the position only eases when you wave your hands dismissively and say it's not what you think.

  He smiles, there's a strange disappointed quality to the demand."Sit down, let's have breakfast."

It's awkward, Minho spares you a few interrogating stares while you silently dig at your meal, the sound of cutlery and ceramic sounding through the open kitchen. You wish Jisung would come down already if the floor beneath your feet isn't going to open up and swallow you whole to save you from this discomfiture.

"They're really good." You nod, shoveling more of the unevenly cut portions of the pancake into your mouth.

"Do you still have feelings for him?" 

You choke, coughing on the gigantic bite, patting your chest as you slowly as you begin to regain your composure. Minho's eyebrows are weaved upwards, hinting that he expected an answer despite offering you water. God, he cut right to the chase, you aren't used to people as blunt as that. When you don't say anything, he blinks at you, tilting his head to examine the evasive expression on your face.

"He talks about you a lot..." He notifies, as though it was an explanation for something.  Minho's arms are crossed over his chest, proudly before announcing, "I think I practically know everything about you."

Funny, you could say the exact same thing about him. Jisung likes to babble on about people he cares about, which albeit is a handful, you are just as special as any of them. And that reminder as a consequence of his constant prodding makes you a little angry. 

"Look, he doesn't like me if that's what you're trying to say." You blurt out, you don't want to get your hopes up.  It's weird saying something so grave to someone you only recently  came to know. Having already accepted your one sided feelings even though you struggle to try to suppress them and the hopeful part of you reasons that Jisung probably didn’t initiate a kiss because you weren’t exactly sober — but the real reason, and you know this, is that his withdrawal last night was just cherry on top of the  big fat I-don't-feel-the-same-way cake. 

You made the mistake of ruining your friendship because of a stupid confession in the past and you aren't going to make it again, not when you're closer than ever now.

"That's not what I asked."  Minho comments. He is pretty great at appearing intimidating. Or rather, he sees right through you. You can't tell. But he's practically cornered you with his witty questions whilst his perceptive eyes keep an intent watch on you.  Minho had a curious  quality to him when he looked at things, he seemed to notice everything.

You laugh nervously, rubbing your nape when his gaze is practically unblinking in anticipating a reaction. 

"How was your Gimpo trip?" You digress.

 Minho's ears perk up, his eyes blown to big, happy circles, he nods his head excitedly, properly distracted from pressing the previous topic further. 

The conversation fizzles away in a haze, Minho rambles on in a cheerful tone, his eyes glossed over in enthusiasm. He speaks  of his three cats and asks you to commit their names to memory with a dead serious face, moving onto ramble on about his childhood, an entanglement of being the only child who dreamed laboriously of pursuing a career in ballet and succeeded. You listen attentively, not breaking your focus even when he gets up to do the dishes. 

By the time Jisung lazily drapes a towel around his neck, all the while hopping down the stairs, you feel like you've overstayed, digging your feet into the heels from last night while Minho holds the door open for you. 

"Need a ride?" Jisung asks, standing on his toe to look at you from behind Minho. 

 You shake your head, suggesting that you were to take the subway instead, keeping your eyes fixated on your sore feet as a reminder that you're opting for the alternative not by choice but because you don't have the energy to render Sunwoo an explanation of where you'd spent the night at with his constant teasing, Tightening the strap around your leg, while balancing yourself with the free arm, Jisung's long fingers quickly grab onto the underside of your arm, letting you balance your weight whilst posing the question, "You’re coming tomorrow for the group study, right?" You ask.

 It was an uncharacteristic gesture, outright surprising, because of his renowned proficiency in that class, when Jisung suggested that he didn’t understand the volume of topics you were going over.

Jisung glances cautiously at his best friend, who has a stupid smirk on his face for some reason, like he knows something you don't, “Yeah, yeah...” He says, reaching out to pinch your cheek despite your complaint. 

“Are you an alligator?” he calls out, prompting you to shoot a confused look over your shoulder.  "What?"

It's just one of those things Jisung says instinctively, his eccentric humour getting the best of him in silences and you, well, you walked right into this one. 

 "You know...cause I'll see you later!" 

In your peripheral vision, you spot Minho pinching the bridge of his nose at the quip, muttering a quick Jesus Christ.

...

During the day, the portrait is much more confusing. 

It's carefully placed on the paper covered floor, the room smells like fresh paint and sweat. Jisung suggested that you go paint shopping in the  pursuit of looking for a suitable colour to liven up his walls and the end of the semester meant you had enough time to put the purchased product to use. 

There is a blob of red on Jisung's jaw and the colour gets smudged all the way to his cheekbone when he makes an unsuccessful attempt to itch the skin with the back of his palm. You don't tell him this. 

"I bought it from the local display." He breathes out exasperatedly, the paint roller is placed on the paper, "The artist said it was about an unlikely romance or something like that. Looked pretty dope to me too and—"

 "I don't get it." You cock your head to the side and investigate the painting at your feet with an obstinate want to understand how it's supposed to depict love. Or anything that bears semblance to it, you never did have a good eye for art,  "It just looks like they slapped on paint."

 "Look here, dummy!" He slaps your pointer finger jokingly, grumbling under his breath.  Taking your palm and slowly splaying out the digits. Traces the rough pads against its silky texture, a map to somewhere, a blend of blue and pink, silhouettes reaching out for each other when the world intends to tear them apart. 

You sigh, contentedly and think this must be it; because never was love  meant to be understood. 

It was meant to be felt. 

...

"Why do you have that dumb look on your face?"

 Sunwoo speaks, chewing through his snack, his fringe is glued to his forehead in a thick layer of sweat. You aren't surprised. The humidity is skyrocketing. A cut in your salaries have made you compromise the use of your obsolete air conditioner. It's a terribly humid Sunday morning and you're getting ready for a trip to Minho's beach house.

It wasn't hard to convince you. Such was possible because Minho's offer was reiterated through a number of ways and people over the span of last week. Even from Sunwoo. 

He and the rest of the boys have started  to get along pretty well, so well that you often end up acting as an amused spectator, simply watching the boys cosying up to one another while you're effectively camouflaging in the background of utter silence. Your friends  teamed up to produce quips here and there, stopping to chuckle into their napkins, cheeks rubicund like ripe apples whenever you went out for dinner. It was becoming a regular occurrence, at this point. Not that you minded; you genuinely enjoy the time you spend together.

As a final move, Jisung reminded you of your slurred request of wanting to go to the beach, beating the purpose of you claiming you wanted to stay home doing nothing when really you were just looking to avoid encouraging how you felt for him. You constantly found yourself suppressing the desire to want more and the last few weeks had been the toughest because you had trouble ignoring how you felt although you were careful not to show it. Jisung was spending more time with you than usual since you were on summer break and were relieved of your studies for a short while. You couldn't forget that night at his place, the memory made your gut wrench in a desire you couldn't fulfill. 

But  while it was hard being around him, you just knew you couldn't help it.

The trip was, nonetheless, a reminder of how Jisung always gets what he wants, even if it is as easy as snagging his favourite items off of the super store shelf or something which demands  more patience to be possessed, something that needs to be drawn out with unwavering persistence.  

Come to think of it, you never really understood what it means to live like that. 

"What dumb look?" You ask, averting your gaze from your phone, twiddling your thumbs for a response to Jisung's text notifying that they were taking the lead on the journey by setting off earlier than you to set up the place.

 It won't take them as long as it will for you because it's a familiar premise for them. Your arm is starting to hurt from holding up your suitcase.

Sunwoo mimics a grin, stretching the corners of his lips awkwardly and flattening his lips like that of a frog, a string of dried milk sits on his chin to finish off the impression. He points to his face, "This one."

 "I don't know what you're talking about." You roll your eyes, "Hurry up. Jisung messaged me the location." 

Sunwoo nods, then pauses, then his eyes widen, a teasing grin making  its way on his face, insinuating that he finally understood why you packed chocolate cake last minute in spite of you not having a particular preference for the item. "Does he know you have a big puppy crush on him?"

Sunwoo makes up for your social ineptness, amongst other things, and there are times when you don't understand what you'd do without him, times when you're relieved he's your friend even though you're essentially opposites - now is, certainly, not one of those times, now you wish he wasn't so close to you  to have access to this information without telling. 

"Are you hearing yourself? I don't have a crush on him." You lie, glaring at him, when your flatmate ducks his head to display that he didn't quite agree, you groan, 

"I don't!"

…

"Do you take me for an idiot?"

Sunwoo pulls his sunglasses down to pretend to study you, his big brown eyes scrutinising you from head to toe.  The  strong stink of diesel is still emanating  in the air in spite of the image of the gas station being wiped out long ago in your peripheral vision. You kind of like it, it contributes to boosting the anticipation of what was to happen when you reach your destination .

"Oh absolutely..." Sunwoo says, driving in the direction of the beach house the GPS pilots him to, Lauv hums faintly from the dusty speakers, the familiar lyrics filling the air  whilst you unconsciously bobbed your head. The vague distraction allowed Sunwoo to buy time to gather his thoughts, 

 "You need to tell him how you feel before someone else does. You need to tell him how you feel, period."

“I'm not doing that again.” you warn him, he speeds down the highway, your beach hat threatening to fly about under the weight of your hands at the sudden gush of wind. "Need I remind you how it went last time?" 

"Last time was different." 

"How?" 

"You barely even spoke to each other!" He exclaims frustratedly, pointing out the obvious, "Now you're good friends and he seems to feel the same way considering he always puts up with you...like...voluntarily." Sunwoo mocks, looking at the corner of his eye to note that you're rolling your eyes in annoyance, "Maybe Jisung's out of his mind."

"I'm not that bad!" You defend, quieting down once again when the memory of your admission flashes before your eyes in vivid details - the years of distance and silence that stretched between you because of it was hard - if that were to repeat itself now, when you're more used to him that you were before, you don't think you could bear it.  Or maybe you could but you don't want to.

It's enough to just have Jisung around and not be yours than to lose him by admitting.

"I'm not putting us in that position again just because of how I feel. It's kinda selfish, don't you think?" Your statement has a touch of finality to it that shuts Sunwoo right up, he wordlessly pulls up in front of the huge beach house, another jeep and the Comet Convertible is parked; before which far off near the shore, you couldn't help but notice the two unfamiliar figures by the boys, one of them is wearing a bikini, standing incredibly close to Minho, who's setting up their small grill, the other (and it makes your stomach turn) is talking animatedly to Jisung, he nods and smiles in that way that makes you think you'll never quite stop loving him. Chan is holding up his phone to take a picture. 

 Sunwoo honks loudly,  pulling you out of your trance. You can hear the I told you so sitting on the tip of his tongue when he shoots you a look of pity. You don't like it. The way that makes you feel like a toddler who can't keep herself from sticking her fingers into electric sockets in spite of being precisely instructed not to. Now, you think, the ‘I told you’ so would've been much more agreeable to your pathetic but injured emotions.

Jisung snaps his head around fast, raising his lithe digits to the air, waving at you languidly.  The girl spectates the exchange in an engrossed fashion, slowly routing her inquiring  gaze to yours in thought. Not all that seemed black and white is black and white between you.

"Are you coming?" Jisung screams over the noise and distance, away from the spot you're completely frozen in.  

(A pang in your chest tightens. Tightens. Tightens.  And you don't want it to mean something. But it does. It does and it always will.)

...

Minho once learned to set up tepee fires in scout camp, with twigs, a small heap of leaves, wood shavings and loosely screwed newspaper in the centre. Now, he only prides his younger self for setting up the fire once in their backyard and decides roasting marshmallows on the grill demands less of the expertise that he's lost overtime.

"I've actually heard a lot about you before we met." Sunwoo garbles out, clearing his throat.

You've been ignoring Jisung ever since you arrived. Now the group is sat down on the sand, in a misshapen circle, the two girls, now you know their names and the root of their invitation - Junhee and Shoshanna are merely bypassers the boys met when they arrived this morning. They're on a weekend trip like you and their visiting resident is a few houses away from yours. You wanted to act on your peevishness  and groan out a loud What are they still doing here?  everytime Shoshanna took the seat beside Jisung or asked him to set her marshmallows but that would, amongst other things, make you look like a crazy jealous idiot who has no right to step into a situation of that sort, even though Jisung seemed hesitant, cautiously looking at you every now and then. 

Jisung's brows rise and fall, gaze darting between you and your flatmate, surprised, "Is that right?"

Sunwoo laughs, "Yeah."  He chews carefully, trying not to choke, as if the source of his knowledge doesn't need to be pointed out. 

"Only good things I hope."

Skeptical, Jisung glances at you with a cocked brow, in case you oppose but you avoid his gaze, glaring down at charred marshmallow on the tip of the stick and thinking of ways to strangle Sunwoo, who chuckles at the former's apparent doubt, furrowing his eyebrows in bemusement, "Only good things."

"You're on the varsity swim team, right?" 

 With a mouthful of food, Sunwoo poses the question, the grin only widens when Jisung replies with an equally enthusiastic nod. 

"Did you know that this one can't swim?" He points his marshmallow stick at you, keeping his eyes trained on Jisung's surprised face. "I tried to  provide assistance." Sunwoo insists, "But when someone is really bad around water, like screaming at the top of their lungs-I'm going to drown in a kid's pool- bad, it's quite a challenging task."

Minho produces an animalistic laugh at this, patting his thigh like he's rendered a vivid image of your embarrassing experience while Chan shoots you a concerned look, as if sensing an underlying tension in the air that the others can't. You don’t know which one you dislike more.

"I can hear you, you know!"  You scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. Suddenly having lost your appetite. 

Sunwoo widens his eyes, with a hand atop his chest, mocking you,  "Really?"

You open your mouth to continue bickering with him because it was the only way you could hold yourself back from jumping across the sand and grabbing him by his collar in case that should stop him from further embarrassing you, but Jisung  interjects, blinking inquisitively at you.

 Jisung pouts. "It isn't that bad, you'll see, we can go for a swim anytime. That's what's the pool for anyway."

"Sungie,  I could use a swim now. Can we go, please?"  Shoshanna piped up jutting her lip in a way that made her more attractive, she hooked her arm with Jisung, pulling him to her side and he simply blinked at her, surprised by the gesture. Only you called him that  —  when did she pick that up? Why doesn't Jisung seem to mind at all? Are you seriously seeing what you are definitely seeing?

 Without meaning to, you imagine them floating about in the water, while she curled her arms around his neck to keep balance and him leaning down to grin invitingly.  And it feels like you're losing something.

You feel yourself jumping up to your feet. The sudden movement gains the attention of all your friends except Sunwoo, who keens on sparing you the smug grin which insinuates that he sparked the entire conversation intentionally.  You hope the universe would miraculously  render you telepathic powers so he'd start to choke on the stupid marshmallow. 

"Uh...I mean...I gotta." You gulp, "I'm going to go grab a beer."

"Wait."

Jisung frees his arm to get to his feet, powdery sand dusted off of his sweats.

"I'll come with you."

You walk in silence, wrapping your arms around yourself. In your peripheral, you catch the sight of his pockets swelled around the area he stuck his fingers in, you don't think Jisung's ever been that quiet. It makes you feel guilty. You're acting out because you simply can't get a grip and it seems to have taken a toll on him. You want to punch yourself in the face.

 It's not like you desire to stand in the way of his merry-making, it had to happen eventually, right? Jisung is free to get involved with whoever he pleases. He doesn't know how you feel and even if he did, you don't think he would reciprocate. 

And despite everything, your heart still aches for him. 

"Why are you avoiding me?" Jisung  tells you. There's a sadness to his voice that supplies that you can't escape this conversation because you simply cannot stand it when something prevents him from being his happy-go-lucky self. But you can delay it. 

You pull the fridge open slowly, scanning the items, alcohol, milk and a few other things that are necessary to spend the weekend. They definitely were newly bought. 

 Jisung pushes the fridge door wider, sighing, he pulls a can and hands it to you. "If this is about the girls, I'm not-"

"You don't have to explain it to me, Sungi—I mean, Jisung." You stare down at the perspiration collecting between your fingers and  the can, then set it down immediately in fear of it slipping out of your hands. Jisung stiffens at the transition, a faint look of pain flashing in his eyes. What did he do that is so wrong? 

You feel horrible for making him feel bad, aren't you supposed to be an adult? Aren't you supposed to have a strong grapple on your emotions? This isn't good for the two of you, you don't want to hurt him because of how you feel, Jisung needs you to be his friend and you can't accept, even after so long, that that's all you are to him. 

