#memorisation sure but what about understanding? exchange? your own feelings?

[myteastainedpages]

what else was intimacy if not the memorisation of her thoughts, her dreams, her fears?

the atlas paradox - olivie blake

[teawaffles]

Louis and the Aquaria: Chapter 2

Two days after that. The normally-unused hall had undergone a complete transformation — and Fred was stunned.

“Wow……”

Sitting before him were three large water tanks, roughly five metres wide. Within each one were some aquatic plants, as well as 20 to 30 fish in a range of vibrant colours and distinctive appearances. They swam through the water, sometimes gracefully, sometimes powerfully — the beauty of the aquaria was simply overwhelming.

“What do you think, Fred?” asked Louis, as he walked up to him.

Without taking his gaze off the tanks, Fred shared his thoughts.

“I’ve never seen such beautiful fish. Are they all from other countries?”

“Indeed. Southeast Asia, Africa, and South America — I heard that they were collected from these three regions and brought here via special channels. There was a concern that the quality of our local water would not be suitable, hence even the water has been directly imported from their native rivers and lakes.”

“The scale here sure is different……”

Even the water that filled these tanks had been procured from the fishes’ native habitats: once again, the thoroughness of this endeavour left Fred in awe.

“I’m planning to bring in more of Herder’s equipment at a later date; but for now, all I can do is to watch over them like this…… Oh?”

Noticing something strange, Louis peered into one of the tanks.

Before his eyes, a small pufferfish was biting the fins of its tank mates. Looking at the other aquaria, it was clear that other tiny skirmishes had broken out.

Seeing the colourful fish engaged in unbecoming violence, Fred looked puzzled.

“It seems even fish need to be compatible with one another.”

“Indeed. It looks like it isn’t enough to simply divide them by their native regions.”

Hesitating a little, Louis slowly put his hand into the tank, and broke up the fishes’ fight as gently as possible. [1] Confirming that the conflict had been resolved for now, he breathed a sigh.

However, Fred spoke up in concern.

“If it’s already like this from the start, Mr Louis, then it looks like it’s going to be quite difficult for you.”

“Still, it must be done. ——For the sake of William’s plan.”

Hearing those words filled with conviction, once again, Fred could feel the strength of Louis’s emotions toward his brother.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Two days after the fish had moved into the mansion, the hall underwent another transformation.

The curtains had been drawn, and the entire room was dim. The large water tanks had been removed, and around twenty small aquaria were now lined up in their stead. Each tank was outfitted with the latest cutting-edge machinery to assist in the fishes’ upkeep.

In charge of their care, Louis quietly strolled among the tanks, scrutinising the fishes’ appearances one by one.

“Yo, Louis. How are they?”

Just as he’d completed his round of checks, Moran and Fred entered the hall.

Looking at his notes on the conditions of his charges, Louis answered in a businesslike manner.

“There are no problems at present. I’ve finally managed to understand their individual dispositions, hence their care should proceed more smoothly from here.”

“That’s great — though, it has gotten a little crowded in here.”

Moran looked around the room. Beside him, Fred was staring curiously at a device attached to the top of the tank.

“Is this machine necessary for taking care of them?”

“Yeah, it’s called a filter: it serves to improve the water quality,” Louis explained briefly.

In order to ensure he'd covered all bases, Louis spared no effort in his research, making detailed reports to Herder as he employed a variety of equipment in the fishes’ care.

Certainly, for the aquaria to be mechanised to such an extent, the level of technology required was several steps ahead of its time. To use such revolutionary technology for the sole purpose of rearing tropical fish: one could even call it extravagant.

As Moran watched the machines in operation, a dubious look crossed his face.

“These guys have been living in the wild up to this point, so it does feel a bit pitiful for them to be shut indoors all day. Why don’t you let them swim in the big pond outside once in a while?”

But Louis gently dismissed his proposal.

“I understand where you’re coming from; but we have to consider issues like how they would adapt to the water, and so I have refrained from doing that.”

“Then, at least bring the tanks outside so they can enjoy the sun.”


“That can’t be done either. If the aquaria were to be placed under direct sunlight, there would be other problems such as algal growth and spikes in water temperature. Hence, the day-night cycle has been replicated using artificial light.”

“An artificial sun, huh. All thanks to the development of industry,” Moran muttered.

Louis turned his gaze toward the lights installed above the tanks.

“These incandescent bulbs and other electrical technologies are still yet to be widespread — one can really feel the portent of Mr Herder’s work.” [2] [3]

As the two men made small talk, Fred watched the fish in the aquaria, his face aglow.

Then, the door to the hall opened.

Rhythmic footsteps echoed, and in came William.

“Nii-san.”

Louis broke off his conversation with Moran, and turned to face his brother.

“How has your work been?”

“It’s going well. Once we convey to Stapleton that we’re keeping tropical fish, I’m sure his interest will be piqued.”

“That’s good to hear. I hope your contact with him will be a success.”

“Thank you. And I’m glad to see that the fish are doing well. As I thought, it was the right decision to entrust their care to you, Louis.”

“I owe that to both your and Mr Herder’s help.”

Even as his reply was modest, Louis puffed out his chest.

Watching how close the two brothers were, the elder Moran smiled. But as he looked at the aquaria again, a tiny doubt suddenly struck him.

“By the way, we’re keeping these fish so we can meet with this Stapleton guy, right? Then when that’s done, what’ll happen to them?”

Louis tilted his head slightly as he pondered.

“Well…… As far as I understood his nature, in all likelihood, he’ll want to take the fish. In that case, we’ll probably hand them all over to him.”

He’d said that with a straight face, and Moran was stunned.

“Really? Don’t you think we should keep at least one of these tanks in the mansion?”

“No, not at all. These fish were collected for the sole purpose of my brother’s plan — they are simply a means to an end, and I hold no greater affection for them beyond that.”

“I-I see……”

For Moran and Louis, even as they shared William’s ambitions as his comrades, they knew full well they were but one of his chess pieces: if he were to order them to die, they were prepared to lay down their lives at any moment.

These fish were also no more than tools — everyone in the room understood that. But upon hearing how bluntly Louis put it, the older man could not hide his astonishment.

Next to them, William glanced over the fish.

“Still, they do look rather healthy, swimming around like that. For one, the colours of these Puntius rhomboocellatus are rather vibrant.”

“Ah, so that’s their name? It’s quite a mouthful.”

What William had just mentioned was the scientific name of the fish. In the event that Louis was unable to care for the fish, Moran and Fred had also familiarised themselves with their names just in case; but since they felt rather formal, Moran didn’t use them very much.

At his brother’s satisfied expression, Louis beamed with joy.

“You have a wonderful eye for aesthetics, nii-san. Besides those, I would also recommend the Mikrogeophagus ramirezi.”

“Hm, they’re a beautiful shade of blue. Though I personally like the Neolamprologus brichardi over here as well.”

“I see. Then what do you think about the Julidochromis transcriptus and Pelvicachromis taeniatus? Both are from Africa too.”

“……You know, it’s great that you guys get along so well — but can we leave it at that?”

Moran’s eye twitched. But they ignored his puzzlement, and continued their jargon-filled exchange.

“Still, taking the practical view, I quite like these Corydoras paleatus for cleaning up remnants of food from the tank. On the other hand, these Laubuka dadiburjori will jump out of the aquaria if they’re left uncovered, and I had a hard time finding tank mates for the Boraras urophthalmoides.”

“Speaking of utility, Louis: I suppose you would fancy the algae-eating Siamese flying fox as well?”

“Fufu, you see through everything, nii-san. Oh, please look over here: the Nannostomus beckfordi are spreading their fins.” [4]

“——Stop! Stop! No more of that talk!”

Reaching the limit of his patience, Moran stepped between the two brothers, yanking them out of their own world.

Their conversation interrupted, Louis looked puzzled. “What’s the matter, Mr Moran? I was just about to show him the Triple Red Apistogramma cacatuoides.”

“You guys are getting completely carried away, and leaving the rest of us behind! And what’s with those bloody names? This isn’t some university lecture!”

Beside him, Fred was pointing at the fish one by one, murmuring the names that had come up in the brothers’ exchange. Clearly, he was making sure he remembered their names properly.

Quizzical, Louis responded. “They might be troublesome for you…… But my brothers and I memorised them in one shot.”

“Y-You’re kidding, right?” Moran paled.

“They really are on another level……”

Astonished, Fred also stopped what he was doing.

Hailing from a noble family, Moran himself was an Oxford graduate; in addition, Fred also possessed an above-average intellect. But when confronted with the intellectual abilities of the three Moriarty brothers, who were able to memorise such complex names in just one go, the two men were unable to hide their amazement.

“I mean, wouldn’t it be easier to give them nicknames instead?”

At Moran’s suggestion, Louis put a hand under his chin.

“Nicknames, hmm…… I haven’t had any problems so far, but giving them simpler names might be a good idea.”

“Right? It’s insufferable to have to listen to those curse-like words every time I come here.”

“Let’s try it then. But I will be rejecting any distasteful ones,” Louis quipped.

Moran looked around the room, his gaze landing on a tank with a school of guppies swimming within.

“Alright….. Then how about we call these ‘Fred’?”

Behind his glasses, Louis’s eyes widened.

“We’re giving them our own names?”

“It’s fine, innit? It’s a lot better than calling them ‘Mr Guppies’ or something.”

“It’s certainly easy to say—— But even so, why call the guppies Fred?”

“Because they’re small and agile, aren’t they?” Moran grinned.

Fred shot him a dubious look. “Is your reasoning that simple……?”

That logic did seem a little problematic; William, who’d been watching from the side, made a troubled face.

“Since you’re adept at disguising yourself, Fred: if we were to name a fish after you, it should something like a leaffish that uses mimicry. Moreover, guppies already have a rather simple name, so I don’t think it’s necessary to give them another one.”

“It’ll be fine — it’s best to go with your gut for such things. Anyway, it’s decided then: the guppies will be called ‘Fred’.”

It seemed that for once, Moran was unwilling to listen to William’s words.

Then, another aquarium caught his eye. Fascinated, he gazed at the sole inhabitant within.

“Ooh, this guy has the tank all to himself, eh? I like that feeling of aloofness — this one’s gonna be called ‘Moran’.”

The fish Moran had just given his own name to, was in fact the tiny pufferfish that had to be isolated on the very first day, after attacking the other fish.

“Ah, about that one……”

Louis did want to explain why the pufferfish was all alone; but seeing how excited Moran was, he hesitated.

However, Moran seemed to have taken that pause in a different light.

“Oi oi, did you like this one too? Sorry, but it’s first come first served — so I get to name him.”

“R-Right. If you’re fine with that one, then……”

Moran looked like he was really enjoying himself, and so Louis decided to keep his silence on the truth about Moran’s new namesake.

Along with Louis, Fred had also witnessed what the pufferfish did on the day it arrived. It pained him a little to see Moran blissfully unaware of that, and he looked away.

Then, a certain tank caught his eye.

“These are quite like Mr William and his brothers.”

“Eh?”

Intrigued, William and Louis followed his gaze.

Dancing before their eyes was a group of beautiful fish with an almost divine air around them — ones that could even be called kings of the aquarium.

“——Angelfish?”

Within the tank, three angelfish were swimming in close formation. They had glittering silver scales, with black stripes running vertically down their sides. That closeness truly reminded one of the Moriarty brothers, bound to one another with firm ties.

Their name brought to mind angels, and William could not help but chuckle in self-mockery.

“I think that’s the last thing we should ever be called.”

“Not at all. In a way, you three are angels — but more of the ones who sound the trumpets in the Book of Revelation.” [5]

At that ironic turn of phrase, William let out another meaningful laugh.

Beside them, with a somewhat absent-minded look, Louis admired the fish he’d grown so familiar with.

“Though, just as Fred said, their elegant appearance certainly befits both William and Albert nii-sama.”

“No need to be modest, Louis: you are just as noble as they are.”

“T-Thank you very much, nii-san.”

Louis turned a little pink at that. Looking at the three fish swimming together, Moran nodded enthusiastically.

“Then starting from the front of the group, their names will be ‘William’, ‘Albert’ and ‘Louis’.”

“It’s a bit embarrassing……” William smiled bashfully.

Moran walked away from the tank. “Both Louis and Fred agree with it, so it’ll be fine. Anyway, I’ll be off.”

“Eh? What about the rest?”

Fred called out to him just as he was about to leave the room, and Moran ruffled his hair as he replied.

“Now that I think about it, there’re just way too many of them. We’ve already named five of them after ourselves — that should be fine for now.”

“I guess……”

Faced with Moran’s overly freewheeling attitude, Fred was lost for words.

“…………”

Under normal circumstances, Louis would saddle Moran with some chores at this point. But his attention was still drawn to the tank with the angelfish.

He had yet to notice it himself; but their three names, now conferred onto those fish, had set off tiny ripples in his heart.

Footnotes:

T/N: Yuumori is set in the early 1880s — you can read more about that here.

[1] Yes, Louis did just put his hand into a tank with a pufferfish 😥

[2] Edison’s first light bulb had been invented less than ten years prior, and this used a carbon filament — tungsten filaments would not be developed until the early 1900s. (Wikipedia)

[3] At this time in history, electricity really was the preserve of the rich and few — even in 1919, only 6% of UK households had electricity (Science Museum UK). Interestingly, AC (alternating current) power systems were starting to be adopted in the UK around this period. (Wikipedia)

Aside: The ‘artificial sun’ gave me flashbacks to the manga Letter Bee… (Wikipedia)

[4] This is a form of threatening behaviour between fish.

[5] Moran is referring to the seven angels that blow trumpets to bring about seven cataclysmic events, as described in the New Testament (Wikipedia). Seraph of the End fans would be familiar with this one :3

Translator’s notes

Louis’s honorifics

I know I used “Louis-san” in the manga scanlation, but I’m just going to go with my gut and use “Mr Louis” here :x

[chicksung]

Can’t You See Me? || Choi Chanhee

part of @ficscafe fic exchange event!

Genre: angst, little bit of fluff, ghost!au

Pairing: ghost!chanhee x reader (ft. younghoon)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: death, depictions of depression, dealing with death, mentions of a car accident

Synopsis: You loved Chanhee, with your whole being. You didn’t what you would do without him. However, it seems like life intended for you to be without him for the rest of your days

A/N: this fic is for rani @letteredwings please enjoy lovely. sorry that it’s a little late :/ this is unedited. please ignore any mistakes

any and all feedback is appreciated

Choi Chanhee promised you that he would love you until the day he would inevitably stop breathing and cease to exist. You always laughed off the comment, thinking it was just a stupid saying he would be saying into old age. You wished you had taken it as a sign, maybe you would’ve been more cautious, maybe this whole situation could’ve been avoided. What you didn’t know is that he had died a liar when he said those ridiculous words. He loved you after he passed too.

Chanhee stood helplessly in the kitchen, watching you stand there with an aching heart. You were wide eyed, shocked and frozen from the news.

“I’m…sorry?” You stammered, hoping, praying, that your ears were deceiving you with mean elementary school tricks.

“Is your partner Choi Chanhee?” The man’s voice seemed down, like he was scared to tell you again.

“Yes, he is. We’ve been together since high school,” You informed him, trying to push down the sickening churning in your stomach.

“I regret to inform you that your partner has passed away. We received a call this morning of an accident. A truck had collided with a car. The truck driver seemed to be okay, but your partner’s injuries seemed to be more serious.” Every word pricked your heart, which was as fragile as a balloon being poked with a needle, “We tried everything, but he eventually passed away. I’m very sorry for your loss.” You nodded, your chest tightened painfully, your vision blurry from the tears in your eyes. 

“Alright, thank you for letting me know. Have a good afternoon, sir,” You signed off, trying to keep your voice from cracking.

“You too, and again, I’m sorry for your loss,” The line went dead and you placed the phone on the kitchen counter. Chanhee? Dead? No, he can’t be. He had specifically said he would be careful on the road. Tears slipped down your cheeks like sweet raindrops, your knees pathetically giving out as you wailed, yelling out obscenities and curses. Chanhee ran behind you.

“No, I’m right here! Can’t you see-” He went to place his hand on your shoulder when he realised how pale, almost transparent, he was. He sat beside you on the floor, a million thoughts passing through his mind. He couldn’t comfort you, only able to listen to you cry his name in a desperate plea to bring him back to you. Chanhee’s heartstrings tugged harshly, but he was helpless. He was nothing but a memory now, a missing part of your shared apartment, a ghost. 

You stood amongst crowds of familiar faces, his friends, family, distant relatives, colleagues, the list goes on. Who they were didn’t really matter to you, what mattered was the casket being carried away from the church doors and out into the miserable weather. Fitting, you supposed, that it was pouring with rain on the day of his funeral. Attendees moved outside, umbrellas creating a dismal cloud of sorrow above them. It had been two weeks since Chanhee had passed away now, but for some reason you could not bring yourself to cry. No matter how many times you felt his absence, not even after looking in his open casket, no tear stung your eye. You watched emotionlessly as his coffin was slowly dropped into the rectangular hole just beneath his headstone. 

                    Here lies Choi Chanhee

                Loving son, brother and friend

                 April 26 1998 - August 17 2021

                   Until we meet again, my love

You felt a hand slide across your shoulder comfortingly, Chanhee’s best friend, Younghoon’s. You didn’t react, didn’t flinch, didn’t move. You remained stone cold and kept your face void of expression. A different feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. Irritation? Anxiety? Frustration? It was hard to describe, which typically meant it was complicated, and you didn’t really like complicated feelings. You could sense a storm coming, and judging from the storm clouds of emotion in your mind, it didn’t look like it would be clearing up any time soon.

A distance away from the gathering of mourners, a pale figure stood solemnly. Sure, watching his own funeral felt weird, but Chanhee could only think of you, and how you stood there, in a similar way to him, unable to display your emotions. He wished for one second, just one, that he could understand what you were thinking, feeling, praying. Maybe there would be a way to ease the pain you felt in your heart? He was technically responsible for said pain, so shouldn’t he try and fix it?

Younghoon had been coming over more, Chanhee would notice when he would be sitting on the foot of your bed, which you had not made the effort to get out of. Everyday, the time you would eventually get up would be pushed back. Before, it was only an hour later, then it was two, then three, then four, until one day, he noticed that you only got up to go to the toilet. He would listen to you cry, sniffle, send the occasional text to someone. Younghoon had seemed to notice, so had made it routine that he would come over at exactly 1:09pm every day to help you get out of bed and try to create a productive day together. Chanhee had memorised the sound of Younghoon’s footsteps, the sound of his keys jingling in the door’s lock, the way he would hum as he made his way to the bedroom. Younghoon had become the life inside of the dead quiet house. Chanhee noticed the way that his best friend would look at you, the sad sigh that would escape his lips when he saw you, sprawled out and weeping. 

“Come on. You can’t keep moping in here,” Younghoon sauntered over to your bedside, crouching down to get a better view of your face.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want. Go away,” you hissed, pulling the covers over your head, childishly pretending that if you couldn’t see him, he would simply fade from existence. 

“Bubba,” he called out sweetly, tugging the covers out of your grasps, “you’re running low on food. I don’t want you going hungry, and besides, it’s a nice day outside. Whaddya say?” With a low groan, you slowly rose from the safety of your sheets, loose hairs sticking up in wild directions. Chanhee rushed to your side, his cold touch to your cheek sending a cold shiver down your spine. He sighed somewhat sadly as he watched Younghoon help you out of bed. It should be him helping you out of bed every morning, it should be him trying to motivate you with small activities. However, deep down he knew that if it were him, you wouldn’t even be struggling to get out of bed in the morning. He was the cause of your lack of motivation, he was the cause of your pain, your suffering. Every emotion you were feeling right now was because of him, and somehow, in some way, he wished he was still there. He wished he was Younghoon.

“Where’s Uncle Chanhee?” Your young nephew looked up at you with big eyes, confusedly looking around to find his favourite uncle. You sighed softly. You knew you would have to have this discussion with him sooner or later. 

“Uncle Chanhee...isn’t going to be coming today,” you explained, kneeling down to the four year old’s level. Chanwoo’s bottom lip quivered slightly, “Why not?” He asked with glossy eyes. He had been really looking forward to playing with Uncle Chanhee, and couldn’t understand why he didn’t wanna play with him. You knew Chanwoo was too young to understand death, but he had seemingly noticed Chanhee’s absence. You chewed the inside of your cheek, trying to think of some sort of acceptable lie to tell a child. 

“He’s not well today. He says he really wish he could play today, but he had to stay home,” You pet the boy’s head softly, hoping he would understand. The little boy nodded, seeming to understand.

“Can I make Uncle Chanhee a get well soon card?” He asked with wonder in his eyes, and you would have to be a monster to have said no.

“Of course, Woo. Go get your craft things.”

You helped your nephew decorate his ‘card’ which was really just a folded sheet of printer paper, but you weren’t about to rain on his innocent parade. 

“I’m still sad that I can’t play with Uncle Chanhee. I wish he was here,” Chanwoo admitted, writing a sweet message in lopsided messy handwriting. 

“Just because he’s not here in person, doesn’t mean he’s not here in spirit,” you explained, drawing a sun in the corner of the card for the youngster to colour in. 

“What do you mean?”

“It's kind of like magic,” you pondered aloud, “like a hug you can feel from someone who is not there.” The child nodded.

“Yeah! Like it still feels like mommy is hugging me even when she’s not there,” it was your turn to nod. 

“Exactly, Woo! You’re such a clever boy,” you ruffled his soft hair, making him giggle uncontrollably.

You were right, in a way. Chanhee was there, as a literal spirit. He felt a warm surge crash over his pale body, knowing that Chanwoo wanted to make him a card without fully understanding what was going on. A child too sweet for this world. However, it wasn’t Chanwoo he was focusing on. It was you. You weren’t crying, you weren’t wailing his name in agony. You seemed peaceful, collected, like you were watching the sunset over the sea. You were starting to come to terms with no longer having your boyfriend there. Sure, it pained you every morning to roll over and say good morning to someone who never even got into bed that night, but it didn’t hurt as much as it used to. He was unsure how long you would stay in this peaceful mindframe, but only the best storyteller will tell, time.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Younghoon asked softly, eyes just as gentle as his words. You nodded, confident in your decision. You were a little unsure when you first brought up the idea to him, but it had to be done. The both of you walked up the hill in the cemetery, hands intertwined. You two had been dating for some time now, but you always had this lingering feeling that Chanhee wouldn’t like what you were doing. You loved Chanhee dearly, but you felt the same about Younghoon. It had been almost seven months since you received that phone call, but slowly everything in your life was piecing itself back together, formerly shattered after the tsunami of emotions that wiped out everything that made you feel human. You stood at the face of his gravestone, his name etched prettily into the cool rock. 

“Hey,” you greeted, your hand slipping out of your boyfriend’s. Chanhee displayed an invisible smile.

Hey.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The sentence felt awkward and heavy on your tongue. 

It has. How have you been?

“I’ve been doing well. Just trying to get by, you get it.”

Yeah, I get it. Is that Younghoon?

“I was getting to that. I’m not sure how it happened, but it did. He helped me a lot after you passed. I owe him a lot. Mainly ice cream,” You laughed at yourself, partially because of your bad joke, and partially because of how ridiculous you must sound to anyone passing by.

You’re dating now?

“Yeah. I just...I wanted to say thank you,” you blurted, playing with the tips of your fingers.

Why are you thanking me?

“You taught me a lot, Chanhee. How to cook ramen properly, how to make the best oven baked pizza anyone has ever had, but most of all, you taught me how to love. And while I love you so much, my god, you can’t even believe to comprehend it, I’ve found someone else that I love,” You felt tears spring to your eyes. You were the only one talking, so why did it sound like you were saying goodbye? You glanced at Younghoon, who only smiled weakly. 

“Can I say a few words?” Younghoon stepped forward, placing his hand on your shoulder, the same way he had done the dismal day of Chanhee’s funeral. You nodded wordlessly, watching your boyfriend stride towards the grave of his best friend. Younghoon traced the etched marks of his friend’s name before giving a small smile.

“You’ve been gone too long,” he started, giving a sad chuckle, “and a lot has happened during that time.” Chanhee laughed silently at his friend’s words, slumping against the cold headboard of his resting place.

“But I will promise you this. I will look after them for you. I will care for, and nurture and love them for you. It’s what best friends are for, right?”

Chanhee nodded, a friendly smile finally adorning his features. He felt something new, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, peace. His body felt as light as a feather, as if it was drifting through the breeze. He dropped his gaze to his hands, only to see that the aforementioned body part wasn’t there. He was fading, an experience he had thought about many times before, but somehow, it wasn’t as scary as he thought it would be. Chanhee looked to you, and he could’ve sworn that for a moment, just one moment, you could see him, slowly dematerialising out of existence. He wasn’t scared anymore, scared of how you would cope without him. You had Younghoon, the only person other than you that he trusted his life with. 

“Until we meet again, my love,” Chanhee bade his final farewell to this world, taking a small bow and with a slight change in the wind’s direction, he was gone. 

You felt light, like the weight of an entire urbanised city had been lifted off your shoulders. Younghoon took his place by your side once more.

“Should we go home?” He suggested, earning a relaxed smile from you.

“Yeah. Besides, it’ll be dark soon,” you squeezed his hand, your eyes glowing in the reddened flare of the sunset. Hand in hand, you walked down the stone path and out of the overly large rusted gate. It was never easy letting go, not by any stretch of the imagination. You would always carry a piece of Chanhee with you, and even without him by your side, you felt closer to him than ever.

[anthonyed]

Kissing prompts (gosh, i love em all): 45 and buckytony?

The only thing that came into my mind when I read the prompt was: 'losing you would be my villain story' trope. So remember that ficlet where Tony was scared to hug Bucky cause he won't be able to let go? Well this is from that verse. And  I tried my best to execute it (don't know if I succeeded) and here it is:

idk how part of my reply got injected into the ask box but the link in there is click-able for the verse of the following story.

(from this list: Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.)

tw: blood, violence, mentions of body mutilation (basically a decapitated head that’s all)

-//-

Bucky’s already in the cradle when he lands; still clad in armour from neck down and he heads straight to where Helen Cho stands, manning the machine. 

“Talk to me.” He orders, not bothering with manners, voice still battle-strained and he’d apologize to her later, buy her a bouquet or something but for now -

“How is he?”

Cho looks ill when she smiles, mouth working around dull words; if she was going for reassurance, it sure looks terrible on her face. 

“Pending on the prognosis. Multiple organ laceration; I just drained his pericardial sac and stabilised his heart -,”

Tony grabs her by the shoulders, he doesn’t want to hear what more medical words she has to throw on him. He says what he needs her to do: “Save him.”

She opens her mouth, and he can already hear bullshit coming forth, “I can’t guarantee you anything at this point. I’m doing my part, his body is doing it’s -,” she wavers, her lashes flutter and then something shifts in her. 

“Mr Stark. You have to understand -,” she starts in a practiced cold tone and Tony, he cannot deal with this now.

Gauntleted fingers dig into her lab-coat clad frame, and he shakes her once before they’re quickly intercepted. 

Natasha’s cool gaze is fixed on him steadily even if she’s holding onto Helen Cho, six feet away from him. There’s someone arresting his arms from behind but he doesn’t care who, doesn’t put up a fight; that’s not why he’s here.

He needs Cho to know her priority. “I don’t care what it costs.” he looks into her eyes and tells her. This is between them and they both know what he means; there’s a vial of perfected extremis in the vault behind the wall. “I need you to save him. Do you understand?”

Helen Cho blinks, comprehension dawning upon her before she suddenly looks sick; lips pressed tight like she’s holding back her words from him. Good, Tony doesn’t want to hear her preach ethical violation to him. But he keeps looking at her until she agrees; because she has to. She has to know that he needs Bucky alive. No bargains in that matter.

Finally, she nods, quickly once. “I’ll do my best.”

And Tony leaves her to it, putting all his trust on her and he doesn’t wait. He has somewhere else to be. He shakes off the hands holding him back, and it’s Steve; his voice echoes his march; a pleading cry of “Tony, don’t!” 

-

Two hours later, he’s standing on the rubbles of what a HYDRA’s bunker used to be. The fat plop of dripping blood onto a blown out wooden plank under his feet slowly stirs him back to reality; wiping his vision off of its angry red and he computes the extent of the damage he’d done with a strange detachment.

For a minute, he stares at his right hand where the blood is dripping from; relaxed in posture, gauntlet still on, fingers fisting around a clump of hair from a decapitated head of someone whose face he recognized flashing on his HUD earlier that day. When he scanned for the bastard who fired that lethal shot. 

Good, he thinks. Good riddance.

His right palm whirs, flashing warning in blue and the satisfaction from blowing that head is -

He pulls in a breath and looks skyward. Directs energy into his thrusters and he flies to another bunker.

-

And another.

-

Three days after, he plugs in the armour to charge in a shitty hotel and stares at himself in the mirror; blank face, shirtless with a bloody abdomen and a bruised shoulder. 

