#next time you see him with a moustache assume we are dating

[plscallmeeren]

W I L L Y O U T A K E M Y C A S E ?

Jennifer Walters x Reader

Request: yesss

Summary: you and Jen finally get around to that coffee date and more :)

Warnings: Swearing; alcohol and cannabis consumption; criminally hot Jen

Word Count: 2

You had never been so nervous nor excited for a date.

But it was a date, right? What if she sabotaged your court case if it went badly? What if she was disappointed? What if you read her wrong and all she originally wanted was to talk about your case?

But she had blushed and she was no saboteur. She had already e-mailed you on the case and said all she needed to. No, it would be fine. It was with a secondhand kind of defiance you decided you needed to take on that same bold edge you automatically had with other women.

"Can I get you something to drink, young man?" an elderly waiter wheezed, looking thoroughly displeased when you politely told him you were still waiting for someone.

You thought about the Lin Kuei, in a reminiscent way that did bubble up to bother you at least once a day.

What might they think of you here, anxious over a woman they would probably no sooner consider kind than a threat to human society.

You were so lost in thought you didn't notice the door swing open to reveal Jennifer.

She smiled in your direction, presently realising that you didn't know she was there. She noted how you looked so cool and uninterested in everything around you. Something she hadn't seen in you at her office.

You finally glanced at her and immediately lit up with a grand smile.

"I'm glad to see you, Miss Walters."

She sat down happily, seeing again and in a stronger light today that wondrous body, that beautiful smile, those skilled fingers trilling on the surface of the table.

"It's nice to see you too, Mr (y/L/n)," she teased.

You took a moment to let your eyes wander across her attire; the similar white shirt and black pants as she had been wearing last, only with the top buttons undone in a sort of casual flexibility.

"So, am I right to assume the time had come to cover the usual?"

The elderly waiter scurried over immediately, purposefully ignoring the appearance of Jennifer, willing to bring you both your coffee and tea, no matter the skin colour.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Where are you from, Miss Walters?"

•••

"You did what? Oh, that's brutal," you laughed incredulously, Jennifer snickering at her childhood story.

"Well, David shouldn't have called me Susan. He knew I didn't like it, I swear. I had no choice but to unleash all the power of the chicken on him."

"Damn, I'm glad I'm not your cousin. Is this a bad time to tell you I'm afraid of millipedes? If I ever do something to hurt you, will you drop a bucket of them over my head?"

"Millipedes? What on earth's so scary about millipedes?" she laughed, and you decided them and there you were prepared to admit to a thousand fears to hear her laugh 1001 times.

"Well- I dunno, they kinda just crawl all over you, y'know? When I was little we had a basement and in the winter the whole floor was full of them and if you stood there long enough they'd start crawling up your legs." You shuddered. Another things the Lin Kuei would never understand.

"Okay, that does sound pretty uncomfortable," she conceded, a quick, involuntary glance at her watch when she saw the waiter glare at them.

Apparently, he wasn't used to loud customers spending more than two hours at his workplace without spending more than ten dollars.

"Looks like moustache is getting impatient, huh?" you whispered, winking at her before standing up and pressing a ten dollar bill into the man's palm coolly.

It seemed those two dollars and 30 cents extra were enough to buy you an extra warm goodbye, with many good tidings and an enthusiastic 'can't wait for your next visit'.

"You didn't have to pay, y'know," Jennifer said on the way out, the glass door falling into place with a clank behind you.

"That's fine. You can pay next time if you want." She couldn't help but smile at the implication of a next time.

"So... I'm heading to a house party with a friend soon, but if you want you can tag along?"

You didn't really expect her to accept. Your date had ended, she probably wanted to go home and recuperate, or head back to work, depending on how her hours worked...

You realised then how much you still wanted to talk to her about.

What you hadn't calculated into your estimation was that Jennifer, while possibly rather nervous or an over-thinker - was also a merciless extrovert.

"Yeah, sure, if you really don't mind?"

"Certainly not, love," you covered up quickly, and so you comfortable made your way to a rather different part of Los Angelos.

Your friend Wren lived in a rather rundown place in the north of L.A. Her apartment basically consisted of a kitchen, a dingy bathroom with a broken light and a poorly concealed bed.

You opened her door with you own set of keys, the first event of the evening Jennifer didn't comment on.

"Wren! You home?"

"Yeah, just putting on my make-up. Come on in," she shouted back from her giant bed.

"I brought a visitor." You glanced at the clock in the kitchen which read half past six.

"Really? You telling me you had human contact with someone apart from me?" Mockery ebbed into her tone with defiance.

"Jennifer. I told you, remember?"

The second event she didn't ask about.

"Oh... right. Wait a sec." There was some shuffling from behind the paper flip-wall and she popped out, one eye with eyeliner and mascara and one without. "Hi! It's nice to meet you."

"Uh- Nice to meet you, too." Some part of Jennifer had denied the female voice and somehow stuck to the assumption that your friend was a man.

Wren was very far from a man. She thrived on being feminine and her body had definitely graced her with a figure to support that sentiment.

You pulled her into a quick hug. Not the kind of quickness that derived from lack of comfort, but the kind which you only did out of habit because you saw each other every day, anyway.

She gulped. You wouldn't have asked her on a date if she had anything to worry about. You wouldn't have asked her if she wanted to come if you weren't interested after all.

Or would you? Did the date not go well? Were you just being polite?

"Zip this up for me, would you?" Wren asked, turning around from one skin-bearing side of her dress to another. Not much was left to imagination.

You zipped up the back of her black dress harshly, leaning over to whisper in her ear: "Cut it out. I don't need you making her jealous, the date went well."

She pulled away, offered Jennifer something to eat and while she walked to the fridge, her answer was breathed right back at you: "If you're not at home fucking, the date didn't go well enough."

You sighed. Wren generally focused on the physical part of relationships, and admittedly, usually you did, too. But this was a different situation.

Jennifer wasn't just hot - she was, no doubt about it - she was also kind and smart and open and...

Oh, no.

"So, Jen... I wasn't counting on you coming, but I have a dress here that you can wear."

"Oh. Wow, that's really nice of you," Jennifer answered kindly, ignoring the nickname.

"Here," Wren announced, pulling out one of the most revealing dresses You had ever seen in your life. Red with a slight shimmer, high cuts on the sides, deep v-neck, a diamond cut out above the abdomen, and on her it would be… well, her.

"You're fine to go in what you're wearing now, too," you said quickly, but again you had underestimated her confidence.

"No, that looks nice. Thanks again."

She took the dress under her arm with a wink and sauntered to the bed. Your eyes widened and you couldn't help but follow the swing of her hips.

"Okay, first of all, she's hot, like, truly sexy," Wren started, and I let my face fall to my palms. "Second; totally into you. She was glaring daggers at me before."

"Yes, thank you for that," you whispered sarcastically.

"You're welcome." A cunning smile, indeed.

What that dress on Jennifer did to you could not be described. The curve of her ass and bosom that you swore to yourself you only noticed in peripheral vision and the hugging fabric, slights rills for texture, her hair out and shining.

You looked away quickly as to not let your body betray you, and this was the third event Jennifer didn't question even though she wanted to.

•••

You were quick to realise that this was not Jennifer's scene and that she was subsequently doing an impressive job of blending in.

The night club hadn't been busy; it was only 7:30 when you arrived - far too early for the crowd, but you were going to meet some friends and had hoped to talk before two bodies couldn't help but press together in the open space.

It was eleven o'clock now - you had long given up on talking and had waded into the crowd to dance, or at least move somewhat to the beat.

And even though she was only moving to the beat, Jen looked incredible. She always did, but this was a little new.

She had transformed back to human form because she didn't want to be introduced or recognised as a hulk and she wanted to fit into the dress.

You couldn't believe how much you loved both of her forms. How could she always be so gorgeous?

"Hot in here, isn't it?" she asked, having managed to reach the other end of the open.

You opened your mouth once or twice before answering, still half embarrassed by your thoughts, then mumbled a 'yeah, I guess so'.

"Can we go outside for a moment?"

"Sure."

Once you were situated in the backyard of The Black Cat, you pulled out a cigarette, lighting it quickly, only now considering whether that might put her off.

Deeming it too late, you took another drag and held it between two fingers as you sat down. "What's up, love?"

"Something's off about you," she stated bluntly, and you accidentally took the smoke up your nose.

"Sorry?"

"Oh- Okay, that sounded wrong. What I mean is- Look, I have had more contact with the supernatural in the past year than ever before, so my believing has been tried and tested. You," she pointed her index finger in your vague direction as if she had to specify who she meant, "did not seem bothered by that scorching hot coffee until I asked you about it. You aren't hot in the club. You don't sweat. Your fingers were blue the other day at the office - I promise, it wasn't nearly that cold."

You gulped. It was a bad habit of yours - letting your fingers go cold when you were anxious to distract you. How could you make an excuse to explain this? Would she believe it? Could you make yourself tell her all that simply wasn't true?

Weren't you finally tired of hiding that part of you?

"Uh- Okay. You promise you won't freak out?" you asked unsurely, and she quickly nodded. "Well- Have you ever heard of Sub-Zero? That, um... That might or might not be me, depending on whether or not you're one of the people who think he's a vigilante."

You could clearly see the shock on her face and your heart sunk. No one knew that other than people involved and Wren. You hadn't trusted anyone else. You had only known this woman for two days. Why had you told her?

"I'm not. If there's one thing I've learned other than to expect everything... it's that you don't know anything if you don't have a motive."

She smiled. You beamed.

She leaned in slowly, closing her eyes, and you stomach did somersaults in the most childish way you might imagine.

Your lips met and it all fell into place. Literally and figuratively. You were born to kiss this woman. Born to put your hands on her waist and pull her into your lap while she ran her fingers through your hair. Born to think of what a beautiful mind she had while being overwhelmed by physical attraction.

You stayed like that for a while, then danced together, then went back to Wren's house in the early hours to help your friend throw up and finally parted with a goodnight kiss that lasted just six seconds too long.

She didn't question any more events that night.

—————

Sorry if it's a bit rushed toward the end but I've already written the next part and I wanted to post it... will do so upon interaction ;) that's called marketing strategies btw

Next part is a little filthy but also wholesome in the sexiest way. Hope you're ready..........

Good night

-Eren ❤️

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Joe Louis Arena in Detroit, MI, USA - September 20, 1980

(x)

Freddie stopped the show part way through Love Of My Life because the rowdy audience was drowning out Brian's guitar.

Around this time the Detroit Lions football team had adopted Another One Bites The Dust as an anthem. When Queen performed it as an encore with Freddie donning a Lions' cap, the arena exploded.

(x)

Fan Stories

“It was September 20th, 1980 and it started just like any other day for me. I was upstairs playing my favorite 45 record for the millionth time it seemed... at least to my mother that is. The song was Another One Bites The Dust by Queen, I had already worn out 3 or 4 of the 45 record which was released just a short time ago. My Uncle had stopped by and asked me if I wanted to spend the night and see a late movie. At first my mom was rather reluctant to let me go but being a Saturday and no school she gave in and off we went. As we were driving I noticed that we weren't going to his place so I asked him what the movie was, he just smiled and said we weren't going to a movie but to a rock concert, He KNEW my mom would forbid me to go to such an event so he used the movie as a ploy to get me out of the house. I asked him what concert, all he said was it was a surprise. By the time we entered Detroit Michigan I was all excited as this was my first concert ever, we weren't even allowed to listen to rock and roll. We got to the Joe Louis Arena and that is when I melted into the seat, on the Marquee in BIG letters "QUEEN". That is when I melted in my seat and repeatedly thanked my uncle, he later told me the look on my face was worth the tickets. We made our way inside and found ourselves about in the middle of the floor, we had General admittance tickets. I remember jumping up and down a lot during the support bands set. In case you are wondering the bands name was Dakota, and I have never heard of them. Well after they had finished we tried to make our way forward knowing we would NEVER see Queen where we were, we were young and short, I was 14 and my uncle was 18. Well it seemed like an hour, but must have been a couple of minutes when 2 security guards told us to follow them. My first though was "oh no, we are in trouble and are not going to see Queen". Well, That was NOT the case, in fact they took us ALL THE WAY UP FRONT, just off center stage, we were on Brians side.

No sooner did we get there when the whole place went dark. Then this sound that seemed to come from everywhere started. It got louder and louder and started to rise in pitch. I kept looking at the stage to see if I could see the band, nope.. but I did see something above us moving. by now the sound was reaching a peak and then it happened, a LOUD explosion and Lights that blinded us. It happened a couple more times but now I was ready... the crowd were going nuts, I WAS going nuts, then the guitar. Out walked Brian May playing this song that would literly plague me for years as I was certain it was NOT a Queen song, but no idea, of course it was Jailhouse Rock. Then Freddie came out. He was wearing a black leather jacket and orange pants with blue kneepads. I can't remember if he was wearing a hat and sunglasses. By now the crowd was so loud I could not even hear my uncle next to me, he later told me that during the first 2 songs all he could say was YEAH.... @$!* Yeah... Of course the second song was the fast version of We Will Rock You but to be very honest at that time the only 2 songs I knew were Another One Bites The Dust and Don't Try Suicide, so EVERY song was a new experience. After We Will Rock You Freddie spoke to us for the first time, he said something like "Hello Detroit... " he may have said more but I can't remember. Hearing bootlegs from that tour I would assume he added "Lets Rock and Roll Huh" or something like that. I remember when they went into Play the Game everyone went nuts, of course I didn't know it was new to me, ALL the songs were new. He then spoke to us again telling us that they were happy to be back in Detroit and that we were in for a treat.Then came Mustapha, That was my first taste of their diversity, this foreign language. but what confused me was just about everyone knew that language. again, I didn't know the song and had no idea what it meant but it was cool. I think Freddie took his jacket off around Play the Game or Mustapha not sure, to be real honest I was amazed by the guitar player, Brian made everything seem so easy. I can tell you that pretty much the whole night was a sensory overload and that I could not take in everything. The Get Down, Make Love section that was lights, smoke, Freddie and Brian was too much, If you never saw Queen live when they performed this then you truly missed a WONDERFUL experience, Video does NOT do this song justice, Freddie really sets the mood when he starts his vocal teasing. Aside from Another One Bites The Dust the only song I could NOT get out of my head was oddly enough another John Deacon gem, You're My Best Friend had a beat that just could not be dismissed. Then the moment I found to be the most humorous, Freddie asking us if we liked his new moustache, He informed us that he grew it just for US, then he said, You Fuckers will believe anything. When I saw a book some years later By Judith Davis mention the same scene I wondered if he said that at all the shows or just ours, after listening to various bootlegs I could not find any other one that mentioned that. Now You remember I mentioned that I was just 14 right. When Freddie announced Fat Bottomed Girls he dedicated it to all the ladies with huge tits, for a 14 year old boy that was WAY COOL, in fact there were a couple of women near us that actually flashed him, I wonder did he even notice. During Love Of My Life Freddie stopped the show because we were too loud he could not hear Brian, The rest of the night was a blur aside from Brians nifty guitar work on his solo. That moment right there convinced me that I wanted to be a guitar player. I remember yelling a lot ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST!!!!..

I was very very close, I KNEW Freddie could hear me, well I got my wish, he came out after a brief break and I was just in heaven, I heard MY song, now I could go home happy, but wait, Queen and Freddie had another surprise in store for me, I am a Star Wars Geek, and when he came out on Darth Vaders shoulders I was just freaking out, I ACTUALLY thought it was the same guy that played Darth Vader. of course I had no idea what that song was, funny how songs work into your subconscoius, a few days later I was just drumming the beat to We Will Rock You, NOT knowing what it was. Anyway, the last song was odd, I THOUGHT COOL they are playing My Country Tis of Thee.. Well, I know now that is was NOT that song... hehe. I left the concert just amazed, my ears ringing, just going on and on about what just happened. My uncle told me to calm down, there was no way my mom could know we saw a concert he would be in trouble, so he kept drilling me about the "Movie" we saw, the next morning the first words I said to mom were "Mom I saw QUEEN!" she was furious, but the damage was done, the next few weeks I bought every Queen album I could, I even stole money from my paper route just to by the next LP, and when I found Live Killers, it was so close to what I saw, BUT, there were differences. The date was September 20th, 1980 when my life changed forever. I would be completely OBSESSED with Queen, I would do anything I could to get their latest LP. Thank you for reading this and I hope you found it as enjoyable as I did writing it as I actually started to remember things that had been locked away. I found out that John had nearly brought down the cymbles nearest to him, Crystal had to dive out to catch them, I had the pleasure of chatting with Crystal Taylor (Roger's drum roadie and no relation by the way) and asked him if he remembered that and to my surprise he said that John did that often, but he DID remember our show because of Freddie stopping the show during Love Of My Life.” - Mike Preston

[fanfictionfansmiction]

Waiting For You

This is a long one you guys! A Fred Weasley Reader Insert I hope you enjoy. As I’ve started writing I’m beginning to see a lot of them follow the same patterns so please do send in requests so I can write something a bit different :) If you want a part two I would be more than happy to oblige

Word Count: 3597

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I sat down at my desk once more. Clearing away the papers and notes the never-ending week had collected. The small lamp cast a heavenly glow scattered through the leaves of my plants. Quietly I opened my draw pulling out my notebook filled with letters I would never send. Turning to the next empty page I intended to spill every last moment into. The movement of the pen ales the headache growing deep in my mind and I lose myself entirely in the act of it. Not particularly caring for the words I write. Just knowing that all day I waited keeping them safe for this moment finally letting them free. Outside of my bedroom I hear him move, speaking to someone I assume to be George or one of his other siblings. Animated and joyous. The thought brings a smile to my lips. They laugh together over something small I imagine.  

Finally finished with my letter I close the notebook placing it back in its spot. I settle myself turning off the light as I go to join my friends. George opens his arms wide offering me a hug which Angelina joins in. They tell us of their most recent trip and of how warm Greece was this time of year.

“And we have a little surprise.” George says wiggling his eyebrows gleefully. Angelina breaks into a dazzling smile showing me and Fred her left hand where a sweet diamond ring sits on her finger. Now I envelope the two of them into a hug which Fred joins us. Squeezing all of us together.

“Knew you could do it mate.” Fred says clapping his brother on the back giving George a proud look.  

“Let me see the ring Ang.” I say holding my hand to her which she eagerly abides placing her hand dramatically into mine. I see the love in her face when she gazes at George as I look at the ring.  

“Yes, Angelina we must see the ring!” Fred adds in a comical tone standing next to me taking in the engagement ring.

“It’s beautiful, you did well George.”

“Did you ever doubt me?” He adds planting a kiss on Angelina’s cheek.

“Never.” She responds.

Me and Fred send each other a look which says god this is grossly adorable. Angelina and George are in their own little bubble just staring at each other.  

“I think this calls for champagne don’t you Fred.” I say.

“Absolutely couldn’t think of a more appropriate occasion! We’ll just pop to the Muggle shop and get some.” Fred adds grabbing my hand and my bag as we make a swift exit out of the front door. The cold night doesn’t mask the strange look taking over Fred's face. I’m not sure why but he looks sad.

“Did you know he was going to propose?” I ask him.  

For a moment he doesn’t respond but he does look down at me leaving a pregnant pause between the two of us.

“I didn’t know he when he was going to do it but I had an idea it would be soon. I actually helped him pick out the ring a few months ago.” he looks away, “I can see that look on your face don’t worry I am happy for them. It’s just strange. It’s very grown up of him.” he looks back at me and continues without any probing, “It’s stupid but me and George always moved at the same pace. I feel like I’m falling behind a little. Do you ever feel like maybe there’s something wrong with us?” he asks.

“Because we aren’t engaged?”  

“Well more because we’re single, you know Ron and Hermione have moved in together. Harry and Ginny are only not engaged because they want to wait but they’re practically married. They’re all younger than us. It’s like everyone we know has found someone they want to be with. But here we are buying celebratory champagne for a happy couple.” He says turning the corner to walk down the next street.

“I don’t think that’s wrong of us Fred. If you worried about not being lovable.” I look up at him, “Then you don’t need to worry, I haven’t met someone who didn’t love you.” I’m thankful for the dark as I feel a blush grow on my cheeks.

“Are you keeping count.” He laughs leaving another pause before continuing, “You don’t have anything to worry about it either. You are extremely lovable.”  

Even though it’s cold out tonight I begin to sweat under my jumper. Thankfully we approach the shop so the conversation of love disperses into the wind.

“Now how happy would you say we are for the happy couple, £7.50 happy or £20 happy?” I ask holding up the two bottles. Fred pretends to read the labels before choosing the cheaper bottle.

“I love them both but I don’t love them enough to spend £20 on sparkling wine. Did you want some snacks while we’re here?” He asks.

“Yeah, I’ll just grab some stuff on the way to the till.”  

With an armful of appropriate snacks and drinks we wander back to the house. Opening up the bag of cheese puffs to eat on the walk.

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Fred asks out of nowhere.

“Oh, uh it was a month ago with that muggle who worked as a chef.”

“You went on a few dates with him didn’t you. He was alright. Why didn’t it go any further?” He asks tentatively.  

“Well, he just didn’t feel right. He was constantly talking about himself and just didn’t do it for me sexually to be honest.” I say popping a cheese puff into my mouth. This causes Fred to laugh so loud I’m worried we’re disturbing people who live in the houses we pass.

“Poor guy, since we’re being honest, I did hate that twat.” This time I laugh and whack his chest. “What he was always judging me and he laughed when he saw me making breakfast! Also, the way he looked at you made my skin crawl.” He adds.

“How did he look at me?” I shriek with laughter.

“Like he was always thinking about sex. By the sounds of it he was always thinking about having bad sex with you. And that moustache only made it worse.”

“What about you how long has it been for you?” I ask.

“What since I had bad sex or had a date?” he responds with a laugh, “It’s been a long time, I just haven’t found anyone I’m interested in spending time with.”

“You don’t have to tell me about the sex the ladies you bring home aren’t quiet.” I add.

“You little perv.” Fred laughs.  

When we get back into the house, we hear music playing from the living room where George and Angelina are dancing together. Holding each other close with content smiles playing on their lips mouthing the words to an old muggle song that plays on our record player. For a moment me and Fred just stand there watching them. I can’t tell you what he’s thinking but I know what’s running through my mind. The longing to be held in such a loving way. To have someone look at you like that and to look at someone like that. Looking up at Fred I see that he is now looking at me. Something tugs inside my chest. He places a hand on the small of my back and for just a second I think he’s going to ask me to dance with him, the image of that intimacy brings a blush to my face. Instead, he guides me into the kitchen where we drop the snacks on the counter. While I source our second-hand champagne flutes, last used on the opening of the joke shop, Fred pops the sparkling wine. We pour out four glasses in silence.

George and Angelina walk into the kitchen taking a glass each. George lifts his glass toward us and we do the same, then he tips it toward Angelina who intertwines her arm with his.  

“To love.” George says.

“To love.” Angelina mirrors.  

Fred and I look to each other, with a cheeky grin on his face he links his arm with mine. With his skin touching mine a strange feeling once again tugs inside me as we drink.

We finish off the two bottles of sparkling wine, with the aid of the bubbles and the alcohol I do end up dancing with Fred. He takes my hand and rests another on the small of my back which still burning from the last time his hand rested there. I was so close I could smell his apple shampoo and his aftershave. Sometime late in the night George and Angelina went back to their home but me and Fred kept dancing. My head leant against his chest with just his cotton t shirt keeping me from his skin but I still could hear his heart thud. His hands made their way up the back of my shirt so he explored my bare skin. Drawing his fingers to follow my spine. I didn’t stop him. When I looked up at him, he was once again looking at me. In a way I’d never seen him look before. My hands slid up to secure themselves around his neck and his still danced under my shirt.

We stopped dancing. Minutes passed and we just stood there. Hearts racing and bodies pressed together. Slightly breathless and definitely reddening. The last song on the record played out so we no longer had music it was just the two of us holding each other with the song of our hearts beating. Fred slowly brought his face down to mine so our noses brushed against each other. My eyes fluttered closed. Just as we were about to kiss the home phone rang. My eyes opened and the spell had broken. With the shrill ring of the phone dragging us out of the moment Fred and I looked at each other again. Not with the yearning that there was before but with confusion. I was the first to step away making it to the phone just before it rang out.  

It was someone Fred had given his number to on a night out. I passed the phone to him walking back to my room like dog with its tail between his legs. When I close the door, I press my forehead against it panting. I can hear him talk on the phone for a few minutes when he hangs up, I assume he’ll go to bed but what I didn’t expect was for him to walk up to my door and to just stand there. His shadow dancing with mine. Once again, I hear him breathing. I feel his name at the tip of my tongue and I almost let myself say it.  

Instead, he says mine.

In a breath I open my door. He is waiting for me with lips parted. I’m unsure of what he’s going to do and I think he is too. Like something completely out of his control brought him to my door.  

“How was she?” I ask.

But he doesn’t answer. He steps toward me closing the space between us again. His hands find their way to my face and he leaves them there. Searching my face for an answer to a question he has yet to ask. But I feel it. Deep inside me I hear the question and I know the answer. I place my hand on his cheek too his face hot. This time I bring my face up to his letting our noses brush together for a moment. This is all it takes for him to kiss me. Fiery with the taste of champagne still on his lips. His hands explore me in the way they had only began to do a moment ago. Mine begin to do the same to him. My hands running up his shirt to feel his chest and his heart beating beneath it. Before I know what happening we’re both shirtless and I’m perched on my dresser while he kisses every inch of bare skin.  

We both lose any control we had earlier in the night after we’ve made our way to the bed still panting and touching one another. I learn why the ladies he brings home always make so much noise and I’m so thankful I didn’t keep dating the muggle.  

After we just lay there in bed staring up at the ceiling. I turn my head to look at Fred who once more is still looking at me. As ridiculous as it sounds considering what we’ve just done I feel very aware that I’m naked next to Fred. A shyness takes over me and I have to resist sitting up and getting under the covers. Fred sensing my mood change leans over his side of the bed picking up his t-shirt that lay on the floor and gives it to me to wear. After I’ve put it on, he suggests we get under the duvet considering how cold it gets at night in this house. I don’t ask him if he wants to go back to his bed and he doesn’t offer. I lay my head on his bare chest and his hand draws circles along my back once more.

I fall into sleep easily next to Fred who’s steady breathing I eventually match.  

The morning sun lights up my room and I lie in Fred’s arms recounting the night before. Already panicked about how to talk to him now. This wasn’t some guy I was dating and I wasn’t some girl he brought back from a club. We live together.  

He shifts stretching and yawning opening his eyes. He smiles in a way that makes me want to not worry about what’ll happen because of last night. He tugs me closer into his chest and plants a kiss onto the top of my head. I melt into his touch and sigh contently.

“So that was...” I trail off already annoyed that I started the conversation.  

“Really good.” He answers.

“Yes, I have to agree with you there.”  

We just lay there together for a while both now aware of the closeness and the familiarity of it all. I don’t prompt him for more conversation about what had happened last night out of fear that he’ll dismiss it as a onetime thing. Well aware that the feeling tugging inside my chest wasn’t anything new. Knowing that a few steps away from me in my desk are letters all addressed to Fred telling all him all the things I couldn’t say. If this didn’t even mean anything to him how could I live in this house with him without breaking my heart every time I see him or think about him.

“Would you want to go on a date with me?” He asks me.

I turn my head to look up at him from his chest and he looks nervous. Biting his lip and playing with his hair with his free hand.

“Yes. Absolutely let's do that.” I answer.

Then my alarm goes off signalling I have work in an hour and a half. I sigh and peel myself away from Fred with frustrated look.

“I have to get ready.”  

“I knew it was coming don’t worry, I have some shop manager stuff to do today anyway so it’s for the best. I mean I never thought I’d be able to leave you naked in bed.” He jokes.

“You’ve thought about me naked.” I blush as I stand up from the bed wrapping myself in a dressing gown.

“Well, we’ve known each other a long time and you are the most beautiful girl I’ve met so yes. And if I hadn’t, I probably would’ve just gone to sleep last night instead of just waiting for you to open the door. And to be honest -“ He gets cut off by the house phone ringing. He groans pulling on his boxers and plodding out of the room over to the house phone.  

I follow him out in need of a cup of coffee. I mime to him to ask he wants one which he does so I go into the kitchen to boil the kettle.

“Oh Hayley, I didn’t expect you to call again.” I hear him say until the kettle drowns it out.

After the coffee is made Fred makes his way into the kitchen with a guilty look on his face. He kisses me thanking me for the drink insisting that he’ll make breakfast while I shower and get dressed for work. After I’m dressed, I make my way to the kitchen, where Fred looks proudly at the plate, he’s dished up with a glass of orange juice and a rose from the neighbour's garden complementing the chocolate sauce smiley face he’s drawn over my pancake.  

“Why that muggle ever laughed at your culinary skills I’ll never know.” I joke sliding into my seat next to Fred.

“About other people...” he starts, “So Hayley the girl from last night phoned again and she asked me if...”

“If?”

“If I wanted to go on a date with her.”

“And do you?”

Fred shakes his head, “No I don’t which I did tell her but it brings me to something I did want to talk to you about.”

“What’s that?” I ask taking a bite of my pancakes.

“I know last night, before we,” he gestures between the two of us, “which by the way was incredible, we talked about the both of us being single and I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I didn’t sleep with you because I’m scared about being alone. I did it because it felt right. Whatever this is between us it feels right to me.”  

“It feels right to me too.” I add holding his hand in mine.

“Great, so how do you feel about a date tonight?”

“Tonight, works perfectly for me.” I say smiling at him but my second alarm goes off to let me know I have to leave for work so I kiss Fred before I go.

The work days go quickly which I’m thankful for. On the entire walk back to the house I’m smiling like a love sick teenager. When I arrive home, Fred hasn’t yet made it back from work so I draw myself a bath to relax. While I’m relaxing in the lavender scented bath, I hear Fred call to let me know he’s home. I unlock the bathroom door and shout back to him. He opens the door peaking his head in like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to look.  

“How was work?” I ask him.

“Agonising.” he answers in a strained tone.

“Why?” I laugh.

“Well, I spent all day thinking about you obviously.” he walks into the bathroom leaning down to kiss me.

“So, what’s the plan for our date tonight?” I ask.

“That’s a surprise.” He says kissing me again.  

After I’ve finished getting ready, I find myself standing outside Fred’s door feeling once again overcome with shyness. I’d spent the entire day not thinking about what it all meant between me and Fred, I was focused on how it felt last being with him and letting every desire I have for him take over. It was all instinct and I’m not particularly good on acting on it. What if he doesn’t like the dress I’m wearing. Or what if we start dating and it all ends terribly leaving me without all my friends. Or what if-

“See it’s very unnerving standing outside someone’s door isn’t it.” I hear Fred say from inside his room.

“How does it feel for you being on the other side of it?” I respond.

“Still pretty nerve wracking.” He laughs still not opening the door.

“Fred.” I say and he says my name back to me. “We aren’t making a mistake, are we?” I ask.

“Mistake?” he says swinging open the door with fear taking over his eyes, “Why would we be making a mistake.” He asks looking down at me.

“Well, if we start dating it's not the same as starting out with someone from the first date. I know you better than I know anyone. I mean we live together Fred. Where are we starting from? What are we to each other?”

He takes my hand and leads me further into his room so there’s not much space between us, “We are two people who have always cared for each other. You are one of my dearest friends and I think that’s what dating is right? That’s why I never make it onto a date because why would I when I have someone like you, someone I trust with everything. Every time I’d bring a girl home and it got to the talking, I wasn’t interested in it because I would always keep thinking of you. About something that would make you laugh.  So, it may make it all a bit more complicated because I think about you all the time as it is but I want to do this. I can’t tell you where we’re starting because I don’t know where we stand but I’m willing to figure it out if you are.”  

“Okay Freddie. We can figure it out together.”  

He breathes a sigh of relief pulling me in for a hug, squeezing me tight.  

[ladydarklord]

The Mighty Boosh on the business of being silly

The Times, November 15 2008

What began as a cult cocktail of daft poems, surreal characters and fantastical storylines has turned into the comedy juggernaut that is the Mighty Boosh. Janice Turner hangs out with creators Noel Fielding, Julian Barratt and the extended Boosh family to discuss the serious business of being silly

In the thin drizzle of a Monday night in Sheffield, a crowd of young women are waiting for the Mighty Boosh or, more precisely, one half of it. Big-boned Yorkshire lasses, jacketless and unshivering despite the autumn nip, they look ready to devour the object of their desire, the fey, androgynous Noel Fielding, if he puts a lamé boot outside the stage door. “Ooh, I do love a man in eyeliner,” sighs Natalie from Rotherham. She’ll be throwing sickies at work to see the Boosh show 13 times on their tour, plus attend the Boosh after-show parties and Boosh book signings. “My life is dead dull without them,” she says.

Nearby, mobiles primed, a pair of sixth-formers trade favourite Boosh lines. “What is your name?” asks Jessica. “I go by many names, sir,” Victoria replies portentously. A prison warden called Davena survives long days with high-security villains intoning, “It’s an outrage!” in the gravelly voice of Boosh character Tony Harrison, a being whose head is a testicle.

Apart from Fielding, what they all love most about the Boosh is that half their mates don’t get it. They see a bloke in a gorilla suit, a shaman called Naboo, silly rhymes about soup, stories involving shipwrecked men seducing coconuts “and they’re like, ‘This is bloody rubbish,’” says Jessica. “So you feel special because you do get it. You’re part of a club.”

Except the Mighty Boosh club is now more like a movement. What began as an Edinburgh fringe show starring Fielding and his partner Julian Barratt and later became an obscure BBC3 series has grown into a box-set flogging, mega-merchandising, 80-date touring Boosh inc. There was a Boosh festival last summer, now talk of a Boosh movie and Boosh in America. An impasse seems to have been reached: either the Boosh will expand globally or, like other mass comedy cults before it – Vic and Bob, Newman and Baddiel – slowly begin to deflate.

But for the moment, the fans still wait in the rain for heroes who’ve already left the building. I find the Boosh gang gathered in their hotel bar, high on post-gig adrenalin. Barratt, blokishly handsome with his ring-master moustache, if a tad paunchy these days, blends in with the crew. But Fielding is never truly “off”. All day he has been channelling A Clockwork Orange in thick black eyeliner (now smudged into panda rings) and a bowler hat, which he wears with polka-dot leggings, gold boots and a long, neon-green fur-collared PVC trenchcoat. He has, as those women outside put it, “something about him”: a carefully-wrought rock-god danger mixed with an amiable sweetness. Sexy yet approachable. Which is why, perched on a barstool, is a great slab of security called Danny.

“He stops people getting in our faces,” says Fielding. “He does massive stars like P. Diddy and Madonna and he says that considering how we’re viewed in the media as a cult phenomenon, we get much more attention in the street than, say, Girls Aloud. Danny says we’re on the same level as Russell Brand, who can’t walk from the door to the car without ten people speaking to him.”

This barometer of fame appears to fascinate and thrill Fielding. Although he complains he can’t eat dinner with his girlfriend (Dee Plume from the band Robots in Disguise) unmolested, he parties hard and publicly with paparazzi-magnets like Courtney Love and Amy Winehouse. He claims he’s tried wearing a baseball cap but fans still recognise him. Hearing this, Julian Barratt smiles wryly: “Noel is never going to dress down.”

It is clear on meeting them that their Boosh characters Vince Noir (Fielding), the narcissistic extrovert, and Howard Moon (Barratt), the serious, socially awkward jazz obsessive, are comic exaggerations of their own personalities. At the afternoon photo shoot, Fielding breaks free of the hair and make-up lady, sprays most of a can of Elnett on to his Bolan feather-cut and teases it to his satisfaction. Very Vince. “It is an art-life crossover,” says Barratt.