 "I don't think we should be friends anymore."

"What?" He purses his lips, furrowing his eyebrows. "Why?" He provides, raking a frustrated hand through his hair when your mouth parted instead of giving him an answer. "Did I do something? You could have just talked to me about it but..." He muttered shakily, repeating, "Why...this?"

Jisung glares at you, he looks so clueless, angry, blatantly hurt and  it's such a selfish thing to ask of him, the least you can do is be honest with him, though you couldn't fight the annoyance from seeping into your tone because he apparently had not a clue. 

"God, don't you see it?!" You placed a warm hand against your forehead, "I'm...in love with you...I love you, okay?"

You start to panic when the tense expression melts into his  features, replaced by something you couldn't put a finger on, "Don't get me wrong, I don't expect you to reciprocate or anything. It's stupid, I thought I was over you but I'm…I'm not. And I can't...I can't watch you get on with someone who isn't me, especially when…" you trail, preparing to admit the truth to yourself once and for all, "...you don't already love me back. I can't...It'll hurt too much…" 

"So...I think...it's better for the two of us to not continue this friendship anymore." You gulp, your palms shaking by your sides, those words have been taking refuge inside you for too long and saying them makes you feel empty, like you've lost something that keeps you grounded and you'd be aimlessly floating about for the rest of your life. 

"I know I'm asking for too much…"

Jisung interrupts you with a wry laugh, the sound startling you. He never spoke to you that way, not even when you argued before.

"Yeah, you're right, you are."

"Well, I'm sorry."  You breath out. 

He leans closer so your hip presses against the cool counter. He drags his fingers from the exposed skin of your collarbone to your neck, tilting your chin up with his thumb while the remaining digits splay against  your throat, "Sorry doesn't cut it." 

 The kiss sends a chill down your spine, prompting you to straighten up from your slumped position. Your knees feel like jelly, like they could collapse any minute. Jisung deepens the kiss, grazing his teeth along your bottom lip, he props you up on the counter and you sense yourself wrapping your legs around his waist, tugging on to his hair to draw out a groan from him; touching him feels so surreal, even though it's a reminder of just how real everything that's happening is. 

"I…" he breathes heavily, "I love you. I'm in love with you. I didn't know what to do with how I felt and seeing you again...it just made me realise that I couldn't ignore it anymore. There were times when I couldn't help myself, I felt like I needed to see you when I couldn't, so I did, even if it meant I had to lie. I love taking care of you. I love our dumb inside jokes and I love the way we can't go long without talking. Hell, I love everything we do together." He chuckles, "But I didn't say anything because you told me you were over it. I... just assumed you were only interested in being friends with me." You don't think you've properly registered the sentences, maybe it's the suddenness of it all, maybe it's because you've never actually pictured this. You told yourself, this is how it's supposed to be, that Jisung was never supposed to feel the same. Just with that alone, you had axed your own foot, screwed yourself over more than anyone else did.

Jisung's face breaks into a sudden grin, he pecks your pouted mouth. "But I'm glad I was wrong." 

"Did you just kiss me?" You joke, touching his face, tracing your fingers against his cheeks, the skin glossy and pinkish under the touch, his pupils are blown to large black circles, the brown in them barely visible. 

"I don't know, did I?" Jisung deadpans, narrowing his eyes jovially. 

 He eases into the embrace when you slump against him in a tight hug. The chuckle comes out all muffled against the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Hmmm, can't be too sure."

You wrap your arms around his neck, it's like you just can't stop smiling. When you think about it, that's what being around Jisung was like, really. Your digits traverse from the side of his jaw to cup his cheeks, eyes peering into his. You watch as he blinks incredulously, there's something impatient about the way you look at him. Then you tilt your head and kiss him, gathering a faint taste of chapstick whilst your tongue prodded at his bottom lip. 

A low moan thrums against his chest, his mind failing to produce a single coherent thought. Because, God, he knows exactly what you're doing. 

This time the gesture is needy, desperate, as though to convey a strong desire to be completely consumed by him,  to be ruined by him. You raise your hips to brush against his lower abdomen, eliciting a low groan from his throat. 

"Baby not here." He breathes out, gauging your intention whilst resting his forehead atop yours. His palm traces the skin of your thighs, travelling up your sides, a free hand which rests at your neck coming to rest at your jaw. His delicate thumb journeys upwards, tugging your bottom lip out and then slowly retracting the digit. Somehow, the gesture makes his eyes darken even more, if that's possible. "Let's go upstairs."

You're so breathless and shocked and have your head stuck way  so far up  up in the clouds that the statement sounds imperceivable. "What?" You blink dumbly, with your hands on his shoulders.

A husky laugh made reverberates inside his chest, "We can’t...here."

As if on cue, you whimper needily at the weight of the implication. The thought of what is to unfold upstairs making your throat close up. You understood the purpose of his statement, the rest of the boys would soon gather into the beach house because it was getting dark soon, the sky was gargling its throat in the distance too, it would rain and neither of you were keen on PDA.

Jisung's teeth graze along your throat, his fingers around it to keep your head pressed to the door while your thighs are snuggly bracketed around his lithe waist. His need is apparent when he grinds up into your body. You're all but putty under his touch.

It's dark. But you can still make out how absent the room's paraphernalia is, just a bed which is stripped to the bare essentials of a white blanket and scratchy sheet, giving away the fact that visits aren't made too often. You don't care about all that though, Jisung pushes you back against the mattress, pulling his shirt over his head before resuming his position on top of you. 

You can't understand how you kept away from him for so long. 

...

Between your short, bitten and misshapen fingernails, the word Premiere reads on the tickets  in bold red slanted letters. 

You can't believe what was once a figment of your imagination, a rubbish script you wrote whimsically on too much caffeine and too little sleep was going to unfold right before your eyes.

It's crowded inside the subway, you stare at the heads, faces, shirts, jackets, arms and legs and your heart is beating too loud, like you ran a marathon or drove a sports car way past its speed limit, rammed it into a tree and flipped it over.

 All the world's a stage and all men and women merely players.

(You should be scared, you should be scared, you should be scared.)

 Delicate, lithe fingers quickly travel down your palm to squeeze the tense digits at the end, his free hand is rubbing circles on the back of your neck; you stare into those brown eyes and without really thinking, press a quick kiss to his pouting lips, it's difficult, he keeps grinning against your mouth but you pay little attention to those things now. 

"That was a good move, champ." Jisung winks briefly, tracing his thumb along your cheek as he nuzzles his nose against yours, "You always kiss people on the subway?"

You grin, with a slow shake of your head, "Just the hot ones."

(This is a stage. And the passengers are waiting. The Tale Of Two Cities. The couple. The mother. Like that nightmare you used to have. 

But, you think, it doesn't matter now. It doesn't matter anymore. 

Because you've got your silver lining.)

[waestlandbaby]

hi how r u? 1 & 134 for the ask game

Hi! I'm good, uni is kicking my ass as per usual but it's been sunny where I'm at these past few days which is nice

1. a book that is close to your heart?

I'm going to have to say In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan, it's the perfect blend of everything I love to read; fantasy, humour, bisexual protagonist, angst and brains vs brawn. It's also so so comforting in an unexpected way, on the surface it's a satirical criticism of portal fantasy (which in itself is great), but at its heart it's about finding your place in the world and growing up and realising that you don't have to fit other people's expectations to be "good" or "valuable"

134. unreccomend any book you like?

People might hate this (people will definitely agree) but anything written by SJM is an immediate unreccomend for me. And this isn't coming from the fact that it's trendy to trash on her now, I did actually read a fair few of her books when I was a teenager.

First of all, they're pretty boring. I found that it was really hard for me to gel with the writing style and had to actually force myself to keep going or else I'd put them down forget about them for weeks.

Secondly, I absolutely hate how SJM treats the women in her novels. Women are objects for the desire of men. Women are weak and must be protected by a man. Women do not get a say in who they are in a relationship with, they are part of a soulmate bond in the worst possible way. The way women are treated in her books is excused because the people abusing them (and yes it is abuse) are 'non human'. I wouldn't even care if she wrote content like this is she weren't so obviously romanticising abusive relationships and reinforcing negative stereotypes about women. Like if you had a bullet pointed list of what her characters are put through you might actually mistake it for a fantasy take on The Handmaid's Tale, a story with obvious criticism of the things that are portrayed. Unfortunately that is not the case.

In addition to the sexualisation of the abuse SJM has in her books, there's the issue of who her intended audience is. And that is teenagers. I could forgive SJM (incrementally) if she were writing for adults but she isn't. Don't get me wrong in actually don't care if sex is a part of young adult fiction, teenagers have sex, they're aware of what it is. I just think that graphic sexual content that is obviously intended to arouse (erotica if you will) is adult content. There is a difference and there is

SORRY FOR FORGETTING!! I really enjoyed answering these questions but I put it in my drafts (like an idiot) and forgot to post it

If anyone else wants to ask something I just reblogged the questions again :)

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

Music for the Soul

Summary: Soulmate AU where the song your soulmate is thinking of gets stuck in your head. 

This fic is inspired by and gifted to @yellowpaintpots.

Notes:  canonical, this is S2 E6 and a little beyond but it’s not exactly like the show obviously.

AO3

Kurt Hummel was used to not fitting in. At McKinley High, he was often an odd man out. He did partner projects alone, he held his tongue around bullies and had no one to complain to, and most days, he had an entire lunch table to himself. No one sat with the kid in weird, homemade clothes unless there was no other choice. 

What kept him going was music. He had one earbud in as he walked down the halls. Choosing from playlists his mother used to listen to, Broadway soundtracks sung by people still performing on stage today, and to the thrill of his father, rock classics. If Burt Hummel had passed anything onto his son, it was his music tastes and the fantastical idea of soulmates. 

The image of a white knight coming to save him by serenade was one that haunted him before he fell asleep. A boy, which little eleven-year-old Kurt held close to his heart, picked out by the universe meant just for him. Even when he started to find the fantasy a little too cheesy, it kept Kurt going until he found the glee club.

No one could touch him or change him because there was someone out there who would love him exactly the way he was. 

The New Directions were a hot mess when they started, of course. The 5 of them weren’t winning any competitions when they first found themselves in the choir room but they were five misfits who finally had friends. People who understood the passion of music and an adult who shared that same passion and would hopefully guide them to their dream futures. 

Just months later, they became a mixture of a dozen sophomores and freshmen with a Sectionals win under their belt all ready to face the Dalton Academy Warblers in a few weeks. With Regionals looming over them, glee had become much messier than usual. With plenty of in-fighting about solos and song choices, the choir room was always a jumbled, loud mess. That is until Mr. Schue came up with the idea for a school musical. It was taking their minds off of Regionals for the time being.

Kurt was all too happy to be auditioning for a role instead of sitting in the back row wishing he had a shot at a solo. His voice was too unique for Ohio. But someday, he knew, it would get him to Broadway. He held that thought close to his heart while tuning out Rachel’s insistence bickering.  

Yesterday, Mr. Schue had decided their school musical was going to the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Kurt loved cult classics as much as the next person but he wasn’t sure how Mr. Schue had gotten this approved by Figgins. It seemed too risqué for high schoolers. 

He only hoped whoever his soulmate was enjoying the soundtrack he had stuck in his head this week. 

Kurt planned on auditioning for Riff Raff. Already putting mental outfits from his closet to wear. The wound of Mr. Schue assuming he’d play Frank N. Furter based solely on the fact that he was gay was still fresh but his audition was going to blow everyone away. 

He had chosen “Dammit Janet” for his audition despite it being a Brad and Janet duet. Quinn, who was hoping for Magenta, was going to be his partner. They had joked about the main roles already being off the table before auditions; it was clear Mr. Schue had chosen Finn and Rachel for the leads. It was hard to be upset when Quinn had instantly offered to do a joint audition with him. Their voices went so well together and Kurt liked spending time with her. 

Ever since Kurt and Mercedes had their stint as Cheerios, they had gotten closer. The three of them even had a weekend sleepover this past Saturday. Mercedes had dumped the Cheerios but Kurt stayed on and Quinn had just gotten back on the squad after her dismissal last year. Coach Sue had them sing during practice last week and Quinn was waiting for him after their showers with the suggestion of a double audition song. 

They had been having rehearsals in the auditorium during their shared free period and twice after glee club on days when it wasn’t already reserved. As the day came closer, Quinn offered her house to practice in since her parents were rarely home and so Finn wouldn’t become Rachel's spy. Though, Kurt assured her Finn was much too engrossed in video games to bother with their rehearsals. 

Since they increased their run-throughs, Kurt’s had one song in his head all morning. In case the lyrics weren’t already ingrained into his head, he had his own little concert in his head. Just after lunch, that changed. A mere 3 hours until his audition after school his soulmate’s music had taken root. As much as Kurt was willing to bow down to the queens of pop, what he wouldn’t give for 5 minutes of something other than Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream”. This bubble gum pop song had gone from ‘oh, that’s a good song to scream in the car’ to ‘if I hear it one more time, I’ll rip my ears off’ fairly quickly. 

It hadn’t helped that his brain went from one song on repeat to another. 

As he sits in geometry, he tries to hear Mr. Finnegan’s explanation of arcs but his brain has other plans. 

Let you put your hands on me in my skin tight jeans. 

Kurt knows it’s just a song but the image is so clear in his head. 

Smooth, soft skin. Obviously, someone who used lotions regularly, Kurt expected nothing less from his soulmate. Neatly trimmed fingernails so they wouldn’t catch on Kurt’s pants when fingers trailed up to cup his knee. The grip would be teasingly light. He never let his fantasies get too far. Especially outside the privacy of his bedroom. In all honesty, even when he was alone in his bed at night envisioning the same kind of scenario, Kurt didn’t really know what came next. He wasn’t even sure what kissing really entailed. 

What if his soulmate is ready for...certain things...Kurt’s not even to verbalize yet. What if he’s imagining their first meeting very differently then Kurt, who’s hopeful they’ll have coffee or a meal together before they do anything besides maybe hand-holding. The touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets, unless you ask Katy Perry it seems. 

He spends the rest of math wondering what the boy with Katy Perry in his head must look like. Kurt wonders if his soulmate wears bright colors like his idol or maybe Katy is a secret shame that he’ll only share with Kurt. 

…

Blaine liked fitting in. He enjoyed the uniform for many reasons. One, he thought the blazer looked stylish. It was also nice knowing what you had to wear every day, one less thing to worry about people judging you for. Plenty of people at his old school picked on him for his bow ties but at Dalton, everyone had neckwear. The standard blue and red striped tie. He liked how neat it was; there was a certain way to wear said uniform. 

Everyone was the same here. No typical hierarchy of jocks and cheerleaders. Only the Warblers stood out simply because everyone knew them. 

How could you forget a group of boys singing acapella at all hours of the day?

 Blaine might joke that they’re teenage rockstars but really they are just a group of talented guys who liked to sing. 

The Warblers were the first real friends he ever had. 

When he was still attending public school he held tightly to the idea of his soulmate since it seemed hopeless to wish for friendship. Not when he was being harassed for a sexuality he wasn’t sure of yet and being pushed to the ground in the parking lot for it. 

But a soulmate was a guarantee. Everyone had one. By the time Blaine reached eighth grade, he knew. All of those middle school bullies had used words Blaine didn’t quite understand until that moment. 

He was surrounded in the parking lot after school having missed his bus because someone had stuck gum in his curls during last period. That was the day Blaine started to seriously consider investing in some gel. Maybe that would prevent some bullying. Anyway, he was surrounded, being literally kicked around by a group of soccer players and friends. 

Other students had gathered to watch the so-called fight but Blaine thought their chants would only grab the attention of a teacher or so he hoped. No one came quickly. He had enough injuries by the end for his mom to insist on a trip to the ER. A big black eye and sprained his wrist along with plenty of bruising on his limbs. 

But he honestly didn’t remember getting hurt beyond the initial pushing to the ground. When the bullying got bad like this he pulled out those daydreams. This time around it wasn’t this blurry image of hand holding, there was a boy. Blaine hadn’t seen his face but his voice was soft and comforting, inviting Blaine in. There was an outstretched hand just out of reach for Blaine to take. Blaine knew then. His soulmate was a boy. 

When everything was over and he was being released by the doctor, all he knew was there was some boy built perfectly for Blaine just waiting to be found. Waiting for him. 

He hadn’t even been upset by his injuries because he was sitting with these thoughts of ‘how do I come out to my parents?’ 

