#my focus now is just getting to campus early enough to print it out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

Note

Yo, saw your post about levihan prompts:

How about Hange discovering Levi’s secret hobby (of your choice)

Feel free to do whatever you feel like

And I love your work! 💕 have a good day

Hello! So sorry for the delay in this one, but thank you so much for your patience 🙏 I got stuck for such a long time in the middle of this ksksks but it is finally done! I also played around a little bit with the whole...discovering a secret aspect, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway! And I hope you're ready for some sweet sweet childhood friends levihan~

Levi likes photography.

This, in itself, is no great secret. Hange can barely remember a time he wasn't following after her with a camera strapped around his neck, or packed into his bag—always within reach, should something striking catch his eye. A little neon plastic toy, at first; each click of the shutter cycled through preloaded images, expert shots of famous landscapes, places they could only dream of seeing. And then, a polaroid—still a toy, in essence, still plastic, still gaudy, but this one took real pictures in real time, and spit them out into their eager, shaking fingers within seconds.

Hange remembers them ruthlessly wafting the little laminate squares and watching with bated breath as black mottled into foggy grey, as the blurred silhouette of the park bench faded slowly into being. It was a fascinating thing, at the time. Magic at their fingertips. The picture turned out fuzzy and overexposed in places, where the sun had glared in over the corner of the park bench, but Levi had settled the little square on his little palms and looked at it like he held the whole world in his hands.

There were innumerable disposable cameras, too. Light little things with reels of film, never enough for Levi's insatiable desire to snap pictures of every single thing he saw. They spent half their childhood in the chemist, sitting in the hard plastic chairs, wriggling anxiously as they waited for the film to develop. Kuchel always handed them the envelope, fat with prints, with a small smile curling the corner of her mouth and a fond twinkle in her eye, and Levi always took it politely, while Hange gave a boisterous thanks, and the pair of them delved greedily into their spoils.

He was older, in his early teens, when he was gifted his first real camera. It was heavy, compared to all the others, a case made of metal with buttons and gadgets and a fancy screen on the back, to preview each picture he took. Levi was wholly enamoured with it. He spent hours adjusting it, figuring out what each button and knob did, how they affected each picture; took countless shots of the same rock in the park until he'd tested every combination of settings he could think of.

He had cycled through more cameras since then. Grown a small collection, each one a little different, a little more suited to particular shots. Hange understood the concept in theory, but the particulars were lost on her, and Levi never took the time to explain. Not that she minded—Levi's pictures were beautiful, breathtaking in the way he could capture even the most mundane details and make them something wondrous. Perhaps for the first and only time in her life, Hange had no desire for the magician to reveal his tricks.

He has an eye for things that Hange simply cannot see. She is observant—to a fault, at times, intensely analytical and endlessly curious. Everything is a question, an opportunity to research, to learn, but she doesn't see the way Levi does.

Wild daffodil. Narcissus pseudonarcissus. Hange sees a perennial flowering plant, native to Western Europe, classified by its pale yellow petals and elongated central trumpet. She sees phylogeny with a rich taxonomic history; subspecies originating all over the globe, some larger, some smaller, some more vibrant and some more muted. She sees anatomy, science.

Levi sees the way the evening sun rusts the buttery petals until they blush; sees the way dew drops hang like pearls from the tips of the leaves in the early morning, when the light is still smoky and thin. He sees a moment to be captured.

It should be impossible for a picture to hold so much detail. Hange can look at Levi's daffodil and feel the way the spring wind blows gently on her skin, the sun warm but the breeze a little biting, a remnant of the fading winter. She can smell the pollen heavy in the air, feel the tickle of short grass on her ankles, hear the trill of songbirds in the branches of distant trees.

His proclivity for photography grows with them. Hange's interests spear out in a thousand different directions, from physics and chemistry to botany, to engineering, to literature and mathematics, to history, languages and landscapes—life is a limitless source of information and Hange chases it every which way, insatiable.

And wherever she goes, Levi dutifully follows, with his camera in hand.

Until now.

Now, they are eighteen. The summer is lazily drawing to a close, and tomorrow, at 8:45am, Hange will be boarding a plane that will take her to the other side of the world to attend the university of her dreams.

And Levi will be staying here.

Despite Levi's perpetual scowling and indiscriminate grunting, their last evening together had overall been a pleasant one. Levi and Kuchel had worked hard on their meal, and it had been nice in a warm, filling kind of way, to spend her last night at home with the two of them.

Now, she and Levi are holed up in his bedroom, while Kuchel had insisted on doing the clean up herself. Hange's mind has been churning non-stop for weeks now, ramping up with each passing day, and tonight, her thoughts are unstoppable, and they spill from her with giddy, jittery excitement.

"The university is huge, but my course is pretty small—only like, 30 places. It'll be easy to get to know everybody."

"Nn."

"And did I tell you? There's a museum right on campus? They've got a huge collection, and I heard students can access it after the first semester."

"Hm."

"And there's a flower garden, too—they've got species from all over the world, Levi. They'll have plants I've never even heard of."

"You said."

"Oh! And—my accommodation isn't all that far from the coast. The water looks beautiful in all the pictures I've seen—look, see?"

"I know. You showed me already."

Hange looks up from her phone, where the screen is lit with a bright, sunny beach, tan sand and a stark blue ocean. Levi flicks his gaze over it and offers a noncommittal shrug of his shoulder. Hange frowns at him.

"You could at least pretend to be excited, you know."

Levi gives her a deadpan stare.

"It looks...warm."

Hange sits back with a thump, and kicks weakly at Levi's shin. She pouts over at him. "Better than nothing, I guess."

They sit at opposite ends of the window bench in Levi's bedroom, legs tangled haphazardly together in the space between them. The window was thrown open in some vain hope of tempting in a breeze, but the air is thick, and the soft wind that does blow is still stiflingly warm. It sways Levi's fringe against his brow, but does little to stave off the oppressive heat.

The sky outside is dark, but it is alive with stars. They cast bright sparks on an inky black canvas, and there is no moon in sight. Already, Levi has snapped pictures of it, twisted dials and pushed buttons and switched lenses until he was satisfied.

It is a beautiful sight. Infinite.

Hange lets one leg dangle out the open window. Levi gives her a sour look and wordlessly closes one hand around her other ankle. She has a long history of behaving carelessly—Levi has borne witness to one too many slips and stumbles to trust her entirely. It would be just like Hange, to miss her flight in favour of a trip to the emergency room.

His thumb strokes back and forth absently. There is a callus there, rough and catching, that scratches against her sensitive skin.

Her predominant feeling is one of excitement. Studying abroad had been a dream of hers for almost as long as Levi had owned a camera—to travel beyond the bounds of their small rural town, to see more, learn more, fuel the relentless hunger in her. But there is an undercurrent of something else, some squirming discomfort that refuses to settle. It intensifies with every sweep of Levi's thumb against her skin until it sits heavy in her gut.

She looks over at him. His gaze is trained out the window, a small frown furrowing the skin between his brows, but his eyes are glassy, with none of their usual sharp, unwavering focus. Whatever he is looking at, he is not really seeing it.

It would be a lie to say that his silence had not troubled her. He had been quiet throughout dinner, opting instead to listen to Hange and Kuchel's companionable chatter as he pushed his food around his plate, and he had barely said a word since they had cleared the table and retreated to his room. He had hardly even looked her way.

Irritation bubbles within her. Levi is always more subdued than she is, content to sit quietly while Hange babbles endlessly, about anything and everything. But he usually has something to say. His silence, today of all days, makes her angry. They have one night left like this—one more night to talk, face to face, before they will be separated for who knows how long, and Levi is offering her nothing.

"Levi," she says, before she can think. Something in her tone must startle him, for he blinks rapidly, as though pulled out of a daydream, and rolls his eyes to look in her direction. His gaze settles somewhere near her shoulder. She bristles. "Can you at least—"

"Levi?" Kuchel's voice is distant, floating up from the bottom of the stairs. Levi looks at the door instead. "Can you come give me a hand for a minute?"

Hange clamps her jaw shut. Levi casts her another sidelong glance, and ticks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He squeezes her ankle once, then pushes himself to his feet. "Don't fall, idiot. I won't be long."

Hange feels distinctly like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. It's immature, and perhaps it's unfair of her, but she had assumed that Levi's invitation for dinner might, at the very least, come with a little conversation.

She takes a deep, steadying breath. They never fight, not really—they bicker endlessly, poke each other's cheeks and pull each other's hair, childish rough housing that they never grew out of. But they don't fight and as grumpy as Hange feels about Levi's near silence, she doesn't want to start now. She runs a hand back through her hair and sweeps her eyes about the room, counting long, even breaths as she does.

Levi's room is immaculately neat and tidy. Everything has its place, on clean, dusted shelves, or stacked in straight, neat piles atop his desk. It is a level of organisation Hange has little energy for; she herself is a hurricane, picking up and dropping off detritus everywhere she goes.

But Levi's borderline obsessive cleanliness makes it easy to spot something that is out of place.

Hange's gaze falls on a drawer in the desk. The drawer itself is as immaculate as everything else, gleaming wood and a reflectively polished brass handle. What catches her eye is the corner of a glossy piece of paper, caught when the drawer had been closed.

Hange is a curious creature. Rarely can she hold herself back from exploring an unknown, and now is no different. She unfolds herself from the bench and stretches to stand, then crosses the room on light, tip-toed feet.

Levi is, by and large, a rather private person. He does not share much of himself openly, hides behind an impassive mask, guards what is dear to him close to his chest. Hange is an exception to this rule, whether Levi wanted her to be or not.

As such, she has no real issue prying the drawer open, and is unsurprised by the predictable contents within.

Photographs.

Of course it was photographs.

Her lips tug up in a fond smile and her eyes roll, but it is as she is reaching in to flatten out the rumpled picture that had been poking out of the drawer, that she notices what they are photographs of.

Her.

Hange picks out a stack and sits cross-legged in the desk chair. She flips through them, eyes growing wider with each new picture she uncovers. Every single one is of her. Some recent, some not so recent—some must be from the very first real camera, for she is still in her braces, all thin, gangly limbs and scruffy hair and taped up glasses.

There are pictures of her in the winter, mitten-clad hands wrapped around a paper cup of hot chocolate, blowing steam into the chill air. She can see in stark clarity, the red tip of her nose and the chill bitten over her cheeks; she can almost feel the cold, taste the cocoa on her tongue.

She finds a picture of her from an autumn years gone by. She remembers it as though it were yesterday—they had spent the whole afternoon raking fallen leaves in the courtyard behind Kuchel's cafe, scooping them into a terribly tempting mound beneath the shedding tree. Hange had been unable to resist. Levi had captured her moments after her dive into the pile, sitting up with her weight propped back on her hands, dry leaves clinging to her messy hair and sticking to the fibres of her cardigan. The sun was low, and it cast her in a golden glow, highlighting the vibrant red and orange of the fall foliage around her, drawing out the auburn undertone in her hair and the amber of her eyes. Her smile is almost blinding.

Another shows her in the spring, laying on her belly in the long grass beside a row of blooming daffodils. There is a book spread open before her and she is, as expected, engrossed in it; Levi has snapped the shutter as she was turning the page, the thin edge of the paper caught between the delicate tips of her fingers.

Hange has never considered herself to be particularly pretty. She is just...Hange, a little bit of wild, a little bit of manic, a lot of clumsy and dirty. Being attractive has never been of much concern.

But there is something in the way Levi has photographed her, time and time again, in the way the light catches her, the candid ease of each new picture, that looks....beautiful, in its own way. Somehow, he has made her mess into a masterpiece.

Levi likes taking pictures of things. Plants, rocks, rivers, landscapes and skylines—he likes capturing the mundanity of everyday life and turning it into something spectacular, but he has never done the same thing with people. As far as Hange was aware, Levi had taken very few pictures of anybody at all.

And yet, she holds this pile in her hands, and there are plenty more pictures littering the drawer before her.

There is a strange feeling brewing on her as she stares at them. She had been so excited about moving away to study, so eager to explore the world beyond their quiet countryside home, that the reality of leaving had never truly sunk in. She feels it now though, acutely; a hollow ache in her chest that grows with each picture she flicks through.

Levi has been her shadow for as long as she can remember. There are few memories that he is not a part of, few moments that she can recall in which Levi was not by her side—he has been a constant for her. Something certain and dependable.

And from tomorrow, he will no longer be there.

Hange had known this. She had known it from the moment she had accepted her offer, and she had known it as they looked through her options for accommodation together, as they explored the local area through pictures and videos and maps online. She had known it as they had prepared her visa, organised her finances. Booked her flights. Every step of the way she had understood, logically, rationally, that studying abroad meant leaving Levi behind.

But the weight of it is only hitting her now. The reality of it is like a slap in the face, a punch in the gut—it leaves her shaken and breathless in the worst way.

From tomorrow, Levi won't be with her at all.

Her grip tightens on the photographs hard enough to wrinkle the glossy paper.

She had done a pretty good job of not getting too emotional about the whole thing. For the most part, Hange had been overwhelmed by her own excitement—there had been no time for sadness between all the loose ends she’d had to tie up in order to make the move a possibility. Now though, all that is left is to head to the airport and board her plane. No more distractions.

Hange doesn’t realise she is crying until the bedroom door opens again, and Levi steps into the room, coming to a sudden halt halfway over the threshold.

Hange can't tell if Levi's look of shock is because of the open drawer and the pictures still clutched in her hands, or the tear tracks on her cheeks. He stops dead in the open doorway, fingers still curled around the handle, and for a moment he stares at her with eyes wider than Hange has ever seen them, but then his brow dips low and his lip curls, and his grip tightens around the door handle. Hange holds the pile of photographs close to her chest.

She is expecting anger. She doesn't suppose she could blame him if he lost his temper with her, then. She has a terrible habit of bulldozing into everything, after all, and perhaps this was the one thing Levi had longed to keep secret from her. Her snooping, on top of his already sullen mood—perhaps this is the final straw.

But instead, he turns his face away, staring resolutely into the corner of the room. Starlight spills through the open window. Even in the thin, muted light, Hange can see a vibrant flush colouring the skin high on Levi's cheeks.

Hange sniffles, and wipes clumsily at her cheeks.

"I didn't have you pegged as a closet pervert, Levi," she says, waving the handful of pictures at him. Her voice comes cracked, and weaker than she'd hoped. Levi's knuckles turn white.

It's a funny thing, seeing Levi embarrassed. His emotional expression is usually limited to small twitches, here and there—a slight furrow of his brow, a wrinkle of his nose, a soft twitch of his lip. Hange can count on one hand the number of times she has seen his feelings show so completely. It's almost painful to witness.

"I don't mind," she says. Levi doesn't look at her. Hange looks down at the pile again. "They're nice."

Levi finally releases his death grip on the handle and pushes the door closed. His eyes are still downcast and his cheek is still cherry red, but he hasn't run away and he hasn't snapped at her (yet). Hange takes these things as good signs.

"I didn't know you took pictures of people," Hange says.

"I don't."

"Are you saying I'm not people, Levi?"

Levi lets out a disgruntled sigh. He crosses the room, and plucks the pile of pictures from Hange's hands. His cheeks are still pink, and his brows are still furrowed, but he has composed himself some.

“No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re a creature. You’ve got snot all over your face.”

Hange laughs wetly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and rubbing the mess on her pants. Levi gives her a look of pure disgust, parking his hip against the edge of the desk beside her and skimming through a few of the pictures. There’s a curious expression on his face, a softness in his eyes that Hange isn’t used to seeing.

“Stalker,” she says. Levi kicks at the desk chair without looking up. “If you wanted a photoshoot, you could have asked.”

Levi scowls. He straightens the edges of the pictures with care, and sets them carefully on the desk. “If I wanted to take pictures of you posing, I would have asked.”

“Wanted to capture me in all my natural glory, huh?” Hange braces her elbows on the desk and rests her chin in both hands, grinning cheekily up at Levi. It must look ridiculous, with her watery eyes and the red point of her nose, but Levi isn't even looking at her to notice.

Levi says nothing. His gaze lingers on the pictures for a little longer, and the colour in his cheeks deepens. Hange nudges him with her elbow, smiling. The pictures are...sweet, in a way. There's something flattering about it. She slumps back in the chair, her smile wavering where a fresh wave of melancholy tugs at the edges of her lips.

“I’ll miss you, you know.” Hange’s voice cracks humiliatingly as she speaks. Levi looks over at her. Hange curses the wobble of her bottom lip and wipes at her eyes beneath her glasses. She isn’t expecting much; Levi is terrible at expressing feelings at the best of times, and so it’s more than surprising when, after a moment of consideration, he nods at her.

“Same.”

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. Hange presses her fingers into her eyes, trying to stem the flow, ease the sting there. She doesn’t want to spend their last evening together crying, but now that the tears have begun, Hange can’t seem to stop them. A lump builds in her throat, aching beneath her tongue and she can feel her chin wobbling, lips pulling down at the corners. She sniffles pitifully, draws a shuddering breath.

“Oi…” Levi says, though he doesn’t sound angry, or even uncomfortable like she had expected. His tone is gentle. It rips a sob from her.

Hange feels him move closer. He jostles the front of the chair, and when she opens her eyes to look at him she finds him standing right in front of her, between chair and desk, looking at her with a furrowed brow. It’s different to his usual scowl—his brows are a little upturned in the middle, exposing some kinder emotion; something like worry, or concern.

Hange tilts forward until her forehead presses into his chest. Levi’s hand comes up quickly to the back of her head. His touch is familiar, comforting, and Hange cries a little harder when his fingers tunnel into her messy hair, cradling her against him.

She cries until she feels spent, sniffling and gulping empty air. Her fingers twist into the hem of Levi’s shirt as she composes herself, mumbling, “you’ll keep in touch, right? You won’t forget about me?”

Levi clicks his tongue at her. “Stupid,” he says. “As if you’d let me.”

“I’m serious.” She sits back and looks up at her. Her eyes are burning, raw and wet, and the skin of her cheeks stings from crying, but she looks at him with as much determination as ever and says, “call me. Every day.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not! Just once, every day. Even if it’s only five minutes.”

Levi flicks her between her brows. “You won’t have the time, dumbass.”

“I’ll make time.”

Levi scrutinizes her for a moment, then says, “I’ll text.”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

Levi curls his lip and pulls at a lock of her fringe, muttering, “brat. Why don’t you call me?”

“I will,” Hange says plainly. Levi’s eyes widen a fraction. “I’ll call as much as I can. But you need to call me too, okay? I wanna hear from you a lot.”

There is a long pause, and then Levi turns his eyes away. The light in the room is pale and muted, but it is just enough to highlight the pale flush gathering anew on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. It’s almost cute.

“Fine. I’ll call. Happy?”

Hange grins at him. “Very. And I’ll send you photos of everything, all the time.”

Levi leans down towards her, pinching her nose between his thumb and forefinger and giving her head a little shake. “On your shitty phone camera?”

Hange nods. She bats his hand away and cranes herself up into his space, smiling something wicked. “You’ll hate it. They’ll be all blurry and I’ll have my thumb in the corner of every picture.”

“Pest.”

“Lots of selfies, too. So you won’t forget what I look like.” Hange blindly swipes up a picture from the desk, holding it up between them in front of her mouth and nose. Between Levi dipping down into her space and Hange stretching up into his, they are so close that Levi has to cross his eyes to get a look at it. “Not that I think it’ll be a problem.”

He rolls his gaze up to look at her over the top of the photograph. Up close, Hange can see just how bright the blue of his eyes is, how dark his lashes are; she can see the shadows they cast on his cheeks, the deepening flush bruising the skin red. Levi has always been a pale thing, but now, Hange can see the smattering of light freckles across his nose, barely visible in the low light. He looks pretty. Her heart stutters in her chest at the sight.

Hange has never fully understood Levi’s drive to photograph everything. To preserve any given moment, bottle up every minute detail. She sort of understands it, then—it’d be nice, she thinks absently, to save this particular view for forever. The thought makes her face grow warm.

“I won’t forget.” Levi’s voice is quiet, caught somewhere between embarrassment and uncertainty. He sways closer, rocks back, hesitates. And then he leans down and lets his forehead drop against hers. Hange can feel the press of his nose against her own, separated only by the picture between them.

Hange is used to being close to him. She’s a clingy person by nature, always grabbing him and hugging him, smooshing her cheek against his or shoving her face into his hair, but she is always the one to initiate such contact. Levi is tactile, in his own way—small, non-invasive touches, his fingers on her wrist or his palm at her back, always delicate, understated.

To have Levi enter so wholly into her space like this is new. It’s nice. Hange finds herself feeling very, very thankful for the paper between them, for the urge to lean forward and kiss him comes unbidden, so suddenly she isn’t sure she’d be able to resist the impulse if there hadn’t been a barrier in her way.

“Is it my dazzling good looks?” she says, acutely embarrassed by how breathless she sounds. Levi makes a small, noncommittal noise. His fingers find hers where she’s holding the picture, gripping it and pulling it until it slips out from between them. For the smallest moment, Hange feels the skin of Levi’s nose against hers, and the warm puff of breath on her lips, and then Levi straightens up, flipping the picture for her to see it.

“I’ve looked at your ugly mug every day for long enough. Don’t think I’d forget it so easily.”

It’s a truly unflattering photograph. Hange has her head tipped back, laughing boisterously at some thing or another, with her eyes pinched closed and chocolate sauce smeared over her lips, a drop of cream stuck to the end of her nose. Hange is sure she has looked better, but the thing is—despite her state, the picture still isn’t bad. Hange can hear the lilt of her own laughter and feel the tacky syrup, savour the sweetness of the cream on her tongue. There’s something so...animated about it, about the way the light dances over her skin and in her hair, and the way the background blurs around her, drawing her into sharp focus.

It’s nice, in a strange, unreserved kind of way.

But she’s still a mess. Hange snatches it and slams it down on the desk, glowering up at Levi.

“Why would you take that,” she whines, petulant. “You’re supposed to take pictures of nice things!”

“Because it’s very...you,” He says, neatly slotting the pictures back into the drawer, and moving back to sit on the window. Hange follows, drops herself onto the ledge opposite him with a pout.

“What, disgusting?”

Levi shrugs. “Messy. But...not bad.”

“I’m supposed to take that as a compliment, I guess? That’s almost sweet coming from you, Levi.”

Levi scowls over at her. She dangles one leg back out the open window, dropping the other heavily into Levi’s lap. He adjusts it until he is more comfortable, his hand wrapping again around her ankle, but does not let go once he has settled. He keeps a hold of her, his fingers tracing thoughtless patterns on her skin. The space between them is warm, comfortable. Hange leans her head back and breathes it in—the peace, the quiet, the simple pleasure of spending a tender evening with her favourite person in the whole world.

It’s nice. A small, frightened part of her doesn’t want it to ever end.

Hange has been set up in her student apartment for three weeks when the package arrives.

Moving had been harder than she had anticipated. She’d accounted for common issues—problems with her visa, her plane tickets, and had checked multiple transport options from the airport to her accommodation in case problems arose—but she hadn’t put all that much thought into what would happen once she settled at her apartment.

Unpacking had been boring. Her roommates were nice enough, the studious, bookworm-y type, but unlike Hange they weren’t overly sociable. They kept mostly to themselves in their rooms, perfectly content with brief conversations in the kitchen before retiring again, and with classes still two weeks away, Hange was finding the lack of social interaction difficult. She had explored some, but the city was vast in a cluttered, claustrophobic way. Hange had always enjoyed travelling, and had talked relentlessly of every adventure she could take herself on in a whole new country and all the new places she could explore, so much so that it was almost embarrassing, the way she had found herself so unwilling to stray too far from her accommodation without a companion by her side.

She’d felt a little homesick in the first couple of days, lonely and isolated. She missed the small comforts of the country, things she hadn’t even realised she had taken for granted. Quiet nights. Star studded skies. Long grass and trees and the fresh, earthy smell on the breeze. The city was unbearably loud at times, and even when the wail of sirens or the beep of car horns quieted, there was an unidentifiable hum beneath it all that never ceased even for a moment.

She felt Levi’s absence most acutely. Hange had known she would, but she hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt to be apart. She felt silly for it—it was ridiculous, to miss her friend more than she missed her own family, even. But Levi’s presence had been more constant than anything else, back home, and without him, she felt like a small part of herself was missing.

He called, as promised. Once a day, though oftentimes it was very late in the night for him, and he sounded tired. If Hange were less selfish, she might tell him to get some sleep instead—but she missed him. Hearing from him was the best part of her day.

It was about an hour before their designated call time when the post came. Hange answers the bell with a frown, which only deepens when the delivery driver hands her the package.

She takes it into her room, settling cross legged on the bed and inspecting the mystery item. It's a decent size, like a large shoe box, wrapped neatly in brown paper with her address lettered in tidy, familiar handwriting in one corner. Hange’s stomach lurches—she’d have recognised the writing anywhere, but her suspicions are confirmed by the return address. Levi’s.

She rips into the paper quickly, snatching up her keys to tear through the tape on the top of the box. It is stuffed full with packing paper, an envelope with her name on it sitting on the top. Hange picks it up and with trembling fingers, she opens it and unfolds the short note inside.

Hange,

Sorry things have been kind of shitty. This stuff might help or it might make things worse, but I figure you can just throw it out if it’s no good. Or give it away. Whatever. I don’t even know if all of this shit will make it through customs, so if you get an empty box it’s not my fault.

I don’t get how you eat half this junk, but I hope it makes you feel better, anyway.

Look after yourself. Eat real food.

Levi

Hange presses the note to her chest, grinning. Her heart aches, but having Levi go to this much trouble for her...it feels nice. Knowing he is still thinking of her. She’d never have admitted it out loud, but Hange had been concerned that perhaps Levi would forget about her after all, without her there to pester him all the time.

She pulls out some of the packing paper, and smiles widely at the rest of the contents.

Levi had put together what Hange can only call a care package. There are packs of her favourite snacks and sweets, things she’d complained she hadn’t been able to find in stores here; crisps, chocolate, hard candy, little mini boxes of sickeningly sugary cereal. There are tea bags with blends Levi knows she likes, each neatly labelled with instructions on what temperature to brew at and how long for. Levi had also packed some of the soaps Hange likes, the ones he uses but she refuses to buy for herself. The lavender scent drifts up out of the box and Hange’s heart squeezes tight in her chest. There’s a shirt in there, too—Hange recognises it at once, as one of Levi’s old, worn tees, thin grey cotton that feels impossibly soft in her hands. It’s far too big for either of them, and had always been the go-to item Levi would chuck at her when she decided she was staying over for the night and had nothing to wear to bed. Hange pulls it on quickly, savouring the soft feel and the smell of it.

In the bottom of the box, there is another envelope. This one is thicker than the first, and Hange knows what it contains before she even opens it.

Photographs. A small pile of them, depicting places she and Levi had frequented from when they were children right up until this last year—her favourite part of the forest, where the trees thin out and the river pools at the foot of a small waterfall. The great, open fields, sometimes full of long grass, sometimes clipped short and striped with windrows. Kuchel’s cafe, with umbrellas raised to block the sun on the tables outside, or else warm and low-lit and cosy in the cold winter. Hange settles back on her pillows as she flicks through each picture, a soft smile on her face. Looking at the images of home hurts, but it isn’t a terrible pain—she longs for these old times and these familiar places, but each recovered memory makes her happy.

In Levi’s pictures she can vividly recall moments in each and every location. He works some kind of magic with a camera, to trigger so many sensory memories—the scent of freshly cut grass, the feel of hay, dry and sharp, poking into her back through her clothing, and the gentle trickle of the river water, the splash of it as it runs over the falls, the feel of it cool on her skin. The tangy zest of fresh-pressed orange juice in the cafe, peach fuzz on her lips and the soft flesh of ripe fruit bursting between her teeth, sticky nectar coating her fingers.

Hange looks at each picture in turn, until she reaches the bottom of the pile, and there she stops abruptly, eyes widening at the last photograph Levi has packed for her.

It is one of Hange, taken in the window of Levi’s bedroom. She was looking out at the night sky, her elbow braced on her bent knee, chin in her palm, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. The starlight haloed her, shining from her hair and illuminating the jut of her chin, the curve of her nose and the slope of her brow. Behind her, Levi had captured the bright glow of the stars like jewels on a deep velvet canvas. She looked peaceful. Happy. For lack of a better word, beautiful.

Hange grins widely. Her eyes sting and her throat aches, but the picture—the whole box, really—makes her happier than she's felt in weeks. She brews her favourite cup of tea from the blends Levi had sent her and settles into the corner of her bed, lifting her phone to snap a quick selfie. She sends it to Levi, complete with a caption: thank you for my presents 😊 all ready for your call!

Levi responds almost immediately, first with a simple you're welcome. And then, after a minute, you look good. Speak to you soon.

Hange sinks deeper into the cushions, cradling her tea close to her face, masking the pleased flush on her cheeks with the heat from the steam.

Hange keeps him longer than usual, today.

There is a simmering warmth in her stomach as she listens to Levi's voice over the line. It comes tinny through the speakers, low and rough in the late hour, and his dark, grainy image looks tired, lamp light casting him half in shadow. They talk of everything and nothing, same as always—Levi tells her about his day, about the cafe and Kuchel, and Hange pouts as she tells him how little progress she is making in befriending her new housemates. Levi never voices any concern for her aloud, but Hange can sense it in the dip of his brows as she talks. She gives him a genuine smile when she reassures him that classes will start soon, and she's confident she will settle better after that.

Levi seems reluctant to leave, but after a little over an hour of aimless, comfortable chatter, he is yawning and blinking heavily, the lower half of his face nuzzled into his pillow. In the end, Hange makes up some watery excuse about visiting the coast while the sun is still high, if only to let him get some sleep.

"Sure. Have fun."

"I will! Sleep well, Levi."

Levi hums. The view shifts, blurry and indistinct, the mic muffled by the rustle of sheets, and when everything settles he is laying on his side, fringe mussed and falling over his eyes. He covers another long yawn with his fist. "I will."

"You'll call tomorrow?"

Levi rolls his tired eyes, but the corner of his mouth pulls up in a fraction of a smile. "Sure."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Hange grins. Levi watches her for a long moment, eyes scanning over her face. Then he holds up a hand in a tired wave. "Night, Hange."

"Night."

Hange stares at the screen for too long when the call ends. That terribly selfish part of her would have loved to keep his company for the rest of the day. Maybe, with a little travel sized Levi in the palm of her hand, she'd have been brave enough to explore some more, enthused about all the new things to see with somebody to share them with.

Sighing, Hange drops her phone to the desk and stands from the bed, stretching. There are still things she can do—she has plenty of recommended reading to get through, a small mountain of books at her disposal, and she has mapped the route to her campus often enough that she isn't feeling too overwhelmed by the prospect of the journey.

As she heads for the door, Hange notices something on the floor beside the bed. A neat, rectangular piece of paper; one of the photographs Levi had sent her, laying face down on the ground.

She picks it up again and brings the paper close to her face. Levi had written something on the back of it in small, quick letters, less tidy than his usual practiced script, as though he’d scribbled it as an afterthought, or else that he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to read it.

There is a date, the same night she had found Levi’s secret photo stash, followed by Hange’s name, and the location of the shot. And beneath that Levi had scrawled a few words. Hange squints to read them, and then her eyes grow wide, blinking owlishly down at the note. Her heart swells almost painfully and something solid balloons within her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her lips tremble into a smile as she props the picture carefully on the bedside table.

The day is still young. Hange brews herself another cup of Levi’s tea and settles on the bed with one of her books, content to spend the next few hours reading—though she finds it strangely difficult to focus, with the words Levi had written on the back of the photograph swirling round and round in her head. Hange doubts they will leave her any time soon. They left her feeling more homesick than ever, but there is a soft, giddy kind of comfort in them all the same. It's a feeling that Hange will savour for as long as she possibly can.

It's weird here without you. Come home again soon x

#ask #levihan #my writing #snk #the way this has kicked my ass for hjkjhg MONTHS #I'm so sorry for the delay but thank you so much for the prompt!!! I was so excited to work on it #and I'm glad I finally got it finished :)#sorry it once again got incredibly out of hand length-wise #drabble my ass

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vannahfanfics · 3 years

Text

Picture Perfect

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Sen Kaibara, Setsuna Tokage

Hello, everybody! I am super stoked to present my story for the @class-b-abuzz-bang! I had the pleasure of working again with my talented friend @danyartime, so be sure to check out their super beautiful and cute art for the story!

The smudge of ruby-red gradually came into focus as Sen twisted the dial on his camera, revealing a blooming rose nestled among the spiny branches of a rose bush. Its soft, silken petals glistened with dewdrops from the early morning rain. The little beads caught the sunlight to shine like crystal-clear gems on the red petals, their iridescent sheen glinting even through the lens.

Sen kept his hands steady as he fine-tuned the focus until he was satisfied; then, with a simple press, he clicked the shutter and captured the image.

He straightened up with a small sigh, letting the camera flop down against his chest while the thick leather strap around his neck kept it from falling. He tilted his head back to squint at the sun, which shone brightly in the azure sky amidst the white, cottony clouds. It was a lovely Saturday morning, still slightly cool with the lingering chill of the night. Sen was making his weekly rounds of the campus to practice his photography.

Sen had always liked cameras and had dabbled in photography in middle school. Once he arrived at U.A., he thought that homework and hero training would dominate much of his time. However, after Midnight had given them a lecture about the importance of maintaining a hobby to promote mental well-being, he’d picked up his camera again and taken to wandering the campus on the weekend. There were more things to capture than he’d anticipated, so he now had a large collection of candids taped to his dorm room wall and was adding more every week.

He picked up his camera to inspect the photograph of the rose, scrutinizing it for any imperfections. A smile slowly bloomed on his lips as he realized it was a quite pretty photograph indeed— definitely one he intended to print later. As he mulled about on the sidewalk, wondering where he should look next, he heard the glass doors of the dormitory open.

He glanced over his shoulder to see Setsuna trotting out onto the porch, and his heart thumped against his ribcage.

She didn’t notice him standing there at first, giving him an opportunity to unabashedly admire her. She walked out into the sunshine, closing her eyes and tipping back her head to let the warm rays fall upon her face and thread into her dark green-black hair. She wore a sleeveless white dress that hugged her figure and stopped a little above her knees. A golden belt looped around her waist, and shiny white boots enclosed her feet. A golden necklace with a lizard charm hung around her neck. Sen had always thought that Setsuna had impeccable fashion sense, in addition to being stunningly gorgeous. His fingers itched to hit the shutter and snap as many photographs of her as he could.

Of all the things he’d ever wished to immortalize in a picture, Setsuna Tokage was perhaps the greatest.

After soaking up the sun rays for several moments, Setsuna opened her eyes and finally noticed him standing in the garden in front of the dormitory. His body had grown slack with dreamly laxity while he’d gazed at her, but he tensed tight when a grin split her face. She cheerily called, “Morning, Sen!”

“Good morning, Setsuna,” he replied. She hopped down the steps and trotted toward him. He hoped the heat on his cheeks was from the intense spring sun and not a blush rising to the surface. She stopped in front of him and immediately looked down at his camera, and then her eyes widened in curiosity.

“Oh, are you out and about taking pictures? Do you have any good ones?”

Sen nodded and lifted the camera, turning it around so she could see the display screen on the back. She pressed up against his side to look over his shoulder, and he felt his face blaze with heat as her hair, still damp and smelling of her dewberry shampoo, brushed over his neck. He could hear her breathing in his ear; every inhale and exhale made him dizzier and dizzier. Somehow, he managed to retain enough control of his body to cycle through the photographs he’d taken that morning.

The first was of the sunrise. He’d climbed to the roof of the dormitory to catch the hemisphere of white emerging over the horizon, the blue curtain of night rising to reveal a flood of red-orange. It had been cloudy that morning, so the sunbeams had caught on the clouds to stretch in white lines across the sky. “Wow… That’s beautiful,” Setsuna praised.

“Yeah.” Except, he wasn’t looking at the photograph of the dawn.

The next photograph was of a squirrel sitting on the roots of the oak tree next to the dormitory. It rested on the gnarled chunk of root that rose from the loamy soil like a sea serpent. Its little paws clutched an acorn, holding it to its little snout while it scored its long front teeth across the surface to try to break through the hard shell. Its fluffy, long tail curled over its back like a plume of wispy brown-gray smoke. Setsuna giggled, “It’s so cute.”

“Yeah.” Except, he wasn’t looking at the photograph of the squirrel.

He showed her the photograph of the rose next. She inhaled sharply with awe, then leaned more over his shoulder to peer closer at the screen. His face darkened as more of her body pressed against him, but she was too enraptured by the beautiful bloom bursting in colorful pixels on the screen to notice. Her eyes sparkled as she murmured, “Amazing…”

“Yeah.” Except, he wasn’t looking at the photograph of the rose.

Sen lowered his camera back down when she pulled away, though he lamented the loss of her body heat along his side. She smiled radiantly at him. Sen felt his heart start playing his rib cage like a xylophone, and he lowered his face to fiddle with his camera so she couldn’t see the haze of red staining his cheeks.

“Wow, Sen! I never knew you were so talented!” she gushed. He mumbled some sort of gratuitous remark in response. “What are you going to take pictures of next?”

Sen felt a lump form instantly in his throat. He peered through his bangs at her, watching, measuring. He’d always wanted to photograph Setsuna, and here she was, so interested in his hobby. Would she agree to a small photoshoot? He didn’t want to bother her or creep her out, but… Holy cow, Sen had never seen someone that was more a work of art than her, and he was gripped with such an intense desire to see her through his photo lens that it was almost suffocating.

He swallowed several times, but that lump in his throat just bobbed in place. Somehow, he managed to force the words out around it: “I’d like to photograph you, Setsuna.”

Her eyes blew wide, two dark moons floating in a sea of white. She pointed at herself and squeaked out, “M-me?”

When he nodded, a bright flush of pink rushed into her cheeks, and a shy smile teased at her lips. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other while her eyes rolled up to the corners, unable to look Sen in the eye at the realization he wanted her to be his muse. He waited patiently for her to answer, despite his stomach twisting in his belly, until she uttered a meek, “O-Okay…”

Sen couldn’t help the giddy smile that tugged at his lips and the light that lit up his eyes.

“Okay,” he echoed, and the happiness that bled into his voice made Setsuna smile bashfully. He held out his hand for her, and when Setsuna coyly slipped her fingers into his, it felt like electric shocks rocketed up his nerves. He wanted to jump for joy, but he had to remain professional. He forced down his elation to focus on the task at hand— capturing Setsuna in all her goddess-like glory. Smiling softly, he tugged her down the sidewalk, walking backward while he led the bashful girl by the hand.

As he walked, he glanced around the garden to find some suitable settings. He couldn’t just photograph Setsuna in any old setting, no, no— it had to be something truly magnificent, fitting of his image of an angel fallen to earth. He thought of her standing on the porch, her head tipped back to soak up the warmth of the sun, and at the same time his eyes fell upon a patch of wild dandelions growing in a patch of empty green grass. Perfect.

“Here,” he said and pulled her off the sidewalk and into the grass. He treaded carefully, trying to disturb as few of the dandelions as he could. It wouldn’t be much of a backdrop if he kicked all their floaty little seeds to the wind before he could get started, now would it? Setsuna milled about next to him, her cheeks stained as pink as carnations, while Sen stared at the small patch of wildflowers and mumbled under his breath. A vision took shape in his mind, one that made him as floaty as the dandelion seeds.

He directed Setsuna to sit among the dandelions in the clearest patch they could find. She eased down into the dewy grass, tucking her legs against her side. Her right hand rested on her thigh, while the other pushed into the loamy dirt, supporting her weight. She tossed her tresses of dark green hair over her shoulder, and there was so much magic in that simple movement that Sen’s mind momentarily went black. He just gawked at her, wide-eyed, until Setsuna bashfully said, “Sen? Is this good?”

“O-oh,” he stammered, flushing. “Yeah, that’s good.” He crouched down a few feet away from her and picked up his camera, then peered through the lens. He tried to keep his hands from shaking— it would ruin his shot— but it was so hard with the way she smiled sweetly at him through the camera lens, her head tilted just so to give her a demure demeanor. Her eyes were lidded as she rested contentedly amongst the dandelions. Sen waited until the wind whistled across the grass, bobbing the dandelions and fluttering her hair, before clicking the shutter in quick succession.

While he lowered the camera to choose which of the set he believed to be the best, Setsuna turned to watch a few of the dandelion seeds float away on the breeze. As a serene smile graced her lips, Sen snuck a candid photo. Unfortunately, the click of the shutter betrayed him, and she rolled her head on her shoulders to smirk at him in amusement.

“I feel like a model,” she laughed. “I never thought I would be a part of a photoshoot.”

Sen blushed, using the bulk of his camera to hide his face.

“Well…” he mumbled, deleting the photos he didn’t intend to keep so he didn’t have to look directly at her. “Hopefully my photos live up to your expectations.”

“I know they will,” she hummed with so much conviction that it made Sen’s heart flutter. While waiting on him, she picked up one of the dandelions and gently blew on it. Sen scrambled to back out of his photos so he could snap a picture of her slightly parted lips blowing into the seeds, dislodging them into the breeze. They bobbed around her hair, some of them settling into the waves of dark green like little snowflakes. Suddenly, Setsuna laughed and flopped backward into the patch, slamming her arms down to send hundreds of the little seeds spiralling into the air.

Sen hopped to his feet, but he didn’t pick up his camera. He just stared in adoration at the beautiful sight before him. Setsuna’s hair spread around her head like a dark halo, threaded with grass blades and dandelion seeds. She gazed reverently at the seeds spinning above her body; with no wind to catch them, they slowly swirled down, down, down to settle on her form. Her eyes drifted to Sen, who was gaping at her like she was the most sublime creature on earth. A tinge of pink appeared on her cheeks as she asked, “What? No more photos?”

He played with the thick black strap of his camera as he stiffly said, “Some things a photo can’t even do justice.”

She tilted her head slightly at that, eyebrows creasing in just the barest hint of amusement. Sen took a deep breath, preparing himself for the crazy thing he was about to do; then, he pulled his camera off from around his neck and set it down amongst the grass. Setsuna just watched him as he walked to where she lay in the grass, her chest rising and falling with rapidly-quickening breaths and a knowing smile spreading over her lips.

“Is that so?” she breathed when he knelt down next to her, on her left side. Surrounded by the grasses, Sen could see the hidden rivers of emerald shining in her eyes and her hair. Even with the most expensive camera equipment, he could never capture those streams concealed within the dark of her hair and eyes; they were immortal only in Sen’s memory.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice just as breathy. “A photo could never do you justice, Setsuna. Not in my eyes.”

A shy smile played over her mouth, and then she quickly swiped her tongue over her lips to wet them. This action did not go unnoticed by Sen; it made his heartbeat quicken and adrenaline surge through his veins. Setsuna’s hand snuck through the grass like a lithe snake, latching onto his. He didn’t resist as she guided him to crawl over her body, knees resting next to her hips, hands on either side of her head.

“Then why ask me to do a photoshoot for you?” she asked teasingly.

“It’s a good excuse to be able to look at you longer,” he answered matter-of-factly. Her face flushed red as her flirtatious taunt was turned so effortlessly back to her, and this made Sen’s mouth curl up into a smirk. “Besides, even if a picture can’t do you justice, I’d still like to have them. You’re beautiful, even through a camera lens.”

He brushed his fingers gently over the cascade of hair framing her face, teasing through the strands and dislodging the dandelion seeds. The way she was looking at him, the fire smoldering in the depths of her eyes, emboldened him. His fingers slowly shifted to skim over her cheek, feeling the heat that rose to the surface in response to his touch. He brushed down the curve of her jaw until he met her chin, and then he turned his hand to place his thumb just under her mouth, tugging down to part her lips ever-so-slightly.

“May I kiss you, Setsuna?”

“Please,” she whispered, literally agonized by the fact he wasn’t kissing her already. This made Sen chuckle, but he didn’t want to keep the lady waiting. He dropped down onto his elbows to bring his face centimeters away from hers. She craned her head slightly with a low, needy whine, bumping her nose softly against his with the motion. Sen chuckled again, then tilted his head so he could close the gap and slot his lips against hers.

Truth be told, Sen had thought about kissing Setsuna many times. Still, all his daydreams could never prepare him for how it really felt to have her lips melding with his. It felt like his heart exploded in his chest, filling him to the brim with a cloudy, floaty feeling from the crown of his head to the very tips of his toes. Sen pressed his body down against hers slightly, grounding himself because it really did feel like he was going to float away, just like those dandelion seeds.

Setsuna hummed against his lips as he moved his mouth over hers, kissing her with a growing hunger. She just felt so good, tasted so sweet, and that scent of her dewberry shampoo was flooding his nose again. He kissed her until his mind was growing fuzzy with oxygen deprivation instead, then pulled back with a deep intake of air. Setsuna’s eyes fluttered open to look at him reverently, like he’d just hung the moon in the sky for her. Damn it, Sen would if that’s what it took to see that look on her face every single day.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered again. His voice cracked with the sheer amount of worship he put into the statement. Setsuna shyly bit down on her bottom lip, but the twinkle in her eyes intensified. Unable to help himself, he leaned down again to kiss her nose, each of her cheeks, and then her lips again. Setsuna giggled at the soft, feathery kisses brushing over her skin, and the sound was music to Sen’s ears.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she joked cheekily. Sen rolled his eyes, but wasn’t exactly surprised at her impudence. Her overwhelming confidence was one of the many, many things he adored about her. He nosed along her jaw as he smiled softly down at her, making her squirm and giggle. She wound her arms around her neck, indicating that she had no care to go anywhere anytime soon. The wind rustled the grasses around them, dusting Sen in a few of the dandelion seeds.

No, a picture really couldn’t do her justice at all, Sen thought as he gazed down at Setsuna. She crossed her eyes as a dandelion seed drifted across her nose, then playfully blew it into Sen’s face. The little feathery fibers of the seed tickled his cheek as his lips teased up into a loving smile. A picture was worth a thousand words, many people said— but as they gazed into one another’s eyes, a million words passed between them that a picture couldn’t even hope to capture.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#sensetsu #setsusen #sen kaibara #kaibara sen #setsuna tokage #tokage setsuna #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha

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gukyi · 5 years

Text

four weeks | kth

summary: four weeks. that’s how long you’re trapped on campus after missing your flight home because of a grossly overtime final. and as you’re walking around your empty campus, thinking that you could sink no lower, you find yourself alone in the art building with a certain freshman-year-dorm-neighbor from hell, and he’s got an offer that you don’t think you can refuse: he’s staying on campus this winter break as well, and he’s happy to let you live with him.

or, four weeks is all it takes to fall in love.

{enemies to lovers!au, roommates!au, college!au}

pairing: art and chemistry double major kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, comedy, the whole nine!! word count: 20k warnings: alcohol consumption (be safe!), unwanted sexual advances (not between main characters and not at all explicit), and a ton of college tomfoolery. a/n: i’m finally finished with my very first semester of college! it was a lot, but finishing this fic was a treat after my damn finals, which were very stressful. this is part of the stranded for christmas collab, and i’m so honored to be doing this with such amazing, talented writers! please give them and their fics lots of love, and enjoy this super fun train wreck of a fic!

Admittedly, Global Politics in the Twentieth Century has never treated you particularly well.

Your lecturer is about as interesting as grass growing, the readings are low quality scans of book pages with the tiniest font and absolutely no line spacing, and any friends you had in that class in the beginning of the semester dropped out of it by the time mid-September rolled around, leaving you trapped due to societal pressures and a History and Politics general education requirement you still have yet to finish.

But, of all the things you could imagine Global Politics in the Twentieth Century doing to you, like charging you an exorbitant $200 dollars for a textbook you would never open anyway, burning your house down, or even straight up just murdering you, this is by far the worst.

It’s bad enough that your final for Global Politics in the Twentieth Century is on the last possible day for finals at the latest possible time, but when the clock strikes 8:00PM and you have just about fucking had it with this semester, you realize that no one else is standing up.

This panic intensifies as you begin thinking of all of the terrible things that could be the reasoning behind this: you’re just the dumbass who finished their final first and got all of the questions wrong, the clocks have yet to adjust to daylight savings and you think that it’s 8:00PM when really it’s 7:00PM, or, worst of all, your final is running overtime.

You have only ever heard of horror stories about overtime finals. Things like having to cram the next three-hour final into one hour, or having to reschedule the final to some other time that is equally as conflicting. Stuff that is, to a normal human being, a minor to moderate inconvenience at best (and to an overdramatic college student—pure, unadulterated hell), but when this is the last final on the last day at the latest time, there are no other finals to be had. No other school-related scheduling conflicts barreling into you.

It’s just your luck, really, that on the last day of the semester, at the latest time you are allowed to be here, Global Politics in the Twentieth Century would come back to bite you in the ass one last time. As if all the times you dozed off in class (or just plain skipped), forgot to turn in your reading analyses, and showed up late to your recitation are finally catching up to you. Like the very worst kind of karma that could ever befall you.

Well, to be fair, it’s not as if the rest of the day has treated you any better. The entire time you’ve been awake on this fine December day has been an absolute trash can of a day.

This is how the beginning of your very last day of the semester played out:

Your alarm went off at 8:00AM sharp, purposefully set that early so you could wake up and have a productive day studying before your final at 6:00PM.

You hit snooze and ended up waking up around 11:33AM.

You scrambled out of bed very inelegantly and attempted to get your life together before noon so you could at least have six hours worth of a productive study day before your final.

You remembered that you hadn’t packed yet, so you spent the next hour frantically stuffing your belongings into the singular carry-on sized suitcase meant to last you through your month-long winter break.

You also realized that you hadn’t done your laundry for the week (well, week and 6 days…), and you obviously want to bring clean clothes back home so you spend the next two hours doing your laundry and finishing up your packing.

By the time you finally managed to get the time to study, the panic had fully nestled itself into your bones, so you could not focus and spent the next three hours staring at your study guide and praying that osmosis would kick in so you could actually retain information.

You left to go to your final five minutes later than you should have and then ran across campus (with absolutely no dignity left) in order to get there on time.

You arrived at your final just in time, only for there to be technical difficulties with printing the exam because your professor is a procrastinator, just like you are.

The next thirty minutes were then spent contacting the IT department, attempting to fix the printer, having to go print in another building, and then coming back with the final exam to a room of aggravated students who thought that they would be thirty-minutes into the exam by now.

You are taking the final exam. It’s stupid difficult and you’re absolutely going to tank it.

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about half an hour.

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about an hour.

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about an hour and a half.

And on your very last day of the fall semester, your final runs overtime by two whole hours because of some mystic force determined to ruin your life, and your flight heading back home took off fifteen minutes ago.

You know, it could be worse. You could have failed all of your classes. Instead, you paid an exorbitant $500 to miss your flight, fail your Global Politics in the Twentieth Century final, and end up trapped on campus for all of winter break because you don’t have the money to buy another plane ticket at such late notice (or at all).

So, it could be worse.

You trudge out of your final exam and try not to burst into tears on your way back to your dormitory. Barely anybody is left on campus now that finals are officially over, but you still want to save that last shred of dignity. As you’re walking down the pathway, you begin to feel wet splotches on your face. For a moment, you think that they are fat tears rolling down your face, but you look at the cobblestone beneath your feet and realize that instead, it’s raining.

The perfect weather to match your mood, if you’re being honest.

Not wanting to get caught in a downpour, you end up taking refuge in the coffee shop connected to the art building on campus. It’s a genius business design, if you say so yourself, because there is no one more dependent on caffeine than sleep-deprived, eyebag-laden art students. Surprisingly enough, there are still people behind the counter bustling around, so you use the last of your university dollars to order a peppermint hot chocolate to warm your insides (but not your cold, dead soul).

From there, you take a quick detour to explore the art building, a building you have, admittedly, never really taken much of a look at. It must be empty now, with everyone off campus—except you, of course—which gives you the perfect opportunity to wallow in peace while admiring art.

Walking inside, you stare at your reflection in the enormous glass walls. Look at your tired eyes, slouched shoulders, lips pressed thin, and hands warmed only by the heat of your cardboard coffee cup. Count each acne mark and hair out of place. It’s almost like you’re watching yourself as you look in the mirror, a third person standing in the background. The audience. Like the person who’s looking back at you isn’t you at all.

It's quite artistic, actually. Ironically enough.

But no matter how picturesque, how cinematic this particular moment of your life is, nothing can really soothe you after missing your flight, failing your final, and pretty much having the worst day of your entire life.

Just then, you hear footsteps echoing down the halls.

You assume that it must just be a professor leaving their office, or even maybe one of the hardworking security guards, but as you watch the glass walls to catch a glimpse of who's passing by, you realize that it's not a professor, or a security guard, or even a very large mouse scurrying across the floor.

"I thought I would be the last one in here," Kim Taehyung says when he spots you, stopping in his tracks with a canvas about half the size of him underneath his arm.

"So did I," you muse in response, not really wanting to turn around to save yourself the trouble of talking to him.

Still, Kim Taehyung has always been one hell of an observant guy, so by the time he's stopped behind you, he's already peering into the reflection of the glass windows to look at who he's talking to.

"Y/N?" He asks, walking up to you with his eyebrow raised. He comes over, standing next to you as you look at each other's reflections in the glass. "Never thought I'd see you in here."

"Me neither, to be honest," you say. Seeing as you aren't a visual studies major, you never really considered the art building to be a location of top priority. Until now, that is.

The last time you spoke to Kim Taehyung was the last day of your freshman year, when everybody was getting ready to move out, packing up their belongings and removing the fifteen thousand Command hooks stuck to their walls. You and him made eye contact as you placed the last of your boxes for the semester into those enormous Residential Services carts, glaring at each other from your adjacent rooms.

“First year flew by, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks, smirk lacing his features.

“Thank God it’s over,” you tell him.

“Not gonna miss me, huh?” Taehyung winks, and it makes you want to take this cardboard box filled with all of the notebooks and lined paper and folders you used throughout the year and chuck it at his head.

“Miss you?” You ask with a scoff. With the final box finally out of your room, you can officially lock the door behind you, closing the chapter on your very first year at university. “Please. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that I don’t have to live next to you anymore.”

“Why are you still here?” Taehyung asks, tapping his fingers on the side of the canvas underneath his arm. “Thought you’d be off campus by now.”

“I had a late final,” you say, pretending that your life and every aspect of it is fine when it is, in fact, not fine at all. The best case scenario is that Taehyung accepts your bullshit answer for what it is and heads off to do whatever it is that he does, leaving you alone so you can wallow in pity and ponder the meaning of life. The worst case scenario is that Taehyung stays.

And Taehyung has always been very good at picking the latter.

“Ah, sucks, for what class?” Taehyung asks. You can’t tell if he’s genuinely curious or just wants to interrupt your personal self-wallow time for as long as possible.

“Global Politics in the Twentieth Century,” you tell him with a sigh. You don’t want to have to hear, say, read, or write that name ever again.

“Oh, really? I took that class last semester,” Taehyung says with an eyebrow raised, surprised. “I thought it was super interesting.”

As if you needed any more proof that you and Kim Taehyung are exact opposites in every way. You are hardly surprised that Kim Taehyung enjoyed Global Politics in the Twentieth Century—not when the two of them have so much in common, like inconveniencing you, being annoying, and sort of always having it out for you. It’s like they were meant to be together.

“I can’t say I thought the same,” you say pointedly, lips pursed into a tight line.

“Ah, well, I never did peg you for a history buff,” Taehyung says with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Why are you still on campus? I thought art students had to turn in their final projects on the first day of exams,” you ask, turning the focus onto him. It’s obvious that he has no intention of leaving you alone, so your next best option is to interrogate him until the tension between the two of you is so suffocating, so thick and heavy, that he wants to leave.

“I had a couple of chem finals after I finished up my art classes,” Taehyung says. Right. You forgot he was doing a double major. “And, my parents are actually travelling this winter break, so I was planning on staying on campus. Didn’t really want to go back to an empty house, you know?”

After the day you’ve had, you can think of nothing better than opening the door to your home, knowing that you have the entire place to yourself and can spend the night in your bedroom, watching Netflix.

“You’re staying on campus?” You ask. Great. The only two people who will be on campus this winter recess are you and Kim Taehyung. Fantastic.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, clearly unaffected. He seems particularly unbothered by the fact that he can’t go home, almost like he’s been looking forward to having the entire university to himself. “You’re about to head home, then, aren’t you? Just taking a quick break in the art building?”

Well, almost to himself.

The chances of running into Taehyung this winter break, despite being probably the only two people on campus, is still slim. It’s a big campus, and there are people who are not part of the university that walk on campus all the time.

And still, you don’t know what you’ll do if you lie to Taehyung and tell him you’re about to fly home, and then bump into him at the local coffee shop. You might just perish. That might be what happens.

So, for once in your life, you suck it up and tell the truth. For once.

“Actually, I missed my flight because of my final running overtime, so I’m sort of stuck here,” you tell him, and as the words leave your lips it feels like your whole body gets weighed down, like you’re cemented to the floor.

It’s only then that Taehyung actually turns to face you, so you aren’t standing shoulder to shoulder and staring at the rain pattering on the pavement outside. You look at him, meeting his eyes and to your surprise, they aren’t filled with mirth. He hasn’t got this pleased grin on his face. He’s not milking this situation for what it could be milked for at all. He could be standing here, bathing in the satisfaction of your timely demise, and he’s not.

He actually looks quite sad.

“Really?” He asks, genuine.

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s then that you accept your fate, resign yourself to the fact that you’re trapped on campus with no way (and no money) to get home, and try to look for the silver lining. “So, I’ve actually got to get going, grab my stuff and everything.”

“Oh, do you live off campus?” Taehyung asks. “We should get together sometime this break. Who else are we gonna talk to, right?”