At 40, five years older than Fielding, Barratt exhibits the profound weariness of a man trying to balance a five-month national tour with new-fatherhood. After every Saturday night show he returns home to his 18-month-old twins, Arthur and Walter, and his partner Julia Davis (the creator-star of Nighty Night) and today he was up at 5am pushing a pram on Hampstead Heath before taking the train north to rejoin the Boosh. “I go back so the boys remember who I am. But it’s harder to leave them every time,” he says. “It is totally schizophrenic, totally opposite mental states: all this self-obsession and then them.”

About two nights a week on tour, Fielding doesn’t go to bed, parties through the night and performs the next evening having not slept at all. Barratt often retreats to his room to plough through box sets of The Wire. “It’s a bit gritty, but that is in itself an escape, because what we do is so fantastical.”

But mostly it is hard to resist the instant party provided by a large cast, crew and band. Indeed, drinking with them, it appears Fielding and Barratt are but the most famous members of a close collective of artists, musicians and old mates. Fielding’s brother Michael, who previously worked in a bowling alley, plays Naboo the shaman. “He is late every single day,” complains Noel. “He’s mad and useless, but I’m quite protective of him, quite parental.” Michael is always arguing with Bollo the gorilla, aka Fielding’s best mate, Dave Brown, a graphic artist relieved to remove his costume – “It’s so hot in there I fear I may never father children” – to design the Boosh book. One of the lighting crew worked as male nanny to Barratt’s twins and was in Michael’s class at school: “The first time I met you,” he says to Noel, “you gave me a dead arm.” “You were 9,” Fielding replies. “And you were messing with my stuff.”

This gang aren’t hangers-on but the wellspring of the Boosh’s originality and its strange, homespun, degree-show aesthetic: a character called Mr Susan is made out of chamois leathers, the Hitcher has a giant Polo Mint for an eye. When they need a tour poster they ignore the promoter’s suggestions and call in their old mate, Nige.

Fielding and Barratt met ten years ago at a comedy night in a North London pub. The former had just left Croydon Art College, the latter had dropped out of an American Studies degree at Reading to try stand-up, although he was so terrified at his first gig that he ran off stage and had to be dragged back by the compere.

While superficially different, their childhoods have a common theme: both had artistic, bohemian parents who exercised benign neglect. Fielding’s folks were only 17 when he was born: “They were just kids really. Hippies. Though more into Black Sabbath and Led Zep. There were lots of parties and crazy times. They loved dressing up. And there was a big gap between me and my brother – about nine years – so I was an only child for a long time, hanging out with them, lots of weird stuff going on.

“The great thing about my mum and dad is they let me do anything I wanted as a kid as long as I wasn’t misbehaving. I could eat and go to bed when I liked. I used to spend a lot of time drawing and painting and reading. In my own world, I guess.”

Growing up in Mitcham, South London, his father was a postmaster, while his mother now works for the Home Office. Work was merely the means to fund a good time. “When your dad is into David Bowie, how do you rebel against that? You can’t really. They come to all the gigs. They’ve been in America for the past three weeks. I’m ringing my mum really excited because we’re hanging out with Jim Sheridan, who directed In the Name of the Father, and the Edge from U2, and she said, ‘We’re hanging with Jack White,’ whom they met through a friend of mine. Trumped again!”

Barratt’s father was a Leeds art teacher, his mother an artist later turned businesswoman. “Dad was a bit more strict and academic. Mum would let me do anything I wanted, didn’t mind whether I went to school.” Through his father he became obsessed with Monty Python, went to jazz and Spike Milligan gigs, learnt about sex from his dad’s leatherbound volumes of Penthouse.

Barratt joined bands and assumed he would become a musician (he does all the Boosh’s musical arrangements); Fielding hoped to become an artist (he designed the Boosh book cover and throughout our interview sketches obsessively). Instead they threw their talents into comedy. Barratt: “It is a great means of getting your ideas over instantly.” Fielding: “Yes, it is quite punk in that way.”

Their 1998 Edinburgh Fringe show called The Mighty Boosh was named, obscurely, after a friend’s description of Michael Fielding’s huge childhood Afro: “A mighty bush.” While their double-act banter has an old-fashioned dynamic, redolent of Morecambe and Wise, the show threw in weird characters and a fantasy storyline in which they played a pair of zookeepers. They are very serious about their influences. “Magritte, Rousseau...” says Fielding. “I like Rousseau’s made-up worlds: his jungle has all the things you’d want in a jungle, even though he’d never been in one so it was an imaginary place.”

Eclectic, weird and, crucially, unprepared to compromise their aesthetic sensibilities, it was 2004 before, championed by Steve Coogan’s Baby Cow production company, their first series aired on BBC3. Through repeats and DVD sales the second series, in which the pair have left the zoo and are living above Naboo’s shop, found a bigger audience. Last year the first episode of series three had one million viewers. But perhaps the Boosh’s true breakthrough into mainstream came in June when George Bush visited Belfast and a child presented him with a plant labelled “The Mighty Bush”. Assuming it was a tribute to his greatness, the president proudly displayed it for the cameras, while the rest of Britain tittered.

A Boosh audience these days is quite a mix. In Sheffield the front row is rammed with teenage indie girls, heavy on the eyeliner, who fancy Fielding. But there are children, too: my own sons can recite whole “crimps” (the Boosh’s silly, very English version of rap) word for word. And there are older, respectable types who, when I interview them, all apologise for having such boring jobs. They’re accountants, IT workers, human resources officers and civil servants. But probe deeper and you find ten years ago they excelled at art A level or played in a band, and now puzzle how their lives turned out so square. For them, the Boosh embody their former dreams. And their DIY comedy, shambolic air, the slightly crap costumes, the melding of fantasy with the everyday, feels like something they could still knock up at home.

Indeed, many fans come to gigs in costume. At the Mighty Boosh Festival 15,000 people came dressed up to watch bands and absurdity in a Kent field. And in Sheffield I meet a father-and-son combo dressed as Howard Moon and Bob Fossil – general manager of the zoo – plus a gang of thirty-something parents elaborately attired as Crack Fox, Spirit of Jazz, a granny called Nanageddon, and Amy Housemouse. “I love the Boosh because it’s total escapism,” says Laura Hargreaves, an employment manager dressed as an Electro Fairy. “It’s not all perfect and people these days worry too much that things aren’t perfect. It’s just pure fun.”

But how to retain that appealingly amateur art-school quality now that the Boosh is a mega comedy brand? Noel Fielding is adamant that they haven’t grown cynical, that The Mighty Book of Boosh was a long-term project, not a money-spinner chucked out for Christmas: “There is a lot of heart in what we do,” he says. Barratt adds: “It’s been hard this year to do everything we’ve wanted, to a standard we’re proud of... Which is why we’re worn to shreds.”

Comedy is most powerful in intimate spaces, but the Boosh show, with its huge set, requires major venues. “We’ve lost money every day on the tour,” says Fielding. “The crew and the props and what it costs to take them on the road – it’s ridiculous. Small gigs would lose millions of pounds.”

The live show is a kind of Mighty Boosh panto, with old favourites – Bob Fossil, Bollo, Tony Harrison, etc – coming on to cheers of recognition. But it lacks the escapism to the perfectly conceived world of the TV show. They have told the BBC they don’t want a fourth series: they want a movie. They would also, as with Little Britain USA, like a crack at the States, where they run on BBC America. Clearly the Boosh needs to keep evolving or it will die.

Already other artists are telling Fielding and Barratt to make their money now: “They say this is our time, which is quite frightening.” I recall Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer, who dominated the Nineties with Big Night Out and Shooting Stars. “Yes, they were massive,” says Fielding. “A number one record...” And now Reeves presents Brainiac. “If you have longer-term goals, it’s not scary,” says Barratt. “To me, I’m heading somewhere else – to direct, make films, write stuff – and at the moment it’s all gone mental. I’m sort of enjoying this as an outsider. It was Noel who had this desire to reach more people.”

Indeed, the old cliché that comedy is the new rock’n’roll is closest to being realised in Noel Fielding. Watching him perform the thrash metal numbers in the Boosh live show, he is half ironic comic performer, half frustrated rock god. His heroes weren’t comics but androgynous musicians: Jagger, Bowie, Syd Barrett. (Although he liked Peter Cook’s style and looks.)

“I like clothes and make-up, I like the transformation,” he says. Does it puzzle him that women find this so sexually attractive? “I was reading a book the other day about the New York Dolls and David Johansen was saying that none of them were gay or even bisexual, and that when they started dressing in stilettos and leather pants, women got it straight away with no explanation. But a lot of men had problems. It’s one of those strange things. A man will go, ‘You f***ing queer.’ And you just think, ‘Well, your girlfriend fancies me.’”

The Boosh stopped signing autographs outside stage doors when it started taking two hours a night. At recent book signings up to 1,500 people have shown up, some sleeping overnight in the queue. And on this tour, the Boosh took control of the after-show parties, once run as money-spinners by the promoters, and now show up in person to do DJ slots. I ask if they like to meet their fans, and they laugh nervously.

Fielding: “We have to be behind a fence.”

Barratt: “They try to rip your clothes off your body.”

Fielding: “The other day my girlfriend gave me this ring. And, doing the rock numbers at the end, I held out my hands and the crowd just ripped it off.”

Barratt: “I see it as a thing which is going to go away. A moment when people are really excited about you. And it can’t last.”

He recalls a man in York grabbing him for a photo, saying, “I’d love to be you, it must be so amazing.” And Barratt says he thought, “Yes, it is. But all the while I was trying to duck into this doorway to avoid the next person.” He’s trying to enjoy the Boosh’s moment, knows it will pass, but all the same?

In the hotel bar, a young woman fan has dodged past Danny and comes brazenly over to Fielding. Head cocked attentively like a glossy bird, he chats, signs various items, submits to photos, speaks to her mate on her phone. The rest of the Boosh crew eye her steelily. They know how it will end. “You have five minutes then you go,” hisses one. “I feel really stupid now,” says the girl. It is hard not to squirm at the awful obeisance of fandom. But still she milks the encounter, demands Fielding come outside to meet her friend. When he demurs she is outraged, and Danny intercedes. Fielding returns to his seat slightly unsettled. “What more does she want?” he mutters, reaching for his wine glass. “A skin sample?”

[gainerstories]

Fatter Exchange Student: Chapter 4

This is a community story with each chapter authored by a different writer in the gaining community. This chapter is penned by feederfiction.

Read prior chapters here.

“Okay, how do I look?” asked Sebastian, walking into the living room.

Before him, lazing across the couch was Bleecker, clad only in a pair of gym shorts that looked like they might have been snug 40 pounds ago but were now positively tortured, his thighs looked set to burst out of them at the slightest movement. The past month had been rather fortuitous for the roommates, as their eating competitions became nightly events. Bleecker had added some serious mass to his already soft frame, and it was rare to see him in a shirt these days, especially as they cranked up the heat during the icy winter months. In fact, the only time he wore a shirt was either to class or to practice.

The jock had grown an even thicker belly in the months since Sebastian moved in, and it was now etched with some added stretch marks that most of his apparel failed to conceal. His outdated wardrobe only drew attention to his budding love handles and softer chest. Every small movement would cause the fabric to ride up the curve of his belly and settle around his belly button while displaying his happy trail proudly.

Bleecker looked up upon hearing Sebastian’s question, his mouth full with a meatball sub. He held up a sauce stained finger and chewed while taking in the image of his roommate. Sebastian had certainly not been spared from the thousands of excess calories he had been shoving down his throat daily. Based on the style and fit, the outfit he was wearing had to be something he brought from Greece. It was apparent that Sebastian had still not purchased any new winter clothes and opted for a white linen button up with the sleeves rolled up. This was paired with some vertical striped blue and white swim pants, with boat shoes.

Bleecker thought his roommate looked like a Greek model, but a plus sized one. Sebastian’s belly bulged out against the shirt, creating small holes between the lower few buttons displaying his furry torso. The hem also flared out slightly over his wider muffin top. He had left the top buttons undone in the typical Greek fashion, revealing his hairy chest. But what caught Bleecker’s eye was the way his roommates' dark, erect nipples were so visible against the white fabric.

His thighs looked stuffed inside his pants, and, with a twirl of his finger, Bleecker instructed Sebastian to turn around to show off his thick shelf of an ass. It wobbled as he turned back around, and Sebastian was ready to hear what Bleecker thought. With a mighty swallow, the underdressed jock stood up, his body jiggling, and grinned.

“Bro, you look awesome. Felix has gotta be the luckiest guy on campus to have you for the night. Damn.” Bleecker answered, using his clean hand to fistbump Sebastian.

“Yes, well, as you said it is our third date and so…” Sebastian trailed off, seemingly nervous.

“Seb, don’t worry about anything. I’m gonna head out tonight and hang with some friends at Kappa Tau, and stay at Brandon’s,” he said with a wink. “So you two love birds can enjoy yourselves here. Now, I left lube and condoms in your nightstand and if you guys get hungry, there’s leftover pizza and a fresh tub of ice cream. I remember last time you brought him over you nearly cleaned us out, so I stocked up this time”

“Bleecker, you’re the best friend I could have. I’m so glad I’m here, and that I get to share this with you!” Sebastian said, before heading to the door.

He attempted to put his phone and wallet in his pockets but found that they were flush tight against his thighs, far too tight to squeeze anything into. Deciding to carry them, he walked the short distance to La Barriga, the Mexican restaurant he had agreed to meet Felix at. Felix stood out on the curb, absorbed in his phone as Sebastian approached. Sebastian got a good look at him before Felix was aware of his presence.

A pair of dark jeans rolled up above a pair of Doc Marten’s gave the definite hipster vibe, especially with the faded white band tee he was wearing beneath a leather jacket. Felix was using his belly to support his forearm as he read from his phone, which had pushed a solid two inches of pale flab to ooze out from under the tee. He had trimmed his beard down slightly for their date and with his head bent forward like this, Sebastian could see a ring of fat around his jawline, as his double chin was pressed into prominence. Walking up casually, Sebastian extended an arm around Felix’s lower back and grabbed a cheeky handful of side flesh as he pulled him in for a kiss. Felix was surprised by the younger Greek man’s confidence but leaned in to it, reaching up a hand to flick one of his prominent nipples, eliciting a gasp from Sebastian.

“Now let's get some food and beer in us before we get too excited, yeah?” Felix asked with a smile.

The two gorged themselves on quesadillas, burritos and all manner of Mexican delicacies as they discussed more about history and philosophy. The conversation flowed as easily as the beer did, and several hours later, they found themselves stumbling back to Sebastian’s place. He fumbled around for his keys as Felix kissed his neck from behind, and ran a hand over his bloated middle, bringing up a deep belch that just made them laugh more. Finally making their way inside, Felix shed his jacket and gave a deep sigh as he seemed to exhale and expand, his already bloated potbelly seeming to strain the cotton prison of his shirt.

“Sebastian, you’re the best. I can really be myself with you man.” He said with a relaxed grin.

Sebastian wandered into the kitchen, pulling out the ice cream and setting it on the bench, raising an eyebrow at Felix.

“I am so glad to hear Felix, but I hope you have room for dessert! I have such a sweet tooth” He purred.

“Of course I do! I’ll eat anything if it’s coming from a handsome guy like you” Felix replied, his voice taking on a deeper, sexier growl, as he pushed Sebastian back up against the kitchen counter.

Their bloated bellies mashed together, as they craned their necks forward to allow their lips to meet, the mingling flavours of cheese, grease and beer being swirled around by their tongues. Things were escalating as Felix reached a hand around to grab at Sebastian’s fattened ass, now pressed into the countertop as they heard a loud ripping noise emanate from Sebastian’s rear. His shorts had split right down the crack, stunning them both. There was a pause before they began laughing. Sebastian gradually rubbed Felix’s belly slowly, as the TA made his way to the couch, dropping down with a noticeable droop in the cushion.

Sebastian grabbed the semi melted ice cream and brought it over to his date. He then shuffled out of his pants which were now ruined, leaving him in just his tight black briefs, from which at least an inch of crack was visible. Felix leaned back and held his arms out as Sebastian sat on his lap, their thick thighs rubbing against each other as Sebastian shoveled ice cream into his date’s mouth. Before long, Felix was panting as his stomach bulged with fullness, his beard had dribbles of ice cream running down it and his moustache was smeared with chocolate flavoured dairy. Sebastian leaned in for a kiss and licked it all up smiling.

“Now I get to taste a milk moustache. I like it,” he said, as he continued feeding Felix.

The next morning, Sebastian blinked as the harsh sunlight hit him square in the face. Shielding his face with his hands he looked around himself and stifled a laugh. He and Felix had fallen asleep in their underwear on the couch, with Sebastian laying on Felix’s furry belly as the pudgy TA snored lightly, the corners of his mouth lifted in contentment.

Managing to stand without waking his older lover, Sebastian wandered to the kitchen, yawning and scratching his belly. Despite being stuffed full less than eight hours ago, his stomach was now begging for more food. After several minutes of attempting to quietly make himself a bowl of cereal and a coffee, he felt a pair of arms reach around his hips and rest on his belly at the same time he felt a kiss being planted on his neck.

“Morning handsome” Felix growled in his low morning voice.

“Morning you” replied Sebastian, turning around, his belly bumping in Felix’s, as the two made out, their hands exploring each other’s body and budding curves.

Their brief kiss was interrupted by the sound of keys jingling in the bowl in the hallway. Sebastian pushed Felix away, his face going red as he realised the two were standing in the kitchen in their underwear, at full mast. Bleecker rounded the corner and paused, the unexpected sight making him freeze.

“Bleecker I assume?” Felix asked, casually strolling over and shaking his hand. “Felix”.

“Er yeah, sorry I can go” He said, flinging his thumb over his shoulder in a signal that he was going to leave.

“Or perhaps, he could join us?” Asked Felix, turning to Sebastian and raising an eyebrow.

The exchange student locked eyes with his roommate, and between them was a moment where they knew what the other was going to say.

“Yes.”

To receive early access to Fatter Exchange Student and other exclusive stories check out the Gainer Stories Patreon. 

[nadiestar]

how about human au!moceit where some people (other sides perhaps) only know one half of the couple and assume that his partner is similar to him. so theyre very surprised when they meet the other half of the couple and hes seemingly his polar opposite. bonus points if the people get to see glimpses of a side of the half they know that they never anticipated existed

Hey! Thank you for the request! Sorry it took me so long, it was my first time writing a human au and I hope it's okay^^

I've also put it on AO3

“I can't believe we still haven't met your lucky special someone! How long have you been dating again? Five months?” Roman said dramatically as he walked backwards in front of his bubbly friend.

Patton shrugged his shoulders, his happy expression unfading.

“Stop pestering him about it Roman. He must figuratively be fed up with the topic,” Logan sighed and pulled Roman a little to the side so he didn't walk into a street lamp.

Roman winked as a thank at Logan but then quickly shot back: “Don't talk over Pat! He's able to tell me to shut up about his boyfriend if he needs me to.”

“Have to agree there, Lo,” Patton chimed in cheerily. “And I really don't mind it. He's just such a darling. I love you guys being so curious about him.”

“For being so keen on us asking questions about him, you surely provide very little information about his person. Roman step to the left, there's a mailbox.”

“What? You know plenty about him!” Patton disagreed and turned to the left into the little cafe where they were headed.

“If knowing that he's the cutest, sweetest and most adorable being you ever met counts as plenty, then sure,” Roman said slightly frustrated. “If not, we know kinda nothing about him but that. I mean how does he even look like?”

“What does he do for work?” Logan said and pulled the chair out for Patton at their usual table before he sat down himself.

“Yes, and where does he live? What are his hobbies?”

“Okay, okay! I get it!” Patton appeased and watched his two far too protective and curious friends shut up for the moment.

Just then a waiter came to their table and the three ordered their dinner. It was a tradition for them to come here every Friday and eat together for the last four years. Since then Logan and Patton worked at the same school complex, Patton as homeroom teacher for 2nd graders and Logan as history teacher for 8th graders, and Roman had opened his dance school close to the premises. They had known each other for far longer but only since then they finally got their tight-knitted comradery back.

“I guess you really don’t know that much about him. But I just much rather had you guys meet him directly and ask him all of those questions himself. It doesn’t feel right to talk over him, you know?” Patton explained and gave Logan his puppy eyed look.

That, despite Logan always denying it, had its usual very effective effect and the stern-faced man became lenient.

“It is understandable that you wouldn’t want to talk over him but…” Logan started and shot a look over to Roman who promptly picked the statement up.

“You seem to be so serious about this guy, Patty. And we just want to be sure he’s just amazing enough for you. You really don’t deserve another heartbreak, you know?”

Patton’s smile deflated a bit. Yes, he has been through enough, hadn’t he? Maybe he could let himself have some fun with this, as a treat.

And with that slightly mischievous thought in mind Patton offered to both of his friends now again with smile: “I get that. I could bring him over, now that he’s back from his last job… Ro would you mind if I’d introduce him to you all at the little party you and your brother throw tomorrow?”

Roman was quick to agree and the three dropped the topic in exchange of gossiping about noisy parents they had to deal with the last week.

___

Virgil put the soda down next to the fridge how Remus had instructed. He had brought it along because the hairdresser had asked him too, as he had too little time to go to the store and make everything ready for the party they were had tonight. Well, party was not the right word for it.

It was a little celebration for Remus and Roman, who finally had been able to afford an okay flat and get away from their old neighbourhood. Both had invited their friends and it was a first for Virgil to actually meet his friend’s twin and in extension his friends.

“Anything else I can help you with, Rem?” Virgil asked and leaned against the doorsill as Remus filled some chips in a bowl.

“Nah! You’re good! I think I’ve got everything done for later. Now we can just chill and relax until my brother’s turning up,” Remus said and ushered Virgil into the living room.

Remus came after him in a bit and put the chips in the middle of the coffee table and flopped down on the couch next to Janus. The man with the bowler hat glanced up from his phone, elegantly slid it in his pocket and then addressed his friends.

“Apologize me not helping more,” he said and looked over to Virgil, who pushed Janus’s crutch a little to the right so he could sit down in the beanbag.

“No worries man. After such a long flight anybody’d be tired. And it’s not like I did much more than you,” Virgil responded and barely caught the soda bottle Remus threw over to him.

Remus snickered as Virgil have him a pissed look while Janus smirked. Then the he told Janus: “Also, it’s just nice having you around for this! It will be fun to annoy my goody-two-shoes brother with you!”

Janus grin got a little more mischievous and he wanted to answer when suddenly Virgil took over the word.

“So, who exactly is your brother bringing along? Like are it a lot of people?”

“Don’t fret worrywart. It’s only two guys and the boyfriend of one of them. And he said that the one without boyfriend asked the same thing so I doubt we’re going to be loud and wild tonight.”

“What a pity. And I had hoped I’d be able to show you all my sick dance moves,” Janus deadpanned.

Both snickered at his comment and they chatted for a while as the afternoon progressed. They talked about how Virgil’s thrift store had been going the last month and what kind of people had come to Janus’s readings oversees. As usual a bit of bickering ensued and eventually the conversation reached its usual topic.

“So,” Remus said and wiggled his eyebrows, “how happy has your lover been having you back? Already had time for a quickie?”

Janus rolled his eyes and faltered a bit as he responded: “I’ve only come back yesterday and I was dead beat so – No quickie.”

“Oooh. What a disappointment for your Casanova,” Virgil teased and watched Janus fidgeting in his seat.

“He was quite understanding, thank you very much. And sex is by far not all we do together.”

“Really?” Virgil bounced back and shot an amused look to Remus, who was just as amused by their friend’s defensiveness. “It’s all you ever talk about when it comes to him. So, it’s not our fault for jumping to the assumption that that’s all you too are after.”

Janus mumbled something indistinctively and flicked his hand before he shot Virgil a dooming look, which left Virgil utterly unimpressed.

“He is very dear to me and – well of all partners I had in the bast he certainly is the most remarkable one,” Janus stated but didn’t get any further as the doorbell rang and the door got unlocked by a very loud and energetic Roman who just had gotten home from work.

Janus and Virgil quickly looked over to the tall tanned man. He was just as slim as his brother, dark curly hair and soft brown eyes. He also was smiling but it seemed to be much less demented but a bit more flashing. Also, there was now terrible moustache over his lips which also was a very distinguishing feature for Remus.

“Hello gentlemen! It’s a pleasure to meet you all!” Roman said with a slight bow, turned with an immediate decrease of charm and flair to Remus and asked: “Have you already offered them something to drink? And you didn’t ask them to help out right? They’re our guests!”

“Jeez. You’re acting like mum!” Remus pouted and the two brothers started to bicker for a moment before Roman excused himself and said he had to change clothes.

“He’s quite the character,” Virgil said with furrowed brows as Roman disappeared in the hallway and Remus let out a huff and then a weak laugh.

“Sure is, and it’s a pest. But rather have him around than not.”

All three silently nodded at that and then Remus got up. He asked them if they wanted coffee and went into the kitchen to make some. Meanwhile Roman came back into the living room and properly introduced himself to his two guests. They had met each other before but only in passing, when one of them dropped Remus off after a long night back in the days when he still was working as a barkeeper. In the not so easy days, but that was now over and they could focus on the present.

They got along fairly well, Roman seemed a little stuck up but knowing about Remus’s past both Janus and Virgil could put one and one together and knew that it was probably just a façade he put up until he knew he could trust them well enough. And they could respect that. After a moment Remus joined them again, a coffee for Janus, Virgil and Roman at the ready and a tea for himself. He was quick to poke fun at Roman and Janus had no problem playing into the teasing and getting a few mock-offended gasps from Roman.

“When are your guests coming?” Remus asked Roman and looked over to the clock they had hanging on the wall.

“Lo is always punctual on the minute. Well, maybe a minute earlier or so but he’ll be here at seven. Patty’s gonna be late. He can’t help it,” Roman answered and shrugged.

Remus nodded at the answer and asked if he would come and help him getting dinner ready. Roman agreed and the two let Janus and Virgil entertain themselves for the next few minutes. And one minute before seven the door rang and Remus instructed Virgil out from the kitchen to get the door. With a huff Virgil got up and opened the door.

A black-haired man in a navy polo shirt and dark jeans stood in front of the door and adjusted his glasses as he saw who had opened the door.

“You’re Roman’s friend?” it came from Virgil and the man nodded quickly.

He then added helpfully: “Yes, I’ve met him when he gave a dance course in our school-” He stretched his hand out – “Logan. I assume you are an acquaintance of his brother?”

“Got that right Logan. I’m Virgil. Come in. They’re in the kitchen,” Virgil said hoping to sound not too anxious.

Logan followed and looked at the two strangers in the room. Virgil was a small man with brightly died purple hair, wearing a worn-out sweater with purple patches and black skinny jeans and had apparently known Remus since college, as he soon learnt. The other man, Janus as he introduced himself, was a man of average height and blond hair, wearing a black turtleneck sweater and slacks. Logan recognized him soon as a rather-well known YA author and got into a conversation about literature. Virgil listened amused to their bantering and shot a lopsided grin at Remus when he came out of the kitchen to greet Logan properly.

“Jay, can you come for a second? Roman needs you to taste the sauce to make sure it’s not too spice for your fragile little togue,” Remus asked his friend who got up with a huff.

“I am not fragile!” Janus hissed and walked to the kitchen as Remus rolled his eyes at his dramatics.

“I didn’t say that,” Remus mumbled and then inquired what Logan wanted to drink and brought him some soda from the kitchen.

As Remus gave Logan his drink it rang and he went to get the door.

And as Remus opened the door he was met with the sight of a bubbly, brown-haired man. He smiled widely, had freckles all over his face and a pair of round glasses. He had to look up to him and bobbed on the spot, in his sky blue cat hoodie and light brown jeans with rainbow patches sewed on the knees, and for the first time in very long while Remus found himself thinking that this person just looked objectively adorable.

“Hello! Thank you so much for inviting me to your home!” this cute little man said cheerfully and Remus simply had to smile.

“My pleasure! You’re Patton then?”

For a second the man blinked and then sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.

“Yes, exactly!”

Remus laughed and bid him in. He then wanted to introduce him to Virgil, as Patton suddenly looked over to the hallway with glee in his eyes. Curious he followed the look and saw Janus just walking outside of the kitchen and staring at the newcomer with wide eyes.

“Janny!” Patton exclaimed joyfully, ran to him and gave him a soft hug.

Bedazzled Remus, Virgil and Logan stared at the pair and their bedazzlement only grew as they saw “Jannie’s” flustered face after they parted and heard him stutter: “I didn’t know you were coming too, honey.”

“What are you saying?” Patton laughed and fixed Janus’s collar. “I’ve told you last night before we went to bed that I also was invited to the twins party! You know I’m one of Roman’s best friends!”

“I certainly heard that,” Janus mumbled and Patton promptly put a kiss on Janus’s cheek.

Virgil and Remus stared at Janus. Suave and charming Janus all red and flustered by the words of the human embodiment of a Care Bear. Meanwhile Logan had a hard time realizing that he had just met his year-long friend’s boyfriend and talked with said boyfriend about the value of romance in YA books.

“You’re fucking this muffin of a person?” Remus exclaimed and Logan finally lost it and let his glass drop and spill soda all over the floor.

Roman came right running out of the kitchen as Patton doubled over with laughter and Janus’s face turned a new shade of red.

“And apparently this muffin is quite naughty,” Virgil added with a nervous giggle and got up to help Logan clean up the mess he made.

Meanwhile Janus found his words again and hissed towards Remus: “Would you not speak like this about my partner? He’s not a child.”

“Come on, Janny! It’s fine,” Patton said with a wheeze and nudged his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I love that you apparently only told them about our sex life. You’re such a goofy man.”

“And you never told us that you moved in together!” it came from the agitated Logan who almost let his glass drop again as he gesticulated widely.

“Move in together?! How- What on earth did I just miss?” Roman chimed in and looked between Janus and Patton now finally registering that the former held Patton’s hand tightly.

“Ahh, kiddos! Don’t worry, I would have told you had we done that. Janny just stayed with me, because I picked him up last night and my place is closer to the airport.”

Roman’s mind went blank for a few seconds before he eyed up Janus again and then looked over to Patton and deadpanned: “You’re telling me that this sassy man in black is the most adorable person you’ve ever known? That’s the man? Because if so, quite honestly, I feel offended.”

At that Remus and Virgil started to giggle and the evening continued to be quite entertaining for them all as Janus and Patton uncovered the truth about each other and meanwhile casually extended their circle of shared friends.

___

@aprincehasgotoslay

@varthandi

@sickeningly-deceitful

@sammy-is-obsessed  / @exhaustedfander

@unoriginalgayboyalex

@alexisrealgay

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #414

“mirror, mirror, tell me who you see  /  am i you or me?  /  i can never remember”

How many people have you kissed? Four. Ever kissed someone you weren’t dating at the time? No. Of the people you’ve kissed, how many do you regret kissing? Two. Ever been kissed by a legal adult when you were a minor (or vise-versa)? Yeah, with Jason, but it was only a two-year difference. Ever kissed someone on a dare/as part of a game? No. Where’s the most public place you’ve ever made out with someone? Nowhere public. I wouldn't do that. Can you snowboard? Never tried. Have you ever made a mixed cd for someone? No. Do you use recycle bins at your house? Yes. Do you own more than one bathing suit? No. Have you ever kissed someone who smokes weed? Jason did occasionally with his best friend, but he stopped for me. How are you right this second? I'm all right. Last night was pretty rough, so I'm just glad that's over. My body is just tired. Is there anything you disliked about your last birthday? Honestly, I barely remember what I did on my last birthday. I just remember it was fine. Oh wait, actually, on the way home from going out to eat, we had to call the cops while behind a car whose driver was obviously drunk or high OFF. HIS. ASS. He was swerving like crazy and almost hit SO many cars. I was having an absolute panic attack. I pray to God that guy was more than just found and fined. Do you keep a diary or journal (offline or online)? No, unless you count surveys, I guess. What were you like a year ago? I was the unhappily the same. Is someone on your mind right now? Fucking always. Having a warm dream about him last night didn't help. Who was the last person you sat next to? My mom. What do you currently hear right now? My screen is split so I can watch John Wolfe play some indie horror games. What’s something you need to go shopping for? I need to get new bras baaaadly because I'm tired of none fitting properly. What’s the last thing you ate? I had a donut 'cuz Mom stopped at Dunkin' for coffee. Do/did you do good in school? I did up to college. Then I just... sucked. Do you always get along with your siblings? I mean I don't see/talk to them every day or anything, not even very regularly even, but we generally get along fine now as adults. We disagree about shit for sure, but keep our mouths shut. Or probably talk to Mom about it while I'm not present. I don't even think they like me half of the time. Are you frustrated with anything? So much. Why did you fall for the last person romantically? There were/are a lot of factors. Just she as a person is phenomenal. What’s your younger sibling’s name? Nicole. Can you speak in a different language conversationally; if so, which language? A tiny bit of German. Do you ever fear of falling asleep? With my nightmares, I used to dread it. Now, thankfully, my APAP mask has prevented them from happening, mostly; I've only had two in the month that I've had it, and I ordinarily had them every single night. Do you have an idea of what kind of profession you’d like to have? I do, but I honestly doubt I'm going to succeed in even making it a part-time job by this damn point. Which beach would you say is your favorite? I don't have a favorite. I don't even like the beach very much. What kind of cookie is your favorite? Chocolate chip. Have you ever had a churro? Yes. Too crunchy and ridiculously sweet, not a fan. Truth be told, are you more into looks or personalities the most? A good personality beats good looks any day. How is/was your chemistry class in high school? I actually didn't take chemistry; my graduating year, physical science was offered as the alternative, which I took. How does alcohol affect you? I get hot, and my face flushes badly. It'll make me more talkative. Have you ever tried lemon brownies? No, and I don't want to. I don't like lemon-flavored stuff like that. What was the last type of meat you ate? Beef. Have you taken any medication today? I have prescriptions I take every day. Have you ever watched Parks and Recreation? I've seen some of it at Sara's house. What is your favourite kind of pasta? Just spaghetti with tomato sauce and meatballs, really. I've been on a major chicken pesto kick lately, though. Have you set an alarm today? No. Think of a random person, and give them a message here, no names: Literally just the chance to say "I'm sorry" would be fucking amazing. Just two fucking words. What if there were two of you? Would the world be in trouble? No. That'd be a waste of space, though. Not like I'm contributing much to society. Would you prefer an ice cream sundae or an ice cream cone? I dunno man, it depends on my mood and what I want in the moment. Do you watch movies with the subtitles on? No; I find it to be distracting. Is the last person you kissed yours? I hate this saying. She's her own person that belongs to nobody but herself. But to just go along with it and answer the question, no, we're not together. Do you think you will be married by the time you are 25? Welp, I'm halfway through 25, so. Do you have siblings over the age of 21? All of my siblings are. Do you have a hard time admitting you’re wrong? No. Especially as I've aged, I'd say I'm pretty quick to accept if I've fucked up. Who has the ability to hurt you the most emotionally? Jason will probably always have that power, even if he's not in my life. Would you ever be a stripper? God no, nobody wants to see that. What are your plans for tomorrow? Just get through the day, man. Do you owe anybody money? No. How would your parents describe you? Reserved, shy, a deep thinker, animal lover, uhhhh... What is the most you have ever weighed? Let's not. Would you ever work at McDonald's? No. I'm never working in food service. If you aren't already, would you go vegetarian or vegan? I want to be a vegetarian and being a vegan would be perfectly ideal for me, but I really don't think I can healthily accomplish either. I am FAR too picky to where I'd almost definitely become malnourished. To make it even worse I absolutely cannot "suck it up" if I don't like a food, so it's not like I could choke down stuff I don't like. Not to mention I'd be pretty sad without any yummy food to look forward to, aha. Coolest person you've ever met? Uhhhh I don't know. Do you wear boxers? No. Girls, how old were you when you first learned how to put in a tampon? I don't remember. Would you ever attend a gay pride parade or festival? I would absolutely love to. Did you see Paranormal Activity 2? I think I've seen all of the movies. I liked them, given paranormal horror films are probably my fave. What would you do if an old man grabbed your ass? Kick him in the fucking balls so goddamn fast and probably slap him across the face at the same time. Probably cry later from feeling violated and having my fear of men aggravated. Do you like moustaches? It depends on the person, but I'd say I generally prefer an attached beard and a mustache versus JUST a mustache. Could you hack into someone's computer if you tried hard enough? No. I have no idea how to do that. Have you ever smoked a cigar? No. Do you go out on Black Friday? Hell no. NOT worth fighting people for deals. Do you have curtains in your bedroom? No; I have those blinds that you can close upwards or downwards. Did you like the Spice Girls when you were little? Yeah, I did. Can you sing the entire Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song? I think I can. Do you get heartburn? I'm literally on an antacid prescription, or else I get insane heartburn every day. Are you scared of elevators? To a moderate degree, yes. I'm terrified of it getting stuck. Have you ever seen a dead body in person? Yes, at an open-casket wake. Have you ever seen The Goonies? I have. If you're white, do you ever wish you were black? Or vice versa? I'm fine being Caucasian, but ultimately don't care. Do you bake cookies all the time around Christmas? I don't bake. Do you like your hair pulled? Uhhh... I'm assuming you mean this in a suggestive context, in which case no. Never pull my hair, actually. What kind of jeans do you like? Ripped skinny jeans. What do you think is overrated? Who really cares. Let people enjoy what they enjoy. And what are your goals for the remainder of this year? Lose lots of weight, find a job, get back into old hobbies and develop new ones... Name a city that starts with A in your state/province etc. Asheboro. Name a landmark that starts with M in your state/province etc. I'm blanking right now. When was the last time you gave a horse a carrot? Been years. I think I've only done that once, and I can't even remember where it was. Have you ever had to shovel snow? No. How many seasons is your favorite TV show in so far? MM was just revived for its fifth season! :') Where would you most like to go in your state, etc. that you haven’t been? NC actually has this really old Wizard of Oz theme park! It's on the other end of the state, though, and NC is one wiiiiiide state. What was the last bird you saw? A robin, I think. What color was the last thing you drank? Green. Has a wild animal ever been loose in your house? Besides insects, no. Well wait, scratch that, once or twice we had a small mice problem when we lived in the woods. What’s the name of the bookstores in your city? The only one I know off the top of my head is Books-a-Million. Where do your parents live? I live with my mom, and Dad lives in the same city as us. Have you ever seen or touched an iceberg? No, but that would be cool. What colour are your father’s eyes? Brown. If your ex turned up on your doorstep now, with nowhere else to go, would you let him/her stay? Well one, this isn't my house, so I can't make that decision. My mom being who she is though, she'd let pretty much anyone stay the night. If it was Sara, Mom would let her stay as long as she needed. The last time you cried, was it connected with someone of the opposite sex? Ugh, yes. My PTSD was BAD last night. Delicious warm brownies or a giant cookie? I'll take the brownie. Have you visited a haunted building or area before? No, but damn I'd love to. Have you been to North Carolina? Ayyyyeeeee that's my home.