They should have captured him long ago, he realises. He’s been going rogue all on his own, disconnected himself from the team and Rhodey and Pepper and he knows for sure that he’s breaking more law than he’d memorised twenty years ago. Somebody should have caught him; HYDRA or someone from WSC. Maybe even one of his teammates.

And yet here he is, still a free man, staining borrowed towels red from his first flesh wound since he started this vengeance streak.   

Somehow, that just fuels him to keep going.

-

Steve finds him underground in Kazimierz and he isn’t even surprised.

“I was wondering when you’d come,” he says, ready to fight, expecting an arrest. 

Steve, however, looks at him all pinched and that is even worse. Tony wants to tell him, no. Don’t show me that face. But he doesn’t have to because that look vanishes soon after and Steve nods tightly.

“If you’re doing this,” he says, “I’m coming with you.”

-

In retrospect, maybe Steve follows to keep him in line; if they catch someone alive, he’d say, “Let me deal,” and Tony lets him. He’d already destroyed the guy responsible, here forth if Steve wants to play saint and ease their death, he can go ahead and do it. Tony doesn’t care.

-

Two days later, he finds out what actually Steve wants. Catches Tony numb in the process of washing dirt and the inside of someone’s cheek - from when he’d hooked his fingers too deep - under his fingernails when Steve leans against the bathroom door and says,

“Come home, Tony.”

He turns off the tap and wipes his hands dry with a towel. There’s still something under his fingernails, unwashed, but he ignores that to ask Steve, “Is he awake?” 

Steve couldn’t give him a straight answer so, Tony chucks the towel on the counter, walks past him into the room they're sharing for the night and nods at the bathroom when Steve turns to look at him. “It’s all yours now. Unless you’re leaving, then I suppose you’d prefer to shower at home.”

He tears open the bag of chips, guzzles down two bottles of water before he shoves a handful of bland chips into his mouth. He knows Steve’s still looking, but he avoids his gaze, anyway. Keeps shoving more chips into his mouth even though he’s close to choking and only when he hears the bathroom door close, he stops.

-

They burn the fifth centre to the ground and leave to Chukotsky District for the sixth.

They share a room in another motel that night, vodka warming their insides and Tony shares a piece of him with Steve. 

“I get it now.” He tells him, eyes burning as he stares at his bare feet intensely.

“What?”

Blinking hard, he empties his plastic cup down his throat and looks up. “Why you’d kill for him,” he smirks. Not an ounce of feeling under his skin. 

Steve’s eyes flicker in the dim orange light. He says, “Not for the same reason as yours, no,” and he looks like he got something more to say following that. But whatever it is, Tony doesn’t hear it. 

-

The next morning, he wakes up to Natasha at the foot of his bed, Steve still fast asleep in his own.

She rubs a thumb on the inside of his ankle and joins them for the last bunker. 

“Come home,” she says later, wiping a bloody dagger in the inside of her left sleeve, watching grey clouds burst into the white sky next to Tony and she tells him, “He’s awake, you know. Asking for you.”

-

He’s stuffing clothes into his duffel bag, but hesitates when he’s about to pull the zipper. Not far from him, Steve pauses in rolling his socks. Natasha offs the TV; they’re watching him - both of them - have been watching him since they returned from that bunker.

Tony’s hands shake, and he buries one in his hair. “I’m not coming,” he tells them.

“Why?” Natasha cocks her head curiously. 

Steve plops heavily down on his bed. Its frame creaks. “Tony,” he begins, but Natasha’s fluid movement from the foot of his bed to Tony’s side, stops him. 

Tony’s knees buckle and when he sinks, she goes down with him; leans her head on his shoulder, drapes an arm over and she fills his sense with sweet strawberry smell while Steve looks wearily from across him. 

Tony keeps his eyes fixed on him, his thoughts on the sweet taste of Natasha’s scent on his tongue and he says, “He almost died because of me.”

Steve frowns, scrunching the socks into a ball in his hands, and he corrects Tony stiffly, “He took the hit for you. It was his choice.” 

“Well, he shouldn’t have!” Tony yells.

Natasha’s hand is soft on his cheek when she turns him around to face her. “You would have done the same,” she murmurs, levelled and calm, close to his ear. 

Steve’s jaw is clenched hard, but his words are soft. “We protect what we love, Tony.”

Blinking back hot tears, Tony looks away from both of them and grits out, “He’s an idiot.”

Steve snorts. Natasha presses a smile into his temple, and she suggests, “Maybe he’d like to hear that from you.”

-

Returning home after a week and a half should feel relieving but all he could think is about Bucky and the last time he saw him; bloody in his arms in Central Park and then lifeless in the cradle, and he couldn’t help the anxiety that boils from his chest to the back of his throat. 

That in itself buries his desire to check on Bucky, see for himself how he’s doing; make sure he’s all right.

“I’ve got to answer Pepper,” he blurts out, already stepping away from them; separating himself, and Natasha’s frown and Steve’s disappointed gaze accompanies him all the way to the workshop where he collapses on the couch.

“How’s he doing?” He asks into the throw pillow that smells like Bucky. “Friday?”

“Sergeant Barnes is healing well, boss. Although, he’d do better if he sees you.”

Bullshit. He doesn’t tell her.

“Did Dr Cho use the extremis?” He asks instead, pulse bursting through his arteries. 

When Friday says, “No, boss. There was no need for that,” he buries his head into the pillow and breathes Bucky in deeply; relief spreading like a balm under his breastbones.

“But boss,” Friday carries on, “Sergeant Barnes asked for you.” 

Before she could say more about that, he promptly mutes her.

-

Maybe he’s a coward. Maybe he’s afraid if he sees Bucky, he’d be accused to be the cause of his near death experience.

Or maybe he’s terrified when he asks why did you do that, Bucky would look at him like he’s an idiot, and say, “Because I love you, that’s why.” and Tony -

Tony knows he couldn’t handle hearing that. His heart would shatter into a million pieces.

So, maybe he’s a coward. Maybe what he’s really afraid of is breaking his own heart - call it a primitive reaction. He is a primate in DNA after all.

-

“Boss, Miss Potts is asking for you.”

“Tell her I’m busy inventing something that could triple her paycheck.”

“Boss.”

“What?”

“Sergent Barn-,”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, but he’s asking for -,”

“Mute.”

-

Maybe he’s running away.

And maybe he’s bad at it.

-

“Jesus.” he jumps, well past midnight, a few days after he’d returned, in the penthouse kitchen, in the middle of his supply raid (because Pepper pulled her rights and cut direct deliveries to the shop).

He’d calculated the risk, knew there was a 95% chance of him being caught by the very person he’s running away from. That’s why he’d planned his approach, carefully ran over it multiple times, asked Friday over and over to make sure no one was in the kitchen.

Should have counted in the fact that his AI is in love with her Sargeant Barnes.

The same Sargeant who asks calmly, “Any reasons you’ve been avoiding me?”

Tony clears his throat, drops his hand from where he’d clutched his chest. “Not in particular," he tries for nonchalance.

He didn’t turn on the light, but the silver glint of Bucky’s metal arm is unmistakable; tracing trajectory motion of his leap from the countertop to in front of Tony, infusing heat from their sudden proximity.

“I wanted to see you,” Bucky says, eerily flat, head tilted sideways as his blue-grey eyes study Tony from top to bottom then up. “But you refused.”

Throat clamping around a lump, Tony looks down at his empty coffee mug. At their bare feet and then at the cold tiles they’re standing on. He avoids the topic. “How are you doing?” He asks instead, looking up with false cheeriness. 

Bucky doesn't hesitate before he answers, “Better if I’d seen you.”

And Tony has to laugh at that. Jesus Christ, just how stupidly cheesy is this guy? Except he feels his cheeks warm, and he steps aside to get away with an airy, “Well now that you have, I hope you feel better.”

Bucky doesn't let him (of course he doesn't); blocks his path and his gaze bore into Tony when their eyes meet. Trying to pry something only he knows what and Tony, exhausted after two consecutive sleepless nights, lets him. 

If not for an excuse to allow himself drink in the sight of the man who took a laser to his chest for him and almost died. The man he'd lost his sanity for, killed for and then ran away from because he is a coward. 

His eyes fall on the lower left side of Bucky’s pectoral. If he looks harder, he thinks he could see a dark patch seeping inside out like spreading ivy. He shakes his head to clear his vision.

Bucky seems to read him well. He takes the mug away and catches his empty hand before bringing it to his chest. Then he places it over exactly where that wound had been last week; bleeding viscous blood all over them and when Tony looks up at him, desperate and scared like he was that day, he assures, “I’m fine. Still alive.”

And then, “C’mere,” he tugs. Pulling Tony closer, pressing his palm harder over his shirt clad chest; warm where they touch, and he asks, “Can you feel that? It’s still beating in there.”

And it is - His heart is. All healed and pumping serum tainted blood through his vessels; keeping him alive like he hadn’t been gasping for breath in Tony’s lap just last week. 

“Fuck.” Tony exhales.

Bucky takes it as a cue to pull him into his chest. Wraps him tight in a hug, and he buries his nose in Tony’s hair. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

Tony tries to inhale but ends up choking on air. 

“I know.” Bucky repeats. Pressing lips to his forehead and then temple.

When he finds his voice, Tony fists the fabric overlying his left breast, head buried in warmth and he lets out a pained growl. “Don’t ever do that again.”

But Bucky, of all things, chuckles like he'd just heard a joke. “Can’t promise that, doll,” He drawls, grinning like the idiot he is. “If it happens another time, I’ll do the same thing all over again. Gotta protect my best fella,” he winks.

And it drives Tony so mad that he shoves at the man's chest and glares at him, venomous. Fingers shaking in clenched fists, locked inside white knuckles and he spits, “Fuck you.” At Bucky.

For a second, Bucky’s stunned. But something flashes in his eyes and he barks out a laugh soon after. 

"Yeah," he snorts. “Kid you not, I would really like you to.” 

And that - That shocks Tony into a stop; eyes blinking wide with disbelief, he stares at the man in front of him. 

“What?” Bucky laughs, fingers raking through his long hair as he shakes his head and when he looks up again, whatever he sees in Tony, it makes him square up, and he exhales in a rush. 

“Jesus, Tony. Don’t tell me you still don’t know how I feel about you. Choked on my blood and all I could do was look at you like you hung the moon - I saw that footage. The one they aired in the news? Sam showed me that thing, and Hell. The whole world saw how I feel for you baby, and you’re standing here looking at me like you got no clue."

He closes in then, urgent, and he catches Tony’s head in both hands; cradles his face like something precious and leans down to look into Tony's eyes.  

“You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart," he pleads. “Tell me you know how you make me feel. Tell me you know, I’m yours.”

And Tony, refusing to be shaken in the face of hopeful eyes and gentle hands - one ice cold while the other blood warm - grabs the back of Bucky’s head in a harsh fist and asks him roughly, “And you? Do you know how I feel about you?”

Bucky blinks then, a slow smile spreads across his face, eyes twinkling with sadistic joy and he grins, “Stevie told me what you did. Said you didn’t spare even one.”

“All of them,” Tony breathes, lungs blooming fresh with the smell of Bucky this close, this warm and he could taste his scent on his tongue with every breath he takes. 

Shivering, he glides his hand from Bucky's nape to the side of his neck, and he yanks him close until their foreheads press. “They can’t touch you now," he whispers into the small space in between them.

“Jesus, doll.” Bucky chuckles, dry and rough, palms pressing into Tony’s cheek, tilting his face up so their breaths intermingle and their noses bump, and the first brush of their skin that near is electrifying. Like stepping on a live wire; sizzling straight into the veins under their skins and it propels them to mash their mouths together in a desperate kiss. 

Giddy as they are with something vile and raw, they didn't care if their teeth clashed in the rush; painful and sharp, or if their kisses were too messy and wet. Their heads are too heady with the taste of their love and they feed it into each other’s mouths, drink it out of them and fuck - They laugh through it all. 

At one point, Tony yanks at Bucky's hair and hums, pressing harder in and Bucky presses equally hard in return. Neither wanting to give; only take, take and take until there’s nothing left and then more.

And they're greedy for contact, starving for each other. Trembling with wants so violent that it bursts through their pores; spilling like white hot lava, burning everywhere their skin touch and maybe they knock several furniture over -Tony doesn’t know for sure. 

He’s too busy getting lost in Bucky and the biting way he kisses, the unforgiving way he squeezes Tony’s ass. Too busy pulling him by the collar, fingers fisting in his hair as he nips back harder, hissing and groaning ‘bedroom’ into Bucky’s mouth, and ‘this way’ as they stumble across the living room, stubbing toes on coffee tables and chairs, stopping to wince and laugh before resuming kissing even more passionately than before. 

Eventually, after they knock over a vase and watch it break into thousand pieces, Bucky hoists him up and walks them to the bed, and it may be emasculating if he was in a different state of mind. But right then, head spinning from Bucky and only Bucky everywhere, Tony lets him have it. 

-

Later, he watches the sun spill over Bucky’s closed eyes, spread from his sleep-slack face to his naked torso and sheet tangled legs and he reaches out a hand to press it over Bucky’s left pectoral. 

Focuses in on the steady beat behind the ribs, listens to the sound of Bucky’s heart work its job; pumping life into his bones and eyes, and spreading pink to his lips and occasionally - like last night - blotting that lovely shade of red from his face to his neck and - 

It’s staggering how close he’d come to lose that; how close Tony had come to lose his mind with that.

Hours earlier, with kiss-swollen lips and sex mussed hair, Bucky had kissed every one of his fingertip and whispered, “Turned you into a murderer didn’t I?”

Tony had combed his falling fringe back with his free hand and easily admitted that, “Losing you would evidently serve to be my villain story. No doubt in that.”

Right now though, feeling Bucky more than alive under his palm, Tony tips his slack jaw close and kisses him good morning.

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1  part 2  part 3  part 4 part 5 part 6 belongs to this

Content warning: this is where the memory loss begins. It’s not much and nothing too bad I think, but it’s there

“’Don’t go’, cry her sisters, but the little siren would have none of it. At night, she swims to the deepest, darkest part of the ocean where the sea witch lives, uncaring of the danger that lies ahead, for her heart is stronger than her fear. ‘Don’t go’, cry her sisters, but the little siren would have none of it. At night, she swims to the deepest, darkest part of the ocean where the sea witch -“

Geralt shifted in his seat, a frown carving deep lines onto his face that almost matched Jaskier’s, though Jaskier’s lines surrounded eyes that were sparkling with enthusiasm and not with confusion and barely hidden concern.

“- lives, uncaring of the danger that lies ahead, for her heart is stronger-“

“Yes, but how does it continue?” An annoyed voice piped up and Geralt’s chest felt tight, making it hard to breathe. His eyes darted from the child who had spoken to Jaskier, who must be heartbroken at the reaction.

But no. Jaskier had not stopped talking. His eyes hadn’t caught the perturbed look on the child’s face or the unrest of the adults present. It was almost as if he didn’t see them at all, too captivated by the  roundabout of his own words, never finding their destination.  

The parent of the child shushed it non too subtlety. “Just let him tell the story, honey.”

“But he’s not telling it right,” the child said with a frown. “He’s said the same sentence three times over already. I want to get to the part where she actually meets the witch and gets her legs.”

“Maybe if you’re quiet and patient, he’ll get to that part.”

The child crossed their arms with a pout, but turned their attention back to Jaskier, who leaned forward as he always did when he got to the most suspenseful part, not noticing the disruption.

“-to the deepest, darkest –“

Geralt’s jaw clenched tightly, when he saw the child opening their mouth to complain again. An unknown spike of fear shot through him. He didn’t understand what was going on. Sure, Jaskier often got lost in his own stories, but never quite like this. He never lost the story itself.

As quietly as he could he weaved his way through the usual audience of children and parents until he reached Jaskier. Carefully, he touched his elbow.

Startled, Jaskier stopped his flow of words and looked up at him, a smile lighting up his face, but disorientation clear in his eyes.

Geralt swallowed tightly. “The siren,” he said with all the gentleness he could muster. “What does she do after she swims to the witch?”

The confusion leaves Jaskier’s eyes and his smile takes on a conspiratorial note, as he falls back into his narrator voice, as though the past minutes of repetition had never happened.

“She followed her heart. For a siren’s call is strong, but nothing can drown out the call of a loved one, even if there is an ocean keeping you apart.”

The tightness in Geralt’s chest loosened, as Jaskier told his story as it was meant to be told, but he kept his hand on Jaskier, reluctant to let go. No one needed to notice how his grip tightened a bit, whenever Jaskier trailed off or got that distant look in his eyes that forebode another loop of words. Time and time again, it pulled Jaskier back to the here and now with no sign that he had even noticed that he had ever been anywhere else.

Geralt let out a shaky breath, when Jaskier made it to the end of the story. It didn’t make sense, but for a moment there, Geralt had been irrationally scared that maybe the siren and her lover wouldn’t get their happily ever after this time.  

Geralt’s hand squeezed Jaskier, as the children applauded. There was no trace of annoyance left in their faces; no sign that they remembered something being wrong.

The same could not be said about the parents, who threw Jaskier strange looks. What are you looking at? Geralt wanted to growl. So he stumbled a bit over his words. So what? That’s normal. That can happen to anyone. Not to Jaskier though. It never had happened to Jaskier.

The storyteller looked up at Geralt when he felt his touch getting tighter again, beaming up at him. Geralt returned the smile. For the first time, he hoped Jaskier wouldn’t be able to read the real emotion behind it. How could he, when even Geralt didn’t know what that strange restricting feeling was? All he knew was that Jaskier didn’t deserve to get subjected to it as well.

What happened wasn’t that bad. Just a little slip up. It could happen to anyone. It wouldn’t happen again.

It happened again. Not the next day, and not the day after that, but gradually, Jaskier lost the grasp of his stories. At least his newer ones. The older ones, the one with the farmer who had a cockatrice instead of a cock or the one with the cursed princess left Jaskier’s lips as they had when he had first written them, the words tumbling out of his mouth like the rain fell from the skies; clear and unstoppable. Washing away all the remnants of the mud that seemed to seep into his mind at times.

On days like these, Geralt could almost convince himself that nothing was wrong. On the other days… he held onto the fact that Jaskier was too far gone into his own mind to notice the adults in the audience exchange pitying looks.

“Maybe he should stay at home today.” The words rang like thunder through Geralt’s head. The miller had meant well when he had suggested it, he was sure, but that didn’t stop him the anger from boiling in his chest. Jaskier was brilliant. No one could hold their audience’s attention like him. He had brought tears to the eyes of the most stoic and hard-hearted kind and a laugh to the lips of mourning widows.

But one look at Jaskier and Geralt’s shoulders sagged in defeat. That unfocussed look was back. His eyes are still blue, he told himself. They will always be. Even if right now he can’t see the yellow of your eyes.

If Jaskier noticed the way people avoided his eyes as they headed back home, he didn’t show it.

Or that’s what Geralt thought until Jaskier steered them away from the path leading to their home, towards a small forest. It was small enough to barely deserve the name forest, but the smell of trees and earth was comforting.

Jaskier inhaled deeply with closed eyes and leaned against Geralt, one hand brushing against a tree, lingering there as if to memorise the texture of the bark.

Geralt watched him, unsure of what to do.

Eventually, Jaskier broke the silence. “Is there something wrong with me?”

A muscle in Geralt’s jaw twitched. “No.”

A smile tugged at Jaskier’s lips and he opened his eyes a smidge, to shoot Geralt a sideways look. “You hesitated.”

Geralt sighed and laid his hand next to Jaskier’s on the tree. It felt familiar like a memory he hadn’t thought of in years. He flinched at the thought.

“I did hesitate,” he said finally. “But I didn’t lie.”

“I can feel it though. There is something… or rather something isn’t there. I don’t know what it is. I can’t… I don’t know how to describe it.” He let out a shallow laugh. “Imagine that. Me, unable to find the right words to describe something.”

“You’ll find them. It doesn’t need to be now.”

Jaskier nodded, his eyes downcast. “You don’t think I’m broken?”

“Never.”

Geralt’s hand moved from the tree to Jaskier’s hand, threading their fingers together. It wasn’t like an old memory. This was something familiar like the air they were breathing, like the beating of his own heart. Nothing he could ever forget.

Jaskier gave their hands a long look. “They didn’t want me to tell them stories today,” he said quietly as if saying it too loud would burn it into his memory. “I am not a bard anymore.”

“They’ll ask you for stories again. Just…not today. Other days will come. Better days.” He pressed a kiss against Jaskier’s hair. He had to lean down to do it. When had Jaskier become so small? “You’ll always be my bard.”

The smile was back. “Even when I mess up?”

“Even then.” He leaned his forehead against Jaskier’s and closed his eyes. “Tell me a story.”

“Which one?”

“Whichever one you want.”

Jaskier hesitated for a moment, before beginning to talk, quietly, not like a performer, but like a man in love clinging onto his beloved like a lifeline, begging to be pulled into the lifeboat. Geralt pulled. He listened.

He would listen when Jaskier’s voice cracked and when he got stuck in a loop. He would listen when Jaskier forgot what story he was telling and switched halfway through. He would listen when Jaskier’s voice was bright and excited, sounding like sunshine and laughter.

Because it was Jaskier. His stories might be different than they used to be, but they were still his and that was enough. He was still radiant. How could Geralt ever tire of hearing him repeat the same words over and over again, when they were his words? As long as Jaskier had anything to say, Geralt would be there to listen.

There were better days. There were days when Jaskier had an audience other than Geralt. There were days when he didn’t. There were days when Jaskier didn’t tell his stories at all. On those days he would sit for hours in their living room and write.

It rarely happened while Geralt was at home, but on his hunts that by now where few and far between, he would come back to Jaskier having ink smudged across his fingers, sitting in deep contemplation over his notes.

What used to be one notebook standing lonely on a shelf, became too many to keep staked in there. A treasured external memory for when Jaskier couldn’t find the words himself anymore.

Every once in a while, Geralt caught him writing something else. He never got more than a glimpse of it and Jaskier would snap his notebooks shut when he noticed Geralt looking. “Not yet” he would always say and Geralt would leave him that part of his mind that he wasn’t ready to share just yet.  

Apart from that, Jaskier would share his notebooks proudly with him, with the same look he had gotten whenever he presented a new song to him, before an audience would get to hear it. Geralt didn’t react the same way he had back then. Now he smiled and embraced Jaskier, ran his fingers over the words like they were the most precious thing and asked Jaskier why he had chosen certain phrases. Jaskier noticed. He smiled, threw Geralt looks that held too much emotion to bear, but that Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

There were still times when Jaskier told Geralt his stories by heart, only chancing glances down at his notes to make sure he still got it right, despite Geralt telling him he didn’t mind a different, unexpected version of the story. It was worth it though, for the proud look whenever he got it right.

Some days, Jaskier read him his books in front of the fireplace. And some days Geralt read them to him, when they lied in bed, the lights dimmed so that only Geralt was still able to read the words anymore, Jaskier’s head on his chest a pleasant weight, as his own words lulled him to sleep.

He felt Jaskier smile against him, as he read him the story of the mermaid. “You’re no good as a storyteller,” he mumbled fondly.

Geralt hummed and ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “You’ll have to tell the tale to me again tomorrow,” he answered softly. “To make sure I get it right the next time.”

He heard Jaskier chuckle as he nestled his face against his chest. His breathing evened out, already asleep but Geralt continued reading the tale until its end.

[downinthedevildom]

Okay so I’m a big hecking dumb! I accidentally answered privately but didn’t put anything it. THANKFULLY! I screenshot everything so not all is lost! 😤😤 so here @delori-a this is for you! X3

First of all! I am no queen, friend! I am but a humble potato 🥔 I’m glad you enjoyed your match up though! 💜💜

I’m sorry this took me a while to finish, I have no excuse... I’m just a procrastinating fiend! X3 HOPE YOU ENJOY SWEETPEA!

Rating : FLUFF!!? Comfort?!

Warnings : none

Word count : 3k+

💚~*~*~*~*~*~*💜💚*~*~*~*~*~*~💜

What time was it? It was always hard to tell here.

Looking up from your desk that is currently cluttered with the battlefield of textbooks and papers you were working through, you cast your dry eyes to the window, the gorgeous starry skies doing little to answer the question in your mind. It's always night here. There was no setting sun in the Devildom to lay hints on how long you had been slaving away since returning from R.A.D for the day.

A heavy sigh passed your lips as you turned your head back to the paper you had half-written, full of dark scratches with your frustration laden mistakes. You pluck your D.D.D up from its hiding space, at some point being disregarded and covered with an open book, to look at the clock. However, it didn't illuminate like it usually would once being lifted meaning the battery had died and you hadn't even noticed the music you had quietly playing from the device stopped somewhere along the way.

It didn't really matter what time it was anyway, you had already resigned yourself to your impending all-night cramming session. Two papers were due and the impending midterm test that counted as half your grade on Monday had sealed your fate to have a very sleepless weekend.

Another sigh left you as your rub your palms over tired eyes in a will to make them stop fighting you with this pesky irritating dryness. You needed coffee; always the silent saviour. You pushed yourself out of the chair, your joints popping loudly in the quiet room with the movement. Using your hip to push your chair in you tossed your D.D.D onto your bed, making your way out of your room and quickly to the kitchen. Never before had you been so thankful that your room was only a few steps away from the elixir of life. At least this way you were sure not to wake the other residents in the house of Lamentation through the weekend. You already knew this would be a trip you would be making a lot over the next few days.

A single push of a button had the coffee machine humming to life, echoing through the room in the unusually quiet house - another thing you were thankful for in this moment. The lively atmosphere would normally fill you with warmth, the seven rulers of hell lives were something to witness in the comfort of their dwelling. Sure they fought often, but these walls were filled with so much family love and a millennia of memories you had only begun to scratch the surface of. Tonight you were thankful for the quiet, no disturbances as you fought against the dread of failure with tooth and nail. You really didn't need the bothers yelling to give your brain more reasons than it already had to pulse painfully in your skull.

It was a Friday night and as far as you knew only you and Leviathan were home right now. That being said, it was more like you had the house to yourself due to the otaku being less likely to come out of his room while he was gaming for the night than it was that you would spontaneously combust from the pressure you were putting on yourself. Everyone else had their weekend plans already in full swing.

Of course, none of the brothers would be home studying like you, struggling to understand the topics of demon-ology. They already knew all this stuff... They lived this stuff! Sighing was quickly becoming your only form of vocalization of the night as another passed though your lips to accompany the dull thunk of your spoon hitting ceramic as you stirred your coffee. The thought of another all-nighter weighed heavy on your chest and that has another sigh following.

“Oi, what's got you all huffy, huh?!” the unexpected voice startled you from your mind, causing you to jolt and fix the white-haired demon with a wide-eyed gaze.

“Mammon, you gave me a damn heart attack!” you managed to squeak out the words as a hand clasped over your chest willing your heart to get back down and out of your throat. The all too familiar grin on his handsome features while he leant against the door frame, did little to convince you he was anything akin to remorseful for causing your soul to temporarily up and leave your body.

“I thought you had a shoot tonight, you skip it?” you questioned him before he had the chance to start teasing you as he normally would. It was always in jest, but you didn't have the energy to throw your own back at him right now.

“Skip?! Its good money doing them shoots ya know! As if I would skip it!” The fake offence in his voice was dripping in the pride he had by earning his own money, honestly. “I finished over an hour ago.” he filled you in while shrugging himself off the door as you approach, continuing to do so as he followed you down the hall. “Just got back, you weren't in ya room so figured I’d hunt ya down.” The playful lilt in his tone made his intentions clear to you, he was still hyped up and if you let him he would talk your ear off until morning.

Normally you would accept it willingly, even asking him questions about his shoots to continue seeing the proud smile on his face and his laugh ringing through the air of your bedroom. You just didn't have the time right now, so instead, you shoved away the voice in your head telling you that procrastination with your favourite demon would be the best way to spend the night.

“And why, pray tell, did you feel the need to find me?” you almost flinched at the harshness of your own voice, quickly placing your coffee down on your table you added in a gentler tone. “Is there something you need? Something wrong?” your hand had already fallen to the back of your chair, ready to pull it out and take your temporary throne, while turning to face him.

You hoped he would read the room and realise you were too busy and leave you be. Dreading the thought of his reaction should you have to ask him to leave. You really did love his company and his self-esteem already got knocked enough by his brothers. Right now, with the prospects of flunking three separate classes hanging in the not too distant future, your nerves were dancing on the edge of a blade. One wrong step and you would be more of a disappointment to the exchange program than you already felt you were.

A flicker of what you read as recognition flashed over Mammons face as his gaze turned from the messy table and his impossibly blue eyes landed on your own. “Yeah, there's somethin’ wrong. You are doin’ homework when we planned a movie night, remember?” he flashed you with another blinding grin and all you could do is blink in bewilderment. No, you didn't remember that. In fact, you are pretty sure he just made that up on the spot so he had more of an excuse to claim your time.

“I’m sorry, Mammon.” you started, the dejectedness in you tone was thick in your tone. You chose not to mention his blatant lie, instead just telling him the truth in return. “I don't have time to watch a movie with you tonight, I really have to get this work done.” You give him a soft smile, hoping he doesn't get upset with you as you attempt to pull out your chair only to find Mammon’s own hand near yours holding it in place.