Spending time with Taehyung on your lonely-ass winter break sounds like the absolute worst thing in the entire world. It’s been two years since the last time you were forced to be within fifty feet of each other, so even having this conversation is taking you by surprise.

“No, I’m still staying on campus. But my dorm is closing for the winter break, so I need to go and find an Airbnb or something to stay somewhere,” you say, feeling your heart break at the notion of spending even more money this winter break after having watched your $500 dollar airplane ticket get flushed down the toilet.

Taehyung stays silent, eyes gazing at the lines between the linoleum tiles on the floor. He’s stopped tapping on the side of his canvas, a painting which you still haven’t fully gotten a glimpse of. In the quiet of the art building, the dust settles, and you wait for Taehyung to say something. Anything.

After a few more seconds, you decide that the two of you have been standing in awkward silence for long enough.

“Well, I’ll see you around, I guess,” you say nervously, letting out an unnatural and forced laugh as you turn on your feet and begin to head towards the exit. You have no idea where you’re going to go or what you’re going to do, but what you do know is that you have to be out of your building by noon tomorrow, so you’ve got less than a day to figure it out.

And then, Taehyung says the worst thing he could possibly say at this given moment:

“Do you wanna stay with me?”

You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Taehyung immediately clarifies, as if that makes the offer any less sudden. “But I live in an off-campus apartment year round, so you could always stay with me if you’d like. You wouldn’t have to book an Airbnb or anything. But you don’t have to.”

You close your eyes, feeling your chest rise and sink as you inhale and exhale. You can’t believe you’re actually considering his offer. You can’t believe that Taehyung would willingly offer up his personal abode, his private apartment to you, the freshman year next-door neighbor who knocked on his door every six hours to tell him to shut the fuck up. You cannot believe that you are on the verge of accepting.

“Are you sure?” You ask, both eyebrows raised. Yes, the idea of free lodging and no-hassle appeals greatly to you, but you’re not so certain that Taehyung or you actually want this. After all, you spent all of freshman year hating on each other’s living habits as personal hobbies of yours. “You don’t have to offer just because I don’t have a place to stay. Seriously.”

“No,” Taehyung says, taking a step towards you. It’s barely a foot, but it feels like he’s a thousand miles closer to you than he was before. “I mean it. If you want to stay with me, you’re welcome to. I have a futon in my living room that you can sleep on. I’m being serious.”

You cannot believe that he’s asking this.

You cannot believe you’re considering this.

You cannot believe you’re about to say yes to this.

“You really mean it?” You ask one more time, just so you can be certain. You’d hardly be surprised if this whole thing was just a mindfuck.

“I do,” Taehyung says. “No matter what, I don’t think anybody should be alone for the holidays.”

“Then yes,” you say, letting Taehyung catch up to you as you begin to walk towards the exit, step by step. “I’d really appreciate it.” You turn to look at him, your eyes meeting his own chocolate brown ones, nearly ink black in the dark. You can’t offer much, certainly not anything to top this gracious proposal, but you smile, and he smiles back, and you think that’s enough.

Your first order of business is trekking back to your dormitory and grabbing your fully-packed suitcase. At least spending an hour shoving as many of your belongings as possible into a tiny carry-on has its benefits despite you not setting foot in the airport.

“Been a long time since we’ve done this,” Taehyung comments mindlessly as you walk through campus, following the cobblestone path as a shortcut to his apartment.

“Done what?” You ask snarkily. “Hung out with each other?” You scoff. You and Taehyung spent all of freshman year skirting around each other, desperately trying to avoid contact while also banging on each other’s doors every ten minutes. It was essentially two semesters worth of shouting at each other through walls and sneering when you actually locked eyes.

“Talked,” Taehyung simplifies, because he’s right.

“Isn’t that what we were aiming for?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, turning to look at him as your suitcase wheel skips on a stone out of place. “I thought we had reached that consensus already.” It’s been a year and a half since you last spoke to each other. You were almost confident that, without any overlapping classes, you would be able to keep that streak going long after graduation.

As it turns out, things change.

“I don’t know if we ever actually agreed on that,” Taehyung says, thinking back. “Almost like it went…” he pauses, and you can’t be sure if it’s for dramatic effect or because he actually doesn’t know what to say. “Unspoken.”

The irony is not lost on you. In fact, it hits you smack dab in the forehead as you watch Taehyung’s curious expression morph into the sleazy frat boy one he wore so much back then. He looks very pleased with his pun. It makes you want to sock him in the face.

And as it turns out, some things never change.

You resist the urge to punch him in the shoulder because he offered you a place to stay for this break and you sort of (actually, really) owe him big time right now. But that doesn’t mean you can’t send a disapproving frown, which seems to do the trick.

“I distinctly remember how you were so excited to never have to live next to me again when we moved out,” Taehyung says like he’s remembering a fun trip to the zoo. Almost like he looks upon the last time you ever interacted with each other fondly.

You mentally sigh. If only freshman year you knew what was going to happen in the middle of your junior year. If only your final hadn’t run overtime by two hours. If only you had booked a later flight.

If only.

“I don’t remember that at all,” you lie like a liar, saying the words as the picture of you snarkily spitting them at Taehyung at the end of your freshman year plays in your brain on repeat.

“You sure about that, Y/N?” Taehyung says, turning to look you up and down. He’s always been such a people reader, and you’ve always felt so helplessly transparent in front of him. Even back then. Even now. “Because I don’t really think that your memory is that bad.”

“Nope, no, I don’t,” you say quickly, trying to get Taehyung to stop eyeing you like you’re a question on an exam that he thinks is suspiciously easy.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter then, does it?” Taehyung muses as you round the street corner and his apartment complex comes into view. “Since we’ll be living together, anyway.”

“Miss you? Please. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that I don’t have to live next to you anymore.”

Before you can wheel your cart down the hallway and kiss your freshman year goodbye, Taehyung opens his mouth and says one more thing. You almost don’t hear him, too busy reminding yourself that you’ll never have to see him again, but then he says, “One day, Y/N, you’re going to realize that we’re closer than you think.”

When you walk into Taehyung’s apartment, your eyes zero in on these three things: the navy blue futon pushed up against the wall by his television and the fact that it doesn’t look like the kind of used furniture from off of the street that most college kids typically resort to, the little wooden kitchen table that looks straight out of a family-owned Italian restaurant (looks like the two of you will be eating dinner together), and the paintings on the walls.

“Did you paint these?” Is the first thing you ask once you’re inside, putting your suitcase up against the wall as Taehyung takes off his coat.

“Those? Yeah, I did them early last year. My walls looked so damn plain without anything on them.”

In freshman year, Taehyung seemed like the kind of artsy hipster who shopped at Urban Outfitters and put vinyl records on his wall with Command Strips but never actually listened to them.

But the pieces on his walls aren’t vinyls of bands like Arctic Monkeys and Modern Baseball. They’re paintings, oil and acrylics and even a bit of charcoal. Still life and portraits and shadows.

You had never seen one of his paintings before. You never imagined you’d ever want to, or even get the chance to. And now, you’re standing in the middle of his apartment, and you’re surrounded by them.

“They’re…” You trail off, eyes bouncing from wall to wall as you take all of them in. There’s at least ten, one, if not two on each wall in sight. His bedroom is probably filled with them. His apartment’s not enormous, rather small since it’s only got one bedroom, but the paintings make the whole place bigger. Make it feel full of life.

“They’re alright,” Taehyung finishes. He’s already grabbing extra blankets from the storage closet in the side of the wall. “They were assignments we had during the semester so I figured that they’d be put to good use on my wall.”

“It’s very impressive,” you admit. “Kind of a flex, but an impressive flex.” There is something so perfectly Taehyung about the fact that he’s got art all over his walls, but they’re his very own pieces that he has framed and hanging, on display for the entire world to see if they’d like.

“They’d collect dust otherwise,” he says with a shrug. He tosses two blankets and a pillow your way, letting them plop onto the futon. “Are those enough blankets? It can get fucking cold in here, so I don’t want you to freeze to death or anything.”

And for a moment, you think that Taehyung has actually outgrown his asshole-y freshman days, maturing into someone with an actual moral backbone.

“How considerate,” you say sarcastically, “but I think I’ll be alright. I’m a big, strong girl.”

“Just don’t come crawling into my bed if you want a taste of that weighted-blanket life,” Taehyung says, pretending to flip his hair. “Though, I wouldn’t blame you if you did want to sleep with me.”

With a pillow right at your disposal, you waste no time grabbing it and chucking it straight at Taehyung’s face. He easily dodges, having spotted the move from a mile away, and chuckles.

“Come on, Y/N, you can do better than that,” he says disapprovingly, shaking his head as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Your arm was much stronger back in freshman year.”

Scowling, you watch as he puts on the kettle to boil, letting the water begin to bubble as he goes about his business like he doesn’t have a guest in his living room that absolutely can’t stand him.

And you realize that maybe Taehyung’s a couple of years older, a couple of years wiser, but that doesn’t make him a couple of years any less unbearable.

If you were a sleep-deprived engineering student three cans of Monster deep who, in their 4AM haze, invented a time machine to go back to freshman year, and you told your eighteen-year-old self that you would be living under the same damn roof as Kim Taehyung in two years time, freshman year you would probably sock you in the face. And ask you if you changed majors. Which, you did.

It’s not a far reach to wonder why. By the time October rolled around, the two of you had already established yourselves as archenemies until the end of time.

It was a natural progression, really. Two tiny dorm rooms right next to each other, two beds pressed up against opposite sides of the same paper-thin wall, and two disgruntled freshmen trying their hardest not to die of alcohol poisoning.

Now, you don’t have a track record for going to sleep at a reasonable hour. In fact, you don’t think you’ve gone to bed before 11PM since middle school. But is it really that irrational of you to want to get some well-deserved shuteye at two in the morning after a long day of procrastination and a long night of doing the studying you should have done during the day? Your roommate is fast asleep across from you, having gone to sleep at midnight like a regular college student who has her life together, which means that she’s immune to the fact that right next door, you can hear nothing but pounding drums making the very linoleum floor of your dormitory shake.

Scowling, you scramble out of bed, sliding on your shoes to go give a certain Kim Taehyung a bit of a reprimanding.

Why the fuck does he listen to heavy drums at two in the morning? What the fuck is he doing? Does he not own headphones, or anything that might restrict the sound to his own two ears and nothing else? Does he not have any respect for the people next door to him that might also have to listen to the sound of a thumping bass while they’re trying to go to sleep?

Some of you have 9AM’s tomorrow morning. And by some of you, you mean you.

You quietly shut the door behind you so as not to wake your roommate, dead-bolting it so you don’t get locked out and have to trudge down to the Help Desk looking like a tired piece of non-recyclable garbage, and immediately bang on Kim Taehyung’s door. He hasn’t got a roommate, and you know he’s awake, which means that if he doesn’t respond, you’ll know why.

Surprisingly enough, he does, opening the door and immediately grinning once he sees who’s on the other side, like he can’t get enough of the fact that his mere existence bothers you.

“It’s 2AM,” you tell him, in lieu of a greeting.

He checks his watch. “That it is.”

“Would you mind turning down the music? I’m trying to go to sleep.”

“This late, Y/N?” Taehyung asks, an eyebrow raised. “No wonder you’re always so cranky.”

“Maybe it’s because my next-door neighbor plays loud fucking music when I’m trying to go to sleep!” You say, already beginning to raise your voice like a loser who can’t control her emotions.

Which is exactly what you are, actually. So this is very on brand for you.

“Hmm, never thought about it that way,” Taehyung says innocently. He’s got a gleam in his eye that says otherwise.

“I’m being very nice to you right now, Kim Taehyung. Please turn your music down. Because it’s loud and you’re probably bothering other people as well,” you say, restraining yourself. If you were any more sleep-deprived you’d storm into his room and pound in his face like it was the fucking drums he’s listening to.

“But you’re my only neighbor,” Taehyung says, a bitter reminder that you were unlucky enough to be the second-to-last room in the corridor, and he, the very last one.

You inhale, trying to not lose your cool despite having probably already lost it. Kim Taehyung makes you want to tear your eyeballs out. Or buy heavy-duty earplugs off of Amazon Prime. The thing is, one of those options costs you money, and one is entirely free. So, it’s not difficult to see which one you’re leaning towards.

“Taehyung, please turn your music down, or so help me God. I’m asking nicely,” you can feel the carbon dioxide paths coming from your nose as you breathe, in and out and in and out.

“Just for you, Y/N,” Taehyung says with a grin. God. You could just straight sock him in the face right now. “It helps me focus, but so does getting to see you.”

“Perish immediately,” you tell him sharply before pulling the door shut, marching back off to your room.

True to his word, Kim Taehyung does turn off his music. Or puts in headphones. At least he’s conceded.

That is, until you wake up to a crash of glass later that morning at 7AM, coming from only one direction.

The fact of the matter is, everything you and Taehyung did that year bothered the other so immensely that hatred, pure, unadulterated dislike, was really the only thing that could have come out of it.

“You still listening to loud ass drums in the middle of the night?” You ask, eyeing the speakers by Taehyung’s television as you sit on his couch (as far apart from each other as possible) and eat some leftover spaghetti.

“I invested in some AirPods as a treat to myself last year, so yes, but don’t worry,” Taehyung says. He’s mindlessly flicking through the available Hulu options on his TV, severely unimpressed by every one of them.

“Wow, AirPods, sounds like you’re moving up in the world,” you say callously. “At least I don’t have to listen to it with you anymore.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said it helped me focus,” Taehyung says, all matter-of-fact about it. “It was from a Spotify playlist of modern orchestral music. You should give it a listen, it really gets you into the zone.”

“My relationship with classical music has, unfortunately, been tainted by a certain someone,” you remind him, taking the time to shoot him a glare just in case he doesn’t already know who exactly is at fault.

“What a shame, you might actually like it,” Taehyung says sadly, shaking his head.

“So what are the speakers for, then? If not for your fuckin’ drums,” you ask, motioning to them again as you slurp up the last of your spaghetti. It’s not as if you’ve got some sort of sacred reputation to protect in front of him. He’s seen you at your best (the first day of freshman year, when there was still light in your eyes), and at your worst (2AM, coming out of a drunken stupor, and bedhead-ridden). Like an ex-boyfriend, or something.

“My friends really like singing karaoke,” Taehyung says. He points to the bluetooth microphones underneath the television as extra proof.

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse to yourself. Taehyung always struck you as someone that needs people not to calm him down, but to elevate his already boisterous personality. Friends who are equally as unabashed as he is.

“Since you’re here for a whole month, we should try it some time,” Taehyung suggests, taking the empty bowl from your hands and heading back to the sink to wash up.

“You need help with that?” You ask, immediately getting up because even if Taehyung has a tendency to drive you up the wall, you’re still going to be a good guest.

“No, don’t sweat it,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “You know, I have karaoke for All I Want For Christmas Is You. Super seasonal, right?”

You dust off your hands from where you’re standing, loitering in that weird halfway point between his kitchen and his living room. Checking the clock underneath his television, you realize that it’s already past ten. And while you haven’t gone to sleep this early in a while, being in Taehyung’s apartment makes you feel all sorts of strange. Subdued and exhausted, too grateful to be your normal aggressive and witty self. And after such a long goddamn day, passing out on his navy blue futon seems like absolute heaven.

“Not right now,” you say, shaking your head. Karaoke is something that friends do with other friends. And despite currently living under the same roof, you and Kim Taehyung are not friends.

(But perhaps you will be. And that’s the scary part.)

You sigh, absolutely tanked. It’s been a stupidly long day. “Maybe later.”

Living with Taehyung is a sort of strange limbo you never, in a million years, pictured yourself in. You aren’t close enough to be friends but you’ve matured out of being the true enemies you had both envisioned the yourselves as in freshman year. The both of you walk around his apartment like you’re afraid to talk to the other, waiting patiently for the bathroom when the other person’s inside, trying to keep yourself busy with nonexistent work (it is winter break, after all) and the apps on your phones.

This is the sort of thing you dreamed of when you were a freshman. A Kim Taehyung that you could co-exist with peacefully. Someone who didn’t spend every waking moment of his life making every waking moment of yours unbearable. You used to find excuses to sleep overnight in the library (it was open 24/7, after all) just so you wouldn’t have to go back to your dorm and see his stupid face. Now, the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch minding your own goddamn business and doing two totally unrelated activities. In silence. The only noises being his refrigerator/freezer combo when it starts making ice and the sounds of your fingers hitting the keyboards on your laptops. Maybe he’s playing a video game on the Playstation 4 he keeps out in the living room, but he has headphones on and isn’t saying a word.

It’s a very strange sort of limbo indeed, because no opportunities arise for you to become friends nor do any arise for you to become enemies. At this rate, you’ll live together for the month-long winter break and when it ends, you’ll go back to never speaking to each other again.

And that, strangely enough, makes you sad. Makes you want to reach out to him, try and build up a relationship that last ended in absolute chaos so that when you leave this place, it won’t have been for naught. You will have gained something from it, no matter how small.

But just like usual, Taehyung beats you to it.

“Hey,” he says one day, walking into the living room and already pulling on his overcoat. “You free right now?”

“Yeah, why?” You ask, shutting your laptop as you turn to him. He’s all dressed up and you’ve been wearing the same hoodie for the past forty-eight hours.

“Let’s get hotpot. I’m freezing and I want some hot soup and meat.”

So, you go and get hotpot.

Like any normal university with more than approximately three East Asians enrolled, there’s a hotpot place right off campus that many a college student frequent. You have, admittedly, not been since freshman year, but this winter break you seem to be reaching back into all of those memories anyway, like a can of worms. Memory worms.

“I’m starving,” Taehyung says as the two of you sit down. He’s already opening the menu, eyeing all of the different ingredients he can order for a simple All-You-Can-Eat fare. “Plus, I’ve been craving hotpot for weeks now.”

As if on cue, his stomach grumbles and you can hear it from across the booth.

“Even my tummy knows,” Taehyung says, placing a palm to his belly to soothe it. “Have you gotten hotpot before?”

“Yeah, but it was a while ago. I just never had the time to go for a whole two hours and pig out on food,” you say with a sigh. It’s been so long that you barely remember what it tastes like.

“Then we’ll spend every minute that we’re allowed to here, eating as much food as we want and gaining a few pounds while we’re at it,” Taehyung says, determined. The waiter comes by to pour you both some water and he already begins to order, pointing to about fifteen different things on the menu before the waiter whizzes off.

“I don’t think I heard a single word you told that guy,” you say candidly. Taehyung listed everything off so quickly that it went right over your head.

“I just ordered a lot of food, so be prepared,” Taehyung says like it’s a promise. He’s got this glint in his eye, one that tells you that you should be glad you came on a fairly-empty stomach because it’s about to be filled to the brim.

And prepared you are. Within five minutes of Taehyung ordering, there are plates and dishes and boards of food in front of you and a steaming pot of broth in the middle. There’s so much on the table that you can hardly see the marble table top underneath.

Taehyung dives right in, clearly an experienced hotpot eater. He grabs two bowls filled with various sauces and pops a couple of the vegetables into his mouth as he waits for the broth to boil. And when it begins to bubble, he immediately begins dumping everything in sight into it, from meat to noodles to vegetables. It all looks ridiculously appetizing.

When the first round of hotpot is over and done with, you already feel yourself starting to get sleepy just from the consumption overload. Taehyung, on the other hand, has apparently no limit and is already ordering more, pointing to another fifteen things on the menu.

“Never thought we’d be doing this, did you?” Taehyung asks, and you can hear the knowing tone in his voice. Like he already knows how you’re going to answer him.

“I have to admit that I never did,” you say. It must the food that’s softened you up. No wonder Taehyung invited you to a place where you can literally eat as much as you want in a two-hour timeframe.

“This is nice, though, isn’t it?” He asks.

And for once in your life, you agree. It is nice. Not just the food (though the food is very nice) but being with someone on a winter break that would otherwise be overwhelmingly lonely. Eating out with someone, even if it’s someone with whom your relationship isn’t all that strong, isn’t that sturdy. It’s nice. Because it means that, somewhere along the way, you both wanted something to change for the better.

“It is.” You nod. “Way better than all the times we fought during freshman year.”

“Remind me why we never went to our RA to resolve things like we should have?” Taehyung says, but he doesn’t make it sound like you both made a mistake. He asks because he’s curious, and because the past is the past.

“I think we were both too fucking prideful for our own good,” you say, shaking your head. You now would disapprove of you in freshman year so strongly. “We thought that we could either resolve it ourselves or spend the rest of our lives hating each other.”

“Isn’t that crazy?” Taehyung asks, holding up his water like it’s a glass of vintage red wine from the 1800’s. “That we thought that we could just spend the rest of our lives hating each other?”

“I was prepared to do it,” you say, taking another piece of meat from the hotpot in front of you, letting the steam waft from it like a tiny campfire. “With how big this school is, I was convinced that you and I would never have to see each other again. Never have the opportunity to change how we felt about each other.”

“But that’s not how life works, Y/N,” Taehyung tells you, looking into your eyes like he’s trying to reach into your soul, pick apart the memories of freshman year and watch as your relationship deteriorated as each day went by. “It doesn’t matter if we see each other every day for the rest of our lives or if, after this, we never say another word to each other. You will always have the opportunity to change how you feel about someone, even if you aren’t with them. Even if you aren’t seeing them at all.” He takes a deep breath, and reaches over the steaming pot of soup to nudge your shoulder with his finger, ever so slightly. It makes you look up at him, meet his dark brown eyes with your own, foggy from the steam. “That’s what makes us human, Y/N. We’re human because we can change.”

Your heart, still and silent, begins to thump.

“Do you wanna go to New York?”

“Today?”

It’s early in the morning on Christmas Eve, and the two of you are wide awake after Taehyung’s neighbors a floor below him called the fire department as an early wake-up call for the entire complex. You’ve always been a light sleeper—Taehyung made sure of that in freshman year—but even he woke up as the fire trucks pulled up to the fire lane next to the apartment building. He came stumbling out of his room in nothing but a t-shirt two sizes too big and sweatpants hanging low on his hips, locks of his hair sticking every which way, face illuminated by the blue, red, and orange lights of the emergency vehicles beneath the window.

And he stayed like that, even as the noise died down and the sun rose. He marched around looking like he had just rolled out of bed, barely sparing himself a second glance in the reflection of his refrigerator.

“Yeah,” Taehyung responds like it’s obvious. “If we hopped on a bus now we could make it there by nine and spend the day there. How about it?”

“You mean, right now?” You ask, just as clarification. College and its many features have forced you to grow used to spontaneity, but it usually came in the form of “I’m hungry, so I am going to eat an entire bag of Hot Cheetos at this exact moment” or “Yes, my bank account is crying but these pants are very cute,” and not, “Do you wanna go to New York?”

“In a bit. Buses leave from here every hour to go to New York, especially since it’s the holiday season. Tickets are ten dollars. We could do it, if you’d like,” Taehyung says casually, like he’s suggesting that the two of you go grocery shopping or something else equally mundane.

“Just for the day?” You ask, a girl of both many questions and a shocked expression.

“Sure,” Taehyung says with a shrug, biting into a tomato as if it were a goddamn apple. “We can go to a museum or two, eat a nice lunch or dinner, and go ice skating at Rockefeller. See the tree, too. It’ll get us in the holiday spirit, don’t you think?”

And normally an outing to New York would have you planning weeks in advance, organizing reservations and buying tickets for entry into exhibits, but it’s winter break and you’ve got more free time than you know what to do with.

And maybe you’d hate to admit it, but you need someone like Taehyung to get you off of your ass and out of the house, do something fun and spontaneous like college students do in the movies.

Taehyung is practically a movie portrayal of a college student in real life. He’s spontaneous, secretive, sage. He’s artsy and worldly, paints but is also extremely smart and well-educated. He lives in a quaint off-campus apartment by himself and spends his days making friends and keeping busy. He loves to tease you, and has that sort of lopsided smirk that all casanovas do. And he is, as much as you’d hate to admit it, always been something of a looker. He’s got the same sort of handsome, classic look that young European men in paintings from the eighteenth century have, a portrait of them in the prime of their lives. One wink and he’d send every preteen girl in the audience to their knees.

And you? Well, you suppose you’re the tragically unlucky female lead who has to live with him until classes resume.

Taehyung’s standing in the kitchen, leaning on the counter island as he scrolls for bus tickets on his phone. “There’s a bus leaving from the station in thirty minutes. Think we can make it?”

It might be the fact that you’ve been holed up in Taehyung’s apartment for the past forty-eight hours that makes you say yes. Or it’s the desperation to do something, anything, literally anything, to keep yourself busy this break.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that little voice in the back of your chest, one buried in the depths of your heart, that makes you go. Because there is something so wonderfully exhilarating about being spontaneous. And there is something even more exciting about it being with someone you know.

You grin. “Let’s do it.”

Two hours later, the two of you are standing outside Penn Station in New York City, staring at the road signs to try and orient yourself. It’s chilly and a little windy, but the sun beats down regardless, shadows of skyscrapers cast along the streets.

You pull out your phone to pull up the Maps app, looking up directions, but Taehyung just begins to walk down 7th Avenue, not a care in the world.

“Where are you going?” You say quickly, scrambling to catch up to him. This early in the morning, your breath still turns to fog as you jog towards him to meet his abnormally long strides.

“Do you want to go to the Met, MOMA, or Guggenheim?” Taehyung asks simply, like he’s trying to decide which type of Doritos to get in the chips aisle.

“Uh…” you are, admittedly, not that particular to the art that you’ll see. Art does not have as much of an immediate relevance to you as other things in your life, like your bank account, or your final semester grades. “Why don’t you pick the museum, and I’ll pick the restaurant we go to?”

“Deal,” Taehyung says, that same devilish gleam in his eyes, a trick (or two) up his sleeves. Only this time, you aren’t afraid of what he’s got in store.

You find that you are very much looking forward to it.

Twenty minutes later sees the both of you standing outside the gigantic glass doors of the MOMA, surrounded by a pitch black exterior about as edgy and contemporary as the pieces of art inside.

“You never struck me as a modern art kind of guy,” you tell Taehyung as the both of you walk inside, glass windows and ceilings on every side of you and a bustling crowd right in front of you. Modern art seems rather stuffy. And perhaps, two years ago, you would have equated Taehyung to such, but now, stuffiness couldn’t be the furthest adjective to describe him. He may be a little obnoxious and overwhelmingly charismatic, but he is certainly not stuffy.

“I prefer Impressionism and the subsequent periods,” Taehyung tells you, another fact you never knew but happily stow away. “But I am, admittedly, a bitch for modern art, no matter how goddamn stupid it is.”

“Good to know we’re spending our money on a museum that will definitely be worth our while,” you say dryly, taking the two tickets from the woman behind the desk. You pick up a map while you’re at it, almost certain to get lost in this maze of a museum, but Taehyung is already zooming off, forcing you to scurry through the herds of people just to keep up his pace.

“Do you know where we’re going?” You ask, entirely serious. You fumble to open up the map and suddenly you’ve got a piece of shiny paper larger than your backpack in your hands, overwhelmed.

Taehyung stops, the two of you standing right by the middle of a doorway, blocking everybody’s path. And he places his hands on top of yours, lowering the map as you gaze up at him, wondering why the heck you haven’t moved to the side so you aren’t inconveniencing the thousands of people roaming the museum. His brows are soft, a little furrowed, like someone began to knit them together but then forgot halfway through. Like he’s thinking. Like he wants to tell you something.

“No,” Taehyung says softly, large hands enveloping yours as he begins to fold the map back up, “I don’t know where we’re going.”

You open your mouth, about to prove your point, but Taehyung continues.

“But I don’t need to. Because we’re supposed to get lost,” he tells you, honest, candid, and true. “That’s the whole point. It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.”

You scoff, heart a little warm on the inside but wit still sharp. “You sound like an infomercial for a cruise.”

Taehyung laughs, tilting his head back in the way that says that he means it. “I’m serious, Y/N. Please. We don’t need a map. We can guide each other. All we need is faith, trust…” He pauses, leaning in and waiting for you to finish his sentence.

Begrudgingly, you give in, mostly because he’s too naturally charming not to. “And pixie dust.”

Taehyung grins, satisfied, before he catches you by surprise, takes your hand in his, and pulls you into the elevator.

Much like the corrupt businesses whose main offices are only a few minutes walk away, you go from the top down. Taehyung says that it is like a very, very long slide. You say that it’s an extremely slow walk.

He’s an art student. You don’t really know what else you were expecting. He stares at each piece until it bores into his eyes, fills up another cup in his soul, overflowing with color, with light and meaning and everything in between. Every now and then, he and you stop at the same one, inspecting each and every detail, and Taehyung will lean to the side and whisper in your ear.

He will tell you what he thinks of the medium, what he thinks of this piece and what he thinks of the positioning of that specific object. He tells you not how he interprets it in the eyes of the artist, but what it means to him, and how he perceives it. And, as the hours pass, you realize that, while you have been in museums before, you had never felt like you were truly there. And here you are, standing in front of priceless pieces of art with a boy in love with art beside you, and he holds your hand as he takes you through what brings him more joy than anything else.

(Well, besides perhaps, chemistry.)

When you reach the first painting and sculpture floor, Taehyung lets out an audible gasp.

You round the corner and before you know it, you’re standing in front of what could very well be the most famous painting of the nineteenth century.

“I forgot it was here,” Taehyung says distantly, like he’s forgotten who he’s talking to. In the ink black of his pupils, you can see the oil painting reflected, the thick blue and yellow brushstrokes, each and every line on the canvas.

“Now, this piece I’m familiar with,” you say, standing next to him and staring up at The Starry Night, an artistic feat, worth more than probably a hundred times your tuition, and a legacy. The legacy that The Starry Night left behind is one that you see still reflected today. You see it in all of the other people in this little room, clambering over one another just so they can get a glimpse. You see it in the little children who draw self-portraits in art class, Sharpies and markers and crayons littering the page.

And you see it in the boy next to you, who loved something so much he knew that he would be doing it for the rest of his life. He would be following a legacy, forever, until he forged one of his own. You look not at the art but as Kim Taehyung gazes at it, memorizing each and every stroke and imprinting it onto his brain. And you finally realize what art means: passion. It means that it fills you up, flows through your blood and into your heart, consumes you. And it means that the only thing you can do to prevent it from eating you alive is to spread it, and let others get a taste of the madness.

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it,” you muse. You don’t know much about art but when there is something so mesmerizing, so stunning, in front of you, it’s difficult not to notice.

You feel Taehyung turn his head, letting the gaze of his piercing brown eyes rest upon your figure for a split second before he turns back. “It is,” he says.

The way that the two of you go through art museums, by the time you emerge, it’s already dark and the streets are beginning to empty as tourists and cityfolk alike find places to eat, walking into every bar, restaurant, cafe, and house on the hunt for a good meal, whether homemade or curated. You had spent nearly an hour in the gift shop alone, laughing at the overpriced t-shirts and kitschy pillows.

“Where to next, m’lady?” Taehyung asks as you push open the glass doors and let the biting cold hit your noses.

“You know, we were so busy in there that I didn’t even have time to find a nice place to eat tonight,” you admit sheepishly.

“That’s alright,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “I like surprises. Spontaneity is my thing.”

“You don’t say,” you comment sagely, making Taehyung roll his eyes.

Knowing that it’s nearly impossible to get a reservation now, you and Taehyung make your way south, following the flow of traffic heading towards Times Square and keeping an eye open for any places that look relatively nice and busy, but not too busy, the perfect sign of both a delicious and available restaurant.

After walking for a few blogs, cuddling together (in a totally platonic way) to preserve as much body heat as possible in the now freezing weather, air no longer warmed by the sun’s rays, you stumble upon a tiny hole in the wall Mediterranean place. You can’t really see anything inside due to the fog on the window, forming from the combination of cold air and hot, but Taehyung does a quick google search and says that it’s a modern Mediterranean restaurant that specializes in pizza. Google says it has two dollar signs. You hear the word pizza, and everything pretty much goes out of the window.

“Hi,” Taehyung says as you squeeze through the little hallway to get to the host, voice warm and silky. “Table for two?”

“Your last name, sir?” The man asks.

“Oh, we don’t have a reservation,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. You two are college students. It’s not like you plan ahead anyway.

“That’s okay, we still ask for every customer’s name for a more personalized experience,” the host says. He leans forward, eyes wide, waiting for Taehyung to respond.

“Kim,” Taehyung says simply as the host gathers two menus and a wine list.

“Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” the host says, and you open your mouth to correct him (Because you are not married. You’re not. You’re not even dating. This is not a date. It’s not a date, right?), but Taehyung puts a finger to his lips and tells you to zip it. It’s almost like he’s enjoying this.

For the rest of the evening, the wait staff all address you and Taehyung as Mr. and Mrs. Kim, which is absolutely outrageous for multiple reasons: you are college students, you both look like college students, you’re not dating, you don’t act like you’re dating (other than the hand-holding and cuddling which was purely out of survival and nothing else), and most importantly, you’re not interested in each other like that. That part is obvious. Isn’t it?

When you order a glass of champagne each they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When Taehyung has a question about one of the ingredients on one of the pizzas they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When you order your food they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When they come by to clarify Taehyung’s request of no anchovies they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When they bring these massive pizzas and place them down on your table, wishing you a pleasant meal they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim.

Mr. and Mrs. Kim, they call you.

“Everything alright, Mr. and Mrs. Kim?” Your waiter asks as you’re plowing through your individual pizzas very inelegantly.

“Yes,” Taehyung grins cheesily. “Thank you very much.”

He’s positively beaming.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” You ask, a single eyebrow raised.

“This pizza is really good,” Taehyung tells you.

“Not that,” you say with a roll of your eyes. You know that Taehyung knows exactly what you’re referring to, he’s just being annoying about it, as per usual. “The whole ‘we’re married’ thing. You like it, don’t you?”

“The “Mr. and Mrs. Kim’ thing?” Taehyung says with a smile. He’s relishing in the feeling, especially when it’s obvious that you’re not as keen on the collective nickname. “I fucking love it. You don’t?”

“We’re college students,” you remind him.

“So? That means that they think that we look old enough to not be college students. I consider that a win, especially because Jimin always says I look twelve,” Taehyung says with a shrug.

“We’re not married,” you add. It’s the truth.

“You’re right, we’re not, but Mr. and Mrs. Kim has such a nice ring to it, don’t you think? I love the way that it sounds,” Taehyung says. He basks in it.

“We’re not even dating, Taehyung,” you say with a sigh, exasperated. Doesn’t he get it? It’s weird, being Mr. and Mrs. Kim, because you never have been. There never was a Mr. and Mrs. Kim. And quite frankly, there never will be. “We’re not even interested in it.”

“Who says?” Taehyung asks, and the path he’s directing this conversation down is not one you’d like to take. It’s rocky and bumpy and unclear, hazy with fog. You don’t do fog. You like when things are clear cut and visible.

“I do,” you say with a frown. “Are you interested in dating me, Taehyung? Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to date you right now. Or, like, at all.”

Taehyung pauses. His brows are furrowed again, but all the way this time. He stares down at his pizza, and he contemplates. You sit there and watch him, feeling the weight of every second as it passes by. Were you too harsh? Maybe you were. But it was the truth, and he deserves something honest, even if it’s brutal.

“Oh,” Taehyung says, like he wasn’t expecting those words to come out of your mouth. What you said has been lingering between you like smoke, refusing to dissipate. “Well, I—I guess that makes two of us.” It’s obvious that there’s something else there, just underneath the water, but you don’t press further. It sounds like he’d rather keep it hidden.

When you leave, the waitstaff bid you goodbye exactly as you had predicted.

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” they say cordially as you and Taehyung pull on your coats and hats and gloves and head out the door.

“You too,” Taehyung says softly after a few seconds, like he was waiting for the words to fade away before speaking. “Thank you.”

Your bus leaves from Penn Station at 9:30 that night, and it’s barely seven. Plenty of time for you to continue exploring, see Times Square all lit up like it’s New Year’s Eve, go up to the top of the Empire State Building, or even take a peek into Central Park at nighttime, when the moon is high and the lanterns are lit.

“How about we go ice skating?” Taehyung suggests as the two of you walk along the pavement, side by side. Your hands are buried deep into the pockets of your coat.

“At Rockefeller?”

“Sure, why not?” Taehyung says. That sentence pretty much sums up your trip to New York thus far. “I’ve always wanted to go skating and see the tree during Christmastime. When else will we get the chance?”

Five minutes later you’ve paid for rental skates, a locker for your shoes, and a ticket to the rink. Visible right next to you is the enormous tree, the lights twinkling and cameras flashing as everyone scrambles to get their Instagram picture to prove that they actually went to the tree at Rockefeller Center in New York City.

When the zamboni is finished and the employees have skated over the ice enough to increase the level of friction, Taehyung and you balance on your skates as you walk towards the entrance. Slowly, everybody begins to glide on, wobbling at first before eventually getting the hang of it. There are a couple of small children holding onto those little penguin skate assistants, laughing as their older brothers and sisters guide them along the ice.

“I’ve never skated before,” you admit nervously, about two seconds before you’re about to enter the rink.

Taehyung’s mouth drops open. “Never?”

“No,” you reiterate, even more nervous than before. “I have no idea what I’m doing, I just said yes because like you said we’re in New York and it’s nearly Christmas and we should just seize every opportunity that we have and—”

“Y/N,” Taehyung says, calming you down as he ushers you away from the entrance so you aren’t blocking other people’s paths. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry,” he tells you, holding onto your wrists to make you look up at him. “I can show you how to. It’s easier than it looks, I swear. I won’t let you fall. You just have to trust me, alright?” He shakes your wrists to catch your attention, make sure that you heard him. “Alright?”

Deep breath. Inhale, exhale.

“Alright.”

Everything is, in fact, not alright. No matter what Taehyung says, ice skating is way more fucking difficult than it looks. Taehyung steps onto the ice and it turns into second nature for him, gliding around a small circle to get warmed up as you cling onto the side railing like an idiot. You have no idea how to move, you have no idea where to go, you just shuffle along the railing with the rest of the children who are far younger than you, also trying to skate for the first time.

This is embarrassing.

“You’re a liar,” you tell Taehyung pointedly as he circles around, coming up to rest next to you. You’d point at his chest for emphasis, but you’re afraid you’ll fall without both hands on the railing at all times. “This is—” you pause, remembering that there are children present, “—very difficult.”

Taehyung just chuckles. “You have to be brave, Y/N, come on,” Taehyung implores. He holds out his hand, motioning for you to let go of the wall and take a leap of faith.

“No, I will not be brave. Please let me be weak,” you beg, scared for your life. One wrong move and you’d go splat in the middle of the rink and embarrass yourself in front of all of New York City.

“Come on, Y/N,” Taehyung says, holding his hand closer. “You said you trusted me. I told you, I won’t let you fall. Come on. Be brave.” And then he adds, leaning in to meet your eyes, “for me?”

He’s always been too charming for your own good.

Tentatively, second by second by painstaking second, you remove your hands from the railing, first the left and then the right, as Taehyung pulls you right next to him, holding on tight.

“See?” He asks as you begin to move on your own, Taehyung’s short glides pulling you along the ice. “Look, it’s not that bad.”

“I am scared for my life right now.” You blink.

“Focus on me, okay,” Taehyung says, making you meet his eyes once more. “Eyes on me, alright. You’re doing fine. You’re skating, isn’t this fun?”

“I am terrified that I am going to perish on this very rink,” you repeat for emphasis.

“Look, Y/N, look! You’re skating!” Taehyung tells you, and finally you glance down at your feet and realize that they’re beginning to move on the ice, all on their own.

“Oh my God! I’m skating! What the—heck!” You say, eyes widening in excitement.

“I knew you could do it,” Taehyung says, hands gripping on tight. You can feel the warmth from his palms seep into your own, feel the back of your hand burning from the touch. “You just had to trust me.”

“This is so cool,” you say, immediately very pleased with yourself. “I’m such a pro, I can do anything. Who said skating was scary?”

Taehyung opens his mouth to respond, but you shoot him a warning glare and he zips his lips.

“Watch this, I can even do it on my own. You’re gonna be very impressed, Kim Taehyung, just watch me!”

Within the next moment, you’re letting go of his hand and pushing yourself away from him, gliding along the ice ever-so-slightly as you begin to balance on your own.

But power is short-lived, and much like every leading male in Greek tragedies, your hubris gets the best of you, and you face the ultimate demise.

The moment you attempt to pick up your left foot, your right toe pick gets caught in a dip of the ice and you go toppling over, collapsing onto the ice in a cold, bruised ball.

Luckily, your coat takes most of the hit, its length preventing your knees from hurting into the next century, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. Ashamed of yourself and even more mortified to have to face Taehyung after boasting about how amazing you are, you slowly push yourself off of the ice, wobbling like a baby deer.

“What was that, Y/N?” Taehyung says with a raised eyebrow as he skates over. He’s clearly just recovered from a laughing fit.

“Fuck off,” you mutter, and you don’t even care if children hear you. “I got excited.”

“Clearly,” Taehyung notes, eyes wide and knowing. He holds out a hand, and before you even have time to think of a snarky retort your palm is reaching out for it, letting him pull you up off of the rink. “Here. Come on.”

One hour and two fairly bruised knees later, you and Taehyung are taking off your skates and relishing in the feeling of your feet, flat on the ground like feet should be.

“You alright?” Taehyung asks. You didn’t have any massive falls following the first spectacle, but you admittedly, still cannot ice skate very well. You’ll have to figure out a way to learn.

You round out the night by going to look at the Christmas Tree. Now that it’s fairly late, the massive families with young children have all gone home, leaving only the young adults left to bask in the glory of the peak of Christmas decorations.

“It seemed bigger in photos, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks as the both of you crane your necks to look at the tree in all of its glory. “Like it was the size of a small tower.”

“Yeah,” you agree. It looks somewhat disappointingly small, now that you’re here in front of it. “Today was a lot of fun, Taehyung. Your spontaneity paid off.”

“When does it not?” Taehyung asks, proud of himself. He even has enough of an ego to do a little hair flip, making you shake your head disapprovingly. “But I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I certainly did.”

“What was your favorite part?” You ask.

“Definitely when you were in your prime for one moment and a puddle on the ice the next,” Taehyung says, and for that, he earns a punch to the shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But I did really enjoy ice skating.”

“Yeah, because you can actually do it,” you remind him.

“What about you?”

You think. This day has been so long, from getting woken up by Taehyung’s irresponsible neighbors and the entire city’s fire department outside your window, to hopping on a bus to New York, to museums and restaurants and ice skating and the city, you feel like you’ve lived three days in one.

“The museum,” you finally decide. “I’m not really an art person, but I thought it was lovely. Nice and heated, too.”

“Yes, the best part about the Museum of Modern Art was its modern, state-of-the-art central heating,” Taehyung repeats, making you laugh. “I’m glad you liked the museum. I was worried you’d think it was too stuffy.”

You had thought that too. And then you watched someone fall in love with each and every piece, right in front of you, and you realized that there’s more to art than putting a price tag on it and critiquing it. It’s passion, materialized. It’s real.

It’s Taehyung.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “I thought it was beautiful.”

On Christmas Eve, it snows.

Correction: On Christmas Eve, it snows a lot.

Correction for the correction: On Christmas Eve, it blizzards.

When you listened to “White Christmas” last night, this isn’t exactly what you had in mind, if you were being honest. Maybe an inch or two. Maybe even just a flurry. But certainly not nearly two feet worth of snow, effectively trapping you inside of Taehyung’s apartment complex until the next day because not even the snow plows are allowed to go out on the roads. Not until the snow stops.

“Good thing we don’t live on the first floor, right?” Taehyung asks with a laugh that late afternoon, taking a peek out of the window to stare down at the white expanse below you. “I’d hate to be those guys.”

“It must be so cold,” you say sadly. You’ve spent the better part of today huddled up in as many blankets as Taehyung owns in his apartment and you have no intention of shedding even one of them. Not even as you sweat right through your pajama shirt from high school.

“We can just make dinner here, tonight,” Taehyung says, fishing around in his kitchen to see what the options are. It’s already beginning to get dark even though it’s not even five o’clock. God, you hate winter.

“What are we making?”

Taehyung fumbles through the cabinets and his fridge, hunting for anything that might make a good meal. Eventually, he pulls out two cartons of Trader Joe’s vegetable broth and every vegetable in his fridge.

“Wanna make soup?”

Soup is very easy to make. You set the broth to simmer, chop up vegetables, and dump them in the pot.

But the idea of you and Taehyung sharing his tiny kitchen space, both with knives in your hands is, well, a recipe for disaster.

Luckily no knife mishaps occur, but, like the children at heart that you are, you eventually end with pelting uncooked lima beans at each other in the most adult version of a food fight you have ever had in your life. No fuss, no mess, no tomatoes or key lime pies or spaghetti doused in sauce getting chucked across the kitchen floor, the dinner table.

No, your little food fight ends with you and Taehyung kneeling down on the tile as you pick up each little lima bean, gathering them in your palms.

You make to toss it out but Taehyung stops you.

“Wait,” Taehyung says, a hand on top of yours as it hovers over the trash can, “don’t toss them out.”

“Huh?” You ask.

“I’ll feed them to the birds,” he says, taking the pile from your hands and placing all of the lima beans, along with his own, in a Ziploc bag.

“You have a porch out here?” You ask, looking around. You’ve never seen it.

“No.” Taehyung shakes his head. “They land on my bedroom window sill so I feed them.”

When you were in freshman year, you remember how Taehyung always left his window open. You know this because even though yours was always closed, anytime a police car, fire truck, ambulance, or particularly loud motorist drove by, the sound was always loudest on the wall of your room that bordered Taehyung’s. You hated how he always left his windows open, even in the winter. Wasn’t he goddamn cold?

And now, even though it’s Christmas Eve and there’s a blanket of snow outside nearly two feet deep, Taehyung will go and open his bedroom window again and feed the birds lima beans like a fucking Disney prince, and it makes your heart flutter, ever so slightly.

You end the night sitting on Taehyung’s couch, only a foot or so of space in between your bodies as he multitasks, channel surfing and gulping down your homemade soup.

“I haven’t made soup in a while, but damn, this is good,” Taehyung says, drinking the rest of it before getting up to help himself to seconds. He sticks a hand out to take your bowl as well, and wordlessly you hand it to him.

“It’s my magic touch,” you tease. It was not. Taehyung did most of the work. You don’t have much of an affinity for cooking.

“It’s my chemistry brain,” Taehyung corrects. “Chem is basically like making soup.”

“But it can kill you,” you tack on.

“But it can kill you,” he agrees, returning to the couch. This time, when he sits down, he plops right down next to you, your sides touching as you sit in front of his television, slurping up homemade vegetable soup. “How’s your major? What is it, again?”

“English with a minor in Psych,” you say over a mouthful of carrot.

“Sounds like too much reading for me,” Taehyung comments. “I’d only like picture books.”

“Yeah, wonder why,” you tell him sarcastically. “But it’s going well. I’m thinking of maybe adding Consumer Psych as another minor since there’s a lot of overlap, but I’m not sure. I’ll think about it.”

“Sounds busy,” Taehyung comments.

“Almost as busy as visual studies and chem,” you remind him. “Seriously, do you ever sleep?”

“Inspiration is a fickle mistress and the will to do my chem problem sets, even more fickle,” Taehyung muses like the two subjects aren’t the absolute bane of his existence. “But yeah, I mean, I made it this far.”

“Our majors are so different,” you comment. They are. Encompassing all sides of the college major spectrum, from STEM to art to humanities. The only thing you’re missing is a business minor. But only snakes would ever be interested in something like that.

“It’s nice,” Taehyung decides. “Because this is forcing us to talk with someone with whom we don’t already share all of the same classes with.”

“I couldn’t imagine taking the same class as you,” you say, not because you’d hate having to be in the same room as Kim Taehyung or dread the potential to be paired up for group work, but because your tastes are so different. They’ve always been different. Art, English, chemistry, psychology. Headphones or speakers. Closed windows or open. It’s always been opposites with the two of you.

“Maybe I’ll take a psych class so that way we can,” Taehyung says.

“Maybe I’ll take an art history course,” you retort.

“You’d really take an art history course? They’re awfully boring, and I’m an art major,” Taehyung says, in disbelief.

You ponder it for a moment, but then nod. Yes, you would. Even if it sent you to sleep. Because it looks genuinely interesting. “After today, I wouldn’t mind it. You showed me a lot about art, Kim Taehyung. More than I thought I would ever learn in my lifetime.”

Taehyung sighs, shutting the television off. You guys weren’t watching it anyway. You hardly realized it was on. He looks down at his empty soup bowl, and then at you. He always does that—always looks somewhere else before looking at you, like he has to muster up the courage by first staring at an inanimate object. And then he says, “You’ll never stop learning about art. Neither will I. It’s a constant cycle, learning and relearning and changing your mind and revisiting old pieces. Because art is all around us.”

He looks at you, like he’s trying to say something else but doesn’t have the words. “You just have to look for it.”

New Year’s Eve is often a time of reflecting on the year that’s passed, making a list of goals to achieve once the clock strikes twelve. Thanking your friends and family, your loved ones, for being there for you this year, and promising to be there for them as well next year.

To you and Taehyung, it’s literally your last chance to get piss drunk this year without repercussions. You’ve never stayed here, at your university in the city, for New Year’s Eve (obviously). You’d be interested in getting all dressed up to go out. Taehyung would also be interested.

And so, after a day of slouching around and making half-assed resolutions you know you won’t keep (like managing your time better. As a college student? Impossible.), you and Taehyung decide to get dressed up and go out, pulling out the winter jackets you don’t care if you lose, or if they get trashed, or if they stain with vodka. All you want is to lose your goddamn mind in a tiny club with a bunch of other wasted young adults who don’t want to stay at home on the last night of the year.

You are, unsurprisingly, a self-proclaimed not-a-going-out person, but tonight is something of an exception. It’s your last night to do this this year, and honestly, you can’t really think of a better way to end the year. There’s been plenty of ups (that A+ on your paper on the ethics of Beowulf, yay!) and plenty of downs (Global Politics in the Twentieth Century, yikes), and no better way to say goodbye to them all than with alcohol in your system. But even if, during the regular college season, you’re something of a stick in the mud, you remembered to pack a nice party dress just in case, so you tug on a little black velvet mini-dress that sparkles rainbow in the light, covered with tiny glitters that get stuck in your hair and never come out.

As you’re fishing around for some tights that you don’t care about so your legs don’t freeze off in the cold, the door to Taehyung’s bedroom opens.

Out he walks in all of his New Year’s Eve glory, a full black ensemble complete with structured belt and a leather jacket. You turn around to look at him and he stops dead in his tracks, eyes blinking like he doesn’t know where to look. It gives you a clear view of him and his simple yet extremely flattering outfit. He looks like Danny Zuko. He looks like a boy you would avoid in high school.

Funnily enough, seeing him now draws you closer to him.

“Wow, hot stuff, you clean up nicely,” You comment, tugging on some black tights with a hole in the back that no one’s going to notice.

“I could say the same thing about you,” he adds on, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t even know you had this.”

“I packed it just in case,” you say with a shrug.

“Came in handy, didn’t it?” He asks. He comes up to stand by you, holding his arm out for you to wrap yours around, two people on a mission to not remember most things about this night. “You ready to go?”

Stuffing your phone and wallet into your purse, you quickly link arms with him as you walk to the door, your black boots clopping on the floor like the obnoxious high-heel owner you are.

“Yeah, you ready?” You ask, doing a quick double check. You’ve got everything.

“Let’s fuck some shit up.”

And fuck some shit up you do. By the time you reach the club that Taehyung had found online, you can already hear the bass pounding through the walls, feel the ground shake from the speakers alone. Go big or go home, you suppose.

As you expected, the club is already packed with bodies. Every young adult within a twenty-mile radius is out tonight, eager to spend the last night of the year doing what young adults in the primes of their lives do best: drink. And you and Taehyung are no exception.

Like everybody else entering the club at the same time as you, you make a beeline for the bar, already itching to get something into your system. You don’t love being drunk, and you like the taste of alcohol even less, so you just order a simple cocktail that should keep you occupied for a while.

Taehyung, on the other hand, well. He seems to harbor the go big or go home mentality quite firmly. It’s obvious that he’s here to do one thing and one thing only, which is not remember what he did when he wakes up tomorrow. You watch, a little impressed and a lot nervous about what exactly he’s trying to achieve, as he downs several shots in a row, pays the bartender, and immediately pulls you into the crowd of people dancing in the center of the room.

“The more I move, the faster my body can process the alcohol,” Taehyung tells you as your cocktail sloshes around in the glass in your hand. It’s an alright cocktail. A little too sweet for you, but you suppose that that’s your fault.

“Wow, when you said you wanted to fuck shit up, you meant it,” you comment as Taehyung dances, jumping and swaying to the beat of whatever Top 40 pop song is blaring from the speakers. You can barely hear the music over the volume of the rest of the club, people shouting to speak to each other, the sound of feet hitting the floor.

Within approximately fifteen minutes, Taehyung is already fairly tipsy and eager to keep going, bubbling over with excitement.

You convince him to dance a little longer before he goes back to get more, trying to make sure at least a bit of the alcohol he had at the beginning of the night goes through his body. The song changes to something much sultrier, like honey dripping from the speakers themselves, and suddenly, the entire club’s atmosphere changes.

“I love this song,” Taehyung says, and it must be the lack of control that causes him to place a hand on your waist and pull you in close to him, making you gasp.

“Wow, okay,” you comment, blinking. Taehyung rests his chin on your shoulder, leaning down as he holds you tight, your bodies swaying in tandem.

“You don’t mind this?” Taehyung asks.

“Not if you don’t,” you respond. He’s practically drunk, and you’re even a little buzzed. There are worse things you could be doing.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” He inquires aloud. It’s a good thing that you can’t see his face, can’t watch the haze in his eyes, otherwise you might lose your footing and collapse.

“What is?”

“This,” Taehyung repeats unhelpfully.

The next three minutes are some of the most confusing ones of your life as Taehyung rests a hand on your waist, palm rubbing up and down as the two of you dance together like it means something to the both of you.

But it doesn’t, does it? You chalk it up to both of your minds not being as sharp with some alcohol in your systems. That must be it.

When the song ends, the mood disappears as well, and Taehyung’s back to his bouncy, tipsy self. He’s practically stumbling over himself once he determines that it’s time for more shots, and you’ve never seen Taehyung drunk before but you can tell that he’s nearly there. You’ll probably put a hard stop on the drinks after this round, since Taehyung is the one most familiar with the way back to his apartment and you wouldn’t mind going home and sleeping after this.

“Come with?” Taehyung asks as he eyes the bartender like he’s the love of his life.

“No, it’s alright, Tae,” you say.

“You never call me Tae,” Taehyung comments mindlessly. Even when he’s nearly drunk, he still picks up on the little things.

“I guess the alcohol is making me soft,” you admit. “You go. I’m gonna find the bathroom and hope that nobody’s having sex in it.”

“Okay,” Taehyung singsongs as you pull away from him, looking for a dingy hallway to go down. “Be safe.”

“You too, I’ll be back soon,” you promise him, and that’s when you go rushing down the hallway.

Things are certainly weird down here. It must be the feeling of the new year looming over your heads. Like this is the last night to do everything wrong without regretting it in the morning. The bathroom is, luckily enough, empty, so you rush in and splash your face with some water, not caring about if your makeup runs. You’d sweat it off, regardless. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and this feels so stupidly like a goddamn romantic comedy that it makes you want to laugh at the irony.

Beautiful male art student lead gets drunk, confuses hardheaded and impenetrable female lead who doesn’t believe in love and supposedly hates beautiful male art student’s guts. Tension ensues.

Your life may as well already have a shitty Rotten Tomatoes rating stamped on top of it.

After collecting your thoughts and praying that that white stain on the wall isn’t what you think it is, you leave the bathroom and scurry down the hallway, eager to find Taehyung and make sure he isn’t bouncing off the walls after a second round of shots.

He’s not.

Instead, he’s still standing by the bar as a beautiful young woman speaks to him, long dark hair resting against her shoulders and a model-esque smile on her face. She’s leaning in with a suggestive look in her eyes, a hand coming up to rub at the side of his arm.

You furrow your brows as you watch them from afar, a little hurt by the fact that beautiful male art student lead is confusing hardheaded and impenetrable female lead even more, but then you notice Taehyung’s hesitance. The way he backs up a little when she gets closer. How he stiffens when she touches him.

And, well, fuck that.

“Tae,” you say, rushing up to him faster than you’d like to admit. “There you are, I was looking for you.”

The girl next to him frowns at the sight of you, and it’s clear she feels no shame to hide the immediately dislike. Sure, you don’t have model proportions or a smile whiter than snow, but you have morals.

“Who’s this?” You ask, trying to be nice.

“Nobody,” Taehyung tells you, and his hand immediately interlocks with yours. Standing next to him, you can feel as the tension fades from his body, his whole demeanor relaxing now that you’re by his side. “She just wanted to talk.”

“Are you a friend?” She asks, because she knows.

“I’m a special type of friend,” you say. There’s no way she’ll leave Taehyung alone otherwise. And this is definitely on the cocktail you drank (and nothing else, you swear!), but you even reach up to plop a kiss on his cheek for proof. Taehyung’s eyes widen as you do, but he plays it off as catching him off guard and grins, wrapping an arm around you to pull you even closer. “Can we help you?”

The girl is absolutely pissed, which means that you did your job.

“No, it’s alright,” she hisses through gritted teeth before turning her sights on someone else. Someone without a friend to protect them.

“Thanks,” Taehyung whispers once she’s gone. Even though she’s probably not coming back, Taehyung keeps you close, a hand on you at all times like you’ll fly away if he doesn’t hold on tight.