[bearsinpotatosacks]

There is a War On

This is also on AO3!

Night was clear around him, everything was silent apart from the gentle swishing of the trees. He tucked his hands under his armpits and wished he'd brought his gloves in his fit of minute rage. His body felt weary but his mind was active, there was far too much to think about to warrant rest.

"I know you have high standards, but I never took you for a hypocrite, Arthur," William said into the inky black sky.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Replied the Captain in a hushed tone. "And lower your voice, who knows who could be listening,"

"Who? I doubt any Jerry have wandered here so quickly,"

"Well, you never know, there is a war on" The Captain took a sneaky glance to his left and took in the slightly disheveled appearance of his Lieutenant.

William's hair wasn't as sleek and molded into place, his uniform less pristine but his face brighter, more open now they were officially meant to be sleeping.

"But perhaps you weren't alluding to the Jerry, then," 

Arthur raised an eyebrow and shook his head, despite William obviously being correct in his speculation. "Nonsense, who on earth could I be talking about apart from our enemies,"

"I think we both know what you're talking about," William quickly changed the subject and moved from his lent position in the doorway to stand next to the Captain. "Anyway, why are you not following your own advice and getting a good night's sleep?"

Arthur crinkled the printed card in his hand and turned his head away, immediately raising Williams' attention to said paper and foolishly allowing him to grab it from his hand. He made no effort to stop him from reading it, perhaps with someone else, but everything was different around William, part of him was willing to say that the normal rules didn't apply. 

No, of course the rules still applied, there are no exceptions to rules. That was a fact. 

It didn't matter if a part of him wanted to hold hands with him, purely for warmth, he'd learnt that men do not hold hands, under any circumstances. Nor did it matter that he wanted to run away from all this and spend the rest of his days alone with him, one must contribute to society, not even when said society went against everything he held secret. It simply didn't matter how much he wanted to break them, the rules still apply.

"Ah, your brother's getting married, congratulations!"

"I'm not the one getting married, there's no need to congratulate me," The Captain started. "Besides, I won't enjoy going,"

"Why? Weddings are fun events, aren't they?"

"Not for me, they're loud, rambunctious, no one respects personal space, they go on for far too long in the night until you're just tired and miserable and everybody drinks until they're silly. No, no, they are definitely not for me," He answered, adding more bite to his voice as the hairs on his arms stood on end and his hands clenched.

William scoffed a laugh and smiled, raising a worn cigarette to his lips and extending the matchbox to Arthur. The glow of the flame shone in his eyes as it reached closer to his face, the flickering wavering the light along his cheekbones as silence surrounded them once more. Part of him longed to reach out and stroke his face, he wanted to see if his skin was as smooth as it looked. He buried that desire, it was far too dangerous to even think about.

"It does say you're allowed to bring a guest, and it doesn't specify a romantic one," William sucked on the cigarette, Arthur was so close he could hear the crackling burning sound. "That does mean that I could accompany you, purely for security,"

"That would be a beneficial option for both parties, the parties being us," He lit his own cigarette, something he hadn't done in a while since he found the satisfaction a pipe or a cigar could fulfill. "You get to enjoy a night full of ridiculous dancing and I won't have to spend the entire evening regretting my decision,"

"Good, I'll write to the higher ups then, I'll say it's of great familial urgency," He said, smiling again as they fell back into silence.

They shuffled closer to each other as wind blustered through the fields and past the gravel. For a moment, Arthur allowed himself to wonder about a life he could live, in a different world where he was allowed to be himself. Perhaps he would be holding hands with William, maybe they would embrace and laugh and smile and kiss and love. He hoped some far off day that someone like him could do that, that maybe there will be people like him who could do all of that, and more.

~~

The Captain stood in the bathroom of the pub, it was small and beige, a single amber light lit up his face as he combed his moustache and hair. William emerged from the other cubicle and cleared his throat, his dress uniform was clean and crisp, hair all in place and a glint of excitement in his eyes.

The train ride had been long back to his hometown, families talking, children crying and staring at their uniforms, elderly ladies looking at them and whispering among themselves. At one point, William had to carefully place his hand on Arthur's arm just to calm him down, distracting him with talk of new plans for the allotment back at Button House. 

It was only an hour until the wedding, after dropping their belongings off at the old, worn hotel, giving William a tour and relaxing in the pub for a short while, and Arthur was struggling to hide his bubbling anxiety. He'd adjusted his coat buttons, combed his hair, corrected his tie a million times. 

"Will you stop that?" Havers snapped. "Your hair can't get any neater, are you really dreading this wedding so much?" 

"Yes, yes I am,"

"Why?"

"Well, let's just say, my family and I aren't on very good terms," 

William raised an eyebrow and asked," Why did they send you an invitation then?" as they left the bathroom and made their way across the cobbles of the street towards the church. 

"My brother's been called for national service, he is quite a few years younger than me, you see, and wants to get married before he is sent off into the unknown,"  Arthur stopped before the church and gulped.

A large crowd of people were mingling near the door, all dressed in their best clothes with styled hair and smiles. These were people he hadn't spoke to, or even thought about, in years and now he was arriving in full military dress with his colleague accompanying him.

"This was a terrible decision, we should go, they will not want me her-" Arthur started, almost fully turned around before a bellowing voice echoed across the street.

"Well, I'll be blessed, he actually came!" The shout came from his brother, drawing the family's eyes on them, a woman, hunched over a walking stick with thin white hair emerged from her conversation with the Priest, calling Arthur's name.

"It looks like we're staying," William mumbled as they were dragged into the crowd.

~~

Finally the night was over, they were frazzled despite staying sober for the night and were standing against the reception desk, dinging the bell impatiently before the main staff member emerged from the back room. She turned to hand the key to them and hesitated.

"I think I've been mistaken," She said.

"Mistaken?" They replied in unison.

"Well, we were told that you, Arthur, were allowed to bring a date and, well, we assumed when you booked a room that you were including your date in the booking," She gave an awkward smile and continued. "Which means that there's only one double bed in the room, and we're fully booked,"

The Captain and Havers slowly turned to look at each other, then at the woman behind the desk, and back to each other. Arthur's stomach flipped. He took a deep, whistling breath inwards and closed his eyes. 'Bury that instinct, it's illegal, you'll be killed and what good can you do for your country after that?' he thought to himself just as William said.

"We're army men, trained for worse situations, we'll manage," 

The woman handed him the key and directed them to their room, right at the back with a perfect overview of the rolling fields that Arthur vaguely recalled playing war games in as a child.

~~

Their worn cases were lying under the bed, William was turned around, changing into his pyjamas as Arthur brushed his teeth and prepared for bed in the bathroom. His hands hadn't stopped shaking since they'd stepped into the room. An entire night spent with Havers, the little rebel inside him was ecstatic. 

On the outside however he was terrified. Any of the staff could walk in, any of the staff could report them. Two men willing to share a bed? They were practically begging to be killed.

He went back into the main room just as William was putting his nightshirt on, his back looked just as smooth as his face, freckles revealed themselves under the yellow glow of the old lighting and his muscles rippled as he flicked the shirt on. Havers turned around just slowly enough for Arthur to break himself from his ludicrous staring and smooth out of sheets.

"Well, your family certainly knows how to throw a good party," William said, trying to ease the tension.

The Captain scoffed. "Yes, well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself at least," He shook his head. "This entire ordeal was a complete waste of time,"

William stopped and let his face run through confusion, annoyance and curiosity. "How was it a waste of time? You got to see your family after years, we're at war and they could die, if it were me, I would've made up with them far before this,"

"Well, you're not me, are you?"

"Evidently not, because if it were me, I wouldn't be calling the last possible time I could see my brother alive a waste of time," He raised his voice slightly, not wanting to alert the attention of any of their neighbours. Despite his anger at Arthur for disgracing his family, he wouldn't risk their lives over it. 

"We haven't contacted me for years when I was off in the army before the war, why should it change now?"

"Oh, I don't know, perhaps because they could actually be hurt in this war, or maybe because they genuinely seem to care for you and you aren't giving them anything!" 

The Captain squinted and rubbed his forehead, "See, if we hadn't have come, if we had just stayed at our posts, we wouldn't be fighting," 

This was apparently the wrong thing to say as Havers only angered more, "This is your entire life, isn't it?"

"Yes," 

"You have no other wishes or desires outside the army and the war?"

"No," He said, 'Yes,' his mind corrected. 'I seem to be infatuated with you,'

"How? How can there be nothing else in the world you want that doesn't involve the military?"

"There just isn't, now can we drop the matter?" He said, about to climb into the bed just as Havers grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"No." He said lowly. "You keep saying your entire life is the army but why, you're not telling me why, you may not answer this question if someone else had asked it, but you always answer me,"

He looked him in the eye, "Why?"

"Because I want to, it's the proper thing an Army Captain should do," For a moment he considered telling him the truth, but his integrity, his survival instincts got the better of him.

"You're the Captain of a remote Army Base, Arthur," William let go of his arm and began to wave his hands around as he paced. "You're speaking as though you're a general when you're actually stationed at a remote base and haven't been promoted since I've known you,"

He stopped and just breathed for a second, listening to the creeks of the hallway before climbing into the bed and saying, "I give up, all I want is for you to be happy but you give me nothing," He turned away from him. "Goodnight, Captain,"

Arthur climbed into the bed, feeling the scratchy duvet on his feet as he took regular glances at William. He didn't want to annoy him, he just knew that if he told him anything true and personal that whatever they were would become even more dangerous.

"I do wish to play cricket more, that is one thing, away from the army that I want," He whispered, William didn't respond, didn't even shuffle under the covers. "And I've always had a certain quality that the higher ups didn't like, it meant they didn't want to promote me, didn't want to leave me in charge, and certainly wouldn't trust me with anything a general does, that's why you're so special, you're one of the few military men who can put up with me,"

William began to turn over and eventually was facing Arthur head on, his brown eyes were almost black now he had his back to the lamp. He reached out with a small smile and stroked his face. Arthur didn't dare breathe.

"I don't just put up with you, I like you," He watched as the Captain let out a shuddering breath. "I like you a lot, and I'm glad you're acknowledging that we understand each other,"

He waited for a response, but after realising he wasn't getting one, continued. "All I want is for you to have more balance in your life, all of this work, without relaxing, will make you ill,"

"We wouldn't want that," The Captain managed. 

"No, there is a war on,"

"There is," 

William sat up and turned the light off, then lay down and pulled the thin layers of bed sheets over both their heads. They were so close now, were being so risky, but this flutter in Arthur's stomach and pounding of his heart were too intense for him to care. For the first time in his life he didn't care about the rules, rules aren't applicable to these sorts of situations, especially because they weren't made with this sort of situation in mind. 

"So, because of our current situation, the threat of death and all that," William's voice was barely louder than his breath, he moved his hand across the mattress. "You won't report me for doing this, then," 

He clasped Arthur's clammy hand in his and stared gently in his eyes. His thumb ran over his knuckles as they listened anxiously to every sound of the corridor. 

For a moment, Arthur was satisfied, content and felt exactly where he was meant to be, here under a scratchy bed sheet, breaking the law with his Lieutenant. He'd heard about this feeling, read about it, and could never have prepared for how intensely warm it was. If he was a poet, he might say it was similar to sunshine, a warm cup of tea or a good bit of tobacco in his pipe. But he wasn't a poet, so he let himself bask in the innocent glory of it all, let his mind think of alternate universes where he could do this in public, and forget that they were returning back to normal life tomorrow.

But there is a war on, so perhaps there would be more moments like this, purely because of the circumstances.

[c-swirlz]

Denial | Sanders Sides Oneshot (Logan ‘Birthday’ Special)

Summary: Logan is still adamant that his ‘birthday’ isn’t November 3rd. However, when his family takes it as seriously as they do, he supposes he can be persuaded otherwise.

OR

Five (5) times Logan insists it isn’t his ‘birthday’ and the one (1) time he doesn’t.

Pairing(s): None

Content/trigger warning(s): Knife

[AO3 link]

|| This was meant to be posted yesterday (because it was November 3rd in my timezone), but I got distracted partway through writing and didn’t finish it in time. Therefore, this is -- technically -- a day late. ||

“Happy Birthday, Logan!”

Logan stared at Patton, utterly perplexed. The paternal Side was grinning brightly, his hands clasped together in front of him as he contently swayed slightly from side to side.

Logan shook his head, breaking himself free of his momentary trance. “Patton, it’s... not my birthday.”

Patton frowned, tilting his head to the side like that of a confused puppy. “Whaddya mean?” The moral Side gasped, bringing his hands up to cover his mouth. “Oh no, did I get the day wrong?! What’s the date?”

Logan summoned a calendar and examined it for a moment before banishing it. “It is the third of November.”

Patton breathed a small sigh of relief as his hands lowered, his shoulders visibly sagging. “Oh, okay, thank goodness--”

Suddenly, a realisation seemed to dawn on Patton, and he stared at Logan.

“Wait. If it is November third, then... why did you say it’s not your birthday?”

Logan’s brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a tight line. “We are not real people. We were not ‘born’ in the same sense Thomas was, therefore none of us technically have a birthday. However, if we were to have one, it would surely be more logical for it to be the same as Thomas’ as we are all fractions of his personality, not individual humans.”

Patton’s frown became impossibly larger, almost becoming a pout. “Aww, but Logan! Just because we aren’t real people doesn’t mean we aren’t allowed to have and celebrate our own birthdays!”

Logan shook his head, almost apologetically.

Almost.

“Apologies, Patton, but if you insist on celebrating my ‘birthday’, I would much prefer you wait for Thomas’.”

And with that, Logan turned and walked away. Guilt began creeping in, but he shoved it down. Guilt was an icky, human emotion that Logic didn’t need. He refused to feel it.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to.

~---~

“Ah, Specs! Fancy seeing you here!”

Logan turned around, his expression neutral as Roman strolled into the kitchen. “Salutations, Roman.” He turned back around and continued preparing his beverage. “We all live here and enter the kitchen quite frequently, so I don’t really understand your latter statement.”

Roman rolled his eyes fondly, walking up to stand next to Logan and lightly punching him playfully in the shoulder. “Nerd.”

“Prep,” Logan responded automatically.

Roman chuckled, gasping quietly as he seemed to remember something. “Oh, by the way, happy birthday!”

Logan made an odd sound in the back of his throat, which Roman picked up on.

“Okay, Patton did tell me you weren’t a fan of the whole birthday thing, but c’mon, Calculator Watch! The sooner you accept your deemed birthdate, the sooner we can celebrate!”

Roman pulled off his iconic pose as he sang the last word, holding for an -- admittedly -- impressively long time on the a.

Logan bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from releasing a huff of amused laughter, lifting the cup containing his beverage to his lips and softly blowing on it before taking a sip.

“Your festivities would be wasted, Roman. Why not wait until Virgil’s ‘birthday’? It is only forty-six days away, and I’m sure he would appreciate it so long as you didn’t catch him by surprise.”

Roman opened his mouth to respond, but stopped as Logan turned around and began walking out of the kitchen.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”

Logan strode towards the stairs, leaving Roman alone downstairs as he travelled up.

The guilt returned.

He ignored it.

~---~

“Oh, Nerdy Wolverine~!”

Logan sighed, barely flinching as a knife was plunged into his shoulder. He simply waved a hand and the blade vanished, the wound healing instantly. A nasally whine rang out, and Logan glanced over his shoulder just as Remus clung onto him, having caught him in the hall as he’d left his room to retrieve a book he’d left downstairs.

“Remus,” Logan greeted.

Remus grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “A little birdie told me it’s a certain nerd’s birthday today~”

Logan grit his teeth. “Patton, I’m assuming?”

Remus snorted. “Yep! But you don’t seem too happy, Specs. What’s up?”

Logan scoffed, rolling his eyes as he pried Remus off his back. “I am quite honestly getting rather sick of explaining it.”

Remus clicked his tongue, picking at his moustache. “Eh, fair enough.” He stopped picking at his moustache and looked back up at Logan, staring at him for a moment before his gaze seemed to drift towards Roman’s door.

“Is dear brother Roman in right now?”

Logan shook his head.

Remus brought his hands together with a loud clap. “Goodie, I can fill his room with my latest creations! He’s sure to love them!”

Remus darted over to Roman’s bedroom door, opening it and stepping inside. He poked his head back out, exclaiming, “See ya, nerd!” before closing the door.

Logan blinked.

That was... odd.

~---~

Logan knew Janus had entered his room before the snakelike Side had even announced his presence.

“Salutations, Janus.”

“Hello, Logan,” Janus replied, adjusting his hat before taking a few strides forward to stand beside the logical Side, who was sitting at his desk typing on his laptop at superhuman speed.

“Tell me, how long has it been since you had something to eat or drink since you started your work?”

Logan stopped typing, but remained silent. That was enough of an answer for Janus.

“I assumed as much.”

Suddenly, there was a glass of water and a Crofter’s sandwich on a plate sitting next to Logan’s laptop, and the ghost of a smile was momentarily visible on his face.

“Ah,” Logan cleared his throat. “Thank you, Janus.”

Janus began examining his gloves where his nails would be underneath. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Logan could see the small smirk on the deceitful Side’s face.

Janus didn’t stick around for long after that, and it wasn’t until he sunk out that Logan realised the serpentine Side hadn’t acknowledged his ‘birthday’ whatsoever.

~---~

As evening rolled in, the card sticky taped to the outside of Logan’s door came as a surprise to him. Curiosity got the better of him, and instead of simply ignoring it like he usually would, he carefully peeled the sticky tape off, removed it, opened the card and read the text inside, which was written in Virgil’s distinctive handwriting.

Hey, L.

I know you think having a birthday’s illogical and all, but I still wanted to wish you a happy one, since... y’know, November 3rd’s considered to be yours.

~ Supreme Dark Overlord of Negative Commerce

Logan’s grip on the card tightened, and he almost crumpled it into a ball as an odd surge of anger washed over him. However, he stopped himself, taking a few regulating breaths before re-entering his room, fuming, though he refused to acknowledge it.

“It. Is. Not. My. Birthday,” he muttered, sitting back down at his desk, opening his laptop and resuming his work.

~---~

A knock on the door aroused Logan from his slumber. Wait, when had he fallen asleep? Apparently only about twenty minutes ago according to his laptop’s clock.

“Logan?”

That was Patton’s voice.

“I know you’re probably really busy right now, but could you please come down to the kitchen?”

Logan didn’t respond, and an awkward silence hung in the air for a moment.

On the other side of the door, Patton sighed. “Well, kiddo, we’ll be waiting... please come down.”

We...?

Logan listened for the sound of Patton’s fading footsteps before venturing out the door, slowly descending the stairs only to glance in the direction of the kitchen and stop in his tracks as he reached the bottom.

Everyone was there: Roman, Patton, Virgil, Janus and Remus. They were all smiling somewhat sheepishly at him, and the logical Side’s eyes were drawn to the cake he could see sitting on the bench behind them.

“Now before you say anything,” Patton said suddenly, breaking the silence, “we know you don’t consider today to be your birthday. However, we consider it to be, and we weren’t about to let the day end without at least making you a cake!”

Logan did have to admit the cake looked rather delicious, but he made sure not to show it. His family were looking at him expectantly, and he allowed his lips to curl up into a small smile. He sighed defeatedly.

“Alright, I suppose I can... embrace my deemed ‘birthday’. For the time being.”

When Logan returned to his room a few hours later to find a small pile of gifts on his bed, he supposed he could cope with November 3rd being his ‘birthday’ despite it being nowhere near Thomas’.

[glassbangtan]

Jungkook is Typing... {Jungkook x Reader}

Words: 21.1k

Summary: You and Jungkook met online when you were only fourteen years old. Neither of you thought meeting up would be a possibility, until you’re hired as Big Hit’s new editor. 

Genre: mild smut, angst, fluff. 

Warning: sexual scenes (but nothing graphic)

Notes: masterlist 

---

You and Jungkook met online.

   This is where most people roll their eyes, close the book and move on. It's this little pinprick of information that makes people turn a blind eye and assume the absolute worst.

   In truth, you never really blamed them for this mindset.

   You were only fourteen when you started getting into online gaming, and it wasn't like it was some massive deal at the time. Everyone was doing it; World of Warcraft, Dungeons and Dragons, Minecraft Online were all common topics of conversation amongst your year ten class, with people sharing server pins and usernames in a similar way to how they used to share sweets when the teacher wasn't looking. It was no surprise to you – or anyone else – when you asked your parents for a computer for Christmas, and quickly got hooked on the game Prisons of Terror.

    It was all you ever talked about, because – in truth – it was all you ever did. You got home from school, threw your bag on the floor and darted to your room. Some days, you didn't even bother saying hello to your mother in fear of someone logging onto the online server before you and getting all the weaponry you'd stashed away in an unlocked chest. You simply could not let that happen. Over one hundred and twenty five hours of hard work were not going to waste just so you could make idle chat with the woman who lived downstairs.

     Your parents never questioned it – as stated, this wasn't some new phenomenon, and you didn't have a problem. You were quite capable of logging out of the game when the server was quiet, and you only spoke about it when someone else was willing to engage in conversation. Other than that, most people saw you as a fairly capable, intelligent fourteen year old – normal.

     But this little passing fling with Prisons of Terror grew when GoldenJeon entered the server for the very first time. You remembered the date, remembered flicking your eyes up from your homework with the game still running in the background – hardly anyone was playing, so you'd decided to at least be a little bit productive as you waited for some of your other friends to come online. Never before had you seen GoldenJeon written across the bottom of the screen.

    You narrowed your eyes, leaned forward and quickly typed into the chat: Who are you?

    He didn't reply. You left it at that. He was probably just there to try it out, too nervous to speak to anyone until he found his footing in the game and was finally able to open up a little bit more.

  A few days later, he appeared again.

  You were quicker with your curiosity this time, barely letting his name disappear from the chat before you were repeating your previous question.

    GoldenJeon is typing...

   But then he stopped, and there was no response given.

  Maybe it was this constant game of back and forth that piqued your interest, that had you pondering over the person behind the strange username. His characters skin consisted of the gear of prisoners, which has always been a strange thing to pick when playing this game. Most people are drawn to the powerful looking players, the guards, the people with swords and crossbows slung across their backs – your own was a person in a guards uniform, your weapon consisting of two circular blades strapped to your shoulders.

  Your curiosity heightened to levels you could no longer control, and you opened up a new, private chat with GoldenJeon and started texting.

  Innocent questions at first; asking him who he was, how long he'd been playing the game, who the hell gave him the password for the server you were so familiar with at this point.

  And he texted back.

  He gave you answers, the conversation flowing so much easier than you'd ever expected it to. His silence in the beginning had unsettled you to the point where you'd ridiculously convinced yourself he didn't like you – even before he'd spoken to you. He was ignoring everything you said, so what else were you supposed to believe?

  But the two of you texted like best friends outside of the ring of the game you'd grown so addicted to. He sent emojis, and after a few months of constant back and forth, he started sending you little pictures of his dog and the doodles he did during class, and you granted him the same thing. You were never much of an artist, but you put a lot of effort into the drawings you sent him, and also put a lot of effort into making them look effortless, just like he did.

    GoldenJeon: got bored in class again. Teacher nearly caught me this time. {ATTACHED IMAGE}

   He was talented. There was no denying that. Even at fourteen, there wasn't a sense of jealousy that came with this acknowledgement, but a simple sense of pride. You often tilted the phone to your friend, Yul, and let him see the fresh, simplistic art work GoldenJeon had sent you that day, and Yul would hum and compliment him, and you'd sit there smugly as if to say yep, he's my friend.

   After a few weeks, GoldenJeon became somebody else. He became Jeon Jungkook, a student in Busan – miles away from where you lived, but close enough to startle you. Both of you lived in Korea – that had to count for something.

     The start of it all was a bumpy road, but looking down at your phone now, you can't help but grin at the realisation that it really was all worth it. Though you and Jungkook are yet to meet in person, not a day has gone by in the past four years where he hasn't sent you some bizarre song, or some scribbled doodle on the back of his notebook. Not a day has gone by where he hasn't sent you a good morning text and asked you how you are, what you've eaten, what your plans are for the day.

     He's your best friend, but telling people that earns you a few confused glances, so you tend to refrain as far from that conversation as humanly possible.

    Jungkook: I'm bored. Please cheer me up before I walk out and fail this entire class.

   Y/N: tough day?

   Jungkook: The worst day. I forgot we had a test.

  Y/N: what a Jungkook thing to do.

    Jungkook: Fuck off and cheer me up. I'm keeping you around for one thing and one thing only.

   Y/N: to cheer you up?

   Jungkook: Exactly.

   Challenge accepted. Standing in line at Starbucks, you shamelessly lift your phone high above your head and take a selfie, sticking your tongue out and throwing up the peace sign for added effect. You hit 'send' to Jungkook and stuff your phone back in your pocket, turning round to retrieve your coffee and head back to work.

    Jungkook goes to a weekend performance club in Seoul. This much you know, as you get updates from him on the daily about how his classes are going and how life is now that he's basically an independent man who can do whatever the hell he wants; as well as being a student, he's also a trainee.

    He told you about his dreams of becoming an idol on multiple occasions, but you'd heard it all before. Growing up, every single person in your class wanted to be an idol at some point; rising stars like Big Bang and EXO inspired the youth to strive to become as rich and famous as possible – but it always died away, and that's what you thought was going to happen with Jungkook.

    You really should have known better.

  He was only fifteen when he texted you saying he'd passed his audition. Confused, you'd asked him what he meant, only for him to send you a picture – “photo credit to my mum!” - of him standing in front of a sign with the words Big Hit plastered across it. You leaped out of your chair, squealing with happiness, immediately pressing 'CALL' to continue your freak out with him on the line; he'd started crying, you'd started crying, and that phone call will forever go down as the one that cost you the most money as it lasted for over four hours.

    He was still working hard. You got the updates. You comforted him when it all got too much. You helped each other out.

    Your phone chimes, signalling Jungkook's response.

   Jungkook: Okay good. I think I can push through now. Wish me luck. Love you loads and all that.

  You grin.

   Y/N: love you too. Don't kill anyone. Xx

   The conversation disappears and you are finally able to sink yourself back into reality – work.

   Whilst Jungkook is a thriving trainee, you're an intern at a publishing house. Whilst Jungkook spends his days singing and dancing, you spend your days going through unedited manuscripts and marking them up with red pen.

     Your boss, Mr Grey, is standing by your desk when you walk in, which is already the first bad sign of the morning. His arms are folded, his grey (yes, grey) moustache freshly waxed. You swallow back a laugh, giving him your best grin as you walk past him to your desk, pretending that his presence in your office is a normal, everyday occurrence.

   You already know you're in Big Trouble. Mr Grey never steps foot outside of his office unless someone is in Big Trouble.  

  “Are you sure you need that caffeine this morning?” is the first thing he asks, as it usually is. Mr Grey is on a health kick. Even though you know it's temporary and he's been through this with you a million different times before, he will still chastise you for any and all unhealthy lifestyle choices you make in his presence whilst he is trying to slim down.

  You take a small sip of your hot beverage, clap your lips together and say, “Definitely.” You set your folder down on your desk before turning to him fully. “How may I help you this morning, sir?”

   “I need to speak with you about an important matter,” he replies. You pause, waiting for him to elaborate, but his eyes have suddenly turned shifty and there is not a single hint in his posture to reveal whatever riddle he has just spoken.

  You look around cautiously, half expecting Soobin from the next office to jump out and spray you with Silly String, or perhaps throw a can of paint in your face. You honestly wouldn't put it past Mr Grey to want to poison you somehow.

  When nothing seems out of place, you turn back to your boss and say, “Okay. Do you want to sit down?” You gesture towards the seat he is stiffly standing behind, and he nods before slowly lowering himself onto the worn out cushion. You follow his lead, shuffling a few papers around because that's often all you need to do to look busy around here. You then intertwine your fingers over a thick folder and glance at him, waiting for him to usher the conversation along.

  He inhales and rubs a single finger along one of his bushy grey eyebrows. “There has been an opportunity given to me recently that I unfortunately cannot take for myself, so I've come here to ask if you would like to take the chance in my place.”

   He says it just like that. The previous silence, the drawn out dramatics just look stupid now, and you can't help but stare at him blankly as the words settle in. You haven't been there for very long, and you're still barely full-time. You're still considered an intern by most people, and still have a lot to learn – so why is he offering you something like this when there's hundreds of other worthy colleagues who would know what to do with this opportunity so much better than you?

  “Right,” you say slowly. “I'm gonna need a few more details, I think.”

  “It requires travel.”

  “I don't really think I can aff-”

  “All expenses will be paid by the agency. They'll organise a flat and transport when it's needed. They've been very generous with this offer, which is why I think it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

   Your heart is thumping. This is real. This is serious.

  “What is this offer?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady but failing miserably.

  “A well-known company is writing up a catalogue for future employees and they want an editor flown out to make corrections on hand if they need it.”

  You blink. “That's . . . Unheard of. Why don't they just send the manuscript out?”

  “Because that takes too long, and they don't have that amount of time,” Mr Grey explains. “Plus, they're already in partnership with another editing agency, but this agency doesn't have enough staff free at the moment to take on the job. That's why they came to me.”

  “So you'll be shipping me off to another editing agency? I'll become part of another team?” You raise your brows, slowly lean back in your chair. “You could have just sacked me, Mr Grey. It would have done the same thing.”

  Mr Grey rolls his eyes – he never has any time for comments like these. It's part of the reason you find it so difficult to find even ground with him. “You'll be coming back eventually. This is just a temporary job, a favour for a friend.”

  You sigh. “This is a lot to take in, sir.”

  “I understand,” he replies, before he starts standing up. “I'll give you time to think about it, and when you-”

   You launch yourself over the desk, grabbing his wrist and dragging him back into his seat before he can get much further. “Jesus, Mr Grey, slow down. I never said I wouldn't take the bloody offer.” You grab a pen from the Worlds Worst Drinker mug on the corner of your desk. “What do I sign and when do I leave?”

  ---

  The train station is bustling with people, but you had been expecting nothing different when you were told you'd be shipped off to Seoul.

  Seoul, South Korea. A place you'd once only dreamed about stepping foot in. As you'd grown older, the idea of visiting the capital became more and more intimidating, and you've since grown quite fond of your tiny little area. You'd heard the stories, seen the pictures of the crowded streets and the smoke that always fills the air, but hearing about these details and being amongst them are two very, very different experiences.

  You step off the train at long last, shoulder immediately shoved by a passer-by who is too busy looking down at his phone to notice you standing right in front of him. You frown, quickly pull your timetable out of your pocket and look down – you're meant to be meeting your colleague. According to the timetable, this mystery person was meant to pick you up in their car and drive you straight to the building you'd be working at – which, at this moment in time, you have not yet heard the name of.

  You look around for any sign of somebody professional looking – sadly, that seems to be the majority of Seoul. You're surprised to see that half of the people bustling around look like they're on their way to work, wearing nice suits or long coats that hide whatever professional gear they're wearing underneath.

  “Y/N L/N?”

  Your eyes shoot up, heartbeat thumping because you know, just from the sound of the unfamiliar voice, that things are finally starting. There is no backing out of this. You can't just turn around and get back on the train – you've taken the offer, and you're stuck.

  You turn on your heel, placing your professional grin on your face. Standing behind you is a fairly small man with a tiny black moustache, wearing an oversized grey hoodie and a beanie. Little black hairs trickle from the edge of his hat and poke him in the eyes, but he does nothing to shift them out the way.

  He certainly wasn't what you had been expecting. He's shorter than you by a few inches. He's wearing casual clothes, even on a Wednesday afternoon. He looks like any normal human being, even a little laid back.

  “Mr Son!” you exclaim. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Please, call me Sungdeuk,” he says. “I hope the train ride wasn't too bad? I know they can get a little crowded and uncomfortable.”

  As he speaks, he grabs for your suitcase and starts down the platform. You blink, ponder over whether or not to follow him before you're nearly tripping over your own feet trying to catch up.

  “Uh, yeah. It was a – uh – experience,” you reply. “I'm just glad I got here on time.”

  “I assume you know all about the kind of work you'll be doing?”

  “Mhm!”

  You cringe even as the noise leaves your lips, because in truth, you have absolutely no idea what it is you'll be doing. What little you've been told barely seems to cover the surface, and you're still carrying around many questions in which you know will need answered eventually – when you get to that point, you'll make sure to ask, but for now, it's safer to just pretend you're prepared.

   You and Sungdeuk make your way into a large Range Rover that is parked outside the station. Sungdeuk gets in the front seat whilst you clamber into the back, and immediately a cold bottle of water is passed to you over the back of Sungdeuk's seat.