The questioning look you threw him was only answered by a grin that never faulted from his face. “Hey, you should be happy the GREAT MAMMON is so willing to spend time with ya! You really gonna throw that away for a night of homework, human? You can be a nerd again tomorrow.” his deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, normally it would force out your own but right now all it did was light a fire of irritation under your skin. You rub your free hand on your face, forcing another sigh back down before it could escape.

“Mammon, Please. I really have-”

“Aw, Come on! You got all weekend to be doin all this-” he cut you off and you watched in silent horror as he plucked up one of the textbooks, dislodging papers you had carefully paced as markers for the material you needed to study, your gaze following them as they fluttered to the ground near your feet.

“-This ain't even that hard! Why ar-”

“Yes it is!” the words snapped out of you, cutting him off this time. Your eyes locking onto his stunned ones. The grip on the chair grew tighter with your irritation, causing your knuckles to turn as white as the demon's hair. Not even his surprise at your uncharacteristic outburst could hold back the stinging string of words that rushed forth now the barrier you had built around your stress broke.

“You said it yourself right? Many times in fact! I'm just a stupid human!” you took a breath, releasing your grasp on your chair as your arms started to shake with your misplaced anger. Taking to folding them defiantly instead as you stared down the demon in front of you. The rational side of your mind knew those comments were made in nothing but light-hearted jest. But that rational side wasn't present right now. Abandoning you in a moment of frustration leaving those words to sink deep into your chest as your own self worth sunk lower than your struggling grades.

“And yet I am meant to understand and memorise the in’s and out’s of multiple different demons anatomy types and over fifty thousand years of devildom history, When up until six months ago I was minding my own damn business before being dropped into a world I always believed to be derived from fiction!” your breath shook as the telling pinpricks behind your eyes burned a warning of the impending flood coming forth.

“You know all this stuff! This is your world, your home!...” your chest tightened threatening to close your throat as the days of frustratingly trying to absorb so much in such little time yet still coming up short each time despite how hard you try, floored you “I'm just living in it...“So yes mammon.” your voice cracked and the well in your eyes burst free, sending salty trails cascading down your cheeks. “It is that hard.”

His eyes never left yours for a second during your usual outburst of emotions, though through your rapidly blurring vision it was impossible to read the expression he held, leaving you to assume it was one of realisation leading to his own anger. You turn your head away, slamming your eyes closed in a futile silent plea for your tears to stop, simultaneously waiting for Mammon’s own anger to lash at you. It was deserved after all.

So you waited, for the rush of energy that sends static through the air when one of the brothers’ emotions get irate, the raised booming voice of anger to return back to you. The moments passed in suffocating silence, only the sound of your shaky breaths reverberated in the room, with each passing second without the whiplash you were waiting for not coming, the ache in your chest grew with your guilt.

Lowering your arms in defeat, you knew you had to apologise, you needed to and yet if Mammon hadn't said anything yet it would probably be the catalyst to your demise. you held your breath, willing yourself to once again open your eyes and look at him. But when you did, what you witnessed wasn't a face twisted with anger or even annoyance. His brows were drawn low, casting dark shadows over his eyes that were filled with nothing but shocked sympathy. You open your mouth to utter… anything to break the silence between you both of you.

Before you could force out a single word your world grew dark in the blink of an eye. Strong arms engulfed you, pulling you close to him as slender fingers of one hand threading through your hair holding your head against his broad chest that radiates comforting warmth.

“I'm sorry..” the words you tried to speak were whispered gently, though it wasn't your voice that spoke them. The arm around you back, caging to him grew tighter as a choked sob forced its way from your chests. That was all it took for whatever hold you had left on your emotions to snap and your own arms circled around his waist, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if he was your lifeline.

“I’m sorry for not realizing you were struggling m/c… why didn't you tell me?” his voice, far gentler than you felt you deserved was laced with his own hurt. The warm breath tickling the shell of your ear did little to quell the river spilling from your eyes, soaking his shirt as you attempt to muffle your sobs into his chest.

You had no idea how long you both stood there, you clinging to the Avatar of Greed while he muttered gentle words to help calm your fried emotions. Eventually, you fell quiet, a tiredness flooding through you with his warmth making you realise just how much your body ached for this release of everything you had been keeping locked in a metaphorical cage.

You let your hands slacken on his shirt and as you did Mammons grip loosened too, allowing you enough room to take a step back and look up at him. His own eyes were scanning your features and the gentle smile he was giving you was enough to melt away any of your worries. It made your heart flutter, he really did care about you. In this moment nothing was truer.

“Ya feelin’ better now M/c?” his tone was just as gentle and you could only nod in response, as soon as you did the grin he gave you as his features relaxed in relief had the tips of your ears burning. Thankful to your breakdown your face was no doubt already flushed so would go unnoticed.

“I'm… I'm sorry for shouting at you Mammon. You didn't deserve that.” You dropped your gaze to his chest, a small scoff of a laugh bubbling forth. “I got your shirt all wet…” His bright laugh made you jump slightly, so sudden after the quiet moment. You felt his hands shift from you only to land on your shoulders, causing you to look up again.

“Don’t worry about it!” he spoke as he began taking steps towards you, the hold he had on you gently coaxing you to step backwards with him until your legs bumped the edge of your bed. “It’s my job ain't it? I gotta look after ya, or Lucifer would have my head!” He finished with a light downwards push on your shoulders, gently forcing you to sit on the plush mattress behind you. You gave him a questioning look that he answered with a grin and a shrug while letting go of your shoulders “Just the way it is.” That smile proved to be just as contagious as you always thought it was, now paired with the rising rosy hue on his own tanned cheeks drew out your own smile in return.

You let out a quiet laugh of your own, “of course, how could I forget?” throwing him a bigger smile he took a proud stance with his hands on his hips, but before he could respond the dread flooded your mind again and you let out a groan. “It doesn't change the fact that I'm going to fail… then Lucifer will have MY head.”

It didn't help that you already saw yourself as the weak link to the exchange program, the angels were excellent at everything. The only other human, Solomon, was more than accustomed to the ways of the demon world so he was doing just as well as everyone expected him to do. With his magical prowess and unfathomable knowledge, it was no wonder why everyone expected greatness… then there's you, struggling to even keep your head above the water that is a passing grade in most of your classes.

Shifting yourself to stand once more, you had to work. Mammon halts your movements by placing his hands back on your shoulders. “Oi! Stop being so stubborn.” you open your mouth to retort but he just lifts a finger in front of your face silencing you. “We are watchin’ a movie and you are gonna deal with it!” he huffs with finality leaving you to groan.

As if reading your mind Mammon sat himself down next to you, his voice taking the gentler tone again. “I… I'll help ya study tomorrow, a-alright?” not meeting your eyes you saw the hue rising on his face once more as he shuffles himself back on the bed to lean his back on the wall while plucking up the remote that laid on your pillow to turn on the T.V. “I’ll even get Satan to help if it will stop you stressin’ so much.”

The sound of the TSL theme song filled the room as you stared at the blushing demon sat on your bed. It was obvious he cared about you even if he didn't want to admit it out loud. That thought alone had a soft warmth spreading through your body. Letting out your final sigh of the night you admitted defeat, scooting yourself back to claim the space next to him.

“Thank you, Mammon. You're the best,” you spoke quietly while leaning your head down onto his shoulder. You felt him physically stiffen next to you. Just because he had hugged you didn't mean you could get all cosy with him now. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable you moved to sit back up properly, however, the arm you were just resting on flew out to circle around your back and gripping your upper arm pulling you back towards him, forcing a sharp breath of surprise out of you as your face landed on his chest.

You were about to question him, tell him he didn't need to hold you anymore but he spoke first. “Damn right I'm the best! Don't you go forgetting it again, human!” despite his bold declaration you could hear the underlying shyness in his voice. You bite your lip to stop your giggle; you simply grin snuggling further into his side. It didn't take long for your eyes to grow heavy.

The sound of Mammon's rhythmic heartbeat was drawing you in like the most perfect lullaby, melting away the stress that had been building for weeks. In this moment, everything was perfectly calm, you felt safe and knew you weren't alone in this hectic adventure in the land of demons. Unable and unwilling to fight the sleep washing over you, your eyes fluttered closed as you lay in the arms of the demon you were undeniably in love with.

As the tendrils of slumber overtook your senses you heard his soothing voice reaching you before your world fell into a restful dreamless sleep.

“You are perfect...Good night, my human.”

[blondekasp]

Absolutely Smitten

hihi!! so this is my gift to @november-hydrangea for the @itfandomprompts gift exchange, i’m sorry it’s a little late (had some internet troubles haha) but i hope you like it!

read on ao3

“Hey there, blondie. S’it okay if I sit here?” He wasn’t expecting to interact with someone so soon. But this is good, he supposes, it’s better to get the weight of first interactions with new people out of the way right out of the gate—he’ll maybe feel more prepared for class, later.

So he smiles, nods n’ watches the man sit down on the bench at the other side of the table, chunky ringlets bouncing around his head as he offers a braced grin. “Are ya just starting here?” Eddie short circuits for a moment, then remembers what the man must be talking about, n’ he sits up a little straighter.

“Oh, yeah, it’s my first year. Are you?” He receives an enthusiastic nod and a flash of buck teeth emerging from behind curved lips. His glasses are clunky, maybe a little too big for his face. The lenses are thick, too, magnifying his eyes to the maximum, n’ it’s maybe not a conventional look but it somehow completes his appearance. “Do you need directions or something?”

“Nah, I’ll figure tha’ stuff out, don’t worry, pal. I was actually wondering if ya wanted to join, a club, maybe more of a group, of sorts that me n’ my best girl Bev are starting?” He nudges his coke bottle glasses a little further up his nose, “It’s for, as Bev likes ta say, ‘friends of Dorothy’, so, would ya happen to be one?”

He’d heard about friends of Dorothy before, mostly whisperings between them in high school, n’ maybe it was because he paid too much attention, but he knew what it meant. Something twists achingly behind his ribs.

“Oh, I, uh, no! Uh, I…”

“Hey, hey, s’only a question, promise. M’not trying to catch you out.” The man’s eyes widen a little, azure irises covered over by pale lids, n’ then revealed again as he holds up his hands, as if to show that he meant no threat. Eddie suddenly feels his cheeks begin to burn like the eventide. “If you’re not, tha’s cool, but if you are, tha’s swell, too. N’ if ya wanna hang out after your classes or somethin’, we’ll be at the café across the street. Five o’clock.” He jerks his thumb behind him, n’ Eddie’s line of sight follows. He memorises the name, even if he’s not going to go.

Rather than open his mouth n’ embarrass himself further, Eddie nods. The man breaks out into a grin, “Neat, m’Richie by the way. I didn’t get your name either, blondie.”

“Oh, oh, it’s Eddie.” Richie holds his hand out, Eddie takes it slowly, shakes it, n’ lets it go soon after.

He’d thought that Richie would leave right away, now that the conversation is over, but it appears that he plans to stay. It’s silent, mostly, other than Richie making a passing comment or two about the weather, or people walking by. He asks Eddie about his classes, what his major is. He finds out in return that Richie is a drama major— it makes sense, Eddie thinks.

“Okay, I have to go, I have class now.” Eddie rises from the bench, gathering up his water n’ backpack, sun catching in his eyes for a moment before he raises his hand to shield them. “It was nice meeting you, Richie, you’re an interesting character.” He chuckles in spite of himself.

Richie stands, too, picking up his own things n’ smiling to Eddie. “You too, Eds, you’re a real cutie.” He winks, overly playful, a little ironically, n’ Eddie’s grip on his backpack tightens a little.

“My name is Eddie.” He reminds the man, face betraying him with a small smile. “I don’t usually go for nicknames.”

He’s met with a faux thoughtful expression, “Isn’t Eddie already a nickname?” N’ he can’t seem to think of a response to that, “See ya ‘round, Eds!” Before he can protest, Richie’s already bouncing away, but Eddie doesn’t have time to see where he goes off to, he has to go to class.

College isn’t what Eddie had thought it would be. Honestly, he’s not too sure what he’s been expecting until now, but he knows that it’s different. Classes are more laid back than they were in high school, the people are friendlier—though it wouldn’t be hard to find people to be nicer than most he’s met before, having grown up in the murder capital of Maine. Generally, though, the entirety of it is a breath of fresh air. He gets to stay in a dorm, by himself, away from the prying eyes of Ma, away from church, away from everyone who’d had a ruthless comment or two to make about him back home.

Five o’clock comes faster than he’s been anticipating, n’ as much as he dislikes the fact, he’s actually considering going to the little café across the street. It would be a nice way to wind down, ‘cause even if he’s elated to be here, the transition is stressful. But he wonders if he will be admitting something to himself if he goes.

By the time he makes it to the café, it’s gone quarter past five—if he hadn’t spent time fussing over whether or not he was actually going n’ walking back n’ forth between the college n’ the sidewalk where he’d have to cross, he’d probably have gotten there earlier.

Upon entering the café, he feels slightly intimidated. He hopes people aren’t staring at him, in Derry they stared a lot. “Eds, hey!” Thankful that he won’t have to awkwardly search for them, now, he gives Richie a tight lipped smile, n’ slowly walks across the room to their table. There’s seven of them, he realises, all very different looking people.

“That’s Miss Marsh, otherwise known as Bev.” Richie stands from the table, gesturing towards the red-headed woman who approaches him, holding out her hand. “She’s a real spitfire.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. D’ya like coffee?”

Eddie nods, “Oh, yeah, I like coffee. It’s nice to meet you, too.” He doesn’t like coffee, not really, anyway. It’s too bitter for his taste, even with sugar to sweeten it. He drinks it, though, every morning, if only to spite Ma. She’d never let him have coffee, or any caffeinated drink—said it would damage your heart, Eddie bear, you know how fragile it is. It hadn’t, of course.

“Great, I’ll go order you some.” She winks, reminiscent of the one Richie had thrown his way earlier in the day. He’s greeted by five others, Stan, Patty, Mike, Bill n’ Ben, or as Richie likes to call them—Stan the Man, Patpat, Micycle, Billiam n’ Haystack. They introduce themselves one by one, with kind smiles n’ a hug or a handshake to offer. He watches all of their eyes briefly flicker to his left shoulder, where his shirt is tied off n’ there’s a distinct lack of an arm, but they don’t ask, or look at him strangely, like he’s used to people doing.

Bev comes back a few minutes later, sits a cup n’ a small plate with a cookie on it down in front of Eddie, “Oh, thank you.” He smiles, finally pulling his jacket down from his shoulders n’ draping it over the back of his chair. “I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Thanks for coming, Eds. We just thought this would be a good way to meet some new people who have things in common. Make things easier, have some good chucks.” Good chucks? “Stan, Patty n’ Mike are together, Bill has a girlfriend called Audra but she couldn’t make it n’ me, Miss Marsh n’ Haystack are all single pringles. Ya got a sweetheart yourself, Eds?”

“Oh, no, I don’t. Not many options where I lived, before I came here.” He explains, taking a sip of coffee. They all nod, murmurings of understanding coming from around the table. “Are all of you in college?”

Mike starts first, “I’ve been working on my family’s farm back home for years, I’m here with Stan an’ Patty while they get settled in n’ then I’ll just be visiting at weekends.” Stan takes Mike’s hand n’ squeezes it gently, Patty watches, smiling softly. “The rest of you are in college, right?”

“Yeah, n’ it’s already better than high school.” Richie interjects, “My comedic genius went very underappreciated in high school.” He explains solemnly, dramatically, n’ Eddie can’t help but chuckle.

“I’m yet to hear some of this ‘comedic genius’ that you speak of.” Eddie remarks, n’ Richie gasps, throwing a hand over the right side of his chest.

“Oh, you wound me, Eds! Already broken my heart n’ I’ve barely known you a day.”

“Your heart is on the left side, Einstein.” Richie waves him off, leaning over the table. Eddie feels himself lean closer, narrowing his eyes playfully. “Can I help you with something?”

Richie pinches his cheek gently, “You're a real cutie, Eds. You’ll be positively chuckalicious in no time, I promise m’hilarious.” He sits back, wiggling his eyebrows obnoxiously at Eddie, before taking a bite of his sandwich. He rolls his eyes at Richie, shaking his head as if in disagreeal. “Don’t believe me?”

“No, not really. How could I?”

“Alright, let me prove it.”

Suddenly, it’s six-thirty n’ he’s been watching Richie prove his comedic skill for an hour. About forty minutes ago, he was trying his best to blow Eddie away with his impressions which yes, even if Eddie tried hard not to show it, he thought were actually very funny. Twenty minutes ago, he decided that he wanted to showcase his ventriloquist act, but explained that since he doesn’t have his doll with him, he’d have to draw a face on his hand n’ improvise. Eddie’s almost thankful for the lack of preparation for this act, ‘cause the sight of Richie using his hand to flirt with Eddie is truly something else.

The others have almost faded into the background, ‘cause, unexpectedly, Richie is right at the forefront of his attention. He’s almost mesmerising, his confidence n’ charm to be admired. “Awh, come on, Eds. Whatddya say, my buddy here has all the top tier characteristics required of someone who can treat you right.” He moves his hand up n’ down rhythmically, as if to make it nod along with him, “He can be real handy when you need it.”

“Oh my God, Richie.” Eddie pushes him back a little, rolling his eyes n’ giggling as his face blooms red, “M’sorry but I think I’ll have to reject your hand, I already have a great one. I can write with it n’ everything.” He waves his right hand in front of Richie’s face, n’ proceeds to have it ‘kissed’ by Richie’s hand-puppet.

“That’s too bad, you two would’ve been great together, pal.” Richie nods solemnly at his hand, before putting it in his pocket. “So what’s your verdict, Eds? Do you deem me funny enough to be worthy of your friendship?” He casts a hand over his eyes, dramatically awaiting Eddie’s ‘important decision’.

Eddie giggles, “Yes, okay, but just know that even if I’m rejecting him, it was your hand friend that convinced me. He’s funnier than you.” He watches, amused, as Richie goes on another spiel about his poor broken heart n’ how he’ll never recover. When Richie’s finally done, n’ he’s flopped back down into his seat, Eddie finishes off what’s left of his coffee, still smiling to himself. Putting his cup down, he checks his watch, “Alright, I think I’m gonna go back to m’dorm now, m’kinda tired.”

“Okay, no worries, Eds. Think I’ll turn in for now, too. I could walk you back, if you like.” He offers, starting to pack up his bag as Eddie does the same. “Only if you want me to, of course.”

A little more time with Richie would be nice, he thinks. “Oh, sure, Richie. If you want to.” He nods, standing up, “It’s been great to meet you all. I hope we can hang out again soon, it was fun.”

“Of course! I’m glad you had fun, Eddie.” Ben pipes up, reaching up to pat his arm. Bev nods beside him, delighted, n’ the others all share murmurs of agreement. They’ve been kinder to him in a few hours than any of the people in his hometown in eighteen years.

Eddie says his goodbyes, lets Richie do the same, n’ then they’re off. The walk isn’t too long, the weather is still nice n’ the sun is just setting. It’s still busy on the streets, presumably other college students going out with their friends. “My dorm is just over here.” He points to the block closest to them. Richie nods, walking him over to the bottom of the building.

“Did ya have fun, today?” Richie asks when they stop outside the door, finally facing Eddie fully. He shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back n’ forth on his feet. “I hope I wasn’t too, uh, loud, for you.”

Eddie shakes his head quickly, “Oh, no, of course not. I had a lot of fun, actually. More than I’ve had in a long time. So thank you.” Richie grins, looking sort of relieved. He pushes his glasses up again, Eddie thinks it might be a nervous tic of some sort.

“Of course, Eds, I’m glad.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s picking his next words carefully, “Say, uhm, would you maybe like to have breakfast with me, tomorrow? If you’re free?”

“Oh.” Eddie begins, taken aback. He hadn’t been expecting any of them to ask for more time with him outside of meeting all together. It’s a good thing, though, he supposes, to have made a new friend so quickly. Hell, to have made seven by the end of his first real day here. This is why he’s here. He doesn’t need Ma anymore. “I think that would be great. What time?”

“Ten o’clock? I’ll meet you out here? I saw a little diner a few streets away, we could maybe try it out.”

“I’d like that.” He agrees, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rich.”

Richie comes a little closer, n’ bends down to press a short kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “Bye, Eds, see you tomorrow.” Then he’s moving back, waving briefly, n’ walking off the same way he had this morning. Eddie's heart picks a little, just enough to send a warm buzz around his ribs, into his fingertips.

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

[lu-undy]

Chapter 77 - SBT

Here it is!

"Be careful, move out, mes bébés…"

[My babies]

Lucien carried the last cardboard box from the van to the house. There weren't many things to move but clothes, cutlery, plates, anything that they owned there and could be of service. 

"Meow?" 

"He is parking the van. Come along, let us start unpacking what we can." The herd of fluff followed the Frenchman, who was tying his hair away from his face. 

He started with the kitchenware and organised it so that the kittens wouldn't be able to break anything. They meowed and slithered between his legs all the time, jumping on the kitchen countertop, climbing on the table. Lucien learnt to just ignore them and do his thing. 

"Meow?" 

Oh, but he couldn't ignore that one. 

"Oui, mon bébé?"

[Yes, my baby?]

Perle was on the countertop. She stared at him and slowly blinked. Lucien smiled and reciprocated the cat kiss. 

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux?"

[What do you want?]

She stood up on her back legs and hugged him, brushing her head on his mouth. He cuddled her in his arms, kissing her fur countless times. 

"Oui, ma chérie, oui, mon bébé, moi aussi je t'aime…"

[Yes, my darling, yes, my baby, I love you too…]

Perle climbed, ending up laying on his shoulders. 

"Tu es confortable ici?"

[Are you comfortable there?]

"Meow." She rubbed her head on his shoulder.

"Bien. Let us proceed with the next few boxes." 

[Good.]

And Lucien went on. There were his and Mundy's clothes in their bedroom, their toiletries in the bathroom, the cat bed in the guest room. 

"Ah… We do have a problem here." He said, staring at the cat bed. 

"Meow?" Perle asked, still lazily laid on his shoulders. 

"You and your husband have a bed, but your children have grown too much to fit with you there. Hm…" 

Lucien looked around him. Boxes, boxes, boxes… 

"Ah!" He raised his index finger. "I know…" 

He took a few of the boxes lying around and laid some clothes in them, to make them warmer. The kittens came and sniffed their new beds before jumping in. 

"Voilà. Now you have beds for everyone. Oh…?" 

They all piled up in the same box, in a mass of fluff and purrs. Lucien crouched down, smiling and he ran his fingers through their long fur. 

"Aw, reposez-vous bien." 

[Rest well.]

He stood back up and walked away to tidy up the remaining boxes. 

"Meow…" Perle extended her paw in front of his face. He held it as he continued his chores, petting her paw, feeling her claws sometimes peek out. She purred happily. She loved her Papa and she loved when he gave her his undivided attention. 

"Perle…? Peeerle?" 

She meowed and purred happily. It had been such a long time since her Papa took a bit of his time to fool around with her. He pulled her paw and kissed it. 

"Mon bébé? Ma petite Perle adorée?"

[My baby? My little beloved Perle?]

She brushed her head on his shoulder and stood up on her three paws there. 

"Viens ici…"

[Come here…]

Lucien carried her in his arms like the fluffy baby that he saw in her and drowned her in affection, hugs, and kisses. He sat on the sofa and took his time with her, spoiling her. 

"Tu m'as manqué, tu sais. Je regrette de ne pas avoir été là pour te voir grandir. Mais je suis si fier de toi…! Regarde-toi, tu es grande, tu es magnifique, et tu es une mère et une épouse formidable." 

[I missed you, you know. I wish I could have been here to see you grow up. But I am so proud of you…! Look at you, you are fully grown up, you are magnificent, and you are an outstanding mother and wife.]

Perle was lying in her Papa's arms, on her back, while he was brushing her fur between his fingers, scratching her gently and speaking in a soft voice. 

"Meow…" She turned and raised onto her back legs offering her head to Lucien. He cupped her face and kissed her as she rubbed herself on his mouth, headbutting him softly. 

"Hm. I wonder where your Dad is now. It doesn't take that long to park the van." 

There was a knock at the door. 

"Ah, this must be him." 

Lucien went to the door and opened it. 

"Mister L?" 

He looked down, a group of kids was standing at the door. 

"Oui?"

"Richard sent us. He said his wife said yes to a cat, a female called Diamond."

"Ah, excellent news, thank you very much, boys."

"He says he has everything ready to welcome her."

"We shall send her shortly, just give us a bit of time to say goodbye to her." 

"Sure! We'll tell him! Thanks! Uh, we also have a message from Maurice, he wants to see you." 

"When and where?"

"He'll be staying at his place all day today and tomorrow so it's up to you." 

"Merci."

"You're welcome! He said to come alone." 

Lucien's eyebrow twitched. 

"I will." 

The kids nodded and turned their backs before running away. Lucien stayed at the door and peeked out. 

"Meow?" 

"Non, I am not seeing him." He answered before crouching down. "Listen, mon bébé, would you do me a favour and find your Dad for me? I am starting to worry for him. Just stay with him and make sure he is fine, I will go and see Maurice meanwhile." 

"Meow." 

"Soot?" Lucien called as he put on his long, navy blue coat and a few seconds later, the black male appeared. "There is enough food and water for everyone in the kitchen. I will be as fast as possible." 

"Meow…" Perle trotted to the black cat and they rubbed against each other. They exchanged a few licks and Lucien opened the door wider. 

"See you later, Soot." 

"Meow." 

Both the Frenchman and his fluffy, white cat exited the place. 

"Bien." He crouched down. "Tu trouves Dad et fais bien attention à lui, d'accord? S'il n'est pas rentré, ça veut dire que quelque chose le retient."

[Good. You find Dad and watch out for him, alright? If he hasn't come back, that means that something is holding him back.]

He patted her head and she slowly blinked before they parted ways. 

Perle looked left and right in the street. She decided to go in the alley first. It took her a dozen minutes of trotting, waiting at crossroads, jumping on walls, slithering through torn-out fences but eventually, she found herself in the alley that Dad had kept her. Hm. 

She sniffed the floor left and right. Non, the van hadn’t come here in a long time. The lady cat resumed her exploration. It took her a long time before she found a lead. Oddly enough - or not - she smelt her Dad’s perfume on a stray cat. She sniffed the cat countless times and again to memorise the scent and follow the lead. She kept her pink nose close to the ground and walked back on that cat’s paw prints. Curious… It smelt like him and that fellow cat looked nothing like her, Soot, or the kittens.

Perle hurried her trotting, the smell of the cat was faint and that of Dad, even more so. She raised her head and looked around.

“Meow!” 

She leapt in and crossed the empty parking lot to Dad’s van.

“Meow! Meow!”

“Baby?”

Mundy was sitting on the step at the edge of the van’s back.

“Meow…” She leapt on the step and then on his lap.

“What are you doin’ here, baby?”

She curled into a ball of fluff on his lap and looked up at him.

“Meow…?”

“I need a bit of time.”

Perle wrapped her tail around herself.

"Meow?"

"I… I don't know…" Mundy hid his face in his hands. "I told Mum and Dad about Lu' and it didn't go so well." 

Perle purred. Her long fur floated in the cold wind. 

"I know I shouldn't care. They're dead. But it felt so real… I could see Mum bein' trapped between Dad and me again, I could see Dad's disappointment. I could even hear them."

His hand went through Perle's fur and he leaned back. 

"I know I shouldn't think about it but…" 

"Meow…"

"What?" 

"Meow." Perle raised her head to her Dad and she spelt with her beautiful eyes what her tongue couldn't say.

"Your Papa…? Nah, I can't tell him that. I mean, what would I say? Hey, I'm thinking about the conversation I had in my head with my dead parents when I told their graves about us…!" Mundy sighed. "Y'know, the first time I went and talked to them, I told Papa about it and he didn't seem to think I was mad."

"Meow?" 

"He didn't seem to think it weird that I talked to my parents' graves. And he was unphased when I told him that I could hear them answer." 

Perle purred under her Dad's fingers. 

"But still. I don't wanna bother him with that kind of nonsense. He's busy and happy, and excited about the house. I don't want to bring his mood down with that." 

"Meow."

They stayed on the step, at the back of the van. Mundy took a long time. He let his fears, his anxieties creep up on him, wrap their cold limbs around him, whisper in his ear.

"Hold on." Mundy frowned. "How did you get here?"

Perle was sniffing her Dad's fingers. 

"No, I meant how did you open the door and get out, not how you found me. Did he let you out?"

"Meow." 

"What about the hubby and the kids?" 

"Meow." Her tone was enough for Mundy to understand.

"Ah, ok." Mundy answered. "So he sent you to come and get me? Guess he's worried. We should go back home." 

Perle rose to her paws and stood up. Mundy carried her without a second thought and slipped into the driver's seat. Perle jumped to her Papa's seat and curled down there. 

"Right, baby, let's go." 