Instead of deciding that day, he kept those daydreams close to his heart for the next year and a half. Until the issue of high school came out and Blaine didn’t want to go back to public school. To his surprise, both of his parents took it well. They were more concerned for his safety than his sexuality. Together, they decided on Dalton. A private school with a zero tolerance policy for bullies. That was that. 

He still had his doubts at Dalton. Was he really good enough to be a lead soloist let alone go onto Broadway someday? Could he make it out of Ohio? In those moments, Blaine still came back to his soulmate. Someone, no matter what came, Blaine would have by his side. 

When he imagined his soulmate, Blaine could never truly figure out what he’d look like. All he saw was that outstretched hand. Usually, people could draw up a picture in their heads based on the music they heard. 

For Blaine, the genre of music didn’t help. His soulmate was clearly someone with mixed taste. 

Today’s selection was...a musical. Blaine wasn’t familiar with the characters Brad and Janet but he had looked it up at lunch. Some kind of cult classic people went to see in the weeks leading up to Halloween. It was October so it made sense for the soundtrack to be stuck in his soulmate’s head. Blaine wondered if he had gone to see it, wondered who he saw it with. 

The Warblers thought he was crazy. Imagining that his soulmate was off with some other person. It was rare to date seriously before meeting a soulmate but Blaine always told them the same story of his parents. Both of them had been in very serious relationships before they met. Hell, his mother had been engaged. Neither of them thought they’d meet their soulmate, which was also fairly rare but had happened.  

When they met, they didn’t drop everything to be together. The wedding was put on hold but his father hadn’t broken up with his girlfriend right away. His parents wanted to be together only if they agreed with the universe’s choice. 

Blaine knew his dad had been wary of his mother’s music taste. Pam had been deep into her metal phrase in her early twenties. His dad, Robert, was not a fan. He loved classical music. Forever dooming Pam to hum music without lyrics meanwhile Robert was cursed with “nonsense yelling” as he called it. Lucky, both of their music tastes had shifted over the years to have more overlap. Though, Blaine and Cooper had been subjected to dinners with a mixtape of Def Leppard and Bach. 

They got together in the end, which was the important part, but what if they hadn’t chosen each other? What if Blaine’s soulmate was deeply in love with someone else and he’d spend the rest of his days loveless and alone?

When he voiced these thoughts aloud, his friends usually told him what a downer he could be, which tended to shake those fears away. If his parents, different as they were, still fell in love it would happen to him too. It was just a matter of when. 

…

The next day at lunch, Mercedes was fretting over her soulmate. 

“What if he’s super young, Kurt?” 

“What makes you think that?” He asked, stabbing his salad. 

“He’s got The Backyardigans theme song in his head again,” she sighed. “He got to be like 7. I’m just not comfortable with that.” 

“It’s an age gap for sure,” Kurt agreed, but he’s fairly sure Sam Evans was singing that song after PE today, “or maybe he just has younger siblings. Don’t let your only-childness cloud your judgment.”

She hummed in agreement and pushed her tater tots around. 

It was sort of a hard way to figure out your soulmate unless they were obvious about what music they had playing in their heads.

Some people, like Mr. Schue, we’re pretty obvious. He had been singing in the auditorium when Ms. Pillsbury found him. It was a pretty clear-cut match. As far as Mercedes was concerned, Kurt is sure she’ll overhear Sam’s humming soon enough. 

He doesn’t want to spoil anything for his best friend nor does he want to be wrong. Soulmate meetings only come once in a lifetime. 

Well, the first soulmate meeting that is. 

There are plenty of people, like his dad, who lose a soulmate too soon and are gifted another one later in life. Kurt was so happy when he introduced Burt and Carole at parent-teacher conferences. They had just been listening to the Wicked soundtrack in the car ride over and Carole Hudson did not strike Kurt as the type of person who knew “I’m Not That Girl” by heart. 

“Are you nervous about auditions?” Mercedes asked. “The list goes up today after glee.” 

“Not at all like,” he shrugged, “I think Quinn and I did well.” 

“Oh no, Kurt, we crushed it,” Quinn said, sitting down with her lunch. 

He smiled at her. Quinn went on to compliment Mercedes on her audition, having heard part of it from outside the audition. She would’ve been inside with Kurt to watch but Coach Sue wanted to meet with her head Cheerio about their upcoming competition. From what Quinn had told them via text, Sue was going all out at practice today. 

“She doesn’t want us to be late,” Quinn said. “That list better be up right away.” 

“We should change before glee,” Kurt suggested. 

“Good idea.” 

Once Quinn had sat down the rest of the New Directions filed in. With interlocking pinkies, Santana and Brittany wandered over taking the last two seats available. 

“Cheerios practice is gonna be hell, hope you’re up for the challenge Hummel,” Santana said. 

He shot her a short glare. 

“Kurt always understands the assignment, Santana,” Quinn quipped back. 

Brittany nodded in agreement smiling at Kurt from across the table. She gave him a small wave half hidden by her lunch tray. In return, Kurt waved back just as shyly. 

They had an interesting friendship. Kurt had kissed Brittany before. He was sure it hadn’t phrased Brittany as it had him. After all, she had kissed almost every boy in school. Some kind of record, he thought. 

They sort of dated for like a week when Kurt was trying to convince himself he was straight. When he firmly realized he was kidding no one, not even himself, they broke up. Since then, he and Brittany had remained close. They were both Cheerios and in the glee club, it made sense. 

He was happy to have Brittany in his life, even if that meant Santana by extension came with her. Santana was fine outside of the public eye. If the Unholy Trinity incited Kurt to their sleepovers, Santana was a different person. She put up a front at McKinley, extremely similar to the one Kurt attempted when he dated Brittany. 

Few are privy to why she did this, Quinn and Kurt knew and he was fairly certain Mercedes did as well. She was very perceptive that way. Brittany was Santana’s soulmate. It explained so much about their relationship. Always in sync, completing each other perfectly, a literal better half.

Honestly, it gave Kurt so much hope that everyone’s soulmate was like that. A missing puzzle piece. 

He really hoped his soulmate listened to more than just Teenage Dream because the lyrics were slowly creeping into his everyday language. 

Usually, Kurt found himself hyper-focused in glee club. He got an energy boost just from walking into the choir room. Like a light switch turning on. His focus wasn’t always on whatever lecture Mr. Schue was pursuing, sometimes he watched his fellow glee clubbers (catching himself up on drama just by sideways glances), or mentally mapping out his next performance. 

Today, Kurt wasn’t able to do any of those things. With the soundtrack of Teenage Dream (again) in his head, all he was thinking about was the center of a bulletin board with the cast list for The Rocky Horror Show on it. How far down the list was Riff Raff? How many names came before his?

Someone was snapping in front of his face. Kurt shook himself from his daydream to find Mercedes.

“Boy, wake up!” She said, “cast list is about to go up.” 

Either glee club had gotten shorter or Mr. Schue was putting it up early. 

…

Blaine didn’t really understand why the Warblers were concerned. Doing an improv performance was not new to them. In fact, Blaine had done three already this school year and he was only a freshman. 

The first one he did had been way back in September, he hadn’t even been an official Warbler yet. Warbler Tradition said: all potential freshman recruits were required to perform again after their auditions with the whole group. It was a solid way to see if they fit in well with the other established Warblers. Blaine fondly remembers vibing along with the older Warblers and fellow potentials to a medley of Pink songs. None of the freshmen had solos but it was still a fun time. 

At the time it seemed like all of Dalton fit into the choir room and surrounding hallways but in reality it was the entire freshman class. Improv performances weren’t something any middle schooler had seen before but the upperclassmen of Dalton knew the Warblers had plenty of improvs to come for the rest of the school year. The first one was special. Just for the newbies. 

Three days after that performance, Blaine had gotten word that he was to be a new Warbler and two months after that he was granted his first solo. Now, he was slowly becoming their go-to soloist for almost every performance for an audience. Blaine had become a vital part of all rehearsals for the most part. He was honored by their commitment to him honestly and he loved to sing however, a week and half of preparations was a tad excessive. Still, he walked his way to rehearsal positive that the council would have at least five points to discuss before they actually started singing. 

He walked into the choir room shaking his shake fondly and smiling at the Warblers already present. 

The council were always first to arrive. Together. Then it was a mixed bag of who followed. Usually Trent was there, punctual as always, and Blaine took the seat between Trent and Jeff. 

The room was mostly full already. 

Nick came in shortly after Blaine and sat across from him immediately asking if there had been a pop quiz in Stanton’s class earlier and was rather relieved to find out Jeremy was a filthy liar, who liked to start trouble. Before Jeremy could get on Blaine’s case about being overly sincere, the meeting began. 

Wes banged his gavel and welcomed everyone before gesturing for David to read off last meeting’s notes. Once the talking portion of the meeting was over, they pushed the furniture aside to make room. 

...

A week later Kurt was happy to have one musical under his belt but thankful the performance run had been short. If you thought the New Directions were dramatic during competition weeks, it was nothing compared to their musical rehearsals. 

Now, Mr. Schue was having the brilliant idea to host a boys vs girls competition. Of course, Kurt hadn’t wanted to work with the boys. They were sure to exclude his musical talents and he doubted he could get them to agree to any of his costume suggestions. 

This was hardly a challenge. It was bland and they had done it already. 

Kurt was sitting in the back of the choir room pouting. Yes, pouting. Full on arms crossed, head down, and bottom lip puffed out. Until, Mr. Schue had an actual brilliant idea, Kurt’s suggestion of course, to spice things up. 

The boys did not appreciate Kurt’s six hours of work putting two posters together. Even with the assignment to bring more feminine qualities into their performance, the boys ignored his input. So, when Puckerman suggested Kurt spy on the Warblers, he was thankful for a reason to leave. He packed up his projects and headed home to change.

When Mr. Schue found out who their competition was, Rachel and Kurt did some googling. He had seen the all-boys school uniform and was fairly sure he could replicate it with clothes he already had. 

He pulled some looks from his closet. Once satisfied he looked up directions to Westerville. 

Dalton was huge. It looked like a museum. How on earth was Kurt going to find their choir room? He hoped there were signs inside or a map. 

As he walked down a spiral staircase much too pretty to be in a school, he decided to just ask for directions. He was going to get lost if he kept walking without help. 

When the boy he stopped turned around, all Kurt could think was ‘I’d love to put my hands all over you.’ Which was a ridiculous thought to have because he didn’t know this boy and where had that even come from? Oh right, Teenage Dream was still playing in his head. Thanks, Katy. 

If only his soulmate knew he was using this song to fantasize about running off into the sunset with another boy. 

…

Blaine loved being in the spotlight. Wes would say it was because he didn’t get that kind of attention from his parents but that simply wasn’t true. Well, unless Cooper was around; he always pulled focus when it came to their parents. Older sibling privilege, he assumed. 

But he was running late. He stayed behind in class to ask a question which turned into his teacher rambling. Didn’t he know the Warblers had a performance today in the senior commons and Blaine was their lead singer? 

He was checking the time when someone stopped him on the stairs. 

A beautiful boy. Unlike anyone Blaine had ever seen before. He almost missed his name because he was caught up in memorizing his face. 

There was something said about being new, which Blaine doubted since he wasn’t in uniform, and Blaine mentioned a shortcut he knew of. 

It wasn’t really a shortcut. More like the long way to the Senior Commons but less crowded. Everyone was making their way to the Warblers and Blaine wanted as much time alone with Kurt as he could get. 

He wanted Kurt’s full attention. It was no wonder he instantly wanted to show off. Teenage Dream fit his vocals perfectly and Kurt was an excellent audience. In fact, Blaine was set on serenading him. 

He had no way of knowing that exact song had been playing all day long in Kurt Hummel’s mind. 

Afterward, Blaine lost himself in a group hug from the Warblers but Kurt’s beaming smile caught his eye. He pulled Wes and David aside, confirming his own suspicions that Kurt was spying on them first before convincing them to invite Kurt for coffee. 

The four boys sat at a table. Kurt seemed very nervous now. Blaine wasn’t sure if it was because he had been caught or something else was going on. In the end, Blaine thought it best for just him and Kurt to have a conversation. Not at all because he wanted alone time with him. 

This clearly wasn’t the time or place for romance. 

Once they were alone the whole tale seemed to flow out of Kurt: the name calling, locker shoving, his biggest bully. Blaine could relate. 

Sometimes he felt phantom pains in his right leg from Sadie Hawkins. At first, Kurt scoffed when Blaine began sympathizing. If he were Kurt, he might not believe himself. 

Private schoolboy bullied? Blaine sure didn’t look like someone who lacked friends. It was fairly common knowledge that Dalton had a zero tolerance policy for harassment. So, he explained. As brief as he could about his own experience with public school bullies. 

Kurt and he seemed to have more in common than a love for music. 

He doesn't have any plans to see Kurt again though Blaine has plenty of ideas on how they could get together. Coffee at the Lima Bean. Old musicals were playing at the revival theater. Maybe another high school was putting on a play this weekend. All Blaine needed was a good enough message to ask Kurt out. He drafted plenty but none sent. 

After school, Blaine knew Kurt might need an extra push. He was pretty sure classes at McKinley were done for the day. 

He sent a single word. Less second-guessing that way. 

Courage. 

Then, he walked to the library to start writing an essay on Lord of the Flies for English. 

However, he found himself unable to concentrate. Usually after a performance, Blaine had the song stuck in his head for at least a day or two afterward. In addition to humming in the weeks of rehearsals, of course. Instead, Blaine found himself thinking about Start Me Up by the Rolling Stones and oddly Livin’ On a Prayer. Both songs he thought better suited his father or Cooper’s tastes. It was a mashup of the two songs like his soulmate was hearing them simultaneously. 

When he started thinking about his soulmate, there was a clear picture of someone. It didn’t take long for Blaine to bring up those blue eyes and the soft complexion of Kurt Hummel. Which was crazy thinking. He had no idea if Kurt was his soulmate. 

Soulmates tended to be around the same age but just because Kurt was also in high school meant nothing. By that logic anyone at Dalton could be his soulmate too. 

During his brief time with Kurt this week, Blaine heard no music from his mouth. In fact, Blaine had done all the singing. Even with half his brain saying he was nuts to think Kurt was his forever, Blaine couldn’t let the thought go. 

…

Blaine’s text comes in in the midst of the girls’ performance. A wonderful mashup and excellent costumes. Tina had texted Kurt about the leather jacket idea early this week. He was very proud of how they managed to pull the looks together in such a short time. It was impressive. 

Altogether, Kurt was feeling great. The boys had their rehearsal, apparently their performance was turning into an apology. Kurt wasn’t sure what they had done to Coach Beiste but apparently, she was quitting. He and Blaine were texting periodically now. No one knew it but Kurt was surely developing a huge crush on the Warbler boy. 

Then, he confronted Karofsky. He didn’t want to feel the same regret Blaine did—no one messes with the Hummels. 

It seemed like mere hours but in reality, it was days, Kurt was enrolled at Dalton and saying goodbye to the New Directions. 

He was full on having a Vanessa leaving Troy moment here. Kurt Hummel has got to go his own way. 

God was he nervous to start at a new school. In the middle of the school year too. Being the new kid was going to be hard but not as difficult as staying at McKinley would be. 

When Kurt was greeted by Blaine’s smile outside the office on his first day, it made Kurt relax. At least he already had a friend here. 

It isn’t until they’re walking down the hall together—Blaine insisted on escorting Kurt to his first class—that Kurt noticed Blaine was humming.

“Is that High School Musical?” Kurt asked. 

“Oh, um, technically it’s the sequel.” 

“What about us…” Blaine sang, “what about everything we’ve been through?” 

“What about trust…you know I’ve never wanted to hurt you?” 

Blaine chucked. “Cheesy but true. Such a good movie.” 

“We should watch it sometime,” Kurt suggested. 

Instantly, he wanted to take it back. He’s been told he can come on too strong. Especially around cute boys. 

“I’d love too!” Blaine said. “I have it on DVD.” 

Kurt doesn’t see Blaine again until their one shared class of the day right before lunch. He sits across the room from Blaine during history but next to him at the Warbler’s lunch table. 

Most of the group has the same lunch so Kurt is introduced to them before his audition later this afternoon. 

“Nervous?” Wes asked, “you shouldn’t be.” 

“Yeah, from what Blaine's told us you're a great singer,” Trent added. 

“He’s barely heard me sing,” Kurt replied, poking Blaine’s arm. 