  “Kept chilled, just for you,” he says, winking in the rear view mirror.

  You smile and grab for the drink, but your stomach is reeling with nerves and you know for a fact you won't be able to keep anything down, liquid or not. And so, you mess with the lid, curling your fingers around it until the clasp bites into your palm, until the condensation is sinking into your jeans and making the leather seats damp.

  Neither of you speak for the majority of the drive, and Sungdeuk seems perfectly fine with that. He barely even glances at you, too busy leaning his head against the headrest with his eyes closed, like he's living in his own fantasy world. Even the driver is perfectly content with the silence, but it itches at your skin. You should be talking. You want your first impression to be chipper, friendly, curious. You want your new boss to think you're actually interested in whatever it is you've been signed up for.

  Cautiously, you lean forward and poke your head between the passenger and driver seat. “Uh, hi.”

  Sungdeuk creaks open one eye. “You alright?”

  “I was just – uh – I have a question.” You may as well slip a question in now.

  Sungdeuk turns to look at you. “Go ahead. I thought you were told everything.”

  “I was told most things,” you lie. “Except for – you know – who I'll actually be working for.”

  Sungdeuk stares at you, waiting for the non-existent punch line. You suddenly want to curl up in a ball, perhaps throw yourself out the window.

  He purses his lips when you stay silent, features completely straight. “You don't know who you're working for?”

  “I'm sure it was in the contract,” you hasten to say. “I might have just missed it. You know what, sorry for bothering you.” You wave a dismissive hand, already leaning back in your seat and pretending you didn't even speak up in the first place. “You carry on doing what you're doing, and I'll just sit back here and-”

   “We're here anyway,” he says, grinning at your sudden flustered state. You don't even have a chance to be embarrassed, as you lurch forward and look out the window, just as the massive gates open into the car park behind a large grey building. Lights are on in almost every single room, and there's a sign on the door that reads, in big, bold letters:

  BIG HIT ENTERTAINMENT.

  And you want to scream.

  There's no way. There's absolutely no way this is real life. You've decided. You've come to the conclusion that maybe you hit your head on the train and now you're actually dreaming this entire thing. You're in a coma somewhere. A doctor is poking at you this very minute, but you won't wake up because-

  “Y/N?”

  Your eyes snap up. “Hm?”

  “We going in?”

  You swallow thickly and gather your wits, trying to calm the race of your heartbeat. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket – you want to text Jungkook so bad, because you can already guess his reaction. He's going to be mortified. The safe little friendship the two of you have is going to be destroyed as soon as he sees you walk in them doors, because he can no longer hide behind the distance that was always such a comfort blanket between the two of you. Sure, it was a pain in the ass sometimes. Sometimes Jungkook would just go on huge rants about wanting to cuddle you because he couldn't sleep, and its them moments where the distance can honestly just fuck off – but at the same time, you have a pimple growing on your forehead that Jungkook would never be able to see.

  Not until now.

  Nonetheless, you know you can't just set up camp in the back of the Range Rover, so you gather your bags and follow Sungdeuk into the lobby of the building. He's chatting away, giving you a brief tour of the area you can see, but you're not even paying attention.

  On the wall, the posters glare at you.

  “Who is Bangtan Sonyeondan?” you ask, not even realising you're cutting the man off.

  He lowers his hand and follows your gaze to the poster you're currently inspecting; it consists of seven men, all of whom you recognise because Jungkook idolises each and every one. He texts you about their daily runnings almost every single day, and you find it kind of strange that you know Namjoon's favourite cereal to have in the morning, as well as the fact that Seokjin shrunk his favourite pink socks the other day.

  But it's Jungkook who your focus is trained upon, because you recognise him immediately. The brown hair, the dumpling cheeks and the baggy clothes. He's staring into the camera with such a serious look on his face, and half of you wants to burst into a fit of giggles whilst the other half of you wants to burst into flames.

  “They're the group,” Sungdeuk says.

  You raise a brow. “The group?”

  “The only group Big Hit is representing at the minute,” he confirms. “They've been together for a few years now. I'm surprised you haven't heard of them.”

   You swallow. You have heard of them – probably on a much deeper level than Sungdeuk can even begin to comprehend.

  He moves on with the tour, leading you through winding hallways, explaining each and every detail as he does so. You meet a few people on the way past; a few producers, a few choreographers, a few people who are messing with broken cameras and lights. The building just seems to get more and more complex the longer you walk, and it isn't long until Sungdeuk is leading you directly to the training room.

  Thankfully, it's empty for now.

  “And this is my place,” he says, stretching his arms out. The room is only small, but it's brightly lit and there's a glowing neon sign in the corner that reads BTS. Beneath it are a pair of shoes that look as if they had been discarded not long ago; with your limited knowledge of fashion, you're able to identify them as Balenciagas.

  “This is where the boys come to learn their choreographies and practice some of their old stuff,” Sungdeuk continues to explain. “I sent them on their break so I could come and get you.”

   You smile warily. “So what is it you actually do around here?”

  “I'm the production manager,” he replies. “But I'm also the lead choreographer. I come up with the dances, teach them to the boys and send them on their way. They're quite independent that way – they don't need me holding their hand through everything.”

  You chuckle. “I heard Hoseok does a lot of the training. He tends to just take over.”

  Sungdeuk laughs. “Yeah, he's a really good-” He freezes. You glance at him over your shoulder. His eyes are narrowed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Wait. How do you know about Hoseok?”

   Aaaaaand, you've already fucked up.

  Your brain runs at a million miles per hour, because there's a legible answer there somewhere. You can lie. You can come up with something – anything -  but god, your hands are now sweaty and he's staring at you with his head tilted and he probably thinks you're such a crazed stalker.

  You open your mouth to reply, to say anything, but the words are cut off by the sound of booming laughter and the door opening. It squeaks, and you make a mental note to bring some WD40 with you next time you're here.

  But until then, you have to calm down, because Jungkook is there and he's taller than you imagined, and he's captured your eye already meaning there's absolutely no getting out of this mess.

  Sungdeuk greets the other boys – all six of them, fuck sake – but Jungkook stays rooted to the floor. In his hand is a coffee. In his other hand is a water. He's wearing a bandanna and an oversized hoodie, and it takes everything in you not to melt into the floorboards right here and now.

  “Everyone, meet Y/N L/N,” Sungdeuk announces, one arm wrapped around Namjoon's waist, the other pushed towards you. “They're the new editor for the Big Hit catalogue.”

  “Ay, you found someone!” Taehyung exclaims, walking towards you with those long, intimidating legs that are neatly covered by a pair of striped trousers. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and tugs you tight against him. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I'm Taehyung.”

  “Nice to meet you,” you mumble.

  “Awk look; they're already nervous,” Seokjin teases, peeling his jacket off his very, very broad shoulders.

  “Don't worry. We don't mind a few typos,” Yoongi chimes in.

  You try to laugh, but it sounds forced and honestly not worth the effort. Even the boys seem to notice the dry, false side to the giggle as they all turn to look at you, a crowd of raised eyebrows turning to look at you all at once – but again, you can't take your eyes off of Jungkook for even a second.

  This is the person you've been talking to since you were fourteen. This is the person who calls you in the middle of the night because he doesn't know what to get from the fridge. This is the person who sends you countless videos on Snapchat of him trying to figure out how to fit the sheet back on his bed in the morning, most of which end with him saying, “Seokjin will do it.”

  He's standing in front of you, and he's real, and you're still not entirely convinced you're not dreaming.

  Until he speaks.

  “D-don't be nervous,” he says. “You'll do a great job. I know you will.”

  Oh yeah. You're definitely going to melt into the floorboards at any given moment.

  ---

  “I can't believe this-”

  “I swear to god I didn't know it was Big Hit I was gonna be working for.”

   “You're here. How are you here?”

  “I took a train, Jungkook. A train! Do you know how terrified I am of fast moving vehicles?”

  Jungkook closes his eyes, tilts his head back against the wall you've accidentally pushed him against in your panic. You aren't even sure how you've done it, but in your hectic panic, you've ended up basically shoving him against the wall as soon as the two of you are away from the large group of excited, older men.

  You take a step back and awkwardly rub the back of your neck. “Look, I'm being serious. I didn't even know what company had hired me until Sungdeuk pulled up outside the Big Hit building. I wasn't searching for you or anything.”

  Jungkook cracks an eye open. “You know I'm not even meant to be in contact with you.”

  This draws you up short. “What?”

  “After I joined Big Hit to be a trainee, they made me sign this massive contract thing. It said I had to cut all ties with certain people, and I signed it and said I would.” He bites his lip and looks away, as if confessing to his crimes makes him somehow not worthy to look into your eyes. “And then I texted you the same day about going online for a few hours.”

  Your chest hurts. Physically aches. “You were meant to cut ties with me?”

  “I didn't take it seriously!” he hisses, tugging at his hair. “I was fifteen, for gods sake. It wasn't until Hoseok started telling me all the things he had to do to make up his contract that I started realising I should probably be – you know – paying attention, too, but I liked texting you. It became kind of routine, so I never stopped.”

   You hollow out your cheeks. Not even a full day into business and already Jeon Jungkook is overwhelming you; you're not even surprised.

  “Okay, so we just don't tell anyone that we know each other,” you say, as if the two of you haven't already put suspicion in people's heads by basically handling each other with bubble wrap the entire afternoon.

  “But I was gonna – I was gonna ask if you wanted to go get dinner tonight,” he says. You raise a brow. He rolls his eyes, shakes his head. “As friends, you sleez.”

  “Okay, okay, I was kidding,” you chuckle. “We can still go to dinner, Jungkook. You can just tell the guys you're going somewhere else, and then we'll meet up. Although, I don't really know my way around Seoul just yet so...”

  “Do you know where you're staying?” he asks.

  You pull a piece of paper from your back pocket and shove it in his hands; written in almost unintelligible handwriting is your new, temporary address. Jungkook's eyes light up when he reads it.

  “Hey, that's not far from the dorms!” he says. “I can come and pick you up if that makes it easier. Then we can finally . . . you know . . . discuss what's going on here.”

  The way he says it makes your spine tingle, like being friends is some kind of scandal. Apparently it kind of is, considering Jungkook was meant to cut all ties with you over three years ago and just casually decided not to, as if it was no big deal. Part of you wants to be flattered by it. The other part of you wants to slap him up side the head for thinking his friendship with you was more important than living his dreams.

  “How long are you staying?” he asks, voice suddenly quiet.

  “However long it takes for the catalogue to be made,” you reply, before awkwardly stepping forward. “Jungkook, I just want you to know that I'm not here for a holiday. I have work to do.”

  Jungkook's head snaps up, eyes alert. “What? Of course. I know that. I was just – I mean, we've been friends for a long time, Y/N. I think it's about time I take you for dinner.” He raises a brow. “Unless you think this is weird. 'Cause we can always just go back to texting and sending each other stupid videos.”

  You chuckle, glancing down at the floor where your toes are very nearly hitting against his. You don't step back, simply kick a rock up onto his shoe which he kicks back onto yours almost immediately. “No. I think this is good. It's like fate, isn't it? Even the universe can't keep us apart kind of thing.”

  Jungkook scoffs. “Is this another one of them astrology things you always send to me?”

  You roll your eyes, nudging Jungkook with your elbow. “I was trying to be sweet, you idiot.”

  “You don't need to be sweet. I've seen you make a fake Instagram account to get a look at your ex-boyfriend's new page.”

  “I was fifteen-”

  He starts walking back towards the building. “I've seen it.”

  “Jungkook, I swear to-”

  “I've seen it, Y/N!”

  ---

  You shouldn't feel nervous, but you do.

  As you look at yourself in the mirror and try desperately to fix your travel-hair, you remind yourself that this is Jungkook. GoldenJeon. The boy you've known for years, the boy who knows you better than any of your real life friends do. There will be no awkward silences, because there is so much to talk about. There will be no flustered glances, because there is no reason to be flustered. There will be absolutely no tension during this dinner, because you and Jungkook have been friends for years. Just because he is now a physical form changes nothing.

  These are the rules you set out for yourself as you slip on your shoes and head for the door of your new apartment. It's small, one bedroom, a tiny kitchen and a sofa. There's a generously sized television hung up on the far wall, and a picture of a house plant hung beside it; you're half tempted to take it down and replace it with a family picture, but something about that makes this place seem a little too permanent. You don't want to be getting attached when you know full well you'll be heading home in a matter of months.

  Jungkook texts you to tell you he's outside at exactly seven pm. He's on time, something you weren't expecting considering he has a habit of being late to almost every single meeting he's invited to – he tells you these things on a daily basis, claiming he slept in or he forgot, or he got too caught up in his games.

  But he's not lying. You step outside into the chilly night air of Seoul and are greeted by the sight of his warm smile and fluffy brown hair. He's wearing an oversized coat, his hands tucked into the pockets, his shoulders bunched around his ears. When he sees you exit through the front door, he picks up his pace to a penguin-like jog before jumping in front of you and bundling you into a hug you most definitely were not expecting.

  “Do you see how early I am?” he asks. You can feel his lips moving against the crown of your head, and your face heats up.

  “You're on time,” you correct. “And apparently in a very good mood.”

 He pulls away, holds you at arms length. His brown eyes look so light beneath the yellow glow of the street lamps. It's a doe-like look, and it makes your spine tingle when it's trained on you.

  “Of course I'm in a good mood,” he says. “I've already picked out the restaurant we're going to. It's called Frapuls.”

  You raise a brow, letting Jungkook slip his hand into your own as he starts to lead you down the pavement. “Frapuls? I don't think I've ever heard of that before.”

  “It's good. All sorts of food – burgers, kimchi, stir-fry – anything you want, they have it.” He looks over his shoulder. “I wasn't sure what kind of food you liked, so I just picked the one that had the most options.”

   You smile. “Frapuls sounds perfect.”

  The restaurant itself is small, sparcely populated. Part of you thinks Jungkook's decision to eat here had more to do with the fact that it isn't busy than because he was unsure of your food preferences – nonetheless, you're not complaining. Jungkook leads you into the tiny restaurant, mutters something to the man at the front desk before the two of you are led towards a table on the far side of the restaurant.

  It's dimly lit, tiny little lanterns placed all around the room being the only source of light. It makes Jungkook's eyes a little darker, making you want to rip his bucket hat off his head just so you can be given better access to the doe-like brown eyes you had seen earlier on. However, when Jungkook looks at you from across the table, there is no more wondering; you can see his eyes perfectly fine, bright and round and questioning. He looks so curious, tracing your features, trying to figure you out – you can see it in his expression. He has questions, so many questions, but he says none of them until you cough and meet his gaze.

  “You can ask me anything you want.” It's a bold statement, but you mean it.

  Jungkook pulls back, spreading his fingers across his untouched menu. He licks his bottom lip and sighs. “There's just so many things that don't make sense.”

  “Like?”

  “Like how you're here. How I didn't know you were going to be here. How we managed to meet up after years of just texting online, and it wasn't even planned.” He shakes his head. “People in our situation literally go through hell to see each other, and it just fell into our laps.”

  You bite your lip. “Would you say it's luck?”

  “I don't really believe in luck.” Jungkook leans forward, folding his arms in front of him. “But I can't really put my finger on what else it could be.”

  “A coincidence,” you suggest. “I mean, it's insane that the people from Big Hit decided to choose the publishing agency I work for to edit their catalogue. It's insane that my boss decided I'd be a good replacement for him.”

  Jungkook raises a brow. “It's not insane. You're brilliant at what you do. I've been subject to plenty of late night distressed phone calls to be able to vouch for that.”

   You scoff. “You of all people are not allowed to talk about late night distressed phone calls. I think I received at least one a week from you – I marked them on my calender.”

   “I'm not that bad!”

  “You definitely are. I have the receipts-”

  Jungkook's hand snaps out and curls around your wrist before you can grab your phone.

  “Alright, I believe you,” he says. “But that's not the point.”

  You grin, twisting your hand out of his grip. “Look, maybe it's better if we don't question why we were lucky enough for this to happen. Neither of us know how long we've got together, so we might as well focus our attention on other things.”

   Jungkook nods, looking down at his menu. “I agree. For example, you never told me how short you are.”

  You very nearly choke on the air you're breathing.

  Your eyes snap open, darting across the table to where Jungkook is now grinning down at his menu, pretending like this conversation starter is oh-so-normal, and not at all totally ludicrous.

  “I'm average!” you argue. “It's not my fault you're a complete skyscraper of a human being.”

  Jungkook raises a brow, still yet to look up from his menu. “I'm not even that tall. You're just taking the piss.”

  “Is this your way of charming me?”

  “I didn't know you wanted me to charm you in the first place.”

  You grit your teeth, shifting your eyes back to your menu.

  Jungkook, however, is on a roll. “Did you notice that I could put my chin on your head when I hugged you earlier? Is that not adorable?”

  “I'm average,” you repeat.

  “You're small. The sooner you realise it, the better. Then I can give you more chin-to-head hugs.”

  It sounds promising. That single hug outside your apartment had been enough to fill you with so many butterflies that you were convinced you would float off like a balloon pumped with helium. His arms had been warm. You had convinced yourself that he'd hidden hot packs in the front of his coat, because nobody's chest could be that warm and welcoming in two degree weather. He'd even gone as far as to press his lips into the crown of your head, and you remember that vividly, because it was that very movement that-

  “Can I take your order?”

  You look up, cheeks heating up with the realisation that you had just completely zoned out, remembering Jungkook hugging you. Looking over, you can see Jungkook staring at you, his cheeks a vivid red colour and his eyebrows furrowed. You bite your lip, looking back up at the smiling waitress who is waiting patiently at your table with a notebook in her hands.

  You order the pasta carbonara and a water, whilst Jungkook orders the steak and rice with an iced Coke to go along with it. The two of you don't mention the lack of alcohol – you don't trust yourself to get drunk in front of him yet, and if your thoughts are anything to go by, you need to keep your brain in check tonight.

   Jungkook's look of confusion does not leave his face throughout the meal, even as the conversation develops a life of its own. The two of you bicker like an old married couple, Jungkook complaining about the amount of times he has to revive your character in Overwatch and you complaining that you always have to give him extra supplies in Minecraft, even though you've totally, one hundred percent outgrown Minecraft and only play it because Jungkook still likes it, and his character would definitely die if you were not there to make sure he keeps his inventory full.

  You're not even surprised with how easy the conversation flows; it's like your texting, but with your mouths. The banter, the teasing, the sly jabs that are always so present in your text conversations do not take the back seat even when you are in front of each other – the only difference now is that you can see his expressions, can hear his laughter, can hear his scoffs of disbelief, and it makes your insides melt with each and every thing he says.

  It's so much better than texting. It's so much better than patchy Skype calls. It's so much better than you could have ever imagined.

  You speak for hours even after your meal has finished. You place your napkin over your empty meal, place your bag in your lap but neither of you move from the table; you just keep talking, shifting into a debate on whether Billie Eilish or Justin Bieber have the best new song out – Jungkook admits that he's taken a liking to Billie Eilish, but hastens to insist that Justin Bieber is, and forever will be, his ride-or-die.

  You only leave the restaurant when the shy waitress glides over to you and tells you that the table you've been over-occupying for hours is needed. Jungkook has paid for the entire meal (plus a tip) before you even have a chance to find your purse.

  You shoot him a glare once the two of you are finally outside again, subject to the cold winter air and the surprisingly busy streets of Seoul – back in your home town, the streets were basically empty at this time, but Seoul is different. Seoul is always alive, always bustling with people and chatter and entertainment. Even at this time of night, there are buskers seated on the pavement and dancers twirling through the streets, lights on in every household. It vibrates with an energy you've never known before, and it sends a ripple of excitement coursing through you.

  Jungkook ignores your glare and continues walking, a dull smile playing on his features that you find difficult to miss.

  “I don't wanna go back to the dorms yet,” he says without turning to look at you. You are forced to pick up your pace just to catch up with him, and when you do, you latch onto his arm so you don't lose him amongst the ever-thickening crowd. If it bothers him, he says nothing.

  “What else can we do?” you ask. “It's getting late.”

  “So?”

  “So all the shops are closed.”

  Jungkook raises a brow, glancing down at you as if your logic is extremely flawed. “Again, so?”

  “Jungkook, we can't just-”

  “Watch this.” He shrugs out of your grip and marches towards a nearby busker before you have a chance to even register what he is doing. You pause in the middle of the street, pulling your coat tighter to your body and watching as Jungkook and the young man with the guitar talk in hushed tones. The busker's eyes eventually light up and he shakes Jungkook's hand before the song he was previously playing is forgotten and replaced by a soft, melodic tone that you've never heard before.

  When Jungkook turns back around to face the crowd, he looks nervous. You immediately know what he's going to do, and your heart races at the idea of it; you've heard him sing before. Some mornings he'll call you just so you can keep him company as he goes through his daily routine, and you sit back and listen to him hum as he brushes his teeth, belts out solos as he picks out his outfit for the day. You've heard him sing, but never like this, and you aren't sure why the idea of it excites you so much.

  He doesn't bother with an introduction to the song. He just looks at you once, closes his eyes and starts singing, and suddenly the rest of the crowd no longer exists.

  The little girl crying over her fallen ice cream no longer exists. The bickering couple beside you no longer exists. The dog barking in impatience no longer exists, and the only sound you can hear is Jungkook's soft voice flittering through the busy crowd, meeting your ears as if he's singing for you and only you.

  The lights bring it all together. They shine behind him, illuminating the gold streaks in his hair, the outline of his jaw that has absolutely no right to be as sharp as it is. His body sways back and forth, and even though he's wearing the worlds biggest coat, zipped right up to his chin, you can still imagine his Adams apple bobbing every time he stops for a breath.

  This is Jungkook in his natural element. This is where he's meant to be, where he worked so hard to be. For years, the both of you had always joked that he was a video game obsessive, that he was most comfortable in front of the computer, or PlayStation, or xBox just losing himself in a world that wasn't this one – but now you feel ridiculous even pondering over such a crazy idea. This is where he belongs.

  Your throat closes over as the song does. Jungkook's voice fades away, and the eruption of cheers brings you back down to Earth. Everyone fizzles back into place, and you're suddenly overwhelmed with the unexplainable urge to break down into tears.

  Jungkook's eyes meet your own almost as soon as he opens them. You grin brightly, clapping along with the crowd and he blushes before he turns, thanks the busker and makes his way over to you. Almost as soon as he is in front of you, he takes your hands in his and pulls you close.

  “You look freezing. I should have kept us moving.”

  “What song was that?” you ask, pulling away to look up at him.

  He frowns. “You liked it?”

  “I loved it,” you reply. “What song was it?”

  “It's called Promise. My friend Jimin wrote it.”

  “It was beautiful,” you say before you can stop yourself. Jungkook's blush grows more prominent, looking down to the floor in his attempts to hide it, but you can see right through it. You grin, place a hand on his neck and say, “I'd like to hear you sing some more.”

   His eyes meet your own. For a moment, you think you've gone too far. His brows are furrowed, and he's silent for a moment longer than you're comfortable with, but he eventually grins and nods. “Of course.”

  ---

  The first day of work is a hectic one.

  The first few pages of the catalogue arrive on your doorstep at seven am sharp, followed shortly by a frantic phone call from Mr Bang Shi Hyuk, who you met a week ago and have still yet to hear talk in a normal tone. He's always busy, always bustling round his office, and you're certain you've never gotten through a phone call  without him having to put you on hold to scold someone. This morning, his frantic call has an undertone of desperation to it as he asks you to get the freshly edited pages back to him by five pm – definitely not an impossible goal, but you know you won't be taking any breaks today.

  And so, you set up camp at your kitchen table and get to work as soon as the coffee kicks in. Bundled in your fluffy dressing gown and a pair of slippers, you sip idly on different beverages, red pen in hand, glasses perched on the end of your nose. You order some food from a nearby delivery place, dig into it with one hand whilst the other continues to glide across the pages, correcting typos and sentences until everything sounds smooth.

  You reach an area of the catalogue that describes Bangtan Sonyeondan, and put it to the side for later. You don't want to think about Jungkook right now – well, you do, but it probably won't be for the best. Any time you see something that reminds you of him, you want to stop, snap a picture of it and send it to him via your stupid little Whatsapp group – that is time wasted, and you can't afford it right now.

  Seven am turns into four pm, turns into five pm, and you're stuffing the catalogue pages into the return envelope at the same time you're pulling your jacket on over your shoulders and sprinting out the door. You don't bother saying hello to the friendly door lady at the reception desk. You don't bother to check both ways before sprinting out the door and barrelling up the street towards the Big Hit building. The only thing you can focus on is the time slowly trickling away, and by the time you've crashed into the lobby of the Big Hit building, the time reads 5:01pm and you're already planning out your new CV in your head.

  You groan, sprinting up to the front desk and slapping the envelope onto it. “Here. It's here. I wasn't late. I was just -” You pant, trailing your fingers over your rain soaked hair. “Please tell Mr Bang the pages are finished.”

  The lady at the desk eyes the envelope and raises her brows, before slowly reaching forward and slipping it into the delivery bin beside her. “Thank you, Y/N. I'll email him now.”

  “Like, right now?” you push. You stand on your tip toes and try to see over the desk. “Can I see what you write? Please tell him I was on time, I was just-”

   Hands gently grip your elbow, startling you. Jungkook is grinning down at the receptionist as he pushes you away from the desk. “Don't mind us, Gertrude. We're leaving now.”

  You shrug out of his grip, spinning around when he pushes you into a nearby hallway and closes the door. He turns back to you, raising a brow that holds so many questions, but your only concern at the minute is whether or not Bang Shi Hyuk is going to receive those pages on time.

  You try to look over his shoulder. “Do you think he'll be mad at me?”

  “You weren't even late,” Jungkook replies.

  You pull your sleeve up and shove your watch in his face. “Can you see that? Five. Oh. One. He wanted them back by five, but I lost track and-”

  Jungkook reaches up and tugs on your bottom lip. The action is so unexpected that you don't even continue speaking once his hand drops back to his side – you just watch his arm swing, eyes slowly narrowing.

  “What did you just do?”

  “Tried to calm you down,” he replies. “Or shut you up. Whichever way you wanna look at it.”

  You frown, shifting your eyes to his. “I think I'm delirious. I've been sat at my kitchen table since seven this morning.”

   “So I thought,” he says. “You weren't answering my texts, or my single phone call that I so kindly wasted my lunch break to make.”

   You wince. “Sorry. I was busy.”

  He waves a dismissive hand, but the guilt is still there; Jungkook always makes time for you, no matter how busy his life gets, and you can guarantee that his schedule is a lot busier than yours on days like this. You can see it in the way the sweat clings to his baggy black shirt, the way the ends of his hair are damp.

  “Did you eat anything good today?” he asks.

  “I had some Chinese takeout.”

  “Gross. That's not good at all.”

   “It was good.” You pat your stomach for added affect. “I had fried rice, chips, egg noodles – the whole damn heap. Ate it straight out of the bag, too.”

  Jungkook crinkles his nose, and it's the most adorable thing you've ever seen. “I swear to god, I'm going to have to keep an eye on you 24/7. You're gonna end up giving yourself a heart attack.”

  “I was stress eating,” you say. “I was burning the calories by stressing. It's like I haven't even eaten.”

   Jungkook rolls his eyes, loops his arm through yours and starts down the hallway. You follow him, a new-found skip in your step that it seems only Jungkook can rattle into your system.

  He leads you right to the training room, where the rest of Bangtan are busy doing absolutely nothing. They lounge around, some of them laying on the floor, others sitting on spinny chairs that have absolutely no reason to be there. Namjoon is leaned against the wall; if you weren't careful enough, you'd mistake him for a house lamp.

  “Look who arrived,” Jungkook announces, shoving you into the room. The other boys chorus out a “Hi Y/N,” before going back to their exhausted scrollings of social media. “One minute late.”

  Jimin fake gasps. “Fired!”

  “Don't even joke,” you grunt, slumping down next to Taehyung on the floor. He leans over and shows you his phone screen, and you immediately take over his game of Angry Birds. He lets his head drop back to the floor and his eyes promptly close, as if he had just been waiting for someone to take over his game so he could go to sleep.

  “Hard day?” Namjoon asks.

  You shrug. “Stressful day.”

  “But at least you made it. Did you edit the pages Mr Bang sent you?” Seokjin asks.

  “Barely,” you reply, and Jungkook scoffs, kicking your foot.

  “You're being too hard on yourself. One minute late isn't a big deal – Mr Bang probably won't even get to reading them before he goes home tonight.”

  “So why did the little bastard make me run down here to get them to him by five?” You raise a brow at Jungkook. “Answer me that, Oh Great One.”

  “Because.” Jungkook sits down beside you, crossing his legs. “Having a deadline looks more professional than just telling you to get them in by the end of the day.”

  “Can someone tell him that I don't care about professional?”

  Seokjin sighs. “I've been trying to tell him that for years, Y/N. So far, no luck.”

  You groan, the sound mingling with the angry chipper of a bird who has just failed to knock down a house full of tiny green piglets.

  “It's done now, anyway,” Hoseok chimes in. He's barefoot again, his Balenciagas thrown carelessly to the side. “I say you celebrate.”

  “Mm. I could always order more Chinese food-”

  “Nope!” Jungkook exclaims. “Nope, nope, no. No more Chinese food.”

  You frown. “Who made you the devil incarnate this evening?”

  “You're gonna make yourself sick,” he says. “Celebrate some other way.”

  “I wish we could join you, but I'm exhausted,” says Yoongi.

  You wave a dismissive hand. “Don't worry. I am too, buddy. I'll probably just go home and get an early night.” You shoot Jungkook a glance. “Play a bit of Minecraft.”

  His eyes light up, a tiny smile twitching on his face that he tries to hide by ducking his head down and messing idly with the drawstrings of your grey sweatpants; you didn't even realise you were wearing them. You were too busy trying to leave the house to actually pay attention to your appearance.

  “Sounds like a night made for an elderly person,” says Jimin. “Right up your alley.”

  You throw Hoseok's Balenciaga at him.

  ---

  GoldenJeon is active, and you're ready to absolutely destroy him.

  Gathering snacks and a drink of water (healthy), you settle by your laptop and start playing. The two of you agreed to meet up on a server called The Hunger Games, in which the players are put against each other until there is only one remaining player – for years, you and Jungkook have squabbled over this game, making it much more dramatic than it needs to be, but it's all for the right reasons. Jungkook will call you in the middle of the game, speaking through gritted teeth, warning you not to jump out at him because he knows you're prowling around the corner, just waiting for him to drop his guard. Neither of you even pay attention to the other players; if another player kills you, Jungkook kills them. It's how it works. You're Jungkook's only goal, and he is yours.

  Jungkook calls you after the ten minute mark. Whilst he speaks through clenched teeth, you speak through a mouthful of marshmallow.

  “Just tell me where you are, you piece of shit,” he demands.

  “Ask me nicely.” On your screen, his tiny block player is busy scrambling through some chests. It would be so easy to sneak up on him, stab him whilst he's too busy looting for gear, but you stay back.

  “Y/N, I swear to god, you're giving me anxiety,” he replies. “Just tell me where you are. I promise I won't kill you.”

  “Aren't you sweet.”

  “So?”

 “I'm not telling you where I am.” You equip your player with your new weapon. “But I just want you to know that I've just found a diamond sword with full strength still on it, so I'd watch out.”

  Jungkook groans. “I hate you. I hate this game. I hate that you're so good at this fucking game.”

  “You spend too much time worrying,” you say. “As soon as the map loads, you're trying to get away from me. Why don't you actually try and figure out where I'm going before you run off in the other direction?”

  “Because if I stay close to you, you'll kill me!”

   “That's the point!”

  Jungkook groans again, and you can imagine him tugging on the blanket he always has wrapped round his shoulders when he's on his laptop. “You need to cut me some slack.”

  “You've been looting plenty of chests recently, Mr JK. It'll be easy for you to just find me and kill me.”

   Jungkook pauses. “How did you know I was looting chests?”

  You grin. “A hunch?”

  “You son of a bitch.” His character spins around and looks directly at you. You let out a squeak of surprise at the same time Jungkook gasps, but you don't give him mercy. You dive out of your hiding place and slam the space button so many times your finger starts to hurt from the pressure; your character bashes Jungkook's character with their fancy new diamond sword until eventually the words GoldenJeon has left the server appear on the bottom of the screen.

  “Y/N!” he cries out. “You didn't even-”

  “I won, is what I did,” you holler, throwing your arms in the air, doing a little dance on your mattress. “I won again, I won again, I won again.” You put your hands back to the keyboard. “Another game before we go to sleep?”

  “No, you know what?” He sounds stern, and you're no longer sure whether to continue the teasing. “No. This is totally unfair. I'm on my way over.”

   You freeze, not sure whether you heard him right. “You're what, sorry?”

  You can already hear him shuffling around on the other side of the phone, probably grabbing his coat, or maybe a baseball bat. “I'm coming over. Get the kettle on, by the way. I have to walk, and it's fucking freezing.”

  “Jungkook, it's twelve am,” you hiss. “Stay where you are or so help me-”

  “See you in five minutes, you little traitor!” And then he hangs up, leaving you in a sudden state of panic.

  Whatever triumph you'd felt at winning the game has melted away and been replaced by an immediate sense of urgency. You jump out of bed, blankets flying left, right and centre. You don't bother going for your wardrobe – Jungkook has seen you in your pyjamas plenty of times before (thank you, Skype). Instead, you head directly for the kitchen, slapping the kettle on on your way past before you busy yourself with tidying up the mess you'd made this afternoon. Broken pens and pencils scatter the table; old takeout boxes litter the counter; your washing up basket is filled to the brim. You quickly toss a pair of underwear under the fridge and hope to God Jungkook doesn't decide to go snooping.

  You've barely emptied the bin before the door to your apartment is opening and Jungkook is suddenly there, in all of his fucking glory, with the most hard expression you've ever seen. You swivel up, drop the bag and say, “If you're here to kill me, I want you to know that it was all fun.” You pause. “But I still beat your ass in that game.”

  Jungkook rolls his eyes, and before you can process what is going on, he's crossed the threshold of your living room and is standing right in front of you. He wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you into him, startling you enough for a squeak to escape your throat.

  Jungkook leans down, his lips so close to your ear, your throat, the hinge of your jaw and suddenly you want to drag him into you and lose yourself in that warmth you were lusting over only a few weeks prior.

  “I've never been able to do this before,” he says, voice gruff.

  “D-do what? Kill me?”

  He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, and Jesus take the wheel, you've had it.

  “I've never been able to just come over to your house when I want to.” If it's possible, his voice is even lower. “Never been able to call you a son of a bitch to your face, because you should have told me where you were.” He nips your collar bone. If the world wasn't spinning fast enough already, it sure is now.

  You grip the counter behind you, breathing heavy. You want to continue the teasing, to make light of this situation, but your head is running at a thousand miles per hour and holy fuck is this really GoldenJeon holding you like this?

  “Jungkook, what are you doing?” you ask, breathless.

  He stops, detaching his teeth from your throat but he doesn't move away. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No!” You're eager, and that much is clear in your words. “No, please don't. I just want to know why.”

  “As I said,” he says, leaning down to bare his teeth against your flesh again, “I've never been able to do this before.”

  “I didn't know you wanted to.”

  “Then you're very, very oblivious.”

  “Not as oblivious as you. That's probably why I was able to kill you fifteen minutes into the first match.”

  He growls. His hand snaps down and grabs the back of your thigh, hitching your leg onto his hip. You squeal, tossing your head back just as he lifts you up and props you up on the counter. You bang your head against the cupboard. Jungkook pulls back, eyes wide with that concern you know so well, but you don't let him spoil the moment. You grab onto the back of his neck and drag him forward, slamming your lips against his before you lose your god damn mind.