He drove them back home and parked the van at its new designated parking slot. 

"We're home, baby." 

Perle jumped on her Dad's lap and took advantage of her being alone with him to ask for extra attention… and pets. Mundy undid his seatbelt and indulged her. Scratches, pats, slow blinks, headbutts and kisses! He only stopped when she started yawning. 

"Your Papa's not spoilin' you enough?" 

"Meow." She rubbed her head against his mouth, still standing up on her back legs.

"You just got used to bein' spoilt rotten, eh?"

She meowed in one long, happy pur and headbutted her Dad. 

"Alright, baby… Hey, remember, you can get as big and fluffy as you want, you'll still be my baby, eh?" 

"Meow…" 

"C'mere, big girl…" 

Mundy carried her in his arms and they exited the van. He slipped a hand in his pocket, finding the key and sliding it into the lock. Shivers ran down his spine. He had forgotten about that movement… 

"Hey, Lu', I'm home - oh?" 

The house smelled amazing. Whatever Lucien had cooked, the appetising smell washed Mundy's lungs. He dropped the cat to the ground and removed his boots. He could hear music playing, and went straight to the kitchen. The food was cooking but no sign of Lucien there. 

Mundy went to the living room and peeked his head in from the door. The sight that welcomed him was more than delicious. 

There was a record player in the corner of the room, on the floor itself. In the middle of the room however, under the yellow light of the lightbulb, Lucien was dancing to the music with his eyes closed. He was wearing a pair of his pyjamas, the navy blue ones, which contrasted beautifully with the red walls of the almost empty room. Mundy could see the smoke from the cigarette between his lips, whirling to the high ceiling, tracing in the air the loops of his improvised choreography. He was barefoot, his feet drawing portions of circles on the ground, his arms swirling and his silver hair flying after him, brushing the air poetically. 

He spun and whirled in the air, humming the melody that his body followed until he felt two hands on his hips from behind. He smirked with his eyes still closed. Mundy had come up behind him and gently laid his hands flat, barely touching Lucien's hips. They travelled up left and right and landed under Lucien's wide open arms. His nose was in the crook Lucien's neck, breathing in the scent of his perfume.

"Bonsoir, mon amour…"

[Good evening, my love…]

Lucien whispered. 

"Darl'..." 

The Frenchman giggled. 

"Humour me."

"Anythin' you want." He growled in the Frenchman's ear and Lucien's eyes rolled up in bliss.

"Dance with me." Lucien spun and faced Mundy. 

The Aussie had no clue how to dance but for Lucien, he would. 

"Yeah, c'mere." Mundy took one of Lucien's hands and grabbed his hip with the other. 

"Oh, impatient?" Lucien looked up at his lover and raised a sly eyebrow. 

"Your fault." He whispered back with his deliciously hoarse voice.

They started moving and Lucien strategically let Mundy lead. It only took a few seconds before the truth burst out. 

"You have no idea how to dance, do you?" Lucien asked, smiling.

"Heh, well, n-not really… B-but I want to try… for you." 

The Frenchman's eyes lit up. 

"Very well, I will lead, you just follow my moves… Let your body feel where I am taking you… Relax, let the music and the movements possess you…"

Mundy didn't know where to look, he became nervous. 

"I'm sorry… I'm not good at this." He blushed.

"Mon amour." Lucien stopped and looked up at Mundy. "Close your eyes." 

"I-I might walk all over yer feet and stuff…"

"Ridiculous. You will not. Now, please, close your beautiful eyes." 

Mundy obeyed but frowned. 

"Mundy…" Lucien put his hand on his cheek and gently brushed it. "Please, trust me."

"Always." Mundy tilted his head against Lucien's warm palm. "I've always trusted you. I love you." 

"Bien. Keep your eyes closed and use your body to see."

"Okay." 

Lucien guided Mundy's hand on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around his waist. They held hands. 

"Listen to the music…" Lucien started to move and pulled Mundy with him gently. "Keep your eyes closed… Non, don't frown, feel the air brush your skin, feel the tension in the proximity of our bodies, feel your blood pump everywhere, feel it rush to your face, feel the warm dizziness tickle you as we spin, round and round…!"

Mundy opened his eyes and his hand moved from Lucien's shoulder down to his hip. Like a reflex, Lucien's hand moved up to his lover's shoulder. Now Mundy was leading. He focused on the music and what it created in him, forgetting his usual shyness and letting himself go. He set his limbs free to spell the feelings that crossed his heart and his mind, without the words. 

Lucien was pleasantly surprised to see that the Aussie had quickly learnt from him. More than that, he seemed to liberate himself. He danced more openly, his moves were bolder than Lucien without falling out of the soft silk that music was to their ears. His feet were sliding, his hips gently swinging, inviting Lucien to follow him across the story that his limbs were telling. The story of a young boy who grew up and thought that his life had collapsed until… Until a god amongst men revived his heart, ignited the flame of passion across his body and planted a kiss like the soft petal, on his lips. That man, he was pulling him against himself gently, shielding him from the rest of the world, and keeping his heart as close as possible to his own. 

The music faded but they remained close to each other, their bare feet still exploring the carpet beneath them, their fingers entangled in each other's and their eyes… Half-lidded, dreamy. They blinked slowly. They saw more than they could have dreamt of in those eyes. In the ice was a passionate heart with a flame that yearned for some peace. In the lagoon was love spelt in every form. Love for friends, love for family, love for animals, more than what God had made possible to have. The only form of love that had been missing for the past three, almost four decades, was that which one finds so rarely that he gave up even the hope of finding it. 

And yet, after more than a decade of suffering, of penance, of looking for forgiveness for an act that none had to bear the responsibility of, they found peace. In spite of what they convinced themselves, they hadn't found peace in their revenge. Or rather, they hadn't found peace by killing Duchemin, it was along the way that they made a once in a lifetime encounter. 

Mundy's hands fell down and he instinctively wrapped his arms around Lucien's waist. The Frenchman leaned forward and let his lover carry the weight of his head against his chest. 

"Love you, Lu'..." Mundy bent his head down and kissed Lucien's before resting his cheek on top of it. 

"Je t'aime aussi, mon coeur."

[I love you too, my sweetheart.]

Mundy smiled, his eyes were closed. 

"May I ask, however, where were you?" 

Mundy stopped rocking his lover and he opened his eyes. 

"Uh… I got this…" Mundy went to his jacket and took something out of it. "Here." 

"Is that a camera?" 

"Yeah… I really want to have pictures of us if that's ok with you?" 

Lucien held the camera in his hands and stared at it. 

"I… I seldom had pictures of myself, Mundy. I was usually the one who took them. I had pictures of Marie and Jérémy in the house we lived in. I think I barely had more than three or four of myself, with or without them."

"Why? Was there a reason for that?" 

"I wanted to capture every day I spent with them and immortalise it, as if I could jump in the photograph later and live those moments again. I wanted to see the changes on Jérémy as he grew up, to remember all the little steps along the way of him becoming a man." He sighed and looked up at Mundy and gave him the camera back. "It turned out to be a curse."

Mundy's heart sank. He pulled Lucien to sit next to him on the sofa and hugged him. 

"Why…?" He asked. 

"Because when they passed, I found myself staring at those pictures and hating them."

"Hatin' them?"

"Oui. I did not hate what I saw, I hated the object itself. I felt like they owed me the happiness that I saw on them, I was staring again and again, harder and harder, hoping that the smiles that I could see would leak to me, hoping that they would open like windows and I could dive in those happier times. But of course, they didn't, and it only infuriated me more."

"Look, Lu'... I understand what you say but that's not the way to look at things." Mundy let his fingers brush through his lover's long, cinder and silky locks. "Photos are a way to see the happiness from before but… It also gives you hope." 

"Mh?" Lucien asked, unconvinced. 

"Yeah, it's like they're here to show you that being happy is possible. It has happened so it can happen again, it's no miracle."

Lucien leaned his head on Mundy's chest and clung to his jumper. The Aussie tightened the hug.

"I'm happy with you, love. With everything that we've been through, with all the punches and kicks, with the harder part, I've never been as happy as I am with you now."

Lucien closed his eyes and heard Mundy's heart beat gently below his ear. 

"Even when I talked to my parents. It was awfully hard but… I got it out I guess, I managed! And even though it feels a bit weird still, I'm sure they'll see that you… You're all I need." 

Lucien screwed his eyes shut harder and buried his head deeper in his lover's chest.

"You alright, love?" 

"Oui, I think so. Mundy?"

"Yeah?"

"Please, take as many pictures of us as you wish. I think I need to see us happy too."

Mundy smiled. 

"You sure?"

"Oui. I want to see us smile, in our house, I want to see us with the cats, I want to see us all." 

"Our family, eh?" 

Lucien smiled and nodded against Mundy's chest. He laced his arms around the Aussie's neck and rested there, on the sofa with him. Soon, the meows and the fluff covered them too.

[muwi-translates]

Collar x Malice Short Story: Inside the Box

Christmas Shiraishi-centric short story.

HEAVY SPOILERS. Only read this AFTER you have finished the first game.

**Please don’t move this translation or claim it as your own.**

Generally speaking, the thing called ‘Memories’ is not clear.

Unlike memory as information, it has no fixed form. Its content can depend on the person.

Sometimes sad memories turn into hatred, and happy memories sometimes turn into delusions.

The human brain can't be trusted. It can automatically rewrite itself for its own benefit.

I, who did not require ‘Memories’ —— surely it is the same for Shiraishi Kageyuki the human.

◇ ◇ ◇

This was when I lived in the ‘Facility’.

Every day, every minute and every second, I lived like a machine.

For me, who knew how to suppress pain and happiness as soon as I understood how, all I had was ‘Curiosity’.

The vast amount of knowledge grew with each passing day. Memories of the outside world were written in letters. Like events of a distant world, even the difficult to read special books were simply ‘Unknown Stories’ to me.

I thought that my desire to know things defined my personality. However, when I think about it now, it may have been a desire planted in me as part of my training. Training to become a perfect doll.

"Christmas. The festival celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ, coming from the word "Christ mass", it takes the form of many activities in Japan—...”

Inputting information was simple. However, I was also trained how to ‘Use Memory’. If a huge amount of information stayed on the surface of the brain, it will become confused, so if it is not necessary, there was no need to take out the memory sealed in the deeper layers.

(Gifts are put under a tree, and you gather with your family around the dinner table…)

Perhaps this information will also be stored in a box that is rarely retrieved from.

Of course I knew the basics, it was only carefully investigated because it was related to other information.

(Giving love to each other...for what...?)

The outside world is full of as many far-fetched, mysterious customs as mountains. If you had questions about everything, it would only make the processing slower. But this time, I was not sure why I was so interested in this subject.

"Are you interested in Christmas?"

——Suddenly hearing a sound coming from behind, my shoulders moved unconsciously.

Points are deducted if you are seen reacting. I immediately pretended to be calm and looked back, only to see an unfamiliar face.

“Your hand, it’s been paused on this page for a while now.” 

What peered at me was a pair of eyes full of serenity, transparent no matter where you looked — like glass balls.

"No, I'm very sorry. I memorised it without any problems."

"I’m not blaming you for anything. I know you have good scores here."

He was a high-ranking person who has inspected this ‘Facility’ many times. 

But his appearance did not match his position, with his youthful face. He appeared to be younger than me.

I remembered his name, because it was necessary for me to do so.  —Mikuni Rei. He was a human who worked with those who ‘control’ us.

“I’m interested why you, someone that’s like a precision machine, showed interest in ‘that’, that’s all.”

"I didn't become interested... I just had questions."

"Like?"

“......”

What was the meaning of his response? Was I being tested, or was he being whimsical? Either way, I had no right to not reply.

"Why do humans, who aren’t related to that religion, choose to give each other love on that day? What for?”

"...I think there are many other things similar to it but..."

"Yes. But... after reading this information, I think for the average person, this part seems to be more special than others."

As I finished speaking, he— Mikuni Rei’s eyes became slightly dim for some reason. Careful observation of the facial expression can lead to an answer.

【Pity】

A boy in the ruling class felt compassion for a stray cat trapped in a box.

A sense of superiority, a desire for control, and empathy. There were many times where I wanted to give it a name, but it was difficult to understand because I was immature.

"Human feelings... cannot be explained by theory alone. If you feel special, it must be because it touches your heart.... If the other person is the object of your envy and admiration, they are not bound by rights or wrongs."

Thoughts continued to sound as the words continued.

If ‘we’ have feelings for a particular thing, in his viewpoint, it is not a good thing. However, he agreed.

“Why do you treat me like a human?”

“Eh?”

Asking questions is normally prohibited. But now my curiosity had prevailed. This was a serious error. There should be no more curiosity beyond the rules.

"You said these things about a pawn, things impossible to explain with theory."

"...You are right. I don't know why. It's just..."

 After speaking, his bewildered gaze stayed on me, and then he spoke unwaveringly.

 "Number 14. I... don't want you to be unhappy."

...At that time, he smiled.

But what kind of smile it was— I can’t remember.

Pitiful? Loathing? Hateful? Kindly? 

I don’t remember. I can't remember.

Because it's stored in a box that can't be taken out, deep and deep inside.

◇ ◇ ◇

In my dream, someone is calling my name.

 “————Shiraishi-san.”

Did I always have this human-sounding name? I want to lie and tell myself that this is true.

But it's impossible. Even my name, which was supposed to be just a code, has become so dear to me.

“Oi, Okazaki! There’s no room for you here for dinner!”

"How mean. But it's okay, I'll eat some from Mineo-san’s.”

“It’s NOT okay! No one told you to come!”

“I’m sorry, Enomoto. ...I was the one who called Okazaki here today.”

“Geh! Yanagi-senpai?! When did you fall this guy’s wily ways—!?”

"His voice was so loud we heard it from inside, obviously he’ll attract attention. Yanagi-san probably didn’t want to disturb the neighbors."

“Yanagi-san let me in when I kept saying ‘I’m so cold… I’m so lonely…’, fufu, he’s so nice.”

“So you just left Yoshinari outside? Talk about pitiful…”

“I'll bring him a souvenir later. It's food that Yanagi-san and Ichika-chan made together. It'll definitely be delicious."

“I don’t know if it’ll suit your tastes but… Ah, but Yanagi-san’s food, I promise it’ll move you! It’s definitely not inferior to food you’ll find at high-end restaurants.”

"Why does the stupid cat look so proud?"

"It looks good thanks to Hoshino being particular about the arrangement."

“Yanagi-senpai…! I’m getting a little jealous watching you two compliment each other, please stop it!!”

Ah, so noisy. Completely unproductive dialogue. There’s no calculation and no falsity, the boring everyday that I like.

When did I get used to this warmth and treat it as part of my everyday?

While I was thinking in a daze, Ichika-chan reached out to me.

“Shiraishi-san, come here. The party has already begun."

——Party?  ……Is that so? Has it started?

"These were all made with everything we had. Let's have a good meal today."

 ——Fufu, as usual, Yanagi-san takes care of others like this.

“......Though I really don’t understand what’s so good about a bunch of us adults coming together.”

 ——Although that was what Sasazuka said, he also stayed behind to join in.

"Hey, don't stand there in a daze! You’re the protagonist today!"

 ——Hm? Did Enomoto-kun just call me ‘you’?

“I heard Ichika-chan is giving you a present, right?” 

——Even Okazaki is here… Fufu, he must have come in by force.

"Yes. It’s a wonderful gift I prepared with everyone."

I took a box from Ichika-chan who was smiling as she spoke.

I felt strange rather than happy. I was looking right at Ichika-chan, instead of looking down.

Yanagi-kun patted my head, and it also seemed to feel very big. No, maybe it's because I have shrunk.

Thin limbs, short hair. I am the same age as when I talked to ‘Him’ about Christmas.

(Ah. Is this… a dream?)

It seems I dream too much at Christmas.

"But Ichika-chan. I haven't prepared a gift."

"No, Shiraishi-san. We’re...returning you what you gave us."

“...? What I gave you?”

 "Yes. You gave us… a lot. It's only natural that we want to return the favour."

“I see… so this is what it means… to exchange gifts…”

"Yes. We want to share it, because we cherish each other. Please open it, and take a look."

“Okay.”

I slowly opened the box, and inside was——、

 ◇ ◇ ◇

When I opened my eyes, I saw a familiar scenery.

This was their base, called the ‘Detective Agency’. It also became a place I could feel comfortable as well. 

“Ah, Shiraishi-san, you’re awake?”

A pair of eyes I seem to always see somewhere, someplace, were looking at me. Crystal clear—like glass balls. 

“Ichika-chan…? Ah, huh? Where’s... the present box…?” 

"? Fufu, it's rare to see you half-awake. If you sleep in a place like this, you’ll catch a cold. Are you going to the office to stay overnight?"

I realized the reality as my consciousness gradually returned from my awakening. 

That’s right. The collar—in order to protect herself from those who had declared to ‘pick her up’, she had taken refuge here with her brother.

The deadline announced by Adonis was approaching soon. In order to make her forget this fact temporarily, I had been talking to them about Christmas. When I thought about the gift she gave—and the only gift I could make, I fell asleep.

(Truly... the ‘Heart’ is so difficult to understand. I… must have been scared to have a dream like that.)

 —Everything will end soon.

That smile of his I had gently stored away was blacked out. 

The contents of the boxes I had received from her and everyone had been badly damaged and dirtied.

But I decided not to regret it, even if I was scared or in pain.

Because I got the most precious gift in the world.

"Ichika-chan...Thank you."

"Eh?"

"You taught me my first Christmas, right? So, thank you."

"What are you talking about? The real fun starts from now on."

"...Fufu, yeah."

In a few days, we won’t be able to greet Christmas as we promised. Regardless of what happens, it will only make you sad.

Even if I understand that, I want to see it. I don't want to give up. I want to make my wish come true.

 This is certainly not a sad story.

I, who had received such a present, could not be unhappy. 

Even if I get it dirty with my own hands, this warmth will not disappear.

There’s no reasoning. It’s because I’m human. ...Because I am special.

A shining, sparkling gift for me, who was supposed to be called Number 14.

An opened box filled to the brim with tender memories.

[alicemitch09writes]

soft hours??? soft hours! so, i hc suna as someone introverted, definitely a person who needs his alone time.

as a couple, after moving in together i totally, totally see sunayn having a tradition. it’s nothing much, and people would probably never think twice about it but no matter where they are or how much they’re apart, once they’re in the presence of each other, it’s a tradition to always exchange

“tadaima”

“okaeri”

and they were times, wherein suna swear he could cry.

so he did.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————

suna rintarou was a person who liked to keep to himself.

sure, there were moments wherein he mingles with people like when he gets dragged into the twins’ antics back in high school, or when komori has another idea he wants to go try with washio and him— because, he said, who else could he ask except his favourite teammates, or when they have another gatherings with sponsors and whatnot.

but at the end of the day, suna rintarou still prefers to keep to himself; to enjoy the peace and quiet of his own room after an exhausting day of studying and trying mixed with the twins’ loud, chaotic antics and perhaps have a quick power nap... or two.

still, it was not as if he was against the prospect of mingling with others or being surrounded by people, because as much as he liked keeping to himself and liked things to be kept peaceful and without disturbance, he’s used to it. it was a normal routine to have komori’s endless bundle of energy and joy, his other teammate’s banters, gruelling drills, loud chatters over quick or long breaks. it was normal, and as much as it pains him to say, it was something he already welcomed.

there were days where suna would have a sensory overload.

where seemingly normal routines suddenly grates on his never ending nerves. these are times where he feels that komori is too bright for him to look at, loud chatters during quick breaks and the team’s banters create an annoying buzzing in his ears, washio’s block during a practice match seemed too provoking, refusing to think about a practice game he’s on because thinking is too much, thinking feels too overwhelming,or where the volleyballs touching his skin feels as though it burns, skin too sensitive to even be touched by his own fingertips, irritating him further. many would assume it was just suna typically slacking off during practice. and perhaps, it wasn’t a full lie, but not exactly the full truth. at least, suna thought, everyone seemed to stay off on his case today. if anyone tries to approach him in this state, he honestly wouldn’t know what he’d do. everything feels too much.

the sound of the whistle calling practice off was music to his ears, despite the buzzing in his ears still present. freshening up was done in a haste, going straight to his car to go home.

the jiggling of his keys resonated inside the house, unsettling him and making his brows furrow, did you forget to tell him you’re going out or something? suna sighs, disappointed, but reminded himself that he needed the silence. this is good, he needs this.

crossing the threshold, however, there was you.

you, on the couch laying flat as you immersed yourself in the book while a pair of headphones rest on your ears, the entire world clearly forgotten.

you, in your peaceful glory, dressed in nothing but a pair of tight shorts, his jersey, and a wine red thigh high socks.

fuck, he mutters. then, faster than his mind could form a coherent thought, he was on you, nudging your legs apart, slotting himself between as he lays his head on your stomach.

you gasped, startled at the tall man who brought you back to reality, book now on your chest and hand reaching out to turn your music off. suna seeking your hand with his pinky, linking with yours once he found it, resting the rest of his hand to the back of your palms to caress your knuckles.

“y/n,” he whispers, hot breath tickling your stomach, “let’s stay like this for awhile, please?”

suna could cry. he could cry when all you did was let out a contented hum, your other hand finding solace in his hair. he lets you play with it, feeling his all too tense muscles loosen by the ticking second he spends with you.

“baby,” he peers up, saw you tilting your head to the side, gaze questioning.

“tell me a story,” realisation crosses your features, he is so fucking in love. his chest threatening to burst because he doesn’t think that his heart is enough to hold all the adoration he held solely for you.

“okay.... there was one time,” your voice low, barely above a whisper, as you tell him a story in another language you speak. he closes his eyes and climbs slightly higher, his head almost on your chest, blissfully aware of everything you are saying despite only understanding a few words here and there, realising that the story you might be telling him now is something new. something he hasn’t heard before, therefore, not memorising yet.

there were days like this— perhaps in different positions and in different scenarios, but the unmistakable sound of a foreign language spoken in a soothing, peaceful voice belonging to the person he’s so utterly, devastatingly, and madly enamoured with is all the same; him asking you to tell him a story, no matter how mundane or random it may be, in another language you speak and despite not knowing anything at all during the first few times he asked you of this, that did not stop him on listening to you in utmost attentiveness.

now, with you on your back and his head close to your heart, only thing existing around him was the sound of your heartbeat, his breathing, and your voice; the feeling of your warmth mixed with his, and the soothing caress of your fingers on his hair.

you, understanding that for today, he doesn’t need to understand a word that you’re saying, just hearing your voice was what he needed. so, recalling another story of samu and you as children, where the two of you would do something alone and suddenly, the other pair of the twin barging into your peaceful solo hang out, you recounted the tale.

and it was all too much.

it overwhelms suna. this time, it overwhelms him with relief.

he has you; you are irrevocably and undeniably his. all his.

suna is overwhelmed with relief and satisfaction— so he let a stray tears escape his eyes.

feeling a sudden wetness on your shirt, stopping your story as you worriedly called out, “rin?”

he looks up, still a bit teary eyed, and gave a shaky smile, “im home,”

you soften, adoration clear from your usually blank stare, “welcome home,”

someone actually wrote me a full blown drabble and i am SOFT.

thank you for this wonderful peace, sweetpea!

EVERYONE SAY THANKS

[bogariel-frogariel]

A Wish for a Better World Part 4: On the High Seas

We are now almost at 15,000 words and still going strong.

Here is the ao3 link https://archiveofourown.org/works/25747657/chapters/62735095

I appreciate all the comments

------

One and a half weeks after that night, Ruby and Jet stood side by side at the stern of the ship as they watched Castle Candy disappear down the river. They're pinkies were linked and Ruby could feel the contented hum of the locked on her chest.

 They only stepped back when the tallest tip of Castle had faded into the background.

 Theo and Lapin were both waiting for them on the deck, though they were both eyeing each other with barely concealed glares. They were so distracted that Ruby and Jet could have slipped away if they were so inclined. But, they stood there in front of them, waiting to be noticed.

Theo straightened when he saw them, his head whipping around to stare at them.

 "Oh, princesses, good."

 He cleared his throat before he launched into his lecture, "Now your mother has given firm instructions about your education. She has created a strict timetable for you both to follow on your journey."

 Both Jet and Ruby nodded at this.

 "Sure Theo."

 "Yes, Sir Theo."

 Theo immediately frowned at them. "Truly? You're not missing with me?"

 Ruby and Jet glanced at each other before they looked forward.

 "Well, you and Mum are always talking about responsibility and how we need to take our lessons more seriously, especially since we're almost adults now," Jet explained. "We want to be able to help our sister when she takes the throne."

 "Besides, there's not really anywhere for us to escape to on this ship," Ruby cut in. "Not many places for us to hide."

 "Not that we would dare," Jet interjected. "I know I need to take lessons if I'm going to be the best general in Calorum. And Ruby needs to learn to be the… uh…"

 "A good advisor," Ruby finished. "And a faithful Bublian."

  Lapin nodded. "Of course, Princess, and I will guide you through your spiritual journey."

 Ruby inclined her head at him respectfully.

 Theo cleared his throat again. "Yes, well, whilst your mother has mandated eight hours of lessons for each of you, she has also given her permission for an additional two hour lesson in combat before dinner should you choose to accept it."

 Jet perked up and Ruby couldn't stop the giddy grin from splitting across her face as her sister's hand found hers and they locked pinkies.

 "Yes!" Jet burst out before she cleared her throat. "We will accept, Theo."

 Theo smiled at them as he gave a nod. "Good. Why don't you both settle into your room? You will be having a busy journey."

 Jet and Ruby gave a synchronised nod and walked off to unpack their things.

 ----

 Later that night, Ruby found herself leaning against the railing of the Starboard side of the deck.

 Jet had managed to wheedle Theo into showing her the weapons he had brought for them to use

 Ruby took one of the small knives from Sapphria's set of daggers and fiddled with it, not scared of dropping over board, as she had discovered that it would just be summoned back to her hand if she wanted it to be.

 Her father glanced down and froze at the sight of the black sugarsteel. The larger had a light blue blade but the same ornate black hilt forged in the shape of a dragon with glittering multicoloured candy stones peppered across its back, shining blue and purple and silver and gold when the light hit them.

 "Is that what I think it is."

 Ruby nodded, still twirling the dagger through her fingers.

 "Where did you get it?"

 "I found the set hidden in the Castle."

 Her dad nodded. "Another vision?"

 Ruby grimaced. "Not exactly."

 She hadn't fully explained her shadows to anyone but Lapin. Her father didn't understand the technicalities and philosophies of magic anyway and Ruby didn't want to force her mother to speak of a secret that she carefully guarded, she'd manipulated her mother enough just to get her to organise this trip.

 "You could be a great ruler," Ruby murmured, looking out at the sea. "I have seen it."

 She had. Her father had been a great Emperor, when he had finally started working with his wife, they had presented a formidable and terrifyingly efficient unit.

 Her father looked down, his shoulders slumping. "I was never meant to rule."

 "You may not have ever expected it," Ruby conceded. "But you… Candia cannot live in the shadows of our aunts forever."

 King Amethar bowed his head, sighing deeply. "I never asked for this responsibility."

 "It’s not fair," Ruby whispered and her father went rigid, obviously remembering the exchange he had had with his father long ago, where Kind Jedain had said similar things. Her father had told her of the interaction, and the night before, she had seen it in her dreams, right before she saw a vision of her father standing at the throne, her mother and sisters standing at his side, strong and proud and good.

 Ruby slipped the dagger back beneath her sleeve, putting one of her hands on his arm. Her father turned to look at her.  

"You're the king, Pops," Ruby murmured. "So you gotta be the king."

 Her father closed his eyes. "I was always more of a war guy."

 Ruby gave a small smile. "You can be more than one thing, Dad."

 Her father reached out and grasped Ruby's shoulder. "I think you might be right… Those visions have changed haven't they."

 Ruby shrugged, and whispered, "It's better this way."

 Her dad's hand tightened. "Just… don't get lost in them, okay? In those last days, Laz could barely recognise us. She couldn't keep track of what was real. Don't forget to live in the present."

 Ruby swallowed and nodded. "But I… we cannot forget what we must do."

 "We must not trust Cruller," she said into his head.

 Her father nodded. After much discussing, Ruby, Jet and her parents had decided to take the cake with them. It would be best if they could keep an eye on him, and he could be cut off from all but the two men he had taken with him. Back at Castle Candy, Ruby's mother could quietly spread the Muffinfield soldiers throughout the realm, and Ruby's small network of spies, which she'd quickly built in both Dulcington and the castle, about half of them sleeper agents that Sapphria had left, though the other half were those she had recruited through her own skills and persuasion.

 She had spent the most experienced them off the Muffinfield to try and find any evidence they could against the Marquiesse.

 "I will keep an eye on him," her father sent back.

 "We can trust Theo. All the knights are loyal to Candia above all else."

 "What of Lapin?" her father asked out loud.

 Ruby frowned, thinking for a few seconds before she answered, "He is a good man."

 Her father looked at her for a few seconds, and then nodded. He leant forward and enveloped her in a hug. "We won't… I won't forget my purpose, Ruby."

