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breathings-of-the-heart · 4 years

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Stuck on You (Levi Ackerman x Childhood Friend! Reader)

A/N: Hi, guys! I just want to preface by saying that this is a TWO (maybe a three if i decide to write an epilogue drabble) PART SERIES, and I have just a few more scenes to write before I can post it! I don’t expect this one to do so well, to be honest, but it’s been so long since I’ve written anything I’m proud of and I think I’m happy with how this turned out. So yes, stay tuned for part 2 which i will link at the end once it is posted. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Angst, season one/no regrets ova spoilers

Word Count: 3.5k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5 years ago

“Why is it that you always seem to be on my case the most?” Your frustration was obvious and your patience dissipated, feet shuffling in their spot as you finally turned to face him. “You never nag Isabel this much.”

For a moment, Levi didn’t respond, scanning your body for injuries. After asserting that you were indeed okay, he stepped over the unconscious man who laid on the ground, jaw set in anger as he walked forwards until he was so close you had to tilt your head slightly to keep eye contact.

Your snappy behavior was uncharacteristic. It only fueled his temper. The raven shook his head in disapproval, trying to keep his anger in check as you glared at him defiantly.

“Isabel doesn’t make such careless mistakes,” he pointed out coldly. “You almost got yourself hurt, (Y/N)! What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up to cover your ass?”

The both of you stood there in silence for several minutes, gazing at each other and listening to your uneven breathing. His face, unlike so many others, never really did reveal everything he was thinking. Feeling. You were dared to search for something else in his steady gaze besides disappointment, but for once, you could not tell what you saw. It was infuriating, humiliating, and hurtful.

“Sometimes I wonder if there’s even a brain inside your thick fucking skull.”

His harsh words didn’t normally cut you, but this time you flinched, looking away from Levi as all the fight drained out of you.

 Wearing your jewelry out at night was a careless mistake, that you could admit. What was hard to swallow was the fact that you had just been mugged, and nearly assaulted, yet all Levi could do was find the time to scold you, not seeming to care at all if you were shaken up by what happened.

It didn’t scare you that the other man’s hands found their way onto your skin. It didn’t scare you that something bad could have happened had Levi not knocked him out. You weren’t afraid of any of it; you were afraid that all the raven-haired man could see you for were your mistakes.

“So you think I’m a burden then?” you asked, choking up.

Your change in tone caught Levi’s attention. You suddenly looked smaller, and more vulnerable than the last time he looked at you. He sighed again, shaking his head softly. It took all your strength not to shy away from his fingers as they threaded through your hair, stopping on your shoulder and tugging you against him. You let Levi do it nonetheless, knowing this was his way of saying sorry; knowing this was his way of saying: “I’m tough on you because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

You pressed your ear against his beating heart, letting the sound soothe you.

“No, brat. I don’t think that. Let’s just go home, and forget about it,” his voice was more gentle this time.

You sniffled and nodded, chest bursting as Levi placed a feather light kiss on the top of your head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never thought you’d miss the Underground. Especially when taking into consideration the miserable days after Levi, Isabel, and Farlan took that fateful deal, and were forced to leave you behind.

Your feelings on the matter were conflicted, of course, but you were relieved and happy that the people who mattered most had such a big opportunity. They didn’t need to see you crying, nor hear about how scared you were to be by yourself. Each one deserved better than that, so you put on a brave face as they reassured you over and over that they’d come back. You beamed as brightly as you could, sending them off with words of encouragement as you continued fighting off the lingering feeling of dread as they left.

You didn’t want to be a nuisance. Never wanted to be the reason they’d hold themselves back.

Although he didn’t show it, Levi took it the hardest. He implored you to stay alive, in a scolding tone that he only ever used when he was worried. You could hold your own, but weren’t a fighter like the other three. The stern male had only ever been thankful of your gentle nature in the past, surprised to be cursing it now that he couldn’t protect you. But for him, you’d try your hardest, knowing that with a little faith and patience, you could be reunited in the future.

The goodbye had been bittersweet, your lips slotting against his for the very first time. In a way, the way he kissed you seemed more like a promise than a farewell. His arms were wrapped around you all night, warmth lulling you to a sleep that otherwise, would never have been able to claim you.

Parting afterwards the following morning became all the more difficult because of it.

When Levi pulled a few strings with his newfound respected status and got the military to sponsor your citizenship, you were over the moon. Becoming a soldier was the last thing you expected out of your life, but wherever Levi and the others went, you would gladly follow. You felt at home again, throwing your arms around the man for the first time in months and giggling at the fact that while he accepted the gesture and patted your head awkwardly, his lack of affection never changed.

But you were quickly learning that the ideological existence that lived right above your head was just an illusion. You came only to find your friends dead, and Levi more closed off to you than he’d ever been before. Up here, things were far from perfect, and as time went on, you instead yearned for the past if only to appreciate it better a second time around. And although things slowly got better, life was not yet finished throwing its hardships your way.

The last person you had left slowly became out of reach, as time apart inevitably distanced the two of you and gave someone else the opportunity to fill that hole in his heart.  

Reality, you found, was much crueler under the blue of the sky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You don’t have to deny it, Levi. I know you better than anyone. I see the way you look at her,” you whispered, wringing your hands together in a feeble attempt to rid of the painful churn in your stomach. “I see it because you used to look at me that way.”  

It was admirable, at least, the effort you put in to keep your voice even. But the silence that followed those broken words was pitiful. The silence made it even more difficult to meet the gaze of the man in front of you. Levi had every opportunity to deny the truth of your burning statement; to bring you back into his arms and reaffirm his love like he used to. Like he would if maybe things were different.

You knew, he had no desire to do that now. Instead, the Captain’s eyes screwed shut and a light sigh escaped his perfect lips, the warmth of it tingling your skin. It was nostalgic, almost, being alone with Levi like this. His face was nearer to yours then it had been in months, enough so that you could make out every tiny detail. The irony of it seemed mocking: for once, you couldn’t bear to look at him. Not that you needed to, with every feature of his sure to forever haunt your memory.

But now all you could see were the interactions they had. Your vision consisted of watching as their bond and understanding grew. It was created in such a short amount of time, but hardly unpredictable with the amount of time Levi and Petra spent together. Even if Levi himself had not realized it, for you, it was plain as day. You knew him better than anyone. Could see that there was no pain in Levi’s eyes when he looked at her. Afterall, unlike you, Petra wasn’t a painful reminder of the past.

Despite his physical closeness, this was the most detached you’ve ever felt from the male. The space between you was strange and unfamiliar. Lonely and cold.

At your words, he exhaled through his nostrils.  

“I would never be unfaithful, (Y/N). I never have been,” he spoke firmly, in that certain tone of speaking only he could manage. “I promised I would never leave you.”

A tear spilled down your cheek, despite your best brave face. It was too much to handle, even for a calloused girl like you. Because despite everything, Levi had always been there. It seemed scary to have life any other way.

Said man took your hand gently, handling it like porcelain. It wasn’t until his skin touched yours that you realized your fingers were shaking, and your facade was crumbling. His gesture was another reminder of what once was. The familiarity of his skin a testament to all the time spent simply existing with one another.

How did it come to this?

“A lot has changed since then, it seems,” you laughed softly, for once pulling away from his touch. “I bet you can’t even look at me without thinking about those two, huh?”

You never once thought it was his fault. Even if you told him that, you knew Levi would always take accountability. Knew he would blame himself for taking Isabel and Farlan away from you. You should have seen this coming. It was inevitable that your love would be tainted, and that he’d find it somewhere else, even if it was unintentional.

“(Y/N), wait—“ there was a small panic that awoke in the raven’s steely eyes that only those who truly knew him would be able to detect.  

“—You know how I feel about you, don't you? I want to be the one who you'd wake up next to every morning. The person you'd trust enough to spill all your secrets to, the one you want to hold close, the one who would make it hurt too much to ever let go. I want to be the person who can make you smile, or laugh until you can't breathe. Your first and last thought of the day, and the one you wonder about even when they’re not around.”

You swallowed a whimper, fists clenched at your sides as your restraint came undone. It was all you’d ever wanted since you were small and starving and Levi was all you had to hold onto.

"But more than anything I want you to be happy. You deserve it.”

And because that’s how much I love you.

“I’d spent the rest of my life with you, if you asked me to,” the stoic Captain stated, as simply and mindlessly as if reciting the weather.

You knew it was true. You also knew better than to let your mind wander to that fantasy, or to let a world come into fruition in which you stopped Levi from pursuing his happiness; held back simply because his loyalty knew no bounds. You refused to be that selfish. You’d rather die a miserable death, a thousand times over. Rather endure this anguish for as long as it resided in your heart then watch his indifference turn to hatred as years of a one-sided relationship droned on and on.

He doesn’t want you anymore.

“I know, Levi.” You paused for a long moment. “Petra's wonderful. I don't hate either of you, I want you to remember that."

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying desperately to forget the feeling of Levi’s lips on your skin, your face against his chest. The warmth between your ribs or the butterflies in your stomach, or the fireworks of passion that only he could make you feel. Tried to forget the rare but special, secret words of affirmation only your ears got to hear, and the goosebumps they’d send across your skin.

You wanted to erase it all, if only to make it easier to walk away with the knowledge you’d never feel any of that again.

It was pathetic.

There wasn’t anything left to be said. So with the task near impossible, looked at your lover, your best friend, your rock, your Levi, and turned away.

You only managed three steps before a voice followed you and a hand closed around your wrist.

“Is this what you want?” He sounded apathetic, but you knew better. His underlying worry only made the pain feel worse.

“I don’t know.” At the very least, you were honest.

"Will I see you again?"

As adaptable as he was, Levi was never a fan of the unconventionality that was “change.” He was never surprised, quick to go with the flow, even if he preferred certainty and steadiness.

This conversation, though, was one he never expected.

"Of course," you forced a tiny smile, knowing it was more convincing than it felt. "I just need a breather. I'll be back for dinner." The words tasted bitter in your mouth.

That was the first and only lie you'd ever tell Levi Ackerman, having handed in your resignation papers to Erwin just yesterday.

Forgive me, Levi.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snow fluttered down from the sky, coating the local shops and roofs of buildings with a thick, white blanket. Merchants and store owners alike grumbled their disapproval, bustling to sweep the front of their shops. The air was crisp and biting, yet you relished in the feeling and absorbed the atmosphere. Drunk garrison soldiers loitered around merrily, cheeks flushed from alcohol, catching the flakes in their hair and occasionally slipping on hidden ice in their drunken stupor. It made you chuckle softly, the residences of Wall Roses’ inconvenience the source of your contentment-- this was your first time seeing snow, the real thing a thousand times better than anything you read about in any book.

You strolled through the marketplace, a basket holding bread, dried meats, cheese, and several fruits resting in the crook of your elbow. Your coin purse felt lighter than it had that morning, yet you carried on nonetheless, curious as to what Wall Rose had to offer. Children ran past you, throwing snowballs at each other and nearly running into you because of their haste. The sight made you grin as one of them bumped into one of the street market’s booths, knocking over a few items as he went.

The woman behind the counter chastised them, her shouts growing louder when they barely spared her a glance and blended into the crowd of shoppers. Nick nacks and books were left scattered in their wake, askew on the cobblestone ground.

“Need help, ma’am?,” you asked her, picking up the objects from the ground.

“Thank you, dearie,” she sighed gratefully, taking them from your hands. “Kids these days, so reckless and always in such a hurry.”

You laughed airily, mirth swimming in your eyes.

“You’re just lucky they didn’t steal anything,” you joked, reminiscing about your own thieving past. Your attention turned towards the noting the soldiers now dozing off on top of their card table nearby, tutting their behavior lightheartedly. “Levi, if only the police were like that back when we--”

Out of habit, you turned around to meet his gaze, heart clenching when you remembered he wasn’t there. Your fists clenched to prevent you from smacking yourself at your carelessness. He’s not here, dumbass.

“What was that, hun?” the woman behind the counter inquired, preoccupied in sorting her things.

You put on your best smile, shaking your head before your thoughts could fill with images of a certain raven-haired, steele-eyed, heart-stopping male. The back of your eyes stung, the momentary joy of your first real winter quickly fading away.

“Nothing important.”

This is for the best, (Y/N). You’ve only ever gotten in the way, his whole life. Let the man be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a few years since that last encounter with him. Part of you still wondered if Levi tried looking for you after realizing your true intentions of never coming back. You hoped he didn't, imagining instead that he'd made the most of the opportunity you'd given him. Prayed that it wasn't all for naught and he instead pursued what (or who) truly made him happy, instead of worrying about other people. In truth, you became content with life, learning to look back on memories fondly and being thankful for their existence.

Residing above ground was enough reason to be grateful in itself, and you did your best to make the most of it. Your days were now spent in ways that paid tribute to your humble beginnings: individuals from the underground who managed to secure citizenship to the surface were put into your care. You helped men, women, and children alike assimilate into living on the surface, which included introducing the area, and assisting in finding housing and jobs. It was rewarding work, but more than anything, reminiscent to be able to see the wonder when their eyes meet the clouds for the very first time. The flickers of hope from your clients were things you carried with you every day. Your chosen profession left plenty of free time, however, as it was relatively rare for individuals to pay the hefty toll of climbing up those stairs.

Your life was average, and for the most part, uneventful. The quietness that accompanied mediocrity proved to be comforting, however. It was a far cry from the days of constantly looking over your shoulder and needing to carry a knife in your boot, just in case.

At first, it was difficult not to cry at the thought of the stoic, raven-haired Ackerman. The heartache weighed down in your chest for a good amount of time. The simplest things reminded you of Levi, but after a while, instances where he’d cross your mind became fewer and further between. With a nicer home than anything you previously owned, a livable income, and an overall peaceful existence, you didn’t have any regrets.

At least, that was what you told yourself until you heard the news.

On off days you worked as a waitress at one of the many taverns within Wall Rose. Large tips were one of the many perks that drew you in originally. The chatter of the customers and frequent bar-goers was a welcome ambience, and an opportunity for you to combat the occasional feeling of loneliness.

Occasionally, Scout Regiment gossip would filter through, especially about Humanity’s Strongest and the new titan shifter Eren Jeager. Updates were nice, knowing Levi was safe and thriving in what he did best. But as you placed a pint of beer on one of the tables and overheard a heavy set man babble loudly to his comrade, dread splashed over you in waves.

“The Captain was the only survivor in his squad. He wasn’t even with them when it happened, poor guy. He must feel terribly guilty.”

Your vision became hazy as you tried not to panic; of all the rumours that filtered through the drunk mouths of customers, you had never heard bad news like this before. The last you’d heard, human kind was given a beacon of hope, and things were looking up after Eren Jaeger managed to plug up the hole in Trost.

“Excuse me, but which squad did you say this happened to?” you heard your voice say.  

Across the table, the other man took a swig of his drink, and grunted indignantly.

“Levi Squad, the best in the military I heard. A shame, but I suppose even the top in the Survey Corps are still just suicidal maniacs when it comes down to it.”

No, no, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen!

After that, everything became white noise. You could only register every third movement, heart thundering in your ears. The tray you’d been holding to carry the drinks clattered as it fell to the ground, causing a few gasps and strange looks to be thrown in your direction. In your horrified state, dread weighed down like lead in your body. You rushed to the back room, tears clouding your vision as you tried not to stumble.

You gripped the edges of the washroom sink, dizzy with this newfound information.

Levi has now lost more people that he loved, and was probably experiencing the same survivor’s guilt as he did with Isabel and Farlan. He was most likely suffering alone right now, never having been one to let people see his vulnerability so easily.

You did not witness first hand what your friends’ deaths meant to him. When the Captain waited for you at the top of the staircase, his expression never seemed out of the ordinary. Levi was kind enough to let you enjoy your first few days up with him simply enjoying the newfound freedom. He made the excuse that your two other comrades were out on business somewhere, and would be back to see you soon. Maybe, at the time, your excitement blinded you from the deeper emotions hidden in his voice.

When you found out the truth, their passing broke you. The fact that Levi shouldered any blame, however, is what twisted the knife. He had been grieving by himself; feeling that pain without anyone to comfort him. He had to put on a brave face just to see you; secretly spending that last month alone, probably relaying over and over how he would break the news to you.

Your remorse increased tenfold when it was him who held you, and him who put you back together, just like he had to for himself. And now he was by himself all over again.

I have to do something.

Splashing water on your face, you straightened up and looked in the mirror, a sudden surge of guilt coursing through your veins.