  Because that's what it feels like. All of this is so sudden, so unexplainable and strange, but you're going to be driven absolutely insane if it doesn't continue. Your stomach clenches. You swallow his breathy pants, acknowledge how his lips twist, how his hands hesitate before he finally clamps them on your thighs and slowly drags them up until they're teasing the waistband of your unflattering pyjama trousers.

  “Shy little Jungkook,” you whisper into his mouth. “So confident a few seconds ago, and now you can barely touch me.”

   “Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks.

  The question hits you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes flutter closed. His mouth trails hot, open mouthed kisses along your jaw as he waits for your reply, but you're not sure you can gather enough air to give him one at this moment in time.

  His grip tightens on your thighs. Your legs jerk, but he holds you down. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, Y/N.”

  “Everywhere,” is your reply, because you can't think of one specific body part this is burning hotter than the others. “Just – Just stop messing around.”

  Jungkook chuckles. His tongue darts out, dabs at the hinge of your jaw before disappearing, and you want to scream with how slow he's taking this, like he's savouring every moment even though you're trying to scoot closer to him, trying to capture his lips with yours again.

  “Do you want me to touch you here?” He curls his fingers around your leg, his fingertips moulding into the flesh on your inner thigh.

  You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Somewhere else.”

   He raises a brow, slowly lifts his hand to your mouth. His thumb scrapes along your lower lip, and you resist the urge to do that thing you've seen in movies where the girl sucks the mans thumb into their mouth – is that even considered attractive in real life?

  “What about here?”

  “Not good enough.”

  He tilts his head, starts to smirk. His hand drops from your lips, glides along your chin and disappears into the front of your pyjama top. “Here?”

  He's not close enough. Your only response is a strangled groan, to which Jungkook laughs and slips his hand lower, lower, lower until his fingers are moulding the area you need to him to be.

  You groan, tilting your head back when his hand traces the underside of your breasts. “Fucking hell, Jungkook, took you long enough.”

  He leans forward and kisses you. It's desperate. Now that he's heard your response to his hands, he can't get enough. He wants to please you. He wants to take this as far as he can, and he shows this by hitching both your legs around his waist, picking you up and stumbling from the kitchen.

  “Where's the bedroom?” he asks, breathless.

  You point in the general direction he's referring to before pressing your lips to his. No more talking. He could stumble into the bathroom for all you cared, and you'd have him in the bathtub with absolutely no complaints.

  It's your luck that he kicks open the bedroom door and presses you into the mattress. His lips detach from yours for only a second as he strips off his shirt and you strip off yours; he gawks down at your exposed chest, shakes his head and says, “No bra?”

  “It's midnight,” you say. “I haven't had a bra on since seven pm.” You grab his shoulders and pull him on top of you. “Now please stop talking.”

  He laughs, peppering kisses along your jaw that leave you squirming and warm and satisfied. If he were to just spend the entire night kissing you, you'd go to sleep in bliss. His lips work like electric shocks, startling you every time he makes contact, every time his tongue slips from his mouth and joins with your flesh. You feel hickeys burn into your skin, but you don't worry about them now because God, you're too far gone. Tomorrow doesn't exist. It's tonight and only tonight, and it's you and Jungkook and everyone else can go the fuck to hell for all you care.

  He whispers in your ear. His voice is rough. The soft spoken, excitable boy you used to talk to on the phone every night has melted away into something ravenous and hungry, and his hips are grinding into yours with only his jeans and your pyjama trousers as a barrier, until there is no longer a barrier and it's just bare skin against bare skin.

  He asks if you're ready. You say you are. He asks if you're sure, and you say you've never been more sure about anything in your entire life, and in that moment, you mean it. He kisses you, and it isn't the kiss you give someone on a one-night-stand. It's soft, holding memories and feelings and his body slides against your own and your groans contaminate each others mouths. You get loud; Jungkook gets greedy. You beg for more, and Jungkook tells you you're doing so well, so, so well. You unravel in each others arms. Jungkook falls to the side of you, nuzzles his head in your sweaty neck and you hold him so close because you don't want this moment to end.

  “Tomorrow isn't real,” you whisper into his hair. He nods his agreement, panting against your flesh. His breath tickles your new hickeys. You reach up, press your fingers into the forming bruise.

  Jungkook presses a soft kiss to the skin. He's loopy. You look down and see that tired smile playing on his face, the sweat drenched ends of his bangs hanging in his eyes. He shuffles up the pillows, wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

  You don't think he realises what he's saying when he whispers “I love you,” into your hair.

  You look up. His eyes are closed, his breathing even. Jungkook is peaceful, but his words play on a loop in your head for the rest of the night.

  ---

  When you wake up, Jungkook is nowhere to be found.

  Your heart immediately lurches into your throat; this can't be happening. You know Jungkook well enough to know that he would never just use someone like that before taking off – so he's either parading around your house, or he's dead.

  You slowly sit up, tucking the quilt under your arms in a pointless attempt at sparing your dignity. The sheets are stained with sweat and . . . other stuff, and you internally groan at the idea of having to wash them; your new washing machine is complicated enough with clothes.

  You make a promise that you'll deal with them later before slipping out of bed and tugging your dressing gown on. You slip into a pair of slippers and head downstairs.

  Immediately you are greeted by the welcoming scent of cooking bacon. It's only when you walk into the kitchen and glance at the clock do you realise what time it is.

  “Six am?” you mutter, startling Jungkook. He stands by the hob, swaying his hips to a song that is playing softly from his phone.

  He spins around, face lighting up at the sight of you, even though you're certain you look nothing short of bedraggled right now. Whilst he looks fresh as a daisy in a black shirt that is tucked lazily into a pair of belted blue jeans, your hair is knotted and your breath stinks, and you have absolutely no qualms about any of it.

  “Apparently,” Jungkook replies. “I was hoping to make you breakfast in bed.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” you say. “But also, you're a guest. You shouldn't have to make breakfast.” To prove your point, you grab the tongs out of his hand and nudge him with your hip. He chuckles, giving you the benefit of the doubt by over dramatically stumbling out of your way. You roll your eyes and start poking at the mostly cooked bacon.

  “At least now you'll be able to say you helped,” Jungkook says.

  You grin. “I'm nothing if not completely useless.”

  “Only sometimes.” He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, and it is this movement that brings you back to last night; the kissing, the sex, sharing a bed.

  The I love you.

  You'll be damned if you bring that up to him, though, because judging by the look on his face, he doesn't even remember saying it. He sways around the kitchen like he's lived there his whole life, a goofy smile on his face that has your chest constricting, because you're fairly certain it's you that has put that smile on his face. He grabs two plates from the cupboard above your head and lays them on the counter, before he goes back to watching as you poke the bacon.

  “How do you know when it's done?” you ask.

  Jungkook blinks. “It's been done for a good two minutes. I thought you just liked yours crispy.”

  You hiss, quickly turning the hob off. “You could have said something!”

    “Give it here.” He takes the pan from you and starts scooping the bacon onto the plate. You follow suit, grabbing the bowl of scrambled eggs he'd prepared earlier and adding a decent amount to each plate. Jungkook then spoons the beans and adds the toast to the side, and the two of you are prepared.

  You eat on the sofa, because of course you do.

  Jungkook eats bent over his plate. You don't know why you notice this, or why you're so intrigued by something so small, but you struggle to take your eyes off him. He presses the edge of the plate into his chest and bends forward, his eyes not leaving the TV as he struggles to rip a bit of fat from his bacon.

   You watch his Adams apple bob, remembering the feel of it beneath your lips. You regret not trailing your fingers along the column of his throat. You regret not unravelling him, completely taking over in the way you so desperately want to now; you had been so caught up in the logistics of what was happening that you didn't take a moment to focus on what you wanted to do; you realise now that you want to watch his eyes roll into the back of his head. You want to see him come apart.

  You swallow thickly and turn back to the TV, cheeks burning. You need to remind yourself that you have other things to worry about besides what happened last night; the work hasn't just stopped because Jungkook decided it was a good time to show up and completely ravish you.

  Jungkook finishes his breakfast before you. As he nibbles on the last remaining bites of his toast, he turns and glances down at your plate; it's nearly empty, and yet he still raises a brow. “You feeling okay?”

  Your eyes shoot up. “Yes. Why wouldn't I be?”

  Jungkook stares at you for a moment longer, urging you to tell him the truth. When you look back down at your plate and ignore his seemingly endless gaze, he sighs, sets his plate down on the coffee table before shuffling closer to you. “Is this about last night?”

  You let out a breath. “I really thought you weren't gonna bring that up.”

  “Do you want me to leave it?”

  “No!” You grab his arm. “No, Jungkook, of course not. I really think we need to talk about it, but I just . . . I wanna know your feelings on it first.”

  Jungkook narrows his eyes, tracing the lines of your face, the same trail he traced with his fingers last night. “I thought I made my feelings pretty obvious, considering I was the one who initiated it in the first place.”

  “That doesn't mean anything,” you murmur, looking down. “I could have been bad at it, you know.”

  A noise not unlike a croak escapes Jungkook's throat. It slowly morphs into a laugh, his hand coming down upon your knee and squeezing.

  When you don't join the laughter, his smile fades and he stares at you. “Wait. You're not serious, are you?”

  You throw your hands up in frustration. You hadn't even realised this train of thought was so prominent in the back of your head, but there's no denying it now. “Look, all of it was very unexpected. I didn't have time to – like – practice my strategy or anything.”

  “You didn't need to-”

  “Yes, I know that, but it would have helped,” you hiss, before groaning and slumping back against the plush sofa cushions. Your plate remains abandoned on the coffee table. Jungkook looks down at it, picks up a piece of bacon and takes a bite.

  “I definitely came.”

  He says it so casually that you very nearly miss what he's said at all. Your eyes burst open, cheeks burning with this news that isn't really news because you know what happened – you were there. You made it happen.

  “You made it happen,” Jungkook continues, as if reading your mind. “And you definitely came.”

  “Oh god.”

  Jungkook grins. “I think I have the qualifications to vouch for that.”

  “You're a dick.”

  His grin only grows. He leans over and presses a kiss to the space just below your ear; you hiss and pull away, hand snapping up to trace the edge of the hickey you'd forgotten was there. Jungkook pushes the hair from your shoulder and lightly touches it, biting his bottom lip to fight off the smile that is surely threatening to show on his face.

  “Lovely,” he says.

  “I'm gonna have to cover this now,” you grumble. “Do you know how difficult it is covering a hickey?”

  “No, considering you didn't give me any.” He shakes his head. “I feel like I'm missing out.”

  “Poor baby.”

  He shrugs, swings his legs round and stands up. He grabs the plates off the coffee table and starts towards the kitchen, but not before saying a casual, “We'll try again next time,” that hangs in the air even as the sound of the tap water shatters the delicate silence.

  You grin, biting down on your bottom lip. Butterflies are attacking your stomach. Memories of last night are lodged in your brain, and you know for a fact that there is absolutely no way in hell you'll be getting any decent work done today.

  ---

  Jungkook leaves for the dorms at seven. On his way out the door, he bends down and picks up a thick yellow envelope, handing it to you.

  “I think that might be the new catalogue pages,” he says.  

  You hollow out you cheeks, taking the envelope from him and tossing it carelessly over your shoulder. “Tell Mr Bang I'll get it to him as soon as possible.”

  “Mm, no,” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Then the old man will know I've been here overnight, and that is awfully suspicious.”

  Despite knowing this would be the case, your heart still quivers a little. You hide it by rolling your eyes and ushering him out the door. “Fine then. Leave the hard work to me. You go and prance around your practice room for a few hours, and call me as soon as you get a chance.”

  Jungkook spins, planting his hands on the door frame. “One more kiss?”

  You narrow your eyes. “You're gonna be that guy.”

  “I believe this is called the Honeymoon Phase.” He kisses you, small and soft but it ignites something in you you've never felt before. Jungkook feels it, grins against your mouth before slowly pulling away and clicking his forehead against your own. “I'll see you later, yeah?”

  “We'll see,” you whisper, before you grip his waist and spin him round. “Now go! I'm not being the reason you're late.”

  “Alright, alright. Tell me how you really feel.” His voice and laughter fade into nothingness as he disappears down the hallway. You watch him leave, gripping the collar of your dressing gown like some kind of wife sending their husband off to war. You only turn and head back into your apartment when you hear the lift ding closed.

  ---

  You love your job. You really do. There is a power that comes with correcting other peoples mistakes, and you are not ashamed to admit that you have been thriving off it from the moment you picked up that red pen and started slashing marks into the pages.

  But this is a whole different ball game.

  You're hunched over your kitchen table, your third cup of coffee half-empty beside you, doing nothing to help the exhaustion. Your body is slowly beginning to realise that you were not made for being woken up at six am. Your muscles are sore, and your eyes are getting tired before you've even gotten through the fifth page of edits.

  You lean back, scraping a hand through your unwashed hair that is still sweaty from last nights mishaps. You told yourself you would take a break to clean up and pull yourself together, because going another day in this state is going to drive you to breaking point, and yet three pm is rolling around and you have yet to move from your kitchen table.

  The pages are littered with images of Jungkook. With Bangtan being the only group involved with Big Hit at the minute, they're using their maknae's adorable smile and doe eyes to the best of their abilities. It makes your job ten times more difficult, as you have to stop every few seconds to send a picture of Jungkook's face to your Whatsapp group with a teasing caption that Jungkook always chooses to ignore in favour of asking you how you're getting on.

  Not good, you want to tell him, but you don't. He's working just as hard as you; it would be cruel to distract him with your own pointless stresses.

  And so you lose yourself in the world of literature for a few more hours, until the last page is glaring up at you and your hand is cramping, and you're refilling the ink on your sixth red pen. Five pm rolls around, and once again you're shrugging your jacket on and bolting down the street towards the Big Hit building.

  Mr Bang is standing in the lobby.

  You freeze, one hand braced against the glass door, the other clutching the envelope tight to your chest; well, this is most unexpected. Though you and Mr Bang have spoken on numerous occasions these past few weeks, most of those conversations were had via phone call. You had convinced yourself that the small man in front of you lived in his office.

  He turns when you enter, immediately smiling an oddly cute smile that lights up his whole face and crinkles his dark brown eyes. He nudges his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and steps towards you.

  “I was just about to call and ask where you were,” he says.

  You shove the envelope in his direction. “All done!”

   “Great, great.” He tucks the envelope into his coat pocket. You resist the need to wince; he better not crinkle those god damn pages, or so help you- “The edits aren't the only reason I was looking for you, though.”

  Your brain short circuits, and you aren't even sure why.

  Today has honestly been the day from hell. Your head aches, and your hand is cramped, and all you want to do right now is curl up on your sofa with a glass of wine and drink everything away. Instead, you place a smile on your face and say, “Oh?”

  Mr Bang sighs, looks around as if checking for anyone eavesdropping before he steps closer to you and lowers his voice. “Have you and Jungkook fallen out?”

  Okay. That certainly wasn't what you'd been expecting.

  You raise a brow, flicking a glance over the big boss's shoulder. Gertrude quickly lowers her head, pretending she hasn't heard anything, but it's obvious in the tilt of her head and the shy little smile on her face that she knows exactly what Mr Bang is asking about.

  You look back at him. “I don't – I don't think so. Why?”

  “Well, I told him I was going to offer you a job in one of the offices here so you don't have to keep running back and forth from your apartment,” he says. “Jungkook told me not to.”

  It takes a minute for you to untangle what all of this means. It's the most absurd thing you've ever heard. It doesn't make any sense, because you and Jungkook slept together and he held you, and he said he loved you and there's no way in hell all of that changed in the space of a few hours.

  But Mr Bang is serious. His eyes shift to the floor when you stay silent, and you watch as he slowly sucks in a breath.

  “I don't like it when my employees go against each other,” he says. “I asked Jungkook if everything was alright and he refused to tell me anything. He's young, so I didn't push him, figured I'd let him figure it all out on his own. But I just want you to know that whatever this feud is – you can't let it get in the way of your work.”

   “There is no feud,” you burst out. “I mean, not really. Nothing you need to be worrying yourself with, anyway.”

  Mr Bang's eyes light up. “Really? That's fantastic, Y/N. How about you come and join us for dinner then?”

  Before, the idea would have lit something inside you. The idea of sitting beside Jungkook and laughing with your friends would have excited you to no end, but you replay Mr Bang's words on a continuous loop and find yourself unable to gather that same excitement.

  You stuff your hands into the pockets of your jacket and say, “I think I'm gonna have to pass. I'm exhausted.”

  Mr Bang nods as if he understands. “Of course. I'll send the next few pages over tomorrow, then. Get some rest, Y/N.”

  You turn on your heel and exit the building. It feels permanent. You want it to be permanent. You want to walk to your apartment, pack up your stuff and never come back. You feel like a teenager, moping over some boy, suddenly willing to change the directory of life just because this certain someone slipped up and hurt your feelings.

  But that emotion is there. You grip the material of your pockets and inhale the cold air of Seoul, ducking your head down in case anyone were to notice your gritted teeth.

  ---

  It's nearly eleven when the knock echoes through your apartment.

  You're draped across the sofa, a glass of wine in your hand, the TV blaring re-runs of Friends. You've been sneering at Ross Geller for the past three hours, and quite frankly, you are in no mood to be disrupted.

  You stay silent and hope the visitor takes the hint.

  It's never that easy, though.

  The knock sounds again. And again. On repeat until you eventually throw your head back and push yourself off the sofa. You slam your glass of wine down and barrel towards the door, throwing it open to reveal GoldenJeon in all his glory.

  Your drunken state wants to spit on him.

  He's grinning from ear to ear, hands in his pockets, hair a tussled mess. Even in your state of tipsiness, you still reach out and flatten a strand against his temple; you pull your hand back just as quick, tucking it under your armpit as if to restrain yourself from touching him further.

  He frowns when he sees the state you're in. You have no idea what you look like, but you're purposefully scowling to the best of your ability, arms folded, the glass of wine bright and full on your coffee table – it wouldn't take a genius to figure out just what is going through your mind right now.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Why are you here?” you demand. “I didn't invite you.”

  Jungkook's frown deepens. A crease forms between his eyebrows. “Since when did I need an invite?”

  “Since you started showing up uninvited and interrupting my relaxation time.” You try to slam the door on his face, but he wedges his foot between the frame and pushes it open again.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” he says, poking his head through the tiny gap he's created. “Are you gonna explain to me what the hell is going on?”

  “No. Go away.”

  “I'm not leaving until you tell me why you're mad.”

  “I'll literally call the police.”

  “No you won't.”

  You purse your lips, turn on your heel and B-Line towards your cell phone. Jungkook shoves the door open and follows after you. You pick up the phone, but Jungkook is quicker; his fingers curl around your wrist and it is with barely any effort that he plucks the phone from your hand and tosses it onto the couch. He keeps your wrist in his grip, staring down at you with a set of eyes that – any other day – would have you pouncing on him in two seconds flat.

  “Let go of me,” you say.

  He does.

  “And get out.”

  “I'm so confused right now. I thought we were okay.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Is this about last night?”

  You groan. “For crying out loud, Jungkook, I'm drunk. Why can't you just take the hint and piss off?”

  He flinches. There's a tiny glimmer inside you that wants to apologise, wrap your arms around him and tell him you didn't mean it, but then you hear Mr Bang's voice in your head and your senses draw back to you.

  “You didn't join us for dinner,” he says. It's almost a subject change. Again, you want to spit on him.

  “I don't think you'd have been too happy if I showed up,” you reply. You take another swig of your wine. “Apparently you only really like me when I'm underneath you.”

   Jungkook's eyes widen. His hands twitch by his side, and he reaches up to deftly rub at this throat. “What are you talking about? You know that's not true.”

  “So why don't you want me working in the same building as you?”

  There is no way to make that sentence sound intimidating, no way to get your anger across without sounding childish and needy; you and Jungkook spent one night together. If he thought it was a mistake, you would respect that – but he didn't need to cut you off from your work, didn't need to come crawling back when he was in the mood. If he found regret in last nights endeavours, it would be so much more merciful if he just left you alone.

  His face softens. It's an expression of realisation, the fact that he's been caught out dawning on him. It's enough to make tears rise to the surface, and you blame the wine but it builds in your chest, grabs at your throat. Jungkook sees it – he lurches forward. You don't even fight when he wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you into his chest, his chin taking perch on the top of your head.

  “No,” he says. “No, I didn't mean it like that. Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. I said it to protect you.”

    “Protect me?” You jump away from him, stumbling but managing to catch yourself on the sofa at the last moment. “How could that protect me?”

  “We're not meant to have what we have,” he says, running his hands through his hair. He's trying not to touch you. You're trying not to throw yourself into his arms.

  “What is that, Jungkook?” you ask. “What do we have that is so special? Because last time I checked, all we've done is slept together and played a few rounds of Minecraft.”

   “That's not true. We've got more than that. You're more than that.”

  You grit your teeth, turning on your heel. Your wine sloshes, drenches your wrist but you don't even care. It triggers you to take another swig, then another, and another until the glass is empty. “You know what? I don't think I wanna play this game. I've never let a man dictate how a relationship works, and I'm not about to do it now.”

  Jungkook groans. “I'm not dictating-”

  “Telling your boss to keep me off the fucking premises so you can keep our friends-with-benefits subtle-”

  “And we're not friends-with-benefits!” Jungkook steps forward, grabbing your wrist before you can reach for the bottle of wine. You glare at him, hoping and praying that your eyes look menacing enough right now; you want him to know how angry you are. You want him to see how bad he's hurt you.

  His eyes trace your own. He's looking for forgiveness, but you won't give it to him. His lower lip trembles and he sucks it between his teeth.

  “I don't want us to be friends-with-benefits,” he whispers, fingers still curled round wrist. “I got carried away last night, but I didn't show up just to have a quickie and then leave. I want – I want more.”

  You stare back at him, unsure of what to say. There are so many responses that are playing on the tip of your tongue, but none of them seem right. Not when his eyes look like that. Not when he slowly leans forward and presses a kiss to the flesh just beneath your ear – right over a hickey he sucked into your skin the night before.

  You shiver, wrist sliding out of his suddenly slack grip.

  “Tell me if you want more,” he whispers.

  You close your eyes, tilting your head to the side. Your drunk and angry and turned on, and at this point it's too late to turn back. You do want more – you want it all. You want everything he is offering, but you know better.

  You step away from him. He looks at you, analyses the way you're standing, the way you fold your arms over your chest because you're so scared you'll crack again, so scared you'll reach out and touch him and lose yourself entirely.

  “I want you to leave,” you croak out. The words are acidic. They're a betrayal, but you have to say them.

  Jungkook's features harden. He looks down at the ground, brushes his foot against the carpet only once before he nods and says, “So that's it then? There's nothing I can do to make this better.”

    “You can't expect me to like this arrangement,” you reply. “I'm not sneaking around with you. I've got too much going on as it is without stressing over being caught with you.”

   Jungkook nods, but you're not entirely sure he understands. Maybe he hides a ton of stuff from Mr Bang. Maybe sneaking around is his forte, but you haven't had as much experience as him in this line of work. You're not ready to put your entire career on the line to be with someone who clearly doesn't care about you enough to want a real relationship.

  And god the thought hurts. The realisation hurts. Before, you failed to realise just how much of an integral role Jungkook played in your life, but looking at him now and knowing it will be the last time you'll ever be able to talk to him like a normal human being – it breaks something inside you. Little fourteen year old Y/N L/N is screaming in the back of your head, asking you what the hell you're doing.

  You push them away.

  Jungkook says nothing when he turns and walks out the door. He doesn't look back at you, barely utters a goodbye. He certainly doesn't apologise. He leaves you numb, watching the door swing closed behind him. You listen to the lift opening, closing, going down. You force yourself to stay rooted to the spot, resisting the urge to scramble to the window so you can watch him cross the car park.

  You have to let yourself believe that he is nothing more than another chapter in your life – necessary for your story, but you have to move on to know the conclusion.

  ---

  The pages are getting few and far between.

  Months have passed. You still see Jungkook everyday, but it's not how it was. He doesn't smile when he sees you. He doesn't text you to find out if you got home safe. If he can avoid looking at you at all, that is exactly what he does.

  In the beginning, you didn't want things to be awkward. You smiled at him, asked Yoongi if he was okay, made sure to check up on him when you could, but it got tiring after a while and you lost the motivation eventually. Jungkook wasn't giving you the same enthusiasm, so you no longer saw a point in trying.

  It's your last few days in Seoul. You can feel the end approaching, even though none of the Bangtan boys nor Mr Bang himself wants to admit it. Mr Bang lengthens the deadlines on your edits just to keep you around that little bit longer. The Bangtan boys invite you out for dinner, but you decline because you know Jungkook will be there and you don't want that kind of hassle.

  All in all, you are disappointed to say your last few months in Seoul have been terrible. Full of stress and avoidance, life truly did not give you an easy time of it.

  But your days are coming to an end. You stand by your bed now, looking at the packed bags. A lump grows in your throat; you swallow it down, swiping a hand beneath your eye in any attempt to hide the tears that are threatening to rise to the surface. No one is with you – it would be easy to just break down, because God only knows when you'll next get a chance, but you don't want to. Not even within the comfort of your own company. Crying means admitting you've been affected by the sudden shift in your life. Crying means admitting you got attached.

  Stupidly, obsessively attached.

  To a boy who was meant to be nothing more than a few texts on your phone screen.

  You busy yourself by reorganising everything yet again. It's the fifth time you've done it, and each time has been completely unnecessary. Your clothes are folded beautifully, your toiletries packed away, your sheets and work gear all tucked away neatly; you just need to do something. You finished the last few pages of the catalogue yesterday evening, sent them out and fled the Big Hit building before Mr Bang could make you emotional with any kind of farewell speech. You just needed out of there. Once you get back to your actual office, back home, you'll be fine. You'll be able to start over.

   It's as your reorganising that you realise you've missed something.

  How you missed it is completely beyond you, considering you've been through this five times already. You shoot up, spin around and glimpse your laptop on your desk, untouched for three days now. You've been too busy to even think about logging on and catching up with your gaming; besides, you didn't want to game. Not if Jungkook wasn't on the phone, yelling at you for the most trivial of things.

  But now seems a good a time as any.

  You slowly open it up, press your password in and wait for the Minecraft game to load up. It's ten at night, so nobody you talk to will be active; the game will be full of complete strangers, will be no fun. You'll sign out of it in a few minutes and go back to moping round your apartment, but at least you can say you've tried. It's a step in the right direction, a sign that maybe the spell Jungkook cast over you has melted away a little bit.

  You click on the server you so frequently play on, and look through the list of people active.

  GoldenJeon.

  You should delete it. The whole game, just get rid of it. It's no fun without Jungkook, but after the fight you had, it's no fun with him either. You don't want to play at all, so what's the point of even having it on your laptop?

  Despite these thoughts, the sense of them, you're unable to do anything but stare at his name. Your little character waits for the timer to start, signalling the beginning of the game, but you're not even preparing yourself for it. You're just staring at his name, blinking in gold letters.

   And then your phone chimes.

  Even though he hasn't texted you in weeks, you know it's him. You glance over, catch sight of his name, and you ask yourself why you even kept his number in the first place.

  Jungkook: Please don't surprise me this time.

  You bite your lip. That son of a bitch; he knows exactly what he's doing. He's prodding at your competitive side just to get a reaction out of you.

   But he's done it now.

   The timer counts down from three. As soon as the sirens go off, your hands are glued to the mouse and keyboard, and you're latching your view on Jungkook as his tiny little box character makes a dash directly for the woods; fool. He has no weaponry. Whilst everyone else headed straight for the chests in the centre of the map, Jungkook turned the other direction, thinking he would be doing something good by getting away whilst everyone else was distracted.

   However, you are not one of them distracted people.

   You sprint after him, even as your brain screams at you to just turn the bloody thing off and get back to being an Adult.

   You follow him deeply into the match, your phone chiming away at the side of you; it's Jungkook having a crisis, begging you to not follow him this time. You know he's only saying this because you will – you'll follow him, you'll kill his character and then you'll be reminded of the last time you did it, when Jungkook realised he could come over and yell at you in person if he so pleased.

    His character sprints through the map, gathering supplies and you follow him until he finally comes to a stop and you calculate your chances of survival if you were to just whack his head off now. You make your character crouch, duck behind a door frame as he shuffles around an abandoned house made out of bedrock (bedrock!).

   Your phone rings. You click ACCEPT without even thinking.

   “Where are you?” His voice his gravelly. It hurts to hear it.

   “Now why would I tell you that?” you ask.

    “I don't know why I never learn,” he grumbles. “You do this to me, you know. You make my head go somewhere else, and I can't use my common sense.”

   Your heart thunders. “It works in my favour, so I don't really mind.”

    “Are you gonna pop up out of nowhere again?”

  “Would you like me to?”

   Jungkook pauses. “I would. I really would.”

   “But then you'll be out of the game,” you tease. “Poor little Jungkook, losing another round of Hunger Games because he can't think straight.”

   He growls. It startles you, distracting you for a moment too long. Your eyes snap down to your phone, and you're positive it's only for a brief second, but by the time you look back up at the laptop screen, your character is being beaten bloody by GoldenJeon's stone pickaxe.

  Y/N has left the game.

  Jungkook doesn't laugh, doesn't yell in victory like you do every time you win. There's a single breath of humour-filled air before he says, “Got you.” And then he hangs up.

  You sit there, staring at the end credits and trying desperately to catch your breath; what the hell just happened? What the hell just happened?!

  He called you, is what happened. He had the nerve to pick up the phone and call you as if nothing had been going on these past few weeks, as if he hadn't ignored you, as if he hadn't completely ripped your heart from your chest and forced you to end things with him.

    You grit your teeth. This is what he wants. He wants you to play right into his hands so he can get the control back, and you're not about to let him get away with it.

   So you stand up, grab your coat and march right out the door.

   You know where the dorms are. You've been invited over more times than you can count, have broken Taehyung's heart by declining these invites, but you can't think of a better reason to make an appearance now. You shrug your coat on as you march down the street, turn the corner and head straight for the front desk.

  You're recognised and let inside almost immediately. You don't realise your relief until you're halfway up the stairs, heart thundering in your ears – this scene is so familiar. It's been reversed, but it's so familiar, and it makes your heart rate speed up to a rate you're pretty sure is considered unhealthy.

    You had won the game last time. Jungkook has marched into your apartment.

    Jungkook won the game this time. It's only fair for you to give him the same courtesy.

    You rack your knuckles against the door and wait for someone to answer. It takes two seconds, and there is nothing but undeniable relief when it's Jungkook's grinning face that appears in the doorway and nobody elses.

  You slam your hands into his shoulders and push him backwards. “You son of a bitch. I wasn't even ready!”

   Jungkook loops his arms round your waist and tugs you into him. You're so lost. You're so worked up and he looks so good, and he's just beaten you at a game you prided yourself on winning each and every time. He did it to tease you. He did it so this would happen, and you've walked right into his trap.

  But god, he smells so good, and his hair is slightly damp from a shower, and you're honestly prepared to make a fool of yourself if it means getting a glimpse of his toned torso one more time.

    “Sorry,” he says. “But I believe I won that round fair and square.”

  “You used a distraction tactic,” you hiss. “We never use a distraction tactic!”

  Jungkook raises a brow, tilting his head to the side. “I don't remember distracting you.”

   “You being on the phone at all was distracting enough.” You bundle your fists in his shirt, debate pulling him closer. You eventually decide against it and instead flatten your palms against his chest. “And then you kept making that stupid fucking noise, and I couldn't . . . I couldn't concentrate.”

   Jungkook's eyes flare. “I can't help it if you get distracted just by my voice.”

   “It wasn't your – Stop that!” You slap his chest and groan. “The point is, we need a rematch. That game wasn't fair, and you know it.”

   His hands tighten on your hips. You want to scream.

   “I really didn't take you as a sore loser,” he says.

   You scoff. “Don't act like you didn't come marching into my apartment when I won the last round.”

  That does it. The reminder settles between you, and you don't pull away even though you know you should. Jungkook's eyes – if possible – turn darker. Your breath hitches. The world is spinning too fast. You just want him to kiss you. You don't want any of this back and forth, teasing, talking in low voices – you just want him.

  You knot your hands in his shirt again. This time, you do pull him closer, but not by much. It's a little jerk that has his chest hitting lightly against your own, but he still isn't close enough for your liking.

   He inhales deeply. “I can't believe you're here after what I did.”

  You close your eyes. “We don't have to talk about that.”

  “I don't want to just sleep with you, Y/N.” He pulls away then, rakes his hands through his hair as if trying to restrain himself. “I told you on the day we argued that I don't just want to be friends-with-benefits. I want to be able to talk about things with you.”

    There are cotton balls in your mouth. It's hard to speak, so you just stare at him, hope that gets your point across.

  He bites his lip. “Is that what you want, too? Is that why you're here?”

   Is that what you want?

  On that first night, the first night Jungkook slept with you, you thought that was what you had. You'd never taken Jungkook as the type to have sex with someone and then just . . . leave, and that isn't what he did. Waking up to him cooking breakfast and his scent on your pillows felt almost natural.

  So of course you want it. You want him – not his body, but him. All of him.

    You swallow thickly and step closer. “If we're gonna make this work, we have to sort a few things out.”

   He nods too quickly, too enthusiastically. It rips your heart out of your chest. “Of course.”

  “I'm going back home in a few days,” you say, and Jungkook's hopeful expression fades. “I don't know – I don't know what that means for you. I don't know if that will make things easier. I don't know if me not physically being here will suddenly make Mr Bang let you date me, but-”

   Jungkook groans low in his throat. “I don't care about Mr Bang. I care about you.” He steps forward and cups your face with one large hand. “I made a mistake. I was so caught up in my contract that I didn't even stop to think about how Mr Bang would take my own feelings into consideration.”

   Your jaw drops, eyes snapping up. “What are you talking about?”

  “Mr Bang knows we – we talk,” Jungkook stammers.

   You step out of his grip. “He knows you went against the contract?”

  “In the beginning,” Jungkook says. “He was disappointed, but he's known me since I was fifteen. I guess he took pity on me, because I was a mess when I went into work that day and told him. I'd just reached my breaking point.”

   “And he was okay with it?”

   “As I said, he was disappointed. Thought he could trust me and all that.” Jungkook winces. You place a comforting hand on his arm, knowing how hard it must have been for him to have disappointed one of the people he looks up to. “I said I was sorry, and then he – he asked me how things between you and I were going, and I got really confused. He said it as if we were together.”

   You bite your lip. “Okay...”

   “I turned round and told him you'd ended things because you didn't want to be sneaking around, and he just looked at me like I was insane. He asked me what I was doing, told me to talk to you and then he let me have the day off.”

   You swallow the golf ball sized lump in your throat, not sure what to say but knowing for a fact that you are really gonna have to thank Mr Bang for this.

   Jungkook rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “So I went home, logged onto Minecraft to see if you were there – you weren't, but I waited.”

  “You waited.”

  “And then you came online and I took my chance.”

   “You did indeed.”

   Jungkook lowers his voice to a whisper. “And now you're here.” It's almost like he's talking to himself, even though his eyes are burning holes in your own. “You're here and you're not saying anything.”

    You don't need to say anything. There are no words that can possible portray what you're feeling right now, so you do the next best thing. It's straight out of a cheesy romance movie, but you've learned from the best and you launch yourself into his arms, kissing him with the need and desperation that has been building in your system for weeks now.

   Jungkook grunts into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist. The two of you stumble until the back of Jungkook's knees are hitting against the arm of the sofa and he's falling backwards into the plush cushions; he doesn't let go of you, and your body ends up right on top of his own.

   You kiss him again, and again, and again. Not just on the lips, but everywhere. Peppered kisses behind his ear, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, his chin, his cheeks. Everywhere until he's giggling and trying to push you away from him.

    “You still played unfairly today,” you pant, exaggerating each word with a kiss to his forehead. “I want revenge.”