He only sang one line of a song to the other boy today. 

“Well…” Blaine rubs his neck abashedly. “I might’ve watched some New Directions videos on YouTube.” 

“Oh, I forgot Rachel uploaded those.” Kurt tunes to the other Warblers then, “I hope I don’t disappoint.” 

After lunch, Blaine walks Kurt to class again. “Between you and me, you’re a shoo-in.” 

“Really?” The Warblers were such an esteemed group. Not at all like the disorganized New Directions. They had also been a glee club for far longer. 

“Really.” 

***

Blaine has had High School Musical songs in his head all day. Whoever his soulmate is, at least he’s got good taste in Disney Channel original movies. Then as the Warblers were preparing for Kurt’s audition, the song switched. An Evita song. 

His soulmate sure did love musicals. Blaine was rather happy about that. He could already picture them sitting on the couch cuddled under a fluffy blanket with any number of classic musicals laid out before them. Arguing over if it was too soon to rewatch Moulin Rouge and whose turn it was to make popcorn. 

They’d be in a big city apartment. Somewhere where no one cared if they were gay. All anyone wanted to know was how they discovered they were soulmates. Their origin story. 

From that point, the daydream grew fuzzy. Blaine couldn’t come up with that meet-cute story. It hadn’t happened yet and nothing his brain could come up with would ever match up with his future reality. 

He shook his head, bringing himself back to the choir room. 

The room was buzzing with excitement. It wasn’t every day the Warblers auditioned someone mid-semester. Of course, Kurt had special circumstances but the group was notorious for never breaking tradition. 

Blaine tried to focus but it was difficult without Kurt at his side. Lately, he had been distracted whenever Kurt wasn’t around. All Blaine could hear, despite the loud room, was the song in his head. 

I had to let it happen

I had to change

Then, Kurt walked in and music started to play. For a split second, Blaine thought he was imagining the words from “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” coming from Kurt’s lips. Surely he hadn’t chosen the same song as Blaine’s soulmate had in their head. He knew it couldn’t be his imagination when Trent leaned over and whispered to Blaine how much he loved this song. 

Like lightning striking a tree, Blaine had a realization. Kurt Hummel was his soulmate. 

Oh god, what was he going to do? 

His skin was burning as if it was burned away like bark. He drooped in his seat desperate for water to put himself out with. To put a stop to the tingling sensation bubbling up under his skin. 

All he wanted to do was reach out and touch Kurt. Some part of his brain was able to override that thought. He couldn’t ruin this audition for him. There was plenty of time to spend with Kurt after this, Blaine had all the time in the world to talk with his soulmate.

Soulmate.  

Never did he think he would find his soulmate this soon. Gosh, they were only teenagers. They had so much life to live together. This was rare, special, to find your soulmate so quickly in life. Blaine would cherish it, he’d be thankful for this gift for rest of his days. 

But how in the hell was he going to tell Kurt? It had to be romantic. Blaine always thought it would be when he finally came face to face with his soulmate, his one true love. There was so much work to be done and so little time to do it. Now that Blaine knew, he didn’t want to spend another day without Kurt knowing too. 

He used to dream about running dramatically in slow motion towards each other and embracing just as it started to rain, which of course led to a fabulous first kiss in the sudden storm. But Blaine knew how unlikely that would be. 

He’d just have to build a new fantasy, which he thought would be easy to do if Kurt was his so-called Prince Charming. Whatever happened was going to outweigh everything his imagination had come up with thus far. 

First and foremost, he’d had to sit through a discussion of this audition, which he was barely able to pay attention to. All he wanted to do was walk up to Kurt, cup his face, and kiss him. After Kurt was finished, the council dismissed him. Blaine knew he’d find Kurt just outside the choir room because they had plans afterward but now he had no idea how he was going to sit through coffee with Kurt and not tell him. 

“He’s very good,” Trent said, nudging Blaine. 

He nodded in agreement. It seems most of the group concurred, Kurt was a good fit for them. 

Kurt Hummel was the perfect fit for Blaine too. Even if he didn’t know it yet. 

***

Kurt didn’t consider himself to be a good reader of social cues especially when his own emotions were involved. See, Finn Hudson and Sam Evans. Crushes on straight boys never ended well. With Blaine, he swore things would be different. 

They were friends, classmates, and hopefully, soon they’d be fellow Warblers. Kurt was not going to mess this up. Even if Blaine was really cute and friendly and super kind and understanding. There was so much to love about Blaine, Kurt found it hard to find something he didn’t like. 

He had found focusing on his dislikes of a person kept his feelings at bay. Like how messy Finn could be really shut down any romance fantasy Kurt had drawn up. Except, Blaine didn’t dye his hair like Sam, he was completely organized (Kurt had seen his dorm room; spotless), he was modest and genuine. 

It made sense that everyone at Dalton wanted some of his attention. Blaine embodied Kurt’s idea of a gentleman and then some. 

After his audition, Kurt sat outside the choir room waiting for his results. The council would discuss with the full group, release them, and regroup tomorrow with a vote. Kurt was waiting for Blaine to be dismissed because Blaine had promised to buy him a cup of coffee. 

Some of the Warblers who were leaving had some pretty nice things to say about Kurt’s performance. Just general praise which soothes some of his initial nerves. Mostly, he just wanted Blaine to walk out with a big smile on his face. That boy couldn’t keep a secret. Kurt would know if he was in or not just by looking at his face. 

Kurt was joined on his bench by a boy who introduced himself as Duncan. 

“I was super nervous after my audition. I just got in at the beginning of this year so I know what you’re going through.” 

Kurt felt his shoulders drop in relief. As much as Blaine tried to assure him the audition would be perfect, Kurt felt like he couldn’t relate much as the star of the glee club. Back at McKinley, Kurt rarely had center stage. Here, Blaine always had everyone’s attention. 

“That’s actually great to hear,” Kurt said, with a slight chuckle. 

“Seriously, Kurt, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m a little concerned they’ll kick me out just to have your voice,” Duncan teased. 

They keep talking about what it’s like to be a new Warbler since Duncan is positive Kurt will be getting good news shortly. He offers up some pointers to get on the council’s good side. 

“I loved your song choice by the way, so weird because Evita had been in my head all day.” 

It feels like someone’s dropped an ice cube down his back. He sits up quickly. 

Oh, Kurt thought, is this it? 

“You did?” He must’ve heard wrong. There’s just no way. 

“Yeah, I love that musical,” Duncan confirmed. 

Could it be this easy? He wondered. 

“We should hang out again soon,” Duncan told him, “I’d love to get to know you. Newbie Warblers gotta stick together.” 

Kurt gives Duncan his number before the other boy wanders off. Before Kurt can get too deep into any fantasies of his soulmate, wondering if that soulmate has just left him or not, Blaine comes out from the choir room. 

“Hey you,” Blaine greeted with a big smile. 

“Are you allowed to give me any inclination?” 

He shook his head but was still smiling wide which made Kurt feel like good news was in his near future like Duncan had said. Kurt was telling Blaine how long he had practiced the song over the weekend with Rachel and Duncan reassurances when Blaine blurted, “Duncan Samuels?” 

“Yeah, we just met.” 

Should he tell Blaine about them being soulmates or wait until he was sure? 

But Blaine just nodded. Something was clearly bothering his friend. For now, Kurt was going to let it go because he was sure Blaine would come to him if he wanted to talk. He didn’t want to force it out of Blaine. 

Kurt couldn’t even get Finn to talk to him during their warm milk chats at night. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull the information out of Blaine if he tried.

“Anyway,” Kurt said, continuing his previous line of thought, “Rachel has this whole stage setup in her dads’ basement.” 

“I don’t find that hard to believe based on everything you’ve told me about her.” 

After that comment, their coffee date is back on track, Kurt doesn’t bring up his potential soulmate meeting. 

***

Duncan Samuels was his lifelong nemesis. As far as Blaine was considered his life began when he figured out Kurt was his soulmate and if Duncan was going to interfere with that they were now enemies. Since their coffee date yesterday, Blaine hasn’t heard a word about Duncan but he also had yet to see Kurt today. They only had one class together after lunch, which Blaine was on his way to now. 

Kurt saved him a seat and delivered the news. 

“Duncan and I are going for coffee today.” 

Those words were devastating. 

In normal circumstances, Blaine would’ve asked Kurt why he wasn’t going to rehearsal but of course Kurt wasn’t a Warbler…yet. Blaine knew the Warblers were going to announce Kurt’s membership at the end of day, which meant this was the last rehearsal Kurt wouldn’t attend. 

So instead of a calmly said, normal statement, Blaine spent the next minute freaking out. 

Duncan was the worst! He was going to steal Kurt away from him before Blaine ever got the chance. Well okay, the rational side of him thought, Kurt isn’t being stolen he’s going willingly. 

“That’s nice,” he finally said. 

There was no way for Blaine to stop Kurt and honestly no reason to try since Duncan posed no threat to Kurt. He didn’t need a protector. Blaine knew they were soulmates and he’d find a way to tell Kurt later on. At the end of it all, Kurt was his soulmate. He just knew it. 

“Are you free when I get out of rehearsal?” 

“For you?” Kurt asked, “of course, I’ll probably still be in the cafe.” 

“I’ll come find you,” Blaine told him. 

Still, all throughout Warbler rehearsal, Blaine’s attention was elsewhere. He needed to get out of here and meet up with Kurt. Wes knew it too because he pulled him aside at one point while David ushered the guys into a new arrangement.

“What’s up with you?” He asked, “I need you focused for competition.” 

“I will be,” he vowed. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

Blaine looked back at the other boys but they were already harmonizing. 

“It’s Kurt.” 

Wes smiled. “Don’t worry about him. He’s in, I can’t believe we have a countertenor on our team now. We’re going to wipe the floor at regionals.” 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Wesley. McKinley already knows what a talent Kurt is, he won’t be a surprise to them,” Blaine reminded him. 

“Ah, but they didn’t utilize his talent,” Wes said, “it’ll shock them to see Kurt in the spotlight.” 

Wes patted Blaine’s back and guided him back to the group to finish up rehearsal. 

Blaine couldn’t help but check his phone again before he tuned back into rehearsal. He knew Kurt was getting coffee and that’s why he wasn’t answering his phone. 

One of the best things about Kurt was when you were with him everything else was put aside. Blaine was sure if things got really serious, Kurt would shut his phone off entirely to prove a point. Right now, it was annoying as hell. Blaine needed to see a reassuring text that Kurt wasn’t running off into the sunset with Duncan Samuels. 

What if his phone was turned off because the two of them were standing at the altar? Everyone turns their phones off in church. 

He really really needed to talk to him. Blaine didn’t want to be the type of soulmate that holds onto that information too long. It’s like he’s lying to himself not being with Kurt. 

Once rehearsal was finally over, Blaine rushed over to the on-campus cafe where he knew Kurt would be. He had to be there. 

When Blaine pushed his way through the door, he saw Kurt was sitting alone nursing what looked to be a cup of tea. When Blaine approached him he could tell it was Chamomile. 

“Can I sit?” 

Kurt nodded but didn’t say a word as Blaine hung his bag across the back of the chair and removed his blazer. 

He expected a question about the Warblers, perhaps an inquiry about his status to become one but nothing came. Kurt wasn’t even drinking his tea. 

“What’s wrong? Did Duncan say something to upset you?”

“I’m fine, Blaine,” Kurt said, “Duncan didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me as usual.” 

Blaine didn’t understand. 

“Am I that unlovable?” 

“What?” 

Kurt was the most kind, sincere person he knew and Blaine had only met him a few weeks ago. He was most certainly lovable considering Blaine fell for him in just under 3 weeks 

“I can’t really blame him,” Kurt continued, “it’s not his fault we aren’t soulmates.” 

“You thought he was your soulmate?” 

Maybe telling Kurt wouldn’t be too difficult after all. 

“It’s just he made this comment yesterday that made me think…but of course I got too ahead of myself again and really I should know by now,” Kurt mumbled the last bit, “nothing ever goes to plan.” 

“You can say that again.” 

This cafe wasn’t a romantic candlelit dinner. He didn’t have rose petals to scatter around. There was no champagne to toast. But he had the most important thing. 

Blaine reached across the table to grab Kurt’s hand. “Think of a song.” 

“Why?” 

“Just do it,” Blaine said. 

Kurt’s face was scrunched up in a “I’m confused but I’ll trust you” kind of way. 

As soon as the song hit him, Blaine opened his mouth to sing, “this could be the start of something new…it feels so right to be here with you.”

“How did you—?” 

Blaine smiled at him. “Pick another song.” 

“Your cares and troubles are gone. They'll be no more from now on.”

His mouth opens slightly. 

“Your turn,” Blaine said, “ I want you to sing what comes to mind.” 

Wasn’t the best way to prove they were soulmates to test each other? 

Blaine wanted Kurt to have his own moment of realization even if he engineered it. He didn’t want their “how-did-you-know” story to be him informing Kurt about their connection. Instead, he wanted to tell people about listening to Kurt’s Warbler audition and thinking how odd it was to know the song he was going to sing before it began. Kurt’s story would start with a laugh because he imagined someone other than Blaine as his soulmate the very same day. 

And wasn’t that just so silly of him? 

Rather than have Kurt just sing to him, Blaine harmonized with him. This was the proof. He’d sing everything Kurt could come up with and vice versa. 

“But baby, can't you see there's nothing else for me to do? I'm hopelessly devoted to you.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said. “We’re….”

He nodded. 

Before Blaine even realized it, Kurt was out of his seat leaning towards him, they’re kissing. Kurt’s fingers are curved around his chin and his other hand is tickling the curls at the back of his neck. The tiny wisps of hair that always escape the gel by the late afternoon. 

Blaine would happily keep his curls loose if it meant Kurt would keep his hands in his hair always. Especially, if it meant they’d never stop kissing. 

Eventually, Kurt has to pull away. They’re still close enough to feel each other’s breath. 

“Soulmates,” Blaine whispered. 

It had been quiet while they kissed like everything else in the world just stopped. All the sounds of Dalton came rushing back all at once. The students in the halls, coffee orders being called out, and the shuffling of chairs as people came and went. 

“When did you know?” Kurt asked, sitting down again. 

Blaine pulled his seat around so they were closer and Kurt immediately reached for his hand. 

***

3 months later. 

Blaine hadn’t been upset to lose to McKinley at Regionals. How could he have been when he got to sing with his soulmate in front of a crowd? Their duet was so in sync and the crowd could tell. He doesn’t think he ever received such a loud applause. 

Blaine had wanted to just be in that moment forever—staring into Kurt’s eyes hearing the words in his head just before they were said aloud, gripping his hand before pushing him into the spotlight to soak up the audience’s love. 

No, Blaine was happy about Regionals. The Warblers had worked hard on the set; their second place trophy sat on the right corner of the council’s table at meetings now. What Blaine was concerned about was Kurt’s leaving. 

His dorm room was empty now, the last suitcase zipped up. Blaine was sitting on his boyfriend’s mattress taking in the last moment that Kurt was a Dalton student. 

“I’ll miss you too, you know, a lot,” Kurt said from the doorway. 

“I know,” Blaine replied, “it’s just sad.” 

Kurt took a seat next to him on the bed. 

“I’ll sing to you.” 

Blaine smiled. “Promise?” 

“Everyday.” Kurt kissed his cheek. 

They were going to be okay. 

[theonceoverthinker]

Oh Gods, They ARE Roommates! (Fair Game Week Day 1 Submission)

Summary: When a leak springs in Qrow’s bedroom, Clover offers to share his room in the Ace Ops’ suite while the repairs are being done. Follow the shenanigans they and their friends get into as they navigate a scenario that just about everybody but Qrow and Clover themselves swear is straight out of a romcom and see if Qrow and Clover have such an ending in store for them. 

AO3

A/N: Here it is! My Day 1 Submission for @fairgameweek2021!!!! I figure a roommates story gels pretty well with the dual themes of sun and moon so here we go!

Shoutout to @drbtinglecannon who I’ve been screaming about this fic with for months now and who requested it as her gift for her 400 HC sweepstake prize!!!! I know it took nearly 100 days, but here you go!!!!

()()()()()()()()()()

CHAPTER 1

A leak.

A gods damned leak.

And a leak that he’d later learn only hit his room on top of it all.

Bad luck semblance or no bad luck semblance, that just wasn’t fair.

But regardless of whether or not it was fair, what it was was real and Qrow needed to do something about it.