You refused to let Levi be alone this time around, no matter how he might feel about you now.

~~~~~~~

Part Two!

#snk levi #levi #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman gif #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #AoT #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #snk fic #aot fic #levi x reader

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retvenkos · 4 years

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newfound love | t.l.

Little Women - Laurie Laurence x Reader, slight angst, fluff

tw: mentions of a dead mother

word count: 1.9k

A/N: i’m apparently incapable of writing fluff without first mentioning crushing loss, so that’s fun.

prompt: we’re going out in the cold for a walk, and I know you don’t want to get wet, but I’m trying to convince you to make a snow angel with me

The first thing (Y/n) knew was the cold. From the moment they had been born, they knew the icy touch of frigid air and the bite of snow. Winter babies were often babies who didn’t survive, but it had been their mother that didn’t last the night. Their family had mourning during the most dangerous of seasons, snow falling on their cheeks and melting at their hot tears.

Ever since, (Y/n) knew that winters often brought more problems than they were worth - from the cold, to the lack food, to the bouts of sickness that always seemed to follow, and the tight grasp of melancholy that held their heart hostage. Times were hard enough without the troubles of a changing season, and to have winter come early was simply cruel.

Already the winds had changed, and sometimes, when (Y/n) looked around at the people who surrounded them, they thought they could tell who was already blown away.

Laurie had always been rather good at convincing them that it was just worry, but the feeling never left, just gnawed a little less.

Now, with the war being what it was, there was more at risk, and more that ate at (Y/n), devouring the very root of their being. It hadn’t taken long for Laurie to notice the strength of (Y/n)’s grief, that year, and he had grown intent on trying to show (Y/n) the beauty of winter, even with it’s hardship and death.

“You can’t just have one,” he had said, sounding much older than he usually did. “Everything is good and bad.”

“Are we?”

And Laurie had laughed unabashedly, as though the thought had never crossed his mind. (Y/n) hadn’t admitted it, then, but they resolved that if naivete was the worst of Laurie’s offenses, they could fall in love with all of him - the good and bad.

In his attempts to demonstrate the enchantment of winter (because Laurie was a true romantic, and he did insist winter was enchanting), he had exhausted every effort he could think of.

He had taken (Y/n) out to ice skate, had taken them to a winter dance, and had even stolen some of his grandfather’s seasonal wines for them to share. Although that last one was largely a success, before they were caught, (Y/n) still couldn’t shake the idea that winters brought nothing but misery. It was an instinct set deep in the fibre of their soul; something created the moment they were born, when the ice and cold had stolen them from the warmth of a mother.

It seemed, even with Laurie’s efforts, that there was one inescapable truth about (Y/n)’s experiences:

Winters were bleak and their frosts were long, lingering well after the snow had melted and the sun dared to peek out once more.

When it neared the end of winter, (Y/n) had assumed that Laurie had let his little project go. It had been a while since he asked them about their opinion of the winter months, and while (Y/n) still caught him staring every once in a while, he made no effort to speak of what he was thinking.

On a day when the cold seemed to be letting up, (Y/n) and Laurie made plans to meet the next day. He had some books he wanted them to see, and (Y/n) was in the throes of a crisis - finding themself unable to oppose Laurie’s good, if often too forward, nature.

When (Y/n) woke to find that it had snowed sometime between night and early morning, they had sighed, but steeled themself to the reality of it. The day prior they had promised Laurie they would go over, and when Laurie had smiled, they had even promised to be in a better mood. Laurie had said that they needn’t hide their feeling for his sake, but (Y/n) put their hands over his and told them they wanted to.

“It won’t be winter for much longer.”

It wouldn’t have been the first time (Y/n) managed to speak too soon.

Bundled in their warmest clothes, (Y/n) had set out in the cold, intent to walk to Laurie’s house, no matter the weather. The snow crunched beneath their boots, and the rising sun made a blinding glare against the white expanse, but they journeyed forth.

Laurie didn’t live too far away from (Y/n). In the summer months, walking to his house was a welcome distraction and the view of the world in full bloom never ceased to amaze them. (Y/n) looked around at the snow covered world around them and tried to appraise it in Laurie’s eyes - what enchanting beauty could be found, when everything was frozen in time?

Perhaps there was something beautiful in the vastness of it - when covered in snow, the world didn’t seem to end at definite horizon. The clouded sky met the snowy land in a sort of haze - one color mixing with the other and never quite distinguishing itself. And the icicles hanging from trees seemed to shine like diamonds when the sunlight hit them, just right. The ice was sharp and deadly, yes, but it was also delicate and easily broken.

(Y/n) stopped beneath a tree and when they looked back at the way they came, there was almost something poetic in the way their steps had made a trail - like their existence in the world left a mark, no matter how small.

(Y/n) looked down at their shoes, shaking their head at their own thoughts. If only Laurie saw them now - he might think all of this was his doing.

Perhaps it was.

(Y/n) scuffed the fresh layer of snow with the tip of their shoe, revealing some of the grass beneath - a dark green that reminded (Y/n) of the decorations Laurie had insisted on putting up, claiming that the atmosphere alone would be enough to convince them of the beauty of winter.

(Y/n) was careful to admit it, but all of Laurie’s antic - from the most simple to the elaborate - had made them feel better. Most of the time. Laurie’s presence alone was enough to coax happiness out of them, pushing down that melancholy that stubbornly clung to their being.

“(Y/n)!” A voice brought them out of their thoughts, and it took a moment for (Y/n) to realize they had been smiling.

Laurie, wrapped in a thick coat, was running over to them, his expression a blur and hair flying wild. The sun was rising with him and made it hard to focus on his nearing figure for long, but when he was close enough, Laurie blocked the glare with an amusement that seemed to shine brighter than his heavenly competitor.

“I didn’t think you’d come out for a walk.”

(Y/n) brought a hand up to tame his hair. “Well, I did promise you, didn’t I?”

Laurie nodded his head, dark hair flying once more. “I just thought that with the snow, you might have changed your mind.”

“If it was anyone else, I would have.”

“Do I really mean that much to you?”

(Y/n) felt their cheeks get hot and burrowed their face deeper into their scarf. Laurie hummed in acknowledgement, neither triumphantly nor disappointedly, just markedly.

“You wouldn’t be admiring the weather, would you? I was trying to compose a poem on my way here - something that would capture the essence of a final snow.” (Y/n) scoffed and Laurie’s teasing eyes caught their gaze. “Perhaps you have a line or two to add?”

“Maybe,” (Y/n) conceded, “but only if I can write it somewhere warm - preferably in front of a fireplace, with those books you mentioned.”

The two set off in the way Laurie had come, (Y/n) making it a point to step in his footprints from earlier so that they might avoid getting wet anymore than they already were. Despite having consented to the idea that the winter might be slightly beautiful, in its own, haunting sort of way, (Y/n) was still averse to the cold, and there was nothing worse than the kind of cold that stuck to your skin after getting your clothes wet.

It was when Laurie’s house was in sight, and closer to them than the distant horizon, that snow started to fall from the heavens, sprinkling through Laurie’s dark hair and settling on his scarf. A snowflake fell on (Y/n)’s eyelashes, and they took in a breath, preparing to sigh, but stopped themself short. Laurie looked at them from the corner of his eye, just barely managing to suppress a smile from creeping onto his lips; there was affection in his eyes, though, sweet and pure.

“(Y/n),” Laurie grabbed their hands and the party in question turned to them, snow collecting on their head like the soft down of a duckling. “Do something for me?”

“What?”

Laurie fell back into the snow, letting go of (Y/n)’s hands as he dropped so that he wouldn’t pull them with him. He fell back with an “oof” that seemed to knock the wind out of him, but he quickly recovered started moving his arms and legs, fanning outwards to create a snow angel.

(Y/n) scoffed and shook their head. “Laurie, you’re going to get all wet.”

“And so will you, when you join me.” Laurie’s smile was convincing, making up for his lack of persuasion skills. (Y/n) was able to resist, if only barely.

They opened their mouth to refuse, but no sound came. Laurie seemed to notice the falter in their resolve because he held out a hand, sitting up carefully as to not ruin his angel.

“The house is right there. We’ll be inside before the cold seeps through the layers of your clothes.”

“Is this another attempt of yours to get me to fall in love with winter?”

Laurie smiled devilishly, despite what he had created just moments before. “You’ve already fallen in love. My schemes are over.”

Laurie was right - (Y/n) had fallen in love - but whether it was with winter or the boy who pointed out it’s beauty, was hard to tell. Maybe a snow angel would help them decide...

“Fine, for you.”

A moment after the words left their lips, Laurie reached for their hand and tugged them downward, pulling (Y/n) with such a force that they stumbled in their fall and landed half on top of him. (Y/n) shrieked and screwed their eyes tight.

They were awfully close, when dared to peek. Lauries cheeks were flushed scarlet, although whether it was from the cold or their position was hard to determine. (Y/n) shuffled away and lay down in the snow, hesitating before putting their hands out. Laurie lay back down, a little breathless, and the two stared at each other for a moment before laughing, not minding the wet snow beneath them.

(Y/n) eventually pushed their arms out and made their frozen angel, their fingers grazing Laurie’s arm.

When the two stood up, they both looked at their creations with a critical eye.

“We ruined those pretty well, don’t you think?”

“You were the one who pulled me down!”

“You didn’t give yourself enough space to make wings.”

(Y/n) and Laurie looked at the other challengingly before breaking out in chuckles.

“Let’s get inside. I wouldn’t want your newfound love of winter spoiled by catching a cold.”

(Y/n) nodded, but it wasn’t until they were sitting in front of a fire, books between them and blankets draped over their shoulders, that (Y/n) told Laurie, in just above a whisper, that it wasn’t winter they had discovered their affections for.

#little women #laurie laurence #theodore laurie laurence #laurie x reader #laurie laurence x reader #theodore laurence x reader #reader insert #laurie imagine #laurie laurence imagine #theodore laurence imagine #fluff #slight angst #tw mentions of death #holiday prompts #imagine #one shot #fic #fanfiction #fanfic

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xmyshya · 4 years

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Congratulations p.2

summary: His assumptions hurt you both. Is there still a chance for you? genre: angst, fluff (happy ending) warnings: car accident, poor writing betas: @miki-snake special thanks: Miki for giving me ideas on how to continue. This wouldn’t be finished without you! a/n: Part 2 to my first ever fic. Click here for part 1. wc: 2.4k

It was driving him insane. She was driving him insane. YOU were driving him insane. But it wasn’t your fault, no. He put himself into it, and he knew it. That’s what made it even more unbearable. But he already made a promise, he couldn’t back down. So now he was sitting during his lunch break with a girl he exchanged you for. Just because he didn’t want to assume things, but also because he DID assume things.

For the first time in his life, his own observational skills failed him. This is exactly why he didn’t trust his little voice telling him you were not okay. He hoped that glint disappearing from your eyes was just his imagination, because you were still smiling so beautifully. That your voice wasn’t cracking every time you spoke, as if you needed a second to adjust and calm yourself. How could he make things right again, how could he…

“Are you listening to me?” Ah, right, he wasn’t alone. “You haven’t even touched your food, want me to feed you? Open wide and say aaaah.”

“Sorry, I’m just not hungry.” He answered after staring blankly at her.

“Hmm? Okay, so like I said....”

He rubbed the top of his nose. Her neverending blabbering almost melted with the background noise. It’s not like he hated her, didn’t even dislike. She was just a part of the crowd, one of many that never understood his jokes, never showed interest in his passions (and also didn’t have any he could get interested in), always looking for acknowledgement of everyone around. So unlike you. You, you, YOU.

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You spent most of the lunch breaks outside lately. Somehow the sight of that girl sitting at the same table as Kuroo, looking at him with her glowy eyes and glued smile was unbearable. Ever since that evening being in the same room as them felt suffocating. You didn’t know why. Actually, you did but still tried to push it in the darkest part of your mind. You can’t think that way, not anymore.

You sighed and packed your half-eaten lunch, making your way towards the classroom. Seeing her figure in the hall already caused your body to relax a little. You couldn’t help but think that she was everything you were not. Tiny, cute, with shiny hair, dark eyes, always wearing some kind of make-up, popular. FEMININE. A perfect girl for Kuroo, as you tried to tell yourself for the past few weeks.

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This longing was unfamiliar, but he had a feeling it would be a frequent guest in his chest. He hasn’t noticed how he was staring at the door until you appeared in it. When your eyes met and you smiled at him… he could swear his heart clenched. This was too much, more than he could handle. And judging by your sparkless eyes, you weren’t feeling any better.

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You didn’t expect Kuroo to look in your direction. What you expected even less was that you looked at him. At his eyes, to be exact. His beautiful eyes that remained golden, even though the whole world around you was reduced to monochrome. This realisation made you smile uncontrollably, despite having another creep in… that they weren’t supposed to be looking at you.

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By the time he packed his stuff and looked at your desk, you were already gone. Instead, another female was standing beside him, happily chirping about going home together.

“Sorry, I can’t do this.” He found himself mumbling, not entirely aware he did out loud.

“What did you just say?”

She didn’t seem sad or hurt, no. She seemed annoyed. Mad. As if her little plan was just ruined.

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend anymore. Sorry.” He repeated, this time louder, more firmly.

He watched her storm out of the classroom until Yaku patted him on his shoulder.

“Congrats on growing some balls, Rooster”.

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You kind of felt proud at how you mastered sneaking out of the classroom lately. If you did that quietly enough, no one would notice, and no one would accompany you. It was only you and a colourless city, bathed in a colourless sunshine, filled with muffled sounds.

That’s why you didn’t even notice reaching an intersection until you were on it. Or more precisely, until you heard someone shouting your name. You turned to check who this voice belonged to, but stopped halfway locking your eyes with a car, muscles tensing as if preparing for the impact.

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Kuroo ran out of the school premises and saw you from a distance. You were far, but with his long legs and athletic ability, it shouldn’t be too hard to catch up with you. He was getting considerably closer, and felt relieved when lights signaled stopping… BUT YOU DIDN’T.

He didn’t remember ever running that fast, in his whole life, but it was still not enough, there was no way he would reach you in time. Just like there was no chance of the vehicle halting, despite brakes pushed to the floor. If only he left earlier, if only he ran faster, if only he… he could have saved you.

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The only thing you saw after opening your eyes was his face. His ebony black hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes darkened to caramel shade and filled with tears. His sleeve trying to absorb some of it as he rubbed it against his nose. You wanted to wipe them away with your hand, but you couldn’t move it. You could only stare.

Next time you opened your eyes he was gone. You must have made a sound, because right after opening your mouth Kuroo reappeared in your sight. He was saying something to you, but you couldn’t hear. The ringing in your ears was successfully blocking everything else. You saw him reaching his hand out and brushing hair out of your face, and then it all turned black.

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Everything hurts. There’s a steady beeping noise somewhere near your head. Or at least you think it’s near your head. You’re trying to open your eyes, but the sharp light burns into your irises. Your tongue feels like sandpaper in your mouth, and the first try to say something ends in a coughing fit.

Someone squeezes your hand, but you’re too blinded by the lights to see who it is. A moment later a straw is gently pushed in between your lips, and you suck on it. Water never tasted that good. You only manage to whisper a weak “thank you” before falling back to sleep.

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Suspended between dreams and reality, you hear voices. Voices that can’t be louder than whispers, and they’re not aimed at you, but sound as if they’re calling you nonetheless. This time there’s no sharp light threatening to burn your eyeballs, and instead, you’re greeted with a dimmed sunlight. Must be an evening or at least late afternoon then. You turn your head in the other direction, and whispers suddenly stop. Owners of the voices look at you timidly and then at each other with anger.

“You woke her up, you moron!” One of them whisper-shouted.

“Me?! Are you fucking kidding me?! I wasn’t the only one blabbing!” Hissed the other. He was also the first one to approach you and take your hand into his. “H-how are you… feeling?”

“Uhh… dizzy? Confused… and tired.” You mumbled, painkillers still dulling you a little.

“Why… why’s he here?” You whisper to your brother sitting right next to you, pointing at Kuroo with just your eyes.

“Oh, don’t think about it now, you need to rest. But just know that he was here every day, and he was the one who saved you, pretty much.” His hand now stroking your hair. “You can relax now, it’s all gonna be okay.”

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It feels good to be back in your room, and to have Kuroo beside you. Even if all he did was tutor you about the things you missed. Luckily most of the damage was caused by shock, and not actual impact, so you were released quickly. Still, you were advised to stay home for some more time, and that’s exactly what you were doing.

And if that was the reason why you were currently alone in your room with your neighbour… no reason to complain. You still haven’t asked him about what happened then, you couldn’t find the courage to. Not when he has so much worry in his eyes, and not when he is getting uneasy every time you give as much as a grimace.

“You know, you don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass.” He freezes. There’s a shadow creeping on his face. “I won’t shatter, I promise”.

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

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Your brother was hesitant about your request to go back to school. Most of the accident consequences were gone now, and Kuroo also managed to catch up with his tutoring. There was absolutely no reason not to. He glances at you the whole way from the gate of your house, you pretend you don’t notice. It goes well for most of the day, you’re able to focus, only suffering from a mild headache sometime before the last period. Until you hear THAT, at least.

“It’s all your fault, you bitch!”

You look up and squint. Oh, it’s her. Right when you managed to forget she existed.

“Could you please leave me alone?”

Headache now worsening due to a slight rise of stress in your system.

“Everything was perfectly fine! Until you jumped in front of that car, and snapped him from me!”

You want to ask her about it, but she’s already gone. Maybe you should have listened to your brother. You also don’t see her interact with Kuroo ever again, except for glowering, but you don’t mention it.

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He wanted to talk to you. He really did. But every time he was about to call your name, it got stuck in his throat. After all he had put you through, was he worthy of saying it? Of being close to you? It was all his fault. If only he had paid more attention, he would have known you would reject Bokuto.

If he had been more courageous, he wouldn’t have distanced himself after the festival. If he had run faster, he would have caught you in time. No, he wasn’t worthy. He promised himself he would watch over you from the sidelines, making sure you were always safe, but never putting you at risk of hurting you again.

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You tried to reach out to him. You really did. But every time you tried to approach him, he walked away to talk to one of the friends he spotted. Every time you looked at him, he averted his eyes from you. He came up with last minute excuses, when Bokuto asked both of you to hang out. He did respond to your texts, but his replies were short, emotionless, forced.

So, after some time, you stopped trying. Only sending him a weak, polite smile, as you passed him in the halls, in the streets, on the stairs of your house when he visited your brother. Each one of those smiles feeling like a knife pushed deeper and deeper into your heart.

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He was relieved, grateful almost, when you stopped chasing after him. Each time he heard your voice, felt your presence, heard someone mention you… was piercing his heart like a million needles. Each text from you brought tears to his eyes, and darkness to his chest. So when it all stopped, he hoped he would find some peace. Yet somehow, each one of your dutiful smiles pained him even more.

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Days were much brighter and warmer. Not really surprising, it was the end of May after all. You were being pulled by your brother through the streets of the very lively city, towards the place where the crowd concentrated. He had insisted you wore a yukata, as a way to bid farewell to your teenage years, and welcome supposedly adult university life. He was telling you to hurry, that you’d be late, but these geta shoes definitely weren’t comfortable. Luckily, it wasn’t very far from your home.

You noticed Bokuto from afar, his huge stature towering over the crowd and salt-and-pepper-like hair making it hard not to. As you approached him, he pulled you in a tight hug, his whisper “glad you made it” drowned out by the noise. You glanced over his shoulder, noticing the boy he brought with him. Judging by his expression he was forced to come too and had no idea you’d be here.

“Ah! Taiyaki!” You exclaimed as your face lit up.

It was one of your favourite festival foods. Kuroo tried to grab you before you ran, but he was too late. Again. And again his mind was invaded with a whirlwind of thoughts. You could be swept away by the crowd. You could hurt your feet. You could faint. You could be approached by some suspicious people. Or you could be back safely, a wide smile adorning your features, as you bit into the fish’ head.

Late in the evening, your feet started to remind you how much you had walked in the past few hours. Trying to find a spot to sit and rest, you didn’t even notice that you separated from the group. Not until you turned around to say something to your brother, but you only saw Kuroo settling next to you.

“Where’s everybody?”

“Huh? Right behind…” His eyes opened wide with shock.

There was nobody behind him. It was just you and him, for the first time in a long while. You used to feel comfortable around him, comfortable enough to just sit in silence, shoulder to shoulder. But now it was deafening, making your mind spiraling, lungs short of breath. You desperately needed to say something, anything… and then the first round of fireworks shot.

“Did you know that fireworks are red thanks to strontium salts?”

His heart skipped a beat when he looked at you. At your relaxed face, astonished eyes, gentlest of smiles. Of course he knew, but hearing it from you made it magical. Your voice made it magical.

“And they’re green because of barium compounds, blue due to copper and…”

He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You were so beautiful when you turned your head to look directly at him, cheek sliding into his palm, colours dancing on your skin. Tetsurou couldn't help himself. Not when his heart was overflowing with so much love he had tried to suppress for so long. So when he leant in and kissed you, none of you knew if the fireworks were shooting in the sky or in your hearts.

“Congratulations!” Bokuto and your brother shouted, as your lips parted.

#haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo angst #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsurou angst #kuroo tetsurou fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x y/n #kuroo x y/n #kuroo tetsurou x y/n #mysh.whitedwarf.[hq]

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page-doctor-bekker · 3 years

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Cat out of The Bag (transfemme!sarah)

(A/N) this takes place before Human Error, and THIS CONTAINS FLASHBACKS, PANIC ATTACKS, DISSOCIATION, GUN VIOLENCE, AND IMPLICATIONS OF A HATE CRIME

no ava in this one :( but caring dr charles and some lovely backstory

ED service was never, ever a boring day. Gaffney Chicago Medical Center could see a dozen traumas by noon, coming off the streets of the city Sarah called home.

Less often than traumas, they saw more serious emergencies; Code pinks when a newly-walking child wanders off, code greys when someone attacks someone without a weapon, a code red when someone decides it’s a great idea to smoke in the bathrooms, or…

“This is Maggie Lockwood in the ED, we have a code silver in the ED,” Maggie was quiet, glancing rapidly between the phone, and a treatment room where Dr. Charles was locked in with another man, maybe in his mid-40s.

Code silver. For guns.

Sarah’s heart practically stopped. She made panicked eye contact with Maggie, who shook her head and motioned for her to be quiet.

He covered her mouth, dragging her into the alleyway.

“Treatment two?” Sarah mouthed, and Maggie nodded.

Maggie hung the phone back up, and Sarah saw two security guards move into position outside the glass door to treatment two. Sarah felt short of breath, and like she wasn’t in her own body. She felt a sharp pain in her lower right abdomen, and she touched her thumb to the area, feeling the crater of a scar she had. She felt herself losing grip on her calmness, and really all she wanted to do was hide. Her head felt full - Not physically, but full of thoughts.

The phantom pain from her side got more intense, and Sarah squeezed the edge of the desk. Her knuckles were white, her breathing was shaky, and physically she could see but she was so in-her-head she couldn’t see what she was looking at.

She was under the table before she realized shots had fired, and she covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, focusing solely on her panic attack.

They’re going to get me.

She choked out a quiet sob, realizing she was the only one left inside, other than the doctors treating… Someone.

“No exit wound. Bullet may be lodged in his spine, push him on his side. He’ll choke on the blood if we don’t.”

“ED’s clear, PD’s on their way.”

“Are you sure there’s nobody else in the ED? Are the exits locked down?”

“Yes, positive. Checked every room. All critical patients are being transferred upstairs or to East Mercy, and all non-critical patients are being encouraged to relocate to other hospitals. We’re going on bypass,”

She threaded her hands through her hair and tugged, soliciting an ache at her scalp. It hurt, but it was almost grounding. Her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest, she couldn’t catch her breath as if she had run two miles in the peak of summer.

The sound of the gunshot rang through her head, echoing through her skull, bouncing around and rebounding. She felt hands on her skin, and opened her eyes. She frantically checked her entire body, searching for the hands. They weren’t there, but they sure felt real. She twisted and flapped her hands rapidly, her fingers outstretched and extended as far as they could go. The stimulation usually calmed her, but nothing seemed to calm her right now. She couldn’t seem to get herself back to reality, although reality wasn’t much safer than the flashbacks she was stuck in.

She couldn’t breathe. She felt like she had been kicked in the stomach, and she wished she had never felt what that feels like in the first place. She heard another gunshot, whether real or fake, and felt searing pain at the site of her scar. White, hot pain, that burned and she clenched her teeth and held her hand to her side.

She felt warmth on her right flank, and her fingers were wet and red. She was oozing blood through her new shirt, a white transgender pride shirt that she had picked up from the festival, and changed into inside the teal port-a-potty. The festival organizers had hung flags and streamers on it, and a sign that said “ANY GENDER”.

“No pulse, bag him!”

She felt warmth on her side, but her fingers were dry and cold when she touched her scar. She untucked her shirt, and lifted it up. All she could see was the scar. She let out a sigh of relief. Just as soon as she let out that sigh, she was back.

She could see stars, and the Chicago streetlights, and feel the concrete on the back of her head. She tried to lift her head and look around, but her vision was blurry. Her hearing was echoey, and she writhed in pain against the rough concrete. Her hair felt warm, and wet, and she knew it was blood. She heard the men running, and a police officer’s siren.

Sitting up made her feel dizzy, and she felt a sense of vertigo from the discrepancy between her position in the flashbacks and her position in real life. Her vision doubled, and the hyperventilating wasn’t helping her mental state. She imagined she was satting maybe in the low 90s, high 80s. She felt lightheaded, like she may pass out.

She’s laying in the backseat of a police car; A huge step up from the concrete. She heard the sirens even worse now, piercing her eardrums and making her head pound. She felt helpless.

“Dr. Reese?”

She could vaguely see Dr. Charles through her tears.

There was a doctor standing over her.

“Can we use a treatment room? I think she’s having a panic attack. She needs somewhere dark, and quiet if possible.”

“Treatment four, close the curtains and the doors.”

She heard the beeping of monitors, and all alarms went off just before she passed out. She felt ribs crack as the doctor gave her chest compressions.

“She’s going out, too much hyperventilating.”

She woke up in the dark. She blinked, groggy, and her eyes set on Dr. Charles.

“Sarah?” Dr. Charles looked concerned, “You had a panic attack. You were so upset you made yourself pass out.. Do you know what triggered it?”

“Were the shots real or… Or…” Sarah rubbed her eyes, hard enough that she saw colors that she wasn’t even sure existed.

“There was a shot, yes,” He nodded, “But… We thought we evacuated everyone. What were you doing under the table? You seemed like… Like you were having some sort of dissociative episode, flashbacks…?”

“Uh…” Sarah shook her head, with a short sigh, “I don’t… I don’t need you to shrink me. I have generalized anxiety, it’s in my chart.”

“You passed out,” He shrugged, “Standard protocol, you can’t return to work until I sign you off. And I want you to finish your saline, we want to make sure you aren’t dehydrated, that there’s nothing else contributing to passing out. And…” He gave her a tight-lipped smile, with concerned eyes, “It just seemed like a bit more than a normal panic attack.”

Sarah stared at him, quietly, “It was just a panic attack, Dr. Charles. Nothing more.”

“If it was something else, I will leave it off your chart and not tell anyone, I just don’t want you to internalize it.”

Sarah was quiet, and heard another gunshot ring through her head. She shuddered.

“Sarah.”

“Okay, okay,” She threw her hands up, “I…”

She sighed. Dr. Charles raised an eyebrow, and Sarah pulled up her shirt. She pointed to the scar, “I was shot in college, okay? I just… I’m just afraid of guns. That’s all.”

“You were shot?!” Dr. Charles exclaimed, quietly, “When? Why?”

“Look, Dr. Charles, it’s not a big deal,” Sarah murmured, putting her shirt down, “I’m over it.”

“You’re not over it, Sarah.”

“I am,” She argued.

“Sarah, it’s okay, don’t work yourself up, but in order to help you I-”

“I don’t need your help!”

Dr. Charles was quiet.

They both sat silently for a minute. The only sounds were the saline drip, heart monitor, and the oxygen machine that led to the cannula in her nose.

“I was walking home alone at night,” She trembled, “From Chicago pride.”

Stop. You’re doing to lose everything.

“Oh Sarah, I am so sorry,” Dr. Charles gave her a look of pity, which filled Sarah with anger, in addition to the remaining anxiety.

“Wearing a transgender pride shirt.”

Dr. Charles was quiet, “Sometimes allies are mistaken fo-”

“I’m not an ally, Dr. Charles.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a minute, and Sarah started braiding a few strands of hair together.

“I won’t write this down in your chart,” He affirmed, standing up, “Finish your saline, then have someone take your IV out. I’ll… I’ll sign you off to come back to work tomorrow.”

He started to leave, then stopped. He had his hand on the door, but he looked back.

“I care about you, Sarah.”

She nodded, swallowing nervously.

“This doesn’t change that, okay?”

(A/N) thank you for reading! lmk what you thought~

#chicago med #dr charles #daniel charles #sarah reese #dr reese #transfemme!sarah #idk how i feel about this #i think i like it #but im not sure #whatevs

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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 4 years

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Allotrope pt. 7 (FINALE)

Genre: Idolverse Pairing: Kim Junmyeon (Suho) x reader Warnings: Smut. Angst, and then more angst. Authors Note: This is it, the final chapter of a story I am so completely humbled to have been able to write. This story means so much to me and has truly helped me grow as a person in so many ways. I hope that by the end of this, it has helped you, too, in some way. Junmyeon deserves the world and I wish I could thank him enough for being my muse. Thank you for reading. prev. Words: 15k.

Panic. Absolute panic is the only way your brain can comprehend the raw energy bouncing around in your gut. Feelings of elation and terror swirling inside the confines of your organs, their chemicals mixing to create something bubbling and new, growing rapidly inside of you so thick and uncomfortable you feel as though you may burst. With your arrival home, you slam the door too harshly, sliding down against the sturdy, cool weight of it and grasp your head in your hands. Head between your knees, your brain gently reminds you, a message in the form of a memory of Junmyeon the last time he said these words to you, present for the last attack. Saying ‘I love you’, no less from him, was the last thing you would expect to trigger one, but that was the irony of having panic attacks; sometimes you never know. You concentrate intently, calming your breath enough to listen for the sound of your watch, reliably ticking away there on your wrist. It is one reason you prefer to wear an analog one, other than your preferences for their history. Tck, tck, tck, tck, rhythmically you listen, breathing deeply over the span of three seconds, releasing carbon dioxide in the following three. Over and over until your heart is beating normally again. Softly, automatic and easily ignored within the safety of your ribs. Then, to clarify and accept, you admit the thought into the quiet space of your apartment. “I love you, Junmyeon.” Reflexively, your fingertips raise to shield your lips, hovering a centimeter away. Your heart beats a little faster with the admission but is easily pacified without much effort. A smile grows on your lips behind them, amusement consuming the panic and coloring your cheeks in a blush for only inanimate objects to see. It feels silly to look around your apartment, knowing there is no one to hear your confession. The following morning you can’t say you feel less terrified of it, your acceptance of the thoughts and ability to keep moving forward derailed somewhere as your mind raced into the future instead of sleeping. Conscious thoughts considered at first all of the possibilities as you had settled for sleep. Good things. Things like a confirmation of his feelings, a mirror of your own, and further ahead such as living together full time and eventually, hopefully a union of your love with matching golden bands on your fourth fingers, or a child you could only hope would have his cheeks and a head full of fluffy black hair. To growing older together and doing whatever pleased you so long as you were together. No doubt your brain decided, all of those beautiful moments were hopes planted without seeds, and you were stuck to watch a barren field grow nothing at all over time. Your fears and anxiety began to take them all away one by one, these hopes for the future you might never have at all, pulled backward through time like you were falling through a nightmare. Forced to see a life of fulfillment and love only to slip back through those times to relive the same life without any of the joy. You awoke this morning, barely able to call it waking at all, full of heartache. Your chest felt so heavy you even skipped your lecture and called out of work. Upon hearing of your absence Soohyun even offered to bring you something to help you feel better, assuming you were sick. No texts that required an answer came from Junmyeon, either. Only one bidding you to sleep well. When you ignored Soohyun’s text and the second day produced the same results from you, his persistence became annoying. You were perfectly malcontent there on your couch in the same pajamas you wore yesterday, and perhaps the day before, too. With hair unwashed, sagging in the bun atop your head and a three-hour old mug of half-drank black coffee in your hands. There on your couch you scrutinized every aspect of your life and felt nothing at all. Soohyun let himself in of course, as he always did when he felt it was necessary. You knew by the sound of the keys outside of the door and the weighty footfalls of his frame it was him. The one person you trusted to see every ugly facet of you because although he was extremely dear to you, he is not the one that makes you feel like his existence is your tether to the world, and therefore, not as scary to face. He says nothing at all. Uncomfortably in the silence, you listen to him close the door, toe off his shoes, and set something in a plastic grocery bag on the counter. He opens your refrigerator and pops the lid on something. You remain silent still, listening to the domesticity of him opening cupboards in your kitchen and the sound of noodles being stirred and plated. The sounds toy with your head, recalling memories of another man doing the same thing, but vivid imagery came with those memories. The sound of the plate gently clacking against the microwave platter and the door closing, buttons beeping and whirring. Stuck in your memory of him, you whip your head around, too enticing to see if it’s really your lover standing in your kitchen and looking back at you with a smile and his arms folded across the thickness of his warm chest. If this is all just a dream. The reality is half the same, the setting, but the way you do not find Junmyeon’s eyes or smile, but Soohyun’s face full of surprise but also worry rip the air from your lungs with a sob. You’re not even sure when you started crying, but the tears continue to blur your vision. “Oh, Y/N.” Soohyun’s cologne fills your senses as he crosses the room to you. He takes the cold coffee cup from your hand, wincing at the stiffness of your fingers as he plucks them gently from the handle, and wraps your wilted frame into his arms. He holds you like this, coaxing out the agony of your bleeding heart. Minutes pass like this, and after your sobbing has quieted to a sniffled dripping of crystal tears from your lashes, Soohyun sets you back onto the couch cushion, “Care to tell me what’s going on?” Your knees automatically rise to your chest and your arms find their way around the top of them. The rational part of you knows talking to Soohyun is what you should do, but it doesn’t make it any easier to persuade the chaotic petulance you feel. Your thoughts internalize, eyes fixated on the basket of blankets in the far corner of the living room, fingers rolling a stray thread from your pajamas around and around. “Y/N, try not to let your head get you all worked up. What’s going on?” your best friend urges, placing the weight of his large palm against your forearm. The action seems to ground you to reality. At least enough to make intentional, purposeful movements. Your eyes find his looking at you as they always do, with so much pure acceptance. “I love him. Really, Soohyun-“ you pause, brows knitting tightly for emphasis, “Like… I’m really in love with him.” The smile that he answers you with irritates you minutely, “Ah, I see. Well,” A pauses lapses between you until he thinks of what to ask, “What is it that’s scaring you about that?” It takes a full ten seconds before you answer, “A lot of things, but mostly because I don’t want to tell him and scare him off. I don’t think I could stomach chancing it just for him to know my feelings, Soo.” Your best friend draws a breath, nodding. Then he stares at you, “Okay. What else?” “Aren’t you going to tell me I’m being ridiculous?” you ask, peeking at him. He laughs a little, “In a minute, but I want to hear it all first. We can work on it all one piece at a time,” he reassures, batting your hand away gently when you take a half-hearted swat at his arm. “I don’t know what to do, Soohyun,” your throat bobs, constricting the words with anxiety as you admit it. More tears well at the edges of your eyes, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself. “I’m afraid, even if I tell him and even if he says he loves me back, I keep thinking for how long?” you voice, croaking the