    “I'm excited to – hey! - find out how you get that revenge,” he replies, crinkling his nose up when you go to press yet another kiss there.

   His fingers are just starting to grip onto your belt loops when the door behind him opens. Jungkook's head snaps up, his hands tightening to keep you in place. Taehyung and Namjoon walk in, side-by-side, but immediately stop and raise their brows when they see the position you are currently in.

   Jungkook wriggles beneath you. You shoot upright, struggling to find your footing again. Jungkook grunts when you're forced to shove against his chest to get off the sofa. You turn to the two members of Bangtan and grin as Jungkook flops back onto the sofa and groans.

    Namjoon is the first to speak. “Hey Y/N. . . I see you took Taehyung's invitation.”

   “I did!” you exclaim, and then quieter, “I did. It's a lovely place you've got here.”

   “Apparently we've also got a lovely maknae,” Taehyung says, wriggling his brows, and Jungkook buries his head in the sofa pillows. “I always knew something was going on with you two; you're the only person I know who can distract Jungkook long enough to break him away from his work.”

   You raise a brow, flicking your eyes down to the boy in question. He peeks at you with one eye, half of his face still pressed into the cushions, and grins an embarrassed grin. You smile right back, pushing down a laugh.

   “Come on, Tae,” Namjoon chuckles. “Let's leave them alone for a bit. I think they have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Taehyung rolls his eyes, mouths Use protection before he and Namjoon turn and leave the room. You glance back at Jungkook, raise a brow.

    “He's totally lying, of course,” he assures, voice muffled.

   You chuckle and bound back onto the sofa, circling your arms round his torso and going back to pressing loving little kisses to every part of his face you can think of.

   ---

   Jungkook presses his chin into the crown of your head and sighs yet again. “You're still so tiny.”

   “I'll literally start walking home now.”

  He groans, pulling you closer to his chest. “Don't say home. You're home is meant to be with me.”

   You close your eyes and tilt your head back. It rests in the hollow of his throat. You want to live there.

   “I'll visit you,” you say, even though it's not enough. It'll never be enough. “We managed to keep in touch since we were fourteen – this isn't anything new.”

    He sighs again. “I know. We'll make it work, just like we always do.” His arms tighten on your waist. “I'm just gonna miss this, that's all. I'm gonna miss you – you in your physical form.”

  “In what way do you mean physical form, Jeon Jungkook?”

   He leans down and nips your earlobe with his teeth. “Whatever form you're offering.”

   You chuckle and shake your head, beckoning him away. He goes back to resting his chin atop your head, the two of you looking out for the train that will soon be pulling up to take you home. Your bag is packed, but Jungkook placed it a few feet away because he didn't want to admit that all of your stuff was in there – that means permanent, apparently. Packing up your stuff means there's no option to come back. Looking at your suitcase, filled to the brim with the clothes he's seen you in, the clothes he's ripped off of you, made him uncomfortable.

    “I feel like adults are meant to handle this type of thing a lot better,” he says suddenly.

   You look up; his chin slides to your forehead as he refuses to move. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugs. “Like – relationships. Love. Stuff like that. I should have grown out of my mine, mine, mine phase, but the idea of you just . . . walking away is literally ripping me open.”

    You bite your lip. “Jungkook...”

   “I get it if you don't feel the same way. I'm not asking you to.” He shrugs again, grabbing your chin and tilting your head back so he can put his chin back where he is most comfortable. “It's only been a few months and I already feel like you should just be by my side all the time.”

   “I wish I could be.”

   “You do?”

   “I don't think I've ever clicked with someone like I click with you, Jungkook. I feel just as awful about leaving.”

    He sighs. Again. If you made this into a drinking game – drink any time Jungkook sighs – you would be falling head first into the train tracks by now.

    He hugs you impossibly closer, and the two of you fall into a thoughtful silence. In the distance, the whistle of the train sounds and you close your eyes, as if in doing so, you can somehow transport somewhere far, far away, with only Jungkook to keep you company.

   But reality is a bitch, and it slaps you in the face when the train pulls up and people start piling onto the carriages.

  You turn, quickly wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing him, putting everything you can into the way your lips mould against his. He groans against your mouth – he always does – and he tightens his grip and you hope to God he just refuses to let go. You two can just live here, in this underground station, tangled in each others arms forever. You'll become statues, a part of the structure and nobody will bother you again.

   But the conductor calls a warning,and you know you have to go.

  You pull away. Jungkook's face falls, and his thumbs swipe beneath your eye. You didn't even realise you were crying until he shakes his head and says, “Soon. We'll see each other soon.”

   You nod, biting your bottom lip. You say the first thing that comes to mind, which might not be the best strategy considering this is the last thing you'll get to say for quite a while, but nonetheless, it's a perfect parting confession.

   “I love you, GoldenJeon.”

   His eyes widen. You panic, because that was certainly not what you planned on saying. He reaches towards you, but you press a final kiss to his lips, grab your suitcase and dart off towards the train only seconds before the doors close behind you.

   As the train speeds off, you turn in your seat. Jungkook is still stood on the platform, one hand raised to his lips and his eyes lowered to the floor.

    ---

  You're in your pyjamas again. Boring, stupid old pyjamas. You'd left them behind for a reason – you're wearing them now because you're trying to get back into routine. You have to be at the office tomorrow. You have to look Mr Grey in the eyes and thank him for the opportunity even though he was the one who ordered you home. You shouldn't feel angry, but you do.

  You press PLAY on your movie once again, having paused it to go and gather some ice cream and your laptop. You and Jungkook have only texted the odd time since you got home, with him claiming he wants to give you time to rest and you promising him that you were definitely, one hundred percent in bed and only seconds away from falling asleep.

   Turns out, falling asleep without Jungkook's arms around you is a lot more difficult than you'd originally anticipated.

  It's so weird. It's a phenomenon, considering you fell asleep without him your entire life. But now that you'd got a taste of just how luxurious sleep can actually feel, it's difficult to go back to square one.

   You click on the tiny little Minecraft icon and watch the screen load. It's almost instinctive when you log onto the all-too-familiar server. Again, it's much too late for Jungkook to be online – he told you he was doing some late night editing for one of his Golden Closet Videos, and you've seen him when he starts editing; he won't be looking away from that complicated editing screen for another few hours at least. His attention will be nowhere near Minecraft.

    It loads up, and of course, the little shit has lied to you.

  GoldenJeon is online.

  You narrow your eyes, hoping and praying he doesn't notice the little Y/N is online that appears in the corner.  

   But he's GoldenJeon. He notices everything.

   Your phone chimes. You wince, cautiously looking over as Jungkook's name flashes on screen.

  Jungkook: You weren't asleep for very long.

  Y/N: you weren't editing for very long.

  Jungkook: It's gonna be very difficult for me to come over and have sex if you win this match, you know. You didn't think this through.

  Y/N: i'm sure phone sex will be just as sexy.

  Jungkook: Let's give it a go.

  The match begins, and you win. It's no surprise – at this point, you're fairly certain Jungkook is just letting you win because he wants an excuse to come over.

   Or in this case, an excuse to call you.

   You pick up before the first ring is even over. Jungkook laughs at your eagerness before saying, “Miss me?”

   “More than anything. Now talk dirty.”

   “I love you.”

   You freeze.

   “Oh, did you like that one?” he teases. You can hear him grinning. You want to smother him – or kiss him. Either way, you can do neither. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

   “Jungkook-”

  “I've loved you since I was fourteen years old and you were just a weird little character on a shit, low budget game.”

   “I don't want you to talk dirty any more. Please keep making fun of me before I combust.”

  Jungkook chuckles. “Tell me you love me back.”

   “I said it first. You know I-”

   “Say it again. We're having phone sex, remember?”

   You bite your lip. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

    He inhales shakily. You can hear it, the rattle in his chest, the way he bites his bottom lip. You can imagine him tilting his head back in that way he does so often when you insist on walking downstairs in one of his shirts, or nothing at all if you're feeling particularly playful that day.

   “You're right, you know,” he whispers.

   “About?”

   “Phone sex really is just as sexy as the real thing.”

[cyoza]

shrike

I was not going to post on here and I tried like 5 times but for some reason the ao3 link isn’t showing up in the tags sand I’m feeling very frustrated so I’m just going to upload the first chapter on here and then the rest of the chapters will be on ao3 because it took me forever last time to get all the chapters together here 

I’m going to post the link to my ao3 at the end and see if it works this time but its literally giving me a headache lol 

- 

In his 3 years as a protective agent of the CIA, Dick Grayson had never once slept past his alarm. However, he’d never felt the urge stronger than he did that morning. Even with the blaring siren of his alarm sounding, he’d lay staring at the ceiling for the few minutes he could spare wishing he could hit the snooze button. 

For the next 6 months. 

Dick had been very lucky in his 5 year career, shadowing various important but interesting diplomats and thus learning a lot more than the average person about the world and often top secret information. But it seemed like his luck had run out. For he was to spend the next 6 months babysitting some spoiled, pampered princess. 

Kory Anders had definitely built up a reputation for herself - and not necessarily a good one. From his research, he had found multiple articles that described her short temper, recklessness and honestly almost careless attitude towards dating; a new man or woman on her arm every month. It didn’t help that she was an actual princess which meant that guarding her was going to be a bigger pain in the ass than usual. When it came to Royals, they would feel more comfortable with their own services as well as CIA protection which made it all the more difficult to get the job done. Safe to say there was no real part of him looking forward to the task. 

But Dick got up anyway, clicking off both his phone alarm and battery back up along the way. He got ready in a daze, cruising on autopilot until he stood in front of the mirror adjacent to his front door. White shirt crisp and immaculate as usual, dark navy tie placed perfectly at the centre, all pulled together with a sharp angled black blazer. 

A picture of a model agent. 

Bruce Wayne would be proud. 

Dick watched as his eyes narrowed automatically at the thought but he forced himself to relax; he didn’t need anymore tension in his body today and thinking about his adoptive father wasn’t going to help.  

So he grabbed his keys and made his way to work, again not really present for the journey but the dread that settled in him as he pulled into the parking lot forcibly ejected him out of his reverie and back to reality. 

He tried to ignore it, doing the best he could to seem like his charismatic but professional self as he made it through security. Saying hello to Joe as he x-rayed his bag and commenting on Max’s new hair do as she scanned through his fingerprints and ID before making his way through the halls to the DS’s office. 

He paused facing the heavy mahogany door, bracing himself before knocking. 

‘Come in,’ was the gruff reply. 

Dick let out a sigh before entering, shutting the door softly behind him and making his way to stand by the double burgundy leather arm chairs opposite the mahogany desk. 

Directorate of Support Officer Charles ‘Chip’ Wenthem looked every bit the stereotypical middle-aged officer was to be expected to look. Thick grey caterpillar moustache with a matching buzzcut and permanently stress induced protruding coronary in the neck. 

‘Ah Grayson, good you’re here. The Royal Family will be here any minute. I know this isn’t the best assignment but I want you to put your best foot forward, alright? We really need this to go well.’ 

‘Of course, sir. Looking forward to doing the best I can for my country as always.’ He lied, giving him a tense but polite smile that neither reassured nor reinforced his statement. Yet neither of them mentioned anything, knowing the job would get done either way to an exemplary standard anyway. 

‘Glad to hear it, son. Now, as explained in the dossier, you’ll be guarding the Princess Kory Anders of Tamaran along with her personal protection services named Faddei Adeliyi. You’ve done this enough times that I don’t need to hold your hand, Grayson, but proceed with caution. The Tamaranians keep to themselves so we don’t know much about them for a background on customs. Follow their lead and watch yourself. You’re one of my best agents and I don’t want you to get kicked off this case for something stupid, alright?’ 

Dick suddenly felt the tension he’d tried very hard to suppress return to his body at full force. Chip was a good DS but it was times like this that he felt his patience with him was paper thin. 10 years of experience in law enforcement with 5 of them in covert operations just to have him speak to him like he was a teenager fresh out the force on his first mission. Dick bit back his frustration and gave him another tight smile but before he could speak again, there was a knock at the door prior to Chip’s mousy assistant poking his head through. 

‘Um, sir, we have the Tamaranean Royal family through security and here to see you.’ Arthur spoke quietly, shifting his eyes rapidly between Chip and the floor. Even after 2 years working here, Arthur was still terrified of every single thing; it was a wonder how he even got the job. 

‘Send them in.’ Chip waved his hand in confirmation sending Arthur’s head back around the door before he came back to swing it wide open again. 

Dick had seen beautiful people in his life as he seemed to always fall into their orbit unintentionally. But they all paled in comparison to the people who walked in the room in those next 5 minutes. The man who walked in after Arthur could only be described as ethereal. Towering taller than any other person Dick had come into contact with, it wasn’t his height that commanded the attention in the room nor was it his transfixing good looks. His shoulder length dark locs framed his face and corresponded with his gruff beard, which were both laced through with grey and emphasised the high slant of his cheekbones. It was his eyes, however, that drew the attention to the face, a gleaming brilliant gold that seemed luminescent even in the poorly lit office. But it was neither of these things that person would be enthralled by. Rather the aura around him was so authoritative and regal that it demanded an attention that you never wanted to withdraw. He seemed to glide as he walked into the room, his mulberry chiffon-like robe swishing around him as if there was a breeze that existed only for him. Dick could only assume he was the King, especially with the thin intricately woven golden crown he wore, pinning back some of his locs. 

Even the guards that trailed behind him were some of the most stunning guards he’d ever seen, despite them dimming in comparison to the King. A man and a woman, again taller than the average person and again dressed in a similar shade of mauve to the King but more combat appropriate. Dick felt his knowledge of gender binary being challenged as he observed them both, the woman’s head shaved with a complex design tattooed across the expanse and the man with equally elaborate braids running across his scalp and trailing down his back. He had never felt more inferior in his life, even with Bruce Wayne as a father. 

Dick’s attention was brought back to Chip as he made his way around the desk to greet them. 

‘Your Majesty King Myand’r, welcome to the US. It is our utmost pleasure to be able to host you on your stay here.’ Chip had never sounded or looked more nervous in his life, this interaction clearly having the same effect on him as it was having on Dick. 

‘Thank you..Charles, is it?’ He questioned, moving forward to extend a hand which ‘Charles’ anxiously but gratefully accepted. ‘And you must be Dick.’ He turned to Dick and stretched out a hand toward him too. 

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’ Dick hoped his voice sounded strong and stable but he made sure that his handshake was, uncharacteristically wanting to exert himself, as futile as he felt it was. 

‘So you’re the one protecting my daughter. Then let me introduce, my eldest daughter - Princess Koriand’r.’

King Myand’r stepped aside and it felt like all the breath had been punched out of Dick’s lungs. He had seen pictures, of course, but as beautiful as she was in them, they all felt like insults compared to the real thing. Dick didn’t know where to look first, completely overwhelmed by her presence. She seemed to be a head shorter than her father so she still dwarfed everyone in the room and it didn’t help that the vivid scarlet curls that sat atop her head gave her added inches that she really didn’t need. The crimson coils seemed to halo her face in a heart shape, her cheekbones high and sharp like her father’s and just like her father, her eyes were transfixing. Bright and shimmering, they mimicked his luminosity but hers were an emerald green that paralleled the jewels themselves. They were only emphasised by the glittery gold eyeshadow she wore, her pouty full lips also painted with a dark maroon. 

Dick knew he was being rude but he couldn’t help but look at her. It was difficult to look away, especially when she also wasn’t wearing very much. As relatively warm as it was in Virginia in September, it definitely didn’t warrant the outfit she wore, or lack thereof. Again she wore a varying shade of purple to her counterparts, but this time it covered way less. Clothed in a light cotton skirt he could barely call a skirt, it reached the floor but the two high slits travelling up her legs all the way to her hips left very little to the imagination so her legs seemed to go on forever which were only highlighted by the 5 inch gold gladiator sandals she was wearing. Her midriff was also bare, the top she was wearing covering her breasts and not very much else, wrapping around them with two tiny trivial spaghetti straps holding the fabric up. 

Dick felt like he had been staring at her for a lifetime but it was probably only 10 seconds, so he cleared his throat and stepped forward to greet her. 

‘Princess Koriand’r, hello. My name is Dick Grayson, I’ll be forming part of your protective team while you are here in the US. It is very nice to meet you and it’s an honour to be guarding you.’ Dick stepped forward to extend a hand to her but was taken aback when she merely rolled her eyes to the side and ignored his outreached hand to fold her arms. 

Dick looked frantically between the King and Chip dropping his hand and worried that he’d made a faux pas and offended her within a minute of meeting her. But he had merely taken the cue from her father with a handshake. Maybe it was different for different genders? Perhaps he was supposed to curtsey or bow? 

‘You must excuse my daughter, Mr Grayson, she is proving difficult to convince that she does in fact need your services. She is quite headstrong which is a trait we admire in our country as it shows strength. But in times like this, we could possibly do without it.’ He explained before gesturing to his daughter.

‘You don’t need to talk about me like I’m not here, Father.’

Dick reeled hearing her voice; it was rich and melodic and suited her perfectly. 

‘Well, Koriand’r, start acting like you are here and maybe I won’t have to,’ the King retorted. 

‘I don’t see why we have to be here at all. I am a trained warrior, there is no way that I could benefit from having these feeble h-’ 

‘Koriand’r, that’s enough!’ He cut her off sharply, eyes suddenly blazing. ‘It is time to stop acting like a child and act like you are next in line for the throne, for X’hal’s sake. The CIA were kind enough to extend their services to us while we are here and we were grateful to accept. You shall greet Mr Grayson here appropriately and behave yourself whilst you are under his care.’ 

Dick could see the fury building under her guise as her father admonished her, obviously wanting to argue when her body abruptly relaxed. She swung her head to face Dick, a wide, sultry smile on her face before making her way to stop a few inches in front of him, hips swaying enticingly as she strolled over. He only hoped his swirling mind wasn’t evident and his professional facade was still in place as he inhaled her sweet rosy scent. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to keep control of himself and not let himself be party to whatever game she was trying to play.

‘Hello, Mr Grayson, it’s a pleasure. I can only thank you for your service and I look forward to being under your care.’ She purred, lifting her hand towards him. 

Oh, these 6 months were going to be longer than expected. 

- 

Further chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21785914

[idontreallyknowwwwww]

UCONN Application Due at 5

‘’Have fun in Hell.’’ I looked at his lifeless body, slumped over the arm of the couch. His mouth was hanging open, and you could see the blue ring lining his lips from the detergent I had given him to drink. His eyes were glossed over, and his forehead was slick with sweat. I stared at him for a minute, amazed by my work, before I was launched back into reality. I have to get out of here. I left Raymond there, and exited through the back door. My heart was racing. I had to get home before I had an anxiety attack and gave myself away to the old lady tending to her garden next door. 

I thought about it on the drive home. Can you justify murder if it’s for the right reason? He said he was going to kill me. Raymond said that if he didn’t kill me, something else would, so I should be thanking him for the favor. How fucked up is that? Well, look at how the tables had turned. I hadn’t been planning on killing him, but I just couldn’t stop myself. But who did I think I was fooling? Not myself, that’s for sure. And not the cops either. I had no proof that he had planned to kill me. No threatening text messages, no stalkerish behavior. But it would be fine, there was nothing to worry about. I had left no traces that it had been me. I had worn gloves, and I had made sure that he was dead before I left. So I should be fine. I should be jumping for joy, I had saved myself! That boy deserved to die. Why even bother going to his funeral? Actually, I should go to his funeral. He was my boyfriend. I had to at least pretend that I was sad about his untimely death. So I’ll go to the funeral, cry a few tears, and nobody will suspect a thing. 

‘’Hi Mrs. Riker. This is Sarah. How are you?’’ It’s been a few days since the murder, and it’s been all over the news. Every hour of the day, Raymond’s face swarmed the tv screen. Gave me a headache. When will everybody get over him? He wasn’t even that big of a deal anyway. There’s been this boiling feeling in my stomach for the last few days. I don’t know what it is exactly. It’s not sadness. Definitely not. I would almost call it fear. But not of getting caught. I’m not sure what it is I’m afraid of, but this growing knot keeps on twisting itself tighter and tighter inside of me. And to make matters even worse, Raymond’s mother decided to call. ‘’I just cannot believe that someone would do this. Absolutely terrible. He was a beautiful boy, I know. And we all loved him so much. Saturday at one? Ok. No, I don’t want to make a speech. I get really nervous in front of big crowds. Yeah, Raymond would understand. Alright, well, I’ll see you in a few days then. Bye.’’ 

Saturday at one. That was when Raymond said that he was going to take me bowling for our one year anniversary. Well not anymore. I’d be taking him to his funeral instead. Hope he’s bowling with the devil, like he deserves. 

So it’s Saturday now. I’m all ready for this bullshit funeral. This guy doesn’t deserve a funeral. He threatened to kill me! Nobody who threatens to end someone’s life should get a funeral. Whatever. I’ll go, weep a little, and then we can all move on with our lives. Nobody will ever think of Raymond Riker again. The bubble of panic in my stomach hasn’t gone away. I still don’t know what I’m afraid of. It’s been a week now, and I haven’t been caught. And it’s not like the police are going to come to the funeral and see me there. Raymond’s case will remain unsolved, and the police will have moved on to other cases by now. 

‘’Let us all remember what a wonderful boy Raymond Riker was. He was a kind, compassionate soul, and we all will remember him dearly.’’ Raymond was lowered into the ground. His mom was crying, and it made me sad to see her that way. She had been nothing but kind to me. Oh well. I can’t let my guard down for some woman who didn’t even know her son was a killer. The snow crunched beneath everyone’s feet as they slowly began to leave the burial sight. After a while, it was only me, Raymond’s parents, and some old lady. I took one last look at the people left, and then turned to leave. I walked back to my car in silence. It’s all done now. It’s official. He’s dead. He’s buried. His existence had ceased to exist.

  I sat in my car with my hands on the steering wheel. I had to get home. My application to UCONN was due at five this afternoon, and I hadn’t finished it yet. I reached to buckle my seatbelt, when someone knocked on the window. A young police officer was standing outside. He was short and stocky, and had a baby face with curly blond hair. His name tag said Officer Rodney. I rolled down my window. ‘’Ma’am, I need you to step outside your vehicle.’’ His voice shook a little bit. I stepped out of the car, trying to keep a straight face. ‘’ Can you tell me your name?’’ I shut the car door. ‘’Sarah Jay.’’ I clasped my hands behind my back. ‘’I need you to come down to the station with me. You’ve been deemed as a suspect in the murder of Raymond J. Riker.’’ Suspect? How? ‘’I’m not sure I understand.’’ I was swaying from side to side. The officer was probably taking note of that. I stopped. ‘’We have some questions for you. And a witness said that they saw you at the scene of the crime. Please step into my car.’’ What was I going to do now? I couldn’t run. Even though there’s no way this guy could catch me, he had a gun. He could shoot me. And if I run, they’ll know it was me. I gingerly slid into the backseat of his police car. All I had to do was deny everything. I just had to play the distraught girlfriend who loved her boyfriend. I could come up with the whole script right now, on the way to the station. I could say I saw myself spending the rest of my life with Raymond, how I envisioned walking down the aisle towards him on our wedding day. But who was I kidding. They wouldn’t believe that. And what about this supposed witness? How do the police know they aren’t lying? God, this was all a mess. This wasn’t going to plan, and now I had to do damage control on a situation that I put myself in. 

The station was grimy. The smells of sweat and coffee intertwined inside my nostrils and suffocated me. My converse sneakers squealed against the linoleum floor, making me acutely aware of how loud my footsteps were. The officer brought me into a room with no windows. There was one door, and it was the one we came in. Inside the room was a different officer, this one with a crew cut and fair skin. He was taller than the other officer, and older too. His name tag said Officer Donald. I sat down in the chair across from him. I looked him dead in the eyes. My clasped hands were only about two inches away from his. If I extended one finger, I could probably touch one of his veiny knuckles. 

‘’Did you know Raymond Riker?’’ His voice was deep. I decided to fixate in on his lips, instead of staring into his deep brown eyes. ‘’Yes.’’ I paused. ‘’He was my boyfriend.’’ The officer had the beginning of a moustache growing along his upper lip. ‘’And how long had you been dating?’’ His lips tended to lean over to the left side when he spoke. ‘’It would’ve been our one year anniversary today.’’ I kept a monotone voice. ‘’Tell me a little bit about your relationship. Did he ever take you out on dates? Did you ever invite him over to meet your parents?’’ His two middle teeth on the bottom slightly overlapped each other. ‘’He would take me to the movies sometimes. Sometimes we would watch movies at his house. We both really liked to watch movies.’’ My heart rate was slowing down. I could do this. Just tell the truth. ‘’And what is your favorite movie?’’ I looked up at his eyes. Was this some kind of trick? Why did this matter in the investigation? ‘’My favorite movie is Heathers.’’ I looked back down at his mouth. His gaze was too intense for me. ‘’Explain to me the plot of Heathers.’’ There was a scar on the left side of his chin. A very small scar that was in a half moon shape. ‘’It’s about a girl who starts dating a phsycopath, and they murder the most popular people in the school. Why?’’ I looked back up at his eyes. They had narrowed slightly. 

‘’Do you know why you’re here?’’ He blinked. I blinked back. ‘’Because you think I killed Raymond.’’ I blinked again. And again. My eyes were drying up. ‘’And supposedly, someone saw me at the scene of the crime which is impossible.’’ This guy was good at his job. But I was better. I had to stay one step ahead of him. ‘’Yes. And do you want to know something that I found interesting?’’ He tilted his head slightly. ‘’I talked to Raymond’s mom, and she said that she has no idea who you are.’’ 

That caught me off guard. ‘’But I just talked to her on the phone the other day. I’ve been to her house for dinner. She made a platter of cookies for me around Christmas time.’’ I was rambling. I was sweating. I was blinking really fast. I was doing all the things that I had told myself not to do. I had to stop. I could regain control of the situation if I wanted to. ‘’Mrs. Riker told me that she received a phone call from you a few days before the funeral. She said that she thought she didn’t know who she was talking to, and assumed it was one of Raymond’s friends.’’ My bangs were sticking to my sweaty forehead. I unclenched my hands, and the officer looked down when I did. He had definitely noticed. ‘’Mrs. Riker said that she looked through all of Raymond’s contacts, and all his friends were male. Which makes no sense, because she had talked to a female named Sarah on the phone.’’ He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. They were hairy, and he had a tattoo peeking out from under his short sleeve on his right bicep. 

‘’How does this link me to the murder? How does this make me a suspect?’’ I had to stop sounding so defensive. ‘’How do you know that she wasn’t just making things up? Obviously, her mental health would have to have suffered from the death of her son.’’ I leaned back in my chair also. I folded my arms. The officer eyed me. ‘’We traced the phone call back to your house.’’ We sat in silence. I didn’t know what to say. Mrs. Riker was lying. She knew who I was. I had been dating her son for the last year. 

‘’Raymond’s mother also said that he had never had a girlfriend, at least that she knew of.’’ The officer furrowed his eyebrows. ‘’Well maybe he just never told her about me. I was under the impression that he had told his parents about us, but maybe I was wrong.’’ My foot was tapping on the tile floor. It echoed through the empty room. The officer leaned forward. ‘’Didn’t you just say that you had been to her house multiple times for dinner, and she even made you cookies last Christmas?’’

Shit. This was making no sense. ‘’She knows who I am, ok? I don’t know what you want me to say.’’ I had raised my voice a little bit, and I was breathing heavily. The officer leaned even closer. ‘’Tell me, Stephanie, do you ever pretend to be someone you’re not?’’ What kind of question was that? ‘’No. Why would I do that?’’ My eyes scanned the room. There was nothing to see except white walls and the tile floor. ‘’My fellow officer Rodney, the one who brought you here, said that you told him your name was Sarah Jay.’’ He paused. ‘’But on your birth certificate, and driver’s licence, it says Stephanie Jones.’’ 

I stared at him. ‘’I’ve been doing some research on you for the last few days, Stephanie. It says here in my notes that you were admitted into Adam River’s Institute for the Mentally Disabled on July 29th of last year. You were held there for showing serious signs of Dissociative Identity Disorder, and you were violent at times. Does any of this ring a bell?’’ I felt like I was going to be sick. The knot in my stomach was tighter than ever, and it felt like it was squeezing me so hard I could hardly breathe. ‘’I got better. I was never going to have to go back there ever again because I was better when I left.’’ I was hyperventilating. How dare he bring this up to me? ‘’Well it doesn’t seem like you did get better, Stephanie, considering you are still struggling with more than one personality.’’ I glowered at him. I was pissed. ‘’Who told you they saw me? Who was it?’’ I was practically yelling now. Donald didn’t even flinch. ‘’Raymond’s next door neighbor, Mrs. Willowbey. She was in her garden when she saw you leave the house with black gloves and a bottle of Tide detergent in your hand, which is what was used to kill Raymond.’’ 

Tears were streaming down my face. The officer probably thought I was crying because he had figured it out. But no. I didn’t care that he had figured it out. ‘’How dare you call me Stephanie. My name is Sarah Jay!’’ I stood up. ‘’And yes, I fucking killed Raymond Riker! I gave him a cup of Tide detergent, because he said that he was going to kill me! I was in danger! I had every right to kill him!’’ Officer Donald stood up and backed away from me. He picked up his walkie talkie and called for backup. We stood there staring at each other for a second. I was out of control. The knot in my stomach had finally exploded, and everything that had been contained inside of it had come bursting out. Stephanie Jones had been what was trapped in that ball. And even though I had tried so hard to lock her away, she had somehow managed to claw her way back to the surface of my skin and inside the confines of my brain. She had maneuvered Sarah’s  hands to do the deed that Stephanie wanted, and my body, Sarah Jay’s body, had become a robot, programmed to do as Stephanie wished. And together, Sarah and Stephanie had killed an unsuspecting boy named Raymond Riker that Sarah had convinced herself she was in love with, even though she had never met him a day in her life. 

‘’I’m not going back to that place. I won’t. You can’t make me.’’ My whole body felt like it was being pricked with a thousand tiny little needles. I could hear my blood rushing in my ears. It sounded like a river. Like Adam River. Adam River’s Institute for the Mentally Disabled. The name was burning inside my brain. Like someone took a hot branding iron and pressed it into the soft pink flesh, and it was destroying all the tiny neurons and veins inside. Two pairs of burly arms wrapped around me. The feeling of cold metal around my wrists felt oddly relieving. I knew where I was going. I was going to jail. Stephanie was going to jail. And I finally felt some relief knowing that there was no way in hell that she was ever going to be let back out to control me again.

[fyeahwonderbat]

Keyword - Adoration

Theme: Adoration Rating: PG / T Word Count: 2.562 words

NOTE: The diner in this story is in direct reference to ZacKLP's story, Wonderbat Keywords 2019 Entry: Diners, Drive-Ins & Dunces. Though that fanfic takes place in the JLU, I thought I'd bring it into the DCEU to make this chapter more exciting. Hope you enjoy!

It had been a long while since Diana last wore jeans, let alone a graphic t-shirt. She refused to compromise on her footwear as a lover of heeled shoes, but the sandal wedges she chose complimented the casual look she had been advised to wear by Barry. She didn't frequent diners often, as most of her meetings were held in five star restaurants or on the dig site of a new antique being discovered. Nevertheless, it made her feel almost giddy to think that her 'superhero friends' were sitting down together at Sport's diner to nonchalantly order burgers and discuss the latest threat to life on Earth.

"Whoa, a churrasco burger? This Carol combo sounds really good." Sang Barry from across the table. Diana peeked at him from over her menu and the grin on his face made it clear that he had made up his mind on what he'd be ordering for dinner.

Seeing his enthusiasm for his meal immediately reminded Diana of the takeout order she'd need to place for later. Smoothly, she lifted her menu up in front of her face and whispered, "What would you like me to bring home for you, Victor?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll just have something delivered to headquarters." Cyborg answered.

Immediately, a deep rumble next to her acknowledged his words before she could. "No you will not." Bruce ordered cooly.

A sigh crackled the connection to the device in her ear. "Then I'd love some curly fries."

"Yes! Curly fries for the table too." Barry exclaimed, pronouncing his cheer with an enthusiastic clap.

His uncontainable joy was met with a groan from the Batman. Diana lowered her menu and immediately noticed how the navy blue polo he wore could not soften his appearance in the slightest. Just as fiercely as he would if he was wearing his cowl, he frowned for a solid second before he reminded everyone, "We can't order anything until we're all here."

Knowing who he meant, she lifted her brown eyes off of his darkened profile and stared out the large window that sat next to their table. Facing the ocean, there was a beautiful view of the crystal clear water as the sun pulled away from it across the sky. There were many couples strolling the shoreline with their arms wrapped around one another, some families frolicking in the low tide, and one large man stomping towards Sporty's diner with a build that was unmistakable.

"He's just fashionably late." Diana informed them with a slight lift of her chin. She watched as Bruce turned to face her, whip around to look out at the ocean, then lifted his hand to call the waiter over. Smiling at his impatience as if it was a source of amusement for her, she diverted her attention away from the Dark Knight in order to acknowledge the young man who approached their table.

"Hi there" - she heard Bruce pause a moment, most likely to read the name tag that the waiter wore - "Zach, we're ready to order now."

"Yes, sir! What can I get for you?" Pulling out his pad of paper and a pen from the apron around his waist, Zach seemed eager to get their orders sent to the kitchen.

As the fastest man alive, Barry spoke up first. "I'll have five Carol combos - don't be afraid to go wild with the AJ salt and pepper blend - with a side of curly fries each, a Sulky milkshake with each of those, and an order of curly fries for the table."

"Don't like to share much, huh?" joked the waiter as he scribbled away.

Barry merely held up his hands in defence, making no comment about his gluttonous stomach. Diana giggled to herself before taking her turn. "I'll have the LOTSLover combo. Is it possible to make my Sulky milkshake an extra large?"

"Ooh." Barry made a sound of approval at her supersized drink order.

"Sure thing." Zach guaranteed with a grin.

"Perfect," Diana closed her menu, happy with her order. Then, she gazed out the window again to locate their other team mate.

Meanwhile, Bruce had a question for the waiter. "What is this… Sforzy burger you have here?"

"Oh, it's one of our most popular dishes," Zach explained. "It's a Thai sausage cooked in a coil shape so it acts like a burger patty. It's got shallots and garlic and lots of spices-"

"Sounds great," Arthur chimed in as he made his way over to their table, soaking wet and patting his stomach to denote that he was famished. "I'll have one of those too."

Bruce shrugged and nodded, confirming that he was still interested in the burger as well. He then collected the discarded menus on the table and handed them to Zach, while being sure to add, "Coffee, please."

Diana noticed how Zach caught the stress in Bruce's voice, compelling him to guarantee a speedy delivery of their drinks. "Coming right up."

"And get me a pint of any beer you have on tap." Arthur added as the young waiter scurried away. Then, he lightly smacked Barry's shoulder, trying to get him to move.

"Oh, right." Apologized the speedster when he threw himself into the next chair over in the blink of an eye.

Diana waited until Arthur took his seat before opening her mouth to speak. However, she was beaten to the punch by the most impatient man she knew. "Nice of you to join us." Bruce said with a lifeless tone.

Arthur leaned back, running his fingers through his soaking wet hair as he replied, "I'd love to see you try swimming from one side of the Atlantic to the next, and make a dinner date."

"And we're very glad you did make it," Diana promised genuinely. She made sure to cast a sideways look at Bruce, warning him to behave, before saying what she intended to before she was interrupted. "It's very important that we all discuss what is going on with these hellions that Bruce discovered."

"Hellions?" Barry inquired.

"That's what we've decided to call them." She stated with an intensity to properly demonstrate that the name did indeed suit the creatures.