“Of course,” you tell him. “You’d do the same for me.”

“She scared me,” Taehyung says, and if his red face is anything to go by, it’s clear that he’s pretty much reached his alcohol intake limit. “I’m glad you came.”

“I could tell you didn’t want to talk to her,” you say.

“Because I wanted to talk to you,” Taehyung says, and it’s definitely the alcohol that’s erased his filter. “I was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom and she just came up to me and started flirting with me. I think she wanted to get in my pants. I didn’t want her to get into my pants.”

“I know.”

“I’d much rather be with you than with her. Than with anybody else. I would always want to be with you, instead.” He tells you, keeping your hands firmly intertwined as you lean against the bartender counter.

And well, huh. That’s different. Taehyung’s aforementioned lack of a filter means that any thoughts that run through his mind immediately turn into spoken words, but you weren’t expecting those words. You never thought you;d hear them, not in a million goddamn years.

“Okay, Tae,” you say, patting him assuringly. He’s just drunk. That’s all.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” Taehyung tells you firmly, pushing your comforting hand off of his shoulder and turning to face you directly. “I mean it.”

“I know, Tae.” you reassure him. It’s easier than trying to fight him, especially when he’s this hammered. You check the time on your phone. Maybe it’s time to leave. If you go now, you’ll be able to make it back by midnight. “Let’s go home, okay? I’m ready to go home.”

Wordlessly, Taehyung nods, and the two of you leave the club before people are even thinking about ringing in the New Year.

When you reach Taehyung’s apartment, he takes off his leather jacket to hang on the coat rack and turns the television on. Only three minutes to midnight.

“I had fun,” you say, trying to lighten the conversation. The way back was silent, the only noises the sounds of New Year’s Eve parties on every block you turned onto. Taehyung kept his face forward and his eyes ahead, even as you tried to huddle close to him to conserve the warmth.

“It was sort of fun,” Taehyung halfheartedly agrees.

“Did you drink too much?” You ask. His face is still beet red.

“I don’t think I drank enough.”

Two minutes to midnight.

You frown, brows furrowing. Why on Earth would Taehyung want to drink more? What would change if he had another shot, a can of beer or a little cocktail?

Slowly, you begin to peel off your own layers, resting your coat on the back of the couch and slipping off your boots. The both of you stand in his living room as the TV begins to buzz with excitement, the broadcast of Times Square lighting up the otherwise silent, tense atmosphere. He’s only a couple of feet away but it feels like he couldn’t be farther from you.

One minute to midnight. Everybody begins to count down, and you feel yourself holding your breath.

“Will you be alright going to sleep?” You ask. Even if Taehyung’s still drunk, he’s far less bouncy than he was at the club.

“I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, beginning to walk past.

Three.

“Okay.”

Two.

“Okay.”

One.

Something overtakes Taehyung, something quick and brief. He stops right next to you and flinches, like he wants to lean in and do something, anything, goddamnit, but stops himself before he goes through with it. Everyone on television is cheering, but this apartment couldn’t be less festive even if you tried.

Taehyung sends you a small smile as the world rings in the new year, dashing off to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

And you stand there, in the middle of his living room like the goddamn fool you are. Turning to the television, you watch over and over as every couple in Times Square kisses, clip after clip after clip, and like a goddamn idiot, you wish that Taehyung had done the same.

The end of winter break approaches faster than you’d like it, just like it does every year. Before you know it, there’s less than a week left before classes resume and you go back to the daily college life. Less than a week left before you can go back to your dorm and pretend like this year’s winter break mishap never happened.

Less than a week before you and Taehyung go back to never seeing each other.

You’re sitting at his kitchen table, clearing out your backpack and recycling every paper, every syllabus and assignment and study guide from last semester, doing a deep cleanse of your life (because holy shit, you need it), when you come across the purchase you had made at the MOMA.

“Taehyung,” you call out before you can stop yourself.

“Yeah?” He asks from where he’s sitting on the couch, reading a James Joyce book. You love that novel. It was one of the very few you read for fun last year.

You take the small paper bag in your hands, walking over to the couch. “I almost forgot about this, but since winter break’s starting to wind down, I just wanted to give you this as a thanks. For everything.”

“You got me a belated Christmas gift, Y/N?” Taehyung asks as you hold out the gift, clearly something thin like a posterboard or an art print.

“If it means I don’t have to buy you two things, then sure, consider this a belated Christmas gift,” you say with a laugh, sitting down a foot away from him as he slowly opens up the packet. “It’s sort of cheesy and very basic, but I just wanted to get you something nice as a thank you.”

Out Taehyung pulls is a print of van Gogh’s The Starry Night, big enough to fill up the empty spaces on his walls, so every inch of his apartment, of his life and his home, is filled with art.

“Oh my God,” Taehyung says, mouth agape. “This is…”

“It’s basic, I know. But I know how much you loved seeing it in person, so I thought that a memory of that would be nice,” you say, trying to ease the nervousness that has bubbled up inside of you.

“It’s wonderful,” Taehyung says, and you swear you’ve never seen him so happy, other than perhaps when you saw the real thing. “This is so fucking thoughtful of you.”

“I just—you told me a lot about the art we saw that day, but when we reached this painting, you were speechless. And I sort of knew, then, that it was your favorite piece. Because you didn’t have to explain it with words,” you tell him. “I could just tell. It was like your whole body warmed up the moment it came into view.”

“I’m touched, Y/N.” Taehyung beams. “This is all an art student could ever want, really. To be able to know that their love for art meant something to someone else.”

“I just wanted to say thank you for everything. Taking me in, cooking me food, being really nice me despite me entrenching on your living situation.” You smile.

“I was happy to do all that stuff,” Taehyung tells you honestly. “I’ve had a lot of fun this winter break, even if we’re still trapped on campus.”

You loved getting to go home for winter break your freshman and sophomore years. You loved being able to escape from the college mindset and just relax, no deadlines, no assignments, no worries.

But looking back on it, you think that you’ve had the most fun this winter break, stuck at school, a five-hundred-dollar plane ticket short, with your dorm neighbor-slash-nemesis from freshman year. Never have you done so much in so little time.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, thinking back fondly. It feels like this winter break has lasted for years, but also as though it went by in the blink of an eye,

“I have something for you as well,” Taehyung says, scrambling up to dash into his room. “Consider it just a Christmas gift, because I don’t really have to thank you for letting you stay at my apartment for free for a month.”

“Roast me, why don’t you,” you muse jokingly, rolling your eyes as Taehyung fumbles around in his bedroom before he emerges with an equally flat, similarly-sized gift wrapped up in some spare tissue paper.

“I don’t recall you buying anything at the MOMA,” you tease as Taehyung hands you the gift, settling back down on the couch to watch as you open it.

Slowly, you peel back the tissue paper, and when you reveal what he’s wrapped up for you, it drops to your lap.

It’s a portrait of you, done entirely in pencil. It’s you smiling, with your eyes closed, lashes fluttering. He’s memorized your entire face, drawn it neatly onto this piece of sketch paper, like he was just passing the time and suddenly he had a picture of you on his hands. He’s even remembered where your freckles go.

“What’s this, Tae?” You ask, like you don’t already know.

“Uh, it’s you,” Taehyung says sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on drawing you, I didn’t have a gift in mind, but I was practicing sketches the other day and an hour later I looked down and I had drawn you. And I felt bad for not telling you, because that’s weird, so I thought that you could see it.”

“You drew a portrait of me? Just randomly, from memory?” You ask, looking down at the sketch in your hands like it’s just ruined your life.

“Yeah, so?” Taehyung asks. He looks terribly nervous.

“So, that’s—people don’t just do that, Taehyung. You don’t just draw a picture of someone purely from memory while you’re practicing sketching,” You say, reeling back as he tries to lean in, attempts to explain himself.

“What do you mean? I did that. I thought of you and I drew you, what’s so bad about that?”

“I don’t know if you missed the memo, Taehyung. I told you in New York. We’re not dating, Taehyung,” you tell him, so firm and certain in your conviction that you hardly pay attention to the way his shoulders sink. “We’re barely even friends. I’m not interested in you like that. Please don’t think otherwise.”

“Don’t tell me what to think,” Taehyung snaps, and he’s mad. Really mad, not like the fake anger from freshman year when you tried to get back at him by being an equally-annoying neighbor. “Don’t tell me how to feel. I drew you, Y/N. Not because I’m obsessed with the idea of us getting married, or because you’re my muse or some bullshit like that. I drew you because I thought of you, and I draw what I think of. Don’t tell me what to fucking think.”

“Do you like me, Taehyung?” You ask, on the verge of shouting.

Taehyung’s furious. “So what if I do? Huh? What difference does it make? You’ve told me over and over that you don’t like me back, so why does it matter? It’s not like I’d ever have a chance.”

“I told you because I didn’t want to confuse you,” you hiss, standing up and beginning to grab your belongings. It’s clear that this conversation is turning sour.

“Confuse me? You didn’t want to confuse me?” Taehyung shouts. “You did a damn good job at that. Telling me in New York that you hated being called Mr. and Mrs. Kim, but holding my hand as we walked around the city and looked at art together. Kissing my cheek in the fucking bar but then patting me like on the back like I’m just a sadass friend of yours. Can you blame me if I was confused, Y/N?”

“I told you,” you say again.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Taehyung bites. “I’m sorry that I fucking fell in love with you, even though half of the time you acted like it was alright. My mistake.”

“It was your mistake. I never said I wanted to date you,” you tell him firmly. You refuse to take the blame for something you had made so explicitly clear.

“Can you fucking blame me for being hopeful?” Taehyung asks. He’s standing up, about to head back into his bedroom, absolutely furious. “You held my hand and kissed me on the cheek and I thought that meant that you felt it, too.”

“Taehyung—”

“Keep the portrait, Y/N,” Taehyung spits. “I don’t ever want to see it again.”

He slams his bedroom door.

It’s a good thing you made friends with some upperclassmen when you were a freshman.

After packing your belongings into your little suitcase and standing in the lobby of Taehyung’s apartment complex, you remember that one of your old friends who had graduated last year still lived in an off-campus apartment since he would be beginning graduate school at the same university.

“Yoongi?” You ask when you hear him pick up your call.

“Y/N? What’s up?”

“Long story,” you say with a sigh. “Would it be alright if I stayed with you until school started?”

“Holy shit, you’re on campus? What the fuck, yeah, sure, you know where I live. I’ll be here whenever you stop by,” he says without question.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing outside his door, double checking to make sure you’d got the right apartment.

You barely get the first knock in before the door swings open to reveal Min Yoongi himself, clad in all black and looking very tired.

“Are you okay?” You ask. He looks exhausted.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, ushering you inside.

“Have you been up all night?” You ask, resting your suitcase against the wall.

“I took a brief nap between two and three, but yes, I have been,” he says like it’s natural.

“You’ve always been a chaotic sleeper,” you say with a shake of your head.

“The grad school grind stops for no one,” Yoongi says with a sigh. “What’s up? Why are you on campus?”

“It… it’s a long goddamn story. Do you have time?”

“I have a piece due for a small indie band tomorrow at noon that’s barely finished,” Yoongi says.

“Oh,” you say. You suppose the story can wait. Yoongi offered up his abode to you until classes resumed if you needed it, and there’s no way in hell you’ll be going back to Taehyung’s.

“What do you mean, ‘Oh’? I got loads of time,” Yoongi says. He plops down on his couch and motions for you to sit next to him. “Tell me everything.”

Yoongi has always been a particularly good listener. Not just to other people’s words, but to music, to the sounds of the chords and the notes of the piano. He has an ear for things that most others would never notice.

It’s the same thing for when he’s doling out advice.

“To clarify,” Yoongi says when you’re finished telling your story, thirty minutes later. You had warned him that it would be a long one. “You had once hated his guts, but no longer hate his guts?”

“I stopped hating him after freshman year,” you admit, more to yourself than to Yoongi. It’s true. The moment the two of you stopped seeing each other, everything dissipated.

“And now you like him.”

“We’re friends,” you say, tentatively. Maybe less than friends after the disaster that just went down in his living room.

“But he drew you a portrait of yourself,” Yoongi mentions.

“I said that it was complicated,” you say with a frown.

“It doesn’t sound that complicated,” Yoongi says. And maybe he is a graduate student with more life experience under his belt than you, but you think that it’s pretty complicated.

“What do you mean?”

“It sounds like he likes you, and you like him. I wasn’t really interpreting it in any other way,” Yoongi says casually.

You reject the notion immediately. “I do not like him.”

Yoongi frowns. “Would you really be here, in my apartment having a relationship breakdown, if you weren’t confused about your feelings for him? Really?”

“I just needed to get out of his damn apartment, that’s all,” you say, avoiding eye contact. Yoongi has this very annoying habit of being extremely reasonable all of the time, and it bothers you immensely.

“Sure, okay. Y/N, I’m not gonna dictate how you feel and try to change your mind, or anything. But if you can look me in the eye before the end of your break and tell me, one-hundred percent honestly, that you don’t like him, then I’ll believe you,” Yoongi tells you simply. “How about that?”

It sounds like a very doable deal. Maybe it’s not doable right now, but it certainly seems possible in the future. In the future, specifically.

“Fine. But you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” you tell him matter-of-factly. Why does he care? It’s not like you’re worried about it.

As it turns out, you’re worried about it.

You’re worried about it because even though you’re not in the same room, not in the same building, not even on the same goddamn street as him, you’re thinking about him. Thinking about how much fun the two of you could be having right now as you relish in the last couple days of your winter break before the cold reality of school hits.

Think about the things you could be doing. Exploring, going out to restaurants, finding new little gold mines in this city that you call home. And instead, you’re moping around your friend’s living room wishing that the two of you hadn’t ruined the whole thing.

Maybe you had been too harsh. Taehyung has a right to be mad at you for lashing out at him. How was he supposed to feel? You held his hand and kissed his cheek and pretended that it was still freshman year, that the two of you were still just two people stuck together by unfortunate circumstances. Acted like nothing had really changed despite the years going by. Going through with all of these adventures with him knowing, in the back of your mind, that once classes started back up, you’d probably never make an effort to see him again.

Drawing a portrait of you says one thing, but dancing around him says another. Every time you fucking see Yoongi in his own goddamn home you try to muster up the bravery to tell him that you don’t like Taehyung the way that he thinks you do, and you can’t.

He sets up his pullout couch in his living room for you when you go to sleep that night, you dream of Taehyung. Envision him wandering the halls of a nameless museum, priceless pieces of art hung along every wall, from van Gogh to Monet to Picasso. He turns back around so you get a view of his face, dream up his curly black hair and soft eyes, sparkling with wanderlust as he roams the corridors, stopping to spare a quick glance at every painting he passes.

And then at the end of the hall, he pauses in his tracks, looks up at the painting on the wall. You watch as the camera zooms in on what he’s looking at, what made him stop in his tracks the moment he laid eyes on it.

It’s your portrait. A simple piece of paper out of a sketchbook, graphite on the coarse canvas. It’s barely more than a line drawing, your eyes here, your nose there, the little freckles that decorate your skin. It’s only in one color and still, even now, it leaves you speechless. Taehyung made that. He drew that, line by line. He made that for you.

You wake up in a cold sweat at seven in the morning. Yoongi’s fast asleep in his bedroom, and you know he won’t be waking up until the hour on the clock reads double digits. Frantic, you scramble through your backpack until you pull out the sketch paper a little bit larger, a little bit thicker than the rest, still wrapped up in tissue paper.

Pulling the paper away to reveal the canvas, you stare down at it in the hazy light of the sunrise, small rays beginning to stream through Yoongi’s window. Your fingers trace along each line, picturing Taehyung as his pencil scratched along the paper, over and over until it looked perfect. Taehyung made this. He sat down, thought of you, and drew this.

A picture may be worth a thousand words but this one doesn’t say a thousand words. Instead, it only says three.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you flip the sketch over to see if there’s anything else he’s drawn. There isn’t, but you find a little note in the bottom right corner.

Y/N,

I hadn’t realized that I had drawn you until I was nearly finished with this. My bad, but it was too late to stop. I don’t know if I’ll ever give this to you, or if I’ll just have a guilty conscience for the rest of my life, but just in case I do, I want you to know this: art inspires me, and you are no exception.

Tae ♡

When Min Yoongi wakes up that day and trudges out of his bedroom, he finds you sitting on his pullout couch, staring down at a sketch in your hands. When you turn to look up at him, he sees your red eyes and wonders how long you’ve been out here, crying.

“I can’t do it, Yoongi,” you tell him.

“Do what?” Yoongi asks, even though he already knows the answer. Why else would you be letting your tears drip onto your portrait?

“Tell you that I don’t like him. Because I do. And I can’t lie to him like that.”

Yoongi grins. He knew you’d come around, like you always do. You may have quite the stubborn streak, but you’ve got a big heart, and it always gets the best of you.

He sits down next to you, glancing down at the portrait. It’s gorgeous. Taehyung did a wonderful job. He looks at you as you cry over a sketch of yourself, and he thinks that, even if he doesn’t really know this Taehyung character, the two of you will make a perfect pair.

“You should tell him that,” he tells you with a nudge. You look up at him, scared for your life. “I think he deserves to know.”

The night before winter break ends, you ask Taehyung if tenants of his apartment complex are allowed on his rooftop. He says no, but also says that his landlord is out of town for the holidays.

In the biting cold of a mid-January evening, you climb up the stairs of his apartment complex and push open the heavy metal door to the rooftop, a gust of wind nearly blowing you right over. Looking around, you spot Taehyung in nothing but a sweater and a scarf, sitting on the edge of the rooftop and looking out over the city.

“Aren’t you cold?”

He turns around to find you standing next to him, wrapped up in a long coat, gloves, a beanie, and a scarf.

“I’ve got a warm body,” Taehyung tells you, looking back out into the sea of lights.

“This is scary, isn’t it?” You ask, sitting down next to him. Your feet dangle off the ledge, and normally you’d be insistent on sitting in the middle of the rooftop where no danger can befall you, but this feels a lot more personal.

“Why did you want to meet me up here?” Taehyung asks, all business.

“I just wanted to talk,” you tell him. “You know, since it’s the last day of winter break and all.”

“It went by fast, didn’t it?” Taehyung muses.

“I remember failing my final and missing my flight like it was yesterday,” you remember fondly, laughing. It seemed like the end of the world at the time, but there’s always a silver lining. You just didn’t know what it was, back then.

You think you have a pretty clear idea of it now.

Taehyung chuckles, letting the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you gaze out at the rest of the city. Taehyung’s apartment building isn’t particularly tall, but it’s got enough height to it that it feels like you’re looking out over a place you hardly recognize. There are so many things you don’t know about this city, despite having lived here for over two years. So many things you are aching to find out, and only one person you’d really like to do it with.

“What’s your New Year’s Resolution?” You ask randomly, interrupting the quiet that had befallen the both of you.

Taehyung jumps at the sound of your voice piercing through the atmosphere, caught off guard. You lean in, expecting him to answer.

“Oh, um, I guess to draw and paint for fun more. A lot of the stuff I’ve been making in school I’ve been doing because I had to,” Taehyung says quickly. It’s sort of obvious that he made up the resolution on the spot. “Uh, what’s yours?”

You press your lips into a thin line, smiling to yourself. “To be honest.”

Taehyung scoffs at that. “Believe me, Y/N, you are more than honest. Brutally so.”

“To others, yes,” you reason. You always were a tell-it-like-it-is sort of person. “But I’m not very good at being honest with myself.” You swing your legs slightly as they dangle over the ground below, kicking into each other. Taehyung turns to look at you, waiting for you to continue. “Yoongi says I’m a very stubborn person. I always have been. Once I determine something is the way it is, it’s very difficult to change my mind.”

Taehyung chuckles to himself. He’s probably quite familiar with that aspect of your personality.

“But I realized recently that sometimes, things change without you even realizing it, and that instead of being afraid of those changes, you should embrace them. So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to be more honest with myself, because I think I’ll make everybody around me, including myself, happier.” You continue.

“Good for you,” Taehyung tells you mindlessly, turning back to face out towards the city.

“Kim Taehyung, I’m not finished talking, yet,” you demand, forcing him to look back at you. “I hated you in freshman year. You were the worst thing to happen to me that year, annoying and full of yourself. And I didn’t know you in sophomore year. We stopped talking and decided that it was better if we never did again.”

He lets out a little huff of breath, visible in the cold night air.

“But I do know you now. You offered me a place to stay when I missed my flight after what might have been the worst final I have ever taken in my entire life. You took me to New York, and we made vegetable soup together. You let me hold your hand and kiss you on the cheek, and you drew me a portrait,” you say firmly. He looks up at you and finally, finally, his eyes aren’t foggy. There’s no haze, no mist. You look into his eyes and you can see yourself reflected in the ink black of his irises. He’s beautiful. He’s sitting on the ledge of the roof of his apartment building in the middle of January with nothing but a sweater and a scarf on, and he’s beautiful. “You are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Before you can even take another breath, Kim Taehyung places a cold palm on your scarf-covered cheek and pulls you into a bruising kiss, his other hand wrapping around your waist as you shuffle along the ledge, closer and closer. And even if his hands are cold and his lips are chapped, his mouth is warm and soft, wanton and desperate. You beam at the feeling of his lips on yours, wrapping your arms around his neck as you ring in the New Year for real. This is how it was supposed to be. This is what you had been waiting for.

When you part, Taehyung’s lips are a cherry red to match the tip of his nose. His brown eyes are twinkling, and not from the light pollution of the city.

“Can I be honest, too?” Taehyung asks. He’s got the biggest goddamn grin on his face. “I think I’m in love with you.”

The words are music to your ears. “My honesty is rubbing off on you,” you tease. “Because I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Smiling, grinning, positively fucking beaming, Taehyung wraps his hands around you and kisses you again. It warms your heart from the inside out, blossoms like a tulip in spring. When you started this winter break, you thought you had reached your lowest point, but you’re finishing it on a high that you hope never fades. He loves you, he loves you, and most importantly, you love him back. And as it turns out, the movie where beautiful male art student lead and hardheaded and impenetrable female lead are stuck with each other for four weeks has a happy ending, after all.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #v fluff #v angst #v scenario #taehyung scenario #bts imagine #taehyung imagine #v imagine #bts au #taehyung au #REPOSTING BC IT WASNT SHOWING UP IN THE TAGS #w: four weeks

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kookingtae · 5 years

Text

falling into you (pt. 7)

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | pt 6

→scenario: Jungkook’s innocence is like a breath of fresh air in your wild life, and though you know you’re toxic for him, you just can’t seem to stay away.

→genre: college au, slow burn, mutual pining, shy/nerd jk + bad girl oc (mature themes)

→word count: 21k+

→tw: mentions of child abuse and neglect/abandonment, abuse of drugs/alcohol

→a/n: NOT COMPLETED YET

You felt like you were going to suffocate the moment you stepped into Jungkook’s room.

The memories came rushing back to you like a tsunami, waves and waves of so many different emotions crashing over you and threatening to crush your windpipes only after strangling you whole. You didn’t know what was so difficult; you’d been in Jungkook’s room multiple times before, hadn’t you? You were fine then (if the storm of emotions in your chest and butterflies in your stomach could be considered fine). What made it so different now?

But the moment Jungkook turned to you, the soft exhale falling from his faintly parted lips causing you to become hyper aware of the rhythm of his breathing surrounded by perfectly pink lips, you understood.

It was hard for you to grasp the concept of actually being nervous, giddy after your first real kiss with someone. A kiss had always been just that to you: a kiss. They were all the same.

“I uh–“ Jungkook cleared his throat, and if you didn’t know better you’d say he was feeling the same way you were. “We can sit at the desk to study. I’ll take my roommate’s chair; he’s never here anyways.”

You raised a skeptical brow at him, the faintest hint of amusement on your lips as if to say, really. “He’s never here?”

A fiery blush instantly inflamed his cheeks. “Y-you just have bad timing is all.”

The fact that he considered his roommate interrupting your kiss bad timing made your heart speed up way more than you’d like to admit.

“Well let’s hope timing is on my side today,” you managed to say with the practiced ease of coy confidence despite being the most nervous you’ve ever been around a guy, sauntering past him and taking a seat in his desk chair.

Jungkook stayed frozen for a moment before eventually pulling up Trip’s chair a safe yet manageable distance from you, and you were surprised by the normalcy of the situation as you started actually studying.

Things were a little slow at first, what with Jungkook’s timid nature of stumbling over his words and you not knowing a single thing about the class you’ve supposedly been in for an entire semester. But after a while, things began to go smoothly. You found a chapter that aligned with the notes you printed off, and Jungkook was in his element.

It surprised you how smart he was. You always knew he would be, what with the classes he’s taking and how much he prioritizes studying. But getting to see him in action, that was the real catalyst of the evening. You found yourself getting lost in the motion of his fingers over the pages, the movement of his lips as he spewed knowledge of advanced cell division. And when it came time for you to answer a question, Jungkook blinked at you expectantly while your eyes stayed glazed over in the daze of your reverie.

“Uh...” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks heating up under the scrutiny of your stare. “Y/N?”

That certainly got your attention; a sound you weren’t accustomed to hearing fell from his lips in the form of your name, and within seconds you were snapping out of it and looking at him in surprise while desperately trying to ignore the somersaults in your stomach. “Yes?”

“We were talking about which phase this nuclear subdivision occurs?”

You blinked at him. “Phase... one?”

“S-phase.”

“What?”

“We’re analyzing the nuclear subdivision of S-phase,” he sighed, putting his pen down and turning to face you. “You’re not listening to any of this, are you?”

“I am, I really am,” you frowned, the idea of him thinking you weren’t appreciative of his efforts breaking your heart. “I mean... I’m honestly trying to. The truth is,” your shoulders deflated with a sigh, “it’s kind of hard to focus with you, Jungkook.”

His brows shot up at that. “W-with me? What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing!” You hurried to reassure him. “You’re perfect. I-I mean—this, this is perfect.” You gestured around the desk, your cheeks aflame. “It’s just... I...” another sigh left your lips; the innocent concern in his doe eyes was heart wrenching. “I’m sorry. I just need to take this more seriously. We can continue.”

And so you did. Jungkook wasn’t the type to question your words, so thankfully you didn’t have to explain your flustered stutters. And no matter how strong the magnetic pull that he had over you was, the song of the sirens drawing you closer and closer until the thought of kissing him was burning in your brain like an iron brand, you somehow managed to have control over yourself and hold back. You wanted to be respectful, to gain Jungkook’s trust so that he didn’t think you were just using him to get laid rather than actually wanting his help, because that couldn’t be further from the truth.

And so you studied and studied and studied until the little clock at Jungkook’s bedside read 11:00 at night and the boy next to you let out a yawn.

You, on the other hand, felt delirious—exhausted from the mental overload yet wired from the boy’s presence, like a coffee addict after pulling an all nighter. You pressed your forehead to the textbook; the pages were cool against your heated skin.

“I s-should probably get to sleep,” Jungkook mumbled—the boy who could confidently spew scientific data all day long but had trouble saying goodbye. “Early class is tomorrow.”

“Right.” You tried to mask the disappointment in your voice; the last thing you wanted to do was make him feel bad for wanting to sleep. You wanted him to sleep. He worked too damn much. “I should probably get going too. Another word about cells and my brain will physically implode.”

Jungkook chuckled—a soft, rare sound that had your heart leaping in your throat. You wanted nothing more than to stay with him—no amount of time ever seemed long enough—but you really didn’t know how much more studying you could take. You were lost in thought staring at the way his perfectly pink lips moved a majority of the time anyway. The sight made your body heat up—specifically your cheeks and groin.

You didn’t like the feeling of blushing. It was something you weren’t accustomed to, something that didn’t usually happen. You never really got embarrassed about anything, and the idea of blushing around a boy was completely nonexistent in your life. But with Jungkook, everything’s changed... your entire world had been flipped upside down. Nothing was as you knew it before.

You didn’t like the feeling of not being in control of your own emotions like this. It was completely different than letting loose with drugs or alcohol; you were choosing to alter your state of mind with those substances. But to be completely at the mercy of someone else... it was foreign. If it had been anyone else, you would’ve ended things immediately.

But this was Jungkook. And no matter how scary these changes were, he made you want to change. For him.

***

After saying your goodbyes to Jungkook that night, the two of you agreed to meet whenever you both were free. He needed to find time for the ample amount of studying of his own that he did, of course, and you had no problem canceling plans for a frat party or smoke session with friends to go see him.

Your friends didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, however.

“We never see you anymore,” Taehyung frowned one day when you turned down a visit to the local bar off campus in favor of meeting Jungkook after class—to see if he wanted to study, of course.

“Tae, I live with you.”

“I mean we, as a group,” he whined, completely unfazed. “You spend all your time at Jungkook’s beck and call now.”

You merely scoffed. “Okay, that’s not true, first of all. I spend literally every waking moment with you guys because I don’t own a car. And second of all, that’s only because his ‘beck and call’ is fucking rare! It’s not like it happens all the time!”

“Hey.” A deep voice suddenly cut in to quell the conversation, and when you turned your head Yoongi was taking a joint from between his lips. You watched as he inhaled again before slowly letting the smoke escape and dissipate into the chilled night air.

There was a moment’s silence before: “I think what Tae’s trying to say is that it just feels like you’ve changed,” Suzy chimed in without prompt. “Not your personality or anything, obviously, but just like... you don’t really participate anymore.”

As if on cue Namjoon passed you a blunt, and you started to bring it to your lips out of habit before suddenly realizing what you were doing and quickly passing it to Jimin. Your expression turned sheepish as you directed your attention to Suzy.

“That’s not fair,” you grumbled. They knew how you felt about him. They knew how much you had been pining after him since the moment you met, and they knew how closed off Jungkook was. Couldn’t they just be happy for you that you were finally making progress? “You make it seem like I don’t have fun anymore. The only thing I’ve given up is smoking—only when I’m seeing him after—and sleeping around!”

Your friends paused at your words, and you didn’t think you were imagining the literal cricket sounds in the background of the silent forest.

“You’ve given up sex?” Lynn was the first to speak.

“You guys make it sound as if it was a conscious decision,” you chuckled awkwardly in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I just wanna focus on him for a while, okay?”

“Yeah but...” Hoseok trailed off before glancing at your friends.

“Honey, I think what we‘re trying to say is we don’t know... how long he’s going to take to put out.” Kate interjected in a gentle tone. “You could be waiting a while, and there’s nothing wrong with fulfilling the need while you wait. You two aren’t dating yet, right?”

“But that’s just it: I don’t have the desire right now,” you shrugged. A part of you really wished you hadn’t given up a hit of that blunt. You could use it right about now. “Not with anyone but him, at least. Our connection, guys...” you trailed off with a shake of your head in disbelief and bit your bottom lip. How did you even begin to describe the visceral, intangible connection you had whenever the two of you were around each other? The literal fucking spark of electricity when you merely touched? “And besides, I’m fine waiting; I’m not a fucking addict.”

“We’re just trying to look out for you,” Suzy smiled softly. “We don’t wanna see you choose to do something you’ll regret later.”

“It’s just new to us,” Jimin chimed in. “We’re used to seeing this carefree, wild and crazy side of you. I never even knew you had the capacity to retain this many emotions.”

“Okay, fuck you,” you snorted, and the rest of them joined in on the laughter. It wasn’t until you checked your phone moments later that you jumped up from your seat on the picnic bench. “Shit, Jungkook should be getting out of class now. I’m gonna go see if he wants study.”

Tae teasingly made a whipping motion with his hand along with the sound, and you rolled your eyes in amusement before heading down the familiar path through the woods that led out on the other side of the science building.

While heading in the direction of the arts building that Jungkook would be leaving at any second now, you couldn’t help but think about how this moment paralleled the first time you ever met him. You had just smoked in stoner’s trail before waltzing through the campus like some fucking contemporary dancer, music in your head and high out of your mind before the senses were knocked right out of you—figuratively and literally—when you accidentally bumped into the freshman boy. You had been walking the same exact route you were walking now, and yet the mindsets you were in couldn’t be more different. Not just because you had been under the influence, but just in general—the way you viewed things, your current choice of lifestyle. You still held the same morals, don’t get you wrong; no one could ever change the core beliefs of who you were. But before, there wasn’t anything more to life than living in the present, than partying and being free.

It was funny how while trying to be the epitome of free, you had unknowingly put yourself in a cage, unable to break away from the social construct of the cycle you’d put yourself in since your own freshman year.

Well, to hell with constructs. To hell with rules of sleeping with people and never letting your armor crack. It felt so nice to finally want to share that part of yourself with someone—the part you’d kept hidden for so long, the part you’d wanted to keep buried from even yourself.

You always thought Jungkook’s way of living was so different from yours—that he was timid and distant while you were outgoing and confident—but it turned out Jungkook just didn’t bullshit his way through life. He didn’t put on a mask and pretend to be someone he’s not; he wasn’t afraid of being alone. And while the outward projections of your personality weren’t fake—you were still unapologetically yourself, through and through—it still kept hidden the deeper, darker aspects you didn’t want anyone to see. There still hasn’t been a single person in your life that you’ve opened up to about your past. And maybe, that meant you were more alone than you thought.

But there was something about this boy that was different—not how he acted, but how he made you feel. You wanted to open up to Jungkook, as scary as that was. And you weren’t going to let the cage of fear keep you trapped from doing so.

Easier said than done, you thought as you approached the arts building and broke out into a prickling sweat when you saw the magnificent boy standing there, under the streetlamp, waiting for you.

Your footing stuttered, stunned. He was waiting for you. You realized with a fluttering heart just how much times had actually changed.

When he saw you approach, his eyes resembled his usual deer-in-headlights expression upon making eye contact before he turned to face you fully. You could’ve sworn the corners of his mouth turned up to just barely form the beginnings of a smile, but your eyes must’ve been playing tricks on you. He’s never been happy to see you, ever.

“Hi,” you spoke on exhale in a breathless tone once you slowed to a stop in front of him, hair windswept behind you after the brisk walk you’d taken to get here in time and cheeks tinged pink from the cold as you beamed up at him; the expression came natural, as if your teeth couldn’t help but bare themselves in his presence.

“Hi,” he replied, his features mirroring your own. You melted at the sight of his shy smile. “I uh– I got your text.”

“You want to study?” You raised your brows at the suggestion, then before your big mouth could shut up its rambling: “Well, me studying—you tutoring, I guess...” you trailed off with a chuckle, mentally berating yourself.

Jungkook nibbled on his bottom lip, an action that always drew your close attention in longing before he finally nodded. “Yeah.”

The trek to his dorm was thankfully not a long one as the temperatures seemed to be dropping by the millisecond this time of night. You welcomed the familiar silence by Jungkook’s side and tugged your jacket closed tighter across your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was just your imagination or wishful thinking but it seemed that the two of you would drift closer to one another as you walked.

There was thankfully no roommate again in Jungkook’s dorm when the two of you entered; it could be a hit or miss these days, what with the way he kept barging in on you two at the worst of times.

You sat your backpack down on his desk—Tae gave you one of his old ones once you admitted that you never actually owned one—and the two of you set to work on shoving so much nuclear subdivision down your throat that you almost wished for death.

“Death would be a kindness, actually,” you sat up with a groan and rubbed your temples, “compared to dealing with this shit.”

“Well, technically, you deal with it everyday,” Jungkook threw in matter-of-factly, and when you shot him a look behind lids low with a mixture of exhaustion and boredom, he trailed off with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause, you know... with... cells.”

“Can we please take a break?” You sighed before crossing your legs beneath you and turning to face him. “My brain needs time to process everything.”

“I thought you said you wanted to study tonight?”

“I did—I do, just...” you frowned, not wanting to seem unappreciative of his efforts. Haven’t you been studying for the past two hours? Just how hard did this boy go when it came to cramming? “Can’t we play a quick game or something? Just to take our minds off of it for a bit.”

Jungkook had his eyes widened, and it was impossible not to shift under his scrutiny when you would normally be calm and collected. “A g-game?”

“Yeah, it could be anything!” You put a hand to your forehead with your elbow resting on the desk, eyes desperately scanning his room as you tried to think of something. “It could be as simple as a staring contest for all I care. A staring contest!” You raised your brows at the sudden idea, grasping at straws. “If I win we get to take a real break, and if you win we can go back to studying.”

Jungkook blinked at you, his lips slightly agape as he seemed to process your words. After a couple moments of fidgeting, he finally replied, “uh... okay.”

You grinned at his agreement to your antics and started getting situated in your seat. He followed suit shortly after, wiping his palms on the sides of his pants and adjusting his posture.

“Ready?” You asked, amusement dancing on your lips.

He took a deep breath before nodding, and it was when you said go! that his eyes fixed you with the most intense stare you’ve ever witnessed in your life.

Instantly your entire body stiffened; the reaction was visceral, and the icy hot heat in your veins felt like hell frozen over as you resisted the sudden urge to choke on your hitched breath and call time out.

Never had you been subjected to his prolonged gaze before—the exact opposite, actually. You vividly remember when you used to fight to get him to make eye contact with you, so to say the contrast was making your head whirl would be putting it lightly. It also gave you the first chance to study the swirling pools of brown that were his eyes, so you were going to do just that.

You never noticed just how complex his eyes really were; they held a terrifying amount of depth to them. Don’t get you wrong, they were one of your favorite things about him—just the thought of the big orbs was enough to turn your insides to mush—but never had you been bestowed the privilege of staring into them so unabashedly, so unapologetically and freely as you were now. And by god, were they beautiful.

You watched as a shade of pink sprouted on the apples of his cheeks, first in soft rosy hues and then in bright crimson as it made a trail all the way to the tips of his ears. You bit your lip to keep from smiling at the endearing sight, if only to save your lids from the instinctive blink that was currently eating away at you, and it was when his gaze followed the action that his cheeks really became aflame.

Eventually he cleared his throat and readjusted himself, his competitive nature seemingly starting to shine through, and that was when the intensity of his gaze burned through the distance between you like fire. It scorched your skin until the small dorm room started to feel like an oven and your breath was stifled in the heat that boiled between you. Your breathing turned shallow; it felt like you were drowning in his gaze the longer he held you captive with his eyes without any means of returning to the surface for that redeeming gasp of air. Your body began to prickle with a darker, deeper sensation—first in the palms of your hands, then to the depths of your core.

You gulped. Your mouth was suddenly drier than the Sahara desert, though water was the last thing on your mind as you watched his tongue slip out to quickly wet his lips before returning to the caverns of his mouth again, and that was when you held back an audible groan.

It‘s as if the universe was taunting you.

A replay of your stolen kiss in this bedroom many nights ago appeared in your head, and you physically pressed your thighs together to keep from doing something rash. You still wanted to respect his boundaries, still wanted him to take you and your reason for being here seriously. Yet the memory continued to fester in your mind like an open wound, coming further and further to the forefront of your brain, and you shifted in your seat while forcing the feeling down to try to steady your erratically beating heart.

You had never experienced anything like this before. Sure, you were more than used to gazing into someone’s intense eyes in much more intimate settings than this—when they were over you, under you, inside you. But for some reason, those instances had no where near the same effect that Jungkook’s gaze had on you in a mere staring contest. What were you, in grade school?

It was embarrassing is what it was; you didn’t get flustered. It just didn’t happen to you. You were always able to keep your cool, to hold yourself together while the other person was usually the one melting in the palm of your hand. That was what you were accustomed to, and so this foreign concept of blushing and thinking about nothing but how badly you wanted to feel someone’s lips was completely new to you.

And so after a beat of tension, you decided to throw all caution to the wind and succumb to it.

•••

Jungkook felt like he was being burned alive.

Having to remain still, unmoving and scrutinized under Y/N’s gaze sounded like a nightmare when she’d first suggested it. He actively tried to avoid eye contact with her, lest he burst into flames right there on the spot, and now she wanted him to be forced to stare at her? Without any means of escaping?

He couldn’t think of anything more terrifying.

He felt vulnerable. There was something so intimate about eye contact—how no one could mutter a sound, and yet right now the entire room seemed to constrict against the flood of unspoken words that drowned the air around them. The eyes were the windows to the soul, they’d say, and Jungkook felt he may as well be carving his out and handing it to her on a silver platter what with the way her gaze formed unstoppable electricity between them. It made him nervous, to have her so close to him in this intangible way, and the thought had him squirming in his chair with an instinctive need to put up his walls.

Though he was sure that not even closing his eyes would grant him solace now, because she had now worked her way into every fiber of his being through the glistening mirrors of her eyes and planted a seed of strange emotion inside of him that felt so deep, so primal that it had grown monstrous in just the short amount of time they’d been playing this self-sabotaging game.

Instantly he could feel his cheeks aflame; they felt white hot against the rest of his burning skin, though the sensation didn’t show any signs of stopping when she suddenly started to lean forward.

Her movements were slow, subtle, as if his body was a magnet physically pulling her to him, yet she had to be aware of what she was doing. He wouldn’t even have noticed had he not been paying such close attention to her as he always was. And even though he wanted nothing more than to lean forward as well and close the remaining distance between them, a thought he’d had on his mind since that fateful night in his dorm room, he suddenly panicked, and—

“I-I blinked,” he suddenly stumbled out through shaking lips before turning away, his eyes closing to ease the sting after holding them open for so long. “Looks like you won.”

He couldn’t do it. Jungkook was competitive by nature, so normally he wouldn’t have thrown the challenge so willingly, but he didn’t know what else to do. Not when she was staring at him so sinfully and moving so close he could practically feel the breath from her lips on his, and suddenly every nervous bone in his body was taking over and his fight or flight kicked in. And he fled every time.

He would kick himself for this—for pushing away the opportunity to kiss her again. He knew he would, as he could already feel the inklings of regret creeping in and rearing its ugly head within his gut like the head of a serpent. Fear would be his demise.

Though Y/N must’ve been able to see this on his face as well, because there was sudden slight shake of her head as if to say fuck it before she grabbed the tip of his chin between her thumb and index finger and gently brought his lips to hers.

•••

You could hear his breath catch in his throat the moment your lips finally touched his, could feel his sweet exhale as it danced on your skin. You were aware that all of these reactions were happening, and yet they sent your insides into a tumultuous frenzy anyways.

Nirvana. That’s what kissing Jungkook felt like—as if you had finally reached your destination of enlightenment and could finally experience true happiness. It was such a sweet, sweet relief after pining over the sensation for so long, though you couldn’t be further from inner peace; every nerve in your body was instantly electrocuted with pure white heat, every hair on your arm standing tall from the elicited goosebumps. And there was a sharp pleasure that snapped at the base of your neck, shooting all the way down your spine and churning your stomach like a raging storm on a restless sea before making home in the pit of your core.

Your memory hadn’t done his lips justice. How was it possible that it felt even better than you imagined? You’d done nothing but play your kiss on repeat in the highest regard of your mind since the moment it ended, yet it was no where near the same as being here in this moment with him against you. This was it. Kissing him were the best moments of your life thus far.

And though the stiffness of Jungkook’s body only turned rigid with shock at the feeling of your sudden actions, he was no where near as distraught as when you’d kissed him the past two times (once, not even returning to brief peck and another, taking what seemed like an eternity to finally come to). No, it was this time that he finally seemed to be warming up to you as it took him only a few moments to reciprocate your kiss, and your heart was singing in your chest when he did.

You knew it had to be the result of your efforts. Thanks to your tutoring sessions, he had become more comfortable and at ease with your presence over time. You were slowly worming your way past the tall barriers of his guarded heart. At least, that’s what you liked to think. That’s what you hoped.

And so you didn’t waste any time kissing him like you’ve been wanting—needing to ever since your lips last left his. Every emotion, every desire that you never even knew you could feel were brought to life inside the caverns of your heart, igniting like the flickering flame of a candle and bursting into a forest fire that left a blazing trail in the wake of his touch. You always thought romance novels were bullshit until you realized that the literal fireworks that would burst behind them when they kissed were metaphors for the figurative fireworks that you now felt exploding within you in a pinwheel of colors that matched his eyes. You were consumed by him, and god, did you want to be consumed by him.

The heated escalation that the two of you were robbed of last time was not missed tonight; you carefully brought your hand to his neck again, so not to scare him off with something new, and it was then that Jungkook’s hand gently settled on top of yours. You paused, worried that he would remove your hand—was this too much? But when you felt his fingers suddenly curl into yours to anchor your hold to him, fire erupting from his initiated contact as he leaned into your touch, all hell broke loose.

You felt like an addict, the way you craved him over the air you breathed. Instead it was his scent you were taking into your lungs, his touch that was like an overdose of morphine straight to the blood stream. And when it seemed promising that his front door would stay shut this time, no signs of his interrupting roommate in sight, there was nothing stopping the two of you from breaking past the barriers previously set and finally letting go.

Your hand slid from his neck to his shoulder and it was like your body had a mind of its own, some deeper instinct that you had no control over taking the reins as you closed the small gap between you and moved to situate yourself on his chair, in his lap, a primal need taking over to be as close to him as possible and feel every–

Your second knee didn’t make it onto his chair before he was suddenly shooting upright to stand on his feet, the sudden loss of his lips feeling like a splash of cold water striking you awake from your deeply charged daze. You barely even noticed how you almost landed on your ass as you stumbled back unceremoniously from his departure, for all you could do was stare up at him with wide eyes.

“J-Jungkook, I’m—I’m so sorry, I–I didn’t–“

“N-no, i-it’s okay.” His voice was hoarse, strained before he cleared his throat. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, and he was more flustered than you had ever seen him. “I—I think you should probably leave.”

“Jungkook–“

“Now,” he gulped heavily, a pained and almost panicked expression on his face that he seemed to be fighting. “I’m sorry, I’m j-just... I’ve never–“

“Hey, it’s okay,” you swallowed, fighting to keep the pain from your face as you reached forward to place a comforting hand on his shoulder before second guessing yourself and letting it fall back to your side. You offered a soft, understanding smile instead. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“No, it’s okay,” Jungkook winced—about what, you didn’t know. “I just uh– I-I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” you nodded your head, forcing an optimistic expression despite the growing lump in your throat. “Yeah I’ll uh– I’ll see you later.”

The swell of emotion swarming in your chest threatened to overflow and you knew you had to get out of there, fast. You couldn’t let Jungkook see the buried feelings beneath your cracking armor of false-confidence—not even after all the progress of self-vulnerability you’d made.

It was the first time you couldn’t leave Jungkook’s dorm soon enough.

Your face crumbled as soon as the door shut behind you. How could you let that happen? You had such a good feeling about the two of you—that he was actually beginning to trust you and let you in—and then you had to go and ruin it. Jungkook would see you as nothing more than promiscuous, think you just wanted to get in his pants, which was exactly what you‘d been afraid of. You knew he’d heard the rumors about you in the past, but you figured if you just continued in your earnest pursuit that he would finally see that you valued him as more, so much more than that.

And all that led to was you getting thrown out after pushing things too far past his comfort zone.

You tried to steady your chest that heaved erratically beneath the weight of promised tears. If Jungkook didn’t hate you before, he definitely did now.

•••

“Ah!”

Jungkook’s grunt was loud with unabashed pleasure as he came in his hand, letting the abundant load wash down the drain and thanking god for the millionth time that he had a scarce roommate. He knew even the heavy water pressure pummeling the shower floor wasn’t enough to mask his sounds; he could normally contain himself under quiet control, but tonight his body had other plans for him. No, he forfeited all control over his body the second he popped a rock solid boner that Y/N was definitely going to feel had she continued her line of pursuit to his lap.

It had been painful, throbbing under the constraint of his jeans, and he knew no matter what that he had to get Y/N out of his dorm before the fear of blowing his load right then and there strangled him whole. It tore him apart to see the look of confusion, the look of hurt in her eyes as she tried to make sense of the whiplash that his sudden objection put them through, but what else could he do? This was further than he ever dreamed of going with her—mentally, emotionally, and physically. To say he was overwhelmed would be putting it lightly.

This time he came more than ever before. He knew it had to be a result of the very real physical intimacy that was happening rather than just a figment of his creative imagination; and the sad part was, nothing had even happened—at least by her standards, he was sure. They had been making out, the experience even more mind-altering than the first if that was even possible, and Jungkook had popped a boner over the mere feeling of her lips, same as before. The only difference this time was that Trip had not been there to interrupt their heated moment, and so Y/N progressed as one usually would in that situation. He couldn’t fault her for it—not when he so desperately wanted the same things. He wanted to feel her as close to him as possible, as scary as that was to admit now that it was so real, so tangible and obtainable. He couldn’t believe it was really happening, and he became so wrapped up in his emotions of the moment that when her first knee made home on the edge of his chair, just outside the thigh of his that was closest to her, he couldn’t stop. All he knew was Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. But when he felt her second knee moving with the intention to straddle his lap, to be as physically close to him as he’d ever let her—as he’d ever let anyone—that’s when he felt his erect member twitch in reminder of just how excited he was in that moment.

He panicked. The thought of her feeling something so intimate in him was mortifying. She’d been with countless men; how embarrassing was it that he was leaking over just a kiss? She’d certainly be able to suspect his inexperience then.

As surprising as it was for him to admit, he just didn’t want to disappoint her. When it came to intimate activities, he was sure she’d seen it all. It wasn’t that he didn’t want things to go further; the mere thought made his entire body break out into goosebumps. He just couldn’t help but feel insecure in comparison.

Which was why he shot up from his chair like the seat was on fire. He hated that he was doing this—absolutely hated it—but the longer she stood there the more he worried she would notice the raging hard-on in his pants. She had to get out of there, and fast, if only for the sake of his sanity.

The way he rushed to the shower the second his door closed made him feel horrible. God, he was no better than a disgusting hormonal teenager, was he? Here she was thinking she had done something wrong, and embarrassment kept Jungkook from reassuring her otherwise. He couldn’t let her walk away thinking this was her fault. He couldn’t.

Hi, he typed out under her name in his phone before he could stop himself—it was all he could do to dry his hands fast enough before his phone got water damage. I just wanted to apologize again for tonight. I didn’t mean for it to feel like I was kicking you out. He chewed on his bottom lip, self-doubt causing him to second guess every word that he was writing, but he refused to let anything be erased. We can meet up again sometime soon if you want? For tutoring

There were only a few minutes of mental berating that he had to endure before her reply chimed in like a breath of fresh air.

it’s no problem, don’t worry about it! i would love that :)

•••

After that, you continued to meet up for tutoring at a casual pace.

You worked hard to make sure your sessions seemed regular, relaxed, so not to add any extra pressure onto Jungkook’s shoulders. You had been on your way to the edge of the road waiting for Namjoon to pick you up when you received Jungkook’s text of forgiveness, and though the genuine gesture warmed your heart, you couldn’t help the way its beating spiked in your chest when you continued reading to see that he made an effort yet again to plan to get together with you.

At the time, you couldn’t believe your eyes. Here you were in the middle of self-loathing, and he was the one contacting you? The natural grin that sparked on your features couldn’t be stopped. Maybe you didn’t ruin things after all. Maybe Jungkook was warming up to you more than you thought.

That being said, you certainly weren’t going to push things at your next sessions. It was clear your previous actions had made him uncomfortable in some way, and that was the last thing you wanted. So you continued to keep things going in a moderate, somewhat professional yet casual manner; as hard as that was for you, it was worth it in the long run. He was worth it.

One of the benefits you loved reaping from your study sessions was that you could see his personality, his true personality that was kept hidden beneath the layers of caution and hesitation that he would wear as armor to keep you out, was finally starting to shine through the cracks. You would catch glimpses of it when you least expected, in a silly quip or witty one liner that he would comeback with after your teasing that would leave you stunned and smiling to yourself at the notion that you were finally seeing Jungkook, the real Jungkook that so few got to know, and you were falling in love with every piece of him.

“So if the mitosis is the powerhouse of the cell then what the fuck is the nucleus?”

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said.”

It was another day of studying in his isolated dorm room, and you could not be more over it. The material was beyond tedious and excruciatingly boring at this point, though you would endure a thousand biology lessons if it meant getting to spend time with him.

“My ass still hurts from the last time I sat in this seat,” you pointed out, your brain literally begging to focus on anything other than the words in your textbook. It needed a break. The pain in your backside would do as a viable distraction.

A tut fell from Jungkook’s lips. “Yeah, the desk chairs are pretty uncomfortable.” You watched as his expression fell in favor of nibbling his bottom lip, and you’d studied his shy mannerisms long enough to know that there was something itching at his mind. “You can, um,” he started with a mumbled voice, “you can sit on the bed this time, if you want. I’ll take the chair.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. “No, that’s not fair–“

“I don’t mind,” he smiled softly, and the sight was so rare, so beautiful that it rendered you speechless and you had no choice but to oblige.

His bed was soft and smelled of him; you were instantly transported back to when the two of you had brought a bowl of popcorn up here and turned on One Piece—both of which were quickly forgotten in favor of beautiful boy sitting next to you who demanded all of your attention whether he wanted it or not. It was like you were a moth drawn to his flame; you couldn’t help the magnetic pull every fiber of your being had to him.

You desperately pushed down the memories of the life changing make out session that had happened next, if only for your sanity. “Hey, what if we continued watching One Piece–“

“No.”

•••

“Apoptosis,” you recalled to him after a few hours into your session. “The death of cells.”

Jungkook slowly nodded his head. “Right. It occurs as a normal and controlled part of an organism’s growth or development.”

“Will I have to know all that extra stuff?” You looked up at him under furrowed brows.

He simply shrugged. “Probably. It’s not too hard to remember why it’s happening once you know what it is.”

“Easy for you to say; the textbooks right in front of you!”

You were relieved when he let out a chuckle—one that you would never get tired of hearing—and you couldn’t help but acknowledge how much more comfortable things now were between you. You still had a long ways to go, of course; he still closed up when you spoke too much, returned to his flustered and distant self whenever things got off the topic of biology, and it reminded you of how shy he acted when you first met. But things were definitely better. For instance, you were now able to hold a casual and somewhat teasing conversation with him without scaring him away.

“I guess you’ll just have to study more,” Jungkook replied with a grin, and you rolled your eyes in amusement to ignore the butterflies that were fluttering in your stomach at his seemingly harmless offer to prolong your tutoring.

It all felt so pure, so fresh with him—like you were a giddy school girl all over again with a hopeless crush. And though you knew your feelings were much, much more than that, you couldn’t help but feel young and flustered in his presence.

Another yawn forced its way past your lips as you rested your head on the back of your hands, now fully laying down on top of his bed. Scientific data danced off his tongue as if he were serenading you with poetry, and the sound of his voice was as soothing as smooth velvet and honey as it encased you in a blanket of warmth and lulled you to your dreams.

•••

Jungkook let out a yawn after a particularly long paragraph he’d been reading from the textbook, his eyes flashing to the clock on his phone. 1:04 am, it read.

His eyes widened slightly. Last he checked it was 10:30. How had the time gotten away from him like that? Surely it couldn’t simply be because he lost track while enjoying her company...

He didn’t know why he even bothered to lie to himself anymore.

With another yawn her turned towards her. “I didn’t realize how late–“

He froze mid-sentence, turning rigid in his seat. There, in the middle of his bed with her head on his pillow, hair softly splayed out behind her as she curled on her side, was Y/N.

And she was fast asleep.

He blinked after a moment, if only to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him, but it seemed the efforts were futile. There was no mistaking her still, undisturbed lids that brought her soft lashes to kiss the top of her cheekbones. There was no misinterpreting the slow rise and fall of her chest. And if he listened closely, which he always did, there was no misunderstanding the gentle breaths of air that cascaded from her lips like a soft sea breeze. She was asleep, no doubt about it.

And it was once he realized this, the initial surprise chipping away at his guarded heart, that he softened at the sight. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful like this. He had never seen a more breathtaking scene than the one before him now, and in this moment there was no way he could believe a single one of those incriminating rumors being spread about her. She looked like a breath of innocence laying there, a vast contrast to the reputation that proceeded her, and if Jungkook didn’t know better he would’ve guessed in this moment that she never knew an ounce of pain, had never been corrupted by the harsh realities of life. His classmates’, Trip’s words were nothing but a distant memory as he gazed down at her like she was the sun, moon and stars all wrapped into one, and even though she was in his sanctuary, the one place that he went to for escape from the rest of the world, he wanted nothing more than for her to stay.

A strong, deep and overwhelming emotion threatened to climb its way from his throat in the sudden desperate need to be spoken into existence, but he swallowed the feeling down.

She would take his bed tonight. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

•••

You awoke feeling more well-rested than you‘d felt in a long time.

Instantly warmth enveloped you. And not from in the inside out, but rather the outside in: blankets, fluffy and cozy and billowing around you in a haphazard disarray as evidence that you had a good sleep all night long. The mattress beneath you was comfortable, spacious–

A little too spacious.

Your eyes shot open at the realization, a confused and groggy frown marring your features. This was not the familiar couch at Taehyung’s apartment that you were used to crashing on; this wasn’t a couch at all, in fact.

Oh fuck.

Did you break your number one rule? There’s no way; even in an inebriated state, you always remembered to catch a ride home. It had become second nature, was all you’d known these past three years. There’s no way you could’ve broken it now after all this time. You didn’t even remember drinking last night. Just how fucked up did you get?

You shot upright at the thought, instantly moving to scramble from the bed and swiftly escape the room before the drunken fuck could see. You had to get out of here. How could you have been so careless? Why did you–

It was your body and your mind alike that came screeching to a halt when your eyes fell to the bedroom floor.

He was there on the floor with a pillow and blanket arranged in a makeshift bed, the boy who made your breath hitch at the mere sight of him and sent your heart into overdrive.

Jungkook was asleep. Jungkook let you stay the night. Jungkook gave you his bed.

Suddenly the memories of last night were shifting into view to rearrange all the mangled panic that habit led you to believe upon waking up in an unfamiliar environment. Of course you didn’t party last night and go home with a drunken fuck; you were at Jungkook’s place studying until the early hours of the morning. You must’ve fallen asleep during your session.