words. Another breath, “How long will I feel so happy and lucky but,” another breath, “how long can I take being suspended on a wire like that waiting to fall? It can’t last forever.” Soohyun coos, even though his expression is sheepish as if he hadn’t meant to slip, “Sorry.” “I just,” you sigh, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand, which Soohyun reaches to replace with tissues, “I feel like it’ll all go away someday. He will get tired of me or there will be some fight or something and I don’t want to hurt him or lose him. I keep having this nightmare that I’ll wake up one day at he won’t be there. That it’ll be like he never existed at all. “But you want to love him,” Soohyun confirms softly beside you, gently tugging until you’re sinking down to lean against his arm, no matter how gross your hair might be. “Yeah.” He hums briefly, considering, “Are you scared of being alone?” Truthfully, “Not really. It’s more like I’m afraid to start a life with him, because it’s so hard to go back to being alone if it doesn’t work out. To feeling that kind of heartbreak.” “What do you mean? Like permanently living together or sharing bank accounts and bills and stuff?” he asks. “Yeah. Like what if we bought a house together and then he decides ten years from now he doesn’t want to be with me anymore and then it’s too expensive for me to own a house alone so I’d have to sell it and find my own place again and it just gets really tangled. I can’t imagine being able to do anything other than just be heartbroken. How does a person move past someone like him?” Soohyun’s silent chuckle is given away by his bouncing chest, “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, but-“ You cut him off, “No, I’m thinking about the future.” He pokes you in the cheek, “Let me finish, please. What I was going to say, is that I think you’re most afraid of the emotional damage that would cause you. I also think you need to look at this from your own perspective.” Raising your head, your confusion is evident after his last statement. “I mean,” he begins, “You’re saying this but what if it isn’t Junmyeon who isn’t happy ten years from now? Have you ever shared a life with someone like that? How do you know if you will be happy or not? And I’m not just talking about a house or bank accounts, Y/N.” Soohyun squeezes your frame as if to emphasize his point, “I’m talking about personally. Are you going to be okay sharing every aspect of yourself with someone else? If you want him to be that future with you, he will be closer to you than anyone has ever been. He will be the one who knows your deepest and darkest moments. Have you two even talked about all of those important things? What plans do you each have for your lives? Marriage, kids, politics, things like that.” Both of you pause and Soohyun sighs, “What if you don’t want to be together anymore at some point. How will you handle that? Do you think you’ll stay and be miserable with him if you wanted out?” “That’s impossible,” you correct. “Anything is possible, Y/N,” he says quietly. Shaking your head, you ignore him and lift your head from him with a face full of resolute determination, “I am telling you, that won’t happen.” Saying the words aloud, they feel right and sure as they form on your tongue. “Okay. Just saying, you never know.” It doesn’t help. He feels you stiffen at the thought, “But I also think he will be the one who has nothing but acceptance and support for anything you may need. He will be the one you lean on and cling to for the rest of your life.” Now that thought is something that blooms warmth in your chest and more tears to your eyes, but in a good way this time. You have already experienced that with him. Every obstacle you thought might scare him away he has done nothing but been patient and supportive of you. However, there’s a slight unease with the phrase ‘for the rest of your life’ that tinges the edge of the sweetness with fear. “Yeah, well,” you comment through the bashfulness, swallowing the anxiety that wants to raise your voice. He laughs, “You can’t argue with me!” The dull thud of your fist lightly thumping him on the chest brings you back to square one, unable to quell your worries for long, “But truly, Soohyun, honestly what if he doesn’t love me the way I love him? What if he doesn’t love me enough? I’m not worried about how much I love him.” you sit up suddenly, eyes wide and hands flurried, “I mean, look at him. He’s a celebrity, and a gentleman and too go-“ Soohyun’s hand clamps over your mouth immediately, “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Stop thinking it in your head, too. Let me tell you something in case you have forgotten,” He stares at you pointedly to be sure you’ll keep quiet as he slowly removes his hand, “He may be a celebrity but do you remember what happened in those first few times you met with him?” “A lot of sex,” you comment dryly, and he smiles. “Well sure, but I remember you telling me so much about not the celebrity but the man with so much love and comfort for others and nothing but bleak loneliness and sadness for himself. About how easily you saw through him and how he told you he struggled with anxiety and his own self-worth. And,” he pauses for emphasis, “How you were there for him every time since you began this relationship. How you have helped him ease his own fears and doubts. Y/N, he needs you, too. More than you think. I think you see through him so easily that you sometimes dismiss his own feelings, even if you don’t mean to.” It helps. A lot more than you’re willing to accept right now while the anxiety still has hooks deep into you, “Thank you.” Soohyun smiles at you, “I think you just need to give it some time. Just because you realize you love him,” he makes explosive gestures with his hands, “Like really love him, doesn’t mean you have to go straight into making plans for rings and a mortgage and babies. Take your time, take it slow.” “Take it slow.” You repeat after him, nodding, lips in a pensive straight line. _____________________________________________ The following morning you wake feeling refreshed physically. Soohyun made sure you showered and that you slurped down a bowl of japchae and a few pieces of kimbap while he started a load of laundry for you. He made you clip your nails while he made you some tea and painted your toenails for you while you binged a new episode of your favorite show. He even made you take a nap, tossing your weighted blanket over your frame and leaving you to a peaceful slumber, locking the door behind him as he left. You’re a bit alarmed that you slept all afternoon, evening, and night. Checking your phone, you realize nearly 15 hours had passed. 05:17a, your phone reads, forcing you to hiss at the harsh light when you turn it over to check the time. You don’t have work until 10, but decide you can’t sleep any longer. Two unread text messages are awaiting you when you open the app. One from Soohyun wishing you a good night and to please call him if you need anything. The second is from Junmyeon, wishing you to sleep well and that he heard from Soohyun not to bother you because you’ve had a rough couple of days. He is worried that you’re so exhausted. Chewing your lip, you send Soohyun a simple thanks, and decide to see if Junmyeon is free to come over and see you later. You don’t want him to worry too much, and if you’re being honest with yourself, even through the anxiety, you still want to hold him and be near him. His response comes while you’re at work, just having woken up you assume. He tells you if he can finish recording before midnight he will come over, but stresses that he doesn’t want to keep you awake. During a quick break, you take a moment to assure him you’ve slept enough and will be wide awake. You don’t forget to add that you would really like to see him. Work goes by in an easy blur. You splurge on a fancy coffee and an extra shot of espresso to keep you awake on your way to the subway station. There is plenty of time to do some cleaning, make a meal and get a long hot shower. You even have time to wrap up an assignment for your worst class, feeling sour but proud that all of the time you spent unable to sleep, you managed to at least get ahead in a class that was otherwise the bane of your existence. When eleven thirty rolls around and you haven’t heard from him, you believe he isn’t coming. A very tiny but loud part of your brain says that’s fine and that you were afraid anyway. The bigger, softer and sensitive part of you misses him to such a degree that you sit on the couch wearing one of his hoodies, leaning on your palm and fighting off sleep with only the light of the table lamp beside you for company. You wake to the sound of the door clicking shut. Blearily, you squeeze your eyes shut at the harsh light from the lamp as you hear someone behind you. With a stiff neck, you turn and crack one eye open to see your favorite person trying his best to stay quiet. He smiles at you when he notices you’re awake, approaching you as he rounds the couch, draping his palm gently over your hair. “Hey,” he coos quietly, voice tinged with affection. Without much thought, you open your arms to reach for him, and he bends down to you. Still sleepy, it takes your mind a moment to realize he has lifted you into his arms as you pass the bathroom door. Your body melts into his familiar body with your arms around his shoulders. Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you inhale the faint scent of his cologne, still fragrant enough from this morning. “I missed you,” you mumble against his skin. “I missed you too, sweetheart.” He murmurs into your hair. He feels you take a deep breath against him, chuckling at the sigh of content that follows. Slowly, he deposits you among your unmade bed linens and pecks your forehead with his lips. A sound of protest rumbles in your chest, your lower lip falling outward in a pout. “Let me shower and I’ll come to bed,” he says, stripping himself of his sweater and tossing it into your clothes hamper beside the door. You hum with acquiescence, “What time is it?” Quietly, through your sleep-laden eyes, you watch him with a soft fondness that settles in your chest. Junmyeon sits at the foot of the bed briefly to peel off his socks and slacks, “Three twenty, sorry I’m so late.” Twisting himself just enough to reach, he kisses your lips. “It’s okay. I’m just glad to see you.” He looks at you for a moment with a lopsided grin and thankful eyes. His hand settles over yours in your lap, rubbing his thumb over your skin. Then, his warmth is gone. Your eyes drift shut again while you wait for him. You’re not sure what kind of sleep spell you are under when he finally crawls into your bed with you, but your body automatically seeks his warmth, asleep but with consciousness floating at the edges. Your boyfriend sighs, wrapping you in his arms and placing his lips in your hair. Snuggling closer, you let your arm fall over his ribs, settling your face into his naked chest. You mumble again, tongue loose in your spellbound stupor. When your brain finally makes sense of your words, you freeze, bolting upright as if cold water had been doused down your spine. Junmyeon groans beside you, already half asleep, “What’s wrong?” “I-“ you begin, covering your mouth with both hands and staring at him. Heat floods your cheeks, worry turns your bones to steel, “What did I just say?” He peeks at you with one eye, lips set in a confused line, “What?” He tries to pull you back down to him by the sleeve of the hoodie. You watch him for a moment longer, realizing he didn’t seem to hear you, “You didn’t hear me?” His slight annoyance at your outburst seems appropriate evidence that he did not in fact hear you at all. “Was I supposed to? I didn’t hear you say anything,” he confirms. “No,” you shake your head immediately, running your hand through your hair with a deep breath to calm your beating heart. “Will you lay down then? I just want to hold you and go to sleep, please.” His request is simple enough. You do as he asks, but it doesn’t stop you from lying awake for what seemed like the rest of the night. Finally, you fall into unconsciousness somewhere around the time the sun begins to open its eyes, easing into slumber as shapes outside your window begin to take form. You dream of Junmyeon. You dream of his hands and his voice and the relentless overwhelming feeling of good he gives you. You dream of his lips on your neck and his fingers blazing a fire under your hoodie, crawling up and up and up until his palm gently takes the globe of your breast in his hand and he moans. Dropping your lips open with a sigh, you can feel your pulse in your core. Your hips seem to roll back of their own accord, body singing without conscious effort in your sleep. “Fuck, I want to get woken up like this every day,” Junmyeon groans. Confused, you will your body to pause, and snap your eyes open. Oh. Whatever dreams you were having must have manifested physically, grinding yourself into your boyfriend to satiate the need. You turn your head just slightly, smiling into a kiss your lover steals the moment the opportunity presents itself. His palm has not forgotten where it lays, giving another squeeze and a soft pass of his fingers over your bud. It pulls a moan from your lips, bowing your spine to push your ass harder against his aching erection where it presses between your cheeks. The delicious friction makes you squeeze your thighs together, further surprising you when you realize how slick you are. “Good morning,” he coos with amusement. You have no time for words- you need him badly, and you need him now. It appears he doesn’t know how wet you are yet, so you show him. His brows furrow in concern briefly as you remove his hand from your chest beneath the hoodie. The expression morphs into a grin when he realizes what you’re doing while you drag his hand down into your panties. You watch, open-mouthed in anticipation when his face mirrors surprise at the first easy slide of his fingers through your soaked folds. “Holy shit,” he whispers, biting at his lip when he sinks two into your heat without any warning. He gives you one deep pump and you absolutely keen, feeling like you’ll burst. “Junmyeon, please,” you beg, falling onto your back the moment he hears your plea, sitting up to find a proper position. He shifts onto his knees quickly and removes his hand from your core. When he lifts his fingers and pulls them apart, you both groan at the thread of your arousal that stretches between them in the sunlight. Flexing your hips at the loss of contact, your lover pulls his attention back to you, working quickly to pull your hips up onto his thighs. He pulls your leggings down alone, just so he can marvel at the state of your panties. Embarrassment floods your cheeks and you push the hem of the black hoodie down in an attempt to cover yourself. With what you would call a soft display of possession, Junmyeon makes a sound of warning in his throat, gently pushing your hands away as he confesses, “You have no idea how hot this is.” “It’s embarrassing,” you whimper back to him. Your body feels hot, too hot. You’ve seldom been this turned on in your life, to the point of tear-inducing hysteria if you don’t find release soon. He smiles at you, his eyes tearing away from the sight of your mess to look directly at you. “I promise you this is nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re amazing, look at how wet you are.” Junmyeon can’t help himself while he talks, eyes drifting back to your cunt and two fingers petting down your folds over your underwear. “Don’t need to see it…” you whisper, throwing your arm over your eyes. He hums, “You’re right. I’m sure you can feel how messy you are.” The two fingers he used earlier find their way beneath the material, pushing it aside to fill you again. “How does it feel, sweetheart?” he asks when you cry out. “I feel like I’m going to burst,” you moan, unable to keep your hips still, meeting his fingers for every deep thrust. Your statement peaks some interest in your boyfriend. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and his thrusts become slower, almost exploratory as he pets them against your walls. The palm of his other hand lays just above your pubic bone, resting the weight of his hand there, but you barely notice. Being filled by something has you reeling in bliss. A second later, he must find what he’s looking for. His digits set an unexpected pace, spearing you in a delicious tempo. You feel so good, “So fucking good, oh my god Junmyeon, yes!” He’s hitting some spot inside of you that spins that coil in you tighter and tighter until you’re right at the edge. Then his fingers are gone, but you’re screaming. Your eyes open and Junmyeon groans in awe at the fluid that has suddenly ruptured from you. Just briefly, but even in your pleasure, embarrassment is stronger. You clamp your legs together tightly, whimpering at the electricity that fizzles in every nerve of your body. “I’m sorry, that was-“ you begin, cut short by the feel of Junmyeon’s lips on yours and his tongue begging for entrance immediately. He's leaning over you now, fingers deftly yanking your panties down and off. You moan into his mouth when you feel the burning length of his cock lay against your dripping core. His lips leave yours just enough to speak, “Never be sorry. I’m happy I could make you squirt.” You smack him in the back, “Shut up!” you complain, still embarrassed. “You are incredible,” he reminds you, hands full of his hips while he pulls his own back precisely enough to tip himself at the perfect angle. You’re well practiced now with each other, able to satisfy efficiently with little to no error. You’re comfortable to give and take from each other without need for conversation, like now. Junmyeon doesn’t ask if you need him to fill you- he knows. He doesn’t ask how you want it and you don’t ask him if this is okay for him. It’s written plainly between you in the blood heating your faces, the sounds spilling between your sweating bodies, the eager yet affectionate way you’re holding onto parts of each other. It's clear in the way you let yourself relax back into the mattress with eyes closed and blissed out. In the way he leans protectively over your body with his own, needing to be closer and closer still when he laces his fingers into yours with both hands. In the way your panting moans grow in octave as your orgasm approaches and roars through you as you pull your hands away only to pull him down, flush atop you while you ride it out. It is clear in the way he, too, seems to melt into your frame, even as he tenses and moans salaciously against the column of your throat when his peak follows. Neither of you say anything for a long moment, catching your breaths together in post coital bliss. You break the moment, feeling sticky and needing to get the bedding in the washing machine as soon as possible. Junmyeon whines the entire time, refusing to get off of you until you nearly roll him off of the bed completely. Grumbling cutely, he helps you strip the bed and takes the wad of linens from you with a kiss. He finds you in the bathroom when he’s finished, stripped and waiting for the showerhead’s water to turn warm. You invite him in with you, washing in content. You don’t speak, but your actions are loud. Loving, in these small moments of care for each other. When you’re finished and dressed and the coffee pot is started, Junmyeon collects your favorite mugs from the shelf and opens your medication, delivering one small pill to your palm with a kiss to your forehead. The affection of it squeezes your heart and drifts a smile across your face at the progress of such an event. Months back, him even knowing these pills existed within your life caused you extreme anxiety. You watch, reminiscing with a small smile, as he pours your coffee first, always the gentleman, before his own. He trails you back to the bedroom in silent happiness, where coffee mugs are placed on bedside tables and new bedding is waiting to be put on. Junmyeon helps you remake the bed, pulling you down into the soft thickness of the comforter when you’re finished. He forces you into his arms against your fake, feeble protesting, humming his comfort once you finally give up and settle into his warmth. Movement beyond the sheer curtain covering the windows catches your attention. “I think it’s snowing,” you murmur, lifting your chin to look at Junmyeon. Your boyfriend turns his head, exposing the expanse of his neck to you, calling you to place a gentle token of affection there with the pink of your lips. He smiles when he feels your lips against him, but lets you out of his grip to rise from the bed. He picks up his coffee and goes to the window. You join him, curious if you had been right as he moves the curtain with the back of his free hand. Surely enough, there are soft, chilled tufts of snow drifting by quietly, down to the street below. You watch, smile broadening at the pretty sight. Junmyeon seems to have gone still and quiet, and you turn to look at him with the feeling of his eyes on you. As if broken from a spell, he blinks at you, cheeks flooding with a delicate pink. He busys himself taking a swig of his coffee and leaning over to place his mug on the dresser beside the window. “You okay?” you ask, smiling at him with a gentle laugh. Your hand rises to his arm where it still has the curtain raised, and you hear him audibly sigh. “Y/N,” he whispers, swapping his arms so he can tug you against him. Wrapping your arms around his middle, you accept his needy invitation for cuddling with your face buried in the fabric of the sweatshirt he wears. You’re content, serotonin hydrating your heart with the sound of your name on his lips. Turning your head, you let it rest against his chest, hearing his heart beat and watching the snow drift from the top to the bottom of your window. “I love you,” Junmyeon says quietly. You realize suddenly how fast his heart is beating in his chest, and you’re frozen in a moment of time. When you lift your head, agonizingly slow, he meets your eyes with a mix of emotions. Some apprehension, curiosity, fear, affection and devotion- all flitting across the galaxy of his dark eyes in a myriad of microseconds. You feel lightheaded, remembering to breathe. It takes several seconds to swallow and gather the strength to speak. “No, you don’t.” His brows shove together and the stars in his eyes die a little, confused, “Yes, I do.” Shaking your head, you break away from his grasp, standing back to look at him. You want nothing more than to run back into his arms and let his words be true. You want to let yourself believe it is that easy. But you have to protect yourself, you need to have time, “You don’t mean that,” you say with more conviction, refusing to meet his pleading expression. Then, he steels his spine, feet planted firmly to the floor, and he sighs in frustration, “Y/N. I. Love. You. It doesn’t mean you have to say it back right now, or at all, or that we have to do something about it. It just felt right to let you know.” You lower your head and close your eyes as if that will help to do something, although you don’t know what. To stop the thoughts racing in your head or the pounding ache of your heart or the tears welling in your eyes or the fear turning your gut sour. To block out the truth of his words or to just let go. “I just,“ you try, exhaling deeply, “I think you should leave. I need to think.” Junmyeon frowns. Of course he is sad, but he does what you ask. His feet move quietly toward the door and you hear him don his shoes and shut the door behind him. He does not slam it, and you almost wish he did. It would make your guilt so much easier if he yelled at you or slammed the door. It would make the echo of his words, said with such blinding genuine care, feel a lot less like a wish whispered down a hollow well. Later that evening, you’re drunk. Drunk and sad, stumbling around in the snow in the park outside of your apartment building. You deliberately walk through a stick drawing of a heart and two initials, feeling rotten and lost and impulsive. Your feet carry you to a messier scene. More snow, divided by a plow, sprayed with dirty water from shoes and cars at the edges of the street in ugly clumps that look the way your heart feels. Annoyance settles over your frown. Your hands are toasty inside of your coat pockets but you have to keep removing one or the other to wipe at your chilled nose. You keep walking, and eventually pass a storefront with industrial steel and wood. It’s the sushi restaurant you went to with Junmyeon back in the spring. Looking up from your parade of snow-kicking, you see one of your favorite parks, with tall iron lamps glowing with their halogen bulbs. The light casts shadows across the small snow drifts, as if painted black with patterns of bare tree branches. Walking closer, a serene calm possesses your weary bones, calling you to take a seat on one of the benches- a small smile tugging your lips at the sound of the snow crunching under your weight. For the hell of it, you twist slightly, snuggling back into the lofty chill of it. The flakes fall slowly around you, still watching the shadows dancing across the untouched white. There’s something soothing in the blanket of silence around you- even in the middle of the city. A stolen moment like this at- you check your phone- three forty in the morning. You let your mind wander, until another presence interferes with your thoughts, unwelcome. Steeling yourself to tell someone off, your head turns slightly to the left to see a tall, skinny man standing under the next lamp with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. Then, he stoops down and collects a handful of snow, packs it into a tight ball, and immediately hurls it at you with half-hearted effort. “Ow, what the fuck?” you groan aloud, flinching away to shield yourself as he does it a second time, stepping closer. He sighs, “Don’t even act like that hurt. I could’ve thrown it harder.” You know this voice, watching for confirmation as he shakes the icy snow from his bare hands and pats them on his jeans. The sharp jawline of none other than Oh Sehun cuts through the shadow, and he is wearing a frown when you finally see his face. He simply stares at you for a long moment before he gives up and his frown deepens, “Fuck it.” In jeans probably more expensive than what you make in an average shift, he sits down on the snow covered bench beside you, hissing at the cold and wet feeling that surely seeps into his skin. You say nothing in reply, still enjoying the tingling buzz of alcohol in your veins, and the bite of chill at the tip of your nose. It’s another five or ten minutes before Sehun pipes up, “Care to tell me how you’re feeling right now?” When you face him, he’s watching you with a mix of apprehension and tenderness. “I’m feeling a lot of things,” you say, sniffling. You elaborate with a kick of your feet through the fluff of snow on the ground, “I’m worried, and scared and happy and disbelieving, to name a few.” Sehun hums, narrowing his eyes and squaring his jaw, “Do you feel inferior or unworthy? Do you not see how much he loves you?” Your mouth twists thoughtfully, “I feel like someday I will stop being enough. Someday I will stop being what he needs and loves. It’s happened before, and Sehun I’m-“ you choke, swallowing around the lump, “I’m so irrevocably in love with him that I am terrified of what that moment will feel like.” “What if that moment never comes?” He watches your face without judgement, and you appreciate him all the more for it. Clearing your throat, “How can I know it never will? I just need time to work up the courage.” He nods, “That’s fair, I suppose. As long as you know he is so disgustingly in deep with you.” His mock discomforted teasing pulls a quiet smile from you, and with it, a yawn. “Come on, let’s get you home. He wanted to come find you himself, but I didn’t think you’d want to be overwhelmed right now.” He pushes against your shoulder, urging you up, “I’m freezing my ass off out here.” “Did you track my phone?” you wonder, complying as he takes your shoulders and dusts the snow from your coat with his hands. He nods, “Come on, I brought the car. Should still be pretty warm.” _______________________________________ The following two days go by in a blur, and the uncertainty you feel ebbs away from your bones wearily, too exhausted to hang on. You go about your routine, you have to in order to stay afloat. You wake, go to class, go to work, shower, maybe do some homework, and then fall into a barely stable state of unconsciousness for a few hours before you’re up to do it all over again. In the back of your busy mind, you wonder, almost without feeling, if this is the moment. If now is the time, so soon, that Junmyeon has decided he is bored or you’re not worth this kind of trouble. You chew your lip instead of the end of your pencil, letting it tap against your cheek repeatedly. What if he is heartbroken by your refusal to accept his confession in the moment because fear made you yank up your walls just as he said the words? What if he has decided to pull his own walls up higher than you’re able to reach. What if this is the end? What if this is just the beginning? What if what if what if, the phrase parades around your thoughts like a vicious merry-go-round. You hate it. On the table, facing down to not be a distraction, your phone buzzes gently. Luckily, the sound it creates on the wood surface doesn’t disturb the other library patrons attempting to study. Stretching your back and twisting your tired neck, you pull your coffee closer, taking a sip and reeling at the warmth of it in one hand while you check the notification with the other. It's your security camera app. A clip of video featuring one fluffy-haired Junmyeon entering your apartment with his key and dropping off a manilla envelope. He lingers briefly beside the kitchen counter, fingers playing with the string of the envelope before he lays it down gingerly. Something seems odd, as if he doesn’t want to leave. After a few seconds, he looks up to the camera, possibly as if he knows you’re watching, gives a tight-lipped smile, and leaves. It leaves a strange feeling in your gut, normally he texts you when he is dropping something off to you. Perhaps now, since the camera was his idea, he doesn’t need to. You’ll see it from your phone. You release your lip from your teeth, soothing your tongue over the deep indentations of your teeth. Looking around, the library suddenly feels like an empty cathedral instead of a cozy place of coffee and books. It is the middle of December. Not many students linger this late in the afternoon so close to the holidays. With a sigh, you accept that your spell of focus and studying is over. Dogearing the page, you pack your bag and head out into the wind and setting sun. You don’t have work this evening, but a bath and a glass of wine to yourself sound like the perfect combination to hope for a restful night’s sleep. Entering your apartment, you eye the envelope on the counter, right where your boyfriend left it. Part of you wants to open it immediately and sate your curiosity. Part of you is apprehensive. There is a weighted feeling of importance coming from such a mysterious package. Perhaps after your bath and wine, you’ll have a second glass at the counter while you open it. Perhaps the first glass will calm you and give you enough courage to face whatever is inside. Decidedly, you do just that. Your phone even coos your favorite instrumental playlist from the counter in the bathroom, deliberately out of your reach. The gentle notes of the piano relax you into the warm suds, breathing deeply while you swallow, cheeks full of a simple white zinfandel. The weight of the chilled goblet in your palm feels just as comforting as the cozy swirls of lavender around your nakedness. Wrapped up in your favorite pajamas and wine refilled, you hold your breath when you reach for the package, swiping it from the counter to open from the comfort of the couch. You set the wine glass on the coffee table with extra care, keying up your anticipation. Peering inside the envelope, a handful of smaller envelopes peer up at you from inside. Odd, you muse, curiously letting them slide from the manilla onto the coffee table. There are six pieces, each labeled with a number, otherwise appearing identical. You take the first in your hands, and open it after another sip of wine. Immediately, you’re met with the familiar sight of Junmyeon’s handwriting. Letters, your mind answers for you. These are all letters. Reading the addressee line, more specifically these are letters he has written to you. ‘Ah… where to begin,’ the first sentence reads. ‘Would you know what I mean if I talked about that feeling you have when you are in someone’s presence and it feels right? Except perhaps a little more? Knowing that in time, you will feel complete while with that someone, but it’s not right away? That feeling of looking forward to building a completeness in your life with that person. That feeling. I met someone last night who gave me that feeling. That feeling that I immediately knew I would be whole with her someday. At first, it was scary. Altogether so vexing and complex I couldn’t do anything other than feel totally stunned every time she came close. I felt terrible for my behavior in those first few minutes. The weight of the passage of time pressed against my ribcage the longer we sat at the table, the less of an unknown length to be spent in her presence was so jarring to me it took all of my resolve to pull it together and start a conversation with her. I’m not usually one who believes in the phrase ‘meant to be’, but I absolutely could not shake the feeling of this woman and the few simple words we shared. I liked everything about her. Beyond the physical, too. The expressions that passed over her face. The fire of her personality and the air of dignity and resolute calm that seemed to carve a home in her bones as she worked. Everything I could assess about her as a person from my seat at the table, I couldn’t look away. She seemed to understand there was some sort of cosmic interference between us. All of the moments where I knew for a fact she wasn’t watching me, the depth of her eyes would catch me in the act of watching her work. They would settle on me, and sometimes I would be overcome with the weightlessness of space, or what I imagine it would feel like. Vast and unending, and at peace. We played a sort of game when I realized, with a great complexity of emotion, she knew who I was. It was more than just my name, and that was not something I had anticipated. The way she spoke to me and looked at me, as if by no great feat, I were just myself. Nothing more, nothing less. Not an idol, but a person. I briefly wondered if I knew her from childhood, but could not gather any substantial evidence in my memory. I did something that I’ve never done in my lifetime. Of my own volition, even. The thought of separating from her without knowing if I would ever see her again was something that I couldn’t accept. As if burned or suffocating. The feeling that causes you to move without thinking to escape discomfort. I invited her to the hotel we were staying in while our dorms were being moved. Normally, I might consider that a ridiculous notion, one I didn’t think I would ever hold myself to entertain while in this industry. And yet… regardless of our intentions if the answer were yes, I needed to know if there was a mutual itch to scratch, only sated by one another. Even without the recollection of her presence still so fresh in my mind, my skin, my bones, I think I could remember with perfect clarity how much she was able to move me. To feel as if I could move mountains with my bare hands as long as she kept looking at me. It's terrifying, and elating. She fell asleep easily, tucked adorably against my side. I hardly slept, too wound up with thoughts racing across the sky in my mind, seeking constellations to tell stories foretold about she and I. Hoping for more minutes with her. Hoping that minutes would turn into hours, to days, to years… To a lifetime. I fell asleep, my mind too exhausted to continue coherent thought. When I woke, she was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t be sure why. Whether it be her own schedule or that we hadn’t detailed what exactly our coupling was supposed to be. All I know was what I am feeling. Sadness, disappointment, even slight shame. Not that what we had done was wrong, but that I couldn’t hold on hard enough to keep her here. I have no way of contacting her, and without knowing her thoughts, I refuse to be the kind of man who shows up where she works. Perhaps she doesn’t want to see me again. I will go about my routines, wondering whether or not I’d hurt her, whether or not she felt regret. I will spend however long it takes, wondering if I might ever see her again, and feeling a hollowness in my chest I hadn’t know was there all along before I felt her filling that void so perfectly.’ You don’t realize at first that you’re crying by the end of the letter. Tears quietly slip from your eyes, and your hands tremble just enough to make the paper move noticeably, the bottom of it smattered with a few wet drops. Clutching the page to your chest, you let your head roll back and your lungs inhale a deep breath. Your heart hurts for him, nearly a year ago as these words he has written make themselves known to you. His thoughts and feelings that first night you met last December. You ignore the question of why he wrote these letters but know exactly the reason why he has given them to you. It feels too easy, too surreal that he knew someday you would question, and he kept these as an investment. Proof of his truth. Pain aches bitterly in your chest at how you pushed him out a few days ago. At how deeply and complexly he knew right from the start how much you mean to him. You empty your wine glass in a series of greedy swallows, needing your empty goblet as an excuse to stand up and breathe for a moment. Wiping your eyes, you have an idea and know just where to put these letters. From the top shelf of your closet, you pull down a small box, running your palm over the black leather with a smile as you place it on the coffee table. You move to the kitchen, returning to the couch seconds later with the half-empty wine bottle. You open the box and a small smile touches your features when you see the items inside. Not many, yet, but small tokens of memories and affection shared between you and Junmyeon. The tickets to the museum back in September, four polaroid photos taken on his camera in his room during a visit. The card he wrote you back in October, along with the bloom of a flower from the same day pressed between it. Obscurely and without his knowledge, a balled-up piece of paper with lyrics he wrote for his solo album on. Somehow, he deemed them unworthy, but you love the authenticity of them and his handwriting. You smile, letting your hand stir a few of the pieces before you set the lid back on it, deciding these letters will join the contents of the box when you’re finished. After pouring yourself another glass and carefully folding the first letter back into its packaging, you open the second. ‘Now it’s April, and somehow, on an errant walk with the peace of my own thoughts, I found you again. At first I hadn’t been sure it was you, or that my eyes were not playing tricks on me. After several minutes of short-circuiting, I was sure it was you on that bench. I hate to sound overly poetic, but you were too picturesque, as if the sun and all of the spring had been placed there just for you. As if you commanded the very season to flourish around your perpetuating serenity. Part of me was torn, not wanting to disturb the scene. The greater part was unwavering in my desire to approach you, if not just to have your eyes find mine briefly. I am too selfish to let you go this time, unless you explicitly demand it. Still, I had to steel myself, apprehensive of your intentions that morning. Luckily, your warmth toward me didn’t waver, and while I wanted to ask outright the questions that so often plagued my mind lately, I refrained. I couldn’t let the joy of the moment be ruined by bitterness. Your stomach growled, and I remember the comfort of falling into step beside you naturally as we walked. The colors of the season are more vivid in my head, and the sharp contrast of your red dress to the green everywhere did nothing but serve as an excuse for me to look only at you. While the food was worth the price, my stomach churned uncomfortably with the questions I needed answers to. The same questions I felt coming from you, and the confusion and hurt and desire. When you finally told me it was not a good idea, I felt my heart crack. Looking back, I wasn’t pleased with myself when I hissed out my reply. The pain was too momentous to control. That was the turning point. The conversations that followed as we went out onto the street. It dawned on me then, that with my own anxiety and shortcomings, you had your own self-doubts. You made it clear that you saw me as the stars, and yourself little more than a spectator of them, out of reach. I realized in that moment how similar we are, and an overwhelming need to know more about you passed through me. I am always thankful and comforted when I think back on that conversation. The relief I felt when you told me you didn’t regret it and that you wanted me as badly as I wanted you. Still want you, for the record. You defended me from even myself so vehemently, all while fighting the idea of indulging in the moment. Not just for your own benefit, but mine, too. It was clear how much you worried over thoughts for the future, and the consideration of my feelings and your own thereafter. I’m very thankful, but I’m sure that must be exhausting. I desperately want you in my life, no matter how busy that is, and I am holding my breath in hope that you’ll want me in yours just the same. The sex… by far, has always been indescribably real. Connecting with you in such a fashion, well, I won’t touch on it, because that isn’t what this is about. Even though I can count our meetings on one hand, this one is my favorite, so far. Not just because of the sex, but the conversation, and the connection I felt with you through all of the planes of existence. I won’t lie, it was insurmountably frightening the moment you looked at me in the shower. More than my face, or my eyes. It took you one second to permeate the deepest center of my heart, and I could feel the warmth and safety of your soul holding mine. Oh my god, I am so cheesy. We shared tender thoughts, and with them, pain and suffering. I like to think it was necessary in order to move forward, and I find myself wanting to grow more and more with you. Slowly, if you accept that. I don’t want to rush into things, and I want to understand you better. I want to do this right. Even in the small, intimate moments while we ate dinner and just laid together, were blissful. I found myself unable to conjure any worries about problems I face, and even the physical manifestation of my anxiety… with you I had no sudden urge to run away and hide it. I had no feeling other than pure acceptance knowing that you were seeing a flaw of mine. You rolled with it, completely and utterly acknowledging of my existence as a person and not just an idol. Perhaps that is why I feel so strongly so soon, and why I am so cognizant of it, rather than terrified as I should be. When I woke the next morning with your scent and your warmth still beside me, I was happier than I anticipated I would be? That sounds so peculiar, I know, but I was- even with the chaos that soon unraveled thereafter. Still, wrapped up in new feelings and rushing to meet a schedule, I scolded myself when I left you standing in the elevator lobby without any way to stay in contact. If there are and powers or fates in this life, I am wishing for them to bring us together again. One way or another, I will find you again.’ Immediately, with as much delicacy as you can muster in your need to keep reading, you fold the pages of the second letter back into it’s envelope with a smile on your face. Reading Junmyeon’s thoughts on your meetings was not what you had expected this package to be. It is a wonderful gift, and one you now know he did for you, even all of those months ago. The third letter is on a different kind of paper and the ink is blue instead of black, but the differences only make you smile at the possibility that he was still thinking of writing this for you when he might have been somewhere else in the world. ‘Even at thirty-eight thousand feet, I am still thinking of you.’ Reads the first line, and you smile knowing your intuition was spot on. ‘I’m thinking of the third time I saw you. Standing still on the dance floor, with brows furrowed cutely and looking around for something. Until you quickly looked up at me, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks when you smiled. The way you jumped as if I had shocked you, I felt it too. All night it drove me crazy the way I could feel this tether to you. Even in a space full of others, at the club, in the car, at the karaoke room- there was a strange sense of presence. As if I could see and hear everyone, even participated in conversations, but from underwater? Suddenly I noticed that perhaps that is how my life has been all along, but the moment we would touch would be as if everything around were in such perfect clarity it felt like I was there for the first time. I know that sounds crazy. It drove me crazy, but I gave you whatever emotion space you wanted. I didn’t push what we were, didn’t try to pressure you into acknowledging the tension between us as more than sexual compatibility. Then, in the darkness of that awful karaoke bar, I broke. I knew Jongdae wasn’t a threat- he has a girlfriend. I knew everything was fine but found myself exiting the room to look for you anyway. Then, you provoked me and I can’t help but wonder if you wanted me to be the aggressor all along. If you wanted me to be the one to break first and make a claim. I’m not upset about it, really. It worked out in the end, right? Still, the thought of you being with someone else the way you’ve been with me is very painful. Luckily, I was and still am confident in what we have. That it is profound. The moment you spilled the truth I felt high. Not like a drug high but untouchable nonetheless. Powerfully, cosmically existent in that moment, and all I could do was kiss you. I knew it didn’t mean we had jumped from point A to point Z, but A to B was still progress forward. I can’t help but smile when I remember the cute, embarrassed way you tried to explain that to Jongin later on. Take no mind- I am not looking to rush into a relationship. I am happy with small steps, and to finally have your contact information.’ You’re smiling and laughing by the end of this letter. You feel a little bit better, and a whole lot more in love with the man who wrote these. Part of you in a little sad at how short this third one is, but he has spoiled you, and you consider his schedule and lack of privacy in writing these. Quickly, with the woeful glee of having to put down the best book of all time, you rush to relieve your bladder of the wine you’ve consumed this evening. A very small wedge of your consciousness notes the way your mood has shifted for the better at this simple and thoughtful gift. At the confirmations of his feelings and his thoughts that you’ve spent months trying to guess. You realize that perhaps you were not communicating as openly as you thought you were. A lot of guessing and assuming about one another over the last year makes you feel a little bit silly, but you smile nonetheless at the progress and growth you’ve done. Situated back on the couch comfortably, you fold the third letter back into it’s envelope with a contented hum, replacing it in your hands with the fourth. This one feels heavier and thicker, with more pages. ‘You are my girlfriend now, as I write this letter.’ He starts, and you can clearly conjure the image of a grin that would be warming his cheeks as he wrote that line. ‘Progress, and good progress at that, feels very fulfilling. Although my schedules keep me from seeing you as often as I would like, I feel satisfied with being able to contact you regularly while I go about my business. The weeks we have spent getting to know one another, talking and texting and video chatting have been nothing short of a blessing. It makes me realize how much people, myself included, can take this kind of simple connection for granted. I spent some weeks without a way to contact you, so I do my best to be more thankful for it now. In the last few weeks, it has felt like war with ourselves and what we could be, and I sincerely apologize if I ever seemed frustrated at you- I am not, and never was. You have always been right to be cautious and you are so considerate of my feelings and then your own, even if the consideration isn’t a good one. It doesn’t matter now, and I can’t say I am regretful that we spent time weighing those things out. It may seem silly or superstitious but I feel like our relationship is deeper and we have a better understanding of what we are to one another now that we have been through that together. Had we rushed into it without more concern, I might be wary of how strong we are. I was embarrassed when I called to tell you about the incident with the interviewer in the States. There was a lot happening and I was not sure on what was going to come of us yet. I was very surprised by how strong the repulsion to lie about us felt, and I failed to keep it off of my face and out of my professional life. Looking back, especially after calling you, I am sorry if it caused you any panic. I had a long discussion with the managers and Mr. Lee when I got back, but it was after I had talked to Jongdae on the plane about it, and he gave me a lot of good advice on how to deal with it publicly. Please do not misunderstand or have doubts about what I told you- I was never pressured or given an ultimatum about you. I told them that being with or without you was not negotiable before it even began. Typically, I am not the one to speak up in such a momentous conversation, but I have only ever been so sure about something twice in my life. First, about being a singer, and second, about being with you. In the end, I was told it would only be a problem if the behavior continued. Eventually, we would have to go public, but I am free to keep my private life as such so long as I can maintain my idol publicity separately. Still, I needed some space from the familiarity and constant reminder of stress. I left, without telling anyone where I was going or for how long, to blow off steam. The shock was pleasant when you told me you were accepting of a relationship. I was happy and thought perhaps you had talked about it to Soohyun, the same way I talk to Sehun. Those two are ridiculous. It helped melt the stress I’d been feeling with work. My feet carried me to your apartment anyway, now that I knew how to get there. Even if I wanted to refrain or resist, I knew you, in any form, would be the balm of relief I needed. I was prepared to hold you and talk and just let your presence ease away the anxiety. The last thing I was expecting was the gift of news you wanted more. I had been back and forth with it in my own head, whether or not I should have even told you. Since the beginning of our perpetual theories concerning the start of a relationship, I knew there was something you were not telling me. Don’t take it the wrong way- I don’t hold it against you, and I don’t expect you to tell me everything right away. Earning enough trust and comfort with me to tell me when you’re ready is enough. That is not the reason I didn’t want to say anything at first. More that you seemed… tense or stressed about your own internal deliberating. I’ve seen first-hand, you’re the type to put others before yourself, so I didn’t want to burden you with that. It felt like taking advantage of you to do so. Then, with the simple confession of wanting this, of wanting me, and wanting me with you, it changed. I trusted you enough to let you in. You wanted to help me, and I am incredibly grateful. You’ve always wanted to help me, and I would be a blind fool if I ever considered that were not a priority for you, even from day one. By the end of the conversation, I felt more connected with you than I ever had before. I’m certain, at least in some sense, that was a bonus in the way you helped me relieve that stress. The way you took care of me, so to speak. Even the sex that followed seemed to have more weight or meaning. That it was more than just sex? When we settled into your bed I had a moment of realization that it was the first night I was sleeping in your bed with you, and that we were in a relationship. I was so exhausted, but I tried my best to remember every detail of your space. Although the way I woke up wasn’t that pleasant, I slept the best I had in weeks. I think I owe that to you. What happened thereafter, I know we’ve talked about it at length and that you’re okay, but I feel like part of your love language are words of affirmation. With that in mind, I will say again that you will never have to be sorry for struggling. I understand, at least to some extent, what you’ve been through. It makes my heart ache to know you’ve been through a similar pain to mine and the perpetual, vicious cycle of hate and doubt and fear within your own head. When I think about it, you amaze me. Having been through that, and perhaps to people outside of you and I, you might appear mysterious or standoffish. Sehun’s words, not mine, but only at first I assure you. I realize it is how you greet the unknown parts of the world, to protect yourself. But then to get to know the caring and tender way you hold those close to you. Be it myself, Soohyun or even now Sehun and the rest of my members. The way you talk about memories of your Father. It fills me with such relief and that feels selfish and wrong. To be thankful that even after all you’ve been through, and to understand it so completely, that you still love. I understand it so well how you’ve guarded yourself and it takes work to peel back the walls layer by layer to let someone else care about you the way you care about your people. I will never push you, but please, please know I am working as hard as I can to gently peel back those layers and to earn enough trust to let me love you the way you deserve, even if you might not think you do. I know that there will be days where you look at the world as if everything is hateful and ugly, and I understand that I might not be able to help you. I really do, but I will never judge you for that. I will encourage you to continue with therapy and taking your medication and to love the world and to let it love you back. Hopefully, one by one, those instances of hate are less and less, replaced by better ones. I will protect you with everything I have and I am scared, too. Afraid that one day when the glimmer of idol life dies and I’m not in the spotlight, that everyone who has ever looked at me with adoration will turn away. That the name Junmyeon will never shine the way Suho does. I know I am not perfect. I never have been and I never will be, and that’s okay. It took me a long time to get through that, with therapy and my own medication. There was a lot of unhappiness and innate anxiety in understanding that when I am retired and finished, I will not be alone. That there will be other people, eight specifically, going through the same thing, right there beside me. Hopefully you will be, too. I remember the bliss of the rest of that morning. The pure, natural contempt to be in your apartment with you, such a place that has you so deeply instilled in every piece I never wanted to leave the safety of it.’ You feel a lump, but don’t let the tears fall from this letter. Looking back on Junmyeon’s last words to you, you wonder if somewhere within this letter is the time he first decided he loved you. He didn’t explicitly write it, but the way he wrote it gives you a sense that it was somewhere in these words. The fifth letter begins with the echo of a phrase you remember hearing him say the first time you woke up with him in his bed. ‘I’m happy. More specifically, I am happy with you. As worried as I was about having you over to the dorm for anything at all, I am pleased how much you fit into that space with grace and ease. Looking back, my worries were baseless. Every challenge I think you’re facing with me and my schedules and my members, you accept them and seem to move through them all without issue. It's relieving to be able to let you share even this part of myself. I know it has been something we’ve been back and forth on since we met, but I had been scared of the idea of sharing a part of Suho for once, instead of Junmyeon. Not that I doubted you- simply that I was uncomfortable, and not ready. With a sudden clarity it makes perfect sense why you were not keen on me being in your space, either. I’m happy we’ve moved past those fears. All of my members accept you, if you couldn’t tell. I have to take care of them, too. I couldn’t be selfish in inviting you into a home that is not only mine without considering their opinions. Even the members that weren’t present were on board with my invitation and happy for us to be where we are. Somewhere in this last week, I think I realized I love you. I’m not sure when, but somewhere between finally going to your apartment and today, I know it. I’m making a promise to both you and myself that I will tell you in person for the first time. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us if it is any other way first, and I know you enough now to be sure I’ll probably be the one who says it first. I don’t even know if I’ll ever give you these letters, or when really they became less of a journal and more of a letter of confession. You can probably tell by the well-worn pages that I’ve read these several times by now. You might laugh if I ever tell you how many times I re-wrote them, too. Y/N, my sweetheart, I can’t even begin to describe how fond I am of you. Please tell me if I ever become overbearing or suffocating in my love for you. Were it not for the reprimanding I’d get, or the fact that we would have to go public (something I never want to put you through), I would shout it from the rooftop and scream it during every ending comment I make, on every stage in every part of the world.’ The fifth letter might be short, but it is sweet and you feel a bigger pang of guilt at having pushed him out knowing how much he loves you, now more than ever. You desperately want to call him. To have him back here in your arms and to tell him you’re sorry and confirm exactly how he feels is the same. Instead, you tell yourself to calm down, and read the last letter. It’s getting later, but you know he will still be awake when you’re finished and there is absolutely no way in hell you’ll be able to sleep without him tonight. So you quell your racing heart with a simple text. It doesn’t give anything away, and you hope you won’t have to wait long after you finish reading the last for him to show up at your door. ‘Please come over.’ You can’t hit send fast enough, and settle right in to reading the final letter. ‘This letter is a little different, because I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to write individual ones. I’m doing my best to remember the last few months with you and all of the memories we’ve made. I worry I’ll forget them if I don’t write them down soon enough, and I don’t know when these will ever make their way to you. I’ll give you all of the ones I’ve written so far once I think you’re ready to read them. I have a feeling a day will come when I tell you how I feel, and you’ll hide. I won’t be upset with you or judge you, I know it’s terrifying, and I think having these letters will be helpful. Perhaps once you see how well-worn some are, and how clearly I’m recalling the moments, you’ll know I’ve written them all with you in mind. How I am always thinking of you. How I love you. For weeks it has been hard not to tell you how I feel every time I open my mouth in your presence. Some moments smaller or bigger than others, but none any less meaningful than the one before it. I think my favorite, of all the adventures we’ve had over the summer, is dinner. The way you described summer and the magic of it- I don’t think you realized how much of that magic came from you. As if your smile were the spell that kept the world from falling asunder. Maybe it was because it was so close to the moment I first realized my feelings for you, only a week later, but it doesn’t matter. I enjoyed the museum a lot, too. More than a typical museum, the fun that we shared, even when things went a little sideways was still full of care and laughter. I don’t know if you could feel the culmination of my feelings brimming over in the rain later that day, or in the way I held you as if you were the world. I hope you felt it. Sometimes I was nervous when I would reach home with my bag and realize there was something else I left back at your place. Not that I minded, but I didn’t want you to feel like I did it intentionally or that I was invading your space. In hindsight it seems to have been perfectly natural, and I remember how shy you were to give me a key to your apartment. That surprising gift was unexpected, but one I keep close. I don’t know how many times I’ve thanked you for letting me have one and letting me be there whenever I want to. I hope you don’t mind if I thank you once more, honestly. You may not know this, but more than just for spending time with you- it is a safe place for me. It’s somewhere I can go and don’t have to hide and I can get away from the members and the constant reminder of the never-ending chaos of idolism. I can sleep and it is silent and if I’m lucky, you eventually appear beside me and I sleep better than I ever do at home. I can remember your fear leading up to Halloween about meeting other people at the company and being in the presence of new people as my girlfriend. I can also remember the taste of you right before that party, but I don’t want to have any… issues, while I’m writing this in the dance studio, so I won’t write about it. We’re working on choreography for some of the new tracks and brushing up on old favorites today. It’s never been a question I thought to ask you, but I’m curious what song is your favorite. I have a feeling, knowing the way you react to me as my alter ego, if Obsession is the answer. Things are going well with promotions. Perhaps I’ve complained a little too loudly about not getting to see you as often to our staff, but I was so shocked when you showed up to our stage yesterday! It was very thoughtful of them to invite you, and I was impressed none of the members got wind of it. What happened thereafter backstage… I hope you understand how much you mean to me and that I never wanted to pressure you like that. We were pushing boundaries all over the place, and while I was admittedly nervous at first to engage in sexual play with you while in that role, I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. I did it for you. It was all about you, and I can’t help but feel like I overstepped and perhaps instilled some doubts about us in you. Please know that was never my intention and I just as connected with you as I always do. I was, and still am thrilled to know you only want me. We both know I can be a bit jealous and possessive, so hearing that was delightful. However, I meant what I said- if it is mutual, I’m okay with it. Healthy, even, to have a little bit of adventure. Please don’t feel guilty about it, it kept me excited too. It’s good for us to talk about all kinds of things, even hard to swallow topics. I’m proud to be able to communicate openly with you, and I think it makes us stronger.’ You sigh, sad to see an end to his thoughts on paper, but feeling a sense of relief at his sentiments about your latest shenanigans, just days ago. Checking your phone, it appears that Junmyeon has read your message, but not responded yet, and you worry if he will or if he is upset. No, that can’t be right. Exactly as his letter has said, he knew a time would come that you would need to have some sort of evidence of his love when he finally told you. This is precisely what you needed him to say, and that he could already tell, even those months ago, that you might need this kind of investment to understand the truth is another piece of his love on its own. This collection of his feelings is so warm and whole that it brings more tears to the brim of your eyes, and you’re faced with the absolute truth that there’s no way he is upset with you. He was strategically waiting for you to return his feelings and the idea that you shoved him out makes the tears fall. You’re surprised to hear when the door opens and closes behind you, and when you turn around to face him, knowing it is him, he only gives you a dazzling smile as he slips off his shoes. Your boyfriend. Your Junmyeon, the one who, as crazy as that may seem, loves you as much as you love him. Gingerly, you set the last letter down, noticing it is still clutched in your fingers. “Hi, sweetheart.” He greets you from the entry. Marveling at him, you’re not convinced he is even real and standing here in your home looking like everything you’ve ever wanted and everything you’ll ever need. He grins, with the apples of his cheeks dusted rose from the cold sitting high and warm on his face. His eyes crinkle with mirth and he whispers, “That good, huh? No words?” You want to punch him for it, but perhaps softly, with your mouth. It doesn’t register for several seconds that you’ve been holding your breath, until you let it out and drag in fresh oxygen. It's enough to spur you into action, bounding from the couch and into his arms, uncaring if your tears stain his scarf. He doesn’t seem to mind, either, by the way he adjust so your arms wrap around him from inside of his unzipped coat. “Are you alright now?” he wonders aloud, not exactly looking for an answer but curiously chirping nonetheless because he wants the verbal confirmation that you are in fact, just fine. When you look up at him from the warmth of his sweatshirt and scarf with eyes full of magic, he is lost and in love all over again, until finally you say what he knows. “I love you.” You announce proudly to him, and the immediate gratification you feel melts any tension from your shoulders. His expression morphs into unbridled happiness, curling his lips into his mouth and scrunching his brows together as if the words were the sweetest thing he has ever heard. “Say it again,” he demands, “I’m selfish and I want to hear you say it again.” You smile, “I love you, Junmyeon.” He absolutely giggles. The pure glee that captures him as you step back with barely concealed impatience while shrugs off his coat and scarf is infectious, or maybe it’s the light and joyous sound of his laughter. In seconds he has scooped you into his arms and kisses you. You can feel his heart pounding right out of his chest where you’re pressed against it. When he breaks for air, he asks you, “Did you like them?” Setting you down on the couch, you refuse to part from him when he gets comfortable, crawling back into his lap and holding his face in your hands. Just to look at him and make sure he is actually here, you let the warmth of your hands flood his skin and he smiles up at you as if you the only thing in the universe worth looking at. There’s no rush to make it more than what it is, and you realize you haven’t answered his question. “I am beyond words to explain how much they mean to me.” You look behind you briefly to see them on the coffee table. “And,” you begin, moving some of his hair from his eyes, “I am so sorry.” His brows furrow together immediately, trying to hush your apology, but you press a finger to his lips before he can do more than groan in disapproval. “I mean it, let me apologize,” you coax. Only when he has settled do you remove your finger from his lips, tickled by his constant puckering to hiss it. “It took me reading these letters to finally learn that all this time you’ve done nothing but look out for me. You have always been there for me, taking all of my doubts in stride with a calm confidence I sometimes took as shallow or lukewarm feelings, and for that I am so sorry.” “In these letters you’ve told me about your own anxieties and fears, and I want to assure you the way you’ve always done for me by saying I will never turn away from you.” You hold his face again, gently cupping his cheeks and smiling sadly at the cute way his cheeks squish his face, “Ever.” You kiss his puckered lips and continue, “I am sorry I ever doubted you, even if you tell me I don’t need to be. It doesn’t feel fair that while I had all of these issues, you were there with nothing but faith, proclaiming with a profound clarity that we would both make it out on the other side, even if I couldn’t see it.” “Stop it,” he fusses gently. “No,” you poke the end of his nose and continue, “So I want you to know how sorry I am and that I promise you when I say I am in love with you- I mean it.” He smiles, “Can I talk now?” Grinning in return, you nod. “I didn’t write those letters to make you feel bad about yourself for having doubts or fears. It’s normal, and I didn’t always have just blind faith. I had my own doubts about how much you felt our connection and how deep your feelings for me were.” He rewards your silent attention with a quick, chaste kiss. “The answer is probably not, but do you know how protective your head is of your heart?” His hand rises to prod at your forehead gently. He explains further, “All of the defense it has created to keep you safe so you don’t get hurt again is not a bad thing. I just had to be patient, steady and sure about my feelings towards you. I knew you would figure it out.” “Looking back over the last year at the progress we’ve made, at least to me, has really made us stronger. Look at how far we’ve come, Y/N. Not just as individuals, but together. I don’t know if it looks the same as mine, but I imagine the colors of your world feel a lot richer with me in them, right?” He looks at your eyes for confirmation, and you nod, “It’s the same for me, too. You make me a better person, and I love you. The good and the bad and the sad and that’s okay. Relationships don’t have to be just good stuff all of the time. There is so much more complexity involved, but we’re supposed to be in it together.” “I know that now.” You affirm, laying your head on his shoulder and snuggling further into him. “Good.” He whispers, kissing your forehead. Already, you want to reread the letters. After a few silent moments pass between you listening to the sound of quiet happiness, you lift your head from his neck to look at him. “Can I tell you something?” you wonder aloud, letting your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He looks up at you and hums, “You’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?” It pulls a smile to your lips as you nod, ensuring you have his full attention. Remembering the contents of the letters, you have to tease him as you admit, “My god you’re cheesy!” You’re now sure the sound of your mutual laughter is one of your favorites. It takes a minute for both of you to quell, settling into a pile of happiness. Once more, for good measure, you feel the urge to tell him again. Taking his cheeks in your hands again, you dip your head until your forehead rests on his and a kiss is granted to his lips. “I love you.” End.

#allotrope #junmyeon x reader #suho x reader #junmyeon smut #suho smut #exo fanfiction #exo smut #junmyeon angst #suho angst #junmyeon fluff #suho fluff #exo angst #exo fluff #exo x reader #junmyeon fanfic #suho fanfic #exo fanfic #junmyeon x you #suho x you

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evandearest · 4 years

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The Garden of Eden | Part II: Reflection

Pairing: James March x reader (you) | ~Part: (2/4)~

Summary (Part Two): When memories are all that clouds your vision, how do you begin to break cycles and live in the present? Can you overcome your irrational fear when paradise is only a memory of long ago? Living through hell can make or break you.

Warnings (in this part): Slight PTSD, that’s all I would say.

Word count: 3,586

Notes: I’m so excited to be posting this! This part is quite a bit longer than the last one. I absolutely loved writing it though! Be on the lookout for many metaphors, biblical references, and *reflective* events. This part is complex in many ways, and a lot of things tie into one another. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!!

Also a side note, if you’d like to be on the tag list for this series just let me know!

Tag List: @etoile-writings @haileyybird @ietss

An odd feeling settled upon you as rays of sunlight blinded your eyes. Something wasn’t right. You couldn’t exactly pin it down, but all you knew was that you felt calm. Calm was not a part of you, as much as you portrayed to others that it was. Spending nearly ten years with a man you didn’t trust could do that to you.

The bed underneath you was soft, the scent in the air surrounding you lavender. You wondered for a moment where you were, your heart jumping as your eyes glanced around you frantically. That’s when you remembered: you were in James’ hotel. James’.

Your nerves lessened when you thought about James, a small smile curling your lips. As soon as you had arrived at the hotel, he insisted that you get a room to yourself to get the best rest possible. He’d even sent his maid to give you a basket of everything lavender to help you sleep: candles, essential oils, soap. He practically spoiled you the minute you arrived. You couldn’t deny how good it felt, though. You felt like a queen.

You sat up in bed, wondering where the man pervading your thoughts was. You glanced at your side table, noticing the vase of white roses immediately. When had those gotten there? The tiny card leaning against the vase caught your attention in particular. You reached for it and opened it. The small note was in James’ neat handwriting, reading:

“Good morning, darling. Gather yourself and meet me in the lounge. I do hope my accommodations suited you. Yours truly, JPM.”

You smiled, your curiosity spiraling at the thought of what he had planned for you. You quickly jumped out of the bed, going to the bathroom to get ready. You noticed immediately of all the things in this bathroom that weren’t normally in hotel bathrooms. There were tons of beauty items for women that most men don’t even know exist. You knew it was James. He was so thoughtful, giving you anything you could possibly need and more. James had taken the time to be sure you had everything. Your heart fluttered at the thought, excitement settling within you. James really did have everything, and now you had James. You knew it was going to take a long while before you were used to this luxurious treatment, but you weren’t complaining. You’d dreamed of living this kind of life since you were merely a child.

Once you had showered, gotten dressed, and did your hair and makeup, you were ready. You smiled at your reflection. James had picked the most fashionable clothing to put in your closet, and you simply loved having a reason to dress up in general. But it wasn’t even about you, in reality. You wanted James to see how much you appreciated everything he was doing, so you were going to make sure that you put all he gave you to use. It was all for James. You were going to spend every second doing as much as you could for him. He had saved you, after all. You couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened if James hadn’t arrived when he did. That was the worst argument that you and Robert had ever had.

You scolded yourself for thinking of Robert. You needed to focus on now, on the new life you were beginning. You couldn’t just shake it off, though. You still felt the need to be vigilant, to walk on egg shells. You sighed. You didn’t want to be in a bad mood today, of all days. James needed to see how much you appreciated and cared for him. You took a deep breath. Just focus on now, you told yourself, before taking one last look at your reflection.

When you entered the lobby, you were surprised to be greeted immediately by James’ maid, Miss Evers.

“Right this way, Ms. Y/L/N,” the woman smiled, gesturing with her arm for you to follow. She made her way up the stairs, you following behind curiously. It was as if she was escorting you somewhere. Your questions weren’t left unanswered for long, however, as you found your answer at the top of the stairs.

The entire bar was empty, which seemed odd compared to it’s usually bustling atmosphere. The dining area was decorated to the brim with white roses, all surrounding a table in which had plates full of fruit, pancakes, eggs, and many other breakfast foods. You gasped quietly at the extravagance as your eyes landed on James, who stood in front of it all, hands clasped together politely as he awaited you. He smiled at the sight of you.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted, walking over and offering an arm to you. You stared at him in disbelief for a moment, a wave of déjà vu coursing through you.

You remember you were so excited. Los Angeles was a gorgeous city in it’s own, and you felt so lucky to have been born in a city in which held so much opportunity. You were merely fourteen; barely old enough to even think for yourself, but you’d always been smart. Your mother had assured you of that since you were born, always putting your education above all else. She’d told you, “One day when all the distractions of young age are gone, you’ll realize why you need to be prepared.” You hadn’t understood why then, but the words had always stuck with you. It was one of the first times that she had trusted you on your own. Most of the time, she had always put her fear for your safety first, but on that day she had given in to your pleas.

She had let you walk to the garden of white roses, three blocks down, by yourself. When you thought about it now, you realized just how defining that moment of your life was, because what happened when you got to that garden had changed your life forever.

White roses had always been your favorite flower, ever since you had first passed that blooming Southern California garden at three years old. The owner was a tiny sweet elder lady, gracious and elegant as ever. She had owned the garden her entire life; it was her pride and joy. She’d always welcomed polite visitors, and if she caught you, she’d tell you all about the flowers, and how special they were. She said that they had brought to her all of the pleasantries that her life held; love, wealth, and even an eternal feeling of youth. That’s why she never picked or sold them, she said; “if you betray the rose, the rose no longer profits you.” Some people said that she was a witch; you just thought she was sweet, maybe a little kooky, but nice nonetheless. You had grown to look up to her.

When you had arrived at the rose garden on that day, however, you were greeted with a new presence foreign to you. The boy stood as still as a statue, his eyes raking over his surroundings. Based upon his height and physical appearance, you had assumed that he was about the same age as you. You watched him as he picked a rose from the bush, bringing it up to his nose to smell. You approached him quietly.

“If Mrs. Smith knew you picked one of her flowers, she’d claim treason,” you said, catching the boy’s attention. He looked at you in bewilderment.

“Where did you come from?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sneaky,” you said jokingly with a teasing smile. He blinked, his confusion still evident. “But seriously,” you continued, “you better hope she doesn’t see you. She doesn’t like people who disturb her flowers. In fact, she’d probably curse you.” At that, the boy smirked.

“Is she a witch?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Some people think so,” you replied, walking closer to him. “If you ask me, I think people should listen to her. She’s very intelligent.” You nudged his side, watching him to gouge his reaction. He raised his eyebrows, watching you carefully.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, for one, she’s ancient. That gives her some credits. For another, she grew this garden, and she’s experienced much more than most people. You should hear her stories.” You smiled as you plucked the rose from the boy’s hand and twirled it between your fingers, admiring it.

“She sounds fascinating.”

“She is.” After a moment of silence, you looked up at him, only to catch his eyes. You smiled shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“James March,” the boy said, offering his hand to you.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N,” you introduced yourself in return, smiling up at him.

There was another moment of silence, the both of you just staring at one another. James suddenly took the rose from you again. He pulled a knife from his pocket, your heart stuttering slightly at the sight of it. But James didn’t try to harm you, he simply chopped the stem of the rose off. His hand came up to your face as you smiled nervously at him.

“I think your wrong,” he said, tucking the rose in your hair behind your ear. He stepped back, smiling softly at you. “See? Sometimes even dying flowers can serve a beautiful purpose. It’s a sacrifice. Sacrifices aren’t evil.” You paused, a shy blush forming on your cheeks at his actions.

“I never thought of it that way,” you whispered, reaching up to tuck the rose more firmly behind your ear. You smiled at James, a weird feeling you’d never felt before settling upon you. His simple action and thoughtful words had made you excited in a way you’d never known. It had created a spark; a strong urge inside of you that was almost indescribable. And as you looked in his eyes, you wanted nothing more than to relive that feeling over and over again. You swore you’d never let him go.

Suddenly, you were looking at his face again, but this time much older.

“Darling, are you alright?” James asked, and you blinked quickly, your focus shifting present.

“Yes,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as you realized just how deep into the memory you had been. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright, dear,” he said, studying you. “Are you sure you feel pleasant? You were quite far gone, I called your name several times. Did you rest well?”

“Yes, of course,” you said quickly, reaching out to clasp his hand tightly as you smiled reassuringly. “I promise. You just surprised me, is all.” James nodded, seeming fairly convinced, before smiling and gesturing towards the table.

“Alright darling, well why don’t you sit and eat something. A proper meal should do just the trick.” You smiled and nodded back at him, moving to sit in your chair that he pulled out for you. Once you were situated, James moved to sit across from you at the other end of the table.

“I wasn’t sure what you enjoyed most, so I instructed Miss Evers to make several morning dishes,” he said, grinning at you. “I hope it’s suiting for you.”

“Of course,” you said, placing a few items on your plate. A few minutes passed as you ate, your mind drifting back to last night’s events in the silence.

“Are you happy, my love?” James suddenly asked, snapping you out of your thoughts once again.

“Yes,” you replied quickly, smiling at him sincerely, “yes of course!” You could tell from the look of concern still on James’ face that he wasn’t convinced. You sighed, deciding to just be honest with him. “I just... it’s difficult to process how my life just changed.” You paused, watching James closely for a reaction. He stared, waiting for you to elaborate, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I’ve been alone for so long, living a horrible, unhappy life. I’m happy now, with you, but I can’t just turn that feeling off, that feeling that this moment is fleeting. It-- it terrifies me...” You trailed off, your mind wondering as you stared at the roses around you. The roses that James decided to decorate your breakfast with. The roses that had ultimately brought you together in the first place. The roses that James kept bringing around for you. Your roses. You turned your attention back to James, your eyes meeting his.

“These flowers, why did you pick them?” you asked him seriously. A look of confusion clouded James’ expression.

“Well,” James started, “I suppose they have some semblance to us, darling... these were the very flowers--”

“Of course, I remember...” you trailed off, thinking of what to say next. “But really, there has to be more to it...” It came out as more of a question than a statement. You just didn’t understand why he was bringing up all of these memories.

“Of course, dear,” James said, sighing. He looked you in the eyes, and you could see the sincerity there. “I knew you wouldn’t recover in a day, a week, a month, even a year...” he paused, his eyes downcast at the tablecloth. “I just hoped that by reminding you of what we can be once again will help you settle. My only wish is to make you happy...” he paused again, his eyes shifting back up to meet yours. This time you were met with certainty. “I want to take us back to that time. To that garden. To when we flourished the most even if the rest of the world was, well...”

“Hell. The rest of the world was hell,” you finished for him, your eyes teary at his sweet sentiment. James, however, faltered slightly at your words. You paused, taking note of the way he cringed at the mention of hell, before you reached to grab his hand, squeezing it tightly, lovingly. “Thank you James.” Your voice held so much emotion, and at that, James stood before walking over to you and pulling you out of your chair and into his embrace.

“Darling,” James whispered into your hair. You hummed in response, burying your face into his chest, breathing in his manly scent. You clasped onto him tightly. “Whatever may happen, I promise I will never let you slip from my grasp ever again... you shall never be afraid again. I would give everything away just for your happiness. You inform me and I will have it done for you, whatever you may need.” It was a firm promise, and you knew he meant it. James didn’t make empty promises. Your chest felt as if it might explode with love and adoration for this man. He really did want to give you the world. He really was your heaven... your God.

-♥-

After you had finished breakfast, James had insisted that he take you on a tour of the Cortez, and you weren’t going to turn him down. It was his pride and joy, and regardless, it was the most gorgeous place you had ever stepped foot into. You were nearly finished, with only two more floors to explore, when James started acting strange.

“James, what’s wrong?” you asked, placing your hand on his arm. He grimaced before looking at you nervously.

“Well, you see...” he trailed off for a moment, his voice hesitant. You began to get concerned. “These floors are still under slight renovation...” You giggled at his words.

“James,” you said sweetly, “it’s okay, I’m not afraid of a little dirt.”

“Well, no, that’s-”

“I’m serious,” you interrupted, giggling once again. The elevator dinged as you reached your destination. You smiled before taking his hand and leading him out. He sighed, still looking standoffish.

James had been telling the truth; there was a particular section of the hallway in which there was a wall being built, but it was small. You didn’t understand what he was so nervous about.

Suddenly, a loud shout rang out through the hallway, causing both you and James to flinch in surprise. There was a sound of commotion and James quickly walked towards the scene; you following closely behind him.

“What’s the issue?” James demanded someone standing at the back of the gathering crowd of men. There was a sound of someone groaning in pain. You stood at a distance away, more interested in the small white rose twirling between your fingers.

“One of the construction workers collapsed, sir,” the man informed him. At this point you’d lost interest, zoning in on the pretty rose in your hands. James barked a few orders at the men, but you weren’t really paying attention.

You looked up as James returned to you.

“I apologize for the interruption,” James said, obviously irritated.