Having calmed down since his first attempt at joining the conversation, Bruce was ready to spell out the danger they were all in. The air around him even felt colder than usual, and Diana wasn't entirely sure that the air conditioner was solely to blame. "They're monster that look as if they're made from stone. They have six legs like an insect - like a cockroach that's made the abandoned nuclear reactor in Russia its home. Only they're twice the size of the average human."

Barry's eyes were wide as he expressed his concern, "Wow, that sounds… really horrifying."

Arthur, on the other hand, didn't appear to be bothered in the slightest. "So we've got some creepy crawlers to deal with. Tell me where the thunder dome is and I'll be there."

"Arthur, they're not just some horde of monsters that need to be slain. They were tearing each other apart right in front of us for reasons we couldn't understand." Diana clarified, determined to change his blase position on the matter as it disappointed her slightly to hear him dismiss them so easily.

Arthur pursed his lips underneath that overgrown moustache of his, taking a moment to digest the news with proper consideration. Then, he asked her directly, "You think it's something they'd know about?"

It was obvious to her that he meant the Atlanteans. "We aren't sure what their origins are, but we know that they are vicious and seemingly mindless."

"I'm having Victor examine the terrain to determine how much radiation was at the base they were staying at. It'll give us an idea of what we can rule out in terms of the weapons that'll be ineffective against them." Was Bruce's passionate delivery of his battle strategy.

"Wait, wait, hold up," Barry leaned forward and slammed his elbows into the table, garnering the attention of the lot of them. The way his eyes darted about made it seem like he was running through some kind of calculations in his mind. "You're telling me that there are monsters that thrive off of nuclear radiation in Russia, nonchalantly ripping themselves to shreds, with no known origins, and they're just… what, relaxing next to a reactor with no obvious intention of attacking anyone?"

Diana was honest with her reply. "That we know of."

All Barry could think to say was an awkward, "...Oh my God!"

"Um, sorry," a cautious voice rejoined their conversation, pulling Diana's focus off of the Flash and directing it towards the rather swift waiter they had. Zach returned with all of their drinks and appeared apprehensive as he placed them all down on the table. One by one, they were each given their order while everyone sat in silence. It seemed unfair in her mind that they all treated poor Zach like he was intruding on their conversation, but it seemed impossible to think of any small talk to pass the time with.

When it was her turn to receive her milkshake, Diana accepted the tall glass and the excess in the mixing cup with an earnest, "Thank you."

"Your food will be coming out soon." Zach said softly before he walked away at a quickened pace.

It was apparent that she was the only one who paid any attention to the young man, as Arthur blurted out his opinion next without any hesitation. "As long as there's no one in the area and they haven't begun to migrate, it's fine we do nothing about them."

Diana made sure to point out, "Bruce and I evacuated a nearby village when they started to grow violent."

"And I've had Alfred keep an eye on them via satellite. They're still occupying the area. We didn't see any type of hierarchy amongst them, so we're assuming that they were placed there by someone or something." Bruce felt confident in his assumption, and rewarded himself with a sip of his pure black coffee.

"For creatures this large and this ferocious to appear suddenly is very strange. It is impossible to believe that no one has noticed them before, so their arrival must be recent. This can only mean that someone is planning to use them for some horrible purpose." It seemed important to drive home the severity of the looming threat they were facing, and Diana thought she completed that task perfectly. Speaking the words aloud also managed to send a chill down her spine, as it wasn't long ago that she would have behaved similarly to Arthur, and not at all like Bruce.

The Wonder Woman she was before she met Bruce was much softer than she had become, someone who was weaker in some sense of the word. There was a time when she was eager to fight and defend the people of Man's World, and then… Her last few decades were void of any direction or principle. It wasn't until a troublesome billionaire stole an important photograph of her that she was forced into arm's reach of the cocky Bruce Wayne, ultimately changing her life forever.

Now, after nearly a century alone, she was sitting at a diner with a group of 'metahuman' friends and the Batman, deliberating over the methods needed to be taken to save the world. She was no longer a coward even in moments such as these where she was admittedly scared. Though the timing was a tad inappropriate, she couldn't help but cast her gaze towards Bruce Wayne and marvel at him silently. His process was insane at times, his apathy an impenetrable shield that concealed how big of a heart he truly had and she found it mind-boggling more often than not.

However, dealing with the frustration he caused her was much more entertaining than anything she would have done while on her own.

"Any army that is unknown to us," whispered Bruce for everyone at the table to hear. "Is a threat we need to handle."

Then, all of a sudden, he sat up with a polite smile on his face and nodded to someone behind her. Diana was caught off guard by his spontaneous friendliness until she realized that Zach was indeed correct when he told them that their meals were 'coming out soon'. Even Barry's many meals were placed on their table, with their kind waiter placing a large helping of curly fries directly in the center. The amount of hands that tackled the different plates before her made her believe that the conversation they were all having was paused for the moment, until there was a fair amount of food in everyone's belly.

Rolling her eyes at the lot of them, Diana thanked Zach for his wonderful service before taking a bite of one of those highly revered curly fries that Victor and Barry adored so much.

A moment of peace before they decided how to approach the oncoming calamity wouldn't be an issue, right?

_______________________________________________________________

In a dark, wet cavern, a frightened man strolled through the never-ending network of tunnels in search of something with great desperation. He held a torch in one hand while the other rested against his heart, the thunderous thumping of it only heightened his anxiousness with every step he took. The walls were jagged and misshapen in an almost intentional way but the man persisted. He moved forward with wobbly knees, with an audible shortness of breath, but regardless, he was determined to carry on.

"Where do you think you're going?" A playfully cruel taunt reached him through an echo.

The man stilled, panicked, rocking forward due to the abrupt way he halted himself. He spun around to see if he could find the source of voice, only to find a darkened figure standing over him. Fearful, he leapt backwards and dropped his torch on the ground. Without a direct source of light to illuminate the shadow, the man could only cower as he faced the entity he had been most terrified to meet.

"Please… I don't mean to offend you, I swear!" pleaded the man, unable to move onto his knees as he laid sprawled out with his belly up like the coward he thought of himself as now.

To his surprise, the darkened figure did not approach him. Instead, he heard disappointment in the scolding he received, "It pains me to see you reduced to such a state, old friend."

"Th-Then… if you'd be so kind," the man begged, this time bowing his head as a sign of respect as he did so. "Let me see her. Let me see my sister."

"It doesn't pain me that much." Was the callous reply he received.

Such a heartless answer made the man collapse onto his back, as if the very words said to him acted like a sword that skewered him with the intent to kill. Laying on the uneven floor of the cave, uncomfortable and worn, the man assured with the last of his energy, "I won't stop you. I-I'll… make sure she doesn't either."

"Return to me when you awaken," Ignoring his request entirely, the man could only listen to the orders he was given, the promise of further suffering guaranteed before he lost consciousness. "I'd hate to cause you even more pain if you disobey me."

[justalosersdiaryofmisery-blog]

A Necessarily Sober Night’s Ramblings

    I’m sitting here in my bed, writing on a shitty, hundred dollar netbook that rests on a book thicker than my fist to prevent overheating. The floor of my room is covered in a disgusting salad of dirty laundry, trash, and books, all sprinkled with a frustrating amount of cat litter from the box a few feet to my right. A space heater with more personal space than anything else in the place keeps me warm in the mornings and nights, and the fan that’s blowing my hair at  the moment keeps me cool during the afternoon and whenever else I’ve been drinking.

    I’ve got Altered Carbon playing beside my word processor; just started watching it. It’s impossible for me to focus on any one thing, so its there just to keep the excess ‘brain energy’ or what have you busy while I try and write this all out. All this nonsense. The lamp resting on my nightstand, which is currently sitting in the midst of the chaotic disaster that is my floor rather than being pressed up against a wall, is annoying but helps keep the anxiety down a bit.

    The anxiety is still drumming my heart and shaking my hands, but it would be worse in the dark. I enjoy knowing what’s surrounding me. If I turn off the light, I can only assume what rests in the darkness. I don’t think there’s any monsters hiding beneath my bed amidst the beer cans and paper plates, I’m not a child. But there’s knowing, and then there’s knowing. When the light is gone, the whole world becomes Schrodinger's fun house.

    Plus, if I turn out the lights, the odds I step on a sharp piece of aluminum on my way to the bathroom magnify ten fold. Foot lacerations are the fucking worst. Slicing your palm isn’t that bad because you don’t always have to have your dick in your hand. Plus, for the most part, your always aware of the palms of your hands. You forget the bottoms of your feet, and the trail of blood you leave behind is a bitch and a half to clean up.

    Not that I’d clean it from my own carpeted floor, but there’s certain expectations for the world outside the stained and battered walls of my bedroom. Smiles required, pleasantries demanded; it’s a whole other ball game out there. That’s not some dramatic piece of speculation either. When I was a child my parents threatened to beat the frowns from my face and decried my silent coming and goings as disrespectful disobedience. Now that I am a man in age and burden if not status however, I am free to move more freely. The habits have already taken root though.

    Despite my already volcanic anxieties simmering and sizzling beneath my flesh, I’m having another energy drink, my third of the day. I went to the store earlier for something fizzy and calorie free to drink, and despite knowing I must be wary of caffeine, I was swayed by a little sticker promising ‘3 for $5!’. It’s a rare moment that I’m without thirst, but unless I have sweat through my clothes in exhaustion (an even rarer moment) or am exceptionally hung over, drinking water gives me heartburn.

    It’s a touch allegorical, really. Water, that most basic material of life, burns the ever living shit out of my throat.

    People don’t take caffeine seriously enough. It’s just like any other drug, if a bit milder. At first it puts a bounce in my step, then in a few minutes my mind will be racing with dark thoughts and fears, and if I go without it for too long my head feels like someone is taking an ice pick to the top of my skull. Sometimes the initial jauntiness is worth it though. That ‘sometimes’ keeps me coming back.

    There it is. Reading this back, you won’t remember the pauses between sentences, the distraction filled minutes as Altered Carbon takes priority over writing between paragraphs. I say that so it won’t feel quite so jarring when I say that anxiety is carving a butcher’s knife through my gut and up my sternum after just mentioning the jauntiness caffeine can bring.

    Anxiety and just a hint of anger are filling me. Thinking on it now, and exploring this idea for the first time (though I’ve brushed against it like a virgin schoolboy ‘accidentally’ bumping into a pretty girl before), I’m realizing there’s always anger somewhere in this stack of flesh. Anger I was bred into, that was taught to me, beat into me. It’s always there. Just, I keep it buried away and hidden. Once, I did that so that I wouldn’t get in trouble, so that I would be safe. Now I do it so that the people around me will be happier.

    The only people I’ve ever intentionally physically hurt are my male family members. My younger brother, in adolescent rage reminiscent of my father’s, has been strangled, punched, thrown, and kicked. It was never unprovoked, but always unearned given the severity. I never bruised or truly damaged him, but still. Trauma is trauma. The words I spewed at him were instinctively and specifically chosen to hurt him, to damage him. It’s left me with a quandary similar to that of the chicken and the egg. Did his little man complex come from my infrequent but scarring abuse, or were the assaults unleashed by his constant needling and provocations?

    Then there’s my father. Him I tried to kill once. He was drunk, and violent. He was roaring and screeching with anger at my mother, worse than normal. I went to figure out what the fuck was going on, he put his hands on me, and I snapped. I threw him to the ground, and amidst his punches and slaps and scratches I began to choke him. Tears and spit pouring from my face I bared my fangs and produced more animalistic sounds than actual speech.

    My mother was futilely trying to pull me off, begging me to stop. I didn’t care. I was beyond reason at that point, my id was in full control. Like a flare in a moonless night however, a thought brought me to a stop. I had my second day of work at a new job the next day, and couldn’t afford to spend at least the night and next day in jail for murder. That lone, paragonal thought amidst a sea of frothing rage was all that saved my father’s life.

    Other than those two examples however, I’ve never allowed myself to be a violent person. Or rather, I’ve never had the courage for it. I get the fight or flight shakes just from passing a slow moving vehicle, let alone a face to face confrontation. I wonder if that’s who I am, or who I was made to be.

    My first girlfriend, who could technically be called my ex-fiancee if you don’t dismiss a six month, hormone-fueled, teenage puppy love engagement, was victim to some verbal abuse throughout the two or so years we spent together. She was a piece of work herself though, and although I cringe to think back on my words and feelings back then, I don’t think less of the man I am today for them. I see it as character growth. She cheated on me, lied to me, and was certifiably crazy herself. She and I have both come a long way since then though, and I’ve learned to be a better man based on the awful example I set for myself.

    I say we’ve both come a long way, but in reality, she’s got a college degree and is dating a successful musician while working for a governor. I’ve got a GED, am entirely alone, and as of the end of March jobless. There was a brief spike in my life a little over a year ago. I only weighed one-hundred and sixty pounds, I was on the second rung of the company I worked for’s ladder, I had a girlfriend, I was happy. That’s all long gone now though.

    See, even though I hunt for zero calorie sodas and energy drinks, I still eat too much food. I drink too much alcohol. I lay around in bed like a fucking pile of ooze. I was going to call myself a slug, but even those invertebrates get more exercise than I do. I probably weigh Two-ten by now. Two-fifteen maybe. I’m sure if I were sitting on a scale right now it’d read in the two-twenties, between my clothes, belly full of spaghetti sauce-drenched pizza, and general fat ass.

    As of today I’m twenty-two years old, five-eight in the morning and in shoes, with short brunette hair and just the one tattoo, a coyote on my left arm. My upper right arm and my left ‘tit’ are covered in scars. I have a handful spread over the rest of my skin; faded ones all across my legs, one across my stomach, one on my right ‘tit’, three partially faded bands on my right forearm. All self-inflicted, obviously. I have a small patch of fur all across my chin that struggles to reach the center of my lower lip, stubble spreading back from it towards my throat, and a curled moustache above my mouth.

    I fucking hate when television shows have non-English parts. It prevents me from being able to just spend the extra ‘brain energy’ on them, and instead I have to divert more of my direct attention to follow along.

    Sometimes I want to carve out my own eye. Even though my left eye is (diagnosedly so) the weaker of the two, whenever I envision it, it’s always the right one I slice out like an avocado pit. The cut would start close to the center of my forehead and run all the way down to my jaw, stopping just a hair over the line and onto my throat.

    I don’t think that comes from any weird sort of mutilationist fetish, or one of those weird (Ha, who am I to judge?) mental illnesses where a part of your body feels alien. I think its just a desire for attention? If that’s the right way to phrase it. I want to be special, look special. All those bad-ass pirates and fantasy characters have facial scars, typically over their eyes, and I want to be like them. I want to be special.

I want to be special. I want to be important. I want to feel like I actually matter. No amount of self reaffirmation has ever been enough for me. I’ve always needed ‘affirmation’ from others, and I’ve rarely ever received it. And it can’t be just anyone who gives it to me, it has to be someone special, someone whom I respect. The words of those I subconsciously deem as ‘below’ me mean absolutely nothing, no matter how reverential or supporting.

As for who I respect, which isn’t the right word at all, I’m not really sure. Beautiful women. Impressive men. Members of authority. People with experience in fields that I respect (this time it is the right word). I’ve had coworkers who practically begged me to hang out, less than attractive women who nearly molested me in their flirtations. All it ever did was annoy and nearly disgust me.

It’s a strange dichotomy, my ego and self-loathing. On one hand, I’m disgusted by myself. I look in the mirror and see a hideous, fat, disgusting, waste of human existence who could die tomorrow without the world so much as blinking. On the other hand, I recognize my intellect, sense of humor, virtues, and what few skills I have as being exceptional.

I hate myself, but somehow still place myself above others.

It’s funny how little self control I have compared to what little drive I have. I crave love, yet haven’t been able to muster the willpower to eat healthy and exercise. I crave fortune, yet haven’t been able to finish writing (Really writing, with editing and everything) a book. I crave attention, yet stay hidden away in my room and when out in public avoid standing out at all. When I crave a McChicken, I’ll drive to the McDonalds across town at 3 AM for it.

I guess I’m just short sighted. Back when I still played chess, I could never think more than a single move ahead. When a problem has a single-step solution, I can find it near instantly, no matter how obscure or obfuscated it is. Throw in just one more step, however, and suddenly I’m lost as an orphan looking for his mother in a department store.

That applies to long term goals too, even when the answer is spelled out for me step by fucking step. Step one, cut the calories down to less than two-thousand. Step two, take the dog(s) for a walk everyday. Step three, repeat steps one and two for the next six months. Just like that, I go from fat lard-face to looking like a young Leonardo DiCaprio.

But I just don’t do it. The one time I succeeded with a diet, it was based on routine. Every morning on my way to work, I’d get two McDonalds burritos with mild sauce and a large diet coke, no ice. Every night after work, same thing. Right now, jobless and hopeless, there is no routine in my life. That’s just an excuse though, I know that. Doesn’t mean I fucking do anything about it.

It also helped that back then I spent every night with a woman I was in love with. Kira. Black haired, thin as a skeleton, cheek bones like daggers. Her nails were more like claws, and she’s never without her eyeliner that stretch out like wings from her beautiful brown eyes.

When we met, she hated me, so of course I sought her approval. She hated me just because I sat in her spot one time. She, never to my face, called me an inbred hobbit. After several random encounters at work (which is where I met her), we also bumped into each other at the vape store. A casual, friendly conversation lead to her messaging me at work the next day, and a friendship quickly formed.

After that, it didn’t take long for love to form. One sided love. I asked her out, she rejected me. My love diminished but quickly re-blossomed. I confessed full-blown honest to god love to her. Again, she rejected me, with a full (and requested) letter explaining why. That letter tore me to pieces. Not because it destroyed my hopes for ever having her, but because every reason she listed was (to my eyes) nonsense.

She said I wasn’t artistic, I consider myself to be a great story crafter and a half-decent writer. She said she thought I’d be controlling and possessive, when I am nothing of the sort. She said I wasn’t ‘edgy’ enough, in so many words, even as I carved my flesh into ribbons. Even to this day, when she describes her perfect partner’s personality, she describes me to a T, or at least to a lower-case t.

I treat our bond as though we are siblings, and I believe that’s how she sees me, though I feel a much stronger love than that for her whilst single, and she feels nothing for me. She treats me like garbage. One time I begged her for company, knowing that if left alone I’d make an attempt on my life, and she said no. No one else came either, but I thought she of all people would understand and care. But she didn’t. And despite the handle of vodka, bottle of nyquil, assortment of pills, and sheer amount of blood loss I endured that night, I lived to suffer the pain of her betrayal.

With her it’s always apologies and broken promises. She’s sorry she abandoned me for the millionth time to be with her new abusive boyfriend, she promises it won’t happen again. She’s sorry she disappeared without a word of warning, and promises she’ll warn me in the future. She’s sorry that she broke her promises, she promises it won’t happen again.

And yet I love her. I’ve given her thousands of dollars. I’ve bought her over a hundred meals. I take care of her when everyone else abandoned her. I helped her get her shit together when agoraphobia had grabbed hold of her. I’ve given her everything I could possibly give, sacrificed everything she’s ever asked for or needed that I had.

But its never enough for her. It never will be. She will never care about me and my needs. I don’t need her romantic love, as much as I would enjoy it. But never once has she sacrificed for me. Never once has she gone out of her way to make me happy. She gave me a stack of ‘coupons’, to be redeemed for things such as ‘a guaranteed hang out session’ or ‘You can pick the music all day’. The one time I tried to redeem one, the first one I mentioned, she blew me off.

But of course, she moved to a whole other state for her drug addicted, physically and verbally abusive boyfriend. Then when she came back I took her back following a promise that she was completely done with him. I’m sure she will, or already has, broken that promise.

Despite all that, she is the most important person in my life. The thought of her killing herself makes me genuinely want to die too. Without her, there’d be absolutely no one in my life that I truly love. She is a fire amidst a barren tundra without which I’d freeze to death, even if she flickers in and out of existence that I’ve wished to  die in her absence.

My only other friend is Whitney. The strangest person I’ve ever known, and one of the most genuinely wholesome and good people you could ever have the pleasure of meeting. She’s sweet, kind, caring, generous, intelligent, and fun. She’s also asexual, so there’s no hope for romance there either. She lives a busy life, between college and work, so it’s rare I ever get to see her.

    Everyone else in my life is temporary, fleeting. They either abandon me purposely or drift away like clouds.

    My last girlfriend, the only other serious one I’ve had besides my ‘ex-fiancee’, abandoned me out of the blue. One moment, she was saying that she loved me and that I was her perfect man. The next, she provided a list of issues she had with me and said that they were irreconcilable. She left me with trust issues that have plagued every attempt at romance I’ve had since. I lost my virginity to that girl.

    And when we broke up, you know what happened? Her shit head best friend went and spread all of my personal information to our mutual friends, in a horrific way that painted me to be a violent and hurtful man who was ruining her life. And they believed him. Even though he was known to be an over-dramatic, hyper-aggressive piece of shit, they believed him. In spite of all the good things I’d done for them and absolutely no personal experience with me to back his words up, they took it as gospel. I had non-romantic commitment issues before then, but damned if they weren’t magnified ten fold after that.

    Every other romantic trist I had after her has had its issues. One time, whilst I was seeing a shrink and given pills that amplified my anxieties to levels beyond my control, I went full blown crazy with a girl. Demanded to know where she was, why she was ignoring me, sent over thirty texts in as many minutes. I quit that medicine the moment I ‘came down’.

    Another I ‘broke up’ with after we agreed that she couldn’t handle just hanging out in my car, and I can’t handle going to clubs. Another couple ghosted me. Another was even flakier than Kira, and far more blatant about it. Another just wasn’t that into me, even if he (an FtM transgender person) wouldn’t admit it.

    Right now, the biggest source of my anxiety is the fact that Kira has yet again disappeared. I’m used to that, but this time she explicitly said she would text me ‘soon’ when we hung out three days ago. The girl is a fucking suicidal drug addict, and doesn’t care about the pain it causes me when she disappears like this. The fears and anxieties that fill me hurt so bad you wouldn’t believe it. I’ve told her this countless times. She just, doesn’t, care.

    I want to punch something, tear my room apart. Its a disgusting mess now, but the mess is settled at least. A path to the door amidst the refuse, big piles pushed against the walls. It could be much, much worse. I feel like I’m about to explode, all these feelings bursting out of my fucking rib cage. But she doesn’t care about that. All she cares about is herself.

    There’s only two people in the entire world I’ve truly cared for, like really, wholly, undeniably loved and felt empathy for. My ‘ex-fiancee’, and Kira. But even for those I didn’t feel that way for, Whitney or my ex-girlfriend, I treat them right. Better than right. I buy them gifts, I look after them, I tell them I love them, I do my best to be the best friend or boyfriend I can be.

    I’m a heartless monster, but at least I have the manners to act better than that.

    You know something, I legitimately can’t remember the last time I cried. Probably when Kira and I first started becoming friends, she demanded I open up and tell her everything if I wanted her to do the same. So I did, and I broke down. Since then, not a drop. I just don’t have it in me. I’m tired. I’m tired of being alive, but outside of drunken and seemingly random spikes of suicidal ideations, I’m too scared of death to try and kill myself tonight.

    The thought of death, of everything just disappearing, terrifies me. It has since I was a little kid, we’re talking four or five years old. I don’t want to die, I never want to die. I want to live forever, or at least to know that there is reincarnation or an afterlife. I fear the ocean too, specifically being in the middle of the water with no land in sight and seeing a silhouette approaching me. But that’s not what my fear of death is. That’s a shock, a jump in my seat when I watch a video on youtube.

    My fear of death is primal, unadulterated terror. It keeps me up at night, it forces me to keep a light on when I want to sleep, it gave me a love for twilight hours as they brought an end to the darkness when I was a child. It brought me peace.

    Kira finally texted me back, simply saying ‘’I love you’. It could be her last words, it could be an apology for going back to her shit head ex, it’s definitely a lie to either herself or to me. It brought some measure of peace, though left a trail of underlying fears in its wake.

    I just wish I could be happy, but for that I need at least one of the three B’s. Booze, blood, or betrothal. The last B is hyperbolic, I don’t need that much of a commitment, just some sort of romantic connection with someone. Gotta keep the pattern going though. When I’m drunk, my troubles fade away. When I’m cutting, the pain distracts me. When I have a girlfriend, I feel accepted.

    Right now I have none of those things. I might cut my arm here in a bit, but I doubt I’ll be getting a girlfriend sometime tonight; and its too risky to be drinking on a night like this. So, I’ve just got to wallow in my own misery.

    I meant to write chapter two of a new book I’m working on tonight. It’s a dark, nautical comedy set in a fantasy-ish world about a dull yet narcissistic pirate captain and his misadventure to regain his fortune. I started writing it to keep myself busy while I wait to distance myself from the first book I wrote, a more serious piece. That one’s about a man and his new apprentice facing a rebellion of monsters who are supposed to coexist with humans, but are sick of their treatment as second class citizens.

    I need to distance myself from it because every time I look at it I want to delete the whole thing. It all feels too fresh, too personal. I can remember every keystroke that I put down, and since I was the one who typed it all, it must be trash. That’s how my mind sees it. I need to forget.

    I’ve just started episode five of Altered Carbon, haven’t paused it once, haven’t stopped writing except when they speak in another language or I don’t know what to wrtie next or when Kira texted me. I’m starving. By starving I mean I’m hungry, just enough that my stomach hurts. I’ll probably go grab more food like the fat ass, no-self-control shitstain that I am.

    I hate when people tell me I’m not fat, or when people say it shouldn’t matter. I am fat, and it matters to me. I don’t find fat people attractive. Never have, never will. I remember once, back when I was dieting and nearly at one-sixty, a (fat) girl said to me “Why are you still dieting? You look great.” I responded by lifting my shirt up (I didn’t have the scar on my stomach at the time) and jiggling it, which immediately elicited an ‘Ew!’ from her. I said, “That’s why.”

    It’s not a crime to be fat, nor do I treat fat people any worse than their skinny counterparts. I just think its extremely unattractive, just like me. I don’t want to be fat. I just don’t have the willpower to put a stop to it. And I hate myself for it. Maybe if/when I get a new job I’ll be able to get back into my routine. It’d be a lot easier if I lived on my own, and could choose the pantry and fridge’s contents myself.

    But for now I’m stuck living in my parents’ house. I thought once I bought a new car, I’d be able to save up and move out. Then I met Kira, and spent thousands on her. Then I allowed myself to be talked into going to therapy, a waste of time that I put a stop to after being told that I’d never be happy and to keep on cutting, that put me in debt to pay for. Then my car broke down, and I’ve had to open a new credit card for over nine-hundred dollars and spent another four-hundred up front, and her check engine light is already back on.

    Oh, and I don’t have a job anymore after getting fired for spending too much time helping coworkers, so its not like I can get a place with the two-hundred and twelve dollars I get a week with unemployment. I’ve dreamed about living on my own since before I was even a teenager. I’ve always hated my parents. Every time I think everything’s about to turn around fiscally, life comes around and shits down my fucking throat and cuts a hole through my trachea so it can fuck my feces-stained esophagus. Every, single, fucking, time.

    God that therapy was fucking worthless. I did what the guy said in regards to cutting. I tried rubber band snapping, icing, writing out my feelings. None of it had the same sense of distraction and gravitas. So, he told me if it helps and I’m being safe, keep doing it. So I have. I wanted to stop though, not for my own sake, but because the people who say they care about me (in other words, Whit) don’t like it and I can understand why. Again though, no will power.

    When it came to my moods, I told him about as much as I’ve told anyone in my life about myself. At first it felt good, he looked at me like some sort of specimen. By our last session though, it felt more like I was a chore to him, a frustrating waste of time. Although I didn’t bother to remember the words verbatim, he more or less told me that sometimes there just isn’t anything you can do to stop being miserable, and you’re just stuck that way. So, since that was the case, I stopped going.

    There was another professional I saw there, a woman who was there to actually prescribe medicines. After the first one ruined a budding and potentially great relationship, I was hesitant to try another. Given the fact that it was also expensive as fuck and I was constantly broke, with or without hesitation I couldn’t try another kind. She refused to prescribe me medicine for my ADD either, even though she did diagnose it. Said we needed to get the depression under control first. Maybe I’d be less fucking miserable if I could concentrate on one thing at a time instead of constantly having my attention diverted between two to three things every waking moment of my life.

    It’s funny, when I finished my first book, I thought I’d be happy. Filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment that would spur me forward in life. So I rushed it. The last couple chapters were far below my typical word count. Whitney pointed out that fact, and the fact that a lot of the earlier chapters were subpar comparatively, so I went back and finished it ‘for real’. I rewrote most of the earlier chapters, filled in the later chapters, got a real, proper first draft done. And still nothing.

    Now I’m telling myself that once I can edit it properly instead of just grimacing through the prologue I’ll feel it, but I don’t believe it. Maybe if an agent wants it, I’ll feel it, but I don’t believe that. If it were miraculously published, then, then I might feel a hint of genuine joy, but I don’t believe that. I keep pushing the goal posts of finding happiness further and further back to excuse my failure to do so.

    Fuck, I don’t even know why I wrote all this. I don’t feel any better. I feel like an overdramatic, self-important, delusional cunt. Same old same old I suppose.

[shedreamsofstars]

SonAmy Week Day 2 - Spy

"Sonic?"

"Argghh!"

The blue hedgehog scrambled backwards and found himself tumbling to the ground. He rubbed his temples woozily, blinking slowly. He looked up to see Amy Rose leaning out of an open window and eyeing him warily.

"What were you doing?" she said, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Wh- wh- what? I was just passing by and fell over," Sonic stammered quickly as he pushed himself to his feet.

"Really?" she asked sceptically, tracking his movements with her eyes as he brushed the dirt off of his fur.  

"Pftt, of course. I mean, what else would I be doing?"

Amy raised her eyebrows in challenge, her quills floating with the soft breeze. She placed her elbows on the ledge and leaned her head on her hands. "Well I don't know, but it did kind of look like you were spying on me."

Sonic's cheeks heated instantly and he looked down to try and hide it, toeing the dirt with his sneakers. "Come on Ames. Me, spy? I mean, I guess maybe if it was Eggman but on you, never."

The girl levelled a clear gaze on him and he let out a nervous chuckle. She looked absolutely unconvinced he realised as she uttered a drawn out 'okay'.

"So uh, what are you doing home Ames? The suns out so I assumed you would be too. I didn't think you'd be here arranging the table for a ... " he paused, waiting for her to fill him in.

"Oh, I was just setting some stuff up for a-"

"A date, whoa. Why all the secrecy huh?" Sonic said quickly, unable to control what came out of his mouth. His mind was running like his feet and there was no slowing it down.

"I was going to say meeting but I guess it is a date of sorts."

"Oh," Sonic replied, blinking as he tried to piece everything together. His comm buzzed at his wrist and he tapped it to accept the incoming call.

"Hey, 'sup," he said coolly.

"Sonic, where are you? You said you were nearly here?" Tails said through the comm.

"Heh, I'll be right there buddy. Just got a little ... distracted along the way," he said, looking pointedly at the pink hedgehog. She smiled sweetly at him and he had to force himself to look away.

"Alright, see ya Sonic." The comm clicked into silence and the blue hedgehog nodded uneasily, pointing towards the town.

"I uh, guess I should be going then," he said, turning slowly to leave. Amy didn't stop him and Sonic paused a few steps away to give her another chance to say something before she went back to setting up for her meeting. He glanced back over his shoulder only to see the girl in the middle of closing the window. She gave him a small wave before disappearing from view.

"You have a great date then," he muttered as he made his way to the town to meet with Tails. "Who in the name of chaos is she on a date with ... oh I'm sorry, meeting," Sonic grumbled, kicking a loose stone into the air. It landed with a rustle into a nearby bush.

He went to kick another stone but strangely, the path was clear. He sighed as he realised he'd have to get the other one back and he made his way over to the bush. Sonic had only meant to peek in and check on the girl earlier before leaving, but when he spotted her with the flowers he couldn't help but stay a little longer.

He had watched on curiously as she  meticulously arranged the bouquet to make sure they were nothing short of perfect. If those weren't for a date, then his name wasn't Sonic T. Hedgehog. Perhaps he had been spying on her after all but a date was a date no matter what you chose to call it.

Sonic reached into the bush and his fingers touched the edge of the rock but he couldn't get his fingers around it. He stretched forward and the next thing he knew, suddenly the bush was around him and his face was pushed squarely against the dirt beneath it.

He spluttered, turning away from the ground only to get a face full of leaves and twigs instead and sighed. Of course this would happen to him. First, Amy was going on some secret date with some mystery guy and now here he was looking like freaking Ent.

Wait a sonic second ...

The blue hedgehog could almost see the light bulb flash before his eyes as the idea came to him and he suddenly understood the look Tails so often got as he planned out a new machine.

Before he knew what he was doing, Sonic was suddenly stood a little ways outside Amy's window and had a perfect view of the living room table. Except he wasn't Sonic. He was a completely ordinary and uninteresting bush who she would pay zero attention to.

Sonic pushed down the urge to chuckle at how perfect his plan was but he grew distracted as Amy passed by with her hands full of snacks. He frowned as he watched as she set out little plates filled with crisps and sweets and it only deepened as she removed the flowers only to replace them again a moment later.

Who was she meeting that the flowers had to be just so?

Sonic watched on, a petty anger overcoming him as the girl breezed around the house, daintily straightening and fluffing cushions and placing a square mat at the centre of the table. She was adjusting its position when Sonic's comm buzzed again.

He groaned softly as he remembered he'd told his younger brother he was already on his way. He pressed it to answer and before he could even say a greeting, Tails beat him to the punch.

"Where are you Sonic? I've been waiting here for ages," Tails said, a hint of impatience in his tone.

"Sorry bud I ..." He lost track of his thoughts as he realised that Amy was suddenly gone. He'd literally only taken his eyes off of her for a second! Maybe she went to get food from the kitchen he thought, shuffling the bush he sat in around the edge of her house to find the kitchen window.

"Your chilli dogs are going to be stone cold by the time you show up," Tails stated and Sonic grimaced. Cold dogs were nowhere near as good as the piping hot ones but ... he had to know who Amy was meeting first.

"I just gotta do this one thing first okay. I'll be there right after."

"I'm eating mine without you."

"Sure whatever, later bro," Sonic said as he reached the kitchen window. The comm clicked shut and he found himself trying to get closer to see in. As far as he could tell, the room was empty but then again, maybe if he adjusted his angle...

"What was all that about not spying on me again?"

Sonic shrieked and jumped right out of the bush as a rose pink face came into view. "A-a-amy? Fancy seeing you here," he stammered with a guilty grin.

"I live here Sonic," she said simply, placing her hands on her hips. "Care to explain yourself?"

"Not particularly no."

The all too familiar hammer materialised out of nowhere and cold dread filled his veins. "I just meant it wasn't particularly interesting, I'd be happy to tell you all about it Ames."

"Somehow I don't see how you ending up in a bush outside my house would be uninteresting but I'm listening."

So Sonic told her most of what he'd been doing, having the good sense to conveniently omit certain key details such as his earlier spying debacle. She was still holding that hammer of hers after all.

"So all of this was because you thought I had a date date with someone who wasn't you."

"Yes," he said quickly. "Wait no," he added accusingly. "I know what you're doing and I'm not going to fall for it. I was just worried that your date would really be an Egg attack or something. People are dangerous Ames," he said, almost convincing himself that it was the only reason.

"I can handle myself hedgehog."

"I know that, but I didn't want you to have to. I'll always be there for you when you need me Ames," he said, realising that he was still on the ground and covered in twigs and leaves. He held out a hand and Amy grabbed it softly, lifting him off the ground with an undeniable ease.

"You know, if you were that worried for me then you could have just asked who I was meeting," she said as she plucked the leaves out of his quills.

"Where's the fun in that?" He said as he let her fuss over him a little, letting his petulant anger from earlier fade away. He rubbed the back of his head nervously as he spoke again. "So uh, who are you meeting anyway ... and why?"