From what Qrow gathered as he simultaneously observed the situation, got dressed, and tried to salvage anything previously left on the floor, the leak likely started last night while he was sleeping. Qrow slept right through its start and only realized it the next morning upon rising from his bed and feeling the very odd sensation of cold water greeting the heels and balls of his feet on the now wet ground.

Qrow was fortunate that most of his personal belongings had been spared the unwanted water’s wrath and those that were hit could be salvaged easily enough with some towels and just good old-fashioned sunlight. It still didn’t make the matter of his room flooding good though, just a bit more tolerable.

He couldn’t live like this.

Well, he probably could, but he sure as hell didn’t want to.

Qrow had slept in damp or even flat-out wet beds before under worse circumstances, and the smells of mold and mildew were not ones he ever wanted to make repeat appearances in his nostrils again.

Besides, it took forever to get the grime out of his hair.

No, Qrow needed a new living arrangement, and he needed it fast.

There was only one man he could go to to get that particular job done -- or at least get it done quickly -- and Qrow had no reservations whatsoever about paying that man a visit.

What a day this was shaping up to be...

It was a shame -- Qrow was actually getting used to his personal little corner of Atlas Academy. It was a comfortable enough space, not to mention private. He actually had a bit of space from the kids and while he enjoyed their company to some extent -- or at least, that was all he was willing to admit to anyone apart from himself -- after traveling side-by-side with them for weeks on end, the privacy that he gained from having a room to himself a little ways away from them was more appreciated than it wasn’t.

Well, maybe he’d get lucky and get a similar living situation again.

Of course, he often knew better than to hope for such things, but hey, he was trying to embrace optimism.

His nieces must have been rubbing off on him.

Perhaps someone else was, too.

Qrow found a custodian down the hall from his room and informed him of the leak on his way up to one of the academy’s elevators. An almost imperceptible movement jostled below Qrow’s feet as the elevator made its way up to Atlas Academy’s top floor.

Faces of varying degrees of familiarity met Qrow as he left the elevator and approached the likely location of his intended target. Qrow did what he could to starve off his own grouchiness, but by the time he had just one corner left to pass, the desire to do so had eroded away like footprints in a sandstorm.

And just in time to meet that grouchiness, James Ironwood was exactly where Qrow figured he would be.

James stood in the hallway right by his offices’ door, presently speaking to a couple of his soldiers. Whatever they were talking about, based on his slightly less rigid than usual posture and tone, it didn't seem like it was very important and probably wouldn’t keep him busy for too long.

That was good for the both of them, because Qrow intended to fill that void of business as soon as he could.

Qrow stayed by a nearby corner of the hallway while they continued talking, but the moment that the soldiers left James’ company, he struck. James gave him a small smile upon taking notice of Qrow, though it didn’t last long once he saw what was likely to Qrow a still very annoyed look on his face.

“Qrow,” James said, hesitantly, yet not without that professional tone he wore like a suit. “Always a pleasure.”

“Speak for yourself,” Qrow grunted. “A leak sprung in my room.”

A beat passed. James’ right brow raised.

“Bad?”

“I wouldn’t be here if it was good.”

“Fair enough,” James said right before releasing a sigh. “Come inside. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Qrow nodded, and followed James as he led him into his office.

Once inside, James brought up on his projector a cubic holograph-like projection of Atlas Academy. From the other side of the hologram, Qrow could see that each and every room was outlined in a minimalistic way, with letters and numbers along the tops of them and the cube’s top and bottom squares greyed out. Qrow watched as James’ eyes surveyed each visible room on the square of the cube closest to him, muttering things to himself that were too low for Qrow to hear. Once done with the first visible section, James swished his hand so that the hologram would go to the next square of the cube, and then the third not long after it, and then the fourth not long after that. However, James' expressions and the tone of his muttering didn’t change at all across the four sections from what they were during the first one.

Honestly, Qrow couldn’t help but find that just a bit concerning.

When he was at last done, James moved his finger so that the second square on the cube he visited was brought up. While there was a look of unease on his face, Ironwood gave the screen a decisive nod.

Finally, frowning and seemingly just a tiny bit nervous, he turned to Qrow, took a deep breath, and spoke.

“There are no other single rooms right now, unfortunately,” James said. 

Looks like Qrow’s instincts were right again.

He frowned. Qrow had expected as much, but the news was still annoying to hear all the same.

“So what are my options?” he then asked, coming out more as a sigh than a question.

“What I can do is place you in one of the dorms, like where the kids are staying. You won’t be alone though. You’ll be with some of my other Huntsmen, but it’ll only be for a couple of weeks, at most.”

Great.

Two weeks rooming with up to -- and, knowing his luck, likely -- three of Ironwood’s men, hearing them go on and on about Gods knew what, dealing with the small dorm room’s litany of smells, and never getting so much as a moment to himself.

And there was, of course, always the chance that they could figure out the truth of his semblance.

Qrow hadn’t told that particular truth to a lot of people in Atlas, and though those he did hadn’t given him a hard time about it, he frankly was hoping the number of those who knew wouldn’t increase. However, Qrow knew it inevitably would come up sooner than later -- it always did, especially with Huntsmen -- and he was decidedly not looking forward to the reactions from his roommates over it, nor their treatment of him afterwards.

Wasn’t that just the perfect cherry to put on this pain of a sundae?

Still, Qrow reminded himself, it was something, and something was better than nothing. 

Qrow was about to begrudgingly accept the offer, but was interrupted before he could do more than open his mouth by the sudden sound of a man’s clearing cough from behind him. 

There was no need to wonder who it was -- the voice had become to Qrow as distinct as the feeling of the sun in the sky, and honestly, about as welcoming of a sensation.

Qrow turned around and lo and behold, just as he expected, there stood Clover Ebi -- bravado, charm, cheery disposition, and all.

Why did Qrow always seem to find his soul suddenly starting to feel just that smallest bit lighter these days whenever he showed up?

Eh, that was a question for another day.

For now, Qrow just wanted to know what it was he had to say.

If nothing else, it would at least make his day a bit more interesting rather than just the irritating mess it was turning out to be.

“Ah. Good morning, Clover,” James greeted.

“Good morning James, Qrow,” Clover said, walking up to them and shooting Qrow a tiny, yet kind glance as he did. “Sir, if you’ll allow me to interject, I don’t think that a dorm’s the best option for Qrow. Those beds are fine enough for the kids and some of our younger soldiers to be sure, but they’re none too kind on the back after a certain age, and I don’t think I need to tell you that like it or not, that’s an age we’ve all hit as well as surpassed by now.”

James sighed, giving Clover a slight nod. “You’re not wrong. So, what do you suggest we do? I’ve no other rooms to put him in.”

“That’s true, but thankfully, I do.” 

James’ brow furrowed for a second, clearly puzzled, before settling to something of a reserved curiosity. 

Clover gestured towards the holographic model that James visited a few moments ago, as if silently asking permission to use it. James nodded, and Clover took to the model, zooming in on one of the upper floors of the cube’s second square. Finally, he pointed his finger at one of the larger rooms.

“The Ace Ops’ suite has two beds per room,” Clover went on to explain, “and the bed across from mine is empty. They’re better built than those in the dorms, a bit larger in size, and I think Qrow will appreciate the privacy of only having one roommate as opposed to three. So, Qrow can stay there, if he wants, that is.” Clover then turned to Qrow. “What do you think?”

Qrow paused for a second. As Clover posed to Qrow his offer, Qrow heard a small, but unmistakably present twinge of hesitance in Clover’s voice. However, Qrow couldn’t figure out for the life of him why it was there. Whatever was the reason, it definitely wasn’t regret on his part about offering the room to Qrow -- James had clearly either forgotten or never heard of Clover’s extra bed, and Clover was more than smart enough to know that if he didn’t want to share his room, he wouldn’t have had to breathe a word about it, let alone offer it to Qrow, but he did.

So then what was the deal with the hesitance?

Well, there was one way to find out, and that opportunity was presently standing right there in front of him.

Besides, it didn’t take a genius to see that compared to three strangers, rooming with one Clover Ebi was a far better option.

It didn’t hurt that he was a pretty decent guy either.

“Yeah,” Qrow finally said. “That sounds good.”

Clover smiled. That bit of unease was still there, now in his eyes, but Qrow could tell that the smile itself was as genuine as it ever was and hard not to look at because of that.

“Great!” Clover said. “Why don’t I help move your things from your room to mine and we let James get back to some slightly more pressing matters?”

“That would be preferable,” James chimed in, answering for Qrow and smirking back at Clover.

“Always a pleasure,” Qrow snorted, calling back to James’ initial greeting as he followed Clover’s lead out of James’ office.

As they headed towards Qrow’s room, Qrow noticed that as it often happened, by this time of the day, much of the hustle of the morning had settled down, now just a student or a soldier here or there making their ways to their respective classes and drills.

Qrow liked the Academy at this part of the day for that, but always felt the least bit unsettled by the quiet of it. There was this weird echo the hallways had as they carried the sound of just his footsteps for just a second longer than he felt they should have.

Clover’s presence alleviated things somewhat, as if a bit of noise somehow subconsciously radiated off of him like heat off of a fireplace. He turned to Clover who gently met his eyes with his own while sporting an easy smile.

“Thanks, by the way,” Qrow said, “for the offer.”

“Happy to help,” Clover said.

“How’d you hear about it anyway?”

“I was walking by your room to see why you didn’t come down to grab your morning coffee, and saw a custodian working there,” Clover answered. “He told me what had happened and from there, I figured that you’d probably gone to speak with James.”

“And so you came to save your boss from a cranky old Qrow?” 

Qrow smirked, both at his comment as well as its underlying meaning. Maybe one day, he’d tell Clover the truth about his other form, but that would be on a day when he had so much as a single clue as to how to even start that conversation.

Then again, given the very nature of that confession, that might be a long time’s wait, though it was time that Qrow couldn’t help but feel like they had.

“And to save that Qrow himself,” Clover responded. 

Qrow’s smirk melted into a snarky smile as they entered the elevator. 

“Should I be swooning and calling you ‘my hero?’” Qrow nudged his head in Clover’s direction, clasped his hands together, and batted his eyelashes a couple of times just for good measure. 

“If you’d like,” Clover said, punching in Qrow’s floor number just before letting loose another one of his winks, winks Qrow was simultaneously well-used to by now but still caught off guard by. “I certainly wouldn’t object.”

The elevator door closed and the two of them started laughing. 

Clover’s laugh was infectious -- deep, attractive, casual, yet spirited -- and it made Qrow’s last a little bit longer than it otherwise would have for a joke like this.

It also reminded Qrow, as their barks of laughter settled down into rumbling chuckles, of how much Clover’s laughter contrasted that bit of hesitance in his voice he had at James’ office.

Well, Qrow figured that before they started the process of moving him into Clover’s room, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to clear that up.

“Everything okay, Clover?” Qrow asked. “Couldn’t help but notice that you seemed a little strange back up in James’ office.”

Clover's smile receded, not completely, but all the same into something more neutral. “By offering you the bed?”

“No, that was normal for you. I just noticed you just had this weird look in your voice as you were offering it.”

“I see.” Clover snorted. “You’re far too observant for your own good. You know that, right?”

A wicked smirk took over Qrow’s features. “Absolutely.”

Clover sighed. “I just didn’t want you to feel pressured into taking the room because it was me offering it or because James was there. I could only take a guess at what you wanted, but if I was wrong…” Clover seemed unable to continue, but able to tell that Qrow could understand his logic from there.

Qrow smiled at that bit of vulnerability Clover let him have. He’d received fragments of those bits here and there, and they had a way of sticking themselves onto Qrow’s heart like syrup on pancakes and feeling just as pleasant.

“You made a good guess,” Qrow assured, “and I appreciate it -- really, I do. Thanks, again.”

Clover’s smile brightened. “You know, you’re a lot better at giving compliments than you are at receiving them.”

“What can I say?” Qrow shrugged. “That’s just how I work.”

“Then I’ll just have to work that much harder to change that,” Clover challenged.

Qrow was starting to suspect that if anyone could accomplish such a feat, it would be Clover, and as they exited the elevator and continued towards Qrow’s room, Qrow realized that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[wejusthereforthefanart]

Team BRNZ Oneshot

"I don't wanna be here."

With a sympathetic smile, Roy patted her back, "It's alright, May, we'll get through this together."

"Ugh, you guys are so dramatic!" Brawnz groaned, "Remember, we're here to build connections. Which means I want you--all of you--to socialize."

"Wha-I'm not talking to anybody here! I look absolutely ridiculous!" the girl lifted a section of her a-line dress, small sequins that covered its brassiere shimmering under the luminous chandelier before she unceremoniously dropped the hem with a huff.

Beside her, Nolan looked down at his own suit, "I don't know, I think we look pretty good." 

While Brawnz wore a standard tuxedo, the only splash of color being a faded purple bowtie, Nolan had replaced the rented white dress shirt with a maroon button-down and rolled up the sleeves of his blazer. 

"We might look the part, but we are hardly prepared," Roy said, "What exactly are we supposed to discuss with these people? They're in a whole other society from us." 

“Uh, just, you know, talk like Team NDGO. They go to these things all the time, somehow.”

May hunched over, covering her well-endowed chest behind her arms, “That’s because Gwen’s aunt is a higher-up in the Schnee Dust Company. She’s invited to Atlesian parties so she can promote their future business.”

“Oh.”

Nolan scanned the room, “Are we going to get kicked out when they figure out we snuck in? ‘Cause I saw some awesome finger food over there, and-”

“Alright, alright,” Brawnz combed a hand through his hair, slicked back with a sheen of gel, “Let’s split up into pairs. May, you’ll come with me while Roy keeps an eye on Nolan-”

“Hey!”

“-and works on his social skills.”

“I resent that, but won’t deny it,” the man frowned.

“I know you guys feel like fish out of water, but just think of these folks as potential clients after we graduate. We’re Team BRNZ, we can handle a party in a fancy mansion, right?”

By then, Nolan and Roy had disappeared, the former dragging his boyfriend across the dance floor to a long table covered in platters of food. Before him stood May, hugging herself uncomfortably tighter as a curtain of short purple hair fell over the left side of her face. His eyes softened, and with a gentle touch, he brushed it behind her ear.

“When we get back to school, I’ll let you play any game you want, okay?”

She glanced up at him, “Even two-player?”

“I mean, I don’t know why you insist on playing with us since you always win, but… sure.”

“I like winning,” the shadow of a smile graced her lips, and she lowered her arms. The pair stood in a comfortable silence while the music flowed in a soft, slow cadence. From the other side of the room, Roy watched Nolan devour another pastry until he heard an unfamiliar feminine voice nearby.

“Oh, hey, are you Vacuans?” a woman dressed in a strapless white gown walked up to them, “It’s just that I’ve never seen you before.”

Roy avoided the sight of her cleavage peeking out from the tight corset, his cheeks warm with a blush hidden under his dark skin. 

Nolan swallowed a mouthful of sugar, “Yeah, we’re students at Shade Academy, just a little ways from here.”

“Ohhh, you must be friends of little Gwen! Ms. Darcy is an associate of mine, with dust exports into Vale.”

“Gwen’s pretty cool,” he spared a glance at Roy, “We share a few classes with her and her team.”

“I see. Well, I hope you tell her that if she ever finds herself in Vale, she can just find me,” pulling out a small card from her clutch, she reached it out to Nolan. However, once she noticed the remnants of chocolate icing on his fingers, she swiftly passed it to Roy.

“And, if you boys really do know little Gwen, I suppose I can extend the offer to you.”

Roy turned it over to read her name and contact info under ‘Schnee Dust Company’, “Thank you, Ms. Linen, and you can call me Roy Stalli-”

“She’s already gone.”

He looked over to see her speaking with another lady, and Nolan licked his fingers clean before wiping them discreetly against his pants. With a sigh, he tucked the card into the chest pocket of his pinstripe vest before adjusting the ascot wrapped around his throat. Soon, the classical piece faded, and an upbeat rendition of some jazz song boomed through the parlor. A group of drunk patrons flailed about in the center of the dance floor, laughing as their drinks sloshed out of glasses and spilt onto their clothes. 

“We should find the others,” Roy took Nolan by the hand and led him along the row of tables, searching for their partners' red dress or gray locks. 

“I need to find a bathroom,” Brawnz said, “Are you okay waiting here?”

She nervously ran her tongue over the grooves of her molars, before nodding.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I can do this,” May offered a small smile.