“What’s the problem?” you asked, confused.

He paused, looking at you softly, “I thought that may have worried you.”

“Men get hurt all the time,” you said passively.

“Of course...” James trailed off, looking slightly confused, which made you confused. What did you do? Were you supposed to be worried? You brushed it off, smiling at him expectantly.

“Ready to continue with the tour?” you asked him, turning your back on him. You began walking back down the hall, glancing behind to see James following you. You rounded the corner, only to run into someone unexpectedly.

You stumbled backwards, nearly tripping. Luckily James stabled you before you hit the ground. You looked up, your eyes landing on a beautiful blonde woman. You paused, studying her, before a realization dawned upon you. You’d seen this woman before.

You remember her distinctly, for she was the person who had ultimately made you lose all hope. James’ wife, Elizabeth. You’d seen her all that time ago when you had first tried to escape your husband. She’s the woman that had made you believe James didn’t love you anymore.

When James had come back for you, you’d assumed that his relationship with her had failed. So why was she here?

“Why, hello,” the woman said, glancing between you and James, a weird grin on her face. She looked at James. “And who might this lovely lady be?”

You turned to look at James, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. James’ jaw was clenched as he stared at Elizabeth, and right there and then you knew he didn’t like her.

“It’s okay, James,” she purred, her smirk never leaving. “I’m not offended. We both knew it was never going to work.” She turned to you. “You must be Y/N. I’m Countess Elizabeth.” She offered a hand to you, and you took it gracefully. James was disturbingly quiet beside you. You decided to take the ropes.

“Yes, that’s correct,” you replied smoothly.

“What’s all the commotion down the hall?” Elizabeth asked curiously. You could tell that she had some kind of ulterior motive, otherwise she would have moved on.

“Nothing important,” you replied nonchalantly. It was the truth. You didn’t feel the need to be competitive with this woman anymore; you knew who James stood by, and you trusted him. You turned to him, intertwining your arms together. “James here was just giving me a tour. I hope you don’t mind?” You smiled politely at Elizabeth. She paused, her expression one of slight surprise. It seemed to be a strange look on her.

“Of course not,” she said through tight lips. “You two have fun.” You smiled at her kindly once more, before you and James continued on, arm in arm.

Once in private in the elevator, James turned to you.

“I have to say,” James said, smiling at you, “you handled that well. You do know that Elizabeth was... shall I say, challenging you?”

“I know,” you said, smiling at him reassuringly. “But that’s the thing: she was the one challenging me. Obviously she thought she had something to fight for. I know what’s mine.” James expression morphed into one of surprise, and then pride.

“Of course you do, dear,” he said, smiling down at you. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. The kiss was loving and at the same time slightly rough. You loved how James could make you feel like this; so powerful. After a heated moment, he pulled away.

“Darling, despite your present confidence in the matter,” he began, “I’d like you to know that regardless of Elizabeth and I’s history, she will never compare to your glamour. You truly are a revelation like no other.”

You smiled once more at his words, thinking back to that day in the garden once more, and to your mother’s words. The feeling you had now was a reflection of the feeling you had then. He’d always made you feel so incredibly self-assured. You felt like no matter what happened to you and James, nothing could break you at this point and time. And your mother had been right: gaining the knowledge was important.

Now that you’d ate the fruit of the garden and survived hell, what could possibly stop you?

You felt invincible, so long as he was by your side. You no longer feared the past or the future; you were completely centered present, all cycles broken. And it had took James less than a day to make you feel this way. Your excitement soared as you thought about your future with James. You knew that so long as you had him, you were unstoppable together. You were gods.

You didn’t need the garden, after all. Paradise lost stood no match to you, because with James, you could survive anything.

---

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

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sunshinereversed · 4 years

Text

𝙙𝙮𝙡𝙖𝙣’𝙨 “𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡”: 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙨

I think it’s eerily prophetic how the song “Flowers on the Wall” (performed by the Statler Brothers) radiates so strongly with Dylan Klebold. The country tune has already been associated with Dylan because it appears in the background of the video where he and Nate are driving to school. But if you really listen to the lyrics and reflect on Dylan’s inner struggles, they coincide strangely well.

Let’s take the very first line of the song.

I keep hearin' you're concerned about my happiness.

The constant ‘Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay? You seem so down lately’ from his parents, especially Sue, is reflected here. His mother sees that Dylan is ‘moody and irritable,’ often withdrawn, spending time hauled up in his room. She notices the tightness of his voice, which is unlike him, and she offers to make him French toast or an omelet. This must be about something small, she thinks. Yet his sullen demeanor stays as days turn to weeks, and she must ask again in vain, ‘Are you okay?’

But all that thought you're givin' me is conscience, I guess.

It doesn’t even cross Sue’s mind that her son may be unwell. She is simply asking out of concern for him looking unhappy, believing whatever it is will solve itself out. His mother wears her heart on her sleeve, and it pains her to see him so sad. But what can she do if he refuses to talk about it? All she can do is ask and wait for it to pass. He’s a good kid, after all. He’ll do the right thing because she’s worked hard to instill her morals into what he does.

If I were walkin' in your shoes, I wouldn't worry none.

Dylan reassures her repeatedly. ‘I’m only tired. I have a lot of homework. Nothing’s wrong. No one gives me a tough time, I’m 6’4”.’ He wishes she would leave him alone. He thinks she wouldn’t understand; she wouldn’t listen. He tells his parents not to worry. ‘You can trust me,’ he tells his mother one evening after the prom. Dylan goes out of his way to prove that he is the golden child. It works, and they worry none.

While you 'n' your friends are worried about me I'm havin' lots of fun.

Dylan’s social life serves as a mask for what is going on in his mind. He goes over to his friends’ houses, bowls on Friday nights, makes videos after school, plays catch with his dad, and even watches old movies with his mother. He has pictures of good times with friends. Outwardly, he is smiling; life is a dream. This makes his parents rethink their concerns. He’s a happy kid who does normal teenage things. What is there to worry about? He’s assuring those around him that he’s fine.

Now here comes the chorus, which is a bit tricky but makes sense when you consider these things:

Countin' flowers on the wall.

If anyone is familiar with the book The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, this might be a clue. Like the protagonist in the book, Dylan is trapped in his four-walled cell (his bedroom) which is where he does most of his thinking and spiraling downwards. This is where he writes in his journal and vents his frustrations. It’s a toxic environment for his brain. His room is where he cries himself to sleep; hugs his pillow in loneliness; gets drunk by himself. Most importantly, it’s where he blurs fantasy and reality. While not as plainly mad as the poor woman from Gilman’s novel, Dylan is mentally tortured by what he perceives to be ‘an unfair/miserable existence’ and being ‘stuck in humanity.’ He rejects both, and often retreats into his fantasy where he is with his love and away from the world. The ‘flowers on the wall’ symbolizes his own deception of life when he is alone, and might not only symbolize his bedroom, but also his brain.

That don't bother me at all.

Unlike the real world, Dylan very much prefers to live in the fictional one he’s conjured within his mind. It’s his safe place. Paradoxically, his mind is also where he tears himself down and others around him. It’s a poisonous escape. Yet he is already so far gone in that escape, he can’t see the damage he is doing to himself. And he continues to do so, unbothered, and unaware.

Playin' solitaire till dawn with a deck of fifty-one.

‘Playing solitaire’ could be a metaphor symbolizing his isolation and loneliness, his solitude. Solitaire is a single-player game, and Dylan feels alienated most of the time, especially when he is sulking in his room. Thinking, always thinking. Sometimes, as the line implies, until dawn. He is a night owl who cannot sleep because his mind is constantly awake. Playing music, conversing in chats on the computer, formulating poems in his notebooks, doodling, or just thinking (negatively). He oversleeps often because he is up late doing these things. He is alone, in the middle of the night, consumed by his own sadness. Something is missing inside him, and that is why he plays with ‘a deck of fifty-one.’ He thinks a significant other is the thing that is missing, and if he finds her, he will finally be playing with fifty-two cards, figuratively.

Smokin' cigarettes and watchin' Captain Kangaroo.

For Dylan, this is a dichotomy. An everlasting contrast. The balance between two things, lightness, and darkness, good and evil, etc. He’s doing grown-up things like holding a job, applying to colleges, driving a car, and as the lyrics say, smoking cigarettes. Marlboro, preferably. At the same time, Dylan is caught between acting his age and longing for simpler days. This is where ‘watching Captain Kangaroo’ comes in. It’s a kid’s show and is intended for such an audience. Dylan thinks back with nostalgia for his childhood, when life wasn’t full of disappointments, stress, high school bullies, responsibility. He hangs onto items that remind him of his youth: his stuffed koala, origami, classic movies, his trademark baseball cap, his love for fixing old cars with his dad. Dylan is stuck somewhere in the middle of the two, never truly satisfied with one over the other.

Now don't tell me I've nothin' to do.

Again, Dylan tells those around him that he is perfectly fine by engaging in normal teenage things. He hides how depressed he feels. Dylan becomes increasingly irritated the more people ask if he’s okay. The repetition of this line throughout the song is more like a cry for help than a reassurance.

Last night I dressed in tails, pretended I was on the town.

This could symbolize several things, but what comes to my mind is Dylan’s prom night. The fact that he even goes to prom is a pleasant surprise to his parents, confirming that there’s nothing abnormal lurking on the horizon. His father helps him get dressed in his tuxedo, struggles to figure out how the bow tie works, and he pulls his newly washed hair back into a neat ponytail. His mother thinks he looks quite handsome, comparing him to a character in a movie they are both fond of. For a moment, he is just a normal high school kid going to a dance. Nothing out of the boring ordinary.

As long as I can dream it's hard to slow this swinger down.

For one night, at the prom, Dylan pretends this is his life. He is good at blocking out what he considers evil, and Dylan allows himself to enjoy the moment. He’s had a lot of practice at ignoring his pain. If he can retreat into the fantasy he’s created in his mind, he is capable of anything, good or bad. It’s like an out-of-body experience. He’s not there when he’s there. Nothing can stop him. He has two settings at this point, 0 and 100. An unhealthy dreamer can be deadly not only to others, but to the dreamer himself.

So please don't give a thought to me, I'm really doin' fine.

As mentioned previously, Dylan flies under the radar to not be asked about his well-being. He holds out his arms to point to all these social activities he’s engaging in with his friends as if to say ‘Look what I’m doing. I’m fine. Do not worry.’ It’s a cruel deception, and he doesn’t even realize he is being deceived as much as those around him are. Dylan starts to believe what he’s telling others. He doesn’t think he is worth the worry.

You can always find me here; I'm havin' quite a time.

‘Here’ can mean one of several places: his bedroom, his mind, or perhaps his existence. Either way, ‘I’m having quite a time’ is a sarcastic remark. He’s drowning in his harmful thoughts, yet that’s where he feels the safest. It’s his protective shell that he puts up against the world. Dylan entertains the idea over and over in his mind that his love is waiting for him in another existence. No matter where he physically is, he’s ‘always there’, lost in his thoughts.

The chorus repeats. Dylan outwardly seems okay. Left to his own devices, he is not.

It's good to see you, I must go, I know I look a fright.

This is a goodbye. Even though it is a casual farewell, it has deeply painful undertones. He says he didn’t like life too much but hopes he will find peace in the next one. He offers a final goodbye to those he loved, family and friends. ‘It’s good to see you’ displays how detached he feels toward the end. These are no longer people he knows fondly; it was simply good to see them. The thoughts must end, and he must leave before they worsen. Like the lyrics suggest, he doesn’t want to stick around and knows he must go. A big part of his self-esteem had to do with his self-image. The line ‘I know I look a fright’ symbolizes how negatively he thought of his own appearance. Dylan couldn’t see his own attractiveness. He felt awkward due to his height, long facial features, shaggy hair, and the way he dressed.

Anyway, my eyes are not accustomed to this light.

This is the trademark dark sunglasses that Dylan wears almost everywhere. He hides behind them, shielding his tears from the world. The light comes from the sun, and he cannot withstand the same light that others can, a nod to him feeling isolated from humanity. Though he is called the ‘sunshine boy,’ his eyes are not meant for its light. So, he dawns the shades to (metaphorically) keep it out.

And my shoes are not accustomed to this hard concrete.

Unlike the sneakers worn by the jocks at his high school, Dylan sports black combat boots. They are unusual among the other students, but Dylan feels comfortable in them. Again, he separates himself from the rest of humanity. He is not meant for it. He knows he must go somewhere he feels free.

So I must go back to my room and make my day complete.

By the end of the song, it becomes clear that Dylan now lives inside the world he’s created in his mind. It almost becomes odd for him not to retreat there at least once a day if not all the time. But like the final lyrics, he goes to stay there forever and never to return.

The final repetition of the chorus only emphasizes the truth. He was not ‘doing fine’, despite all the work of convincing others the opposite.

The last line loops again before the song ends. The upbeat and happy tune only makes the message more haunting.

Don't tell me I've nothin' to do.

And no one did.

#analysis #flowers on the wall #dylan klebold #american tragedy

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ezrasarm · 4 years

Text

Come Back To Me In Waking Dream

[ Day 5 | Angstaggedon Masterlist ]

Pairing: Ezra x Reader

Word count: 2.4K

Summary: Torn apart by the forces of the universe, Ezra becomes a ghost of himself.

Warnings: ANGST, hints at depressive episodes and thoughts of death, more angst. This is not an uplifting story.

Credits: A huuuuuge thank you to @din-damn-djarin and @chaotic-noceur for beta reading and letting me use them as a human squash court for me to bounce my ideas off of! The title is inspired by a piece of poetry written by David Keenan that preludes his song “Full Stop” and I thought it fit just right.

A/N: Not to toot my own horn or anything but... I hope y’all brought tissues.

As with any line of work, the longer you’re in it, the smaller the world- or in this case, the universe- seems to become. You and Ezra had made a number of first encounters through your years working the aurelac business. It wasn’t glamorous by any means, no matter what the precious gem associated with it might suggest. The work was rough and often fruitless. But, on those rare occasions that you managed to find a sizeable deposit in those tangles of rhizomatic roots- provided you had the skill to extract them, one, without killing yourself, and two, without damaging the delicate bounty in the process- you could make quite the pretty penny off of it. And you could make it fast. It was part of what made the industry so cutthroat in the first place. It was also entirely the reason that making lasting relationships, business or otherwise, was nearly impossible for you.

Both Ezra and yourself had gotten into prospecting and harvesting aurelac even before the rush. It seemed like your timelines were interlinked. You couldn’t stop running into one another if you tried. You could recall quite vividly the first time you saw him. His rich smooth voice and exuberant charm were not things that detracted attention from him. So he was hard to miss in the small, dingy convenience store on the freighter back from the Bakhroma system. When you finally acquaintanced yourselves with one another quite sometime later, he insisted he had seen you around here and there long before that. You argued that he must have been mistaken because you couldn’t possibly have failed to notice him and that peculiar blonde patch in his hair. And that even if you did, you would have heard him coming even sooner. “That,” he said, “is not necessarily true.” But none the less you managed to crack him up. He’s had a soft spot for you ever since.

You had gotten to know each other pretty well through the many drinks you shared when you found yourselves on the same planet and the odd job you would work together in between. You now knew him well enough that if you were feeling bold you might venture to call him a friend. Perhaps even admit that at times you thought you could be a little more than that. Although you would never have the nerve to say it to his face.

Then he disappeared. One moment he was on The Pug scanning the boards, the next he was gone. Funnily enough, the job he managed to scrounge up was one you had been eyeing yourself. You got pulled away on a contract with an old client of yours to do some appraisals and he set off for this prospecting mission of his. He said it would take a week tops and that he had something he wanted to tell you when he got back. Then you never saw him again.

You see, Ezra had just been working up the courage to tell you how he felt. He swore the next time he saw you would be the day he told you he loved you. That you were the star of his dreams when he slept and the object of his reveries when he woke. That practically every moment of every day he spent away from you he was thinking about where you were or what you were up to. None of this stopped when his pod crash-landed on Bakhroma Green.

He just needed one more job to save up to take you out on Kamrea, your temporary home when you could afford to live there. He had this grand plan to woo you with a nice meal and a necklace made from a small aurelac crystal he had harvested on one of the first jobs you had worked together. He knew how hard you pushed yourself. You never gave yourself a break. He thought it would be nice to treat you to more than just a drink in a bar for once.

It was supposed to be a simple job. Prospect potential dig sites, maybe even harvest a little while he was at it, then get the hell out of there. But none of that happened. Instead, he got stranded on that godforsaken rock. It was years before anyone came to his rescue. He lost his arm somewhere along the way. A rogue thrower shot from a skittish young sater. He was normally quite conscious of staying out of their territory but with the seasons changing, foraging for food brought him out of his comfort zone. The resulting infection cost him his dominant hand.

But his physical injury was hardly the worst of his ailments on his extended visit to the Bakhroma moon. He was quite positive he was going insane hauled up in the damaged drop pod that only served as a reminder he wouldn’t be leaving the forest moon any time soon. As he quickly came to find, he and prolonged periods of time without human contact were not a good combination. While saters and other prospectors may have passed through every now and again, he often had enough trouble bargaining with them for his life, let alone a ride off the dumb rock. They never stuck around long and they certainly weren’t talkative. His mental health took a nosedive quite early on. He took to talking to himself, writing to keep his mind busy. At his worst, he could recall experiencing fits of hysteria and even hallucinations. He had the delirious diary entries to prove it.

It was around the time he lost his arm that he began to lose hope too. The longer he was stranded there, the more doubt that there would be any way out at all began to creep into his mind. There were some nights where the thought of seeing you again, brushing that rebellious strand of hair out of your face and pulling you into a long-awaited kiss, was the only thing that kept him going. He could still see your face. The upward quirk to your lip and the light graze of your hand against his as you passed him by in the hall on his way out. You were in some big rush as you always were. You assured him you would see him later. All he could think of was how wrong that assumption was now. He never could have imagined that would be the last time he saw you. And now here he was projecting phantom memories on the blank ceiling of the pod, cursing himself for not telling you what he should have the moment he knew. He refused to let himself die without letting you know how he felt. Maybe he would be able to rest easier if you knew.

For the first couple cycles you worried yourself sick. The risk associated with your field of work was not lost on you. He wouldn’t just leave you like that- he couldn’t. You wouldn’t let him. But years had passed. It soon came time for you to confront the acceptance of one of two realities: either he was dead, or he had abandoned you. The thought confused you. He wasn’t yours to be abandoned by and yet the resentment that came with it stung you just the same. You couldn’t tell which hurt you more but you knew you couldn’t sit around waiting for a dead man. And if he was alive, you refused to spend another second pining over a man who would up and leave you without so much as a goodbye. So you swallowed your yearning, the nag in your heart that clung to the hope he would still come back for you, and you moved on.

When Ezra got off the Green he hardly recognized himself anymore. His hair had grown shaggy despite his attempts to keep it under control, there were patches of grey in his dishevelled beard, his face had thinned, and those were just the physical changes. It was one of the last sling-backs before they killed the Central-BG line for good. A Kaslo Porting team, dropped to scavenge for old scraps and parts they could mark up and sell second hand, stumbled upon his pod. He was deathly frail when they found him. With his food supply having long since been depleted he had almost poisoned himself by mistaking a species of berry for its edible cousin in his desperation. If they hadn’t found him sooner, the doctors on board the freighter couldn’t see how he would have survived. He wound up hospitalized for weeks.

After all that time with just one thought on his mind, he knew he had to find you. Upon being discharged he searched high and low for you. He felt foolish checking all your old haunts. It had been so long. But he didn’t know where else to begin. He checked with mutual friends and old employers. They all seemed too surprised by being in the presence of a ghost to give him a straight answer.

He went to just about every place he could think of, asking your name as though it carried the same weight to everyone else as it did to him. He was sure he had searched every last corner of the galaxy. When he kept coming up empty he began to doubt whether you yourself were alive. It seemed like he was the only who knew who you were. It was like you didn’t exist. It was like you never had existed. He went so far as to question if he had made you up. If you were merely some fucked up defence mechanism manufactured by his brain to keep him hopeful. To keep him from giving up so long ago as he had been tempted to do. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop looking. That would be admitting something to himself that he would never be ready to. His head would perk up if through the chatter of crowded spaces he would hear a laugh similar to your own carry across the room. He would lose his place in conversations when he would see a flash of hair not unlike your own out of his peripheral vision.

Then one day he found himself back on The Pug, scanning the boards the exact same way he had been the first time he laid eyes on you. He wasn’t actively looking for you. No more than he always was. But sure enough there you were. Your arms crossed over your chest and your gaze tilted upward to read the job postings that flashed by not unlike flight numbers in an airport. You had matured a little. You wore your hair differently now. Shorter than he remembered but he liked it just the same. Your posture had changed too. You looked calmer, more confident and at ease as you watched the boards. Not tense and nervous as you used to be when you lived paycheck to paycheck, desperate for every opportunity you could leap at. Life had treated you well, he remarked to himself. As it should have. You looked just as beautiful as you were in that faded photograph of the two of you he carried everywhere with him. The same one he studied every night as he tried to fall asleep on those lonely nights on the Green.

He felt his heart leap in his chest when you turned in his direction, a graceful smile across your face and your arms outstretched. He felt the adrenaline kick in, like a jolt of electricity through his entire body. He realized then that he hadn’t moved since he had laid eyes on you, too startled by the long anticipated discovery to function. A hysterical grin had stretched across his face. He couldn’t believe he had finally found you. That you were there standing right in front of him after all he had been through trying to get back to you. He was just about to step towards you. To shout your name, take you in his arms and do what he should’ve done long before. That’s when a young tike, hardly three years old came darting past him, tripping over her own feet as she bumbled towards you at top speed.

Then it dawned on him. That smile? Those open arms? They weren’t for him.

You crouched and swept the child up in your arms, peppering her face with kisses as she giggled back at you. It was now that he could see the resemblance. The twinkle in the young girl’s eye and the way she threw her head back when she laughed were not foreign to him. A man he didn’t recognize came trotting after her, scooping her up from your embrace before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips.

It finally occurred to him why no one had recognized your name.

You looked happy. The smile on your face made his heart swell as he watched you from a distance. He only wished that he was the cause of it. The realization struck him that he could never be that for you. A husband. A father to your child. Even if he wanted to, years of breathing in toxic particles does things to a man. Now he was too late anyway. He had never wished so strongly that he hadn’t taken that job, that he hadn’t boarded that pod and set off to Bakhroma Green. Tears stung his eyes as he choked back the confession welling in the back of his throat. He couldn’t do that to you now. You deserved better than the trauma of a phantom walking back into your life after all this time. And stood there, every semblance of hope he had harboured since your fingertips slid off his own in that hallway shattered around his feet, he considered something. He should’ve let himself die on that rock. It would have been a more merciful death than the one he had just experienced as he watched the very dream that kept him alive all that time fall apart in front of him.

[ Angstageddon Masterlist | Ezra’s Arm Masterlist ]

-- Angstageddon Taglist

@chaoticspaceidiot @engineeredfiction @pedropascalito @dreamgirl-67 @hillarymurray4 @wille-zarr @oloreaa @this-cat-is-dea @marydjarin @roxypeanut @cryptkeepersoul @agirllovespasta @wickedfrsgrl @dindisneydjarin @opheliaelysia @aeryntheofficial @adikaofmandalore @goldafterglow @yespolkadotkitty @chibi-liz05 @scarlettvonsass @rpcvliz @cinewhore @basura2319 @theravenreads @mxndoscyarika @jaime1110 @f0rever15elf @pancakepike @phoenixhalliwell @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @synystersilenceinblacknwhite

#ezra #ezra x reader #ezra (prospect)#ezra (prospect) x reader #prospect 2018 #prospect #angstageddon #angst week

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 5 years

Text

Anniversaire (Klaus x Reader)

Anniversaire (noun; French) /a.ni.vɛʁ.sɛʁ/

Someone’s date of birth. (ex: Happy birthday!)

A date that celebrates a meaningful event. (ex: It was their tenth anniversary.)

Synopsis: Post TUA No Apocalypse!AU in which Y/N is Klaus’ childhood best friend. Even when he lived far away from the Academy, he always took time out of his doubtlessly busy schedule to celebrate her birthday. It’s their tradition.

Word count: 11,3k (May I suggest you settle somewhere comfortable?)

A/N: As always, there’s some slight physical description for the third person reader, because it was written with an OC in mind. Either ignore or enjoy.

MASTERLIST

“My birthday party,” she grumbled and reaffirmed her grip on his arm. “Birthday, my ass! This rather looks like your party,” she accused a very much inebriated Klaus slouched against her.

She wasn't frail but Klaus was tall and not exactly a lightweight either. The walk was a slow and tedious one for (Y/N), who had to drag along her friend's heavy, useless carcass out the back door of a clandestine underground club. Trust Klaus to know the existence of this place.

Klaus' half conscious mind tried to force his feet to move and help (Y/N) in her endeavor, but they weren't very synchronized, if at all, with her steps. He mumbled something against her shoulder and (Y/N) acknowledged him with a hum but did not answer. What was there to answer to an incoherent mumble anyway?

He could feel the alcohol course in his veins and still felt hot all over from the stifling, humid air of the club where he had dragged his best friend for her birthday. After twenty-two years of knowing each other, he was starting to run short of ideas. It was easier making shenanigans when they were kids, they could get away with a lot more than now. Hell, he was lucky (Y/N) was always up for whatever foolish, crazy plans he came up with; she never shot him down for being too childish or silly.

He suspected she sometimes only agreed to make him happy; Klaus didn't have a lot of people in his life who put his happiness before their own, especially on their birthday. His (Y/N) was something else.

(Y/N) wasn't really into big celebrations but they usually did something with just the two of them. Stuffed their faces with Agnes' donuts, booby-trapped Diego's entire bedroom, tried to sneak into the sacra-saint office of his now dead father, or – now that they were adults - just sat at a bar and pretended nothing else existed for one evening. Not his powers, not other people around them, not all of this constant noise.

They had met in rather unusual circumstances as children, and were quite inseparable since then. Klaus, of course, did not stay at the mansion much longer than he needed to, especially not with his abusive father looming over his shoulder all the time. (Y/N) did not enjoy watching him turn to drugs to drown out the white noise and to escape his reality, nor did she like hearing he had skipped town from one day to the next.

She would have liked a goodbye.

But he always came back and that's all that mattered. Of course there were the occasional surprise visits whenever he was close-by and felt like saying hell, but more importantly, he came back for a very specific occasion. For her birthday, every year for the last ten years, he had shown up at her doorstep bright and early, somewhat sober, and told her to get ready, chop-chop, because he had planned the whole day for them. It usually turned into a long week-end - whether or not her birthday was on a week day did not matter at all to him - and (Y/N) learned to take sick leave for a couple days after the first two years.

How long would it take for her boss to figure out that she was “sick” every year at the same date? Time will tell.

This year's celebrating wasn't particularly inspired as he had only meant to bring her to a club and dance the night away. At the beginning, she had indulged him, because his father's death anniversary – and the family reunion that goes with it - had taken place only a week before and he had struggled to push through without turning back to drugs, so his mind must have been elsewhere. However, (Y/N) could not keep up with his drinking, and she soon realized she might have to be the one who stuck to water in order to make sure the other one would go home safely.

There was no doubt in her mind that Klaus had been in worse predicaments than simply being drunk at a club and unable to go home – she knew for a fact that he had slept in back alleys before and wasn't afraid to do it again. During Sir Reginald Hargreeves' lifetime, any place was better than the damn academy. Then again, (Y/N) wasn't as adventurous as Klaus, and a soft mattress was a must to end the night.

When she reached the corner of the street, (Y/N) was sweaty and felt damp all over. They both smelled like the bottom of a tequila bottle, but she hoped someone would still let them climb into their car. She hailed a cab, with Klaus still leaning on her like the passed out idiot he was, and the man in the driver's seat shot them a nasty look, but she smiled kindly and he reluctantly nodded.

Thank the fuck. She wouldn't have been able to haul his ass all the way back to the academy and she did not want to try sleeping in a trashcan. The ride was silent except for Klaus' barely audible mumbling in her ear and snuggling against her like she was his favorite pillow.

“Happy 28th birthday to me,” she grumbled and rolled her eyes when he began to snore loudly, his hair tickling her cheek.

Ben sat riding shotgun, smiling to himself while he watched them in the rear view mirror. She couldn't see or hear him, though she was aware of him following Klaus around pretty much all the time.

“Happy birthday (Y/N),” he said, and disappeared. He wasn't needed tonight, Klaus was taken care of.

Why was that house so damn big? There had only been the ten of them who lived here, so what were all 42 bedrooms for? Why did she have to drag Klaus' limp body through an unnecessarily big house? And why on earth was his room all the way to the back? He was just lucky she could navigate through the many corridors and didn't get lost thrice before finally seeing the door to his bedroom.

“You are so damn heavy, you know that?” she asked him, if only to make conversation for herself.

Unexpectedly, he answered, “Hey! I can hear you! 'm not fat.”

“Must be the weight of your idiocy then.” She shook her head and kicked open the door, nearly losing balance and falling over, Klaus and all. She could have blamed it on her short stature, but elected to blame Klaus' tall figure instead. “And for heaven's sake stop leaning on me you jerk, or I'll drop you right there.”

He did somewhat relieve her of some of his weight but she was still navigating them both through the mess on his floor. Why did he have to live in this garbage?

“I don't feel so well,” he admitted, his head hanging on her shoulder.

“That's what you get for charming almost everyone in this club into buying you a drink,” she huffed with a laugh.

She couldn't remember how the topic first came up but she bet Klaus that he wouldn't be able to seduce a really hot girl into paying for his drink. He wasn't one to back out of a challenge, especially if a free drink was on the line, and he did get the drink, much to (Y/N)'s bafflement. He didn't stop there though, and serial-flirted with every single soul who dared come near him until he was too drunk to even dance anymore.

So this was really all his fault if you thought about it, because (Y/N) only challenged him to win one free drink, not ten.

“But I feel really awful,” he insisted, nudging her a little to make her pay attention.

“I bet you do. Also, eww, your breath smell like death, man!” She scrunched up her nose and waved her hand before her face to dissipate the smell. “We can't put you to bed like this. Bathroom first.”

“Why is the room moving?” Klaus slurred out the question just when (Y/N) opened the door to the bathroom across from his room.

Hadn't she carried him around for a lifetime already? That was that for her weekly exercise, no need to go to the gym this Tuesday. The bathroom was cold and dark. She was always taken aback by how uninviting this manor was. It was so richly ornate, so vast and in-your-face that one would think the rooms where at least heated correctly. But a shiver ran down her spine when she took the last few steps towards the single chair sitting next to the tub.

(Y/N) dropped Klaus on it, then she stretched her back with a delighted groan when her joints cracked a little. Ah yes, she could finally stand upright. When she lifted her arms to stretch, she realized that she didn't smell like roses either, but this was due to carrying Klaus around, she was sweating now.

A quick shower would do her good once she had taken care of her sleepy best friend. He was very pale in the face and rocking between sleepiness and exhilaration. Kneeling down, (Y/N) placed her hands on Klaus' knees and shook him a little to gain his attention. She did not expect what she got instead.

Klaus toppled over and before she could process what he was doing, she felt a distinguishable warm, sticky substance spill on her thighs.

“Fuck! Klaus!” she shrieked, forgetting about anyone else being in a nearby room, asleep. “What the hell?!”

After all she had done for him tonight, he just barfed on her jeans? And the stench... She was going to be sick too. She quickly grabbed a towel and wiped most of it off before discarding said towel. They had enough bathrooms anyway, one missing towel wouldn't be the end of them.

“'orry, s'rry,” Klaus was muttering, barely audible over the sound of (Y/N) fuming and cursing tequila.

She wiped him clean as best she could; her jeans would have to wait until she was done with him, even though it disgusted her. The stench was plain unbearable. Klaus regained some colors, which was the only plus side to this debacle.

“We'll see how sorry you are tomorrow morning,” she snapped, throwing a towel to his face – albeit a clean one, she wasn't like that. “I wish you a hangover!”

“You don't mean it,” he laughed a silly kind of laugh. His upper body was slowly leaning towards the left until (Y/N) stopped him from falling over and sat him upright again.

“C'mon now,” she sighed and took the towel from his hands. “Let's get you cleaned up and call it a day. You know, we're getting too old to party like that. I don't know how you keep up with this lifestyle.”

“I don't,” he blurted out, staring straight at her, sounding more sober than she had ever heard him. “But tonight's your birthday,” he added quickly, breaking into a sloppy grin again, making (Y/N) wonder if she was staring to mishear things because of how exhausted she was.

“Yesterday, actually. It's well past three in the morning.” He seemed to have fallen back into a half slumber, so she added, “Clothes off now!”

He didn't need more convincing than that and allowed her to remove his jacket and shoes, tossing them in a corner. Then she handed him a glass of water to rinse his mouth. This required a little effort from him and he swallowed some wrong and ended up coughing for a solid minute.

“Nearly there, now be a dear and use this mouthwash, because you reek or liquor and puke,” (Y/N) said teasingly, though Klaus was too far gone to notice her playful tone.

He obeyed and when she was satisfied he wasn't too smelly anymore, she nodded to herself.

“Shirt off,” she ordered, holding out her hand. The task was a tedious one but Klaus finally handed the sweaty shirt over and she tossed in the same corner as the rest of his clothes. “Now the pants, and then I'll let you sleep.”

Part of her was glad he was too fucked up to see the blush on her face when she said that. It really shouldn't be there, they had been friends forever and there was nothing she hadn't seen already. But removing lace-up leather pants was an entirely different ordeal than taking off a t-shirt, and Klaus groaned in protest.

“Don't be a baby, Klaus! I wanna go to bed too!” He wouldn't do as she said, so she made him stand up. “I can't believe I'm doing this!” she grumbled to herself, counting on the fact that Klaus wouldn't remember anything that happened tonight once morning came round.

Otherwise, God forbids she ever did what she was doing right now. Her hands fumbled awkwardly with the front laces of his pants and she had to admit it was quite the task. No wonder Klaus didn't want to do it, even she struggled to open them.

“Mmmhm,” Klaus let out a sort of giggle, sort of sigh. “What are you doing, (Y/N)?” His voice shouldn't have been so deep, it made what he said sound sexual.

What was she doing, indeed? Fuck that! He would just have to sleep in his dumb leather pants! She gave up on the task and left his pants half open at the front, raising both hands in the air as a sign of defeat.

“Nothing!” she told him, running a hand through her hair. “Let's get you to bed.”

The short distance between the bathroom and his bed was much more easily covered than their walk here. Klaus fell heavily on the bed, face first, and crashed into his swarm of pillows. Would he be able to breathe like this? (Y/N) briefly wondered. Well, he survived up to his thirtieth birthday without her checking if he wouldn't stifle in his sleep. She shrugged and returned to the bathroom to take a rapid shower. She had deserved it.

Once clean and smelling like Klaus' coconut soap, she hopped out and dried herself. No way she was going to slip into her disgusting clothes again! Her jeans were done for, she would have to burn them. She put her underwear back on and made her way to Klaus' room wrapped in a towel, then she searched through a drawer until she found a shirt that looked clean. This would do.

And finally, blissfully, (Y/N) went to bed too. She pushed Klaus over to make room, and slipped under the covers, passing out almost instantly.

Klaus was the first to wake up, and he was extremely confused by everything he saw. First of all, he tried to remember what happened last night. It was (Y/N)'s birthday, so they went out, obviously, but where? How long? What did they do? Oh God, what did they do?

When he startled awake, he first thought he was cuddling his bolster, but it moved and pillows usually don't move. His eyes opened, and he realized his arm was wrapped around (Y/N)'s middle, pressing her back up to his chest, and their legs were sort of tangled. Immediately removing himself from her, as though he had burned himself, Klaus's eyes widened in shock. What the hell was this? What happened? He had clearly spent the night nuzzling (Y/N), why didn't she just push him off the bed?