Embarrassment tinged your cheeks at the realization, though the thought soon dissipated as the sight of him consumed every single synapses in your brain like it always did.

Your previously rigid and guarded posture soon softened while you gently laid back down on the bed with a sigh, simply gazing at him and unable to peel your eyes away. He was so beautiful that it hurt. You’ve always thought so of course, and even so, seeing him in his most vulnerable state was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. To see him without worry or fear etched into his brow, without his defenses up was truly a work of art and you were the luckiest person in the world to bear witness to it.

The smile that graced your lips was not lost on you, though you simply reveled in the happiness that swarmed your soul as you burrowed back into his sheets and took in the heavenly scent of his that surrounded you. This was his bed, the most private and vulnerable place that you could ever possibly be, and he was allowing you to be here. And that meant that nothing, nothing could pull your head from the clouds of pure heaven that you danced among in this moment.

The sudden swell of deep emotion and realization in your chest was so visceral, so much stronger than anything you’d ever felt before. You never wanted to leave him like this. You wanted to wake up to see him there for a long, long time.

However, the same couldn’t be said for the manner in which you were seeing him; a wave of concern and guilt soon wracked your frame at the fact that he had forgone the comfort of his own bed for you in favor of taking the hard ground. And before you knew what you were doing, you found yourself slipping from between the sheets and onto the floor beside him.

You didn’t know how much time had passed while you admired him. His cheeks were round with sleep, lips plump and pouted looking the most irresistible and adorable you ever knew a human could. There was a lock of soft brown hair that hung across his forehead, and you nearly resisted the urge to brush it from his eyes if only to count the number of lashes dusting his cheekbones.

Nearly being the keyword there—the attempt was futile, of course, as there wasn’t a bone in your body that could resist him.

The spark between both of your nerve-endings danced as your fingers gently caressed his skin, hooking behind the lock of hair and gently sweeping it out of his face in a reverent display of affection. Your touch couldn’t have been any more than a feather, you knew it couldn’t have, and yet his closed lids fluttered anyway.

You quickly withdrew your hand so not to scare the slowly stirring boy before you, though in the end that didn’t stop his surprise upon seeing you.

The speed in which his eyes bulged open was almost comical.

“Y/N?” His lids were still fluttering in groggy confusion when he murmured your name in a voice thick with sleep, and holy hell, you could have died and gone to heaven right then and there for all you knew.

Is this what you’d been missing out on? Did all men’s voices sound this sexy in the morning, or was it just his? You had a very strong feeling it was the latter.

“Sorry for falling asleep during tutoring,” you smiled softly, your voice gentle so to match the reverence of the soft morning glow filtering in around you through the opaque curtains. “I always did find biology boring.”

Though his eyes stayed unwavering on you, his mouth fell open and shut like a fish out of water, seemingly too stunned to speak.

“Thank you for letting me stay over, but you didn’t have to,” you spoke again when it was apparent he wasn’t going to respond, a rosy blush dusting your cheeks. “You could’ve taken the bed.”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Jungkook‘s voice sounded a gentle rumble after a moment of silence, and if you didn’t know any better the expression in his eyes would lead you to believe he loved seeing your sleeping form in his bed, almost as much as you loved seeing his.

It was a dangerous game, choosing what to let yourself believe as fact or wishful thinking.

Eventually your eyes left his before another staring contest could ensue in favor of glancing past him to the empty side of the room. “Did your roommate already come and go?”

“He didn’t come home,” Jungkook answered, his gaze never leaving your face as he propped himself up on his elbow. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes when you looked back to him. “He doesn’t usually sleep here. Like I said, you just had bad luck before.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that as your heart warmed at his last words. Bad luck that you’d gotten interrupted before but good luck that you didn’t this time; could this mean that he liked spending uninterrupted time with you? That he no longer silently looked for excuses to leave your presence?

“You can go back to sleep in your bed if you want,” your expression turned sheepish as you lifted yourself to your feet. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable on the floor.”

Jungkook followed your action with his eyes before sitting up as well and crossing his legs beneath his blanket on the floor. He looked so impossibly cute in the morning: hair ruffled and messy, eyes half lidded and groggy. You tried to stop your gaze from lingering on the way his plain white shirt hung loosely from his broad chest and shoulders, and you had to physically look away to keep from staring at his collarbone peeking from beneath the hem of the fabric. The last thing you needed was to get turned on this morning.

The silence that hung in the air was a comfortable one, though it spoke volumes for Jungkook’s intentions. He apparently wasn’t planning on getting back in bed.

“Do you wanna maybe...” you swallowed down the nerves you were now getting accustomed to upon being around him, “go get some breakfast?”

•••

Jungkook didn’t know what was happening to him.

He didn’t know who he was becoming. Because this person? This person who let Y/N spend the night, who let her sleep in his bed and got breakfast with her the next day like some sort of morning-after routine? This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.

And yet he found himself doing it anyway.

He’d given his body with a mind of its own free reign at this point, feeling merely like a passenger as he watched these things that he never thought possible unfold before his very eyes. Waking up to the sight of Y/N peering back at him with soft eyes and a gentle smile was something that only happened in his dreams. He’d spent every waking moment since he met the wild senior telling himself that she wasn’t capable of that. That she was bad news and had no interest in anything from him other than a quick fuck. He wanted no part in that—at least that’s what he told himself. Though if that was the case, then how did he make it this far?

However, this was entirely different. This was uncharted territory that he never thought he’d get to explore, and it left him unknowing of how to feel. Had Y/N ever had a relationship quite as genuine, as domestic as this in the midst of all her one night stands? Deep down, he selfishly hoped the answer was no. He allowed himself to hope that he was special, if just this once.

They found their way to a nearby cafe on campus, the blast of warm air upon entering after enduring the crisp morning chill of winter melting his insides to goo. Though upon glancing at the girl beside him, he realized that his gooey insides had nothing to do with the sudden temperature change.

Jungkook followed her lead over to a table in the corner that was partially hidden from view of the rest of the cafe. He didn’t know if she’d done this on purpose for his preference of isolation or not, but he was appreciative nonetheless.

“Have you ever been here?” Y/N asked him, and the way her cheeks and nose were a soft red from the cold made Jungkook’s gaze dance with captivation.

“No,” he answered after a moment, the two of them taking their seats across from one another at the quaint, round table for two. “I uh, haven’t explored much of campus this semester other than my dorm and the academic buildings.”

He tossed in an awkward chuckle that he hoped countered how lame he knew he sounded. Why would somebody as exciting and adventurous as Y/N want anything to do with a recluse like himself?

Though if she felt one way or another about his statement, she certainly didn’t show it. “This place has the best coffee—if you like coffee, of course. But if you don’t they have other drinks as well. There’s tea if you’re more of a tea person... or hot chocolate. I’m sure they have milk or juice too, and just water.” Her eyes were fixated on the menu in front of her, and so he took the opportunity to admire her downcast features. She was rambling, and he could tell from his own personal experience with the emotion that she was nervous. And though he couldn’t imagine why she would feel such a way around him, it was endearing to see nonetheless.

He was following the graceful lines and curvatures of her face when her eyes suddenly found his again. He quickly snapped them down to look at his own menu. God, even with the winter chill in his bones he was still burning from her presence. Did they sell frozen beverages here?

After the server walked by to take their order (he thankfully was able to order something chilled to cool his insides), Jungkook was surprised at the ease in which their conversation flowed. They weren’t chatting nonstop by any means, but it seemed that studying together had made him a bit more comfortable—something that he wasn’t even aware of until this very moment.

Y/N had always been friendly, but instead of actively letting the topic fall flat like he normally would in favor of checking nearby exits for the perfect escape route, he found himself wanting to match her quips, wanting to hold her attention and keep her interest. And though she still did most of the talking, he wasn’t desperately wanting to return to the isolation of his room to shut himself off from the world like he usually did. He was okay here at their quaint table in the back of the cafe obscured behind some potted plants and with her staring back at him like there wasn’t a single person in the world she’d rather be with in this moment.

“So is computer science turning out to be all you’d hoped for?” There was a lilt of amusement to her tone as she emptied a packet of sugar into her coffee, and Jungkook knew this was because he had told her of his true feelings about the major.

He took a bite of his breakfast, the fork sitting between his lips for a moment in thought before he nodded pensively. “I like the subject. Computers have always interested me. I wouldn’t be majoring in it if I didn’t.”

Y/N nodded at his answer, though it seemed as if she was eluding to more. “And art?”

He looked over at her quizzically. “What about it?”

She shrugged with a small grin on her agonizingly perfect lips. “Are you taking it as an easy elective, or do you have an interest there?”

Jungkook gulped. He never opened up to people about his art. Not even his parents knew; it was just something he didn’t do. “I... I’ve always actually, um, b-been sort of into drawing.”

Well, until now, apparently.

He had no idea what possessed him to actually admit that to her, the first person he’s ever admitted it to besides himself, though the elation that lit up her face at his response was all worth it.

“Is that what your sketch pad is for?” She referenced the booklet that had always been crammed safely between the monstrous textbooks on his desk. He kept it hidden and out of view—or so he thought.

He cleared his throat after a bite of food to keep from choking. Did she really pay that much attention to the details of his room? “I uh—yeah. It–it’s just a way to pass the time.”

“But you take drawing 101 as an elective?”

He didn’t know what prompted him to open his mouth, albeit a bit sheepishly. “A-actually, I uh, I tested out of 101 after meeting with the professor. I take drawing 201.” Certainly his cheeks were the color of beets right now.

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, but before he could fret over the sheer surprise on her expression, she was speaking again. “Could I see them sometime?”

Now he actually did choke. A cough sputtered from his lips, the expression of concern that was adorning Y/N’s features making the embarrassment even harder to swallow along with his bite of food.

“Are you alright?” She leaned forward with wide eyes and brows knit into a frown.

“Y-yeah, yeah, I’m–“ Jungkook cleared his throat a couple more times to make sure he could breathe properly. “I’m okay. I don’t actually,” he paused, taking a moment to gather himself. “I’ve never actually... let anyone see my sketches before.”

“Oh,” she raised her brows before sitting back. “That’s okay then. I underst–“

“B-but, u-uh, maybe one day,” Jungkook gulped down the aftertaste of word vomit that had just spewed from his lips, his pulse increasing rapidly.

Y/N nodded with a smile then, a beautiful smile that he would never get tired of seeing, and while he was lost in the sight–

“You know...” she peered over beneath her lashes, and the beautiful smile morphed into a small smirk tugging at her lips. “This could technically be considered our second date.”

And it was suddenly that the wind had been knocked out of him. “D-date?”

“If you want,” Y/N shrugged as if the offer was no big deal. “I mean, you did kinda do this whole thing backwards. The least you could do is buy me a meal before getting me in your bed.”

His mouth ran dry at that, parched like a man left in the sweltering sun to match the heat that rose to his bright red face. And though it was obvious she was joking—the teasing grin of amusement on her lips were a dead giveaway—he couldn’t help but focus on the nature of her words in a very serious manner.

Y/N had never dropped a sexual innuendo to him before—not unless he had just been too naive to catch on at first. Regardless, the dirty scenario that her joking words implied was definitely not lost on him now, and it had his heart hammering in his chest.

She had to stop doing this to him. She had to have mercy on his poor soul, because he didn’t know how much more of this he could take. She had the ability to turn his world completely upside down in a matter of mere syllables, and the way those syllables were formed on the tip of her tongue and incredibly soft lips, the lips that he had felt with his own and knew how they tasted and–

His eyes widened. There was no way this was happening again.

The blood went down below in a rush, seeming to happen in slow motion and all at once, and before he knew it Jungkook had popped yet another boner over the thought of Y/N’s lips.

He couldn’t stop the blood draining from his face—probably because it all went to his dick. Was this really the type of person he was now? Someone who was too horny to even control their sexual urges? He didn’t know what had come over him these past couple of weeks, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. All she had to do was smirk at him and suddenly he was some kind of crazy sex addict!

He quickly shifted in his seat, clearing his throat and placing a napkin in his lap to hide his pants. The absolute mortification had to be written across his face; he knew it had to be, because Y/N in all of her painfully adorable obliviousness had misunderstood his sudden turn in behavior.

“I’m kidding! I’m paying of course.”

His head snapped up in shock at that; after the drastic turn of events, her previous words had momentarily slipped his mind until her sudden offer. Did she really want to pay for his meal?

“What? It’s a date,” she grinned.

And despite the circumstances, he couldn’t help but mirror her expression; it came surprisingly natural for him, in fact.

“If that’s the case, then I’ll pay,” he spoke without thinking. Fortunately his boner had started to settle thanks to the topic change, and this was something that he really wanted to do; his mother, as overprotective as she was, was very conservative and always taught him that chivalry should be kept alive.

“No, I’m the one who wanted to take you out.” And though she shook her head with a mischievous smile, her voice still held a tone of resolution to it that told him it wasn’t up for discussion. There was no arguing when the server came by and she handed over her card without even looking at the bill.

And despite having lost this temporary battle, Jungkook couldn’t help but feel the familiar rush of fuzzy warmth spread from his heart throughout the rest of his body like a lovesick poison. Here they were, on a domestic-style breakfast date at the local cafe arguing over normal couple things such as who got to pay the bill. It might’ve been small, something that seemed minuscule in the grand scheme of things, but it meant so much more to Jungkook.

Because it showed the path that they were on. And if things continued progressing the way they were, the wall of ice around Jungkook’s heart just might begin to melt.

•••

Despite the brisk winter air assaulting their senses upon exiting the warm cafe, the two of them were nothing but smiles. Well, he should say that Y/N was—the beam that lit up her face rivaled only the sun, whereas the corners of Jungkook’s lips simply turned up into a small grin.

He breathed into his hands before rubbing them together in hopes that the friction would heat them up and tried to calm the nerves dancing in his stomach. Even after spending the whole morning with her, the butterflies never stilled. It was a wonder what it felt like to have settled insides anymore.

“Jesus, why is it so freezing!” Y/N let out an adorable yelp that caused Jungkook’s smile to grow, and before he knew what she was doing–

“Are your hands cold?” She blurted the question before suddenly grabbing his hands in hers.

He stumbled to a stop, his blood running so cold that his body went numb until the sensation was burning him alive like Icy Hot in his veins. Of course he had felt her skin since their hands had last touched; he made out with her twice, for crying out loud. But that still didn’t stop the visceral, kismet energy that sparked between them like a lightning strike every time and shook both of them to the core.

Y/N looked down at their hands as if trying to make sense of the sensation, fingers barely brushing at this point, before looking back up at him. Her eyes searched his face, for what he wasn’t sure, and it was after a newfound determination settled over her features that he felt her palm against his in full force, fingers perfectly intertwined, holding his hand.

And Jungkook thought he was going to have a heart attack right there on the sidewalk.

He couldn’t believe it was happening. It was actually happening; he was actually holding her hand after all this time spent purposely trying to avoid the interaction. Though now in this moment, he suddenly couldn’t remember why he’d been trying to fight it.

It felt so good to hold her hand, so right—like their fingers and knuckles and palms were meant to cradle each other’s and no one else’s. He didn’t know that holding hands could feel like this—he’d only done so with his parents as a kid and childhood friends—but he quickly realized he was becoming addicted to the warm heart of his she was slowly starting to thaw.

Which is why after a few more moments spent in a stuttering, flustered mess, he finally pulled himself together long enough to walk hand in hand with her to the edge of the road.

“This is where my ride is picking me up,” Y/N exhaled once they slowed to a stop, though her hand never left his.

Jungkook hated the way his pulse sped up as he turned to face her with a nod. His dorm was just right across the street after all, and he had some studying of his own to catch up on. He knew he needed to get home.

So why did his feet stay planted in place, unwilling to let her go?

“Thank you for um—for breakfast.” The words stumbled from his mouth in an awkward, sheepish manner, though when he glanced up from his lowered gaze he couldn’t take his eyes off her smile.

“Thank you,” Y/N breathed, her gaze sparkling and intense and unwavering on his, “for letting me stay the night and for—for everything. I had a really good time Jungkook.”

He gulped at the unspoken tension that crackled between them; he could tell he was waiting for something that suspended in the air between them, but he couldn’t be sure of what. He’d never felt this feeling in his entire life: the feeling of desperately wanting to cling onto a moment that he knew should surely end. In any normal situation he would be spinning on his heel right now and dashing away in an effort to make a quick escape and ease his erratically pounding heart. And yet...

The sound of a booming stereo shattered the moment between them. A familiar car pulled up beside them—the same car that Y/N had used to drive them to their first date at the bowling alley, he realized—and through the open windows Jungkook could just make out the face of the first friend of hers he’d ever met.

“Hey Jungkook,” Taehyung leaned over the passenger’s seat to grin up at him in a friendly greeting, and Jungkook pressed his lips together in what he hoped looked like a makeshift smile in return. He didn’t know why there was disappointment inside his deflating gut; there was nothing left to be said between he and Y/N, right? It was time for them to part ways.

Y/N turned to look at him one last time. “I’ll see you later, okay?” She spoke almost as if she wanted to be sure of it herself as well, and thanks to a final squeeze of his hand from hers Jungkook was left a pile of putty on the ground as she got into the car and rode away.

And while he always preferred being alone, he found himself missing her presence already the second she left his side.

He walked with heavy feet back to his dormitory, desperately trying and failing to combat the giddy emotions from his mind that came along with the memories of this past night and morning. His futile efforts would’ve gone on a lot longer too had it not been for a familiar face suddenly stopping him as soon as he entered his room.

“Hey man,” Trip greeted casually, his coat and shoes still on and book bag slung over his shoulder like he’d just gotten back from class, though immediately Jungkook could sense something was off by his tone of voice.

“Hey...” Jungkook trailed off warily.

He waited a few moments before his roommate finally shook his head. “Look, I know you get pissed whenever I say something about it, but I saw you with Y/N.” He paused before letting out a sigh. “She really is bad news.”

It was the defeat, the dejection in his tone that caused Jungkook’s throat to tighten and stomach to drop in dread. Trip had just seen the two of them together on his way inside the building, and Jungkook could tell he was being genuine.

“I wouldn’t be saying this if I couldn’t tell you really like her,” his roommate continued. “She’ll just hump and dump you, dude.”

Jungkook was shaking his head before he even realized he was doing so; he so desperately wanted to believe he was wrong. “You don’t know anything about Y/N other than the rumors you’re told.” His voice was confident, spoken with conviction, though it was the sigh that fell from Trip’s lips that had Jungkook’s swirling with doubt.

“Back in August at the very beginning of the semester, I went to a party. I wanted to get to know people; classes hadn’t even started yet.”

Jungkook already didn’t like the thought of where this story was headed; he balled his hands into fists to keep his fingers from trembling as Trip continued.

“Y/N was there, and she was drunk out of her mind. Pretty sure she doesn’t even remember this, but uh, I was wasted too, and we hooked up. It was just a quickie in the bathroom; nothing special, but you know, it was her.” The expression on his face was wistful, as if he had been smitten with her that night, and Jungkook felt as if his entire world was crashing down around him.

He stumbled back a step, nauseous. Vomit threatened to crawl its way up his throat, though he somehow kept it down.

“I went to get her number afterwards and she was gone before I could even button my pants.” It was hard to mistake the sadness, the defeat in his tone. “When I saw her later on campus, she didn’t even remember me. I’d say it was just a one time thing except for the fact that she does this to guys all the time. When I started asking around about her, everyone had a similar story. Said she’d even do it sober, too. So really, don’t waste your time dude. It’s not worth it.”

Jungkook was deathly quiet. It was hard to differentiate the many emotions and tumultuous thoughts crashing down around him like an endless tsunami, so much so that he felt numb from the inside out. He simply stood in place, frozen like a statue under the assault of Trip’s confession, before spinning around on his heel and hurrying out the door.

His roommate called after him, though there was no hearing anything around him over the pounding heartbeat raging in Jungkook’s ears. He kept running, and running, and running, until he finally slowed to a stop once fresh winter air filled his lungs just outside the dormitory building.

He was going to be sick.

His palms found his knees as he bent over, ready to spew the contents of his breakfast that Y/N bought for him all over the concrete ground. His chest heaved; the nausea was there, festering in the bottom of his stomach and lodged in the back of his throat, though no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it past the giant lump obscuring its path. Nothing would come up.

And it was then, right in the middle of this chaotic whirlwind of pain, hurt, sadness, anger, confusion, regret—just to name a few—that Jungkook felt a vibration in his pocket.

After a few more moments of heavy breathing, Jungkook’s shaking fingers fumbled to pull out his phone. And as if things couldn’t get any worse than they already were, the universe decided to mock him even further.

hey, thanks again for our date this morning! i had a lot of fun :) when do you want to get together for our next tutoring sesh?

Jungkook gulped before turning off his phone completely.

•••

It had been two weeks since you heard from Jungkook.

You wouldn’t even bat an eye at his lack of communication had this been the beginning stages of your relationship; you were very much accustomed to going out and seeking Jungkook on your own. But ever since things had started to progress for the two of you, you kept in contact through text to plan a time and date to meet up.

Only he hadn’t replied to a single one of your messages.

After not hearing back from him the first time, you sent another; maybe he was just busy catching up on his own studies, or needed some time to himself. You couldn’t fault him for that. But when that one had gone unanswered too, you started to worry. Had something happened to him?

You couldn’t find him leaving his late night art class like you usually did. He wasn’t taking his usual route to and from his classes. You even risked venturing into the library again, if only to catch a glimpse of the beautiful boy at a table in the corner or behind a computer screen, but with no such luck. All your knocks on his dorm door had gone unanswered. You even attempted to call him once or twice, but it quickly went to voicemail. You were beginning to get seriously worried that something was wrong.

Immediately your mind went to the worst. What if he had gotten hurt? What if he was stuck somewhere or dead in a ditch? And that’s what drove you to do something you hadn’t ever needed to do before: you sat outside the door of his dorm room, ass on the floor and back against the wall the entire day.

The waiting game was excruciating; you couldn’t untangle the knots from your stomach even if you tried. Your palms sweltered with a nervous heat as you fiddled with your fingers in your lap, swallowing all of your pride that made you feel like a desperate fool whenever another student would walk down the hall and give you a strange look. You could endure the embarrassment, the vulnerability that putting yourself out there took as long as it meant you got to see Jungkook. You needed to know that he was okay.

There was also the self-doubt creeping at the edges of your mind, the same dejection you were all too familiar with that told you Jungkook didn’t want to see you. That he was actively avoiding you, that you had built up every little interaction between the two of you inside your mind to make it bigger than it really was, and he actually just hated you—it ate away at you from the inside out.

But then you were remembering the way he looked at you when he awoke that fateful morning, how he let you sleep in his bed and offered to pay the bill and held your hand on the way back from your second date. There was no way you could’ve been imagining the feelings the two of you shared, could you? Regardless, you weren’t going to let Jungkook go. Not after everything you’d been through.

It was after 9:00 at night before there was movement in front of his door. You’d been staring down at your phone, tapping away at a mindless game to kill time when you heard the most glorious sound you’d ever heard in your entire life.

“Y/N?”

The speed in which your head snapped up at the sound could give you whiplash, but you didn’t even care at this point. Because Jungkook was here, standing in front of you in the flesh, and your body reacted without thinking as you jumped up from your seat on the floor and threw your arms around him in a giant hug.

“Jungkook, you’re okay!” You gushed in relief, fists gripping onto the material of his coat on his back if only to keep him from disappearing on the spot and face burying into the crook of his neck. You’d only hugged him one other time outside the art building and though the occurrence seemed like ages ago, a distant memory after all the progress you’d made, you still remembered the feelings, the overwhelming emotions coursing through you from the embrace. And god, your memory hadn’t done it justice.

The same kismet passion crashed around you like a raging storm full of thunder and lightning when the two of you collided, though right there with it at the forefront of your brain was the elation, the relief and happiness and overwhelming joy that you felt seeing him again. To hold him in your arms if only to convince yourself this was real, that he was okay, was really all you needed after weeks of being left in the dark.

Though beneath your own swirling emotions clouding your senses, you could immediately tell that something was wrong. He was stiff, rigid beneath you, though instead of this feeling like the same shell-shocked surprise he usually had, you could sense he was off. He felt distant, cold, like the giant wall of ice that was beginning to melt around his heart had frozen solid again and increased in height three times over.

Though despite your intuition alerting you of these observations, you still eventually felt his arms slowly wrap around you to reciprocate the hug as if he was reluctant to do so but had finally stopped fighting himself. And the feeling of his hold that kept you lodged against his chest was the best thing you ever could’ve felt.

You gave an extra squeeze of your arms around him to let him know that you appreciated the reciprocation before pulling away to look up at him. You needed to see his face to know if he was truly okay. You needed to see his eyes.

And there staring back at you was everything you feared and more: pain, regret, hurt. Your heart broke at the sight, and a visible frown marred your features as concern filled every fiber of your being.

“What’s wrong?”

Anguish etched across his expression at your words. You grabbed his hand, letting the familiar spark of electricity that relentlessly took your breath away travel through your veins, if only to let him know that it was alright.

“Come on, let’s get into your room.” He felt more comfortable in private places; you knew that much from experience. “We can talk there.”

Jungkook was hesitant at that, and for a moment you were worried he was going to say no. But then a soft sigh fell from his lips and he eventually nodded his head, unlocking the door with trembling hands that didn’t go unnoticed by you and allowing the two of you to enter.

You were relieved to see that his roommate wasn’t in tonight, though you couldn’t say you were too surprised; you’d been fortunate enough to not have him there for most of your recent study sessions.

You began to speak as soon as the door shut behind him. “Are you okay? Did something happen? I’ve been texting you, calling you; I get it if you need your space, but I– I was worried.”

You admitted the last part sheepishly, feeling silly for overreacting when you could clearly see now that he was in good health. But the pain on his features, the way his eyes felt miles away from you—you knew something was bothering him.

Maybe he did just need his space—he was a loner, after all—in which case you felt self-consciously overly clingy and needy for going to the measures that you did to contact him. That was so out of character for you it wasn’t even funny; you never went out of your way to contact anyone besides your friends, and definitely not more than once. But you thought things for the two of you were finally starting to change for the better... it may have been selfish, but you thought you at least deserved a simple text explaining he wanted to be left alone, no? You would have understood.

Anxiety pricked at the base of your palms when he still hadn’t answered you. “Jungkook,” you started, taking a small step closer so not to scare him off. It felt as if you’d reverted back to how things used to be in the beginning. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

You didn’t know if it was your constant questions, his internal thoughts, or the small waver in your tone as you pleaded with him to just talk to you, but it was then that you saw his expression soften—a slight crack in his armor to reveal the gentle boy you knew was inside—and your chest flooded with hope.

“I–“ he started before stopping again, seeming to search for the right words. “I don’t– I c-can’t see you right now.”

Dread instantly swarmed in your stomach and sent it plummeting to the floor. “Why? Did something happen? Jungkook, if you don’t want to tutor me anymore that’s okay–“

“This isn’t about the tutoring,” he instantly corrected you with slightly grit teeth and a heavy sigh, almost as if he was trying to hold back. He was always trying to hold back. You wanted everything, the good and the bad and all of the in between. You just wanted him.

“Then what is it about?” You asked in a stronger tone, desperate for him to stop making you play this guessing game that was driving you insane. “Just tell me, Jungkook!”

“I know about you and Trip!” He suddenly blurted out, his words suspended in the air for a few silent moments while your mind scrambled to make sense of them. “He told me everything. He’s my– he’s my roommate, Y/N. I have to see him every day. I have to see him and all I can think about is you with him and I–“

“Wait, Jungkook, slow down,” you held your hands up to stop his rambling, your eyes closing in confusion with a shake of your head as you gathered your thoughts. “What are you talking about?”

“You–“ Jungkook paused, staring at you for a moment with his excruciatingly beautiful eyes before his shoulders deflated with a sigh. “Trip said that the two of you hooked up. At the beginning of the semester—he told me about it after he saw us out on our... you know...” And as if the wondrous boy couldn’t be any more of an enigma to you, he actually trailed off with a shy blush, unable to even mumble the words date into existence while he was here upset with you.

It broke you to see him so hurt like this, especially when you were the cause. And yet, despite the circumstances you couldn’t help the small flutter of your heart at the fact that he cared. He cared enough to get upset with you, he cared enough to voice his feelings aloud. And if anything, that did nothing but solidify what you knew the two of you had. You hadn’t been imagining things. This was real.

And you’d be damned if you ever let something as insignificant as your drunken past stand in the way of that.

“Jungkook,” you took a step forward, arms raised as if to touch him though not actually doing so. “I promise you, I have no recollection of that whatsoever. I would never purposefully sleep with your roommate, I... I–“

How did you even begin to explain to this boy that sex meant nothing to you? That you used to fuck random people all the time and it was no big deal? Surely that wouldn’t help in this situation.

The worst part was, you couldn’t even deny his words. Because you probably did fuck Trip at some point or another. Not to your knowledge, of course, though your memory was certainly nothing to use as a reliable source. You had no way of knowing if his roommate was lying or not.

Defeat marred Jungkook’s features in front of you, and all you could do was stand there and watch. This was the first time you’ve been truly disappointed in your promiscuous lifestyle.

“I... I know you don’t remember,” Jungkook finally spoke, and you were thankful that he decided to fill the silence at all. “Trip told me that too.”

“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you frowned, eyes lowering with a heavy chest. “I’m sorry that it had to be him. But you have to believe me when I say that I feel nothing, absolutely nothing for him. I don’t– I don’t have feelings for people. Feelings are not something that I do.” You were rambling now, you knew you were, but you couldn’t stop the word vomit from tumbling past your lips until it was too late. “I’ve never felt anything for anyone until I met you!”

Jungkook froze at that. His doe eyes turned the size of saucers, and you were sure the total state of shock on his features was a reflection of the emotions now coursing through your body.

You’d never admitted out loud that you actually had feelings for Jungkook—not to him, at least. Sure you made it pretty fucking obvious, what with chasing him around campus since the second you met, but you had no clue what Jungkook was ever thinking; for all you knew he could’ve thought you’d been just trying to get in his pants this whole time.

So maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this was what Jungkook needed to hear. If you had to let down your walls down and be vulnerable for the first time in your life to fight for him, then you were going to have to break through the socially constructed cage of fear that was holding you back and do just that.

“How...” Jungkook’s voice was hoarse, strained when he finally spoke up, and he stopped to clear his throat. His knuckles that gripped the edge of his desk were white. “Why?”

His question caught you off guard. “Why do I have feelings for you?”

“N-no,” Jungkook spluttered at your forward statement, coughing slightly to cover the hitch you detected in his tone before clearing his throat once more. “I–I just...” he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, seeming to go through world war III in his mind before: “Why don’t you do feelings?”

It was the question that would open the can of worms you’d been trying so desperately to keep sealed shut for the past three years. From the looks of it, if his nervous fidgeting was any giveaway, Jungkook knew this was a touchy subject for you as well. And yet he still asked it anyway, which was more progress than you could say about any conversation the two of you have ever had in the past.

You took a seat on the edge of his bed, the long sigh that left your lips followed only by the sharp inhale that filled your lungs as much as they would allow. Your attempt to quell the nerves that were rocking within your stomach was futile. Any time you thought about your past you were swarmed with the same anxiety you experienced during it, which was usually why you pushed the memories to the depths of your brain and kept them buried beneath drugs and sex and alcohol.

But one look at the gentle, profound, big brown eyes staring back at you with so much understanding, so much support despite the chaotic circumstances, and you knew you could trust him.

He was the one you wanted to open yourself up to.

“My... parents,” you started, and even just mentioning them had your throat constricting. You shuddered out a shaky exhale, and it was then that you felt the mattress beside you dip under the weight of another body.

Jungkook was sitting next to you, no parts of you touching but just close enough so that you knew he was there. Whether he did it for your benefit or not, you’d never know, but his presence brought you comfort.

“We... didn’t have a good relationship,” you frowned, tone hesitant as you tried to pick and choose the right words to describe this situation for the first time in your life. “I don’t speak to them anymore.”

Jungkook remained silent at your side, though you could tell by the twitching of his lips you saw as you glanced at him from the corner of your eye that he had questions unwilling to be voiced aloud.

You heaved a heavy sigh as you worked up the courage to continue. “T-they were abusive. Not physically—well, a little physically, but uh, m-mostly mentally, emotionally.” You fought through the painful memories to find an instance that described them well. “They left me abandoned in a parking lot when I was eight. After everything went down with the cops, child protective services, you know—they’d gotten out of it with a bullshit excuse of course—they made me feel as if it was my fault. As if I was such a burden of a child, so unlovable and disastrous that they had no other choice but to leave me there.”

The words left a bitter taste in your mouth as a grimace stayed fixed on your lips, eyes glued to the bottom bookshelf that was sitting across the room but your mind far, far away from here. This was just one of the many ways your parents neglected you as a child, though this one always stood out in your mind. Because even though they were beyond shitty to you, they were all you had. This was the first time you were ever truly afraid that you had driven them away forever.

“I blamed myself for the longest time,” you continued, gulping down the pain and unable to meet Jungkook’s eye. You didn’t want to see his expression right now. “I blamed myself when I found my mom passed out on pills or my dad drunk in a ditch, as if they needed to do these things to cope with me. And when I was sixteen, they abandoned me for good—up and left one day when I was at school. I came home to find the place empty; what little we had was gone and a for sale sign was in the front yard.”

It was then that you felt a spark of electricity jolt up your arm like a lightning strike, and when you looked down you saw that Jungkook’s hand was sitting on yours.

Could he really be willingly touching you, initiating physical contact with you for the first time since you met?

Your head snapped up to look at him for the first time since you’d started speaking, and there in the very eyes staring back at you held enough warmth, enough tenderness and compassion and love to rival every single ounce of anxiety and negative emotion that your body ever held.

It felt as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. Finally you were voicing your troubles aloud after years of bottling them inside, and finally you had someone to share them with, someone who held your hand and let you know that they weren’t going anywhere despite the fear that accompanied this pain for your entire life—fear that you would be rejected, abandoned, fear that you could never be loved or wanted after dumping such a heavy load of emotional baggage onto someone else.

Yet here he was, sitting by your side and holding your hand all the same.

It was the reason why you had so many random hookups, why you never slept with the same person twice and would ghost each of them before they ever had a chance to try to get close to you; you were trying to temporarily fill the void of absent love from your parents without getting attached so that you wouldn’t get hurt. And though the act was unconscious—you’d never actually taken the time to understand your behavior until the truth was staring you straight in the face now that you were willingly thinking about your past—you realized it was selfish. Though you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it—not when it brought you to this breathtaking boy.

“I–I’m sorry,” Jungkook finally spoke, his voice cracking at the seams through his soft and reverent tone. “Did you... did you find them?”

You shook your head, unable to tear your eyes away from his hand on yours. “I don’t even know if I would’ve wanted to, to be honest,” you admitted with a frown. “They were so fucked up, Jungkook. I think being out of that toxic household was the best thing for me.”

“But you were a child; did you stay with a relative or someone?”

“I didn’t have anyone,” you spoke with conviction, hating how weak your past made you seem. That was why you pushed it to the back of your mind; you wanted to feel strong. “And there was no way I was going to risk being put in foster care or some shit like that.”

“W-what about your grandmother?” Jungkook questioned hesitantly, seeming to be worried of coming off too pushy or prodding, though that couldn’t be further from the truth. “The one who left you the money?”

“I didn’t even know she was still alive,” you shook your head with a sigh, lifting the fingers of your other hand to play with his in your palm. Your stomach fluttered and heart sung with each grazing touch. “I hadn’t seen her since I was little. My parents didn’t seem to care about who I was running around with so long as it got me off their hands, but when it came to our other family, they kept us cut off. I’m pretty sure it’s because they’d already severed whatever ties they had with their own family as well. My parents were a mess; nobody wanted to deal with them.”

Jungkook was quiet, solemn for a moment until: “So you... lived on your own?”

You nodded, silent at first before speaking along with the gesture. “More or less, yeah. I was on the streets a lot. Got a tent so I could sleep where I wanted.”

You felt Jungkook stiffen beneath your touch, seemingly mortified at that.

A gentle chuckle fell from your lips. “I didn’t mind that part too much; I was just happy to be away from them, and honestly? I liked being able to live life by my own terms on a whim. It felt like I could be truly free of them.”

There was a thinly veiled shudder that you felt rake its way through the freshman’s body. “I can’t imagine what that would feel like. My home life was so different.”

You turned to him then, knees nearly touching but not quite as you offered up a friendly smile. “What were your parents like?”

He froze up then—body and limbs turning to stone under the weighted pressure of the question, and for a moment you were worried you’d overstepped. Just because you told him about your past didn’t mean he was in any way obligated to tell you about his.

“S-sorry, I shouldn’t’ve–“

“N-no, it’s okay,” he was quick to reassure you with a wavering tone, though rather than uncertainty it seemed as if nerves were the cause. “If your parents were one extreme, then mine were on the complete opposite side of the spectrum,” he spoke after a deep breath and a nibble on his lower lip. “They were strict and put a lot of pressure on me from the time I was little—pressure to do well in school, pressure to make the family proud. They wouldn’t let me do anything if they thought it would distract me from my studies.“

You nodded thoughtfully. “I can see that—just from what you’ve mentioned briefly about your major and everything,” you quickly added. The last thing you wanted was for him to think you were assuming anything about his past—not when he was finally choosing to break down his walls bit by bit and slowly let you in. It was as if you could see the ice around his heart start to melt to the ground, like ice cream in the middle of the summer, and he was terrified. It was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. Honored didn’t even begin to describe how you felt.

He chewed on his bottom lip before deciding to speak again. “I have an older brother; Junghyun is his name. He’s in the army right now, but when we were younger he was the apple of my parents’ eye. He could do no wrong—perfect student, star athlete, everyone loved him.” He sat in silence for a moment, as if he was reliving the memories and pondering his thoughts. “Growing up, it felt like I was living in his shadow. Nothing I did was ever good enough—never as good as him, at least. I always had something to prove, and it always seemed like I was failing in their eyes.”

The frown adorning your features grew at this. It was no wonder Jungkook seemed so shy and always questioned himself, continuously asking why me? when you used to hint at your feelings towards him. His parents made him feel insecure, gave him an inferiority complex like he was never good enough in the face of others.

It broke your heart to know that this was how he saw himself when to you he was the most magnificent human being you’d ever met.

“Jungkook,” you grasped his hand a little tighter, gave it a squeeze that matched the squeeze of your heart at the action. “You have to know that’s not true.”

“I...” Jungkook trailed off, the words seeming to get caught in his throat as he gazed at you. Neither of you seemed to mind the stretch of silence that ensued as you stared into each other’s eyes. There were many unspoken words, so many emotions charged within the space between you that it was hard to breathe.

“They did it out of love,” he finally ripped his eyes away and lowered them to the floor, his words a mumble as if trying to convince himself of this as well. “I know this, of course; they’re hard on me because they just want what’s best for me and my future. But... it still affected me.” He glanced at you then, his cheeks suddenly turning a dusty rose. “Living such a sheltered life is part of the reason why I’d never... been with anyone before. Not even my... f-first kiss.”

You stared at him, floored. “Never?”

He just shook his head sheepishly, the spitting image of embarrassment as his face was now beet red.

You tried to keep your expression neutral so not to offend him; the last thing you wanted was to make him feel ashamed for his lack of experience. Yet you still couldn’t help but slightly widen your eyes. “Really? I mean– I wondered if that might be the case but I never would’ve thought I’d be right–“

His face blanched at your words, and you immediately regretted saying them. “That bad?” He eventually asked with a wince.

“No, god no are you kidding?” You chuckled in disbelief at the thought that he would ever doubt what was the best kiss of your life, though you forwent elaborating the meaning of your words in favor of continuing. “I’m just surprised, is all. You must’ve had girls lining up at your doorstep.”

Jungkook scrunched his nose, confusion etched onto his features. “Why would you think that?”

You gave him a look as if to say, really? And before you could control yourself your mouth kinda just—

“You’re beautiful.”

Jungkook looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

You wanted to take it back. The expression on his face made you feel as if you’d made a mistake, though as much as that tortured you, you knew you couldn’t. Because you meant it, had been thinking it since the very first moment you laid eyes on him, and god damn it, he deserved to hear it every second of every day.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–“

You didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable. But the words got caught in your throat and strangled you speechless, because it was at that moment that a bright pink sprouted on the apples of Jungkook’s previously blanched cheeks and spread to the tips of his ears to match the shy smile that was spreading across his face, growing more and more until you saw the hint of teeth peaking behind his lips and his effort to hide the expression became futile.

Any time you were graced with his smile was a time you would not take for granted; the sight of it still stunned you to silence as you marveled at his beauty.

“I... I–I tend to keep to myself a lot,” Jungkook’s words started stumbling from his mouth before you had a chance to process everything that was happening, almost as if he was explaining himself, so you just sat there dazed in a trance while you watched. “I was the same way in high school. There wasn’t anyone I felt strongly enough to want to be with before–“

He stopped just as your heart rate spiked. You sat on the edge of your seat with bated breath, but Jungkook simply averted his gaze and nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Before what?” You tried to keep the desperation from your voice as you gently urged him to continue.

A gulp raked down Jungkook’s throat before he inhaled sharply and suddenly looked at you, the intense eye contact reminding you of the staring contest weeks ago and striking you to your core.

“Before you,” he finally finished.

And it was the last thing you heard before your lips were on his.

•••

Jungkook had never been so happy in his entire life.

His heart just felt so... full. He’d avoided Y/N after what Trip had told him because it hurt, hurt too much to imagine her with someone else but especially with the one person who was unavoidable, the one person he saw everyday and had no chance avoiding like he did the rest of the people on campus. At least with all of her other rumored fucks, he’d been able to distance himself. But with Trip, it made everything so... real. Jungkook now knew someone personally affected by Y/N’s actions; for some reason, that made things so much worse.

He knew he should’ve given her the benefit of the doubt. Jungkook used to jump to conclusions and make snap judgments about someone based on what others would say, but he’d gotten better about that with Y/N. It’s just that everything Trip said had brought back every insecurity and fear he’s ever had about Y/N—that he would let himself fall for her and ultimately end up just another name on the long list of men who had wished for something more. Every guy she’s been with had been smitten; what made him so different that she pursued him? Maybe she just liked the chase. He was just foolish if he believed that a few tutoring sessions made him more special than the men she partied with on a daily basis.

And so that’s why his defense mechanism had instinctively kicked in—to protect himself from getting hurt. But he knew it was too late. He cared too much at this point. The pain of ignoring her was almost as bad as the pain of Trip’s words, and that’s why he was like putty in her hands the second he saw her waiting on his doorstep. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist her. But the thought of her with his roommate, with the only person he was physically forced to see until the end of the year, still hurt more than he was willing to admit. He just didn’t know what to do, so he did what he knew best; he fled.

But then Y/N confessed to having feelings for him—actual feelings that didn’t involve himself just being a quick fuck, he desperately hoped—and his entire world flipped upside down. Certainly he had heard her wrong, right? It couldn’t have been that he was wrong about her motives from the very start? Or was he right about her initial motives, and her feelings for him simply changed as time went on? Or was she just lying to placate his pain in order to get in the position they were in now, with her hand in his hair and his lips on hers?

But then she did the unimaginable to take him by surprise yet again: she opened up to him about her past. And if there was one thing he knew about Y/N, it was that she didn’t do that. He could tell that not even her closest friends had been let in by her, and so when she started telling him about her parents and the awful childhood she’d had, Jungkook knew she was telling the truth about everything.

And suddenly it all made sense. All the rumors he’s ever heard, drugs and alcohol and stories of Y/N jumping from guy to guy without so much as a second glance—her past explained all of it.

He recognized the behavior signs as soon as she opened up and let him in; she was pushing people away, same as he was, only she was going about it in a much different way, because she lacked the familial love that Jungkook had growing up from his parents and brother no matter how hard they were on him. Jungkook couldn’t believe what his ears were hearing when Y/N told him of her past; no child should ever have to deal with that much abuse or emotional trauma, much less from their parents, the two people who were supposed to teach and give a child endless amounts of love and support. Y/N missed out on both in her childhood. Which explained why she would spend nights with random men, to temporarily fill the void without getting attached so she wouldn’t get hurt. It explained why she didn’t want to get close to people.

What it didn’t explain was why she was here with him.

If she didn’t do feelings, as she so hastily told him amidst her passion-fueled confession, then why did she have feelings for him? What was so special about him that set him apart from the other men who vied for her attention?

He couldn’t begin to unravel the complexity and intricacies that were her mind, but even if he could, he didn’t know if it would even matter. Because against all odds, it was he who she was consistently pursuing, he who she had feelings for. And though he didn’t understand it, he was too far gone, too selfish to want to question it at the moment. Especially since Jungkook had admitted aloud the one thing he was most terrified and insecure about when it came to being with Y/N: he had no experience. While this girl had been with more people than he even knew, he had been with no people whatsoever. He admitted this to her, and yet she didn’t care; she wanted to be with him anyway.

And so that was what fueled him forward, caused him to abandon all reservation and lean into the kiss and do what he truly wanted, what just felt right when it came to being with Y/N.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and led with his heart.

•••

Somehow every second that you spent with Jungkook just got better and better.

Every kiss took your breath away, seemed infinitely better than the last; turns out your memory was worse than you thought, because when you thought your memory had done the sensation of his lips pressed against yours justice, you learned every time that it most certainly did not.

You could feel the tension and restraint that normally held Jungkook back physically melt until he was nothing but a puddle beneath your touch, the passion and love that was radiating from your being met with the mirroring emotions of his own until they fizzled and cracked between the two of you like a blazing fire and erupted your souls in an inferno that seemed to meld the two of you together as one.

There was something so much deeper happening beneath the surface while the two of you kissed; it was kismet, intangible, unstoppable. Which was why when you tugged on his hair as you had the very first time the two of you had ever made out and heard the very same moan that haunted your dreams ever since, there was no stopping you this time—no roommate to barge in, no signs of Jungkook making a run for the door. And it was when you felt the searing touch of Jungkook’s hand against your cheek, so gentle and soft and spreading like wildfire, you brought your leg over his as you had attempted to do previously in his desk chair and finally succeeded this time in settling atop his open lap.

The effect was instantaneous. Jungkook became a brick wall beneath you, having never been physically close to anyone in his life, though the audible moan that fell from your lips and onto his at the feeling of his body pressed against yours in ways that not even a hug could fulfill caused him to throw all caution to the wind.

He was putty, susceptible to all of your movements as you dug your fingers deeper into his scalp, his hands giving away just how flustered and overwhelmed he must’ve felt in this moment before they flew to settle on the fabric covering your hips.

It took everything in you not to devour him right then and there, but you somehow managed to break the kiss. Heavy breaths filled the confined space between you as both of your chests rose and fell with panting, physically and emotionally and mentally teetering on the edge. Though in reality, the two of you hadn’t gone far at all. Not by your usual standards, at least. But somehow, it felt like you’d gone farther than ever before.

“Is this okay?” Your voice was faint, a breathless murmur against his lips as you rested your forehead on his and gazed deeply into the eyes that seemed to consume your heart and soul in one glance.

He looked up at you as well, expression bewildered yet somehow blown out with lust in a way that shot straight to your core. For a moment you worried that this was too much for him. Hell, this was almost too much for you, and you’d straddled countless laps in your lifetime. The connection between the two of you was so strong that it was overwhelming, almost too overwhelming—which was why you were in need of proper breaks before your head exploded—and you were afraid that it would scare him off.

Though your heart leapt to heights unknown when he gently nodded his head. There was a soft smile that crept onto the corners of his lips, one that made your expression burst into elation, and he was eventually opening his mouth.

“Y-yes.”

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, and you moved your hands from his hair down the length of his neck until you were cradling his cheek, your thumb swiping over the supple skin of his breathtaking face. You could tell that he was getting in his own head the longer you remained apart, had learned enough about reading his facial expressions and body language by now to know that him biting his lower lip was never a good sign, which was why as soon as his consent was granted you leaned down to place a soft, reassuring kiss on the tip of his nose before giving into your desires and replacing his teeth with your own on his plump bottom lip like you’ve always wanted to.

Jungkook hissed with an inhale of surprise, his hands tightening and fingers digging into your waist, and your hips involuntarily rocked against his in reaction to the sensation as your tongue slipped past his parted lips and tasted the caverns of his mouth.

And god, you could get drunk off his taste.

He was sweeter, so much sweeter than you ever thought possible, and the sensation of his tongue pressed against your own was so addictive that you knew you would never need another illegal substance to get high again. Because this, this was much more dangerous than any drug you’ve ever had in your system.

His breath was already heavier than before in your mouth, if that was even possible, and the intoxicating heat caused your head to spin with a level of arousal you didn’t even know existed. His arousal was evident in his pants as well—you knew far too much about the male anatomy to ever misconstrue what that felt like—and the knowledge that you had actually given Jungkook an erection paired with the onslaught of bliss that was currently inflicted on your body was almost too much for your poor heart to handle. You couldn’t imagine what Jungkook must be feeling given that everything, not just the emotional nirvana that you were experiencing, was new to him. And despite the desire that you were feeling, the urge to take care of him and make him feel safe through all of this was much, much stronger.

You halted your movements before you got carried away in favor of gazing down at his big brown eyes that always made your heart clench. The way your breath mingled together was ecstasy.

“Let me know if you want to stop,” you spoke to him with as soothing of a tone as you could manage given the fact that your pussy was throbbing. You wanted him to trust you.

Despite the broken kiss, the heavy rise and falls of your chests prohibited the rest of your body from staying still, and so your hips ever-so-slightly rolled against his like a docked ship would float at port. It was more of an after-effect, really, though it was enough to leave your thoughts a jumbled mess. So many emotions clouded your senses and kept you from thinking straight, and so when he nodded again and showed no signs of stopping you, you led with your heart instead of your head and leaned forward until his back was propped against the headboard of his bed.

Your lips crashed together in the throes of unabashed passion, every feeling you’ve ever felt for one another cultivating to this catalyst of a moment in which there was no stopping, no coming back from. You didn’t know where your body stopped and his begun, but it didn’t matter either way because in this moment the only thing that you knew was Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook. His chest against yours, his hands on your hips, his dick pressing to your core—the sensation was stronger and more vivid through your layers of clothes than anything you’ve ever felt bare. And unless you heard his words of objection that would tumble your movements to a halt, there was no stopping the acts of lust and love that coursed through your veins with the fury of a thousand storms. This was what it felt like to be truly alive.

Jungkook was a mess of pleasured whimpers beneath you; you could tell he was trying to contain them against your mouth, though you weren’t sure why. These were the most beautiful, euphonious sounds you’d ever heard, even while muffled, and you just couldn’t help yourself from trailing a path of searing kisses down the heavenly muscle found on the side of his neck—a perfect column to drag your lips across, you soon found, and it also meant freeing his glorious sounds.

It was pure music to your soul. With each rock of your hips another breathless moan left the back of his throat, each one curling around the shell of your ear and making a home in the depths of your core that only fueled your movements forward, too far gone and wrapped up in the moment to ever dream of stopping. And when you felt his hips slowly start to buck up into yours as well to match the pace of your thrusts, you surely thought you’d died and gone to heaven.

“Jungkook,” you murmured in a blissful daze, already missing the taste of his lips after having been away from them for what felt far too long. Your tone was desperate, needy, though you couldn’t find it in yourself to care what with the way his grip tightened on your hips when your lips found his again.

He groaned against them, the sound muffled to your ears though your tongue swallowed it whole and you cradled his face with more tenderness and affection than you ever knew you were capable of mustering in such a heated and lustful moment. God, you never knew it was possible to feel this... good.

The feeling of his hardened length digging into your center as you pressed as close as humanly possible and rocked your hips caused your brain to short circuit, though you were way past the point of computing the sheer impossibility of everything that was happening. You’re pretty sure you were dreaming and having an out of body experience right now. Was this really Jungkook, the boy who could barely even speak when you first met and wouldn’t look you in the eyes? And if so, how did you get so fucking lucky as to be so intimately close to him this way?

You didn’t know, and frankly you didn’t possess the mental capacity to focus on it while Jungkook’s hips continued rutting in time with yours and creating an atomic bomb of ecstasy every time your centers met. You lost all sense of sanity when his head leaned back against the headboard with furrowed brows of pleasure and an open-mouthed moan. The sight was singlehandedly the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

“Oh god...” Jungkook huffed out between panting breaths, and you were torn between wanting to study his expression and burn it into memory with a branding iron or cover every inch of exposed skin with your lips. His eyes opened to look up at you beneath hooded lids, and when another breathy whimper fell from his lips you couldn’t help but dive back in to taste it.

“Wait, ah, Y/N–“ his lips parted only for endless moans and incoherent sounds that sounded a lot like your name to flood the the caverns of your mouth like a waterfall of euphoria, gushing and gushing until it was overflowing and spilling over the top–

Your ears were ringing with sounds more divine than a choir of angels, but it was only when you felt the new sensation of something wet and warm against your center that you paused long enough to look down between you. Your forehead rested against his, panting chests brushing one another with every harsh inhale as you took in the sight something dark spreading over the crotch of his pants.

Your breath hitched in your throat before you could stop it. Was that what you thought it was?

You glanced back up to see Jungkook’s eyes fluttering beneath closed lids, the life seeming to slowly seep back into him with every passing second. There was sweat covering the edge of his hairline and dampening the roots of his hair, and god, he looked so breathtakingly beautiful that it hurt.

You were wrong before, when you said that that was the hottest thing you’d ever seen. Because this—Jungkook beneath you with a dazed expression of sexual bliss after having just came in his pants because of you—this was by far the hottest thing of your entire life.

You smiled then; god he just looked so... so serene. You loved the thought that he felt so good, and you loved that you got to be the one to make him feel that way. Which was why you couldn’t help yourself when you leaned down to pepper gentle, soothing kisses to every inch of his adorable face. You’d wanted to be this close to him for so long, and it was finally happening. Happy didn’t even begin to describe how you felt; you were higher than cloud nine.

When Jungkook finally came to, you felt his expression physically shift beneath your lips—first came shock, then mortification, then regret.

“O-oh my god, I’m—I’m so sorry–“

And it was before you could even open your mouth to reassure him everything was alright that he scrambled out from under you and bolted off the bed.

“No, it’s oka–“

“You should go.” He quickly turned his back to you and made his way to his dresser, sifting frantically through the clothes. Whether he was actually looking for a particular article of clothing or just wanted to keep busy and avoid you, you’ll never know.

“Jungkook–“

“Please.”

He turned to look at you then, and the furrowed brows and frown of sheer desperation on his features was so strong that it looked as he was about to cry. And though it absolutely broke your heart to see him this distraught, you knew he needed you to listen to him. He needed you to leave.

Your attempt to swallow the lump in your throat was futile as you nodded your head and got to your feet. You would do as he asked, of course you would—but there was no way in hell you were leaving him to beat himself up over this.

He kept his back to you, face and neck and ears the color of tomatoes, though you approached him anyways and slowly put a hand to his shoulder.

“Please don’t worry, Jungkook... I promise it’s okay.” You curled your arms around him then, slowly and carefully so not to scare him off when you felt him stiffen beneath your touch. “That—that was the best experience of my life.”

And though you were beyond sheepish to admit such deep feelings aloud, you would do it tens times over if it meant giving Jungkook the confidence he needed. The look of pure bewilderment on his expression as he whipped his head around to look at you was well worth it. He thought you were crazy, you knew he did. But that didn’t make your words any less true.

When it was evident he wasn’t going to reply you smiled softly, reassuringly, before sliding your hand from his shoulder to his face to cradle his cheek in your palm. The spark of electricity was still there at the lightest of touches despite how close you’d just been, though this time you tried to ignore it in favor of leaning in and pressing your lips to his one last time.

His jaw was still slack from your previous words and his lips remained unmoving beneath the feathery kiss, too stunned from your touch to do anything, but you didn’t mind. Whatever he was battling with internally, you would let him deal with it however he saw fit, so long as he didn’t question where you stood. So what if he finished prematurely in his pants from solely dry humping? It didn’t matter because it was him—hotter even so because of it. And you would use your last dying breath making him understand that if that’s what it took.

He didn’t move from his position as you backed away and gave him a reluctant parting wave on your way out the door. As much as you didn’t want to leave him like this, you knew it’s what he wanted, so you were going to respect that.

After all, it wouldn’t be for long. There’s no way he was getting rid of you that easily.

#jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfic

1K notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

starry night | chris beck

word count; 9241

summary; chris beck delivers flowers to you five times.

notes; this was originally called ‘candy cane lane’, but I changed it up a little.

warnings; none!

When Chris had started working in a flower shop, it was to pay his way through college. He was getting a degree in medicine and it wasn't cheap, and he needed a simple and easy way to make cash that wouldn't take too much out of him. He wasn’t big on anything social, and so working in a bar or restaurant didn’t seem like the best fit, and unfortunately for him, all the library jobs had been snapped up at the beginning of the year. Supermarkets were a no go, he hated the people that came through and how rude some of them could be, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to get a job in a coffee shop.

Working those machines might as well be rocket science.

The little flower store on the end of his campus road had been hiring, and eventually, he’d become desperate. It wasn’t his usual gig, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it, to begin with, but it offered decent money, reasonably flexible hours, and the boss actually let him study on shift when it was quiet, and so it actually gave him more free time than he had before getting a job.

Then, he’d started to warm up to it. It was always cool in the summer and warmer in the winter, keeping it temperate for the plants, and it always smelt good. He made friends with a man named Mark who came in every so often to buy new plants to study, he was becoming a botanist, and they bonded over the serene quietness of flower shops for studying and bad jokes.