Her boyfriend returned it with one of his own, “Alright. Be right back, babe.”

She watched him weave around men and women to ask a server for directions when a low chuckle rumbled beside her. A man, who looked only a few years older than herself, stepped into her personal space with a cocky smirk and a tall glass of champagne. 

“Oh, dear, please tell me what such a beautiful young woman like yourself is doing with someone of his caliber? I hope he hasn’t been fooling you with that cheap suit.”

“Um, we’re, um,” she mumbled, too flustered to finish a single sentence. The stranger was far too close for comfort, and she could smell the stink of alcohol on his breath. She took a step back, but felt her rear bump against the table behind her, trapping her as he loomed over and shamelessly leered at her curvy figure.

“May-May!” Nolan called, “How’s it going?”

Quickly stepping behind his girlfriend to rest his arms over her small shoulders, Roy aimed his steely gaze at the newcomer, “Is this man bothering you?”

“Nonsense, I was simply indulging her with the presence of a true gentleman, after seeing her about to fall victim to one of the pathetic frauds that tend to sneak into parties like these,” the dirty look he shot Nolan was followed by another smirk, “My name is William Rudolf, a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Roy Stallion, of Team BRNZ at Shade Academy, and I believe the ‘pathetic fraud’ you were referring to was my team leader.”

His mirth simmered into a pert frown, “I see, well, perhaps you and your… befitting partners should take your leave back to school.”

Once he soaked up another eyeful of May’s body, he turned on his heel and sauntered off, leaving her with an embarrassed blush and a pit in her stomach. Brawnz suddenly returned from the restroom, confused to see his boyfriends with her. 

“Did something happen while I was away?”

She curled her arms to hook over Roy’s, trapping him close in an embrace while she stared down at her feet, “Can we just go now? Please?” 

He exchanged a look between the others, but took May’s shaky fidgeting as a sign not to press. He led his partners through the crowded ballroom, shouldering a surly woman who nearly spilled wine on her suit. 

“Hey, watch it!” she yelled, but a glance at the girl made her blink, “Wait, are you Team BRNZ?”

May turned her head, her shoulders relaxed once she saw the fascination in her eyes. 

“Um, yeah, that’s us,” she answered shyly.

“My wife’s a professor at Shade Academy, and talks about you all sometimes. You’re Ginger’s favorite students, you know.”

Nolan hip-checked Brawnz out of his way, “Aw, yes! Finally, I get to call a teacher by her first name. So long, Professor Goldgoose; hello Miss Ging!” 

“Here, I’ll give you my card,” she offered, “I’m sure you’re in Atlas to promote yourselves for future work?” 

“That’s right, but it hasn’t been working for us. Some people here are either creeps or uninterested because we don’t have any connections yet.”

She smiled at Roy, “Well, now you have me. That has to count for something, right? As for the creeps, you just have to point them out, and I’ll take care of them.” 

Watching the head developer of Human Nextwork chew out Rudolf was the highlight of their night. They were eventually escorted out of the party, however. Once they returned to their hotel room, the group took turns showering and Nolan reinserted his insulin pump as soon as he changed into his sleepwear. May played on her scroll until Brawnz wrestled it away from her, and hid it in his bag for the night. 

“Hey,” he said, “I wanted to apologize for leaving you alone like that. It was stupid on my part.”

She closed her eyes and stretched her slender legs under the covers, “Mmh, it’s not your fault. I just don’t like crowds.”

“But I should’ve been there to defend you…” 

“And you will next time,” she scooted closer and rested her head on his shoulder, “I still trust you, Brawnz. I’m not just going to lose faith in you after one pervert waited for you to leave my side for a few minutes.”

He smiled down at her, her damp hair sticking to his skin like a warm, messy kiss. When he planted one of his own on her cheek, she barely stirred, and fell asleep. Nolan soon followed after his friend, spread across the other bed like a starfish and drooling a puddle on his pillow. Brawnz had never seen Roy asleep, as he always managed to stay awake the longest, but no matter how hard to he tried to stave off sleep, it consumed him. 

And finally, Roy was alone. In the darkness, he rose out of bed, threw on his jacket, and slipped out the door. 

“Rudolph, you have no idea what you’ve just done,” he hissed.

[electrickoushi]

cold brews, warm hearts

a/n: hi hi! I apologize if there are any point of view inconsistencies. I wrote this for my friend and she wanted first person, but I changed it to second for tumblr. please enjoy! 

pairing: bokuto koutarou x reader tags: fluff, coffee shop au, holiday fun wc: 3.1k

It’s almost midnight on Christmas Eve, and you have quite the drive ahead of you. A large cup of coffee and quick run-in with a cute barista should be all you need before hitting the road again. Unfortunately, your car decides to stop working at the last second. Stranded in the middle of nowhere, you have no choice but to walk back into the coffee shop as you wait for help. 

You busted into the coffee shop, probably looking like a deranged maniac. Your hair was freshly uncombed and your glasses sat askew on your face. The nice aroma of coffee, tea, and baked goods hit your nose as you took a deep breath. 

The line was way too long considering that it was near midnight on Christmas Eve. If only your boss hadn’t kept you in meetings for hours on end, maybe then you wouldn’t have had to make the commute to your family’s house in the pitch dark. 

You searched the menu board for the drink with the most espresso possible. Only bitter coffee and loud music would get you through this long drive. 

The line eventually shifted, and you worked your way up to the counter. There were only two men working despite the crowd. One was responsible for the drinks and the other was responsible for taking orders. You couldn’t help but feel slightly bad for them as they worked hard on Christmas Eve. They should be home with their families or friends, enjoying their night. 

“Hi,” you said, making eye contact with the barista at the register. He had black and white hair that he had spiked up, probably by using a ridiculous amount of hair gel. His arms and chest were thick and muscular, two features that were further defined by his cute Christmas sweater. 

He offered a wide, friendly smile, golden eyes locked on yours, and asked for your order. His voice was husky, yet not a trace of bitterness or annoyance could be found. You glanced down to find that his name tag read Koutarou. 

You rattled off the name of the drink before impulsively adding another shot of espresso to it. Quickly marking it all down on the cup, he looked back up to you and asked for your name. 

“Y/n,” you replied with a soft smile. He deserved more than the small kindness, seeing as he was stuck with the late night shift on Christmas Eve. 

“That’s such a cute name! Okay, y/n. That’ll be $3.75. Cash or credit?” 

You handed him a five dollar bill, surprised that he complimented you so openly. He tapped a few things on the screen to unlock the cash drawer with a small ding. He made the change quickly and dropped it in your hand along with the receipt. 

The tip jar looked terribly empty, so you stuck the receipt in your pocket and dropped the rest of the change in the jar. It wasn’t much, but it was better than what other people had given them. 

“Thank you, and happy holidays!” Koutarou said, waving to you before turning back to take the next customer’s order. 

You waved back and joined the small crowd of people waiting for their drinks. 

Despite the amount of orders being placed, the other barista had no problem keeping up. He made multiple drinks at once, pouring the milk here, adding a mountain of whip cream there. Anyone could tell how skilled he was, which was likely why he decided to work on the drinks alone. He must have preferred it that way, to work in silence and channel all his focus into making drinks. 

You stood in line and watched Koutarou continue taking orders. Occasionally, he would warm a sandwich or hand someone a pastry, all while keeping up small talk if the other person was willing to. 

The last customer finished placing their order, leaving the barista with nothing to occupy his time. 

“Keiji, you need any help?” Koutarou asked, his voice warm and bright. 

Keiji had just finished what looked to be your drink and started preparing the drink that Koutarou had just rung up. He muttered a low “no” and continued mixing. Koutarou shrugged his shoulders, accustomed to his coworker’s behavior. 

While the last drink was mixing, Keiji slid your drink over to the counter and called out your name. You grabbed the cup and a straw, nodding your head in thanks and wishing him a “happy holidays.”  

You stabbed the straw into the drink and took a sip. The espresso was very bitter, yet the whip cream managed to balance it out. Out of reflex, you squeezed your eyes shut, opening them a few seconds later to find the cute cashier pointing at the cup that was just handed to you. 

Turning it over in your hand, you saw your name in black sharpie with a small star and snowman next to it. You looked back up at Koutarou who just smiled and winked at me. 

You smiled back and waved a goodbye, turning on your heel to leave. 

At this rate, you should be home by two a.m. at the latest. You still had three hours left in your drive, which is why this coffee was so necessary. 

You pulled out your phone and texted your mom to update her on your whereabouts. She responded almost immediately, telling you to drive safely and pull over if you ever felt too tired. You smiled at the warnings and stuffed your phone back into your coat pocket once replying with a “Will do” and a heart emoji. 

You stepped out into the cold and immediately wished you were back in the cozy warmth of the coffee shop. Running to your car, you dug your keys out of your pocket and unlocked it. You settled into your seat and closed the door after setting the cup of coffee down into the nearest cup holder. 

Sticking your keys into the engine, you expected the engine to roar and make the terrible noises it was making before. Instead, none of the lights came on, and you were stuck with an eerie silence. You repeatedly jammed the keys in and out, turning them more aggressively each time in hopes that your car would sputter to life on the next try. 

Unfortunately, no such thing happened, which meant that your car battery must have died. It died while you were alone in the middle of nowhere at midnight. Wonderful. 

You called your mom in a panicked state as you felt tears well up in your eyes. Of course, all she could do was offer support and advice. She informed you of the business card she had tucked in your glove box the first day you got your car. It had the number for car insurance and 24-hour roadside assistance on it. You thanked your mother and told her that you’d be home much later, so she didn’t have to wait for you. She insisted that she stay up, but knowing her, she would fall asleep in less than an hour. 

You hung up, turned on your phone flashlight, and rummaged through your glove box. The card must be here somewhere. The light caught the shiny coating, and you reached for it. You swiftly punched in the number and waited as it rang. 

Someone picked up on the other end, annoyed and unenthusiastic. Why couldn’t he be more like the barista? You thought to yourself as the phone operator asked you about your problem. 

He said that it would probably take about an hour since so many of their people had already been dispatched or allowed to go home. You groaned but thanked the grumpy man anyway, wishing him a safe and happy holiday. He grunted in response and hung up the phone. 

The car was getting colder by the second, so you grabbed your coffee, bag, and scarf before manually locking your car and heading back inside the shop. 

There weren’t too many people left since it was past midnight at this point. A stray customer sat at a table, but no one was in line to order anything. You could hear the sounds of equipment being washed, making you feel even more guilty for coming back in. These two men wanted to go home as well, and you didn’t want to be the cause of delay. 

The white-haired barista looked over when the small bell attached to the door rang, revealing your red nose and the sheepish look in your eyes. 

He recognized you from before and smiled again, despite the fact that it was almost closing hours. “Forget something?” He asked with a teasing grin. 

You shook your head and he frowned, probably wondering why you returned. He switched off the water and dried his hands off before walking out from behind the counter. 

You started talking before he could say anything. “This is embarrassing and I’m really sorry for coming back in, but my car battery died and I have to wait an hour for someone to come help me…” You fiddled with your scarf, looking around the shop. 

“It’s no problem!” he said. “The store is going to close in a few minutes, but we stay back anyways to clean and lock up. You can stay until your car is fixed if you want.” 

The last person got up and left, door shutting behind him and leaving you alone with the two men. 

You must have looked nervous because Koutarou took a few steps back. “I was going to let Keiji go home, but if it makes you more comfortable for him to be here with us, he would be okay with staying.” 

You assured him that it would be fine; Keiji deserved to go home. Koutarou also didn’t seem like the type to pull anything. 

“Do you need something else to drink?” he asked. 

The fire was still roaring and you took a seat in a booth near it, unwinding your scarf from your neck. You tugged your knees against your chest and leaned your head against the wall. “No thanks.” 

Koutarou nodded and returned to the back of the store to finish the end-of-shift tasks. Every so often he looked back up at you, making sure that you were okay. Keiji eventually finished up and left the shop with a quiet goodnight and a small wave. 

You pulled your phone out and turned your ringer on so you wouldn’t miss your call. It was pretty warm due to the fire, so you slipped your coat off. 

You killed time by bouncing between social media apps and games. It wasn’t long before you got sucked into a particular art account on Twitter. Their art was fantastic and their content seemed to be endless, so you just kept scrolling through their page. 

You felt a slight tap on your shoulder, pulling you back into reality. You looked up and were met with golden eyes. “Here, this was left over.” Koutarou set a napkin down on the table and placed a few small chocolates on it. 

He stood back up and wiped his hands on his apron. Towering over you, he eyed your smaller figure that was curled up in a ball. You must have looked sad or lonely because he put his hand on his hips and said, “Stand up. I have a surprise for you.”

Tilting your head in confusion, you set your phone down on the table nonetheless and watched him run to the back. He picked up his phone and pressed a few buttons to connect it to the coffee shop’s speakers. The Christmas music shut off and silence fell for a few seconds while he searched for a specific playlist. 

Suddenly, loud music blared over the speakers. You instantly recognized it as the old popular “Shut Up and Dance,” and you couldn’t help but grin. He popped his head over the division to find you slightly dancing to the music. 

He ran back out and started singing along. His voice wasn’t the best and it was super shaky as he jumped up and down, but it was such a cute sight to see. The man was extremely tall, yet he danced with the vigor of a small child. You swayed back and forth, thoroughly entertained by Koutarou’s massive, bouncing tiddies. 

When the chorus kicked in, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out to the floor to dance along with him. 

The song ended after a whirlwind of uncoordinated yet enthusiastic movements, leaving both of you breathless. Koutarou’s golden eyes shined as he looked at you. The song restarted, and he rushed over to turn it off. Soft Christmas music filled the shop once again. He came back with two cups of water and handed one to you. 

You chugged it down while he did the same. The cool water soothed your dry throat as you finished the glass in one gulp. The two of you headed back to the table you were previously at and sat down. 

Cute multicolored Christmas lights were strung along the walls, adding to the entire holiday ambiance of the place. The fire still crackled in the background, popping and sparking every once in a while. You stuck a chocolate in your mouth and beamed at the sweet flavor. 

You nudged one towards Koutarou. “Here, have one! They’re really good.” 

“I know! Keiji made them this afternoon. He’s really good at making the sweets and drinks.” 

Koutarou then told you all about his friendship with Keiji. Apparently, they had known each other since high school and started working here in the summers. You were surprised to find out that Koutarou was actually a year older than Keiji, considering how mature and reserved the black-haired boy seemed. He told you about how he played volleyball in high school with Keiji at the high school nearby, Fukurodani. He struggled to not use volleyball terms that would be too confusing, but sometimes his enthusiasm got the best of him as he started using a myriad of expressions and phrases that were lost upon you. 

In return, you told him about your adventure today and how your boss kept you overtime, leading to your late night drive. Koutarou asked about where you were spending your holiday, and you told him about how you moved out of town a while ago for your job. You mentioned how you rarely got a chance to visit your family nowadays, to which Koutarou made a sympathetic sound in response. 

Time flew by as you two chatted, and your phone eventually started buzzing. A random number popped up on the screen and you answered it, holding out a hand to tell Koutarou to stop talking. 

“I’m here to look at your car,” the man on the line, asking for confirmation for your car.

 “Hi, yes. I’ll be out there in a second.” You hung up the phone and put your coat on. Koutarou looked at you with wide eyes and a slight pout. 

You had to admit that you wouldn’t have minded staying a little bit longer, but the roadside assistance guy was probably waiting in the cold. Wanting to console him in some way, you asked for his phone number. He quickly tapped it into your phone and saved himself as “Koutarou :)” before you stood up. 

Koutarou waved you goodbye and watched you leave through the window. 

The cold air hit your face as you walked outside to meet the man who would help you. Only two other cars were parked outside, probably one of them belonging to the man and the other belonging to Koutarou. 

You awkwardly greeted each other before he popped the hood and hooked up his cables to your car. 

The lights in the coffee shop went out, leaving you only with the large floodlights stationed above. You heard the door swing shut and saw a large figure heading towards where you were standing. Koutarou’s white and black hair came into view as the fluorescent light beat down on it. 

“Hey, y/n! How’s the car coming?” Koutarou asked, walking up to the two of you. He wore a big bomber jacket that didn’t look too warm and a backpack on his shoulders. Despite his friendly words, he didn’t have the jovial look on his face that he had on all night with you. 

He gave a nod to the man working on the car after planting himself next to you. In the darkness, you realized just how large Koutarou was. If he really wanted to, he could take down most people in a few swings. 