 He pulled away and took a step back towards the cabins. "You have given me a lot to think of… about my place and my actions."

 Ruby nodded. "Right, good. I'm glad."

 Her father smiled sweetly at her. "I love you, Ruby. Don't go to bed too late."

 "Night, Pops."

 As the ship changed to the night shift, Ruby settled onto one of the steps between the stern and the main deck, her personal copy of the Book of Leaves resting on her lap, and a small notepad in her palm as she skimmed through the religious tome. She had started rereading it, noting passages for her to memorise. It was interesting that nothing in the Book was actually really incorrect. It never personified the Bulb, and it never stated that the Bulb wanted its followers to act a certain way, only that it was a power of creation. Whatever group had written it had included the tenets, against murder, against ceaseless violence and destruction, as suggestions on how to stay faithful to its nature.

 Everything else that was accepted and 'known' about the Bulb was just bureaucracy and invention.

 Her mind wandered to the conversation she had had with Citrina a few nights ago.

 "My faith was never strained by the presence of my sisters," the yellow woman had proclaimed. "Despite the Church's rulings, nothing in the Book says that the Bulb is the only thing one can worship. In fact, the Book of Leaves preaches acceptance in all aspects of life."

 The woman had sighed.

 "The Church has strayed from its roots, from the faith. It has been tainted by betrayal and politics and greed," she spat the last word.

 Citrina broke off, taking a breath before she continued, "I thought I could fix the Church from the inside. I truly believed I could…"

 Ruby had waited for a few moments before she murmured, "For the record, I agree. The faith, at its core, is largely good. Like the Sweetening Path and the Great Beasts, but I do not see a way to fix it peacefully. The corruption is too deep."

 Citrina smiled sadly. "Very insightful, my child. I regret the pain you had to go through to learn those lessons, and I regret that I did not learn that lesson when I was alive."

 Cruller broke Ruby from her thoughts when he sat beside her. It took all of Ruby's skills in acting to not tense.

 "Princess," the man greeted.

 "Calroy," Ruby said, carving a smile onto her face.

 "What? No Lord Cruller from the next saint."

 Ruby barked a laugh. "I think we're past formalities, Calroy. And I don't intend to be as devoted as my aunt. The Bulbb has willed me to watch over Candia and guard its purity. The Church has enough Primogens."

 Cruller grinned. "That is a relief to here, Ruby. I would sorely miss you if you whisked away to Comida and Brightgarden."

 "You won't have to worry about that, Calroy," Ruby replied, feeling her skin crawl. "I intend to keep an eye on Candia for a long while."

 Calroy nodded. "And Candia will be all the better for it."

 He opened his mouth to ask a question, and Ruby knew he would begin interrogating her about her father. Jet and her dad had done admirable jobs but hadn't quite hidden their changed attitudes well enough to fool Cruller. Ruby would need to move quickly.

 However, before he could speak, the door that lead to the cabins banged open and Jet's voice floated over the side of the staircase.

 "Ruby! Theo wants us to go to bed. Come on, I don't want to annoy him. I really want him to teach us combat tomorrow."

 Ruby stood, smiling apologetically at Calroy. "I should get going. Dad and Jet have been super on edge lately about me. I think they're worried cause Aunt Citrina died so mysteriously. They don't want anything to happen to me."

 When the door to the cabins closed, Ruby slipped one of the two hand mirrors she carried on her at all times to one of her shadows.

 ----

 Theo looked around for Ruby. With ten minutes until the start of their first combat lesson, Jet was already hovering around the rack of weapons that Theo had dragged onto the deck, but the younger one was nowhere to be seen.

 Theo had seen Ruby stride out of the cabins half an hour ago and toss Lapin a book, telling him something in Bulbosi that Theo hadn’t understood before she had disappeared.

 Theo couldn't say what had possessed him to look up, but when he did, what he saw had his heart skipping a beat.

 "Princess Ruby get down from there!" he yelled at the girl who was doing cartwheels along the top of one of the sails.

 The girl paused and looked down at him, smiling brightly. For a few seconds, she looked like the girl that Theo had known a week ago, not the stranger that had replaced her.

 "Why, of course, Sir Theo," she proclaimed, and then jumped off the sail.

 Theo's stomach dropped as the girl fell before she caught a rope, swinging down in a graceful ark before she landed gently next to Theo, only stumbling slightly.

 Theo clutched at his heart. "Princess, never do that again! You could get hurt!"

 Ruby straightened her closed and raised her chin imperiously, even as she failed to smooth the giddy smile from her face.

 "The Bulb has blessed me with miracles that will help me if I slip, but I won't."

 Theo's eyes widened and he glanced at the Chancellor, who had taken over the Princess's private lessons whilst Theo gave Jet extra lessons in courtly manners and politics for two hours on top of the one and a half hours that Queen Caramelinda had allotted to both the girls every day, classes that were also overseen by Theo.

 The fucking chocolate bunny didn't do anything but shrug.

 "I'm sure that would be a grievous misuse of your blessings," Theo lectured.

 Ruby glanced to the bunny. "Chancellor, what do you think as a fellow miracle worker?"

 The bunny inclined his head. "I would advise humility with your miracles, Princess. However, the Bulb has blessed you and thus I trust that you know when it is appropriate to make use of those gifts."

 Ruby's smile was more restrained and respectful as she nodded. "Of course, Chancellor Lapin."

 Theo shot a glare at the bunny before he turned to both girls, clapping his hands together.

 "Okay, why don't we get going with this lesson."

 To be honest, Theo had thought that the King would be leading this class. However, he had allowed Theo to carry out this duty, wearing glasses of all things as he hunched over a book, some documents beside him. Theo had always thought that the King was illiterate.

 Teaching the princesses combat was honestly a pleasure. They were both naturals and applied themselves more stringently to these lessons than any other.

 As Theo had suspected, Jet was razor fast and brutally strong, the magic of Candia manifesting within her as unnatural reflexes similar to those of the eldest Rocks sister and Jet's own father. Ruby, however, surprised Theo. She had always been the more gentle of the two. Where Jet was loud and scrappy, Ruby was quick and light-footed. Those differences were still reflected in their fighting styles but there was a deadly edge to Ruby's movements, an efficiency and accuracy to her attacks that one so young should not have.

 It was perplexing to say the least, and Theo got his chance to address it later that very day, when he saw Ruby sitting on the deck, reading under torchlight as the day crew got ready for bed and the night crew began to work.

 Her head jerked up as he approached, snapping the book shit and tucking it into her chest, underneath the thick cloak she wore to take the bite off the cool sea breeze.

 "Sir Theo," she greeted and something inside Theo, that had been straining for the last few weeks, snapped.

 "What did I do to earn that title?"

 Ruby frowned. "Excuse me?"

 "Since when do you call me Sir Theo? You have not used my title since you were six years old, Princess."

 Ruby's eyes widened. "I thought that you would appreciate the respect. You deserve it."

 Theo stared down at the little girl that he had known all her life. He could no longer read her.

 "We both know you are lying to me, Princess," Theo said. "Please tell me what crime I have committed against you and I will do my best to make amends."

 Ruby shook her head, blinking rapidly. "No, The-Sir Theo. You've been great."

 "Then what is it?"

 Ruby dropped her eyes, her lips twitching downwards.

 "You will love Saccharina," she whispered.

 Theo furrowed his eyebrows. "Pardon?"

 "Saccharina," Ruby clarified, her voice a little stronger. "She will be everything you dreamed of serving. You will love her more than you could my father. You will be happy serving her."

 Theo jerked his head back. "Princess, I have devoted my life to your family. I serve your family."

 "But you wanted to serve Lazuli," Ruby countered. "Saccharina will be the one to bring about my aunt's vision and so much more. You won't need to resent us any longer."

 Theo gaped. "I don't-"

 "I know you love Jet. She's the bravest warrior and the most noble fighter you will ever find. But how can you not look at the rest of us and feel all you have lost every time? I do not blame you. I know that the Rocks family can trust you."

 Theo stammered for a few seconds, his mind not quite able to fathom everything that Ruby had just said. "I love you as well, princess."

 Ruby quirked her lips up and gave a nod. "Of course you do, Theo. I don't doubt that."

 "With respect, it sounds like you do, Princess."

 Ruby smiled that winning, perfect smile she had started wearing like armour and stood up. "Whatever hope for Candia's future you think you see in me, Saccharina will surpass it tenfold. She is truly someone worthy of being loyal to."

 She dropped her hands, causing the book to fall into the light, and Theo instantly recognised it as one of Lazuli's. He was very familiar with that particular lavender cover. A few dozen things clicked into place in that second and he banished the hurt at Ruby not telling him of the truth of her gifts. He had never shown her that it would be safe to tell him of her magic.

 Theo called for his familiar to jump into his hand through the bond.

 "I summoned Sprinkle to me with a spell. I could teach it to you, if you want?"

 Ruby hesitated, blinking rapidly as she quickly tucked the book back beneath her cloak.

 Finally, she whispered, "Yes."

 -----

 Ruby swallowed nervously as she stood on the prow of the ship, Theo beside her. He had pointed out the techniques and words she would need to use to her the night before, and then had woken her just before dawn so that he could help her cast the spell. Ruby had liked pretending to learn it from him.

 She had delayed recasting the spell until now, afraid what it would do to her when Yak didn't come back to her. For she knew she was too changed now to summon her beloved butterscotch falcon.

 However, with Theo's warm urging from beside her, and Jet's quiet cheering from a few paces behind them, she reached inside her drawing a strand of her won magic and throwing it out into the universe as she cast the spell. She waited as she felt the magic shift around her, roiling in a storm before it split into three distinct parts. She felt them solidify rapidly and stepped back in shock at the sight that materialised before her.

 Flying out of the distance, the rising sun at his back, was Yak, his feathers a more rich gold than they had had been in the future, but his presence still undeniable. However, at the same time, a black snake slithered out of the shadows behind her and a sleek violet cat materialised right beside her, slinking around her in a sort of dance.

 As the three approached her, they all melded, Yak swooping low as the snake and the cat jumped at him, all of them mixing, the image before her shifting between all three bodies before the cat leapt into her arms, quickly shifting to Yak a moment later as he jumped up to her shoulders before Ruby felt it change again and slither down her arms.

 Ruby blinked, lost for words.

 "What that supposed to happen?" Jet asked.

 Theo stared at the familiar as it shifted back to a cat, snuggling itself into Ruby's chest as she hugged it - no her, this form was a girl - closer.

 "I do not know," Theo murmured. "But it seems to have been successful."

 Ruby grinned, feeling something fill a hole in her chest that she hadn't even known was there.

 "I love them."

 She turned around and hugged Theo, the knight going stiff under her arms.

 "Thank you, Theo."

 Slowly, the gummy bear reached up to return the embrace. "You're welcome, Ruby."

----

How did you guys like it? Feel free to send me questions if you want. Also, yay! We’ll be seeing Saccharina next chapter.

[foolishlovebugbaby]

moonlight melodies | part 1

princess!reader x scholar!chan

Summary: dancing, unfortunately, was not apart of the list of things you’re good at. luckily for you, chan’s adamant on changing that.

Word count: 9.8k

a/n: so just imagine chan’s a brunette and that this didn’t take me a century and a half to write. enjoy :))

“And five, six, seven, eight- a one, two, three- no! Step with the left foot! To your left your highness!- Maestro if you would please cut the music.” Your dance teacher stood at the far end of the ballroom, ears a blazing red as he frustratedly rubbed his temples. You could only mimic his level of frustration- God, did you have to have two left feet? You had passed through all your levels of etiquette training and learning how to formally address your subjects, courters, and members of the monarchy with perfect diction and fluency, but gracefully learning how to perform the waltz in a ball gown too poofy for its own good would be your royal demise. 

So you stood in the center of the dance floor, face contorted in a mixture of frustration and humiliation at your dance capabilities (or lack thereof) while your practice partner bit down harshly on his lip to mask the profanities wanting to come out as a result of the blistering pain shooting from his feet that your heeled ones mercilessly stomped on.

“Your highness,” The instructor breathed out through tight lips, closing his eyes momentarily. “The masquerade ball is but a fortnight away, and we have yet to progress onto the promenade chassé! You’ve barely grasped the basics- I have no clue how on earth you’ll be able to dance the Viennese Waltz come the gala.” He rubs his cheeks frustratedly, and you snort at his vexation. 

“Chill out, Minho, will you? I’ll be the one making a royal fool out of myself, so you’re safe.” You chuck off your practice heels to the side and stretch your toes in content. “These galas have always been a royal pain in the ass, so I don’t see why this is any different.” You huff, annoyed at the grandeur of it all. 

Sure, being a princess required you to attend every gala, ball, party, whatever, as a way to make your presence known, but it had a way of turning mundane awfully quick. Like, by the second one, you were already over it. Dressing up and chowing down on all the hors d'oeuvres were the only highlights to any event that you went to.

“Madam, it is not just any other sissy gathering,” Minho said, standing straighter and looking quite offended. “It is a ball thrown in your honor. You’ve come of age to be courted, and all the finest young men in the kingdom and beyond will be attending in hopes to get a chance to dance with the Princess of the South.” He says that last part in a posh tone, and you can’t help but gag. He picks up the heels and dusts them off, walking over to hand them to you.

“Forgive me for being a smidge bit repulsed by the idea of having to find my one true love in a sea of stuck-up, unseasoned boys in order to be deemed worthy enough to rule my kingdom.” You say exasperatedly, head hot at the mere thought of it all. Since you were the sole heir to the crown (and you so happened to house a vagina instead of the preferred penile organ) people expected that you be married before ascending to the throne- which, to be frank, was a load of cow manure.

 “Even you can agree that having a grand ball for men to seduce their way to the crown is getting pretty old.” You said, in a matter-of-fact tone. Minho sighed. 

“What I believe is irrelevant, your highness. But tradition is tradition.” He kneels down, lifting up your leg to put on a heel. 

“Traditions are meant to be broken.” You mutter, pouting incredulously.

“Perhaps. I’m not asking that you not break tradition, my lady.” He slips on the other heel as well. “Just that you try and look graceful while doing so.” 

“Well if you put it that way...” You make a face, feeling bashful at yourself for being so indignant. 

So maybe appearing at these dull parties were apart of the duties of being a royal, and, as luck would have it, meant that you had to learn how to waltz through the evening. But you supposed dancing with kiss-ups was a lot better than engaging in meaningless conversations with them.

When Chan became an Academic Scholar for the palace, he didn’t think becoming best-friends with the Count’s son was apart of his education plan. But alas, fate works in mysterious ways.

“Remind me again as to why we need to be present in the palace of the South two weeks before the gala.” He draws out, exhausted from what seemed to feel like an eternal horse ride to your kingdom. He had learnt two things on his journey; the first being that horse back is possibly the worst mode of transportation, and the second being that Princes’ are possibly the worst company on impossibly long journeys. Well, at least, the one he was riding with is. 

From the Prince’s incessant whining to his numerous periodic ‘potty and tea’ breaks, Chan could’ve sworn he had died and gone to hell, and was living out his eternal suffering as a punishment for god-knows-what. But, then again, the sunny-side up to his grievances was that he could at least voice them out loud without fear of a public execution. 

“We are going for the formalities, laddy. As well as for the diplomacy. Father says I need to be the face of the North in order to maintain active peace between our kingdoms, but if you ask me I call a load of horse dung on it.” The prince scowls. “It’s so blatantly obvious that he just wants me to lock it down with the Princess before the ball in hopes to gain an advantage over her other suitors.”

Chan furrows his eyebrows, “Are my ears deceiving me? Does the Prince Hwang Hyunjin detest the prospect of wooing a lady?” He mocks, and Hyunjin sneers at him.

“Keep running your mouth like that Chan and I’ll make sure the people have the juiciest tomatoes in the kingdom to chuck at you.” He says pointedly, “But if you must know, I’ve already met the Princess- a less than pleasant experience. She was always so... aggressive whenever we played hide and seek-”

“Wait, so you’re telling me you’ve completely discarded the possibility of romancing the only Princess in this bloody kingdom because of her attitude whilst playing hide and go seek when you were toddlers?” He says, astounded at the stupidity of his friend. One of the knights once said it always seemed like the Prince had a stick up his royal behind, but Chan could confirm that it was, in fact, excalibur up in there.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know what I mean. So far, as a result of all the collective impressions she has made, she definitely is not my type.” He puts emphasis on the word ‘not’ and Chan scoffs at him. “But perhaps my opinion will change come the masquerade ball.” Hyunjin raises an eyebrow to himself and momentarily thinks it over. “Hm, perhaps not as she did pin me as a joke during pin the tail on the jester.”

Chan could only roll his eyes. While he could understand astronomy and classical literature and the fundamental workings of the telescope, Aristocracy was a concept he would need 4 lifetimes and a half in order to grasp.

The rest of the last leg of their journey went just the same, with Hyunjin and him exchanging sarcastic banter while the entourage of the Prince tailed not too far back. Moments of silence were a rare occurrence, but Chan figures it was better than nothing at all.

“Gates up ahead!” A knight yells from behind as the metal monstrosities came into view. Sure, war and sieges were a quiet yet possible danger, but really? To have borders built that outlandish with that much security? 

The foundations were made of thick slabs of rock stacked up on top of each other, chiseled to have some sort of semblance to a cuboid, and stretched out on either side to what seemed like the edge of the world. On its sides were two flagpoles bearing the royal family crest up high and mighty. The wooden grid gate was a dark mahogany reinforced with steel, adding to the overall undaunted demeanour the structure exuded. The tops were adorned with metal spikes with more miniature flags of the royal family crest peaking through the breaks, a gentle juxtaposition to the otherwise severe facade. 

It was definitely a lot more intimidating and fortified that what the North had, and the entire entourage could only gulp in anticipation. While many had visited the kingdom before, Chan was a first-timer, and his dazed expression certainly gave it away. He always heard stories about the South and how it was known to be the more liberated state in comparison with the two, and how his nature professors raved about how lush the kingdom was. 

The guards at the top of the watchtowers stared intently down at them, and soon enough even more come bursting through the side gates, ready for inspection. A knight from behind emerged and presented papers with the Northern royal insignia, and the two guards exchanged mutual greetings. 

“Open the gates!” A southern guard shouted up to the men in the watchtowers, and slowly, the inside of the kingdom came into view. 

Brick houses and quaint village shops lined the cobblestone streets, with children running up and down tirelessly playing under the spring sun. The air smelled heavenly- the scent of freshly baked Sunday buns coming from the village bakery. On the side, the morning market bustled with townspeople negotiating prices with sellers to get a better deal on the vibrant fresh produce. The villagers yelled out brightly, a mix of greetings and laughter and heated negotiations, and Chan’s never seen somewhere so alive before.

Chan’s in awe at the picture-perfect scene in front of him, and they haven’t even rode into the main square yet.

 If you were to be nit-picky about the most dreadful stage in preparing for an event, it wouldn’t be the entrance practices, or the dance training. It wasn’t even the horrid memorising of the monstrous guest list, though that certainly was a close second. Oh no, it was the absolutely abominable dress fittings that you swore took a lifetime and a half to finish. It was a mystery as to why it took that long, really, because you’d gladly walk out in anything- even a nightgown.

Which is the exact reason as to why your seamstress was unbelievably burdened by your lack of active input. 

“Would your highness prefer satin or silk?” The seamstress seethes with tight lips, more so out of frustration and anger, and you look at her sheepishly through the reflection on the mirror. 

You stood on a raised platform situated directly in front of an obnoxiously big mirror with a corset cutting off your circulation and a large crinoline fastened onto your waist to see how different silhouettes would look on your figure. Not the prettiest sight, admittedly, as you held semblance to a skeleton rather than a lady. 

“Uhm, silk?” You say diffidently. In your defence, you had never been taught Fabrics 101 and so you supposed that you didn’t exactly qualify to have an opinion on what fabrics or cuts or colours a debutante princess should wear.

She closed her eyes for a moment and let out a breath through her gritted teeth, and you swore you could see smoke steaming from her ears. 

“Silk it is.” She said curtly and you nod along. 

She hung her measuring tape around her neck and stalked over to the side of the room, where a large wooden trunk sits collecting dust. With much effort and a stream of mumbled profanities, she dragged it over to you and opened it with a click. 

“Does your highness have any preferences on a structure of mask?” You peered down at the box, viewing all the old and used masks stacked haphazardly on top of one another. Some with elaborate feathering attached, others with an assortment of austentatious jewels from rubies to jade lining the frame. Some were vividly emerald with a delicate satin sheen while others were a somber matte black. How could you possibly choose, you thought to yourself, when a myriad of masterpieces sat before you? 

“Surprise me?” You quipped, unsure of yourself, knowing for certain you wouldn’t mind the final product as you knew the craftsmen were masters at their art. “Just make sure it’s not too… wild I suppose.” You added and the seamstress nodded, slightly pleased that you gave a single specification in your 5-hour session. An improvement from the last indeed. 

She began to hold up numerous plain full-face masks up to your head, each a different size from the last, in order to find a suitable size that complimented your features well. 

You were giddy in place at the thought of the process coming near to an end, wanting nothing more than to go back into your library and read another Jules Verne novel, when, “Master Minho had instructed me to send you back to the ballroom for more rehearsals, my lady. And he requests that you remain in your fittings.” 

You wanted to curse, but there wasn’t a word that had been conjured up as of yet to fully encapsulate the amount of apprehension that bubbled inside you. So you groaned excessively, slumping where you stood. 

“But I was so excited to get these contraptions off! Please please please at least take the crinoline off? I feel like a Leonardo Da Vinci project in the making.” You whined and made puppy dog eyes at her, and she looked at you with pity. 

You could practically see the amount of protest and conflict that went on in her head through her expressions, because dealing with a displeased Minho was a terror and a half, but how could one resist the puppy dog eyes of the palace treasure? 

Clearly, not the seamstress. “Okay, but you better do exceptionally well at practice today.” She huffed and began unclasping the abomination around your waist, as well as loosened up the damned corset which you were very much grateful for. 

“You’re the best!” You yelped, and she looks at you with a hint of a smile on her features but masked it with a roll of her eyes. “You still need to wear a practice mask on.” She commented, but you were just happy you didn’t have to wear a cage around your legs. She handed you a black satin mask that only covered half of your face, and sent you off. 

You always loved walking through the palace hallways. It felt like they were endless, going on and on until they reached the other side of the world. If you tried hard enough, you could get lost in them. But that sort of bliss would remain utterly untouchable, however, as Minho came into your line of view with his hands on his hips and an impatient scowl on his features. 

���You’re late.” He said monotonously, and you’d be scared if it weren’t for the fact that he looked like a kitten. A very hostile one, but a kitten nonetheless.

“By, like, a minute.” You brushed his accusatory glare off and saunter into the ballroom. 

“Just for that I’m making you wear your event heels.” His head was held up high, and you wondered if you could indulge in exercising authoritarianism just for this moment. 

“Sometimes I wonder whether I’m even royalty anymore.”

“Not with those dance skills you’re not.” “Minho!”

As a scholar, Chan had the privilege to travel far and wide, experiencing and immersing himself into an array of different cultures, cuisines and religions, only to come back and record his stories of his wondrous adventures and teach all that he had learnt. His favorite part, however, was being able to hear copious amounts of unique dialects and tongues and how the people of the world conversed. 

He’s a language nerd, to keep it frank. 

Which is why, after 6 excruciating hours of dress fittings, Chan could spew every single profanity known to mankind in all the 7 languages he knew without being called out for being a foul mouth. 

Even then, none could encompass the amount of maliceness he held for dress fittings.

Mumbling a string of incoherent obscenities under his breath, he kicked the rocks beneath him and he walked along the palace grounds, hands shoved in his pockets. 

“God, I can’t even count on both hands how many times I’ve been poked by those damned sewing needles... “ He sneers and kicks at the ground beneath him, disorienting a few pebbles. “At least the tailor called me fit.” Silver linings were for hopeless optimists, and so, naturally, they were for Chan.

As he entered the palace’s garden walkway, he could hear faint humming in the distance. If he were any more distracted, he would have missed it- but he didn't. He was certain he could hear an obscure melody floating through the air- pitchy? Yes. But a melody nonetheless, and Chan was not about to judge the person when he could not put a face to the music.

Cautiously, he followed the string of faint notes through the garden’s meticulous and intricate landscape, being careful not to take a mis-step and ruin the delicate conglomerate of ornate flora and fauna. It didn’t help that it was the dead of night- the sky a misty navy blue with the pale crescent moon being the only source of light illuminating the fields. But, Chan being Chan, continued his peculiar late-night quest to find the out-of-tune songstress. 

And find her he did. 

He reached the center of the garden- a large, octagonal marble platform with large, renaissance limestone pillars on each point and an extravagant two-tiered fountain smack dab in the middle of it all. But it wasn’t the luxurious marble or the fountain with vines and flowers of all different kinds lining its base that had caught his attention- it was the barefoot maiden in a white tunic and burgundy midi-skirt dancing as if she had two left feet, to the tune of her own voice that did. Her back was facing him, so she had yet to acknowledge his presence, but he was fine with just watching. 

She stumbled clumsily, every beat horrendously off while her toes betrayed her as she attempted to recall the music. Was that Johann Strauss? He couldn’t be sure, for her humming could be mistaken for the monotonous hum of a metalloid contraption. It amused him, really, how talentless one could be when it came to a simple one-two-step. He couldn’t help but lean on a pillar and watch her from afar, silently chuckling to himself when he heard her slew of profanities each time you messed up. He liked her determination, he concluded, and her efforts to improve despite all her errors.

There was a brief moment in time where she twirled around and Chan got a fleeting glimpse of her face- only, it wasn’t her face. It was partially covered in a mask, the black satin glimmering in the moonlight, and chan’s hand instinctively went to his back pocket where he had shoved his own as he hurried out the fitting room a couple of moments ago. He decided that if she was disguised, he would be too- for the sake of the enticing mystery, of course. 

“You’re terribly off beat.” She gasped, startled, whipping around to look at him and he could only chuckle at her appalled expression, lips agape and eyes wide. “Excuse me?” Her tone was defensive, accusatory, confused and terrified all at once.

Remarkable.

“You move after each count, when you should be moving with the count.” He explained, standing straighter and slowly made his way towards her. She raised a shaky hand up.

“Don’t come any closer,” Her tone was timid, but there was an edge to her voice. “Who are you?” She questioned, looking straight into Chan’s masked eyes. Her gaze was strong and curious behind her mask, and he stared back with the same intensity.

“Who are you?” He questioned back teasingly, and she scoffed. She crossed her arms, “I asked first.” She said pointedly.

He bit back a smile, enjoying the teasing a little too much for his own good.

“Okay,” He looked around in contemplation, “I’ll give you a hint. I’m not from here.” He shoved his hands inside his pockets casually. “Your turn.”

“I am from here.” She replied back, annoyed. “You must have come from the North, correct?” 

“Perhaps.” He shrugged, slightly taken aback by her sudden assumption. 

“Well, I’m not offbeat.” She huffed and a pout made its way onto her lips. Chan couldn’t help but chuckle at her denial. “How long have you been standing there anyway?” She asks, and he suddenly felt bashful at the realisation of how creepy he must come off after observing her like that. He thanked the Gods that his mask covered his crimson cheeks. 

He cleared his throat and swallowed down his embarrassment. “Long enough to know that you are offbeat.” He retorted, and she scoffed again at his reply, rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t know that you were a dance prodigy.” She mumbled under her breath, offended and humiliated at the thought of a random stranger watching her stumble over herself. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to the flower vines, and she couldn’t help but curse at the Gods for making her so talentless.

“I’m not, but I know enough to get by.” He took another step closer to her, until they stood at arms length, and stretched out a hand. “I could teach you.” He didn’t know why he offered, but the urge to help her learn the waltz was compelling. At least, that’s what he told himself as he nervously peered into her masked moonlit orbs. And anyway, what was a scholar supposed to do in the dead of night? Sleep? Unheard of.

Her eyes went wide at the suggestion, “I don’t even know you- h-how do I know you’re not going to kill me?” She stammered and took a step back. He recoiled his hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. But I understand your hesitation.” He began to slowly back away, knowing that when he reached his room he would be staring at a tomato in the mirror. “My offer still stands.” With that, he turned and walked off.

She didn’t know why her breath hitched in her throat and why her mouth felt dry and scratchy as her mind debated on whether or not to accept his offer. She always thought she was logical and smart, but as she yelled “Wait!” she couldn’t help but feel reckless and everything but.

“I-I accept.” She stammered, her heart hammering in her chest. 

He turned around shocked, “What?” He heard her loud and clear, but the mere likelihood of her accepting a strange masked man’s offer to teach a dance class was, statistically speaking, zero to none and went against all the maps of logic and reasoning that the universe laid out. But I digress. 

“I said I’ll accept your offer.” Her voice was timid yet confident, an air of intrigue and uncertainty swimming around her. “But just know that if I’m found hurt, the castle would have your head.” Of course there was a catch, and Chan did not know what to make of that statement. Was she an important person? Was she bluffing? So many questions, not enough dancing.