"Come on, I'll show you," Amy sighed, rolling her eyes as she led the way inside. Sonic hesitated for a moment, unsure if this would end up being one of her elaborate tricks. "I have snacks," she called over her shoulder, "but you already knew that right?"

"Maybe." Sonic called back as his resolve have out. He brushed off the last of the twigs and dirt and sauntered in after the girl, nervously preparing himself to meet her date for the day.

A shadowed figure approached the house of Amy Rose. The handle of a briefcase sat comfortably in his gloved hand, holding some of his most precious belongings. The other hand he raised to knock on the door, but as a set of voices drifting over on the wind he paused.

They seemed to be coming from a window which had been left open a crack and he strained his ears to hear the conversation within.

"So you were meeting someone from Puppy Club called Rob?"

"Yeah, he promised to show me his rare Pup figurines but ... huh, it looks like he's running late. We agreed on three but it's already quarter past."

"I didn't know we had a Rob here?" the boy said quizzically.

"He's new I think. I wonder what's keeping him."

"Maybe he forgot or something ... So this is the Fuzzy Puppies game you're always going on about?"

"Oh it's so much fun Sonic. I can teach you how to play if you like? It doesn't seem like Rob's coming anytime soon."

There was a brief pause before... "Sure, why not.

The figure's hand was still poised to knock but he unclenched his fingers and slowly let them drop to his side. He switched his briefcase into his other hand and began to retreat as silently as he had arrived.

"Doctor, aren't you going to go in?" a voice piped up as he made his way back towards the town.  

The figure shook their head, the hood falling away with the shadows to reveal a bald headed man with a wild moustache.

"I left my favourite Fuzzy Puppy at home so I guess I'll just leave Mr and Mrs Know-it-all to it today. Besides, evil doesn't plot itself now does it," he said grandly, unable to hide the huge grin on his face.

Ack, a day late but I have it done! Hope you enjoyed it. If you haven't already, I recommend checking out the sonamyweek tumblr for more amazing art and fics. I skipped straight to day two here, but feel free to check out my drawing for the day one theme (pokemon) too.

Thank you all for reading and I'll see you'll soon for the day three (technically today) theme Medieval. Drop me a review if you feel like it.

Chao for now :)

[shriekbackmusic]

Virtual Sleevenotes, Credits and Lyrics for ‘Barry Andrews: Lost Pop Songs 78-80’

TRACK LIST 1 Rossmore Road 2 Win a Night Out (with a well-known paranoiac) 3 Freak 4 Me and My Mate Can Sing 5 Mousetrap 6 Bring On The Alligators 7 Sargasso Bar 8 Feeding Time 9 Muscle & Movement 10 Opposite Way in the Rush Hour 11 Taking Over ICI 12 Vampyr Skinhead 13 Big Soft Safe Family

MUSICIANS 1-3 clarinet: Frank Abrams, trombone: Ian Bateman, guitar: Rob Hendry, Robert Fripp, Bruce Mcrae, bass: Dave Marx, drums: Richard Wernham, engineer: John Strudwick, backing vocals: Bruce Mcrae, Patti Palladin, Clara Harris, Steve New, Marion Fudger. Recorded at Rockstar Studios, Fitzrovia, Mixed at Regent’s Park Studios, St Johns Wood. 4-7 guitars and bass: Dave Marx, drums: Rob Wilford, engineer: Hugh Padgham, Producer: Martin Rushent. Recorded at Townhouse Studio 2, Goldhawk Road. 8-10 guitar: Jon Ellis, bass: Dave Marx, drums: Richard Wernham, engineer: John Strudwick, recorded at Pathway Studios, Islington 11-13 bass: Marion Fudger, guitar: Rob Hendry, drums: Richard Wernham, engineer: Eric Radcliffe, recorded at Blackwing Studios, Borough.

The songs on this album have been lying about for a looong time, as you see.  The reasons for this are twofold: 1- it’s juvenelia, really - undeveloped, derivative. Trying stuff on for size.  An artist not in complete control of his medium, if you like. So I was not in a hurry to expose it, I guess, for its flaws are obvious. 2 it’s precious, unrepeatable, unvarnished. Truly an account of Process as someone’s aesthetic develops. It’s fascinating to me, of course (‘each man loves the smell of his own farts’) and, I have to assume, as an article of faith, that it may be to others. So, as a one-time-for-all-time thing, I was hesitant to release it. Anyway, here they…are, these songs which are inextricably bound both to a critical time in my life and the interstitial flavour of the historical moment: the end of the 70’s in good old (post-war, now post-60’s) UK. The dingy, dark, money-strapped days of Callaghan and Heath on the cusp of the New (fake) Gold Thatcherite Dawn.

London still grubby, edgy and un-Developed in a lot of places (squats still available - for instance) and Punk, which had roared for a couple of years - having redefined pop culture, via getting Pissed and Destroying - was about to stagger off into the wings, fresh out of ideas.

the Roxy Club, Covent Garden in 77 (it’s a shop selling Speedos now. Out with the Bin Bags in with the New Shiny Pants!)

The Clash and Pistols albums of 77 had permeated, by 79, everywhere they were likely to go (surprisingly far) but their offspring - the ninety-to-the-dozen, political, permanently furious form of *Punk was on the wane. ‘New Wave’ as a catch-all term for anything that was neither hardcore (with a little ‘h’) Punk nor Old School Rock was becoming the mot du jour. Another strange little sub-genre was Power Pop (which my old firm XTC could be described as, although to be fair, we were doing it well before the term was coined). Blondie, The Rich Kids, the Rezillos: all were attempts to make ideologically (yes!) acceptable the idea of melody and upbeat themes in a landscape where (Iove this term) *Ramalamadolequeue was rapidly wearing out its welcome.

(the Rich Kids - ft. Steve New, the baby deer. They’re not signing on are they? They’re Rich.)

Personally, these tunes cover, as historians say, ‘the long 78-80’. Roughly from the end of my time with XTC to the beginning of Restaurant for Dogs which was (sort-of) the R&D for Shriekback, although definitely with its own sovereignty and aesthetic.

Rossmore Road                                                                                               source: 1/4″ tape                                                                                              This came to light in a box of old tapes (Lordy I wish I had more tapes). It’s the first mix John Strudwick and I did for the single but I wasn’t happy and, rather sportingly, Virgin let us remix it. This version, though, not only has the ‘son trouveé - ‘asking for directions’ elements at the beginning and end (hilariously furious posh guy who - you can hear - I have managed to wind up even in the few seconds it takes to ask where Rossmore Road was. How? I really was an annoying, chippy bastard in those days - you can see why I felt paranoid (see below).

I was playing with Robert Fripp’s League of Gentlemen at the time and Robert kindly offered to come down and bestow his guitar benediction upon my humble pop tune (skills which were to be deployed, rather more usefully, on Bowie’s ‘Scary Monsters’ later that year - which Robert had taken a break from rehearsals with us to do (‘I have redefined the parameters of modern guitar playing’, he self-deprecatingly declared, on his return).

We got off to a bad start and never got beyond it: we plugged Fripp in and played the tune - John the engineer had assumed, totally reasonably, that this was a ‘get familiar’ go-through before we started recording.

As producer I should have been clearer - very much so, as it turned out because Fripp threw a total hissy fit when told we hadn’t recorded his 1st take. He gave us a rant about Heroes etc - how all his most genius work had been 1st or second takes. I apologised. He made a somewhat passive/aggressive show of graciousness in spite of this clear affront and the atmosphere was kinda tense after that. Someone else who hated me. Just great.

And anyway, what we would have got (and, on the 2nd take, did get) was - Fripp fans forgive me - 70’s prog-hero solo guitar noodling (very good guitar noodling, but still) - which loftily ignored the song’s structure so entirely that you had to choose between either just showcasing Robert or actually crafting the song. On the remix we ended up using one note (at the top). I honestly couldn’t find anything else that properly fitted. On the present mix, however, if you listen carefully, you can hear Fripp doing his flash, busy thing - it’s mixed as loud as I dared but you can hear it doesn’t really work and, if it hadn’t been him playing it, it wouldn’t have been there.

An inappropriate and inelegant use of resources, as he might have said. Interesting to hear though, perhaps, in a vestigial tail/snake legs sort of a way.

conceptual stuff about RRd. 

ROSSMORE ROAD (NW1) The 159 runs along it Round the corner from Baker Street There's a dolls house shop on the corner Of Lisson Grove and

Rossmore Road Rossmore Road

Turn left at the DHSS in Lisson Grove You find yourself in Rossmore Road And there's a number of public buildings And a safety barrier down the middle of the road

In Rossmore Road In Rossmore Road In Rossmore Road

White and yellow lines and street signs And public phones and traffic cones And belisia beacons on the central reservation All humming now, all humming now, all humming now

To the north The Grand Canal Round the corner Regent's Park Next stop on the tube Marylebone Road And you can see Balcombe Street from Rossmore Road

The 159 runs along it Round the corner from Baker Street There's a dolls house shop on the corner Of Lisson Grove and

Rossmore Road Rossmore Road Rossmore Road Rossmore Road

In Rossmore Road White and yellow lines and street signs North of the river South of the circular Under the road Above the railway

All humming now, all humming now, all humming now All humming now, all humming now, all humming now All humming now, all humming now, all humming now All humming now, all humming now, all humming now All humming now, all humming now, all humming now All humming now...

Win a Night Out (with a well-known paranoiac)                                           sound source: 1/4″ tape

Very pleased with this, I am still. Sui generis as they come. Blur before Blur said somebody. OK I’ll take it. I was (I think) actually thinking about Patti Smith’s Piss Factory - and Land and Wave, those half-poem, half-song tunes of hers. This, though, suffused with the provincial UK, late 70’s consciousness you get when you perhaps smoke too much grim hash and take too much speed. Interesting sexual punishment element to it also. Because it’s two dates: one rustic and one urban, then an extreme post coital reverse followed by a horrific denouement (Nazi Vivisection! The worst kind) which shows that, as they say: ’just cos you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you’.

This is, obviously, autobiographical (apart from the vivisection). This arsy, scruffy little bloke, oppressed by the forces of reaction and class, who seems to attract humiliation and brutality wherever he goes, even though his intentions are just to have fun and get laid.  It’s a little poem about fear and self doubt which, around ’79 there seemed to be lots of. So I made a record. More expensive than a therapist but it has a trombone player..

WIN A NIGHT OUT (WITH A WELL-KNOWN PARANOIAC)

We could rendezvous in a country pub I know in the heart of rural England where the landlord sports moustaches just like Jimmy Edwards and the crisps and pickled onions on the bar are numberless as the stars at night We're just about to order scampi in an Elizabethan basket when two neckless men in blazers and cravats approach our table and say - "sorry - this bar is exclusively for the use of Nobel prize winners, latter day saints, people who have seen God and selected relatives of our dear Queen, and furthermore, you worm, there is mud upon your plimsolls". I reply that I am a member of most elitist cliques you care to name and the blood which courses (at an ever increasing speed as it happens) through my veins belonged once to the Cuban royal family, but, they don't listen and they just pour my drink down the sink and say "this is not what we mean. In this life, one is either U or non-U and if I were you I'd make myself bloody scarce.” I even try to show them my credit cards but unmoved they say "OK sonny, it's time you were taught a lesson and there's only one thing that your sort understand"

Win a night out with a well known paranoiac Win a night out with a famous paranoid Win a night out with a well known paranoiac Win a night out with a famous paranoid

At an Iberian eatery in the west end, we could gaze at each other across saucers of yoghurt and bits of crusty foreign bread - and then - I could order a carraffe of Asti - we could have so much fun. We could discuss things like communism and chart positions with the lack of inhibitions that separate the truly liberated from the herd - but - I should mention that I talk quite loud as a casualty of inexpensive foreign wine and neither am I unaware of the restive noises from the party sitting close by. But as I'm in the middle of my funny story about the Arab and the underwater toilet, I can't stop now 'cause I'm in too deep, as I'm coming to the part where I say (in my best joke telling voice), "so the Arab says to the attendant, right...

‘Of course as we know five thousand pounds of pressure can suck out almost anything,’ and it all goes quiet and a little girl is saying: "Daddy, what a horrible man" and Daddy replies, "don't worry darling 'cause I've just made a phone call to your crypto-fascist Uncle Roger and he'll be here quite soon, and make quite sure he doesn't upset any little girls... little girls any more"

Win a night out with a famous paranoiac Win a night out with a well known paranoid Win a night out with a well known paranoiac Win a night out with a famous paranoid

Lying in your crumpled bed on Sunday morning, you said your Mum and Dad had gone away to a conference in Bath and I believed you like a fool. Now you get up, go to the window and you turn a pot plant round. I study your naked bottom with a twinge of lust but I'm not twigging that something's going down. There is a sound of the heavy boots upon the stairs and the door crashes open and in comes your Dad with some faithful retainers and some ex-Army mates from the Conservative Club. And I figure they must have been waiting all night because your Dad is clutching two reels of infra-red film and he's looking dangerously pale as he shows me the microphone under the bed, and I'm just about getting the message: all is not too groovy

As you stand there in your dressing gown laughing at me, then in comes your Mum in her nylon house coat with her hair hanging loose like a suburban Harpy and she advances towards me with an army surplus bush knife, clearly bent on wreaking havoc down below the navel and she's just about to get stuck in when I wake up... and yeah, it was all a dream

I'm really in a hospital bed. There is a smell of formaldehyde in the air, and a couple of doctors with swastikas on their arm are doing something to the brain of a sheep and in the corner is a huge zinc bath containing some sort of reptile and the nurse is saying "be a brave boy and drink it all up". And I realise I can't feel me legs and the shape in the bed isn't my shape at all and I wanna cry out but I can only bleat

Win a night out with a well known paranoiac Win a night out with a famous paranoid Win a night out with a well known paranoiac Win a night out with a famous paranoid

FREAK source: cassette So Funk was the thing - but let’s take it and fuck it up with our English voices and anti-slick playing. Let’s actually take the funk/fun out of it. Disco hatred was the tip, kinda. I recall saying in an interview that it was like scratching up a big lairy american limousine with the nasty, rusty keys of your squat (there’s also an unreleased Restaurant for Dogs version we recorded for Warners with Nick Launay which takes this approach to its theoretical limit: it’s pretty hard to listen to). We are, in fact, so alienated from the subject matter that I sing ‘just come on down to the fifth floor’ instead of ’54’ - the iconic New York club, me not having heard of it (though - quirky historical note - Shriekback did actually play there in the place’s last week - on the Sacred City tour).

Dave’s ‘confused Dutch person’ on the end is a nice random element. Like he’s wandered in off another session. 

4 Songs from Town & Country EP (Virgin 79) Me and My Mate, Mousetrap, Bring on the Alligators, Sargasso Bar sound source: vinyl Ah T&C - I sort-of despise thee. No-one was taking care of my career development - especially not me - after XTC so I got stuck in a posh recording studio with the Strangler’s producer way before I should have been. This you can hear from the ‘apprentice piece’ nature of this EP.  All influences fully on show and sellotaped together. A ‘band’ which, you can tell, has only so much in common and which was kinda thrown together.  An adolescent ferocity in the delivery not masking very well a slew of insecurities. ‘Calm Down’ I want to tell this snarling young herbert, ‘nobody thinks you’re cool anyway. It’s fine: do an album about a fish, why dontcha?’ As it is, we get a variety pack of New Wave/Post Punk styles and lyrical tropes: Me & My Mate (the Clash obvs: stage democracy, anti-rockist groupy exploitation, DIY fanzine-esque self-expression for the working classes, Patti Smith reference). Mousetrap A classically-trained-but-recently-listened-to-Elvis Costello/Joe Jackson Bitter Relationship song. I like the spoken word bit that deconstructs a Well Made Play in 4 lines though (for those who don’t know, The Mousetrap is the longest running show in the West End - since ‘52!). The ‘Darlings’ repeated hookline was a reference to my lovely Aunty Rene who worked many years in the box office of various West End theatres (the Adelphi and the Prince of Wales I think - and since you ask) and had adopted a fabulously camp way of speaking through long exposure to gay theatrical men. Her poodle Chico was ‘my little Treasure Island’ and everyone else was ‘Darling’.

Aunty Rene (2nd left) with her theatrical crew and actress Anna Neagle at the Coalhole on the Strand 1968)

MOUSETRAP Been playing Shaftesbury Avenue For a thousand years or maybe two - darlings Done plenty bum gigs in my time But everything's alright now

In the mousetrap In the mousetrap

We fall in love most every night We're quite ridiculously tight - darlings And yeah I feel some kind of freak Getting killed six times a week

In the mousetrap In the mousetrap

It's nearly half past three Gotta do a matinee I don't understand this game Why everything's the same

But as the show go on and on And on and on And on and on and on and on and on And on

I know the punters mustn't see How mundane it seems to me - darlings But sometimes I wish I could screw Someone else in Shaftsbury Avenue

In the mousetrap In the mousetrap

Curtain up - exposition Development of character Plot - unravelling slow Sustaining interest, gathering momentum

Till they unmask the killer Then a twist right at the end And it's all over till tomorrow night

In the mousetrap In the mousetrap

Sargasso Bar definitely the best of this bunch. Although the Small Town Observational style is a little irritating  (alright, Bazzer, you’re a Poet of the Everyday and you are so very alienated) it is here for the first time that a certain mock heroic, magical-realist aspect started to appear in my writing.  ‘they raise their glasses in 2/4 time and they study the latecomers as they slither in beneath the door’. XTC did a version of this which failed to get onto GO2.  Not too much different I think but I recall Andy Partridge’s objection to the line: ‘we’re surrounded by the Eels of Death’. He felt it was the sort of hippy, trippy kinda image which XTC Stood Against. I felt it was - well - mock heroic and magical realist. This conversation went nowhere, obviously, but it was instrumental in making my decision to leave the band. These people just didn’t get my shit…

SARGASSO BAR Couple in the corner Now she's crying on his shoulder Well they're a couple of Modern Lovers Sort of Kevin and Isolde She's embarrassed by his footwear He's embarrassed by her hair But he doesn't really care He says it's murder staying emotionally aware He's another Lost Soul But he's only come here to die And get high

In the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar In the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar

Big John in the wooly Football training in the evening Well he got married married married Now he only thinks of leaving And he's surrounded by the blubber Watch the terylene stretching As he makes a point about his car When you're on miles to the gallon You know where you are And he's here every night, he's such a regular guy He gets high

In the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar In the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar

We came in from the rain Now we're surrounded by the Eels of Death Everyone nervous and everybody couldn't care less We raise our glasses in 2/4 time We study the latecomers as they slither in beneath the door About this time of the night There's more and more and more and more Well, give them ten minutes then they all go home to die Cos they're so high

In the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar

Bring on the Alligators yeah, dunno about this one really. Clearly I’m really working the magic realist tip again but to what end? It’s clearly meant to be funny, what with the Polish ‘1234’ in the middle and the ‘cocktail bar’ quiet section at the end and all but it’s all trying a bit hard for my liking. The awfully Lahndun working class accent I have on all these tunes is also a bit abrasive. My estuarine whine is of course part of me but it is underlining, unecessarily and stridently I feel, the ‘prolier than thou’ ethic which I had bought into wholesale during Punk. Let it go, dude…

2 LOTS OF DEMOS source: cassette Well, now we were getting somewhere.. Listening back now, 40-odd years on it really does seem to me that the year (ish) between the EP and this first set of demos represented a huge leap in my - er - self development. The life in XTC - still living with Ma & Pa or on the road within the Mothership of the band - record company, management, everything being done for you (at the expense, as it turned out, of knowing what was actually going on..hem hem). It’s cosiness and material sufficiency came at a price I could no longer put up with. Time to go, clearly.

I remember leaving the last outpost of that world - the nice flat above the Townhouse, paid for by Virgin while we were recording the EP but now, since recording had just finished, off limits. So…I could go back to Swindon - or step out into the scary metropolis, where all the safety nets have been packed away, and see what can be made to happen. Me and a girlfriend (who had signed up when I was a (sort-of) pop star - she was in for a taste of the real musician’s girlfriend’s lot now alright) went over to my old schoolmate’s flat in the East End (he was at college in London) - it was pouring down of rain as we walked across Tower Bridge. No money for a cab - the XTC wages had long been cut off. 

Youth seeks a Rite of Passage, does it not? This seemed to be mine. I felt noble and scared and reckless and Hungry for Experience. So, these tunes were written after a year of London, of squatting, signing on, meeting loads of new people, getting sick, getting well, hanging round the ink well - no, actually, after a particularly avid speed binge and a dreadful mini-tour with the T&C band I developed serious chickenpox (more virulent in adulthood, it turns out). I was the Elephant Man for a while. The body was having its unignorable say about all this new input.  But the tunes were definitely better. More individual. Not trying so hard and, sometimes, there was a Showing Forth of something really quite juicy and new (and I don’t just mean the pustules, har har).

Feeding Time                                                                                                         I submitted this to Shriekback’s publisher when he asked if we had anything that might do for the Eurovision Contest. He never quite looked at me the same way again, I thought (nil points pour moi).

I had been working at London Zoo (west gate and Reptile House: taking money on the door) that year and eating in various Camden/Kilburn greasy spoons. These two experiences were to produce this little gem. A Meditation on Eating. I think it needed doing. 

Points of interest: Dave Marx’s great bassline which is really the hook and the armature. Jon Ellis’s glistening ‘egg’ chord. The ‘Taking Your Order’ on the fade (Prawn Cocktail! The 70′s are strong in this one...) I had earlier recorded this with some ‘opera’ singers (from the BBC West of England Chorus - including Mrs Evenett (contralto) my old French teacher) singing the ‘Feeding Time’s’ in fine bel canto stylee. Which I may release at some point.

FEEDING TIME Putting things into my body at Feeding Time White wine and little damaged bodies from the bottom of the sea inside me still feel hungry when I reach the end and I won’t  feel good when it’s Feeding Time again. I watch him from the corner at Feeding Time sometimes he is hideous to watch as he shovels his chops inside him and his belly is beginning to distend and I know he’ll feel great when it’s Feeding Time again

but in the meantime Eat - don’t stop Eat - don’t stop Eat - don’t stop

Biting Viscera and gristle at Feeding Time listen to the lobsters whistle crack their legs open suck out what you find inside The spaghetti as it glistens at Feeding Time like spirogyra on your wet lips munching masticated chips in your mouth with lots of wine Eggs! Eggs! Soft and warm romantically slipping down inside and I wish it could always be Feeding Time and I wish it could always be Feeding Time (let’s see what’s on menu.. I’ll get an onion bhaji.. …prawn cocktail …three more pappadums…)

Opposite Way In The Rush Hour You know, it’s a bit cheesy and self serving but I still dig this. Our hero is heading off to some gig (some horrible, low paid, nightclub-type gig - let’s say in Edgbaston. Or Stoke). He’s hitching his way up there to meet the band at the soundcheck and it’s just getting dark. He looks at all the Regular Folk coming home from work: old geezers on pushbikes, factory workers - UK manufacturing has still a few years in it at this point - young girls (that might have been mating/marriage material in his former life) wait at bus stops and the cosy tea (the evening meal not the drink - important class-related point) on the tables, visible through the shortly to be curtained windows and our man gets all Springsteeny-sentimental about his self-ordained High and Lonely Destiny. Noble chords, I think, and very clever drumming by Rich Wernham (he was bloody good, I must say - as Nick Lowe said - ‘you can get away with murder if you’ve got a good drummer’). The absence of traditional last chorus repeats, instead dissolving into a babble of voices was indicative of some creative, envelope-pushing Thort, I would say. The boy’s finding his feet..

OPPOSITE WAY IN THE RUSH HOUR Going the opposite way in the rush hour watching the cars going past in the night. Factory gates let out the day shift - they escape on their bikes. Daughters go home on the bus, see you’re not one of us. The sensation is sweet and it’s sour. Going the opposite way, opposite way, in the rush hour.

Closer to being a part of the big system: so near and far from all that you seek. Closer to where the big heart beats you into submission then rocks you to sleep. Curtains still open The news on the telly they’re making their tea and I want all they’ve got but somehow.. keep on going this way: opposite way in the rush hour.

Street lamps come on now, those front rooms look so warm now. Old men with empty lunch bags pedal homewards and the girls wait at bus stops as the weekend unfolds. Once it would have felt so right heading into the hot sticky heat of the night

…it’s not a question of honour or a question at all Just the way that we choose to live now Going our opposite way… opposite way… opposite way…

Muscle and Movement Painfully sincere (and unintentionally camp) credo from the Squat years. Fucking grim, mate. It was cold, self-flagellating and unecessarily unpleasant. Here is the mantra behind that lifestyle experiment ‘pain is knowledge and knowledge is wealth.’ Jeez, give this guy a cuddle...

MUSCLE & MOVEMENT Fed up of sitting around with my legs crossed Pretending and smiling and saying ‘yeah, cheers then’ avoiding the whites of their eyes. (and another thing) And another thing- don’t try and tell me you’re gonna get something together when everything’s going your way then the limit’s the sky. You can’t always hide on the side watching people who do things bigger than you. You can’t have a permanent stop to the things that displease you or give you unease. ‘Cos all that matters is Muscle and Movement flesh out all your fantasies with Muscle and Movement (ain’t no such thing as security, just Muscle and Movement Muscle and Movement

as you relax at the end of the day there’s another tomorrow staring at you as it stands at the top of the stairs time is a swine it just keeps coming at you battering you to the floor as you try and stand up yelling you’ve had enough save it for somebody free - don’t talk to me I got no symapthy pour out some more of that wine everything’ll be fine just stay drunk all the time but remember that Muscle and Movement is all that makes you what you are Muscle and Movement standing still don’t get you too far it’s Muscle and Movement Muscle and Movement

it’s hard but it’s true that there’s nothing to cling to nothing to belong to and nowhere is more important than where you are now and there is no rest for the wicked, no rest for the wicked or peace for the innocent or the don’t knows (this lines indecipherable) cos there ain’t nobody got the things they need (same) cos the things that you lack are what you never get back cs the only secret weapon is Muscle and Movement

Muscle and Movement nothing happens by itself Muscle and Movement pain is knowledge and knowledge is wealth

Vampyr Skinhead & Taking Over ICI Well, it’s here that I claim total responsibility for the Two-Tone/Ska Revival that was to occur later that year. No, honest - no-one else was doing this stuff at the time (or they were but no-one had heard of them yet). These two tunes were, moreover, direct descendants of my song ‘Super Tuff’ from the XTC album (btw, that title came from the strapline of a Bruce Lee movie ‘Bruce Lee - Super Tough - but also Tender,’ so I was also anticipating Tarantino and all that kitsch martial arts movie stuff from the 90’s - could I be any more prescient?) Actually, exciting self delusion aside, I claim only to have had my finger on an historical pulse which had been throbbing away since the 70’s and which obviously many others had also been party to. As I say somewhere else ‘it’s ok to have a great idea but you have to get off your chuff if you’re going to start a cultural movement’. I wasn’t dedicated enough, clearly, but I was quietly and briefly, a canary in that particular coalmine.

The idea of reggae as this parallel exotic, possibly dangerous sub-track to Pop/Rock had been around for quite a while and kept bubbling up out of the Zeitgeisty swamp to varying amounts of mainstream attention. Bob Marley (pretty much just him) had Broken Through to become the reggae artist that unitiated white people liked and played at parties to show Cool. U Roy, Big Youth, Scratch et al remained the province of hip white people (as we liked to think of ourselves). But, under the audacious banner of ‘Fuck Art, Let’s Dance’ the Ska revival, the Two Tone label, Madness etc were to mine the accelerated beats, fruity grooves and edgy vibes of Jamaica (along the lines of Desmond Dekker and Toots and the Maytals) to international chart success. Of which more in a minute..

Since Punk there had been this strange symbiosis (which is easy to forget, it’s so non-intuitive) of reggae with Punk which had continued, unabated since the days of the Roxy Club.  This, eventually, had permeated the wider scene.  So, when XTC would play, in 78, gigs in Birmingham or Leeds, the disco would always be alternating, say, the Drones, Chelsea or the Pistols with Althia and Donna, Steel Pulse or Culture. It was a tacit admission, I would say, that the Punk formula was a limited one and, while its brutal austerity had been bracing (and a welcome antididote to Old Fart music), people still needed melody and sensuality and Actual Dancing.

But, there had been, in my late schooldays (early to late 70’s) an earlier, more schismatic appearance of Reggae (in its proto form of Ska) which I had observed firsthand in my Comprehensive provincial schooldays with all its codes and brutalities (kinda charming and nostalgic now; fairly scary and intense at the time). There was a  2 tribes battle going on at my school and in the UK generally: the Skinheads and the Greboes/Hairies (vestigial, usually non-ideological Hippies, really, sometimes with a component of Biker). It was a pretty one-sided battle: the Skins were an embodiment of working class, unsmiling rage and violence (’Aggro’ and ‘Bovver’ were their coinages (graffitti in my town read: ‘S.T.A.B (= Swindon Town Aggro Boys) Kick to Kill’). It was a culture of fighting and machismo which picked on pretty much anyone (it became a white racist movement eventually of course: ‘Paki Bashing’ being one defining activity but, as is documented in ‘This Is England’ TV series, the Skins didn’t start out that way: look at all that ska and blubeat. Also, in Swindon in the 70’s there wasn’t much opportunity to get the ol’ racism going - there wasn’t a single black or Asian kid in my year at school; only one or two in the entire school - so the Hairies/Greebs would have to do as a Victim Class, I guess. 

The mostly docile, pacifist, great-coat/tie-die-wearing, patchouli-smelling, Topographic Oceans-carrying quasi-hippy was always good for a bit of a kicking (though I suspect, the lack of physical challenge made them a bit uninspiring - football hooliganism probably gave the Skins more of a work-out).  At any rate, the hirsute, messy look and, (NB!) the usually university-bound, middle class nature of the Hairies was a walking provocation to the neatly groomed, fashion-conscious, mostly working class (went to work instead of Sixth Form: fuck school and Uni, let’s make some short-term money - therefore doomed for life to the factory or site) Skinheads.

This schism was enacted in the music, as it often is: the long-winded, effete,  sexually inert tropes of Prog, the self-indulgent, solo-wanking, adolescent-boy mirror-gazing of hard rock versus the clipped, disciplined, concise sexy beats of Ska and pop reggae (showcased particularly in the ‘Tighten Up’ series of compilations). It really was chalk and cheese.

There was, btw, a whole genre of dirty ska songs, epitomised by Prince Buster’s Big Five single (‘funky spunky man in Big Five, screaming steaming night in Big Five…there will be water all over the bed…water all over her head..’ (!) 

One night after a Manfred Mann’s Earthband show at Swindon College (deep Hairy territory, obviously) when the crowd were reluctant to go home, the promoter stuck a Ska tune on the PA which cleared the room like tear gas. Hard to imagine now. Like I say, Tribal. So, when I started writing songs (Pop Songs! For Bands!) I felt I had struck a fruitful vein in observing the horrified yet strangely fascinated viewpoint of the oppressed Other (Hairy/Greeb/insert Ethnic Group) as he is subdued and brutalised by his natural predator, the Skinhead. 

Form following subject matter, this would, of course, be couched in a mutated form of reggae which, though, as a fledgling Hairy (with already insufficient hair, aIas!) I was forbidden to like - I must say it did exert a fascination. It was so alien. Alien is interesting. Thus, in Vampyr Skinhead we have, again, a randomly predatory hardnut - this time he’s going door to door terrorising people (‘no compunction as he hammers down your door - or elects to clamber in the window - he is swift and he is sure..’). The image really did come to me in a dream: this ferocious little fucker doing his rounds of the estate, like a Clockwork Orange version of the Man from the Pru. Definitely a Viz magazine character there, I reckon... The sound of a Ska beat still had, for me, the menace it did when the Skins at school danced their clipped, butch, slightly-ridiculous-but-I-fucking-dare-you-to-laugh, scary little dance to it.

Non Cultural Studies note: the riff is played on a WASP synth - I guess the 1st affordable synthesiser. Fairly horrible but it had one good sound so hey... No actual keyboard - a flat plate which was murder to play and ‘explains’ the really obvious cock-up on the intro which we didn’t have time to repair. It wasn’t mine btw (the WASP not the cock up).

VAMPYR SKINHEAD Vampyr Skinhead knock at your door Don’t sell brushes or Brittanica no more He no check for pushing leaflets through the door or collecting money for the football he lives outside the law. He’s just out on the street with his boots on his feet and I would give a lot to know what he’s got Vampyr Skinhead.. Vampyr Skinhead Vampyr Skinhead strikes again Vampyr Skinhead feel no pain gonna do it again and again and again

Vampyr Skinhead come down your way and he’s not from anywhere silly in the USA. Not religion that he’s peddling door to door he’s not looking for the meter (he wouldn’t know what it’s for). He’s just out on the street with his boots on his feet and your little sister’s crying but he’s not. Vampyr Skinhead Vampyr Skinhead Vampyr Skinhead

Somebody’s gonna get uptight, gonna get hot and they’re gonna make mincemeat of him someday... Somebody like Peter Cushing gonna wreck the curtains while he’s sleeping then they’ll be nothing left but a pair of Marten’s and a pile of dust…

Vampyr Skinhead come down your street he’s a monster and he’s got sharp litle teeth. No compunction as he hammers down your door Or elects to clamber in the window - he is swift and he is sure. Out and I would give a lot to know what he’s got Vampyr Skinhead…. Vampyr Skinhead…. Vampyr Skinhead……

V.S.’s Nemesis...

Taking Over ICI was an attempt at a pure pop reggae tune - with a socialist/punky spin. Lovely playing by Rob (gtr) and Marion Fudger (ex wife of Dave Fudger, charming chap who used to write for Sounds and now worked for Virgin Publishing - he got me the gig with Iggy Pop). Rich Wernham (also of the Motors). Cracking organ solo dontcha think? I had chops in those days - before Quantise fucked me up.

TAKING OVER ICI Alone I just didn’t dare make my move to trash organised laissez-faire but since you nibbled my ear Cadbury-Schweppes and Lever Brothers quiver in fear. All the multiples are whining. All the big nobs are resigning. Since I found out you loved me, I’m taking over ICI Taking over ICI Alone I couldn’t handle myself let alone the redistribution of wealth. But, since I found out you care, I could trash the System single-handed I swear. Can’t handle all their wheeler-dealing - prefer to hear rich people squealing… Since I found out you loved me, I’m taking over ICI Taking over ICI… Taking over ICI..

Big Soft Safe Family Rather as ‘Paranoiac’ was: a one-off, never to be repeated thing. Deeply and nakedly autobiographical. Musically quite original, I venture. Shmershy chords the like of which I hadn’t used before and a confidently slow groove. Vignettes of my respectable working class, late 60′s, Mike Leigh previous life suffused with the cheap cynicism of a young sprat who didn’t realise how lucky he was. They’re all gone now.. and - spoiler - I actually never had an aunt from Torquay (but she rhymed).

BIG SOFT SAFE FAMILY The relatives are all on their fifth cup of tea. Their rapid eye movements are something to see - all lying to each other and smiling alternately. Your mum and your dad and your aunt from Torquay they are none of the same as they once used to be but they’re all of them, gloriously in the Big Soft Safe Family

We all of us have a particular smell I know their’s and they know mine habitually well. They worry about me and I worry about them I’m surprised you can’t tell. We use the same toilet and eat the same food and we savage each other when we’re not feeling so good but blood is thicker than water and ultimately we’re a Big Soft Safe Family

We’re slowly aquiring the things  that we need they’re very pleased with our progress indeed. They were saying we looked very happy and of course we agreed. Respect due to father and love due to mum and the daughter is lovely and so is the son. Illusions die obstinately in the Big Soft Safe Family