You all shivered in the cold, watching your warm breaths cloud in front of your faces. You bounced up and down to keep warm, and every time you inhaled, you felt the cold air sting your lungs. An arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you looked up to see Koutarou’s eyes shining back down at you. He pulled you into his side, warmth building between both of you. 

Eventually, his large frame engulfed you in a full-on back hug. Your head rested against his chest while your hands were stuck in his pockets. 

Fifteen minutes later, your car sputtered to life. Koutarou promptly let go of you, and you immediately missed the warmth of his body. 

The roadside assistance man left with a short goodbye, getting in his car and driving away immediately. 

Left with just the two of you in the cold parking lot, Koutarou broke the brief silence. “Have a good night, and good luck with your drive!” 

He started walking away, but as a spur of the moment decision, you ran back up to him and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for staying with me,” you murmured as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I really enjoyed meeting you tonight.” 

Koutarou stood there in shock for a second before wrapping his arms around you again. You stayed in that position and giggled for a while until you pulled away. 

You hopped into your car and he waved goodbye, temporarily blinded by the headlights. You laughed as he dramatically staggered towards his ride. Once he reached the door, he gave you a quick thumbs up and a grin before climbing into his truck. 

You cranked the heat in your car, then backed out of the parking lot and turned onto the main road. Despite the initially cool air blowing from your vents, you found that you were still warm from Koutarou’s hug. You peeked into your rear view mirror and spotted his truck heading out the opposite end of the lot. A content smile found its way onto your lips at the idea of calling him tomorrow. Refocusing your gaze on the road, you settled into your seat and set your thoughts on Christmas with your family. 

(And perhaps a certain barista’s golden eyes and adorable smile as well.)

[ellewritessometimes]

It’s a Gift

Summary:  Cas and Dean have become very close. Dean develops a crush and is afraid to say anything. He continues to fall harder as the days go on. As the Valentine's Day party approaches, Dean wonders if he'll share the secret he's been harboring.

Ships: Dean/Cas, Crobby

Word Count:  3,552

TW: Mentions of violence and Homophobia, Swearing

Notes:  This is a work from an abandoned Valentine's Day group writing project. I decided to post it still because I worked hard on it and I wanted the original intended recipient to get their fic as planned. I want to thank Luc for allowing me to reach out to them and @kermit-drinking-tea-dot-jpg for betaing this fic.

Link to read on AO3

The smell of greasy tater tots and dry nuggets wafted through the cafeteria as I walked in and took my seat at the table. The rest of the team sat down as well.

"Does anyone have a date for Valentine's party tomorrow?" Garth asked.

"I'm sure Sam will be my date," Gabe smirked. The guy was kinda obsessed with my brother.

Garth rolled his eyes and continued to take a bite of his chicken patty. I turned the page of my notebook, trying to decode my notes from last week. 

"Shit," I mumbled under my breath.

"What?" Gabe asked with a mouth full of french fries.

"I can't read my notes, and the test is next period," I said in frustration. I had scrawled them down distractedly during the class.

"Would you like to borrow mine?" Cas asked. 

Of course, I would like to borrow Cas's notes. He was a great student, always crazy organized.

Cas slid a spiral-bound notebook with perfect notes written in blue gel pen. The lettering looked like a font. I could never be like this. I could never sit still for that long. Oh, to be like Cas; Quarterback, Captain of the Football team, debate mentor, NHS, he really had it all. I was just a linebacker struggling to remember physics. God, Dad, is gonna kill me.

"Thanks, man," There was relief in my voice. Maybe I'd pass. A.P. Physics is not the move when you're a dumbass.

Cas smiled and picked up his book, On the Road. I've never seen him eat during school. He's always reading, helping us with homework, or keeping Gabe and Garth out of trouble. 

The bell rang, so I handed Cas his notebook back. He winked, and I felt my heart pound. I'm sure he was just saying ‘you're welcome’.

* * *

Mr. Crowley handed out the test, and I inhaled deeply. I can't do this. I can't do this. 

Cas looked toward me and mouthed, "Are you ok?" 

I shook my head. The little shit winked again and raised his hand.

"Mr. Crowley, I think Dean is going to be ill," Cas fibbed, "I should take him to the nurse just to be sure."

"We wouldn't want that. Take him to the nurse," Mr. Crowley gave him the ok.

Cas and I walked out of the classroom and into the hallway. Cas gestured to me to follow him. He led me into an empty classroom and shut the door.

 He set his notebook and pencil down on a desk and bluntly said, "Sit."

I did as I was told. I watched him write a kinematic equation on a fresh sheet.

"What do you know?" Cas asked.

"Nothing."

"I don't believe that."

"I'm a dumbass," I shrugged.

He tilted his head, and I noticed a change in his eyes. 

"You don't believe you deserved to be helped," He stated and quickly changed the subject in an attempt to take what he said back. "Let's start easy."

I leaned my head over to see the problem he wrote. A hair fell on my face, and Cas pushed it away. I jumped. Cas jumped as well, startled by my reaction. His disposition changed.

"I'm sorry, I…" His voice trailed off.

"It's fine, Cas." I made an attempt to reassure him.

We moved along with the problem like it never happened. But it did happen. I would feel the touch on my forehead the rest of the day. The way his hand felt, soft and warm against my rough skin. 

We must have done at least 20 problems until I finally felt comfortable doing it independently. The bell rang, and I thanked Cas. He really didn't need to do that. I wasn't shocked that he did though, he always tried to help the guys somehow. The dude's a friggin angel.

* * *

I was distracted all of the football practice.  I was preoccupied thinking about Cas.

"Winchester, get your head in the game!" Coach Bobby yelled out.

I had known Bobby my whole life. He'd been more like a dad than my own blood. He was always there when Dad was deployed, on a hunting trip, or just drunk, unable to take care of Sam and me. Dad was never the most stable person. 

I nodded to Bobby and tried to focus. I'd been meaning to talk to the school counselor about getting me to see a therapist or something to get diagnosed. Bobby and I suspected I had ADHD but we wouldn't know for sure. Unfortunately, I knew that Dad didn't believe in therapy. And anyway, the doctor can't fix it if I'm distracted by Cas. God, the dude can move. His passes are perfect, he makes almost every goal, and his touchdowns are so impressive. God, I sound like I have a crush.

Practice finished, and we all headed to the locker room. Bobby gave a speech.

"We've got an away game tomorrow, folks. I expect the best behavior from you all, or you will not go to the sports Valentine's Day party. I mean it." Bobby continued, "I know that this year has been hard with the Superbowl being delayed due to extenuating circumstances, but I still need you idjits to be good."

"Yes, coach," We deadpanned in unison like cult members. We started exiting the locker room.

"Dean, I would like you to stay," Coach said sternly.

Oh shit. 

Bobby led me to his office and motioned for me to sit in a chair.

"What's up with you, son?" Bobby questioned, "You've got that look, is it a girl? You're not back with Jo, are you? Lisa? Or is it a guy or an enby? You know that I don't care…"

"No, it's no one," I'm such a liar. I've had a crush on Cas since he moved here in fourth grade, and Bobby can see right through my bullshit.

"Bull," Bobby raised his eyebrows.

I shrugged. I couldn't even imagine what dad would say. Actually, I could. It would be to get out of his house and never come back.

"So that's it, you just wanted to be nosey? Besides, it's no one, and dad would never let me." I sighed.

"Don't worry about your old man. I'd take care of it. Mr. King and I always have a place for you and Sam anyway." Bobby was dating Mr. Crowley, no one but Sam and I knew.

I thanked him and left to go pick up Sam from the middle school. Boy, he had grown up so fast. I remembered when he was born. And when mom died.

* * *

I pulled up at the school, music blaring. Sam rushed to my car and opened the door.

"Can you drive me to Jess's house?" Sam asked.

"No, tonight's family dinner night." Dad's A.A. sponsor told him that it was a good idea to start trying to be more of a part of our lives. That started with dinner, I guess.

* * *

Dinner with Dad was painful. Sam and Dad bickered back and forth about every single little thing. Sam wanted to go to college, Dad wanted him to keep up with the family business, then Sam said that hunting and the military don't count as a legacy. I hate it here.

"Sam, give it a rest." I dropped my fork into Cambell's chicken noodle with stars.

"You're not siding with him, are you?" Sam's face was defensive.

"I'm the adult here." Dad slurred.

"A half of one at best," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that, boy?" Dad's face had that look I didn't like.

"Nothing, sir," I was trying not to get killed.

Creak. Dad slid his chair back and walked over to me. As he hovered over my head, my heart dropped to my stomach. He held his hand out and swung. 

I could feel the tingling on my face as he said, "Say something else, and it's gonna be somewhere else."

Sam got up from the table and ran to his room. I hated when Sam saw this. I knew it would hurt him more, but I still spoke anyway. It's hard. I knew Dad loved us. He just didn't know how to express it.

I walked away from the table as Dad drank more beer.

"Sam, you know that…" I couldn't think of an excuse, so I said, "Open the door, please."

Sam opened the door. His eyes were red, stress hives had formed on his arm. I wanted to hold him and tell him I would get us out here. I tried to protect him. I wanted him to always be safe. I just wish he knew Dad before Mom died. 

"Why?" Sam asked, "Why do you just sit there and take it."

So he won't come after you, I wanted to say. Instead, I just shrugged as he closed the door in frustration.

* * *

I woke up early to go on a run to clear my head. As I ran, I saw a familiar face. It was Cas, walking a fluffy golden retriever. There was a redheaded girl next to him. I didn't know her, but she was pretty. I stopped jogging and stared for a moment.

"Hey!" I waved.

"Oh hey, Dean!" Cas's face brightened. He turned to the girl, "Anna, this is Dean Winchester."

Anna threw up a hand shyly. I smiled in response. 

"Catch you later, I guess," I said as I walked away.

It was nice to see Cas, and he looked happy to see me. His sister was nice as well. I thought of the interaction as I strolled to the abandoned house on the end of the street. Sam always asked why I liked that place so much, but I don't know why. I just like creepy things. The house feels almost supernatural. 

* * *

"Hey!" Someone hit me in the back. Jo.

"Hay is for horses," Jo grinned. "Got a date for the party?"

I shook my head. I was planning on asking Lisa but Jo was a fun party person. This could pose an issue, but I decided to ignore it.

"Well, you do now, silly goose," Jo said snarkily. 

I always took Jo to parties. She was indeed the life of them. We'd go, she'd flirt, I'd scope out the crowd, we'd both be disappointed, then drunkenly make out in the Impala. Maybe grab a milkshake. It was tradition, but I had never taken Lisa before. Jo and I were more like flirty friends; I really had something with Lisa.

"Same as always?" I asked.

"Yup, come get me at five, and I'll bring the refreshments." She was referring to the whiskey she would steal from her mom's bar.

Jo walked away, and I turned to see Lisa standing at her locker. She was grabbing a math textbook and a copy of Gatsby.

"Hey Lis," I started.

"What do you want, Dean," She seemed annoyed.

"Are you ok?"

"I thought you've been ignoring me," Her voice had little emotion.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't realize how distant I was," Now was not the best time. I decided to say nothing about the party.

"Also, I'm not going to the party. My mom is making me watch my sister." Lisa was disappointed.

"Aw man," Score. This would work out.

We departed from the hallway, and I went to class.

* * *

School could not end fast enough. I couldn't wait for the game.

"Winchester, come see me," Mr. Crowley ordered me to his desk.

I hesitantly got up. He seemed pleased. I could not think of what this could possibly be about.

"Dean, your make-up test is perfect," His voice was enthusiastic. "I'm very proud."

Wow. I could not believe this. I thought for sure that I had flunked. As I breezed by, Cas gave me a thumbs up. I would have to thank him later.

* * *

The rest of the day flew by like cake. 

The team gathered in the locker room before entering the busses. Coach Bobby gave us one last speech.

"Alright, boys, remember what I said yesterday. Be polite and respectful but kick butt," The team cheered as soon as he said it.

We filled into the bus like sardines. This would be unpleasant on the ride home. I made sure I sat next to Cas to talk about science.

"Hey man, thank you so much," I patted his shoulder. 

"Of course," He didn't even look up from his book.

"What's it about" I pointed to On the Road.

"Oh, it's not your kind of book. You wouldn't like it," Cas muttered assertively. 

"I'm sure I would"

"When I finish, I'll let you borrow it," Cas clearly was uncomfortable.

"Ok," I decided not to press.

We sat in awkward silence. It was painful. I tried not to stare while he read his book, but he's all I wanted to pay attention to. I noticed the way his eyes glowed, the way his lip curled when he read something funny, the way he brushed his fringe away from his face.

"Dean...Dean...Dean," I finally noticed that Cas was talking to me.

"Huh?" Shit.

"You're staring," 

"You're a pretty picture," I tried to laugh it off, and I guess it worked because he smiled.

He titled his head in surprise at the comment, but he didn't say anything about it, just turned to his book again. I stared more this time, making it very obvious. He looked up again and grinned. This time, I scooted closer. Now, we were only inches apart. Without looking up, he put his head on my shoulder and continued reading. His hair was soft against my cheek. His arm fit perfectly next to mine. I felt so warm and fuzzy. I never had this feeling before.

* * *

"Hut, hut, 67," Bobby was yelling out commands, "Let's go, boys!"

The bright lights lit up the dark field. It was the fourth quarter, and things were looking good. Tried to keep my head in the game as I made a pass to Cas. Cas fumbled the ball, and another player tackled him.

"What are you doing, Novak?" Bobby yelled. Fumbles were out of character for Cas.

I noticed that the opponent was on top of Cas. This was more malicious than just a tackle. 

"Hey!" Gabe tried to break them up but got lost in the mix. 

Finally, a ref noticed and threw up a flag, "Fifteen-yard penalty!"

Cas stumbled up, his lip was bleeding, and a bruise formed around his eye. We cleared the field to regroup. Cas would most-likely be evaluated, and that player, Azazel, would be suspended. Bobby took Cas to the medical station and, after, walked to the refs and the other coach. You could see them conversing. Bobby's face was solemn.

"So, after talking to the other coach and the refs, we've decided to end this game. The behavior was unacceptable, and we want to prevent any other incidents from happening." Bob said, disappointingly. 

"Ugh, I want to kill this kid!" Gabe yelled. His face was red hot.

"Exactly," Cas spoke up from the bench. No one even noticed that he walked over. "This is what we want to prevent." 

Gabe crossed his arms. He's quite the drama queen.

Bobby told us to gather our stuff and meet him outside to get on the bus. Most of the team was able to grab their belongings quickly. I was about to leave the locker room when I heard someone grunt. They sounded frustrated. 

"Dean! Are you still in here?" Cas called out.

"Um...yeah? Why?"

Cas walked out from behind a row of lockers, shirtless. I tried to contain myself, but the sweat against his skin, the ruffled wet hair, the smile, he looked hot. I must say.

He looked defeated, "I can't find my bag."

I nodded, and Cas continued, "Can you tell Coach Singer that I'll be late? I need to find my bag."

I ran to Bobby, "Cas can't find his bag. I'm gonna stay and help him. I'll call for you to pick me up later."

"Sounds good, kiddo," Bobby gave me two thumbs up.

I ran back to Cas just to find him with his head between his knees on a bench. I didn't know what to do, so I just placed my hand on his back and left it there. 

The room smelled of old sweat and mud. The smell was so overwhelming, I don't know how I didn't notice it earlier. There are lots of things I haven't seen, I start to think about what I've actually paid attention to.

"Cas?" I question. "Are you ok?"

He shook his head. He didn't even move from his position, so I got up to look around. The lockers didn't have locks, so I opened all of them. Nothing. I checked under benches, in stalls; I even looked by the toilets.

"Man, I can't find it," I sighed.

Seconds after I said those words, the lights went out, and I heard the twist of a key.

"Damnit!" I'd never heard Cas curse before, "What are we gonna do?"

"Cas, I don't know," I said as I tried to think. 

I opened my phone to see that it was dead. I couldn't use the flashlight, and if Cas didn't have his bag, he didn't have his phone with him. Thankfully, I had a charger in my pocket, but it would take at least an hour for my Motorola to charge. Damn, that phone takes forever.

"We're gonna miss the party, and it's all my fault," Cas started sobbing.

"No, don't cry," I don't do well with tears. I sat back down on the bench.

"Dean…" Cas scooted away from me.

"What?" I moved closer so I could hear him through the sobs.