Having been in this sort of situation before, Klaus' first reflex was to lift the duvet and check what he was wearing. A sigh of profound relief fell from his lips when he saw his pants were still on. But- wait. The front laces were... undone? And (Y/N)'s pants were gone altogether!

His brain slowly powered up while he blinked away the remaining traces of sleepiness. If he based his reasoning on his current position, last night must have seriously gone off the rails. How drunk had he been? Surely he had known worse, because he wasn't too hangover this morning. He had never made a move on (Y/N)! What could have happened that made him do it last night? Why did she let him?

Oh fuck. He couldn't think about this before coffee. He needed coffee. Thank the fuck for Number Five who brought caffeine back into this house after their father's death. May the old prick rest in pieces.

Klaus sneaked out of bed without waking up his friend, grabbed a clean shirt, and headed downstairs. Yes, coffee first, dealing with his drunk-self's decisions later.

The house wasn't as full as it should have been so soon after their reunion – a real joke, if you asked Klaus. He had come because the timing was great, he had planned on flying over to see (Y/N) anyway, and this time Allison had paid for his trip because she wanted them all to be together.

She was the first to go, soon as the last toast had been given, she'd flown back to her life of glitter and gold. Luther hung around for no other reason than he did not know what else to do. Ever since getting back from the moon, he had been aimless. Number Five was stuck in a fifteen-year-old body and could not go live on his own yet. He lived in the academy all year round, and sometimes Diego came too. He was on the move now that detective Patch was dead. Vanya lived nearby but she didn't stay too long, the place held bad memories for her.

Klaus hated the academy, but it was still his home. He didn't have a place of his own like (Y/N). Coming was no choice for him, it was the only thing to do. At least Grace and Poggo were happy to see him.

He had been sitting in the kitchen, his right leg nervously jumping up and down, eyes wide open staring ahead of him while he bit the nails of his left hand and held his third cup of coffee in the right one. His memories from last night were still hazy at best, he did not remember much apart from getting a lot of free drinks, and dancing with (Y/N).

The logical thing to do was to wait until she woke up to ask her directly, but Klaus wasn't known for making rational decisions. Were it anyone else, he would have bounced the moment he woke up. Shit. He had done so well all these years, being the best friend, never crossing the invisible line, why'd he have to mess up now?

“How much longer are you going to be like this?” Number Five asked from his left. He was reading the newspapers, not even looking up as he asked the question.

His question did not even register in Klaus' brain. Five looked at Luther who sat across from him.

“I think someone broke Klaus,” he told the number one.

Luther grumbled something about it not requiring much given the state Klaus was usually in, before grabbing his bowl and putting it in the sink. Just when Luther left the room, (Y/N) swooped in, looking refreshed despite their late night activities – Jesus, it sounded so bad, even in his head. She was basically at home here, and knew her way around the house, greeted everyone like they were family.

But when Klaus saw her walk in wearing nothing but one of his shirt and underwear, he nearly tipped his chair over. Some steaming coffee spilled over the edge and burned his hand right when (Y/N) greeted them.

“Good morning,” she cooed, stretching like a cat when she stood in front of the counter, probably thinking about what she wanted to eat for breakfast.

Klaus' appetite had yet to make an appearance today. His eyes were glued to her until he realized he was staring a little too hard too long at his best friend's butt. When he turned his head back, he caught Five sending him a suspicious look through narrowed eyes.

“(Y/N)!” Klaus couldn't help but exclaim. Both Five and her stared at him curiously, waiting to see what he wanted to say. “There's a child in the room, have a little decency, please.”

Five rolled his eyes and his attention went back on the newspapers. Meanwhile, (Y/N) smiled wickedly and slowly turned back around, taking extra care to show her backside while she leaning forward to place two slices of bread in the toaster. This usually would have made Klaus laugh, even if it was tainted with longing, but after last night, it just made him swallow hard.

“Five is two times you age,” she pointed out. “Also, how's the hangover, Klaus?” Her fingers were tapping along to some imaginary tune against the counter while she waited for her toasts to pop up. (Y/N) then hopped on the counter and sat there, a butter knife in her hand. She began to unscrew the pot of raspberry jam.

“Not in this timeline,” he argued. “And I replaced alcohol with coffee, I'm fueled up for the day,” he assured her, lifting up his cup. “Don't remember much though.” Except his vague memory of (Y/N) fingers tugging at his pants to undo the front lacing, and some other flashes of disturbingly enticing memories.

“You're shaking, how many have you had?” She pointed at his left hand and Klaus had to admit she was right, it was shaking slightly. It took some focusing to steady it but he shot her a confident smile.

“Two.”

“Four.”

Klaus glared daggers at Five for betraying him like this; Five looked totally unfazed. The toaster dinged then, and Number Five folded the newspaper and stood up.

“If you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than sit here and watch you two make small talk to avoid the tension in the air.” Klaus was so going to get back to him for this, child or not. “Nice seeing you, (Y/N). Catch up soon.”

“The tension in the air?” (Y/N) repeated to herself, wondering what Five meant by that. She bit in a toast and walked to the table, sitting where Five sat only seconds ago. He sure as hell did create tension with his comment, but the air had always been clear between Klaus and her.

“Did we sleep together?”

Klaus' question came just as (Y/N) was about to take another bite from her toast, but instead it fell from her hands and landed on the wrong side on the table. What kind of question was that? She always crashed in his bed whenever they came back from a night out. It was how they did things, it had been this way since the beginning.

“Yeah,” (Y/N) answered with a shrug. “I mean unless you woke up on the floor, in which case I'm sorry for pushing you out of bed.”

Ignoring her humorous comment, Klaus gasped and nervously bit his fingers. She frowned but elected not to make anything of it. It was Klaus after all, he must still be out of it from last night. He poured her coffee in a robotic manner, as if it was born out of a reflex more than an actual intention, like when some people walked all around their room when they made a phone call, because moving helped them think.

“Why aren't you wearing pants?”

(Y/N) groaned before taking a sip of coffee. “Oh, thanks to you my pants are lost to the world! There's no getting them back. I was hoping you would lend me something to wear.”

Klaus nearly had a stroke, picturing the two of them bumping from wall to wall along the corridor leading up to his room, kissing feverishly and scattering clothes along the way. Speaking of, where were his clothes? He put on a shirt before going to the kitchen this morning, but he didn't forget that he woke up half naked, cuddling his equally half naked best friend in his childhood bed.

Why was she acting so natural around him?

“My closet is your closet,” he answered, somewhat mechanically too.

He saw the way she frowned at him before attempting to pick up her face-down toast. He watched her dip her finger in the jam on the table then lick it clean a few times, he closed his eyes right before the sight turned him insane. He could feel his body react to her; the mixture of apprehension and this enticing sight made him all kinds of confused and horny.

“I think I need a shower,” he stated and stood up quickly, before (Y/N) could catch sight of his current state. A cold one.

“You sure do,” she agreed and nodded without detaching her eyes from her newly jammed toast. “I'll be going home soon, but I'll see you again before you leave, right?” she asked hopefully, a second before Klaus stepped out.

He wanted to turn around to tell her this face to face, but he really had to get out of here before she saw what she did to him.

“I think I'll stay a bit longer.” This came as a shock to (Y/N), whose lips parted slightly, asking a silent question. “Can I come by tonight?”

She nodded, a smile on her face.

Klaus' head had been a mess all day. Especially after he got out of the shower and found (Y/N) in his bedroom, putting on a shirt he had once stolen from Allison. It was all too much and the cold shower he had taken minutes before did nothing for his hazy memories and slight dizziness.

In the evening, when she opened the door and saw him standing there, grinning wider than the Cheshire Cat and looking twice as mad, (Y/N) she was in for one of their endless contemplative conversations. She popped out some fancy glasses and mixed them each a cocktail, and off they were to her fire escape stairway. Access to the rooftop was banned since her 25th birthday, the year Klaus thought he would surprise her with fireworks. It was a nice idea, worth being forever banned from up there. So the stairway was the next best thing.

Immediately after they downed their drinks, Klaus' mood shifted and he blurted out the last thing (Y/N) expected. She had noticed how frantic he acted this morning, and was hoping he would be back to his normal self by tonight, but he clearly had something to say. It wasn't always easy being a Hargreeves, this wouldn't be her first improvised therapy session, except they usually only started after the fourth drink.

“(Y/N), I see dead people,” Klaus breathed out as if it were a hush hush secret and not a widely known fact.

“I know Klaus,” she laughed and tipped over her empty glass, watching the melting ice cubes swirl around.

“You don't get it.” He shook his head, his fingers nervously tapping against the railing. “I see everyone, the living, the dead, hell why not throw in the undead too? Sometimes I'm not sure who is who. I'll be talking to someone and I won't realize they are dead until I catch other people staring at me like I'm a freak,” he began rambling, staring off into the night. (Y/N) didn't dare interrupt. “I am, aren't I? I'm a freak. Why would someone like you stick to my side for so long? It makes no sense, so what proof do I have that you're alive and not some ghost following me around?”

(Y/N) extended her hand for him to take, except Klaus, in his state of existential crisis, did not take it right away and simply started at it like he had never seen a hand before in his life. (Y/N)'s nails were painted black because he had done her nails last week, for the memorial, though the polish was chipping off now, and the pure silver ring Klaus had once gifted her as a diploma gift was on her right middle finger.

He tried to remember a time when she wasn't wearing it but couldn't come up with anything. (Y/N) had been wearing it day in day out since he gave it to her – both as a way to celebrate her passing her exams and also to stick it to his old man. It had been a very lavish and expensive gift whose real value was known only to Klaus himself because he knew (Y/N) never would have accepted it otherwise.

His eyes moved back to her eyes. They shone bright like uncut stones, and her rosy cheeks swept by the evening wind made her look terribly adorable. She rolled her eyes after a while and simply grabbed his hand in hers. For whatever reason, he seemed taken aback. As if he had expected her hand to go right through his.

“You can touch me,” she told him, a slight blush warming her faces. True, he had developed the ability to physically interact with Ben now, but he had always been able to touch (Y/N), from the very first moment they met and he had grabbed her arm to pull her out of the way just when a car came crashing into the front façade of a pawnshop. Good times. “And your family see me too.”

“Right. But it still doesn't explain why you stick around. I'm a mess!” He laughed a sad, hysterical laugh that broke her heart, his eyes glowing under the harsh light of the nearby streetlamp. “You should have left years ago, when I started using. Do you know I don't even remember a bunch of your birthdays because I was so high? Who does that? Who celebrates their best friend's birthday high off their ass and forgets about it afterwards?”

He had abruptly let go of her hand. It hurt to hear that some memories that she cherished weren't shared, but (Y/N) never blamed Klaus for trying to escape his distorted reality any way he could. Doing drugs wasn't a good solution, but if he hadn't found a better one yet, who was she to try and force him to face his demons? She had always thought that he would do it in his own time, when he was ready. And he did.

“It's more complicated than that. I know that you-”

“It really shouldn't be. I should have been there - and I mean really there - for you. Why did you wait for me? Even when I left town, you waited for me.”

His sputtered out sharp, accusing sentences; his breath was short, erratic, a bit like when he was coming down from a high. But this wasn't it. Drugs didn't have anything to do with this.

(Y/N) found it difficult to swallow and it took her a little while to decide on the right thing to say. Her feelings for Klaus had always been a touchy subject, but so far he had never questioned their relationship – they were simply the bestest of friends, and that was that.

“I don't know what else to do,” she admitted, feeling the emotion built up. This really was a bad time for her, she becomes weirdly emotional after nightfall and even more so if she drank on an empty stomach. “If you weren't a part of my life anymore, I'd have a huge gap to fill. I look forward to seeing you show up at my door every year for my birthday. You never give me a heads up but I wait for you every damn time. There's no one I would rather get stuck on a deserted island with. You're my ride or die person.”

“I'm not reliable. Ask...” He gestured vaguely. “...literally anyone.”

“You've never let me down so far.” She shrugged. “The rest doesn't matter to me. Now stop questioning my reasons for sticking around. I love you Klaus, what else is there to say?”

He couldn't do anything but stare. (Y/N) wasn't a coward but her courage deserted her suddenly and she had to look away, ignoring his hard stare on her, willing her face to stay cool. Ben was glaring a hole into the side of his head and told him what he had been repeating Klaus all day, slowly driving him insane.

“Tell her. Tell her you love her too.”

Klaus would've told him off or hissed at him if he wasn't hyper aware of (Y/N) patiently waiting for an answer. What he settled for was even worse.

“Your mistake,” he eventually said before letting his head fall back. It was meant to be funny but it came out the wrong way.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” (Y/N) shouted all of a sudden, stung by his comment. “You are one whiny bitch, do you know that? Just accept that you're stuck with me for the rest of your life and move on, because I'm not turning my back on you regardless of how much you bitch about it.”

“You said 'bitch' twice,” he pointed out.

“Yes but one was a noun and the other was a verb.”

“I still don't get it,” he insisted.

Ben scoffed and turned away, as if he couldn't bear to witness Klaus' stupidity in action any longer. Klaus had to admit – at least to himself – that he was being stubbornly dumb with (Y/N). He didn't really know if he wanted to make her mad so she would leave him alone like he deserved, or if he was in complete and genuine denial of his own feelings.

“I don't get how gravity works but you don't see me floating away,” she replied, her tone settling down and getting relaxed again. “Whether you believe or not doesn't change the way things are. This ain't Neverland.”

There was a pause. She waited for a reaction. Klaus rubbed his hands over his stubble.

“I don't understand this reference,” he admitted, very begrudgingly.

“It's from Peter Pan, Klaus! How do you not know that?” (Y/N) raised both hands towards the sky in frustration but her smile betrayed how she felt.

“I've had a pretty rough childhood,” he chuckled as if it was an inside joke. Reluctantly, (Y/N) joined in and they shared an understanding look. “I feel like I lost the superpowers lottery,” he added. “The award for the worst superpower goes to Klaus Hargreeves.” A humorless chuckle. “I can't do anything with it. Nothing heroic at least. I can ask David Bowie if he likes my outfit before going out, but that won't save anyone's life.”

“You saved my life,” (Y/N) reminded him.

“We saved each other's life, it's a draw,” he shot back, frowning as he usually did when (Y/N) brought this up. It had happened eons ago, they were children for fuck's sake. “I couldn't protect you today. I'm not strong, I can't travel through time and space-” he paused, his eyes glazing over for a second as he no doubt remembered Dave, “or force people to do as I say, I can't even throw knives. Anyone can throw knives! You even don't need powers for that, but I still can't do it.”

“I don't need protection.”

“You will if you insist on staying in my life. Trouble always finds us - it finds me,” he added the last part a bit more quietly. “Trust me, I tried to outrun it for years.”

“I don't remember a time in my life when trouble didn't know exactly where I was and when to knock me off my feet,” (Y/N) assured him, setting her empty glass down now. She felt she would snap it in two if she kept twirling its stem between her fingers. “Whether you were there or not.”

“I know you're talking about your time in college, but that's just how college is I think,” Klaus chuckled. “Not that I would know, but that's what I've heard.”

A sad smile etched on (Y/N)'s lips forced Klaus to be serious again.

“It's not just that,” she told him quietly. “Also, you would've loved college. I know you're smarter than you let on, and it would have bought you four years away from the academy. Four years of absolute madness with Yours Truly.” She gestured at herself, grinning bright and wide.

“See? You should have listened to me, that's exactly what I told you ten years ago,” Ben added, much to Klaus' annoyance.

He didn't like when his brother meddled with his conversations with (Y/N), especially not if he teamed up with her against him – she didn't need that kind of support, she was right most of the time anyway.

“I would've blown it. I don't do well with authority,” Klaus argued, mostly to deflect Ben's argument than (Y/N)'s.

Ben huffed and disappeared again. Good riddance, don't come back before I go home, Klaus thought. Just because he's dead doesn't make everything he says cool and mystical.

“Whatever you tell yourself to feel better,” (Y/N) chuckled and grabbed a beer from the edge of the window behind them. “You look a little... off, Klaus. What's bothering you so much? Been seeing more ghosts again?”

“No, I mean yes, but that's not why I'm weird today,” he fumbled with words, pressing the cool beer bottle against his forehead to calm the whirlwind of thought in his head. It was just (Y/N), there was no need for such anxiety. “I don't understand how you can be so relaxed about it.”

“About what?”

“Don't act like you don't know!” He pointed an accusing finger at her and (Y/N) stared at it with wide, confused eyes, blinking slowly.

“I don't know what you're on about, dude. Is it something that happened last night?” A light bulb seemed to light up above her head suddenly. “Did you finally remember how you barfed all over me? Wasn't your most brilliant moment I have to say.”

“I did what now?” Klaus asked, baffled. “No, I don't remember that, and I sure hope I never will.”

“Then what's gotten your panties in a twist?” (Y/N)'s frustration was growing. If he didn't tell her right the fuck now why he acted like that, she would have to tease it out of him some way or another. “You are testing my patience, I can only handle so much nonsense, you know it.”

“Don't I,” he whispered to himself. “You know what? You're right, I'm being dumb. It's not a big deal, we're adults.”

(Y/N) frowned deeper, not having a clue what he was raving about, but deciding she was going to wait until he finished another beer to push the matter. His mind was clearly a mess, who knows if he even knew what he was talking about? Let's change the subject.

“You know, I'm glad this year's celebration was on the legal side, I really didn't want to be arrested again, and if we can avoid any and all near death experiences in the future, that'd be cool too.”

“Yeah,” he drawled out. “I thought we'd go back to classics this year,” he told her. “Since you vetoed all the fun stuff!”

Last year had gotten out of hand, which prompted (Y/N) to set some ground rules for future birthdays and other celebrations.

“I trust you to make even a plain, boring night at the club special,” she assured him, stroking his ego like nobody's business – it wasn't like anyone else did it anyway, his head would still fit through the door in the morning. The other umbrellas and his father always underestimated him. “I've never spent a dull evening with you.”

“So many compliments! Are you trying to get into my pants, (Y/N)? Because that's exactly how to do it.” He poked her cheek when her dimples showed and (Y/N) gave him a pointed look.

Yes, this was easy, this he knew. Just act normal, Klaus buddy, and she'll never know how freaked out you are about spending a night of drunken passion with your best friend, thus defiling your childhood bed.

“I'm way out of your league, man,” she scoffed in mock disdain and turned away from him. “You'd be lucky to get a hand job out of me.”

“Do I hear a challenge?” he asked immediately, jumping to the occasion to tease her further – he knew exactly what it took to make her turn beetroot red in the face. He liked how she tried to hide it behind a curtain of her dark hair. However, he knew he was treading on thin ice, and he had to keep himself in check if he didn't want to fall through.

“No, it's not Klaus!” she fired back, turning red alright. “It's a hard fact.” Fact, my ass. It wasn't even true. “Beer won't do if that's where the conversation is going. I'll be back.”

She climbed back into her living room and disappeared from sight. Klaus let out a sigh and looked into the night. It was mostly silent tonight, except for the cars driving by and the light music (Y/N) put on for background noise.

What kind of a mess had he put himself into? And fool as he was, he kept digging deeper and deeper. He needed to watch his tongue and stop making innuendos all the time. But it's what he usually did, so wouldn't it be weirder to simply stop? Would (Y/N) notice? Well, of course she would, she knew him better than anyone, except maybe Ben, but this was merely due to his ghost status that rendered privacy nearly impossible. Geez, did this mean that Ben saw the whole affair? Klaus dry heaved at the sheer thought that his brother had seen (Y/N) and him in action.

Also, if he couldn't remember shit about it, than it wasn't fair that Ben got to.

“Hey!” (Y/N) called, and Klaus felt something cold and damp against his arm. It was a glass of what he assumed was a gin tonic that she pressed against him to make him snap out of his bubble. “Are you going to take it or should I dump it directly into your mouth?”

God, he thought, accepting the glass but not taking his eyes off her, maybe Ben was right.

He squinted his eyes when he realized she was holding something else, a piece of paper, or was it? He couldn't tell, she was clearly trying to hide it in her palm.

“Since we're already on the subject of sensitive topics, I have a question for you,” (Y/N) told him as she sat down, her arm grazing against him and her eyes meeting his. “I've been meaning to ask you for a while now, but it never feels like the right time.”

He wasn't very good with social cues most of the time, but he had learned to pick up (Y/N)'s. Right now, he knew she wanted to have a serious conversation, her eyes told him so. It prickled his tongue just to know that for once he wouldn't be able to joke his way out of a situation, he would have to answer her truthfully, whatever she asked.

Neither of them drank the gin tonic she brought. (Y/N) thought it might give her a bit of courage if she drank before diving in the great unknown and asking the question that burned her lips. But she felt she might become sick if she so much as brought the glass to her mouth. She set it down on the iron railing.

Soon enough, her eyes prickled a little. Damn, why did she have to be so emotional after dark? It was exactly like when she was little and spilled all her secrets to her friends during a sleepover – the next day they told everyone who her crush was. Guess (Y/N) hadn't learned her lesson yet. No, she wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. Klaus' eyes were still glued to the side of her face, waiting for the anticipated question.

“Why did you leave, Klaus?” Even her voice was full of tears, but she somehow kept them from falling. Her eyes were trained on the photograph in her hands – an old picture of Klaus, Ben and her that Allison had taken a few weeks prior to Ben's death.

It was then that Klaus had fallen well and good into self-medication, and she knew she had lost him, she had seen his departure the following year coming from a mile away. Though it didn't hurt less when he disappeared without a goodbye.

“You know why.”

(Y/N) laughed a little. Klaus rarely used this serious a voice, she must look a fright if he didn't try to tease his way out of her questioning.

“That's not what I'm talking about.” No, she wasn't talking about Klaus skipping town at age twenty because he couldn't take the abuse anymore and still grieved his brother. “Reginald is dead. Why'd you leave last year? I thought you might want to settle down somewhere now that his influence can't reach you anymore.”

He shook his head and resting his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his open palms.

“This house isn't home. I don't see his ghost but his bitch ass haunts the place as sure as I am the hottest sibling. I can't even sleep in this house when you're not here,” he scoffed and slammed the full glass on the ground too.

It took (Y/N) aback. She blinked away the remaining tears and a put herself together. He still couldn't sleep. How did that affect someone's daily life?

A childish, idealistic part of her wanted to tell him to come live with her. He knew he was always welcome, she never rejected him. But the adult part of her knew it wasn't that simple. He couldn't spend his life on her couch.

He could just sleep in my bed though.

No, she shook the thought away, that was just plain stupid. The silly, naive teenage girl she never truly stopped being clung to an old hope. She had to let go of this.

“Sorry,” she muttered, feeling the ridicule of her sudden outburst now that it was over. She hadn't gotten the answer she was hoping for, but at least she would wonder anymore. “I ruined the mood, didn't I? There was a time I wasn't so serious, see what happens when you're gone too long?”

Shit. She closed her eyes and kept them tightly shut for a second. That wasn't the right thing to say. It came out all wrong, but Klaus still huffed and laughed.

“You mean you becoming boring? Tell me about it, I should take you out of this soul-sucking city before it's too late.”

(Y/N) thought she might like that.

All night they talked, and talked, and talked, but now once did Klaus mention what really bothered him. (Y/N) sat and listened to his jokes and his stories about Five going through puberty again and she laughed with him and huddled under a blanket with him when the night became too cold.

Yet he still would spill the beans to her. It was the first time she felt as though he was withholding information from her, that he didn't just refuse to talk about something, he refused to talk about it with her. Made her wonder if she did something wrong. The only reason why he would hide her something was if she was the source of the problem.

It pained Klaus to see her wait in expectancy all night, hoping he would open up to her. But the more he looked at her – really looked at her, her shining eyes, her smile, the way she shook her head when he told her something funny – and the more he realized he was living a lie he told himself. Ben had always been right. But (Y/N) couldn't know.

So she obliviously kept laughing with him, hoping that whatever preoccupied him so much would soon be dealt with, one way or another. God knew how long he was going to stay this time.

“... I mean, adolescence sure doesn't sit well on Five, he's been insufferable since I suggested he bust a nut to unwind. Something about cheating on Dolores,” Klaus kept going on and on. “Can you imagine? How long will it take for him to recognize I gave him valuable advice? Even you and I did it the other night, and we're fine as fiddles.”

(Y/N) blinked slowly, feeling a wire snap in her brain.

“Wait, what?”

(Y/N) didn't have a superpower. Or maybe she did, only different from the kind of power the Umbrellas had. Klaus wasn't sure. All he knew was that she made things go quiet and he needed that in his life.

When she was sitting next to him the dead didn't come too close. When he held her hand he didn't hear their heart wrenching moans. And the best part was that she didn't even realize, she just hung out with him because they were friends.

One day, he mused, Luther said something in a fit of anger that Klaus hadn't forgotten since, despite the years. He told him that he used (Y/N) for his own benefit and that he would step out of her life if he cared for her at all. That was shortly before Klaus skipped town and became a regular at rehab and the ER.

But he couldn't stay away, he couldn't abandon his best friend. He came back at least once a year for her birthday and tried to come by as often as he could without relapsing. Yes, he was a shitty friend, but he tried. And once a year, for a few precious hours, he was at peace.

He already lost his love once, he won't let it happen again. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep (Y/N) in his life. Sometimes he still thought of Dave, of course. It lasted a flicker beat, during which he wanted to reach for the dog tags - except they weren't there anymore. He had kept them, put them somewhere safe as they were precious memorabilia, but they were no longer part of his everyday attire.

At the beginning he needed to feel them again his chest, they grounded him while he mourned. But over time they began to hang heavy around his neck, weighing down on him instead of helping him keep his head out of the water. That's when he decided to take them off, as painful as it was. Dave was in the past, far, far away in the past, and he was dead. How long could Klaus hold onto the memory of a dead person before it drove him crazy? He was unbalanced enough as it was, no need to add to it.

But as recalled holding (Y/N) against his chest, he thought maybe there was still hope for him. Maybe all the good parts of him hadn't died with Dave in Vietnam. It wasn't her job to fix him, obviously, Klaus knew that, he was aware he couldn't rely on her to fix himself. Perhaps though, waking up next to her and seeing her smile was all he needed to give him the courage to get better. The strength to get out of bed and not dread the day ahead. Maybe he had found a secure place for his heart again - he knew she would take great care of it, she always had.

He shook his head.

He was just putting the cart before the horse. Who said she felt the same as him? Sure, he thought that she act strangely calm after their drunken “hook up”, but he knew now that it was all in his head. She acted normal because nothing happened. She made it very clear that nothing occurred between them, so much so that Klaus would have taken offense if he wasn't busy feeling all kinds of other troublesome emotions.

This was giving him a headache. He had been hiding in his room like a teenager for days now. A few horrendous, boring, restless days during which he barely got any shut eye, for various reasons.

For now, he would enjoy his bath, but how long until (Y/N) barged in here to demand an explanation?

“Where's Klaus? He's been avoiding my calls,” (Y/N) asked Poggo the moment the large double doors opened.

He gave her a crooked smile, and made a slight head movement to the left. She sometimes thought Poggo knew when she was going to come before she even took the decision. She thanked him and stormed in, heading straight for his room and banging on the door. No answer. Her hand flew to the handle and she burst in uninvited. No one. Fine.

There was only one other place he could be if he wanted to avoid people and that was the bathroom. This time (Y/N) did not even knock and simply waltzed in, shutting the door behind her so abruptly that Klaus nearly dropped his headphones in the water.

“(Y/N)! You scared the shit out of me!”

Did he just... summon her? No, that didn't sound right. It was a mere coincidence.

“You should've answered my calls, it would've spared you a heart attack,” she replied, walking straight to the tub he was soaking in. “What's the matter, Klaus? Just say it so we can move on.”

“It's nothing!” he exclaimed, his voice too high pitched to be telling the truth.

“I don't believe you.”

“Just tell her. You know she won't drop it,” Ben told him with his usual 'I am full of wisdom' voice.

They would really need to have a conversation about how dying doesn't make you smarter or give you permission to spy on people's bath time.

“I know!” Klaus shouted at Ben.

(Y/N) took it for herself.

“Then why don't you spill the beans? I'm not going to judge you, whatever it is. Have you had a relapse?”

“No...” Klaus rubbed his eyes both his thumb and pointer finger, feeling tired already. It was barely past noon and he wanted nothing more than find cover in his bed.

“Why are you hiding it from her? Maybe she loves-”

“Shut up!” Klaus yelled, his head snapping to his right.

“Wait, is Ben here?” (Y/N) asked. She knew how much Klaus hated to have more than one conversation at a time, what with ghosts always trying to get his attention. It made it hard to focus and that's what made him turn to drugs in the first place. “Do you mind? It's rude to eavesdrop.”

Ben smiled even though she couldn't see it. She was standing there, fists on her hips, trying to look stern while Klaus sat naked in the tub, unable to avoid this conversation. Reassured that he would not just jump out of the water and try for a run, Ben nodded.

“You can't avoid this anymore. It's long overdue anyway,” he told his brother right before leaving them alone.

“He's gone,” Klaus informed (Y/N).

His shaking hands removed his headphones and reached for the window's edge to grab a cigarette. What had him so nervous? (Y/N) grabbed the lighter and lit his cigarette for him before he burned himself or dropped it in his bath.

“Please, Klaus. I'm getting worried.”

Her eyes shone in the bluish light filtering through the opaque window. He couldn't resist those big puppy eyes. (Y/N) sat down, back against the side of the tub. When his arm extended over the edge to hand her the cigarette, she took it and placed it between her lip.

“Is it something I said? It's not still about last week, is it? I told you: we didn't sleep together like you thought we did,” she said, blowing out smoke and watching it swirl skyward and dissipate before hitting the ceiling. She handed it back to him but he didn't bring it to his mouth.

(Y/N)'s gaze got stuck on his goodbye tattoo.

She, too, had been thinking over and over again about their conversation. When he admitted he thought they had spent the night together, she was taken aback. So much so that her first instinct was to deny vehemently, maybe too much even. It didn't come from a bad place, she was just surprised and shifted into her default denial mode. Whenever someone asked her if Klaus and her were a thing, she flipped and sputtered out something about male and female friendship being possible without developing romantic feelings.

Truth was, it was possible. It simply wasn't the case for her. She had always had a thing for Klaus, and she always thought he was aware and elected to ignore it for the sake of their long standing friendship. She realized how she felt upon seeing the enormity of the emptiness in her life, right after he left.

More than once, (Y/N) almost took a leap of faith and confessed, but they saw each other so rarely already, what if he simply walked out of her life for good after that?

She was blind and that was it. They were already so far from each other on a daily basis, she had nothing to lose, nothing at all. If he didn't share her feelings, they would still have a whole year to put that behind them and get their friendship back on track for her next birthday.

(Y/N) took the cigarette back. Klaus still hadn't answered her. Her fingers lingered on his hand and slid towards his tattoo, circling it.

“You surprised me, to say the least,” she started, still wondering what she was going to say next. Sometimes autopilot was the best option. “On the one hand, I'm glad we did nothing because you were drunk out of your mind and would have forgotten it all – which honestly would've crushed my self-confidence – but on the other, I think it would make for a memorable birthday present.”

It sounded better in her head. When she looked up, she met his eyes and it nearly broke a dam inside her. He looked so vulnerable, so heartbroken. She hadn't seen those eyes in years – or so it felt – and they rendered her helpless. (Y/N) swallowed, unable to look away, trapping by his big, glossy eyes.

“Don't say that,” he breathed out. She barely heard it, as if he was talking to himself and not to her. But she did catch his words and they burned in her mind.

“I am saying it. We've been together for so long now, I should have said it eons ago and not wait for a dumb misunderstanding before finally telling you.” He was so silent, everything was silent, almost like they were alone in the house. A shiver ran down (Y/N)'s spine and her heartbeat picked up its pace. “Say something, Klaus. Anything.”

“I hate this place.”

Well, it wasn't what she was hoping for, but at least he said something.

“So?”

“So I hate coming back. It makes me feel wrong, it's like a poison,” he tried to explain, finally freeing her from his gaze.

“Maybe you shouldn't come back then,” (Y/N) said, feeling herself growing sick.

“I can't,” he admitted, his voice desperate all of a sudden, breathless almost. “I can't stay away, as much as I hate it, I have to come back, because you're still here. And I can't leave you.”

It was difficult holding up his gaze now. What was he saying? Why couldn't he speak plainly? Then again, neither could she. It was so hard putting yourself in a vulnerable position – it was like exposing your neck to a hungry lion and seeing if he would bite you or spare you.

“I can't live without you.” His confession hit her like a thousand bricks, knocking the air out of her.

“Why does it make you so sad?” (Y/N) pushed.

“I already told you. I'm no good, I can't protect you, I'm a forever work-in-progress, you'll nev-”

“Don't presume to tell me want I am, or want, or need, Klaus,” she warned him before he could go any further.

“I can't even sleep most of the time. My life is a nightmare when you're not right next to me,” he whined, pressing his palms against his temples.

(Y/N) extinguished the cigarette on the tiled floor and stood up, kicking off her shoes. When her hands reached for the front button of her jeans, Klaus' shook his head.

“Wha- what are you doing (Y/N)?” he asked, blinking as though he thought he might be seeing things.

Soon, she stood (once again) half undressed in front of him. What he genuinely did not expect, was to see her take a hold of the edge of the tub and slowly climb into the water with him. Water spilled over the edge of the tub but they didn't care. Klaus froze and blinked dumbly, staring at her as if he didn't trust his own eyes. She was sitting in the tub, straddling his waist to be face to face.

He would lie if he said this hadn't happened already in some of his fantasies, but when he extended his hand to touch her arm, she was real.

“Do you know how difficult it is to take off wet jeans?” she said as an answer to his previous question – which he had completely forgotten about. “Why are you staying in cold water by the way? It's freezing in this bathroom.”

“Welcome to creepy manor,” Klaus replied on reflex. “Where everything is as cold and dead as Sir Reginald's stone heart.”

“You're joking because you're nervous,” (Y/N) said with a blinding smile. Klaus shot her a crooked little smile.

“Guilty. I'm only a man, and you just took a very sexy initiative, bravo.”

He licked his lips. (Y/N) let her fingers trail up his forearms, leaving a path of wet in their wake, little droplets running down to his elbows and returning to the tub. For the first time, she allowed herself to touch him in a new, unfamiliar way. Klaus stopped breathing altogether until she stopped her exploration and simply moved her hands to his neck, her thumbs brushing along his jaw.

He wasn't so cold anymore now, and (Y/N) must have felt it too. He was stark naked, there really wasn't anything he could hide from her, now could he? It wasn't fair, now that he thought about it, it was only right that she dropped her top too. His hands slid under the hem of her shirt and lifted it; she got the message and helped him take off the wet garment.

Klaus seemed to finally come alive when his hands settled on her waist, and (Y/N) replaced her hands where they were. Their proximity was exhilarating: they could feel each other's hot breath against their skin, they got drunk off of it. Klaus' head spun a little. His eyes locked with (Y/N)'s seconds before they met.

Seeing no hesitation on his part, (Y/N) smiled and touched the tip of his nose with hers, making him break into a similarly wide grin. Then, she leaned forward, sending some more water over the edge, and finally kissing him. One of his hands moved to the small of her back and pressed her to his chest, urging her to deepening the kiss. (Y/N) wanted to taste him first, savor the softness of his lips, enjoy the tickle of his facial hair.

But she was hungry too and she was done holding back and being a good girl. Their kisses became more frantic, they lingered; their lips became swollen and red too. Soon, Klaus' lips trailed down towards her neck and her collarbone.

(Y/N)'s hand shot out and held Klaus' throat, cutting short his ministration. Their chest heaved and they grinned madly at each other, completely forgetting the cold water. The rest of (Y/N)'s clothing was soon thrown across the room, hitting the door in a wet splash, triggering a round of giggles.

“Are we really going to do it in a tub?” (Y/N) asked, biting the skin right under Klaus' left ear, sucking it lightly to leave a mark.

“It's no smaller than my bed,” Klaus pointed out with a laugh, though his brows remained knitted together and his eyes closed in delight. He held to deploy an extraordinary effort not to moan out loud.

There was a glimmer in his eyes when he stared at her, as though he still didn't quite believe she wasn't a ghost or a figment of his imagination. He pushed back her hair, taking a fistful of it without ever stopping to look at her like she hung the moon in the sky.

He pulled her closer to him yet, and (Y/N) dived on his lips before answering, “there are 42 rooms in this house. Just imagine the possibilities.”

Neither of them was going to get out of this tub before quenching a thirst that had kept their throat dry for years now. It was messy at best, water everywhere, fumbling hands, voracious kisses, bites, nails marks – they laughed it all off, feeling so light they would fly away.