He walked towards her for the second time that night. “You can trust me,” He held out his hand, his eyes trained on her own curious ones that peered up at him. 

She took a breath and gently laid her hand in his. “Okay. This is me trusting you.”

Mornings are always difficult. 

You always found it hard to get out of your thick comforters and ‘seize the day’, as they say. You would rather seize your dreams by the neck and hold onto the fleeting adventures in your brain. You could be a traveler, a dragon and a knight all within the span of your six-hour slumber rather than a princess in a castle too big with walls too high. 

That night you had dreamt you were in the palace gazebo with a masked man so handsomely illuminated by the moon that you thought your mind had conjured it up as a result of your lackluster experience when it came to men.

Only, it wasn’t a dream. He was doubtlessly there, as solid as the ground you stood on- you’d know that because your felt the firmness of his shoulder against your palm and the calluses on his fingertips against your own. And it was everything but lackluster. 

You sat up from your bed, the haze of last night’s endeavours fresh and vivid as though they were playing right before your half-lidded eyes, and you couldn’t help but groan at yourself.

“Reckless and stupid…” You mumbled, rubbing your temples vigorously while trying to suppress the growing grin forming on your lips. Spoiler alert: you failed to do so even as your teeth clamped down on them. You let out a dreamy sigh and crashed back down onto your pillows. 

You closed your eyes, recollecting the moonlight of yesterday as it played back in flashes.

“Okay. This is me trusting you.” The Gods upstairs must be frowning down at you and your carelessness, you thought to yourself as you held onto the strange man’s hand. But screw the Gods- if Jules Verne had taught you anything, it’s that you need to be reckless in order to find an adventure. 

A smile graces his plump lips and you can’t help but admire the cute indentations on the sides of his cheeks, taking note of the faint red tint seeping from under his mask. His hands, you realised, are much more bigger than yours- they engulfed yours in a stomach-turning warmth and felt sturdy against your shaky ones. 

“Well then, shall we begin?” He says, his voice deep and thick with an accent you had never heard before. You nod and gulp, slightly in awe at the whole ordeal and impossibly nervous. You grew increasingly aware of how clammy your hands must have felt and how hard your heart was pounding in your chest- you might just go into cardiac arrest, you thought, but that was a risk you clearly were willing to take. 

He held your hand firmly in his and proceeded to place your other one onto his shoulder. “May I?” He asks cautiously, his free hand ghosting over your side and you nod, feeling another round of heat spreading through your cheeks and neck. His warm palm rests on the small of your back, and you can’t help but have your mind go into a frenzy at the feeling. You felt utterly thrilled and stupendously stupid all at the same time. 

“I’m assuming you know the basic movements and foot placements, correct?” He asks again and you snort. “Of course, I’m not that bad.” You defend and he smiles. “That is for me to decide, m’lady.” You scoff and squeeze at his shoulder, not being able to control the bashful smile making its way onto your lips. 

He hums the song you attempted just moments ago, and the air fills with his melodic voice. He had the voice of an angel, you thought to yourself as he bobbed his head to fall into the proper count. 

“And one, two, three-” He takes a step back, then to the left, and another to the right and you realised how much of a narc your feet were as you continuously missed each beat and stomped on his foot. Your eyes are trained to the floor where your feet are, and you thank the Gods that you are barefoot- had you been in anything else, he would have entered a different world of pain. 

You shoot your gaze back up at his contorted face and you could not help but wince. “So maybe I am that bad.” You quip, and he only chuckles. “Yes- but don’t worry. You just need to relax, loosen up. Don’t be so nervous.” He says calmly, and your mind teeters at the thought of him knowing how fast your heart rate was going. “Just follow my lead.” His gaze never trains off of you, and he begins humming the same tune. Only, you could not just relax and loosen up given the situation you were in, and so your eyes immediately darted to the floor below you in hopes you would not mess up. 

He stops his humming. “Eyes on me,” His voice is soft and gentle as he brings his hand up to your jaw to lift your gaze to his. You gulp and bite down on your bottom lip out of sheer restlessness. “You need to trust yourself- here you are trusting a complete stranger and yet you can’t even count on yourself to go with the music.” He says teasingly, and a displeased pout forms on your lips. “Easier said than done.” You mumble.

“You’ve got this,” He says with an encouraging smile, and you puff out your cheeks. “I hope you’re right for the sake of your feet.” He laughs. 

His humms fill the air again, and it took all your mental capacity to keep your eyes steady on his. You blamed it on your second nature to look down at the floor whenever you danced- it certainly was not due to the fact that his soft brown eyes remained constantly on yours. Definitely not because his features- at least, the ones visible- were incredibly distracting in the moonlight. Oh no, none of those. At all.

He moves steady and slow, allowing you to pace yourself throughout the steps which you were incredibly grateful for- something foreign to you thanks to the trauma of Minho’s fast-paced counts. His body is sturdy and confident, guiding you through each stride with such ease and elegance. And before you knew it, you were both moving in sync- your legs naturally following and mirroring his own movements each time. Albeit shaky and far from elegant, it was definitely a level-up from the previous endeavour. 

He smiles at you and you can’t help but beam back, “See? You’re doing it,” He says mid-hum and resumes right from where he left off, a proud grin on his face. Just like your movements, your lips mirror his elated ones and you continued to move through the platform for a few more paces until he finished the last note. 

You were slightly out of breath- partly because of moving that briskly for the first time and also because the man before you managed to take your breath away simply with his gaze- and, involuntarily, you let out a quiet squeal. “I can’t believe I just did that,” You say in shock at yourself, a sense of pride filling your chest. 

He only laughs at your epiphany as he held onto you, “I told you~” He sings, and you pinch his bicep playfully for his teasing. “I totally could have navigated through it by myself.” You say sarcastically, and he snorts at your comment. “You’re welcome.” He says pointedly. 

“Thank you, I really mean it.” He smiles at your gratefulness, “Don’t mention it.” 

You both stood towards the edge of the pavilion, your hand still in his and on his shoulder whilst his arm encircled your waist. Both of your chests rose and fell in sync, and for a moment you’re both silent- eyes still trained on each other while the crickets sang in the background. Of course, with all things exciting, the Gods decided that awkwardness was a must. 

He steps back and clears his throat, his arm letting go of your waist and his hand falling back to his side, after realising just how close your bodies were to each other. You almost shiver at the loss of contact, feeling cold in the absence of his warmth. You scratch the back of your neck and wobble back and forth on your heels, feeling the air become dense with awkward tension.

“S-so uhm, you’ve definitely improved a lot since, well, since the last time I saw you- which really wasn’t that long ago so I’d say that’s a win.” He rambles, his gaze darting towards all eight corners of the gazebo, trying to look everywhere but at you. Which was fine, since you were doing the exact same thing. 

“Y-yeah- still got a long way to go before the ball.” You say sheepishly, leaning back on a pillar to your left and twiddling with your thumbs. 

“You’re going to be at the ball?” He questions, with a cute tilt to his head and you nod. “Will you?” You’re slightly hopeful- what are the chances of ever meeting this strange, alluring man again? “Maybe.” You can see him wink behind his mask and you roll your eyes. 

“I could teach you again, if you want.” He suggests from beside you, and you hear his breath hitch. Your mind goes wild- what does one even say to that? Yes? No? Absolutely? Absolutely not? “I don’t want to waste your time with this though,” You settle on the courteous thing to say, even though your heart yelled at you to be selfish and seize the opportunity before it went away forever.

“It wouldn’t be a waste of my time- I could teach you at night, the same time as now.” He insists, and there’s a war going on in your head to accept. “And anyway, you’re still terribly ungraceful.” He smirks playfully, and you roll your eyes at his incredulousness. 

“Well, if you insist.” You retort, and he grins. You could feel butterflies flare in your stomach, the buzz of the situation at hand making you feel absolutely wondrous. The masked stranger was charming and enthralling, and if you didn’t know any better you would have thought he was an apparition-a trick of the moonlight. Maybe you didn’t know any better, but that's besides the point. 

“Well, I’ve got to go now.” You say wistfully, wanting to stay longer but knowing that the palace would be turned inside-out if you weren’t back in your chambers before midnight. His expression falls, much like yours, but his eyes are hopeful. “Tomorrow, same time?” He asks, and you bite back a smile. 

“I’ll be here.” You drag your feet along the marble slowly, still facing him as you back away, before sending a final smile and turning around to walk off, your heart doing back flips in your chest. You don’t even make four strides when his warm hand wraps around your wrist. 

“May I please know your name?” He breathes out, and you’re at a loss for words. For the first time in your life, someone was not bowing to you every time you made eye contact. For the first time in your life, someone could tease you and make playfully snide remarks without hesitation and fear. For the first time in your life, someone was unapologetically straightforward with you. And for the first time in your life, you were able to detach from your identity as a princess and remain completely you. 

“Try again next time,” You say playfully after contemplating. 

He sighs with a smile, and you head back to the palace, a skip in your step and the feeling of his hand still wrapped around your wrist. 

You have a stupid smile on your face at the breakfast table, much to your parents confusion and delight. “What’s got you so elated, dear?” Your mother questions with her brows furrowed, chewing on her omelete. 

“Oh nothing, just a book I read.” You lie on the spot and feel your face heat up, turning your gaze back down onto your plate of breakfast pastries. “Must be some book.” Your father says, and you let out a knowing chuckle. 

“Sweetheart, some troops and dignitaries of the North have come for the ball, and so has the Prince, so I’d suggest you make yourself well acquainted with them during their stay at the palace.” Your mom quips and you sit up straighter. “Hyunjin is here?” There’s a displeased tone to your voice, and it’s clear that your mom doesn’t appreciate it. 

“Yes, and I expect you to make nice, just like old times.” She says pointedly and you puff out your cheeks. You see, it’s not that you didn’t like the Prince, but you didn’t exactly like him either- he always seemed rather... displeased by your antics and so you never really moved past royal formalities. 

“How are your dance lessons going, dear?” Your father asks you in his booming voice, and you have to laugh. 

“How do you think they’re going?” You retort and he makes a face at you. “I do hope you’ve at least improved from the last time we saw you dance,” You parents exchange looks, “It’s high time that the Princess is able to dance through the evening without ripping the ends of her gown.” You roll your eyes at that and groan. 

“That happened only twice, father, and if you ask me, those gowns needed some edge to them.” It was your parents’ turn to roll their eyes at you. It was no secret that you, the Princess, resembled a dismembered horse whenever you danced- even if it were a secret, it clearly was not a very well-kept one. Which was fine, since the subject of your blundering dance capabilities only saw the light of day whenever an event as grand as a ball became the talk of the town. But jokes get old, and so do the labels that deemed you nothing more than an ungraceful royal, so your determination to prove anyone and everyone wrong grew more and more each day.

Your masked dance instructor certainly increased your will tenfold. 

After breakfast, your parents wasted no time in shooing you off to the dance hall, saying something along the lines of “a full stomach means bountiful results of labour.” much to your dismay.

Time is money, and that certainly was the mantra that Minho exuded as he wasted no time in directing you through all the warm-ups and floor routines with your dance partner. You took a deep breath and imagined that you were back at the gazebo, in the arms of someone you didn’t fully know. 

Trust yourself.

Do you trust me?

You’re doing well, just remember to count each beat in your head.

I told you you could do it.

Eyes on me.

It felt like you were floating as the maestro played each melody, your eyes dazed as your mind played back each step on repeat. Unbeknownst to you, you had successfully ran through the routine without stepping on your partner and staying on count- for the most part.

“Well, my lady, I am pleasantly surprised at this drastic improvement,” Minho’s eyes are wide and sparkly and full of shock at the fact that you stayed on beat for the majority of the dance, and you can’t help but chuckle at his dramatic bewilderment. “What in heaven’s name has gotten into you?” He questions genuinely, and your mouth goes wide in disbelief. 

“Don’t sound too shocked, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve stayed on count.” He makes a face. “Okay, so maybe it is.” You mumble curtly and proceed to fold your arms over your chest like an offended child- which you were, but that’s besides the point. 

“Does this improvement call for a celebratory, well-earned 2-day break?” You ask, half jokingly and half absolutely serious, and clasp your hands together hopefully. His face goes back to blank and he straightens up.

“Absolutely not- you’re still astonishingly shabby and lumbering, your posture is horrendous and-”

“Okay I get it, a simple ‘no’ would have been sufficient, thank you very much.” You sneer, and he smiles sarcastically back at you.

“You’re welcome.”

Minutes, seconds, hours, days, months, years- you didn’t know just how long practice took until you stepped out of the ballroom, feet covered in blisters and an ache in your back, to a haze of purple and orange in the sky, the sun just about to touch the horizon. You’re exhausted and drained, and, if it were up to you, you’d have ran away right there and then but you couldn’t, because the sores on your feet laughed at your futile attempts to even walk. 

Okay, that was a tad dramatic. You could walk, but you figured playing it up a little would somehow garner the attention of your very powerful parents to do something about Satan’s Incarnate, Minho, and get you a few practice-free days. 

But of course, your parents were not in the throne room, or the dining area, or even in their chambers- the reason being an impromptu visit to the eastern provinces for diplomatic purposes as you later came to find out. You could almost hear the Gods snickering at your turmoil. 

So you dragged your sore feet to the palace library, ready to delve into another chapter of another book that peaked your interest even though your mind would betray you and saunter back to your masked instructor gleaming in the moonlight. 

He was all you thought about, even as you vividly imagined strangling Minho, he remained in the back of your mind. If you tried hard enough, you can almost feel him again- firm arms and everything. Your heart raced at the thought of meeting for the second time tonight. 

A loud thump echoed through the library, and you freeze in place, a hand outstretched towards a bookshelf, your heart startled from the sudden noise. “Who’s there?” You question loudly.

“Sorry!” A muffled and strangled voice yells from the other side, and your head darts in all directions to get a glimpse. 

You clamber down from the step-stool you had been on and investigate, peeking your head through every aisle and row from the piles of encyclopedias to the endless collections of literature. But, in an aisle labelled Astronomy, a pale, curly-haired stranger sits disheveled with a thick volume of books strewn on the floor, pages exposed haphazardly and face-down. You raise your eyebrows, and he smiles sheepishly at you. 

“The collection fell as I was trying to get it out.” He explains, cheeks tinted rouge while he bent down to pick them up. You bend down as well, gathering as many as you can and flattening out the bent pages. 

“Thank you for your help,” He says gratefully, and you smile at him. “No problem.” You’ve come to the conclusion that you absolutely have no recollection of who this is, and what his name is or where he’s from, but there’s a strange sense of familiarity that wrecks your brain. The way he talks sounds so familiar, but you can’t quite put a finger on it. He’s clad in a white dress shirt and a burgundy vest over top, with black slacks to match, and you notice the insignia on the left side of his breast pocket. A Northerner. 

You notice as well that he’s handsome- thick dark hair that curled at the tips with rosy skin and eyes that looked as though they were dipped in honey- but nevermind that.

“May I please know your name?” He asks and you’re snapped out of your analytical trance. You say your name, and he looks as though he’s seen a ghost.

“Y-your highness- forgive me, I did not know it was you,” He’s kneeling on one knee and his head is bowed, and you feel bashful at the sudden formality. Princess. Right.

You curtsy and nod your head, “It’s okay, my apologies for not introducing myself. May I know your name?” 

He’s about to speak when, “Channie boy! Where are you? The palace has got so many great-” You can immediately imagine a face to match the voice, and your suspicions are confirmed the moment his tall figure saunters into the aisle.

“Ah, Princess y/n. Delighted to see you again.” He cuts himself off and stride over to you, bending to bow and taking your hand to place a chaste kiss on the back of it. He does this because he knows how squeamish it makes you feel, and your distress entertains him too much. 

“The pleasure’s all mine, Prince Hyunjin.” You curtsy and fold your hands over each other behind your back, shooting lasers with your eyes at the boy in front of you. “Chan, I see you’ve met Her Royal Highness.” Hyunjin says that last part pointedly and sarcastically, and you feel like shoving him into a pit of snakes. 

“Indeed I have.” The stranger, Chan, says curtly with a tight smile, obviously noticing the blunt tension between the two of you. 

“Well, Princess, unfortunately my scholar and I have some business to attend to,” Hyunjin and Chan are exchanging a conversation with their eyes and you find it amusing how strange it would look out of context. “So we shall bid you farewell for now. Hope you have a good night.” You exchange bows again and soon enough the two men were off, their seemingly hyper conversation being drowned out by the enormity of the library. 

So he’s a scholar, you repeat in your head and smile in amusement. Since when did the prince hang out with scholars?

There’s nothing more nerve-wracking to Chan than having to wait. But in retrospect, he did come a little too early than what was expected, his excitement and nervousness not allowing him to sit still until he found himself in the grandeur of the palace gazebo. 

Could you blame the guy? His mystery woman was all he thought about, even as Hyunjin dragged him around the palace to look at god knows what, and he could not help but hope to see her in the palace by coincidence even if he did not fully know what she looked like. Consequently, he ended up looking like a fool on a wild goose chase, with Hyunjin interrogating him about why he looked like he was after hidden treasure more than he would have liked. 

So he walked around a few times, then another few times, with each time eliciting a sigh from his lips and a puff of his cheeks, until the golden hues were long gone and were replaced by a dark night sky looming above him. He was wearing the same mask again, even though he felt as if he looked absolutely stupid in it, and made sure he practiced the routine a few times so that the information he parted wasn’t complete and utter horse dung. 

Thanks to the fact that the palace clock tower was easily seen from his vantage point, it felt as though the clock hands were mocking him, saying ‘ha! It’s been two hours, get a grip!’. Any rational person would have left after thirty minutes- an hour, at most, but rational was not apart of Chan’s dictionary. 

Maybe she’s not coming tonight, he thinks to himself, and he can feel the heat stain his cheeks for being so hopeful. 

“I’m sorry- have you been waiting long?” She’s panting and there’s a sheen of sweat slick on her forehead, but she’s here. He jumps slightly, startled by her sudden and unexpected appearance, and scratches the nape of his neck.

He smiles sheepishly, “Not at all, just got here a few minutes ago.” Yeah, if one hundred and thirty eight minutes were considered as ‘a few’. She smiles at him with her half-covered features, and he thinks the wait was worth it. 

“Shall we begin?” He nods, finding her straight-forwardness cute, and takes her hand in his. 

-

“Will I ever know your name?” 

They’re sitting side by side on the steps of the gazebo, and Chan’s slightly out of breath from all that dancing. It had been a good couple of hours since they had started the night, the dark starry sky freckled with stars blanketing their horizon, and neither of them had any plans to head back to the palace.

“That depends,” She chuckles from beside him, “Will I ever know yours?” She says playfully and turns to look at him, her masked eyes gleaming with the slightest crescent-moon curve to them. He’s dying to know what she looks like, but he guesses time will only tell. 

“Alright then. What’s your relationship with the royal family? I’m assuming you’d have to either work under them or be apart of them to live in the palace.” He doesn’t notice her gulp out of nervousness. 

“You could say I know them, sure.” She says half-heartedly.

He contemplates her response, “Do you know the princess?” Though brief, his run-in with the Princess was one he had yet to live down, with the embarrassment of questioning who she was a complete blunder on his part. It was so obvious she was goddamn royalty, what with her stately attire and astonishingly regal features- were all royals exceptionally good-looking? Was the good-genes pool reserved for the throne? Chan’s certainly met a fair amount of underwhelming-looking aristocrats during his time, but the Princess of the South was definitely not classified as such. 

He doesn’t know that her heart beats a million miles a second at his question. 

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” She says playfully in attempt to mask the irony. “Why? Do you know the Prince?” She challenges. “What if you are the Prince?” She says exaggeratedly and he can only laugh. 

“Ding-dong your answer is wrong,” She laughs. “I could never last being a royal.” He says and she tilts her head to the side.

“And why is that?” 

“Well, I just don’t think being at the receiving end of a life of servitude is my sorta thing. And, between you and me,” He leans over playfully, “It seems like all royals do is demand this and demand that, since they’re born into a life that requires them to not work for anything.” It’s not that he hates royalty with every fibre of his being- and he isn’t one to complain, since he has basically been interwoven into that lifestyle after joining the Scholar’s court. But seeing life from the perspective of someone who has had to work for everything and of one who has had to work for nothing unsettles him- the unfairness of it all leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

“I think you’re mistaken,” She replies with conviction, and he turns his gaze onto her. “They never really asked for that life, and, sure, being born into something makes you ignorant but to assume that all of them are the same is ignorant as well. Maybe some are waiting for their turn to make an actual difference, and maybe some are doing their best behind closed doors because everything they do and say is recorded by everyone around them.” She rambles, staring at the ground with her fist clenched on the marbe below it and Chan stares in awe. “I mean, that’s just my take. Just a guess.” She follows up quickly, the tips of her ears turning red. 

He’s floored by her response, mostly because he’s been surrounded by people with the same ideology (save for the royals themselves, of course) that it’s refreshing to hear something different. His curiosity towards her only skyrockets.

“I’ve… never thought of it that way.” He says slightly dazed as he stares at his outstretched, boot-clad feet. 

“Well, you learn something new everyday.” She says, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting her cheek on them, facing him and flashing a small smile. It makes his heart skip a beat, but he shrugs it off as the pollen grains triggering his allergies. 

They stay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, his eyes never leaving hers and letting the autumn air breeze by them, until the clocktower rumbles, signalling that midnight has fallen. She breaks their gaze and looks up, “I’ve got to go.” She sounds unwilling to, and Chan almost tells her to stay. Almost.

“Will I see you again tomorrow night?” He stands up along with her, his voice hopeful, and her eyes answer for her before her voice does. “Yes.” 

“Well then,” He takes a step back and grabs her hand in his, “This is goodnight.” He bows like a gentleman and leaves kiss on her knuckles, his heart soaring at the feeling of her soft skin against his lips. He looks up to see her biting her shy smile away and a grin makes its way onto his face. “Goodnight to you too.” She squeaks out and looks him in the eye one last time before scuttering off into the garden, her silhouette shrouded by the trees.

He already misses being close to her.

You’ve come to the conclusion that only a specific stranger in a mask can make the butterflies in your stomach act as though they’re on acid, which is completely fine with you.

“Good evening Princess, fancy seeing you here.” Hyunjin greets dryly, his straight posture making him look as wound tight as ever, and you quirk an eyebrow at him. 

“I sort of live here, Prince Hyunjin.” 

It amazes you how you had managed to run into him out of all people within the enormous palace, but you figured that it was punishment for all the immature pranks you had pulled on him when you were younger. In your defense, scaring him was the only pleasure you took, not the crying and screaming part.

“I know that.” He retorts just as dry. “Why are you lugging such a big record player around? And why the mask?” His head tilts perplexedly at the machine twice your size cradled in your arms, and you gulp- how were you going to explain your way out of this one?

“My dance instructor is making me practice in my chambers?” It comes out more like a question and you thank the gods you have a mask to cover the sheer audacity on your face. His face contorts even more in confusion, as if it were even possible. “But your chambers are that way?” He points directly behind you. God dammit Hyunjin, can’t you just let a girl live?

You clear your throat, “Well, I meant my other chambers.” You don’t have a second room, but you’re relying on his gullibility to save whatever dignity you have left. “Anyways, can’t chit chat, I must get back to practicing my dance moves.” You excuse yourself quickly and start making a beeline around him.

 “But it’s late-”

“Have a good night!” You’re desperate at this point- you were already running late thanks to having to find and carry your father’s record player around your obscenely large palace, you didn’t need a nosy Hyunjin interrogating your motives to add on to your tardiness. 

“Oh, Princess! Before you go, have you happened to see Chan around by any chance?” Hyunjin yells from behind you, but your foot is already halfway through the exit.

“Nope!”

-

“Wow.” He says, his eyes glinting with amusement and shock behind his mask. You stand there panting, slightly sweaty and extremely eager to show him how the contraption works. But the moment you settle it down, he’s already tinkering with it. 

“I’m guessing you’ve brought this to aid in our lack of music?” He smiles up at you humorously and you grin sheepishly. 

“Figured you’d appreciate a break from having to hum all the time.” You mumble and fiddle with your thumbs. It was a gesture that you had been conjuring up ever since you noticed how fatigued he would get trying to hum and dance simultaneously, and you figured you needed an arm workout anyway. 

“I don’t mind the humming,” He stands up and takes your hand in his. “But thank you anyway.” His smile is perfect, and you thank the heavens it’s not covered by the mask. 

“So, shall we begin?” You nod and he places a hand on his shoulder and his hand around your waist and flips a switch on the player with the tip of his boot.

“One, two, three…” The music fills the air softly, a mix of static and melodies while he guides you around the courtyard. You’re still not yet used to holding his gaze- mostly because he makes your heart do things it shouldn’t, but you blame it on your lack of habit. 

Each step is just as smooth as the previous and there’s no denying the massive improvements you’ve made. “You’re doing excellent,” He compliments in-between counts and you grin. “I have a great teacher.” 

He spins you out and you twirl back into him, your back pressed against his chest and you can feel his breath ghost over your neck. It sends shivers down your spine, and you’re praying he doesn’t see the hairs standing up at the back of your neck. 

The moment  is gone as quick as it came, however, and you’re back to facing him. You notice the red tint on the tips of his ears and something inside you becomes giddy at the thought of making him blush. 

But of course, the gods hate you, so they decide to mess with your record player. “What’s happening?” The tunes become slower and slurred, the periods of static becoming prolonged, and what once was a harmonious symphony has now become nothing but noise. 

You both stop in place momentarily, your gaze drifting towards the turn-table across the courtyard as you curse it out for ruining the mood. Out of all the times it could’ve picked to malfunction, it chooses now to act up? Blasphemy. 

A finger is placed on your chin and brings your gaze back to his. “Well the music is, technically, still playing and you know what they say- The show must go on.” There’s a smile on his face and you look at him, puzzled. 

“But the music’s off beat?” 

“The music is never wrong- we’re simply too fast.” He says wittily. You’re still confused, but he takes extra slow steps and your mind puts two-and-two together. 

After being so accustomed to moving as fast and as accurate to the beat as possible, the slow counts are ones you can barely get used to- heck, you can barely count in the midst of the skewed melodies and scrambled music. But you keep your eyes on him and he brings your body closer to his until you’re flush against his chest, and suddenly the music doesn’t even matter any more. You’re moving aimlessly with him with every slow step that passes you by, and the music melts into the background until it becomes lost with the crickets and trees. His gaze is soft and gentle with a comforting firmness, just like his grip, and you’re so entranced with the stranger before you that you don’t even hear the clock strike twelve.

There’s a myriad of synonyms that are along the lines of ‘perfect’, but you’d have to spend a lifetime trying to find the one that perfectly encapsulates this moment.

[gwoongi]

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 ✰ taehyung (5)

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 kim taehyung / reader genre: zombie apocalypse au words: 4016

He had you, and that was enough.

warnings: gore, graphic imagery, family trauma, panic attacks, dark themes, drug abuse, drug shaming

a/n: as always,,,,pls leave feedback!! also, after thinking for a while, i realise that the pace of this story might make people upset? not bc it’s fast but because things happen quite quickly, if that makes any sense whatsoever. also, btw, just bc something happens easily in the fic does not mean the rest of the story will end up being that way!!! maybe fate made things easy in order for them to get harder ;)

01. denver ↝ 02. holiday with me ↝ 03. sad forever ↝ 04. surely ↝ 05. scorpion ↝ 06. shakespeare ↝ 07. thrones

“So, is Y/N your girl?”

Unlike yourself, Taehyung seemed to enjoy himself with Namjoon, dragging tied black bags from one end of the yard to the back of the warehouse, where a line of discoloured and rusted dustbins sat. Following a trail of grime from three trips back and forth, Taehyung had memorised this path like the back of his own hand.

“No,” he replied, and he wasn’t sure if he liked his answer. Namjoon looked over, puzzled. “To tell you the truth, we’re not really...anything. Barely friends.”

“Oh,” Namjoon said. “You looked close.”

Taehyung heaved the black bag over his shoulder and into the same dustbin as before. “Survival skills.”

Namjoon turned to head back, waiting for Taehyung to meet his elbow. “You said you’d been together for under two months now? That’s enough to be friends.”

“I don’t know anything about her,” Taehyung confessed, picking up a heavier bag. “I know her birthday, that’s about it. I don’t know- we’re close without being close. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon laughed, looking over his shoulder at him with a grin. “It actually does.”

Matching his smile, Taehyung threw the bag in the slot of the dumpster.

“You’re good at this,” Taehyung complimented.

“I’m used to doing it,” Namjoon replied casually. “Before all of this, I did heavy lifting for a company just outside of Seoul. Moved here to visit my sister for her exchange programme. Didn’t make it back home.”

Information. Taehyung craved it.

“What do you plan to do if you leave?” he asked. “If- that is.”

“Well,” he started in reply, “I wanna get on that boat of yours. Go somewhere safer, hopefully make it back home to our family. Everyone says this, but I know my parents are safe. They own a big business back in Korea and there’s literally no way they’re dead. I know them. Trust me. They’re alive.”