Cas turned and kissed me. His soft lips against mine felt like heaven on a platter. He ran his hands through my hair as he swung his legs over onto my lap. I lay down on my back as he leaned into me. I began kissing back but still letting him lead. This is what I wanted. I've been yearning for this. He moves from my lips to my neck, and I run my hands across his muscles.

"Dean?"

"Cas?"

"God, I love it when you say my name," He says as he undresses me faster.

* * *

After we finish, I check my phone to see if it is charged. The time says 7:15. It's only been an hour since the game ended, so we're not too late.

"So what do we do now?" Cas was lying on the bench, looking at the ceiling.

"Call Bobby to pick us up, I guess?" I ran out of solutions, "I think someone stole it."

"You're probably right, but how do we get out of here?" Cas questioned.

I did not think about that. We were in a locked locker room after school hours with no way of getting out or seeing.

It took me a moment, but I came up with a solution. There's a window high up in the back, so I slid another bench towards it so I could reach it. I flicked the lock on the window, and it budged. It was a small window, but I could climb up and slide my torso through without issue. 

"Cas!" I yelled as I slid downwards out of the window, back into the locker room.

"What?"

"I found a solution."

* * *

Bobby arrived quickly to pick up a poor freezing shirtless Cas and me.

"No bag?" Bobby questioned.

We shrugged and told him we couldn't find it. Bobby said that we were never playing this school again. Cas and I were content with that. I looked over to Cas and smiled. He smiled back and giggled. I held out my hand, and he took it. I felt the warm sensation through my body again as he touched me.

"What's up with you guys?" Bobby asked.

"Nothing," I smiled but quickly pulled my hand away from Cas. I wasn't ready to tell Bobby yet.

* * *

We arrived at Valentine's party, and Jo was the first to greet me.

"Did you forget about me?" Jo wrinkled her nose in annoyance.

"Sorry, I was looking for Cas's bag." I'm not lying.

"Well, I found another date." Jo turned to a girl, Lisa.

"Hey Dean," Lisa waved and pointed to a redhead, "Meet Charlie!"

"Hi! I'm Jo's girlfriend!" Charlie stuck out her hand enthusiastically. 

I laughed—what a wild night. I strolled over to the drink table and grabbed some punch. Cas found me through the crowd. He was shy now.

"Dean? Are we going to talk about this?" Cas insisted.

"Sure."

"I like you."

"I get that." I wondered what the problem was.

"And?" Cas seemed unsure.

I moved closer to Cas and hugged him. 

Cas told me that Gabe had grabbed his bag from the locker room because he knew that Cas was hurt. Gabe was goofy but kind at heart. Cas was thankful that he did, and no one stole it.

That reminded me that I had something to give Cas. I opened my bag and handed Cas a mixtape with some Zeppelin favorites.

"Dean, I can't take this," Cas was in awe.

"It's a gift; you keep those." I smiled and took his hand to dance.

[sjw-publishings]

Man-aging your time

Foreign Relations

(Asian twist on @dumb-and-jocked story, Corporate Progression)

Edgar Han was never fond of conferences, specially ones he was forced to attend due to pressure from his company. As a college intern, he gave it his all to ensure a good grade and possibly a head-start in his business.

He was wrong.

Working at Wong.Inc, the 21 year old was constantly asked and tasked with menial errands all day, filing papers and serving coffee. Now he was asked to be an usher for a conference meeting with TenHaken Corporation.

Dressed in a black polo and khaki pants, he tapped his dress shoes impatiently, being forced to come far too early and way before any of the other interns showed up. He was pretty lean, sort of lanky as he did not do sports. Long hair was tied to a ponytail, as he kept it maintained and groomed so as to not leave a bad impression.

He wondered if it was because they were aware that he and his boyfriend, two of their interns, were gay. But he seemed to be getting the shorter end of the stick...maybe cause he actually cared about his grades and future career, they ended up treating him harsher?

Nevertheless, he did have a slimmer of hope, maybe if he left a good impression today, he could maybe...

“Aren’t you going to shake hands with me?”

Standing before him was a tall, handsome daddy who was bulked up with muscle, thick biceps straining against his suit, and the most devious looking grin that screamed corporate evil...but....it was so hot.

“S...Sorry Mr TenHaken Sir!”

He extended out his hand, as the Boss of the other company grabbed it and gave it a good shook. Snapping his mind away from his worries...and distracting it with...his strong scent infused with cologne.

And those hands, those warm..., and manly hands.

“So you are one of the few interns that...?”

“Yes...alongside my boyfriend...”

He responded in a daze, entranced by the scent. Yes he may go through several hoops just to impress the higher ups, even at the expense of his relationship with his boyfriend, but he would never reveal their relationship in a workplace setting...especially considering some of the higher ups may be homophobic.

A brief wave of disgust shown in the Boss’s countenance, before he returned to grinning madly as he let go of the shake. Giving a firm pat on the young asian man’s back, he spoke in his richly, deep voice.

“Splendid, you’d be perfect...”

The man sauntered into the conference room, bringing along most of his musky aroma and thick cologne with him...but of course, leaving some behind. The young intern blinked, realising what a poor attempt of a greeting that was, and to the BOSS of the other company too!

What is he going to do?

“Did ya watch the game last night?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, a suburban looking man in a suit asked him the question, sticking out his hand with a dopey looking grin. Almost sporting a similar thickness of the cologne the Boss wore...but more mild...and friendly.

“Uh...maybe I did?”

He grabbed ahold of the other mans hand, giving a firm shake as rehearsed. He may just be an intern, and maybe he fumbled with the greeting with the Boss, but he was going to give it his all with the next few introductions.

The shake, while it was a matter of seconds, seemed to last longer in his mind, as he felt the warm spreading from the thickness of those fatherly palms, and rough wrinkles that had definitely were from the years of prime in his youth.

“What maybe I did? Of course I did!”

Of course I did? He thought, scratching his head with his other hand, which felt oddly warm as well. Mirroring the other, as those palms expanded with a former grip, sun-kissed tan bathing their digits as it spread all over their palms. Crunching the older man’s hands, as the university intern smirked.

“Of course I did!”

“Atta Boy!”

The older father figure looped his arms around him, as he...slightly reluctantly, did the same. The tan had spread down his wrists, past the forearms and to those biceps. Giving a firm masculine boost as testosterone swelled his arms, thickening like he definitely lifted a lot.

He wasn’t into sports much, but he did lift a little...especially after some pestering with Mr Craig, the really nice man from the other company. Tasked to do some stock checking and other stuff before the event, they chatted quite a bit and surprisingly had clique very well.

“So what are ya doing out here shaking hands?”

“Oh I...uh was asked to shake hands?”

“What are ya talking about? That stuff was for the interns!”

Bedgaric blinked, interns? But wasn’t he...no. He moved past that stage a couple of years ago, and thinking back, the company never asked him to go stand at the door and shake hands when he was interning in Wong.Inc.

But he felt like...he needed to do this. Setting a good example for the future interns, and hoping they don’t slack off like his lazy young boyfriend. Straightening his back, not noticing he was now about the same height as Craig.

“Its merely in my good nature...gotta reflect well on the company!”

“And that’s right why we bonded right away!”

The man beamed, feeling at ease with his colleague as they were often paired together to strengthen relationships between both companies. Despite the obvious age and ranking differences, it was clear to the company that he was fit for the job.

As his mentor-figure rubbed against his sore shoulders, his shoulder blades clacked, as it was evident that the dark tan worked its magic there. Working out and making up for those wasted years, the 28 year old definitely made gains as his back rippled against the Polo tee he wore. Strapping muscles that he could recall several men, and girls ogling after him on a daily basis. Though he was into boyfriend Conan, many others were also into him too.

“Anyways...remember that bit? TOUCHDOWN!”

“Ah yeah! Man was that CLOSE!”

Resting his strong muscular arm easily on the other man, he was really into football, though he never made the team when he was younger. Too much of a pansy back then, but Craig really manned him up like the big brother figure he is.

Often watching football during the breaks, and a couple of roughhousing with Craig and a couple of his older friends. They had a blast!

Bendgardict, being the tall and bulky asian man he is, was assigned to be on defence. Recalling the impact the football nearly hitting his core, but his strong goalkeeper-esque hands catching it...definitely something he picked up during his soccer days.

Indeed, he had played soccer a ton, he was a jock after all. Legs thickening to hard trunks, as the hot tan spread with light dusting of hair at every spot. Feet surely sprung forth, as the heavy clunking of those dark polished dress shoes now spotted his attire.

Giving a huge SWING to Craig, broad shoulders rippling beneath his attire, he crossed his arms and smirked. Clutching every football toss to his core, abdominals crunching numbers as pectorals bounced back with even more force, a defender to the core, that’s the man he was.

Standing firm and tall, his polo shirt could barely contain the rippling maturity as the sound of satisfying rips echoed his larger bod. Material shifting to a more presentable cotton, bleached white as sleeves rolled themselves neatly down his arms. Spotting on a white dress shirt with the first few buttons unbuttoned, accenting his frame like the Chad he is.

He had some hesitations displaying himself, but he shook it off, knowing if God gave him a body like this, he should use it to the fullest. God? Must be Craig’s Church influencing him quite a lot, he believed, still new to it though.

“From production manager to executive director...Eugene definitely went bonkers last night...”

“Hah! Serves him right to go against our team!”

The two of them continued chatting about work experiences, the game, and altogether men stuff. Time flew by effortlessly, alongside maturity. The Associate ranking up as they laughed heartily.

It wasn’t long until the asian man surpassed his peer in height, stopping at 6ft 2. He laughed heartily like a big brother, even though he was clearly younger...not by much, 5 years or so.

But he certainly ranked up a lot, after all, he did share similar beliefs to his higher ups and colleagues...those ‘hip’ millennials call them boomers, but their values really resonated within him. Something his...intern would not understand, with all his constant flirting in the office.

Presentability. An upper coating of expensive fabric layered over his dress shirt, as well as replacing that of his pants. Beige with faint magenta straight lines, ironing the wrinkles over his suit pants and jacket combo with a matching pocket square.

He had earned quite a handful sum after all, spending it wisely in investing in stocks and proper attire. Not like those games that millennials waste their money on.

Masculinity. This was done without question, which represented his sunbaked complexion from working out and bonding with other men in the field.

It was also without question that the ridiculous ponytail began slowly retracting upwards, with sides shaved like a real man always would, especially in sports. Combing sideways with neat dabbing of gel, as the hard crusty dusting of aftershave went all over his upper lip and strong jaw.

He was nice, but pretty jock-centred in his beliefs. Both in his faith and how a man oughta behave. Big strong and masculine, the provider of the household, man and woman.

Man and woman...?

“Will see ya and the family on church this Sunday!”

“See ya!”

His mouth instinctively responded on autopilot, as his goofy grin waved goodbye to his long time friend, colleague, and church mate. His eyes blinked momentarily in light shock, making way to the bathrooms, and quickly closing behind one of the stalls.

LOCK!

“What...what in tarnation is happening to me? Haha?”

The stresses melted away into a grin, he always had a good natured stress-free persona, even when that gay intern confessed to him when he wasn’t into such things...wait no....

He felt compelled to...what? He barely knew the intern, plus he was more into ladies...in fact, he was sure his buddy Craig mentioned something about a family right? The air conditioning neutralising his heat emitting, he quickly fished for his-

“So warm...so fatherly...”

The middle aged man tugged his breeding tool beneath his pants, letting out soft groans like he was young. Ah the younger days, so simple, when men just liked women...when men just liked women!

Blushing to himself, as he tugged ferociously, letting out loud gasps as he felt his behind tightening with a SPANK. Disciplining away any penetration like his father would if he did not excel in his studies, swelling up to a sweet bubble butt reserved for...his love one.

He was raised in a traditional household after all, strong honour and an expertise in Mandarin Chinese. Which was why he landed his position in the first place.

But of course, he thanked God for everything after coming to know him in his college days. Strictness mixed with Kindness, Honour mixed with a loving father, Mr Benedgadict Kan understood who he was, as the firm but gentle brushes against his package were too much to bear.

“Forgive me...C...C....Cindy!”

He was a faithful man wasn’t he? It feels strange to even think about such ‘millennial’ thoughts! Haha, never understood them. Thankfully his wife Cindy and him raised their children well in the lord! Speaking of her...oh man!

“Cindy...you’re so beautiful!”

Gone were the dates of a gay man, replacing by a marriage lasting over two decades. Time well spent with her, His heart pumped in love with HER! Manhood rose in length and girth at the thought of her luscious hair, and soft lips that just made the man outta him.

Man and woman

THRUST!

She is your wife, and you are her husband.

THRUST!

You are a father.

“Ooooaaaah!”

The forty eight year old asian man gave a huge holler as he let out the remains of his homosexuality in an innocent bliss, slumping back as his eyelids closed without hesitation.

Stains looped around his left ring finger as a good man stays devoted to his wife. His member remained sturdy, hard and manly, but at rest. A golden necklace materialised, symbolising the gift she got him on their anniversary.

His married hand gave a good firm pat on his pouch, instinctively putting back his tool into hiding and zipping his pants up.

Almost as if Benedict Kang never tugged his manhood by himself, only engaging in it when multiplying with his wife. He was a good faithful man after all, his new genetics beamed to reflect that as he slowly opened his beady eyes.

“Oh lordee...Where am I?”

Managing Director Kang was your all around nice boss...dad guy. Ruffling his gelled hair, he laughed as he remembered praying and thanking the lord for his successes in his company and in his life.

Prayer time was always priority. He got results done, and had more than enough time to spend time with his family as well as watch the game. It had cut close sometimes, nearly missing a business proposal due to his son’s football game in school, but he always made it in the Bened-Nick of time.

Speaking of which...

“Oh shucks! What time is it?”

He quickly fished himself up from his mediation pronto, unlocking the door and strolling down towards the door entrance of the conference meeting, he quickly glanced at his ‘IanAs’ watch.

“Just in time! The Conference meeting was about to start!”

Mr Benedict Kang flashed his most genuine grin, stress melting away from the atmosphere as his wholesome presence was made known as he jovially walked in.

“Amen to that!”

[mstindia]

How to Cum Twice? Here’s Your Best Men’s Guide

Despite putting everything of yours in that rollercoaster ride and done repeating thrilling series of ups and downs, you are unable to achieve multiple orgasms.

Now you might think that men can’t! But saying that it is impossible would be a false statement because men can.

Perhaps you haven’t explored the potential of sex toys for men yet. But believe it or not, it can be a hidden gem to make your deepest desires come true.

This blog would give the best explanation of how men can cum twice using sex toys.

1. Keep It Lube-Ready

You must buy fleshlight in India, but before you start rubbing your weapon in that hole, make sure it is well-polished with lubricant power. Lubricants are oily and slippery stuff that is specially designed for sexual activities. This ingredient ensures you reach your destination smoothly and effectively without any irritation or excessive sensation. And the best thing, your weapon lasts longer in the battle.

2. Fleshlight Must be On Priority

Sex toys for men, especially fleshlight, must be your priority if you are a man. It is the best alternative to raw-handjob because it is more enjoyable and serves as a realistic experience. You take the joy of self-exploration activities to a whole new high with these fantastic tools. But make sure you are equipped with all those essential accessories that elevate your experience with fleshlight. Such as a lubricant gel, cock rings, or vibrators.

3. Go Hard First

For the sake of orgasmic pleasure, going fast is necessary. Mainly when you want to end the game with another orgasmic climax, going hard is necessary for the first session. It helps you release much of your energy initially; ensuring the second round lasts longer while exceeding all the expectations that you have from your sex routines.

4. Take a Break to Recharge.

Once you have ended up releasing all the energy in your first round, wait for a few minutes. Let your body charged up so that you can achieve your second orgasmic goal. As soon as you think that you are once again ready to bang on the platform prepared for your sexual adventure, don't delay. Just dive in.

5. Prepare with Cock-Ring

Cock rings are one of the less-known things, but surprisingly they can be the best sex toys for men. After the first round, if your weapon is unable to get into its fully erected shape, think about a cock ring. This ring-like structure gives your penis a firm grip ensuring you feel stronger, utterly ready to achieve your second climax goal.

6. Give Second Round a Softer Hit

In the second run, avoid going faster because it can be an extremely exhausting move. If you foresee a nightstand with your partner for an extended hour, have a softer ride in your second session. It will be extremely satisfying equally to you and her. If you still feel a bit tired, ask your friend to keep you ready for the next battle that anyhow you want to conquer along with her.

Final Words

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