Little old ladies pinched his cheeks, the tips were good, and it helped him clear his thoughts to be able to do menial tasks like spray the flowers with water every other hour to keep them wet enough, and to sit behind the cash registers. It was a simple Christmas present from said botanist friend that really inspired his passion, though. More of a gag gift, he was sure that was its intention, but he’d started to take it seriously. Chapter after chapter on the meanings of flowers, how to send hidden messages through plants, and something about the way of communicating in ways other than words had spoken to him.

After that, he’d been able to offer a service of sending messages through flowers. He’d become a more popular salesperson, and he’s shifts had increased, and he loved doing it. He loved the physical way that a message could be conveyed, beautiful explosions of colour to mean ‘I love you’ or ‘Happy Anniversary’, and so he’d started to invest his time in that. Nobody had been all that surprised when the older man who ran the shop had left it to him when he passed, not even Chris himself, and so he’d finished up his degree and started working at the flower shop full time.

Mark had taken on a part-time job there, as well as his internship in a clinical research lab, and they’d hired an extra hand at the register. It made him happy.

Less so, when he had an influx of orders overnight, and instead had to focus on building bouquets to be shipped instead of the garden expansion he was making, but happy nonetheless.

He was twenty-seven custom orders in, Mark already out running the standard bouquets for delivery, and he was stacking them by the garage door, wrapped in ribs and pretty vase-boxes, all ready to go. Licking the tip of his finger to flick the paper over, he let out a sigh, two sets of flowers on one page, his rows raising. It wasn’t unusual for there to be multiple sets on one order form, but as his eyes scanned over the list of preferences, scents and colours, as well as the messages they were wishing to convey, one of his brows rose up.

One request for the pretty set of pink roses and lilies that he’d loving crafted himself, a collection of flowers that signified an apology, and he was always happy to offer advice to any guys who came into the store to buy that set. It was usually a guy fresh to a relationship, messed something up by refusing to unfollow another girl on Instagram, or just saying the wrong thing in front of his friends, introducing a girl as his friend, that one always made him giggle. The second was curious, though, and it made his lips quirk up in a slight smirk at the insinuation of it. Red roses and tulips, a darker and more seductive bunch; new beginnings and early love, and he was willing to place his last dollar on it being an affair.

It felt even more sure when he noticed that the delivery address was that of an office block, and not a home address, a man’s name instead of a woman’s. In the personal notes section, there were no names, and so that was an option ruled out for getting to the bottom of the situation, but he wrote out gift cards, one with swirling writing for a heartfelt apology and the other with a sickly-sweet pick-up line and what he assumed to be an inside joke.

Curled ribbons and plastic wrapping, and the two bouquet were standing side by side for delivery, the van chugging as it was pulled back into the driveway, reversed up, and his blond-haired friend rounding the vehicle, looking utterly worn out, and it was only halfway through the day.

“You’d think it was Valentine’s Day, or something. This is crazy, it’s November!”

He took off his cap, running a hand over his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp, before placing the embroidered garment with the company logo back onto his head. “I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up!”

“Oh, yeah? Is it the rest of the day off?”

“Uh, no.” He deadpanned, his friend laughing as he came to stand by him, and he motioned towards the collection. “However, it is a rather exciting combination. These two-” He tapped at the boxes holding them firm at the base. “-are going to the same place.”

“And that is exciting why, exactly?”

“Because one is supposed to symbolise asking for forgiveness and all that, and the other symbolises new love and beginnings and all that. They’re being delivered to an office block, not a home address.” It took Mark a minute to process it, and Chris watched the gears turn in his friend’s head, before his jaw was dropping, and he let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Oh, and you think it’s a.. y’know.” He only nodded, and he began to load up the other orders into the van, a printout sheet of new addresses and order numbers on the tags, the delivery sheets loaded onto a clipboard to be signed for at each location. The empty van was once again teeming with bright flowers and artfully arranged bundles. Securing them all down and making sure they wouldn't tip over or get crushed during the ride there, he was confident they were ready to go, almost all of them set up, before he was staring at the two he’d recently made once again, his curiosity getting the better of him. “You want me to try and find out while I’m there?”

He almost agreed, it would have been so easy, a simple way to put his questions to rest, but he was invested in it now, and so he already knew what was coming. “No, I’ll deliver these ones myself.

Mark only nodded, slamming and locking the back of the van doors, double-checking the hatches for fresh air were open to stop them from wilting in transit, and then he was back up into the main cabin. The loud sounds of disco music exploding from the van radio as he started it back up, reversing from the driveway and setting off on his next round of deliveries.

Scooping up the first set in his arms, Chris patted down his pockets in search for his keys, finding them in his left side back pocket, unlocking his car with a click of a button, and setting the first batch on the passenger seat. The second soon followed, and he used the seatbelt to secure them in place, rolling the windows down as he set off, programming the address into his SatNav.

It was a short drive, twenty minutes maximum, even with traffic, the tall and shining office building one that he was vaguely familiar with towards the inside of the city, harsh rays of winter sun reflecting off of clean glass windows, all the way up to the top floor, and it was so tall that as he stared at it, he swore the building was swaying. With a bouquet in each arm and the clipboard tucked under one, he backed his way through the polished glass doors, a company insignia printed onto the glass, and he almost wanted to check his shoes for traces of at the appearance of the clean white lobby.

Large tiles of marble flooring, specks of grey flickering throughout them, and white leather couches along some of the walls on one side of the lobby, a waiting room. The other had various coffee and tea machines, recyclable cups and sugar packets, as well as a range of fruits and muffins, and he wanted to scoff a little at the ostentatious nature of it all. The desk was empty as he finally approached, though he could hear chatter in the background, behind reflective glass panels that he couldn’t see through, one-way glass he assumed, and as he balanced the bouquets up on the counter, an older woman, approaching her fifties he presumed, came out, a wide smile on her face as she brushed down the material of her skirt.

“My, my, aren’t those beautiful? Unfortunately, I don’t think they’re for me.”

“Well, ma’am, unless you’re a ‘Mr Robert McKinley’, I’d have to agree.” She chuckled, nodding her head as she looked at them before picking up the phone, and typing in an extension. Lifting it to her ear, she balanced it there against her shoulder, smiling at him once again.

“I’ll just have his assistant come down to collect them and sign for them for you, lovely.” He nodded his head, turning away to be polite as she chatted away on the phone for only a moment, confirming that there was a package to be sorted out, and he twisted back to look at her as she put the phone down. Manicured nails tapped at the desk for only as second, an awkward silence forming, and one of the elevators let out a small ‘dinging’ sound as it was clicked into use, the numbers on the screen above the floor counting down, coming all the way from the twenty-eighth floor. “Would you like a candy?”

He jumped a little, turning back to look at the woman who had now sat down a little distance from him, behind the computer at the desk, and she turned to him, raising up a bowl of neatly wrapped candies, and placing it up on the glass counter for him to reach. He didn’t, but she was staring at him expectantly, and so he plucked the first one from the bowl, offering her a simple nod of his head, and tucking it into the pocket on his shirt.

When a chime sounded throughout the lobby, the sound echoing off of every hard surface, Chris’ attention was drawn to the clicking of heels on the smooth stone flooring. A pretty blouse that looked like it cost more than his entire outfit and a fitted pencil skirt that was sitting just below your knees, your were a professional vision. Except, your hair was a little messy, and there was a wide grin on your face as you typed rapidly on your phone, not even needing to look up to do the walk, but your expression made you look much more approachable than the usual businesswoman.

You clicked off your phone only a few feet away from him, looking up as your gaze went straight to the flowers at his side instead of him, but it gave Chris the chance to take you in just for a moment, and fully observe you, Up close, you were even prettier, soft skin and pretty hair that shined under the lights, and whatever the shade of lipstick was that you were wearing was perfect, because it suited you like it had been made for you.

You reached out, straight past him for a second, and the receptionist gasped, reaching for the bowl of candy, but you were quicker, your hand scooping up a little collection of the sweets and pulling them back, a sound of victory sounding from you, and she mumbled under her breath playfully, rolling her eyes and threatening to start hiding the treats before she ran out, but you only chuckled, unwrapping one and placing it against your tongue, lips brushing your fingers as you turned to him, and he forced his eyes away from your mouth, a blush on his cheeks.

“Oh, wow. Check these out.” You turned to the receptionist, motioning to them, and she only nodded her head, the sounds of a printer firing up in the back room, and she disappeared to collect the sheets, leaving the pair of you alone. “For Mr McKinley?”

You leaned over the counter, snatching up a pen from the other side, and he only nodded, producing the collection sheet, and pointing out the spot that needed singing, the scraping of the pen on paper filling the silence as you signed in both boxes, handing it back to him and tucking the pen behind your ear. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Fire away.” You grinned, unwrapping another candy, leaving the wrapper on the glass alongside the other one, a cheeky move he was sure you’d get reprimanded for by the receptionist who kept a beautifully organised and clean desk and foyer.

“There are two bouquets here, both with flowers that have very different meanings. Can I ask why?”

You hummed, staring at him for a minute as you chewed slowly, before swallowing the sweet in your mouth and smirking slightly. “I’ll answer your question, but only if you answer mine first; what do the flowers mean?”

Chris grinned, unable to hold it in, because he loved getting to talk about his passions, especially when he could show off a little in front of a pretty lady, and he nodded his head. “Pink roses and lilies are an apology, but red roses with tulips are for new love.”

“And do you have any theories?”

“Just the one, but I’m waiting for it to be confirmed.” He chuckled a little at the devious look that flashed over your features as you pulled the red roses bundle toward you, nose pressed into them for a second as you inhaled deeply, a little sigh leaving you afterwards.

“I’m trusting you here, but you’re cute, so I’ll tell you.” Heat rushed to his cheeks, head ducking for just a second, before he was looking back up to catch your gaze, brows raised as he waited excitedly, leaning in to meet you as though a scandalous secret was about to be told, and he supposed that’s exactly what it was. “There’s another receptionist, and intern back in there, fresh out of college, just a year below me, and he’s definitely fucking her.” You tapped a finger against the red roses, before your gaze was flicking to the second bunch, still by his arm as he leaned on the counter. “However, a couple of days ago he had a lunch date scheduled with his wife, and he missed it. I couldn’t find him anywhere, and I couldn’t find the intern either. Not hard to connect the dots.”

“Oh, so he’s covering both of his bases?”

“For sure.” You grinned, backing up a little bit to grab the second bundle, and adjusting them in your arms for balance. “Angie had probably realised too, and dashed in there to tell the girl that she’s got flowers coming.”

You were making your way over to the elevators, and he followed after you, pressing the button to summon the lift, and it hummed to life behind closed metal doors. “You know, since we just became partners in crime, maybe I should get to know your name?”

“Well, that was smooth.” You laughed, the doors opening up, and you stepped inside, placing one bouquet on the floor at your feet and holding onto the other. You caved, giving him your name as he placed his hand over the door to stop them from closing, ad he repeated the name to you, testing it on his tongue as he learnt it. He gave you his own in return when he asked, and when you said it back, his smile widened, already liking the way his name sounded coming for you.

You typed a code into the pad on the wall of the elevator, the screen flashing green as your programming was accepted, and he stepped back, grinning as you waved your fingers at him, the doors closing as you disappeared from view. He snatched up his clipboard on the way out, unable to contain the smile on his face.

Chris Beck hated making deliveries, but this one hadn't been so bad.

There was a genuine smile on his face as he stepped through the glass doors of the lobby, smaller and simpler bouquets this time, both matching and nothing special, but he’d tasked himself with delivering them personally because he’d recognised the name and address immediately, his encounter with the cute assistant he’d met only two weeks prior flashing through his mind as he’d insisted on delivering this order himself, Mark smirking and helping him gather the flowers as soon as he’d spilled all about you.

Now, he had two sets of pretty pink flowers in different shades, and a single red rose in a sleek plastic wrapping, all wraith ribbons wrapped around them were bundled in one arm, the other holding onto his clipboard, and the desk was once again empty as he approached. A bell, sleek and shining silver, and it was a new addition, definitely not present last time, and he eyes it suspiciously for a moment, before pressing a finger against the top lightly, just twice, a little ringing sounding out around the lobby.

A head of curly hair popped out from around the glass, much younger than the previous assistant, and wearing a much tighter skirt, and she grinned widely as she stepped forwards. He couldn’t deny that she was beautiful, fiery red hair and a wide smile, lips painted with red lipstick, and she seemed sweet, but far too intimidating for him to ever consider. Her heels were so tall that he wondered how she even walked in them, long and thin points creating the stilettos.

“Flowers?”

There was an eager tone to her voice, and he put the pieces of the puzzle together, assuming this to be the intern, his eyes flicking down to her name badge for a second, reading it as ‘Clara’. “For Mr McKinley. Is his assistant free tom come and sign for them?”

The woman paused, rolling her lips a little and nodding her head, a coy look on her features before sitting down in the chair and spinning in it to face the phone, lifting it up to her ear and dialling a short connection number. He didn’t seem to need to wait long, before she was summoning you, a ‘flower delivery’ to be claimed, and she was far too excited, only confirming his doubts that this was definitely the mistress. “She’ll be right down.”

“Fantastic.” He wasn’t sure she even processed his words, before her eyes were closing in on the flowers, and he ignored it, turning back to look at the elevator, waiting for the number on the twenty-eighth floor to light up, a number flashing over the screen. It paused on its descent this time, stopping at the eighteenth floor, and then again at the twelfth, and he assumed that somebody else had joined the journey for a short while.

When the doors finally opened, you weren’t built typing away this time, a grin on your face as your eyes swept over the entrance for him, and he waved his fingers again, straightening up from the desk.

“It’s my partner in crime, back again.”

“Missed you too much, just had to return.”

“Of course, you did, because I’m awesome.” You came to a stop before him, peering up at him through bright eyes, and he swallowed thickly, a little nervous but very excited, and he tried to remember any of what Mark had taught him, his friend being far better with the women than he was, and everything from the last-minute crash course he’d been given upon leaving the shop forty-five minutes ago seemed to have gone blank. “So, what really brings you here today?”

You gasped a little as he shifted to show you the collection, sliding the clipboard closer, and you were presented with a pen from him, floral patterning woven along the body, your thumb clicking it on to sign for them. When you passed it back, you shared a look with him, both of your glances flicking over to the intern who was still admiring the flowers, completely oblivious.

“Hey, Clara?” Her head snapped up, pale skin heating with colour as she flushed, and he suppressed a chuckle. “Mr McKinley is in meetings all afternoon, but he’ll want to approve these flowers. Can you put them in water, and I’ll call to have them sent up when he’s ready?”

She only nodded, more than happy to take a gift that she knew one of was for her into the back, hands reaching over to gather them all up. He almost missed it, watching as all of the flowers were taken, too busy watching the way you rolled your eyes at her when she looked away, fond but still a little cool, and he bit at the inside of his cheek to contain his amusement. It was just as she was leaving that his mind cleared, and he cleared his throat.

“Wait, wait, hold on!” She turned back, brows raised, and he reached over, letting her take a step forwards so that he could reach, plucking the single rose from where it was laying over the top of the two. “This, uh, this is actually for you.”

He presented it to you, your eyes widening a little, and you looked between him and the flower several times. His heart was in his throat, worry you were going to reject it, before you were giving him a different smile than he had seen yet, something softer and more endearing, and you plucked it from his hands, bringing it to your nose. “You’re just a big flirt, huh, Chris?” Your eyes fluttered for a moment, before you were looking back up to him through your lashes. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, honestly. I own the shop, the least I can do is give my partner in crime a pretty flower.”

You scoffed, but it was out of friendship and playfulness, not judgement or rejection, and silence fell between you both once again. The plastic in your hands wrinkled as you twirled it, wrapping the curled ribbon around your finger for a second, and letting it jump back into place when you let it go. “You busy? Got a packed store to run back to?”

Your question caught him off-guard, and he struggled to find words for a second, before clearing his throat and shaking his head. “No, uh, no. Clear day, actually. This was the last order.”

“So, you’re free for an hour or so?” Chris nodded his head, licking at his lips as he became a little nervous once again. “Well, why don’t I give you a tour? We’ve got some pretty cool stuff here, and I’ll fix you up with a drink from the coffee bar before you go.”

“This building has a coffee bar?”

“You bet it does.” You teased, turning on your heel as you took his question as acceptance, and he scooped up the clipboard, following after you as you made your way to the elevator, and this time when it opened, he stepped inside with you. As soon as the keypad lit up, prompting you to enter your four-digit authorisation code and make a floor selection, and you paused, finger hovering over the electronic selections. “What do you wanna’ see first, then?”

“You got an office?”

“I sure do.” You grinned, tapping for the twenty-eighth floor, and the machinery soon hummed into life, gears jerking smoothly into motion and soft music playing over the speakers in the background.

The ride was quiet, and he twisted his head as though the walls were interesting, just to take them in and hide the expression on his face as he watched you twirl the rose he’d given you between your fingers. There was a tag, one that he hadn't yet seen you read, and while all it contained was his number and a sign of his name, he was still a little nervous for your reaction to it, so he was glad to watch you place it onto your desk to be returned to later as you showed him around.

The building truly was impressive, large floor to ceiling glass windows on one wall of your office, staring out at the city below and giving a view so stunning and far that he could see all the way out to where the concrete faded away into greenery along the horizon, and he was a little taken aback by it all. Dipping the rose into a mug of water from the office kitchen, you promised to transfer it to a vase when you got home that evening, and you showed him all around.

Up and down on the elevator, proudly showing him every aspect of your workplace, and somewhere between the in-house gym and the coffee bar you’d boasted of in the staff food courts, you’d made him promise a tour of the flower shop sometime.

Way over an hour had passed in total, and he would’ve been more than happy to let that go on and on, for the rest of the day until the sun was setting, just to sit on the stools at the high tables at the coffee bar, getting refills on his coffee as he watched you drink herbals teas and chat about everything you got up to in the day, but your boss was paging you again to ask where you were, and he had his own job to return to at some point. You seemed hesitant at first, but had eventually divulged him with a guest security code for the elevator, logging him under your name, so that in future, he would be able to bring the flowers straight upstairs to you, and come and see you whenever he stopped by.

With a to-go cup in hand that had your number written on the cardboard holder, you’d escorted him all the way back to the lobby, pressing a friendly kiss to his cheek as he stepped between the doors, waving a little with what he knew was a goofy smile, waiting until he could no longer see you as the metal doors slid shut to reflect his image back at him, before he was bidding the two women at the reception desk a goodbye, and pretending not to know that they were eavesdropping, because he was floating far too high to care right now.

Chris hadn't been surprised at all when the next batch of flowers had come through, because you’d told him days prior that he could be expecting another batch of apology flowers to come through. Your work had been busy lately, you’d told him so yourself the few weeks that had slid past since you’d exchanged numbers had been filled with an abundance of texts.

Sharing texts had rapidly become phone calls in downtime, exchanging social media and sending one another dumb jokes and funny pictures throughout your workdays. He knew that your job had been getting harder lately, the run down to Christmas making everything a little more difficult, and that you’d been swept off of your feet because your boss had been, too. Eight-hour shifts had become twelve, day through to night, never seeing the light of a winter day unless it was through the windows of your office as you worked, and he had a sympathetic guilt twisting in his gut.

Two bouquets to make up for the lack of time that your boss had been able to spare for either of the women in his life and you’d looked positively exhausted as you came out of your office to greet him at the top of the elevator. You had a frown on your face that barely lifted into a smile as you saw him, even though he knew you were happy to catch sight of him. The usual shade of lipstick that projected boldness and power was gone, your face free of makeup entirely, and styled hair now just pulled up into a bun.

He wondered how long it had been since you’d had a full night’s sleep.

“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you feeling?” You only shook your head, sniffling a little as you suppressed a yawn, before taking one of the bouquets from his arms, and inspecting it carefully.

“These are beautiful.”

“I put a little extra ribbon on them, just for you.” He winked, and that had earned him a little chuckle, glancing at him over your shoulder as he followed you through to your office, and placing them down on the cabinet near the doorway to be distributed when your boss had a free second to look at them. Chris felt his own eyes widen in shock as he looked around, the stacks of paperwork littered around the surfaces were astonishing, and there was other mess scattered among that.

Stationary littered the desk, clearly trying to get everything sorted, and almost every draw in the room was half-open, your heels kicked off by the edge of the desk and there was a clear spot against one of the walls where you’d been sitting, a patch clear with papers spread out around you, wording and statements on them that made his head spin as he looked at them. Business definitely wasn’t his forte.

You rubbed a hand over your forehead, cursing a little as you tried to find a pen that wasn't a highlighter, and he didn’t miss the crack in your voice as you scoured the paper stacks. Leaning down to pick one up from the dropped pen pot on the floor, and offering it to you. A little sigh passed your lips, before you were taking it from him, clicking it into action and signing your name on both of the forms to confirm the delivery, a simple ritual of habit by this stage, as he knew that even if you didn’t he wasn’t risking any legal action from you.

You rubbed a hand over your forehead afterwards, rolling your shoulders and shaking yourself down as you tried to hit that reset button on your mood, but it wasn't working, it didn’t take a genius to see it, and so he reached out, placing a comforting squeeze to your forearm, fingers slipping a little lower to latch onto your wrist loosely.

“Okay, you’re a little overwhelmed in here, huh?” You let out a weak laugh, glancing around yourself and nodding. “It’s time for a break. Take your lunch break now, we’re getting out of here.”

“I can’t leave, I have too much to do. I’ll just get something from the food courts, a sandwich, maybe.” You slumped down into your desk chairs, the wheels on it carrying you backwards slightly, and he placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head at you.

“You have to go. It’s doctor’s orders.”

“Which doctor?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him, and he gasped a little, hands finding your own and pulling you to your feet, despite the whine that you let out.

“This doctor. I went to medical school, I get to give the orders. You, my dear, need one hour of rest and relaxation from your workplace, stat.” You started up at him for a second, seeming to weigh it out in your mind, but he wasn’t backing down, and he swore he saw that realisation click within your eyes, because you caved.

Slipping your heels on and grabbing your jacket from the back of the door, you logged your timeout of the building in the lobby with Angie, who cooed at you a little as she watched you go, a pitiful look on her face as she knew just how hard you were working too, before his hand was settling on your lower back.

A ten-minute walk, finding a table in a small pizzeria on the corner of a street, one that he’d been dying to try for months now, and a quick order, and you were slumping down tiredly against the table. The workload always increased at Christmas, sales shot through the roof, all the expansions of your company were filing for Christmas bonuses, parties, annual reports and then, of course, there were the usual rises and falls in statistics over the year that needed to be dealt with.

It was chaotic, to say the least.

Over a hot and freshly baked pizza, your selection of toppings, and a soda that made you wrinkle your nose from the fizziness within, you looked like there was a little more life within you when you’d been leaving.

You spilled it all to him, telling him every struggle you’d been facing, and while he didn't understand half of what you were saying, he was more than happy to just to listen. He couldn't offer much advice, or anything of the sort that might be helpful, but it seemed that just being able to talk to someone had made the day a little brighter.

The chill in the air and the biting winds had made you wrap your coat around yourself even tighter on the walk back to your work, but there was more of a pep in your step and a lighter tone to your voice, a little more chipper and slightly less drained as you began to make your way back across the carpark. His arm was sitting around your waist, keeping you pulled up to his side against the cold of the winter. Instead of guiding you over to the door, though, his first stop was his car, ensuring that you couldn't see what he had placed on the passenger seat until he was ready for you to see it.

Leaning yo back against the cold metal, he unlocked the car, making you promise to cover your eyes, and while making a few jokes about how you were sure this was how friendly guys would kidnap a girl, you did as he’d asked. You gasped a little at the rustling of fabric in the wind and under his hands, seeming to guess what it was before ever seeing the gift, because a wide smile spread over your features.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Depends, what do you think it is?” He teased, making you wait a little longer, and you dragged your lower lip through your teeth, a hopefully look spreading over what half of your face he could actually see.

“Flowers, maybe?”

“Then you would be correct!” Your hand fell away from your eyes, taking a second to blink back into adjustment of the rays the winter sun gave off, before you were brightening up even further at the bundle he was holding in his hands.

Soft petals in different shades of yellow, some duller and some standing out to shine like the sun, but it was a stunning bunch all over, and he’d been sure to pick the freshest and best-looking plants from each pot as he built the bouquet especially for you before leaving for his delivery. He let you stare at them for a second, running a finger over some of the petals, sniffling the collection carefully, and admiring each individual plant, before finally looking back up to him, a brow raising as you waited for an explanation on the plants.

“I just thought yellow was a bright colour. Nothing particularly special about these ones, I wanted to cheer you up.”

He scratched nervously at the back of his neck, and you hummed happily, bringing them up to admire once again, before letting out a happy little sound from the back of your throat, one that made his cheeks flush with embarrassed warmth, bringing a pink tinge to the pale skin. “Don’t yellow roses mean friendship?”

His stomach dropped a little, but he swallowed thickly, and nodded. He was impressed that you knew that, a random fact to know, but he almost felt like he was being friend-zoned by the statement, even though he was the one who’d given you the flowers. It was only a few days ago that he’d realised he might have feelings that weren’t going away any time soon, the original fascination and infatuation was becoming something a little deeper, he often found himself thinking of you when he was at work and filling or orders, or at home cooking, or even letting his morning coffee. You seemed to be on his mind a lot nowadays, and he was beginning to regret the yellow rose choice, worried he’d sent the wrong message. How ironic.

“Well, I’m really glad you consider us friends, Chris. I think you’re great, and I hope we’re friends for a long time.”

He tried to contain his disappointment, nodding his head as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Walking you up to the front door, both of the receptionists made a point of fawning dramatically over the flowers in your arms as you signed back in, exactly an hour later and perfectly on time for the end of your lunch break, but with a lot more joy and a rejuvenation for the work you were doing, enough to carry you through the rest of your day.

Standing at the elevator and waiting for it to arrive, his cheeks were warm enough as it was, the attention you were getting front he not-so-discreet spying of the receptionists making him even more nervous, but if Angie and Clara were watching then that's their choice, because he didn’t have much left to lose, now.

Cupping your cheeks in his hands, he made sure that you were looking at him, a soft and shy smile on your lips as he thumbs smoothed over your skin, trying to reassure you without using words. “Chin up, sweetheart. You’re gonna’ be just fine, okay?”

“Okay, Chris.” You nodded your head, words whispered as you agreed with him, and when he pulled you a little closer, you tipped your head to meet him, his lips pressing to your forehead in a tender kiss, his heart leaping in his chest as you did. The elevator dinged, and he snapped away from you, both of you lingering for a moment longer, something unspoken laying between you, but it was broken as a colleague stepped out of the box, excusing himself as he squeezed past you, and the moment was over.

Waving goodbye, he wiggled his fingers in response to you, and he took a moment to himself to steady his racing heart once the doors had closed with you inside. He bid his farewell to the two women ogling him with wide eyes from behind the desk, trying not to let his nervousness show, to be confident like Mark had taught him to be, and it lasted all the way to the car, before he broke it with a ragged sigh and a little cheer to himself, immediately dialling his best friend on the car’s phone as he pulled out of the parking lot.

It was the kind eyes of Angie that met him as he stepped into the building, palms sweating a little and a shake to his breath, and the flowers in his arms were practically vibrating with nerves as he approached the front desk. Placing them down on the glass surface, she admired them quietly, taking a look at them all before he was being offered the candy dish that she usually had hidden, and he took a peppermint gratefully, red and green swirls along it through the clear wrapping, the festive theme of the late December days was shining through.

“Only the one bouquet this time?”

“They, uh, they aren’t for Mr McKinley.” He mumbled, unwrapping the hard sweet and shoving it wrapped into his pocket, placing the treat on his tongue and sucking on it lightly for something to do, sweetened mint flavours exploding over his senses.

“Oh, so these are a pretty bouquet for our lovely (Y/N), then?”

He could only nod, wondering absently whether or not sweat was beginning to physically show through his shirt, and just how fast his heart was going, because he felt like he was about to pass out. “I think she’s in a meeting right now, but I can get them sent up for her, if that works for you, my dear?”

“Can I just go and drop them off in her office? It’ll make a nice surprise for her to come back to.”

She considered it for a moment, mulling over the security risk and all other options, and he was ready to give up, before she eventually agreed. “Alright, but only if you tell me about the flowers. She’s been telling me all about the pretty bouquet you make with meanings, even showed me your website.”

“She did? She does?”

Pride flushed through his system at that knowledge, and Angie seemed to pick up on it, her face cracking in an even wider smile. “Yes, and they were all beautiful, but I don’t remember this set on there.”

“It’s new, I made it. It’s a personal one, I suppose.”

“It got a name, yet?” He mulled it over, staring down at the pretty bunch in his hands. Dark shades of blue and black, splashes of purple that were speckled with white, and he decided it resembled the night sky rather nicely.

“What do you think of ‘Starry Night’?”

“Very fitting.” She confirmed, and his heart managed to slow a little in his chest as at least one thing on his to-do list became sorted. “So, blue roses, but what are the rest?”

“They would be black pansies and gypsophila.” She hummed, continuing to fix him with that curious gaze, and he knew that wasn't going to cut it. “The blue roses are for mystery, and gaining the impossible. I dye them myself. Black pansies mean broken love, which, I guess isn’t totally suitable here, but combined with the gypsophila, it’s more like the chance of a new beginning, and not necessarily unrequited feelings.”

“You really like her, huh?”

“That obvious?” He grinned, knowing that his feelings may as well be lit up with a neon sign above his head. “You’ll get them to her after her meeting, then?”

“Of course, I will.” She took them over the desk, writing down a memo on her notepad so that she didn't forget, and he watched as the pretty bundle was carried away. “Did you leave a card, or do you want to write a note?”

“Just tell her to text me if she likes them?” She beamed, nodding her head, and he backed away, turning on his heel, a little disappointed that he didn’t get to give them to you himself, but simultaneously relieved at the fact, because he could feel his pulse racing right to the tips of his fingers with how intense it was.

You’d clearly had a busy day, because it wasn’t until Chris was shutting up shop that he finally felt his phone buzz, doing his last check over of all the systems and machines, when a text from you came in, diverting every ounce of attention that he had.

[stardust 🌌 ✨] so, do these flowers have a hidden meaning, or did you just put them together because they look good?

He grinned at his phone, shaking his head slightly as a laugh left his lips, and he leaned on the wall, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he thought out his response.

> a little bit of both.

It was a few minutes before you replied, this time, a photograph coming through, of you carrying your flower out of the building, setting off towards the elevators from your office, if he was depicting the background correctly.

[stardust 🌌 ✨] gonna tell me what it is, or do I have to google it?

He paused, not quite having got that far, and the relief of not having to explain his feelings or you before had drowned out the fact that he’d have to tell you at some point, and his heart was leaping into his throat.

He gave himself a minute, checking over the locks and windows to make sure everything was sealed up, setting the thermostat and setting the alarm, not yet activating it, but making sure that everything was done, right down to holding his keys for the main door in his hands. Locking up the building, he sealed down the metal guard, triple checking the padlock, and making his way to the car.

Engine on, heaters up, his lights being the last to flood the parking lot as he tried to man up, before finally bringing back up the unopened message, taking the notifications and opening his texts.

> long story short, I’m trying to ask you out. using flowers, because words normally fail me in times of importance.

He let out a slow breath, running a hand over his face and just hoping that it was acceptable, his phone buzzing before he’d even managed to start up the car property for his journey home. His hand hovered over where it was laying on the passenger seat, considering whether or not to pick it up, before forcing down his nerves and reaching for it.

[stardust 🌌 ✨] friday night work for you?

He stared at the message for a few seconds, confirming that they were real, and he wasn’t just making it up because it’s what he wanted to read, before letting out a loud and victorious set of cheers for only him to ever know about.

> I’ll pick you up from your work at 5.

Chris was sitting in one of the white leather chairs that had been scattered around the lobby, shifting slightly awkwardly, nerves getting the best of him. He knew you wouldn't stand him up, but as the clock ticked over past 5:10 PM, he worried a little that you were trying to find a way to let him down, having decided that you’d changed your mind on wanting to go out with him, and he tried to steady his nerves.

Brushing over the flowers in his hands, he adjusted his grip on them a little, not wanting the plastic to become damp with his sweaty palms, and swallowing thickly again. Finally, the elevator doors chimed, and he let out a nervous sigh, taking a deep breath and sliding his eyes shut as he calmed himself down, certain that his heart no longer had a rhythm and was just beating erratically and rapidly like the seismograph in a disaster movie.

Twisting his head a little, he let out a deep breath, watching as you came toward him, looking far more casual than he had ever seen you ever had before. Jeans and jumper, a striped scarf that looked suspiciously handmade in the sweetest of ways, and sneakers on your feet instead of heels, dropping your height down by a few inches, and he was so used to looking straight at you, never needing to look down, that it caught him a little by surprise.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” You looked a little flushed, sounded slightly out of breath, and he realised you must’ve been rushing, not stalling, and he felt a little calmer at that thought. Placing down the flowers on the chairs, he stood up properly, letting out a slow breath.

“Don’t worry about it. You look beautiful.”

“I thought I’d change, heels and pencil skirts are great for work, but not so comfy for a first date.” There was a bag on your arm, which he assumed your business-wear was stuffed in, and he gave himself a moment to take you in. He liked you better this way, you looked more like yourself, the version of you that he knew you to be from hours of late-night calls and texting, weeks of getting to know one another, both in-person and via messages, and the formal outfits he was so used to seeing you in were just a cover for the real you.

He realised he’d been staring too long, jumping slightly in his panic, before turning away and grabbing the bundle that he’d brought with him. “I brought you flowers. Not as special as normal guys, since I own the flower shop and it's not the first time, but I did create this bouquet design just for you.”

“I think it’s pretty special.” Your words were whispered, taking the bundle of flowers and bringing them into yourself to admire delicately, a combination of red and white roses, with green bells peppered throughout. “Okay, so, let me guess on this one.”

He only nodded his head, watching as you considered the bundle, licking over your lower lip and taking it hostage between your teeth as your thoughts whirled before his very eyes.

“White roses are innocence, right? Seems fitting for a first date. Red roses are romance, of course.” You smirked a little then, glancing up at him through your lashes, and he grinned, feeling totally at ease now that he was under your gaze. “What about the green ones?”

“Green bells. They’re for good luck.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll need any luck, you’ve pretty much already got me wrapped around your little finger, Chris Beck.” You adjusted the flowers in your arms, taking his hand with your other one, and lacing your fingers together, and he squeezed back in security as heat flooded over his face in a warm blush. “However, I do think it’s sweet, so I’ll accept it.”

“I wanted to do something Christmassy for you, but I didn’t want to go with any of the typical ones. Holly, mistletoe, poinsettia, they didn’t feel unique enough.”

“I don’t know, I think mistletoe can be good.” You leaned in a little, his brows raising slightly as your wide smile dimmed down, the humour of the moment changing, and his free hand found your waist, fingers playing with yours on the other, and he pulled you a little closer, taking the hint that you were laying down.

“Maybe just this once.” He teased, nose bumping against your own, and he could still taste the sweet honey on your breath from the herbal teas you were always concocting, warm breath shared between you. As your head twisted to close the gap, he became acutely aware of the lingering feeling of not being alone, the both of you jumping and snapping apart a little when the loud crashing of a mug on the floor sounded out loudly.

Two sets of voices cursing followed it, Angie’s and Clara’s heads both ducking down behind the desk as they looked at the mess on the floor, and his jaw dropped as he released the two had been watching on eagerly this whole time, and he’d been so wrapped up in you that he hadn't realised there’d been an audience all along.

He would’ve been embarrassed, had it not been for the way your face pressed into his shoulder as you tried to contain your laughs, and he found the amusement in it too, his arm slipping around your waist as he matched your laugher, shaking his head as he watched the two women try and clear up the split coffee and smashed mug.

“Hey, ladies, I’ll see you Monday!”

The popped back up, sheepish looks on their faces as they nodded, and he gave them both a little wave, letting you tug him along by the hand that was still connected to your own, towards the open doorway of the building, a chill rolling in. As you stepped out, a chill took over, and his hand slipped from yours to sliding around your waist instead, pulling you closer to him, and you guided him over to where your car was parked, and he was more than happy to simply follow.

“So, what do you have planned?”

“I thought something a little more relaxed would be fun. How do you feel about a tree lighting ceremony, and some street food?” You curled into him a little more, a happy sigh leaving you.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

Unlocking the car, he let you go, long enough to put your back in the trunk and lay your flowers out on the front seat, locking it back up as you deemed yourself ready to go. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, but just one thing, first. Something I’ve been waiting weeks for.”

His brows raised, lips parting to ask you waist it was, but your hand latched onto the front of his shirt, tugging him forward as you leaned up, and he groaned a little, a soft sound but vibrating through him as your mouth closed over his, soft and warm, lips pressing together, and a shock ran along his entire body. His hand slipped to your waist, one cupping your cheek as he pulled you a little closer, pressing you back into the car as your bodies came flush up together, and he felt like his legs were going to give out underneath him as you sighed out against his mouth, a breathy moan carried with it.

Twisting his head to the side, he barely pulled back for breath before he was diving right back into you, more confident and passionate this time with his movements. He took control, feeling the way you sagged into his hands as he did, lips working with yours in an intimate dance of their own making, slow and teasing movements, before finally he was pulling away, just far enough to press his forehead to your own as the two of you panted lightly, trying to catch your breath.

“Worth the wait?” He mused, feeling your breathless giggle wash over his lips, before you were leaning up just enough to peck his lips once more, and his lips were still pouted, chasing after you as you backed away for a second, before he was licking over them and cracking his eyes open to look at the adoring expression on your face.

“Definitely worth the wait.”

#chris beck #chris beck x reader #chris beck/reader #chris beck the martian #sebastian stan chris beck #sebastian stan the martian #sebastian stan #Seb Stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #12 Days of AUmas

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blu-archer · 3 years

Text

Cold and Comfort

Sickie: Hybrid Jungkook

Caretaker/s: Taehyung/Hosoek

Snz and comfort based.

Poly pairing.

Alternate universe

Magic and hybrids are a thing, this is technically a universe that I write in often but I’ll probably categorize it differently from my previous Yoonmin based one...

I thought I’d post this since it’s been sitting in my files for a while, it’s probably not great and feels a little unfinished but I’m going through some stuff so it’s probably not going to get better than this... so yeah.. Sorry for any grammatical errors

Word count: 4894

****

Perfect. Because a storm was exactly what he needed right now.

Jungkook sniffled meekly as he burrowed his face further into his scarf, glaring tiredly at the icy rain that flooded the streets just outside the safety of the campus Fine Arts building. His studio class was technically still in session, but after trying and almost completely abolishing the wood block that he needed to carve his image into for his print media class, Jungkook was calling it quits almost two hours early.

His head and throat ached in a way that could only mean one thing, and he really didn’t appreciate the timing.

His printing project was due in just over a week and his lecturer already had it out for him for the amount of times he’d had to skip class or post pone meetings due to clashes with his minor dancing course. He couldn’t exactly help it though. It wasn’t his fault that his schedule tended to overlap a lot.

Jungkook stepped closer to the double doors, huddling behind the one that had remained shut in order to limit the amount of cold wind that entered the building. It was pouring buckets outside. The entire sky was painted a dark charcoal grey, making everything outside seem a lot more depressing and gloomier than what it should have been. It also didn’t help that while Jungkook was quite padded for warmth, his coat and jacket were not waterproof, and he did not think to bring an umbrella.

To be fair it hadn’t been raining when he’d left that morning.

He sighed heavy and rearranged his scarf so that his droopy, black ears managed to just slip under the material, making his neck marginally warmer. Ultimately he could wait for Yugyeom or Jaehyun to finish with their classes, while they didn’t have a car they did store umbrella’s in their lockers by the dance studio’s, but that would be a while still. And he couldn’t call any of his friends or boyfriends because they were all either working or out of town and he didn’t really want to make them come out of their way for a distance that would literally take him thirty minutes to walk through. It would honestly take them longer to get to him than it would for him to get home. He really just needed to stop over thinking the cold and rain and just walk now. He knew he was getting sick anyway, he could already feel the heaviness settling into his body, so a quick walk probably wouldn’t make it that much worse. Hopefully.

Before he talked himself out of it or his lecturer could possibly come and find him hovering in the hallway instead of class, Jungkook stepped out into the brisk and awful weather. He hugged his arms around himself and tried to stick close to the buildings so that he had some form of shelter, but there was nothing that could really shield him from the immediate sheet of icy water that smothered and drown him with each step he took.

So maybe walking hadn’t been the best idea.

His body trembled until it had finally reached a peak point of numbness about halfway back home. He had crossed over the bridge by the highway and was beginning to weave his way through the streets that held all of his favourite cafes and stores, but there was no stopping for anything today. It was like a spell had been cast over the town so that no one even thought to wonder outside. He had only seen a few cars as well, none of them stopping in their journeys – not even slowing down when passing by the soaked bunny hybrid. There was one car in particular that had driven so close to the sidewalk that the puddle it had gone through had shot up high enough to smack straight into his face. If the rain and wind hadn’t been so loud Jungkook was sure he would have been able to hear the water in his shoes squelching with each step.

He tucked his chin deeper into his chest, rubbing a wet hand against his nose as the cold caused a ticklish buzz in his sinuses. He could feel cold rivulets streaming down his ears, leaving him feeling uncomfortable and heavy headed.

He really hated the rain.

Eventually he turned up at home, walking up the three flights of stairs with shaky caution after he’d slipped on the first few before sighing at the relief of being sheltered and indoors when he finally reached the corridor that held their shared apartment. He sniffled and shook as he fumbled for his keys, taking far longer than usual to find the right one for the door. His neighbour had passed him with a look of sympathy as she carried on to her apartment, seemingly coming back from fetching her small child from school. He accidentally dropped them when he tried to slip a key into the lock. He could feel his neighbours gaze one final time before she disappeared, in which he then promptly sneezed deeply when he bent to retrieve the keys from the floor. After a few more shaky attempts he managed to get the door open, taking off his soaked shoes and bulky layers as soon as the door was shut and locked behind him, almost immediately sneezing twice into his fist from the warmer change of temperature.

Jungkook let out a wet sniffle and groaned as he shook his head to try getting rid of some of the water that had soaked into his ears and hair. It was mostly unsuccessful. There was now a puddle of water in front of the door where he had been standing and he couldn’t seem to bring himself to care about the trail he was leaving as he went down the passage to steal clothes from Tae.

He took his time in the shower, just standing under the hot water while his skin turned red and he burned the chill out of his skin. It was only when he started to feel light headed from the heat that he decided to get out, drying quickly to avoid the cold before changing into the softest baggiest clothes that Tae owned – it also happened to be Jungkook’s comfort clothes and had been since he and Tae had first started dating in high school. There was something about the scent and feeling of the material that made Jungkook feel completely and entirely safe. Perhaps it was because Taehyung had had the set of clothes for so long, and Jungkook couldn’t even begin to associate the items with anything besides his childhood best friend.

He scrubbed his hair with a towel, not feeling up to the effort of blow drying it, before grabbing the fluffy green blanket from Hobi’s wardrobe to drape around his shoulders. He needed something from both of his boyfriends, needing something with their scents. Hoseok had claimed that the blanket had magical properties purely because his mother had given it to him when he had studying overseas for a year, and it had kept him from most of his homesick thoughts or general dips in his mood. And therefore, it had quickly become a shared item for whenever one of their household felt down or off, there had even been a time when Jungkook had stolen and nested with it before Hoseok had moved in with them. It had been mildly embarrassing at the time, but if anything, it had helped ease any concerns Hoseok had had when he had first decided to try a relationship with two people – no longer fearing if Jungkook had just been tolerating him for the sake of Tae.

The bunny got to work on heating up some of the left-over pizza from the night before, grabbing a carton of banana milk from the fridge before finding his phone that had surprisingly fared well, despite how wet it had gotten from his walk.

Skipping past the group chat that he had with Tae and Hobi to avoid any unnecessary concerns, since he didn’t need Tae to know he had walked through a storm when the witch wasn’t anywhere close to check on him, he shot a brief text to Taehyung asking how the little workshop that Namjoon had taken him to for the day was going, then switched to Hoseok’s contact.

To: ~♥Sunshine☼~

Hobi, left studio early. Wasn’t feeling the mood… When are you coming home? It’s cold.

From: ~♥Sunshine☼~

One more class, then solo session with a senior. How’d you get home? Gyeomie ask Jackson to drop you?

Jungkook cleared his throat gently, taking his newly heated food from the microwave so that he could sit in the lounge and sprawl out on the couch. He looked at his phone again to see that Tae had answered him as well.

To: ~♥Sunshine☼~

Walked. Yugyeom was still in class.

From: ~♥Tae♥~

Learning so much! I met this really cool person that owns a crystal shop, so I can restock on things while I’m here. Might be home a bit later than planned but will definitely be back tonight! Love you!! Give Hoseok kisses for me when you get home!

From: ~♥Sunshine☼~

Bun…

Jungkook quickly sent a ‘stay safe’ to Tae before he tossed his phone aside so he could focus on nibbling his food with little interest while he played some anime softly on the TV. He snuggled down in the cushions to get comfortable and emptied his mind of any stressors that had been plaguing him.

He doesn’t quite remember at what point he had fallen asleep, he hadn’t done much besides lay around or make coffee since returning from class, so he hadn’t expected to be able to slip so easily into resting, but he wasn’t complaining about it. He’d been stressing enough over his upcoming assignments that sleep was a blessing that he hadn’t been getting enough of right now.

Jungkook rolled over on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around himself as he did, hoping that he would just go back to sleep. He rubbed his face into the blanket, scrunching up his nose as something tickled at his sinuses. He sniffed and tried to ignore it, but when he realised that it wasn’t going to subside he pushed himself up right. Squinting in confusion as he realised what he had thought was still natural light was in fact fluorescent, the TV had been turned off as well. He frowned with a sniff. He was waking up enough to realise that it had gotten dark outside and that meant that he probably wasn’t home alone anymore. Which… would make sense.

It took a few moments for him to get to his feet. His head had spun for a bit before he chanced putting any effort into being vertical, but he did manage to stand and stretch – not waiting a second longer before grabbing the blanket once more and wrapping it around his shoulders. Making his way to the kitchen to find water, his nose twinged once more and he snapped forward sharply with a throaty “Huhe’TSHhh”, merely tightening his grip on that blanket before he ducked down again.

‘Heh’ehhhshheww … Heh’eehhhTCHsheww!’

“Bless you, Kookie.”

Jungkook sniffled and blinked blurrily into the kitchen space, only noticing that Hoseok had been seated at the table going over what he could only assume had to do with the dancers students.

“Thangks.”

Hoseok’s brows were furrowed with concern as the bunny hybrid just made his way towards the cupboard to drag out a glass before taking it to the fridge to find cold water. Jungkook wanted to cringe at how wet his sniffling had now become but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“How you feeling?” Hobi asked, concerned but toned down enough for the bunny to know that he disapproved of his actions. The elder glanced away briefly to continue checking his exam schedule, not looking at Jungkook as he said, “The walk must have really gotten to you.”

“mmm…” Jungkook gulped down his water before he discarded the glass and moved so that he was behind his boyfriend, rubbing his face gently into the crook of Hobi’s neck even if the dancers body language had first implied that he was mildly annoyed. “I’ve been feeling off all day. But it’s worse now, my head hurts.”

That caught Hobi’s attention. He twisted in his seat so that he could hold his hand to Jungkook’s face. “You’ve been sick all day? Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you even go to class?”

Jungkook shrugged. “If I said something then Tae wouldn’t have wanted to go to that workshop thing, or you would have tried to get the day off, even though you’ve been trying to work at the school as much as possible for your students right now. And anyway, I was hoping that I would be able to get some work done. I didn’t think it would rain.”

“Oh god, you walked in that while sick?” Hoseok pulled the hybrid into his arms so that his head rested on Jungkook’s shoulder. “My poor bunny, I swear you’re going to shave years off of my life with how easily you just disregard your health. Have you at least taken something?”

Jungkook grimaced. Hoseok let out a heavy sigh before getting to his feet and tugging the hybrid back to the couch that he had fallen asleep on earlier. Because of course Jungkook wouldn’t have taken something. Of course he would have waited until someone came home, and would have not bothered to mention anything about how he had felt before then – always quick to not be any form of immediate inconvenience.

“We don’t have much of anything left from last time… I’ll call Tae to pick something up, hopefully somewhere is still open.” Hoseok left Jungkook after covering him with the blanket, moving into the bathroom for a moment before returning with a box of allergy meds and a thermometer. “I know it’s not much, but if you want to take something now…”

Jungkook didn’t complain, merely dry swallowed two pills before allowing Hobi to slip the thermometer under his tongue. He pulled the blanket tighter around him as he coughed – lips drawn tightly together to avoid spitting out the device before it was ready. Hoseok took a seat beside him, running a hand up and down the length of Jungkook’s spine. He peered at the hybrid with a heavy, concerned gaze as he waited patiently for the small alerting beep – pulling the stick from Jungkook’s mouth when he did finally hear it. His concern didn’t ebb.

“You’re a little warm… but that’s not particularly surprising.” Hobi murmuring, watching Jungkook’s lips fall into a soft pout and his ears droop further into his face. Hobi peeled some of the blanket back, having to tug it a bit when the bunny gripped tighter, and half pulled Jungkook into his lap so that they were both covered by the fluffy green warmth.

He sent a somewhat lengthy text to Taehyung with stern instructions before he let his arms become a frame around the larger boy that had pushed himself into his chest. A wet nose pressed to his neck.

Hoseok sighed but didn’t put forth any humorous complaints like he usually would to lighten the mood, he had a feeling as much as Jungkook would probably try laugh at them, he wouldn’t necessarily appreciate them. So, he merely embraced the other, kissing at his hair line as the bunny drifted off.

….

Hoseok had been catching up on some series when Jungkook had woken up, wanting to shift positions so that he could lie length ways on the couch and use Hoseok as a pillow while he slept – which had maybe lasted an hour before he had begun to cough and rub at his nose insistently.

“Do you want to sneeze maybe?” Hobi asked gently as he ran a hand over Jungkook’s ears. “It might help…”

Jungkook whined and sniffled into his boyfriends lap. It had to have been over three hours now since he had taken the allergy meds and he was a mess. The itchy feeling wasn’t leaving him and he wanted to sleep, or at the very least be able to focus on whatever series Hobi had put on. He rubbed his nose into Hobi’s stomach with very little progress. Hoseok took to slowly running his hand up and down the length of Jungkook’s left ear, hoping to send some sort of content through the hybrid.

It was mostly working, Jungkook sighed and relaxed his tense body. While he was still feeling the active buzz in his sinuses, a familiar warmth flooded his system and he was left uncurling his tightly pulled in body as the fuzzy sensations started to travel down his spine.

Hobi smiled. He easily forgot how soft and submissive Jungkook could be when he wasn’t feeling well, it wasn’t something that Hoseok particularly enjoyed to see, since the hybrid was usually sick or in pain, but it wasn’t all bad. Especially from the caring side of things. It wasn’t terrible to have Jungkook cling to him or Tae and seek general comfort and closeness more than being keen on isolating like he himself usually did. Or at least he usually tried to. Living with Taehyung and Jungkook had taught him that there was no running from cuddles.

Jungkook gave small pleased ‘hums’ as Hobi gently began to rub at the soft ears, moving in massaging circles from the bottom all the way up. When he reached the base, Jungkook subconsciously raised his head to push his ear harder into Hobi’s fingers. His body giving a light tremble as Hoseok laughed and focused his attention on where Jungkook’s ears met his hair, enjoying the soft sounds that escaped the bunny.

“Is it good?” Hobi asked teasingly when he noticed Jungkook’s foot twitching into a tapping motion on the couch. He wondered what it felt like. He had always been too shy to ask Jungkook about what he went through each time he or Tae played with his ears or tail, despite being in a relationship with the bunny for almost 2 years now and seeing that what Jungkook felt was clearly one of pleasure, he just couldn’t bring himself to ask the details. As a human he’d probably never understand it properly, and he didn’t want to seem jealous of it or something – because he wasn’t. He was just curious, and he’d much rather be able to be the giver if it meant seeing his bunny writhe and moan at his touch.

He’d have to remember to ask Jimin, maybe he could give a better explanation and pointers than what the internet did.

Jungkook moaned as Hobi found a particular spot right at the base of his ear, the bunny had been leaning into it so much that he was holding himself almost upright with his arms propped under him, hovering over Hobi’s lap now. His mouth hung open a bit with heavy breaths and glazed eyes peered through dark lashes. Hoseok rubbed harder, watching as Jungkook sniffled persistently and shivered against him.

“You okay still?”

“mmmhh, it’s good…jus-just ti-ticklish..” he sniffled wetly. “I’b gonna sne-hih-sneeze.”

Well this was new, but not entirely unfamiliar territory. Taking pity on him, Hobi started to rub at the other ear as well. A deep bubble of heat burst through him as he watched Jungkook’s expression switch from pleased to downright euphoric. His breath stuttering and hitching as Hoseok become more determined in his activity. Jungkook was so beautiful, even when he looked like a mess. It was a hot mess, one that Hoseok had been a participant of creating. It didn’t take much longer before Jungkook was crumpling into his chest, tears brimming in his eyes.

Heh’ ehHHESHEW! ISHHHEW’uh Heh’EHHTCH’ahh… Hih..snf… Hiehh’TCHshhiew!

“Bless you.” Hoseok could feel the spray settling on the visible skin of his collar bone. “Are you done?”

Jungkook sniffled deeply, letting out a heavy sigh that forced him into a bout of soft coughs. “It still.. ugh.”

“Tickles? Should I fetch you tissues? We can coax them out if you want…”

Jungkook didn’t answer verbally, just sunk his face back into Hoseok’s neck while his hands clung to the elders shirt with an iron grip. That was as much an answer as he was going to get.

They remained in that position, both having fallen asleep at some point, until Taehyung came sneaking into the house later that night. The witch winced as he accidentally bumped into the trellis of plants by the door that Jimin had gifted him a year ago when he was shaking water droplets from his hair. The sound resonating through the silent apartment with more volume than he would have liked. His wince returned as he realised that Hoseok was blinking wide, blurry eyes through the darkness in his direction, the only source of light being the T.V. that his boyfriends must have forgotten to turn off.

“Sorry, it’s just me.” He reassured softly before flipping on the passage light so that Hoseok could see him better without bothering Jungkook too much. Tae lifted up a large, damp paper bag that hadn’t been able to fit in his backpack with the other materials he’d bought throughout the day. “I got some stuff. Most of the places had closed already but I found this one pharmacy that had just closed and convinced one of the workers that it was extremely vital that I got medication and stuff, so he let me inside for a bit. Praise that guy. Much thanks was given. A saint amongst people.”

Hobi let out a soft chuckle at Taehyung as shuffled closer to set a gentle kiss against his temple before leaning down and brushing the hair back from Jungkook’s face to press a kiss too his forehead as well.

The witches brows drew together at the slight heat that radiated off of the hybrid. He ran his hand through the bunnies hair, giving a gentle scratch at his ears as he watched Jungkook cuddle closer to Hoseok in his sleep. The blanket that covered them slipped down a little and Taehyung was quick to tuck it back under Jungkook’s chin.

“Is he feverish? This came on so quickly, he seemed fine earlier.”

Hobi yawned widely, shifting in his seat but not making a move to push Jungkook off. “I thought so too, but he told me that he woke up feeling sick. He also left class early and walked through that storm to get home.” He sighed and Taehyung’s brows raised with surprise, his mouth slightly ajar as if he wanted to say something but no words came out. “I think we can be grateful he isn’t worse. I gave him some allergy med’s since its mostly his sinuses that were bothering him and that’s all we had, but they didn’t last very long. He was miserable for a while before he got to sleep. I don’t think he ate much today either…”

“…Should we give him something now?”

Hobi bit at his lip. He knew hybrids could tolerate certain things a bit better than humans could, but he still didn’t like the idea of giving the bunny medication on an empty stomach. And eating at this hour… it must be at least close to eleven pm now.

“ If we feed him now he is probably just going to get nauseous. I don’t want him to feel worse..”

Tae nodded in agreement, still carding his fingers through Jungkook’s hair. “We can make a nice breakfast tomorrow and give it to him then. I got some new herbs and crystals, so I’ll make him some new charms as well. For you too.” Hoseok smiled at Taehyungs concern. “You still have classes tomorrow right? Yoongi is still out of town so I don’t really have to go into work. Namjoon is probably sick of me hovering anyway. Between him breaking jars and me doing the wrong measurements and methods, Yoongi may just bury us alive when he gets back.” He chuckled nervously, but Hobi knew that Tae had mixed feelings of disappointment and worry when it came to his work. “I just mean, I’ll be able to stay with him.”

“I know.” Hobi replied, staring at Tae’s downward gaze. “I think we’ll both appreciate the effort, Tae. I’ll try get home early, but it will probably be just the two of you in the morning. Just email his lecturers.”

“Of course…” Tae pressed another kiss to Jungkook’s forehead, then to Hoseok’s lips before the elder broke into another yawn. “I’ll pack this stuff away quickly then we can head to bed, just give me a second.”

The witch disappeared, not trusting himself to try to levitate anything like Yoongi had taught him -he was still only getting it right a third of the time. So it took a bit longer than he planned, but he eventually packed away the food and goods that he’d gotten and left his charm materials and medication on the table to be dealt with in the morning. He re-entered the dim lounge to see Hoseok gently shaking Jungkook to a somewhat state of consciousness so that the elder could get up.