When they joined, there was a moment of silence, of holding onto each other for dear life, taking it all in and accepting that this was the beginning of something new. Klaus was the first to snap out of it, and his cupped (Y/N)'s cheek, watching her nuzzle his hand and place a soft peck on his palm.

Of course he loved her. How could he ever doubt it?

“What are you thinking about?” (Y/N) asked Klaus with a sly smile, already shifting closer to him as she pushed his hair out of his face.

It had been a long, tiring day – both emotionally and physically – and it had been no small feat to sneak out of the bathroom and into Klaus' room without getting caught. Five would have plucked his own eyes out and Luther might have spontaneously combusted.

Huddled together in Klaus' bed to warm themselves after the cold but no so cold bath they share, they fought to stay awake. Klaus' mind jumped back to his earlier musing about waking up beside (Y/N), and he knew he had been right.

“Nothing,” Klaus lied right away, refusing to reveal the ridiculous musings that crossed his mind. (Y/N) leaned into him, her breath hot again his neck when she spoke again and whispered

“Liar” against his skin.

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down again as he swallowed. The scariest part was behind them now, there was no need to be nervous. (Y/N) hand was placed over his heart and he briefly thought she could feel the desperate thumping of it in his ribcage.

“I was thinking-” he started, his throat a little dry, eyes lost in (Y/N)'s hopeful ones. “I was thinking I could stay for a while.”

#klaus hargreeves #tua imagine #klaus hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy #tua #robert sheehan #umbrella academ

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ruinedthatfriendship · 5 years

Text

All Fall Down

A/N: This is the last Dimon fic I ever wrote, according to the save date on the original file. Fittingly, it’s also the last fic I have to post out of my old drafts.

In which Demi handles the aftermath of That Episode from the UK X Factor, everyone cries, and Simon gets the hugs he deserves.

After a while, lies become truth. If you absorb a lie long enough, live it long enough, put effort into convincing everyone it is real, eventually you convince yourself. Eventually you forget the naked truth, replace all of the raw reality with a shiny film of fantasy, and it becomes real.

It becomes real, but lies are always only ever made out of the thinnest glass. And sometimes all it takes is one shot to bring everything down around you.

For Simon, that one shot was a well-meaning singer from Billingham, the setting was a televised audition, and the broken fantasy suddenly raining down around his ears was comprised of just two little words: I’m fine.

He was the furthest from fine he’d ever been in his life, and his only goal in the world at the moment was keeping himself from falling apart entirely at the judges’ desk. But every word of that damned song was a perfectly aimed knife to the heart, cutting him into ribbons over again.

Because Lauren was gone. And Demi was long gone. And his mum--his mum, the sweetest woman he’d known--was gone.

He’d been numb since he got the news just days ago that she’d passed. He’d gone on to do the show anyways and waved off any concern because he was fine, he didn’t feel anything, and maybe that just made him as much of a heartless bastard as Demi had screamed in their last fight. What kind of man couldn’t mourn his mother?

No, he wasn’t heartless. He had one, and his grief had only been dormant, and this bloody song was a sucker punch.

His mind flitted suddenly to Demi’s old lyrics as he discreetly swiped a finger beneath his eye, almost bursting out into paradoxical laughter. I just ran out of band aids, I don’t even know where to start...you never really can fix a heart.

And she was gone too, making a life for herself without him, happy without him, better than ever. Thriving and singing and sober and, last he’d been able to bring himself to check, very much in love with a man who was not him. I’m jealous of the way you’re happy without me.

And Lauren was so far gone now. She’d left when Eric was barely six months old, with a shrug and a sad little smile and a promise to stay in her son’s life. She really hadn’t, and the whole of raising an entirely unplanned child had fallen to Simon. Who was, perhaps, the most well-meaning and least-prepared combination possible for a father.

And it had been his mother that he’d called when Demi left, tears in her eyes but yelling in anger, slamming the door on her way out. “Mum”, he’d announced unceremoniously on the phone, swallowing hard and trying for unaffected. He failed miserably. “I’ve cocked everything up.”

And it had been his mother that he’d called when Lauren left him, dryly asking for parenting advice and completely beating around the bush that time until she’d wrestled out of him that he’d failed, again, that he’d chased off a second good-hearted woman and was doomed to a miserable existence of living with himself.

And now she was gone too. His fists were clenched in his lap, he was trying so damn hard to keep it together, and he had some horrible Frankenstein mash-up of the Labyrinth lyrics and Demi’s running around in his brain, threatening to choke him. He was jealous of her death, and that didn’t make any sense; he didn’t want to die, there was Eric to think about after all. He was jealous of her somewhere he couldn’t get to, she was beyond his reach. Forever.

“Take it to a vote,” he murmured to Cheryl, and briefly congratulated himself for keeping a steady voice long enough to confirm the third yes for the young singer.

And then he stood, his body warring from second to second between utter numbness and heart-shattering grief, and made his way off of the set as calmly as he could, the other judges following at a hesitant distance.

He could hear Cheryl, speaking louder than she thought she was. “I don’t know what to do, do I go...should I let him go?”

And again, he wanted to give into bitter laughter. There’s nothing you can do. But Simon knew that if he opened his mouth, he wouldn’t be able to stuff back inside the hysterical sobs currently stuck in his chest, and he was Simon Cowell and he wasn’t going to cry. Certainly not where anyone could see him.

So he wordlessly waved off his staff and tossed his microphone at one of them, and got onto the back of a golf cart in wretched silence, staring down at his hands in his lap and his wrists, unmarked.

Demi had always had a sixth sense for when he was upset, even if he tried not to tell her. And without fail, she’d take his hands and reflexively trace her Stay Strong script on his wrists, a source of comfort to herself she was passing on to him.

God, he missed her. And it was his own fault she was gone, he had no one to blame but himself for any of it.

***

In the airport in London, beneath the hoodie of an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of dark glasses, just in case, Demi was biting the inside of her lip absently, waiting for her bag on the carousel.

She’d come with just the one, a little overnight bag with next to nothing in it, took a commercial flight and sat in economy, and done it all without thinking. And now here she was, alone, because she’d stupidly decided to ditch her bodyguards and fly out without warning, with no idea what the hell she was doing.

She’d come for Simon, but that was about as far as that plan went. Simon, who had a girlfriend and a son and plenty of work, who wasn’t expecting her. Simon, who she’d screamed at and slammed a door on, and spent the next months of her tour sobbing her eyes out in bathrooms.

What was she even going to say when she saw him? How was she supposed to explain that Marissa had taken one look at her devastated expression when someone accidentally mentioned him, rolled her eyes, pointed at the door, and said exasperatedly, “Oh, just go get him!”

How was she supposed to explain that she’d almost turned around in LAX, but two women were gossiping next to her and that was how she’d heard about his mum and it had only solidified her spontaneous decision?

She knew she wasn’t exactly welcome at the best of times. And better yet, how was she even going to find him? Knocking on the front door wasn’t exactly an option.

Spying her plain black bag, she yanked it off of the belt with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, making a noise of frustration and walking out to the street, waving down a cab awkwardly.

On the scale of every bad decision she’d ever made, this one was pretty close to the top. Demetria, what are you doing?

Without thinking, she gave the driver Simon’s London address, only panicking after he’d turned the second corner. This wasn’t going to work. This was a terrible idea. She was going to kill Marissa. It wasn’t even Marissa’s fault for finally intervening in two years of Quietly Sad Demi. Jesus Christ.

Demi’s stomach was all anxious, terrified butterflies by the time she paid the cab driver and got out onto the curb, letting her bag drop to the ground next to her feet.

It occurred to her then that she had nowhere better to go, and no idea what the code to his gate was anymore, and this was quite possibly the stupidest situation she’d ever gotten herself into.

She dragged her bag the few meters over to lean up against the gate around his property, bracing one foot up behind her and jamming her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. She’d chosen this outfit on purpose, to avoid standing out and catching any attention, but Demi was well aware that she probably also looked like a random vagrant lurking outside Simon Cowell’s house.

She contemplated ringing the bell, but odds were against him being home anyway. That, and doing so would actually summon him if he was. For all her ridiculously hasty arrival, she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to see him again, and get punched in the chest with all of those emotions all over again.

She wasn’t ready to rip open old wounds, wasn’t ready to play visitor to his happy little family. But she wasn’t strong enough to turn away, couldn’t stop herself. After all this time, she still needed him, and she thought that just maybe, if there was ever a time for him to need her again, this was it.

Demi wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, scrolling through her phone and sending a few panicked texts to Marissa--as of yet, unanswered--when his car pulled up. She looked up, startled, already trying to retreat further into the depths of her hoodie, but Demi squared her jaw instead. It was only Simon. And she was Demi freaking Lovato, and she wasn’t going to be afraid of this.

She pushed herself slowly off of the gate, tucking her phone into the back pocket of her skinny jeans, tilting her head slightly as she tried to peer inside of the car he hadn’t even bothered to park properly. Between the tint of his windows and her sunglasses, she couldn’t really see much, just enough to make out the silhouette of his head, slumped forward on his arms against the steering wheel. Oh, Simon.

Her reaction was just instinctive. Demi didn’t think twice about pushing that hood back and stripping off her sunglasses, shaking her dark hair out and walking toward him.

He opened the door before she got close, wearily unfolding long legs and slamming the door shut for all he was worth, not sparing a glance for the small woman coming up the sidewalk. His white shirt looked wrinkled and his eyes were red, lips pressed together tightly, and Demi’s heart clenched, a lump already forming in her throat.

She opened her mouth to call to him just as he finally glanced her way, and their eyes locked. Simon froze completely, and Demi started running.

He didn’t catch her, didn’t speak, didn’t do anything but stand there while she crashed into his chest and hung on, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing.

“What in the bloody hell,” he finally said hoarsely, and she wondered how much he’d been crying.

She tilted her head up, propping her chin on his chest, and smiled gently. “Hi, Simon.” It may have been a stupid greeting, but there would be time to kick herself later. For now, there was enough on her plate. Simon blinked at her rapidly for a long moment, long enough for Demi to worry if she’d really shocked his poor old man heart too much, and she watched his eyes well up again. “Baby,” she whispered almost involuntarily. It wasn’t pity, it wasn’t reflexive sympathy, it was just love. Love that she’d never stopped feeling, not when it came to him.

And that was enough. Simon lurched forward against her, his arms coming up around her ribs tight enough to ache, and he buried his head in her shoulder with a heartbreaking sound tearing from his throat that she’d never heard before.

Demi just let him hang on for a long moment, breathing evenly against his vice grip, one of her hands running soothingly over his back. “I don’t know how to get inside,” she finally murmured calmly. “Come on, I’ve been out here for like an hour.”

Simon didn’t appear to have heard her. “I’m sorry,” he choked out against her skin, shaking against her.

Demi felt her own eyes stinging, and bit the edge of her tongue stubbornly. Now was not the time to fall apart. “Shh, come on, Si, let’s go inside.”

She took a step backwards, pulling him with her, and carefully pried herself out of his grip, keeping one of his hands in hers to tug him along.

He keyed in something and let her walk up to the house with him in tow, his free hand over his face. He wasn’t sure she was real yet, had no idea what to make of her sudden presence here. And she was simultaneously a relief and making everything worse, and she was only going to break him further when she left, but all he could do was hold onto her, feeling like a lost little boy.

They made it as far as the staircase. Demi wasn’t really sure what had just happened, but she was suddenly sitting down halfway up the stairs with Simon beside her, turning into her body and giving into heart wrenching sobs once more.

Demi’s lip quivered, and she hugged him tighter. “Baby,” she whispered thickly. One of her hands found his, and she rubbed her thumb across the inside of his wrist absently, her other arm hugging him tightly against her. “Shh, I’ve got you.”

For some reason, that little gesture only broke him further. He was mumbling something into the grey material on her shoulder, words that broke her heart when she finally understood them. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Simon, shh,”

“It’s not okay,” he returned heavily, and Demi winced. She’d assumed that his apology was unconnected to losing his mom--what could he have to apologize for there? But it was still a thoughtless reply, given the circumstances.

“No, not really,” she whispered, rubbing soothing patterns across his back. “It’s not okay, and it sucks, but you’re going to get through it. I promise.”

Simon just sniffed, hugging her tighter. “She’s gone, Demi.”

Demi’s voice broke too as she replied, squeezing his hand as a comfort to both of them. “I know, Si, I know. I’m so sorry. And I wish I could have met her, but I know how wonderful she was. And she loved you so much.”

His mum’s love wasn’t really something he tended to question, but in a moment of weakness, he still found himself returning softly, “How would you know?”

Demi sniffed, and let out a little laugh, shaking her shoulder enough to dislodge him and force him to meet her brown eyes. “Because I love you. And if she could see half of what I see, she’d love you just as much. And she was your mum,” she emphasized the British variant with a smile, “which means she definitely knew you way better than I do.”

“Demi…” Simon mumbled, the only thing he knew how to say anymore. Just her name, just her touch, just her.

She seemed to realize the implications of what she’d said, and drew back a little. “Is...is Lauren home, Simon?”

Simon’s face clouded, and he glanced away from her. “No,” he said simply. “She’s not.”

Demi swallowed, biting her lip hesitantly. There was more to that story, she could tell, but now wasn’t the time. “These stairs are not comfortable, Simon,” she said instead, trying for a little of her teasing brattiness.

It worked, and she saw the darkness recede from his eyes somewhat. He stood slowly, holding both hands out to her, and pulled her to her feet, leading her the rest of the way upstairs.

He went to his bedroom, Demi following on his heels, and ended up standing in the middle of the room, looking lost.

Demi sighed, and perched on the edge of his bed. “Do you want to take a shower?” she finally suggested, when he didn’t seem to gain any more direction.

His eyes flicked to hers. “What about you?”

“I’ll be right here,” Demi nodded firmly, gesturing to the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Simon seemed to doubt that very much, but the slump in his shoulders and curl of his spine spoke of defeated acceptance, like he knew she’d leave and had given up on doing anything about it.

“I’ll be right here,” Demi whispered again, and waited for the door to the ensuite to close completely behind him before she launched herself at one of his pillows and screamed briefly into the white fluff.

There was so much pain contained in that man, more than she could attribute to just his mom, and she wasn’t even sure that she wasn’t making it worse. Demi would have given just about anything to strip it away from him, bring back the Simon she remembered from so long ago, laughing behind his hand at some contestant on the stage, holding her hand beneath the table.

She just had to have faith that they could get there again. Together. And it started here, with her promise to stay, which she had no intention at all of going back on.

Demi pulled her hoodie off over her head, leaving her in just a dark green tank top, and let herself lie back on the bed she’d stayed in once before, smiling in spite of herself at the familiar, quintessentially Simon scent surrounding her.

She’d just taken a nearly twelve hour flight, crossed multiple time zones and then emotionally exhausted herself with Simon. Demi didn’t think twice about slipping between his sheets and hugging the pillow, closing her eyes and breathing in the familiar smell of cologne and mints and cigarettes and the shampoo he always used, thinking that maybe, in spite of everything, she was almost coming home.

And that was how Simon found her nearly an hour later, when he finally dragged himself out of the bathroom, fully expecting to be greeted by an empty house. She had to be too good to be true, didn’t she?

Instead, his brat was curled up asleep, holding onto his pillow and looking surprisingly peaceful, all things considered. Relief flooded him, and he bit the end of his tongue as he moved to his closet, refusing to cry again. Now that he’d opened the dam of emotions, stopping it was harder than he’d thought.

But a sleeping Demi wasn’t a reason for tears. It was a reason to just climb in with her.

She woke to Simon slipping his arm around her waist from behind, a soft smile spreading over her lips as she turned over her shoulder to see him. “Hi,” she murmured, still sleepy.

“Hey, brat,” his voice was still a wreck from crying, but steady, the familiar nickname making her relax. If he could joke, they’d be okay.

Simon pressed a soft kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder, tucking her body against his. “Thank you,”

Demi just shrugged, smiling up into his face. “Where else would I be?”

His eyes clouded slightly, and he looked away from her gaze. “I am sorry, Demi. For everything.”

“I don’t really care about that anymore,” Demi said softly, biting her lip. And maybe she was supposed to, and of course they’d have things to figure out, but if his mom’s death had taught her anything, it was that she didn’t want to waste any time being angry about the past.

Still, as much as she wanted to just melt into his arms and fall all the way back into him, in every sense of the word, there was something she needed to know. “Simon,” she sighed, wondering if the answer was going to damn them completely. “I need to know, babe. Where’s Lauren?”

He exhaled, his breath tickling the hair at the base of her neck. It took him a while to reply, and when he finally did, it was simple. “She’s gone, Dem. She left...I haven’t seen her in a year. Eric’s with a sitter while I’m at work.”

Her immediate relief that she wasn’t in their bed right now was tempered by a rush of fury, that Lauren could leave, that she could abandon her son and walk away from the best man she was ever going to find.

“I’m sorry,” Demi said finally, slowly, lacing her fingers with his over her ribs. “For her, really… She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Simon just held her tighter and pressed his lips to hers, moving on top of her with a familiar weight as she deepened the kiss. And Demi knew without a doubt that whatever else happened, in that moment, she’d made it home.

#dimon #demi lovato #simon cowell #fanfiction #the very last dimon fic #or apparently maybe not

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cheollies · 6 years

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Restart (Day 218)

Synopsis: In a different universe, an experiment designed to calculate the science behind love, resulting in millions having their soulmates replaced constantly. A compilation of Seokmin’s journal of the 218 days where you lose him as a soulmate and he’s supposed to lose you as his. He honestly just misses you dearly.

Warnings: none!

Day 1

You used to love sewing.

We used to sit on the couch together, under the blanket you made from scraps. The hoodies I no longer wore and your hundreds of floral leggings. You named it Floofscraps, and you never explained why because you would be consumed by the cute giggles that echoed from the cardboard looking walls. It was somehow miraculously warm under the giant blanket, but I never knew whether it was because of your presence or the truly magical properties of the scrap fabrics. Floofscraps smelled uniquely like us; your fresh scent intertwining the woody cologne that stood in the tiny bathroom of ours. Sometimes it feels like your scent is still wafting into my senses. I can’t describe it to you now, but it was refreshing. Painful. Dumb sugar cookies.

I remember the scene exactly; you nestled between my legs and my chin resting against your baby soft locks. I would always jokingly complain about your hair from the mess of a bun always atop your head getting into my eyes. The television would be playing the trashiest soap, the cackling sounds of forced laughter drilled in our heads at 3 am. We always watched those because you said it was a guarantee for my smile that you loved.

Fairy lights would be the only light source in the dingy living room, a few of them dimmed because the two of us would blindly trip on them when we had them on the floor instead of the walls. You always explained that the fairy lights on the floor gave ‘better ambience’, although I could never tell a difference. Your dream was to have a fairyland apartment that mimicked your crazy childhood dreams. It was your explanation for the room mist you bought that had holographic sparkles sprinkled in the liquid.

It was those moments where your cheeks would flush red from the heat of the blanket. It was those moments where your fingers were entangled with mine, you drawing dancing stars on my hand with your thumb. It was those moments where I could always explain why I smiled unknowingly. It was because of you. All of you.

Now your laugh only exists in the distant realm of my memories. Floofscraps is somewhere in this universe. The soaps stopped airing. Your holographic room mist only exists as a distant glow far far away from me.

I love you.

Day 13

You used to love cooking. Or at least the idea of it.

A pancake got stuck on our ceiling once. It was those Japanese souffle pancakes you were dying to try. One flip and it was no longer in the pan, but on the ceiling. The circle your lips formed mirrored the pancake exactly, as whispers of a laugh began to bubble from my mouth. You were on my shoulders in the next moment, the pastel spatula I bought for you on a whim raised high above your head as you tried to reach for the pancake. I hated the frown that settled on your lips when we got the scraps of the pancake down. It felt like stars showered over my shoulders when you were in my arms, your sour face pressed against my chest as I told you how adorable you looked in your worn blush apron.

The previously pristine ceiling now had an unequal circle print. You’d look up at it while we were arguing and suddenly burst into laughter, the event flooding back to you as if it happened yesterday. We vowed to never tell anyone about the odd spot on the ceiling, instead explaining to guests that it was just a mark from a badly installed light fixture. The little secret between us was a glimpse of joy in our lives when my voice could never project the way I wanted and your days were as dismal as a kicked puppy.

And to think that now, my days of dismal were nothing compared to my everyday now. I don’t even want to attempt to sing into the microphone anymore.

I miss you.

Day 22

The roads were drowning in snow today. I had earphones plugged in as I walked around our area and I ended up at our favourite cafe. I glanced into the condensated window until I saw you. You weren’t alone though; there was another man in your presence. He seems like he’s your type, and you definitely seem to clash heads with him less than you did with me. I hope he remembers what you’re allergic to. I saw you two smiling and chatting happily in our favourite cafe. Did you know that Jiyoung, your favourite barista, opened a new cafe near my place now? Although you wouldn’t recognise her even if she still worked at our favourite cafe though. Oh how I truly hate this system.

Watching you two from the glass pane, snow sticking to the threads standing from my coat, I realized he’s giving you all that I couldn’t give you. The space you needed when you were cranky and tired, emotional resilience from the other person in the relationship; the attention you deserved because he isn’t busy in his studio as you have your dinner cold and alone for the 4th time that week. It isn’t a coincidence to see how long it took you to love me and how long it took you to love him. I poured every single speck of myself on you in an instance, overwhelming your personal space and creating an awkward aura that never seems to subside with anyone in my life.

I hope he knows your order at the cafe. Iced vanilla latte that gave you brain freeze in every sip for the summer, or hot chocolate for when the cold is so unbearable you’re enclosed in your furry white scarf and rosey ear muffs. You loved snow days and you’d sit at the cafe all day, staring at the fluttering flurries decorating the pavement outside the window.

He seems like a nice man. I can see it in his eyes; he loves you dearly. And your eyes sparkle as he talks animatedly. I know you love him too, but you’re too afraid to admit it. Don’t do it when it’s too late.

Because you never got to know how much you meant to me.

Day 97

I haven’t seen you in months. Your face is a blur in my head. I can’t even remember what your eyes look like anymore. It’s terrifying and I hate the fog that settles in my head whenever I think of you.

I wonder if you’re still with him. I wonder if you’ve found new interests and new hobbies, or if you still continue to sew and cook. Your new alias seems foreign to me; I don’t think it’ll ever fit you as well as your previous one. I hope you’re smiling even if you’re going through rocky days, and maybe my grin will flash at the back of your mind, even if its unrecognisable to you now.

I remember singing your favourite song and fighting my spilling tears with a shaky smile when you were being wheeled in. All of your other belongings were in plastic cases, waiting to join you. My heart felt like it was in those cases too, awaiting the moment of destroyal. It was the reality of this world and it was what our destinies came to. I just really wanted to hold you one last time, to tell you I loved you because I never said it enough.

I hated how misaligned these cleansings were. One soulmate always had to suffer before their memories were strippe for a new one.

Even if you forgot Floofscraps, the pancakes or the snow days, it wouldn’t matter. I just wished you would never forget me.

Day 218

In another century, we may cross paths again. We may be able to make more blankets. Cook more pancakes. Visit more cafes. Play in more snow. Sing more songs. SHARE MORE LOVE.

I love you. I miss you. You never got to know how much you meant to me. I wished you would never forget about me.

Because I’m about to forget about you.

You loved Seokmin

“Lee Seokmin? You have to put that journal with the rest of your belongings. We can’t stall your soulmate cleansing any further.”

The glaring lab coat of one of the many ‘doctors’ seemed to blur even more with the building tears, as Seokmin steadied his trembling hands to place the journal and pen on top of the boxes. The journal that documented every painful day ever since your cleansing. He was being wheeled into a room, his eyes trailing along the blinding white lights streamed across the ceiling.

As he was placed into the machine, his vision slowly plagued with darkness, he thought of the smiling face of yours for the last time. It was his last chance to bask in his love for you before it was gone for good. Slowly, the boxes of his belongings caged him inside the machine. He was no longer going to remember this soulmate and the experiences anymore. It would be a new experiment, the factors and people changing again to test the scientifics of love. But he knew inside, there was no calculated science behind love.

Because despite the machine’s best efforts, the searing heat and pain that felt like his erratic heart was being sucked out of his chest cavity, and the light flooding into his eyes as he was lifted out of the machine, he could still remember you. You were still his soulmate even if you couldn’t remember him. Fate was so twisted he couldn’t let you go when you didn’t even know of his existence.

Seokmin loves you.

Restart.

a/n: wrote this a couple of weeks ago and reworked it... and now i’ve shattered my own heart lol. inspired by galactic dreams and inspiration i got after watching infinity war. hope you guys like it! <3

- jen

#seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #dk scenarios #dokyeom #dk #seventeen #svt #seokmin #lee seokmin #admin jen #jen's writings

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babylon-bitch · 7 years

Text

Greeting Kisses l.h

A/N: forgot I had this, I was supposed to post this ages ago. I don’t really know what this is, I was bored

Summary: Luke and his girlfriend (Y/N) accidentally uncover that they’re dating in a livestream and then they perform a song together

Word Count: 5,529

***

“How long have we got here again before we play another show?” My band mate Todd asks.

“I don’t even know anymore. Avery?” I ask my other band mate.

“3? 4 days?” Avery shrugs.

“Something like that, I’ll ask Joe later.” Julian my final band mate concludes.

“Where is Joe anyway?” I ask, referring to our tour manager.

“In the hotel or something, apparently something happened to a venue we’re performing at in a couple months, so he’s on the phone talking to them.” Todd replies.

“Where are the boys?” Avery asks as she plays with her bass.

“Here.” Todd and Julian say in unison.

“Bitch I always know where you are because I can hear your annoying voices all the time.” Avery tells them.

“That and you never leave us alone.” I add.

“Firstly I hope you can hear me because I kinda sing in a band.” Todd points out the obvious.

“Secondly, we never leave you alone because we’re kinda in a band together, have been for the past 5 years…” Julian trails off.

“Yeah but this close? I can easily hit you with the neck of this guitar.” I ask and I gently tap his chest with the neck of the acoustic guitar.

“I’m sorry I like your company.” He puts his hands up in surrender and stands up wide eyed.

“Aww, you like me!” I grin at him.

“Well I have to, we’re with each other 24/7, and who else is gonna be our frontman? I need to make that money, so without you, our band will go down hill.” He explains.

“I’m a woman, not a man.” I point out.

“Hey, I don’t know what you identify as!” Julian exclaims.

“True.” You shrug and look down at the guitar, strumming random chords.

“Could you pass me my phone?” Julian asks Avery from his Cajon.

“It’s literally a metre away from you but fine.” She shrugs and gets up.

We’re all in 5 Seconds Of Summer’s tour bus, just hanging out together. We’re great friends with the band, such great friends that Luke and I are dating, we’ve been dating for a little over a year now. We all became friends around 3 years ago, we met at a mutual friend’s birthday party, just so happened to fans of each other’s bands and we hit off from there. We have different relationships with everyone and we get along really well.

Luke and I haven’t told the fans yet, we’ve barely even talked about it. We’re just not the type of people to be very public about things like this. Sure, we post pictures together and stuff, and interact a lot on Twitter, but never once even hinted it online. There was one time where we were all out, we were all so drunk, and Luke and I were holding hands as a million paps blinded us with the flash. That did spark dating rumours but it died down faster than it sparked.

Luke was the first I connected to, we used to walk around cities we both coincidently played at or when the boys visited us or vice versa, and just talk, from useless things to such deep things that it felt like I needed a nap after. We first kissed a year before we actually started dating. We were all on a night out, and Luke and I ended up making out, there was this tension between us in the past month, and it started from there. The kiss felt magical, and then we slowly started to develop feelings for each other, the following year was made up of lingering touches, burning gazes, and a fuck ton of tension. Then we were at a charity concert in London, and we ended up in his band’s hotel room balcony, that was so close to the venue that you could see and hear all the performances, and all of a sudden we just looked at each other, the moon was shining down on him, he looked so beautiful, and he gingerly held my jaw and kissed me to the sound of Sycamore Tree by The Hunna. That went on for a couple weeks, sneaky kisses and sharing knowing glances across rooms, before we made it official. Ever since then I’ve made some of the best memeories with one of my favourite people.

If you couldn’t tell, I’m in a band. I’m the lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist, Todd is the lead guitarist and vocalist, Avery is the bassist and vocalist, and Julian is the drummer and vocalist. I met Julian and Todd at school, Avery used to live next door to me, and I’d hear her play the bass and sometimes hear her sing, so then I kinda asked ‘hey, wanna be in a band?’ We’ve been a band for 5 years now, coming up 6 soon, we’ve released 3 albums, gone on so many tours, and written countless songs. We’re currently working on album number 4, but it’s not in demand because we’re still touring and busy with other things. The chemistry between us all is unbelievable, sure, after touring for 10 months and being stuck in a tour bus, things can get a little tense, but besides those moments, we get along so well, and our minds work really well together, when we’re writing songs, we just get each other, and understand each other’s vibe. I couldn’t ask for better bandmates.

“Oh my God, no!” Avery says as she recognises what I’m playing.

“Let it be an exception this only time.” I laugh.

“Did you just- g-get out of the band.” Todd stutters.

“Come on.” I encourage them and start the beginning chords again, Julian beginning to join in.

“It has overplayed syndrome for me!” Avery shakes her head.

“Amuse her Ave, she’s only gonna keep on doing it until you join in.” Todd tells Avery.

“Fine.” She sighs.

Todd pulls out his phone and starts recording it all.

“When I was younger I saw my daddy cry And curse at the wind. He broke his own heart and I watched As he tried to reassemble it.

And my momma swore That she would never let herself forget. And that was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist.

But darling, You are the only exception. You are the only exception. You are the only exception. You are the only exception.

Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul That love never lasts. And we’ve got to find other ways to make it alone. Or keep a straight face.

And I’ve always lived like this Keeping a comfortable distance. And up until now I have sworn to myself That I’m content with loneliness.

Because none of it was ever worth the risk.

Well you are the only exception. You are the only exception. You are the only exception. You are the only exception.

I’ve got a tight grip on reality, But I can’t let go of what’s in front of me here. I know you’re leaving in the morning when you wake up. Leave me with some kind of proof it’s not a dream. Oh-oh-oh-ohhh.

You are the only exception. [4x]

And I’m on my way to believing. Oh, and I’m on my way to believing.”

“It wasn’t that bad was it?” I ask.

“You’re right, it was kinda fun.” She sheepishly says.

“This is going straight to Twitter.” Todd grins.

“I’ll admit, it does have overplayed syndrome.” I agree.

“Just please don’t make me sing Wonderwall.” Avery cringes.

“I can agree with that.” I chuckle.

“So where are the boys?” Todd asks.

“I think they’re in their dressing room, I’m not sure.” Julian answers.

“Can we go see them?” I beg.

“Aw, is little (Y/N) getting boyfriend withdrawals?” Julian teases.

“Yeah, now I’m going, you joining?” I ask.

“Sure.” They all nod and we head out the tour bus, Todd bringing the guitar, toying with the strings.

As we walk through the venue, I begin to sing a song we’re currently working on, and it sounds really cool because the halls are so empty, my voice echos around.

“I really like that song, sure it needs tweaking at some parts, but I can’t wait for it to be released.” Julian pauses his conversation with Avery.

“Yeah, I think we should add a high note somewhere.” Todd adds.

“(Y/N) does the high note, whilst we sing over it, and when we perform it, all these lights and explosions go off.” Julian starts getting excited.

“That or there’s a huge build up and then the high note, and we kinda have tiny pause between each drum beat.” Todd suggests.

“I’ll write it down.” Avery tells us and pulls her phone out.

The sound of All Time Low meets our ears, and I can hear Ashton’s voice – looks like we’re close to the dressing room.

Todd knocks on the open door and all 4 boys turn to us, and smiles break out.

“Hey.” Avery waves walking in and goes straight to the sofa with Michael, the others following her.

I walk towards Luke, and he places his hand on my right ribcage, before pressing a short greeting kiss to my lips. “Hey.” He smiles.

“Hi.” I chuckle and walk over to the others.

“Hello.” Calum grins and pats the spot next to him.

“How are you?” I ask

“Tired, but besides that, I’m fine, you?” Calum answers.

“Yeah, a little jetlagged and all that jazz, but I’m good.” I nod and Luke comes over to us and sits next to me, placing his hand on my thigh.

“What have you been doing?” Calum questions.

“We’ve been writing, well, trying to, but we just kept messing around, but we did make some progress.” I explain. “You?”

“We’re doing this live stream thingy, there’s cameras on the walls and stuff. It’s actually live right now, so be careful what you do or say.” He chuckles.

“Oh cool, how long has this been go in on for?” I ask, learning against Luke’s shoulder as he talks to Julian.

“An hour and a bit so far, I think it goes on until we go on stage.” Calum replies.

“You excited for the show?”

“Always am, when’s your next show? Surely your little break should be over soon.”

“The break lasted 3 days, I wouldn’t call it a break.” I comment. “I think it’s in a couple days, we’re not sure.”

“You did a cover of The Only Exception?” Ashton questions and gestures to his phone.

“Well the evidence is on your phone.” I point out.

“Is it any good?” Michael asks.

“I wouldn’t say that.” I laugh.

“Yeah I would say it’s fucking amazing!” Avery exclaims.

“I wouldn’t say that either, we were just having fun.” I shrug.

“I’m gonna go check out the stage, you wanna come?” Luke asks me.

“Ohhhh, you’re gonna check out the stage.” Michael wiggles his eyebrows with a teasing smile.

“Yes, I’m going to look at the stage, with my girlfriend, you can come if you want.” Luke states, and begins to get up, putting his phone in his pocket.

“Nah, I’m not that into that, but (Y/N) though.” Michael winks at me, making me laugh.

“Fuck completely off.” Luke laughs and holds his hand out for me to take, and I grab onto and he helps me up. “Now, we’ll be at the stage if you need us.”

“Wow that’s brave, getting it on whilst there are people around.” Todd smirks.

“Really Todd? I taught you better than this.” I shake my head.

“I’m older than you!” He claims.

“By 4 months.” I deadpan.

“Come on, babe.” Luke lightly tugs on my hand and we leave the room.

“How many people are gonna be here tonight?” I question and slightly swing our hands.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I know it’s gonna be a load of people, and I’m kinda nervous to be honest.” He confesses.

“Really?” I furrow my eyebrows.

“Yeah, what if I sing the wrong part? Forget the words? Mess the guitaring up? Fall?” He questions.

“Babe, what if you do mess up?” I ask. “You’ve got your bandmates that will take over for you and it will be like it never happened! You’ve got millions of people that support you in everything and you’re surrounded by people that love you. If you mess up nothing’s going to change, it’s going to be the best night of some people’s life’s tonight, if you mess up, it makes their concert unique. You’ll be fine.” I tell him.

“That well enough said, but it still doesn’t change anything, I’m still going to be nervous and stress about it.” Luke shakes his head as we get out into the open, surrounded by all the chairs people are gonna sit at later on.

“You’ve got to learn that you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve achieved so much, messing something up is expected really, Luke.” I reply. “Would it help if I was on stage too?” I joke.

“It would actually.” He seriously says as we walk onto the stage.

“Seriously?” I question.

“Yeah, I know how much you miss being on stage, even though it’s only been a few days, and it will help my nerves.” He nods.

“I don’t know, Luke.” I sheepishly say and Luke lets go of my hand before wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Come on, we’ll pick out a song, and then you will be the suprise guest.”

“Just me or the whole band?” I question.

“We’ll figure it out later.” He shrugs.

“I’ll think about it.” I tell him and sit at the piano. “When’s soundcheck?”

“Sometime in the afternoon, a while yet, they only just set up the stage.”

“Oh.” I nod looking down at the keys.

“You going to sing me a song?” Luke asks like a little school girl.

“Sure.” I smirk and place my fingers on the right chords. “I don’t love you, like I did yesterday. Joking I love you really.” I laugh.

“I was about to say!” He laughs.

“This is more the song for you.” I smile.

“Baby, I love you I never want to let you go The more I think about, The more I want to let you know: That everything you do, Is super fucking cute And I can’t stand it

I’ve been searching for A girl that’s just like you Cause I know That your heart is true

Baby, I love you I never want to let you go The more I think about, The more I want to let you know: That everything you do, Is super duper cute And I can’t stand it

Let’s sell all our shit, And run away To sail the ocean blue Then you’ll know, That my heart is true