“Even if they are,” Taehyung continued, “do you think you can get there okay? I mean, I’m not being forceful, but I think me and Y/N would like company on the road, and after it. Our group is small, and I was barely there for a month, but they’re reliable. Strong. Safe.”

“Safe enough that no dead-meat can get anyone?” Namjoon asked, and Taehyung thought of Yena and the mess back at the old camp. The silence was enough for Namjoon and he looked away. “Sorry. Touchy subject?”

Taehyung heaved another bag. “Not really. Don’t worry.”

“I know what you want from me, Taehyung,” Namjoon said suddenly.

In alarm, Taehyung looked up. Was he not subtle enough?

“I know you want inside information,” he continued, as if it were obvious. It was, actually. “And I don’t know much. All I know is that they’re secretive pieces of shit. I want out too, like I said. I don’t know anything of value to you, but I might know a way out if it comes down to it. When you need to leave, say the words. I’ll take us-” meaning himself, Taehyung, his sister and yourself- “-to the exit and we can leave. It’ll be harder than I make it sound, but I can do it. Just never had the people to do it for. That’s all I can offer.”

He didn’t really know what to say. “That’s more than enough,” he nodded quietly. He barely looked up, “thank you.”

Namjoon didn’t press the conversation any further and neither did Taehyung. Actually, he didn’t talk until he pulled a heavier bag towards the far end dustbin labelled “PRODUCT WASTE”, and before he even arrived, Namjoon cringed at the smell.

“Smells more like human waste,” he commented, grimacing. “You got the bag? You gon’ throw it?”

Taehyung nodded curtly. “I got it.”

The elder smirked to himself, dropping his own bag to the floor with a squelch, the contents moving like the inside of a water bed. Without really taking any notice, Taehyung wrapped the black material around his hand, closing it like a fist as he readied to throw the bags. It was just like sports back at Uni. A game. Trivial.

“Ready?”

Silence.

Curious as to why Namjoon didn’t reply, Taehyung slouched and looked up through his straw-dry hair, noticing that Namjoon had frozen in movements, the muscles in his back tensed. The lid to the bin was pulled open, standing tall on the brick of the warehouse, a single fly rising from the inside of the presumably empty (or emptier) dumpster. For whatever reason, Taehyung couldn’t understand why Namjoon had stopped.

Without saying a word, Taehyung dropped the bag gently to the floor, minding the sickly moist sound. Stepping around the spilled black material, he approached Namjoon gently, minding him more than the bin. Pressing a hand to his shoulder, Taehyung made sure Namjoon was stable before he, too, looked into the bin.

Inside, he didn’t know if he was relieved or disturbed to see a pile of clothes, children sized clothes. In honesty, he had expected worse. Was this better than a body?

“Clothes?” he questioned, not looking away from the rainbow striped shirt and blue denim shorts. A pair of shoes were tossed to the side, and locks of raven hair. Underneath, he no doubt noticed more clothes. Confused, he looked to Namjoon for answers, stunned when he saw an unreadable expression on Namjoon’s face. “What is it?”

“I know those clothes.”

Taehyung held his breath.

When Namjoon turned, Taehyung half knew what was coming.

“They’re Daniel’s.”

Needless to say, the walk back to the main barn was hurried and silent.

Taehyung didn’t know what to say; he didn’t even know if he had to say anything. Several steps behind Namjoon, he constantly felt his gaze lifting from ahead to the ground back to Namjoon, his strides large and careful, his gaze scanning the lot for his sister. In a pause of great relief, Namjoon stepped quickly towards the smaller cattle barn, puzzled to see Kyungmin alone, afraid to know the reason why.

“Kyungmin!”

His voice was loud, louder than normal at-least, and Kyungmin looked up suddenly. Her mouth rounded to a “o”, and her eyes widened at the sight of her brother marching up to the fence. She rested her weight on the rake and furrowed her brows as he stormed over.

“Oh, hey. What’s up?”

Namjoon scowled at her, not bothering to answer that question.

“Where’s Y/N?” Namjoon asked, and Taehyung looked up at Kyungmin then, slinking away when he found her eyes darting from Namjoon to Taehyung in alarm. “Kyungmin, I swear to fucking God, I’m being serious. Where’s. Y/N?”

Kyungmin began to talk and choked back the words. “Her hands got bloody so I said she should wash her hands. She went inside. When she came back out, she went to the main barn and started throwing up. I told her not to worry and to stay inside. She just wouldn’t stop throwing up breakfast.”

“Why were her hands bloody?” Taehyung asked suddenly, clearly not alarmed by the fact that you were currently throwing up near the barn. Namjoon turned around, scanning the field and noticing you hunched over near the doors, no vomit, but pain in your posture.

“We were feeding the pigs meat.”

Suddenly Taehyung felt like he knew why you were throwing up.

Muttering a hasty thanks, Taehyung turned on his heels to stride towards the barn, where his gaze rounded on your frame by the doors. Namjoon didn’t bother following, knowing you needed space most of all, and time alone with Taehyung. Instead, he turned back to Kyungmin and ushered her forward for a hug. He knew her clothes. He was thankful he hadn’t seen them in places he never even expected to find clothes.

It took Taehyung less than ten seconds to cross the field, whereas it usually took him thirty. On his last three steps, you had turned around, meeting him halfway through his second and practically pushing yourself into his chest, comforted by the feeling of arms around you, a hand cradling your head, a thumb painting circles on your back.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you,” even though he had no idea if it was okay.

He had you, and that was enough.

28TH JUNE. MANY YEARS AGO.

“You never want anything to do with this fucking family! You think we want a fucking low-life in the house? You think I want a drug obsessed alcoholic around my kid? Fuck you.”

Another day in the life of Y/N L/N.

You stopped writing, listening to the last bits of conversation down the stairs of your family home. Aged 7, you had never known anything different than arguing. Every day, like a broken record, the same familiar sound of spiteful arguing, cups smashing and doors slamming greeted you, and to be honest, it felt normal.

Dad’s come home drunk again. He was out with Kristy.

You paused, listening.

“You’re a monster. I hate you. Our daughter doesn’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this.”

He was fucking her.

Setting down your pen, you slid it down the spiral binder of your diary, rising from the top step and heading back to your bedroom. Like every other day, it got boring after the blaming happened. In a few minutes a cup would break, and Mum would leave the house to stand on the patio, crying. At that, you closed your window. You didn’t want to hear it. After that, Dad would come upstairs. He’d cry. He’d come in the room and make empty promises he knew he couldn’t keep.

It was a mundane routine that you couldn’t fall out of.

Sitting on the floor with your arms wrapped around your knees, you didn’t flinch when the familiar sound of a mug breaking on the kitchen tiles screamed in the house. Moments later, the door. Even with the window closed, you could hear your Mum crying. As if trying to make a point, she was crying louder. Harder.

The neighbours also closed their windows. It was easier that way.

Eventually, you heard footsteps coming up the stairs, slow and heavy. You clamped your eyes closed in dread; you dreaded hearing those words. You dreaded being filled with false hope, only to be disappointed endlessly the next evening.

A quiet thud made you look up towards your door, noticing your Dad step inside with bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t been crying this time. They were red from drugs, from the weed you could smell on his clothes. Today, he was stumbling across the room. Drunk.

“Y/N, baby,” he said, his voice gentle but slurred. You cringed away and he paused, noticing. “You’re not afraid of me, are you sweetie?”

“Dad,” you whimpered.

He dropped to a small frog-like crouch, taking tiny steps towards you, his hands outstretched. They were shaking. Would he even remember this in the morning?

“You know I love you baby,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion or empathy, let alone love. He waved his hands, motioning you to come forward. Above everything, he was still your Dad. The only Dad you’ll ever have. “I love you so much sweetheart. I’m gonna fix everything and it’ll be okay again. I’m gonna make things right. I’m gonna come and get you in a few years, okay? We can move somewhere nice. By the beach?”

His voice lifted, and you thought the beach sounded nice. Relieved, he saw a nod.

For the first time in two months of this never-ending cycle happening, you moved forward into his arms, accepting a hug. One of the last hugs from him.

“There, there, honey,” he murmured against your hair, rocking you from side to side. A hand on the back of your head. Another on your back. Familiar. “I’ve got you, honey. It’s okay. I’m here. I got you.”

PRESENT DAY.

Since this morning, Taehyung’s hand had never once left your back.

It felt like a reminder that he was there for you, no matter what. Without words, he comforted you, letting you know that even when the world felt like complete and utter shit, there was someone you could rely on.

You sat quietly by his side, your thighs touching, legs hanging down over in the barn. Taehyung rested his chin on the beam running across as a sort of barrier to stop boxes from toppling down from where he had set up your shared sleeping mat, one hand under his chin, the other on the small of your back, becoming friendly. He hadn’t said anything since earlier. You liked that about him; he never pushed you to speak when he knew you didn’t want to.

“Earlier,” you said, and he quickly looked over, mostly surprised you were talking. Your gaze was downcast, staring at an empty spot in space. He moved his hand from your back to your lap, gripping your own hand with a comfortable force. “When you held me, you reminded me of my Dad.”

Oh. He didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing, figuring you had more to the story.

“When I was younger, my family would fight a lot,” you continued, voice quiet and gentle, like the voiced feeling of stroking a feather, “like every other family. I was no stranger to the typical parent fights. Only, they were daily. Every single day, I would hear them fight downstairs. I was so scared that one day, it wouldn’t be a cup breaking. I was scared I’d find my Mum downstairs on the floor instead of china or glass. I was scared of seeing either one of my parents hurt. My Dad...he’d come upstairs. Hold me for a while, crying. I’d cry too. He’d tell me that he’d come back for me. That he’d hold me tighter. That he had me. I felt so safe in his arms, even though I knew they were filthy. The arms of a monster.

“But I loved him. Because he was my Dad and no matter how much he hurt my Mum or me, I’d still love him. Everyday, I’d fall for the same recycled bullshit explanation. Until one day, he didn’t come upstairs to find me. One day, he just left. He left me and my Mum alone. He’d run off with the woman he was sleeping with on the side. He said- said he was too upset and neglected to come back to trouble. To come back to us.”

Taehyung truly didn’t know what to say.

“My Mum got diagnosed with breast cancer a couple months later. It broke us. Broke her and me, our relationship. And-my Mum phoned my Dad one day. She asked him to take care of me when she passed away. He said-” you choked on your words, unaware that tears were rolling down your face uncontrollably. “-He said that he didn’t know who was calling. Didn’t know a [Mum’s name] or a Y/N. Fucked off with another woman and had more kids. Forgot about the one who loved him. And, when my Mum died,” you sniffed, inhaling breath, “I had nothing. No money and barely any family. I moved in with my grandparents.”

Wiping away the tears, you braved looking at Taehyung. “Truth is, Taehyung, I’m scared. I didn’t wanna let you in, because I didn’t wanna be alone again. But, I need you. I need you. I need you to live. If not with me, then for me. Right now, you’re all I have left.”

He knew no words could reply. Instead, he pulled you forward, tightly wrapping you in an embrace beyond friendship. Inhaling the natural smell of your skin, he tightened his grip, content when your arms snaked around his waist, your face pushed near his armpit, his own face buried in your nest of hair.

“You’ve got me,” he whispered. He was sincere, you could hear it laced in his words. “You’ve got me. I’m not going anywhere without you, okay? I’m here. I’m here for you, always.”

The hug lasted longer than before, until it became physically uncomfortable to hold. When he pulled away carefully, he held your face in both of his hands, leaning to press a gentle kiss against your jaw, whispers hot against your skin, repeated, “I’ve got you,” marking your skin like a tattoo. His thumbs absentmindedly moved tears from your face, and when he moved from your jaw, he rested his forehead against your own, forcing himself to look down into your eyes.

It was suddenly intimidating, being this close to intimate with you.

“Don’t,” you said whilst moving away. His lips turned to a frown. “I smell like vomit.”

At that, he smiled softly, laughing almost. “I’ve literally smelt worse today. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s gross.”

He hummed as if indifferent. “It’s okay. Doesn’t bother me.”

Triumphant, you moved back, your hands curled around his upper-wrists as he cradled your face.

“What I saw today,” you began, after some time of silence. You struggled to find the right words. “I- Daniel-”

“I know,” Taehyung replied quietly. “I saw his clothes. A dumpster full.”

“They were feeding the pigs human meat,” you exclaimed, exasperated, moving away without realising with your hands still around his wrists. He let you move. Instead he just held your hands. “Human meat. And guts and there was so much blood and- it’s completely different to seeing a biter. They had bodies in the freezer, Taehyung. I don’t know if they eat them or feed them to animals but I saw what I saw and-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Taehyung soothed, calming your panicked breaths. “I know. I take it this is one of your, ‘I told you so’ moments, huh.”

You smiled at that. “Isn’t it true though? I told you.”

“You did,” he agreed. “And I’m sorry for shrugging it off.”

Glancing up, you caught his gaze. Looking in his eyes, you let out a gentle sigh, “we can’t stay here, Taehyung. We really can’t.”

“I know,” he nodded, kissing your knuckles briefly before looking down at the bottom of the barn. Namjoon moved away from Kyungmin to look over at the group of other outsiders, and then his gaze flickered up to you both at the top of the barn. He nodded wordlessly, and Taehyung turned to you with a gentle and soft gaze. Had he ever looked at anything more beautifully? “I know. I’m gonna make things right.”

You closed your eyes.

It was not yet sunrise, and Taehyung figured he had to act quickly if he wanted to seize the chance to leave. Outside, he could hear the faint sound of reloading rifles and trucks transporting firearms further inside the warehouse, and he quickly descended the ladder to join Namjoon in the middle of the barn. Never before had the gun tucked at the back of his jeans felt so tight against his skin, as he walked with a newfound sense of pride and bravery towards Namjoon and Kyungmin, who sat on a hay-bale quietly. Joined by yourself, Kyungmin shuffled to lend you a seat as Namjoon gently led Taehyung away from the pair of you to a space of silence.

“I can’t protect everybody here,” Namjoon admitted quietly, gesturing to the rest of his old group huddled in their usual corner. In honesty, Taehyung hadn’t considered the possibility of them coming along. “But I can protect you and Y/N. Kyungmin is my priority, and I’ll do what I can to make sure you and Y/N get out safely. But I cannot guarantee everybody here will make it.”

Taehyung nodded. “I didn’t know they were coming.”

“I don’t want to carry the guilt,” he replied. “Just putting it out there.”

He lifted his hand to Namjoon’s shoulder, clapping it tightly and smiling as naturally as he could. Satisfied with the ghost of a smile Namjoon gave, he let go, approaching Kyungmin and yourself back on the hay bale. Reaching out to your hand he took it in his own, pulling you to your feet with Kyungmin following behind, meanwhile Namjoon stepped towards the huddled group in the corner of the barn.

They looked up, noticing Namjoon lingering near the open door to their area. A woman closest to the door took several moments looking at each one of you outside the stack. “What’s going on?”

Namjoon felt nervous. “The insiders are fighting a horde of dead-meat at sunrise.”

Someone scoffed. “Who cares?”

“Me. Because as soon as all attention is on the left, we’re leaving through the right.”

At that, a burst of life erupted from the corner, a mixture of exclamations and protests.

“You can stay if it’s too hard for you to leave,” Namjoon carried on talking, “but if you come, and you make it out, we can band together. Taehyung and Y/N know a group in Georgia with boats. Now, these boats can get us to the islands off the coast, where the infection probably hasn’t spread. We stay there until we have enough resources to continue going to wherever we best see fit. Most importantly, we’re not asking permission to leave. This is my last goodbye.”

“Namjoon!” the same woman rose to her feet. “You’re going to just abandon Jenny and Daniel? And Clara? Just for a bunch of stragglers we barely know?”

Namjoon nodded, confident. “I trust them.”

She scoffed. “Don’t be dumb.”

He took several steps backwards, his arm extending around Kyungmin in a protective manner as the group simultaneously rose to their feet. From the back of the small group of survivors, a man you remember being called to as “Harry” stepped up and over a bale of hay, a smooth black pistol in his hands pointed forward.

Namjoon immediately raised his hands. “Put it down, Harry.”

“No, man, fuck you!’ he cursed. “You pickin’ them over us? After all we’ve been through? Throwin’ it away for some fuckin’ Asian lowlives-”

“Way to make it personal,” you muttered, and his pistol spun in the air to face you.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

As his gun moved in your direction, Taehyung felt his body set into Protective Mode: he grabbed the gun from the back of his jeans and pulled it out, pointing it steadily towards Harry. The crocodile skin caught Harry’s eyes first, followed by the engraved golden initials of “PBG”, and Harry paused. His gun was still raised, although his gaze moved between each person with fury.

“Why the fuck has he got a Scorpion’s gun?”

Taehyung didn’t waver, or cower. From behind his muscles, you noticed that his hands didn’t even shake as he held the gun outwards, a frown on his lips and a small line between his brows. Every-time you moved to see, he would step in front of you, a shield.

Harry seemed agitated at having no answer. “You a Scorpion?”

“No, but I have connections and I know how to use them,” Taehyung replied in a deeper voice than usual. He sounded scary. When had you ever been scared of Kim Taehyung? “Put down the gun and I won’t exercise my skills.”

“Is that a fuckin’ threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

“You’re banding with Scorpions, Namjoon,” the same woman said, her voice elevated and face covered in worry. “Please don’t do this.”

Of course, Taehyung having relations to the Scorpions came as a surprise to Namjoon. It had certainly been something that was left out of conversation. Even though, yes, it was information that Namjoon would have liked to have known before being put in a situation such as this one, he still trusted the both of you wholly. Namjoon stepped once in front of both guns, his arms in a T pose, forcing both gunners to stand down.

“I trust them,” Namjoon repeated, pleading to the woman you still didn’t know. You never would. “Please. We’re not begging you to come. But we’re leaving. Please...please. Let us go, please.”

From across the room, the woman lowered her head. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, feathering against her eyelashes and she eventually looked back up, turning to Harry with a sour expression.

“Let ‘em go.”

[gallantgautier]

Ooc, what are Sylvains most positive traits and strengths?

ooc: I’m so sorry this took me forever to answer, I got distracted. And when the mun gets distracted they forget about things sitting in their inbox. But considering the sheer amount of Sylvain angst I’ve been writing, both in threads and in meta, I feel now is a good time to get into this. Under a cut that I stealth edited in because this got long.

Strangely, this topic is actually a little harder to talk about than his flaws, and it probably has a lot to do with the fact that those flaws are so deeply intertwined with the positive aspects of his character that, as far as examination goes, they get overshadowed by the act of actually unravelling his personality to get to them, it’s what makes Sylvain such an interesting character, really.

That, and I think one of Sylvain’s biggest strengths of character is that, despite it all, despite his disillusions, insecurity, bitterness and inner conflict, he doesn’t let it completely consume him.

Let’s briefly touch on a big aspect of Sylvain Meta I have been focusing on a lot lately, both in previous character examinations and in my head because damn if the bug hasn’t bitten me hard. I won’t get too much into it, there’s a whole lot over here if you’re interested, but it focuses on the negative and that’s not what we’re doing today.

Miklan.

All that stuff considered; it would be so easy for Sylvain to hate Miklan. (He says he does. He doesn’t.) It would be so easy for him to hate the world, and I suppose he does in a way. He hates the world that’s put so much stock into Crests and those who bare them. In general, it would be so easy for Sylvain to hate everything and lash out.

Yet he doesn’t.

Now, an argument can be made that he lashes in, and he does, in a big way. It results in his interactions with people – mainly women – being fake. It results in his lack of trust in people in general, evidenced in that, if we don’t include Byleth seeing as they can reach S rank in all their supports across avatar gender choice, Sylvain only has four supports that go higher than B. Only two of those go to A+, and they’re both with people he’s known all his life.

And yet, Sylvain is very genuine in his friendships. Sure, there’s a colouring of playing around, and while he may not fully trust other people in his life he calls friends and may never let them see the person underneath, he cares and it shows.

I present to you exhibit A; his support with Bernadetta.

Now, this is a subject we’re probably all close to, receiving praise for your writing is forever going to be awkward, but we can see in this conversation that he isn’t just saying “Yeah! This is really good!” Sylvain makes a point of highlighting the details he enjoyed, and more importantly, why he enjoyed them. He also states in his letter that he hopes he inspires Berie to write more, and when we consider how little Sylvain thinks of himself, it’s hard to imagine that he’d think of his opinions as ‘inspirational.’ We can conclude, then, that Sylvain is sharing his thoughts not because he thinks anyone would be interested in hearing them, rather that he thinks having them heard will help.

Let’s move on to his second positive trait. He’s very insightful.

Now, we all know he’s smart, way smarter than he’d like to let anyone think. We see this easily in his supports with Annette, not just how easily he understands the text she’s studying, but also his recognition that the formula is over-complicated. It’s proof that he really does understand the subject and hasn’t just memorised it.

But that’s a display of his intelligence, not insightfulness, that comes later in the support with “Guys like me who hate hard work and sorta get by on our wits? It all falls apart eventually.” Now, I suppose this is a somewhat weak example, as it’s more self-awareness than insight, still, I do think it’s a bit of both, to know that he can’t just get by on luck forever.

Still on this topic, but in radically different context, I’d like to point your attention to Sylvain’s support conversation with Dedue, where he comes to the conclusion that the people of Duscur are innocent. Now, Three Houses intentionally halts certain supports from progressing if they contain story spoilers or if they require certain events to have occurred before them, either because the support itself references those events, or so that the player has context to understand the gravity of what happens in the support.

As such, this statement from Sylvain can happen incredibly early in the game, and potentially is one of the first occasions where a student alludes to a third party pulling some strings. Now, Sylvain doesn’t go that far in his conclusion, doesn’t even have a conclusion, really. But the fact that he even questions it, that he’s looked at the evidence and found that something doesn’t add up, speaks for an insight that, so far, I haven’t really found in the “supporting cast” for lack of a better term.

The final positive trait I want to bring up, one that he doesn’t attempt to hide because honestly he has no need to by virtue of the reasoning I’m about to get into; how important promises are to him, how lightly he doesn’t make them, and how he keeps every single one. He doesn’t hide this simply because it’s a rare occurrence that only happens around people he trusts.

I’ve trawled through Sylvain supports, the word “promise” comes up a grand total of 13 times across all 17 characters (that’s a total of 42 separate conversations.) You’d think for a guy who is personified as being a cheat would make a helluva lot of empty promises, wouldn’t you?

That number isn’t even accounting for the fact that half of the time in these supports, it isn’t even him saying the word.

Let’s discount one of these right off the bat. He says it, but it’s to Hilda, and half of it is a joke, where he tells her to “stop lying, take responsibility, and fall madly in love with him.” He asks her to promise him these things in exchange for forgiveness for taking a tongue lashing from the librarian that was meant for her. None of this is overly important to my point, save the fact that it’s the one time where the word doesn’t carry all that much weight, but it’s not an exception to the rule and still a reinforcement as he’s not the one making it.

Two other occasions I want to bring up next are his supports with Byleth and Mercedes. These aren’t like the previous where it doesn’t carry weight, quite the opposite, but he says the word only once for each. For the former it’s right at the end of his marriage proposal so… Kinda a “well duh” moment, doesn’t really require any analysis. The latter is also at the end of the final support conversation, and it comes in response to Mercedes asking if he will “protect her in turn.” Considering this is a support required for their paired ending, we can sort of take this as a marriage proposal too, but I place more emphasis on the fact that during this portion of the conversation, Sylvain has let his guard down around Mercedes, to the point where he actually cries. That’s pretty significant.

The remaining ten mentions of “promise” come in his supports with his three childhood friends.

Let’s look at Dimitri first, as he only has half of the number of conversations with everyone’s favourite philanderer that the other two do. The word comes up, across both conversations, four times, and only once by Sylvain himself, in which he promises to “do better” and focus more on his studies etc. The other three occasions come from Dimitri, first questioning whether Sylvain will keep to his word, the second is in the B support where he confirms that Sylvain actually did, and the last is Dimitri promising to help Sylvain out with “…something he knows how to help with.” (The last isn’t all that important really, save for keeping count.)

So that leaves the final six, considering we discounted one at the beginning, that’s half. And wouldn’t you know, as well as being part of the Original Childhood Friend Quartet, these two are the only people he can obtain an A+ rank support with. Coincidence? I think not.

Between Ingrid and Felix’s supports, Ingrid’s contain the majority with four, but unlike with Dimitri, it’s Sylvain saying it three out of those four times. However, this time we have the one occasion where he doesn’t completely stay true to his word. Like Dimitri’s support, his first promise to Ingrid is in regards to his behaviour, but, despite his own opinion on the matter, Ingrid expresses exasperation that he’s still playing around. However, it’s worth noting that this promise comes after Ingrid has chewed him out for events that happened a number of years ago, in public, and in a manner that by all accounts is pretty belittling. It’s probably the one occasion he’s made a promise out of frustration and to just end the conversation, evidenced by how he tacks “ Are you happy now?” on to the end. This, I think, is the exception to the rule, rather than the occasion with Hilda, but an exception I think proves the rule.

The second mention is from Ingrid asking Sylvain to stop acting so nonchalant about getting hurt or killed,” and the third is him making that promise right after. It’s never strictly mentioned if he actually does keep it, however, his following support with her involves scenes with him taking his training and combat situations seriously. I believe this is him making an attempt to minimise the possibility of getting hurt in the first place. It’s a roundabout way of keeping his promise, sure, but one that definitely works, dealing with the root cause rather than the surface issue, as it were.

The last comes with “It’s not a joke that you’re beautiful, but I wasn’t trying to hit on you or anything. Promise.” This one, at first glance, doesn’t seem much to read in to, and at face value, there really isn’t. I think this ties in more to the way Sylvain regards promises, and that (hopefully) Ingrid knows that aspect of him too. It’s an emphasis on him being genuine, that he truly means what he’s saying.

Lastly, we have Felix, arguably the most important one. I have a lot of headcannon surrounding this, we’re not going there today, we’re going to stick with what we know.

It’s only mentioned twice, both by Sylvain, and it’s a reference to the same promise, that they’ll “stick together, until they die together.” It’s worth noting that he brings it up specifically on the second mention, but on the first, it comes after Felix being concerned (angrily, because it’s Felix) that Sylvain actually will die, and Sylvain stating “Nah, I won’t die on you. I promise.”

At first, it’s a bit of a throwaway line, until later in the support he talks about The Promise, it paints the first line in a whole new light, that in reality Sylvain is saying “I’m not going to break my promise.” And if you get their paired ending in the Azure Moon route, he really doesn’t.

It’s also brought up outside their supports, if you recruit one and not the other, they talk about it pre-combat if you set them against each other. Please don’t do that. It’s rather poignant, I think, that game mechanics are the only way to get Sylvain to break a promise.

To summarise, Sylvain’s strengths of character manifest in how much he truly cares about people. How he can find the strength to lift his friends up despite the weight he puts on his own shoulders. How he might be crumbling but ultimately will not break. And just how dependable he is by virtue of how he won’t ever make a promise lightly, nor will he break one.

[ranjxtul]

Fire and Reign: The Unquiet Grave

Here we are with Witches AU Chapter Five! (Finally, am I right?) Sorry it’s been such a long wait loves. TWs: violence (not graphic)

Ao3 Link: The Unquiet Grave

“This is slightly insane. I’m kinda shocked it was you who came up with it,” Anne teased as she got out of the car.

Aragon rolled her eyes, a small amount of fondness behind it. “Well, all the non magical routes were failing us, so why not use magic?” she shrugged, locking the car behind them, and putting her keys into her pocket.

“I mean, that’s fair, but I didn’t think you of all people would think necromancy, maybe Jane or Cathy, but not you,” she shrugged in return.

“Well I guess I’m full of surprises then, aren’t I?” Aragon raised a brow in Anne’s direction, as if she could see it in the pitch black of night. “Anyway, this is where Katherine was killed, correct?” Anne gave a nod in affirmation. “Maybe he’s as patterned as he is methodical, and maybe some other victims will be here after all,” she mumbled under her breath to herself.  

“Right. We’ll need a bit of light,” Aragon recovered aloud. She started to reach into her pocket to get her phone flashlight, but before she could, Anne held up a hand filled with a small flame, illuminating a small smirk on her face. While the gravity of the situation didn’t escape Anne, she couldn’t help but feel a bit excited at what they were doing.

It wasn’t often, Catherine or anyone really condoned necromancy or darker magic, so now she was intrigued. She’d get to see how it worked first hand, and maybe they’d make headway with the Henry problem.

Mingled with Anne’s fear regarding the situation, she also felt the impending sense of urgency as well as anger. This man had tried to hurt the people she called family. He’d succeeded in killing one of her blood relatives. Luckily they’d gotten to Katherine in time, and she wouldn’t imagine what would happen if they hadn’t.

Aragon glanced at the flame in Anne’s palm letting the hand reaching for her phone fall flat, “Well, I suppose that’ll do, let’s go,” she nodded beginning to trek through the open, desolate field.  She let Anne take the lead as they walked. No insects chirped and the air lay flat in the atmosphere. The only audible sound were Anne and Catherine’s gentle footfalls.