When Jungkook let out a deep whine Tae moved beside them and slipped his arms under Jungkook’s legs and back to lift him up. It was a bit of a struggle at first, since the angle was weird, but he bumped the bunny up in his arms to get a better grip and then carefully carried him to their room down the hall. Hoseok was a bit slow to follow, taking a moment to stretch and get life in his legs before he joined them. Jungkook buried his face into Tae’s shoulder as the lights in the passage forced him further into the land of the living.

“Tae…?” Jungkook sniffed, then pushed harder against Taehyungs body. “Eh’hii’ehSHHieww. Eh’iishieww!... … ‘m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Bun. Bless you.” Tae murmured. His shirt was still a little damp from the rain when he had to climb the stairs anyway. “Let’s get you to bed, Hobi is bringing your blanket so you can stay warm and comfortable.”

Jungkook nodded before sneezing again. Behind him, Tae could hear Hobi’s soft blessing and sloppy, half asleep movements as he used furniture and the wall to no doubt help him walk. Taehyung forced himself not to grimace at the delayed thought of how both of his boyfriends had kept him in the dark about things for most of the day. Hoseok had probably been exhausted from his classes and yet he had chosen not to bother Tae with any concerns until it was late, and Jungkook had acted like nothing had been wrong at all when he’d spoken to him earlier…

He kicked open the bedroom door with a shake of his head, walking into the dark room with perhaps a bit too much force. He was being dumb. This wasn’t necessarily about him, and he knew that. It’s not what he was supposed to be focusing on.

He set the hybrid down on their bed, opening up the duvet and encouraging him with little pats to roll towards the center, before he went and grabbed the ‘magical’ blanket from Hobi who was still only halfway up the passage – sparing an embarrassing chuckle as Tae picked him up as well – so that he could give it to the bunny before he started to look for it.

“You should change.” He said once he had set Hobi down and left him to handle settling Jungkook with gentle pats. He tossed some sweatpants and a T-shirt at Hoseok, before grabbing his own pajama’s to change into. “How was school?”

Tae listened to Hoseok tiredly ramble on about his students and the upcoming exam preparations while they both got dressed for the night. Overall, it sounded particularly stressful, and some of Hoseok’s kids weren’t the most hardworking – even if they had the talent to be amazing. Hobi more often than not would break down in spiralling rants about how they needed to work harder or at the very least pay attention in class. Honestly, Taehyung couldn’t fathom who wouldn’t be interested in having Hoseok teach them. The man was one of the most passionate people he had ever met, it was actually what had drawn him to the human. Of course now there many other traits that he loved, but Hoseok’s passion would always be his first.

He added a brief skim of his daily events, knowing that even if Hoseok was trying his best to pay attention, the elder needed to sleep more than he needed an immediate recap. Tae merely ended his tales by saying that it was ‘Knowledgeable and fun’ before he ruffled Hobi’s hair and jumped onto the bed, cuddling up to Jungkook’s sleeping figure. He imitated the bunnies deep snores and earned muffled laughter from the elder as he joined them on the other side of the bed.

“Good night TaeTae.”

“Sleep well, Hoseok.” Tae murmured. The lump in his chest from early slowly melting away as sleep dragged him into darkness.

#bts sickfic #bts fanfic #taekookseok #bunny hybrid jungkook #witch taehyung #dance teacher hoseok #sick!jungkook #sneeze #colds #alternate universe #ended badly #sorry

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pilot-boi · 4 years

Text

Snowed In

The first snow of the school year was shaping up to be quite the storm. Not the blow your house down kind of storm, but definitely the bury your house in mountains of frozen water kind of storm.

Ren just wants to get some studying done if he can, and then stay in before the snow buries the whole campus. But he might not be getting buried alone, which might be less irritating than he thinks.

(Secret Santa for @katmotif )

Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful. And since we’ve no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

AO3 LINK

The sky was growing dark outside, and stars would be twinkling into view if it weren’t for the thick blanket of clouds cushioning the sky. The air was crisp and cold, warning of frost and even colder weather to come.

After days of threatening, and warnings from the campus weather service that nobody heeded, the clouds that had been looming all week were finally fulfilling every student’s wish. Flakes of snow drifted silently from the heavens, dusting the roofs of buildings and cars alike.

While it was getting dark, it was not quite late enough for the streets to be abandoned. So occasionally a car would trundle past, making spotlights in the snow with its headlights. Or a particularly unlucky student would be seen trudging back to their dorm room through the gathering drifts.

One such student was Lie Ren, who was shuffling back to his dorm after a day of studying at the local coffee joint. As soon as the flakes started actually accumulating, he’d waved goodbye to his roommate Jaune, who was one of the unlucky employees, and had headed out the door.

Ren didn’t have a car, and he usually elected to walk around campus instead of employing some sort of transportation. So if he wanted to make it back to his room before the streets became completely un-navigable, he unfortunately had to leave much sooner than normal.

Jaune was not going to have fun biking back through all of this, poor guy.

So there Ren was, messenger bag slung over one shoulder, scarf wrapped tightly around his face, and water soaking through his shoes and into his socks. His breath fogged up the air in front of his face, and, more annoyingly, also fogged up his glasses.

Who needed eyesight anyway? He was seriously debating just taking them off, if only so he could freaking see.

Reaching his building, he swiped his card at the door, waved at the desk attendant, and hiked up all the flights of stairs to his room. He should have the room to himself for the rest of the evening, since Jaune was likely to be occupied at his job for the remainder of the night.

Ren wanted nothing more than to just sit at his desk with a cup of tea and let his mind relax into the comforting haze of schoolwork he already knew the answers to.

All his hopes were dashed when he got nearly tackled to the ground by what looked at first glance like a high-speed ball of cotton candy.

“Reeeeennnn!!” yelled the cotton candy ball, who revealed herself to be Nora Valkyrie. “You’re back already?” she demanded, already dragging him back into his dorm room.

“Nora? How are you here?” he asked, allowing himself to be dragged out of the hallway, through the common area, and into his room. “Did you bully Jaune into giving you his key? Again?” he continued, sighing slightly as he shrugged his scarf off his shoulders.

Nora pouted and plopped herself on his bed, kicking her legs petulantly. “Ren, do you have so little faith in me? I would never! Such baseless accusations, how could you?”

“Nora.” He wasn’t even looking at her as he took off his coat, but he could feel her rolling her eyes at him.

“Okay fine, yeah I did,” she replied, grinning cheekily. “But I promise it’s the last time!”

“Really?” he commented, grabbing his electric kettle and leaving Nora alone in the room to fill it with the water he needed. He didn’t believe her in the slightest. “I don’t believe you in the slightest.”

“Weeeeellll...” he heard Nora trail off noncommittally, in a way that didn’t get Ren’s hopes up at all. “I promise it’s the last time I steal Jaune’s room key!” Ren leveled an unconvinced look at her as he came back into the room. “No really, it is! I’m gonna get Ruby to 3D print me a copy in her next lab!”

She seemed extremely proud of her solution to the problem of how she was going to continue to break into his room. “Nora, I don’t think that’s allowed,” he reminded her, settling the kettle back onto its stand and setting it to boil.

Nora waved him off. “Pffft! Sure it’s not allowed! But it was either this, or breaking out the lock-picking kit Sun got me for my birthday.” Ren reminded himself to remind Jaune to complain to Neptune to yell at his boyfriend for giving Nora the disastrous present. “Besides, you never answered my first question!”

“Which question was that, exactly?” he asked, pulling out a couple of mugs, green tea for him, and specifically the box of non-caffeinated hot chocolate for Nora. Ren’s chances of getting any actual work done were lowered drastically by Nora being here, but they would be non-existent if she managed to get her hands on caffeine.

“Why you’re back so early!” she reminded him, stealing the container of marshmallows before he could stop her. Popping a few in her mouth, she commented, “I thought I’d be waiting around for-EV-er for you!”

“Have you been here that long already?” Ren asked, raising a fond eyebrow at her. He casually pulled the box of marshmallows back out of her hands and ignored her when she pouted. “If you eat all of these, there won’t be any left for your cocoa.”

“So what? They’re still ending up in my belly where they rightfully belong.”

“Now you’re ignoring my question.”

“Hmm? Oh right!” She bounced on his bed, kicking her shoes off to join Ren’s pair placed neatly at the foot of his bed. “But yeah my construction class got cancelled so I got done early. But you usually don’t get back until like freaking midnight!”

It was true. As much as the coffee shop was rarely quiet and he tended to get less work done than he would like, even there he still managed to get sucked into his work and not notice how much time was passing.

More times than not one of the employees would have to usher him out with a sheepish and apologetic smile because he was keeping them from closing up.

“So what’s the deal with that?” she asked, flopping onto her back to stare at him upside down. “Why’re you back already?”

“It’s snowing,” Ren replied simply, nodding at the darkening sky outside his window and the flakes that drifted past. “I wanted to get back before the roads disappeared,” he explained, lifting the whistling kettle off its stand and pouring twin streams of hot water into their mugs.

“What?!” Nora exclaimed, tumbling off his bed and somehow miraculously landing on her feet in a show of nimbleness that definitely would’ve eluded his roommate. “It’s snowing and you didn’t tell me?!”

Ren rolled his eyes at her mock display of offense, hand pressed to her chest and everything. “How was I supposed to know it was going to snow today specifically?” He set his tea to steep in one mug and poured a spoonful of cocoa mix into the other. “You’re the one who’s been waiting all week for this.”

He passed Nora her mug, who had to stop her bouncing to save herself from the burns the sugary drink would definitely give her despite her love of it.

Finally settling down at his desk with his bag and his books and a mountain of papers to finish, Ren got to work on his work. Not his work for work, of course, but damn if his psych professor didn’t make that class feel like a full time job anyway.

Nora started telling him about her day, and his mouth tilted up into a smile in spite of himself. After about a minute her mug was already empty, refilled twice more, and then abandoned. She set it next to his, and without thinking he removed it from the paper she’d set it on, and rotated it so that it faced the same way as his own mug.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ren could see her pacing back and forth and making huge gestures with her arms as she explained some disaster that a fellow stage hand got into. Ren knew that Nora knew that he was only half-listening, but he loved hearing about her day more than he was ready to acknowledge.

He’d comment every so often, and her eyes would light up every time he responded. Even the glimpses he got of her bright-eyed freckle-faced smile were enough to warm him more than the tea ever could.

After about a half an hour of no interruptions, filled with blissful quiet, productive work, and no cocoa refills, he started to get suspicious. Nora not babbling extensively was… oddly off-putting.

It was like when a canary suddenly went silent in a coal mine. You knew something had gone terribly wrong with the universe.

But honestly what was most strange was that he missed her rambling. Ren would’ve thought that she would distract him, but somehow the silence of his room was more deafening than she ever could have been.

He didn’t know how, but he’d gotten used to her stream of consciousness. And now with it gone, when normally he wouldn’t have even noticed that it was happening, its absence was louder than her actual speaking.

Unable to focus on working now, for reasons that eluded him, he sighed and tilted back into his chair. It was really coming down out there, he would barely see the sidewalk outside. And judging by the sky that he couldn’t see, night had well and truly fallen.

And then his eyes landed on Nora.

She was laying sprawled on his bed, one arm looped around his pillow and one hanging over the edge. Still fully clothed, red hair falling like a halo around her head, and completely and utterly asleep.

Well that explained the quiet.

Ren just stared at her for a moment, struck dumb for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate. Something about how he was just now realizing that he’d never seen her quite this peaceful before.

Still fully mobile off course, not even sleep could down Nora Valkyrie completely. Even as he watched she rolled over, pushed the pillow she was holding off the bed, and grumbled something about pancakes under her breath at now finding the pillow missing. Or maybe it was at the missing pancakes, who could say.

But she seemed calm. And exhausted, now that she was keeping still enough for him to really look at her. Dark circles painted the pale skin beneath her eyes, and her naturally frizzy hair stuck up more than even it normally did.

Ren stood up, took one step towards her, and hesitated.

Should he wake her up?

No. He couldn’t wake her up, especially not now that he saw how much she needed the sleep. And, he glanced out the window again, especially not now that the snow was making it dangerous nigh impossible for her to walk back to her own dorm. Even if she wasn’t exhausted Ren didn’t know if he’d be comfortable with her walking back alone in this weather.

And she looked so comfortable, so who was he to move her, really?

Sighing, Ren resolved to let her stay sleeping in his bed and also resolved to bunk on the floor. Or maybe he’d borrow Jaune’s room, as it looked like his roommate had given up on returning home.

After one final sip of tea, he pulled the drawstring to close the blinds and clicked off his lamp. Now the room was lit only by the cool light of the moon. Nora’s hair shone like fire.

He pulled his sweater off, determined that at least one of them would be going to sleep tonight in the correct attire, and folded it neatly. He climbed up onto the bed, intending to pull the blanket more firmly around Nora’s shoulders before leaving, but instead he yelped when she grabbed him and pulled him down.

Lacking the pillow she’d been holding, it looked like she’d made do with him.

Ren froze in her grasp, only remembering to breathe when he saw that she was in fact still asleep. Freckles like a million constellations layered on top of each other speckled their way across her nose and cheeks. Her eyelashes were long and a paler orange than her hair.

Without thinking, Ren wriggled one arm out of her tight grasp and brushed a stray lock of hair off her face.

He froze again, flushed as deep a pink as his eyes, his arm hovering in the air above them. Why the hell did he do that? What if she woke up, what would he do then? What if-

Nora mumbled something else under her breath, and Ren calmed down. He willed the flush out of his face and in froze. Good. Still asleep.

And he was still trapped, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now. Actually...

One arm was pinned to his side, but the other was now free, and having already decided to not wake her up, he instead pulled the blanket up the rest off the way to cover them both.

Shifting as much as he could, he got comfortable and resigned himself to a long night of probably no sleep.

Nora’s grip relaxed, and she nuzzled into his chest. Maybe she somehow knew that he wasn’t going anywhere. This warmed Ren more than the blanket was, and a soft smile spread on his face for a person who was too asleep to notice.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

The snow fell outside, blanketing the world in white flakes. Ren would normally have watched them drift past his window, but he was already fast asleep.

#rwby #lie ren #nora valkyrie #renora #jaune arc #sun wukong #neptune vasilias #seamonkeys #ruby rose #mine #my writing #snowed in #katmotif

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cosmic-affinities · 4 years

Text

Fantasy Meets Reality Ch. 2

The second chapter of my BNHA Fantasy AU is here!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Summary: Of fucking course, it had to be Katsuki Bakugou.

Who else would have a weirdo clone from some kind of ‘Alternate Dimension’ show up to mess up their life? Obviously no one.

Of fucking course, Bakugou just had to be the one who temporarily imprinted on the random-ass third year who had a dimension summoning quirk.

Because why wouldn’t he?

Huge huge shoutout to @we-stanjirou on Tumblr for watching as I write this and giving me the motivation I always need! Also for the feedback cause I always love to hear about the reactions she has to my fic as I write them!

CHAPTER 2 STARTS HERE

Izuku woke to his purposely obnoxious alarm going off at 6:45, giving him enough time to wake up, get ready, grab Kit, and meet Bakugou at the training arena. He slowly made his way around his dorm room, putting on his workout clothes and grabbing his bathroom bag.

After he brushed his teeth and washed his face he quickly stopped in his room to grab a change of clothes and made his way to Kit’s room and saw that he was already awake.

“Wow I didn’t expect you to be awake so early without an alarm.”

“Oh, well I am used to rising early, sleeping after the sun is up can be a dangerous thing with dragons.”

“Oh wow! I didn’t even think of that! I guess you must have a pretty fine tuned internal clock!”

Kit stared at Izuku for a moment.

“You really are similar to my ‘Zuku.”

“Oh! I was actually going to ask about him, I’m kinda curious to know how him and I are similar, I was telling Kacchan yesterday that he and All Might, my mentor, had such a big impact on the way I grew up and your Izuku couldn’t have had the same experience and I wonder how that makes us different!”

“Well I think the biggest difference that I noticed is in the way you interact with Bakugou, you act as if you know him better than you know yourself, which I wouldn’t doubt given yesterday’s events. My Izuku acts more like he is still trying to get to know me.”

Izuku took in Kit’s words, considering how much All Might could have influenced him.

“I’d imagine no matter what my circumstances I would probably try to get to know whatever version of you there is.” Izuku blushed at his own words, realising how that would sound to anyone else.

“Oi! I figured you’d be up already even though we don’t have to meet for another twenty minutes.” Izuku heard Bakugou’s words and silently panicked, how long had he been near them? Did he hear what they were talking about?

“Well don’t just fucking stand there, we might as well go early.” This finally brought Izuku back to their conversation,

“Oh right! One quick thing, Kit is going to come and watch so hopefully I can explain quirks to him, plus it wouldn’t be fair to deprive him of seeing your quirk.” Izuku knew the perfect way to distract Bakugou, a well timed compliment that was different from the standard ‘Kacchan is amazing’ should do the trick.

“Damn right, I’ve got the best quirk in this class. Whatever as long as he doesn’t get in my way.”

“Perfect! Alright let’s go! I’ve been thinking about what you said last night, and I think I might have figured out a way to land my attack.”

“Tch, I guess we’ll see what you’ve got.”

The trio made their way across the campus, Izuku unintentionally taking the lead as he muttered about his strategy.

“So Bakugou, how much of our conversation did you actually hear?”

“What the fuck do you mean!”

“Izuku may have not noticed you but I saw you round the corner long before you announced your presence, so how much did you hear?”

Bakugou seemed to consider Kit for a moment, deciding how willing he was to actually listen to him.

“Tch fine, I heard everything, the damn nerd was going on about some ‘internal clock’ when I walked up.” With a pointed eye roll Bakugou tried to end the conversation.

“So you heard what I said about my Izuku? The way he treats me differently than Izuku treats you?”

“Yes I fucking have ears, I heard everything!” In that moment Bakugou would swear the temperature rose suddenly enough to leave him feeling warm.

“You should tell Izuku that, you should have seen how red he was when he realised what he had said. He probably thought it was a good thing no one else was around to hear him.”

“And what the fuck do you think you know about Deku? Oh and by the way I already planned on letting the nerd know that he shouldn’t talk so loud in the middle of hallways.” According to Bakugou, the temperature was quickly rising, even though the other two with him seemed indifferent to it.

“I don’t claim to know anything about your Izuku, although I do happen to know a lot about the way my Izuku acts, and it doesn’t seem too far off.” Kit gained an air of confidence about him, he knew if the roles were reversed he wouldn’t have much to say.

“Deku isn’t my anything! So just shut up and watch us fight.” Bakugou made a point of walking ahead of Kit, not realising that his movements placed him directly next to Izuku as they came to the doorway into the training arena.

Bakugou instinctively opened the door and held it out for Izuku, allowing him to walk in first. With a surprised look Izuku hurried in and placed his bag down on the small set of bleachers on the right side of the room.

“Thanks Kacchan! Kit, why don’t you sit over here while we spar, I would suggest sitting as far away as possible, we can be a little destructive.” Izuku sheepishly scratched the back of his neck, recalling the warning they got about shoe prints on the ceiling and scorch marks on the walls.

“Ha yeah, you wouldn’t want to be in the line of fire, you wouldn’t last.”

Kit wordlessly made his way to the top corner of the seats, effectively protected by two rows in front of him.

The two quirk users made their way to the center of the arena, which was basically a fortified gymnasium made to withstand bombs, which it did on a daily basis. Hero course students were there for a reason.

“Alright Kacchan, don’t hold back! I’m trying to perfect my attack!”

“Psh, I always give it my all, why would I stop now? Alright let’s go on three. One… Two… Three!”

In an instant both took off, Izuku propelled himself upwards, making sure Bakugou’s explosions wouldn’t hit him immediately off the bat.

Once Izuku landed he was securely behind Bakugou, he only had a moment to think before he had to dodge an onset of small quick attacks. Rushing to his right Izuku took the opening and landed a swift kick to Bakugou’s side, temporarily throwing him off balance. The moment didn’t last long, Bakugou was quick to retaliate and pushed small crackles into Izuku’s arm, causing a pain to bubble under the surface.

The two continued to battle, making it look like a well practiced dance rather than a life threatening show of skill. As Bakugou aimed, Izuku dodged, Izuku moved forward and Bakugou moved back, it was hypnotising.

After their stamina started slowly breaking, Izuku found an opportunity and managed to get Bakugou’s hands pressed against each other behind his back, effectively making any explosions more dangerous for himself than Izuku. Their personal sparring rules, perfected over many arguments about who won what, stated that if no attacks are made for ten seconds due to the other person effectively trapping you, then the fight is finished and whoever had the other trapped won.

Bakugou could feel Izuku’s sharp breaths on his neck, he was using OFA to keep his hands pinned, and Bakugou needed to act quickly, he turned his head slightly giving Izuku a view of his face.

“So you’d want to get to know me no matter what huh?” Bakugou took a chance and it paid off.

“What?!” Izuku was taken aback, in his surprise he unknowingly loosened his grip of Bakugou’s hands allowing him to break free entirely.

Izuku was back into full battle mode once he realised what happened and saw Bakugou in front of him. The two fought defensively for the moment, neither wanting their guard to fall.

“Yeah, you seem to have some pretty loud conversations out in the hall.”

“How much did you hear?” Izuku shot back quickly, still considering the options he had.

“Just about everything I think.” Bakugou at the same time was watching Izuku’s measured steps, knowing he was about to attempt something.

“Well then, I feel like I should be slightly embarrassed, but both of us know I’ve said far more embarrassing things.” Bakugou knew he was planning out his moves, he only allowed himself that kind of confidence when he knew what he was doing next. Bakugou had to try and throw him off again.

“I think you were right though. It can’t be a coincidence that the shitty extra with my face seems to be attached to you. Maybe it’s a you thing, maybe it's an us thing I guess we’ll never know.” Everything Bakugou said he believed, although under normal circumstances he would never admit to it.

His plan worked, he noticed the falter in Izuku’s steps and the surprised look he received.

Izuku was not faring well, he had planned to go through the opening motions of his new aerial attack and last minute switch to a low swipe to take out Bakugou’s legs but he couldn’t help but momentarily stutter at Bakugou’s words.

Izuku knew that Bakugou was not a liar, he just didn’t know why all of a sudden he was so open about the truth. It took him a moment too long to realise he fell right into the trap Bakugou had set. He had lost focus, even if it was merely momentarily, it gave Bakugou the opening he needed.

In a flash Bakugou blasted forward, aiming to get Izuku onto the ground and pinned underneath him, the most effective way to end the fight. Luckily for Izuku he managed to fling himself towards the ceiling fast enough to avoid getting seriously hit, unluckily for him, he had no plan for what to do next.

He decided to try the new aerial attack, all he had to do was get up high enough to wrap one leg around Bakugou’s torso and flip him over onto his back by twisting his own body. His previous escape route put him at a perfect height, all he had to do was secure his right leg around Bakugou’s back.

While the plan itself was sound, the execution was slightly off, Bakugou took notice of his position with just barely enough time to twist his body to make it difficult to finish the move. Izuku successfully had Bakugou wrapped in his leg, but the lack of surprise gave Bakugou the advantage of being able to throw his weight in the opposite direction of Izuku’s push.

Before Izuku had a chance to move Bakugou pressed his forearm over Izuku’s waist, pushing him onto the ground. Bakugou brought his other hand to Izuku’s chest, within moments Bakugou was fully on top of Izuku, letting small pops come off of his hands to prevent Izuku from powering up once again. Ten slow seconds ticked by where Izuku tried to make his way out from underneath Bakugou to no avail, once their mental timers went off both relaxed.

Bakugou got up with a smirk and offered a hand out to Izuku. Tired from the fight, Izuku accepted the hand and slowly got to his feet.

“Damn it! I swear I had you there!”

“You let yourself get distracted nerd. Although I was almost surprised by your aerial attack, so I’m sure whatever shitty extra you might be fighting against would be blind sided.” Bakugou would never admit it, but if he hadn’t been able to distract Izuku the second time, he might not have been able to win.

The two were lost in their own world of quirk training when a small clap helped them remember they were not alone.

“That was all incredibly impressive, I remember the Mage said something about everyone having powers so I assume you were both using those?”

“Oh! Right! Kit! Sorry, yes we were using our quirks, Kacchan here has a nitroglycerin like sweat and can ignite it at will which causes the explosions that you saw!”

Kit simply nodded at Izuku’s words, taking in the information.

“Wait so then what is your quirk Izuku?”

Izuku seemed shocked by the question, as if he never expected Kit to want to know about his quirk.

“O-oh! My quirk? It's called One For All, basically I can stockpile raw strength, speed, agility, and durability either into a specific body part or all over my body and my quirk enhances my own abilities making them a whole lot stronger. There are some other things that go along with it but it’s not really all that interesting.”

“So, would you say you have quite a bit of raw power?”

“Well I mean I guess so, at least enough to harness my quirk without damaging myself, why?”

“Oh well, I was just curious to see if you would be interested in sparring with me without using your quirk? I would ask Bakugou here but he and I seemed to be pretty evenly matched, it would be boring for us.” Without meaning to Izuku let out a small giggle, comparing their theoretical battle to that of Kirishima and Tetsutetsu. Once the request registered though, Izuku was quick to respond.

“Actually that would be great! It would be nice to see how physically capable I am.”

“Oi nerd. We just fought for over ten minutes straight neither of us pulling any punches, even fighting without your quirk right now would be fucking stupid. Even for you.”

“Are you worried about me Kacchan?” Izuku’s tone was heavily teasing, hoping to tease Bakugou to get back at him for their conversation during their battle.

“Pft fuck no, I just figured All Might wouldn’t want you to be out for the day ‘cause you’re stupid enough to fight back to back without taking a break.”

“Oh I don’t know Kacchan, it sounds to me like you’re worried.” Izuku shot him a teasing smile, completely ignoring the actual advice in Bakugou’s words.

“Fine whatever I’m not carrying your sorry ass back to the dorm when you feel like falling over.”

“Fine, I’ll have Kit carry me back if I have to.” Izuku could see the miniscule trace of anger at the words, but more prominently the amusement.

“Yeah right, good luck with that, I am going to use my brain cells, unlike some people, and take a break before I start fighting again.”

“Alright Kit, let's lay some ground rules, first I won’t use my quirk, second the first to be pinned for ten seconds wins, normal rules, anything you want to add?”

“No, that sounds perfect.”

“Alright we can start in the middle of the arena on three.” As Izuku made his way back to the start position his fatigue slowly started to catch up with him. He elected to ignore it, not wanting to give Bakugou the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

“Alright one… two… three!” They were off again, this time in a much more traditional hand to hand combat fight. There were far fewer bounding moves that shifted the fight setting, unlike Bakugou and Izuku’s previous fight which never stayed in one place for very long.

After many blocked and returned attacks both parties were itching for an interesting turn. Izuku tried to create one by attacking slightly lower but his slowed motions allowed Kit an opportunity to over take him, gripping his arm tightly Kit twisted and pulled Izuku’s body forward, he landed directly on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Kit wasted no time and quickly pinned Izuku down.

Kit straddled Izuku’s thighs to keep his legs in place as his arms pressed firmly on Izuku’s wrists that he pushed up next to his flattened shoulders. Both were panting due to the exertion, Izuku knew in raw strength he didn’t have Bakugou beat and very quickly came to the same conclusion with Kit.

“Stay down for an extra five or ten seconds, I want to see what will happen. Don’t take your eyes off of me either, this is a perfect opportunity to show you what Ashido and I mean.” Kit whispered to Izuku, he responded with a tight nod, he couldn’t help but to be slightly curious.

On the sidelines Bakugou watched the entire match carefully, keeping track of the things he would yell at Izuku for doing wrong as soon as they finished, he saw the exact mistake Izuku made when he attacked lower, he left himself open for an attack. He was about to say so as well until he saw Kit pinning Izuku to the ground. For a reason unbeknownst to Bakugou, he didn’t like the sight.

“Hey it's been ten seconds you idiots can get off the floor now!” Bakugou yelled, just as Kit finished his count to ten. The room seemed to become warmer.

“Ah yes I just wanted to be sure I didn’t let him up early and allow the fight to resume.” Kit spoke matter of factly as he helped Izuku up.

“You know what Kacchan you may have been right.”

“Of fucking course I was right. I’m always right nerd.”

“Will you carry me back to the dorms anyway?” Izuku knew it was a long shot, but he had hopes. It had happened once before, although that was mainly because Bakugou felt guilty for breaking Izuku’s nose, and causing him to pass out, and then he hated the fact that he felt guilty for it ‘Damn it Deku I have a reputation!’

“No, you aren’t broken, for once, you can walk yourself back or better yet go back in time and listen to me ya dipshit.”

“Kacchaaaannn! Fine if you won’t carry me I’m sure Kit will! Right Kit?” Izuku took a chance and hoped it would pay off, maybe Kit would agree to try and prove a point.

“How badly do you actually need to be carried Izuku?”

“Very badly, you guys weigh a ton and both of you were on top of me for at least ten seconds! And! You flipped me over!” Izuku dramatically wagged his finger at the two blonds standing in front of him.

“Oh my goodness you are dramatic, fine Izuku, just come over here before I change my mind.”

Izuku wasted absolutely no time at all, he quickly went to jump on Kit’s back.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh I’m going to jump on your back?”

“No, definitely not happening you will pull me back too far.” Kit gestured for Izuku to climb into his arms, he was soon being carried gracefully like a newlywed bride through a threshold. Kit did not miss the look on Bakugou’s face as he lifted Izuku up.

“Ok, I’m going to trip and almost drop you, just please follow along.” Kit hurriedly whispered into Izuku’s ear.

“What?! Wait!” Izuku tried to get Kit to listen but as Bakugou walked out ahead of them he saw his opportunity.

There was a slightly raised stone that could conceivably be tripped over so Kit ever so slightly changed his path in order to walk over it.

“I just wanted to tell you , Bakugou, that your quirk is quite amazing. How is it that you are so easily able to manage it?” Kit made sure to keep Bakugou’s attention focused on him.

“Tch why wouldn’t I be able to manage it? It’s my own fucking quirk.” Izuku sat confused, loosely holding onto Kit’s neck, listening to their seemingly passive conversation.

Kit was about to walk over the stone, as he did so he let out a short distressed yell.

“Bakugou grab him!” That was the only warning Izuku and Bakugou both got before Kit pushed Izuku off of himself and into Bakugou. Izuku was impressed with his commitment, he actually fell to the floor after he managed to rid himself of the person in his arms.

“Ah! Thanks Kacchan!” Izuku gripped Bakugou’s neck, mostly out of fear of being dropped. Neither made a move to let go as they waited for Kit to correct himself.

Once he was standing Kit continued to walk forward as if nothing had changed, leaving Bakugou and Izuku in the middle of their own centralized heat wave, one that did not affect Kit at all

The blonds finished walking the rest of the way to the dorms while Izuku sat, surprisingly comfortably in Bakugou’s arms. Izuku was carried through the dorm hall doorway before his feet were gently let down.

“Don’t try that shit again ya hear me? I’m not carrying you anymore, you’re just lucky I didn’t drop your sorry ass.” Bakugou’s words may have been more effective if he had looked Izuku in the eyes or had withdrawn the arm around his midsection before he finished speaking.

With a slightly nervous chuckle Izuku responded, “Don’t worry I don’t think I’ll need to be carried anywhere anytime soon, thanks again Kacchan!”

“Tch don’t mention it nerd, I’m going to go shower.”

“No seriously thank you!”

“I swear if anyone hears about this I won’t hesitate to burn you both to a crisp.” Izuku only half believed the threat, he wouldn’t totally put it past him but he had hope. Bakugou quickly made his way to the showers.

“Kit! What the hell was that! Why would you do that?!” Izuku, previously calm, was now frantically questioning the figure beside him.

“That was me proving a point. First he gets uncomfortable with me pinning you down, even though we were sparring and then he willingly carries you most of the way back here, no one would do that for just anyone Izuku.”

“You can’t be serious, thank god I made that deal with Uraraka, at least she will lay off for a little while at least.” Izuku quickly became slightly exasperated, he had hoped everyone would stay out of his nonexistent love life.

“Look Izuku, you two are dancing around each other at this point! A little nudge could go a long way. Like a little nudge of jealousy? Oh please, do not give me that look. Just think about it, please? You have been very kind to me since I have been here and if I can return knowing I helped you two then I will return happy.”

Izuku looked at Kit, trying to find it within himself to decline Kit’s offer. His kind features and overall demeanor made it nearly impossible.

“Ugh ok fine. What do you want to do?” Izuku relented fairly quickly.

“Well I am going to assume that Bakugou is the jealous type, and it would be fairly easy for me to make him jealous.” Izuku already slightly regretted his inability to say no.

“What do you suggest we do?”

“Well I think that I should try to court you! He has already proven to us that he has no qualms with listening to us speak based on his behaviour this morning so if we get him just close enough to hear me begin to court you there is no doubt he will try to intervene.”

“Wait! You mean you want to ask me out? Where Kacchan can hear you?”

“Yes exactly. Is there a problem?”

“Not specifically with this plan of yours, with this situation yes there are many problems none of which can be solved but I already agreed to go along with you and for some reason I trust you so fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine I will go along with this plan and let you ask me out where Kacchan can hear you.”

“Perfect, although we may need some help, I could ask Ashido?”

“NO! Uh um, no why not ask Kirishima? He’s closer to Kacchan and significantly less likely to tell Uraraka and Todoroki what’s happening.”

“Oh yes that could work, let’s go find him.”

“Wha- now?!”

“Yes, quickly before Bakugou is done in the bathing room.”

“Seriously why can’t I just say no every once in a while?”

The two went further into the building to try and find Kirishima, luckily it didn’t take long. They found him sitting with Kaminari on one of the couches in the common room.

Kit pushed Izuku ever so slightly forward once they made their way to the red head, urging him to follow through.

“Hey Kirishima! Do you mind if we steal you for a second? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure Midobro! We can go and chat in my room right down the hall!”

“Alright thanks Kirishima!”

“No problem!”

The three make their way out of the common room and into Kirishima’s room, he wasn’t kidding when he said right down the hall.

“Alright what can I do for you Midobro?” “Well um, you see-”

“We are trying to make Bakugou jealous enough to ask out Izuku.” Kit spoke matter of factly.

“Oh! Ok! How do you guys plan to do that?”

“Well the plan is to get Bakugou close enough for him to hear us, then I am going to try to court Izuku.”

“And make him jealous enough to court Mido here himself.” The two seemed to be on the same page fairly quickly.

“Alright so what do you need me to do?” Kirishima was quick to confirm his acceptance.

“Well we just need to make sure Kacchan can hear Kit, and then maybe give him a little push if he really needs one.”

The trio delved deeper into their plan, coming up with the time and place along with what the three of them will say.

They agreed on the next afternoon, just after lunch in the common room. With their plans in place the three leave Kirishima’s room.

Izuku headed towards the showers, Kirishima headed back to Denki, and Kit went to his temporary room.

Once Izuku was finished in the shower he made his way back to the kitchen for lunch and saw that someone had already made food. He grabbed a plate and sat down at the large table, noticeably everyone had sat in the same seats from dinner the night before.

The room filled with casual talk as class A enjoyed their time off. Izuku had managed to keep relatively quiet the entire time, opting to listen to others as they told funny stories and jokes until Ashido spoke up.

“So Midoriya, what was Bakubro like as a kid?” Her bright smile sold her question to be out of curiosity.

“Oh um I don’t know? Like a younger version of him now I guess?” Izuku knew it was almost a complete lie but he’s not sure how much Bakugou would want him to share. He chanced a look at the blond next to and was surprised to meet his eyes.

Izuku raised his eyebrow in question, hoping to make his point clear. It seemed to work because Bakugou shrugged and made a face that Izuku read as ‘might as well’ before he turned back to his plate.

“Well actually, come to think of it he was pretty different.”

“Like how different?” Ashido asked, hoping to spur the conversation forward.

“Uh well I think the biggest difference is that when we were young he used to be really, um affectionate.” Izuku looked towards Bakugou again to make sure he didn’t cross any lines, Bakugou merely shrugged again.

“No way! Bakubro here used to actually like people?! You gotta give us more!” This time Kaminari was the one to speak up.

“Well honestly this might say more about me than him but whenever we would watch scary movies by the end of it I was usually curled against him trying to block out the screen and all he would do is sit there with me until I stopped freaking out.”

There was a chorus of ‘awww’s from around the table before Uraraka spoke up.

“Well what else?”

“Oh um, I would always hug him. Kacchan hugs were my favourite ‘cause he was always really warm, which thinking back on it was probably the earliest sign of his quirk. Oh! When we would have sleepovers we would always share this one All Might blanket and so by morning we were usually all tangled together because he used to sleep all crazy.” Izuku looked over at Bakugou and started to giggle, as their eyes met Bakugou felt incredibly warm. No one missed the incredibly fond look Izuku directed at Bakugou.

“Oh my gosh! Is Bakubro blushing?!” Ashido was a brave soul.

“What the fuck?! No! I don’t fucking blush its just hot in here! Shut the fuck up pinky!” At his words, the ‘room’ grew even warmer.

Everyone decided to momentarily leave Bakugou alone in order to continue questioning Izuku.

“Tell us more! He sounds so adorable!” Hagakure had now joined in, Izuku had almost forgotten that she was there.

“Uh well what do you want to know?”

“Oh I want to know if you have any cute stories about the two of you!” Uraraka’s interest had doubled.

“Well yeah I guess there are a few.” Izuku thought for a moment, trying to decide what story he should tell. He landed on the one that was more embarrassing for him than Bakugou to try and take the attention off of him.

“When we were like four there was this girl who really liked Kacchan, like a lot. So much so to the point that whenever him and I were playing at the park she was trying to play with us, key word here trying.” Izuku paused for a moment and saw Bakugou looking at him with a questioning face, trying to figure out what story Izuku was telling.

“So basically this girl was inserting herself into everything we did until eventually she proudly announced that she was going to marry Kacchan.” Everyone glanced over at Bakugou, who had now realised what story Izuku was telling. As they looked at him they made their guesses as to what he said to this girl that wanted to marry him.

“So, once she announces that, Kacchan completely ignores it, he acts as if nothing was wrong or weird so the girl announces it again. Now this is where four year old Izuku comes in, not happy that some random girl was trying to marry his best friend. So what did I do? I pull Kacchan up off of the floor by the hand, latch onto him in a vice grip of a hug, look this girl dead in the eyes and tell her ‘you can’t marry him because I’m going to marry him!’ and then I stuck my tongue out at her.” Izuku paused again to let people get out their laughter, he knew there was more to come.

“That's not all! Oh no this girl was adamant that she was going to marry him. So she ignores me and goes straight to Kacchan and tells him ‘you're not allowed to marry him, you can only marry me!’ you know like a four year old. But even back then Kacchan didn’t like anyone telling him what to do so he just holds onto me and tells this little girl ‘I don’t like you I’m going to marry my best friend!’ which he also punctuates by sticking his tongue out at her. And then for the rest of the day Kacchan and I sat on one of the pieces of playground equipment and planned our wedding and our entire life because I almost started to cry when Kacchan said no to me the first time.”

There was laughter and various ‘awww’s from different areas of the table, just as expected, what Izuku didn’t expect is what Bakugou said next.

“Oi nerd tell them about the ‘life’ we planned.” If everyone didn’t know any better, they might have said Bakugou looked affectionate, but everyone did know better.

“Oh my gosh really Kacchan? Fine ok ok. So obviously we were both pro heroes in this ‘life’ of ours, but here's the thing we couldn’t agree on who would be number one so I suggested that we became a hero pair called ‘The Wonder Duo’ so we could both be number one. And then for some reason I decided that we needed to own 6 bunnies, four of which were named variations of All Might.”

“Oh no, don’t try to leave out the other two Deku, tell them what the last two were named and why.”

“Oh jeez, alright fine one of them I decided and I quote ‘One of them has to be called ‘Suki like you Kacchan! That one will be my favourite because it’s named after my favourite person ever! And we'll have one named ‘Zuku like what you call me and he better be your favourite Kacchan!’ and then I made him promise me that this fake bunny was his favourite compared to five other fake bunnies. There, happy now Kacchan?”

“Extremely.”

“There! That’s it I’m done! No more stories about us as kids! He’s happy where I left off so that’s the end of it!”

As much as he protested it, Izuku felt good to know that Bakugou was ok with sharing some of their stories. The rest of lunch avoided any and all conversation about Izuku as a kid and as everyone finished up and dispersed throughout the building Izuku noticed Bakugou hanging around longer than normal, before he could ask why he spoke up.

“Do you remember those matching pajamas we had?”

“You mean the All Might ones with the attachable capes? Yeah I have a picture of us asleep in those underneath that blanket in my room.”

“Really? I didn’t even know there were any pictures like that. Anyways the old hag just texted me saying that she found mine.”

“Oh I’m sure mine is in my closet back at home, along with a bunch of other old All Might shirts and blankets.”

“Once a fanboy, always a fanboy.”

“Oh don’t act like you didn’t freak out when you found out he was going to be our teacher, please. I remember we used to compete to see who was more excited for new All Might stuff. I just never had the urge to be cool, so I decided everyone should know how much I like All Might.”

“Even if you had the urge you could never pull it off, who was it that decided they needed to be carried like a princess back to the dorms today? Hm? Oh yes that's right it was you.” Bakugou let out a genuine laugh, a sound not very many people ever heard but those who had would agree that everyone should hear it at least once.

“Right of course but who was it that carried me? Right right that was you!” Izuku enjoyed the ease with which they could joke with each other, it was a long and hard process but they made it through and things were looking a whole lot better.

“Oh yeah laugh it up nerd. I’m going to go do the school work that was assigned.”

“Kacchan that’s not due until Tuesday, it’s Saturday, you have time.”

“I don’t want to end up like the shitty extras who have to rush through it all at 11 on Monday ‘cause they forgot about it.”

“Alright fair enough, see you at dinner?”

“Yeah I’ll be here, hey don't forget to send me a copy of that picture.” With his words Bakugou quickly made his way out of the room.

Deku smiled to himself if this is how things between them stayed, he could be happy with that.

To kill time before dinner Izuku decided to take out his school books and get started on the work they needed to do, once he finished his main thought was ‘huh maybe Kacchan is on to something here.’ With nothing else to worry about, Izuku decided to watch some TV.

Dinner came and went with more than one question about the apparent fantasy world that managed to find its way into their own. The class seemed to only become more curious as time went on. Once everyone was done many retired to the comfortable couches in the common room.

After about a half hour, class A found their homeroom teacher walking into their common room.

“Listen up everyone I have an announcement. The other Bakugou should be able to go home either tomorrow night or the morning after, the third year student is progressing well and Recovery Girl wanted me to relay the news to you all. That will be all.” Mr. Aizawa exited the room and left behind a jumbled mess of conversation.

Kit seemed relieved and no one could blame him, he had been put in quite the situation with no way out until now.

The people in the room continued to chat and as the night went on eventually everyone made their way to their dorm room, the pleasant air never leaving.

#bakudeku #Bakudeku fic #katsudeku #izukatsu #kacchan #deku #izuku midoriya #Katsuki Bakugō #katsuki x izuku #dekukatsu #bakugou x midoriya #deku x kacchan #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia fic #boku no hero academia fic #fantasy meets reality #bnha fantasy au

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dutten-does-the-fanfic · 4 years

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I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 6

Title: I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 6 of 14 (ch. 1) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Word count: 28016 Warnings: Language, internalized homophobia

AO3

Summary: The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all.

Present

The week seems to just drag on and on and come Friday, Isak is exhausted. It takes just about everything to get out of bed, his limbs feel all heavy and his head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, and overall he feels like he’s coming down with the flu or has the worst hangover of his life.

At least Friday is the only day he doesn’t have morning classes, but even getting up at 9 o’clock instead of 6 doesn’t do a whole lot for him – not when he’s spent the better part of the night tossing and turning because he just can’t seem to fall asleep. At all.

Isak’s always had a bit of tendency to insomnia, something that had gotten severely worse after – well, after. But after a while, when he’d really started to get on with Jonas and was figuring things out with Mahdi and Magnus, it had gotten better. Mind you, there was still the odd night with no more than two hours of sleep, but those were the exception rather than the rule.

Things haven’t been this bad for a while and Isak can feel the anger bubbling away inside of him.

He had been getting better, he was going to be better this year, and now he feels all out of sorts in his own home. He’s terrified of walking around in Oslo or on campus grounds because what if he runs into Mikael, what if he runs into Even – no matter that by studying bio-science he’s in a completely different section of the university, the thought that Even could be within walking distance at any moment in time makes Isak terrified.

Isak stumbles around the flat noisily as he tries to get ready. He splashes water onto his face three times, but it has little effect on waking him up and no effect on getting rid of the slowly turning more prominent dark circles underneath his eyes. The two cups of coffee help a little wake him up, but he also ends up feeling a little sick from drinking too much hot coffee too quickly and too early.

He’s always been organized about his things so it doesn’t take long to gather his books, his notebook – just in case, because mapping out formulas and equations on a laptop can be goddamn awful – his laptop, the charger and stuffed his phone in his pocket, he should be ready to go.

He’s already put on his jacket and a beanie to hide away the atrocious state his hair is in, he should probably be bringing out a scarf soon if the wind is going to be so persistently cold already.

It’s that thought that makes him take one last look around his room. He isn’t even looking for his scarf, isn’t looking for anything in particular, but maybe that’s what sets him off.

Isak’s room isn’t empty. It’s furnished, he has curtains up, posters on the walls; one of the periodic table and another of the atomic structures for alcohol, caffeine and adrenaline drawn with funny faces on them. He has bed sheets and lamps and a bedside table and everything that should make his room feel like a home.

And it just, doesn’t.

It feels like someone has cut Isak’s strings and everything just feels so overwhelming for a second, like that walls are trying to close in on him, this apartment that he three years ago never would’ve thought would need to be a reality, his reality. Because Isak’s reality had been Even and their shitty one room apartment on the fourth floor with no elevator and their tiny kitchen and it had been their life together.

Maybe it’s from his surprise run in with Even or maybe it’s the recent thought he’d had walking through the apartment, how there are personal pictures hung around everywhere but his room, but now the thoughts and the feelings are there and they won’t go away.

All of it has just been building up to this moment and now that it’s finally here it hits Isak like a freight train and all he can do when his knees give out is aim at landing on the bed.

He bounces, once, but it’s enough to make him almost slide down onto the floor. Isak curls his hands into the duvet, scrunching it up and making crease marks that go across the stripes printed on the fabric. He keeps looking around the room frantically, like maybe the next time he looks, something will have changed, something will be different and he’ll be okay.

Because the truth is Isak isn’t dealing with it. He hasn’t been dealing at all for all of these years, and as much as he is constantly running on fumes and denial, it isn’t helping him. Not in the long run, and Isak hates that he can’t continue like this, because as much as he hates the anxiety and the constant stress of worrying, it’s much more preferable to the thought of everyone knowing.

Isak stuffs his wrist into his mouth in reflex to muffle whatever noises threaten to slip out. He can’t remember if it’s always been this hard to breathe.

OOOOO

As much as Isak lets himself struggle when he’s on his own, when he’s in public, no one would be able to tell there’s anything different from this Isak to the one two, three, four and so on weeks ago.

He walks the halls with his back straight and an indifferent look on his face, like nothing in the world could possibly bother him. He pays attention in class and takes notes and tries desperately to look like he actually understands what’s going on, tries so hard to focus in on the words droning on and on and not on anything else. And if people stop to talk to him, he smiles and he laughs and he makes nice all the while ignoring how every single interaction drains him until he’s worried there will be nothing left of him by the end of the day.

While the bigger part of his first year had been a bit of a shit-storm, once he’d gotten on Jonas’ good side it had seemed necessary to fall in line with how he, Mahdi and Magnus had been acting, which meant all the university parties Isak had only been attending to get embarrassingly drunk he was now attending to still get drunk, but under the guise of talking and trying to get with pretty girls.

It had been stupidly easy to imitate the guys, so easy to mimic their body languages, to smile at the girls like he was letting them in on a secret just between the two of them, easy to talk smoothly and slowly gain the reputation of a flirt despite not having kissed a single person.

What wasn’t easy was everything that came after that. Girls wanted to talk to him, but most of the time they wanted a lot more than just talking, and Isak has absolutely no reason to feel guilty about the prospects of getting to hook up, but guilt is a lot easier to handle than the at best indifference and at worst disgust at the thought of having to hook up with girls.

He could explain the guilt away – just gotten out of a serious relationship, he still feels weird about being close to other people, blah, blah, blah – but the other parts? Those were a dead giveaway.

So he makes nice and counts down the minutes until he can go home.

During the last fifteen minutes of a lecture, his phone pings with a message from Sana reminding him about their scheduled study session he honestly had forgotten everything about.

Remember we’re meeting in the library in 20

Isak groans and ignores the dirty looks the people next to him send for interrupting. He gets another text before he can reply.

You did remember, right?

Isak scoffs even though he knows Sana won’t know.

Course I did. See you there

Guess he’s doing this, then. His body feels heavy at the thought alone, so he stops at one of the on-campus cafés and gets two large coffees to go.

“Hey,” Isak greets as he sinks down into the chair across from Sana, bringing out his laptop and debating whether he should get out his book already as well or if they’re probably just going to be browsing the internet.

The internal debate means Isak ends up not realizing the complete silence from the other side of the table before it’s been stretched out long enough to be uncomfortable.

Isak looks up – sure enough, it is Sana, he hasn’t gotten the wrong table, but it’s a Sana who looks like she’s just bit into a lemon the way she’s scowling at him.

“I’m not late,” Isak snaps, because he isn’t.

Sana scowls even harder.

“And I didn’t forget we were meeting.”

He had forgotten.

“You did,” Sana replies. Isak doesn’t even bother looking outraged or protesting because, yeah, he had, sue him. “That’s not my problem.”

Isak has enough problems already, thank you very much. A deep sigh escapes him involuntarily, and he regrets it immediately because all it amounts to is Sana now looking angry as well. “What is your problem, then?”

Sana doesn’t reply. She looks at something past Isak’s shoulder, and Isak almost turns around in his seat to see if he isn’t the problem but someone behind him is – which, honestly, would be a well-needed break clearly brought by the gods above finally looking out for him.

“You need to do something for me.”

Hold the phone, sister. Isak’s hand freezes from where he’d been about to type in his password on his computer. “What?”

Sana rolls her eyes. Isak can only just manage to see it from where she’s now scowling into her book that’s opened on the preface.

“I think it’s called, ‘I need you to do something for me,” Isak points out. “At least, that’s how you ask it when you need a favor from someone.”

Sana shrugs and still doesn’t look up at him. “I said what I said.”

Isak stares incredulously at her. Honestly, what?

Sana sighs long-sufferingly and finally looks up at him. “It’s only because of something Noora said.”

Noora? Isak mentally goes through every single girl he’s ever shared a class with who also probably has shared a class with Sana and comes up with… no one.

“Noora?”

Sana stares at him like he’s the idiot and not the one who apparently has to know every single person in the science department.

“Yes, Noora,” she bites at him. “Friends with Eva and Vilde? Don’t you know her?”

Isak knows a Noora – the possibility along with the probability of it being the same Noora should be quite slim to none. He does remember that Eva has a friend called Noora, but he can’t recall her for the life of him.

“No.”

“Well, Noora is our friend, moving on,” Sana slams her book shut when it’s clear she can’t keep on the pretense of it being more important than what she’s trying to talk about. “You need to –“

“Hold on,” Isak interrupts, holding up a finger to silence her before she gets too far ahead. “Are you asking me for a favor?”

And Sana has just taken another bite of a lemon.

“Because it sounds an awful lot like you’re asking me for a favor.”

“I’m not asking you for a favor,” she makes a face at the word like it has personally offended her. “I’m merely proposing working on a common interest.”

“In which I will be doing all the work and have absolutely no idea about what interest I have in it?” Isak clarifies.

“Common interest,” Sana repeats, leaning back in her chair. Her eyeliner is heavier today than it had been the last time Isak had seen her, and if she’s wearing it for the intimidation factor Isak has got to give it to her that it’s working. “We need you to get Magnus’ head out of his own ass.”

Isak lets out a mix of a surprised whine and an indignant squawk of outrage for someone who has probably only met Magnus a handful of times to talk like that about him.

Sana, being Sana, just fixes a glare at him. “Him and Vilde.”

“What’s wrong with Magnus and Vilde?”

“The fact that they since the start of the second semester have been trying to get together only to cockblock themselves every single time?”

Isak pauses. “How?”

To be honest, he hadn’t even noticed Magnus had been trying to hook up with Vilde. With every single party the boys dragged him to, it always seemed like it was a new girl for all of them except Jonas, who’d dutifully spend the night looking after Eva unless they were smoking.

“All they ever talk about is cats!”

“Cats,” Isak repeats, deadpan.

“Yes,” Sana snaps. “Cats.”

“Are you sure they’re not talking about –“

“Cats.”

“Alright!” Isak holds up the palms of his hands and leans back in his chair to get some space between them. “Again, why?”

“If I knew, do you really think I would be asking for you to interfere?”

Isak came here to study, not be berated about his friend’s life decisions. “You don’t think it could just be a… bonding thing?”

By the look of it, Sana does not particularly look like she thinks it could be a quote unquote, ‘bonding thing’.

“Like, a, ‘hey, do you prefer dogs or cats’, kind of thing?” Isak winces when Sana raises one eyebrow at him. There are weirder conversation-starters and icebreakers – Isak would know. So far he’s never met anyone else whose first conversation involved ISO-settings and a B&E. Without actually breaking anything. An E.

“They’re meowing at each other.”

“Jesus,” only Magnus. Or, apparently, only Magnus and Vilde. Isak rolls his eyes and shakes his head to stop looking at Sana. This really wasn’t what he’d been prepared for when he sat down.

It’s difficult trying to wrap his head around any of this. He’s exhausted to the bone, he’s spent the entire day trying to pay attention and stay busy. Having to suddenly think about woes of love hits a bit too close for Isak not to lose his breath.

Different situation, different people, he tries to keep in mind when he turns back to Sana.

“I don’t know what exactly you expect me to do,” he tells her. “I don’t even know when they’ll be in the same room, let alone talking to each other!”

Sana frowns quizzically at him. “Do you not know about –“

A sudden flurry of movement to Isak’s right startles them both out of their bubble. They both snap their necks to the side so quickly Isak feels a crick already forming from the mild whiplash.

“Hey!” Emma grins. Oh no.

Oh no. Isak’s day is going badly enough already, he does not need this.

‘This’ referring to the first year eagerly waiting for a slice of Isak’s attention to be on her like it’s all that’ll ever matter. She’s practically vibrating where she’s standing next to him, all bright-eyed and enthusiastic about life and Isak doesn’t know how to connect with her, besides the obvious reason.

Emma’s a sweet girl, really. With her journalism major and outgoing personality, she isn’t exactly lacking friends or popularity. She just, apparently, hasn’t gotten the memo that Isak doesn’t stick around, isn’t there for anything serious, and also isn’t there for something not serious.

So now he’s got a lot of unanswered DMs he can’t even bring himself to leave on ‘read’.

Isak’s just staring at her. It actually feels like his mouth has been sewn shut. Isak is usually the one who approaches girls; he doesn’t get approached outside of a party, and now that he has it feels a bit like he’s been thrown into the deep end.

What is he supposed to say?

He only startles out of it when the hardcover of Sana’s book smacks against the tabletop with unneeded force.

“Hey,” Isak tries to smile back. He has a feeling it looks more like a grimace, especially from the way Sana is looking increasingly amused, but Emma doesn’t seem to pay too much attention to it, thankfully.

“You kind of disappeared last time I saw you,” Emma toes an inch closer and Isak has to resist the urge to scoot backwards to maintain the distance between them. She shrugs. “’S a shame.”

Isak doesn’t recall having been anywhere near her, doesn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her.

While he doesn’t know a lot about girls, he does know you do not tell them something like that.

“Yeah,” Isak stutters out instead, shrugging in lieu of an apology. Maybe he can pull off the you know how it is half-assery. “Hopefully you weren’t too disappointed.”

It always leaves a bad taste in his mouth, flirting with anyone, even if he only ever flirts with girls. Maybe that part also contributes to the sour taste that sticks with him for the rest of the day.

Emma giggles, all prettily and Isak thinks he should like her; she’s pretty with the short, brown hair and big, brown eyes. Isak has to bite himself in his cheek when his thoughts try to stray towards blond coifs and blue eyes.

“Maybe you could make it up to me?” She casually puts her hand on the table, only a couple of inches away from where Isak is resting his arm. It would be too obvious to pull away, even if that is all Isak wants to do.

Jesus, that sounds like a line. Isak pointedly ignores the snort Sana attempts to mask as she slides further and further down behind her book and laptop that are propped open in front of her.

“Oh, uh –“ Isak fumbles. He should keep on looking at her, any guy would keep on looking at her. Isak looks around the room to find inspiration for any apology or let down he can give her without it coming back to bite him in the ass. “How would I –“

Emma was clearly just waiting for that opening, even if Isak doesn’t get to finish it. “I heard you’re having a shindig?”

A what?

“I’m having a what?”

Sana snorts again from the other side of the table, but Isak is magnanimous enough to fully ignore her. He repeats to himself that he shouldn’t divert his attention away from Emma, because none of the other boys would’ve done that.

“A shindig,” Emma laughs, reaches her hand out to lay it on his arm and squeezes once. Isak’s arm burns uncomfortably when she pulls her hand away again. “Or your housemates are. It sounded like it was for all of you.”

A what?

“So?” Emma smiles, bats her eyelashes once. “Am I going to have to beg for an invite?”

She takes another step closer. By now she’s close enough that Isak can smell her perfume, it clogs together in his throat, but he barely pays attention to it from how fast his thoughts are racing through his head.

A what?

Emma falters when she see Isak floundering. “Are you… okay?”