Baby, I love you I never want to let you go The more I think about, The more I want to let you know: That everything you do, Is super duper cute And I can’t stand it

You, you got me where you want me Cause I’ll do anything to please you Just to make it through: Another year

You, I saw you across the room And I knew that this is gonna Blossom into something beautiful. You’re beautiful.

Baby, I love you I never want to let you go The more I think about, The more I want to let you know: That everything you do, Is super duper cute And I can’t stand it No I can’t stand it No I can’t stand it.”

“Aw, babe.” He bites his lip bashfully.

“You’re just too damn cute, I can’t stand it.” I shake my head and stand up, taking the few steps towards him, and loosely wrap my arms around his neck.

“Well, I have to say, you’re pretty cute too.” He smiles and holds my waist.

“Thank you.” I say and Luke connects our lips, I can feel how he is smiling through the kiss. His hands travel up my body and go to my cheeks/jaw as he slides his tongue into my mouth, making the kiss more intense.

We get interrupted by Luke’s phone going off, making us both jump and we jump away from each other. Luke pulls his phone out of his pocket, with his eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s from Ash, saying check Twitter.” He reads to me.

“Uh, what?” I question.

He just shrugs and presses a few things on his phone. “Oh shit.” He sheepishly speaks.

“What?” I ask confused.

“Here.” Luke passes me his phone.

There’s loads of gifs of us kissing when I walked into the room, and tweets about us, our ship name is even trending.

“Oh yeah, shit.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot that we were live and stuff.” Luke apologizes.

“It’s not your fault.” I tell him.

“Who’s is it then?” He asks.

“It’s totally yours, but I wanted to make you feel better.” I confess with a laugh, him joining in with me. “It’s both of our faults, but it had to happen at some point, we’ve been going out for over a year now.”

“That’s true, what do we say about it? ‘Hey, this is my girlfriend, I love her, bye’?” He questions.

“How about I do join you on stage for one song, and we kinda confirm it all and stuff?” I suggest.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He nods his head with a smile. “Any song ideas?”

“Uh, no, you?” I shake my head.

“Not yet, we’ve got a while.” He shrugs.

“Did the live stream have sound?” I question.-

“I think so, I’m not sure.”

“They probably heard our weird conversation about sex.” I groan.

“How did everyone forget about the whole stream?” Luke asks.

“Blinded by my beauty.” I jokingly flip my hair over my shoulder .

“I can agree with that.” He chuckles and pecks my lips. “Why don’t we sing the song we had our first kiss to?”

“It was actually our second kiss.” I point out.

“Our first kiss was pretty hot.” He comments.

“Shut up. So we’re gonna do Sycamore Tree?” I ask for confirmation.

“I think so, unless you don’t want to be the cheesy couple.”

“We’re always cheesy, it wouldn’t be us if we weren’t.” I joke.

“That’s true.” He nods.

“Is it just going to be us or your band and me, even both of our bands?” I question.

“Why don’t we try them all and see what we like best.” Luke suggests.

“Okay, you wanna invite the others here now, so we can rehearse it now?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He pulls his phone out and types on his phone, as he does that I go towards the guitars.

Picking up Luke’s black and white one, I plug it in and sit at the end of the stage, playing with it.

“You do know that’s tuned differently.” Luke comes and sits next to me after a while.

“You do know I’m in a band myself.” I mock and stand up putting his guitar back, instead picking up the one in standard tuning. “Happy?”

“You know I don’t like people touching my guitars.” He groans.

“Welcome to my world, I have a whole band who use my guitar all the time, but they still use it.” I deadpan and do the intro to the guitar battle of Castaway.

“That’s my song.” He points out the obvious.

“Well done.” I send him a sarcastic smile.

Luke gets up and grabs Michael’s guitar, before joining me again and he does his part of the intro.

“Aw, look at the happy couple doing guitar battles, how cute.” The voice of Ashton coos once we’re done.

“Does this mean I’m joining your band now and you take my place?” Michael asks me as I stand up, putting the guitar back to its original place, Luke following my actions.

“If you want.” I shrug.

“Finally I can sing Wolf live!” He exclaims.

“What?” Avery questions.

“You’ve never sung it live and it’s such a good song.” He tells us.

“It’s never felt right to perform.” I reply.

“Are we going to talk about the little doozy you and Luke made or what?” Julian asks and I punch his arm.

“Yeah, about that.” Luke mutters.

“Luke and I decided to confirm it my doing a duet tonight.” I explain.

“I don’t think they need any confirmation, they’ve got all the information already.” Calum jokes and him and Todd high five.

“Funny.” I sarcastically say with a glare.

“Have you chosen a song yet?” Ashton questions.

“Yeah I think so, we’re gonna so Sycamore Tree by The Hunna.” Luke says.

“That’s a bit specific.” Todd furrows his eyebrows.

“It’s the song that was playing when we had our first kiss.” I explain.

“That was playing in the club?” Todd smirks.

“I need a new guitarist.” I whine and rest my for head on Luke’s chest.

“So who’s playing? Are we all playing? Is just you two? Your band or our band?” Calum asks.

“I don’t thinks it’s gonna be all of us because there’s no need, I think it’d be good if we one of our bands played.” I suggest and turn around so I can breath properly, Luke presses me against his body and rests his forearms on my shoulders.

“If we played we won’t have our instruments.” Avery says.

“You can just use ours.” Ashton tells her.

“No, she doesn’t like using other people’s instruments, because it would feel like cheating on her bass.” Julian explains for him.

“I get that.” Calum nods.

“So I take it it’s us playing?” Michael questions.

“I guess.” Luke shrugs.

“Is this our first time performing together?” Calum asks.

“I think it is, at least at a proper show.” I confirm. “Ew, our band has gone in such decline I’m performing with some losers. We really need to get that album out fast.” I mutter and Luke tips my head up so I’m facing him, and he squeezes my cheeks a little.

“Play nice.” He mumbles and kisses my lips lightly before walking off, leaving me to look at his back with an unimpressed face.

It’s a little while later now, the boy’s and I rehearsed the song and it sounds really good, we all love it. I’m a little nervous to perform it because a secret I’ve been keeping for over a year is finally gonna be out but it had to happen at one point. At least once it’s out we can be ourselves around each other on camera or when we are out.

My band are currently messing around on stage, the boy’s are sitting on some of the many chairs, talking about whatever, and we had some free time and we were bored so why not?

“When was the last time we played a cover?” Avery questions.

“Legit hours ago.” I shrug.

“Live.” She sighs.

“Uh, a while, back in Birmingham we did.” Todd remembers.

“We covered Smoke by Pvris right?” Julian asks.

“Yeah, right before (Y/N) was sick.” Todd says.

“Don’t remind me.” I shudder.

“Why’d you ask?” Todd Julian asks Avery.

“I just thought it’d be nice if we played a cover at our next show.” She answers.

“Yeah that could be cool.” I agree.

“What song?” Todd asks.

“I heard (Y/N) singing Don’t Let Me Down the other week and that sounded great.” Julian suggests.

“I was?” I question.

“Yeah, we were in Seattle or somewhere, I was in the dressing room whilst you were trying to get some bars so you could call Luke, and you were singing to yourself.” He tries to jog my memory.

“Oh! That one, you liked that?” I ask.

“It would’ve sounded better with music but your voice sounded amazing.” He tells me.

“Where were we?” Avery asks and gestures between Todd and herself.

“I don’t know, think you were going sight seeing.”

“So you want us to perform that?” Todd asks.

“Yeah but I think we need to come up with a new version because I’m not into the original.” I say.

“Same.” Julian agrees.

“It shouldn’t be hard.” Todd shrugs and looks down at the frets.

Julian walks over to his drums and sits down, picking up his sticks then swirls them around his fingers before hitting what feels right.

“Go faster.” Avery tells Julian.

“Oh, you like fast?” He winks at her but does what she says and I go over to todd and tell him what we should do guitar wise.

After 10 minutes we’ve got the track finished, just need to sing now.

“Does anybody know the words?” I laugh.

“No.” Avery shakes her head.

“I don’t.” Todd replies.

“Me either.” Julian chuckles.

“Well then, I guess I’ll look up the words.” I mumble and pull out my phone.

“Do you want me to do the guitar part and then you can just do the singing?” Todd suggests.

“We’ll see how that sounds and if we like it then sure.” I respond.

“Okay.” He nods.

I take the mic of the stand and listen until it’s my time to come in.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=WFDBy_KYDPE

“WOO!” Someone shouts and clapping following.

I turn around and see the boys cheering and clapping at us. “You guys suck!” Michael shouts.

“Fuck you.” I flip him off.

“Okay!” He smirks.

“Dude!” Luke exclaims and hits the back of his head.

“Yes?” He asks.

“Bro code.”

“What about it?” Michael asks flatly. “She’s hot, can’t I just appreciate it?”

“No, no you cannot.” Luke shakes his head.

“Now that’s just rude.” He crosses his arms.

***

“You still nervous?” I question Luke as he puts his guitar strap over his head.

“More than ever.” He sighs.

“You’ll do great, plus I’ll be out there in while so don’t worry.” I smile.

“Are you nervous at all?”

“No not really, the only thing I’m nervous about is that we’re going to be official and so exposed. I love the thrill before a show, it’s one of my favourite feelings.” I explain.

“Are you going to stay here?” He asks.

“Of course.” I nod.

“'Kay, it’s just a lot of people and I’m terrified I’ll mess u-”

I cut him off with a kiss, which works efficiently because he holds my neck and kisses me back. “Babe, you’ll be fine, now go and give it your best, see you soon.”

“Thanks, love you.” He smiles and gives me one last kiss before pulling back.

“Good luck!” I wish but he probably can’t hear me because the crowd becomes alive as I say the second word.

I’ve always loved see in Luke perform and seeing the most genuine smile on his face. When I’m missing him on tour I’ll go on my laptop and search for their live performances, which always makes me feel so much better.

He once admitted he does the same but then denied it as if it’s the last thing he’ll do. I found it cute but he thought it was embarrassing.

Luke looks back at me and I smile and give him a wink, he returns my smile and goes back to singing.

I continue to watch their performance, the nervousness disappearing fast as he gets used to it and messes around with the boys.

“So uh, I thought we’d bring out a special guest tonight.” Luke announces at the second to last song and I adjust my earpiece. “Everyone welcome my girlfriend (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!”

I walk out and the crowd erupts with even louder cheers, I smile and wave at a few people as I walk up towards Luke.

Luke gives me a small hug and takes my earpiece out.

“You ready?” He asks.

“I think so.” I nod and he gives me a subtle kiss on the cheek.

“You’ll do great.” He encourages.

“Okay whilst those guys be all gross over each other, we’re actually going to start the song.” Michael teases.

“I have to watch you be all gross over Luke.” I retort.

“Touchè, Muke af.” Michael shrugs.

“Can we actually start the song?” Calum asks.

“Yeah, we all know Cashton is the best ship, no debate.” Ashton says and Michael starts the opening guitar piece.

“Sitting under a sycamore tree You turn those beautiful eyes to me And then whisper so delicately” I sing the first verse starting out soft.

“And you say what will become of us, my dear And I’ll smile at you and clutch your hand real tight Coz your changing my life” I sing the second verse, smiling at Luke when I sing the second line.

“I say our future is ours to pain And I don’t have much but I’ve got a lot to gain And I wanna share it all with you And I feel your heart go oo oo oo oo oo It goes oo oo oo oo oo It goes oo oo oo oo oo If goes oo oo oo oo oo” Luke sings, an adorable grin settled on his face

And darling, you know we’ve got youth on our side Lets have no worries or troubles in our minds, tonight Lets take these moments day by day And whats in store for us, who can say…“ we sing together and I do the high note at then end.

“And I feel your heart go oo oo oo oo oo It goes oo oo oo oo oo It goes oo oo oo oo oo If goes oo oo oo oo oo” Luke sings, playing his guitar slowly.

“And I swear I love you till the end of our days And oooh I swear I love you till the end of our days” we sing together, making end contact with each other.

“And I feel your heart go oo oo oo oo oo It goes oo oo oo oo oo It goes oo oo oo oo oo If goes oo oo oo oo oo If goes oo oo oo oo oo If goes oo oo oo oo oo If goes oo oo oo oo oo If goes oo oo oo oo oo” I sing the last verse and Luke joins in on the last two lines.

“Wow, what a great crowd.” I say as I look at all the phones with the light on in the crowd.

“I didn’t think it was going to be that romantic, I thought it would be a casual cover, but wow that was something.” Calum chuckles.

“It’s always something with these two.” Ashton jokes.

“First he’s holding hands with her going out of a club surrounded my paps and now he’s kissing her infront of thousands of people.” Michael mocks.

“Hey, why are you making it seem like it was all me? I needed to be holding hands with someone, I needed to kiss someone, it wasn’t just the air.” Luke exclaims.

“Yeah, fuck you (Y/N).” Calum laughs.

“I will walk off this stage.” I threat.

“Go on, you need to check on Twitter, make sure it hasn’t died.” Ashton comments.

The crowd starts chanting something that I can’t understand as I walk towards Luke.

“What?” I bend my ear, taking my other ear piece out.

“Does anybody know what they’re saying?” Michael asks us.

“Wait, you’re chanting kiss? You want us to kiss?” Luke questions and the crowd cheers loudly.

“No I think they want (Y/N) and I to kiss.” Michael says and stare at him in a ‘are you fucking serious’ way.

“I don’t think you do, it gets pretty intense.” Luke jokes making me hit his arm.

Despite our denials, they still chant ‘kiss’.

“I don’t think they’re gonna stop.” Ashton laughs.

“Give 'em what they want!” Calum speaks.

“No.” I laugh.

Luke just shakes his head with a grin, and walks over to me.

“Hemmings! Back the fuck up.” I warn and begin to take some steps back.

“I’m not doing anything?” He shrugs but continues to walk towards me.

“I’m not gonna kiss you infront of thousands of people.” I tell him.

“I wasn’t coming here for a kiss.” He replies.

All of a sudden Luke leaps at me and wraps his arms around my waist, despite me trying to get away.

“I love you.” He says into my ear.

“One kiss.” I sigh.

“I wasn’t actually gonna get you to do it, but as you insist.” He smirks and turns me around so I’m facing him.

He presses his index finger under my chin and I place my hand on his shoulder, then we press our lips together, going for just a little more than a peck, smiling into it.

“You happy?” I ask.

“Oh my God, you’re so cute.” Michael laughs.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever been this happy, I’m with some of the people I love the most while doing the thing I love most. I couldn’t ask for anything more.

“Go finish the show and meet me in the dressing room.” I urge.

“Cuddles after?” Luke asks.

“Of course.”

70 notes · View notes

sonnenfuchs · 7 years

Text

⟶ do you wanna be a distraction, babe? | (m)

▹ pairing: hoseok x reader ▹ genre: smut ▹ wordcount: 5.1k ▹ a/n: inspired by these two songs! also i have a thing for fwb!hobi help and i need to stop writing pwp n maybe start focusing on the actual stories i have planned

↠ Hoseok is always there to keep you company whenever you feel a little lonely.

At the tender age of five, just past the time of you giving up your all too precious comfort blanket always clutched in tiny fingers, stubbornly declaring that - now all grown up - you no longer need baby things like blankets and stuffed toys. But, you find your greatest pleasure curled up on the sofa in your favorite pyjamas, round eyes wide and glued to the bright TV screen as kings reign, queens rule, animals advise and princesses sing beautiful songs about their true love, waiting for them.

Naturally, in your innocent mind with endless fantasies to be explored and ideas to be formed and just maybe lived out, what greater thing is there than a duet with your prince as you dance into the sunset, the wedding bells still sounding from afar? What dream is grander than the one of billowing dresses, sparkling heels, flowing hair and a hand to hold?

It’s all too perfect, with happy endings and talking animals and the castle grounds to call your home. And naturally, the love of your life - not that you have any grasp of that concept yet - awaiting you in his spread arms.

Yes, your only ambition with the age of five is becoming a princess, just like the one in the movies, and finding your own perfect prince.

By the time you turn ten, the sound of princesses no longer holds all the appeal it once did. You have long learned the sting of teasing words and hair being tugged, the burn of skinned knees as they forcefully met the grey pavement by a shove of small hands in between your shoulder blades, the shame of vicious laughter at your new dress or your carefully braided hair in pigtails falling over your shoulders, the bitter tears of learning that boys are dumb and it's not all that easy to find a prince.

Yet, it doesn't crush your dream. There is still allure in it, this fairy tail, this promise of just the right one swooping in and you off your feet, turning everything into a happy ending. Of course, you are still too young, your whole self still too naive, childlike, to fathom the meaning of love, of romantic attraction. But you know that princesses belong to princes that treat them well, and that is all that matters to you.

You also learn, however, that frilly skirts and a clean demeanor do not come close to the thrill of chasing balls and climbing trees, of jumping into dirty puddles to see the rain water splash everywhere and hear your mother complain about what a mess you are making again. A scraped elbow and bruised legs are nothing when the pain is drowned out by high pitched laughter, and those battle scars may not look all that pretty, but they sure spice up every pink dress you own.

So at ten, being a princess is no longer everything you want to be anymore, but the thought of your prince is still one you cherish.

At fifteen, boys are still mean, endlessly brainless, even gross, and definitely should not be worth your time, still, they hold a charm, one that makes you want to hold their hands and kiss their lips and maybe even dare to call one of them your boyfriend as you are now - finally - mature enough for romance, relationships.

By now, the concept of love is no longer foreign to you, having suffered through humiliating crushes, shaking hands and a pounding heart as upper class boys walked past you in school hallways, having ignored sleep in order to stay up and text that one boy that is different than all the others. Now, sweet nothings will mean nothing at all anymore as they lose their sweet touch, but still hurt to no end when the eventual breakup occurs, your mind still naive enough to think everyone is the one and your heart being ultimately crushed, broken in two, shaking with sobs when realization hits - he isn't even close to that.

It's so bittersweet though, the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach, the nervous blush, the love songs that suddenly make sense. After all, years and years of movies have prepared you for this, haven't they? The love at first sight, the awkward touches, the happily ever after. This is what romance is, isn't it?

So, with fifteen, the longing for a prince has never been stronger, yet the harsh reality of life has taught you impressions of the pain that needs to be felt in order to learn how to love.

But life goes on, fifteen is nothing but a mere child, thoughts mature, ambitions get set, and some dreams - no matter how long they have existed - get pushed aside. And sometimes, those dreams are nothing more than childlike optimism that get dismissed with nothing but an idle smile at one's former innocence as life, in all it's hectic ways and brutal demands, leaves no longer room for such naivety.

Days turn into weeks, turn into months, turn into years, and somewhere along the way, somewhere in between adolescence and early adulthood, your heart has been lost. It has been left behind, your brain taking over with its logic, its rationality, its sense.

In between school and jobs, a prince has no longer space, nor is he wanted, seeming nothing but a waste of time, a distraction from what's important. You having long realized you are no princess and neither do you possess the riches that come with nobility and prestige. No, you are nothing more but the common girl that has to work for every penny and cent, and in all honesty, you prefer your cramped but cozy apartment to any spacious castle.

So, maybe, that is the reason you have sought out the meaning of life in hard work and progress in your career rather than the warmth of a body falling asleep next to you and waking up to tangled hair and tired eyes that tell you how much they love you.

But, there is no denying that there is a loneliness that creeps up on you from time to time, the soothing feel of a human touch, the burning craving that comes with sexual desire. A need that you alone cannot satisfy.

Luckily, you are not the only one with those urges.

No, you have long found someone to share that bond with, someone that feels the same, wants the same, only looking for physical relations - no place for romantic desire in your hearts.

Jung Hoseok, with a job that leaves even less space for personal affairs than yours, living in the same predicament as you do, is, in that sense, your ideal match.

And he knows it too, knows your arrangement is profitable for both of you, being able to fulfill each other's wishes and desires, being able to drown out thoughts of stressful workdays with a snap of hips and a breathy moan - being just the fleeting distraction both of you need from your everyday life.

It all started with a simple conversation, the lazy kind of talk with tongues loosened by beer and wine, the one where carefully built walls don't mean all that much anymore and guards get lowered. Friendly teasing turns to half hearted complaints to deadly serious, everything fueled by the other agreeing, sharing their own perspective, and before you knew it, lips sloppily moved against your own as your back pressed against the rough veneer of some old building in a dark alley, not patient enough to keep your hands fully of each other until the safety of one of your apartments was reached.

That night was a very long one, indulging in each other again and again, squeezing out the very last drop of pleasure you could from each other, before you awoke way past noon the next day, the sun shining too bright, as if it was judging you for last nights passionate activities. You find nothing more than an empty bed and a text message on your phone thanking you for all the fun and he’d be down to share your loneliness again if the need ever arises again.

Needless to say, it happened again. And again. And again.

And somewhere in between, the alcohol slowly getting forgotten, until finally it was no longer required to indulge in each other, and with only each other left, a quick text was enough to invite his company.

Over time, you have become near dependent on him, the stress relief he offers, the short time of bliss that brushes worries at side - at least momentarily. It no longer is a surprise that you are thumbing through chats until you find his, asking him to come over, whenever work drags you down, lets your shoulder slump and your head hang low. Whenever the thoughts of the future emerge, of how you don't want to be stuck forever in a listless job with no prospect of ever filling you with happiness. Whenever questions from friends and family alike grate on your nerves, inquires of when you plan on settling down, introducing a man, a wedding, of when will grandchildren enter the picture.

On those days, distractions under tangled sheet last for hours and hours...

Jung Hoseok, 3:27 pm Are you free tonight?

The text lights up the screen of your phone resting idly on the desk, littered with papers and empty coffee cups, grabbing your attention and redirecting your vision away from the endless figures on your desktop.

Phone in hand, you mull over your schedule, coming to the fortunate realization that yes, indeed, you had nothing else to attend to after you leave work, allowing you to do as you please on this friday night.

you, 3:31 pm yeah! my shift ends at 5 so i should be home around 5:30.

Jung Hoseok, 3:31 pm awesome. will be at yours around 8.

Perfect, that even leaves you time for dinner and to freshen yourself up; but as much as you would have loved to keep thinking about what is to come, it would have to wait. With a sigh you resign yourself back to your work, banishing all daydreams from your mind.

As always, he is true to his word, doorbell sounding barely a few minutes past eight. Putting down the the rose scented body mist you lightly sprayed behind your ears and on your wrists, you make your way to the door. With one last brush through your hair with your hand and a tug on the old, too big tank top to make sure it falls down to your thighs, you let him in.

There is no time to utter out a simple greeting before his hands catch your jaw, pulling you into a desperate kiss of clashing teeth and hasty lips. You feel the tension radiating off his body, the high wound stress coursing through his veins and the need for relief. He is restless as he presses you close, hands curling around hips and clinging to shoulders. Roughness, completely unlike him, taints all of his movements and soon you are backed up against the wall, his larger frame trapping your smaller one as he seemingly plans on devouring you whole.

When he finally breaks away, there is not the slightest trace of oxygen left in your system. It does not keep your mouth from speaking, teasing, however. "Rough day?"

"You have no fucking idea." He growls, eyebrows furrowed, the dark hair falling into his eyes letting his defined features look all there more sharp, downright scary in the dim lights. "Bedroom. Now."

It's hard to lead the way with no room to move, but you try, you really do, but in his foul mood, there is no satisfying him. Before you know it, you are thrown over his shoulder, a yelp escaping you as the world tilts upside down and his arms pins you into a tight grip that leaves you absolutely helpless.

You bounce onto the mattress when he throws you down, already crawling over your body again, lips connecting to yours once more. His usual playful demeanor is gone, leaving no room for easy flowing conversation with laughter in between. Not yet, anyway.

You know that first, you need to get him to unwind, to destress, to make him feel like a sane human again.

So when his teeth start nipping at your jaw, you let out small gasps to spur him on, and when his lithe fingers sneak up you shirt to rub the pads of his fingers over your already erect nipples, you press your chest up into his touch, letting him relish in your - although a bit played up - reactions.

But maybe, maybe, you overdo it just the slightest bit judging by the harsh tug and the slight pinch of his fingers, that makes you wince in real pain and the snarl he directs at you. And you know you really do need to calm him down.

Yet wrestling your body out of underneath his weight is easier said than done, especially when he has found your soft spot and relentlessly sucks and bites at the delicate skin, sure to leave behind an angry mark you will curse him out for when you discover it in the morning.

"H-Hoseok, wait."

It's enough to make him pull back momentarily, just the short break you need to crawl out underneath him and rather settle on the bed next to him instead, your hand coming to trail up his thigh as you lick your lips in an all too sultry manner. Of course, he immediately gets the hint, fingers flying down to his jeans, undoing the belt and button, tugging them down his toned thighs, boxer briefs following.

He is already half hard, the heated make out session having him riled up enough to redirect his blood flow and you can feel his full attention on you as you lean over, grabbing his length, warm and firm in your hand.

Letting your head drop lower, you place a hint of a kiss at the head, suppressing the giggle at his impatient growl, and letting your tongue dart out. He is slowly but surely starting to grow into his full size under your kittenish licks and steady grip.

When the first drop of precum starts pooling at the tip, you finally relent and take him into your mouth, enjoying the sigh that falls from his lips. He tastes salty in your mouth, a bit like sweat, but not unpleasant, but maybe you have just tasted him too often at this point, too accustomed of his weight on your tongue, of his girth stretching your lips, that you have learned to welcome it.

So really, it's not too hard to fall into well practised habits, the even bobbing of your head, the way your tongue curls around his shaft, dips into the tip, the way you hollow your cheeks around him as you suck. It all is accompanied by his labored breaths and even the slightest of moans as a sheen of sweat appears on his golden skin, making him nearly radiant.

It is not too long until his fingers in your hair are prying you off him, urging you to change your position, suggesting you to kneel at the edge of the bed. You easily comply, opening your mouth up again the second he stands in front of you, him groaning at the way you greedily stick out your tongue to get more of him, to have him back in your mouth.

"Relax for me, baby, would you?"

It's all the warning you get before you feel him heavy on your tongue once again, his hand coming to cradle the back of your head as he shallowly starts moving his hips, testing and trying if you are ready, but god, yes, you are, more than that. The excitement brewing in the pit of your stomach just bubbles up all the more at the prospect of him fucking your mouth, a tingling sensation like electric impulses sparking in between your legs.

He slowly gets rougher, the hand that so gently just rested on your nape now curling into the tendrils of your flowing hair, a steel grip that does not allow you to move as his hips pick up speed, thrusting further, harder, until he buries himself deep into your throat.

You convulse at the intrusion, choking at the sensation of having taken him so deep, but he does not relent, he only still his hips and groans as he feels you trying to cough.

Focusing, you take a deep breath through your nose, all attention on loosening up once again, relaxing all muscles and soon you hear his praises, how well you are doing, how good you feel, how the fuck he deserves someone as amazing as you. He starts moving again.

But this time, there is less rhythm to it, less systematic, it's sloppy, erratic, and you know he is getting closer, desperately chasing his high at this point.

Your hands that were resting on his thigh as to stable yourself, move up, one grabbing his hip, the other coming to wrap around his shaft, as you pull your head further back. While your wrist twists relentlessly, your mouth now focuses on his tip, sucking and licking, tongue doing the most.

He has stopped thrusting by now, muscles locking up, and he only looks down at you with half lidded eyes, pupils blown so wide you can no longer distinguish them from the dark brown of his irises.

You have to admit, he looks beautiful like this, sweaty skin, jaw hanging slightly open, eyes wild with need and hair hanging into his face. The visual sends a shiver down your spine that painfully reminds you of the wetness that has long formed between your legs, making your underwear stick to you uncomfortably.

He is nearing his edge, it's clear, and you hum around him, letting him know that you are aware. He still moans out a warning, fingers releasing your hair and falling away from your head in case you want to pull away, but you just rake your nails down his thighs as you suck all the harder.

It's enough to make him crumble.

Cum fills your mouth, bitter taste spreading as you collect it there, your wrist still restlessly moving to coach him through his orgasm, his low groans escaping his clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

His shoulders slump and he comes to caress your cheek when he is done, pulling out of your mouth slowly. A drop of cum spills from your lips and rolls down the corner of your mouth as you stand up and walk to the bathroom, spitting it in the sink and rinsing out the taste.

When you come back into the room, he has settled back on the bed, back resting on the dark, wooden headboard, long legs spread out on the bed and arms crossed behind his head. He has taken off his shirt, abs on full display and with how the light light loves to play tricks, the shadows of the muscles, each valley in between seeming endlessly deep. Having tugged his boxers back up, he looks straight out of an underwear commercial - Calvin Klein could only hope to ever have someone as attractive at him.

Back on the bed, you crawl over to him, arched back and more swing in your hips than necessary. You feel like a cat sneaking up on its prey. But still, you feel his eyes trace over your body; the dip of your spine and the curve of your ass.

The second you are in reach the palm of his hand comes to rest on your flushed cheek, dragging you in for a kiss, but this time, it's in the near lazy, yet playful way you know well. He has calmed down and shifted back into the kind personality you have grown familiar to.

Humming into the kiss, he molds his lips against yours, idly finding a rhythm that reverberates down in your loins, reminding you just how needy you have become.

But there is no hurry, not when his kisses feel so relaxing, tongue coming to poke out and run over your bottom lip until you barely open up, just about enough to let him in. He carefully licks into your mouth, tasting you, exploring everything he can reach like he hasn't done this again and again - and anytime you would tease him about how he kisses you like a man starved, deprived of all pleasure, he would just laugh and tell you that you taste too good to ever stop with a certain gleam in his eyes that you have yet to figure out.

"Thank you." He murmurs against your lips. "I needed that."

"I could tell... what happened today?" You sit down, legs folding underneath your body as you tilt your head to his side, a habit of yours whenever you gave someone your full attention.

But he doesn't let you stay in that position, rather he is pulling you back up and into his lap, making you straddle him as a thigh is firmly placed on either side of him, and he finally can lean in and place the soft kisses on your neck that he knows have you melting under his caressing touch in no time. "Nothing special, just the usual."

"The u-usual? Hoseok, you jumped me the second you s-saw me."

You can feel the smirk his smile slants into as he hears you stutter, tongue coming out to lick over the skin he just had sucked into his mouth, soothing the forming redness, but there is also a slight sigh escaping him at your words. "Okay, yeah, maybe not quite the usual. Very bad day, no use in talking about it though."

"You sure?"

"Completely sure." He hums, the hands on your hips wandering up and up, bunching the material of your top up around your chest and tugs it over your head as your arms lift instantly, nearly out of reflex. "Got other things to do right now."

Leaning down, his mouth wraps around your erect nipple, tongue curling around it as you press your chest forward with a content sigh. While he sucks on your one breast, he encloses the others, the pad of his thumb grazing over your hard bud in a way you cannot help but whimper. He really drives you crazy with the smallest of touches.

"Hoseok, more."

"Gladly." He flips you over, so that he is now hovering above you, trailing his kisses farther down, dragging your underwear with him when he reaches the fabric, and soon enough you are completely bare in front of him. He joins the flimsy piece of clothing on the floor together with the mess of his own attire.

Palms smoothing up your thighs, he pushes them apart, spreading them far enough that a tint of red reaches your cheeks as the humiliation of your exposed core hits, but it's easily forgotten when his tongue meets your dripping lips, parting them with one slick swipe and the sound of him groaning as your taste spreads in his mouth.

Wasting no time, he gives you all he has, sucking and nibbling all around, painting intricate patterns on your clit as you writhe underneath him with an iron grip in his hair. He knows you too well, knows all your sweet spots, knows how to make your thighs shake around his head.

And truly, it takes all of your effort to not lock up your muscles, trap him in between your legs as your squirm, not sure if you want him to stop and pull away as you get more sensitive each passing second or keep him in place forever.

It's nearly cruel how well he pleasures you with such little effort, overwhelming you when he pushes two lithe fingers inside, moving and curling tirelessly, as if you weren't already moaning for him before.

But now, with his fingers inside, he ignited a longing for more, a need to get stretched out, to get hit deeper, one that he can not supply with his hands alone, even if he were to try. No, it's no longer enough, and he knows it too, the mischievous glint in his eyes saying more than his mouth ever could.

"Want me to fuck you?"

You tug him upwards by his hair, letting him readjust until his torso is hovering over yours again as you place your lips against his. "I would very much like that."

Reaching over you take a condom from your bedside drawer, throwing it at him and laughing when it hits his chest as he fails to catch it. He swiftly tears the foil wrapper and rolls it over his length - already hard again and flushed a deep red.

Spreading your legs once more for him, he wastes no time to align his tip at your center, entering tortuously slow - you embracing the stretch of him filling you up anyway - as his arm muscles bulge under the strain of his own weight. Once fully sheathed inside, he releases a hiss as you involuntarily clench your walls around him.

"Fuck, don't do that if you want me to last." He breathes out, forehead dropping to rest on yours.

Your arms wrap around him, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades as you try to get used to the feeling of having him inside you. "Sorry, couldn't help it."

He only responds with a grunt as he starts moving, rolling his hips into you in a steady rhythm, in such a fluid movement that it leaves you completely breathless. The ways in which he can move his body are always miles and miles beyond you.

But you relish in it nonetheless, the feelings he can elicit, the pleasure he grants you. It leaves your mind blank, clouding over all your senses until the buzz he sends you in is all you perceive - it's as if you are transported to a different world, as if you are floating enclosed in white cotton wool clouds.

The smell of sex has long infused the room, hanging heavy in the air, and together with the musky scent of his cologne and the somewhat sweet undertones that are just him, it's a heavenly smell. The way you breath it in, together with how he stimulates your body, you come close to the feeling of a drug induced high, ecstasy in its purest form.

And god, he really does lure you into pure bliss, balancing on a knife point, so close to teetering over that fine line that draws out sparks behind closed eyes like fireworks in the night sky of New Year's Eve.

He realizes it too, how close you truly are, knows your clues and tells, like the tremors in your thighs and the blotchy red that colors the skin of your décolleté. But, he is a merciful soul that has no interest in dragging this out.This isn't the play field of a lover’s quarrel, but more of a beneficial business deal for both of you after all.

So, he is kind enough to sneak a hand down your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing in callous circles that have you crossing your ankles behind his back to anchor yourself through the waves of gratification that roll over you and drown you in pure white, making you lose all sense of reality.

He fucks you through it, not once slowing down as you let one moan after the other escape - all of them sounding somewhat similar to his name - and your toes curl as your heels dig into his back.

You clench and tighten around his length only to loosen up and repeat again, coming harder than you have done in a long time, and somewhere along the line, you trigger his own release as well.

His weight collapses onto yours as he no longer can hold himself up, pressing you into the mattress as his hips still try to keep their rhythm, and, although failing, he keeps thrusting. Chest heaving, his breath tickles your neck, making you realize what a sweaty mess both of you have turned into.

Once you both calmed down enough, you push his weight off you, laying next to each other as you try to even out your breathing back to your natural state, slowing pounding hearts and waiting for drained bodies to regain some strength.

Removing the condom off his softening cock, he ties it with a knot, picking himself up and off the bed to throw it away. He trots over into the bathroom, and you hear the opening of the trash can then water running.

"I look like I just ran a fucking marathon, I'm that drenched." He calls out to you, and you can picture him observing himself in the large mirror, combing through his damp hair.

"You can use my shower." You shout back, feeling the need to wash yourself as well. "I can join you if you want."

Upon your words he appears again in your sight, leaning against the door frame he looks at you with a raised brow and humor clear in his eyes.

"You do realize I have cum two times in the last what-was-it? I doubt I will be able to get it up again that soon. Let's save that for next time." Walking over, he grabs his clothes, throwing your underwear back at you while he is at it, and makes his way back to the bath. "I will take you up on that offer for a shower though. I seriously can't leave like this."

"Feel free to do so." You are finally getting up, too, stretching your muscles and, with a sensation akin to satisfaction, you surprisingly find the ache that comes with a slight soreness in the cradle of your hips. "Want some coffee or a snack?"

"A glass of water would be nice."

And with that, he closes the door behind him and you hear the sound of running water fill the otherwise silent apartment. Shrugging your shirt back on, you idly make your way into the kitchen to soothe your parched throat while getting another glass ready for Hoseok.

He doesn't take long, emerging soon with still dripping hair combed back to be dried by the humid night, clothes back on and skin glowing. He thanks you for the water, gulping it down in one go, before setting the glass back down. Turning towards you, he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you into a hug.

"Thank you. I really needed tonight." He mumbles as he presses his lips to your temple, but the touch is gone as soon as it came, leaving you somewhat floating in the pleasant feeling of short affection. "I'll be going now."

"You're welcome. Text me if something comes up again." "As always, my favorite stress reliever."

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