The countryside was expected to be quiet, to an extent, but an environment this quiet reeked of something darker. It was as if no living creature dared breathe and break the mist of dread that seemed to cover the field.

Anne hadn’t noticed it on her first trip, and rightfully so. In those moments, her cousin had been the first thing on her mind. Now with each step she took further into the grass the more a feeling of dread burrowed its way into her bones. The flame in her hand lept in size as her heartbeat sped up and the need to see and understand the dread around her. The unpleasant feeling in her bones could have come from an actual inkling of evil, or the simple human fear of the unknown. Whatever it was, Anne couldn’t shake it or ignore it the more she continued.

Catherine followed Anne focusing on the blackness ahead, repeating words she’d read across a page in her head. She had to do this right or she could make this worse than she’d imagined. Looking out into the blackness, she was reminded of everything she didn’t know. She had no clue what was out there, who lay dead in the ground  (if anything) or if she could pull off this type of magic, after all, she’d never practised it. She shook her head, forcing the nerves down with a sigh. There was no turning back, and certainly no room for doubt.

“Stop,” she called to Anne. “We can start here. We don’t have a scope of where he’s possibly started killing and burying people, so here’s as good a place as any.”

Anne rounded on her heel to look back at the Supreme, “What’re you going to do here?” She asked, tilting her head curiously.

“A detection spell, something along the lines of divination still, but borderlining necromancy,” she explained, hoping her voice came across more confident than she felt. Anne nodded expectantly, observing as Catherine allowed her eyes to fall shut. Her lips moved in an inaudible, whispered, incantation and cautiously she stretched a hand out in front of her. Each spell had a different ‘feel’ to it, when the caster cast it. This one was intimate and pulling, searching, but much to Catherine’s dismay she found nothing but dirt and the usual animal bones and material debris under the ground.

“Nothing’s here,” Catherine shook her head as she retracted her palm. “Let’s keep moving.”

Anne nodded, “Yeah, sounds good.” She started off again, letting the air fall silent before she spoke up, “Do you think we’re heading in the right direction?”

“Honestly?” Catherine raised a brow, contemplating her own answer, “I’m not sure. This could be a dead end in of itself. I did tell you that, but if I had to guess, the further we go, the closer we may get. Either way it’s hit or miss.” There was no point in lying or beating around the bush about the situation.

“Could you hold the detection spell as you walk?”

“Possibly. I’d considered that, but I don’t know its ins and outs as well as I’d like… if I did, I’d need you to keep an eye on me and guide me physically. If I were to begin to look too tired, you’d have to stop me,” she warned, mulling the possibility over in her head. The thought had occurred before they’d even arrived, but she’d dismissed it for fear of being unalert or draining herself before they actually needed her magic.

“I could do that,” Anne assured eagerly. Though non vocalised, her will for this ‘mission’ to succeed couldn’t have been any more clear.

Catherine stopped, standing still and regarding Anne for a few moments before she nodded, “Very well. I’ll try it.” She made her way to stand by Anne and took hold of the hand down by her side so as to have a way to be guided through the dark before she closed her eyes and whispered the latin incantation again.

Very slowly, once Anne heard the words, she began to walk pulling Catherine along with her, watching out of the corner of her eye. Wearily, the curly headed woman extended a hand as magic flowed through her body searching her surroundings. The minute portion of her brain not occupied with the spell and its findings however inconsequential thus far, couldn’t help but to fear something as simple as what might be waiting for them in the dark, human or inhuman.

After about ten minutes of silence and walking, Catherine abruptly stopped and opened her eyes as the bitter residue of what used to be humans washed through her body. “Here.”

Anne had fallen into a steady rhythm leading Catherine and listening into the deafening silence for what hells could await them, so when her companion spoke, she nearly jumped. “You’re sure?”

“Definitely. I couldn’t get a read on how many, but I could recognise it as human, and relatively recently dead,” Catherine confirmed with a nod.

“So, what’s the next step?” Boleyn asked, an edge of excitement returning to her voice.

“We summon whoever’s down there,” Catherine said, an unspoken, ‘and we hope for the best,’ lingering in the forefront of her mind.

Anne nodded, “Do you need me to do anything to help?”

“Can you keep watch? If anyone comes along at this time of night it certainly won’t be good and we can’t be caught off guard.”

“Course’ And, you got this, Catherine,” Boleyn offered a wink of encouragement. If she were in Catherine’s shoes she’d be nervous messing around with something like this.

The Supreme only gave a small smile and nod in response before she knelt down to the ground to begin. Anne moved about five feet away so as to give Catherine some space but still enough light to begin.

With a sigh, she set out to work. She’d read about several methods of summoning spirits and the one that was most in line with the current predicament was the most dangerous. Essentially, she had to ritually use her blood in the summoning spell and draw the spirit back to earth through its remains with her blood as an intermediary of sorts. This tied her to the spell and spirit, and as long as she was in control she’d be fine, but if for some reason she were to lose control she could be injured, or worst case scenario possessed.

Before she could think too much, she took out a small pocket knife for the blood component and slashed open the palm of her hand. With a wince, she squeezed the hand into a fist and let blood stream down onto the earth and soak into the ground. As this happened, words she’d put hours into memorising perfectly streamed out of her mouth quickly and thankfully without stumble.

The blood on the ground soaked in as if it hungered for the red, coppery liquid, and in exchange a nearly indiscriminate mist began to rise from the ground and take shape before her.

Now, standing in front of her, or perhaps floating was a more apt term, was a misty figure of a young woman who couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen. Her hair was cropped around her shoulders and in her spectral state, the most defined colors were the greenish pallor of her skin and the raven black of her hair.

Catherine slowly stood, taking stock of the situation and the spectre before her. As her eyes swept upward, she got the confirmation she needed that this was one of Henry’s victims when she saw the thick raised scar on her neck. So, he’d been careless with her. When she met the girl’s tired, milky white eyes, she only saw a bone deep exhaustion. Before she could speak, the girl spoke up, “What do you want?” Her voice was hollow and brittle from death and disuse.

“I-” Catherine started, then she fell short, realising how selfish she was going to sound disturbing this girl from her rest.

“What?” Asked the ghost again.

“I’m so sorry to have disturbed you, but I need to talk to you.” It was a weak explanation.

The ghost raised an eyebrow, “How’d you know that? You don’t know me and I don’t know you.”

“I know who your killer is,” Catherine said with a sigh. Henry was her only leverage. This made the girl go silent. Then, her face contorted.

“How’d you know I have a killer?”

“I can see your neck love, and you’re buried in the middle of nowhere in a field.”

“So, you know him?” She asked accusingly.

“Not as you might think,” Catherine shook her head, forcing herself to not to take a step back. “He’s been trying to kill my girls, and killing numerous women of our kind. I don’t know how much you knew before he killed you, but you were a witch.”

The ghost shifted uncomfortably, her defensive facial features betraying her fear, “I kinda guessed that in the last year, didn’t know what to do… your girls?” she questioned looking back up at Catherine.

“Yes. I’m the Supreme, the leader of the London coven.”

“Coven?” Her eyes widened.

“Yes, not many know we exist because of people like Henry, your killer, that’s what makes it hard to find, teach and protect young witches. I’m Catherine, by the way,” she added with a small smile in an attempt to ease the ghost’s wariness.

“I’m Florence… and I do know that’s his name,” she shrugged unable to meet Catherine’s eyes.

“Can you tell me what you do know, and what happened to you?” she pried gently. Florence was by no means dangerous, but she was flighty and Catherine knew if she asked the wrong thing, things could go south.

Florence let out a quiet sigh. She pretty much had no choice. Catherine’s spell held her here, and she had no idea what it could do. With a quick nod, she began to speak, “I was at a gig one night. I was a musician, a good one too,” she added a bit bitterly, “and he was there with a buddy of his, someone named Thomas. They chatted with me all night after, said they liked my music. I thought it was harmless enough. I guess I was just desperate enough to meet some genuinely nice people.”

“By the time I said my goodbyes, it was about one in the morning, and they followed me. They followed me and didn’t stop even when I asked. That’s when they attacked and I woke up in this field, my hands tied around a stake and then it was lights out,” her voice faded sadly as she recounted her last moments. “I was eighteen,” she added before she could stop herself.

Catherine’s heart shattered hearing Florence’s story and the true cruelty of Henry and his accomplice who was apparently named Thomas. “Dear-” Before she could complete her statement Anne, who’d been keeping watch as promised turned.

“Catherine, someone’s headed this way, now,” she said, her face paler than usual. Catherine glanced at Anne and then their surroundings in an attempt to make out whatever it was that was coming their way. It was then that the Supreme herself could vaguely hear heavy footfalls close by.

She glanced back at Florence, “Thank you,” she nodded before whispering the incantation that ended the spell and severed her ties with the ghost. She hated having to be so disrespectful and abandon the girl so quickly, but whatever was coming their way couldn’t be good.  

Catherine made the quick journey to stand beside Anne, “Put out the light, and we need to move away from the sound,” she said quietly.

Silently, Anne did as she said, allowing Catherine to guide her through the dark as she saw fit. The downside to this all, was that they were in a field. Grass meant no cover.

Seconds later, the footfalls neared and a flashlight beam pierced the night. At the end of it, the duo could make out a muscular dark haired man who with one hand, dragged something.

Catherine furrowed her brow, attempting to make out what this man could be dragging. He stopped about twenty feet short of where the duo stood and luckily stayed with his back facing them. He set the flashlight down on the ground and took a rather large, camping backpack off of his back only to pull out a spade.

Then, he began to dig. In that moment, it hit Catherine. He was digging a grave, and what he was dragging was a body. She froze. This had to be Thomas doing Henry’s dirty work, and a part of Catherine wanted to take care of him right then and there, but she also had no idea what sort of tricks could be up his sleeve.

She leaned over to Anne, “You know what he’s doing right?” she hissed as low as possible.

“Yeah. Who is he?”

“Think he’s one of Henry’s accomplices, Thomas. I say we follow him when he’s done here.” If they followed him then they could maybe glean a bit more information and if he did see them, he wouldn’t have whatever he had in his pack at his disposal.

Watching Thomas dig the shallow grave and carelessly dump the body of the girl in it pained both witches watching, and incensed them. How could he have so little value for someone’s life or be so mindless that he would aid and abet a monster like Henry Tudor. There was no doubt in Catherine’s mind by the end of this twisted funeral that this was the Thomas Florence had spoken of.

Once he started to head away from the grave site, Catherine pulled gently one Anne’s arm indicating they should go. The brunette clung to the other’s arm so as to stay close as they walked following about fifteen feet behind, barely daring to breathe for fear of discovery.

It almost seemed too easy, as they neared the edge of the field, Thomas stopped and pulled out his cellphone. Seconds after the man held it to his ear, the unmistakable voice of Henry Tudor boomed through the all too silent field, “Culpeper! I suppose it’s done!”

Thomas Culpeper. That was his full name. He let out a laugh spinning on his heel gleefully, “Yeah I-” It was then his flashlight beam caught Catherine and Anne in the radius. “I have to go take care of something.”

The minute they were discovered, every bone in Anne’s body screamed for her to transmutate away, but Catherine didn’t move. Her mind whirled with possibilities until she settled on a course of action.

Culpeper neared all the while, his hand reaching back toward his pack, for God knows what. “Anne, on my count, we light him on fire,” she said as evenly as she could. “He’s not prepared for it, then as soon as he’s burning we transmutate out and back to our car and we head back to the house.”

Anne glanced at Catherine, surprised at the decision, but she didn’t disagree. She simply nodded, waiting for the go.

“Three, two, now,” Catherine hissed flicking her wrist down by her side as the resultant plume of flame began to travel up Culpeper’s side. In a fraction of a second, a similar flame encompassed him starting from the back of his neck. Simultaneously, the duo glanced at each other and with a simple thought, were whisked up for a moment, only to be brought back down by their car.

It was then Catherine allowed the anxiety of the situation to run its course, she slouched back against the door. They’d almost been caught by one of his accomplices, who’d lucklily been unprepared, but nonetheless, if they’d been unprepared, they could be dead. And to think, she thought necromancy had been the original source of worry.

Anne too slouched back against the car beside Aragon. She’d been close it felt like, to losing big time. It was all so real. It wasn’t just a hypothetical game anymore. They’d probably just killed a man in a life or death situation, but the killing wasn’t what Anne was hung up on. In her eyes, Culpeper had it coming. She was stuck on the true gravity of it all. They could have transmutated to begin with, but that would only belabor the situation. Running could only get them so far, and they’d finally made a move, a bold move. It was Henry’s move now.  

[9uk]

From The Bottom of My Heart

cr

⌲ summary : maybe you and Jungkook, through heaven or hell, have always meant to stay close to each other.

⌲ pairing : bully!jungkook x reader

⌲ word count : 3.6k

⌲ genre : angst, fluff idk

⌲ warnings : mentions of past abuse, xoxo

⌲ a/n : this is what y’all hoes wanted hehe, so here it is. Happy New Year’s in advanced! also, happy birthday taetae <3

**Spin-off from my series Let Me Stay Close To You. If you haven’t read it, I’d suggest you read it first to have a better understanding of the context of this story. Read it here.

It's that time of the year again—where gifts are exchanged and gingerbread houses are made, where evergreen conifers are decorated with ornaments hung by the overly-excited children and the smell of Ceylon tea, baked  potatoes and ham fills the kitchen. Everyone gathers around the fireplace and share their strange or ridiculous encounters over the year, laughters bursting and smiles everlasting while the star ornament sits on top of the Christmas tree gently, shining.

At least that's what you think Christmas is like, and should be.

In the sad world of reality, you have always spent the festive occasion coped up in your mother's café, selling log cakes and butterscotch cookies, telling kids to be careful with the hot chocolate you have just created and handed over to them.

It's the season when the shop is exceptionally busy, with overflowing customers who have foam gathered on their upper lips as they chat with joy over a cup of peppermint mocha latte.

It's supposed to be a wonderful period—well at least for you this year.

You are thousands of miles away from that crusty coffee place your mother runs, and you have completely forgotten about everything you've painstakingly memorised on the Christmas menu.

When you first received a hug from Sooyoung in what seemed like decades, the gesture ignited a small thought at the back of your head, that Christmas this year was going to be a little less lonely and spiced with fun instead. Who would have thought that friendships can appear as strong steel bridges of bonds, but yet so easily snap like a wooden plank.

With the money you received from your parents and the pay you get at that greasy restaurant, you were able to rent a not too shabby apartment a few streets from the university. But the fact that you are now living alone, that's the part that creeps into your late night thoughts at times.

You clearly remember Jungkook bugging you with an undefeated persistence to get your ass to the Christmas party Taehyung holds every year.

"C'mon, it will be fun. I promise, you have me!"

He knows what you have in mind, that all your friends have left your side and you would feel like a total loser and loner at the party.

Ex-friends, you mean.

If it weren't for them, you wouldn't have attended a single party at all.

He continues nudging your arm and whining for what seems like the nth time. "Please-"

"Okay, okay."

He looks at you with those big round glossy eyes you can't say no to. "I'll go."

And that is why you are currently freaking out over what to wear to the party. If only Sooyoung was—nevermind, screw that.

You fish out a random black dress from your closet and headed out before you changed your mind.

Being alone is no obstacle to you. It was being alone at a party that frightened you, it was a place where you are supposed to enter with friends—to be able to slowly fit into the crowd and be comfortable with the atmosphere in the house.

However, you were feeling jittery—much more than when you are called out to present your answer in front of the whole class. You didn't realise how accustomed you were to Sooyoung's constant bubbly presence beside you, not until this day. The party had just begun a while ago, and you hoped your entrance would hold the least significance to anyone in there, and you brushed off the thought of everyone's eyes on your weird form. That brat Jungkook had told you that he'd be waiting for you inside, and made you come to the party all by yourself.

What were you so afraid of anyway?

Maybe a couple of rumours had been spread between the ladies, and they would send you judgemental looks—but you were very used to it since the start, so why are you being so self-conscious right now?

Nonetheless, you picked up the phone and decided to dial someone—correction. The only one who you acquainted with in this college and is still on good (but strange) terms with you.

It was clear as day and green as grass that Namjoon has begun to harbour an interest much more than just physical attraction for you. During occasional study dates and the tutoring he offers you, you never once failed to catch him staring at you at least twice. You were pretty sure that there weren't any vegetable stuck between your teeth or crumbs on the corner of your lip though.

"What?" You look up to meet his eyes.

"What?" The both of you chuckle at the same time when he immediately shoots the question back at you.

"Why're you looking at me like that?" Namjoon is rendered speechless, it was almost as if all the excuses for him gawking at you in this manner had transformed into useless brain juice.

You were so far the first and only person who didn't judge or criticise him based on his looks. You even thought he was handsome and told him that straight in his face, and it made him wonder if you had standards lower than hell. "Nothing much, I-I think you look gorgeous today." He quickly averts his gaze to the homework before him, pretending to scribble somehing just to avoid your eyes and hide his blush. You shift your chair closer to him and lean in towards his face. "So...you mean only today?" You purposely pout.

His head shoots up, flabbergasted and he instantly corrects his words. "No! I mean—"

A cheeky smile grows on your face to replace the initial pout and you reassure him, "I'm just kidding, relax."

Namjoon's lips part slightly before he shakes his head and grins at your antics.

Namjoon informs you of his boredom and agrees to go with you to the party.

As expected, the house is filled with people for the alcohol here is free. In the stressful life of books and papers, who wouldn't mind a shot of tequila or two?

Namjoon is the gentleman that he is, offering you a ride to the venue but you politely decline. Instead, you choose to make your way over alone and meet him at the party itself. Having him accompany you was more than enough.

Your hand is on the handle of the front door to Taehyung's house and you cannot help but shift your weight nervously between your two feet. For some reason, the loud noises travelling from the inside are making your breath quicken and the overthinking to get to the better of you. You really hoped that not a single person would be attracted to your tiny appearance at this major party. It was then you realised how much Sooyoung and friends made you feel comfortable attending a huge party like this, they held your hand and gave you the much assurance you needed—that you were not alone.

And now you're back to square one.

What if everyone was playing games and having fun but suddenly upon your arrival the music dies down and all heads would be turned towards the main door with faces glaring at you?

Even though that is something that least likely would happen, you still prepare yourself for an unfortunate event like the aforementioned, or the worst that could happen. Right, just retreat and go home to the comfort of your laptop and bag of chips. And probably never face anyone in school ever again. Jesus Christ, the more of you think about it, your grip on the door handle is beginning to loosen and you would really be in bed in no less than a second. And your hesitance would result in a disappointed Jeon Jungkook.

Wait no, your meekly absence would never disappoint anyone.

You're not that important in such annual affairs.

You're not Regina George or something.

Now you feel stupid in this over-planned outfit and your makeup feels too extra.

You're just a loser with like barely any friends. Get it together. Why did you even agree to come? Just because Jeon Jungkook begged at the minimum? And he's nowhere to be seen. Just text Namjoon you're not feeling well, perfect excuse. You should have just remained at home where-

"Y/N!" The dark oak door suddenly flies open causing you to jump a little. His eyes are wide and shining with excitement, the dimples and wide grin supporting the assumption.

"How long have you been standing there? Come on in!" Namjoon is acting more like the host of the party than Taehyung is with the lovely invitation.

After he takes a proper look at you, his tongue darts out to wet his lips and he reaches out to intertwine his hand with yours to pull you into the house.

To say that you were merely overthinking would be an understatement.

Everybody was minding their own business, whether you stepped foot inside or not.

No one even acknowledged or is aware about your presence.

Except for a certain someone.

Namjoon is still holding your hand in a gentle yet possessive way, and he is different today for an unknown cause.

His confidence is exceptionally striking today and is clearly radiating off him. He is finally able to raise his head to meet the eyes of people with ease.

The way he waves and firmly greets an acquaintance walking past him and makes his way through the group of people in this place— makes you smile involuntarily, for you recall he first time you met him, when he didn't even have the courage to lift his head to face you.

He leads you to an empty spot and cages your head between his both palms fixated onto the wall. Namjoon looks just about ready to devour you whole there and then.

"Someone's...confident tonight." You quirk a brow up and place your hands on his hips to pull him a little closer.

Nothing but an innocent gesture.

Teasing him was fun and you both enjoyed it. Your touch sends him groaning softly to himself and he tries to resist from kissing you there and then.

"Look princess," He calls lowly, "Let's take things slow tonight."

It was the first time he has ever called you by that pet name and you must admit you're rather turned on—no, taken aback, you mean. Right, just surprised.

The feeling of someone intensely staring is doing nothing but growing stronger with every inch Namjoon is gradually closing between your faces. It felt like sharp daggers shooting right at the both of you at that moment and it made whatever you were doing become uncomfortable.

For you were under the predatory gaze of someone.

Suddenly, when Namjoon's lips finally bump into yours, you felt like he was too close for your liking.

You had no idea why you were feeling and acting this way, but you pushed his body away from yours. He panics and questions if he has crossed the line worryingly. "No, no, sorry I need to excuse myself to the washroom. " You desperately wave both hands to assure that it had nothing got to do with him—but you.

It didn't feel right at all.

And with that, you hastily left his side, dashing upstairs to god knows where.

You're in search of a balcony or some sort, a quiet area that gets your fresh air and being alone.

Maybe it was too much to take, with how Namjoon was acting so boldly, and how things would escalate to another level once you give him consent. You also did not wish for the friendship to be left in shattered pieces after the both of you do something friends should not do.

Maybe he was stepping on the line, and you were decisive enough to push him further from it—but not enough to tell him. It would bring his well built self-esteem down. If you were going to reject him, you would have to do it properly and respectfully.

[20:44] Me: hey joon, i'm sorry. i needed to leave because something cropped up at home. the next ben & jerry's will be my treat. see you ard

You switch off your phone and tuck it away into your small bag.

You had just so happen to find a balcony when you randomly entered one of the rooms upstairs. Lucky for you, there weren’t any people banging the life out of each other in the bedroom you selected. You quietly shut the door close behind you as your eyes roam around the four walls.

On the dresser, there is a picture frame of Taehyung with his family at highschool graduation. You waltz your way over to the family portrait and pick it up carefully.

You swipethe layer of dust coating the glass with your finger and Taehyung and his family smiling brightly can be seen clearly.

He hasn’t changed much, boxy grin and cresent eyes still intact.

There is a sense of longing and envy blooming in your heart, and it clenches tightly, sourly.

You never had the blessing to be able to spend your graduation day with your family, the entire school is clueless that you even have a father. You lived your teen years in shame and hiding. It’s a pity because you did not have the opportunity to take pictures like Taehyung did in the open field, throwing his hat up to the sky and receiving flowers from his parents. Placing the frame down gently, you went to the balcony and closed the curtains for privacy in case anyone happened to come in to disrupt your moment of peace.

“What the hell are you doing?” Taehyung snatches his wrist away from Jungkook’s hard grip. He slams the door shut and confronts Taehyung. “Were you the one who invited that Namjoon guy?”

He furrows his brows at his friend, beyond agitated.

“Who?!” Taehyung questions back. “I don’t even know who-”

“Then do you know where Y/N is?” Jungkook prompts again, desperate.

“And how would I know that? You were the one secretly staring at her ever since she came in.” Taehyung had a point. But right when he saw Namjoon approach you, and you willingly went along to wherever he brought you—he couldn’t bear to just watch and not be able to do anything. Just then, a random girl went up to him and tried her luck—but obviously to no avail. After he shrugged her pestering, you were nowhere to be seen. Namjoon too, had disappeared somewhere else and he started growing worried. Had Namjoon managed to get you to his place?

“Ah…” He plops down onto his friend’s bed and tugs at his hair in frustration. The thought of Namjoon having his way with you and all to himself makes him boil in anger. He thinks you don’t deserve Namjoon, who has tried his shot with almost every girl—yet at the same time he thinks he is unworthy of you as well.

There is an inner conflict going on between his heart and mind. Was it really right to have someone he did not deserve at all? Will he even manage to get closer to you, open up your world and heal the both of your broken hearts together? Jungkook is capable at countless things—except you.

You were the enigma in his life, so forbidden and mysterious that he really wants to connect and share a special bond with you. He doesn’t say it aloud, but you meant a lot to him in a way or another.

“Something bothering you?” Taehyung probes, folding his arms trying to figure out his bestfriend.

“How…How do you confess to someone?”  

The question comes out as a shocker to Taehyung, but he is willing to help his friend out in a time of crisis for such a matter.

“Ha! You’ve came to the right person.” Taehyungs face beams with delight. “First,” He reaches out to grab Jungkook’s hand and interlace his fingers together with his. “Hold her hand. Properly, tightly. To show that you’re genuine in your confession. Also, to show how serious and certain you are about her.” Jungkook’s face contorts in disgust at the sight of Taehyung being a cheesy romantic. “Then,” He pulls Jungkook up from his bed and leans into his ear. “Look her in the face and tell her every word from the bottom of your heart. The words you’ve been wanting to tell her but never got the chance to..” Jungkook is frozen stiff with his bestfriend demonstrating on him. But Taehyung doesn’t stop.

He leans in close and pulls Jungkook into a tight hug. “Hug her! It must be tight as well, so that she can feel the affection you are trying to show.” Taehyung squeezes Jungkook and squeals happily for him. “Get off me! You’re squashing me dude!” Jungkook almost couldn’t breathe and Taehyung pats his back before stepping away. “That’s about it, there can be bonus if you want.”

“Nope, I’m good.” Jungkook smiles and pushes Taehyung to at least an arm’s length away.

“Back to real talk though, it’s Y/N isn’t it?”

“Did someone call me?” You emerge from the curtains through the balcony sliding doors, pretending to be oblivious. Jungkook presses his lips into a line and looks down at the floor, embarrassed to the sky. Taehyung notices and quickly announces that he has to host the party.

You carried on with your act, seeing as to how flustered Jungkook was becoming.

“I thought Taehyung called me.”

“No.” Jungkook hides his hands into the pockets of his jeans to appear collected, but truth is he was hiding how shaky and nervous he was around you—and the possibility that you had just heard their entire conversation.

“Is that so?” You doubt. Jungkook doesn’t reply, only giving you a nod of affirmation. “Well if that is so, I’ll make my leave.”

You smile at him and head for the door. Jungkook’s mouth open slightly.

“Wait, Y/N!”

The feeling of his fingers softly wrapped around your wrist is unexplainable—unlike the past, this time he holds you with care and a mindfulness to not hurt you in any way.

You spin around to face him.

“Uh, yes?”

Jungkook had always known you were decent looking, but this time you looked extraordinarily beautiful. The way you looked at him through your long lashes, the faded cherry lip tint you had on, your rich long locks falling over your shoulder and the mini black dress that hugged your figure so perfectly your cures were on display—you were the epitome of perfect, looking so endearing in a simple outfit as such and he swore to the heavens he would take immense care of you if you were ever in his arms. The scar doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and his stomach twists in an unpleasant manner at the sight of it. He is still unable to accept how he treated you in the past, and he hates himself more than anything for it—he wishes that you would at least grant him a chance to make up for his wrongdoings.

There is a need surging throughout his body, into his legs; stepping closer to you, into his hands; coming up to run his fingers through your hair and hold your face in place, and his face; diving in recklessly to smash his lips onto yours.

Maybe you thought that he would go according to Taehyung’s plan—confess then give you a a warm hug. But this wasn’t what you were expecting at all. 

Jungkook kisses you like it was the last time when it’s only the first, he tilts his head and meld his lips feverishly with yours. It feels like forever with the way he is kissing you, so slow and intimate yet so hasty and desperate. You are able to feel the feelings he is trying to convey through this intimacy—filled with regret, want and a sense of belonging. You belonged to him. Back then, now and in the future. Always. 

You wrap your arms around his waist and pull him in closer, mouth opening to grant his tongue access. He smiles into the kiss for a split moment before his tongue is darting out to swirl messily with yours, causing you to moan softly in his mouth. His grasp on your jaw doesn’t loosen and he bites down onto your lower lip before reluctantly pulling away.

A glow of red starts creeping onto his cheeks when the both of you look at each other, faces shy yet hearts pulsating with happiness.

You are the first to break the silence, smiling up at him, “That was…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Everything between you and Jungkook had gone through mountains and seas, but this time—it escalated quickly to a whole new level. It was too much to accept at the moment, but it felt great with him for some reason. The both of you, so unfamiliar with each other’s worlds, yet understanding them to a depth no one outside can reach. There was still much to learn about each other, but you already felt this inseparable connection with the man standing before you.

You allow yourself to bury yourself into his chest and muffle your giggles, and he encases you in his muscular arms in a way never before. Hugging him made you feel complete, like two hearts that were finally pieced together as one. It provided you with a warmth so peculiar and never felt before. It felt surreal, almost akin to a dream.

He strokes your hair lovingly and places a firm yet chaste kiss on the top of your head. “Let me stay close to you Y/N,” He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. “For a long, long time…I will love and take care of you all my life.” 

You smile and flutter your eyes close, waddling aimlessly around the room with arms around each other basking in the shining moonlight—never wanting to let go of each other.