“Yeah,” it comes out too weak, so Isak clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, I’m – I’m great, yeah. Uh, I don’t – I don’t actually know anything about any kind of ‘shindig’.”

It sounds like a lie. It feels like a lie, and it isn’t even one. For once Isak doesn’t have to lie to get out of something, yet it’s also the one time no one seems to believe him. Emma most certainly doesn’t look impressed, and Sana, who isn’t even a part of this conversation, doesn’t really seem to fully believe him either.

“Right,” Emma says. It sounds too clipped and she takes a couple of steps back, putting some distance in-between them. Shit.

Isak tries to grin. “It must be a pretty exclusive party if I can’t even get an invite.” And that also sounds like an excuse.

“Right,” Emma repeats, but it comes out too stiff and a bit clipped. Her arms are folded across her chest and Isak wants to stuff his face into his hands and groan from having to deal with this on top of everything.

He doesn’t.

“What did – where did you hear about it?” he asks instead.

Emma’s looking everywhere but at him. “I just heard it around. Supposed to be the place to be tonight.”

Isak gulps. Shit, that does not sound good. Both in the sense that if this is true, his home will be flooded with drunk students and he’d rather not deal with the aftermath, but also that, if this is true, Isak hasn’t been told about it.

Isak… doesn’t quite know how he’s supposed to feel about that.

“Oh.”

Emma looks uncomfortable, looking down at her shoes she keeps scuffing the toes of around. Isak doesn’t doubt he looks uncomfortable as well.

Whatever Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus are planning aside, Isak can’t spend the night also having to worry about Emma. The way he constantly has to be thinking, is this the right way to behave around her, am I actually pulling it off, does it seem like she likes me, and most importantly, when can he leave.

But he also can’t afford to just turn down a girl without an obvious reason, and right now everyone seems to be on the Emma-boat and Isak is left to drown.

“Why don’t you keep your phone open, then?” Isak tries to grin, but he feels a bit too shaky. It almost feels like he’s coming down with something; cold shivers running through his body and he feels clammy, but he knows he isn’t getting sick.

Emma’s phone starts to buzz in her pocket. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she switches between looking at Isak and fishing the phone out of her coat and check who is calling.

“I’ll text you if I find out about something?”

He sounds too hesitant and Emma doesn’t look convinced either, so Isak pinches a small bit of skin by his wrist in-between two fingertips to pull himself together. It doesn’t hurt as badly as the rest of him does.

“After all, is it really a party if you aren’t there?”

She looks a bit more placated at that, even as most of her attention is on the phone. “Text me later, then. Or next week – we’ll do something. Hello -”

Isak doesn’t get the chance to reply before she’s bounded out of there again, leaving him staring into the air of her vacated space.

A snort sounds from across the table.

“What?” Isak snaps, rolling his shoulders back to try and relieve some tension. “Shit.”

“I’m sure she would’ve taken it much nicer if you’d just let her down easy instead of talk your way around it,” Sana leafs lazily through her book despite that they both know she isn’t looking for anything.

Isak scoffs. “Can’t exactly let her down easy when I don’t even know what she’s talking about, can I?”

Sana stops mid-motion, the page falling down onto its place without her assistance. She blinks once, twice, then looks up at him. “Huh?”

“’Shindig’?” Isak quotes, knocking his arms out. “What the hell is this?”

Sana doesn’t move, doesn’t stop looking at him either. It’s unnerving as all hell and Isak would just like to get some answers, thank you very much.

He doesn’t get any. Sana just shakes her head, closes the book and turns her attention onto the computer. “Take that up with the troublesome trio you live with. Let’s get started!”

OOOOO

Isak hears cupboards banging in the kitchen and he follows the noise until he can see Jonas bent over in front of their chips-and-other-miscellaneous-unhealthy-crap cupboard, riffling through the contents as a note and a pen lie on the counter in front of him.

It used to be so easy. Isak could walk up to Jonas and just say, ‘Hey’ or ask about coursework or football or how Eva is, how are the both of you, all of it seemed so easy.

Now he’s staring at Jonas, mouth snapped shut and no matter how much he begs his body to, it won’t open. He’s screaming the questions in his mind, but no sounds gets out and he doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this, this panicky anxiety that’s filling his body. Just the thought of actually saying something is making him twitchy.

“Hey!” Jonas smiles when he sees him standing there. “Did you borrow my scarf?”

“Are we having a shindig?” tumbles out of Isak’s mouth before his brain can catch up that he should probably answer Jonas’ question first.

Jonas frowns at the change of topic, but diligently answers him. “Yeah? Didn’t Magnus tell you?” and then realizes what he’s just said.

Jonas squeezes his eyes shut so tightly his nose and cheeks wrinkle from the force of it. “Shit, sorry, man, should’ve just told you myself. It’s been planned for a couple of weeks by now.”

A couple of weeks, holy shit. Isak stuffs his hand into the pocket in his jacket to hide how much he’s shaking. A couple of weeks puts it right before the night, and if Magnus didn’t have a tendency to get distracted already, he definitely would’ve had enough reason to when he ran into his idol.

“Right,” Isak stammers out when Jonas doesn’t seem inclined to give him any more information.

“It’s just a small thing!” Jonas hurries to placate, but that only makes Isak feel worse.

A few weeks ago there wouldn’t have been a need for him to be placated about his friends holding a party. Yeah, he’d be grouchy he wasn’t told, panicky about who’d been invited, but nothing like what he’s feeling now.

“Swear,” Jonas doesn’t pause so he probably hasn’t even noticed Isak’s internal struggle. “Eva and her friends are the only ones who are definitely coming. Although, Eva mentioned that Noora might be bringing someone.”

Eva and her friends, so Sana is coming. If anything, he can just hang up against her all evening with the excuse of getting to know his study-buddy. Something that is so like him and not likely at all to raise questioning eyebrows. Shit.

Jonas scratches the back of his head. “Mahdi’s invited a couple of people from the football team, and I think Magnus has invited some from his media classes. But none of them RSVP’ed, so…”

Jonas shrugs like that’s that, like that means it’ll still just be a small gathering of Eva and her girl power group, when Isak knows that they’re not exactly the generation to ‘RSVP’ and that he himself more than once has crashed an invites-only party, it’s bound to come and bite him in the ass at some point.

Also the fact that people are apparently talking about it like it’s the party of the year doesn’t exactly bode well either.

“Do you want to hit some people up, ask if they can come?” Jonas sounds hesitant. Isak feels so out of place in the doorway to his own goddamn kitchen. He isn’t supposed to be feeling like this. “It’s a bit last minute, but maybe someone is free?”

Isak can’t tell if he’s angling for Isak to invite some girls over, maybe even Emma, but Isak feels sick and uneasy enough already, he doesn’t need the added worry if he looks straight enough.

He shakes his head. “’s all good.” He doesn’t mention there’s no one for him to invite – no one he’d want to come. “Hey,” he clears his throat and points down the hall in the direction of his room. “I’ll go finish some, uh, stuff. Just get me if you need help with anything, yeah?”

Is that an appropriate thing to ask? Should he just barge in and ask directly if there’s anything they need him to do? It’s not that he minds Eva or Sana and he hasn’t really met the three left, but it doesn’t change the fact that this ‘shindig’ that supposedly was for all of them is feeling a lot like it’s only for some of them and Isak is only invited because he lives here.

Jonas nods, something guarded in his eyes that makes it difficult for Isak to swallow. “Yeah. Yeah, man, definitely.”

Isak nods, and then once again when he doesn’t know what to say, what to do. In the end, he just slowly starts to shuffle towards his room, leaving Jonas behind in the kitchen.

OOOOO

“Oi!” Magnus pounds his fist against Isak’s door so harshly it slams up against the wall. “Isak, my bro, my best bro, have I told you recently –“

“I’m not helping you get laid,” Isak groans before rolling onto his stomach, any following dismayed noises muffled when he shoves his head into his pillows.

“Please!” Magnus whines, throwing himself on top of Isak with zero regards to his spine. “I’ll help you!”

Isak snorts, or he would’ve, had he any air to do so.

“Get off of me,” he groans and tries to turn onto his back, but Magnus is stubbornly persistent in not moving until Isak agrees.

“You always know what to say and what to do,” Magnus whines, rolling onto his back until he’s awkwardly planked horizontally across Isak, his back forced into a unnatural arch. “Teach me your ways, I beg of you!”

“Your only bargaining tool was you would help me get laid, yet I’m the only one who knows how to do it?” Isak asks, except his face is smooshed into his pillows and Magnus is honest to god quite heavy, so it comes out a muffled garble of mour mon marg moo mou mel maid mam meon mow moo-hmm.

Magnus stills on top of him.

“Alright, I didn’t understand a word of that.”

Isak folds his arms up underneath his torso and pushes up until Magnus has to roll with it or be pushed onto the floor. Magnus yelps, his arms flailing as he nearly topples over, before he clings onto Isak’s hoodie, holding on for dear life.

“Isn’t this a problem for the crisis window?” Isak grumbles, referring to the nook in the kitchen, the window that’s just long enough that all four of them can sit side by side on the sill that had unintentionally turned into their version of a psychiatrist’s couch – too little room on the couch, and it feels like an invasion of privacy in their rooms. Or just a place to smoke if that’s what they’re in the mood for.

Magnus frowns. “Would you actually move into the kitchen for me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then it’s a problem for Isak’s bed!” Magnus moves around a worrying amount.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Isak flops onto his back before Magnus can climb back on top of him, “considering I didn’t even know we were having a party two hours ago.”

Magnus winces apologetically and looks at Isak with those big, sad eyes he knows no one can resist. Manipulative bastard.

“I didn’t mean to forget!” Magnus insist, snuffling closer to Isak in a way that’s probably meant to look like a puppy begging for forgiveness, but just makes it look like he’s stuck. “And I did say I’m sorry.”

Isak sighs and rolls his eyes, but he lets it go. There’s so much else going on in his head, he can’t deal with having to be angry about a missing invite to a party. “Alright, then,” and asks. “Who’d you invite to the party?”

A long list of names bubbles out of Magnus’ mouth, none of which ring a bell, which could both be a blessing and a curse, but then Magnus starts categorizing them after which class they share, which tutorial group, friends before going to university, the lady in the grocery store who, admittedly, had looked a little too old to be interested in a uni party, but Magnus is still holding out hope she’ll actually show up.

Despite rejecting his offer immediately after Magnus had told her about it.

“So what you’re telling me,” Isak interrupts once it becomes clear Magnus is about to go off topic about what he wants to suggest they watch in film club, “is that you want my help with hooking up –“

Magnus nods wildly.

“– when you haven’t invited any girls?”

Magnus stops nodding.

Isak shakes his head. “There’re only so many miracles I can perform in one night, and your requests are starting to increase in size.”

Magnus snorts. “Like the size is what’s stopping you from fulfilling my hopes and dreams.”

Oh, that one’s just too obvious. “Maybe it’s only one miracle we need if the only thing we need is to change the size of your –“

“Hey!”

Isak’s grown up enough to admit the punch to his shoulder was probably well-deserved.

“Asshole,” Magnus grumbles, rolling onto his stomach when he flops around uselessly. Isak honestly can’t tell what he’s trying to do.

Isak should feel worse about kicking Magnus when he’s already down, but there’s a few hours left until the shindig ahem-party-ahem is supposed to start, and Isak had hoped he could spend at least some of them asleep.

So he should probably try to actually help Magnus, then. Jesus, Isak doesn’t have the emotional capacity for this.

“Alright, ignore who is and isn’t coming,” Isak tells him. “You see a girl you like – what do you want?”

He does feel a bit bad when Magnus looks up at him with these big eyes, like he hadn’t thought Isak would actually help him.

Yet he’d still turned to him for help. These damn creative-minded artsy kids – Isak honestly has no idea how their minds work.

“I –“ Magnus hesitates, biting his lip. “I want to say something funny so she’ll laugh.”

Isak nods, that’s a good start. Seem approachable, relatable, try to be funny. Smiles are good when humans want to connect with each other.

“And then, later on, I’d like to press her up against the wall and –“

Isak groans like he’s dying, because he honestly might be. Magnus isn’t even deterred when Isak gets the pillow under his head out and smothers his face in it.

This was not what he’d signed up for.

Although, he probably should’ve been expecting it – Magnus has never been particularly quiet about what he likes, including what he likes in bed, which is what Isak’s currently being painted a lovely picture of.

A lot of leather is involved – a bit surprisingly – a lot of sex in various positions, most seem unbelievably unrealistic – not surprisingly at all – and how good it’ll be.

Something that is surprising is when Magnus doesn’t stop at the end of the night.

“I can’t cook pancakes,” Magnus reminds Isak. “So either one of you guys could do me a favor, or – oh! Maybe she likes cereal! Most people do after all – I could get her my special mix, you know the one where I mix –“

“You want her to stay for breakfast?” Isak interrupts, frowning.

“Yeah?” Magnus looks honestly perplexed. “We’ve just had the most incredible night together, why would I want her to leave?”

“Erh, well, you see –“

“I can’t expect her to stay and not feed her.”

“That wasn’t really the point I was trying to make –“

“Oh! And then, after breakfast, we could go into the city – no, wait! I could take her to breakfast at a café!”

“That definitely isn’t really hook up protocol –“

“Yeah, that’s probably a way better idea. I don’t want to scare her off with my bad cooking!” Magnus is laughing and Isak is grimacing.

“No, yeah, but –“

“And then after we’ve eaten, we could come back here and have sex again. You know I saw this thing in a porno once, where the girl ended up stuffing –“

Gross, gross, gross! Where is the bleach, Isak needs it. Desperately. Goodbye hearing, goodbye brain, there is literally no need for either if he has to spend the rest of his life remembering just exactly what, where, and how much that poor girl had stuffed.

“And in the evening I could take her somewhere nice. There are all sorts of romantic places in the centre of Oslo, right?”

“There are, but –“

“So we could go there and be all cutesy-and-shit,” a description every girl wants their relationship to have, “and then we go swing ‘round her place to get her some clothes. Or! We could just come back here again, and the next day she’d just have to wear something of mine. That’s hot, right?”

“Objectively, it is, but –“

“And I could fall asleep all folded up around her, and make sure she’s warm enough and comfortable. She could fall asleep on my chest – wait, no! We’re spooning – and I’m the big spoon,” he points at Isak like he dares him to disagree with that.

It honestly isn’t the bit Isak has the biggest issue with.

“And the next day we could get ready for the week together. We could do homework together and she could tell me all about her degree and her modules and her essays, and she’d listen to me rambling on about –“ Magnus pauses for a second, like he just remembered it’s Isak’s room he’s in. It doesn’t leave much doubt what he was about to say, but Isak’s frozen in his seat so he doesn’t comment on it when Magnus clears his throat and continues like nothing had happened. “ – and my education, and my work.”

Magnus gasps dramatically with a sudden epiphany, any lingering awkwardness at the near slipup clearly forgotten. “I could show her Even’s movies! Do you think she’ll like them? Oh, I really hope so, because we’re watching all of them. And she could show me her favorite movies – we could do several film nights!”

Isak’s mouth feels too dry. He’s pretty sure his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth permanently now.

“And I would find little pieces of hers all over in my room, like, some clothes lying on the floor, or a hair tie, or a book for class. And I could clear out a drawer for her things, and she could slowly take over everything in my room so I have the drawer I’d originally cleared out for her –“

Isak stills as what Magnus has described registers. His heart beats a little too fast and he feels cold all of the sudden, even as he can feel that his skin is actually rather warm.

It’s all said so matter-of-factly, like Magnus has never experienced the rush of emotions, the giddiness and the excitement and the happiness and the nerves and everything related to falling in love, because that’s what Magnus is describing. Love.

Isak doesn’t have a lot of expertise in the hooking up culture; he’d been so young when he’d met Even, just at the age where his classmates were only starting to gain interest in parties and kissing, so he’d never learnt what it meant, what you had to do and why it was supposedly so fun to participate in.

But what he’d lacked in that area, he’d learnt a lot more in another. And what Magnus is talking about? Isak already knows enough to know that isn’t what you do with a hookup, that’s what you do with a person you’re in a relationship with.

It’s suddenly very difficult for Isak to draw in another breath.

“Doesn’t that sound nice?” Magnus finishes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Really wish I had invited some girls to hook up tonight now –“

“Magnus,” Isak interrupts, a bit clipped. “That’s not what you do when you hook up.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what you do in a relationship.”

Isak’s so terribly thrown off kilter. He’d expected to bluff his way through guiding Magnus into getting a hook up, but now he has to fake not knowing about what Magnus is talking about, because Isak’s done all of that and no one knows. He doesn’t want to share it either, but it’s like something is being ripped from his past that he’d tried so hard to bury, and it’s both painful and makes him feel numb at the same time.

Magnus glares at him, but there’s no fire behind it. “What do you know about relationships?”

Isak feels freezing and boiling hot at the same time. It’s like it takes everything in him to put on a strained smile – luckily, Magnus isn’t looking too closely.

“You basically just described Jonas and Eva, you know that, right? You’re not interested in finding someone to hook up with. You want to find your Eva.”

Magnus hums, rolls onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “Suppose,” and then out of the blue asks, “Is that what you want, too?”

Isak’s skin feels too tight and the laughter that bubbles out of him is too high-pitched, too wrong. “Why do you think that?”

Magnus shrugs. The fabric of his t-shirt snags against the fabric of the duvet, making it look like a weird, awkward shuffle instead. “Like, is Emma your Eva?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, man!” Magnus knocks his arms out. “I just – don’t you think it could be nice? If that isn’t what you get to do with a hook up, then what’s the great thing about it?”

Isak can’t answer, because he doesn’t know the answer. He hates that he doesn’t know the answer, he should’ve figured it out ages ago, yet here he is.

“The freedom,” Isak tells him stiffly, but he tries to make it come out light and excited, like he should be feeling. “You can do whatever you want with whoever you want.”

A knot forms in Magnus’ brows. “Doesn’t that get lonely?”

It’s hard to swallow.

“Nah,” Isak leans back so he can look up at his ceiling. The familiarity of it is comforting; the same cracks and patterns as all the other times he’s looked up at it. “Think the other way around gets too crowded.”

Shit, Isak needs to get the conversation moving to somewhere else. He’s going to end up saying or doing something he’ll regret if he doesn’t.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight, though.”

Magnus snorts. “Yeah, going to meet lots of girls to a party where none of us has invited any.”

Isak rolls his eyes. “Eva’s coming,” which, maybe don’t bring up a girl who already has a boyfriend – a boyfriend you’re currently sharing a flat with at that, “didn’t Jonas say she was bringing her friends along?”

Magnus lets out a disheartened sigh. “Going by my track record, I don’t think any of Eva’s friends are going to be in my league.”

Alright, that’s any melodrama Isak can handle for the day, he needs to figure something out. If Magnus doesn’t think he has a chance with any of Eva’s friends, then he’s just going to have to –

Eva’s friends.

Sana is one of Eva’s friends. Sana has already mentioned another one of Eva’s friends.

He has an honest-to-god light bulb moment. He might as well pull up a ding to go along with it – Isak’s sure there’s an app for it. There’s an app for everything, nowadays.

“What about the one you’ve spoken to before, then?” Isak tries to ask casually. “What was her name – Mille? Hilde?”

“Vilde?”

“That’s the one!” Isak snaps his fingers, like that’ll make this conversation go faster.

After this, Sana can never claim he’s never done anything for her. This favor extends very, very far.

Except Magnus doesn’t start blabbering on about Vilde. He remains quiet, twiddling his thumbs in circles and carefully avoids looking over at Isak.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I don’t think she really likes me.”

Jesus Christ, Isak is getting a scientific degree for a reason – he doesn’t know how to do this, never learnt how to be confident enough in himself to spread it to his friends.

“Course she likes you. Why wouldn’t she?”

Magnus shrugs again, but he doesn’t add anything to it. So it’s actually serious, then, if Magnus doesn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s just –“ Magnus sighs. “Nothing seems natural. I always seem to say the wrong thing and – I don’t know. Shouldn’t it feel easier, somehow?”

Isak doesn’t feel like he’s in his room, on his bed, talking to Magnus. He can vaguely see his desk and his books, but it feels like it might be in a dream and he’s only seeing what his brain is creating for him to see.

“Falling in love should be easy – that’s what all the movies make it seem like. The pain usually comes after, once something has gone wrong, not during.”

Panic is sizzling away underneath his skin and Isak both simultaneously wants to get up and run away and stay here and get under the covers to hide away from the world.

“Shouldn’t it feel like a whirlwind from the start? Completely crazy and all-empowering and all you can think about?”

He’s tired. He’s tired of trying and constantly failing, because this was supposed to be his year, yet all he’s done is manage to fuck everything up. He was supposed to make it work with the guys, both by being a better friend, but also figuring out how to be a good flatmate, but so far he’s managed to scare them so badly they’re constantly walking on eggshells around him and Isak doesn’t know how to feel at home in his own apartment in fear that they’ll say one thing, one thing, and they’ll figure it out.

“Like you’d do anything to be with them, to be near them. You’d do anything to make them smile and you want the best for them. I think that’s what I really want the most out of anything.”

It’s stupid to think it, but the thought still somehow sneaks in, because what if that is the reason Magnus is talking about this? So many things just hitting a little too close to home, how easy it was to fall in love with someone, how overly encompassing it was, all the emotions and how it seemed worth it that it might bring pain, because it had also brought love. Isak has spent so long trying to forget all of that.

It’s what makes him finally snap, because he needs for Magnus to shut up. “If what you want is a relationship, maybe go talk to the Casanova, instead.”

“But Isak,” Magnus replies in a sing-song voice. “You’re the Casanova. Jonas would be, I don’t know – Romeo or something.”

It makes the anger swirling in his stomach boil over until it spews out everywhere. There are so many things Isak has spent ages avoiding getting near or getting into conversations about, and now he feels like tearing out his own hair and screaming and crying and he wants to hurt someone, anyone. One person.

“Get the fuck out of here with that shit.”

He sounds furious, voice dripping with venom and it’s surprising Magnus doesn’t pick up on it.

“So Emma isn’t going to be your Juliet, then?” Magnus nudges him playfully, but too many of Isak’s red flags have been prodded at and he can’t take it anymore.

“Absolutely not.” It comes out too harshly. “And I really can’t help you if what you want is some fairytale meet-cute, go talk to Jonas.”

“But isn’t that what everyone wants? Isn’t that the point of going out and meeting people, to see if you find someone worth sticking around and hurting for?”

Isak laughs. It sounds mean. “It really isn’t what everyone wants.”

Magnus is looking a bit confounded, what with the way he’s frowning at Isak with furrowed eyebrows, biting his bottom lip as if he’s contemplating something. “What about you, then?”

There might be a bit too much contempt in Isak’s voice when he tells him, “I have no interest in Romeo and Juliet whatsoever.”

OOOOO

The bass is pumping from the speakers and Isak can barely hear his own thoughts from where they’re being drowned out by the music. There are people all around him, talking, screaming, dancing, making out, taking shots. This is what uni is supposed to be about and Isak can figure out how to fit in, even if he isn’t going to be drinking excessively throughout the night.

It all feels a bit foreign, and it shouldn’t, because this is what Isak’s entire first semester of university had been about; booze and blunts and the noise, because that had seemed to be the only things that made his head quiet and body numb. Maybe it’s just the lack of alcohol swimming around in his body that makes Isak feel like a fish out of water.

At least it’s much less of a party-of-the-year and more in the likes of a pregame. Isak’s already heard several people talking about finding a club somewhere after, so he just has to hold on a few more hours.

A few people shout his name as he makes his way past them. They’re all grinning and raises they various drinks, cans and bottles at him in greeting, probably inviting him to come join them.

Isak nods a greeting, but doesn’t make his way closer. He doesn’t recognize any of them, figures they’re probably some of the blurry person-shaped edges he has in his memories of those nights back during first semester.

“Hey, man,” Jonas comes up to him from behind. He’s looking at Isak like he has to be careful of something, and it isn’t helping with whatever dangerous cocktail of emotions currently swishing around in Isak’s body.

Isak raises an eyebrow and tries to tease, “Bit of a ‘shindig’, huh?”

Jonas winces and looks at him apologetically. “Yeah, things may have gotten a bit out of hand.” And as much as Isak hates that the boys didn’t tell him, he hates this more – this, this guarded carefulness they all have whenever they’re speaking to him. It’s driving him insane and makes him want to scream, but that would only serve to make them worse.

So he tries to laugh and ignores the tightness in stomach. “There’s no problem. This is fun, right?”

Jonas doesn’t look convinced, but Isak doesn’t know how to convince him anymore.

Usually, he would’ve flung his arm around Jonas’ shoulders and shouted too loudly in his ear, ‘let’s go do some shots!’ and that would’ve been it, but he doesn’t do that anymore – drink heavily, or the other bit, actually, come to mind, because Jonas constantly looks guarded around Isak, and Isak can’t tell if that means he wants him close or he doesn’t want him close.

He doesn’t have to worry about it for long, because the front door bangs open when Eva lets herself in.

Jonas lights up like he always does when he sees her, and she sashays her way over to him to kiss him hello. And then some. Isak ignores the pang in his heart at the sight and looks over to the side of them to look at the rest of the gang.

Sana rolls her eyes when he nods at her, so of course he has to roll his eyes back. It’s basically their thing by now, as much as they both seem to hate it.

“Halla,” she greets. “Found out about the ‘shindig’, then?”

Isak feels short of breath, but it’s still easy to put the mask on, grin and pretend like everything’s okay. “Little less than two hours ago, actually,” and tries not to sound self-deprecating or like there’s something wrong.

He doesn’t pull it off. Sana’s frowning – when isn’t she, but all her attention is on Isak, which it usually isn’t, because that isn’t normal.

And he can’t have her say anything, he doesn’t know what he would reply, what would be appropriate and what wouldn’t, what could be worked as a joke and what would just give him away. “Worked wonders for not having to set anything up, though.”

She snorts and takes a step back, going further into the apartment. “Knew you were a slacker the moment I met you.”

“Hey!” Isak protests, whines a bit, but Sana doesn’t wait around to hear whatever defense he could manage to pull up, disappearing into the kitchen with the girl who never stops giving Isak bedroom eyes – Chris, he thinks.

An arm slings around Isak’s shoulder, the smell of beer more pungent than the smell of weed – Magnus, then.

“What the fuck?” Magnus points over at Jonas and Eva who are locked at the lips and oblivious to the world around them. “Is this allowed?”

“Stop,” Jonas breaks away long enough to groan, but Eva’s quick to cup his jaw and draw him back in.

Vilde’s standing next to them by now, and it looks like she’s only giggling politely with little clue to the context of Magnus’ comment, but Magnus’ is grinning back like he’s just won the lottery.

Usually, Isak would at least try and be a good mate and play up whatever had just been said, make it funnier than it actually was without drawing the attention onto himself, but his head had barely been in the game when the party had started, it definitely isn’t when the supposed Noora and her plus one enter their flat.

Because Isak knows that plus one.

“Now the party can sta-ha-ha-art!”

Isak knows that voice.

Eskild is dressed as loudly as his voice – neon pink and, oh god, are those feathers? – and crazy sunglasses that most likely don’t work if Eskild can stand wearing them inside.

“Ho-ly mother of God,” Magnus breathes out, eyes wide as he stares at Eskild. “Who on earth is –“

“Isak!”

Isak doesn’t even have time to wince from his name being bellowed straight into his ear before he has an armful of Eskild clinging onto him and shaking him around as he hugs him – or squeezes the life out of him.

“What are you doing here?” Isak’s voice is muffled from where his mouth is pressed against Eskild’s shoulder. At least Eskild’s close enough to be able to make it out anyway.

“Noora brought me!” Eskild steps back, but doesn’t let go of the arm he has slung around Isak’s shoulders. He points over to the blonde girl standing next to Sana.

“But – but –“ seriously, Isak’s mind is melted. “But that’s Eva’s Noora.”

Things do not compute.

“Are you telling me,” Isak continues, magnanimously ignoring Eskild’s snort, “that Eva’s Noora is also your Noora?”

“Technically, my Noora is also Eva’s Noora, because I had her first,” Eskild insists indignantly, pointing accusingly over at Eva who only rolls her eyes fondly, skips on close to fold her arms around Eskild’s side. “She’s just lucky she’s cool enough for me to hang out around her as well.”

“Yes, of course, darling, that’s why,” Eva laughs and then bounds on into the kitchen to get something to drink.

“But –“ Isak’s worlds are collapsing. He – but – what?

Eskild barks out a laugh. “Oh my god, that face is excuse enough for ghosting me the past couple of weeks.”

“I haven’t ghosted you,” Isak tries to protest, but Eskild doesn’t let him. It’d be a lie, anyway, kind of. He just – Eskild will know, because that’s what Eskild does, and Isak can’t – he can’t have people he cares about worrying about him again, can’t let them know that their faith in him is wasted. He can’t lose everything else too.

He finally catches sight of Magnus and Jonas out of the corner of his eye, both of them looking frantically between Isak, Eskild, and then finally over to Eva and Noora for some type of explanation.

“Oh, uh –“ Isak wracks his brain for the words that seem to be evading him. “Gutter, this is Eskild – Eskild, this is –“

Eskild holds up his hand in front of Isak’s face, startling him badly enough that he stops talking. Isak blinks confusedly.

Eskild narrows his eyes as he stares at Jonas and Magnus. Jonas and Magnus’ eyes, in turn, widen at the scrutinizing glare they’re currently on the receiving end of. Isak’s been in their place before, when he’d sneak out to see Even and come back in the early morning to Eskild hiding his worry behind reprimanding scolding and demands that he leave his GPS on next time he wants to go out ‘partying’.

Isak doubts Eskild ever thought he was out partying, mostly because he never came back hung over or drunk still, and he didn’t reek of booze, no more than the beer or weed Even would share with him on rare occasions. But it’s not like Isak could tell him what he was actually doing, and it’s also not like it was outside the realm of possibility considering how Isak and Eskild first met.

“Don’t tell me,” Eskild removes his hand from Isak’s face to point between Jonas and Magnus. “Are they the ones you left me for?”

Isak blinks, again. Magnus still can’t get his eyes off of Eskild, but Jonas is looking decisively more worried in Isak’s direction.

Isak sighs when Eskild keeps pointing. “I didn’t leave you –“

“Aha!”

Magnus jumps a foot into the air and nearly trips of the doorstep leading into the living room. He bumps into one of Mahdi’s jock friends instead, who in turn spills beer all over the floor. Great.

“So they are the ones you left me for!” Eskild finishes, not the slightest bit perturbed over the chain of events he’d just put in motion.

“What are you even, they – no,” Isak flaps his hands about, resorting to poking Eskild’s shoulder when he looks less and less inclined to believe him. “This is Jonas and Magnus, whom I’ve only been living with along with Mahdi for less than a month, and you know this, because I told you this back in July.”

Eskild mulls it over, still glaring at Jonas and Magnus, apparently to Noora and Eva’s amusement, but whatever he finds can’t be too bad when he immediately switches over to a blinding smile and introduces himself to them properly.

Isak hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, nearly still doesn’t until it all comes rushing out of him and he suddenly feels a little weak in the knees.

“How d’you know Isak, then?” Jonas asks, sounding more polite than terrified, which is more than what Magnus is managing to do.

Eskild opens his mouth, ready to launch into the tale of woe of how the two of them had met, and Eskild playing the part of the hero and taking in the lost duckling wandering the streets, drunk and completely out of his mind.

It’s not like it’s something Isak’s ashamed about, and he knows Eskild would never tell anyone about the part where he’d apparently begged him not to make him go home, but Isak –

Isak’s entire life is built on lies upon lies – lie about your mom not feeling well, she’s fine, she’s just stressed, don’t tell anyone you’re gay, don’t tell anyone about Even, and on, and on, and on, and somewhere along the way, Isak’s sort of forgotten how to share any parts of himself that aren’t just on the surface.

So he cuts in right as Eskild gets out how it was a cold, dark night – which isn’t true, because it was spring, so it was at most chilly – and says, “I used to live with him in a Kollektiv, back before uni.”

Magnus’ eyes widen impossibly further. “Shit, you’d already moved out in high school?”

Isak shrugs, ignores the feeling of Eskild’s eyes on him, considering how he was technically barely in high school by the time he moved in, and ignores how incredulous the looks he’s given from the people who don’t know the story make his stomach feels like it’s turned to lead, or maybe the opposite, like it’s so light he might be sick.

Eskild saves him. Eskild always saves him, and it doesn’t make his stomach feel any less like it’s filled with lead when Isak thinks of how he has been blowing him off and ghosting him.

“And then he left me. Depraving me of my son –“

“Fuck off –“

“My only son –“

“And I didn’t leave you –“

“Herre Gud,” Noora laughs. “How dramatic were you when I left for Spain, then?”

Noora is a goddamn savior and Isak will go down fighting for her. He can’t help the wince, though, because he knows, and he’s fairly certain that Noora knows too, just how much Eskild can talk once he gets going, and nothing can get him going more than Noora literally fleeing the country.

He physically takes a step back, and whilst Magnus is still looking incredibly confused, Jonas is now looking mildly concerned, and Noora, bless the girl, is trying her best to keep face.

Eskild narrows his eyes. “If you take away the ‘s’ in Spain, what are you left with?”

Isak frowns. Judging by the put-upon look on Noora’s face, this isn’t the first time she’s heard this.

“Pain,” she sighs.

“No,” Eskild sasses. “You’re left with me, in Oslo, where I’ve been abandoned.” Pauses dramatically. “And the only feeling I was able to feel when you abandoned me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Isak groans, pinching at Eskild’s side to get him to let go of him, then flays his hands around in everyone’s direction. “Kitchen’s that way, living room’s the other, do not have sex in my room, Eskild.”

“Why am I being singled out?”

Isak doesn’t deign to answer, just levels Eskild with a look until Eskild nods, goes, “fair enough,” and giggles with Eva.

God, Isak wants a drink. He wants many drinks, but the thought of having more than the one beer he’s been nursing so far makes him feel a bit ill, so he heads into the living room instead of the kitchen.

He doesn’t know why it’s so difficult. It doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t know why the thought of standing near Eskild makes him feel so anxious, why he feels angry when he sees Eskild laughing with Eva or Noora, why he can’t be at ease just like them. Guilt and shame mixes uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He plasters on a grin when four guys recognize him, cheering and waving their beers at him.

He doesn’t walk over to them. He’s fairly certain they’re in some of Jonas’ classes, but he’s not certain enough he’s willing to chance making a fool of himself. He feels like he’s slowly creeping out of his own skin, like he’s inches from falling apart. It’s exhausting. Isak’s exhausted. And the apartment’s in a tip and he can feel a headache coming on from the music, and he doesn’t know when he became this person.

Or – he does, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

This is better, Isak tries to convince himself. If it isn’t better than – than that, then it’s at least better than when he was drinking himself into oblivion any waking hour, when he was drinking so much he’d wake up still drunk and then just start drinking again. The fact that he came away without having to get his stomach pumped even once is more of a miracle than Isak thinks anyone will ever get to experience.

There’s a movie playing on the television, the same one they’ve had streaming pretty much since it was released. It’s one of Even’s. Somehow, Isak doesn’t know why, but somehow Magnus always manages to talk them all into giving him TV-rights to choose what will be playing, and it’s always one of Even’s movies.

This time it’s ‘Circles’, Even’s newest one that Isak hadn’t been strong enough to not watch it in the middle of the night about a week after you’d been able to stream it. The recommendation taunting him whenever he’d wanted to relax until he’d caved. But he’d been strong enough to not check out any of the reviews for it. Except then Magnus had ended up yelling how it’s been nominated for an award, but Isak still counts it as a personal win that he hadn’t looked it up himself. Baby steps. Just enough to fool himself into believing he’s getting better.

Maybe if he fools himself long enough he’ll actually start to believe it.

At least either the volume is too low for Isak to hear any of it, or everyone around him is too loud for Isak to hear any of it.

He finally makes his way over to the window. He wants to crack it open, but he knows that’s a bad idea. They’re bound to get a noise complaint sooner or later, opening the window would only make it much sooner.

Maybe he should open the window. He can see Jonas and Eva’s reflections in window, can hear Magnus’ laughter from another room, can see a glimpse of Mahdi chatting up some girl Isak doesn’t recognize. He scowls at all of them, feels something ugly swirl around in his stomach.

No. No, he reminds himself, presses his face against the glass pane, shivering at the cold shock it brings. They’re his friends – his best friends – and just because this year, the year that was supposed to be Isak’s year, has gotten off with a bit of a bad start doesn’t mean Isak can take it out on his best friends. It’s not their faults Isak’s such a fuck up.

Besides, it’s not like it’s too late, really. Surely if Isak just tried harder, things would go back to normal. Better than normal, even, because that had been Isak’s goal when he moved all his stuff into the room at the end of the hall, put on his blue-striped bed sheets and listened to Magnus waxing poetry about some sex dream he’d had and Jonas and Mahdi taking the piss out of him.

It’s not just the boys, though, is the thing. Isak knows he’s been shitty to Eskild too. He can hear him out in the kitchen, laughing and chanting chug, chug, chug and generally encouraging a mess Isak’s bound to be the one cleaning up later.

This is the year he’s supposed to get things right, to stop feeling so wrong all the goddamn time, and that’s not going to happen if he’s sulking in a corner the entire night.

He’s just got to get better at acting, Isak convinces himself. Squares his shoulders, straightens his back, and just breathes.

If he gets better at acting, then the boys will stop acting so awkward around him. They’ll stop walking on eggshells and they’ll stop looking at Isak like he’s a stranger in their house.

He walks away from the window, hand clutching his beer bottle. He’s shaking and his palm feels clammy from sweat. He really hopes it isn’t noticeable, any of it. Not just the shaking and the sweating.

“Isak!” A hand clamps down onto his shoulder so harshly it jostles Isak’s forwards until he nearly falls flat on his face. “Jesus, how much you had to drink?”

Isak turns to see some guy, one of Mahdi’s football friends by the looks of it, going off of the build and the muscles.

Isak tries to grin as he worms his way out from under the guy’s hand until he’s facing him. “Not nearly enough.”

The guy cheers and holds up his own cup of brown sludge that Isak doesn’t particularly want to witness him downing.

He’s lucky for once. Football-guy gets distracted when a girl accidentally puffs to him when she passes. He spends approximately fifteen seconds staring at her ass as she continues on her way, all of which Isak spends judging him.

“How you been, man?” the guy tries again. “Haven’t seen you since that party at Mikael’s.”

Something lurches through Isak’s body, cold dread that he has to fight to clamber down into nothing he’ll accidentally give away. He should open his mouth, he’s about to – should say Oh, yeah, wasn’t feeling well, and then immediately follow it up by a question that’ll give the guy talking.

Except he’s saved from having to do any of that.

“Who is Mikael?” Eskild slithers up from behind Isak. He tries his best not to jump or tense up, because it’s Eskild and there’s no reason for him to be tense. It’s stupid. He’s stupid. It’s all stupid. “And why have I not been introduced to him?”

Isak still tenses at the touch, but it’s Eskild, so Isak tries to not make it too obvious.

“Magnus’ friend,” Isak has to twist his head to the side so he’s nearly shouting directly into Eskild’s ear. “I don’t really know him.”

Present tense, because Mikael might’ve changed. He might not make the same kind of jokes or like the same action movies with far too many explosions for them to be contributing to any kind of storyline anymore. He might not like a cool glass of saft when he comes home or to lounge around outside when the weather’s nice anymore. He might not even be in contact with Even anymore and the party had just been a one-off.

“Oh. By the way, Mahdi told me to give you this and to tell you to stop leaving it around everywhere,” Eskild sounds bored as he hands over Isak’s hoodie.

Isak’s heart feels like it’s stuck in his throat when he grabs on to it.

“Can’t believe you’ve still got it, it’s so old.” Eskild turns his attention onto the jock instead. “And who might you be, then?”

Isak rolls his eyes so hard he actually misses the introduction. He tunes back in when Eskild lingers in the handshake and the guy is grinning nervously, switching between looking at Isak and looking at Eskild.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” the guy says when Eskild has buggered off somewhere else, even as he had walked away while looking over his shoulder on too many times for it to be anything other than intentional.

Fear flashes through him. Half of the sip of beer splutters out of Isak’s mouth while the other half blocks his airways until Isak is coughing and red-faced and looking incredibly unattractive.

“Eskild?” Isak grimaces. “No. No, no, no. Definitely not my boyfriend.” Shit, does that sound like he’s denying it too much, thus reversing the intention and effect of a denial?

Why would he even be asking that? Is it only because of Eskild or has Isak done something that would warrant – Shit, Isak can’t think about it now, he’s at the middle of a party in his own home, he can’t leave.

“Oh,” the guy looks taken aback, even as his eyes wander off towards the direction Eskild had disappeared in. Oh, indeed. “There’s nothing going on between –“

“He’s my old roommate,” Isak cuts in, and says with a finality that hopefully sticks, “that’s it.”

“Oh,” the guy repeats. He isn’t even looking at Isak anymore. “Do you mind then if I –“

“Go for it,” Isak slaps him on the back, steps around him and gets the hell out of dodge. Jesus, has he unintentionally become the designated matchmaker? A lot of people seemingly have a lot of faith in him for that particular job, despite Isak having zero interest in most people.

The flat is a mess already and the party has only been going for about an hour. There are empty cans and bottles on every flat surface and Isak shouldn’t, he shouldn’t start cleaning. He should be mingling and helping Magnus hook up with someone and rip into him with Mahdi and Jonas when he starts asking the wrong question. He shouldn’t be isolating himself by cleaning.

Isak sighs, deep and long-sufferingly, and grabs a clear plastic bag from the cabinet and starts collecting the cans, avoiding any he can feel liquid still swishing around in the bottom. The metal clanks against each other in a way Isak more so feels than hears over the music pounding in the entire flat. They’re going to get noise complaints, for sure. Isak has no idea how the guys had thought this would ever have been a good idea.

Except, had they asked him those weeks ago if he wanted to help host a party, Isak probably would’ve agreed to it. He would’ve been keyed up and he would’ve participated, and he would’ve been drinking properly instead of how he’s been nursing his single bottle of beer for the entire night before he’d finally given up after a few sips.

He doesn’t know how he’s come to feel like this, doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this. He’d promised himself that he wasn’t going to be drinking excessively, that this was the year he was going to actually try and succeed. So far it’s only felt like one failure right after the other.

He hasn’t become a better friend. Instead, they’re all tip-toeing around him because they’re too afraid when he’s going to snap and run off again. The need to run is constant, but Isak has a feeling that the snap will be happening because of something else entirely if the boys don’t cut it out.

He hasn’t become a better student – he’s barely understood half of the lectures and he’s less than impressed with the homework he’s been doing. Sana’s going to kill him if he doesn’t get his act together soon.

Failure after failure. But the not drinking part, that Isak can gain control over, or so he hopes. Maybe he doesn’t fully trust himself, hence why he hadn’t dared more than the beer.

There’s a couple making out up against the wall next to their front door that’s open and has more people spilling in. They all clap Isak’s back when they pass him, seemingly knowing him because they all shout out his name in greeting. Isak doesn’t recall meeting any of them ever, and wonders if it’s because he’s just inattentive to anyone he doesn’t think of as his friend, or if he’s actually met these people and just can’t remember them because all they’d been was a means to get drunk.

“How are things looking?” someone, Sana, yells into his ear.

Isak stumbles back, startled, but it just turns to annoyance when he sees Sana looking way too smug. He opens his mouth to tell her off, but she seems to be able to predict what he’s about to say so she just rolls her eyes and interrupts him.

“With the plan.”

Isak groans. The plan. The plan he was supposed to have but most definitely doesn’t.

“I tried!” He hadn’t. “It’s just that –“

Oh god, one of Sana’s eyebrows arch up into her forehead. Shit, Isak’s in trouble.

“Last I checked,” she drawls, actually drawls, “I haven’t seen you near Magnus, and you didn’t even say hi to Vilde when she came in.”

The most amount of trouble. Sana levels a very unimpressed look at him.

And Isak doesn’t have a single excuse.

To be fair, the Eskild-thing had kind of distracted him quite a bit, but he doubts Sana has the empathy required to let him get away with such a statement, so Isak doesn’t even bother.

“Magnus is in the kitchen, go.” Sana pushes him along the way, making him stumble over the floor.

He turns around to level a glare at her, but she’s managed to disappear before he can, and then when he turns around again to head into the kitchen, he nearly runs over Vilde in the process.

“Fy faen, Vilde!” he exclaims, reaches out to grab onto her shoulders to steady her, even as he hadn’t actually touched her. “Shit. You can’t just stand behind –”

Vilde’s frowning at him. “Why does Emma Larzen think she’s welcome here?” she asks in lieu of a proper reply or greeting. “Isn’t she a first year?”

The dread isn’t a welcome feeling. It’s chilling and hot at the same time, and Isak feels clammy and disgusting as his heart picks up its speed and he glances around the room, whatever of the hallway, frantically, but trying to downplay it so Vilde doesn’t question him about it.

“Is she here?” he manages to get out.

“No. But she DM’ed me, asking for your address and said you weren’t answering your phone.”

Isak wants to groan, wants to throw his head back. Wants to kick all of these people out.

He wants to go to bed and sleep for an eternity, or maybe just go to sleep and never wake up, but that’s a bit too gloomy for his own taste, so he ignores that stray urge.

“Just –“ he tries to think of something that wouldn’t seem odd. “Just ignore her.”

That just makes Vilde frown further. “I can’t just ignore her,” she protests. “I’ve already read her message. I can’t just leave her on ‘read’.”

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Isak side-steps her and heads for the kitchen. Jesus, this isn’t going very well, but it’ll be easier to finagle Magnus into doing his bidding than it would be Vilde, Isak is fairly sure.

Unless Jonas is there. Or Mahdi. Then everything will be downright impossible and Isak will sue Sana.

Both Jonas and Mahdi are in the kitchen, and they’re both talking to Magnus, as if they can’t stand in group formation literally any other time during the day, because it’s not like they live together or anything. Fuck, this is going to take a lot more effort than Isak had originally imagined.

Mahdi is the one who spots him first. He looks annoyed, but not at Isak at least.

It’s not helpful enough to not make Isak feel horribly out of place, though.

He shuffles closer at Mahdi’s beckon just in time to hear Magnus blurt out some nonsense that doesn’t make sense out of context, something about word just spreading.

“It’s a lot more people than we’d agreed on,” Mahdi fills him in once he’s close enough. He looks at Isak like he expects him to back him up, which – alright Isak isn’t thrilled either, but he wouldn’t have been thrilled with half the people who’ve shown up either. He wonders when that happened; when did he become the grumpy friend who just wants to stay in and be alone? And why can’t he shake himself out of that funk?

Jonas is frowning, eyebrows curling and filling most of his forehead. “Alright, so it’s a couple more people than anticipated, but – why are you so mad? You’re usually pretty chill about everything –” and shuts up at whatever face Mahdi makes at him. Isak elects to ignore it, though, as he’s fairly certain Mahdi was gesturing to him.

Jonas does have a point, though, but Mahdi is also the first one to give any of them shit for messing up. Isak is definitely willing to count the group of girls giggling about a spilled vodka bottle a mess-up.

“What happens if we get a noise complaint, huh? If our landlord sees this mess, we’re fucked. We’re never getting that deposit back.”

Magnus snorts. “We weren’t getting that back anyway – remember the incident when we moved in?”

“We agreed not to mention that ever again,” Mahdi glares at him.

“Hey, I covered that up fantastically, thank you very much. We could’ve at least fooled him into giving the money back,” Isak protests, magnanimously ignoring Jonas snorting about handyman Isak, which had been a nickname Isak had worked extremely hard to get rid of. “Why don’t we – let’s just start cleaning, alright?”

Shit, he hadn’t meant to sound so tired. Jonas is giving him ‘the eyes’ again and Magnus is looking at him oddly for no going bigger on the ‘I told you so’ he’s never been shy at shoving in their faces. God, how did Isak manage to fuck up twice in one sentence?

“Isak –“ Jonas starts, but Isak doesn’t let him finish. Doesn’t want for him to.

“I’ll start getting rid of the cans. Just –“ he turns to Mahdi, “relax, alright? We’ll fix it,” and then hurries to get out of there before one of them can grab a hold of him.

It’s surprisingly easy enough to ignore the feeling of his heart being wrenched out of chest and the insurmountable panic and worries looming over his head when the music really is so damn loud and there are so many people within the enclosed space. Isak has to push over a couple making out in front of the built-in closet where they keep the cleaning supplies and the clear bin bags, and the soundtrack of lips smacking together disgustingly shouldn’t overpower the sound of the stereo, but somehow it does.

They shuffle over willingly enough, at least, probably barely noticing they’re being moved if Isak’s being honest with himself.

And whilst he’s being honest with himself, Isak knows Mahdi’s issue isn’t the party or how many people have shown up or how much a pigsty their flat is currently in, or whether or not they’ll get back that stupid deposit that wasn’t that much in the first place. No, Mahdi never would’ve even noticed all those things if it had been any other evening before the party at Mikael’s, before Isak started acting weird, because Mahdi would’ve been in the bathroom or his own room smoking from his stash and making friends and probably figuring out which girl he’d want to kiss at the end of the night.

What Mahdi’s issue is, is Isak. And Isak hates that feeling clawing at his chest at the thought. Hates that he knows that’s what this is about, that the boys can’t even be subtle enough to hide it.

It’s not even the fact that the only reason Isak isn’t being interrogated by them is because of how much he apparently scared them with his disappearing act that’s bothering Isak. Or that they’ve supposedly been so focused on Isak and whatever the hell his problem is that they’re walking on eggshells around him, yet he was still so forgettable they didn’t even mention they were throwing a party that he not only was to attend but also invite people to join. It’s not the guilty, pitying glances they keep throwing him, and the halfhearted explanations and apologies that won’t stop no matter how many times Isak insists, “it’s fine, just an honest mistake, don’t worry about it, we’re good, I’m fine.” It’s not that he’s entirely unable to sleep anymore, just tossing and turning in his bed instead until he slips into a fitful slumber in the wee hours of the morning until his alarm wakes him up.

Or maybe it’s all of those things. Because what’s bothering Isak is how he can’t get this to quiet down.

Not the party. Parties are always loud, and this one is no exception. He doesn’t need people around him to stop talking, because lord knows the guys are already filtering out most of their sentences and conversation just to not accidentally say the wrong thing. It’s inside his head he can’t get things to shut the hell up.

He rips two bags off before figuring he probably won’t keep at it for long enough to fill them up, and then stuffs everything back in the closet. There’re already plenty cans and bottles lining every single flat surface, so it’s easy enough to pick up two empty cans and make his way back into the kitchen to make sure they’re fully drained.

Mahdi isn’t there when he gets back. Both Jonas and Magnus are still there, but Magnus is talking to someone Isak doesn’t know, and Jonas has Eva pressed up against the wall. Isak has a foreign twinge to go over there and so something stupid like, right in front of my salad?, because that’s something he would’ve done – has done, back when they were moving in and Eva was helping out, because who’d know how the place would’ve ended up looking like if they didn’t make a system from the get-go.

But then the other feeling is back, the one he can’t seem to shake. The one that makes him walk over to the sink instead, turn his back on both Magnus and Jonas, and just stare as a couple drops of beer spills into the sink and he can dunk the bottles into one of the bin bags.

There are enough empty, used, and opened bottles and cans on the kitchen counter as well, so Isak systematically goes through each; drains them, dunks them, repeat. He can hear people talking around him, laughing, cheering, and it feels oddly isolating not to be doing the same.

“Hey,” he hears, his heart jumps into his throat and he whirls around only to see Noora.

She’s nursing a glass of water, Isak fairly sure because he doesn’t think she drinks. There’s a tiny smudge of red on the rim of the glass from her lipstick, but it isn’t noticeable on her lips. She’s smiling at him, small and friendly.

“Hei,” he greets back, maybe straining too much to sound happy for it to come off as authentic, but Noora is nice enough to not let her judging show or to react to it at all. “Everything alright?”

She nods, takes another sip of water. Isak’s hands itch to do something, but he thinks it’s too rude to turn his back on her to continue what he was doing, so he can’t do anything but let the twitchy anxiety settle over him.

“Du vet, with all the times I had Eskild moaning how you never did any housework, I never expected to see you get started on cleaning with the party still going on.”

Isak laughs, ends a little too short and stilted. He feels weird talking about Eskild, guilty at not having spoken to Eskild for so long. He’s gotten so used to no one knowing anything about his life previous to university – besides just very general things. It had been easy to play along when the boys had been moaning about how simultaneously hard and freeing it was to finally have moved out of their parents’ home instead of having to admit Isak hadn’t living his parents for years at that point. Having someone know that, having them know about Eskild, and having Noora who’s lived with Eskild too and knows exactly his quirks and personality traits and how much of a saint he can be but also how goddamn annoying leaves Isak feeling on edge around them.

“Nei,” he looks down at his feet so he won’t have to look at Noora. “Mahdi was freaking out about the mess, though, so I figured I’d just get a head-start, you know?”

She doesn’t nod and doesn’t say anything, and Isak doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Anyway, it’s nice to be able to see the counter,” he tries, then actually looks at the counter and wrinkles his nose. “Or maybe not. God, I swear it’s not usually this gross.” He chances a touch and instantly pulls back much to Noora’s amusement. “Christ, that’s sticky. Alright, don’t touch that.”

“You can’t still be grossed out a sticky stuff after having lived with Eskild, can you?” she laughs. “God knows what the state of his bedding was like when I wasn’t cleaning it for him while you lived there.”

Isak blinks. Why would she – why would Isak know what the state of Eskild’s bedding was like? Why would she think he was in Eskild’s room, on Eskild’s bed? Was she –

“Hallo!”

Isak jumps, startled out of whatever spiral he’d fallen into that only would’ve ended with him pathetically defending his straightness and possibly yelling at Noora, to look at Sana pissed face. Fuck, Isak does not need any more problems.

She arches an eyebrow at him, like that will do anything. Isak tries arching one back, but he thinks he just ends up raising both of them.

She scoffs at him, which – still isn’t helpful – and then levels her best glare at him. Isak does a body wiggle he knows to be equally unhelpful, and he only relishes a little bit in how Sana manages to look even more annoyed with him at that.

In the end, she only needs to say two words. “The plan.”

Fuck.

Isak is so done.

He levels his own glare at her, sneers a “Fine,” that at least sounds more sassy than angry, and worms his way through Noora and Sana with the two bin bags only partially filled.

He’d just seen Magnus, he could definitely get him to follow him around until they end up bumping into Vilde, who better not have already found someone to make out with or Isak will actually leave.

It’s by total accident and perfect surprise when he turns around to get to Magnus and accidentally bumps into Vilde for the second time that night.

“Ah, Vilde, perfect!” Isak hands over the two bags filled with empty bottles. “Do you mind taking these down to the first room on the left? I’ve kind of got my hands full here,” he shrugs, all apologetically and the worst part is that it works brilliantly.

Vilde is wide-eyed, as she always is when someone starts speaking to her, and she clearly isn’t fully prepared when Isak transfers the handles over to her hands – her phone is in one of her hands like Emma is still trying to get a hold of the party info – but all it takes is a gentle puff and she’s on her way down the hallway.

Isak counts to five until he snags a hand around Magnus’ elbow, drawing him out of whatever conversation he’d been having.

“Shit, Mags, there were some weird chirping noises coming from your room. Did you leave your window open again?”

Magnus groans and shoves his half-filled beer bottle at Isak, who barely manages to catch it without spilling it all over himself. “If there’s a freaking dove inside my room again, we are moving, I don’t even care –“

And off he goes. Isak should put this on his resume – professional cupid, as long as it doesn’t concern his own relationships where he will flop epically.

Yeah, maybe not. Except for how Sana looks begrudgingly impressed with Isak’s ingenuity. That’s a novel look on her.

“You know,” Noora clinks her soda can against Isak’s newly acquired beer. “You shouldn’t refer to girls as birds.”

Isak snorts. “I’m just introducing them to a different version of the ‘cat and mouse’-game. Cat-and-bird, in this case, I think.”

Noora groans. “Oh god, no more cat-talk, please.”

“I don’t know,” Isak raises the beer to his lips, ignoring the voice in his head screaming about germs and the other quieter one, telling him he’d agreed to stop. “Maybe this is the push they needed to get the cat out of the bag.”

Noora rolls her head back. “Det var kattens.”

“Are you two seriously just making cat-puns over there?”

OOOOO

It’s just gone past half two in the morning when enough people have fizzled out of the apartment that Isak doesn’t feel guilty for sinking down on the couch with a heavy sigh. There’s a boy and girl making out in an armchair in the corner of the living room, too wrapped up in each other to notice how few people are left. Maybe Isak should get up and tell them to head out, before the state of that armchair will be questionable at best and ready to throw out at worst, but Jonas is closer and has spotted them already.

Besides, Isak’s exhausted, physically and mentally. He’s just – done.

He blinks tiredly as Jonas gets the couple’s attention and nods towards the door. The girl giggles, fixes her clothes as she gets off the guy’s lap and stands up. Thankfully neither of them get mad for the interruption – Jonas looks tired, too, but happy tired. A I’ve-spent-the-entire-evening-having-fun kind of tired. A tired completely opposite to Isak’s kind of tired.

There are bottles and cans lined up on the coffee table that Isak knows he should probably clean now before they have permanent stains on the surface. Eva will fuss over those every time she comes over, but it’s too hard work trying to get his limbs to cooperate, let alone actually get up and do something, so Isak just remains there, sitting and staring and thinking of all the things he should be doing instead of this.

Eva’s half-asleep on the other couch, leaning against Vilde who keeps sneaking glances over at Magnus incredibly non-subtly – well, then again, everything is relative, and she certainly is more subtle than Magnus’ blatant staring – as she talks to Noora about something.

It’s startling a bit, the contrast of how quiet it’s gone. They still have some music on in the background, but it’s a lot quieter than what had been playing earlier, and someone’s changed it from the party-playlist to the one with miscellaneous calmer songs they’d jokingly put together to play whenever one of them are in a bad mood. It’s been mysteriously absent considering just how much Isak’s been messing things up the last little while.

Eskild slumps down next to him, or, more so fully on him. He’s warm and sweaty and Isak is at least a little bit grossed out, but then he remembers that the first time he met Eskild, he’d vomited on his shoes. Suddenly, warm and sweaty doesn’t seem as bad, even if there is a threat of other bodily fluids still being on him.

“How was the big jock, then?” Isak teases. Eskild smiles up at him dopily, all dazed and blessed out, and maybe Isak would worry if he didn’t know what that particular face means.

“Klaus,” Eskild corrects, making Isak rolls his eyes, “was great, thank you very much.”

“You done enough hooking up for the night?”

Eskild sighs, very put-upon in the exact way he always does when he’s about to sprout off some older ‘wisdom’ at Isak. “This is a university party, Isak, not some little high school gathering you might be used to.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but doesn’t interrupt Eskild to remind him this is his second year at university.

“I don’t waste my time on menial hook ups.”

“What have you been doing for the last hour, then?” Isak questions before he can consider the consequences. “Discussing refugee crises?”

“Very funny,” Eskild dead-pans. “And don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. Unless you’re prepared to know exactly the places my mouth and his mouth have been –“

Isak lets out an unintelligible string of noises to cut off Eskild. “You just said you didn’t kiss him!”

“’Kissing’,” Eskild uses two fingers on each hand to make quotation marks. “You never mentioned anything about sex.”

Isak groans, rolls his head back onto the couch while Eskild cackles as he sits up properly next to him. “Please tell me you at least didn’t do it in my room.”

Eskild shrugs and rolls his eyes. “Like it would’ve been the first time.”

Isak definitely does not squeak. He yells out indignantly.

“It was the room with all the fit lads plastered onto the walls,” Eskild takes a sip of his beer. “Can’t have been your room, then, your straightness would’ve felt attacked by the mere presence of someone cuter than you near your bed.”

Isak rolls his eyes again, but doesn’t comment on it. Mahdi’s room then, if Isak guesses correctly based on the various FIFA paraphernalia Mahdi has collected over the years. He should remember to remind Mahdi to wash the sheets before he falls asleep there.

Maybe not right now, though, he thinks as Mahdi falls down onto one of their beanbags, laughing back over his shoulder at something Magnus has said.

It doesn’t matter that Eskild is technically as ‘out’ as one can be, the thought of gossiping about what Eskild, a boy, has done with another boy is enough to get Isak’s heart pounding a beat too fast.

He hurries to look away from both Mahdi and Eskild, turns his head to the left instead and looks as Jonas wrinkles his nose at the armchair that had nearly been used by strangers. Isak makes a mental note not to get close to the chair for the next while unless he be the one getting stuck with cleaning it.

Jonas sandwiches himself down on the other couch between the armrest and Eva, who immediately leans up against him, grinning widely. Magnus drags a chair over, Chris claims the other beanbag, and Sana settles on the opposite armrest to Jonas’, the one next to Noora, who immediately wraps her arm around Sana’s middle to keep her from falling off.

It’s unnerving how seamlessly it all plays out, like this isn’t the first time they’ve all been together at the same place, with all of them aware of the others’ presences, at least.

“Are you seriously telling me,” Mahdi groans, ”that out of all of us, only one got lucky tonight?”

Isak immediately notices how both Magnus and Vilde flush a brilliantly matching red and refuse to look at each other, but he thinks he might be the only one with how Eskild’s cackle and Jonas’ immediate complains steal everyone’s attention.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got Eva which means you’re perpetually happy,” Mahdi waves off Jonas without listening to anything he’s said, and holds his fist out for Eskild to bump.

“I think this might be the straightest thing I’ve done all night.”

Isak snorts. “That doesn’t say a lot,” and tries to smother his laugh at Eskild’s affronted look.

“Noora,” he immediately whines when Isak refuses to give him any sympathy. “Come sit with me instead of this grumpy boy,” batting his eyelashes for extra effect, as if that’ll be enough.

Noora coos at Eskild from the other couch, but doesn’t move. She does, however, diplomatically add, “I’m quite sure dissing is reserved for those who haven’t gotten laid.”

Isak grumbles unintelligibly as Eskild gleefully grabs onto his shoulder and shakes him around. It’s mostly groaning noises coming out of Isak’s mouth, but it doesn’t really matter with how loud the rest of them are being.

“C’mon, baby grump,” Eskild needles him, still managing to poke him more often than not despite Isak’s best attempts. “Gimmie the gossip, the 411.”

He’s waggling his eyebrows dramatically until Isak rolls his eyes and pushes his face away.

“Oh, come on! It’s the least you can do after practically dropping off the face of the planet for the last forever!”

Isak’s stomach churns with guilt, and it’s so familiar – especially over the last little while – but also so dizzily overwhelming Isak nearly throws caution to the win and just chugs down the remaining half of the vodka bottle from earlier that he knows is still in the kitchen.

He doesn’t.

He remains sitting on the couch, surrounded by his friends and he doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol.

“It hasn’t been that long,” he tries instead, even though it has. He makes half-assed attempts of excuses, because he’s apparently both a shitty person and a shitty friend. And he sees how Eskild just knows it’s all bullshit, but because he’s Eskild he doesn’t comment on it and just lets Isak get away with it, probably realizing that confronting him right now would amount to nothing seeing as Isak is a mess barely holding on by a thread.

Mahdi and Magnus are suddenly worryingly quiet compared to the girls and Eskild, and Isak knows, okay, he fucking knows what they’re thinking about, what the real ‘411’ is. How a world-famous, award-winning-and-nominated movie director apparently knows Isak, and how Isak would literally rather run away than deal with it, scaring his friends into keeping quiet even as they can tell something is really, really wrong.

That gossip. Shit, Isak feels sick. He always does nowadays, and he’s sick of feeling sick.

He can’t tell if Jonas thinks he’s being sly or not, the way he looks at Mahdi and Magnus as if reminding them to keep quiet, Isak can only tell that he really fucking isn’t being smooth or covert about it at all, but pointing it out also means pointing everything else out, so Isak stays quiet. As always.

“You can go into his room and stare at his four non-decorated walls, and then you can walk to campus from classroom to classroom and go visit the library,” Jonas lists on his fingers. “That’s the extent of Isak’s 411.”

Eskild blinks comically.

“That’s it?” he blurts out, much to Sana’s amusement. Isak levels a glare in her direction that she not so smoothly pretends not to have seen. “Seriøst?” and levels a majorly unimpressed look at Isak. “Seriøst?” he repeats.

“What?” Isak knocks his arms out. “What did you expect me to do? Go frolicking at a uni club? Hook up in a storage closet? Chug my body weight in shots at the student union?”

“Yes. All of the above.”

Isak wrinkles his nose. “’Seriøst?’” he mocks.

“Seriøst!” Eskild doesn’t even comment on the sass. “Where are all the stories? The juice? The mind-blowing sex parties and crazy exes?”

Mahdi snorts and his face is relaxed, but his shoulders are tense. “Pretty sure Isak is the most drama-free out of all of us.”

Isak almost wants to laugh at that – if it didn’t seem more tempting to fall down a hole and stay there for eternity – or at the very least at Eskild’s very comically disbelieving face.

“Isak?” Eskild asks, pointing at him. “This Isak? This very specimen of an Isak? Are you sure we’re talking about the same Isak?”

“You forgot about the coffee shop he insists on visiting before a study session so he’s late for every single one of them,” Sana deadpans, her façade only cracking when Isak flips her off.

“Coffee dates, at least?” Eskild asks him hopelessly, slumping back on the couch way too dramatically when Isak shakes his head. “So you don’t go out – does that mean there’s just a slew of people coming in and out of this place?”

“Hey!” Isak objects, vaguely affronted at the insinuation, smacking Eskild’s arm. “And just how many times did I have to walk in on you doing it because you couldn’t move from the living room to your bedroom?”

Eskild doesn’t even have the gall to flush – life is unfair. Both Noora and Eva are cackling and pointing at each other whilst wheezing out half words, but it’s enough for Isak to conclude Eskild probably hasn’t stopped that habit after Isak moved out.

This is good, though. Moving the topic away from Isak’s antics when everything in his head is screaming at him, too close, too close, they’ll find out, they’ll just know.

“You never bring anyone back!” Magnus calls out and why did he think now was a good time to rejoin the conversation – and with that remark?

Eskild gapes over at him. “Isak isn’t scoring anyone?”

Magnus frowns. “I mean – I guess he isn’t. Shit, I hadn’t even thought about that.”

“That can’t be, though,” Chris interrupts. “I’m in an entirely different program, but even I hear girls talking about him.”

“Uh, hallo, I’m sitting right here,” Isak reminds them, thankfully sounding more sassy than terrified. Fuck, his throat feels tight.

“Lots of talk,” Noora agrees, holding the rim of her glass against her red lips. “It’s got to be the curls.”

“Must be,” Eskild frowns as he looks Isak over. “That grumpy frown is an instant mood-killer, after all.”

“Not to mention the ugliness,” Mahdi agrees, grinning when Isak gapes over at him in faux betrayal. He doesn’t know how he manages to play it off so well – his heart is pounding and he’s scared Eskild’s sitting close enough to hear it.

“It’s your fault Emma Larzen has been blowing my phone up all night,” Vilde adds, and Magnus – still not able to look at her – snaps his fingers in her direction.

“He even had one served on a silver platter,” Magnus holds his hand out flat like he’s a waiter presenting said platter. “Ready for the picking, and he turns her down.”

A flush rises to Isak’s cheeks as he tries to groan indignantly. “I told you! I’m getting all these psycho-vibes from her, I don’t –“

“He doesn’t have to get with her, if he doesn’t want to,” Jonas points out, but it sounds half-hearted and falls flat even to Isak’s ears, which, admittedly, are mostly filled with the thrum of his pulse and his blood rushing.

Mahdi looks at Jonas like he’s stupid for even thinking that, and Isak doesn’t dare look at any of the girls, just in case he’s secretly breaking unspoken guy-rules only girls know about, and by breaking them they can tell something is up.

“Is he still sneaking out all the time?” Eskild asks, as if it hasn’t already been made abundantly clear Isak’s life is excruciatingly boring, meticulously so, because the last time Isak let his life not be boring things ended up really fucking shitty.

Isak steadfastly ignores how Jonas is looking over at him. He grabs one of the bottles on the table instead and starts scratching at the paper already peeling by itself from the damp caused by the condensation.

It’s stupid, because it feels like the only reason why is because Jonas knows, that he’s managed to figure it out and he knows, but that isn’t logical. It’s Isak’s fear playing tricks on him, but knowing that doesn’t lessen the actual fear one bit.

“Thought you were being all smooth, did you?” Eskild laughs, kicks lazily at Isak’s leg with his knee. “Thought we didn’t hear you coming and going and locking yourself in your room for a, seriously, insane amount of hours.”

“What are you, my babysitter?” Isak grouses, feels Jonas’s gaze burning a hole into the side of his head. He tries to scratch at a spot that sticks stubbornly to the bottle, but all it amounts to is a wet lump of paper falling off next to the spot Isak had been focused on.

Now he also doesn’t dare look at Eskild. He doesn’t want to see if he’s pretending to be or if he’s genuinely hurt from Isak constantly being an asshole to him about being overprotective, when Isak knows exactly why Eskild has always treated him a little gentler than he would anyone else.

“This is great!” Magnus laughs, nearly toppling off the chair when he throws himself backwards too hard. Mahdi catches his leg at the last second and hauls him back upright – Magnus doesn’t even look the slightest perturbed at possibly having avoided breaking his neck, and yet Isak is over here, physically safe but feeling like he’s one look away from a full-blown panic attack.

There’s only so much mean comments and eye-rolls can cover up, and going off of how consciously Isak can feel Jonas looking at him, Isak guesses he’s at the end of the rope.

Somehow, for some reason, his brain interprets that as if it means that’ll be the end of the traumatic, off-handed comments that can be spewed off about him for the rest of the night.

Maybe that’s why what comes out of Eskild’s mouth next leaves Isak so stunned – or maybe it’s just the revelation itself.

“I swear to God,” Eskild nearly spills his beer with how far he leans forward, “I’m pretty sure he was never alone in his room, like, ever.”

Suddenly all the noises that had built up fall away – in his head. Around him, there’s laughter and a wolf-whistle, and Isak hardly hears anything.

His heart is pounding.

He’d always known Eskild knew he had someone over, mostly because that was the only times Eskild would ever knock on his door instead of just plainly burst in, but he never stopped to think about how much does Eskild know?

Could he hear that the voice inside his room was deep, clearly male? He’d been careful never to leave Even’s jacket or shoes out in the hallway, but had he slipped up? It only would’ve taken once and everyone would’ve noticed. Or had he noticed how articles of Isak’s clothing kept disappearing, and then new yet clearly worn ones would pop up in their place?

“I didn’t –“ he licks his lips. “I wasn’t –“

All the sounds rush back. The others’ laughter is so loud, it feels like drums, like the noise is closing in around Isak and he’ll have to tear his way out of there.

Surprisingly, Noora is the one who helps him. “Like you’re one to talk, Eskild!” she laughs, plops herself down between Eskild and Isak and slings her arm around Eskild. “Or do I need to remind you of that one time where I –“

“Okay,” Eskild sasses. “You’ve made your point.”

She removes her arm from around him and holds them both up, palm flat in front of her chest instead. “I’m just saying – who has ‘The Lion King’ on their sex playlist?”

Jonas guffaws and there’s a round of sniggering, but Chris is leaning forward in her chair.

“Depends,” she points at them. “Which song was it? Personally, I’m quite partial to ‘Be prepared’ on my sex playlist.”

“Oh my god,” Eva wheezes, holding a hand over her face.

“What?” Chris knocks her arms out. “Way more appropriate than ‘I Just Can’t Wait to Be King’ or ‘Hakuna Matata’.”

“’Can You Feel the Love Tonight’,” Mahdi calls out. “How did you miss ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight’?”

“Shit!” Chris swears and goes to knock the palm of her hand on her forehead, except she’s still holding her bottle of beer.

They’re all giggling messes when Chris has spilt beer into her hair and onto their beanbag, and the girls are trying to help her, but they’re all laughing too hard and Chris keeps moving because she’s laughing too hard.

And Isak finally feels his lungs expand so he can get in a lungful of air. His heart is still racing her he breathes it out heavily through his mouth, but it doesn’t matter.

He got to breathe.

The next morning, or more like afternoon, Isak wakes up, cramped up on the couch with Magnus’ feet shoved in his face. Mahdi is folded up on the beanbags and Jonas is simply passed out on the carpet they really need to vacuum before the day is over.

Past

For ages, Isak’s teachers had been screaming about how big a change it would be to start high school, and now that Isak’s a first year it’s incredibly underwhelming.

Maybe it’s because there just… isn’t a whole lot different. It’s still just a school; he has classes and homework, but at least now he gets to take more science classes and gets to look at new people – or at least people other than Elias, who, if word on the street is correct, has become a bit of a dealer, so good riddance.

Or maybe it’s because something that’s supposed to be scary just doesn’t compare to all the actual scary things that have already happened in Isak’s life – including the things that aren’t supposed to be scary but are so fucking terrifying anyway.

Having to move out of his childhood home after his dad left and his mom got too ill and freaked out, meeting Even and daring to be with him, even if it’s just behind closed doors, and working so hard to keep the existence of the two of them secret from everyone. Changing tram stop really doesn’t compare.

Out of all of that, it’s probably the secret that weighs the heaviest on Isak’s shoulders and in his heart.

It’s not that he wants anyone to know. That’s not it. There are times where he looks at Eskild, and he knows it wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things if Isak were to tell him, “Hey, I have a boyfriend,” yet the thought of opening his mouth and letting the words out make him feel ill in the worst way possible, mainly disgusted with himself.

Having people know something like that about him? Absolutely not, no thanks.

It’s not about Even, either, it’s about Isak. There’s nothing wrong with being in love with Even, anyone who’s ever met him and hasn’t fallen head over heels in love with him doesn’t have their head screwed on right, according to Isak.

He’s not even sure about what it is he’s so scared of. All of it, maybe. Definitely. The thought of the looks following him around wherever he goes, hearing people talk about him, about it, behind his back, knowing that everyone knows. Being called names, even if he should be used to it at this point, what with how much he’s been called homse for ages by now, but it still makes his pulse spike. Having people determine what he’s like before they’ve even met him, just because he’s the gay guy when in reality he’s just Isak – an Isak who met his Even and got to fall in love with him. The thought of being reduced to nothing but his sexuality is enough to make any stray, however brief, thought of just saying it out loud disappear faster than sunshine in Bergen.

Isak doesn’t exactly know what Even’s reasons are for not wanting to say it either. Probably a bit of the same, he reasons, when he takes the time to observe Even as he’s thinking about it.

Maybe there’s something else, too, but something Isak can’t quite put his finger on. The way he moves, how he talks sometimes. The way he looks at Isak, like he’s simultaneously in love and scared in the same way as Isak but also differently. The way Isak has out of the corner of his eye caught him looking when Isak has to leave for a little bit to avoid Eskild knocking to check in – like he’s both bracing himself for the sight of Isak leaving and is resigned to it. Isak doesn’t know what that means, but he hates that that is how Even always looks whenever Isak walks away, like he’s expecting it.

The actual ‘keeping it a secret’ part is different for the two of them, as well. In some ways, Isak grumbles that Even has it easier, but in others Isak can admit that he’s the one with the advantage.

Keeping a secret is easy when there’s no one else but you, when you’re all alone. Even has parents; parents that he still lives with, and Isak doesn’t. Parents, who ask him where he’s going, where he’s been, and for how long he’ll be gone when he leaves next.

Even has friends he has to keep up appearances with. The only people Isak comes into regular contact with that he doesn’t mind are Eskild and Linn, and it’s rather easy to just walk out of his room and into the kitchen or into the living room and talk to them or watch a movie so that they don’t constantly question what he’s doing.

Although, Isak can and does argue, Eskild, whilst nothing close to being Isak’s parent, can certainly be as overbearing as one, coming to knock on Isak’s door to check if he’s still alive, which always serves to send a stab of fear through his heart when Even is in his room with him.

Even has his bus. Though most of the people there are his original friend-group, so Isak doesn’t think that should count fairly high. Still, there are people there that Even chooses to socialize with beyond his immediate squad, and Isak… doesn’t do that. Doesn’t dare to. The more people he keeps close, the more time he has to spend lying, and Isak is just too high-strung and exhausted at the mere idea.

Even’s got a job. That bit is still fairly new – just a few months ago when one his many media teachers mentioned an old friend of a friend in the Norwegian film industry had been looking for an assistant, and if that was something Even was interested in.

Needless to say, it definitely was, so now Even’s the assistant to an assistant to an assistant to so many links of assistants Isak can’t wrap his head around it to an actual film director. And Even gets to be on an actual set – in the very background, but on the set – and witness his dream career in the works. Isak loves seeing Even like that when he finishes a shift and heads straight for Isak’s room, still reeling off of excitement and complete giddiness and full of stories.

Seeing Even excited, though, doesn’t quite make up for the unpleasant jealousy inside him that flares up when Even suddenly doesn’t have as much time for Isak during the day. It’s an ugly possessiveness he’s struggling with when he already has to spend all of his time with Even in hiding. It’s childish and stupid and Isak actually hates himself for it, which is why he makes such a big deal out of never letting Even know.

It doesn’t really matter, in the long run, Isak can admit to himself when he forces himself to think rationally about it. Because technically, Even can stay overtime at work, he’s allowed to, but he always comes back to Isak on the dot instead. He chooses Isak, and that’s enough to reel the disgusting green monster back from tearing apart everything that Isak loves.

Even chooses him.

He goes to the Kollektiv, even as it’s a twenty minute longer journey from his workplace than if he’d just gone home. He tells Isak as the first person all about his day, and he shares his dreams of when he doesn’t have to observe the work from the back wall but be right in the middle of it all.

He never hesitates to lean down and kiss Isak when Isak tilts his head back, lips pursed just the slightest if he wants Even to move even quicker than usual, and he never waits for Isak to prompt him before he just has to lean down and kiss him, even if he’s technically in the middle of talking.

It’s easy, Isak observes, his arms folded underneath his chin as he rests on his stomach, and Even sits at his desk supposed to be finishing up some homework but just too distracted to actually be productive. It’s easy to be content and excited and happy and ecstatic all in one when they’re like this.

Isak’s lying on his bed, wearing boxers and Even’s hoodie and Even’s seemingly can’t stop taking his eyes off of him.

It’s one of Even’s favorites, the hoodie, Isak knows, because he’d spent ages painting the drawstrings multiple colors that he’ll tell everyone who sees it they’re just the colors he had when Isak knows it’s the colors of the rainbow and the pink, yellow and blue for a reason.

The tiny i-s he’d written on the backside of the left one maybe should’ve brought Isak into a state of panic, because that’s just too close, too big of a hint, but it doesn’t. And every time he can get away with it, Isak steals this particular hoodie, because it’s soft and too big and it smells like Even.

It’s an added bonus that Even loves seeing him in it, loves seeing him wearing only that, and Isak can’t resist giving him coy smiles whenever he catches Even looking.

I want to marry him keeps repeating in Isak’s head. He can’t stop smiling. I want to marry him.

OOOOO

Isak doesn’t mean for it to happen the way it does.

It’s summer. The weather is so hot it leaves all the rooms in the Kollektiv feeling stifling and clammy until its residents-plus-one can’t stand to wear much more than shorts and the thinnest t-shirt in their closets.

It seems like the sun takes forever to set these days, and Isak both mourns the relieving chill of winter and relishes in golden colors and red spots dancing across his eyelids as he basks in the sunlight, sitting propped up against the foot of his bed.

Eskild’s gone out for the night to some southern European-inspired party to celebrate the unusually hot weather, and he’s dragged Linn with him to make sure she actually gets some vitamin D when she insists on sitting cooped up in her room all day.

Isak had, naturally, high-fived her when she pointed out that most people got plenty of vitamin D in the bedroom, and then Linn, after all of Eskild’s scowling, had gone with him without complaint.

Even’s working late this evening, staying overtime at the studio for the experience more than the money. Isak had texted him half an hour ago that the coast was clear whenever he does make his way over.

Even had texted back a heart ten minutes later but no possible timeframe on when that might just be, so Isak’s resigned himself to sitting back and melting into a puddle on the floor for Even to find.

He’s not sure he likes the silence.

It’s rare to find himself home alone in the Kollektiv – Eskild usually zooms his way through as he does with everything else in his life, but Linn is pretty much a constant presence in the small home they’ve made for themselves.

And if his flatmates aren’t home, Even is usually there with him, and time with Even has never made Isak feel alone in the way keeping secrets from your friends will do to you.

He feels… isolated, maybe, is the closest word to the tightening of his chest. Whether it’s isolation from the world or from himself, Isak can’t tell.

What he can tell, however, is that there is only one person in the world who makes Isak’s chest tighten in an entirely different way, in the best way.

It’s the third project Even’s been hired on to help with. This time around it’s a drama following around five different people’s stories; the only thing connecting them is the feeling of loss settling so deeply inside their bones they can’t escape from it.

Isak had joked Even’s eyes had practically lit up at the depressing nature of the theme, and then he’d spent the better of an hour kissing Even’s pout away and telling him over and over again how proud he was of him, how proud he was that Even was working towards something that makes him happy, until Even had been pink-cheeked and lips slackened and wet, and he’d been kissing Isak just to get him to stop talking.

Even when Isak’s sitting here now, in an empty home and waiting, in a room bathed in gold and with the door open in a silent invitation for the one person who’s invited in, even when he’s feeling the most alone he doesn’t feel lonely.

The Kollektiv feels like it’s waiting with baited breath for Even to arrive, and Isak’s right there along with it. The sun is moving further and further down the sky, but it’s still shining just as brightly as ever. And even with the proof of the day slowly coming to an end, with the actual embodiment shining right in Isak’s face that Even is later and later, he still only feels the need to laugh in complete giddiness and relief that he won’t ever have to feel that crippling loneliness ever again.

Waiting for Even for mere hours feels like nothing, doesn’t feel like the slightest sacrifice compared to what Even gives him back just by being there.

Isak is in fucking love, and even now, with so much time having passed since he first met Even, he still feels like he’s either about to burst with it or implode from working so hard to keep it all bottled up.

He never wants to give this feeling up. Never, ever, ever. Can’t even imagine the day he’ll have to. He hopes it never comes.

Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe he’s being both young and stupid – he’s barely turned seventeen, Even’s his first boyfriend. Isak knows the clichés, knows he’s the exact personification of the naïve child thinking they’re all grown up now, but he doesn’t feel young or stupid. He feels like he’s in love.

He tips his head back, the duvet warm underneath his head, but his body is slumped too languidly for him to actually move or do something about it. It’s soft, at least, and Isak lets the remaining bit of the day’s sunlight warm his face.

The door slams shut. Isak hums happily when he hears Even call out his name, still not moving from his spot, but he tilts his chin a bit more pointedly when he feels Even’s presence in the doorway.

Even laughs, practically bounds over to him and leans down to kiss him.

“Halla,” Even grins between kisses, rubbing his thumb soothingly along the line of Isak’s jaw.

Isak reaches up to tug Even’s mouth back to his and ends up mumbling his own greeting into Even’s mouth. It mostly ends up as nothing more than a hum, and then Even hums back, so Isak hums again.

Even’s warm. Isak can feel it radiating off of him, like he’s the actual sun and he’s the reason why Isak’s being bathed in gold and feels so loose and happy. He smells of his cologne and a hint of sweat from a long day working in this heat.

Isak tightens the grip he has on Even, kisses him harder at the happy little noise Even makes. He never wants to let go.

They do part, though, after a little while. Even starts telling him about his day, about how far they’ve gotten and how he got to chat with the director for a couple of minutes before the guy had been whisked away to deal with an issue.

He’s sitting by Isak’s desk, had gone there when Isak had moved his stiff limbs up onto the bed. His laptop is open and his body is angled weirdly so he can look at both Isak and the screen, but mostly just ends up facing the window. He’s finished regaling Isak with stories from his day, sitting there in silence for now as he tries to find something he’d been working on and had wanted to show Isak.

The sun isn’t quite setting yet, the summer days too long for it to be that late yet, but it’s started its descent and Isak knows the light will soon fade behind the tops of the opposite buildings.

Right now, though, the sun hits Even beautifully. Had it been anyone else, Isak would’ve felt weird for staring so much. It being Even, though, he can’t tear his eyes away.

He looks good, Isak notes the way you always do when realizing something you already know about someone you see every day yet are suddenly reminded of. He looks ethereal. He looks like the best damn thing that’s ever happened to Isak.

Isak doesn’t mean for it to happen.

He’s just so fucking happy, so fucking in love, and he never ever ever wants it to end.

“Marry me.”

It slips out of Isak’s mouth before his brain can catch on. He doesn’t want to take it back, though, so he just waits with baited breath for Even to say something, anything.

Even’s gaping at him, the look of surprise evident, but Isak had hoped there would’ve been a slight twinge of happiness or excitement there too – he hadn’t ever counted on Even looking sad.

“You don’t want that.”

“I do,” Isak insists. He wants to reach out and squeeze Even’s hand, but he has a feeling if he moves closer to Even, Even will pull back and flee so he just lies there.

“You don’t,” Even whispers. There are tears threatening to leak out of the corners of his eyes and Isak’s breath hitches.

He didn’t mean for that to happen. He never meant for… for Even to –

All of it doesn’t come down crashing on Isak, crushing him in the rubble, but bits and pieces do crack apart, and suddenly Isak does feel both young and stupid.

Of course Even wouldn’t want that. It’s – it’s not necessarily too soon – they’ve known each other for ages by now, have been together for just as long pretty much, and they’re basically cohabiting already with brief intermittence of Even having to leave to keep up appearances with his parents that he definitely does not have a boyfriend and that there definitely isn’t an Isak in Even’s world, like there isn’t an Even in Isak’s.

Isak had just thought –

He doesn’t know what he thought. Or, he does know, but being in love isn’t always enough to warrant that kind of proposal.

He just proposed. Holy shit.

He should’ve taken more time, more care. Even’s a romantic, he broke into the Botanical Garden just to impress Isak and get his attention, he likes big gestures, and here Isak’s blurting it out like he’s asking what Even would like for dinner. He should’ve gotten a ring – although there are a lot of questions if even that would be a good idea given their situation.

Maybe – maybe that’s it. Maybe Even does want to get married, he just doesn’t want to get married to Isak.

Isak doesn’t doubt that Even loves him, that’s not it. There’s always a nagging thought at the back of his mind when Even tells him that he does, that it would be easier for Even if it was someone else, but Isak’s selfish and he wants Even.

It’s just that there are easier people out there for Even to love, and it would be cruel of Isak not to realize that.

Maybe Even wants someone he can do the big gestures for, that he can show off, someone he can put a ring on their finger and not have to worry about pronouns and nouns and them just being the wrong gender. That person isn’t Isak, and Isak can’t ever imagine being that person who so light-heartedly can do that.

It doesn’t make it hurt less. And it doesn’t explain why Even said Isak couldn’t be the one to want that.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Isak mutters. His cheeks are burning, and he simultaneously can’t stand to look at Even, but he also can’t stand to look away, so he ends up switching between glaring at the wall behind Even and lowering his eyes to the floor, wishing for it to swallow him up. “Just – never mind. Forget it. Don’t mind me.”

Stupid, young, and a fucking idiot.

“That’s not –“ Even’s voice breaks, his words sound thick and like it’s a struggle to speak past a lump in his throat. “That’s not what – that’s – Isak.”

“Forget it,” Isak repeats. He almost wishes he was wearing a sweater, despite how bad the heat already is around him, just so he could curl up and hide away. God, he never should’ve opened his stupid, stupid mouth. “It was – it was dumb. You wouldn’t – let’s just –“

“Isak,” Even breathes out, sounding just as lost and heartbroken and Isak doesn’t understand.

It is fine if Even doesn’t want that, no matter the why, but Isak doesn’t understand why it makes Even react like that.

“That’s not –“ Even tries again, but he doesn’t get further than he did last time either. “You don’t want that. It’s not me – it’s. Isak, you don’t want that.”

The panic is still threatening to overwhelm him, to swallow him up whole until there’s nothing else left, the flight or fight instinct just too present a reaction to the hurt that’s also threatening to overtake him.

But that – that just doesn’t make sense. Isak wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want that.

Obviously, now he’s having second thoughts, but not because he doesn’t want to be with Even forever and ever, as it seems like Even is insinuating, that is tearing him apart to insinuate.

“Why –“ Isak shakes his head as if it would clear his mind of all unwanted thoughts and make him able to think rationally once again. It doesn’t work. “Why do you think that?”

“Because –“ Even’s hands are shaking. “Because I never should’ve gone over to talk to you.”

Isak’s stomach drops. Along with his heart. And his entire body. He feels like he’s weightless, floating around like nothing at the same time as he feels like he weighs a metric ton. What – what?

“You deserve so much better,” Even’s struggling to get the words out, sounds like his throat is too thick. There are tears starting to gather in his eyes. “Always, always. You – you deserve everything, and I –“

He cuts himself off. Isak doesn’t feel like he’s present in his own body, feels like he’s forgotten how to open his mouth and use his words to shout you, you are the one who deserves everything.

“What are you talk-“ Isak manages to get out, though it sounds wrong and not like it’s him who’s speaking. Even cuts him off before he can finish.

“I’m bipolar.”

He says it like it’s the answer to everything, everything bad, that is. It’s –

Isak honestly doesn’t know what to think. He always knows what to think, always has a thousand different thoughts running through his head, either knowing everything about anything or wanting to find out everything about anything. Now, there’s nothing except Isak’s growing panic as bipolar repeats in his head.

“They’d just finalized the diagnosis, and I –“

Even licks his lips, tries to buy himself time, but time for what Isak doesn’t know. Even looks like he’s just finalized his own death sentence, and that everything that comes out of his mouth past this point isn’t an appeal but his final words, his last chance of redemption before a new life.

“I just had to get out of there. I just left – the hospital and my parents. I just had to get out of there. Scared the shit out of everyone,” he laughs a bit self-deprecatingly. It sounds wrong when someone is as close to crying as Even is right now, like it’s less of a laugh and more or a sob. “I just wanted to go for a walk.”

Isak’s bottom lip is quivering. He tries to bite down on it to make it stop, but that just makes it seem like the entirety of his face is shaking.

“And I saw –“ Even cuts himself off, sniffs and shakes his head at himself. “I should’ve left you alone, I know that, because you – but you were just –“

He laughs. It’s not an amused laugh, sounds more self-deprecating and sad and desperate than anything else.

“You were lying in the dirt in the middle of the night, cursing up a storm about how the pictures you were taking of flowers in the middle of the night were turning out shit, and –“

Even’s eyes are wet, but he looks impossibly softly at Isak when he finally meets his gaze. Isak thinks he might be crying too, or at least is close to it.

“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” Even confesses, so quietly Isak nearly can’t hear it, but he does. He hears it. “And I should’ve just left you alone, but I’m selfish. It was like – like you were magical, like I was in a movie and you were what everything had been leading to.”

Isak wants to reach out to him, wants to run his fingers over his skin, let his hands curl around his cheeks, but he knows Even will draw back if he does that.

He also isn’t certain he could actually manage to do it as it seems like his entire body has stopped working, including his heart, and his lungs, and his mind, because there’s only one thing continuously whispered, bipolar, bipolar, bipolar.

Isak doesn’t know a lot – anything – about bipolar disorder. Knows the obvious or just the stereotype, maybe. He figures he could probably see hints, looking back, should’ve maybe noticed the hints way back then. Thinks that Even ranting about other people invalidating his feelings, about the tight smiles when Isak would tease how multiple sleepless nights would naturally end with him conking out for days on end, should’ve been enough to tell Isak that something, that not everything was what he’d been led to believe, that there was more to the story.

Maybe Isak should be scared. He’d spent ages trying to help his mother, been there when she wasn’t well and things were so shit he just wanted to scream.

But this isn’t his mother. It’s Even and Isak’s so unbelievably in love with him.

“I’m glad you came up to me,” Isak blurts out before he’s really thought it through. He doesn’t regret it, though. He squares up instead, stares directly into Even’s eyes and keeps his back straight.

Even’s lips are pressed tightly together, and he has that pinched look to him that tells Isak he’s about to argue with him, probably ask if he hasn’t heard a thing he’s told him, but Isak doesn’t let him.

“I don’t tell you how to feel,” Isak reminds him, has to swallow when he sees the stricken look on Even’s face. “And you don’t tell me how to feel. That’s how we work.”

He lets the ‘right?’ hang unspoken in the air, but Even still nods in agreement as if he’d said it out loud.

“And I’m telling you,” Isak has to swallow – for how steady his voice sounds, he feels incredibly shaky, “that if you thought meeting me was something magical, then me meeting you was a miracle.”

Even’s shaking his head again, looking ready to argue, but Isak won’t let him. Not with this, never with this.

“I was barely alive, back then,” Isak tells him. Even knows some of this, has probably gathered enough from what Isak hasn’t told him, all the blank spaces left unsaid and untold but with enough given to hint why they’re like that. “I was just waiting for each day to pass until one day I’d finally get to live.”

Even knows what he’s leading up to, Isak can tell that he knows. That he’s already heard the ‘you were what made me finally feel like I was living and not just surviving.’

“You saved me,” he insists. “And that’s how we work. What happens after you save me?”

Even shakes his head. His eyes are teary, and his lips are pressed together tightly. “Isak –“

“What happens?”

Isak feels the sigh Even emits all the way inside his bones, feels how it makes him heavy. Such a startling contrast to how light Even’s reply makes him feel.

Even’s voice is quiet, so, so quiet, Isak nearly doesn’t hear him. “You save me back,” is said softly, kindly, lovingly, but also tinged with a sadness that has Isak forget everything but utter hopelessness.

He refuses, though. Not when Even knows what he’s saying, what he’s trying to tell him.

“You would’ve felt like that anyway,” Even argues, is still minutely shaking his head. He’s frowning, but Isak thinks it might be to stop himself from crying. “Eventually. You still would’ve gotten to feel that.”

“I would,” Isak agrees, because theoretically, he probably would’ve. “Eskild gave me a lot. Maybe I would’ve started to feel it when I started at university. Maybe I’d only start feeling it once I got a degree and started working. Maybe I’d meet someone and fall in love and that’s when it would start.”

It’s such a foreign thought, that he could ever fall in love with someone who isn’t Even. Even also looks a bit like the thought of it is breaking his heart, even if it’s one of the points he’s trying to make; that Isak would be alright without ever having had Even in his life.

“But nothing would ever feel like how I feel, right now, and have felt all this time, with you.”

Even still doesn’t really look like he believes him, but he also looks a bit like he knows, because that’s how he feels too, so it feels a bit impossible to argue against it, like it’s a moot point.

“I don’t know a lot about it,” Isak admits, doesn’t clarify what it is, there’s no need. “And you know me – I’ll go on a research bender, and I’m going to drive you insane with it, so you’re going to have to tell me when to stop.”

Even doesn’t look pleased at the prospect of having Isak interrogate him, but he does nod curtly.

Isak digs at the skin around his nails, picking at hangnail until he’s nearly bleeding. It doesn’t make it easier to gather his thoughts, but Isak doubts anything would be helpful.

It feels a bit like someone’s swept the floor out from underneath him. He feels dizzy from it, feels like he’s lost the center of his gravity, which is stupid, because it’s still just Even. Nothing has changed, nothing important, but still –

Isak knows there are a lot of things neither of them talk about. Their entire relationship is founded on lies and secrets that’s always been more of a security blanket than whatever this feeling swirling uncomfortably around in Isak’s stomach is.

It’s not like he has told Even everything there is to possibly know about him, but he knows the important parts, and Isak – Isak just hadn’t realized they were apparently also keeping secrets from each other.

He doesn’t blame Even, that’s not it. On a scale of secrets this one is huge, and it’s not like Even isn’t allowed to keep secret, it’s more that.

That Isak thought Even trusted him.

Finding out he doesn’t, doesn’t feel very nice. It feels absolutely horrible, in fact.

“What are you thinking about?”

Isak’s never heard Even sound like that; small and insecure and maybe even a little afraid. Isak scares Even, and Isak also doesn’t know what to do with that, what to do with anything.

“I –“ he tries to swallow through the lump in his throat. It nearly gets caught instead and breathing feels even harder to do afterwards. “I just – why didn’t you tell me?”

Even looks small, sitting there on the desk chair. He feels miles away from Isak and that doesn’t feel good. He’s never seen Even look small, he’s always been larger than life, even when he was quiet and sleeping for an entire day – crashing, Isak reminds himself – Isak’s heart had always felt so full and overwhelmed whenever he looked at him.

“I still didn’t know what to think about it at first, when I met you.” Even when talking, Even is quiet. It’s awful. “And then, later, I kept telling myself you had to know, that it was only fair, but I – I didn’t want to lose you. And then you told me about your mom, and how that was why your parents were always fighting and that’s why you left, and I couldn’t –“ his voice cracks when he breaks off.

Isak’s jaw is clenched. Blood trickles out from his hangnail when he accidentally digs too hard.

“It’s not the same.”

Even doesn’t look like he believes him, but Isak doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s the only thing he keeps thinking – that it’s not the same, because it isn’t.

“It’s not,” he repeats.

“How?” Even looks resigned, and Isak would’ve thought he would sound tired, but for the first time ever that Isak’s heard, Even sounds bitter. “How isn’t it the same?”

“Because I don’t blame you for being ill, how about that?” Isak snaps. He can feel years upon years of anger and resentment and shame welling up to the surface, and it’s making something ugly inside him want to crawl out, want to lash out at everyone around him, when that really isn’t something Isak wants to do. “I’m not ashamed of you being bipolar. It’s not some ‘character flaw’ that I’ll do my damndest to avoid because it would be inconvenient for me. I wouldn’t make the people closest to you lie about it just to avoid the social consequences of associating myself with you.”

Maybe it’s not entirely fair. Maybe there’d been lots of other shit going on between his mom and dad that Isak had never bothered looking into, because everything else was already too much and he wouldn’t be able to handle one more thing piled on top of the rest.

He’s not ashamed of Even. He’ll never be ashamed of Even. It sounds like a lie, considering the great lengths they go to, to keep each other a secret, to keep them a secret from the rest of the world, but that’s not Isak being ashamed of Even – no more than it is Even being ashamed of Isak.

“Maybe it will be,” Even points out stubbornly. His cheeks are flushed red and he’s staring straight into Isak’s eyes, but it’s like there’s something between them, something clouding Even’s eyes and twisting his mind until he can build his walls up again and protect himself from Isak. “Next month, next year – you don’t know you won’t resent me for sticking around.”

And Isak –

He wants to scream, wants to cry, both wants to prove he’ll never be like his father and abandon them, but at the same time wants to just bail, and that just makes it worse. He feels the fury inside him and wants to let it out, to show the world just how much can go wrong in a relationship and how much things going wrong can fuck someone up.

But Isak also knows this isn’t Even talking. Or – it is, but it also isn’t, because this is Even protecting himself from when shit will hit the fan, so that he isn’t caught off-guard, so he won’t end up in that doctor’s room again with pitying and worried looks constantly thrown his way until he’ll feel like he’s suffocating.

“It’ll happen,” Even promises, so sure and with certainty in his voice, that Isak wants to cover his ears and scream to block out all the noise. “I’ll hurt you, I know I will.”

In this moment Isak does feel incredibly young and a little out of his depth, but he doesn’t feel any less in love. Of all the uncertainties floating around his head, that isn’t one of them.

“You don’t know that.”

Even huffs, not believing him, and Isak’s tired. He’s tired and he’s going out of his mind and he still wants to never let go of Even, so he gets off the floor and strides over until he’s standing right in front of Even.

The room feels so much darker now compared to when Even had first gotten here, greeting Isak with a kiss and stories. God, that feels like hours, days, ago, not twenty minutes.

Even looks smaller like this, him sitting and Isak standing, but also from his shoulders hunching and body curling in on itself as he tries to convince Isak that he’s better off without him.

“No, you don’t know shit about that. Maybe I’ll be the one to hurt you – did you ever think about that, huh? Maybe neither of us will hurt each other. At least not so badly we can’t fix it.”

Even opens his mouth probably to protest, but Isak’s done. Done with all the hypothetical scenarios and what ifs of all the ways they can go wrong.

He wants to focus on the ways they can go right.

By slowing down time. He curls his hands around Even’s jaw and tilts his head back so he can’t avoid looking him the eyes. They’re impossibly blue and shiny from the wetness threatening to spill over the edge. Even when he’s upset like this and clearly wants to hide from the world, from Isak, Even accommodates him, lets him maneuver him into facing him.

“Why don’t we, just, take it completely chill,” Isak whispers, thumb rubbing soft circles along the line of Even’s cheekbone, “and we stop worrying about all that. Life is now, and so all that matters is, like, the next minute.”

“The next minute?”

God, Even is usually the one to say cliché things about how Isak is his baby, is his boy, and in this moment can’t help but be reminded how reciprocal that feeling is. Isak’s gorgeous, beautiful boy with a heart of gold and future bright and full of dreams.

Isak nods. “The next minute. That way we don’t have to worry about all the ways things can go wrong.”

Even sniffs. “Because even we can’t manage to fuck up irreparably within a minute?” he jokes, but Isak hears everything past the lighthearted tone, hears the worries and the anxiety and the guilt and shame and the hope.

So Isak smiles softly, continues rubbing his thumb and doesn’t comment on it when a catches a trail of wetness. Then he lets Even hide his face in his t-shirt, his forehead digging into his sternum.

Isak cards his fingers through Even’s hair, bends down far enough that he can press tiny kisses to the back of Even’s head, to the top of his neck.

“Sorry,” Even sniffles, not really crying but also not-not really crying. He’s still hiding away, so Isak just hums soothingly, only stopping when Even starts repeating himself. “Sorry, I – I should’ve told you, I know. I’m so sorry, that was – that was so fucked up of me to do. I should’ve come clean the second we started getting serious, I should’ve let you know –“

“Okay,” Isak just says, because he doesn’t want to tell Even he understands why he didn’t say anything when he’s only certain he partly knows why Even didn’t tell him specifically, and he’s also not going to lie and say he doesn’t feel fucking confused and slightly hurt at Even not telling him.

In hindsight it does explain a lot of things; the sleepless nights, the moments Even went from geared one day to little more than lifeless the next time he’d see him, the surge of text-messages to the bare minimum. Jumping from one project to another without finishing any or become hyper-fixated on one and working on nothing but.

Isak doesn’t realize why he hadn’t paid attention to it before – or, maybe he had, just a bit, felt that at times Even’s behavior was slightly off, but he never really went as far to think that – It never seemed natural to assume that.

“Breathe,” Isak reminds Even softly, the fingers on one of his hands moving down to trace the line of Even’s throat, running along his pulse. Even with the light touch Isak can feel it’s beating too fast. “Baby, you need to breathe.”

Even’s breath rattles when he lets it out. It feels warm and damp through the light material of Isak’s t-shirt, makes his already sticky skin feel clammy with it, but he just presses another kiss to Even’s hair.

“Is that what we’re doing for the next minute?” Even asks, speaking slowly to not make it as evident his body is still thrumming on the remains of adrenaline and panic, making him short of breath. He doesn’t sound mean about it, though.

“Yes.”

“And the minute after that?”

Technically, that’s against the rules, but Isak isn’t up for reminding Even of that.

“The minute after that,” he tells him instead, “we’re going to kiss.”

“That’s chill.”

Isak exhales amusedly at the irony.

“That’s chill.”

OOOOO

“Do you think,” Even wets his lips. Isak can’t tell if it’s a nervous tick or to just draw out time. “Do you think there’s a universe where I’m not like this? Where I’m easier to deal with?”

Isak’s throat tightens. He wants to cry.

It’s in the middle of the night, but Even is still lying awake next to him in bed. Eskild and Linn have long since gone to bed, Isak and Even did too, and they really should’ve fallen asleep by now, but they haven’t.

“It’s not like I’m easy to deal with either,” Isak reminds him.

Even scoffs, moves as if to turn to his side, turn his back to Isak, and Isak can’t have that. His hands fly out underneath his own body so quickly he slaps Even’s shoulder in his hurry to grab onto his t-shirt.

“I’m not,” he insists. Even’s still lying on his back and he’s not actively struggling against Isak’s hold that he doesn’t yet dare loosen. “There are probably hundreds of universes out there where – where you won’t have to hide behind closed doors to be with me, have you thought about that? Where I’m – where I’m a girl, or you are, and there’s no reason for all of this bullshit. Or maybe there’s one where no one would bat an eye at the both of us being boys, where we wouldn’t have even stumbled over the thought.”

Isak moves one of his hands up from Even’s shirt to lightly stroke against the hair curling at the nape of Even’s neck. It’s more awkward than anything, but that’s because it’s the arm he’s lying on and not because Even is resolutely staring into the ceiling, refusing to look at Isak.

“Maybe there’s one where I don’t give you a reason to leave.”

Isak shrugs, tries to calm down his absolutely pounding heart. “You haven’t given me a reason to in this one.”

Even scoffs again, but he doesn’t try to move away from Isak. Small wins.

Isak doesn’t know what happened to make Even so certain people, Isak, will leave him because of this. He figures maybe it had something to do with those boys that he’s occasionally seen him with by accident, when they’re reminded of just how small Oslo really is and that despite meticulous planning, they can’t always avoid running into each other in public.

Even talks about them, sometimes, and Isak’s always been desperate for every single bit of information he can get of Even’s life – the part of it that Isak has never had access to, anyway – so he feels like he already knows the entire group, but… the way that Even talked about them always made him curious. It made it seem like they were his long-lost friends, not people he saw every single day up until they graduated together back in June.

Even doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking, what he’s obviously close to saying, only holding himself back to avoid an argument, to avoid revealing his soul to such a terrifying, vulnerable degree, even if it’s to Isak. Or maybe because it’s to Isak.

Isak knows what Even wants to say. He wants to say that he’s already given him a reason, and if not then they just have to wait for a major episode, or maybe just a small one, and then Isak can see there’s a reason to break this off.

But this isn’t something Isak wants to break off, not for any reason. Reminding Even of that, though, wouldn’t mean anything to Even who won’t let himself process it, won’t let himself belief that it’s true, that there’s still hope for them, that they can still be ‘them’, so Isak changes tactic.

“Maybe there is one where I leave. Hell, maybe there are multiple universes where I leave you.”

Even’s not breathing next to him. Isak can make out his eyes in the darkness, but he can’t tell if they’re shiny from unshed tears or completely dry as Even remains stoic. He doesn’t seem it, though. He seems to be feeling the exact same emotions as Isak; frayed and like someone is unpeeling him bit by bit until he’s exposed for the world to see with nothing holding him together.

“But not in this one.”

Even draws in a deep breath. It sounds shaky.

“In this universe, I stay with you. In this universe, I choose you.”

“This feels like therapy,” Even grouches, but he’s still looking at Isak with that look that always serves to make butterflies swirl around inside of him, even if it’s a little withdrawn and Isak can still tell that this isn’t, that they aren’t okay yet. “I hate therapy.”

Isak can’t help but grin shyly. “Pretty sure it’s not therapy until you start paying me.”

It startles a bark of a laugh out of Even that comes out a little too wet. “You expecting me to pay you, now?”

And it’s fun, because acting like this with Even is always fun, but this, this right now, is Even talking around the subject.

“’Fraid I only accept boyfriend payments,” he says carefully, watches with heavy heart as Even stops smiling and starts looking ready to argue again.

Isak hates having to make him stop smiling, but it’s necessary. They need to do this, can’t just let it hang in the air. They do this with everyone else; talk in half-truths and leave things unsaid and just entirely in secret, but not with each other. Even knows everything about Isak, and Isak had thought he knew everything about Even, too. He’s not angry to find out he doesn’t – confused, a little, maybe a lot, hurt, but he’s not angry.

He probably would’ve been, had he found out any other way, if Even had never confessed to it, if he’d just left it unsaid until one day Isak would find out when either everything was going to shit, or it was just too late entirely.

Even must come to something close to the same conclusion, because the fight leaves his body, and when he starts talking, he answers Isak truthfully.

“I have…” he hesitates before continuing, “almost a sort of love-hate relationship with it. To it?”

“How come?”

Even tries to gather his thoughts, figure out what to say, how to explain. “I hate how it makes me feel, how out of control everything can seem. I like being the one who can decide things and it – it takes that away from me.”

Isak blinks. “And the – the other part? The love part?”

Even wets his lips nervously. “I hate feeling sick,” he says. “I hate how it takes away any feeling of control. I hate how it makes other people look at me like I’m weak, like I’m breakable.”

Isak waits. Allows for Even to let it all out.

Even’s breathing heavily, not quite panting for air, but it’s irregular and mostly superficial. Isak doubts he’s actually getting any air in, but at least he’s not panicking.

“But, if I hadn’t had that appointment, if I wasn’t ill,” Even adds, “I wouldn’t have left my parents’ side that night.”

Isak tilts his head to the side, a slight, confused frown pulling down the right corner of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t have gone to Birkelunden, and I wouldn’t have met the cutest boy I’d ever seen, lying on his stomach in the dirt, trying to get a picture of a flower.”

Isak flushes, as he always does when Even talks about him like this, squirms with a bit. It’s almost like he can feel Even’s heart beating in tandem with his own; a little too quick and a little too hard.

It’s impossible not to feel it, and feeling it so strongly makes it impossible not to say something.

“I still want to marry you,” Isak whispers into the darkness.

It’s the first time Even’s stayed over for the night since he told Isak. Isak’s spent the past hour just about debating whether or not he should say something before he just went ahead and did it anyway.

Maybe he shouldn’t have, shouldn’t push these things. A lot of the websites spoke about needing a stable environment and avoiding stress factors, and Isak has this nagging thought in his head that this entire thing they have going, this – this sneaking around and keeping secrets from everyone in their life, having an entire secret relationship, everything that Isak is to Even, is quite a big stress factor.

But he doesn’t want to leave this hanging in the air, not like he’s done with so many other things. This should never be something he grows to regret not saying, and it shouldn’t be something Even should worry about was legit or not.

Even is tense next to him. It sounds like he’s holding his breath, and Isak can’t tell if it’s from anxiety or from waiting for Isak to continue or if he gearing up to argue.

The latter, Isak fears, because Even still has that look in his eyes, the one that says he still fully believes everything he said about how he was too selfish and that Isak deserves more, when Even to Isak already is everything.

“I know you’re probably thinking – hell, you’re thinking too much to keep up with, but you’re definitely thinking I’m only saying it because I said it before and now I don’t want to admit to it being a pity thing, but that’s –“

Isak cuts himself off, shakes his head, not harshly enough the bed shakes, but he can hear how his hair shifts against the pillowcase, causing crinkling noises that fill the sudden silence.

“I don’t know how to convince you it’s not,” Isak admits instead. “I don’t know how to make you believe I’m so in love with you that I never want you far away from me, that I can’t imagine having to live a life without you. I can’t think of anything other than telling you, again and again, as many times as it takes, but I also don’t know if that will ever be enough.”

Even swallows loudly next to him. He doesn’t turn around and he doesn’t say anything, and Isak doesn’t know what that means. His heart is pounding in his chest.

“If you really don’t want to marry me, then I’ll never mention it again,” he promises. “But if the only reason you have for not wanting to marry me is because you think ‘I deserve better’, then I’m going to ask you again. I’m going to ask you every single time I can’t believe I could possibly love you any more than I do in that moment.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, wants for Even to say something, to reply, to just let him know – something, anything, that Even is ready and willing to give him.

It makes it easy to hear how Even tries to control his breathing, tries to keep it slow and heavy, make every inhale deep, all the way down into his stomach. He hears it every time Even opens his mouth only to close it again. Until he finally manages to get some words out.

Isak expects – maybe he doesn’t quite know what he expects. A rejection, maybe, denial about everything Isak just said.

No matter what, he doesn’t expect, “Move in with me,” to be what comes out of Even’s mouth.

Isak blinks. Doesn’t really matter in the darkness, but he still does it. Blinks again, even. “Huh?”

The sheets next to him crinkle as Even shuffles around to face him. Isak’s gaping in his direction, he knows, but it’s too dark to see anything besides his silhouette.

“Move in with me,” Even repeats, voice deep and slow.

It’s almost like how he usually sounds when he’s close to falling asleep or just waking up, but he’s neither right now. His voice is steady, he sounds sure in himself, while Isak feels like he’s stuck on a rollercoaster.

“I’m serious,” Even says when Isak just keeps on staring. “Move in with me.”

Like Isak was questioning how serious he was. He’s been working really hard to not let those parts of the websites influence him, refuses to see Even as a child in need of a firm hand to keep him safe, but this kind of question feels so horribly impulsive the thought is the for a shameful second before Isak manages to kick it out again.

“A place just for the two of us,” Even starts painting the picture as beautifully as everything else he does. “We won’t have to sneak around, won’t have to wake up at crazy times just to avoid getting caught. You could finally wear my clothes without worrying, I could get to cook you breakfast.”

Isak’s heart is starting to pick up its pace again, for an entirely different reason now.

“Think about it,” Even prompts. “You said that Noora’s coming back from Spain soon, that’ll be one more person to sneak around, plus there aren’t enough rooms. You’d still have your safety net – you’d still have Eskild to fall back on. We could only put my name on the lease so you wouldn’t have any obligations if things fall through.” If they fall through, Isak knows that means.

“We’ll have to anyway, you’re the only one out of the two of us who’s turned eighteen,” is what comes out of Isak’s mouth instead. Holy shit, he keeps thinking, feeling, maybe, too. Holy shit.

Even lets out a startled laugh that’s too loud for the hour, but Isak’s feeling too shaky in the best of ways to shush him. Even clamps a hand over his mouth himself anyway, tries to smother his giggles behind fingers and the duvet. He sounds every bit as much of the holy shit being continuously repeated in Isak’s head.

“Are we really doing this?”

Isak feels like his feet have been swept off the ground, feels like he’s floating, flying around. It doesn’t feel scary, though. Not when he knows Even’s there, ready to catch him.

“I’m serious about you,” Even whispers once he’s gotten his laughing fit under control again. “Always. And always want to be. And I want to marry you, want to get married to you.”

Isak’s heart tha-thumps loudly in his ears as he waits for the ‘but’.

“I just want you to know what you’re getting into. I never want you to regret anything.” This, me, us.

It’s every bit the but Isak was expecting, fearing, but it’s not the worst but he’s imagined hearing.

“The same goes for you, you know,” Isak reminds him. He grabs Even’s hand, laces their fingers together and squeezes. It somehow feels more intimate than a kiss would’ve. “I never want you to regret choosing me either.”

It’s in the middle of the night on a hot summer’s night, and Even’s eyes are sparkling even in the dark and his thumb is rubbing along Isak’s hand in small circles, and Isak’s in love with him and discussing their future together. He hopes fervently that in every single universe out there, there’s an Isak and Even who find each other, and that there isn’t a single universe where there’s an Isak stupid enough to leave their Even behind.

“I won’t,” Even promises.

‘Forever’ suddenly seems impossibly short when Isak will get to spend it with Even.

Next part

#Evak fanfiction #SKAM fanfiction #SKAM #SKAM Norway #Dutten-does-the-fanfic #Evak #Something Great

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